The Girls of Cropton Hall

by Stanlegh Meresith

  "If you think, Jennings," said Miss Dawson sternly, "that I am being lenient, then I'm afraid you'll find you are mistaken. You will receive a dozen whacks with the slipper instead of the six with the butter-pat I had intended to administer. This will be gentler in the long run but I can assure you it will sting. I fully intend you to learn your lesson. Is that understood?"

  Alice cursed silently and squeaked, "Yes, Miss," her face wincing already.

  Miss Dawson stood back, raised her right arm high and brought the slipper down with a determined smack onto Alice's right buttock. She then raised it again immediately and applied an equally vigorous stroke to the left.

  "Oooh! ... Eeesh!" squeaked Alice as the slipper whacked into her bottom. It did sting! It stung like mad!

  SMACK! SMACK! came the slipper again and Alice gave vent to more high-pitched squeals of surprise and protest.

  Miss Dawson let these four sink in for a few moments before continuing the spanking of the errant fifth-former.

  SMACK! SMACK! Alice's bottom was beginning to feel very hot indeed now and the stinging was building up to an extremely uncomfortable level.

  SMACK! SMACK!

  "OOOW!" cried Alice.

  SMACK! SMACK!

  "AAAIIIEEEE!"

  Alice was pummelling the sofa cushion with the palms of her hands now and struggling to remain bent over as the thousand miniature needles of the horrible stinging pricked hotly all over her bottom.

  Miss Dawson paused. Alice's rear was a suitably uniform red, slightly darker in patches where three whacks had overlapped. The mistress raised her arm once more and delivered the final two with even more gusto:

  SMACK!

  SMACK!

  "OW! OW! OW!" yelled Alice in distressed protest, before breaking into tears, her 'Ow's continuing quieter as she sobbed, slumped helplessly over the sofa back. After a few moments, realising it was over, her hands flew to her backside and rubbed the deeply reddened cheeks.

  Miss Dawson returned to the cupboard, replaced the slipper and closed the door.

  "All right, Jennings," she said brusquely, "Up you get. I did warn you, didn't I? And that's what happens to girls who insist on breaking rules."

  Alice rose slowly, still rubbing - it helped, and actually, although it had been terribly painful while it was happening, she was already finding it more bearable - it wore off a lot quicker than the cane or butter-pat, at any rate.

  "Yes, Miss," she said, almost gratefully, pulling up her knickers.

  "I have yet to speak to Simpson, don't forget, and I warn you now - you will not approach or speak to her until I have had that conversation. If I hear that you have, then you will have Miss Markham to answer to. Is that clear?"

  "Yes, Miss," said Alice, unconcerned, knowing that Jenny would never say she'd forced her to do anything.

  "Right, well, you'd better get back to your French lesson, hadn't you?"

  "Yes, Miss."

  Alice made for the door.

  "And, Jennings ..." said Miss Dawson.

  "Yes, Miss?"

  "Once this has been dealt with, look after Simpson. Care for her, won't you?"

  Alice stared in surprise. The ways of mistresses were often unfathomable, and this moment had Alice completely perplexed.

  "Yes, Miss," she said, uncertainly. "Thank you, Miss."

  Miss Dawson nodded and Alice closed the door behind her.

  Walking off down the corridor, Alice felt elated. Not only had she survived another whacking, and gained more points in the SWACK Roll of Honour (twenty-four, not that she had any aspirations in that direction, of course) but she also felt her love for Jenny had been - it was so strange - somehow approved of. Not only that, but the glow in her bottom as she made her way slowly back downstairs was almost pleasant now - she felt pride in her bravery and a tingling between her legs that was not unwelcome, not unwelcome at all. And then she found herself wondering - what would that prize be for getting the most points?

  26. The Cathartic Slipper

  Since their session in the Library when she'd helped Shirley with the Buddhism essay - it'd only been half an hour and not especially significant - Gabrielle had found the fellow Upper Sixth former like a shadow at her elbow increasingly often. The evening of the win over Pickering High, Shirley had got her alone in the corridor and praised Gabby's play that afternoon with such genuine warmth and feeling that Gabby'd felt really chuffed. On Sunday afternoon, Shirley had found her in the Library and helped her with the Marvell poem they had to analyse for Miss Bainbridge. On Monday at break she'd dropped off some books for her when she'd been late for History. And, though Gabrielle hadn't noticed this, it was always when Julia wasn't around. She didn't mind - she felt sorry for Shirley, dropped from the team and then missing Saturday's great win - but she was unnerved by this look Shirley often gave her, staring just a few moments too long - as if she knew something Gabby didn't; as if she were waiting for her to find it out for herself.

  After lunch on Tuesday, a study period for Gabrielle who had just settled down at a table in the common room, Shirley appeared again.

  "Hello, Gabby," she smiled. "Do you fancy a walk?"

  Gabrielle didn't feel in the right mood to start tackling the India essay for Gibbo, so she thought, 'Why not?'

  They made their way up past the First XI field, trudging through the increasingly deep layers of brown and yellowy leaves blown from the avenue of beech trees. Shirley was reminiscing about the fourth year and the mischief she and Julia had got up to. There was genuine warmth and a sense of nostalgia in her tone as she talked, which made Gabby feel more at ease - she always enjoyed stories about Julia. They hadn't known each other well back then - Gabrielle had been shy and kept herself to herself, and out of trouble.

  Shirley had just finished recounting an episode that had ended up, as most of them seemed to, in Miss Dunstan's study getting a ferocious whacking, when she let slip,

  "But you know, Gabby, Julia's an awful liar. She's told me some huge fibs in her time, and with the mistresses - well, it's almost second nature!"

  Gabrielle felt a strong resistance to believing this, but said nothing; after all, Shirley had known Julia a lot longer.

  "She got me caned once, saying I'd been with her on some escapade when I hadn't, and I couldn't prove it. She was really sorry afterwards - she always is - said she couldn't face getting the cane alone. And, you know, she's so ... charming, such fun to be around, that I forgave her, but it made me wary. Still am really."

  "Well," said Gabrielle, "I can't say I've noticed that at all. Julia strikes me as really honest, actually."

  "Oh yes, she does!" said Shirley, confusingly. "She was like that with me for quite a while, at first, and she hides it really cleverly. But after about, I don't know, half a term maybe, I began to notice little things - little falsehoods you know, things that didn't add up and, when I said something, she'd deny it completely which kind of forced me to forget about it really, or lose her friendship - which I definitely did not want to do."

  "No," said Gabrielle, understanding that motive well.

  Shirley changed the subject then, returning to Saturday and the goal Gabby had scored. She described it so well, putting her finger so precisely on the skill of Gabby's movement when she'd got the ball, that once again the Head Girl felt a warm glow of self-satisfaction. And she forgot about the unsettling feelings of doubt she'd been beginning to have about Julia.

  ---oOo---

  A variety of pressing duties kept Margaret Dawson from following up the Jennings-Simpson situation immediately, but at lunchtime in the staffroom she'd been able to take things a step further. She'd approached Eileen Palmer, Simpson's Dorm Mistress, and been relieved to hear that her colleague had not yet had a chance to deal with the fourth-former. Margaret mentioned the Headmistress' interest in this girl, and the fact that she had already herself dealt with the other miscreant. She'd suggested to Eileen that she'd be happy to take it upon herself to interview Simpson and a
dminister whatever punishment was appropriate.

  "Fine, but make it a good strapping, Margaret," Eileen had urged impatiently. "That girl's crying out for a harsh lesson once and for all."

  Margaret cringed, but she hadn't the time to explain why that might perhaps not be the best approach. She did though make a mental note that bridges would need to be built at a later date.

  She then managed a quick word with Emily Stokes who confessed she hadn't had time yet to have the talk with Simpson that Verily had suggested. Margaret quickly apprised her of the 'unorthodox sleeping arrangements' (a euphemism that made Emily chuckle) of the night before involving Jennings and Simpson and told Emily not to worry - she would deal with it.

  At five to four, having dismissed her own class slightly early, Margaret finally caught up with young Simpson in Miss Halsey's Biology lesson. The class were gathered in groups peering into petri dishes so she was able to extract Simpson without arousing quite the usual dose of morbid curiosity among the other girls.

  "Come with me," she said quietly as she ushered Simpson out of the door. She led her back up to her room and told her to be seated on the sofa. She herself sat in the upright chair which Jennings had occupied earlier.

  "Now then, young lady," she began, fixing Jenny with an icy stare, "Your Dorm Mistress, Mrs Palmer, is very displeased with you, as you may imagine, but she has agreed that, as I have already dealt with Jennings, I may as well deal with you as well."

  Jenny said nothing, just looked at Margaret with a strangely dispassionate expression which the mistress found rather unsettling. Verily was clearly right - there was something unusual going on in this girl's mind. Margaret paused to consider how best to approach this delicate matter. She opted for the gentleness that came most naturally.

  "Jenny, you were discovered in your bed with Jennings at 6.30 this morning. I'd like you to tell me, please, what happened."

  Jenny didn't hesitate. "We fell asleep, Miss."

  "Yes, I understand that, but ... er ... how did Jennings come to be there in the first place?" asked Margaret evenly.

  "She came in the middle of the night, Miss, and asked if she could get in and I said yes," explained Jenny, equally evenly. Margaret was quietly rather astonished.

  "So ... you were quite happy to let her get into your bed, were you?"

  "Yes, Miss," said Jenny, looking down and at last showing something resembling the embarrassment Margaret had been expecting.

  "And ... I know this may be rather embarrassing, but ... what did you two do when you were in bed together?"

  Jenny looked up at her again. "We kissed, Miss, and we ... er ... hugged..."

  Margaret's heart was melting to such an extent that she had to look away, clear her throat and cross her legs before carrying on. She wanted to ask if it had been nice. She wanted to give the young girl a hug herself, but duty called.

  "I see ... well, Simpson, I think you must know that it is against school rules for a girl to share her bed in the middle of the night with another girl. For one thing, you need your sleep. How are you going to attend to your lessons if you are exhausted from these ... late night activities?" Again, Jenny just met her gaze evenly without responding. "Were you punished last Friday for marks on your Study card?"

  "Yes, Miss."

  "There, you see, all the more reason to make sure you get proper sleep. And what punishment were you given?"

  "Six with the cane, Miss. By the Headmistress, Miss. Next to Jennings, Miss," said Jenny.

  "I see," said Margaret, marvelling further at the girl's wide-eyed, emotionlessly truthful responses. "Well, Jennings has already been punished for leaving her dormitory and coming to you, and I'm afraid you must be punished too for allowing her to get into your bed. Do you understand?"

  Jenny looked down and said with a noticeable sigh, "Yes, Miss," as if she understood but simply didn't agree with the 'must' part.

  Margaret stood, walked across to the cupboard and retrieved the slipper. She noticed Simpson suddenly sit up. She was staring at the slipper and a look of fear had come over her face. Margaret walked back to her chair, sat down and patted her lap, saying, "Over here, please."

  Jenny remained seated on the sofa, her knees clasped tightly together, her shoulders slumped, her whole body seeming to shrink as if it were trying to fold in on itself.

  "Please, Miss," she said with a hint of desperation. "Please don't make me."

  Margaret was nonplussed and beginning to feel a little irritated. The girl had been caned three times, so why the silly fuss over a taste of the slipper? "Nonsense, girl," she said impatiently. "Come here this minute!"

  Reluctantly, and shivering as she did so, Jenny got up and stepped slowly across to stand before the mistress with her hands entwined nervously at her front.

  "Now get over my knee and be quick about it!"

  A tear fell to the carpet as Jenny stood hesitating.

  "What on earth! ..." Margaret reached out, took the girl by the arm and pulled her down across her lap.

  Jenny cried out, "No! Please!" as Margaret lifted her skirt and blazer out of the way. Flushed and quite out of sorts now, Margaret didn't bother removing knickers but whacked Jenny's up-turned bottom with the slipper, ONE, TWO, THREE with some force.

  Jenny squealed loudly and kicked her legs so violently that Margaret had to stop and use her right arm to hold them down.

  "Stop that at once!" she commanded, but Jenny continued to wriggle and struggle, crying and spluttering,

  "No! No! It isn't fair!"

  With some difficulty, Margaret manoeuvred her right leg round and over Jenny's to restrain them. She raised the slipper and whacked the squirming girl again, SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

  Jenny screeched and kicked and bucked, crying,

  "I hate you! I hate you!"

  And then, extraordinarily - Margaret had never known anything like it - she started to scream: a long, sustained, spine-chilling howl. Margaret raised her arms in alarm and sat back, letting the girl slip from her lap and slide to the floor, where she lay choking and spluttering before she started again to bawl,

  "It's not FAIR! I hate you!" And then that demented, scalp-tingling scream emerged again from her throat.

  "AAAAAAAAARRRGGGHHHH!"

  This, Margaret sensed, was no howl of physical pain - something deep and long-held, an appalling anguish, was pouring out of the girl at her feet, a stream of toxic feeling that wracked her body as she lay there on her stomach, shaking and crying, banging fists on the carpet, repeating again and again, "I hate you! I hate you" until, after a minute or so, another convulsion shook her and she yelled out, in a cry so pitiful Margaret would remember it to her grave,

  "MUMMEEEEEEE!"

  Margaret was kneeling by Jenny now, trying to shush her.

  "Mummeee!" cried Jenny again and again, sobbing to her very depths.

  "Ssshh! There now," said Margaret, pushing the chair away so she could move round behind Jenny and get her arms under her arm and thighs. In one quick heave, she lifted the distraught girl and stepped over to the sofa where she sat cradling her in her arms, whispering, "Sshh! ... I know. I know ... there, there ... hush now. All will be well. Sshh. You are here with me ... you are loved."

  At this last comforting statement Jenny cried out: "NO! NO! I'm NOT! I'm NOT!" and she sobbed again in Margaret's arms, tears soaking the mistress' breast.

  Margaret rocked gently back and forth, cradling and quietly soothing, and slowly, slowly, the storm subsided: Jenny's sobs died away and the tears ceased to flow, leaving the occasional shudder and hiccough in their wake.

  Eventually Margaret felt it safe to ease the girl from her lap on to the sofa beside her, but she kept an arm round her and passed her a hankie. As Jenny blew her nose and shuddered again, Margaret asked softly,

  "Jenny, whom did you mean when you said 'I hate you'?"

  Jenny was silent for a while, looking down, before she said, very quietly,

  "Father." Margaret waited a f
ew moments.

  "And why do you think you hate your father?"

  "'Cause he doesn't love me. He spanked me with his slipper really, really hard for almost anything and he sent me away from home ... he ... he just HATES me." Tears brimmed again and streamed down her face. "After my mother died ... he ... he ... I'm the eldest, Miss, and he just started to blame me for everything, and it wasn't my fault! It wasn't my fault. It was as if ... he ... he ..." Fresh sobs shook Jenny's shoulders and she leaned sideways and spoke into Margaret's breast. "As if he ... thinks it's my fault that ... that ... MUMMY DIED..." A cry of anguish keened from the helpless girl. Tears stung Margaret's eyes as she held her tight.

  "No, no, no," said Margaret. "I'm sure, I'm absolutely sure that isn't true, Jenny." She turned to face the young girl and lifted her chin. "Do you think your father loved your mother, Jenny?"

  Jenny's face was streaked with tears. She nodded and shuddered. "Yes, Miss, I know he did. He cried, Miss, for weeks after ... after ..."

  "Yes, poor man," said Margaret sadly. "And Jenny, can I ask ... are you more like your mother or your father?"

  Jenny looked up. "Like my mother, Miss. Everyone always said so ..."

  "So do you think perhaps you remind your father of her? That when he sees you it makes him think of her?"

  Jenny looked away for a moment, clearly thinking about this. "Yes, Miss, I suppose ... "

  "So let's try and understand why your father would treat you so unkindly - did he always spank you as a child?"

  "Not really, Miss. Not much, and not hard, I mean ..."

  "So perhaps, because he was so, so sad after losing your mother, his wife ... Jenny, sometimes grief makes people do strange things, things they don't mean to. And they get angry, very angry with the person they've lost. It seems silly, doesn't it, for people to be angry with someone who's died, but it's very common and the more they loved them the angrier they can be."

  Jenny was nodding her head, her face a little brighter. She blew her nose again. "But, Miss, why should he be angry with me? It's not fair."