Three weeks later…

"Seriously, Luke, again? What do you have against Ed Tyneman anyway?" Roddy Taylor stood with his hands on his hips, glaring at Lucien's blackening eye and split lip.

"You know precisely what I have against that lout." Lucien glared back at his friend. "He's a blowhard and a bully."

"He's also a prefect," Roddy pointed out. "And you're new here. You know who they're going to believe, especially when you won't even tell them what he's doing to the little chaps."

"I fight my own battles."

And everyone else's, too, Roddy thought.

Lucien flexed his right hand, examining the damage to his knuckles. "Besides, I may be new here but I can see how things work. His father gives the school a lot of money so they make him prefect and he can get away with anything he wants."

"And you're already the best bowler on the house cricket team which is why you're only in detention for two days instead of the rest of the term," Roddy pointed out.

Lucien grinned. "Good old Studley House, hurrah!"

"Yes, well, you're still playing with fire, going at Tyneman that way. Blimey, Luke, he's four years older and twice your size!"

"I can't turn a blind eye and let him torment those poor little chaps. It's not right."

"No, it isn't," Roddy agreed. "But why does it have to be you?"

Lucien jammed his hands in his pockets and stuck out his chin. "Because there's no one else, is there?"

Late for morning mass, Lucien ran across the common, one hand holding his cap in place. His foot slipped on the wet grass, and when he paused to regain his balance he heard a sound from behind a large eucalyptus tree. Someone was clearly in distress. He glanced toward the chapel, knowing any further delay might mean another detention, but he could hardly walk away from whoever was in trouble.

"Hello," he said softly. "Need some help there?"

A tiny head topped by a shock of dark hair peeked out. "Luke?"

"Kenny Rosemont. What's wrong, mate?"

The small boy shrugged, his lips pressed together as he came out from behind the tree.

"Not talking, eh?" Lucien put his hand on the younger boy's shoulder. "Well, then, we'd better get on to mass before we both find more trouble. What do you say? You wouldn't want to get detention and miss your tennis match, would you?" The boy was small in stature everywhere but on a tennis court, where he wielded a racket nearly as big as he was and confounded all comers.

Kenny shook his head and fell into step beside Lucien.

"I don't suppose your problem has anything to do with that bloke Tyneman?" Lucien said, not looking at Kenny but noticing that his steps faltered.

After a moment Kenny said softly, "Why does he hate me?"

Lucien stopped abruptly and crouched down to be at eye level with the smaller lad. "He doesn't hate you. Not really. You've done nothing wrong."

"Then why?"

"I don't know. Maybe he needs to feel stronger."

"What can I do?" asked Kenny, his eyes wide with apprehension. "Every morning…"

Lucien tapped him on the arm. "Today will be the last morning. Tomorrow you come and get me first thing, right? I'll see to Edward Tyneman. Now let's get to mass. We wouldn't want to miss Father's bloody boring sermon, would we?" He grinned, and Kenny returned it, both boys breaking into a run.

Lucien had found the trap door leading to the roof above Studley House the first week he'd been at school. Since then he had used it as a place of refuge whenever he needed to be away from the rowdy common room.

The sun was setting as he reread the letter from his father. No news from home, no word of the people he cared about, just a long criticism of Lucien's behavior. Lucien tried to dismiss it, but he couldn't help repeating the words over and over in his mind. Ruffian. Disrepute. Disgrace to the family. Embarrassment to his mother. That was the one that pained him the most.

Lucien shook his head fiercely. No. His mother would never have objected to him standing up for what was right.

He made his way to the far edge of the roof and reached up under the eaves. He couldn't help but smile at sight of the gold foil box. Opening it, he plucked out a piece of candy. He grimaced as he realized there were only a few left now. As he chewed the bon bon and thought about home, he couldn't help but wish his father had told him how Miss Nell was doing.

The candy dissolved slowly in his mouth, its sweetness recalling thoughts of his mother's kisses to his cheek. His fingers touched the place where her lips would convey her love as she bade him good night each evening. This was the time of day he missed her the most.

As the last traces of chocolate melted in his mouth, he returned the box to its hiding placed, stuffed the letter in his pocket and went back to down to the common room. His maths textbook was waiting.

The cricket match was a big deal, with the house cup in the balance. His mates gathered round him, but Lucien's attention was on the crowd of parents. He scanned the lot of them for the third time, even as he told himself his father wouldn't come. His patients needed him far more than his son did, at least in his father's eyes.

Lucien tamped down his disappointment. Instead, he turned his fierce concentration to winning for his mates. And, perhaps, for his mother.

The match proved to be one-sided, everyone showing particularly well, and Lucien had to keep himself from gloating when he watched Edward Tyneman slam his bat down in frustration. When it was ended, and the winner's cup firmly in the grip of Studley House, Lucien went over to shake hands with the losing side.

He tried not to smirk as he approached Edward, standing with his older brother Patrick, but he may not have been entirely successful.

"What do you want, Blake?" Edward demanded.

"Good match," said Lucien, thrusting out his hand.

Edward slapped it away. "Get lost, you sorry bugger."

Frowning, Patrick said, "Not very sporting, that, Edward. Shake the boy's hand."

Lucien thrust it out again, and Edward grabbed it roughly and pulled the younger boy up flush against him until they were chest to chest. "You're a boorish little blighter, and I'll see you thrown out of this school if it's the last thing I do. Your mother would be ashamed if she could see what a ruffian you are."

"Edward!" Patrick said sharply, nodding in the direction of one of the teachers, Mr. Stephens, who was close enough to hear every word.

Lucien was too angry to note that they had an audience. Extricating himself from Edward's grasp, he drew himself up to his full height, thrust out his jaw, and said coldly, "You have no right to speak of my mother. You didn't know her. My mother taught me to stand up for people who need help, like little chaps who are tormented by bullies like you."

Before he even saw the man approach, both he and Edward were being held by their collars in the grip of Mr. Stephens.

The teacher spoke to Patrick. "Mr. Tyneman, you are no longer a student here so I have no power to discipline you, but as you are a former pupil of this school I had hoped your behavior would be a little more ethical and compassionate. You disappoint me greatly. Now you'll excuse me while I deal with these two over whom I still wield a great deal of power."

Despite being dragged along, Lucien couldn't help but feel a trace of satisfaction at Patrick's angry scowl.

Once inside his office, Mr. Stephens dealt with Edward first, giving him a stern lecture and a week's detention, along with a promise that his parents would be apprised of his lack of character.

Then it was Lucien's turn. He stared down at his shoes until Mr. Stephens used a finger to lift up his chin.

"Tell me the truth now, is that what all these fights have been about? Mr. Tyneman has been bullying the younger boys?"

Lucien remained silent, as required by the code all schoolboys learned early on: no squealing.

Mr. Stephens seemed to understand it and took his silence for confirmation. "Why you, Blake? You're an excellent scholar and a fine athlete. Why risk all that?"

"If not me, who? No one else was willing. Those little ones were terrified, and school shouldn't be like that. They were learning all the wrong things."

"Yes, they were," Mr. Stephens said gently. "And what were you learning from this?"

Lucien considered that for a moment. "Just because someone has power, that doesn't mean they should be able to do what they want, with no regard for others. And if you see a wrong, you have to stand against it, no matter the cost."

"Well, then, I think you're learning the right things. But no more fighting, Mr. Blake. That won't solve anything."

Lucien agreed to stop, but deep in his heart he knew that the problem wasn't about to go away.

Over the next few days, Lucien enjoyed the peace but still felt guilty. Roddy and his other mates were telling him how much better off he was, following the rules, but he had a nagging suspicion that matters were yet to come to a head. It was all still going on, even if he was no longer a part of it.

His doubts led him to retreat to his place of refuge - the rooftop. He went over to the hiding place and pulled out the gold foil box. Only one piece of candy left now, the last tangible trace of his mother. He would save it until things became unbearable, until he really needed her comfort.

Before he could return the box to its hiding place, he heard the door open. He should have known he wouldn't be the only one to seek refuge here. The shadow of the eave concealed him as he turned toward the newcomer. It was little Kenny Rosemont.

Kenny didn't notice him, too intent on something else. The small boy marched directly to the edge of the roof and stared down at the ground far below. His eyes were wide, brimming with tears, but his mouth was set in determination.

Almost instantly, Lucien knew Kenny's intent. He slipped out of the shadows and approached slowly, his voice soft to avoid startling the younger boy.

"Kenny, it's Lucien. Luke. What's wrong, mate?"

The little boy shook his head furiously. "I hate it here."

Lucien gestured toward the precipice. "Maybe you could come away from there so we can talk," he suggested gently.

"Nothing much to say." Kenny did not move. His toes jutted out over the edge of the roofing tiles.

Lucien took a deep breath. "All right, I'll come to you then."

He inched his way forward, trying not to look down. "You want to tell me what happened?"

Again Kenny shook his head.

"Tyneman again?"

Kenny looked over at Lucien and moved his head in an almost imperceptible nod.

"Well, then, I think we need to figure out something to do about it." He glanced at the grass below. "Something that doesn't involve making an awful mess for the gardeners to clean up. What do you say we sit down and talk about it? I'll go first."

Slowly he eased himself down to a seated position, his knees hooked over the edge and his feet dangling. "Now you," he urged.

Kenny hesitated a moment then copied Lucien's movement.

"Do you want to tell me what he did?"

"No," said Kenny, his voice nearly a whisper.

"All right. Now then, we need a way for you to show him who's in charge. He's a big bloke, so fighting is out of the question, right?"

"I can't fight very well," Kenny admitted, "even if he was more my size."

"Right. If only there was something you were really, really good at…"

Kenny hesitated, never one to boast. "I'm quite good at tennis, Luke."

"Quite good? You're bloody brilliant at tennis."

Ducking his head shyly, Kenny began, "I don't see how…"

"The next time he comes at you, call him out. Challenge him to a tennis match. I've watched him, and he's a rubbish player. We'll make sure there's a big crowd to see it happen, too. After that, if he tries anything you can toss a tennis ball at him to remind everyone that he plays like a walrus on roller skates."

Kenny had to stifle a laugh.

"Humiliation is what bullies fear most. He'll want everyone to forget what you did to him. He'll leave you alone as long as you only bring it up when he's threatening you. You think you can do that?"

"I can do that."

"Good. Now what do you say we go back inside? The gardeners will be most grateful."

Both boys slid back away from the precipice and stood up. Lucien clapped a hand on Kenny's shoulder.

"Luke?"

"Hm?"

"How do you always…? I mean, everything seems easy for you."

"It isn't really. I have help," Lucien whispered. "A secret weapon. Would you like to see?"

Kenny nodded.

Lucien turned back to his hiding place and drew out the golden box. He opened it and held it out to Kenny. "This is from my mother, the kindest person I ever knew. Go ahead, take it."

"I can't. It's the last one. What will you do when you need help?"

Lucien smiled. "I don't need these any more. I know she'll always be here to help me. And right now you need it more."

With a glance at Lucien to make sure, Kenny took the piece of candy and slipped it into his pocket. "Luke?"

"Yes?" He returned the now-empty box to its hiding place.

"I think you're the kindest person I ever knew."

Lucien's smile grew wider. "Thank you, Kenny."

He hoped his mother was proud.

Epilogue

The tennis match didn't last long. Edward Tyneman ran all over the court, trying to chase down the shots from his wily opponent. He tried aiming powerful smashes directly at the much smaller boy, but Kenny sidestepped and returned each and every one. After losing the first set 6-1, Edward claimed he had turned an ankle and would not be able to continue, although he was sure he would have won if it weren't for the rotten luck of his injury.

He limped off the court, glaring all the while at Lucien Blake, who, he was sure, had made certain that half the school was in attendance to witness the debacle. Even Edward's friends were skeptical of his "bad luck" excuse.

From that point on, Kenny Rosemont seemed to be surrounded by other boys as he moved around the school grounds, He had become a celebrity of sorts, and Edward had no opportunity to exact revenge. He decided to avoid the younger boy altogether, thus avoiding the knowing smirks of those who had watched his humiliation.

Kenny went on to tennis stardom, winning tournaments around the world. Fans, opponents and the press always remarked on his unfailing kindness to all around him.

Edward's fate was much sadder. He joined the cadets and then the army, where his status as an officer allowed him to treat those below him with disdain. One dark night, he was shot to death during a training exercise. The shooter was never identified, as those in the know closed ranks to hide his identity. There was no shortage of suspects. Edward's surviving brother, Patrick, named his son after him.

Lucien also joined the cadets as soon as he was old enough. He was convinced that being a soldier would show his father he had become a man. He immediately excelled as a leader, but with no evidence that it would earn him the right to go home, he focussed more on his studies, planning to finish his schooling as quickly as possible. Only after he had earned a place at university in Edinburgh did he return to Ballarat. Even then he saw little of his father, who still seemed too busy to make time for him.

It was on his last day at home (he was to leave for uni the following day) that he went into town to say his good-byes once more. His mind was on how to resolve the situation with Monica Parker when he collided with a young girl in her early teens emerging from the dry goods store, her arms loaded down with packages that tumbled to the ground.

"I do beg your pardon," he said quickly. "Are you all right?"

The dark-haired girl with blue-green eyes looked up at him. "My fault, I'm sure. I should have looked before I opened the door."

He bent down to help her recover her parcels. "There you are, I think that's all of them. My, it's quite a load you have. Perhaps I could give you a lift somewhere? My father's car is just over there, Miss…."

"Randall. Jean."

"A pleasure to meet you, Miss Randall" he said, tipping his cap to her. "Now about that lift?"

She shook her head, her curls bouncing everywhere. "Thank you, that's very kind you, but I can manage," she assured him.

"I'm certain you can," he said, smiling. "Good day to you, then."

He walked on, not noticing that she watched after him. "Very kind…" she repeated, tucking her parcels away more securely as she headed home.