‘I shall inspect the maids now,’ she announced.
Putting her plan into action, a plan she had devised in the grey dawn hours, Mandy placed an almost empty kettle on to the hottest part of the Aga.
‘Girls –’ Partridge cried, her voice shrill with anxiety.
‘Erica,’ the mistress of Sternwood Grange purred, silencing the housekeeper with a raised hand. ‘Would you line up the maids for inspection?’
Erica smiled fleetingly and triumphantly at Partridge before, with a sharp clap of her hands, ordering the maids to form a line. All five girls present, including Mandy, responded with alacrity. Mandy saw that Celia Flaxstone was impressed. The cropped blonde strode behind the line of maids, tapping their buttocks with the wooden spoon. The maids shuffled into rigid formation. Again, Mandy caught the nod of approval from the solicitor.
‘Ready for inspection,’ Erica snapped briskly.
‘Excellent. I’m so glad to see that someone is managing to keep a firm hand on the tiller down here.’
Partridge, Mandy observed, paled at the jibe. She suddenly felt a pang of anxiety for the brown-eyed housekeeper. Clearly, she sensed, the days of the woman who had served her late aunt so loyally were numbered. Celia Flaxstone favoured the sterner, bullying skills of Erica, and Mandy quickly deduced that, before long, the cruel, cropped blonde would reign supreme.
Mandy tensed expectantly as the grey eyes began their inspection. Passing along the line of maids, they scrutinized hands, fingernails, uniforms, aprons and faces. Sonia, the dark-eyed little minx, surrendered her hands, palms up, for scrutiny. Reversing them, she shivered as Celia Flaxstone bent down to examine the nails.
‘This girl needs to learn, and learn quickly, how to scrub her hands,’ the mistress of Sternwood Grange murmured. ‘Paying particular attention to her nails.’
Even before the offending hands had been released from the strong grip of the examiner, Erica’s wooden spoon had spoken harshly across Sonia’s plump cheeks. The minx squeaked her anguish.
‘So prompt to punish. An excellent management skill,’ the solicitor purred.
The inspection continued, pausing then stopping at Sophie.
‘There is a smudge of lipstick on your face, girl.’
Sophie’s left hand flew up to her face and wiped her lips. Mandy watched as Sophie fingered her lower lip anxiously.
‘No, not there, but from your gesture you thought you’d left some lipstick on.’
Mandy shivered at the cunning entrapment. The solicitor could now have Sophie punished twice.
‘There, girl, on your cheek. A curious shade of pink. Where have I seen it before?’ The grey eyes narrowed.
Partridge, Mandy thought. It’s the housekeeper’s lipstick, from last night. From her manner, Mandy knew that Celia Flaxstone thought the same.
‘She’s always such a good girl,’ Partridge intervened, defending Sophie. ‘I’m sure –’
‘And I’m sure she deserves to be punished. Four strokes,’ came the stern response, a response which once more rudely cut off the housekeeper.
Erica pounced, dragging Sophie out of the line. Seconds later, the platinum blonde was bending to touch her toes, the hem of her maid’s uniform flipped up and her cotton panties dragged down to her knees.
‘I think Partridge should administer the punishment,’ the solicitor said, smiling maliciously.
She knows. She knows, Mandy realised. But how could she have known that Partridge was fond of Sophie? How cruel this grey-eyed woman is, Mandy thought. Such a sharp mind – it misses nothing. Would it – Mandy’s heart skipped a beat then thumped heavily – miss her disguise?
Erica was chuckling as she returned from the office, swishing a bamboo cane which she handed to Partridge.
‘Since my arrival at Sternwood Grange, you have seemed eager to demonstrate your competence, Partridge. Now,’ whispered Celia Flaxstone softly, ‘you have the chance to do so.’
Mandy thrilled to the swishing slice of the supple wood as it thrummed the air and swept down, biting into the bare bottom. Still smarting from her jealous discovery of the previous night, and from the burning torment of her jealous imaginings, Mandy relished the first two strokes of the punishment, delighting at the kiss of the bamboo and the two pink lines bequeathed by the wood, across Sophie’s upturned cheeks. Then she softened, relenting, and ashamed at her thrill of response. Poor Sophie, she thought. And poor, dear Partridge.
The sharp whistle of the Judas wood as it sliced down and across Sophie’s striped buttocks for the third time caused Mandy to wince, and burn with the slow flames of shame. She felt so sorry for them both. The punisher and the punished. The fourth stroke lashed down, bringing Sophie up on her toes in a squeal of torment.
‘Four more,’ Celia Flaxstone whispered. ‘She was wearing lipstick, after all. Somebody elses, to be sure.’ She paused, letting the accusation hang heavily in the air. ‘But from the way she wiped her lips, she obviously disobeys the rules as well. Another four.’
The length of supple wood glinted in the harsh neon light, and sparkled as it swept down. More thin red lines joined those already burning across the creamy cheeks. At the final stroke, tears of remorse clouded Mandy’s cornflower-blue eyes. She felt so sorry for poor Partridge, ordered to punish the one she favoured. And sorry for Sophie, too. They had both been so kind to her when she had arrived at Sternwood Grange. She regretted her spiteful jealousy and vowed to reward them when the opportunity arose.
When the opportunity arose. The words mocked her. Here she was, standing in line, about to be inspected – punished perhaps – by the clever solicitor. With a ferocity which alarmed her, Mandy knew she hated Celia Flaxstone. Hated her for being a thief and a cheat, of course, but also for being so cruel and ruthless.
Dismissing Partridge with a curt nod, Celia Flaxstone grazed the caned cheeks with her thumb. Mandy saw the striped bottom spasm with fear. Gazing down imperiously at the punished buttocks, the mistress of Sternwood Grange addressed the anxious maids. Her tone was cold.
‘Now that I am in control here, things will be different. All fines and penalty deductions from wages will be doubled with immediate effect. Two weeks loss of pay for Sophie. Please make a note of my decision, Erica.’
Erica nodded.
‘Discipline will also be doubled. No misdemeanor, breakage or petty theft will go unpunished. There has been too much laxity of late. I intend to operate Sternwood Grange with efficiency and strict discipline. Costs must be kept to an absolute minimum. Profits must grow. This can only be achieved by effective management, and effective management means constant vigilance and harsh punishments.’
Mandy wondered what the regime must have been like when her late aunt ran Sternwood Grange. She was convinced that the maids and angels were encouraged and rewarded. All would have been paid properly, and would have shared the residents’ sumptuous meals. Discipline would have been mild, with spankings across the housekeeper’s knee for those who had been naughty. It would have been such fun.
Now, under the strict administration of Celia Flaxstone, profit and efficiency were to be driven up by fear, oppression and harsh conditions of service. Tricked out of their savings by punitive fines and penalties, the maids and angels were little more than bondmaidens, doomed to servitude under the cruel gaze of Erica.
How could a poor maid like Sonia, paid a pittance, ever hope to save up enough to escape this wretched bondage? It was a clever, cunning and cruel mistress now running her late aunt’s enterprise. Would she, Mandy wondered, be able to bring back those sunnier times?
‘You, girl. What is your name?’ rasped the solicitor, staring across at Mandy.
Mandy lowered her gaze as she mumbled her name.
‘A new maid. How long have you been here?’
As planned for, the kettle on the Aga started to give a shrill whistle. Mandy had timed it perfectly. She pretended to be concerned about her duties, glancing anxiously across at the Aga.
‘
She’s a quick learner,’ Erica remarked. Tapping Mandy’s bottom with her wooden spoon, she added, ‘Go back to your duties, girl.’
Mandy escaped with relief to the whistling kettle.
‘Pert little thing,’ the solicitor observed, her grey eyes devouring Mandy’s bottom.
‘Willing, but needs a sharp reminder now and then. Nice bottom,’ Erica purred. ‘I know, I’ve punished it.’
Mandy cringed as she heard them both laugh. At the fierce heat of the Aga, the steam from the kettles moistened the blouse at Mandy’s breasts. They rose, swelling in angry resentment as she listened to more mocking laughter. Her anger turned to fear as she realised that Erica and the solicitor were discussing her with the purring malice of two cats contemplating a shivering mouse trapped between cruel paws.
The morning had been hectic. Fearful of Erica, everyone had worked hard: harder than usual, despite the sweltering heat. Swollen up into new heights of arrogance by Celia Flaxstone’s evident patronage, Erica seemed determined to make her mark in the new regime. She made it, memorably, across the buttocks of two maids caught nibbling at a strip of marzipan. As the spoon cracked down across their bare bottoms, Mandy remembered her visit to the Long Gallery, where she had learnt of the roisterous Cavaliers being ousted by Cromwell’s sterner troops – and thought of dark-eyed Susie being whipped in the pantry. Then, as now, days of pleasure had been supplanted by a reign of pain. As the hours dragged slowly towards lunch, Mandy made sure she was busy, keeping out of sight and avoiding any chance encounter with Celia Flaxstone.
After lunch had been prepared and sent upstairs, Mandy had slipped away for a quick bath. With the lukewarm water lapping at her breasts, she relaxed and felt momentarily safe. The grey-eyed solicitor would be returning to London within the hour, leaving Mandy free to complete her audit. Armed with precise knowledge, she would herself return to London and prepare to claim and secure her inheritance.
London. She closed her eyes and pictured her flat in Notting Hill. In a month or so, the Carnival would be throbbing as it snaked through the surrounding streets. She smiled, remembering how, last year, the very air seemed to pulse till well after midnight. Opening her eyes, she sought and found the soap. It was a mean tablet of unscented wax. The maids were allowed few privileges and denied all luxuries. She splashed the tepid bathwater angrily with a sudden fist of frustration. In her Notting Hill flat, she would enjoy the scented comforts of expensive oils and lotions. Here, she was grudged hot water. Yet all of this was hers. Seized by the indignities and privations, Mandy stood up, grabbed a rough towel and rubbed her nakedness vigorously. Hating the mean and petty restrictions endured since her arrival, she resolved to strike a blow against the tyranny. It would be a small, careful blow. She grinned as she struggled into her panties. Not a full-blown rebellion: too much to risk, too much at stake. Just a small gesture: two pieces of forbidden cake, one for herself and one for poor Sophie who had been so harshly caned.
* * *
Down in the kitchens, she tiptoed across the flagstone floor, tense and alert. They should be, she had calculated, deserted. A slight sound behind her caused her to freeze on the spot. Glancing anxiously over her shoulder, she saw that she was still alone. Resuming her stealthy tread towards the forbidden cake, she brushed against the Gibbet. It rattled noisily. Stilling the chains with upstretched arms, Mandy felt the leather collar tapping against her breasts. Silence returned to the kitchens – except for the wild hammering of her heart. She crept into the pantry and secured two huge slices of chocolate cake. Juggling with her stolen loot, she decided to eat her slice on the spot. She finished it with relish, sucking at her chocolate-darkened fingertips to remove any telltale traces of her guilt, and wrapped Sophie’s slice in a napkin.
Voices approaching down the corridor beyond the kitchen door sent Mandy scuttling for shelter between two of the large fridges. She cowered between them, her buttocks clenched in fearful expectation. If Erica caught her, it would mean the Gibbet – and the Gibbet would mean a scorched bottom.
The two speakers paused in the doorway, blocking Mandy’s escape route. Trapped, she held her breath, wishing her heart would stop beating so loudly.
‘Now the old bat is gone, I can really make something of this place,’ the voice of Celia Flaxstone said.
‘I’m sure you will,’ the voice of Erica simpered.
‘You will have a very important role to play, my dear,’ the solicitor continued. ‘I have many proposals for change here at Sternwood Grange in mind. You feature significantly in my plans.’
‘And Partridge?’ Erica prompted, her Judas whispering quivering with interest.
‘Partridge will have to go. How and when, I am not sure, but an opportunity is bound to present itself. Too attached to the old ways, I’m afraid. By the way,’ the solicitor added suavely, ‘that new maid.’
Mandy stiffened.
‘The beautifully bottomed Mandy?’ Erica chuckled.
Mandy froze, clutching Sophie’s cake so tightly she squeezed the chocolate cream out like toothpaste.
‘Yes, the beautifully bottomed Mandy. I think she could have the potential to be an angel. Try her out this afternoon.’
‘Upstairs?’ Erica murmured, doubtfully.
‘No, not yet. Put her to work in the sauna. Ring me tonight at my flat. Let me know how she progresses. On my next visit, I must take a closer look at the girl, and her beautiful bottom.’
Mandy shivered.
‘Certainly,’ Erica replied obsequiously. ‘And are the kitchens to your satisfaction?’
‘Perfectly,’ came the response. Evidently, the solicitor was conducting a snap inspection before her departure. ‘But then you have already proved your suitability for promotion. Come along.’
Mandy heard the retreating footsteps echo along the corridor as the mistress of Sternwood Grange and her eager lieutenant departed.
‘I had mine earlier. Go on, it’s delicious.’
Sophie grinned naughtily as she accepted the huge slice of stolen chocolate cake. ‘Sure you couldn’t pinch a bigger piece?’ she giggled, her mouth full.‘Anybody’d think you owned the place the way you make free with–’
‘Quick, hide it,’ Mandy hissed, suddenly remembering that the footsteps mounting the stairs would be those of Erica, coming to escort her to the sauna.
Sophie gulped, her eyes bulging as she swallowed. Panicking, she danced around the bedroom flapping her hands.
‘Mandy,’ Erica said, entering the room. ‘I want you to come with me –’ Her suspicious eyes flashed across at Sophie. ‘What are you eating, girl?’ she demanded sternly. ‘Well?’
Sophie swallowed painfully and blinked, her violet eyes widening with fear. ‘Just a slice of bread,’ she whispered.
‘Show me your hands.’
Mandy saw Sophie’s fists clench.
‘Show me,’ Erica purred softly, ‘or you’ll be showing me your bare bottom.’
Sophie offered her hands up for inspection, palms down. Erica grasped the outstretched wrists and, with a twisting wrench, turned the palms upwards. Lowering her cropped blonde head, she inched her face towards the pinioned hands. Mandy shuddered as she saw Erica’s tongue tip flicker and dart, licking and tasting the trembling fingertips.
‘Chocolate cake. Twelve strokes.’
Sophie paled as Mandy flushed and blurted out a protest.
‘No, please, she didn’t –’
‘Didn’t what?’ Erica snapped impatiently. ‘You know the rules, Mandy. Did you have chocolate cake? No. Let me see your hands. There. Spotless.’
Mandy rallied for a second attempt to exonerate Sophie, but Erica was implacable.
‘I think you had better keep away from this girl, Mandy. We have plans for you, she will always be a troublesome little maid. A sore-bottomed little maid. No,’ Erica continued, producing a two-foot bamboo cane. ‘After you have caned her bare bottom, stay away from her. I don’t want Sophie leading you astray.’
Mand
y’s face reddened as she felt Sophie’s accusing glare burn into her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sophie’s violet eyes. They were not widening with fear as they gazed upon the cane, but narrowing with resentment as they examined her own chocolate-smeared fingertips. Mandy saw what Sophie was thinking: she had been framed by Mandy in a deliberate trap, caused by spiteful jealousy of Partridge, or simply to oust Sophie from the chance of being trained to become an angel – leaving the field clear for herself. Mandy did not know which of these ideas had sprung to Sophie’s mind. All she saw – and felt – was the burning hatred in the platinum blonde’s face.
‘Panties down and touch your toes,’ Erica ordered. ‘Mandy, take this cane and show me your technique. Caning bare bottoms will play a significant part in your duties as an angel. Show me if you are worthy of the privilege to serve.’
Mandy took the cane reluctantly, tightening her trembling fingers around the slender rod of supple wood. Sophie, as instructed, had peeled down her panties to her ankles and was stretching down to touch her toes. Naked and bending, she presented her bottom for the bamboo.
‘Twelve,’ Erica murmured, sitting down on the bed to appraise the punishment at close quarters. ‘No,’ she added quickly, as Mandy shouldered the cane. ‘You must prepare for the caning much more carefully. Do not worry about any delay. It merely adds to the miscreant’s sense of dread and heightens their discomfort. First of all, you must judge the distance.’
Mandy took a half-step back from the bare-bottomed, bending girl, lowered the cane and rested the tip of the yellow bamboo at the top of the cleft between the passive cheeks.
The Mistress of Sternwood Grange Page 7