Free Dark Mirror by M.J. Putney

a cup of tea and slid it toward Tory. “Good morning. How did you sleep?”
    “Well enough.” Tory stirred sugar and milk into her tea before taking a deep gulp. Grateful for its warmth, she said, “I’ve been ordered to report to Miss Macklin’s office after breakfast. Where is it?”
    “When you enter the school building through the main entrance, it’s the first room on the right,” Helen said. “Good luck with the evaluation.”
    Tory frowned. “You’re the second person to wish me luck. Why do I need it?”
    “Miss Macklin believes that students come here too full of pride because of our birth,” Nell replied. “And that it is her duty to knock the pride out of us.”
    Miss Macklin hadn’t succeeded with Cynthia Stanton, but Cynthia was probably a hopeless case. Tory said, “I shall be the most humble student she has ever evaluated.”
    “That might help,” Penelope said, but she didn’t look optimistic.
    Since Miss Macklin couldn’t be avoided, Tory reached for the pot of gooseberry preserves. Facing a difficult teacher would be easier on a full stomach.

 
    CHAPTER 9

    “Come in,” Miss Macklin barked in response to Tory’s knock.
    Tory’s heart sank when she saw the teacher, who was thin, prune-faced, and practiced in disapproval. Looking as meek and nonmagical as she knew how, Tory said, “I’m Victoria Mansfield, Miss Macklin. I was told that you wish to see me.”
    Miss Macklin pursed her lips as she studied Tory. “Most girls who come here have the so-called ladylike accomplishments like music and watercolors and embroidery, but are appallingly ignorant of academic subjects. Have you studied the globes? Literature? Mathematics?”
    “Yes, Miss Macklin,” Tory said, clamping down on her distaste for the woman. “My father believed girls should be educated, so we had a very accomplished governess.”
    Miss Macklin did not seem to find that gratifying. She kept Tory standing as she rattled off questions about geography, Shakespeare, and several poets, then tested Tory on her sums. Tory found the questions easy.
    Looking even angrier, Miss Macklin switched to French and asked if Tory could speak the language. Like most children of aristocrats, Tory had learned French early, and her tutor had been born in Paris. “ Oui, Mademoiselle Macklin.”
    After several minutes of conversation, Miss Macklin said grudgingly, “Your French is passable. Do you speak Italian?” After Tory shook her head, the teacher said, “Hold out your hands palm up.”
    Obediently, Tory held out her hands. The teacher raised a brass ruler and smashed it viciously down on Tory’s palms.
    “Why did you do that?” Tory gasped, blinking back tears.
    “You are arrogant, Miss Mansfield,” the teacher said triumphantly. “Arrogant and full of pride. Girls like you think your birth will protect you from unpleasantness. In the world outside that may be true, but not at Lackland Abbey. Your family sent you here because you are tainted by magic, and it is the school’s duty to do whatever we deem necessary to make you fit for decent society.”
    Tory stared at her hands, where welts were forming. “But I didn’t do—”
    Her protest was cut off when Miss Macklin lashed out with the ruler again, this time across Tory’s fingers. “That is enough, Miss Mansfield!” the teacher snarled. “Do not ever talk back to me!”
    Hands in agony, Tory stumbled back from the desk and banged against the door. She wanted to strike back any way she could, but defiance was exactly what Miss Macklin wanted. The teacher craved an excuse to cause more pain.
    Forcing herself not to lash out, Tory stammered, “I … I will remember not to talk back, Miss Macklin. Do you wish to test me on any other subjects?”
    The teacher looked disappointed by the meek answer. She lifted her quill pen and wrote several lines on a piece of paper. Handing it to Tory, she said, “These are your classes. You’d best work hard. For a girl like you