"Well, no, Miss. She told me to wait on the bench, Miss."
"Quite!" said Prudence. "Are you waiting to be punished?"
"No, Miss. I was just ... trying to ... give moral support, Miss," said Rachel, recalling the Headmistress' own phrase.
"Moral support for whom exactly, Thomas?" asked Prudence.
"French, Miss. She's about to get the..."
At this moment, the fortuitous coincidence of a swishing sound from within the study, as Miss Markham administered the first of Susan's four strokes with the junior cane, finished Rachel's sentence for her. It was followed by a high-pitched yelp. Rachel noticed Miss Waring wince almost imperceptibly.
"Well, that is no excuse for listening at the door." Prudence was aware that her voice did not carry the conviction it should: since her own caning by Miss Markham and the changes it had wrought in her, she had felt particularly sympathetic to Thomas, whom she now taught for A level Geography. Indeed, she had tolerated more low-level misbehaviour in class from this girl than she should have done, and was worried that Thomas was taking advantage and would undermine her authority further. She felt guilty now about getting her and French whacked by Mrs Weekes last term when most girls would have been given lines, but she also knew her lenience had gone far enough, perhaps too far. She gazed at the pupil before her, noting the uncertain, slightly questioning look in her eyes. A second swish, smack and 'Yeeeooow!' came through the study door.
"Miss," asked Rachel after a pause, "are you... going to report me?" She looked up at the mistress with her big brown eyes and Prudence quailed inwardly, but hid it fairly successfully.
"Sit down, Thomas," said Prudence, taking a deep breath and her courage in her hands. Rachel sat on the bench she was supposed to have been occupying all this time and looked up again at the mistress. "Thomas, I have tried this term to be calmer and less quick to lose my temper. I regret causing you and French to be whacked last term, though heaven knows what you'd get if you pulled such a stunt now!" Rachel looked down and gulped: it was true - the senior cane probably, and hard. "And I have probably overlooked more of your misbehaviour in class than I should've done. You must admit you have been testing me, haven't you?"
SWISH ... THWATT...
"Aaoooooooh!" they heard through the oak door.
Rachel winced and blushed. She looked down at her hands in her lap. "Yes, Miss," she admitted.
"And you must see," continued Prudence, "that I cannot permit this state of affairs to continue indefinitely..." She let the statement hang in the air.
"Yes, Miss," said Rachel with a sigh. She felt embarrassed now at some of the impertinence she'd been showing off with in Geography.
SWISH ... CRACK!...
"OOOOOOOWWW!"
They both stopped and looked at the door for a moment, before Prudence turned back to Rachel.
"So Thomas, I cannot overlook your eavesdropping just now. I would be failing in my duty. I'm sorry, but you did wrong, I caught you at it and the Headmistress must be informed. I hope she isn't too hard on you."
Rachel blushed more deeply and continued staring at her hands. She felt her stomach lurch at the thought of what she might be about to get.
"Yes, Miss. Thank you, Miss," she said softly but without sarcasm.
They heard footsteps approaching and the door opened slowly. Susan appeared, her face pale and drawn, her hands hovering over her backside. She'd clearly been crying. Rachel had stood and Susan was about to rush into her arms when she noticed Miss Waring standing there and she stopped uncertainly. The Headmistress appeared behind her.
"Ah! Miss Waring! Good morning!"
"Good morning, Headmistress," said Prudence. "Miss Stokes asked me to let you know that she has a ... an upset stomach which has kept her up most of the night. She has given me all her marking to return - I've offered to take her first two lessons myself, as I'm free. She should be fine by noon." Miss Markham eyed Prudence carefully and nodded. She turned to the two girls.
"Run along you two," she said brusquely. Susan turned to go but Rachel stood there awkwardly. Prudence spoke up.
"Erm ... I'm afraid I caught Thomas listening at your door, Headmistress," she said. "She was quite clearly eavesdropping."
The Headmistress turned angrily to Rachel and grasped her by the ear.
"Thomas!" she said very sternly, "I've had just about enough of your disobedience." She manoeuvred Rachel over to the door and said,
"Off you go, French ... thank you, Miss Waring. Please ensure the pupils all get their essays back." So saying she led Rachel, wincing, with her head still bent to one side by the Headmistress' squeezing grip on her ear, into the study and closed the door.
"Stand there, Thomas, and face the door," said Miss Markham, finally releasing the unfortunate ear. "I shall deal with this instantly. You've wasted quite enough of my time this term already." Rachel turned and faced the door. She listened in alarm as Miss Markham walked briskly over to the drawer of implements and opened it. This was all happening too fast: so sudden and unexpected. Her heart thumped and her bottom tingled.
"Put your hands on your shoulders." Rachel obeyed. The Headmistress lifted the back of her skirt and placed a corner in each of Rachel's hands, saying, "Hold on and don't let it drop." Rachel grasped the two parts of the hem of her skirt with her fingers and felt her knickers being yanked down roughly.
"Step back," barked the Headmistress. Rachel did so with alacrity. The Head's anger was scaring her. She was now about four feet from the door. She was just turning her head to see what Miss Markham intended when she was shocked and jolted forwards by an almighty WHACK to her left buttock.
"OW!" she shouted, caught completely by surprise. The stricken spot blazed with a furious sting.
SMACK! came almost immediately an equally forceful blow to her right cheek and her knees bent and her back arched at the impact. "OOOW!" she cried, indignantly.
SMACK! blasted the hairbrush again within moments as it landed on exactly the same spot on her left cheek as the first whack. Rachel let out a furious screech. It burned and stung with intolerable intensity. Her face was scrunched up and tears had sprung from her tightly shut eyes.
SMACK! came the fourth without a pause, right on top of that second one.
"YEEEEOWW!" screamed Rachel in instant response. She hopped from foot to foot, her buttocks shaking as she did so.
Miss Markham stood back and observed the two round circles of white within red rapidly forming in the lower centre of each of the naughty girl's buttocks.
"Now get out of my sight!" said the Headmistress impatiently, striding away and placing the hairbrush on the corner of her desk.
Rachel's hands flew to her bottom and she stood a moment wincing furiously before she reached down to pull up her knickers and lunged tearfully for the doorknob.
She offered no 'Thank you, Miss' this time, stunned by the rapidity with which she had turned from appreciated profferer of moral support into disobedient, soundly-whacked annoyance. As she closed the door behind her, tears of sorrow and shame overcame her and she walked quickly away, rubbing her burning bottom. As she made her way painfully back down the corridor, she determined to make S.W.A.C.K the most popular society in the history of Cropton Hall.
18. Rachel Scores a Hat-trick
Julia Bennett had finally reached a decision only when she awoke that Monday morning. Gabrielle's advice had been sound: sleep on it, she'd said. Julia had, and the answer became clear in her mind as she stood by her bed doing up her skirt and buttoning her blouse. Being Head Girl was not for her; she understood everything that had been put to her, by the Head, and by Gabby, but she simply did not feel ready to change who she was so radically.
She recognised that her rebelliousness was something she had to grow out of; indeed, she could already feel that happening to some extent. But there was a big difference between being less defiant towards authority and actually becoming that authority's representative. Perhaps her biggest fear, which ha
unted the corridors at the back of her mind, was of becoming in any way, even remotely, like the Worm. Helen Patterson stood In Julia's mind for all that was despicable: obsequiousness, weakness, vindictiveness, officiousness - qualities she couldn't abide and she could see how being Head Girl would require her to pretend at least some of them some of the time. That was not going to happen.
So it was with some trepidation that she presented herself at the Headmistress' study at 10.15 and stood once more across the large desk from the woman who had become so confusingly important to her.
"Are you sure you won't sit?" asked Miss Markham, slightly frustrated.
"No, thank you, Miss," said Julia again, feeling very awkward. They both knew this implied.
"Am I to take it then that you have decided not to accept the role of Head Girl?" asked Verily softly.
"Yes, Miss. I'm sorry, Miss, I really am. I don't mean to be rude, or disrespectful, but ... I ... just don't think I can do it ... or want to do it."
Verily gazed at the pretty young woman: at her brown hair slightly unkempt, at the large brown eyes, big now with worry, at her fine, womanly figure pushing at the boundaries of her Cropton girls' uniform. She wasn't particularly surprised at Julia's decision.
"Well, I'm sure you gave this a lot of thought, Julia, and I know it can't have been easy for you." She sighed. "I won't pretend I'm not disappointed." She tapped the edge of the desk with her forefinger.
"I'm sorry, Miss," said Julia miserably. There was a long silence; the Headmistress seemed deep in thought. Julia cleared her throat and Verily looked up.
"Miss ..." said Julia tentatively. Verily nodded. "I think I have a suggestion that might ... help?" She hesitated to go on, feeling guilty about refusing what to most girls would have been an honour.
"Yes?" She seemed to struggle to form a kindly smile. Julia feared that any respect the Headmistress had felt for her was ebbing away fast.
"Miss, I know it's not my place to say, but ..."
"Go on, Bennett, I'm listening." Bennett! Julia felt even more bereft.
"I think that Gabrielle ... Pearson, Miss, would be a really good Head Girl, and I know she'd think it was a great honour, Miss." Miss Markham regarded her for a moment and then stood up.
"Thank you, Miss Bennett for your time, and your ... suggestion," she said brusquely, clearly dismissing the young Upper-sixth former. Julia's heart sank even further. She wanted desperately to say or do something to win the Head's approval again but she could think of nothing so she turned and walked disconsolately over to the door.
"Thank you, Miss," she said, before departing. "And ... I'm sorry ..."
The Headmistress shrugged.
---oOo---
Rachel had sat uncomfortably through Miss Waring's Geography class, shifting on the hard wooden seat so often that at one point the young mistress had snapped at her,
"Oh! Do sit still, Thomas, for heaven's sake! Now, girls, the formation of the Great Rift Valley is thought to have been the result ..."
Rachel was having trouble with her own rift valley, just ... not able to find a ... position to sit on that evaded the two bruised and throbbing spots where Miss Markham had whacked her. She usually enjoyed the after-glow of a whacking but this one had left her squirming with more discomfort than she wanted. And Miss Waring's snapping fuelled her sense of injustice at the morning's events even more.
At break time, then, she dragged Susan off to a quiet corner near the changing-room and revealed her brainwave.
"The Society of Caned and Whacked what?" exclaimed Susan.
"Knightesses ..." said Rachel, beaming with pride and excitement.
"There's no such thing as a ... knightess," said Susan reasonably, "and anyway, what's the point of this Society?"
"Suseeee!" Rachel bent her knees and clapped her hands in frustration that her beloved wasn't immediately bowled over by the plan. "The POINT ... is to bring us punished girls together in our own secret society. We'll have secret meetings and elect our own officers - well, senior knightesses - and we'll comfort each other, we'll buy pots of cold cream, we'll provide an after-service, we'll celebrate our brave ones and ... and ... we can have prizes for who gets the most punishments in a term, you know, that kind of thing ... and it'll be really good fun!"
Rachel was so eager, almost desperate really, that Susan didn't like to point out that most girls she knew didn't particularly want to receive the most punishments: they'd far rather have the prize of a not-sore bottom.
"Well ..." she said. "I'm not sure, Rache ... I suppose you want me to be an ... a senior knightess?"
"Of course, Susie!" said Rachel eagerly, placing a hand on the blond girl's shoulder. "You'll be MOST senior, with me. Anyway, you're probably in the lead right now in whackings and everything: you could win the prize!"
"But I don't WANT to get whacked!" moaned Susan. "Let alone caned! I've had plenty enough to last the whole term already thank you very much!"
Rachel drew her close and hugged her. "I know, my darling one, I know," she said, ruffling the already ruffled hair. Susan melted inside and rested her face against Rachel's shoulder, smelling that shampoo scent she associated now with passion and love. She knew she couldn't resist.
"So, you'll help me get it going?" asked Rachel with a twinkling smile.
"Yes, I s'pose..." sighed Susan, unable to suppress a smile of her own.
---oOo---
"Bronte uses the narrative perspective of Mr Lockwood in this opening chapter to introduce the reader to the household at Wuthering Heights at a point in time that we won't reach until well into the novel," dictated Miss Dawson as the Lower Sixth English class bent over their exercise books making notes. The girl with the brown hair in the middle desk at the back seemed equally absorbed.
We'll create a table, with points - a bit like Dad's football. But how many points for each whack? If plimsoll is one point, then hairbrush's got to be at least three - it hurts a damn sight more! But the strap isn't much worse, so four points for that. And what about the junior cane? Five? Or six? It's quite a bit worse for most girls, I reckon... let's say six...
"And what impression do we get of Heathcliff in these pages?... Ward?"
Christina pondered a moment, as was her way, before replying, "Well, Miss, I'd say he's both ghastly and arrogant and rude, but also ..."
"Yes, good ... but also?"
"Somehow, quite romantic too?"
So if it's six for each stroke of the junior cane then the senior cane's got to be eight ... So how many points have I got already? That first whacking would be... six... times what? Three, that's eighteen... then one stroke of the senior cane, that's another eight... makes twenty-six... then... what did I get after that? Oh yes! Friday, six of the best with the junior, so that's another six times six equals thirty-six... so that's ... erm...
"Thomas?" Rachel started and sat up, looking round comically as if just woken. One or two girls tittered. That was never a good omen.
"What are you up to back there?" The mistress was approaching rapidly down the aisle between the desks, eyeing her suspiciously, and it was too late for Rachel to turn over the pages of her exercise book without being seen. Her face turned red and her heart raced.
"Er ... nothing Miss." She covered the back page of doodles as casually as she could with her forearm but Miss Dawson was upon her and peering down. She still had a faintly bemused look on her face, but this changed rapidly as she gently but firmly moved Rachel's arm aside to examine the strange collection of letters and numbers.
"What on earth is this?" asked the mistress. "SWACK? ... P equals one, H equals three ... JC ...? May I ask where your lesson notes are, Thomas?"
Reluctantly Rachel turned the pages back to near the beginning and showed Miss Dawson. The mistress took a quick look and said,
"I see. So, you've got as far as writing the title of the novel and the heading 'Chapter One'... and that's it, is it?" She turned over the next page to check, but it was blank too.
"Stand up, Thomas."
Rachel quailed inwardly and felt her legs shaking slightly as she stood. There were no titters now, just a dozen expectant faces turned her way.
"This is more than non-studiosus, I'm afraid, Thomas," said the mistress marching away to the front of the class. "This, young lady, is suscitatio acer." She paused and looked around. "Anyone?"
There was a brief silence. Eventually, and reluctantly, Christina ward put her hand up.
"Yes, Ward?" asked Miss Dawson.
"Erm ... is it 'sharp awakening', Miss?"
"Absolutely right, Ward, well done," said Miss Dawson. "Thomas, go and stand in the corner over there. I shall deliver your sharp awakening once I've given your more attentive classmates something to get on with."
Rachel felt sick as she made her way to the corner the mistress had indicated at the back of the room. She tried to avoid the pitying, or smirking, looks coming her way; she was thinking about her poor bottom. Although Miss Markham's four strong smacks had mostly stopped throbbing now, she was still very sore on both her buttocks low down where the two each had landed.
She faced the corner and tried to prepare herself as Miss Dawson set the class to find quotations describing Heathcliff from chapters One and Two. For the second time today Rachel had been caught off guard. Again she felt events taking her most disconcertingly by the scruff of the neck. Her only consolation was the points she'd amass for the SWACK table ... and the thought of how nice her bum would feel later - but quite a lot later at this rate.
Miss Dawson reached into her bag and retrieved the butter-pat she'd taken to bringing to class. Grasping it firmly in her right hand she walked over to where Rachel stood.
"Right, Thomas," she said quietly, "let's get this over with, shall we? I'm extremely disappointed in you - I had hoped you'd be an enthusiast for English this term but it seems you're still stuck in silly girl fifth form mode. Bend over and touch your toes please."
Rachel turned her head and said, "Yes, Miss ... I'm sorry, Miss." Miss Dawson responded with a sceptical look and pointed the wooden implement at the floor in front of Rachel. With a sigh, Rachel reached down to place her finger-tips on the tops of her black shoes. She curled the ends of two fingers of each hand round the criss-crossed laces to help her hold on.
The Girls of Cropton Hall Page 24