They all give me a hug afterwards and back to the table we go. Thankfully, Monica fails to make her four clubs so now it's Margaret's turn. She's to get eight - for being very rude to a mistress. Prudence makes her bend over a chair, swishes the cane several times getting the feel of it and then measures it against Margaret's (very lovely, I must say, for a woman of forty) bottom. She starts quite cautiously, getting her aim right, but by the fifth or sixth she's adding some wrist to her swing as well and Margaret screeches a couple of times. It leaves lovely stripes too.
We play about seven or eight more hands, with the punishments more or less equally shared between Margaret and me. I get about thirty more strokes, alternating between Prudence and Monica, Margaret about the same, and I am deliciously sore as I sit down between each bout. And it's great fun! We laugh a lot while we're playing, with Monica teasing us mercilessly and Prudence smiling and grinning for the first time in days.
In the end Monica declares the bridge game over and stands up.
Suddenly she's very cold and commanding.
"Dawson, Stokes, go to the kitchen and shut the door," she says with an icy imperiousness. My tummy flips over and my heart starts to beat double-time. We get up and do as we're told. Margaret gives me a rueful smile. While we wait, she tells me Monica always leaves the best till last. She asks me if I'm ready for a very fierce caning. I half giggle and half quail, but I nod my assent.
After about five minutes, Prudence opens the door and summons us to the dining-room.
The dining-table now has a blanket over it and two pillows one on top of the other across the middle. Two canes lie on top of the pillows, crossed over to form a flat kind of X. Monica stands on the far side of the table looking grim. Prudence takes up a position opposite her.
"Stand there," she barks, pointing to the end of the table furthest from the windows. We shuffle over meekly and stand side by side looking down. "You have disgraced yourselves and you have disgraced the school," she says in an ominously quiet, steely voice. "Do you have anything to say for yourselves before you are punished?"
I'm shivering as I shake my head. Margaret mutters, 'No, Miss'.
"I thought as much," she says, disgustedly. "Well, you will now face the consequence of your despicable actions, and I can assure you it will be exceedingly painful. You will each receive twelve strokes from Miss Waring ... and ... twelve strokes from me." She lets that sink in, before she sets my heart pounding with, "Stokes, you will be first."
I'm told to remove my skirt and knickers and climb onto the table. I'm made to arrange myself with my bottom over the pillows, my arms and legs stretched out to the corners of the table.
From each side, one-two ... three-four ... they cane me, hard. After each six, they pause for a minute or so before laying on the next batch. It is agony ... and ecstasy. I start to cry out after about fifteen when the stinging just gets too intense and then I'm holding on and moaning and feeling ... well, just so punished that it makes me sob in helpless abandon. It's wonderful.
I watch as Margaret gets the same. Prudence and Monica work with methodical concentration. Her bottom reddens and darkens as the stripes multiply and, after eighteen or so, she too starts to yelp and squirm, the last six being especially fearsome. Afterwards, I hold Margaret and we cry gently into each other's shoulders and then Monica and Prudence join us and ... it's a powerful, moving moment - I don't think any of us will ever forget it - they shush us and say things like, 'It's over now ... you were so brave ... thank you,' and we all just hug for about five minutes. We feel so close, as if we are each other's family now...
Emily turned carefully onto her back, looked up at the ceiling and sighed. 'Cropton Hall,' she thought. 'I could happily live here forever.'
---oOo---
"But who is this man?" asked Edith, somewhat exasperated.
"Sir Wilfred couldn't really say - just that he claims to have important news for us and that he's a well-wisher," replied Verily. "It's all rather mysterious, and very inconvenient, but I'm afraid I have no choice but to go, Edith."
"Of course, of course. If Sir Wilfred requires it, then you must." Edith looked pensive: nigh on thirty years of service to the school meant she felt understandably possessive about Cropton Hall and she didn't much like the sound of this Sir Stanlegh Meeth, with his strangely spelt Christian name - if indeed it even was Christian. Heavens! He could be a pagan - he could be anybody!
"I shall leave this afternoon. We're staying apparently at a hotel in York called The Magpie. I expect to be back on Tuesday." Verily paused. "And I leave matters in your very capable hands, Edith."
"Yes, well, I'm sure..."
There was a knock on the door.
"Enter!" called Verily. Prudence Waring appeared.
"Ah, Prudence, come in, my dear. Thank you for your fine reading of the lesson this morning. Proverbs 23, verse 14, wasn't it? Very apt!" said Verily warmly.
Prudence came forward a little shyly.
"Thank you, Headmistress," she said. This was the first time she'd been alone in the Head's study with the two older women since ... that day, and she was embarrassingly conscious of the fact. She gazed at the green leather-topped desk and her hands went involuntarily to her backside (which, unbeknownst to her senior colleagues, bore a fresh set of stripes this Sunday morning, just three weeks after the ones Verily had applied).
"How can I help you?" asked Verily.
"I'm afraid I must report an incident that happened yesterday afternoon, Headmistress," said Prudence.
"Go on," said Verily.
"I caught Thomas up in the attic above my room in the west wing, which I believe is out of bounds to girls, isn't it?" Verily turned to Edith, sighed and rolled her eyes as if to say, 'Thomas again!'
"It certainly is, Prudence, yes," said Verily.
"Anyway, I heard strange noises and went to investigate. She came out of that old store room at the end onto the landing and seemed very reluctant that I see what she'd been up to in there."
"I see," said Verily.
"So I insisted on looking. She'd piled pillows and books behind the door - I think it doesn't shut properly - and she gave the strangest excuse for being there."
"Really? Which was?"
"Well, she said she'd been ... whacking herself!" Prudence blushed slightly. "Extraordinary really - but actually, the sounds I'd heard were rather like that. She said she'd been angry with herself for not doing her homework ..."
"Poppycock!" said Verily, and she burst out laughing. "Sorry, Prudence," she said. "I suspect young Miss Thomas may have pulled the wool over your eyes. Did you have a good look round the room?"
Prudence thought for a moment. "Er ... actually no, now that you mention it, I didn't. I stayed at the door - it was partly blocked and Thomas had backed in there before me. I made her tidy up the mess she'd made and then..."
"So there could have been someone else in there?" asked Verily, amused.
"Um, yes, I suppose there could've been. I didn't really check." Prudence looked crestfallen.
"Never mind, Prudence. You're not to blame. Thomas can be very convincing." She turned to Edith. "I wouldn't mind betting that French was in there with her, and she was probably the one doing the whacking!"
Edith raised her eyebrows. "Surely not, Headmistress! Why on earth would..."
"Well, Edith, these things do go on, you know - girl's games, you know, frissons of excitement?"
Edith shook her head in dismay. "Well, Thomas will certainly get a whacking now, at any rate."
"That's just what I told her," said Prudence.
"Yes, Edith, and I think you should do the honours if you wouldn't mind," said Verily. "And use a strap - she's seen far too much of my canes recently - and to little effect it seems. Perhaps a sound strapping will help her mend her ways." As Edith assented to this, Verily quietly added, "though I doubt it."
"Thank you, Prudence," continued the Headmistress with a warm smile. "And by the way, that's a very p
retty skirt."
Prudence blushed again and looked down at the loose, calf-length, flowered item she'd chosen, smoothing it out at her thighs. "Thank you, Headmistress."
"I haven't seen you in something so ... free and ... loose-fitting before," said Verily. Prudence looked up sharply and swore she saw a knowing twinkle in the Headmistress' eyes. Edith, of course, was oblivious. Prudence looked down again in embarrassment.
"Er ... well, I must be getting along," she said, backing towards the door. Verily watched her with a hint of amusement.
"Yes, Prudence, enjoy your Sunday."
"Thank you, Headmistress," said Prudence, and then she was out of the door and closing it behind her.
"Interesting young woman," muttered Verily. She turned to Edith. "Edith, could you ask Mr Arnold to fix that door lock as soon as possible, please. We can't have girls stumbling across who knows what up there and getting up to mischief."
"Of course, Verily, I'll see to it this afternoon."
---oOo---
Shirley Barton took herself off for a walk in the woods straight after lunch. They always had what was supposed to pass for a roast of some kind on Sundays and she felt a bit stuffed. Anyway, she needed time to think. She'd laid the groundwork with Gabrielle pretty successfully, she felt, but groundwork for what exactly? She had no clear plan for how to exact the revenge she was bent on, just a certain knowledge that she must obey the urgings of the seething hatred she felt for Julia Bennett, a hatred made all the more tormenting by the love, and admiration, that nestled never far beneath it. But having the trust of the Head Girl couldn't go amiss and she thought she'd managed to sew some seeds of doubt in that gullible, innocent's mind. And the little chat she'd had with Helen Patterson had confirmed what she'd guessed: assistance from that quarter would definitely be forthcoming should it be needed. Helen clearly hated Julia as much as Shirley herself did - she blamed her for losing her Head Girl status - and she'd jumped at the idea of a chance to get her own back.
Shirley had almost completed a circle of the greater part of the woods - a half hour's walk - when she spotted two girls through the trees. They were crouching down by some bushes doing something on the ground. Interesting! Shirley chose a route that brought her up behind them, unseen, and she managed to get close enough to hear and see quite clearly. She recognised Jennings; she wasn't sure who the other girl was. They were digging a small hole with their hands. Shirley crouched down herself and listened.
"There's going to be an almighty kerfuffle," said Jennings.
"I know, I can't wait," said the other girl - she had brown hair and looked like she might be a fifth-former too. "I just hope nobody spots it till assembly."
Jennings giggled. "Oh, Grace! Can you IMAGINE?" They scrabbled away more earth, then Jennings stopped. "Is that big enough do you think?"
"Yes, should be all right. Here, pass me the bag."
Jennings picked up a brown paper bag from beside her and passed it to the other girl, Grace apparently, who plonked it in the hole, which they then started to fill in again.
"I don't think Rachel's going to be too pleased with us, you know," said Jennings.
"But why not?" asked Grace indignantly. "Girls under the cane arise, she said. Well, isn't this arising? We've done something to fight back!"
"Yes, I suppose so," said Jennings. They got up, brushed themselves down and looked around. Shirley ducked. After a few moments she cautiously raised her head to see them walking off back towards school. She waited till they were some distance away before running over to the hole they'd dug and uncovering it. What had they buried? And what was it they didn't want noticed till assembly, which wouldn't be till tomorrow morning?
Shirley lifted the paper bag out, opened it and reached inside. She took out a small tin. It was paint, the kind used for model kits and the lid was in place. There was also a small paint brush, black paint still fresh on its bristles. Hm, she thought. She took a halfpenny from her blazer pocket and levered off the lid. It was still half full. Ideas were already forming in her mind. She replaced the lid, put the items back in the bag, tucked it under her arm and headed back towards school. First she had to have a look in the Hall - something there was due to cause a stir during assembly, apparently.
The Hall/Chapel was out of bounds to girls except for official school events and choir or drama practice, so Shirley was careful to ensure the coast was clear before she slipped in through the door the girls used. Although it was a cloudy afternoon, plenty of light poured in through the many windows. She looked around - something scrawled probably, and black obviously. She took a few steps towards the middle aisle, slowly changing her angle of sight as she scoured the pews and walls for any sign of what Jennings and the Grace girl had written - if it was writing.
Nothing - she couldn't see anything. She turned towards the stage, and let her gaze range across the chairs, the lectern, the organ. She sighed. Hm.
And then she saw it. Of course! And how daring! But how had they got up there? She walked forward and stood just below the stage looking up at the crest. They'd made a good mess of it. And what did it stand for? She looked around, puzzled as to how the two fifth-formers could have got that high up, and then, tucked in the corner, almost out of sight behind the organ, she saw a step-ladder. Mystery solved! Mr Arnold must leave it there for cleaning the windows or something.
She hurried back to the door, eased it open carefully, listened and then slipped out and shut it quietly behind her. Time to make use of her accomplice, she thought, setting off towards the sixth form common room. Plans buzzed in her clever little mind.
---oOo---
After Susie had told her about the book, Rachel was so intrigued - especially by the bit about herself, and also the part about Miss Markham getting caned - that she was desperate to go back up to the attic and read it herself, but Susie managed to dissuade her: if she got caught going back before she'd even been punished for the first time, then ... well ... even Rachel might regret it. And Miss Waring was usually around or in her room on Sunday afternoons - they'd seen her coming and going at this time a few times this term.
They were lounging at their desks in the form room when Miss Bainbridge appeared. Rachel had wondered whether Very Waring would actually carry out her threat and report her and as usual she'd felt torn: part of her was afraid of the punishment, especially if it was Molly again, part of her sort of wishing for it.
"Thomas, come with me," said the Deputy Head with a grim brusqueness. Rachel got up, gave Susie a surreptitious wink, silently mouthing 'Cream', and followed Miss Bainbridge out into the corridor. Rachel assumed she was being escorted to see the Head, but Miss Bainbridge led her in the other direction and Rachel felt a smidgeon of disappointment - although she feared Miss Markham, she'd also felt thrilled by the Headmistress' manner each time she'd had to visit her study; she'd had that sense of being understood somehow, deep down.
They were heading for the changing-room. Near the end of the corridor they passed Barton and Patterson coming in the opposite direction and Shirley, reading the situation instantly, gave Rachel a quick smile of sympathetic encouragement which Rachel appreciated; Patterson ignored her.
"Go and stand over there," ordered Miss Bainbridge impatiently, holding the changing-room door open and signalling Rachel to the bench along the far side of the open area. Rachel made her way over and stood waiting. Her nerves were starting to jangle now, her heart beating faster and her hands beginning to sweat. She rubbed them on her skirt and gulped. She'd not been whacked by Miss Bainbridge before and she'd heard she was no slouch. The mistress came over to the chest of drawers, opened the second one from the top and produced a large leather strap about an inch and a half wide, eighteen inches long, and thick, rather frighteningly thick, thought Rachel, eyeing it warily.
"Now then, Thomas," began the Deputy Head, coming over and frowning fiercely at Rachel. "You may count yourself extremely lucky that you're not getting a severe caning for this latest escap
ade - out of bounds for the second time in a week? Out-RAGEOUS disobedience!" Rachel jumped. "But the Headmistress has asked me to give you a very sound beating with this instead." With a hand at each end grasping the strap firmly, she snapped it taut with a sudden jerk. Rachel flinched. "And I can assure you, young lady, that I have every intention of carrying out her instructions to the letter." Rachel's stomach fluttered and lurched at Miss Bainbridge's obviously serious intent. "My purpose, Thomas," she continued, rolling up her right sleeve, "is to help you realise the error of your ways. This is for your own good, girl. You will receive nine strokes, and you will count each one and thank me. Is that understood?"
Rachel's mouth was so dry it was she could do to emit a croaked, 'Yes, Miss'. Her heart was pounding, her legs turning to jelly. She felt more frightened than she ever had with Miss Markham.
"Very well. Take your skirt off and place it on the bench. We don't want that getting in the way."
With sweaty hands shaking nervously, Rachel fumbled with the buttons at the side of her skirt. Miss Bainbridge snapped the strap again and Rachel flinched again and felt tears welling up. She stepped out of her skirt and folded it on the bench, struggling not to cry.
"Lower your underwear and bend over. Place your hands on the bench."
Rachel quickly and surreptitiously wiped away a tear on her upper arm and lowered her knickers to her knees. She bent over. Her knees were shaking and her hands felt slippery on the wooden bench. She sensed the Deputy Head taking up position to her left as she stared down at the grains in the wood, her face already half-wincing.
Never had the strap; wonder what it's like?
The Girls of Cropton Hall Page 40