On the Bare

by Fiona Locke

  Finally, when it seemed like it would never end, the whirring of the machine tapered off. The only sounds were our pathetic sniffles and choking sobs. My bottom pulsed with intense terrible heat and I had never felt sorrier in my life. I was determined never to be sent here again, determined to be a model employee from now on. I wouldn’t steal so much as a pencil from the supplies cupboard again. Mr Northcote wouldn’t recognise the new me.

  Released from our bonds, we walked stiffly back to the room where our clothes sat neatly folded in their pigeonholes, their tidiness seeming to mock the indignity we’d just suffered.

  But it was deserved, I reminded myself.

  Dr Maxwell addressed us in a slightly less abrupt tone now that it was over. ‘There remains one last requirement. You must each write a brief summary of what you have learnt from the session and the ways in which your behaviour will improve as a result. The Registrar will take this into account in assessing future performance reports.’

  We stood around a tall table of the kind you find in banks while he gave each of us an official form. Hilary started at once, scrawling what looked like a lengthy confession of everything she’d ever done wrong. Felicia wrote one neat sentence and I could see the words confidentiality and clients as I peered sidelong at what she had written. I didn’t know what to write. It seemed such a schoolgirlish imposition – ‘How I Was Punished for Being a Bad Girl’ by Natalie Parrish.

  Finally, I just put pen to paper and let it flow. I am most dreadfully sorry for my dishonesty. I promise that I will never take money from the petty cash again.

  When we’d all finished, Dr Maxwell took our summaries and told us we could get dressed. No one said a word as we did, hissing and wincing with pain as we eased our knickers up over our sore bottoms. We avoided looking at one another until the receptionist came to escort us out again. Alex met my eyes one last time and the ghost of a smile crossed her features. I mirrored her expression, but she turned away before I could say goodbye.

  Two days later, I arrived home to find a letter on my doormat. I felt the colour drain from my face as I tore it open.

  Dear Miss Parrish,

  I have just finished reviewing the Improvement Undertakings given by Candidates at the Cautionary Improvement session on 17th March. I was most disturbed to read your confession of theft. I am afraid that I must require you to attend the Discipline Centre once again at 1.00 pm on Saturday 31st March.

  I have referred this matter to the Youth Court, which will determine the level of Correction to be administered. However, you should be aware that this is a considerably more serious matter than your original referral, which according to my records was for general disrespect to your office manager. It is usual for the level of Correction to be upgraded from Cautionary to Salutary for a second visit, but after reviewing your records I have concluded that you would benefit from a further upgrade. I shall therefore be recommending you for Exemplary Correction.

  Yours sincerely,

  Winston Graham

  Improvement Registrar

  Kissing the Gunner’s Daughter

  ‘REPORTING FOR DUTY, sir,’ Emily said, touching the brim of her cocked hat.

  Sebastian gaped at her.

  She stood stiffly to attention, keeping her eyes front as her twin brother circled her, scrutinising her. The Royal Navy uniform was a perfect fit. The bumfreezer jacket and buff waistcoat hid her feminine curves well. Below the stiff turnback collar, her dainty neck was disguised by the black stock and white shirt-frill. Not even the tight white breeches betrayed her true sex.

  Her dark hair was pulled back away from her face and tied with a velvet ribbon. But the bicorn hat would draw the eye away from her delicate facial features. And Emily knew that life at sea would harden her. She could never pass for a grown man, of course. But in Sebastian’s uniform she looked every inch a midshipman in His Majesty’s navy. A young gentleman in training to become an officer.

  Sebastian Vane had no stomach for adventure, despite their father’s ambition that he command a King’s ship one day. Conversely, Emily deeply resented the thought of being sent to finishing school while her brother fought glorious battles against the French. At eighteen, she was a burden on their father, as she had no intention of marrying. She refused to condemn herself to a life of domestic duty, and she skilfully alienated every potential suitor her father chose for her.

  ‘Will I pass?’ she asked, pitching her voice a little lower.

  Unable to speak, Sebastian simply nodded his head in admiration. ‘I think you just might.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Emily turned to regard herself in the cheval mirror. She and her brother might be satisfied with her appearance, but it was Lieutenant Trevelyan she must convince.

  She was nervous, but she did her best to conceal it from Sebastian, lest he change his mind. The twins had traded places before and no one had known the difference. But this time there was no going back.

  Lieutenant Trevelyan was the son of a post captain who had known the Vane family for years. The twins’ father, a prominent Member of Parliament, had prevailed upon the captain to get Sebastian a midshipman’s place aboard HMS Nemesis. He thought some time in the navy was just what the lad needed.

  The redoubtable young lieutenant had dined with the Vanes many times and Emily always pleaded with him to share his stories about life at sea. Trevelyan naturally assumed she wanted to hear about brave victories and he indulged her with accounts of capturing French and Spanish prize ships.

  She listened politely; however, her interests were a little less romantic. And when Trevelyan happened onto the topic of naval discipline her heart gave a little leap. She found it remarkable that the men subject to such harsh punishments did not resent it. But Trevelyan assured her that it was necessary for maintaining order on board a ship. The men would sneer at a captain who was lax in his discipline and think him soft. The cat-o’-nine-tails wasn’t used indiscriminately, but it was used often. However, that was a punishment only for common seamen. Midshipmen were treated differently.

  Sebastian dreaded any talk about his impending naval career, but Emily couldn’t get enough. She loved hearing about the midshipmen most of all.

  The ‘young gentlemen’ were not put to the lash. Instead they were punished with a rattan cane. Trevelyan told them once about a young gentleman who had failed to batten the hatch to the powder magazine properly. This was a serious oversight and Trevelyan ordered him below deck and sent for the bosun. The lad was bent over a cannon and caned severely across the seat of his breeches, which offered scant protection. The position was known as ‘kissing the gunner’s daughter’. The image had been indelibly imprinted in Emily’s mind.

  ‘He was most attentive to his duties after that,’ Trevelyan said with a meaningful glance at Sebastian.

  The boy looked forlornly at his untouched dinner.

  Emily pressed her thighs together.

  Another evening Emily had the lieutenant to herself in the library. As usual, she insisted on stories and he obliged. She had to rein in her fascination as she teased out the details and nuances that intrigued her, grateful that her brother had gone to bed.

  Occasionally an even more severe punishment than caning was ordered. Then the miscreant’s hands would be tied together underneath the barrel of the cannon and he would be flogged on the bare bottom with the boy’s cat, a smaller cat-o’-nine-tails made of whipcord. Trevelyan explained that the miscreant was required to make his own cat, which the first lieutenant inspected personally.

  His authoritarian voice made Emily squirm with secret delight as she pictured herself in the place of the unfortunate who had displeased him. And late at night, alone in her bed, Emily replayed her fantasies while her fingers strayed inside her nightdress. It was the stern face of Lieutenant Trevelyan she saw when her body writhed and bucked in guilty pleasure.

  Her punishment fantasies centred around Trevelyan disciplining her as a boy. But sometimes her struggles caused her to rev
eal her feminine charms to him. He never broke stride; with a rakish grin he told her he’d known she was a young woman all along. Then he took her to his cabin and had his wicked way with her.

  But this was no longer merely fantasy. What would he do if he did discover her true sex? A man who impersonated an officer would be hanged from the yardarm. But there was nothing in the Articles of War about punishments for ladies. The lieutenant would have to devise his own.

  Emily gazed at the midshipman in the mirror. She cut a dashing figure in the uniform and looked quite a handsome lad, if a little soft. That would not earn her any lenience from Trevelyan, though. It was that very softness he was charged with reforming.

  Closing her eyes, Emily forgot her brother’s presence as she indulged her favourite fantasy.

  In her mind she faced Lieutenant Trevelyan nervously as he delivered a scathing reprimand about her misconduct. He stood before her, an imposing figure in his long frock coat and fore-and-aft hat. Though she knew it was the boatswain who administered punishments, Emily liked to imagine the lieutenant caning her himself. Perhaps her misbehaviour would be such that only an officer was qualified to address it.

  ‘The Navy, Mr Vane, is founded on discipline.’

  Emily flinched as he showed her the cane and tapped the cannon with it.

  ‘You know the position, boy.’

  Trembling, Emily bent over the cannon. Trevelyan slowly unfastened her breeches and peeled them down, exposing the quivering pale flesh of her bottom. She knew that the other midshipmen would hear the cuts of the cane up on deck, but she would not give them the satisfaction of hearing her cry out.

  She held her breath as Trevelyan raised the cane …

  ‘Emily?’

  At the sound of her brother’s voice she shook herself out of her reverie, flushing deeply. ‘Sorry,’ she murmured. ‘I was just thinking of the lieutenant.’

  Sebastian made a face. He couldn’t understand her lust for adventure at all. The prospect of going to sea with Trevelyan terrified him. But their father would not be persuaded against it. It would make a man of him.

  Suddenly Sebastian bit his lip. ‘I don’t know, Em,’ he said. ‘Someone is bound to find out.’

  Emily met her brother’s eye with confidence. ‘Why should they? I’ll be careful.’

  ‘I couldn’t bear the disgrace if we were discovered. Father would die.’

  ‘You mustn’t worry.’

  A light breeze stirred the curtains, bringing with it the sound of an approaching carriage.

  The twins froze, listening. Sure enough, the horses’ hooves stopped just outside.

  ‘He’s here,’ Sebastian whispered, apprehensive.

  A delicious shudder ran through Emily, tickling her like tiny feet scurrying over her skin. ‘Come, Sebastian. We don’t have much time.’

  She snatched her chemise and corset from the bed and helped Sebastian into them. He gasped as she pulled the laces of the corset tight. Emily smiled. There was some satisfaction to be had in inflicting the torments of feminine undergarments on a male. Tomorrow he’d have to fasten the stays himself.

  The twins had been rehearsing for weeks, and Sebastian’s slight frame wore his sister’s clothes well. His transformation was even more striking than Emily’s. He was lost inside the heavy brocade gown and bonnet.

  ‘Take a look,’ she said, gesturing at the mirror.

  Sebastian crossed the room in three awkward boyish strides.

  ‘You haven’t been practising,’ Emily lamented. ‘You must remember to walk as I showed you. Take small steps. Everyone waits for a lady.’

  He nodded, swallowing nervously.

  ‘Now show me your curtsey.’

  He managed a clumsy plié.

  ‘I expect it will have to do,’ she said with a sigh. ‘But you must work on it.’

  Sebastian nodded. ‘And you must remember to stand with your feet apart. Let your elbows go. Don’t be graceful.’ He examined her hands doubtfully. ‘And get these dirty as soon as possible. They’re far too ladylike.’

  Emily’s stomach fluttered in a sudden frisson of fear. There were so many ways she could slip up. Then what would she do? Throw herself on the mercy of the captain?

  ‘It’s best if you don’t come down,’ she said. ‘I’ve been brooding all week about Father sending you to sea, so he won’t be expecting to see me. Just stay up here – as me – and mope in my room. Refuse to go down tomorrow as well. Stay here sulking and practise being me.’

  Sebastian laughed. ‘We’re both mad, you realise. Absolutely mad.’

  ‘Ah, yes, but it’s the adventure of a lifetime! Just imagine if I should pass the examination for lieutenant!’

  ‘You could be a captain one day.’

  ‘Or an admiral!’

  ‘And what shall I do?’ Sebastian mused. ‘Make up with one of your spurned suitors and marry?’ He batted his eyes coquettishly and they dissolved into laughter. But a sombre mood soon descended. This was the last time they would see each other for a long time.

  ‘Just mind you don’t find yourself on the wrong side of the lieutenant,’ Sebastian warned, his face pale. ‘He won’t brook any weakness.’

  Emily blushed and looked down at her shoes. The candlelight shone on the gleaming buckles. Her strange obsession with discipline was the one thing she’d been unable to confide in her brother. Rather than confessing that the prospect thrilled her, she feigned nonchalance. ‘Oh, he doesn’t frighten me,’ she said with a plucky grin.

  Suddenly, they heard their father, calling for Sebastian.

  Sebastian straightened Emily’s hat and dusted down her coat. After one last look he handed her his books and sextant. ‘Good luck, Em,’ he said. ‘I shall miss you.’

  ‘And I shall miss you.’ Tears threatened to well in her eyes and she blinked them back. It wouldn’t do for a future captain of Nelson’s navy to be seen weeping like a girl.

  ‘Will you write to me?’ Sebastian asked.

  Emily drew herself up proudly. ‘Of course.’ She took his hand and kissed it, giving a little bow. ‘My sweet sister.’

  Then with a final glance in the mirror, she hurried off to meet her fate.

  * * *

  Emily had studied the books with diligence – Norie’s Epitome of Navigation and Clarke’s Complete Handbook of Seamanship. She was familiar with much that a midshipman was meant to know, in theory, at least. But she was completely unprepared for the bewildering reality of it all. She marvelled at the array of rigging towering above her. Everywhere there was frantic activity that would seem like chaos to an outsider. Orders were bellowed from one end of the ship to the other. Men scrambled up and down the ratlines without so much as a downward glance. She watched as the hands aloft loosed the headsails and topsails and got the ship under way.

  She could barely contain her excitement as the Nemesis left land behind and headed out into the ocean. But the unceasing corkscrew roll of the frigate soon took its toll on some of the new midshipmen, who staggered about with ashen faces while the seasoned crew looked smug. Emily was glad she was not alone in that particular misery. And most of the lads seemed to be suffering worse than she was.

  In the days that followed, Emily often caught sight of Lieutenant Trevelyan, but he paid her no mind. She watched him whenever she could, straining to hear his voice. He issued orders with a natural authority that made her legs weak. Men touched their forelocks to him and scurried off to do his bidding. The dampness between her legs could easily make her forget she was supposed to be a boy.

  Trevelyan stood on the quarterdeck with his feet well apart and his hands clasped behind his back. Emily was still learning to balance on the pitching ship, but the lieutenant stood as solid as the mainmast. She longed for an excuse to approach him, to speak to him, if only to impart some trivial bit of information and await his orders.

  ‘You, boy!’

  She jumped.

  It was Wagstaffe, the oldest inhabitant of the midshipmen’
s berth. At twenty-five, his chances of making lieutenant were slipping away, and it did not improve his temper.

  It took a few moments for Emily to realise he was addressing her.

  ‘The master wants to know why you aren’t at lessons with the rest of us.’

  ‘I couldn’t find my way, sir,’ she mumbled, lowering her head. She regretted her show of submission instantly. Sebastian had instructed her to make eye contact.

  ‘Lost, are you, snotty?’ he sneered.

  Emily had never before been spoken to in such a manner and she had no idea how she was meant to respond. That was one thing Clarke’s Seamanship couldn’t tell her. But she screwed up her pluck, raised her head and pushed past him. ‘Beg pardon, sir,’ she said gruffly.

  Behind her she heard him laugh. Her face burned. She was annoyed with herself. Any show of weakness would make her a victim among her shipmates. She had to be more assertive.

  When she eventually found the others and took a seat the sailing master glowered at her. Then he called on her to tell him the equation relating the leeway to the trim of the sails. He let her flounder with tangents and cotangents for nearly a minute before silencing her disgustedly. Blake, a younger midshipman, was only too happy to supply the correct answer, smiling loftily at the unfortunate Mr Vane.

  She glared back at him and was immensely pleased with herself when Blake looked away, abashed.

  But her triumph was short-lived. The next day the master berated her for miscalculating the ship’s latitude. Most of the others got it wrong too, but she was already in his bad books from the day before. Emily loathed the tedious lessons. Navigation was going to be her downfall, she was certain. And the endless hours of inactivity dampened her spirits. When would they get to fight?

  The morning’s lesson was finally over and Emily was relieved to be left alone to study. She peered out over the waves, squinting through the eyepiece of her sextant. She found the sun in the half-silvered mirror and slid the index arm round carefully until the image was superimposed on the horizon. Clamping the sextant, she read the angle off the scale. Simple enough. It was the calculations that defeated her. Sebastian had warned her that her mathematical skills would need improving, but sines and cosines were not her strong point. She had been so impetuous about the enterprise that she simply hadn’t given trigonometry much thought.