The Girls of Cropton Hall

by Stanlegh Meresith

  "Two."

  Upon the instant she heard the high whispering swish of the cane as it cut through the air, and the SMATT as it bit into her flesh before its devastating, punitive purpose - pain - hit home.

  "Aaaoow!" she cried. It had landed barely half an inch above the previous one and reignited its predecessor's tormenting effects. She banged her forehead on the thick carpet, her face scrunched in furious endurance.

  Emily was now close to a point in her experience of canings she had not reached before: at school she'd had six of the best on top of a recent six on several occasions, but never quite this hard. She felt a shiver of fear join with the pain as she realised she wasn't even half way yet. But she knew she had no choice; she needed this.

  She determined to try and make a run for it.

  "Three," she said.

  The cane flew down. "Yeeoow!" she cried.

  "Four," she called out urgently.

  SWISH ... SSTHWAPP!

  "AAARRGHH!" she moaned, her hips writhing from side to side, her fists pummelling the floor. She summoned her courage again,

  "FIVE," she shouted, and again the cane sliced across the lowest portion of her fleshy buttocks. She screamed without any thought but the expression of sheer agony. Tears streamed down her cheeks now and she cried into the carpet, "Ooow! Ow! Ow!" and her legs kicked helplessly at the air. She couldn't believe she was doing it but her determination to be punished made her cry out, in a voice strangled and choked by her efforts to endure,

  "SIIIIX!"

  This final cut across the already blazing, ravaged underhang of her buttocks elicited another full-throated scream and she toppled forward and sideways off the cushioned pouffe and lay writhing on her side on the carpet clutching the tormented spots with each hand. "Oh! Oh! OW! OW! Aaaooow!" she cried and then she twisted urgently and knelt, her bottom thrust out, still trying to press away the impossible pain, her upturned face grimacing blindly at the ceiling.

  Emily sensed Miss Markham move away and then heard a clattering sound from the direction of the chest of drawers as presumably the cane was returned to its resting place.

  "Right!" announced the Headmistress. "That's quite enough of a performance. Get up!" Emily finally removed her hands from their consoling duties on her backside and pushed herself unsteadily to her feet. "Put your hands on your head and go and stand in that corner over there facing the wall," came the command. Emily looked up to see the Headmistress pointing to a corner where the wall adjoined the chimney breast. Emily obeyed. "I shall let you contemplate the error of your ways for a few minutes, young lady, but, as you know, I haven't finished with you yet, not by a long chalk."

  Emily stood facing the wall, still breathing heavily as she tried to rise above and get a grip on the frantic throbbing, stinging beacon of pain that was her bottom. She heard the Headmistress move over to her desk and the sound of a drawer opening and papers rustling. Gradually Emily won her battle with the pain and she was able to breathe more slowly and deeply and take stock of her feelings.

  Confused, punished (very thoroughly punished), frightened at what was to come and strangely elated: these were her first impressions. She sighed. And then a wave of self-pity came over her; her chest filled with sorrow and tears sprang from her eyes. Her shoulders shook as the tears streamed down her cheeks. She couldn't wipe them away so lowered her head and let them fall. Then the sorrow passed and she opened her eyes and watched as a teardrop fell, swift but ponderous with gravity's allowance, to disappear in the woollen carpet. Her mind wavered in a transitory vacancy, her eyes on the carpet pattern, before the throbbing brought her back and she winced again and shifted, lifting each foot and waggling her legs to try and dislodge the relentless stinging.

  Verily Markham observed her young colleague across the room. She was impressed: that had perhaps been the most full-blooded caning she had ever delivered and Emily had taken the twelve strokes with great fortitude. Verily was annoyed that this had been necessary, but empathised with the young woman's need. Her intention tonight was partly to address the professional short-comings Emily had admitted to, about which something had clearly needed to be done; and partly, for her own interest, to see if a thrashing of such severity (and Molly waited in a corner behind her desk) would succeed in curing, as it were, this young masochist of her obsession with being caned. She turned back to the letter to Sir Wilfred she had begun composing earlier.

  After some minutes, during which Emily had indeed had time to contemplate her errors, along with the wallpaper, the carpet pattern and the end of the mantelpiece, she heard the rustling of papers being replaced in a drawer and then that commanding voice again.

  "Over here, Stokes!"

  Emily turned and walked painfully across the room to the desk. She immediately noticed the cane, in Miss Markham's hand. It was slightly longer than the senior cane, if Emily was judging aright, darker in colour and definitely thicker. A moment's panic flooded her mind and she looked at the Headmistress in fear and a desire to plead. Miss Markham met her gaze steadily and with no sign of mercy. Emily looked down and thought: no, no backing out.

  "This cane," said the older woman, "was known in my day as Molly - a schoolgirl abbreviation for Mollucca, its country of origin. My Headmistress, Miss Bentley, used it to painful effect on those of us who'd most seriously provoked her displeasure. It was rediscovered only today in an attic and this will be my first opportunity to see how it feels from the other end." Miss Markham gazed pitilessly at her young colleague for a few moments before she said,

  "Bend over the desk, Miss Stokes."

  17. Let the Second Week Commence

  Emily took a deep breath and stretched herself once more across the desk. She groaned inwardly at her folly in bringing herself to this pass: with a bottom already fiercely striped with twelve aching, stinging welts she wondered fearfully how she could possibly survive the ravages of the fearsome dark stick in the Headmistress' hands: Molly! Such a sweet, innocent name!

  As if to reinforce her mounting terror, she heard at this moment a swishing sound of a deeper, heavier tone and her whole body tensed.

  "Now, Miss Stokes," came coldly the Headmistress' voice, "for flirting with even the possibility of failing your pupils, and gross dereliction of your duties, you will receive a further six strokes. They will be extremely hard to bear, but bear them you must, and I trust that they will complete a most salutary lesson for you."

  "Yes, Headmistress," squeaked Emily, unable to control the fear in her voice.

  She felt the cool wood tap three times across the middle of her bottom and she squeezed her eyes shut and gripped the far edge of the desk for all she was worth.

  The impact of the cane jolted her forward - she immediately felt its heavier, bruising force and she yelped. The line of stinging fire that then engulfed her caught the end of that yelp and forced it into an agonised cry. Involuntarily, her knees bent and her feet flew up so that her heels were almost touching her buttocks. Her head too had thrust back, as if each physical extremity sought to reach and somehow soothe the tortured target. She froze for several moments in this tensed posture before both head and feet subsided and slumped, accompanied by a deep, prolonged moan.

  Miss Markham waited a full two minutes before delivering the next stroke, during which time Emily was very gradually able to surface from the flood of sheer pain that swamped her being. But each succeeding stroke, administered at equally regular two minute intervals, sent her reeling back into that place of desperate endurance. She was aware only of waves of excruciating pain spreading out from her buttocks, activating and overriding every nerve in her body, and of her knuckles clutching desperately on to the edge of the desk. Her one thought became 'I must hold on, must hold on'. With the fourth stroke she lost track even of where it landed, so all-encompassing was the agony, and by the time the fifth and sixth sliced home she had forfeited all control of her body, unaware of her torso writhing and bucking, twisting this way and that across the surface o
f the site of punishment. Her ears too lost contact with her voice, so she had no recollection afterwards of her cries or her screams, or of her begging, "No ... no more ... pleeeease ... I can't..."

  When the caning was complete, Emily remained far away on a journey of her own while her body lay squirming, groaning and crying over the desk, tears and snot joined in a pool around her nose which was flattened against the green leather surface.

  Eventually her awareness returned and she heard herself crying,

  "Aaaoooww! Aooow! Aooow!"

  And the cries rose in intensity as her mind allowed the consciousness of the pain to reach her again. She cried for her young self, for her poor tormented bottom, for her sins, her obstinacy, her refusal to learn. But, as deep sobs shook her upper body, she became aware of a hand gently stroking her shoulder and then her hair, and then two hands were lifting her shoulders up and she shook uncontrollably as Miss Markham took her in her arms and held her tight. Emily poured out her grief into the bosom of her Headmistress and clasped her round the waist wanting never to let go. As the relief of safety and forgiveness began to bring light to her mind she found herself whispering,

  "Thank you ... thank you ... I'm sorry ... I'm so sorry..."

  Verily simply held her close, gently stroking the back of Emily's head, saying,

  "All is forgiven ... all is forgiven..."

  When her tears stopped flowing and she became aware of her damp, messy face, Emily released Verily from her encircling grasp and stepped back, embarrassedly wiping at her face with her sleeve.

  "I ... I'm sorry," she said, attempting a rueful half-smile. "I think I've ... messed up your jacket..."

  "It's alright, Emily," said Verily softly. She reached round and undid the two safety pins, and very carefully lowered Emily's skirt. "I suggest you carry your knickers with you for now, my dear. I know what an agony it can be..."

  Emily managed more of a smile now and nodded.

  "Thank you, Miss Markham." She looked up into those clear eyes and said again, "Thank you," and her own eyes shone with the redemption of suffering and a deep gratitude.

  Clutching the gift of a small pot of arnica cream wrapped in her knickers, Emily climbed the stairs to her room one at a time, clutching the banister like an arthritic old lady. She winced at every step. Thirty-six essays awaited her, and she looked on them now as a pleasant challenge.

  "And with a bottom this angry," she thought, "I wasn't going to get any sleep tonight anyway."

  ---oOo---

  Miss Emily Stokes, B.A (Hons) was not the only resident of Cropton Hall to suffer an uncomfortable night as Sunday became Monday, heralding the second week of term. Miss Margaret Dawson, M.A. (Cantab), back in her room in school, also found her exceedingly well-spanked and striped bottom something of a hindrance to a satisfying night's rest.

  Plain Susan French, however, for whom the prospect of academic titles lay still some distance in an uncertain future (especially given the parlous state of her ability to spell correctly) suffered perhaps more than any: all night she tossed and turned, and squirmed, dreaming of stripy cats with swishing tails, of high winds swishing through bendy thin branches and finally, the nightmare from which she awoke with a sudden gasp, of a cane swishing down onto her upturned bare bottom. Dawn was breaking and she heard the contented snores of the sleeping dorm. She turned over with a heavy sigh, closed her eyes again and tried to find a safer haven in the realms of her sub-conscious.

  Two hours later, tie safely secured, if slightly off centre, around her collar, Susan sat beside Rachel in Assembly and watched as the tall, be-gowned woman who would shortly be making her nightmare come true swept up the aisle and climbed the steps to the stage where the staff sat ready, facing the school.

  "Good morning, girls," boomed Miss Markham, surveying the rows of blue. "Welcome to the second week of term. First, let me make some announcements." She unfolded a sheet of paper and looked at it for a moment. "The Debating Society will meet in the Library at five this afternoon when Miss Bainbridge will facilitate the election of Officers for this term. Any of you contemplating a career involving public speaking are urged to put yourselves forward." She paused. "The History Society will meet every Tuesday at five, starting this week, in Upper Sixth B form room, Miss Gibson presiding. This is compulsory for all History A level students. Further news on clubs and societies will be posted on the notice boards by the staffroom."

  She placed the paper on the lectern and looked up again, running her piercing gaze along the nearer rows of girls who invariably looked down as it approached them.

  "Before we sing today's hymn, "Study me, Oh Lord!" I wish to remind you all of our purpose in being here at Cropton Hall." Again she paused and the complete hush in the Hall was testament to the success of her first week at the school. "Learning, girls, learning. We are here to teach, you to learn. That is all we know, and all we need to know. Your futures depend on your willingness to do your very best in your studies. But I know that some of you find this hard; some of you get very easily distracted; some of you are simply rather lazy, aren't you?" An murmur of amused if sheepish recognition fluttered through the hall.

  She held up the small yellow Study card and proceeded to explain its purpose and the two-tier system of recording less than satisfactory performance that it would be used for. The silence now was pregnant with tension, many stomachs hollowing in fear: the well-behaved sensed correctly that their avoidance of trouble might no longer be enough to evade the whackings and worse that so many of their neighbours had already experienced under the new Head's strict regime.

  Discreetly clutching Susan's hand hidden beneath their skirts between them on the pew, and unconcerned at the threatening implications of Miss Markham's new academic monitoring system, Rachel was suddenly struck with an idea, stemming from the earlier announcements: societies ... why didn't she start one of her own? One the mistresses didn't know about? One for the girls? She mouthed her way through "Study me, Oh Lord! That I may learn thy works" (And make me not be bored, being taught by all these berks! she added) while her mind raced excitedly over some possible names for the new pupil-only society she had in mind. It was to be a society for punished girls, with records and prizes and a top ten and ... and a points system and ... Oh! this was going to be fun. Eventually, whilst kneeling for the Lord's Prayer, she settled on S.W.A.C.K - the Society of Whacked and Caned Knightesses. She wasn't sure if 'knightesses' was actually a word but anyone could see what it meant and it gave them the kind of romantic grandeur that she was after. Yes! she thought. And she and Susie would be the first members, and they would count all punishments since the start of this term ... she reckoned poor Susie was probably number one in the Hit Parade already, even without what was coming in a few minutes.

  Susan was praying fervently, but with a strong sense of futility, at Rachel's side. If she could have read her friend's thoughts, she would have rolled her eyes in that way she often did at Rachel's schemes, and not been best pleased in the circumstances: she was still quite bruised from Friday's strapping and the two strokes of the junior cane she'd got after, and the thought of the four more impending was making her bottom tingle in unhappy anticipation.

  "Amen," said the Headmistress finally, and everyone stood. Miss Markham swept her way out as authoritatively as she had entered, yellow card in hand. As the Cropton girls filed silently out, it was no surprise how many were planning to go straight to their desks to check the quality of their weekend's homework.

  ---oOo---

  After Assembly, Rachel accompanied a very morose and frightened Susan slowly along the corridor towards Miss Markham's study. At the turn at the end, they stopped and Rachel squeezed her dear friend's hand, giving her a blessing peck on her forehead. Susan tried to smile but the corners of her mouth just wouldn't obey and Rachel's heart lurched in anguished sympathy.

  At that moment they were interrupted by a strident voice.

  "On time for once, French, I see!"

&nbs
p; Miss Markham, whom they'd assumed to be in her study awaiting Susan, appeared behind them and Rachel was momentarily startled.

  "Here to offer moral support, Thomas?" asked the Headmistress, not unkindly.

  "Yes, Miss," responded Rachel cautiously.

  "Very well," said Miss Markham, leading a quaking Susan by the shoulder down the short stretch to her study door. "You may wait for French on the bench here."

  She opened the study door, stood with her back to it and ushered Susan in. Susan turned quickly and gave Rachel one last, miserable look before she disappeared into the room. The door closed behind her.

  Rachel sat for a few moments but she felt restless and unhappy. She got up, looked back down the corridor and listened, and then approached the oak door and put her ear to the crack where it met the frame. She heard Miss Markham's voice but couldn't make out what she was saying. She held her breath the better to hear and after a while heard the Headmistress' slightly raised voice saying, "... better buck up your ideas, young lady..."

  Rachel sighed. Poor Susie, she didn't mean to be a trouble-maker, she was just-

  "Thomas!"

  A familiar voice interrupted Rachel's thoughts and she jumped away from the door. Miss Waring came towards her carrying a stack of exercise books in her arms. Rachel should have gone to help but was still shocked at being discovered.

  "What do you think you're doing?" asked Prudence Waring. After a pause she added, "Or, I should say, why were you listening at the Headmistress' door?" She placed the books on the end of the bench and turned to confront the young Lower Sixth-former.

  "Er ... sorry Miss ... the Head said I could be here, Miss," said Rachel.

  "What? Listening at her door! I doubt that very much, young lady," said Prudence indignantly.