---oOo---
Rachel had a study period last lesson on Wednesday, as did Susan, so they found two chairs at a table in the library and set out their exercise books, pencils and copies of Wuthering Heights. At ten past three, Rachel left instructions with Susan that, if anyone asked, she'd gone to the loo with a funny tummy after the toad-in-the-hole for lunch (many of the girls, and staff, tended to suffer after this somewhat notorious item in Cook's repertoire, Cook being close enough to retirement age that the consensus among staff was that Time's winged chariot couldn't hurry fast enough in her case).
Rachel slipped out at the back of the changing-rooms, round through the trees at the end of the parking area in front of the school, and took a path that followed the edge of a copse. This way she could double back when she was safely out of sight, and follow the edge of a field over to the winding road into the village.
A slightly chilly breeze was blowing from the east and it threatened rain. Rachel pulled the lapels of her school blazer together across her breasts and hugged herself as she walked very briskly along under the leaden sky. The uniform was a dead give-away, but she was banking on all the mistresses being in class at this time. It was a half-hour walk normally, but she reckoned she could be there and back in under an hour if she hurried and got in and out of the Chemists speedily.
It was one of those quaint English coincidences, and one that would scarcely be believed in a fiction, that the owner of the Chemist's shop in Cropton village was a Mr Pill - Albert Pill in fact. He'd followed his father in the business - indeed, the Pills had been dispensing to the sickly of the surrounding area at inflated prices for nigh on eighty years, longer in fact than the girls' school up the road had itself been in existence.
Mr Pill Junior (though he was seventy if he was a day) was just about to call upstairs to his wife Edna to put the kettle on when the bell on the door tinkled. He looked up to see a young, brown-haired girl from the School closing it carefully behind her. As she slowly approached, looking along the shelves for something, he could see she was more of a young woman actually and he took in her shapely figure with a scarcely concealed leer.
"Can I 'elp thee, Miss?" he asked.
Rachel looked up nervously. She'd hoped to find the pots she needed and simply place them on the counter, pay and leave. Now she had to ask, risking further conversation.
"Er ... yes, please. Have you got any Pond's Cold Cream?"
"Aye, that I 'ave. Tha'lt find it over there on t' top shelf," he said, pointing to the other side of the shop from where Rachel had been looking. He watched as Rachel went over, reached up, her skirt climbing to reveal the backs of her knees, and took down not one, not two, but five pots - large sized - of the cream. She balanced them in a small tower cupped in both hands and brought them teeteringly over to place them on the counter. She was blushing most becomingly.
"My, my," said Mr Pill, giving her an alarmingly yellow-toothed smile. "That's a lot o' cream for a young lass!"
Rachel hadn't thought about what she'd say to a comment such as this, perfectly reasonable though it was in the circumstances. She silently cursed her lack of forethought and stammered out a quick, "Yes, I'm stocking up for my friends," and fussed with her purse.
"And what's your name then?" asked Mr Pill, leaning forward emitting an unpleasant odour of stale breath.
"I'm Rachel," she replied, backing away slightly. "How much is that, please?" she asked, impatiently.
"Well now, let me see," said Mr Pill producing a pencil from behind his ear and looking around for a scrap of paper to make his calculations on. Rachel stood uneasily, her purse open and ready in one hand, her other hand poised to fish out the necessary coins. Her feet couldn't keep still.
"Them larger pots are ... Oh dear! 'Ow much are they? ... we 'ad Mrs Inglethorpe in 'ere only this morning fetching some for her sister Eileen. Terrible dry skin she 'as, poor dear ..."
He found a piece of paper under the counter and then turned away and called out,
"Edna!" There was no reply. He turned back and gave Rachel a leering smile before he bellowed,
"EDNA!"
A faint voice called out in annoyance, "Yes, what is it?"
"'OW MUCH IS THE PONDS? ... LARGE."
"One and six."
"There we are," said Mr Pill."Thought as much. So ... that's one and six, times five ..." He jotted the figures down and sighed. "That's ... er ..."
Rachel could bear it no longer. She was hopping from foot to foot. "It's seven shillings and sixpence and please could you hurry up ... please?"
She knew immediately she'd made a mistake because the chemist froze, pencil poised over paper, and slowly looked up at her, a hurt frown on his face. He then turned back to his calculations, muttering numbers to himself before eventually announcing,
"That'll be seven an' sixpence," adding grudgingly, "S'pose you'll be wanting a bag?"
"Yes, please," said Rachel as politely as she could, trying to compensate for her impatience with a sweet smile. It cut no ice: sullenly, he produced a large brown paper bag and proceeded to place each pot very carefully, one by one, into it. Rachel had her three half-crowns held out ready in her hand. Once he'd rolled the top of the bag over and placed it before her, she proffered the coins, grabbed the bag and raced out of the shop leaving the door slightly ajar and the bell still tinkling.
Mr Pill tutted and shook his head. He made his way slowly across to the door and closed it. Then he walked back to the end of the counter, muttering to himself, and picked up the receiver of his telephone. He pressed a button, put the receiver to his good ear and waited. After a pause, he said,
"Cropton 8116 please, love." He waited again for perhaps a minute, still sighing and tutting.
"HELLO?" he said very loudly. "I'd like to speak with the 'Eadmistress please ... oh, is that you, Ma'am? ... it's Mr Pill at the chemists in the village and I think I should report - one of your girls was just in 'ere ... yes ... oh, just a minute ago, I'd say ... erm, brown hair, tallish ... yes ... said 'er name's Rachel ... very well ... no trouble, ma'am ... and thank you too."
He put the receiver down.
Over tea ten minutes later he related the details of the unusually large purchase to Edna.
"She'll never be needing that much cream, surely?" asked Mrs Pill. And with a gloating, mustard smile, Mr Pill replied,
"Oh, I reckon she'll be needing it all right."
21. Six Strokes for Five Pots
Ten minutes after leaving the chemist's the skies opened and Rachel was caught in an almighty downpour. It was already ten to four, and as she scuttled along as best she could into the teeth of the strong wind which now accompanied the rain, she suddenly remembered the First XI team meeting she was supposed to be attending at four o'clock. She wasn't going to make it, and not only that, she was going to have some explaining to do about being completely wet through.
Damn! Damn! Damn! She felt very close to panic. Gibbo was going to be totally furious, especially after that tantrum on Monday - she was lucky to still be in the team and this might be the final straw. Damn! Damn! Damn!
There was nothing for it but to run, so run she did. But when she reached the edge of the field where she needed to cut across to get to the back way into school, the ground was so heavy already that not only was her progress slowing but her shoes and socks and even the hem of her skirt were getting clogged and spattered with the wet, grey Yorkshire mud. Her blazer was already sodden and her hair hung down and stuck to her cheeks and shoulders. The brown paper bag containing her booty was also so wet through that it was threatening to disintegrate and dump its precious contents on the ground.
By five past four she was approaching the end of the path along by the copse and within sight of the trees behind the parking area. She started to run again - thankfully she was fit from all her hockey practice, and she was just beginning to think she might get through this very sticky episode unscathed when she saw a figure ahead of her standing by the edge
of the trees. Whoever it was their face was hidden from view under a large umbrella and didn't appear to have seen her yet. Rachel stopped and froze. She was about to turn and retreat when she saw the umbrella lift to reveal the Headmistress looking right at her.
Damn! Damn! Damn!
Damn! She had no choice but to continue and face the music, however horribly discordant it was surely going to be. She slowed down to catch her breath, desperately trying to think of any plausible excuse she might have for her current situation but her mind was panicked and nothing would come.
"Come with me, Thomas," barked the Head. Holding the umbrella over them both, she grasped Rachel by the collar and marched her off towards the changing-rooms. "You have some explaining to do, young lady, though I doubt very much it will make a jot of difference to my decision as to your punishment, which I can assure you will be painfully exemplary."
Rachel was too wet and miserable at this moment to accommodate the fear these words would normally elicit. As they entered the changing-rooms, Miss Markham asked where her locker was. Rachel indicated and was marched over to it, still so firmly collared by the Headmistress that her head was twisted to one side. A number of girls were dressing after their showers and watched this scene with interest.
"You will change into your gym kit and leave your clothes to dry on the radiator. You will then report immediately to my study. Is that understood?"
Finally her collar was released.
"Yes, Miss," said Rachel meekly, beginning to take off her blazer. The Headmistress stalked off, shaking out the drops from her umbrella angrily as she went.
Rachel undressed, trying to avoid the looks she was getting, whether sympathetic or surreptitiously gloating. As she removed her knickers (even they had got slightly damp at the sides) she heard two girls quietly exclaiming at the marks on her bottom. Not in the mood for immodesty at all now, she hurriedly pulled on her white gym shorts. She hadn't worn them yet this term and she discovered now that they were too small for her - they wrapped so tightly round every inch of her bottom she could feel her bruises protesting.
Susan, meanwhile, had started to worry and was fearing the worst. Soon after four, she'd left the library and gone to hang around at the end of the corridor near the Headmistress' study, reckoning that if indeed the worst had happened then that's where she might catch a glimpse of Rachel and at least offer some support, whether before or after the punishment. The door to Upper Sixth B's form room, the last on the corridor, was open and her heart sank as she heard Miss Gibson asking,
"Has anyone seen Thomas?" No one could say, apparently. "I expressly emphasised a four o'clock start. Tsk! Where is that girl?"
That girl was just appearing at the other end of the corridor clothed in white T shirt, tight white shorts, white ankle socks and plimsolls. She was nearly upon Susan before the latter saw her.
"Rache!" whispered Susan. "Wha--! Why are you in gym clothes? Did you get caught?"
"Yes, 'fraid so - Marky was waiting - don't know how she knew. I'm really for it now. I'm supposed to go straight in." She gulped. She was pale and shivering slightly, her hair still damp and hanging in unkempt strands.
"Oh God! You poor thing!" said Susan desperately. "Did you get the cream?"
"Yes - can you get it, quickly - it's by my place in the changing-room. I think Marky was so angry she didn't notice it. It's in a brown paper bag."
"All right," said Susan. She placed a consoling hand on Rachel's shoulder and smiled compassionately. "Good luck in there."
"Thanks," said Rachel, turning to go. Susan started off towards the changing-rooms.
"THOMAS!" came the booming voice of Miss Gibson. "Where on earth have you been, and why are dressed for the gymnasium?"
She stood at the door to Upper Sixth B's form room with her hands on her hips and an expression both livid and questioning on her face.
"I ... I'm sorry, Miss. I ... I have to see the Headmistress right away, Miss. Sorry, Miss ... I'm in trouble." She looked down to hide her embarrassment.
"I see," said Miss Gibson, a little more sympathetically. "Well, you'd better run along, but I want you in here as soon as you've been dealt with. Is that understood? We have important tactics to discuss."
"Yes, Miss," said Rachel quietly. She turned and made her way disconsolately down the last stretch to the study door where she knocked softly, as if she could somehow go away again if there were no reply. Her heart was pounding painfully in her chest and she felt the tightness of her soon-to-be-seen-to buttocks straining against her white shorts.
The door opened suddenly and Miss Markham stood there, wearing now her black gown. Rachel thought fleetingly of vultures and of a judge putting the black cloth on his head before passing the death sentence. In silence the Headmistress held the door open and indicated for Rachel to go in.
On the desk, lying parallel to the front edge that Rachel now approached and stood before - that familiar spot that presaged striped agony - she saw a different cane, one she hadn't seen before; it hadn't been in the middle drawer, she was almost certain. She gulped. It was darker, longer and thicker. She stared at it in fearful fascination and felt her buttocks tingling with those familiar electrical impulses of anticipated shock.
Miss Markham had closed the door and came now to sit across from Rachel. She pulled up her chair, placed her elbows on the desk in front of her, clasped her hands together and leaned her chin on the backs of her fingers. Then she turned her most penetrating gaze on Rachel.
"So here we are again, Miss Thomas."
Rachel stood awkwardly looking down at her right plimsoll as it crossed over her left. She felt ashamed and frightened and had no words.
"Is there any point," continued the Headmistress, "in my asking what you were purchasing at the chemist's on a Wednesday afternoon - at a time when it is expressly forbidden for girls to be out of bounds?"
Rachel's mouth was drought-dry and her fingers clasped and unclasped sweatily at her front. She knew she couldn't avoid that gaze, that look of disappointment, forever. She looked up, her eyes wide like a doe's.
"No, Miss," she said meekly. Miss Markham sighed.
"Well, I'm going to ask anyway. What was so important that you've ended up here ... again?"
"It was ... nothing, Miss, really. It was just a dare, Miss."
"Nonsense, Thomas," barked the Head brusquely. "Now tell me the truth. I can quite easily telephone Mr Pill and discover it from him."
Damn that nasty leering chemist! With no choice, Rachel confessed, but she didn't reveal how many pots, or what size, and Miss Markham seemed satisfied with her explanation; she even smiled faintly, but this softness was quickly replaced by an implacable sternness. She spoke in a voice that struck Rachel as ominously quiet; the quiet before the storm.
"The school rules, with which you are quite familiar having been a pupil here for over two years, exist for a purpose, Thomas - in this case to protect you from harm. You walked over three miles, unaccompanied, through the countryside. If anything had befallen you, your mother would never have forgiven me, and for that reason alone I am not inclined to be forgiving either. You must learn, I hope once and for all, that your disobedience will NOT BE TOLERATED."
Rachel jumped as the suddenly bellowed words came blasting at her. Miss Markham relaxed again, opened a drawer and took out a large leather-bound book which she placed before her. She opened it and leafed through to the page she was looking for. Rachel saw her name at the top of the page and several entries listed below. Miss Markham contemplated it for a moment before standing and looking down on the abject sixth-former with a fierce frown. Her voice resumed its lethal quietness again as she delivered judgment.
"Thomas, I can interpret your actions as nothing short of deliberate defiance. You have endangered yourself and the reputation of this school and that calls for a most severe punishment. You will receive six strokes with the Moluccan cane you see before you. I can assure you it will hurt considerably more than the seni
or cane, of which ..." She ran her finger down the list of Rachel's previous punishments. " ... I see you have only ever experienced one stroke."
Rachel gulped and quailed. Miss Markham came round the desk.
"Lower your shorts, Thomas. I want to see whether you should be punished now or be given time to recover from the punishments you received on Monday."
Rachel eased the tight gym shorts down to her thighs as the Headmistress went to stand behind her. She waited, finding herself torn as to whether she wished this could be over with now, or delayed.
"Hm, quite sore I see," said Miss Markham, "but I rather feel you should have thought of that before, young lady, shouldn't you?"
Rachel half turned and said, "Yes, Miss."
"Well, I shall give you a choice. You may wait until Friday morning and receive your punishment without protection, or face the consequences of your actions now on the seat of your gym shorts." She came round to stand by the side of the desk again, folded her arms and waited with raised eyebrows for Rachel to decide.
Oh dear! On the one hand she could see she was facing the hardest caning of her life, and with that nasty big thing from Molluki or wherever, all on a bottom still sore; while on the other, could she stand waiting for two days knowing what was coming, and on her bare bum too? She twisted her fingers around each other and shifted her feet again, torn. Eventually, spurred on by a slightly impatient, "Well?" from the Headmistress, Rachel said,
"Now, Miss ... please." And immediately she regretted it, as her heart started to pound with greater vigour against her rib cage and her tummy turned over, making her feel as if she wanted to pee.
"Very well, Thomas, that is a brave decision."
This did not make Rachel feel any better, though she had a moment of fleeting pride at the praise.
Miss Markham picked up the cane and swished it through the air. Then she went over to the chest of the drawers where the implements were kept and opened the top drawer. She took out a small bottle, unscrewed the lid and, placing the cane on the top of the chest, she poured a small amount of what looked like oil onto the palm of her hand. She then picked up the cane again and cupped it in the hand with the oil, pulling it back and forth, rubbing the oil into the cane. Rachel watched all this with curiosity though her mind was mainly focused on how she was going to survive what was coming.
The Girls of Cropton Hall Page 28