by Alta Hensley
It was the first Etta had seen of the school aside from her nursery. The pale white walls seemed to stretch on forever, with closed doors at every juncture.
"Does Philip live here, at the school?" Etta asked.
Nanny Mae dropped the young woman's hand and smacked her clothed bottom. "You must refer to Headmaster Philip as 'Papa'. Is that clear?"
Etta swallowed anxiously and nodded with vigor. "Yes, of course." She understood that if she did not please her nanny and probably Philip, her papa, then there'd be consequences. Her bottom could not take any further abuse today.
As they stepped from the hall into the dining room, Etta's black shoes clicked across the floor. She glanced down at the sound, curious to know whether she would leave scuff marks if she weren't so careful. Would she find herself punished for that behavior as well? Her feet dragged slightly as she walked, testing her shoes. Sure enough, black strokes glazed the marble floor.
"Pick your feet up, child!" Nanny Mae scolded her.
Etta walked the correct way, until she found herself standing in front of her papa. It felt strange to call him such a name.
"Have a seat, little one." Papa pulled out the chair, helping guide her closer to the table once she sat down. He handed her a napkin. "Place this on your lap, so you do not mess up that pretty dress of yours."
Etta took the black cloth napkin and set it across her lap over the dress. She did not care if she soiled the garment, but she suspected Nanny Mae would not be pleased with her.
Nanny Mae left the two of them alone. Etta breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps she could voice her questions to Philip. Now that it was just the two of them, hopefully he'd find it in his heart to answer her concerns. "I do not understand why I am here," Etta said. She got right to the point. She knew enough about Philip to understand he'd done well for himself. This was his school and his pride. She did not wish in any way to offend him.
"Your uncle wanted me to look after you. Do you not recall the conversation from the other night?" His brow furrowed.
"I do," Etta said. She even remembered the contract she'd signed, though the language had been complicated and intense. Honestly, she did not know what she had agreed to, other than to go with him. Slowly, she was beginning to see the error she'd made. "You do realize I am twenty, Mr. Hartley. Look at me!" She gestured to the sailor's outfit. It was ridiculous. Even a young child would look silly—but a grown woman… it felt absurd to be wearing such an item.
"You will address me as 'Papa', and you look very nice, Etta."
She did not feel that way. Uncomfortable was only the beginning to explain the mix of emotions coursing through her veins. "I thought your chateau was a finishing school," she said. "I was under the impression that I would learn to be a lady, so that I might find a suitable husband to marry." Philip had sworn to her uncle that he'd marry her off, but she was not in agreement with either of their way of thinking.
"Yes, we do have some students in the eastern wing who are strictly here for finishing school. You, my child, are here for something greater, a special purpose that is selected for only the best, most talented and gifted young women."
Etta blushed at his compliments. It was rare for anyone to be so flattering or kind to her.
"My school of littles is kept a secret from the finishing school to help quash any suspicions that might be cast upon someone entering the chateau. I have worked diligently to ensure the protection and anonymity of the men who join us for our exclusive school. We do not wish to soil anyone's reputation here."
Etta challenged him in every way possible. "Why do they need to keep what they are doing, what you are doing, a secret?"
Philip's eyes narrowed. "That is enough, Etta. I do not care for your tone." The conversation was over, and just in time, as breakfast was brought to the table. "Eat your eggs." He stood, moving closer toward her at the table.
With fork in hand, she nibbled on the scrambled eggs. They were seasoned and spicy, making her mouth water as she gobbled up as much food as she could. Her mouth hung agape as she stared up at him. Was he coming over to spank her?
He reached for his knife and grabbed her extra fork, cutting the sausage into small, bite-sized pieces.
She paused, stabbing her fork into one of the small pieces of sausage. She held it in the air as she spoke. "Why are you cutting up my food?"
Philip nodded toward the utensil in her hand. "Put that down when you speak. It is impolite to toss food around."
Sheepishly she placed the fork on her plate. She asked the question again. "Why do I not get a knife?" Did he think she'd use it as a weapon? She was not exactly being kept against her will, but she did not know what was being required of her at the time she signed the contract, either. Though, in truth, Etta had nowhere else to go, no trade, no job, or prospects of a husband.
"At the Ashbury Chateau, you are a little one. Everything will be provided for you. You need not have a care in the world, my little love. Do you remember when I told you it would be like going on holiday?"
"Yes."
"Was I wrong?" Philip asked.
It did not feel like a second home, or a trip to the ocean with the waves crashing on her feet and the sand sticking in her toes. However, she also felt free. In a way, he was right, and Etta hated to admit it, especially aloud. For years she'd spent her days caring for a dying man. Now she had someone who was interested in caring for her. She did not feel like she belonged though, did he not see that?
"I do not know how you want me to be," Etta said, her voice whiny. If she was supposed to please him, she was at a loss as to how.
"Just be yourself," Philip said. He kissed her forehead and sat back down at the table. "Now finish your breakfast, and if you are a good girl, you can go play in the playroom when you are done."
Chapter VIII
The questions were tiresome. Philip wanted to take Etta over his knee just to silence her, but he vowed only to use strict discipline when it was necessary. Her inquisitive mind was exactly like that of a child; questioning and curious over everything. He could not fault her for that.
Once they had finished breakfast, Philip had Nanny Mae take Etta to the playroom to meet the other littles.
His stomach gurgled at the thought of Etta and Leda plotting their escape from the chateau together. No. Leda was a good little one. Etta would take some time to accept her role as submissive, and there was no reason to believe otherwise.
He pushed all thoughts aside and stood, walking from the dining room out into the hall. The school was quiet, exceptionally so for an afternoon when classes were in session, though he knew the girls were busy in their classes, learning proper etiquette and behavior. Their afternoon break was often met with rowdiness and unruly young girls who needed a reminder to their bottoms about the proper way to behave.
Perhaps he should have gone to the eastern wing to check on the other girls, but he felt drawn toward the playroom. He wanted to watch Etta and see how she interacted with the other littles.
The wall between the playroom and the hall was made of glass, allowing him the opportunity to see his precious Etta. She seemed to pay no attention to him as he watched her.
Etta sat across from Leda and they appeared to be quietly chatting, each holding a doll and brushing her hair.
Philip had not learned to read lips, and was terrible at even attempting to try and make out what was being said. He stood for several minutes, watching the calm exchange between the two girls. They at least seemed to be getting along well enough.
"Headmaster Philip," Papa Lawrence said, stalking down the hall, his Gracie's hand nestled tight in his own.
"Yes, Lawrence." Philip clasped his hands together in front of him. "What can I do for you?"
Lawrence let go of the young blonde's hand. Though she and Etta were both blonde, Gracie's hair was mixed with highlights of red and gold, probably from her time in the sun. She'd been given special privileges to visit the outside gardens with her papa. Lawren
ce stared at Gracie and nodded. "Tell Headmaster Philip what you said to me about Leda."
Gracie's eyes widened and she shook her head, vigorously.
"Gracie." Lawrence's tone grew in intensity as he seemed to grow irritated by her behavior. He swatted her bottom. "Tell him what you said to me."
Her bottom lip trembled and her hands shook. "I do not want to."
Philip cleared his throat and motioned for Lawrence to leave the two of them alone. Philip guided Gracie toward his office and sat her down on the upholstered armchair. "Tell me what's going on, child."
"She is going to be mad at me."
"Not as mad as your papa. He's standing outside that door, waiting for you to enlighten me about what's going on."
"It is Leda," Gracie said, her voice hardly above a whisper. "She has been telling me how she does not really submit to her papa, she just lets him believe that so she can get out of here."
Philip did not typically like the girls tattling on one another, but in this instance, it was useful information that he needed to know. "Lawrence," he said, calling Gracie's papa back into the room.
"I would like you to give your little Gracie a special treat for being such a good girl and helping me out. Can you do that?" Philip asked. He knew Lawrence would be proud to have some alone time with his little one.
Lawrence took Gracie's hand and led her out of Philip's office.
Philip rubbed his forehead, frustrated. It seemed as though Francis had not been imagining the scenario that Leda was fooling them. Now it was up to him as headmaster to devise a plan to ensure she'd learn her lesson and keep the other girls in line. The only problem was figuring out what would work. Everything he had done to force her to submit had been beneficial in the moment but had not offered the long-term effects he'd anticipated.
Stepping out from his office, he roamed the halls, finding the dark-haired maid mopping the floor. "Vivian, can I have a word with you?"
Vivian had always assisted Nanny Mae, but she'd never been tasked to instill discipline in any of the littles. She was allowed to dish out a punishment, as all adults at the school were, but she had never felt the need—or perhaps the desire. Philip was not sure which.
He needed her to step up and take a stronger role with the littles.
"Yes, of course." Vivian placed the mop against the wall and followed Philip to his office.
He shut the door behind him. "Have a seat," he said, gesturing to the chair that had just a few minutes earlier seated Gracie.
Vivian took a seat, her hands on the armrests. "Have I done something wrong, Mr. Hartley?"
Philip shook his head. "No. I would like to hire a second nanny, and I thought that you might be interested in the position. It is certainly a step up from being a maid at our school."
Her beautiful brown eyes glistened with tears. Was she excited about the promotion, or frightened of what it meant she'd be doing? "I would like that very much," she said.
"Good. I need you to start right away. Our little Leda is not being the precious girl she is pretending to be. Have you heard anything about this?" Philip was curious to know if other staff members were aware of her insubordination but choosing to keep their heads down.
"Leda's always had a difficult time adjusting to the submissive lifestyle," Vivian answered. She may not have been a nanny, but Philip suspected that she witnessed everything at the school.
"I have two sources telling me that she may not really be submitting to her papa as she is leading everyone to believe," Philip said. He was not going to give away his two sources, in case Vivian slipped up. She may have spent time around the girls, but disciplining them was an entirely different course of action. Would she have it in her to follow the rules of the school? It was not for everyone, and he would have to keep a close eye on her to make sure she did as instructed.
Vivian's lips pursed together. "How would you like me to proceed, sir?"
He made the rules of the institution; it was the nannies who instilled them.
"You will keep a watchful eye over Leda. She is your responsibility, Vivian. Can you handle her?"
Philip was not really giving her much of a choice. Leda needed the undivided attention of one nanny, and he had to trust that Vivian was up to the task. If he was not busy keeping an eye on Etta, he would discipline the little himself and remind her who was in charge.
Chapter IX
"I'm Leda," the girl with dark brown hair said. Her hair was sectioned into two pigtails, just like Etta's. Leda was dressed in a blue and white gingham dress, with a petticoat sticking out from underneath to make her skirt fuller.
"Etta." She chewed her bottom lip, glancing back at her nanny by the door.
"Do not be scared of Nanny Mae. She is quite the pushover," Leda said. She kept her voice down. "Come here, I shall tell you everything you need to know about her to avoid getting spanked."
Etta's stomach bubbled as she followed the girl toward the dollhouse.
Leda handed her a doll. "Pretend we are playing."
"But we are playing, aren't we?" Etta asked, not understanding what Leda was up to.
"We just have to make it look like we are playing. The grownups do not pay that close attention to us," Leda said. She grabbed a hairbrush for her doll and worked the tangles from her hair. "I have been here for five years, Etta. If anyone knows what it takes to get out, I do."
Etta felt overwhelmed. "Five years?" She'd been under the impression that she would be at the school for a little while, but she did not think her time would last that long. "Why so long? Can they not find you someone to marry?"
"Marry?" Leda laughed and shook her head. "I am betrothed to Francis. He's my papa. Just as you are to marry your own papa someday."
"I am?" Etta asked. She knew her uncle wanted her to marry, and he had enrolled her in the school to better help her chances of finding a good husband. Her nanny had made mention of Philip taking a liking to her and no one else, though he had not come out and said that he was going to marry her. She groaned, feeling confused.
"Do you want to know the secret of getting out of here for good?" Leda asked.
Etta frowned, thoroughly confused. If she was going to marry Philip, then there was no true way of ever getting out. Didn't Leda see that, too, about her Papa Francis?
When Etta did not answer, the young brunette continued talking, while brushing her doll's hair. She focused on her toy, pretending to be enthralled with it. "The men expect us to submit to them in every way possible. Make them believe you do, and you will be set free."
"Free?" Etta did not find the chateau that bad a place. It was odd and strange for her, but she did not exactly want to leave.
"Yes. Once your papa sets you free and allows you to leave the Ashby Chateau, you will be able to escape his home. You do not really think that our papas live here all year round?"
"Don't they?" Etta asked. Her mind felt heavily fogged with all of Leda's thoughts. Why had her papa insisted they become friends? Did he know what Leda was up to? Had he intentionally been trying to give her a message as well; that if she behaved, then she, too, would be free of him and her uncle?
"No, silly," Leda said, shaking her head and laughing. "They visit on weekends and holidays. You are lucky. Your papa works here. You will probably see him every day."
Seeing Philip every day did not sound so terrible. Why was Leda making all of this out to be one horrible scenario? Her papa had been good to her. Though it did feel strange to be dressed in children's clothes and referring to Philip as Papa, Etta could manage it if it meant she were content. Right now, aside from a slightly sore bottom, she was happier than she had been in a long time.
The playroom door opened and Vivian, the young woman who had brought buckets of water for Etta's bath, entered into the room. She spoke briefly with Nanny Mae, forcing Etta's stomach to flip over. Was she in trouble?
"Leda, playtime is over," Vivian said.
Leda glanced up, dropping the doll to the flo
or. "You are not my nanny."
"Come, child, I do not have all day." Vivian reached for Leda's arm, dragging her from the playroom and out into the hall.
Etta watched with fascinated curiosity. Where was she heading?
Nanny Mae sauntered toward Etta. "Are you having fun?"
What constituted fun to Nanny Mae? Etta was sitting on the floor, brushing her doll's hair. Leda had scared Etta, talking such nonsense about pretending to be pleased. Feeling overwhelmed, Etta's eyes watered and her bottom lip trembled. She did not want to have to pretend. Etta wanted to be happy. She desired a papa who cared for her and looked after her. Didn't Leda's papa do that for her? Etta hung her head as tears dripped onto the carpet.
"Little one, what is it?" Nanny Mae asked, drawing her finger under Etta's chin, lifting her head to meet her gaze. "Tell your nanny what is wrong."
"It is nothing." She sniffled, her eyes darting back down to the ground. Etta did not want to disappoint Papa or Nanny Mae.
"Did little Leda tell you a nasty tale?" Nanny Mae asked.
Etta cast her gaze back up toward her nanny. "She is not very nice." She worried about confessing what she'd heard and getting punished for it. What if they did not believe her? Leda had been there for years, and it was Etta's first day at the chateau.
Nanny Mae knelt down and wrapped her arms around Etta, kissing her softly on the forehead. "Do not cry. All will be fine." She took out a handkerchief and dried Etta's eyes. "Come, child, it is time for you to see the doctor."
"Doctor?" Etta was not sick. Why were they having her visit the doctor?
"Yes." Nanny Mae grabbed Etta's arm and hoisted her from the ground, leading her out into the hallway. "Doctor Colt is waiting for you. Do not be shy." She led Etta through the hall and toward a door that had been closed on the right. Without knocking, she opened it, whisking the little one inside, then closed the door—leaving Etta to stand in the room without her.
Etta swallowed nervously, staring at the examination table and black leather bag on a nearby desk. Both items stood out against the stark white walls of the room. Not a single painting had been hung or a dash of color had found the walls, except for the scuff where the door had banged the wall. The room smelled sterile and the scent burned her nose, forcing her to grimace as her nose wrinkled, trying to rid the scent from her nostrils. Although she had been forced into the room, she made no attempt to step any closer to the men.