The Girls of Cropton Hall

by Stanlegh Meresith

  Edith stepped forward to supervise. "Right, girls, from the back please, and no talking till you have left the chapel."

  In the corridors on the way to the dining-hall the hubbub was intense. While some exchanged fervent new year's resolutions to be perfect, others showed bravado, making swishing sounds and rubbing their bottoms in mock discomfort. All were nervous and excited, and word was spreading about Miss Dawson's punishment of Thomas, French and Jennings. Rachel and Susan noticed the curious and sympathetic looks they were getting and secretly enjoyed the attention. And Jennings was revelling in it, though she was secretly a bit alarmed at how sore her bum still was. She wasn't so sure how often she actually wanted to play this role.

  Talking was not permitted in the dining-hall until grace had been said and it was noticeable how instantly, this morning, silence fell the moment the girls crossed the threshold.

  ---oOo---

  Prudence Waring, in the past two days, had been through the most painful reckoning of her life, and the caning she'd received represented only a fraction of this distress. Verily Markham's words had opened an infected seam of wounded shame and regret that had been gathering since her father had died. He had been the rock upon which the foundations of her sense of love and safety had been built. When he'd died suddenly of a heart attack at 45, she was filled with grief but also, without understanding or recognising it, with a great rage. This rage she had directed very unfairly at her mother, defying and rejecting her at every turn and eventually cutting off all contact. They hadn't spoken for three years, and now Prudence felt such a huge anguish of guilt that she felt like marching into Miss Markham's study and begging her to administer a further six, nay a dozen, strokes of that agonising cane.

  She had spent Sunday crying her eyes out, raking over every selfish, thoughtless cruelty she had perpetrated these past four years, horrified at the person she'd become. The rage, at herself, swept through her in waves throughout the day reaching such peaks of tearful self-loathing that at one point she grabbed her hairbrush, bared her own bottom, and whacked at her still painfully striped buttocks. The agony this caused her she embraced with gritted teeth, the balance of physical and emotional pain bringing some relief.

  As the evening drew in, the storm subsided and clarity and forgiveness began, like Christ, to lighten her mind. She bathed, gently rubbed soothing cream into her throbbing buttocks and sat down on a plump cushion to write to her mother.

  Composing the letter brought fresh waves of tears, releasing now a deeper sorrow at the separation and all the love she felt she'd wasted. She crumpled up and discarded several sheets, either too wet with tears or for not expressing her feelings closely enough, but eventually she felt she'd reached completion. Drained but happier, she put herself carefully to bed.

  That night she dreamed she was flying, propelled by something warm at her back.

  ---oOo---

  The summons came five minutes before the end of afternoon lessons. Susan was in French with Countess Potocki, Rachel in Maths with Mrs Beecham, the messenger a prefect called Williams who must have had a free period. A brief knock, a whispered word, and the Countess' slightly surprised ... and Mrs Beecham's world-weary...

  "French/Thomas - you are to report to the Headmistress' study straight after this lesson."

  When the bell sounded, the by-turns eager, pitying, prurient, curious or self-satisfied looks of their classmates followed them out, as their hearts pounded and palms sweated. Here we go again, thought Susan. Why do I do this?

  "I think you both know why you're here," said the Headmistress brusquely, seated behind her desk. They stood before her, heads lowered in the expected pose of contrition. "I have already spoken to Jennings and dealt with her part in last night's childish nonsense."

  Susan didn't like the sound of "dealt with".

  "Like Miss Dawson I am satisfied that the two of you were not bullying Jennings, as first appeared to be the case. I am also aware that you have already been properly punished by your Dormitory Mistress."

  This was sounding better, thought Susan, relaxing slightly.

  "Would you agree with that?" The Head's question caught them both dozing and distracted. Agree with what? Rachel tried an "Erm..." Susan just blushed.

  "Well, if you're not sure, then I can certainly arrange for a more..."

  Sensing danger, Rachel felt she had to interrupt the Headmistress, though aware this wasn't the first time. "Sorry, Miss, I didn't hear you ... sorry ... would we agree with what?"

  The Headmistress regarded her sternly for a terrifying moment, but relented, aware of their nervousness.

  "Would you agree that you were properly punished last night?" Both girls fell over themselves to convey their unreserved assent to this notion:

  "Completely, Miss, yes..."

  "I'm still really sore, Miss..."

  "Very properly, Miss..."

  "Well, we shall see," continued the Headmistress, apparently unimpressed by their certainty, and Susan's heart sank again. "According to Miss Dawson, you, Thomas, hit Jennings on her bottom with a hairbrush, while you, French, held her down. Is this correct?" Susan's heart sank further.

  "Yes, Miss," they both muttered regretfully.

  "This I cannot allow to pass," said the Headmistress with fresh vigour. "I will not tolerate the appropriation by pupils of the punitive prerogatives of staff in any form." It was lucky she didn't ask, "Is that understood?" because it wasn't. But the tone was clear... trouble.

  She stood up. "I intend to give you each one stroke with the senior cane as a warning." Susan's heart now descended so far, it was perhaps approaching the very region of her anatomy whose impending discomfort she was so concerned about. "Thomas, go to the chest of drawers over there and open the middle drawer. You will see a long light brown cane with a crook handle. Bring that to me please."

  Rachel pulled open the drawer by its two knobs and saw a collection of implements arranged neatly inside: hairbrushes, straps, plimsolls (including, she was sure, the black one Mrs Weekes had used on them) and canes, only one of which was distinctly longer and clearly the one intended. Her stomach lurched with fear (and, yes, a smidgen of excitement) as she reached to pick up the cane just below the end where it curved round on itself. She'd never seen, let alone held, a cane before. It was very light and awkwardly long. It clattered against the side of the drawer as she withdrew it clumsily.

  "Don't dawdle, Thomas," warned the Headmistress as Rachel stood spellbound for a moment just holding the cane.

  "Sorry, Miss," she responded, carrying it before her as if it might bite, but also as if it were a gift she was offering. She found herself eager to please this woman, and not from a selfish desire to appease. Miss Markham took the cane from her with practiced assurance, gripping it firmly and giving it a swish. Susan flinched. She looked deeply unhappy.

  "Right - lower your panties and bend over the desk, both of you." She moved behind them and lifted their skirts up over their backs, inspecting Margaret Dawson's handiwork as she did so. Tapping the cane lightly on each of their bottoms, she remarked,

  "I see Miss Dawson has indeed made a suitable impression on you both."

  Rachel, facing the window, turned slightly and said,

  "Yes, Miss," almost enthusiastically. Susan rolled her eyes at her friend.

  Miss Markham admired the still reddened, bruised bottoms before her. She noticed, too, the faint traces of the three switch marks Margaret had told her about on Rachel's right cheek. She thought about Patricia Desmond's letter.

  Susan's fervent wish that this be over was soon granted. The Headmistress stood almost touching Rachel's backside and measured the cane against Susan's generously protruding bottom. She tapped a couple of times, eliciting a nervous wiggle.

  At first, Susan simply gasped as the impact registered. When the deep, fiery sting came through she let out a high-pitched squeal, rose and clutched her arse, rubbing frenetically.

  "Get down, and hands away immediately!"
ordered Miss Markham in such a determined tone that Susan obeyed instantly. She continued to wriggle wildly but she stayed down and kept her hands in front of her. She was whimpering self-piteously. Rachel gulped. She thought she knew what this might be about to be like, after her mother's switching, but this cane made a higher, swishier sound that made her stomach twist now with panic. She saw the Head out of the corner of her eye taking up position to her left and she felt the tapping on her cheeks. She braced herself.

  Miss Markham noticed Rachel's buttocks clench and she waited, cane poised in the air. The moment she saw the muscles relax she swished the cane down swiftly and firmly into the same spot she'd found on Susan's bottom - neatly across the lower, meatier portion, just where they couldn't avoid sitting. She wanted these two minxes to remember this for a day or two.

  Rachel took it well, grunting at the impact and hissing as she breathed in sharply to try and ride the pain. It stung like nothing else - a thinner, slicier kind of sting than the switch had been. But she bore it. It helped to know that that was it!

  "Right, young ladies, I suggest you get up and get out of my sight before I decide that perhaps one stroke was too lenient," came the Headmistress' voice in a friendlier, jovial tone.

  Susan rose like a shot and, pouting with a nervous glance at her tormentor, rubbed her fingers over the stinging line. Placing the cane on the desk, Miss Markham smiled indulgently, nodding her permission, all too familiar with this desire to try and dispel the discomfort.

  Rachel, she noticed, behaved with greater dignity, rising more slowly and reaching immediately to pull her knickers up, merely probing very tentatively at the stricken area before she let her skirt fall back into place. She then impressed the Headmistress further by holding out her hand, saying with a shy upwards glance,

  "Thank you, Headmistress." Still smiling, Verily Markham took the proffered hand and held it for a moment, gazing probingly into this young woman's shining eyes.

  "You're welcome, Miss Thomas, and I hope you will learn from this?" Privately, she doubted it, and she noticed a moment's confusion in Rachel's expression before she gave the expected,

  "Yes, Miss."

  As Rachel closed the study door respectfully behind them, Susan turned to her in amazement.

  "Thank you, Headmistress?! What was that about?" Rachel gazed lovingly at her friend and shrugged.

  "I don't know," she said. "It just felt like the right thing to say."

  8. Seven O'clock Reckoning: Four Get Sore

  At five o'clock that Monday afternoon, Edith Bainbridge entered the staff room to collect the punishment referral slips deposited by staff during the day. She was surprised to find so many - she'd assumed Verily's warning at morning assembly would have curbed the levels of indiscipline they'd all become used to. Mind you, she had herself had to spank a girl in class that day - for continued inattention - so she recognised it would take time to raise standards of behaviour.

  Colleagues were drinking tea, marking, or in quiet discussion. Some nodded when they saw the slips in her hand. There were eight in total and, after a quick read, she ascertained that all seemed perfectly valid. Verily had asked her to be vigilant for any of the junior Mistresses being too quick to refer pupils for things where a warning would have been sufficient.

  She sorted them by degrees of seriousness: there was one very serious case of cheating - Julia Bennett, an Upper Sixth girl who'd neglected to do her summer homework in History and was caught by Miss Gibson during the start-of-term test with crib notes inexpertly hidden on her lap. Edith was very familiar with Miss Bennett, a wild, rebellious girl who'd been allowed to get away with far too much for far too long. Three slips indicated serious cases, involving lying and rudeness, one of them a new fourth-former. The other four were moderate misdemeanours, talking out of turn, running dangerously in the corridor, that kind of thing.

  She picked up the two brand-new leather-bound punishment books and was about to leave the staffroom when she noticed Prudence Waring sitting in the corner alone. She hesitated a moment, then crossed the room and sat down on the comfy sofa next to the young teacher. Prudence looked up and gave her a warm smile which immediately relieved the concerns Edith had been harbouring.

  "Deputy Head," said Prudence in polite acknowledgement.

  "How were your classes?" asked Edith. "Any trouble?"

  "Strangely, no. I've spent the weekend reflecting on many things - many uncomfortable things." She shifted on the sofa and smiled shyly at Edith. "And not just my ... very sore backside! Miss Markham's words stripped away a lot of ... stupidity and ignorance I was lost in. Anyway, thank you for your part in my ... punishment. It worked!"

  "You're very welcome, Prudence," said Edith gently, placing a hand on her arm. "And I'm so pleased, and proud of the way you've conducted yourself, I really am."

  Prudence's eyes became teary. "Thank you, Edith."

  Edith got up, smiled again at Prudence, and set off for Verily Markham's study to discuss the evening's punishments.

  ---oOo---

  Members of the hockey first XI left over from the previous year gathered after lessons that first afternoon in the changing room, summoned by Miss Gibson. There were six of them: Rachel Thomas, Alice Jennings and Julia Bennett and three others now in the Upper Sixth. As they waited for the mistress to arrive, conversation inevitably centred on the changes wrought by the new Head.

  "I heard you two got a spanking last night," said Mary Wilkinson, with a quizzical smile.

  "Spanking!" exclaimed Alice indignantly. "Excuse me, but five heavy whacks with a bloody great slab of hard wood is hardly just a spanking! This wasn't a few slaps from Mummy on the back of your legs, Wilkinson." The girls generally used each other's surnames, following the lead of the mistresses, except in private moments with close friends.

  "Yes, but Miss Dawson?" queried Julia Bennett. "Not exactly the strong arm of the law, is she?"

  "I know," said Rachel, "but this was a very different Miss Dawson. I couldn't quite believe it myself. She laid it on, I can tell you."

  "My bum's black and blue! And then I got the cane as well!" said Alice.

  "Gosh! What for?" asked Mary.

  "Me, too," said Rachel.

  "I don't know what it was for! Something about puny something... punitive something ... it had a lot of P's in it. And she said it was a warning."

  "She said the same to us," said Rachel. "How many did you get?"

  Alice hesitated, wondering whether to exaggerate.

  "You just got one as well, didn't you?" asked Rachel, correctly reading the reason for Alice's pause.

  "One!" exclaimed Mary, mockingly. Alice was suddenly close to tears.

  "It's easy for you to make fun, Wilko..." Alice knew Mary didn't like this nickname."But it really hurt." Her chest heaved with the struggle to swallow the tears, before she opted for attack as the best form of defence. "Hey, and even one with that cane would make you blubber."

  "You'd better watch it, Jennings. I'm a prefect, don't forget, and getting reported these days won't just end in lines."

  Rachel was about to protest and try to calm them down when Julia Bennett said sombrely,

  "I'm getting the cane."

  Alice and Mary both stopped short and joined the others in staring at Julia. They were all a little in awe of Julia Bennett, who'd been in more trouble than any of them; she'd nearly been expelled last year for meeting a boy out of bounds and was known to have held the record for number of beatings in the last year of the old head, Mrs Dunstan. Julia's friend Shirley Barton was the first to break the silence.

  "Did you say cane? What for? You didn't tell me."

  "I know. Sorry. I wasn't sure, or didn't want to think about it. Gibbo caught me cheating in the History test. Said it was a very serious matter and she had to refer it to the Head. That's probably why she's not here now... reporting me."

  "Will it definitely be the cane?" asked Shirley. "How do you know that?"

  Julia gave he
r a look. "What do you think?"

  Shirley looked sadly, a little desperately, at her friend. "I suppose you're right..."

  They were all pondering this when Miss Gibson herself appeared. She sensed by their looks, and Julia's expression, what they'd been discussing, but decided to ignore the mood and get on with matters of sport. There was a match in two weeks and they needed to run trials to choose the five replacements. But the normal excitement and pride attached to first XI affairs was greatly subdued, and Miss Gibson had to repeat herself more than once as the distracted girls each contemplated Julia's impending fate, a fate being discussed that very moment in Verily Markham's study.

  ---oOo---

  Helen Paterson had been selected as the new Head Girl before the Summer Term had ended. She was both proud and nervous of the responsibility, but when she heard about the new Headmistress from her parents and Sir Wilfred's letter and saw the cane on the hook in her form room (Miss Bainbridge's Upper Sixth class) she felt relief. Maybe her job wouldn't be so hard after all.

  She'd wondered when she would actually meet Miss Markham properly and the moment arrived after tea that Monday. The Head had approached her at the top table (apart from two on supervision, staff did not join the girls for this meal), smiled and very politely asked if she would "pop in" to see her when she'd finished eating. Near silence had fallen over the entire dining-room when the headmistress entered, a hundred pairs of eyes following her progress up the aisle between the tables. Helen felt pleased to be the reason for the Head's appearance, and the recipient of that dazzling smile, especially when the whole school seemed to be anxiously holding its breath. She whom you fear, she thought proudly, is my friend.