Stolen by the Crown

England, 1850

"Falmouth , this is your little bastard." Standing on the thick rug in the middle of the large English room of the great English manor was eleven-year-old Salem. The one who dared to offend him, the tall, exquisite older woman with a sneering mouth and pale yellow hair, was just barely in focus. Saying in his mother tongue, "In Erdiuan, I kill people who call me names," he "What?" the woman questioned. "Falmouth , what did he say?" the gloomy man behind the big, polished wood desk did not glance up. Five well-dressed girls, ranging in age from five to twelve, stood in queue by the fireplace. One of them, the skinny one in the middle, stated in astonished tones, "He's so nasty." "And thin," observed another. Salem turned to look at them. Soft, dumb English gals. They fixed him as though he were a skilled dancing bear, and when he scowled, the brown eyes of the least small filled with tears. She went behind the skirts of her sisters and popped her thumb into her mouth. Look, he seems exhausted. The oldest person talked with authority. "He is swaying on his feet." Then the four oldest girls grinned at him together. Please, kindly, gently as if nothing ugly or cruel ever touched their life. Salem loathed them. He loathed every single one, disliked the uniformed attendants standing at attention, and hated the lady. Most of all, he detested his father and the nasty man in charge-the man behind the desk-the man he knew had to be the viscount. Once more in his mother tongue, Salem spit, "Stupid English wenches." "What did he say?"? The contemptuous English woman peered between the viscount and Salem . "What was he meant to say?" The man spoke first, for once. Bring him closer. Two of the man's shockingly attired slaves seized Salem's arms and drove him around the desk towards the master. Falmouth indicated for the candelabra to be brought closer, and Salem believed he looked like the elderly woman as the light hit his face. Not in his features-sharp and strong-but in the aristocratic lift of his chin and scornful curve of mouth. The English woman drew a quick gasp. Because, although Salem was unaware of it, Falmouth and he looked the same.Falmouth studied the thin, dirty, exhausted child as though he were a bug crushed under his feet. Then he stretched out a pale, long-fingered hand with an open palm and whacked Salem across the face. One could hear skin against flesh like a gunshot. Salem landed sideways.One of the females gasped in surprise. Still another whimsy. The woman gave a satisfied smile. And Salem lunged with fists swinging towards Falmouth . The servants snatched him and hauled him back. The disdainful man waved to tell him to approach once more. This time the servants held onto him"Listen to me, boy." You are nothing. Empty nothing. My bastard is a foreigner and your dirty feet would never stain the flooring of my house had I had another son. But God in His infinite wisdom gifted me with nothing from this marriage but daughters. He hated the females, so brilliantly dressed, so charming in their innocence. Five daughters. You will live here until you are fit to be sent to school. And never again will you treat your betters in such an arrogant way. Salem shrugged, shook his head, and motioned helplessly. "Don't fool me, boy ." English was spoken by your mother. Every servant sent from your nation speaks English. So do you. Though he spoke Erudian when he declared, "English is for the ignorant," Salem snapped his head sideways and his ear rang even though he never even saw the blow approaching. Never let me hear you speak that barbarian language once more. Salem brought his chin up. He said, "I hate you." with startling accuracy, "I hate you, sir." Salem had contempt in his eyes. Say it here. Falmouth 's cold green eyes held nothing: no spark, no passion, no emotion. Salem turned to look at the sophisticated, sneering woman. She stood horrified, staring at her husband the way a mouse views a snake. Salem turned to check the girls. Four of them had their heads down. When their eyes locked, the middle girl-who was skinny-stood with her hands clenched at her thin chest and stared at him, then her lips moved in appeal: Please. He turned to return to Falmouth . This man, his father, terrified him; he had no fear at all. Still, he refused to give in. Not exactly. "I hate you, sir," he said, straightening his shoulders. "My grandfather told me I had to come to this damp, cold island and go to your brutal schools and learn everything I could about mathematics and languages and statesmanship so I could go back to Erudian and free my people from cruel Gallum oppression." The eldest girl moved forward as though he would be interested in her. " If you wish to free your people, shouldn't you learn how to fight??" He cast her a disdainful glance. "I already know how to fight." You'll want an army. Are you qualified to command an army? Not particularly impressed with his boldness, she stared him straight in the eyes. "I know how to lead," he shot back; then hesitantly he added, "But I will have to learn military tactics." "Then we agree on one thing-you will cease to be an ignorant savage and become a civilised gentleman." Falmouth pointed to the staff members. "Pull him away." Keep him clean. Turn over to the tutors and instruct them to educate him on everything he requires using any methods required. Six months from now I shall see him here. Please be advised; that I will be disappointed if there is not a great improvement. Salem felt the tiny shudder running across the room at the thought of anyone upsetting Falmouth . Falmouth picked up his quill and turned back to his work, ignoring his wife, kids, Salem , and servants. "We will start with a bath, Lady Falmouth replied firmly. Salem battled, lunging against the servants' grasp, at the very thought of this woman seeing his nude body. Martha, the second-to-the-eldest girl, a delicate, foolish creature clothed in pink and ruffles begged, "Mama, he's so skinny. Could we possibly feed him first? Please? "Don't you have a nose? Are you unable to smell him? Lady Falmouth waved her handkerchief with a smell before her face. Having grown up in a rigorous school, Salem swung on one servant's arm, knocked the feet off from beneath the other, got free, and ran towards the door. Approaching him at the knees, the top servant-who was clothed in black and wore white gloves and a face devoid of expression-aimed. Leaping on top of his back, the two footmen drove him into the floral carpet. Unemotional in voice, his father said, "A few good canings are in order. Johnson, I know you will take care of it. The man in black and white assisted Salem in getting to his feet, then cleaned his white gloves. Indeed, master. Immediately, my lord. The little bastard will survive for a few more hours without food. Lady Falmouth looked at Salem as though he were a plucked chicken just ready for the pot. Falmouth remarked in a calm, chilly voice, "His name is Xavier Anthony as of right now. Anthony Xavier. Appalled, Lady Falmouth asked, "Anthony? Surely you do not intend to-"Adopt him? Surely I do. Son of the Viscount Falmouth , he is Xavier Anthony and destined to be an English gentleman. Wife, kindly make sure everyone in the house understands how fast he or she could provoke my annoyance should the boy be assigned a different name or title. Once more that shiver shook the space. Salem had come to hell from a nation where he had been roaming free. And his father was the prince of darkness himself.