Free Into the Storm by Avi Page B

”
    Mr. Pickler murmured a final, “My lord,” bobbed his head, and crept from the room.
    Lord Kirkle remained leaning on the mantel for a long while. Utterly wretched, he crossed to the corner of the room and pulled upon a braided rope. A servant entered.
    â€œRichards,” Lord Kirkle managed to say. “Is Sir Albert at home?”
    â€œI believe he is, my lord.”
    â€œI wish him here. At once.”

 
    A weary Lord Kirkle sank upon his chair, drew Laurence’s tattered jacket toward him, and buried his face in it.
    The door to the study soon opened. Sir Albert clumped in, a complacent smile upon his face.
    â€œMy —,” he began to say, but stopped short when he saw his father’s anguished look. And the familiar jacket. Albert’s first thought was that Laurence had been found. Perhaps dead. It took all his strength to keep from smiling. “My lord …,” he tried again.
    Lord Kirkle stared at his elder son with bloodshot eyes. “Sir,” he said, his voice trembling, “I intend to ask you some questions. You had best answer me truthfully.”
    â€œOf … course, my lord,” Albert stammered.
    â€œAlbert, does the name Matthew Clemspool mean anything to you?”
    Taken by surprise, Albert swallowed hard and squeezed his hands until his knuckles cracked. “I … I … am not sure.”
    â€œWhat does that ‘not sure’ mean, sir?” Lord Kirkle demanded. “Do you or do you not know him?”
    â€œWell, perhaps I have heard the name, but —”
    Lord Kirkle sprang from his chair so suddenly that Albertjumped back. “Have you had any dealings with this scoundrel?” his father demanded.
    â€œI don’t know that —”
    â€œI have been informed that this Matthew Clemspool helped your brother leave London and reach Liverpool, from which point the boy went to America as a stowaway.”
    Sir Albert gasped. “But, sir … what has that to do with me?” His knuckles cracked again.
    Lord Kirkle continued. “I have been further informed that Mr. Clemspool’s business is to involve himself in older-younger brother tensions on behalf of one or the other. It has been suggested, sir, that you and Mr. Clemspool have had business dealings.”
    â€œHe’s a liar and swindler,” replied Sir Albert. “If you knew him as I do —”
    â€œThen you have dealt with him!” Lord Kirkle roared.
    â€œWell, yes, I suppose, in some —”
    â€œDo you admit, sir, that you conspired to have Laurence spirited away from London, that he might go off to America?”
    Albert gulped for air. “No, sir … not at all,” he stammered. “It wasn’t that. It was only to teach the nuisance his proper place. I had no intention of —”
    â€œDo you know what you have done?” Lord Kirkle shouted. “Do you?”
    â€œI didn’t do anything, my lord,” Albert whined. “Nothing. I swear I didn’t. I —”
    â€œBecause of you, your brother is a beggarly stowaway on a ship for Boston. Alone! At the mercy of any and all! Quite possibly dead! And even if by some happy chance he does reach America alive, he will be lost to us — forever.”
    â€œI’ll … I’ll go find him,” Albert cried. “I will. I’ll leave right away.”
    â€œBy God, sir!” Lord Kirkle shouted, his face contorted with rage. “You had best do exactly that! Consider yourself cut off from every penny you think is yours save what you need to bring your brother back. Do you understand me, sir? Find your brother! Now remove yourself from my sight!”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œGo!”
    Sir Albert hurried from the room — and met his mother in the hallway. The small woman was looking alarmed. “What is it?” she asked. “The servants are saying something has