by Fiona Monroe
"Beg your pardon, sir," she said. "I'm just teaching this girl a lesson for letting her mouth run away with her in front of the mistress. I've warned her about her talking out of turn often enough, and today she went too far. I hope it's all right, sir. Mr Leuchars left discipline to me, he said he should not do it."
"Quite right, Mrs MacDonald. It is not seemly for a gentleman to administer punishment to one of the fairer sex unless she be a daughter, sister or wife. Please carry on, and I hope to hear of your better conduct, girl."
He put his hand on Flora's elbow and steered her out. She glanced back at the door and saw that Mrs MacDonald was already lifting Phemie's skirts back up over her waist. As they walked away down the short kitchen passage, she heard the lash of the belt and a stifled moan.
In the sitting room, Mr Farquhar demanded an explanation.
"I did not mean to get the girl punished, sir. I only asked her what she knew about - about the people we met after church this morning."
His face darkened. "About the Buccleuch family?"
"Yes, sir."
"After I told you this morning that I did not want to bear false witness against my neighbour and would not discuss it further? You thought it appropriate to go to the servant girl and ask her what your husband the Minister would not tell you?"
Flora was silent, abashed.
"And what did she tell you?"
Flora drew breath to start to pour out everything Phemie had told her, including the colourful detail of the dead elder son who became a pirate, but a flash of insight and perhaps good sense stopped her words. "Scandalous stories, sir, which I will not repeat."
Mr Farquhar let out a breath. "You have done wrong, Flora. But I see you know this now. I will deal with you tonight, at bedtime. In the meantime, go and prepare for our visit to the school."
* * * * *
Flora was preoccupied for the rest of the day, and could take no pleasure in looking round the building which Mr Farquhar intended should serve as a schoolroom for the improvement of the crofters' children. He planned to teach reading, writing, numbers and Scripture for a couple of hours a day, whenever the children could be spared from their work, and intended that she should assist him in the task. He was full of enthusiasm for this project.
"I do not mean to make the children unfit for their place in the world, which is the danger of educating the lower classes, but to give them a sound basis for understanding the Holy Scriptures, and their own moral welfare. Without literacy, how can they read the Bible, and seek their own salvation?"
While Flora agreed in principle, she really did not care at that moment. She nodded wordlessly at everything he said, and turned the pages of a primer he had brought back from Edinburgh listlessly, wondering if he would simply forget about the incident as the day dragged on.
Not long after dinner, that hope was dashed.Mr Farquhar preferred that they retire early, so to be up with the dawn; he believed, he had told her, that late hours were morally unhealthy, and that a soul's best work was done at daybreak. So they sat up only about an hour after dinner, Flora working on some sewing while Mr Farquhar read aloud from Fordyce's Sermons.
At last he laid a bookmark on the page, put the volume aside, and said, "Well, Mrs Farquhar. It is time for your lesson. Go upstairs and get ready for bed, and I will follow."
* * * * *
She undressed as quickly as possible, wanting at least to be found obedient and ready. Underlying her dread of the coming punishment was a strong, sick sense of disappointment in herself. She had wanted so much not to fail in her duty once she had properly resolved in herself to be a good minister's wife, and here she was after only a few days at the Manse waiting to be chastised once more.
She heard the thumping and banging on the ceiling that meant that the servants had both climbed the kitchen stairs to the attic floor, and were preparing for bed themselves. It occurred to her that in this small house, there was only beams and lathe between the master bedroom and the servants' sleeping quarters above. If she cried out, they would both hear her very plainly. She determined to be as brave as she could, and take her punishment in silence.
At last, she heard his tread on the main stairs. That distinctive creak was dreadful to her tonight. As he entered the room and closed the door, she slid rapidly to her feet.
His face was grave, but not angry. "You look solemn, Flora. I trust you have had time to reflect seriously upon what happened this morning."
"Yes, sir. All day.”
"I hope you understand now that it was wrong for the minister's wife to entice a servant girl in her care, and under her guidance, to indulge in gossip and scandalmongering. I hope you also understand that you should not have made any further enquiry on a subject I had plainly indicated was to be discussed no further."
"Yes, sir," she said, in a whisper.
“This was not wilful misconduct or deliberate defiance - and I believe you understood and repented of your misdeed almost immediately. Nevertheless, you must be chastised."
She nodded, realising now that she almost welcomed whatever punishment he had in mind for her. She was desperate too for him to think well of her again.
"Come over here," he said, and moved away from the cabinet, towards the fire.
For the first time, she noticed that an alteration had been made in the arrangement of the room. By the side of the modest hearth was a plain upholstered chair, of the type with no arm-rests.
"I had this moved this afternoon from the sitting-room, where it served no purpose," he said, resting his hand on its back. "I think it can serve a very good purpose here in our bedchamber. It is just the right height for me to sit comfortably, and to put you across my knee for a sound hiding." He lowered himself into it and looked up at her. "Here!" He patted his knee.
Flora twisted her hands together, standing before him, her heart hammering. It was so strange to be standing while a gentleman remained seated. She had no idea what to do.
He grabbed her wrist and with sudden roughness pulled her across his lap. Her foot slipped on the hearthrug as she went over and she gave an instinctive yelp of surprise, struggling reflexively. He hauled her into a more secure position, clamping her legs with his thighs and using his left hand to pin her hands behind her back. Her bottom was lifted high upon his left thigh, and she felt him work the fabric of her nightshift upwards until the slightly cooler air let her know that her nether cheeks were exposed. She clenched them together in frightened anticipation.
She never wanted to be in this horrible position again, trapped across his lap, bottom bared and unprotected, awaiting a hiding of unknown length and severity. She was going to be the perfect wife from morning to evening, she swore to herself.
It cannot be as bad as the hairbrush, she thought.
"Now, Mrs Farquhar. Why are you being punished?"
"For - for listening to scandal."
"And?"
"M-making enquiry about something you did not want to discuss."
"And most especially?"
She cast about in her mind, frantically. She could see the carpet, and the wooden leg of the chair, and her own hair tangling in her eyes. "Being a bad example to the staff?"
"That, and leading a girl of inferior degree into error, and an error she is prone to. As mistress of the Manse you have a special responsibility for the moral welfare of your inferiors, particularly those in your household. Now when I punish you like this, I will not keep count. I will simply wallop your bare behind until I think you are sore and sorry enough, and have learned your lesson, and there I hope will be an end to it."
Without further ceremony, he brought the flat of his hand down so hard on the side of her right buttock that despite her resolve to take her punishment in silence, she let out an involuntary shriek. The sting of that one smack was tremendous, and she could hardly draw in her breath before it was followed by another, just as swingeing, on the other side. She tried to kick her legs, but they were held as firm as ever in the
vice-like grip of his thighs and she simply could not move.
His hand came down again and again, steady and relentless, each smack sounding as loud as a pistol-shot. After the first, she tried very hard not to make a noise, but after ten or twelve slaps the pain built up to be unbearable and suddenly she burst out with an irrepressible wail. It seemed to go on and on, and soon she was crying and sobbing with abandon. She had forgotten about the servants overhearing. She had forgotten too that she was glad he did not use a hairbrush this time. It seemed, as his huge hard hand struck her tender backside over and over, that nothing could hurt more than this.
At last she could bear it no longer and, scrabbling her fingers against the floor, she cried, "No, sir, no! Oh please stop, please, please! I'll be good, I'll be good, please stop!"
"I'll stop when I judge you've learned your lesson, Flora," he said sternly, without pausing, but sounding a little breathless.
Just when she thought it would never end, and she had gone limp and was sobbing hopelessly, he gave three last tremendous slaps across each cheek - harder than any before - and stopped. She lay still across his knees, entirely spent, helpless with tears.
She felt the pressure of his legs release, and she straightened up slowly. Her bottom was blazing and felt hot to the touch as she stood before him, trying to rub the sting out with both hands.
"Why did you deserve that, Flora?"
She struggled to get control of her breathing so that she could form words. "I listened to scandal. I asked about something you did not want to talk about. I led the maid into bad conduct. I won't do it ever again. I'll be good from now on, I promise."
She felt his hand cup her face. "You're a good girl in your essence, Flora. I thank God I found you in time."
And he kissed her, first gently and then deeply, and with little further ado swept her to the bed and took her vigorously, with no care at all for her tender behind.
Chapter Six
The morning after her first chastisement in her own home, she was relieved to find that her backside bore no lasting damage from the lesson. Painful as her husband's hand had been while she was prone across his lap, the next day the skin of her bottom was only a little more sensitive than usual and the bright red impressions of his fingers, so prominent and angry the night before, had disappeared. It was nothing like the lingering bruising and aching of the hairbrush beating.
When Phemie served her morning tea in the sitting room, Flora checked carefully to see that they were alone then said to the girl in a low voice, "I'm very sorry, Phemie, to have got you into trouble yesterday."
Phemie's glance too swivelled towards the door before she replied. "It's no matter, ma'am. My father had a far heavier hand. I couldn't sit for days after some of his beltings."
Flora wriggled in her seat, an unconscious movement. She could still feel a tenderness, though it was not painful.
"I'm the one who should apologise, ma'am," Phemie added in a rush. "If I'd held my tongue - my tongue always runs away with me."
"You were only telling me what I asked, which I should not have done." She felt herself blushing. Of course, Phemie must have heard her crying and shrieking and pleading, and probably the gun-shot loud thwacks of Mr Farquhar's hand on her bare flesh.
"I'd much rather take a hiding from Mrs MacDonald than a big strong gentleman like the master," Phemie said, sounding anxious and sympathetic at the same time.
"Thank you, Phemie, that will be all."
Perhaps conscious that she had overstepped the mark, Phemie dropped a curtsy and left. Flora drank her tea and reflected that she must not indulge in over-familiarity with the servants, though she lacked the company of her own sex. It was important that she form the acquaintance of Miss Buccleuch soon, in the hope of finding a friend.
* * * * *
Miss Buccleuch called in the course of the next two days, and they sat together for the requisite half an hour without Flora feeling that she had got any further forward. Her first impression of Miss Buccleuch as a genteel, intelligent girl was strengthened, but they talked only of commonplace things. Miss Buccleuch expressed an interest in hearing about Flora's wedding, and Edinburgh society, and while Flora could oblige her with a description of the former, she had little to say about the latter beyond a few second-hand reports of her sister's balls. She pronounced the words ‘my sister' rather hesitantly, but it was soon evident that Miss Buccleuch knew nothing of the scandal. Or, if she did, she was too well-bred to allude to it. Either way, Flora was glad.
They had no acquaintance in common in any case, as Miss Buccleuch had come out in London, been presented at Court and spent a single season there. Flora was envious, and always in awe of anyone who had been to London, and eager to hear all about it. But Miss Buccleuch spoke of this only in passing, and before Flora could encourage her to enlarge on the brilliancies of London assemblies and fashions, it was time for the visit to end. She had to admit to herself, Miss Buccleuch was not very forthcoming anyway. She doubted that a longer acquaintance would reveal much more.
When she returned the visit, her fears were not allayed. Miss Buccleuch was if anything even more reserved in her own home, and in the presence of her mother.
Lochlannan Castle was clearly visible from Scourie, halfway up the side of the mountain across the loch, its dark towers soaring above the surrounding pines. From the village, it looked like the picture of a faraway giant's castle in a child's book of fairy tales. Approached along its own drive, which wend upwards steeply through about two miles of pine forest before levelling out to a gravel forecourt, it was massive and foreboding. Flora knew that most inhabited castles in Scotland were built primarily for show, as noble residences for the foremost families. Lochlannan looked as though it might really have been intended to hold the glen against invaders. There was a modern wing to one side, but the central keep was a huge square tower of dark grey stone with high-up windows so tiny they were hardly more than arrow-slits, and a barred oak door that seemed far too small to be the main entrance to a great house. It had been raining all morning when Flora arrived in the trap, driven by John the outdoor man, adding to the general impression of gloom; water was streaming down the stones, making them almost black.
The interior of the castle was of a piece with the exterior, at least in the more ancient part of the house. There was a grand central hall up a short flight of stone steps from the front door, huge fireplaces and the inevitable mounted stag heads and crossed swords, and no visible staircases. She soon found that the castle's tight spiral staircases, which seemed numerous, were hidden within the walls, and were so narrow and enclosed that she had to climb them single file behind the footman who was leading her to her hostess.
The drawing room was in the modern part of the house, and was by contrast a pleasant airy room, tastefully furnished, with large windows affording a fine prospect of the loch and the village. After admiring the view, and some landscapes painted by Miss Buccleuch which were on display, Flora found herself duller than she had possibly imagined she could be in the company of the two ladies. This was a family notorious for generations, which boasted madmen, libertines and pirates, and yet Lady Buccleuch sat on her embroidered sofa and talked monotonously about ‘my son' and his plans for improving the estate. Lady Buccleuch, Flora realised almost at once, was one of those immensely trying women who discoursed endlessly upon nothing without any need of prompting or rejoinder. Miss Buccleuch, meanwhile, was almost silent, and bent her head over her work. Perhaps it was Flora's fancy, but she thought her nervous about something. Or perhaps she was just as bored by her mother's conversation, if conversation it could be called, as she herself was.
The only really interesting thing she learned was that although Sir Duncan himself was not at home at present, he would be returning from town within the month and planned to bring a party of guests, and there was to be a ball.
Flora had never been to a ball, of course. She had merely sat enviously in Margaret's room watching her pr
epare, and waited impatiently at home for her to return. The information was delivered by Lady Buccleuch as part of a lengthy ramble about her son's visit to Edinburgh, and Flora's mind had been drifting away. At the magical word, she started back to attention. "Excuse me, your ladyship - did you say there was to be a ball here at Lochlannan?"
Lady Buccleuch looked surprised to be interrupted, and as if she were casting about in her mind to pick up the thread of her monologue. Miss Buccleuch took advantage of the temporary pause to say, "Yes, unless my brother's plans change, which they sometimes do, we expect to hold the ball on the fourth of next month. I hope you and Mr Farquhar will be able to attend?"
Flora hoped so too, fervently. For it occurred to her almost at once, after the first flush of excitement, that Mr Farquhar might hold adverse views on attending balls, and particularly one held by Sir Duncan Buccleuch. Perhaps he would consider dancing in public to be an unfit occupation for the minister's wife, and perhaps he would consider Sir Duncan's friends to be unsuitable acquaintance. She therefore returned a conditional acceptance only.
As John was driving her in the trap around the corner of the drive, away from the castle, Flora's eye was caught by someone moving amidst the trees. To her surprise, she saw that it was Phemie, wearing walking boots and a rough shawl wrapped over her head. She was about to tell John to stop the trap and ask her what she was doing here, and find whether she needed to be conveyed back to Scourie, when Phemie gave her a single startled glance and, pulling her shawl tighter, hurried away into the woods.
John did not appear to have noticed her, and was urging the horse on without pausing. They had soon left the castle, and Phemie, far behind.
All the way home, Flora wondered uneasily about the encounter. She even began to doubt that it had truly been Phemie under the shawl. Why was the maidservant so far away from Scourie, and alone? What business could she have at the castle? And why had she looked so alarmed when she saw that her mistress recognised her? Flora could have sworn that there had been guilt in her expression, and it was certainly very strange that she had run away, and into the trees.