Little Lady Jane

by Breanna Hayse

  How had her life come to this moment? She pondered that as she ran through the icy rain towards the forbidden destination. Philip had departed on his most recent trip to India six weeks ago, leaving only his great Aunt Elsa to keep her occasional company. Jane, angry and hurt by the events that led to up to his leaving, snatched the opportunity to defy every instruction left to her. She refused to eat her vegetables, stayed up well past the bedtime designated for her, and had even stolen a book that she found hidden behind a shelf in Philip’s personal library. It was filled with racy pictures and written in Sanskrit and she snuck into the woods for hours at a time to read it in peace. No doubt existed that the staff would tattle on her but, in the meantime, she was free! Free of rules, free of consequences, and free of him!

  The dismal cold descended upon her as the sun vanished behind the gray clouds. Jane quickened her pace between the long rows of old brick buildings lining the streets of Epsom. The drizzling rain became visible in the amber light of the tall, ornate gas lamps that cast an eerie halo around the hissing bulbs. Shop windows began to glow as the proprietors set oil lamps afire, calling to the customers to complete their shopping before they rushed back home in an effort to avoid the blustery rain. Jane dodged out of the way of a clopping horse and buggy, just missing being splashed with a muddy puddle.

  Jane lifted her face to the sky and felt the frigid drops fall upon her flesh. She loved the rain—it left her feeling alive and invigorated and free; for the moment, anyway. She would not likely be missed until the nasty old housekeeper brought in the despised bedtime “tonic” of warm milk and melted butter. Jane giggled, imagining the exasperated look upon the woman’s sour face as she discovered that the wayward girl had, once again, rebelled against the master’s orders and slipped out unnoticed. Well, it was his fault that she behaved so!

  The chill rose through her body as her clothing grew saturated with water. A moment of sadness flickered through her as she considered her future after an evening of quality time with pleasant and hospitable company at the bathhouse. She would have to procure a buggy to return her to the manor where she was certain to meet myriads of scolding before setting herself to spend yet another lonely evening before a roaring fire.

  Jane contemplated her next move of defiance as she hopped over the abundant puddles. Her feelings towards Philip were conflicted and held no peace. She loathed how she had grown to despise him during his absence, for it was not how she felt in her heart. In truth, he had been beyond kind to her since taking her permanently into his home when she was just twelve-years-old. They shared a history, she and Philip, and a special bond that few people could understand. A bond that Jane had believed would last a lifetime.

  Both had lost their mothers at an early age and been raised by fathers who shared ownership of West Indies Export and Trade. When both men were lost during a sea voyage, the distraught Jane Foster was left without any family or means to watch over her father’s house. The despondent child faced a bleak future filled with unknowns and turned to her best friend and playmate for guidance. The twenty-two-year-old Philip, designated heir to the company and Jane’s trustee until she turned twenty-one, quickly took measures to assure her a home, an education, and a life free of workhouses. He sold the Foster house and belongings, tucked the funds away in savings for her future, and assumed her half of the business to prevent it from falling into the greedy hands of shareholders.

  As his responsibilities changed, so did he. He grew sober and withdrawn, and his passion for travel was replaced by a duty to purchase. Philip offered no explanation to the confused girl, leaving her to draw the sad conclusion that he felt burdened by his obligation to her. Jane sensed that his intentions were pure, but she was unable to make him understand that she wanted his attention, not the pretty trinkets and exotic treats he would bring her after a trip. It was difficult for the twelve-year-old to explain how much she missed her father’s affection and that she looked to Philip, her best friend, to provide it in his place.

  She had been raised to speak her mind. Thus, she openly shared with Philip that her heart ached in remembrance of his laughter as they raced on the backs of horses through the fields, exhilarated by the wind rushing against her face. She told him how she longed for the times that he pushed her on that beautiful swing that hung from an ancient oak, picked Jasmine blossoms for her hair, or took her swimming in the ponds that graced the estate. She poured out her heart and shared her needs, and Philip responded by purchasing a fat white rabbit to provide her comfort and companionship.

  Jane stomped through a puddle, squinting her eyes through the downpour in search of the twinkling warm lights belonging to the Bath’s manicured yard. Her thoughts returned to Philip. She had always held a torch for the young man, infatuated with him since the very first time he had picked her up and placed her upon the sparkling white swing he had made for her as a gift. It was her sixth birthday and he had built it himself, decorating it with pretty pink and white ribbons, roses and baby’s breath. He had also hidden a single sprig of Jasmine blooms on the bench. She had spent her entire childhood on that swing, and even now, like she did earlier that evening, she would dangle her legs from its seat when she was feeling particularly sad or alone.

  Jane reflected again on the changes she had witnessed over the years. With maturity came different perspectives. It was reasonable to assume that the unexpected death of their fathers so soon after he graduated from the university had caused such a deviation in Philip’s demeanor. She also had to consider that, indeed, the undesired responsibility of being a surrogate parent to a young, precocious girl would also play a part. But, even more agonizing was the possibility that Philip’s recent behavior was born of resentment to the terms of company ownership set by their fathers. These terms required that Philip either marry Jane prior to her twenty-first birthday or allow the company to dissolve unless sold to an investor.

  Jane grunted. Whatever had transformed the fun-loving boy to a stoic, unsmiling young man no longer mattered. She had enough of his surliness and intended to regain some fun in her life—with or without him! Despite her tremendous anger for the recent round of neglect and inexcusable rudeness, Jane felt her lip quiver at the thought of living life without him. Of course, Philip was unaware of the secret love Jane hid for him in her heart. Every time she read a fairy tale, it was his face that was set upon the knight in shining armor and his smile that shone from the courageous prince. Philip was the center of her being. He always had been.

  Once again, Jane pondered the question of what caused him to transform so radically. It had started the day that they stood in his study and he read the list of rules that he expected her to follow now that she resided in the manor.

  Always conduct yourself in a manner befitting a young lady of class; specifically, do not engage in activities that will cause either harm or a loss of dignity to yourself or the Marquis.

  Always maintain a neat and orderly appearance and carry yourself with grace and poise; specifically, maintain the cleanliness and take care of your clothing and turn from vulgarity and drunkenness of any sort.

  Never leave the manor or estate grounds without both an escort and permission.

  Conduct yourself as one who will, one day, accept the title of Marchioness and his Lady, for proper citizens of title must always appear beyond reproach.

  Lastly, a young lady is to exercise respect and proper submission at all times and without fail.

  It was odd. As much as she hated rules, Philip had despised them even more. As a boy, he had obeyed those that were necessary, but seized every opportunity to break even the tiniest ones. He always appeared so innocent when caught, and would turn to wink at her during his scolding. Jane remembered covering her mouth to stifle her giggles, wishing that one day she could be as strong and brave as her hero. Jane stopped in her tracks as the dawn of understanding came upon her. Those rules handed to her that day were not composed by Philip. No, they were penned by the Marquis de Courtier.<
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  From the age of six, Jane had seen him as smart, handsome, and strong. But, with the additional years and added responsibilities, he had also become quite proper—too proper for the likes of the spontaneous and highly curious child. He began to conduct every aspect of his life under the auspicious title and, with her as his ward, he commenced in the dutiful role of a surrogate parent. He began to loathe untidiness of any sort—personal, professional and social, and kept a fastidious and orderly schedule to his life. Subsequently, he did the same to hers as well. His concern for her safety never ceased, even as she got older, and he watched over her as though she were a porcelain doll. And worse of all, everything had to have a purpose or a reason, otherwise it had no place in either of their lives.

  The Rules of the Marquis de Courtier were strictly adhered to with the promise of painful consequences should she chose to defy them. It did not take long for the twelve-year-old to learn that behaving properly also meant being ignored, so Jane flitted in the direction of gaining attention. It was springtime and for the first time in the three months that she had been at the manor, she ran outside to enjoy to sunshine. Jane remembered that afternoon as though it were yesterday.

  An ancient oak tree had caught her eye and beckoned to be climbed. Eager to see the world from a different perspective, Jane crawled readily to the outstretched limb. She slipped on some moss and lost her grip, and fell to the soft, wet grass below, tearing her frock in the process. Philip had been in his study and saw her plummet head first out of the tree. Once he determined that she was uninjured, he brought her to stand before his stately mahogany desk and paced back and forth before her muddy, bedraggled frame.

  “Jane Amelia Foster,” he began, his low voice clipped with annoyance. “You have lived under this roof for nearly three months and you grow more disobedient every day. Why is that?”

  “How can you even tell? You are never home anymore,” the twelve-year-old retorted, crossing her arms. “All you know is what that mean, sour-pussed Mrs. Nosy-body tells you about me.” She stomped her foot.

  “I have work I must conduct to keep our company alive and well. You know that.”

  “Is work the only thing you care about? What about me? You have done nothing with me since I arrived and you keep yourself locked in this office working day and night when you are not traveling.” She fought back the tears that threatened to spill and destroy her chance of appearing strong.

  “I am not going to argue with you, young lady. What are my rules?”

  “I hate your rules!”

  “I am not going to ask you again, Jane.” The low growl in his voice reminded her of when her father had been annoyed with a servant. It was not a good sign.

  Jane snippily recited the rules while rolling her eyes. Philip noticed the gesture and lifted her chin so she could face his frown. “I will tell you only once, Little Miss. Do not roll your eyes at me. It is disrespectful.”

  “Everything to you is about the social graces, isn’t it?” Jane asked bitterly, looking away as a single drop rolled down her cheek. “That, or having purpose or meaning. Why did you have to grow up and become so…so…methodical?”

  “We cannot stay children forever, Janie. Responsibility and duty is part of life. I do not know what to do. I have never seen this behavior from you in all the years I’ve known you. The staff tells me that you do not tidy your room; you steal sweets from the pantry and spoil your dinner; you sneak out after you are put to bed.” He sighed, returning to his large desk chair and leaned forward. “Look at me when I am speaking to you, Jane,” he ordered, clasping his hands. “I have never had to deal with a young girl in a disciplinary manner. What did your father do when you showed this insolence?”

  “Father allowed me to be true to myself,” Jane retorted, feeling her bottom lip begin to shake as she slowly lost the battle for composure. “He did not care about silly things like mud or tears in my dresses. He encouraged me to think and explore, and valued my opinion about the business. He spent time with me. A lot of time. Like you used to do.”

  “I no longer have the time and freedom to play like we did when we were children, baby,” he said with a gentle softness that tugged at her heart. “You are old enough to understand that. I have a company to run. I have responsibilities.”

  “Life is more than being responsible. Let me help you so that we can have time to spend together,” Jane felt her throat tighten with emotion. “Please! Father allowed me to assist him all the time. He showed me how to do things, like tallying numbers and checking inventory. I’m good at working numbers, Philip. You know that. Please allow me to be part of your life. This is my future, too.”

  “That is out of the question. If you cannot follow simple rules set for your safety and well-being, how can I trust you to follow the rules associated with a business? Your father did you a disservice by not teaching you discipline and structure,” Philip said, shaking his head. “I shall not do the same. My mind is made up. Place your hands upon the edge of that desk.”

  Jane looked at him with confusion. Her eyes widened as she saw him remove a slender rattan walking cane from the far wardrobe. She had never been struck in punishment before and her heart pounded fearfully.

  “Please, Philip! I swear I shall behave. I will make you proud,” Jane begged, backing away.

  “Yes, you will, my dear. We will have many changes here. To start, I wish you to call me by my title. You take too many liberties when you regard me as your friend and past play-mate.”

  “But you are my friend! Aren’t you?” Jane’s heart sank when he did not answer.

  “Across the desk,” he ordered patiently, tapping the wood with the tip of the rod.

  “I beg of you,” Jane broke into trembling sobs, “do not strike me.”

  Philip frowned. “Your fear is either due to prior experience with a severe whipping or ignorance. What is it? I want the truth.”

  “I have never been punished before. Not like this,” Jane wept.

  “Never?” Philip’s features softened and he placed the cane upon the surface of the desk. “My intent is to teach you, not to bring you to fear. I love you, Janie. You have always been like a little sister to me, but I cannot have you continue in this manner. Come here, child.”

  “W-what are you going to do?” Jane sniffed, her knuckles white as she gripped her hands together.

  “There will be no use of a cane. Instead, I am going to spank you with my hand. This method will be used only for less severe transgressions after today, but I will not spare the cane once you are taught obedience. Place yourself across my knee.”

  Jane’s mouth instantly went dry. Trembling, she obeyed him and hid her face as he lifted her torn, muddy frock from her slender hindquarters. His nimble fingers quickly untied the waistband of her drawers and pulled them down to the top of her thighs. She cross her ankles tightly to prevent him from viewing her private parts and held her breath in anticipation of her punishment. Her humiliation that day was much greater than the pain from the sharp, repetitive smacks of his hand, and ensured a lesson that was quickly learned.

  Jane managed to stay out of serious trouble for several months until Philip, under advisement of a female friend, sent the girl to London to attend a boarding school. Having never been away from home, and after living a life among adults and foreign merchants, Jane was ill-prepared for the nastiness that awaited her in the secret corners of the establishment.

  She survived one term. After continuous assumptions, and resultant insults about her heritage, social standing and, unbearably, her body and its hidden secret, Jane dispensed with all decorum and sent her elbow crashing into the snippy nose of the girl who led that particular group of tormentors. Her behavior earned an immediate dismissal for engaging in “inappropriate and unladylike behavior,” and she was sent home under a curtain of shame. Her saving grace was that Philip had returned to India and spared her the shame of facing both his disapproval and the snide, hurtful remarks cast by his lady fr
iend.

  With the encouragement from Philip’s eccentric Aunt Elsa, who came and went as the “crow flies”, Jane seized the opportunity and learned all she could from his extensive library of books. Her hopes were to prove to Philip that she could be an apt and able partner in Trade and Export. Every day, for two months, Jane sat upon the white swing under the oak tree and studied without the aid of a tutor. Philip returned to her full confession and, unexpectedly, offered a listening ear. When she voiced a desire to learn Hindi and Portuguese to help with the business, Philip announced his intent to instruct her to be “an equal partner” and then stated that it was to both of their best interests that he be the one to tutor her.

  Jane loved that time of her life. Philip eventually entrusted her to work the books, check the inventory slips and provide lists of items needed to procure. To her, time with him was very much like when they were young, and she felt overjoyed when laughter returned to their home. Her defiance melted away under his supportive attentiveness, and the sense of being discarded disappeared from her heart. They began to take long strolls as she practiced her languages in conversation, often talking over picnics of exotically prepared dishes. She accompanied him by train to different cities to explore ideas for new purchases, and even roamed the shipyards of Southampton so that Jane could partake in the inventory and product distribution first hand. Behind the closed doors of the manor, he shared his passion for the East, exposing Jane to exotic foods, art and the music of China, India and the Spice Islands.

  Philip immersed her in the study of culture and foreign affairs as well. For nearly five years, Jane’s life was as close to perfect as she could imagine and, somewhere along the line, she had begun to call him papa. Their companionship was purely innocent and right, and the feelings of loneliness disappeared. Jane had no need, or desire, for other friends, nor did she take notice that her body was slowly changing from that of a child to a woman’s. But then, the unimaginable happened.