Free The Sergeant Major's Daughter by Sheila Walsh

idea how my nephew comes to be in his company, either — or do you perhaps consider it necessary to Jamie’s education that he should be initiated into the art of poaching my pheasants?”
    Felicity, stung by the cutting sarcasm and plagued by guilt, flung the two boys a look of burning reproach. Jamie had the grace to hang his head, but Lanny stood four square, red hair on end, bristling with defiance and injured pride.
    “We wasn’t poachin’. Fat chance I’d have to lift so much as a dozy old hen with him threshin’ about!” His head jerked toward Jamie; the accompanying sniff was loaded with contempt.
    There was a smothered giggle from the classroom. Felicity’s own li ps twitched, but the Earl showed no such weakness, so she said with unaccustomed sharpness, “Be silent, children. Get on with your work. Lanny, I am ashamed of you, of both of you—during school hours, too! You will apologize at once to his lordship for the trouble you have caused. At once, Lanny.”
    The apologies were grudgingly offered and grimly received.
    “Well, I suppose that must suffice,” she said dryly. “As for punishmen t ... ” She looked hopefully at the Earl, who was not in the least disposed to be lenient.
    “I shall deal with Jamie,” he said tersely. “This young pup I leave to you. I trust you will make a sufficient impression upon him to discourage any further forays into my covers.”
    Felicity didn’t enjoy administering corporal punishment; a lifetime with the regiment had not convinced her that the barbaric floggings, so much a part of army discipline, achieved anything but pain and misery and, in the end, brutalization.
    Until now she had managed to keep order without recourse to the strap, so it was hard to say who suffered most in what followed. Lanny Price took his chastisement with a kind of fierce stoicism and apparently bore her no grudge—but Felicity’s hands were shaking as she laid the strap back on the cupboard shelf and locked the door.
    Ester, who had offered to relieve her of the unpleasant task, gave her a searching look, but encountered an over-bright eye which dared her to comment.
    For the first time, Felicity was glad to close the school door behind her. It was not yet dark, but the November sky was dreary, in keeping with her mood. The gig was already pointing homeward when she heard the cry; it was piercing, scarcely human. She reined in and even as she waited, uncertain, it came again, setting her teeth on edge and her back hairs pricking.
    She almost fled in a panic, but such an action seemed both cowardly and churlish. Something—or someone was in the most dreadful agony; perhaps an animal caught in a trap. It was coming from Captain Hardman’s land. That did give her pause. A notice on the chained-up gate stated the penalties for trespass and from all she had heard, they would be exacted without compunction.
    Unable any longer to shut her ears to the cry for help, she jumped from the gig and tied the rein securely to an overhanging branch. She was obliged to hitch up her skirt in order to climb the gate, and found what she was seeking in a clearing not far into the trees.
    A small brindled dog had been tied to a tree and a boy was thrashing it unmercifully. Felicity wrenched the whip from his hand before he was aware of her presence.
    “How dare you! Give me back my property this instant!” The boy was not above ten years—a stiff-legged embodiment of rage and pomposity. “You are trespassing on my father’s land. You will be very sorry when he finds out!”
    “And you will be very sorry if I turn this ... weapon upon you as you deserve,” returned Felicity angrily. “Does your father know that you use it to ill-treat helpless creatures?”
    “Of course he does. My father says it is the only way to exact obedience from one’s inferiors—whether they be men or animals.”
    Felicity was silenced. She wondered what kind of a monster would foster such an appalling philosophy in