me.”
When the boy lifted his fearful green eyes, LaRouche said, “I have one more punishment for you, but you must be brave or you will only prolong the pain. Understood?”
Tears welled in the boy’s eyes. “Yes.”
LaRouche pulled the leather gloves from his pocket and slashed them across the older boy’s pocked left cheek and then his right. He repeated the action twice more before tucking the gloves away again. Their harsh breaths sliced into the shocked silence. LaRouche applauded the older boy’s control, for if he had cried out or raised his hands in defense, he would have been forced to beat the boy senseless. No one defied him. No one.
Giles scrubbed at his wet cheeks while staring at his schoolmate with remorseful eyes.
“Do you see what happens when you disobey me?” LaRouche asked.
Anger replaced the boy’s remorse. “ Yes , monsieur.”
“Your tone displeases me.” LaRouche slipped his hand back into his pocket. “Do I need to bring another boy up here to discipline for your sins?”
Panic flared in the boy’s green eyes. He shook his head and dropped his gaze. “No, Monsieur LaRouche. Please don’t punish anyone else. I’ll do as you say.”
To the older boy, LaRouche said, “Go to Mrs. Drummond. She will tend to you.” He glanced at the other boys. Their pale faces displayed varying degrees of trepidation. The boys who had been at Abbingale for a while were familiar with LaRouche’s swift discipline. Because of this, they had learned how to school their features into impassivity. Good little soldiers.
“Gentlemen,” LaRouche said. “Do not forget what you saw here today. It is best that no one repeat the same infraction as your schoolmate, Giles. You may return to your dormitory to clean your hands and faces before going down for your midday meal.”
“Thank you, monsieur,” they chimed as one.
While the boys filed out, LaRouche strode back to the window, his thoughts returning to Mrs. Henshaw and the odd circumstances surrounding her visit. During his brief conversation with the benefactress, he had detected moments of keen intelligence flowing beneath the surface of her empty-headed mien. Many young women of wealth and privilege were taught at an early age to suppress their leanings toward academia so as not to bore potential suitors. Many gentlemen welcomed such shallow creatures into their marital beds and then they found more engaging bedmates in their mistresses.
But LaRouche had not reached his level of importance in Emperor Bonaparte’s government by ignoring small, incongruent elements. No, his attention to detail had saved the Emperor embarrassment more than once—and LaRouche had been lavishly rewarded for his efforts. Soon, he would hand the Emperor the key to controlling the British Navy, the last barrier to Absolute Rule.
One leader, under God. Napoleon Bonaparte.
LaRouche would be the man who handed the world to the Corsican. Power, like nothing he’d ever imagined, would be his.
Not bothering to turn around, he spoke to the nurse, who stood quietly near the door, awaiting his instructions. “I want to know everything the benefactress said today and during her previous visit. Leave nothing out.”
Seven
Mac yanked the carriage door open and climbed inside. “What happened?” he asked once they were in motion again.
“I haven’t the faintest idea.” Sydney shook her head. “Everything about Abbingale feels wrong, yet I have little to report that would affirm such feelings.”
“Trust your instincts, Sydney. They have yet to let you down. Tell me what you saw.”
Sydney curled her arm around her middle and propped her elbow against it. Using the pads of her fingers, she rubbed her forehead in a circular motion, as if that small action would make sense of all she had witnessed inside Abbingale. “Boys sitting in the schoolroom, with their written assignments in front of them.”
“I’m not following. What makes the scene unusual?”
“It
When the boy lifted his fearful green eyes, LaRouche said, “I have one more punishment for you, but you must be brave or you will only prolong the pain. Understood?”
Tears welled in the boy’s eyes. “Yes.”
LaRouche pulled the leather gloves from his pocket and slashed them across the older boy’s pocked left cheek and then his right. He repeated the action twice more before tucking the gloves away again. Their harsh breaths sliced into the shocked silence. LaRouche applauded the older boy’s control, for if he had cried out or raised his hands in defense, he would have been forced to beat the boy senseless. No one defied him. No one.
Giles scrubbed at his wet cheeks while staring at his schoolmate with remorseful eyes.
“Do you see what happens when you disobey me?” LaRouche asked.
Anger replaced the boy’s remorse. “ Yes , monsieur.”
“Your tone displeases me.” LaRouche slipped his hand back into his pocket. “Do I need to bring another boy up here to discipline for your sins?”
Panic flared in the boy’s green eyes. He shook his head and dropped his gaze. “No, Monsieur LaRouche. Please don’t punish anyone else. I’ll do as you say.”
To the older boy, LaRouche said, “Go to Mrs. Drummond. She will tend to you.” He glanced at the other boys. Their pale faces displayed varying degrees of trepidation. The boys who had been at Abbingale for a while were familiar with LaRouche’s swift discipline. Because of this, they had learned how to school their features into impassivity. Good little soldiers.
“Gentlemen,” LaRouche said. “Do not forget what you saw here today. It is best that no one repeat the same infraction as your schoolmate, Giles. You may return to your dormitory to clean your hands and faces before going down for your midday meal.”
“Thank you, monsieur,” they chimed as one.
While the boys filed out, LaRouche strode back to the window, his thoughts returning to Mrs. Henshaw and the odd circumstances surrounding her visit. During his brief conversation with the benefactress, he had detected moments of keen intelligence flowing beneath the surface of her empty-headed mien. Many young women of wealth and privilege were taught at an early age to suppress their leanings toward academia so as not to bore potential suitors. Many gentlemen welcomed such shallow creatures into their marital beds and then they found more engaging bedmates in their mistresses.
But LaRouche had not reached his level of importance in Emperor Bonaparte’s government by ignoring small, incongruent elements. No, his attention to detail had saved the Emperor embarrassment more than once—and LaRouche had been lavishly rewarded for his efforts. Soon, he would hand the Emperor the key to controlling the British Navy, the last barrier to Absolute Rule.
One leader, under God. Napoleon Bonaparte.
LaRouche would be the man who handed the world to the Corsican. Power, like nothing he’d ever imagined, would be his.
Not bothering to turn around, he spoke to the nurse, who stood quietly near the door, awaiting his instructions. “I want to know everything the benefactress said today and during her previous visit. Leave nothing out.”
Seven
Mac yanked the carriage door open and climbed inside. “What happened?” he asked once they were in motion again.
“I haven’t the faintest idea.” Sydney shook her head. “Everything about Abbingale feels wrong, yet I have little to report that would affirm such feelings.”
“Trust your instincts, Sydney. They have yet to let you down. Tell me what you saw.”
Sydney curled her arm around her middle and propped her elbow against it. Using the pads of her fingers, she rubbed her forehead in a circular motion, as if that small action would make sense of all she had witnessed inside Abbingale. “Boys sitting in the schoolroom, with their written assignments in front of them.”
“I’m not following. What makes the scene unusual?”
“It
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