Dark Mirror

by M. J. Putney

  Tory looked through an opening at her eye level and saw that a playing field was on the other side and a game of football was in progress. The players ranged from boys of eleven or twelve to full-grown young men. Half wore red ribbons tied on one arm, the other half wore blue. “If the official policy is to keep males and females apart, why don’t they brick up these holes?”

  The other girl laughed. “One of the charming oddities of Lackland is that this wall has some ancient magic that makes bricks fall out of the holes if anyone tries to close them. The magic interferes with all forms of blocking as well as making it almost impossible to tear the wall down.”

  “So boys and girls meet and flirt.” Tory pursed her lips and estimated the thickness of the stone. “The wall is too thick to allow kissing, but fingers can touch. Notes can be passed.”

  “The wall is very romantic.” Elspeth’s voice was ironic. “On the other side are attractive members of the opposite sex who share the curse of unwanted magic. So near, yet impossible to do more than a fleeting touch of the fingers! Courtships aren’t uncommon, with students marrying once they’re released from Lackland.”

  Tory glanced up, thinking the spikes weren’t that great a barrier. “The viewing holes would make it easy to climb over the wall. They’re rather like a ladder.”

  “Ah, but the wall magic includes an invisible veil of power that causes excruciating pain if someone tries to climb over,” Elspeth said. “Or so I’m told.”

  “That sounds much more discouraging than spikes.” Tory’s gaze returned to her viewing hole. Her attention was caught by a tall young man with dark hair and a quick, athletic figure. She felt a strange flicker inside, rather like the flutter she felt when trying to float. “When students leave, do they go back to their old lives?”

  “No one ever leaves the same as when they came.” Elspeth’s soft words sounded like an epitaph.

  “Change is probably inevitable,” Tory said with reluctance. “But what happens to most students after they’re cured and leave Lackland?”

  “Most find a place lower in a social order than the one they were born to. Boys go into some profession like the army or navy, or perhaps they study law or become vicars. Girls look for the best husband who will have them. It isn’t uncommon to marry a well-off merchant who wants to be connected to an aristocratic family. If they can’t find husbands and their families cast them off, usually they become governesses.”

  Though Tory liked learning, she had no desire to spend her life as a governess. “What about those who embrace their power, as you do?”

  “We become mages and are disinherited by our families,” Elspeth said dryly. “Some move to the colonies, where magic is more acceptable.”

  “What do you hope to do?”

  “Go somewhere far from here,” Elspeth said with even more dryness.

  Thinking it was time to change the subject, Tory watched as the dark-haired young man raced down the field, expertly controlling the ball as he headed toward the goal. “Who is the tall fellow with the ball?”

  “That’s Allarde.” Amusement sounded in Elspeth’s voice. “You have a good eye. He’s the Marquis of Allarde and a second cousin of mine. As the only son of the Duke of Westover, he’s the most eligible male at Lackland.”

  “I thought students don’t use titles.”

  “Not usually, but there are exceptions.” Elspeth turned and continued on to a footpath that led away into a pasture scattered with sheep and ancient, half-ruined outbuildings.

  Tory was happy to move away from the stone heaviness of the abbey. Though walls enclosed the grounds on both sides, this green openness was a pleasant change from the school. She felt even better when she heard the cries of gulls and realized they were near the sea.

  A five-minute walk brought them to a cliff high above the English Channel. The port of Dover was only a few miles south, and Lackland shared the famous white chalk cliffs that Dover was known for. Tory inhaled the tangy air. “This is like my home. I grew up with the cliffs and the sea.”

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Elspeth’s flaxen hair whipped behind her in the stiff breeze. “We’re right on the Straits of Dover, the narrowest part of the channel.” She pointed. “See that dark line? It’s the French coast. Strange to think that Napoleon’s armies are so near. It’s the sea that keeps Britain safe.”

  Tory shivered, and not only because of the brisk wind. France looked so close. She found it uncomfortably easy to imagine regiments of French troops lined up on the other side, armed and eager to cross the channel. “Knowing how close we are to France makes the war seem much more real than it did at home.”

  “Sometimes I have nightmares that the French have invaded and are burning and killing everything in their path. They will land along this coast. Perhaps on the beach right below this cliff.” Elspeth’s face tightened and she turned away from the channel.

  Tory lingered a little longer. She had an uncanny feeling that this place and the enemy across the water would be very important in her life, though she didn’t know how.

  She turned and walked quickly to catch up with Elspeth. “How are we cured of magic? Mrs. Grice said I’d find out when the time came.”

  “Once a student becomes really good at control, Miss Wheaton will cast a locking spell that seals the magical power so tightly it can never be used again.” Elspeth laughed a little. “Ironic, it? Magic is used to cure magic.”

  “Maybe it’s inevitable.” Tory frowned. “So the quicker I learn to control my magic, the sooner I can go home.”

  “Yes.” Elspeth gave a slanting, enigmatic glance. “If that’s still what you want.”

  “Of course that’s what I want!”

  “Don’t be so sure,” Elspeth said softly. “Desires change.”

  Tory didn’t want to believe that. But—she did.

  Blast it, she did.

  CHAPTER 7

  Back at the school, Elspeth led Tory into the residence hall and up the stairs. “This is a sitting room for general use.” She opened the door to reveal a collection of chairs and sofas before continuing to the end of the corridor.

  She halted at the last door. “Your room has a fine view of the sea. Classes are ending now, so Cynthia Stanton should be back soon.”

  “Thank you for the tour and the information,” Tory said. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

  Elspeth smiled. “You won’t want to be seen talking to me. It would be bad for your reputation. Good day to you, Tory.” She turned and walked away. With her flaxen hair falling to her waist, she looked like a child from the back. She’d been an unnerving guide, but Tory had liked her straight answers.

  Wondering what Miss Cynthia Stanton was like, Tory opened the door and regarded her new quarters gloomily. Her trunk was waiting, so this must be the right place, but the room was a far cry from her lovely lady’s chamber at home. This was more like the quarters of an upper servant. A housekeeper, perhaps.

  She advanced into the room. The size was reasonable, and Elspeth had been right about the fine view of the sea. But while the pale blue walls were soothing, the furniture was shabby and hadn’t been elegant to begin with.

  The two halves of the room had been furnished as mirror images. Each side had a bed, a small desk, a clothespress, a washstand, and a chair. The bed on the right side must be Cynthia Stanton’s since a carpet lay beside it and extra pillows had been added.

  The left half should have been Tory’s, but her roommate had colonized all the space. Expensive gowns were tossed on the bare mattress, books and papers and bottles were carelessly stacked on the desk, and the clothespress bulged with clothing. Cynthia Stanton must have brought everything she owned—and she owned a lot.

  Tory was wondering whether she should wait for her new roommate or start clearing space when the door opened and a tall blond girl swept in. She was quite beautiful, with good features and golden hair twisted into an elegant knot. Her green silk brocade gown was more suited to a London lady than a
country schoolgirl.

  Tory opened her mouth to introduce herself, but she was cut off when the other girl snapped, “Who are you?”

  “Victoria Mansfield,” she replied, startled. “Tory. I’m your new roommate. You must be Cynthia Stanton.”

  The blond scowled. “This is my room!”

  “Mrs. Grice said no other space was available.” Tory gave a placating smile. “We’re stuck with each other.”

  Cynthia glanced at Tory’s trunk. “At least you don’t have many things. You can use your trunk for storage.”

  Her new roommate expected to keep using Tory’s clothespress? Unacceptable. Cynthia Stanton might be older, taller, and better dressed, but that didn’t give her a right to occupy the whole room.

  Tory wasn’t an earl’s daughter for nothing. “I will use my clothespress,” she said with calm assurance. “I’ll help you move your things.” She opened her clothespress and pulled out a stack of folded stockings. “Where shall I put these?”

  “Back where they belong!” Cynthia glared at her.

  Tory faced the other girl, knowing she must stand her ground or Cynthia Stanton would make her life miserable. “If you choose not to move your possessions…” She pulled out a folded morning gown made of rose-colored cotton and trimmed with gaily embroidered ribbons. “I’ll have to cut this down quite a bit to fit me,” she said, holding the garment in front of her. “But the color will suit me well.”

  Cynthia snatched the gown from Tory. “How dare you! My father is a duke!”

  “How nice for you. Mine is an earl. Not so high a rank, of course, but a very old title.” Tory watched warily, wondering if the taller girl would resort to physical violence. Probably not. And if she did—well, though Tory was smaller, she had been a tomboy who had climbed trees and wrestled with neighborhood boys when she was small.

  But she didn’t want to fight. Control is a matter of will. The phrase from her book of magic popped into her mind.

  Though the topic had been controlling magical power, the words could be applied anywhere. How should she deal with the haughty Cynthia? Tory didn’t want to challenge her, but she must make it clear she wouldn’t be bullied.

  She caught Cynthia’s gaze and focused her considerable will. “Of course you don’t like having someone move in when you’ve had the room all to yourself, but we must make the best of the situation. I won’t be a difficult roommate, but I do need my share of space and furniture.”

  They stared at each other like wary cats. Cynthia broke first. “These rooms aren’t large enough for two people,” she said sulkily.

  Tory managed not to point out that there wouldn’t be a problem if Cynthia didn’t have so many things. “This is not what either of us are used to,” she agreed as she removed a stack of the other girl’s shifts and placed them neatly by the wall on Cynthia’s side of the room. “Have you asked if they could bring in another clothespress? Or perhaps the estate carpenter could build shelves for you in that empty corner.”

  Cynthia frowned at the corner. “I suppose that would work.”

  The door opened and a maid entered with a pile of bedding. She stopped nervously. “I’m sorry, my ladies. I didn’t know anyone was here. I was sent to make up the bed for Miss Mansfield.”

  “Come in.” Tory scooped an armful of Cynthia’s garments off her bed and deposited them over the back of the other girl’s wooden chair. “Do you know if there is a spare clothespress anywhere? Miss Stanton needs one.”

  “I believe there’s one in the basement,” the maid said. “ ’Tis worn but usable. Shall I ask if it can be brought up, Miss Stanton?”

  “Have them bring it immediately, Peggy,” Cynthia said grandly. “I do not wish to be kept waiting.”

  The maid nodded, then concentrated on making the bed as quickly as possible so she could escape. Tory suspected that Cynthia was the sort of female who threw hairbrushes and perfume bottles at servants like Peggy.

  When the maid was gone, Tory remarked, “I’m glad we have servants. I wasn’t sure what I’d find here.”

  “Of course we have servants! Our families certainly pay enough for us to attend Lackland. We’re entitled to basic comforts.” Cynthia sounded scandalized at the thought that students might be expected to look after themselves.

  “Our families pay for us?” Tory asked with surprise. “I thought Lackland was run by the government, like a prison.”

  “It’s the most expensive school in Britain,” Cynthia said with perverse pride. “One must come from a wealthy family to afford it. Lackland isn’t luxurious, but Allarde tells me it’s better than Eton, which he attended before he was sent here.”

  Tory’s interest quickened. Had Cynthia been flirting with Allarde through the wall? “I saw Lord Allarde playing ball. Elspeth said he’s heir to a dukedom?”

  Cynthia nodded. “It’s said his father doesn’t want to disinherit him, but even if Allarde inherits the dukedom, now that it’s known he’s a mageling he’ll have trouble finding a wife of equal rank.” She glanced in her mirror with a smile of satisfaction. “Likely he’ll find a wife who has also been at Lackland.”

  It didn’t take magic to guess who Cynthia saw as a suitable wife for Allarde. Well, she’d have to catch him first. Surely Allarde’s family would prefer he marry a girl from a nonmagical family, even if her rank was lower.

  Tory busied herself with unpacking. A battered old clothespress arrived with surprising speed. She wasn’t sure if it was Cynthia’s rank or her bad temper that prompted such quick service.

  Her new roommate left the piles of displaced clothing where Tory had set them. The maid, Peggy, would have the job of putting everything away later.

  Tory was just finishing her own unpacking when a bell rang through the corridors. “Dinner.” Cynthia swept from the room without waiting for Tory.

  No matter. Tory did not think they were destined to become confidantes. With a pang, she thought of Louisa and the closeness they had shared, now gone forever.

  She glanced in the small mirror on the clothespress door to check that she looked respectable. After smoothing down her hair, she stepped out into the corridor and saw other girls emerging from their rooms. A plump, cheerful brunette said with a smile, “You’re new. I’m Nell Bracken.”

  Tory returned the smile, grateful for uncomplicated good nature. “I’m Tory Mansfield. I just arrived this afternoon.”

  “Come sit with me and my friends, Tory.” Nell lowered her voice confidentially. “We’re the most normal lot here.”

  Tory smiled wryly. “Normal would be very good.”

  Nell kept her voice low. “My sympathies that you’re stuck with the duke’s darling daughter.”

  Tory managed to suppress a laugh, barely. They clattered down the steps to the ground floor, then followed a passage that led to the refectory. Half a dozen long tables were laid out for the meal. There were settings for forty or fifty students.

  Nell led her to a table at the far end of the hall, where a dozen other girls were already seated. “Meet our newest student, Tory Mansfield,” she said, before rattling off introductions to her friends.

  Tory smiled and tried to remember all the names. All were within a year or two of her age, and they seemed pleasant. No one scowled or threw eggs.

  Tory sat down quietly, thinking it wise to hold her tongue until she understood Lackland better. Clearly Nell and her friends were part of the majority who wanted only to behave and go home as soon as possible.

  Cynthia had joined a group of high fliers at another table. She and her friends seemed dedicated to making life difficult for the serving maids. They definitely looked like egg throwers.

  Elspeth sat with another, smaller group. They were relaxed and happy with one another, and ignored by everyone else. They must be the students who embraced magery.

  As Elspeth had said, the food wasn’t dreadful, but the oxtail soup, boiled beef, and potatoes were a far cry from Fairmount Hall. When the main meal was finished and t
hey were waiting for their pudding, she asked, “What are the teachers and classes like?”

  A girl called Marjorie made a face. “Miss Wheaton is the only one who really matters since she has the power to let us go home.”

  “I met her briefly this afternoon. She was…” Tory hesitated, unsure how to describe her. “Very quiet.”

  “She is, but at least she isn’t mean,” Nell said. “Tomorrow you’ll be tested in French and figuring and other subjects so they’ll know what you need to be taught.”

  “Why do they teach these things?” Tory asked, curious. “To keep us busy so we won’t get into trouble?”

  Another girl, whose name Tory couldn’t remember, said, “The real reason is so we can get work as governesses if we can’t find husbands.”

  “Governesses, or housekeepers,” Marjorie said gloomily.

  Tory shuddered at the thought. “How often does that happen?”

  The girls exchanged glances. “Too often,” Nell said.

  “What should I know about the teachers?”

  “Miss Macklin is dreadful,” Nell said. “Speak as little as possible.”

  Other frank comments followed. Tory made mental notes. “What else should I know? Elspeth Campbell showed me around today. She said there are unofficial rules.”

  “Avoiding Elspeth is one of them,” Marjorie said earnestly. “She’s nice enough, but you don’t want to be seen with that lot. They like having magic.”

  Tory nodded to the angry group. “What about those girls?”

  “Keep your distance,” Nell said. “If you can. They’re mean as snakes.” Her gaze moved to Cynthia. “Like us, they want to be cured as soon as possible so they can go home, but they’re fearful snobs. As if they were the only ones with lords for fathers!”

  The serving girl came to serve a crock of bread pudding, so conversation ceased. Tory dug into the sweet. The pudding was quite good, with apples and cream.

  She had survived her first day at Lackland Abbey.

  Tomorrow would be worse.