‘Quite a dilemma,’ someone murmured.
‘Indeed. But the solution proved to be his lordship’s downfall, as you shall hear. In the end, he reasoned the best way to punish the pair and ensure they were parted forever was to force the lad to whip Lady Anne sorely, so she would come to hate him. The Longton Quirt was therefore put into Thomas’s hand and Lady Anne was prepared to receive seven strokes of the whip from the man she loved most in all the world.’
‘Harsh,’ commented Sir Anthony.
‘But in the circumstances, quite justified, I am sure you will agree. For in those days, as to a lesser extent in our own times, a girl who lost her virtue was regarded as soiled goods and few men would look at her, let alone take her to wife. For the wretched father, this was a tragedy.’
There were murmurs of assent.
‘So picture the scene, if you will… the reluctant stable lad with the whip forced into his hand and the delectable buttocks of his erstwhile lover, Lady Anne, bared and thrust up before him. No doubt she was trembling, the tears coursing down her fair cheeks. Yet there seemed no escape from this terrible punishment. At a word from her father, who was near to tears himself, the young lad raised the whip and landed a half-hearted lash across his sweetheart’s bare bottom. The girl yelped, although the blow had not been as painful as she feared. But then her mother, who was even more incensed than her father by her daughter’s shame, commanded Thomas to put more strength into it.’
‘And did he?’ Reid queried lustfully.
‘Indeed he did, for there was no escape. Perhaps he reasoned the harder and faster he performed the dreaded deed, the sooner it would be over for both of them. He set up a fine rhythm of lashes, stinging the tender flesh of his beloved until her pretty posterior was covered with red stripes and the girl was gasping, moaning and panting in agony.’
‘Poor thing,’ one of the ladies commented mockingly.
‘After seven strokes were administered, Anne collapsed in a heap and her lover rushed forward. Impulsively, he cradled her in his arms as if afraid she might be dead, but when her eyes opened their expression was not at all one of hatred or disgust. Instead, she gazed on him even more adoringly than before, her eyes shining with the light of love. And in that instant the young man acted. He lifted her up and ran with her across the hall, kicking his way through the great oak door and sprinting back to the stables. Before anyone could catch up with them, the pair were on horseback and riding off into the night.’
A cheer broke out around the summerhouse and Sir Victor smiled. ‘Yes, my story has a happy ending. The pair fled abroad, and legend has it they lived a happy and contented life as man and wife. Lady Anne would only disobey her husband when she craved the feel of his hand upon her bottom or the stinging taste of the whip, which would lash her into a frenzy of longing and desire so strong she would reach the heights of ecstasy the instant he plunged into her. Alas for her poor father, however. He thought a whipping from her lover would make her hate him forever, but instead it had quite the opposite effect.’
‘And what of the Longton Quirt?’ one of the women asked.
‘It was never used again in the lifetime of that family, but kept strictly under lock and key. Strange superstitions grew up around it. Some said one taste of the whip was enough to make any woman fall for the man who wielded it. Others swore the whip had been rubbed with witch’s ointment, to make Lady Anne immune to its sting. And there was another curious tale suggesting the girl already had a taste for the whip, nurtured by the stable lad in their private revels. It is true whips were hanging on the walls of the stable where they made love, so that was certainly a possibility.’
‘A fascinating tale,’ Mr Reid murmured.
‘Well now, which of you young ladies will be next to confess your wicked ways?’ Sir Victor turned to the three women who remained standing, and they smiled and simpered at him, basking in his attention. ‘I know you all look as though butter would not melt in your pretty little mouths, but you have secret sins to share with us tonight, I am sure. Helena?’
A woman in a green dress, her dark-blonde hair caught up in a heavy bun, stepped forward and curtseyed to the assembly. ‘At your service, gentlemen.’
‘Mr Dawkins, as the only man of God present, will you take this lady’s confession?’
‘I shall be delighted.’ He looked around the room. ‘Let that screen be brought forward so I may listen unseen to Miss Helena’s sins as in the confessional.’
‘Splendid idea,’ Sir Victor declared.
Panicking, Hetty slipped from her stool and threw the turquoise cloth over her, crouching behind the easel to hide herself before the screen was moved, but her clumsy efforts were in vain. The cloth would not cover her skirt, try as she might to pull it down, and the easel tottered and clattered to the floor as she struggled with it. She looked up to see the screen being folded back, and the amazed face of Mr Dawkins staring down at her.
Chapter 11
When the cloth was whisked away and Hetty’s crouching form revealed, a gasp of collective astonishment filled the summerhouse. She bowed her head, trembling with shame and fear, but Sir Victor’s stentorian tones forced her to look up again, and the gloating look on his face as he wheeled his chair towards her was the worst thing of all.
‘Well, well, well, if it is not my dear son’s lovely wife.’ He sneered. ‘Gentlemen, I am sure some of you will remember little Miss Hetty?’
There was a murmur of assent.
‘Are you not going to invite her to join our revels?’ Sir Anthony asked.
Hetty caught her father-in-law’s eye, noting the lustful gleam in his dark irises and the lascivious curve of his thick lip beneath his moustache. The shadows cast by the flickering candles and oil lamps made his wart-covered face look mottled and pale and more repellent than ever.
‘Of course,’ Sir Victor replied. ‘You will join us now will you not, my dear? I am sorry I did not issue an invitation, but I naturally presumed you would be with your husband at this late hour.’
A snigger went around the room and Hetty’s blush deepened. She caught sight of Jane, whose hands were clasped in astonishment over her bosom, and remembered it was for her sake she had risked this humiliation. She could not leave her in the lurch now. ‘Y-yes, Sir Victor, thank you,’ she mumbled.
‘Then come and sit by Mr Reid on the couch while I think up some suitable entertainment for you.’
Hetty’s legs almost gave way beneath her as she made her way to the couch, where Mr Reid took her hand and kissed it as she sat down beside him. ‘So pleased to make your acquaintance again, Mrs Carstairs,’ he said mockingly.
‘Some port wine for our unexpected guest,’ Sir Victor ordered, looking at Jane.
The girl hurried to do his bidding, but as she approached the sofa holding the decanter and a full glass, Hetty saw that she was trembling and her heart went out to her. ‘I am here to help you, Jane,’ she whispered as she accepted the glass. ‘Do not be afraid.’ But Jane’s hand was trembling so much she dropped the heavy decanter and port wine spilled out across the floor.
‘Disgraceful!’ came Sir Victor’s instant condemnation. ‘The careless slut shall be punished for this!’
Hetty saw tears trickling down Jane’s cheeks and stood up indignantly. ‘The girl could not help it,’ she snapped. ‘She has been shocked and frightened by what she has witnessed here this evening and her nerves are wrecked. How dare you treat her as you used to treat me, as a sordid plaything in your disgusting games?’ She could almost hear her racing heart and felt her bosom heaving with emotion, yet she stood rooted to the spot, her head held high. It felt good to be speaking out as Jane’s champion.
‘Baines, get the girl,’ Sir Victor ordered, his tone one of barely controlled fury, and as the woman bore down on Jane he wheeled himself up beside the sofa. ‘As for you, Mrs Carstairs, it ill behoves you to criticise my behaviour when
you are living under my roof. Is this how you repay me, by spying on my private party and accusing me of ill-treating my servants?’
Hetty could see he was thoroughly enjoying the situation and felt sickened by his pleasure.
He wheeled around to face his guests, seeking their approval. ‘I think we shall have to think up some punishment for this pair of insubordinate hussies, what say you, gentlemen?’
‘Hear, hear!’ came the enthusiastic reply.
Hetty looked at Jane, who was weeping freely now, her arms pinned behind her by the formidable Nanny Baines. As usual, the woman’s face was blank as she asked, her tone perfectly neutral, ‘What would you like me to do, Sir Victor?’
‘If this were medieval days, we would give them a taste of the Longton Quirt.’ He stroked his chin thoughtfully. ‘Well, we shall do the next best thing. Fetch a couple of bridles from the cupboard, Helena.’
Smiling, the woman fetched the bridles and the reins from the collection in the cupboard, and then Sir Victor commanded Hetty and Jane to get down on all fours.
‘We shall not,’ Hetty protested, horrified by the idea of such public humiliation.
‘Oh yes you shall. Reid, Baines, lend a hand here. We will have this pair of wayward fillies put to work before they know it.’
To Hetty’s horror, she saw Baines push Jane to the floor and sit upon her while she accepted a bridle from Helena. At the same time she felt Reid’s strong arms grappling her to the floor, forcing her down by the shoulders until her knees gave way beneath her. A foul-tasting metal bit was thrust into her mouth, muffling her furious cries of protest, and the bridle was slipped over her head.
‘Now bare their hindquarters.’
She felt her skirt and petticoat being hitched up around her waist, and then her bloomers pulled down until her buttocks were exposed. She heard Jane sobbing and wished she were able to comfort her, but there was nothing she could say or do. The girl’s pert bottom was laid as bare as her own, and would soon no doubt receive the same punishment.
‘Excellent,’ she heard Sir Victor declare in the throaty tone of lust she remembered well. ‘Now give me the reins and the whip.’
In a horrid flash, Hetty guessed what his evil plan was – he intended to make her and Jane pull his wheelchair behind them. She glanced at her fellow victim. Jane was looking pale but dry-eyed now, staring vacuously straight ahead. She seemed to have entered another world, finding some private escape route into a remote and inviolate corner of her soul.
There was much manoeuvring of the wheelchair, and then she felt the odious man tugging at her reins, pulling on the bit in her mouth. She felt she was about to gag and tried to scream.
‘That is more like it,’ Sir Victor said gleefully. ‘I need good, strong-spirited creatures. Giddy up now, my pair of beauties. Giddy up!’
The crack of the whip made Hetty quail as she felt its sharp sting first on her right buttock and then her left. It had the desired effect on her, however, as well as on Jane, making them want to get away from the pain and hence forcing them to crawl forward on all fours with the heavy weight of the wheelchair beginning to move behind them.
‘Clear a path,’ Sir Victor cried, evidently enjoying himself immensely. ‘Tally-ho!’
Hetty and Jane pulled their laden chariot awkwardly at first, until they found their rhythm, and then the wheels rolled smoothly as the pair of human ponies moved in unison, travelling at a steady pace. It was rough work. After the first tour of the room Hetty’s knees began to burn and her thighs ached from the constant strain. She could tell Jane was also growing fatigued, and out of consideration she slowed the pace, managing to murmur around the bit, ‘Easy does it…’
‘Faster, you lazy bitches!’ Sir Victor gave them each another brisk taste of the whip. ‘That will teach you to slacken on the job!’ Hetty squealed, but the brutal charioteer merely guffawed as Jane began sobbing again.
And their ordeal was to be prolonged. As they passed the cheering group of men the second time their sore buttocks were slapped and pinched mercilessly, adding insult to injury. They did at least escape the whip for a while, but when they were approaching the third circuit, Sir Victor decided he would prefer to travel at a gallop.
‘Baines, bare the breasts of my fillies and adjust the harness,’ he commanded.
How Hetty despised the woman as her beefy hands opened her blouse and camisole, and then roughly pulled her breasts out into full view. The nurse treated her delicate flesh as if they were a couple of bread rolls in need of a good kneading, tugging at the nipples to force them between the straps of the harness, and with the leather cutting into her and the reins digging into her armpits, she felt most uncomfortable, indeed. She glanced at Jane, now similarly harnessed, and even as she sympathised with her plight, she felt a strange stab of desire as her eyes fell on the girl’s pale and lovely breasts, their outline distorted by the leather straps so they appeared even more plump and taut, crested with stiff pink peaks.
They were helped to stand, and after some final adjustments were made to the harness by the impatient fingers of Nanny Baines, Sir Victor bade them pick up their feet like prize fillies in the show ring and forced them to gallop as fast as they could around the room. He administered light touches of the whip upon their naked bottoms, making them jump even higher and run even faster. The wheelchair was drawn around the summerhouse at a breakneck pace, with the men and women cheering it on.
Despite herself, Hetty felt strangely exhilarated as she pranced along at Jane’s side. They glanced at each other occasionally, and she could see the same perverse and unwilling excitement reflected in her companion’s eyes as they puffed and panted, running at top speed over the floor, dodging chairs and tables as they went.
‘Yoiks!’ Sir Victor cried triumphantly. ‘Tally-ho!’
Then Jane stumbled and fell, and as she lay panting on the floor it was obvious she was suffering from extreme exhaustion. Her bosom was heaving, her breaths coming in short gasps.
‘She is slightly winded, that is all,’ Sir Victor decided. ‘A moment to recover, then off we go again. Tally ho!’
But Jane would not, could not, rise again, and when his command went unheeded, Sir Victor used the whip on her, but that only made her curl in on herself. Hetty yelled around the bit, outraged.
‘The bitch is slacking,’ came the unpleasant voice of Nanny Baines from just behind them. ‘Shall I give her a slap for malingering?’ The woman did not wait for her master’s reply, but delivered a stinging blow across Jane’s unprotected bottom. A high-pitched wail emanated from the girl that sounded more animal than human, and Hetty realised Jane was at the end of her tether. She struggled desperately with her own harness, and managing to work her way out of it, she quickly began undoing her friend’s bonds. Nanny Baines tried to stop her, her grip as strong as a man’s, and Hetty felt herself weakening, but fired by indignation she bent over and bit the woman’s forearm.
‘Cripes!’ Baines gasped. ‘The cow bit me! Give me the whip, master, and I will show the little whore what for.’
But Hetty was too quick for her. While Baines turned to take the whip she finished releasing Jane, and grabbing her hand, pulled the lethargic girl to her feet and made for the door with her. The male spectators were enjoying the drama, mostly lying at their ease with a moll to hand, and none of them reacted in time as the pair of fillies made their escape, opening the door and running out into the night.
The exhilaration Hetty felt whilst galloping in harness with Jane was nothing to what she experienced now as the cold night air filled her lungs and wafted against her face, cooling her perspiring body and clearing her head. ‘Quick, we must make a dash for it,’ she urged, afraid her companion would not be able to manage the trip back to the kitchen garden.
‘I am fine, Hetty, do not worry about me.’
They let go of each other’s hands as behind the
m trailed the irate cries of men cheated of their entertainment and the hope of further sport. Hetty’s eyes were fixed on the dark silhouette of the brick wall surrounding the kitchen garden and the dark house looming beyond it, for surely no one would dare follow them there. Yet as she glanced back over her shoulder she saw the loping figure of Nanny Baines in hot pursuit. ‘Baines is after us,’ she gasped. ‘Can you run any faster, Jane?’
The girl moaned. ‘I’ve a terrible stitch in my side…’
There were still a good hundred yards to go, and as Hetty looked back fearfully she could see the nurse gaining on them. ‘Just get yourself through the gate into the kitchen garden, Jane,’ she said, a plan forming in her mind. ‘Then you can rest. It is not so far now. Be strong.’
They both staggered across the grass for the last few yards, and Hetty clung to the handle of the wooden gate for a few seconds to catch her breath. She prayed the gate would not be locked, it seldom was, and their luck held. After pushing Jane inside the garden she looked around at the neat plots for some stick or tool she might use against the avenging nanny. Her eye alighted on a spade thrust into the soil and she hurried to pull it out.
‘What will you do?’ Jane asked, terrified.
‘Do not fret, I shall not kill the beast,’ she responded briskly, taking up her position to one side of the entrance. She could hear Baines panting as she approached the garden, and held the spade so the handle formed a hurdle just inside the gate.
Hetty heard Jane gasp in fear as the woman opened the gate and barged straight in. She did not see the spade handle and promptly tripped over the obstruction as Hetty had intended her to, falling heavily to the ground with her legs splayed. Quick as a flash, Hetty dropped the spade and sat between the woman’s broad shoulders facing her feet. She pulled up the thick serge skirt to reveal a pair of pink flannel bloomers, and she promptly pulled these down to expose the great pale moons of the woman’s bottom like a doubled reflection of the real moon above them. ‘Jane, grab the whip!’ she commanded, and Jane picked it up from where it had landed after flying out of the nurse’s grasp. ‘Now give her bottom a good whipping. Do it, Jane.’
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