At the end of my fortnight of furtive observations a splendid opportunity presented itself that would allow my investigation to move forward into its second phase. One of the two maids, after a substantial uproar perceived by not only my ears, but also that of the neighbors, took leave of her employment. Anticipating that the mistress Lady Barnet would instruct Mrs. Davenport to seek an immediate replacement I availed myself to her on the following morn.
Dressed in a most common gray frock without any stockings or petticoat and carrying only a small valise made from a scrap of carpet containing the merest of personal items I presented myself by knocking on the front door. The woman dressed in a black frock answering the door was known to me to be Mrs. Davenport, but to establish my position of ignorance, I feinted no knowledge of her when I said, “Madam, I am pleased to introduce myself as Margaret Brown and I have been directed here at the bequest of either yourself, or perhaps your mistress, from the public workhouse to plead for the position of household maid that has recently become available.”
My ruse was to present myself as having been released from the women debtors’ prison and recently living in the workhouse attached to the Westminster House of Correction, which was only a short distance down Victoria Street. I intended to pretend to have arrived at Barnet House at the direction of someone within the household. If Mrs. Davenport assumed that Countess Barnet had made the request while likewise her ladyship assumed it had originated from Mrs. Davenport, then my ruse would work so long as they never spoke of it to each other.
I had used a similar ruse to gain entry into the home of a jewel thief during my last case, though that time I was applying for the position of personal secretary for his wife and therefore I had presented myself with more fashionable attire. However, I expected that my current dress would be the correct costume for an entry level maid. Having been of upper class birth, I knew of the existence of the workhouses though I had little knowledge of what transpired within them; however, I reasoned that this would be an appropriate ruse explaining my origin. In England the workhouses were places where those unable to support themselves found room, board and some meager employment. As those thusly employed gained marketable skills, they were assisted in their return to self-sufficiency. Life was intentionally harsh to discourage the able-bodied from remaining longer than necessary. I was yet to learn exactly how harsh the treatment of young women must have been.
Mrs. Davenport’s long, icy stare instantly gave me cause to suspect that my ruse had failed. The woman was, from my diminutive perspective of five feet and three inches, mountainous. She was at least five feet and nine inches tall with broad shoulders and hips. She was definitely not fat, as every ounce of her thick arms appeared to be muscle. Her fifty year old black and gray hair was pulled back in a tight bun behind her head. With no hint of poetry or feeling, her quick, dark brown eyes penetrated to my soul.
First, her barrel chest heaved, straining her breasts against their stays and then Mrs. Davenport finally spoke with firmness, “The public workhouse. You are from the public workhouse?” She squished the last word out as though it were hell itself. Without allowing me the opportunity to again state this ruse as fact, she continued, “And you have the gall to stand here on the front porch of a noble house for the entire city to observe?” Now she paused to allow the daggers from her stare to penetrate my confidence.
Taking a shallow breath I began again, “Madam, please forgive your humble servant as I intended no disrespect for the household or to besmirch the title of her ladyship, but from a position on the street I observed no other means to bring myself to your attention.”
With the quickness of a snake, her hand reached across the threshold and gripped my elbow as though it were in a vice. “Has the workhouse fallen into such disgrace as to fail to identify the existence of the alley doorway as the proper place of entry for a skank?” Again she did not afford me the opportunity to respond, which was for the better, as I had no response. The alley access to the house had indeed not crossed my mind. “Well, urchin, you have my attention now and it is not the sort that you will perceive as favorable.” In one moment I assumed that I had lost the opportunity for employment and in the next moment her retracting arm dragged me across the threshold and into the house. Inside the foyer with its marbled tiles and gleaming oak panels she pointing to a chair positioned such that one might comfortably await the arrival of a carriage. With the gruffest tone imaginable, she growled, “Assume the position!”
Her presentation of a chair created the immediate expectation that I was to sit and wait for an interview by the Lady Barnet herself. The presumed ‘position’ was to sit in the chair. However, the oddest phrasing of her command combined with her angry tone caused me to stand motionless and ponder what she might actually expect of me. Further confusion was created when she withdrew a small instrument from a pocket sewn into her apron. Made of dark wooden material about half an inch thick, it was of an oval shape nearly the size of my hand with its fingers fully spread. One end extended into a narrow handle, which she now gripped.
“You may be a slow witted tart, but I know with certainty that the workhouse would have provided ample education for this task. Now present yourself appropriately!”
Clearly I should have spent more time studying the operation of the public workhouse, as I was on the cusp of betraying my ploy within the first minute because I had no idea what task I was to perform regarding the chair and what presentation she required. Fate again intervened to my favor, or so it seemed for the moment, as her patience with my ineptitude instantly expired. Spinning me to face the chair, her hand that gripped the unidentified instrument also now attached itself to the waist of my frock, while her free hand grasped its collar. When she thrust me forward, I fell across the arm of the chair such that my face was forced into its seat cushion. As she pressed her formidable weight into the center of my back with one hand, her other hand unceremoniously lifted my frock’s hem to expose my drawers. In keeping with my disguise as a poor woman, I had worn no petticoats or stockings; however, I did not expect to be thusly exposed so I did wear my thin cotton drawers.
Only a score of years ago few women wore anything under their frocks, however with these modern times, men’s drawers worn backwards – with the opening toward the backside to facilitate the use of the chamber pot – were worn by about half of the London women. While not unusual, these drawers were a symbol of a woman with some means and thus not in keeping with my costume of a poor woman. However, the sight of mine did not appear to cause suspicion of my ruse in Mrs. Davenport, as her mind was focused upon her next task.
As the humiliation of my position began to consume me, the true purpose of the wooden instrument was revealed as she used it to firmly smack my derrière.
“EEOWW!”
She continued to repetitively perform this assault without regard to my ardent struggles and shrieks.
“Madam…”
Pausing for a breath she snarled, “Idiot tart, you act as though you have never been paddled before.” This was the true explanation for my behavior, as I now understood the wooden instrument to be the paddle, about which I had heard much, but never experienced in school or from the hand of my father. “If you chose to awaken the whole house you will earn yourself double for the effort. Now be quiet and hold still so that your punishment can begin.” Begin? What could the purpose of the previous ten smacks on my backside have been?
Cemented in my conviction to complete my assigned investigation of Countess Barnet’s finances and gain the favor of Captain Stuart, I shut my mouth and pressed my feet into the rug. Completely ignorant of what was about to happen, I clenched my teeth to hold my tongue silent and willed my legs to remain motionless as I waited for the punishment to begin. Mrs. Davenport did not resume her paddling of my fanny. She did do the most astonishing thing. She pulled free the ribbon that held the two halves of my drawers closed and exposed my bare bottom to the cool morning air. It was at that moment t
hat I realized that the front door behind me was still open!
Instantly I was convinced that there was no point in continuing my ruse; I would just have to find another method of determining the nature of Lady Barnet’s affairs. It was at the moment that I sucked in a breath of air with the intention of announcing to her my true position as a detective for the city of London, when the paddle again found its purpose and SMACKED with the full force of Mrs. Davenport’s massive arm against my softest of skin surfaces. The air within my lungs did not expel to form words, but rather, a sharp scream burst forth as the burning pain irradiated from my tender bare bottom to consume my entire being.
“Now you’ve gone and done it, you foolish moron.”
As I have been instantly transformed into a blubbering, incoherent crying child, I cared little what this statement might mean. Exactly what I had done was not clear, nor was it of any interest to me as the paddle’s flaming smacks now repeated too rapidly to endure. In a mere moment I was bawling my eyes out, pleading for mercy, although I’m sure no words were intelligible with my face pressed hard into the chair seat’s fabric. And then she stopped.
“What?” she asked, but it immediately became clear that she was not speaking to me. “What did you say, Mr. Cambridge?”
The manservant had joined us in the foyer. A man was standing behind me with my bare bottom exposed! Never had any male, with the exception of my personal physician, seen my nude flesh! And now this complete stranger was being afforded the view of my most secret places. I would have hidden my face in utter shame were it not for the fact that my face was already pressed into the chair seat under the weight of Mrs. Davenport. I could not see him nor could I hear any more of their verbal exchange, but momentarily Mrs. Davenport’s grasp upon me released. I lifted my tear soaked face and sucked in a full measure of air, fully anticipating a hasty escape out the door and away from this hell. However, before I could lift myself from the chair, Mrs. Davenport closed the door and her massive frame blocked any possible access to it. Grasping a handful of my brown hair she said, “We will have to finish this later. Get up, skank, and fix yourself.”
She released me. I stood and reaching behind my back I retied the ribbon to close my drawers and then smoothed down the fabric of my frock to regain as much of the appearance I had presented before the punishment as possible. Using my sleeve I began to wipe the tears streaming down my face. Mr. Cambridge had already turned and was at this moment walking away. She gripped my chin and pulled my face close and as her bountiful breasts pressed into my shoulders she said, “I am Mrs. Davenport and I run this house. I am in charge and you serve ME. Is that understood?”
“Yes ma’am,” I managed to articulate between my still spasming sobs. Difficult as the interview had been, I appeared to have gained the sought after employment required to complete my mission. I didn’t see how I could possibly have known of the hazard my approach presented, but I knew that Captain Stuart would find my actions to be unacceptable if he were to learn of the vicious paddling I had received.
Or, perhaps he would not disapprove of the paddling at all. He said I needed ‘discipline’ when he last chastised me. Could he have been thinking of spanking me himself?
“And you have already learned what it means to perform your tasks poorly,” Mrs. Davenport continued with my initiation to the household.
“Yes ma’am.”
“You will be back in the workhouse before the sun sets if I have cause to correct you again.” Her snarl could possibly have been morphing into a sadistic grin.
“Yes ma’am.”
“What is your name again?”
“Margaret Brown, ma’am.” Clarity of my voice was finally returning, but the burning in my rear was just beginning.
“Here in this household you will be called Marge.”
“Yes ma’am.”
She led me to a large tapestry, which, when pulled aside, revealed a hidden stairway leading to the servant’s floor below the house. She showed me the room I was to share with the other maid, Lucy, who eyed me with contempt.
“Marge, you say?” she asked when we were alone.
“Yes.”
“That was you howling just now?” She made no attempt to choke back a giggle.
“Yes,” I repeated as I reached back to try and rub some of the sting from my fanny.
“That’s your bed.” She pointed to a bare mattress on a metal rail frame. “Just drop your stuff for now as we must be hurrying along.”
Lucy introduced me to the household cook, Mrs. Johnson who was very pleasant.
“Welcome, dearie,” she said with a warm smile. The title ‘missus’ used for her and Mrs. Davenport was not to imply that either woman was married, but rather to identify these women as class level above my lowly self. I was addressed by only an abbreviated form of my given name as a sign that I was at the absolute bottom of the household class scale.
Mrs. Davenport returned, giving me an apron, a dusting cloth, a bucket of hot soapy water and a brush. She led me back upstairs and into the drawing room. “Have this room cleaned before the midday meal,” she commanded and gave me another SMACK on my still glowing bottom, though this was more for a sound effect than pain, as the material of my frock and drawers dampened the blow. “We will discuss what to do with your insolence later,” she hinted at more punishment to follow.
The cleaning tasks were also unfamiliar to me. Growing up in my father’s house we always had one or two maids and even now I employed a maid to clean my flat each Tuesday. I had not practiced exactly what I would do once I achieved the employment as a maid. It had always been my conjecture that the maids were basically lazy and did little work. Thus with no direct knowledge of what to do, I began to mimic what I had seen of our maids’ performance when they did actually appear to work.
I had immediate misgivings about my approach to complete this assignment. Knowing Captain Stuart’s cautions, I thought long and hard about abandoning this ruse. I had not yet met Lady Barnet, therefore there was still an opportunity to run away and wait for another opportunity to meet her. I would have to adopt some other disguise as I might once again be observed by Mrs. Davenport, but another approach was still possible. On the other hand, perhaps the worst was over and, if from this point forward I satisfied Mrs. Davenport, there would be no more beatings. Therefore, the most expedient path to achieving success and Captain Stuart’s approval appeared to be a continuation of the pathway I was upon.
Captain Stuart can never know of what has happened.
I began dusting the figurines on a small table although my mind continued to wander back to the spanking I had just received – my first ever spanking. The man, Mr. Cambridge, what had he seen of my secrets as my legs kicked wildly in the air? What had he thought of the nearly nude mature woman thrashing about?
What would it be like to have Captain Stuart as the witness to a paddle striking my bare bottom?
The tickling apparition had found its way to this house, as once again a quiver formed deep within my belly. However, the soreness persisting in my bottom convinced me to strive to complete the assigned cleaning task with fervor. I pressed my attention into thoroughly cleaning the drawing room. So intent I was upon this undertaking that I completely forgot that my purpose here was to spy on her ladyship.
Thus, I was astonished when the stately woman appeared beside me asking, “It was you who so rudely awoke us this morning?” The attractive woman with alabaster skin was my age and height at five feet and three inches, but while my figure was skinny and angular, she was built with smooth soft Grecian curves. Additionally, my hair and eyes were both a flat brown while her hair was a fair blonde with gentle curls and her eyes a lustrous blue. The woman was a stunning beauty even though she was attired in her drab dressing gown.
I stammered for a moment, trying to think of a reply when she continued, “Come now, I know that you have a voice. The neighbors know that you have a voice. Please use it to identify yourself before I a
m forced to inform Mrs. Davenport that a thief is stealing my fixtures.”
“My lady.” I ducked my head down and curtsied. Holding this subservient position, I continued, “I am Marge the new maid. Please accept my most sincere apology for my unfortunate introduction to the household. I was…” but could think of nothing more to add.
She stared at me for a moment, but said nothing more to me. She proceeded to a writing desk where she took a seat and began composing a letter. Mr. Cambridge appeared on her heels and placed a cup on the desk, which he filled with tea before placing a small plate with two biscuits at her elbow. As he wordlessly withdrew, his expressionless eyes passed over me as I had continued to hold my bowed pose. He pointed to my bucket of cleaning water.
“My lady, would it please you for me to continue my cleaning task or should I withdraw?” I hesitantly asked.
Without looking at me, she responded flatly, “Oh, I think we will all be the better for it if you should complete your task, lest Mrs. Davenport find the need to use her paddle to once again stimulate your lungs.”
“Thank you, my lady.” And I resumed my erect posture and continued dusting and washing the floor all the more vigorously heeding her warning concerning the paddle.
“But,” she added flatly a moment later, as though there had been no pause, “after you have had your meal you will need to clean my rooms upstairs. Take the opportunity to introduce yourself to Sir Anthony. He expressed an interest in having a word with you.”
“It will be my pleasure, my lady.” Her Ladyship responded with only a short soft laugh and spoke not again as I dusted and scrubbed the room.
After hours of cleaning, I had a new appreciation for my father’s staff as they strove to please him and my sometimes bratty self. I had not considered that my actions toward the maids would have been perceived as bratty before today. After several final inspections I decided that my work would be acceptable to Mrs. Davenport and spare me further interaction with her paddle and possible rejection from the staff. Gathering my cleaning equipment I returned to the hidden stairs and the lower floor. As I replaced the equipment into their proper places inside the storage cabinets, Mrs. Davenport approached me from behind. Using one of her massive hands she gripped my sore bottom through the fabric of my frock in a giant pinch.
Miss Rowan Learns Her Lesson (Lady Detective Book 1) Page 2