"Thank you, Miss," said Gabrielle gratefully placing the card back in her pocket. "I'm certainly not looking forward to it, but ... I think it'll be better this way."
Gabrielle turned and walked to the door. She paused and looked back.
"Our secret, Miss?" she asked.
"Quite so, Pearson," said Miss Gibson.
---oOo---
The tense atmosphere throughout the school the next day was palpable. Several girls knew they were facing their first punishment that evening for the marks on their Study Cards, and many of the mistresses returning to the staffroom at break and lunch were remarking on the number of long faces and distracted young ladies in their lessons.
Meanwhile, Edith Bainbridge spent the better part of the day busily trying to arrange matters. The whole business was complicated by the need to include the normal Friday Punishment Referral slips procedure as well. After quick discussion with the Head it had been decided, for this week at least, that the two processes would be melded, any misdemeanours simply being added to the Study Card punishment, escalating the severity but necessitating only one beating.
Form mistresses were to examine each girl's card at the start of prep and identify those due for punishment. Punishment referral slips would be distributed in the staffroom before prep, and any girls who had earned two punishments would automatically be referred to the Head for the maximum caning. Meanwhile, Pearson and Atkinson would be tasked with escorting girls due for punishment to the Head's study and the changing rooms respectively.
The girls' evening meal at six was the most subdued of the term. Many plates were left with food largely untouched and the gloom affected all. At the fifth-formers' table, Alice Jennings was alone in trying to lighten the mood.
"It's not so bad, really," she tried to reassure Grace Middleton, who had no fewer than three NS's to her name. "Think of it this way: you're about to earn your stripes!" She lowered her voice. "And you'll be even more respected in SWACK." Neither point could shift Grace's depression: she was angry at what she felt was the injustice of at least two of the NS's, which had been more the result of mistresses simply not liking her attitude than any shortcomings in her work.
Susan French, meanwhile, across the dining-hall, was picking at her shepherd's pie and pale, over-cooked peas with morose distaste, equally immune to Rachel's efforts to cheer her up. She looked up at the clock: six twenty-five, under an hour to go.
"Have you got the cream ready?" she asked quietly.
"Yes," said Rachel, disconsolately, defeated herself now by the general gloom. "It's in my desk. The moment you get back we'll go to the loos and I'll soothe you. You're going to be all right, Susie. Just try and think about something else and take lots of breaths."
"Huh! Like what? Spelling?" said Susan. Rachel sighed.
At the fourth-formers' table, Jenny Simpson had as subtly as possible tried to discover if there was anyone else due to visit the Head as she was, but her discreet enquiries had revealed no one. Charlotte and Jane were both in for a strapping from Mrs Palmer for their four VS's but either there wasn't anyone else or they weren't saying. She sighed and steeled herself inwardly. She was used to being alone, though it got tiring at times. She looked forward to the first meeting of SWACK on Sunday that Thomas had told her about that afternoon.
Gabrielle Pearson, at the top table, was feeling increasingly nervous. She didn't regret her decision, but she too felt lonely without anyone knowing what she was about to suffer, and why. In a way, that was the hardest part. Shirley had been hovering, and they'd sat and discussed the Buddhism essay, but she couldn't tell anyone about this yet, not even Julia, in case they didn't believe it or tried to dissuade her. They'd find out soon enough about her caning. It'd be the talk of the school, and she'd probably get some derision, or at least gloating, from some girls. But she reckoned on getting respect from far more. And she'd know. Know what it felt like. And be the same as everyone else caned or to be caned.
When the bell went for the start of prep, the mistresses emerged from the staffroom, grim in their black gowns, like carrion crows bound for miscreant meat. They dispersed to their respective form rooms where rows of silent girls awaited the spectacle of classmates being strapped or taken away for worse.
Gabrielle waited with Jean Atkinson at the end of the corridor nearest the Headmistress' study, ready to begin their escorting duties. Gabrielle was grateful at least that she had something to do to keep her busy. She watched as Gibbo strode towards them. Just before she entered Upper Sixth B's form room, she gave Gabrielle a meaningful look and Gabrielle took strength from that. She wasn't, she realised, entirely alone. Further down the corridor the Countess and Miss Stokes entered their form rooms. Jean and Gabrielle had been told to wait ten minutes to allow for the card of each girl to be inspected and those due for punishment to be correctly allocated.
"God, I hate this," said Jean. "It's like the St Valentine's Day massacre or something. I'm glad I haven't got your job, Pearson." Gabrielle shrugged. For a second she wished she were Atkinson - casual, detached, and not about to receive six strokes of the senior cane from a probably very disappointed Headmistress who would, no doubt, deem her bottom an excellent site upon which to set a painful and salutary example to the younger girls.
"Right, I suppose we'd better get moving," said Atkinson setting off. "Tally-ho!" she muttered ironically.
Gabrielle realised that she should have started right down the other end of the main corridor nearest the changing-rooms so she could gather her glum charges as she went. She'd been so distracted by her own fate it hadn't occurred to her. As she walked hurriedly down past the open doors of the form rooms she saw one or two girls already standing just inside, clearly waiting to be collected. She heard the THWACK of a strap, followed by a yelp, coming from Miss Beecham's 5A form room. She's quick off the mark, thought Gabby.
Returning the way she'd just come, stopping at each classroom, Gabrielle soon had a string of silent, frightened girls in her wake, forced to endure this long march with frequent stops as more fellows were added to the sorry group. The sounds of strappings were echoing now from several locations along the corridor. After she motioned Simpson, from Miss Stokes' class, to come, she glanced across at the open door of 4A where she saw Mrs Palmer busy leathering some poor girl's knicker-clad bottom to the sound of high-pitched squeals.
Eventually, with fourteen girls in tow, she arrived at Miss Markham's imposing oak door and knocked. It opened. The Headmistress stood there in her gown and looked fiercely from face to face.
"A sorry sight," she said, "and if you had worked harder, you wouldn't be here." Several heads went down and tears stung eyes. "Right, Pearson, divide them into those to be strapped, those for the junior cane and those for the senior cane, please. Their cards will indicate which category each girl belongs to."
Though glad again to be distracted by a task in hand, Gabrielle's heart was pounding now at the proximity of her own moment of truth, and she was also anxious about when exactly she should produce her own Study Card and 'confess'. She went from girl to girl and assigned them to their appropriate group.
"Senior cane girls will sit on the bench as they will be dealt with last," said Miss Markham. Susan, Penny Linton and Virginia Hughes all sat down, joined after a moment by Emma Wilson. Alice Jennings, Grace Middleton and Jenny Simpson stood on the left with Sally Evans and Patricia Peters in the junior cane group. A further five girls now stood on the right. Gabrielle turned. This was it. Just as the Headmistress turned to re-enter the study, she said,
"Er ... Miss?"
"Yes, Pearson?"
Gabrielle reached into her pocket and produced her yellow Study Card. Without a word, and blushing furiously, she held it out to the astonished Miss Markham.
"What's this?" said the Headmistress, before looking down at the card. It took her a moment to register the NS and the three VS's. She looked up at Gabrielle in surprise. Gabrielle, tentative and frightened, held her gaze.
<
br /> "I see. Well ... I must say I'm very surprised, Pearson. I wouldn't have expected this from you. Can you explain yourself?"
"Er ... I'm sorry, Miss. I was just ... a bit lazy this week. I know I was, Miss, and ... I'm sorry."
Gabrielle sensed the Head's disbelief. Her explanation wasn't particularly convincing. For a brief moment, she hoped her subterfuge would be discovered and forgiven. But no.
"Right!" said Miss Markham. "As Head Girl, I think it's appropriate that you lead the way, don't you? Come with me." She held the door open and beckoned Gabrielle inside. She addressed the remaining girls. "I shall leave the door slightly open, and if I hear so much as a whispered peep from any of you, you will regret it sorely, is that understood?" Several heads nodded.
Leaving the door ajar, the Headmistress strode over to the desk where Gabrielle waited. Gabrielle was thinking about the last, much happier, occasion she had stood in this spot. Very different now. Her bottom tingled.
"You will find the senior cane in the middle drawer of that chest of drawers. Fetch it please."
On shaking legs, Gabrielle did as instructed.
"It's the longer one," said Miss Markham, once Gabrielle had opened the drawer and was looking inside at the collection of implements. "Bring it to me."
Gabrielle carried the cane in her right hand and handed it over. There was something ritualistic, she thought, about providing the very instrument of her imminent punishment to the woman responsible for administering it. Her mouth was dry and she felt very scared, but she'd chosen this and now that she was so close she felt some part of herself relax. The strain of holding herself to her decision was over: there was no going back.
"Lower your knickers and bend over the desk."
As Gabrielle reached under the sides of her skirt to pull her knickers down, Miss Markham swished the cane through the air loudly. Gabrielle winced. She lowered her knickers to her knees, bent forward across the large desk and placed her hands on the far edge where she felt for a suitable grip. She took a deep breath and faced the leather surface, noticing the tiny scuff marks in the green leather. She felt her blazer and skirt being lifted up over her back and the coolness of the air on her bared bottom. Then she felt a slight tap across the middle of her buttocks which she realised must be the cane itself and the place it was tapping the place she'd feel it first. Her heart lurched and started to race as the reality of what was about to happen hit home. She gulped and tried to breathe.
SWISH ... STHWATT!
With the initial shock of the cane striking her rear, for the briefest moment she thought, 'That wasn't so bad!'
Poor deluded fool.
The pain that followed was like nothing she'd ever experienced or could have imagined. "Aah!" she gasped. Her back and hips wriggled over the desk as the furious stinging burned and built, layer upon layer, spreading out from the scorching line across her cheeks. OUCH! Beads of sweat broke out on her scrunched up face as she fought to ride out the pain.
Outside the door, fourteen forlorn faces paled and several hands reached round to several buttocks in an unconscious gesture of potential but futile protection. And at the sound of the second swish and smack, frighteningly close and loud through the partially open door, many of the girls jumped involuntarily. Penny Linton, sitting next to Susan, started to cry quietly and buried her face in her hands.
Gabrielle herself was breathing hard and squirming frantically over the desk. She'd managed to suppress her desire to cry out, but she could not prevent her body from expressing its desire to escape the hot and stinging torment of the two stripes she'd endured so far.
SWISH ... STHWATT! came the third and Gabrielle fought hard not to scream. It ... was ... agonising! She kept her mouth wide open so that she could let the shock and pain come out in airy gasps. She wanted to show courage; not to 'make a fuss' as she'd heard some girls' reaction described.
The next three strokes tested the Head Girl's mettle to its very core.
After the fourth she wanted desperately to stand up and say it'd all been an awful mistake - she hadn't really got those VS's - could we leave it there, please? Thanks. Byee.
But the fifth left her moaning and kicking her legs. She was losing track of where she was, or who was listening, and she no longer cared what they'd think ... just please please stop this pain and don't, please NO, don't hit me again!
At the sixth she did cry out. It was too much and a high-pitched yelp had escaped her before she knew it, though she then banged her clenched hands on the surface of the desk in front of her in her effort to endure the torment in her bottom and prevent any further cries. Tears had sprung involuntarily and dripped now onto the green leather.
"You may get up now, Pearson," she heard through the ringing in her head and she slowly pushed herself up, immediately reaching round to try and console her ravaged rear. Her fingers felt the lines, now beginning to form into ridges running right across both cheeks. She was shivering with shock but also beginning to feel a surge of pride and huge relief that it was over, she had survived and she hadn't 'made a fuss', well, not much anyway.
As she reached down to replace her knickers, Miss Markham leaned over and said quietly in her ear,
"So now you know what it's like, Gabrielle, perhaps you can get on with being Head Girl?"
Gabrielle turned, a look of alarm on her face, and gulped. But the Headmistress was smiling at her, an eyebrow raised in an expression of quizzical but knowing forgiveness. Gibbo must have told, thought Gabrielle. But it didn't matter now. She'd achieved her purpose, even if it did come with the sorest bottom of her life.
"Yes, Miss," she croaked, her voice still choked from her ordeal. She was in too much pain to feel particularly embarrassed, though she was conscious there was a lot to be embarrassed about.
"Very well then ... please send in the girls to be strapped," said the Headmistress, placing the cane on the desk and going over to the middle drawer.
"All of them, Miss?"
"Yes, all of them."
Gabrielle took a step towards the door and gasped: her bottom was extremely angry with her and was letting her know it in no certain terms with each step she took. Just before the door, she stopped, took three quick, deep breaths and straightened her skirt and blazer. Then she took out her hanky and wiped her eyes and cheeks. Head Girl, she thought: must be dignified. She tried to set her face into as normal an expression as possible though she was aware it still felt very strained, then she opened the door.
"You five," she said, addressing the girls on the right. "In you go."
She stood back to let them pass, wincing slightly as her bottom touched the frame of the door. Then she heard the Headmistress say,
"Line up facing that bookcase there, girls, and hurry up about it. Thank you, Pearson, you may shut the door now."
Gabrielle pulled the door shut and turned to face the remaining nine girls who were all staring at her with curious and sympathetic expressions. This was her moment. She smiled ruefully at them, mouthed an extended 'Ow!' and pretended to rub her bottom. The humour with which she was able to do all this seemed to say, 'It's not too bad, really'. Some of the girls managed a smile and she could sense she'd brought them some comfort.
And that, she now realised, was all she'd really wanted to do.
23. Battlefields
As the sound of the final (thirtieth) THWAPP of the strap was heard through the Headmistress' study door, the five girls due for the junior cane started to shift their feet and play with their hands even more nervously than before. Patricia Peters was twisting a hanky while Sally Evans kept gulping and looking at the ceiling, as if she could prevent her tears from falling by defying gravity with an upturned face. Grace Middleton looked pale and sullen.
Alice stood next to Jenny; they'd met each other's eyes several times during the past five minutes and had found a kind of silent camaraderie in each other's gaze. Though they'd hardly spoken before, both knew the other was a member of SWACK, and they both fe
lt an excitement in the thought of being together on Sunday at the first meeting. As Pearson turned to the door in preparation for the imminent appearance of the five strapped girls, Alice took Jenny's hand in hers and squeezed. Jenny looked up gratefully and squeezed back, but Alice looked pointedly towards the door, nodded a warning and let go.
The door opened and the five girls appeared one by one, by turns flushed, pale, wincing and tear-streaked, one or two rubbing hot and throbbing backsides through their blue skirts. They filed past between the four seated girls and the five standing, all of whom watched them with sympathy and curiosity. Who was it, for example, they wondered, who'd screamed so piteously at every whack?
The Headmistress appeared.
"Next group, please," she said. Gabrielle motioned Peters, nearest the door, to lead the way. The other four followed her and the Head into the study.
"Door, please, Pearson," called Miss Markham.
The escape route closed behind them, the five girls were instructed to line up in front of the bookcase along the wall to the right of the door. Peters took up position at the end nearest the fireplace, with Evans and Middleton to her left. Jennings and Simpson completed the row, the only two whose heads weren't bowed.
The Headmistress stood behind them with the junior cane in her right hand, tapping it gently on the palm of her left, surveying her charges.
"You are here, girls," she said, "because your teachers have found your efforts consistently unacceptable." She swished the cane through the air. Evans rose up on her toes for a moment in shock and Peters' shoulders started to shake with sobs. "You may cry, Peters, to find yourself here, but you'll be crying a lot more in the years to come if you don't apply yourself properly to your studies now." She moved behind Patricia and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Do you understand what I'm saying?" she asked, not unkindly.
"Yes, Miss," whispered Patricia.
"Good. Now," she said, walking behind the row of girls, "lower your knickers, bend over and touch your toes."
The Girls of Cropton Hall Page 31