by Kerri Sharpe
‘No, no, no! Like this.’ And he played the first movement himself.
Alison was always enchanted by his playing and she could easily lose herself in it. This time, however, she watched him attentively, studying his fingers and trying not to let her emotions distract her. It was impossible. Every colour and nuance filled her with longing as her master teased hidden melodies out of the concerto.
Alison marvelled that he thought his apprentice was ready for such a composition. It was more advanced than anything he’d set her before and she didn’t know whether to be honoured or terrified. One thing was certain: she didn’t dare tell him it was too difficult. She’d made that mistake once. It was the hardest caning he’d ever given her.
‘Now play it again.’
Taking a deep breath, she obeyed, loathing the hesitance in her rendering. She couldn’t help it, though. Each time she stumbled over a phrase or altered the tempo her master winced as though she was causing him pain.
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ she said. ‘It’s much harder than it looks.’
‘I know that. It’s not a piece that suffers show-offs.’
She gasped. ‘But, sir, I’m not –’
‘Are you answering me back?’
‘No, sir.’
His features relaxed into an indulgent smile as he patted her shoulder. ‘No, you’re not a show-off, Martin, but you do sometimes forget that you are the servant of the music and not its master.’
Alison lowered her head, embarrassed. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘This piece is about melody, not technical precision, though you need the one to showcase the other.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Bewildered, Alison stared again at the music. Sometimes, after practising for hours, the notes would swirl into meaningless black smears as though someone had spilled ink all over the pages. These notes looked like that now. How was she ever going to master them as their poor, confounded servant?
Master Leighton rose and retrieved his coat. ‘I have to go into town for a little while. Practise the concerto while I’m gone. You will play it for me when I return.’
‘Yes, sir.’
When he had gone Alison played it through without stopping. It sounded ghastly and dissonant with her myriad mistakes, but she forced herself to stay with it until the end. Then she started again. It was the best way to conquer her fear of it, to show it that she wasn’t going to capitulate halfway through because of a wrong note. The concerto was filled with lively little arpeggios and tricky phrasing. She could almost believe the music didn’t want her to play it. In fact, if she hadn’t heard Master Leighton play it himself, she might have doubted whether it was even playable at all. A sadistic composer, was Mozart.
After forcing her way through it five times she allowed herself a small break. Nearly an hour had passed. Now that she was a little more familiar with the music she was ready to focus on it in more detail. Without her master standing over her it was tempting to skip over the easy passages and run straight to the difficult ones, learning them with more care and diligence. She resisted the urge. In his overcritical mood Master Leighton was likely to hear it in her playing and accuse her of showing off.
As she worked her way through the music she listened to the virtuoso inside her head. She could almost tune out the hash she was making with her hands and focus instead on the memory of her master’s exquisite performance. Hearing him play so beautifully made her forget how strict he was, how fond of the cane. It seemed incongruous to her that such a hard taskmaster should be capable of such artistry. But the contradiction was intoxicating. His hands were soft and considered with the instrument, yet so rough with his apprentice. She couldn’t help wondering how they might be with a lover. How they might feel caressing her delicate, downy limbs, enfolding her in a passionate embrace …
Alison shook herself out of the daydream. If Master Leighton came home and caught her staring off into space he’d make his displeasure known. And felt. With a sigh, she lifted the violin to her chin and began to play.
Her master had been gone nearly four hours and Alison was still struggling with the music. She didn’t dare stop playing. It was another of his favourite tests. The violin could be heard all the way down the street, so there was no way she could take a break and simply wait until he drew near to start playing again.
At last she heard the door and she wilted with relief. Master Leighton came in, waving a hand for her to stop. ‘From the beginning,’ he said, taking his seat in front of her.
Too tired to be nervous any more, she started over, dreading every note. She didn’t dare look up at her master; she knew she wouldn’t be able to bear any expression of disdain. He allowed her to play the allegro straight through and she grew confident when he didn’t stop her. At last she finished. She lowered the violin and bow with shaky hands, turning to him in the hope of finding approval in his features.
Instead, he looked at her inscrutably. ‘Have you been practising?’ he asked. ‘Or just staring at the music?’
Alison’s mouth fell open. ‘I haven’t stopped playing since you left, sir,’ she said, baffled.
‘Then perhaps you need another four hours.’
She stared at him in disbelief, not knowing what to say. Couldn’t he see that she’d been working hard? Couldn’t he hear? ‘It’s a difficult piece, sir,’ she said weakly. ‘I just need more time.’
‘Then you shall have it.’ Master Leighton rose from his seat, deliberately. ‘I’m going back out. While I’m away you will learn this piece. You will practise until I return and I don’t care if your fingers fall off, boy. Then I expect to hear you play it properly.’ He left the threat unspoken.
Alison hung her head. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘I can only think your mind is somewhere other than on your studies.’
Miserable, Alison assured him that she was as dedicated as he could hope.
‘We’ll see about that,’ he replied. And with that, he left again.
Alison blinked back her tears and looked at the clock. It was nearly two and she hadn’t eaten. Her stomach was complaining and her hands would begin to shake if she didn’t eat something.
‘No,’ she told herself disgustedly. If something as trivial as hunger could distract her, then she wasn’t focused enough. She’d actually known her master to forget to eat. And it was only when she suggested it to him that he realised he was hungry at all.
Armed with fierce determination to prove herself to Master Leighton, the apprentice took a deep breath and began the concerto again.
It was another four hours before Alison allowed herself a break. She was exhausted. Her neck was stiff and her wrists and fingers ached in a way they hadn’t since her first gruelling day of apprenticeship. She had a permanent bruise from the chin rest, but the unremitting practice had deepened it so that the slightest pressure was agony. She couldn’t believe the violin strings hadn’t cut through her fingers. The deep grooves burnt and tingled from the pressure of the fingerboard. But for all that, she’d forgotten her hunger.
She was beginning to wonder if her master would ever return. She went to the window and peered down the street. There was no sign of him.
A sudden, terrible thought seized her like an intruder’s hand. What if something had happened to him? Tears sprang to her eyes at once and she swallowed her panic, trying to calm herself. It wasn’t unusual for him to disappear for hours at a time. No doubt he needed his space from her. She didn’t suppose that the company of his apprentice was as captivating as that of his acquaintances in town.
Or lady friends.
The image was unbidden and unwelcome, but once seen, it couldn’t be unseen. It had never occurred to her before. She had always taken it for granted that he was too consumed with music to have time for a relationship. But now Alison was forced to confront the possibility. Was he off amusing himself with some exotic creature while his poor apprentice slaved away in his absence?
Alison tried to resume her practice, but the feelings wo
uldn’t dissipate. She couldn’t banish the thought of her master in the arms of an alluring paramour, laughing and enjoying her stimulating company. Her playing suffered for the preoccupation. Frustrated tears were beginning to sting her eyes when she finally heard the door.
At first she didn’t know whether she was relieved that he was unharmed or angry that he’d deigned to return from his tryst. She looked up at him, weary and confused. He didn’t notice.
‘All right, let’s hear it, lad,’ he said without preamble. He sat in front of her and crossed his arms expectantly.
Alison couldn’t read anything in his tone or his expression to tell her if her suspicions were true. Resentfully, she played the allegro for him. In her own eyes her performance had all the colour and passion of dishwater, though she hadn’t missed a single note. A hollow victory, she thought bitterly.
Master Leighton stared at her for a long time, his brow furrowed, as though trying to puzzle out the change in his apprentice. He seemed to be searching for something to say.
‘I didn’t miss a note, sir,’ Alison supplied, making no attempt to disguise her bitterness.
Her provocative tone made his eyes flash and he straightened in his chair. ‘Indeed you didn’t,’ he agreed. ‘But I doubt if that would have impressed Mozart.’
Alison lifted her chin a little at this slight. She ground her teeth to keep from responding in kind. She was frightened by the intensity of her feelings. She knew better than to cross swords with him, but she feared things were about to come to a head.
‘You will therefore play it again,’ he continued. ‘And you will keep playing it until I’m satisfied. You will not be dismissed until then. Do you understand? My master set me this piece when I was your age and I had to play it over and over until I got it right.’
It was too much. All the confused emotions that had been simmering below the surface erupted in a flash of fury. ‘Your master was as much of a sadist as you are, then!’ she snarled, lashing out at the music stand with her foot. It fell with a clatter on the floor, scattering the sheet music. The pages fluttered around them and drifted to the floor with a loud papery flapping as Alison realised what she’d done.
Master Leighton was staring at her and she thought there was something triumphant in his eyes.
Several seconds passed in excruciating silence while she watched him, terrified.
At last he spoke. ‘Right.’ It was just one word, but the cold and precise way he enunciated it made her shudder.
Now she was for it. He’d once given his apprentice a dozen strokes just for questioning him; this outburst had to be worth three times that.
‘Fetch the cane.’
It was amazing, the way those simple words could make her regret so much. The stress of the demanding practice had made her reckless and insolent. And jealous. Who was she to question her master or make assumptions about him?
Hanging her head in shame, she brought him the cane as she’d done so many times before. He nodded towards the door and she went there, her feet dragging.
‘I’ve clearly been too lenient with you,’ said Master Leighton. ‘I’ve allowed you the protection of your trousers whenever I’ve caned you. But in showing me such blatant disrespect you’ve lost that privilege. Take them off.’
Alison’s eyes were wide with horror. Oh, what had she done? If he caned her without her trousers he’d uncover her deception. Then he would turn her out.
‘I’m waiting.’
Alison had no choice but to do as he said, silently praying that he would let her leave her underpants on. Their scant cover would offer no protection from the cane, but they would keep her secret. Perhaps Master Leighton wouldn’t notice anything amiss.
With great reluctance, she unfastened her trousers and pulled them down, slipping them off. The air in the room was hot and dusty; nonetheless, it chilled her as it touched her bare legs. She felt more exposed than she ever had before. Blinking back tears, she leant forwards to take hold of the door frame, pressing her legs tightly together.
She heard his step on the wooden floor behind her and she gritted her teeth, expecting the first stroke. Instead, she felt his fingers in the waistband of her underpants. Before she could draw a breath to protest, he had yanked them down to her ankles.
Alison froze. She waited for him to denounce her. Instead, she heard the low whistle of the cane as he sliced it through the air in preparation, making her jump. He hadn’t seen anything.
Mustering all her willpower, Alison locked her legs and rooted her feet tightly to the floor. Maybe if she was perfectly still, if she didn’t twist or squirm too much …
Master Leighton was behind her. ‘Now then,’ he said. ‘Let’s see if we can teach you some respect.’
Alison had never felt the cane on her bare skin before and she flinched at the cold length of it against her flesh. She uttered a little squeak, but kept her knees and ankles pressed together as tightly as she could. The cane tapped gently, each tap getting harder and harder, leading up to the first stroke. Her master didn’t usually draw it out like this. He believed in summary punishment with no frills. But she had really angered him this time.
She held her breath as the cane drew back and struck her with a meaty smack. Hard. She gasped, but stayed in position as the pain began to flower in a savage line across her bottom. She never thought her trousers afforded her much protection, but feeling the cane without them as a barrier, she realised just how wrong she’d been.
Again the cane rose and fell, cleaving the air and then her backside. Alison hissed through her teeth, but focused all her energy on preserving her secret. If she could survive this, she’d never give him cause to cane her again. Then he would never know she was really a girl.
The caning grew more intense with each stroke and, while she managed to keep her legs straight and together, she was unable to keep from crying out. That wouldn’t give her away, though; any boy would yelp from such a caning.
When Master Leighton stopped she released the breath she’d been holding. He occasionally paused in the middle of a severe caning. She never knew whether it was over or whether he was deciding how much more she deserved. This time she didn’t dare to hope that he would stop there.
He stood directly behind her, inspecting the damage. She heard the creak of the floorboards as he crouched down to look more closely.
Suddenly, there was the cool touch of his finger as he traced the weals left by the cane. Alison shuddered. She could feel his breath on the backs of her legs.
‘Mm-hmm,’ was his only response.
He stood up again.
‘You know what comes next, boy,’ he said. ‘Feet apart.’
This was a command she’d always dreaded, even with her trousers on, because of the way it tautened the fabric across her backside and opened up new areas for the attack of the cane. Now she dreaded it for an entirely different reason. She opened her mouth and turned her head to plead with him, but he cut her off.
‘Feet apart.’
Well, this was it. He would see now. She inched her feet apart and waited for him to discover the truth.
Instead, the cane sliced into her again. And again. And again. He didn’t allow much time between the strokes and she barely had time to recover from one before the next fell. Each one hurt terribly, but the torment of knowing that any second he would learn the truth was far worse than the pain.
‘Wider,’ he said gruffly.
The inevitability was agony. How could he not see? Could he possibly be so focused on her bottom that he just didn’t notice? As a girl Alison was very pretty. And unclothed, it was inconceivable that he couldn’t tell. Her plump bottom, shapely legs and girlish figure should have been apparent long before now, not to mention the obvious. But no. The cane continued to do its worst while she yelped and cried under it.
She had lost count of the strokes. It was well over a dozen, possibly even two. She was dazed. As much by confusion as by pain. So dazed, in fact, that
she didn’t even realise when he stopped.
Master Leighton was silent for a long time.
Alison’s heart sank. It was over. He’d seen. Tears streamed down her face. She refused to make a sound, though. She wouldn’t disgrace herself any further with hiccupping, childish sobs.
She clung to the architrave as though letting go of it would also mean letting go of her dignity. The punishment was over. The charade was over. Her life was over. She couldn’t move.
The floorboards creaked and she trembled. He was inspecting her again. Not the marks this time, but her sex. No doubt he was shaking his head in disgust over her folly. Reassuring himself that he was right about the inferiority of female musicians. The feeling of exposure was hard to endure, but she dared not move until he instructed her to.
But instead of cursing her and ordering her out, he traced the lines of the cane again. Slowly. Thoroughly. As though savouring each one. Alison shivered in spite of herself. So many times she had wanted him to touch her like this. Now it was to be the first and the last time.
But there was something odd about the familiarity in his touch. It was soothing and gentle. Not the touch of a master examining his punished pupil at all. It was the touch of a lover. The finger trailed over her burning flesh, coming to rest in the centre, near her bottom crease. Then, one by one the pads of the other fingers descended until his entire palm rested lightly on her bottom.
Alison was afraid to breathe. One breath could disrupt the stillness she never wanted to end.
The hand patted her and then continued down to the cleft between her cheeks.
She closed her eyes.
Then the hand cupped her firmly between the legs and gave a little squeeze.
A jolt surged through her at his touch.
The hand between her legs told her more than words ever could. She gripped the doorway, arching her back into the sensation. Her legs felt as though they would give way beneath her. The warmth in her bottom spread through her body, unfolding like scrolls.
Her master softly smacked the insides of her thighs with his fingertips, urging her legs further apart.