He drew short as he saw us then, smiling, slowly approached Georgiana who stood with hung head to one side.
"Well, Miss, you know why I am here?"
"Yes, sir."
"Ready to take your medicine?"
"Y-yes, sir."
"Your mother has asked me to whip you. Thrash your buttocks. I shall endeavor to give her satisfaction. John," he said, without turning, "I understand you have a cane."
"Yes, sir."
"Fetch it."
John bolted from the room as if hoping to win some hundred-yard sprint. Mr. Brocklehurst continued to bend his bushy brows on his unfortunate victim. He was truly an impressive sight, and thoroughly relishing his role.
"Not been caned by me before, I believe."
Georgiana made a mumble. She was beginning to look extremely fearful, indeed, and it was clear that for her the punishment had started.
Eliza smiled. "She still has the pleasure to come, I fear, sir."
Mr. Brocklehurst gave her a baleful stare and Eliza's smile dropped like a stone.
"That remark was not intended to be impertinent, was it, Miss?"
"No sir," Eliza answered hastily, turning suddenly ashen also.
"I scarcely think our young friend here looks to be anticipating a . . . pleasure. Eh? A little slender and loose-fleshed but still nice and round behind. I enjoy flogging into such a buttock. They generally cut well. No, I shall contrive to make you feel it, Miss."
With a breathless rush John Reed burst back into the room, proffering his yellow rod.
"The cane, sir.*
Mr. Brocklehurst took the knob end. With pursed lips he bent it strongly double and then flayed the air with it twice. I jumped and Georgiana gave a despairingly audible gulp. The pitch of the whine the man made was ten times higher than that extracted by John Reed, even at his strongest.
"Too light," the oppressor opined. "Too light by far to do real work with. Besides, children of your age should have graduated to the cord by now. Yes, a length of well-waxed whipcord is what I should like to apply to this young lady's lower person. However, it'll have to do. I shall make it sting."
"I ... I used to have another, sir. It wasn't quite so bendy. Only, Jane Eyre broke it."
"Miss Eyre will be considerably less spirited after a year at Lowood School, where she will go next term and where girls pay for their temper tantrums on the block. Yes, Miss," he said, turning his pale eyes upon me, "bare arse on the block, before the whole school. A few licky dozen about the bottom part of it and you'll be howling your heart out. Those mistresses know how to get every ounce out of a cut, they're not employed by me, else. Now then, John, how do you say I should take our unhappy-looking sinner?"
"Take her, sir?"
"Posture, boy. How d'ye get it at school?"
"Bent tight, sir."
Mr. Brocklehurst smiled. "Don't you think it might offend the sensibilities of such a well-brought-up maiden as your younger sister to bend her bottom double before a stranger and expose herself so?"
"I der-dunno, sir."
"Shall we see?"
The man turned upon his victim who was now quite limp and faint. With a quiver of his cane he indicated a very low embroidered stool before the grate.
"Stand there." Georgiana did so. "Now uncover. Uncover for us entirely." The girl looked back, plainly not gathering his drift. The man advanced, hissing angrily—"Hoist up your skirts, you silly little fool." And he lashed the air again.
With a sob of panic Georgiana ducked and did as bid.
"Right up under your armpits now."
She was, as she had told us, nude beneath the velvet, but for stockings held taut by jewelled garters. Her very white skin had a delicate marbly sheen and her sweet, small, well-set buttocks (trembling already, alas) looked utterly defenseless as they huddled together under our inspection. Mr. Brocklehurst jounced the right hind gently with the tip of his stick and it gave a muscleless wobble.
"Strange to think that this young lady," he said reflectively, "is in a few minutes going to look as if she's sat on a grille, and rather harder on the right than on the left. John, this is tender meat. Twill cut like butter, too. I fear she'll feel it. Bend over and touch your toes, girl, now."
Georgiana dipped like a hinge, her dress slipping up her. Her charming, sly buttocks tightened till they appeared as twin lengthenings of her thighs which, however, were still pretty plump at the top—not enough so, though, to prevent the plum of her person from pouching back. Mr. Brocklehurst gave us all time for a lengthy contemplation, in total silence, of Georgiana's divided person, and its thickly furzed sexual slot. I felt very sorry for her, indeed.
Finally, he said on a growl, "Does that make you come hard, eh, Jack?"
"Yer-yes, sir."
Mr. Brocklehurst guffawed. "I'll wager it does, you rascal. And I'll bet you'd be spurting to see me lick into those chubs, eh? But I have another idea for you after, boy. I like to make the punishment fit the crime. Now, Miss, lean further and put your palms absolutely on the carpet in front of you. Right down, mind. Brace your legs." As Georgiana strove to obey, she widened still further behind. Her knees bent. "Can't do it with yer knees straight, girl? Come on, try."
"I'm trying, sir."
"Well, try harder. Push back. If a Lowood gel can't put her palms on the ground with her knees absolutely stiff after a year, she gets exercises in a special stretching apparatus . . . daily. Now, what is this part of your anatomy I am touching the tip of my stick to?"
"Sir! Please."
"Its name, child."
"Anus, sir."
"Good." He turned to Eliza, "Synonym?"
"Arsehole, sir."
"Good again. She'll be wanting to use it shortly, with a pint of castor oil in her entrails. Now then, Miss, stand up straight, here. Well, I declare. We seem to have restored some color to the upper cheeks, to be sure."
Indeed, when Georgiana straightened, her hems falling into place again, the tint of her face was a beetroot hue, in strong comparison with her upper arms and bosom.
"With a thin-skinned seat like yours, Miss, I don't need ye fully bent. Lean forward a little, so. A trifle more for the material to adhere behind. Now put your hands behind your head. Just so. I will take you so, with the fat relaxed. You will hold that position on pain of extra cuts. Now then, what do you say to a salty six? 'Twill take no more than a minute."
"Yer-yes, sir." The crystal of a tear stood in Georgiana's eye nearest me.
Mr. Brocklehurst swept her a courtly bow.
"Come, take your deserts."
He led her briskly to the far door which gave onto a passage and a door across into a little-used study. As it closed on Georgiana I thought she looked very small.
"By Jove, he's a tartar," whispered John Reed.
"He's going to hurt Georgy," said Eliza.
"Heavens, he put it to her. What a bum!"
"I hope he slices it in little pieces," said Eliza slowly and joyfully, closing her shining eyes and pressing her clasped palms into her lower stomach. John Reed's fist was in his flies. The complicity of excitement, against one of their own, on the part of these depraved children shocked me quite utterly.
In the long silence that ensued I heard Eliza breathing thickly.
"Grit your teeth, Georgy!"
Suddenly a quick sharp snip came to us from beyond the far door. Muffled, it made no more sound than might a snapped twig, in that anxious air, but I believe we all three startled perceptibly.
"One," said Eliza softly, pressing at her lap.
There was another similar rap, and she said, Two."
My own palms felt damp. Georgiana was finally suffering and I was familiar with that cane's sharp sting. There was a good long pause after three, for Mr. Brocklehurst knew how to draw it out, and an even longer one after four. After she had counted it, in fact, Eliza murmured, "Getting warm, I fear." Then a fifth was given, followed by what might have been a stifled cry, followed by a low growl. The
n Eliza was saying, "Six. Damn," and straightening her skirt. John Reed hastily did up his trousers which did not conceal in the slightest the gluttonous tube of gristle up one side of them. We stared at each other.
Suddenly a harder rap resounded. We blinked, and its fellow followed after. Shortly after that someone appeared to be wrestling with the door-handle.
Georgiana shot out, closing the door behind her, red in the face and panting, "Oh, oh, oh." She curled over, holding her bottoms and mewing like a kitten as she came past us. It was a very salutory sight indeed to see her hands grasping her velvet-clad chubbies in great bunches.
"Excruciating," she gasped out. "He didn't have to hit me that hard. The man might have been cutting a tree-trunk in two. Whew! And he didn't even strip me."
Bursting into tears, her face contorted, she positively writhed her way from the room to—no doubt—hers.
A moment later Mr. Brocklehurst emerged and came into the room, humming. He was easing his left arm back into his jacket and restored his cane to John with his right.
"Not bad at all. I think I stung the little sinner. She writhed nicely at the end. We believe in justice, and equality of the sexes. Now then, Jack," he said, with a meaningful look at the boy's apparent erection, "at school, do you bugger your fags after you've swished them?"
"Sometimes, sir."
"Good boy. When you're hard up, like now, I reckon."
"Yes, sir." The scratched cheek grinned.
"And we understand, your mother and I, that is, from Miss Georgiana last night, that you buggered Jane Eyre here."
John Reed paled, uncertain. "Yes, sir," he said.
"Fine, fine. I hope it was a nice slick tunnel."
"It was, sir," he got out with relief. How I hated the brute, then.
"Excellent. You show promise, boy. Jane Eyre," slowly the pillar revolved towards me, "did you feel well and truly stuck up the entrails by this likely lad?"
"Yes, sir," I said. And it was beastly true. I had.
"Good again. Now then, as I say, we are just. We believe in fitting the punishment to the crime. Miss Georgiana is now drinking a pint of castor oil, after which she will be secured on her bed just as Jane here was. John, m'boy, I want you to go up to her and when the infusion seems to be beginning its work, and the little lady is nicely squirming, I order you to bugger her soundly, as you've never buggered anyone before—to the back of her brain, d'ye understand!"
"Yes, sir." His great slow grin was loathsome.
"Feel up to it?"
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
"Don't spare her now. Time it right and 'twill give you the sensation of your life."
"I won't, sir!" Once more he dashed off, happily waving his cane.
Slowly, yet more slowly, Mr. Brocklehurst gyrated towards the other spectator of the scene—Eliza, who had stood with slightly open jaw, a rabbit mesmerized by a snake, albeit a fleshy one.
The Reverend Brocklehurst summed her with his most basilisk gaze, and approached behind her. Eliza made no move as he placed his large hands on the top of her bottoms and then drew them down, over the protruding surfaces, finally cupping one healthy hind in his palm and jogging it meditatively.
"By heaven, this is a base I should like to operate on. Made for the birch. First-class meat, in prime condition. So thick through, yet springy. What d'ye say, Miss Eliza, would you care for me to put it to you?"
"I don't think I should like it at all, sir," the girl replied weakly.
"Think I could make these heavy hams of yours twist and writhe nicely?"
"I am sure that you could, sir."
"Well," said Mr. Brocklehurst with relish, standing back to survey her again, "before I leave I shall ask your mother to summon me for the next infliction of which she deems you necessary. George! I'd come from the other ends of England to whip into such a sumptuous seat."
There was a little silence, then, frowning, Eliza said something odd. "I would feel proud if you would, sir."
Mr. Brocklehurst's great mouth grinned.
"What!"
"Yes, sir," she continued, breathing heavily, "I know it would hurt abominably and though I should try not, I should probably screech and struggle, but to have been whipped once by a master of your caliber, sir, would do honor to my sex."
"Three dozen with a briny birch, Miss, bent over."
"I shall be ready for them, sir."
"And for the last cuts, I shall whip in."
"I am sure you will," the girl said huskily.
With an ironic smile the Reverend bowed and left us.
Eliza turned dazed eyes to mine. She seemed half in a dream. "What is it, Jane?" she said in the same lost tone. "That man, why he whips you as he looks at you. I don't envy you going to Lowood."
"I shall be quit of here," I said sullenly.
"Jane, I nearly always come when I hear Georgy beat by mother. Sometimes twice. But this time I was too frightened, it was strange. The power he holds over your mind, it is truly frightening. Now he's gone I feel like spending. Come into this window-seat, quick, and get under my skirt."
"Oh all right," I said, even more disagreeably.
In a second I was buried in her thick coarse muff, which I was forced to service with my tongue. The sooner it was over the better for me. The heavy girl mashed herself into me, bucking her hips on the edge of the seat, and pulling my head into her. It was fortunately soon done. With a hoarse cry of "Oh Christ!" she liberally bedewed my lips and face, spasming richly. Then there were footsteps and she kicked me from her. When Bessie came into the room I was wiping my face on the back of an arm and Eliza was lolling a leg with feigned unconcern in front of the fire.
"Miss Jane! You naughty little thing! Why don't you come when you are called?"
"Because I didn't hear you," I ventured. But she was not angry and as she led me kitchenwards I put an arm through hers with youthful lightness of heart. "Come, Bessie, don't scold."
The action was frank and fearless and somehow it seemed to please her.
"Ye're a strange child, Jane. I shall miss you when you go to school. Come and help me peel some onions."
"It makes me cry."
"And not the only thing as does, eh?"
"Do you like whipping into me, Bessie?"
"You sharp little thing! You won't be so venturesome and hardy after a year at Lowood."
So I helped her with the onions and rejoined the rest for luncheon. Mrs. Reed came down on the arm of the Rev. Brocklehurst looking as if the brass band had been through her and back, cymbals and all. John Reed was there, looking grinny and complacent, and Georgiana was there, looking closely at the carpet.
"Portrait of a well-caned girl," laughed her mother. "Show your marks, Georgiana."
The girl had to do so before us all. She still had nothing on, beneath, and the man had properly grilled her. He had covered the whole limp buttock, each stroke a half inch exactly below its peer, purple bands against the white. At the very base, just on the fold, was a very solid weal indeed.
"Those were the two extra," he told us, indicating. "I'll wager they were the worst, were they not, Miss?"
"The very worst, sir," promptly admitted Georgiana.
"Good Lord, sir," said Mrs. Reed, shakily pouring a bumper of sherry, "and you were able to effect such nicety of placement through clothing?"
"She moved once, after one cut, which made me go awry . . . here." He indicated again. "But I think she was sorry, after. I should dearly like to try my skill, such as it is, on your elder, Ma'am."
During lunch Georgiana said not a word. Eliza continued to look at the man as though mesmerized, and I kept counsel with myself. I could still feel my whipping under me.
About the time port wine was circulating Mr. Brocklehurst and Mrs. Reed were looking tolerably flushed. He put aside his great glazed napkin, pushed back his chair and opined, "A fine repast, Ma'am, in truth. But this morning's work has given me an appetite for more whipping."
"You ar
e incorrigible," said Mrs. Reed.
One by one, we asked to be excused.
Before he left that afternoon, however, a maid was found who was guilty of some peccadillo. Mr. Brocklehurst was saddling up in the stables. The girl was a poor slim under-housemaid, who had to stand shivering for ten minutes in the cobbled court before he was ready. She then had to strip completely and in public, before the grinning stable-boys, on the back of the stoutest of whom she was subsequently horsed or hoisted. Mrs. Reed lent her thin switch for the occasion and the man gave her a dozen. Though she kicked, again the cuts all came within an inch or so, and the skin was broken in two places on the right side.
A. N. Dedeaux - An English Education Page 5