Winterbrook Hall

Rescuing Rose

2011-11-17T19:28:00.000Z

Samuel, one of the footmen usually acts as valet to Master Freddie. Unfortunately, today he was taken ill and with Sir George away from the house it made sense for me to attend on the young master rather than prevail upon one of the other footmen who are not familiar with what is required.

I had run Master Freddie’s bath and was with him in his dressing room helping him to unfasten one of his cufflinks. I do not find him a congenial person, he has all the morals of a tom cat and the same proclivities where the fairer sex is concerned. His father is no saint in that area but he at least is relatively discrete. Conversation was somewhat strained and I guess if we had been talking then I would not have heard it, but hear it I did – the sound of the bathroom door, the door out onto the landing – being opened and quickly closed.

“One moment sir,” I said.

I walked across the room and opened the bathroom door. I do not know who was more surprised Rose or myself. She was sitting on a stool beside the bath idly dangling her fingers in the warm water. She shot to her feet as soon as she saw me.

“What on earth are you doing in here Rose Allenby!?” I demanded.

“I…I…I…” she stammered, her face going very red. Clearly she had no ready explanation to offer.

“What the blue blazes is going on?” Freddie asked poking his head around the door.

Rose blushed even more.

“I have found this maid - lurking in your bathroom sir,” I said “Can you think of any reason why she might be here?”

Rose looked at him pleadingly.

“Makes no sense to me at all,” Freddie said blithely.

“Nor to me sir,” I said. “I cannot imagine what a kitchen maid might be doing upstairs, let alone in the private quarters of a family member...”

Freddie smiled, “A long way from the kitchen, even for one so pretty.”

“Pretty or not, she shouldn’t be here,” I said sternly. “I will take her away and deal with her sir.”

“No don’t take her away,” Master Freddie said, “Surely she can be dealt with here? What had you in mind Jenks – a nice tight dozen with the cane?”

“Something of that order,” I remarked. I could see his eyes light up, in that moment he was every inch his father’s son.

“Why don’t you fetch a cane from the schoolroom, I’ll make sure this maid doesn’t run off?”

“As you wish sir,” I said.

By rights Rose should have been sent to fetch the implement but it was clear that Freddie had other ideas.

As I turned to go I saw him exchange a look with her – a strange look that was at odds with the fact that she was supposedly a stranger to him. Kitchen maids don’t mix with the gentry, but the glance had an intimacy to it that surprised me. As I went up to the schoolroom I thought about what had just occurred. Rose could be very silly at times but that was no explanation for why she should be in Freddie’s bathroom. It was almost as though she was waiting for him, almost as though she was expecting him to come through any moment.

Then suddenly the penny dropped. The only reason why Rose would be in Freddie’s bathroom was if he had invited her to be there. The realisation hit me like a blow to the stomach. How had I been so blind? I had suspected for a while that Rose had a young man, although she had denied it. What I hadn’t worked out was that the young man in question was Master Freddie! I felt my blood run cold. I may be strict with them at times but I care about the servants and I did not like the idea of that young buck preying on one of the maids. He would use her for his pleasure and then discard her without a second thought.

The schoolroom was deserted but I knew where the canes were kept. I selected one of medium weight and hurried back down to Master Freddie’s room. I knocked smartly on the door and went in without waiting for a reply. Freddie turned quickly away from Rose and she stared down at her shoes, her face very red. It was clear that they had been in some sort of clinch and that I had very nearly caught them at it.

“I have the cane sir,” I said.

“Thank you Jenks,” Freddie said, turning back and taking the cane from me. “That will be all, I’m perfectly capable of dealing with naughty maids.”

I hesitated for a moment, loathe to leave her in his clutches, but arguing the point was going to get me nowhere. I gave him a nod, turned and went. Once outside the door I thought quickly. I must do something to extricate Rose from the situation she had placed herself in. I couldn’t save her from being punished but I could rescue her from whatever Freddie had planned to do next. I hurried down to the hall. Last year we installed one of those new-fangled telephones and that had given me an idea. I swiftly took the handpiece from the hook and placed it on the side table, as though I had just received a call and had asked the caller to wait. Then I dashed back upstairs.

I stopped outside Freddie’s door and listened. There was the unmistakable sound of the swish of the cane, the ‘crack’ as it landed across bare flesh and Rose’s sharp cry of pain. I don’t know how many she had had up to that point, but I counted eight more distinct strokes as I waited outside the door. Then all was silent. This was the moment I must act.

Just as I had a few minutes ago I rapped smartly on the door then entered without knocking. What a sight met my eyes. Rose was bent over the end of the bed. Her skirts were up over her back, her drawers lays discarded on a chair, her feet were wide apart, and her bottom lifted high. That bottom was well marked with angry red stripes, all the way down to the top of her thighs, she had taken many more than the dozed prescribed. Freddie had turned away towards the window and was hastily buttoning his fly.

“I’m sorry to disturb you sir,” I said smoothly, “But there is a telephone call, from a young lady… she would not give her name but she said it was urgent.”

“Damn and blast!” he swore.

“If you’ve finished with Rose I’ll take her back to the kitchen sir,” I said. “Mrs Rokeby will be going spare.”

“Yes, yes…” he said testily, “she may go.”

He stomped out of the room.

“Get up Rose!” I said sharply. “Pick up your knickers and come with me quickly, we need to get you out of here.”

She levered herself off the end of the bed. She turned, her look a mixture of confusion and distress. I took her by the arm and led her swiftly out of the room and down the backstairs. She didn’t say a word but I could see she was in quite a state. I took her to Mrs Fuller’s snug.

“What on earth has been going on?” Mrs Fuller asked as she saw Rose’s tear streaked face and the distraught look she wore.

“We are about to find out Mrs Fuller,” I said grimly. “Sit down Rose,”

Rose sat herself gingerly on a chair by the table, wincing as her bottom made contact with the seat. I related what had happened. Rose blushed the deepest red and could not look at either of us as I told Mrs Fuller how I had caught Rose in the bathroom and what had followed.

“Now Rose,” Mrs Fuller said gently, “I want to hear the truth about what’s being going on. You’re not going to be punished, you’ve been caned severely enough as it is.”

I think it was the gentleness of her tone that provoked Rose’s tears. She started to cry and for three or four minutes that was all she could do.

“Oh Mrs Fuller, I have been such a fool…” she sniffed into the handkerchief that the older woman passed her.

“He’s so handsome and lovely. And it was wonderful when he started to notice me and compliment me on how pretty I was. And so when he asked me for a kiss I was thrilled. But then kissing led to touching…” she dropped her head in shame.

“Go on…” Mrs Fuller encouraged her.

“And I knew it was wicked, but it was exciting, and I wanted to, and he liked it. He made me do things… and go around with no drawers on… he said he liked the thought of me all prim and proper on top and naked underneath… and then today he told me to wait in his bathroom… and then… then we would…” her voice trailed off.

“Did you let him know you as a husband knows his wife?” Mrs Fuller asked gently.

Rose shook her head. “If Mr Jenks hadn’t come in when he did… it was going to be my first time… he promised it would be my special reward if I took my punishment bravely...”

“Oh Rose!” Mrs Fuller said pityingly.

Rose buried her head in her hands and sobbed bitterly.

“I thought he loved me… but then he caned me so very hard… and I was scared…” she said through her tears.

“Oh Rose, there is no easy way to say this to you," Mrs Fuller took Rose's small hand in hers "but I’m afraid that he does not love you,” Mrs Fuller said. “Master Freddie is not a pleasant young man and he was after only one thing, the thing you very nearly gave him. He had no care for you or your virtue.”

“What is to become of me?” Rose said miserably. “How can I stop him?”

“That is for Mr Jenks and myself to manage,” Mrs Fuller said firmly. “You are a kitchen maid and it is in the kitchen that you will stay. I will give Mrs Rokeby very clear instructions that should Master Freddie come visiting below stairs he is not to be left alone in your company. There will be no reason for you to go up into the house, if the housemaids need an extra pair of hands then Violet or Milly will be sent to help. Young Master Freddie will have no more opportunity to take advantage of you and you won’t be tempted to let him. Just be glad that it ended with a sore bottom rather than with a baby on the way and Master Freddie denying any responsibility.”

“Thank you Mrs Fuller,” Rose said, and managed a weak smile.

She left the snug a very chastened and hopefully wiser young woman.

As for Master Freddie his come-uppance can’t come soon enough!

Worried about Lucinda

2011-11-08T07:56:00.000Z

I am growing increasingly worried about Lucinda. She may be a tiresome girl at times and often vexes my patience with her wilfulness but that does not mean I do not care about her deeply.

She is infatuated with Master Freddie and a more unsuitable object for her attention she could not have chosen. He may be her cousin, and Sir George’s only son and heir but he is also a philanderer of the worst type. He can be extremely charming when he wants to be, but men like him always are. They are only after one thing. I have seen the way he is around any attractive
young woman. He is the same with Eleanor as he is with Rose the kitchen maid. I don’t believe he has any moral scruples when it comes to women. That might seem like rank hypocrisy on my part when one thinks of the play I have made for Sir George and my encounters with Mrs Kelling, but unlike the younger women whom Freddie prays on I do not have my reputation to preserve in the same way. I have to be realistic, there is not going to be a husband for me. But Lucy stands
every chance of losing her virtue and her good name if she continues down the road that Freddie is trying to take her.

We were in the classroom this morning. For once Lucinda was working quite hard. She enjoys poetry, especially the romantic poets, who appeal to her nature and she had managed to write some insightful comments on the poems I had given her to study. I had her exercise book and when I had finished reading her latest piece of work I idly flicked back through the pages. I was dismayed by what I found. One paged had been almost entirely defaced. Drawn across it were the repeated motif of the initial L entwined the with initial F. L for Lucinda, F for Freddie. She had experimented with different versions of the monogram but it was always the same two letters.

“Come here Lucinda,” I ordered.

She gave a sigh as she got up from her desk and came over to stand in front of me. I pointed to the book.

“What’s the meaning of this?” I asked her.

She shrugged her shoulders. “I was just drawing letters, making them look pretty. I wasn’t doing it in the lesson and you’d already marked that page.”

“That is beside the point. You have defaced this book you naughty girl.”

She glared back at me and I thought she might give me an angry retort but she somehow controlled herself.

“If you are going to act like a silly little girl then that is how I will treat you. Put yourself across my knee.”

She gave a very theatrical sigh but did as she was bid. It is a long time since I have had Lucinda over my knee. More often than not her offences demand a stiffer penalty than a mere spanking and she has become no stranger to the cane and strap. However, on this occasion such measures were not merited. I lifted the skirt of her dress and loosened the ties of her knickers so that I could part them and bare her bottom.

It may have been a long time since I had spanked her like this but I had not forgotten how to do it! The spanking I gave her was hard andprolonged and soon she was gasping and kicking up her ankles. I kept her over my lap for a good ten minutes and did not release her until the whole of her bottom was nicely red and very warm to the touch.

She struggled back to her feet and pressed her hands to her bottom.

“Now Lucinda, let us return to these monograms,” I said.

“What of them?” she said defensively.

“I would hazard a guess that they represent your initial combined with that of Master Freddy.”

She had the grace to blush a little. “And if they do, what business of it of yours?” she replied.

I tried to soften my tone. “Lucinda, you must be very careful with Freddie,” I said.

“There is no need to be careful, he is the perfect gentlemen,” she said loftily.

“That is exactly, what he is not, Lucinda. He may be Sir George’s son but he is no gentlemen. He is very much the ladies man, a rogue and a rake. You are not the only pretty girl in this house who he has eyes for. I have been watching him Lucinda and you are in grave danger of being badly hurt by him.”

“Nonsense!” she said angrily. “How dare you speak aboutFreddie like that? He is kind and lovely and he makes me laugh. What do you know of love and romance anyway? No man has ever paid any attention to you I would wager. You’re simply jealous, that’s the truth of it.”

It would have been easy to rise to this litany of insults but somehow I kept my temper in check. I thought of my lovely Charles and how decorous and chaste our love had been despite the fact that we burned for each-other.

“You are very wrong about Lucinda. I know what it is to have a loved a good man,” I said softly.

“I don’t believe you!” she said, very rudely.

I felt the colour come to my cheeks, and shamefully the tears come to my eyes.

“My Charles loved me dearly and I him, ” I said quickly.

“Then why are you still a spinster?” she demanded.

“Because he was killed in the Sudan… six months before we were due to be wed,” I said softly.

There was a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes as it all came flooding back. A traitorous tear slid down the side of my nose. It was then that Lucy realised that she had gone far toofar.

“Oh… oh Miss Downing,” she said slowly, her face very red “I’m so sorry, I never realised…” her voice trailed off and she looked down ather feet. I said nothing, trying to regain my composure.

“Shall I… shall I fetch the cane?” she asked miserably.

She deserved a caning for her rudeness and impertinence butI shook my head. It would do no good tobeat her, not when I was trying to help and advise her; it would only turn her against me the more.

“No Lucinda, not this time,” I told her “There has been enough pain in this classroom for one day without adding to it. I am not going to beat you despite your rudeness. All I ask is that you think very carefully about what I have told you about Master Freddy. He will break your heart and
ruin your good name if you are not very careful.”

I think she was relieved not have been caned. NeverthelessLucinda left the schoolroom in a very sober frame of mind… and with a rathersore bottom. I would be pleased if either of those gives her the spur to resist Freddie’s advances. But she is young and foolish and if he is determined to have his way with her - I have every fear that she will let him.

I am increasingly worried about Lucinda.

The Naughtiest Girl in the School

2011-10-17T09:46:00.000+01:00

I was driving Master Freddie back from St Albans. It was a beautiful day, the sun was shining, the countryside looked lovely and we were both in fine spirits. He really is a most handsome chap and he always sits up front with me and engages me in amusing conversation. I never get that from Sir George, he invariably sits in the rear seat and says not a word. I prefer driving Freddie for more than one reason!

As I turned onto the main road I gave an exasperated sigh. The road ahead was up and the workmen had erected a large sign advising road users that it was closed. No matter, this was a part of the county I knew well and I was confident of a diversion. I took the next left down a narrow country lane.

“Where are we off to now?” Freddie asked.

“Don’t fret, I’ll have us back on course ‘ere long,” I grinned, “Luckily I know the back roads around here.”

“Not your part of the country surely? I thought you were a city girl?”

“I am, but I was sent to school around here. Indeed if you look over to your right you’ll see it. ‘Kingsmead School for Girls’ – my alma mater.”

“I think that was the place that Father was considering for Cousin Lucy and Cousin Charlotte.”

“Why did he choose not to send them there?” I asked.

“Too liberal an education I believe,” Freddie replied.

“Liberal!?” I snorted with amusement, “It’s hardly that. Dr Carrick runs one of the strictest schools in the country, and I should know!”

“Oh really?” Freddie said, very interested all of a sudden, “Tell me more.”

“I’ll tell you all about it when we get back to Winterbrook,” I smiled.

It took us but half an hour to complete the journey. I drew up outside my house.

“Shall I take you back to the hall or would you like to come in and hear me relate from tales from Eleanor’s schooldays?”

He grinned from ear to ear. “The story of Eleanor at school is something I wouldn’t miss for the world.”

We went inside and as soon as the door was closed behind us he took me in his arms and gave me one of those jolly nice kisses that we both enjoy so much. Then he took my hand and led me through into the parlour. He sat on the sofa and pulled me down onto his lap.

“You promised me a story,” he said.

“I did indeed.”

“What’s it called?”

I thought for a moment, “How about ‘The Naughtiest Girl in the School’?”

He chuckled, “Just the sort of story I love.”

And so I told him. I really had been a tearaway at school, getting up to all manner of pranks and japes and constantly in trouble with my housemistress. Many were the times that I spent face down over her knees getting my bottom warmed. I could tell that Freddie was enjoying hearing about it all.

“What was the worst thing you ever did?” he asked.

I giggled and felt myself blush a little. “I suppose that would have been the incident of the knickers up the flagpole.”

He laughed, “Oh do tell.”

“Well, it was Lavinia Barnstable’s fault really, she was the one who proposed the wager. She bet me two shillings that I wouldn’t dare to steal Matron’s knickers and hoist them from the flagpole on Empire Day.”

“Empire Day?!”

“Yes, that was what made it such an exceptional dare. Twenty-fourth of May 1905, a date that’s written in my heart – or more accurately, marked across my bottom!”

He ran placed his hand on my thigh and caressed softly. “Go on.”

“I could hardly resist a wager like that. Wouldn’t have been good for my reputation if word had got around that Ellie Randall had been too much of lily-livered coward to take on a dare. So I did it. Stealing Matron’s knickers was the easy bit. I simply slipped into the laundry after dark and found a pair of hers. They were easy to spot, Matron was a woman best described as ‘broad of beam’ and her undergarments were correspondingly huge. More tricky was getting them up the flagpole. It wasn’t difficult to lower the Union Flag but attaching the knickers wasn’t easy. Somehow I managed it and as proud to hoist them up and see them fluttering in the breeze! Dr Carrick was less than amused the next morning when he looked out of his study window!”

“What did he do?”

“The first thing he did was to get the caretaker lower the knickers.” I giggled again, remembering all the girls hanging out of the windows as the improvised white banner was tugged down by Mr Perkins. The old man was very red in the face, I think he was mortally embarrassed, which only added to the fun.

“When the Union Flag was safely restored to its position of honour we were all told to gather in the assembly hall. I knew then, as I had always known, that there was going to be hell to pay. But it had been a jolly good wheeze and had made everyone laugh.”

“It was an exceptionally naughty thing to do,” Freddie remarked.

“Yes, that’s what Dr Carrick said. He berated us all for a good ten minutes then asked whoever was responsible to own up. Well, I said nothing, thinking perhaps that if I kept quiet then I would get away with it. But when no-one admitted responsibility Dr Carrick gave us an ultimatum – if the girl who had committed this terrible offence didn’t come forward by noon then the whole school would be caned!”

“So what did you do?”

“I didn’t have any choice. I couldn’t let the other girls get whacked on my behalf, that would have been jolly unfair and shown me up to be a thoroughly bad sort. No, I did what I had to do – immediately assembly was ended I reported to Dr Carrick and admitted my guilt.”

“I can’t imagine he was best pleased?”

“He was livid! Gosh, I’ve had some tellings-off in my time but never one like that! He told me that I was a wicked, unpatriotic little madam. That what I had done was nigh on traitorous and I deserved to be locked up in the Tower of London! I would have laughed if he hadn’t been quite so angry. I knew where it was heading but it took him a good ten minutes to get there.”
I paused and planted a little kiss on Freddie’s lips. “I think you can imagine the rest,” I teased him.

He squeezed my thigh. “Don’t be mean, I want to hear it all,”

I gave a theatrical sigh, “Oh gosh, very well, if I must.” I took a deep breath, bringing the scene to mind before I spoke. “I remember it very vividly. Dr Carrick announced that he was going to punish me severely. That he was awarding me eighteen strokes of the cane on my bare bottom. Well that brought me up short I can tell you. I’d had the cane before but never more than six strokes and had always found it eye-wateringly painful. The thought of three times that number was frightening to countenance. I was made to fetch the cane from the bookcase and present it to him. He then made me lift my skirts and bend over the arm of the Chesterfield sofa that graced his study. Once I was in position he untied my knickers and bared my bottom. Then he left me, lying across the sofa arm, bare bottom in the air whilst he went back to his desk and re-filled his pipe. As he fiddled around with his smoking things he continued to lecture me on what a reprobate I had become and how much I deserved to be whipped. Well I just wished he would get on with it, it was awful lying there waiting for it to start. But of course when he did begin I wished he had never started! Oh golly gosh it was a very tight caning! I thought it would never end. He certainly didn’t hold back, every stroke was a real stinger. And being the cruel beast that he was he drew it out as long as possible, going back to his desk for another puff on his pipe and a few more stern words before picking up the rod again and continuing my swishing.”

As I spoke I could tell that Freddie was getting very worked up – the evidence was pressing into me! It’s strange how the act of smacking my bottom or hearing about me being whacked seems to delight him but maybe all men like that sort of thing?

We kissed deeply then he took my hand and we went upstairs. It was even better than the first time. This time he had me go on top and I went astride him as though I were riding a horse. At first it was a walking pace, then as we got into our stride it became a rising trot before we headed for the finishing post with a royal gallop!

Dr Carrick told me that I was the naughtiest girl in the school. On the evidence of today I suspect that his opinion of me would be very much the same!

Roses are Red

2011-10-03T16:00:00.000+01:00

Miss Charlotte’s news has certainly lifted spirits below stairs. Those of a more romantic disposition are thrilled that love has triumphed, whilst those of who still entertain doubts about the advisability of the union cannot help but be touched by Miss Charlotte’s obvious delight. From the pale shadow of a figure that she cut in the last few weeks she has emerged, like a butterfly from its chrysalis, as a newly energised creature of grace and beauty.

Sadly, when the kitchen maids are in good spirits what follows is not harder work and greater diligence but an outbreak of gossip and silly pranks. As is often the case poor Jonny was the butt of their practical joke.

I was at the front of the Hall seeing off Sir George who was going over to Tring to visit Mr Rothschild. For once Sir George was making use of the motor car. Given the distance involved that was sensible but I suspect the real reason was that he wanted to show off the Rolls to his wealthy friend. Eleanor had started the motor car and was just getting into her seat when young Jonny came hurrying around the corner, a large bale of hay across his shoulders. He dropped it onto the ground right in front of the Rolls.

“There you are Miss Eleanor!” he beamed.

I winced. It is very hard to get the rest of the servants to recognise that Eleanor is one of them. They will insist on calling her ‘Miss’ and thus elevating her beyond her station. Jonny is very infatuated with the young lady and hangs on her every word even though she gives him very little in the way of encouragement. Why on earth he had delivered the hay bale was inexplicable. Sir George was glowering at him so I stepped quickly forward.

“Move that out of the way Jonny,” I said sharply.

“But Miss Eleanor needs it to feed the motor car Mr Jenks,” he said.

I saw Eleanor suppress a giggle.

“What are you talking about boy?” Sir George demanded from the back seat.

Jonny went rather red and tipped his cap to Sir George.

“Beg pardon Sir George, but I was told that the motor car needed some hay to eat and I was to bring it around right away.”

“Stupid boy,” Sir George said brusquely, “Motor-cars don’t need hay. Get it out of the way!”

Jonny went even redder and grabbed the hay bale and dragged it out of the path of the motor-car.

“Drive on,” Sir George ordered.

Jonny stood next to me as we watched it depart up the drive.

“Would you tell me the meaning of all that nonsense young man?” I said to him.

Jonny looked very shamefaced. “One of the maids said there was a message from Miss Eleanor for me. She said that the motor car needed some hay to eat and that I were to take it some as quickly as I could. I said that I thought motor cars used petroleum but she told me that that was what they drank, like horses drink water and that unless you fed them hay then they wouldn’t go proper. Well I took the hay out into the yard but Miss Eleanor had already driven the car round here…” his voice trailed off and he looked down at his feet.

“Someone has been trying to make a fool of you Jonny,” I said gently. “You were correct the first time. Motor cars run on petroleum, just petroleum, not hay.”

“I’m sorry Mr Jenks,” Jonny said miserably. “Miss Eleanor must think I’m a right simpleton.”

“I’d be more concerned at what Sir George thinks of you,” I said.

Jonny gulped. “Do you think I’ll get the sack Mr Jenks?” he asked anxiously.

“No, not if I explain what happened. But to do that I need to know which maid it was who played this silly trick on you.”

Jonny shuffled his feet in the gravel, clearly torn between his need to protect himself and his loyalty to his friends in the servants’ hall.

“It were Rose,” he admitted at last.

I sighed to myself. Rose Allenby, if there was mischief afoot then you could be sure that Rose would be at the bottom of it. Why it was only a few weeks ago that I had caught her eavesdropping at the housekeeper’s door. I had warned her that she would be seeing Sir George if there was any more nonsense. However, I had just watched Sir George drive off into the distance and knew that he wouldn’t be back until the end of the week. I would have to deal with the silly maid myself. I turned back to Jonny.

“I would be grateful if you didn’t say anything to Rose. Rest-assured I will deal with her.”

“Yes Mr Jenks, I’ll get this ‘ere cleared up.”

I left him to it and strolled back through the house, checking to see if all was in order and to my satisfaction. I arrived back downstairs just at the right moment. I paused outside the kitchen door as I heard Rose’s voice. Clearly Jonny had just got back.

“Didn’t the motor-car need any hay Jonny?” she giggled. “Wasn’t it hungry? Nay!!” she neighed like a horse and dissolved into a fit of giggles, joined by the other maids.

I turned away. If I needed confirmation that it was indeed Rose who was the instigator of this silly practical joke then now I had it. However, before I dealt with her there were some arrangements to be made. I spoke first to Mrs Fuller and then after luncheon to Miss Downing.
So it was that at three o’clock I was up in the schoolroom with our governess. When I had told her what had occurred and what I proposed she was more than willing to be of assistance. There was a knock on the schoolroom door.

“Enter,” Miss Downing called out.

The door was pushed open and in walked Rose, bearing a tea tray, complete with pot, milk jug, sugar bowl and two cups and saucers.

“Oh! Mr Jenks!” she exclaimed when she saw me. She blushed a little – a guilty conscience no doubt.

“Oh indeed Rose Allenby. Put the tea tray on the desk if you please.”

Rose set the tea tray down and went to go.

“No Rose, stay there, I’d like a word with you.”

Rose stood still and clasped her hands behind her back.

“Yes Mr Jenks,” she said innocently.

“I’d like to speak to you about a very silly practical joke that was played on Jonny this morning.”

“I don’t know anything about that Mr Jenks,” Rose said immediately.

“Don’t tell lies Rose,” I said calmly, “I heard you teasing him when he got back to the kitchen.”

Rose had the grace to blush properly now. “Oh dear,” she said.

“It may have been amusing for you and the other maids but it was humiliating for Jonny. You had him embarrass himself in front of Sir George; you could have cost him his job.”

“I never meant that to happen!” Rose said, clearly surprised by the news. “I just wanted him to go to Miss Eleanor with his bale of hay. I knew she’d find it funny.”

“She did find it amusing, but Sir George did not and neither did I. I have had enough of your silly behaviour Rose Allenby, if it’s not one thing it’s another and you are old enough to know better. I would send you to Sir George but he is away for a few days. So I have decided to deal with you myself.”

“Thank you Mr Jenks,” she said quickly. No doubt she was relieved that she didn’t have to explain herself to Sir George, but if she thought she had got off lightly she was very much mistaken.

“You deserve a caning, and a caning you shall have young lady. However, since it is not an implement that I have used before I have asked Miss Downing to give me some instruction. However, it will be you, not I who is learning the lesson.” I smiled at my little joke. “Miss Downing?”

“Thank you Mr Jenks,” Miss Downing said. “As Rose has brought up the tea I think we should enjoy it before she is punished. Which will also give Rose the chance to think about what she has done and how much she deserves to be disciplined.”

She turned to Rose. “Rose, go over to the cabinet, open the door and bring me the longest cane you see there.”

I saw Rose gulp, “Yes miss,” she replied.

I watched as she crossed the room to open the wooden cabinet. Inside were Miss Downing’s collection of instruments of correction. It had been a good selection at the start of the year but I believe she has added to it over the months. From all accounts the implements have been well used. Rose reached up and unhooked the longest of the canes. She brought it over to Miss Downing who placed it on the desk beside the tea tray.

“Turn around,” Miss Downing ordered.

Rose turned her back to us. Miss Downing took a large pin out of her desk drawer. She lifted Rose’s skirts and pinned them up across the shoulders of her uniform. She then undid the waist-ties of Rose’s knickers and let them drop. Rose gave a little gasp as she felt the garment fall around her ankles. I looked on with interest. Rose is a petite, auburn haired girl and her bottom is pert and round.

“Put your hands behind your back,” Miss Downing told her.

Rose did so and Miss Downing took the cane and placed it in her fingers.

“Go and stand in the corner facing the wall with the cane held across your bottom,” she ordered, “Mr Jenks and I don’t want to have to look at your silly expression whilst we have our tea. You can think about what a wicked girl you have been and how much you deserve to be punished.”
Shame-faced, Rose shuffled across to the corner of the room, her movements constrained by the knickers that were around her ankles.

Miss Downing and I took a leisurely tea, talking of this and that. Occasionally, I glanced over at Rose. She did look very fetching standing there awaiting her fate. Her bare bottom was very white and very pretty, it would look even prettier with red stripes across it.

When we had slaked our thirst Miss Downing cleared the tea things onto one of the small desks where Miss Charlotte and Miss Lucy usually sat for their lessons.

She called Rose over, “Come here young lady.” She sounded very strict and Rose looked very white-faced when she turned and walked towards us. Miss Downing took the cane and gave it a few cuts through the air, making Rose tremble.

“Bend over the desk,” she ordered. “Dip your back and lift your bottom girl. You have been a very wicked little thing and you are going to get your just desserts.”

“Yes Miss,” came the choking reply.

“Right Mr Jenks, I’ll give you a couple of markers and then I’ll instruct you in how it’s done.”
I watched as she placed the cane quite high across Rose’s small bottom. She drew her arm back, paused, and then brought the cane swishing through the air. Rose gave a yelp of pain and alarm as the rod made contact. Where she had been struck was a line of purest white. Even as I watched the stripe turned colour, from white, through pink, to red. Miss Downing took aim again, the cane placed low this time, just a fraction above the crease at the top of Rose’s thighs. She gave a couple of taps with the rod then lifted it high and brought it swishing down. Rose gave a louder cry and stamped her feet.

“Keep still girl,” Miss Downing said sharply.

She turned to me. “If you come closer Mr Jenks you will see the effect we are after. See how the stripe is a nice red colour and the edges are raised to for a weal? And yet the skin is not broken. Run your finger along it and you’ll see what I mean.”

I did so, there was a distinct ridge where the cane had bitten hard. Rose gave a little moan as I stroked my finger along the cane stripe.

“Those two stripes are your markers Mr Jenks. No strokes should go higher than the first stripe as there is a risk of damaging the back. Nor, in normal circumstances should any stroke go lower than the second stripe. Of course, one may cane a girl’s legs if she deserves it but I tend to reserve that for the more heinous crimes.”

She handed the cane to me.

“Stand to her left Mr Jenks, not too far back or the cane won’t make proper contact.”

I took up the position she indicated.

“Good, now place the cane across the middle of her bottom, right across the fullest part of her cheeks. Yes, that’s correct. Draw back your arm, not too far, or it’s difficult to be accurate. Keep your eyes on the target then bring the cane down with a nice flick of your wrist.”

I concentrated hard and tried to follow what she told me. The cane is harder to use than the strap but it was very satisfying to hear the sound echo around the classroom as it landed home across the middle of Rose’s cheeks. She gasped out loud but stayed still this time.

Miss Downing inspected the damage.

“A good accurate stroke Mr Jenks, but I think it needs to be quite a lot harder than that or she won’t really feel it. Try again with a bit more force behind it.”

I smiled, I had no doubt that Rose would be glad not to really feel it. I tried again, focussing this time on putting more into the stroke, using my wrist more. I was rewarded with a loud cry from Rose and a nice red line across her bottom.

“Bravo Mr Jenks,” Miss Downing smiled, “That’s more the ticket.”

“Another?” I asked.

“Oh I should say so. She’s been a very naughty girl hasn’t she? A good thrashing will teach her a lesson she won’t forget in a hurry.”

It was a damn good thrashing I gave Rose Allenby. A dozen more times I laid the cane across her pert bottom until it was well-marked with red stripes and she was openly sobbing. Miss Downing nodded her approval. I handed the cane back to her.

“I think that should be sufficient Miss Downing,” I said.

Miss Downing cast her critical eye over Rose’s punished cheeks. “Yes,” she nodded, “you’ve marked her nicely Mr Jenks. However, just to drive the point home I’ll give her a couple of cuts to the backs of her legs.”

“No, please!” Rose begged desperately.

“Quiet girl,” Miss Downing snapped.

“I thought you reserved that for the most serious of offences Miss Downing?” I queried.

“I consider humiliating a fellow servant and risking his livelihood a very serious matter Mr Jenks… or would you demure?”

I saw a light in Miss Downing’s eyes that I had rarely seen before. She certainly had an enthusiasm for her task, and it was difficult to dispute her logic. Rose certainly deserved all that she was getting.

“Go ahead Miss Downing,” I said.

Before Rose had chance to protest again Miss Downing brought the cane swishing down across the back of her thighs. Rose squealed loudly and had not chance to catch her breath before the cane was whipped down a second time. The stripes looked very sore indeed.

Miss Downing stood back and we both admired our handiwork. Rose lay across the desk crying softly now. Her bottom was beautifully striped with the red lines of the cane, the two weals across the backs of her legs standing out very clear against her soft white skin. I suspected it was the severest punishment she had ever suffered in her short life.

Miss Downing unpinned Rose’s skirts and I told the maid to stand. I gave her my handkerchief and she wiped her eyes and loudly blew her nose.

“Clear the tea things away and get down to the kitchen I ordered. And you can stop feeling sorry for yourself. If you are sore you have only yourself to blame.”

“Yes Mr Jenks,” Rose sniffled.

She gathered up the tea tray and made her way to the door, walking very stiffly and wincing as she moved.

“Thank you Miss Downing,” I said once Rose had gone, “that was very instructive.”

“My pleasure Mr Jenks,” she replied. And I do believe it was!

Pleasuring Freddie

2011-09-28T17:06:00.001+01:00

Miss Downing forbade me to come down to lunch after she had beaten me. Instead I was served a cold collation in my room. In one way I was thankful, for it meant that I could eat standing up rather than have to sit in discomfort at the dining table. She also told me that I was to remain in my room for the rest of the day.

“You wanted some extra time in bed Lucinda,” she said nastily, “You will have all afternoon.”

It was a lovely day outside and I had hoped that Freddie might be around so I was very downhearted to be confined to my room. Once Alice had cleared the lunch things away I lay, face-down, on the bed and thought dark thoughts about Miss Downing. If only our roles could be reversed, I would love to take my revenge and punish her as she punishes me. She wouldn’t be so keen on wielding the cane if she knew what it felt like herself. Maybe I could get her into trouble with Sir George and he would deal with her – wouldn’t that be amusing?

I must have been lying there for about an hour when I heard a soft knock on the door. My heart leapt – it could be only one person!

“Enter,” I called out.

“Hello cousin,” Freddie smiled as he came in and closed the door behind him. “I thought I might find you here. I went up to the schoolroom after lunch but it was deserted.”

My tummy turned over when I remembered the words that Miss Downing had made me write out on the blackboard; 'I am a filthy little girl and must learn to resist the temptation to abuse myself.' What if Freddie had seen it?

“Was… was there anything written on the blackboard?” I asked anxiously.

Freddie grinned and nodded his head. I felt my cheeks burn with shame.

“Did she catch you at it?” he asked.

I nodded, looking away from him, mortally embarrassed. He came and sat on the bed beside me and stroked my hair.

“Do not fret dear Lucy, I do not think you are a filthy little girl. I think you are a wonderful young woman and that Miss Downing is simply jealous of how beautiful you are. She probably has no romantic feelings in her and can’t understand any girl who does.”

I felt my spirits soar! Freddie had grasped the situation perfectly.

“Did she punish you severely?” he asked, sympathetically.

“Very severely,” I confirmed, “the strap across each hand and then the cane across my bottom.”

He took my hand in his and made me open my palm. My hand was still a little red but, truth be told, was not as sore as my bottom. He kissed my hand, his lips gentle on my palm. Then he took the other hand and kissed that too. It felt lovely, he was so kind and tender. He placed his hand on the side of my face and drew me towards him. We kissed as we had done before, open mouthed, intimate.

“Now show me the damage,” he said softly as we broke apart.

I rolled over on to my tummy and lifted my skirts, bunching them into the small of my back. I reached to undo the ties at the waistband of my knickers but he forestalled me.

“Let me,” he said softly.

I lay there and let him bare me. He undid my knickers and eased them down my thighs.

“Oh my,” he exclaimed, “She has been vicious hasn’t she? That’s quite a caning that you’ve taken little cousin.”

He placed his hand, very gently on my bottom, even so it made me wince a little.

“I can see each and every cane stripe,” he said, “I wonder if I can tell how many she gave you?”

Using his fingertip, he began to count off the strokes, giving each sore stripe a gentle caress. It made me tremble, a mixture of pain and excitement. It hurt where he touched me but it was lovely to have his hands on me again.

“Eighteen strokes at the very least,” he said.

“Twenty-four,” I told him, “And she didn’t hold back.”

“No, she’s laid them on pretty tight. My poor little darling, she is so mean to you.”

“Yes she’s a nasty old witch!” I said.

He chuckled. “And all because you were giving yourself a little pleasure.”

“I’m ashamed of that,” I said softly.

“No need to be. There are many times when I’ve had to resort to it myself. Especially when I’ve lain awake at night thinking of you.”

I turned my head and looked at him wide-eyed. “Don’t you think it’s very wrong?” I asked him.

“Not wrong at all. I only wish I didn’t have to do it myself, but had a lovely girl like you to do it for me.”

For the first time I noticed that the front of his trousers was tented. It was very clear that he was as aroused as I was. It made me giggle to think about his manhood straining under the tweed suiting!

“Shall I?” I asked, both excited and scared at the thought.

He nodded, his eyes gleaming. I shuffled around on the bed, still on my tummy, my dress still bunched up at the back, my bare bottom still on rude display. Tentatively I reached out and found his fly. My fingers fumbled with the buttons and it took me a few moments to undo them. And then there it was, his erect manhood, released from the imprisoning material. I stared. I mean I had seen a stallion cover a mare but had never seen a man’s glory before. I wasn’t quite sure what to do. He saw me hesitate and gently took my hand. He guided my fingers into place around his shaft. I began to rub, slowly at first and then faster as I saw the reaction written across his face. It took no more than five minutes for me to bring him off into the handkerchief he swiftly offered me as his moment drew near.

“So now you’ve learned another lesson in love dear Lucy,” he smiled.

I was very pink-cheeked and excited. Amazed at my power to arouse him and my new-found ability to pleasure him. He sat on the bed beside me.

“Lay across my lap Lucy, and I will return the compliment. I suspect that lying on your back is rather uncomfortable right now.”

He was right, even though I was desperately aroused, it did not take away the fact that my poor bottom still throbbed with pain. I lay face down across his knees and parted my legs to allow him to touch me. With one hand in the small of my back and the other stroking my special place he did for me what I had been trying to do for myself that morning. And he was right about another thing too. It’s so much nicer when someone does it for you!

Red Handed

2011-09-27T10:04:00.000+01:00

I hate Miss Downing. She is a horrid witch who has decided to make my life as miserable as possible. Since Charlotte’s engagement was announced she has been very full of herself, very pleased with herself, as though she had anything to do with it! The worst thing has been that now Charlotte is getting married she has been excused any further lessons in the schoolroom. I overheard Miss Downing telling Sir George that Charlotte had made excellent progress but that I was a very recalcitrant pupil who would not be ready to leave the classroom for the foreseeable future.

So it is now just Miss Downing and myself in the schoolroom, I have her undivided and very critical attention. I do not believe that there is a single day when I am not punished for some misdemeanour or another. Freddie is very sympathetic, it was just the same for him when Miss Littlefield was his governess. I would love to spend more time with Freddie but often when I am free from the schoolroom he has already gone out on business or visiting his friends.

This morning I simply could not face lessons. When Alice came to wake me I told her that I was feeling unwell and that I would take breakfast in bed. I thought that if I could feign illness all morning then I could make a recovery around lunchtime and then have the afternoon to myself. It meant a morning in bed but that was no hardship compared to a morning in the schoolroom.
Once I had breakfasted and Alice had come and taken the tray away I lay back and closed my eyes and indulged myself in a little daydream. As ever my thoughts took to me cousin Freddie and what had gone on between us. He has yet to make good his promise to teach me the secrets of lovemaking but I knew it would not be long before he came visiting me at night again. I have seen the way he looks at me at dinner and I know that he loves me and wants me. I imagined him coming to my room in the middle of the night and slipping into bed beside me. Of me waking to find him there and taking him in my arms and kissing him. Of his fingers touching me again as he kissed me. Of him telling me how much he loved me and wanted to be my husband. It was a lovely daydream and as I let the images play in my mind I could not resist pulling up the front of my nightdress and allowing my fingers to play.

I was so lost in my fantasy that I did not hear the knock on the door, did not hear someone come in nor become aware of their presence until they spoke.

“Lucinda, what on earth are you doing?!” Miss Downing snapped.

I almost jumped out of my skin! My lovely daydream dissolved in an instant. My eyes shot open to see her standing over me, hands on hips, looking very angry indeed. Before I had chance to react she had whipped back the covers. I had not time to pull my nightdress down. I had been caught, red-handed, and now very red-faced.

“You filthy little girl,” Miss Downing hissed. “I can see exactly what you were doing. How dare you lie there pretending to be ill, abusing yourself in that disgusting way! Get up at once.”

Shamefaced I got out of bed. Miss Downing rang the bell for Alice.

“Alice, Miss Lucinda had made a miraculous recovery,” she said sarcastically. “Would you please help her to wash and dress, I would like her in the schoolroom within the next thirty minutes.”

She stalked out of the room leaving me to Alice’s ministrations.

“I don’t think she’s best pleased with you miss,” Alice remarked.

“She’s never pleased with me,” I said bitterly, “But this time I’m in even more trouble than usual.”

Alice gave a little shudder. “I’m glad I’m not in your shoes Miss Lucy,” she said, “I remember getting the cane from Sir George before you and Miss Charlotte arrived. That’s not something I ever want to repeat.”

At that moment I would gladly have swapped places with Alice. Being a servant at Winterbrook would be a lot easier than being Sir George’s ward under Miss Downing’s rule of terror. Alice could be flighty and silly at times but she was wise enough to see that she had the better position right now. I can’t imagine she would have swapped places with me for all the tea in China.
It was with very heavy steps that I made my way up to the schoolroom. Miss Downing was waiting for me. I shivered when I saw that she already had both a cane and a strap on the desk beside her.

She closed the door behind me and turned the key in the lock.

“I don’t think we want to be disturbed do we Lucinda. It can be very embarrassing if people walk in on you can’t it?”

“Yes miss,” I said.

“I cannot tell you how disappointed and disgusted I am with you Lucinda. You have had a decent enough upbringing to know that what you were doing just now is utterly reprehensible. Masturbation is what it is called and it is a filthy and depraved activity. Indulge in it too often and it becomes an unbreakable habit that eventually leads to moral collapse and madness.”

I felt the tears come to my eyes. I knew that what she was saying was true. It feels so lovely when you do it but it always leaves you feeling guilty so it must be wrong.

“I am a woman like you, with all the natural feelings that women have,” she told me.

I found it hard to believe. I do not think she has an ounce of passion in her but I said nothing, there was no need to antagonise her further.

“I know that lewd thoughts always accompany such behaviour which is another reason why this is a temptation you must always resist. Do you understand me Lucinda?”

“Yes miss,” I said, my face very red. I stared down at my shoes.

“If you can’t control your hands then they must be punished. Hold out your right hand Lucinda.”
I held out my hand, palm upwards. She picked up the narrow leather strap from her desk. She placed it across the middle of my hand. I gritted my teeth. She lifted the strap and then brought it down hard across my open hand. The pain seared across my palm, I stuck my hand under my armpit and squeezed hard, trying to lessen the sting.

“Left hand,” she ordered.

The strap cracked down again and I yelped with pain.

“Right hand.”

Reluctantly I held out my sore hand. She strapped me again, then made me swap hands once more. Six strokes, three on each hand. The strap always hurts, but being strapped on the hands is an absolute agony. I knew that my punishment would not cease there for the cane had so far gone unused.

“Pick up the chalk and go to the blackboard,” she commanded.

I took the chalk in my fingers. My hand was so sore that I could hardly hold it, but I did not say anything, protesting would only making things worse. If there was one lesson that I had learned in Miss Downing’s classroom it was the futility of making complaint when one was being punished. I stood in front of the blackboard and waited for the next instruction.

Miss Downing came up behind me. I stood impassively as she reached down and lifted my skirts. She had a large pin which she used to pin the hem of my skirts to the shoulders of my dress. Her hands were then on the waist tie of my knickers. I could not help but gasp as I felt her untie the ribbon and as my knickers dropped to my ankles.

“You will write on the board – ‘I am a filthy little girl and must learn to resist the temptation to abuse myself.’”

It was so humiliating to have to write those words. I only prayed that they would be rubbed off the board before anyone else came into the classroom. It would be terribly shaming if others were to know what I had been caught doing. My writing was not terribly neat, it was hard to write with my hand hurting so much.

“Read it out.”

I read the words, trying to keep my voice as steady as possible although I could feel the tears welling up. I got to the end of the sentence, there was a swish behind me and the cane landed across my bare bottom, making me squeal. I knew she was going to cane me but hadn’t expected the stroke to follow so suddenly otherwise I would not have reacted so vocally.

“Write it again,” she ordered

The chalk squeaked as I wrote on the blackboard. I have been punished enough by my governess to know the sort of games she likes to play. She was sure to have me cover the whole board in lines and I was sure to get a stroke of the cane after each line. Deliberately I wrote much bigger. It did not fool Miss Downing.

“No Lucinda,” Miss Downing said severely. “You have purposely used a larger hand in order to lessen your punishment. I am wise to your tricks young lady.”

My heart sank as she took the board rubber and erased both lines.

“Start again.”

I wrote the shaming words out and then, as ordered, spoke them aloud. The cane swished behind me and a second stinging line was added to the first.

It was a horrid punishment. It took twelve lines to cover the blackboard with writing. Twelve strokes of the cane across my poor little bottom. I hoped that would be the end of it but Miss Downing had other plans. She rubbed out all the lines and repeated the exercise from the beginning! It has been a long time since I have been beaten so severely. By the time I had taken my two dozen strokes my bottom was so sore that I felt that I would not sit comfortably for a week! She forced me to stand in the corner, holding the cane across my bottom for the rest of the morning. I stood and cried, utterly defeated, utterly miserable.

Why is life do unfair, why must I suffer at the hands of Miss Downing whilst Charlotte is free? Oh, if only Freddie would rescue me, he is my only hope!

Mud and Naughtiness

2011-09-19T14:34:00.002+01:00

I must say that I’ve been a lot busier since Freddie came home. Before he returned I was jolly lucky if the Rolls got an outing more than twice a week. Freddy has me take him out and about nearly every day, sometimes it’s just a trip down to Harpenden, sometimes it’s further afield if he’s visiting one of his friends and once he had me drive all the way into London! When we get back to Winterbrook we always go via my little cottage and he rewards me for my time with the bonus of one of those splendid kisses. I think I’m getting rather good at kissing as a result of all the practice I’m getting!

Today disaster struck! We had gone over to St Albans as Freddie had had an appointment with his tailor. During the long wait I had gone into the Abbey to have a look around and when I had come out was dismayed to discover that it had started to rain quite heavily. I got the hood up as quickly as I could but even so the seats were pretty soaked. I did my best to dry them but Freddie wasn’t pleased to come back to the car and find that his seat was still rather damp. For once he didn’t chat amiably to me as we drove back to Winterbrook, but sat in a rather sullen silence. It was as we turned off the main road that the accident happened. It really wasn’t my fault, it was simply jolly bad luck! As we came around the corner there in front of me was a wagon laden with straw. I admit I might have been driving a little too fast for I did not have time to brake. The only way to avoid a head on collision was to swerve off the road and into the ditch! We came to a stop with the car ankle deep in mud. I don’t think Freddie realised for he leapt out of the vehicle and straight into the ditch. The mud was very wet and very gloopy and it came right up to his knees! Oh he did look funny, standing there so forlorn and mud-splattered I couldn’t help but laugh!
Freddie didn’t see the funny side of things at all!

“Don’t sit there laughing, you silly girl!” he said crossly, “Get the car out of there!”

Well I tried, but the wheels just spun.

“You’ll have to push,” I shouted.

He moved around to the rear of the vehicle and took a firm grip. I put my foot hard on the accelerator, but we went nowhere.

“No good!” I shouted.

I turned my head and burst out laughing again. Poor Freddie was splattered in mud from head to toe! It was like a scene from one of those funny pictures as he wiped the dirt from his face. The workmen who came to help to push us out of the ditch thought it was jolly amusing too.

Understandably, I suppose Freddie didn’t share the joke. By the time the car was back on the road he was angrier than I had every seen him before.

“To the hall sir?” I asked him anxiously.

“Do you think I want all the servants to laugh at me as well?” he snapped. “No, drive me to your house.”

We parked at the side of the house and he stumped into the house behind me.

“Run me a bath,” he ordered, “A be quick about it, damn you.”

Gosh! He had never spoken to me in that rough tone before. I fairly scampered upstairs to the bathroom. Thankfully the house has all modern conveniences which includes hot running water so I was able to draw him a bath without any due delay. I found a couple of fresh towels for him from the laundry cupboard and placed them on the chair beside the bath. When I came down he was sitting on a kitchen chair still looking jolly annoyed.

“Your bath’s ready sir,” I said nervously.

He stomped upstairs without a word of thanks. Well there wasn’t much I could do apart from make a cup of tea. I didn’t think I was going to be getting a thank-you kiss today and cleaning the Rolls was going to take hours, so I was feeling pretty down in the dumps!

After half an hour or so I heard his voice call me from upstairs. I went up to find him in my bedroom. Gosh I did stare! He was wearing nothing apart from a towel around his waist. I could see the scar on his shoulder where he had taken the Boer bullet. I flashed him my best smile but he didn’t return it.

“I don’t know what you’ve got to grin about girl,” he said testily. “I don’t think this afternoon has been anything to laugh about. I am very disappointed with you and very cross.”

“Oh gosh, sorry,” I said, “It was just an accident you know, I didn’t intend to put us in the ditch.”

“Well you did and as a result you have made me into a laughing stock. And for that I’m going to punish you.”

“Punish me?” I queried him.

“You heard me. Now get undressed.”

“Undressed?”

“Are you going to parrot everything I say or are you going to do as you are told?” he snapped.

My fingers were trembling as I undid the buttons of my jacket and my skirt. He stood and watched me as I took then off and placed them on the bed. I was wearing a silk chemise, matching knickers, and opaque black stockings held up with a little garter belt. You can’t wear a corset if you’ve got no-one to help you lace it up and anyway I prefer the modern fashions, they’re far more comfortable.

He looked me up and down.

“Everything,” he said.

I gulped. He was ordering me to strip naked in front of him! I wasn’t sure what he would do if I refused. I hesitated for a moment then did as he asked. I felt his eyes on me as I took off my chemise and slipped my knickers down. I felt myself blush the deepest red as he gazed at my nakedness. I had never been naked in front of a man before, and if truth were told had never imagined it would happen until my wedding night (whenever that might be!). I tried the best I could to cover my breasts and my lady’s place but found that I didn’t have enough hands to do the job convincingly!

He walked across to my dressing table and picked up my hairbrush, then seated himself on the padded stool in front of the mirror.

“Over my knee,” he said brusquely.

I walked over to him, still trying to cover myself as best I could, then bent forward over his lap. Oh dear, this was just like being back at school again – although at school one generally kept one’s clothes on for a whacking! He didn’t leave me waiting for many moments but smacked the hairbrush down hard on my bottom. Oh gosh! It jolly well hurt like the blazes! He spanked me very hard indeed. Within a few minutes my poor bottom felt like it was on fire. He didn’t stop, the smacks were relentless, making me squeal and wriggle. He held me across his lap with a hand in the small of my back and there was no escape from the stinging blows no matter how much I writhed.

Last time I had gone over his knee it had been a bit of naughty fun. It wasn’t fun this time, it was a proper punishment! However, one thing was the same as last time. Then I had felt something hard pressing into my tummy and had assumed that for some reason he had his wallet in his trouser pocket. I felt the same hard thing poking into me again. It couldn’t be his wallet as he wasn’t wearing any trousers! What on earth could it be? It was only when he told me to stand up that I saw it – it was poking out from under his towel. I almost fainted and I couldn’t help but stare open mouthed.

“Come here Eleanor,” he said, taking my hand.

He stood up as he drew me towards him and the towel slipped from his waist.

“Touch me,” he said softly.

There could be no mistake at what he meant. Tentatively I reached out my hand and touched his thing. It sort of jerked under my touch.

“Does it hurt?” I asked. It looked jolly painful, all stiff and red.

He chuckled, and I was pleased that he wasn’t cross with me anymore.

“No it doesn’t hurt,” he said softly. “It feels nice if you stroke it though.”

It felt very strange to stroke my fingers around it and see his expression change as I did so. When I was at school we used to whisper about it in the dormitory but we didn’t really know what we were talking about. Girls who grew up in the country knew more about it than us city girls but none of us had ever seen a naked man or knew anything about lovemaking. And you had to jolly careful you weren’t caught talking about such matters. Lewd talk was sure to win you a visit to Dr Carrick’ study and a very tight caning!

He drew me closer and we kissed deeply. He ran his hands down my back and cupped my sore little bottom. He hadn’t told me to stop stroking so I didn’t. I was getting jolly worked up I must say. I wanted him to touch me but I dared not ask him. My bottom was still smarting but that was nothing compared to the other feelings that were now coursing through me. My heart was beating fit to burst and I was trembling with excitement.

“Do you want me to?” he whispered in my ear.

I felt a shiver run down my spine. One part of me was frightened. I had imagined it so often but always in my imagination it was my wedding night and my loving bridegroom had carried me over the threshold and laid me gently on the bed. I hadn’t thought it might happen like this. But another part of me wanted it so badly. There may never be a husband for me and when I was old and dried up I would regret that I hadn’t taken my chances when I could. My body ached for him, and he was so handsome. And yet I knew that it was wrong. I should wait and keep myself chaste. He kissed me again and stroked my hot bottom.

“Will it hurt?” I murmured in his ear.

“A little at first perhaps, but afterwards it will be glorious.”

He led me over to the bed, I went willingly. I was still trembling, but now it was a mixture of fear and excitement. He lay next to me and ran his hand over my breasts, down my tummy and between my legs. Instinctively I clamped my legs together but he gently eased them apart. I gasped as his finger found my opening. And then he was on top of me and it wasn’t his finger that he was pushing into me. I held my breath expecting it to be painful, but it didn’t hurt at all! I cannot describe how good it felt, I do not have the words. He began to move, back and forth. I gripped the top of his arms and he looked deep into my eyes.

I have often played with myself at night, a wet finger can be very comforting for a lonely girl with a vivid imagination. The sensations were something akin to that but of a different magnitude entirely. I could hear myself making little gasps and squeals. I’m not sure if one is meant to lie there and let the chap do all the moving, but I couldn’t keep still! We sort of moved in time with each other and as Freddie had promised it was glorious! I reached the point of no return before he did. It felt like a firework display bursting inside me! He pulled himself out just at the last moment and spent himself onto the eiderdown. I hadn’t really thought about the risk of making babies, so it was jolly decent of him to be so considerate.

After wards he took me in his arms and held me tight.

“Did you enjoy that Eleanor?” he asked me.

“Oh gosh yes!” I told him, “but next time can we do it without you spanking me first?”

He chuckled. “It rather depends on whether you’re a good girl or not doesn’t it?”

If my mother could have seen me right then she would have concluded that I was a very wicked girl indeed and thoroughly deserving of a good smacked bottom. I rather fear that Freddie thinks so too and will find another reason to put me over his knee! However, if spankings always end up like this then maybe that’s a price I’m willing to pay!

Surprises

2011-09-15T09:25:00.002+01:00

I had just hung up the last dress in the wardrobe when Miss Charlotte burst into the room. Such was her haste to get to her writing desk that she didn’t notice me at first. As she foraged amongst her papers I closed the wardrobe door and bid her ‘Good afternoon.’

‘Oh Maria!’ she exclaimed, turning to face me. I took in her bright eyes and flushed face in wonder. Since Sir George’s refusal for her to wed she had been pale and withdrawn and we all worried for her.

Now she ran to me and embraced me tightly. ‘I am the happiest girl in the world right now. Oh Maria!’

Somewhat startled I stepped back and asked was she feeling quite well. Laughing, she explained: ‘Sir George has changed his mind and I am to marry Martin as soon as it can be arranged!’

My heart leapt at the news. I was very fond of my young mistress and had watched her change over the years from a shy, awkward girl to a mature young woman. As her maid I often bore witness to her generous nature, and her kindness on my Father’s passing was not to be forgotten. She deserved to be happy and her gentle manner would make her an excellent parson’s wife.

I heartily congratulated her and both forgetting our place we did a little dance around the room.

She had come to write to Martin's sister, delighted that at last she would be a member of Martin's lovely family. I agreed to take the letter to the Post Office as soon as it was ready. Collecting some other messages from the kitchen I set off on my bicycle on my errands. I rode quickly, eager to get the letter on its way, but also eager to avoid Jake who seemed to have an uncanny knack of appearing at my side whenever I left the house.

My mind was in turmoil and it was good to have the journey in solitude to think. As happy as I was at Miss Charlotte’s news I couldn’t help think of what the future held. Once she left Winterbrook there would be no need for two ladies’ maids. One of us would have to go. And surely in such a situation that would be me. Everyone knew that Sir George was very fond of Alice, certainly he would favour her over me. I’d have to find a situation elsewhere. Maybe I’d go to London for real this time.

But then what of Jake? I’d miss him, yet maybe I was safer away from him. He’d made his feelings clear. He wanted me as his wife: to love and to honour and to obey. They were his exact words; jokingly said, but with seriousness behind them. They confused me. I wanted him too, but not on those terms.

I had grown to love him over the past few months, but we disagreed on so much, especially his insistence on watching over me; meddling as I put it. And his way of making sure I kept out of trouble. I hated what he did to me, as much as I hated myself for letting him do it and how I went back to him every time. He was so good and kind and generous in every other way. And I felt so safe and happy when I was with him. Why couldn’t he look out for me without needing to beat me?

I still burned in mortification over last week thinking of how he’d whipped me in front of Jenks.

It had been my evening off and I’d spent it with Jake, visiting Mother and then taking tea in his lodge. He walked me back to the house, later than I should have been in, but I hadn’t told him that. I always got away with it, but not this time. At the back door we were discovered by Jenks who demanded to know where I’d been and why I was so late.

Before I could make any reply, Jake stepped in calmly apologising for my tardiness and promising it wouldn’t happen again. He explained we’d been vising my mother and he was just seeing me back to the house. Jenks calmed down immediately and pointed out Jake could not have known I should have been back an hour ago.

I fumed as the men discussed me like I wasn’t there. Finally I could take no more. ‘I’m a grown woman, thank you kindly! If I’m out later than some out-dated rule says I ought then that’s my own responsibility.’

Jenks tutted in disapproval. ‘I was prepared to be lenient this time Maria but I don’t like your attitude. Come see me in the morning, in my office.’

‘With all due respect Mr Jenks, I’ll deal with this,’ Jake interceded. ‘I’ll make sure she’s not tardy again and I think a few licks of my belt will cure the attitude quick smart.’

I blushed in shame, how dare Jake speak for me like that!

Jenks nodded slowly, ‘I’m sure you’ll make her see sense. I’d like an apology in the morning and then we shall see.’ He turned to leave the room and I sighed in relief. To my horror Jake invited him to stay and observe matters for himself. With a slight smile Jenks took a seat at the kitchen table and looked at us expectantly.

Turning to me, Jake slowly removed his belt. The sound of it rasping though the loops of his trousers made me shiver involuntarily. When he removed his belt I usually experienced great pleasure or great pain. I knew this was to be the former.

I glared at him angrily, frustrated by how neatly he had arranged things. He loved to beat me and to do so in front of Jenks was an added thrill for him: the more embarrassed I was, the more he enjoyed it. I resolved to give him no satisfaction at all and turned to lean against the wall, bending over so my bottom was out in readiness. I prayed he would just begin but despite my furious hissing he pulled my skirt up above my waist and parted my drawers. My face burned deep red at the thought of both of them seeing me so exposed.

Jake stood behind me, scolding me softly. Telling me how embarrassed he was to have been party to me letting Mr Jenks down, how this whipping was for my own good and that he would make sure I learned my lesson. I scowled into the wall, resolving to never talk to him again once this night was done. This was definitely the last time he’d ever do this to me.

The first stroke caught me by surprise and I jumped up squealing. It was low, landing firmly on the tops of my thighs and searing my delicate skin.

‘Try and take it like a good girl, Maria, without all that fuss. Show Mr Jenks how sorry you are,’ he admonished. I knew Jake was playing up to his audience and I bit back any retort. I wanted it to be over as soon as possible. He gave me six in total and I cried out over each one, playing up in turn: if he wanted a show for Jenks he could have it. Once he was done he made me apologise to Jenks before sending me back to stand facing the wall, my red hot bottom still on show.

‘Very good Dobson, we’ll say no more about it,’ Jenks concluded. ‘Lock the door after he leaves Maria.’ We were alone.

I swung around in outrage to Jake. Before I could utter a word he was before me, his finger on my lips shushing me. ‘Now, now my little firecracker, you know what I gave you wasn’t half as bad as what Jenks himself would’ve given you,’ he grinned at me.

In temper I tried to hit him but he was too quick, pinning my arms by my sides. I had to acknowledge he was right, Jenks would have been far more severe and there would have been the embarrassment of all the other staff listening to it. But still I didn’t have to be happy about it.

‘You swine Jake Dobson! I know you enjoyed every minute of it. Ugh I hate you!’ Confidently he kissed me. ‘No you don’t,’ he muttered, his hands feeling under my skirt for my special place. As his fingers got to work I forgot everything, lost in the pleasure of what he was doing. Forgetting myself I moaned aloud and he put his hand over my mouth to quieten me as he brought me to my peak and I slumped in his arms.

‘See you don’t hate me, you love me,’ he laughed as I collapsed against him. ‘And I will have you Maria, I’ll have you to love and to honour and to obey me. Mark my words my pretty little firecracker.’

Only later that night I realised that Jake had proposed. And I had been trying to avoid giving him an answer ever since.

From Sorrow to Joy

2011-09-12T13:53:00.000+01:00

Today was a day of extreme contrasts. It started badly in the schoolroom with Miss Downing.

As the days have passed since Sir George’s refusal to countenance my marriage to Martin I have become more and more despondent. Miss Downing had given me to believe that she might be able to assert some influence. Although I know she visited someone in London nothing has happened and I am still stuck in the daily routine of Winterbrook – the schoolroom in the morning, riding, walking or reading in the afternoons.

This morning we were doing some work on the poet John Donne. In a reversal to the normal order of things this is something that Lucy finds quite congenial whereas I struggle to muster any enthusiasm. Perhaps it is hard to enjoy romantic poetry when one is thwarted in love? Whatever the reason, my mind was wandering when we were meant to be working and I had hardly written anything when the time came to hand our work in to Miss Downing.

She frowned when she saw the feeble effort I had made.

“Really Charlotte, this is not good enough, you haven’t really made any attempt at this have you?”

“No miss,” I mumbled.

“If Lucinda had presented work of such poor quality then she would be across my knee taking a dozen smacks with the hairbrush to her bare bottom… however…”

“Please Miss Downing…” I interrupted her. I knew what she was going to say. She was going to let me off and it just wouldn’t do. She favours me over Lucy and I know that Lucy finds that very hard. It is most unjust that Lucy gets punished and I do not. Although I had no wish to be spanked I would rather that than earn my sister’s enmity. Things between us are fairly strained as it is and for me to be excused the consequences of my laziness would only increase Lucy’s sense of injustice.

“If my poor work is deserving of punishment as you say, then it would not be right for me to be let off,” I said.

I saw Miss Downing’s eyes narrow. “So be it,” she said after a moment’s thought, “You had better fetch me the hairbrush from the cupboard Charlotte.”

I opened the cupboard. The hairbrush was hanging from a hook next to the canes. Too many times in the last few weeks I had seen one or other of those canes being whipped down across Lucy’s bare cheeks. I had been so caught up in my own misery that I had done nothing to intercede on her behalf, despite the fact that the relationship between our governess and myself was now a good one. I could have helped Lucy and I hadn’t. I suddenly felt rather guilty for my selfishness.

I meekly handed Miss Downing the hairbrush. I lifted my skirt and placed myself across her knees. She had prescribed a bare bottom spanking so I was not taken aback to feel her part my drawers and expose my bare bottom. I lay there waiting for the first blow.

When it came it was a real stinger. A very firm smack right in the middle of my left cheek. It has been a long time since I have been disciplined in the schoolroom. The caning I had from Sir George is still fresh in my mind but I had forgotten how much the hairbrush stings. It is a burning sort of pain that by the time you have taken half a dozen strokes spreads across your whole bottom, making it feel like you are sat on a seat of fire. I gasped and kicked up my ankles as Miss Downing chastised me. I had, in effect, asked for this, but it did not make it any easier to bear.

It was over, and I got awkwardly to my feet and smoothed my skirts down. Silently, Miss Downing handed me the hairbrush and I went to replace it in the implement cupboard. As I walked back to my desk there was a knock on the schoolroom door.

“Enter,” Miss Downing called out.

The door was pushed open and Alice came in.

“I’m sorry to disturb Miss,” she said, “But Sir George has sent me to fetch Miss Charlotte. There is a visitor for her waiting in the library.”

I was perplexed. Who on earth was visiting me – I wasn’t expecting anybody. And it was unheard of for our lessons to be disturbed.

“Very well, you may go Charlotte,” Miss Downing said.

“Who is it?” I asked Alice as we headed downstairs.

“Wait and see miss,” she grinned.

I pushed open the library door and my heart did a somersault. There, standing in the middle of the room, looking as handsome as ever, was my own darling Martin. I did not understand. What was he doing at Winterbrook? Why had he been welcomed by Sir George when he had been turned away before?

He came towards me and took my hand. He lifted it and planted a gentle kiss on it. Then before I had a moment to respond he was down on his knee in front of me.

“Miss Charlotte Middleton,” he said with great seriousness, “would you consent to be my wife?”

I stared up at him, for a moment utterly speechless. I felt my heart almost breaking. I found my voice at last. A single tear ran down the side of my nose.

“Oh Martin we both know that it cannot be. Sir George has refused his consent.”

He smiled a triumphant smile. “Sir George has relented my darling. He telegraphed me this very morning to tell me that he now agreed to our marriage and I have come straight away. So please what will your answer be?”

I looked into his eyes. “Martin Lewis, you have won my heart, and my desire is to love you and live with you all the days of my life. Yes, yes I will be your wife!”

He got to his feet and flung his arms around me, scooping me up into his embrace.

At last, at long last, his mouth was on mine and our kiss sealed our betrothal.

A Reward is Offered...

2011-09-08T07:54:00.000+01:00

I arrived at Sloane Square just after two o’clock. Anastasia had asked me to arrive after lunch since she wanted to give the staff the afternoon off in order that we could have the afternoon and evening together completely uninterrupted. There was no danger of being disturbed by Herbert, the dreary fellow was on extended visit to the United States of America and would not return from New York for another fortnight.

Anastasia was looking wonderful. She was dressed in a silk housecoat, but it was obvious that she was not fully dressed beneath it. I wondered what she might be wearing for my benefit, I was very soon to find out. She was beautifully made up and her hair was elegantly coiffured. She gave me a chaste kiss on the side of the cheek and then led me through into her drawing room.

The first thing that caught my eye was her collection of canes. She had laid them out in careful order across the table, the lightest rod on the left, the heaviest on the right. She saw me looking and smiled.
“Do you like my little collection George, they’ve been purchased with you in mind?”

“I do indeed,” I told her, “you described them beautifully in your letter.”

“Yes, I wanted to entice you with the thought of what you might do with them, what you might do to me. Are you looking forward to our little game George?”

I was very much looking forward to it. Indeed, I had been thinking of little else since I had read her letter!

I nodded, “Very much so Anastasia. When does play commence?”

She giggled girlishly, “Be patient George. I think you should take a seat and let me remind you of what I propose.”

Once I was seated she came and stood in front of me. I reached out to pull her towards me but she took a step back away from my reach.

“No George, no touching, not yet. For the next few minutes you can look but you can’t touch.”

She turned away from me and began to undo her housecoat. She slipped it off her bare shoulders very slowly, gradually revealing what was underneath. She was wearing the tightest laced corset I had ever seen. It was black silk, trimmed with fine lace. It showed off the alabaster skin of her shoulders and accentuated her elegantly slender neck. She let the housecoat fall a little further. She was wearing no knickers, but her opaque black stockings were held up by pale blue ribbons. Her bottom was white, unmarked, full and round. I felt my cock harden in my trousers. By God she was a beautiful woman! She let the housecoat fall to her ankles and stepped from it. She turned and let me look at her. The dark hair at the juncture of her thighs had been trimmed into a very neat triangle. She looked gorgeous.

“Now George, I think I said that we would start with the light cane.”

She picked it up and gave it a little swish through the air.

“It’s such a whippy little thing isn’t it?” she flexed it in her hands, demonstrating how pliant it was, “It doesn’t look much but it imparts an intense sting. I find it quite takes my breath away. Do you remember George?”

Of course I remembered! I nodded my head.

“I said six strokes with each, but perhaps with this little cane it should be eight? Then I think I might like to kneel in front of you and just use my fingers to play with you. I can see that I’m already getting you aroused.”

She ran her tongue across her top lip and gave me a very wicked smile. She replaced the first cane on the table and picked up the next. It was much shorter in length than the others. She gave it a little kiss then caressed her bare thigh with it.

“I think I’d better go across your knees for this one George. I suspect it will make me wriggle a lot. If I’m very wriggly then you’ll have to give me extra, won’t you?”

I could only nod again, she certainly knew how to get me going, I didn’t quite trust myself to speak.

“Then of course it will be time to give you a little kiss. Not on your lips I think, but on the very tip of your manhood, lots of little kisses whilst you count nice and slowly to thirty.”

I was already playing out the scene in my mind.

She placed the junior cane on the table and picked up the next. This was a standard school-style implement.

“The first of the proper educational canes,” she said. She turned and held it across her bare bottom. She turned her head and addressed me over her shoulder. “Six of the best with me over the arm of the sofa. Then I could stay in that position and pleasure you whilst you admired the results of your handiwork. I think the stripes across my bottom should be beautifully red by then and should look most fetching.”

I shifted on the chair. Sitting still was getting rather uncomfortable!

Again she swapped one cane for another. She tapped it against her stockinged leg.

“They described this one as an implement for senior girls. I think I ably fit that title so you can apply this one with as much force as you think I require. Senior girls who have been naughty deserve to be caned very hard don’t you think? …after all they’re old enough to know better! I imagine that this one will produce some very nice raised wheals across my poor bottom and that you will be cruel enough to run your finger along them.”

She gave me another wicked little smile.

“I’m sure as a senior girl I can think of a pleasant way to reward you if you punish me skilfully.”

She placed the senior girls’ cane on the table and took the next one in her hands. Like before she gave it a cut through the air. It whistled impressively.

“Now this one is not meant for girls at all. They tell me it’s for the most recalcitrant of pupils, the most rebellious of boys at the harshest of reform schools. I would ask you to respect the fact that I am a mere girl, one of the gentler sex, if I didn’t know that that would only inspire you to cane me the harder. I think I have to accept that if I invite you to use such a rod then you will use it as you see fit. I’ll just have to be brave.”

She put it down and took the final cane.

“Your very favourite I believe George. Of course it may be that you don’t get to use it, if you can’t contain yourself. However, I promise that I will try my very best not to deny you the pleasure. I think I know you well enough to take you to the brink as often as I choose before I let you find release.”

She walked slowly over to the far side of the room and stood in the corner, holding the dragon cane lightly across the middle of her bottom. I drank in the sight of her.

“I think you should place me in the corner like this between each and every punishment. It will allow you to see how beautifully you are marking me and draw out our pleasure for as long as possible.”

Her inventive mind had obviously been working overtime on what she was going to offer me that afternoon. The set menu that she had presented was mouth-watering in the extreme and there was nothing that I was minded to change. She walked back across the room and stood before me, the dragon cane still in her hands.

“So George, have I enticed you to play my little game this afternoon or would you rather just have some tea and scones?” she giggled.

“Hang the tea and scones!” I said.

“Good, I’m glad I’ve got your interest,” she said levelly. “Because, if you remember, you only get to play if you grant my request.”

“What is it you want?” I asked eagerly.

She licked her lips and gave the cane a little flick. “You can have all this George on the sole condition that you give your blessing to the marriage of Miss Charlotte Middleton and the Reverend Martin Lewis.”

“My God…” I said, taken completely by surprise.

“Well?” she said softly.

An Enticing Letter

2011-09-05T18:44:00.000+01:00

I put the letter down and mopped my brow with my handkerchief. The letter had come in the morning post and I was glad that I had chosen to read it in my study rather than at the breakfast table. It was from my darling Anastasia and it made very hot reading!

My dearest George,

I am writing to you to inform you that I have a particular favour to ask of you, a favour that you might find rather difficult to grant but something that is very dear to my heart. I am not going to tell you what that favour is until you come and visit me at Sloane Square. However ,in order to whet your appetite and to entice you to arrange your visit with some alacrity I will describe the reward I have in mind for you should you assent to my request.

Knowing your love of the rod I have made a number of purchases from our favourite educational suppliers. My collection now consists of six different canes. The lightest is very thin and whippy, extremely pliant it imparts and very sharp, intense sting. The next is a junior school cane with a straight handle. It is of a length that it might be comfortably used when the victim is placed across your knees, thus affording a very intimate view of the stripes as they are laid on. The third implement is also described as a junior cane. However, this one is of the traditional type with a crook handle and of standard length. It is a light cane but nonetheless is capable of producing a very nice red stripe and making the victim gasp with pain. The fourth rod is described in the catalogue as a ‘Senior Girl’s Cane’. It is longer and thicker than its little sister and I have no doubt that it will be very effective when you apply it across my bare bottom. The penultimate cane is a boy’s reformatory cane and looks very severe indeed, I am sure it will have me dancing if you cane me as hard as you usually do. The final rod is your favourite Dragon Cane. I need not describe it to you since you have had the pleasure of using it on me before and we both know how effective it can be.

I propose a variation on our ‘Game of the Cane’. You shall begin with the lightest cane, and give me six strokes across my bare cheeks. Normally you would then pleasure me for the agreed number of seconds. This time I will pleasure you with my fingers, lips and tongue whilst you count off the time. If I have not successfully brought you off then you will cane me again, another six strokes, with the next implement in succession. We will continue to play until my ministrations succeed and you are spent. I intend to draw out the game as long as I can. You know my expertise in the arts of lovemaking, I fully expect to bring you to the brink many times before I let you find your release. I also expect to be punished more severely than I have ever been in past but fully accept this as part of my reward to you.

I await your reply with eager anticipation.

Your obedient servant (nay slave!)

Anastasia Kelling

I read through the letter again, aware of the way it made my heart beat faster and the degree of arousal it provoked in me. I did not know what she wanted to ask of me but that did not matter. I must make arrangements to visit her as soon as possible. I rang for Jenks.

“Jenks, I need you to send an urgent telegram to Mrs Kelling,” I told him.

“Urgent sir?” he raised an eyebrow and I thought I detected the ghost of a smirk. There’s not much that gets past Jenks, but at this very moment I could not care, all I wanted was to visit Anastasia and to claim my prize!

Listening at the Keyhole

2011-08-26T10:18:00.000+01:00

As you might imagine the servants’ quarters have been full of excited talk regarding Miss Charlotte. None of us were aware that she had been conducting a secret romance, so the fact of the relationship between her and the Reverend Lewis was a great surprise and of great interest. On its own that would have been enough to have had tongues wagging but combined with the revelation that Sir George had turned her Mr Lewis down flat it was no surprise that the affair was on everyone’s lips. Opinion was evenly divided. The more romantic considered it to be a crying shame, those of a more practical disposition thought that Sir George’s decision had been the right one and that Miss Charlotte could do far better for herself than a penniless young parson. Obviously this talk that I did my best to discourage but maids will be maids and it is almost impossible to stop them gossiping.

Maria was subject to a great deal of questions. As lady’s maid to Miss Charlotte it is inevitable that she is privy to many of the girl’s secrets. It is to her great credit that she kept her counsel and would say nothing on the matter save only to confirm the facts that were already well known.

This afternoon I asked her to join myself and Mrs Fuller in the housekeeper’s parlour for some tea and cake, wanting to thank her for the maturity she had shown in maintaining her mistress’ confidence.

I think she thought she might be in trouble again for she seemed a little anxious at first. That is understandable given the fact that the last time I had had a private word with her it was for oversleeping and I had punished her with a dozen strokes of the strap across her bare bottom. However, today was an opportunity to praise rather than admonish.

Mrs Fuller poured the tea and I bade Maria to sit. She perched on the edge of the chair, a teacup in one hand a tea-plate with a piece of Mrs Rokeby’s best fruitcake in the other.

“I’ve invited you to take tea with us this afternoon Maria, because I wanted to thank you for the sensible way that you have dealt with the sad business regarding Miss Charlotte. I know that the other maids have pressed you for information . It is greatly to your credit that you have maintained your silence on the matter. Other maids would have gossiped freely.”

“Thank you Mr Jenks, it would have been disloyal of me to reveal anything that I had seen or heard, I think better of Miss Charlotte than to let her down like that,” Maria replied, obviously pleased to be praised for once.

I was just about to speak again when I heard a noise outside in the hallway. Pressing my finger to my lips to tell the two women to remain quiet I silently got up from my armchair and crossed to the door. I pulled it open in one quick movement. The silly girl who had been listening at the keyhole was taken completely by surprise! She tumbled into the room, sprawling in a heap at my feet. It was Rose, Rose Allenby the kitchen maid.

“Stand up, you silly girl!” I said sharply. Taking a firm hold on her ear.

Rose got to her feet, blushing red to the roots of her auburn hair.

“What on earth were you doing Rose Allenby?” Mrs Fuller demanded.

“I… I… was doing no harm Mrs Fuller,” Rose stammered.

“Nonsense,” I retorted, “You were eavesdropping, listening at the door, hoping to discover some secret or another. Well you’re not going to find out anything this afternoon other than a reminder of how sore the strap feels across your bottom! Come with me girl!”

I hadn’t relinquished my hold on her earlobe and she winced as I turned to Maria and Mrs Fuller.

“My apologies, but I must leave you to your tea and cake whilst I deal with this silly girl.”

I led Rose down the hallway to my office. I only let go of her ear when I had closed the door behind us. She stood there looking very shamefaced.

“I am fed up with this Rose,” I told her, “Fed up with silly maids gossiping about Miss Charlotte and Mr Lewis, fed up with silly maids trying to find out things about their betters that they have no business of knowing, or wanting to know.”

“I’m sorry Mr Jenks,” she said miserably.

“You will be!” I replied, unhooking the leather strap from behind my desk. “Lift your skirts and bend over the desk young lady. I’m going to give you a dozen strokes.”

Rose is no stranger to having her bottom warmed. Mrs Rokeby runs a disciplined kitchen and Rose has been the subject of her wrath on more than one occasion. Mrs Rokeby wields a very effective wooden spoon but I would contend that most of the maids would prefer to go over her broad lap than bend over my desk for a taste of my strap. I saw Rose’s lip tremble as she reached down to lift her skirts.

“Please Mr Jenks, can’t I have it across the seat of my skirt?” she begged.

“No you cannot,” I replied firmly, “Come along, you’re no stranger to this Rose, lift your skirts and assume the position.

She hesitated for a moment then gave a sigh and bent down to take the hem of her skirts. She bunched them up across her back and then bent low over the desk. It was then I got a surprise, and then when I saw the reason she had begged to remain fully covered - she was completely naked under her skirts, she had no knickers on at all!

“Why on earth are you not wearing any drawers?” I asked her.

“They… they… I… mean… I …I…hadn’t a clean pair… my others are in the laundry,” she mumbled.

I didn’t believe it for a moment. What sort of girl puts all her underwear in the laundry with no thought for the morrow? No, I suspected there was another reason she was naked under her dress and that the pleasure of some farm lad or footman had more to do with it than simple forgetfulness.

I glared at her and she blushed an even deeper shade.

“If I discover that you’ve been carrying on with some boy, Rose Allenby then I will have your guts for garters!”

“I haven’t been with a boy Mr Jenks, I promise I haven’t,” she said desperately.

I didn’t believe her. Rose is a very pretty girl and she’s caught the eye of many of the lads. She’s also not a shy one and I could imagine the sort of things that she would get up to given half a chance. She wouldn’t need much encouragement that was for sure. The last thing Winterbrook needed was a pregnant kitchen maid. It was a scandal the household could well do without. This young lady needed a sharp warning!

“I’m not sure I believe you Rose, your guilt is written all over your face. I am warning you right now that you need to be very careful where boys are concerned. You’re a pretty lass and they’ll soon be taking liberties if you let them. And then where will you be? In the family way and out on your ear. Your poor mother would die of the shame.”

She looked down at her feet and said nothing. That she had been up to some naughtiness was certain, but I could prove nothing.

“Well Rose, whether or not you’ve been fooling around with boys, one thing is certain - it is indecent to be wandering around the house with no drawers on! I think we’d better double your punishment young lady. It was a dozen, now it’s two!”

She gave a little shudder but she didn’t try to protest. She knew that she would be dismissed with no reference if I reported her to Sir George. I took a step back and looked at her. She really is a pretty little thing with slender legs and a very pert round bottom. Well it was going to be a very red sore bottom by the time I had finished with her!

I have learned a lot from Sir George. Rush a punishment and it’s all over to soon. No, if the girl is going to learn her lesson then her whipping needs to be drawn out as long as possible. And besides, the longer you take over it the more pleasure you can derive from it, and believe me strapping a pretty girl like Rose is always going to be a pleasure! It was half past three when I laid the first stroke across Rose’s bare cheeks, it was past four o’clock when she was finally allowed to rise and press her hands to her red bottom. In the intervening period she had yelped and wriggled and writhed across the desk. I had found it most entertaining.

She stood in front of me, rubbing her little bottom with one hand and wiping the tears from her eyes with the other.

“If I catch you eavesdropping again, Rose Allenby, I’ll be taking you to Sir George to deal with,” I told her sternly. “And the same is true if I catch you with a boy. Now off you go and be a good girl.”

“Yes Mr Jenks,” she sniffed, “I will be a good girl I promise.”

Like most of Rose’s promises this was probably worth pie crust but she would probably stay out of trouble for a week or so, if only for the sake of her sore bottom!

For Charlotte part 2

2011-08-18T20:01:00.001+01:00

Reluctantly I let myself be led back to the table. Now there was just one more implement left to play with. I felt a cold ripple of fear run down my spine as I looked at the dark coloured rod. I had experienced its twin, the dragon cane that Sir George owned – this one was identical. Mrs Kelling seemed to read my thoughts.

“I bought them as a pair, Miss Downing. One stays here with me, the other at Winterbrook. Sir George is very fond of using them. I only let him as a special treat. He always finds it very exciting as he knows that they will take me to the limit of what I can endure and yet will leave me highly aroused. The dragon cane is well-named. But of course you know that for yourself don’t you my pretty one?”

“Yes,” I replied, remembering all too well the caning I had received from Sir George and the way that she had encouraged him to greater efforts on that occasion. Just looking at the cane lying on the table made me feel slightly dizzy.

“Make your choice Miss Downing,” she said.

I dipped my hand into the box and selected seven dice. I did not want to be caned. I was only too aware of how painful the dragon cane was going to be and although the thought of being punished again was an exciting one it was outweighed by the fear of how much it would hurt. I felt myself trembling as I watched Anastasia take seven dice too. Without looking at me she rolled her dice. A single one, two fives, one six. I felt my heart quicken, I had an excellent chance, a pair of ones would see me dishing out sixteen strokes of the cane! I rolled my dice too. We both stared at the result. Two sixes, no fives… and like my opponent a single one! It was a tie.

“What happens now?” I asked, “We are tied.”

“What happens now my dear Amelia is that we choose and roll again. “We could of course retain the fives and sixes and add them to the final results. Would that be fun do you think?”

What could I say? It was clear that this was what she wanted to do, but of course it increased the jeopardy no end.

“Very well,” I agreed, “We will add them on.”

“Excellent,” she smiled, “I think this is going to be true finale to our afternoon together! I think I should go first this time.”

I nodded my assent. I watched as she took dice from the box. She selected them one by one, counting them into her hand until she had a dozen in total. My mouth went dry. She was really testing my bravery. If I were to have a decent chance of avoiding punishment then I would need to take at least as many as her. But of course, the more dice I took the greater the number of strokes should I lose, and with my first roll there were potentially a dozen to face already! I forced myself to do what I must. I counted out the dice, fourteen in total.

Anastasia rolled first. Not a great roll, just two ones amidst all the other dice. I didn’t count the fives and sixes, it was more important to me that I should win than worry about how many strokes I might be applying to Anastasia’s bottom. I felt hope rise in me. With fourteen dice, surely I could do better than a pair of ones?

We both craned forward as I rolled my dice.

I scanned the table, searching for ones. I looked again, not able to believe the evidence of my own eyes! No it could not be true! Fourteen dice and not a single one! I checked again, my heartbeat rising. There was no mistake. I had lost and lost convincingly. Mrs Kelling selected the fives and sixes from the others. Four fives, one six! Twenty-six in total. But of course, there were twelve more to add from the first throw. Thirty-eight strokes with the dragon cane! I thought I might faint, but I held onto the back of a chair and took some deep breaths.

Mrs Kelling looked at me quizzically.

“Well Amelia you have played hazard and you have lost. The question you must ask yourself is whether you are prepared to go through with this. You may decide that you cannot bear such a punishment. I cannot compel you, but if you choose not to submit to this then I in turn will not be submit to what you have asked of me. If I am to punish you then make no mistake, I will not show you any leniency with the rod. The choice is yours Miss Downing.”

My mind raced. The thought of such a caning was fearful, I trembled at the prospect. I truly did not know if I would have the fortitude to bear it. But if I refused, then I would utterly betray all of Charlotte’s hopes. How could I deny her the chance of happiness with the man that she loved? The physical pain I would suffer would be merely transitory, her broken heart would surely last a lifetime. I could not, would not be a traitor to her cause.

I looked Mrs Kelling in the eye.

“I will take my forfeit,” I said.

“An excellent choice Amelia,” she smiled. She picked up the rod and gave it a little flick through the air. I trembled again.

I walked slowly across to the chesterfield sofa. I stood at the end and then lowered myself across the arm. The position thrust my bottom up into the air. I felt very vulnerable, very frightened. I felt her place the cane across the centre of my cheeks. I still smarted a little from the slipper, but the sting was fading away. It would be replaced by a far more pain-filled sensation. I tensed as she lifted the cane. I took a deep breath. The cane whistled through the air. As it struck home the line of pain scorched across my bare cheeks. It took a second or two to reach its peak. I exhaled with a soft gasp, then lay there waiting for the next.

She caned me slowly, making me wait between strokes. I think she was savouring the pleasure of it. It was as testing as I imagined it would be. The intensity of the sting was literally breathtaking. Each stroke seemed to burn and burn, and each additional stroke seemed to re-enflame the previous ones. I counted them in my head.

When she had given me ten I heard her place the cane on the table.

“Stand up Amelia,”

I did not imagine for a moment that my ordeal was over. I got shakily to my feet and turned to face her. She took my hand and drew me to her. She stroked my face, and ran her fingers over my lips.

“My poor little Amelia,” she murmured, “All hot and sore and dishevelled, and we’ve hardly started.”

She kissed me softly.

“Stand with your hands on your head,” she instructed.

I did so. I was under her orders and would do just as she told me without question. I shivered as she placed her hand on the inside of my thigh and stroked slowly upwards. As she had done earlier, she started to play with me, to caress me with her fingers, her middle finger finding my little nub, the other fingers teasing around my nether lips. Combined with the stinging lines across my poor bottom her attentions provoked an almost overwhelming feeling within me. I could hardly keep my position and thought my knees might buckle under me.

“A little pleasuring to go with the pain,” she whispered into my ear. “A delightful combination is it not?”

“Yesss,” was all I could gasp.

She played me expertly. Taking me almost to the point of no return before she removed her hand. I did not beg her to continue this time, as much as I longed for it I knew that she would allow me no release until my chastisement was complete. She had wanted me as her plaything and that was exactly what I was. She led me back to the sofa and with a her hand resting in the middle of my back indicated that I was to assume the position once more.

And so my trial continued. Ten more times she brought that wicked cane down across my bottom. Each stroke took me to new heights of agony. By the time I had taken the twentieth I was weeping freely. I had never known such pain, I could no longer distinguish between the separate cane stripes, they had merged into one broad stinging line.

I felt Anastasia’s hand on my arm.

“Kneel in front of me,” she ordered.

I slid off the sofa and onto the carpet in front of her. I got up onto my knees and looked up at her. She seemed so strong, so powerful, the cane held lightly in her right hand. She looked down at me, a smile playing at the corner of her lips.

“Oh I am so enjoying this Amelia,” she remarked, “I can see why being a disciplinarian gives you such pleasure. It must be such a thrill to have those naughty girls under your hand. But now you are the victim, you are the wicked little girl being disciplined by her cruel mistress. And you must be obedient mustn’t you?”

“Yes Ma’am,” I murmured. Now that the caning had paused and the pain across my bottom, although still acute, was starting to subside a little, I was aware again of my own arousal. I wanted her to touch me again, to play with me as she had before.

“Kiss me,” she ordered.

I went to rise. She stopped me, a hand on my head.

“No Amelia, I do not want a kiss on my mouth I want you to attend to my other lips.”

I was shocked. It surely could not be right to do what she was suggesting, to kiss her there? I felt the colour come to my face.

“Please Ma’am… I cannot…” I pleaded.

“Yes Amelia, you can and you will. Unless you want me to be especially cross with you. I can always add strokes for disobedience, just as you did earlier.”

I had no choice. I inched forward on my knees and planted a soft kiss on her pudenda.

“Again,” she ordered. Don’t take your mouth away. Kiss me properly, use your tongue.”

If I could have seen myself at that moment I think I would have died of shame. There I was, half-naked, kneeling on the carpet, my red-striped bottom lewdly on display, my head between the legs of another woman, as she stood over me cane in hand. But I could not see myself, and so I did as I was told. I kissed her and caressed her, using lips and tongue. Placed the cane across my shoulders, holding me in place and making me pleasure her for a good five minutes. At last she released me and made me stand.

“That was very pleasant Amelia…for a novice like yourself. Shall I do it to you and demonstrate how it is properly done?”

“No!” I said quickly.

She giggled. “Then when I have finished caning you I shall.”

I was a mess of confused and contradictory feelings as she made me go over the arm of the sofa for a third time. I still had many strokes of the cane to come, strokes that I dreaded. And yet I could not deny how enflamed I was. One part of me wanted to resist but she was breaking that wilfulness with every stroke of the cane and every instruction to pleasure her. It felt strangely liberating to be under her spell under her absolute control.

There was no break in the punishment this time. It took nearly half an hour for her to administer the eighteen strokes that were my due. I wept and I cried out and I writhed across the arm of the sofa but she had no mercy. The strokes were hard and accurate, taking me beyond the limit of anything I had ever endured before, taking me into a realm of experience that was totally new. Somehow the relentless stripes of pain allowed me to surrender, to let go of my pride and hurt, to allow myself to respond to the urgings of my womanhood and to enter into a heady mixture of agony and ecstasy.

When, at last, it was over Anastasia helped me to stand. She took me in her arms and we kissed deeply. She stroked my face, wiping away my tears. Then she took my hand and led me over to the chaise-longue. I was shivering with excitement - I knew what she intended to do with me.

“Kneel on there,” she ordered, “Head low, bottom up, legs apart.”

I did as she said, kneeling on the low chaise-longe in the lewd position she had described. I felt her kneel behind me and then gave a little gasp as she planted a kiss on the inside of my thighs. She kissed a little higher and I felt her hot breath on my quim. Then it wasn’t her breath I was feeling, it was her lips and her tongue. I almost swooned in ecstasy as she began to pleasure me. I have not the words to describe what she did to me. She used her mouth and she used her fingers too. She stroked along the cane stripes with her hand even as she was kissing my quim. Her fingertip traced my tight little bottom-hole as her tongue flicked at my nub. She took me to the very edge, then drew back, not allowing me to find release. Three times she did that until it was almost unbearable. Then just when I could take no more, she thrust her fingers deep within me. I went over the edge, the pleasures exploding inside my head like the most magnificent of firework displays. It was too much and I fainted.

When I came too she was waving a bottle of smelling salts under my nose. I coughed and spluttered and opened my eyes.

She smiled at me. “I think that you rather enjoyed that Miss Downing. I think that we have conclusively proved that you are anything but the cold spinster that you portray to the world.”

I did not know what to say. Now that my throes of ecstasy were passed I felt a wave of the familiar shame wash over me. How could I have done those things, how could I have allowed myself to taken to the depths of depravity that Mrs Kelling had led me? But then a stronger voice asserted itself in my head. I had experienced an intensity of pleasure and pain that I would have gone my whole life without had it not been for this afternoon. I should have no regrets on that account. And what is more I hadn’t done it for myself – I had done it for Charlotte.

For Charlotte part 1

2011-08-16T19:57:00.001+01:00

Mrs Kelling was expecting me. I had written to her at the end of last week and had received her reply on Wednesday. I do not often take my day off but this week I requested that I might be allowed Friday for myself and Sir George had agreed.

I had thought long and hard before contacting Mrs Kelling, my feelings concerning her were very complex, but I knew that she was the only way to Sir George’s heart. That if my dear Charlotte were to be granted his permission to marry her lovely Mr Lewis it could only be achieved through the persuasive powers of Mrs Kelling. Without her intercession Charlotte would surely die of a broken heart. I could not bear to risk that even if I knew that asking for Mrs Kelling’s help was sure to be costly. How would she be with me? Would she see me as friend or enemy? What of the things that had happened between us?

She answered the door herself. I had expected a maid but seemingly the staff had been given a days holiday for the house was still and quiet and no-one came to offer tea or coffee or to take my coat. She was as beautiful and as elegant as ever. She led me through into a beautifully appointed study. This was clearly her domain, for the room was sensitively furnished and had that feminine touch about it that marks out a woman’s space. She gestured for me to take a seat and I perched myself on the edge of a sofa.

“Well Miss Downing, how lovely to see you again. I did wonder if you might get in touch but the weeks went by and I heard nothing from you. George told me you were well but gave me no indication of your feelings. I began to think you might be trying to avoid me after our last… encounter? But now here you are.” She gave me a knowing, sly smile.

I felt the colour come to my cheeks, the memory of that ‘encounter’ was still very vivid in my mind.

“I haven’t sought to avoid you Mrs Kelling,” I replied, “Quite the contrary if the truth were told. I must admit that I have found it very hard not come seeking you. I have thought of you very often indeed and with a warmth of affection. I… I…just wasn’t sure how I would be received. You were so angry with me for trying to come between you and Sir George. ”

She smiled and came and sat on the sofa next to me. “Oh Amelia, you are a sweet little thing aren’t you. I had no idea I had captured your heart. You should have come sooner.” She reached out and brushed a stray hair from my face. I shivered at her touch. “But I think from your letter that you have come, not for your own benefit but for Miss Charlotte’s? Is that so?”

I nodded.

“Then tell me.”

So I told her. I told her of Charlotte’s love for Martin. How he was a good and honourable man. A man worthy in every way to be her husband. Of how Martin had been received at Winterbrook. Of how Charlotte had been distraught at Sir George’s adamant refusal to countenance a marriage. How even now she was broken-hearted and crushed in spirit.

“Only you can persuade him Mrs Kelling, only you have that sort of influence over him. He will do anything to please you.” I begged her.

She smiled again. “Yes Miss Downing, men are so very weak aren’t they? I have no doubt that it would take only a few tempting promises on my part to have him change his mind in very short order. I find that I can be very persuasive when I want to be, if I am willing to give him what he desires.”

“So you will do it?” I asked eagerly.

She ran her finger across my cheek again, making me shiver once more. “Oh yes Amelia, of course I will do it, but only if you are prepared to give me what I want.”

“W…wh…what … do you want?” I asked, feeling my heart beat quicker.

“I want you Amelia,” she said softly. “I want you as my little plaything for today and whenever I choose to call on you.”

I felt myself blush deeply and my hands shook. I swallowed hard and took a deep breath.

“Then I am yours to command Mrs Kelling.”

She smiled. She had a feline look about her, like that cat that has caught itself a mouse and is delighting in playing with the poor creature.

“Stand up Amelia,” she ordered.

I got to my feet. She stood too and took my hands. She drew me towards herself and kissed me softly on my lips. I trembled as her lips touched mine, remembering the kiss we had shared in the schoolroom.

She stood back and appraised me, looking me up and down. The colour was high in my cheeks and I could feel my heart beating very fast.

“Undress me,” she said.

She turned so that I could undo her dress. My hands shook as I fumbled with the tiny buttons. I slipped the dress from her slender shoulders and it fell to a crumpled heap around her ankles. She stepped from it and I scooped it up to drape it over a chair. She stood passively before me. I untied her underskirts and placed them with her dress. She gave me no instruction to stop so I attended to her corset cover next. Now she stood before me in her underclothes; drawers, stockings, corset.

“I won’t be needing my knickers on Amelia,” she said, her eyes bright with excitement.

I untied her drawers and let them fall. I couldn’t help but look at what was revealed. Her bottom was full, shapely and unmarked. When she turned I saw that the brief triangle at the juncture of her thighs was neatly trimmed.

“Now you,” she said softly, “Stand still.”
I shivered with excitement and nervousness as she began to undress me. I was wearing my usual long skirts and and a white lacy blouse. She divested me of these in very short order. My chemise and corset cover quickly followed. For a woman of her class she was remarkably adept at this, there was no clumsiness, no fumbling with awkward buttons and ties, it was as though she had undressed a girl before, she was as competent as any ladies maid. I knew she would take my drawers down but it still felt strange to feel her undo the tie and for them to slip down my legs.

We stood looking at each other, both in the same state of semi-nakedness.

“Perfect,” she whispered, “All ready to play.”

She took my hand and led me across the room to stand in front of her desk. She opened a drawer and began to take items out. The first was a hairbrush, oval, wooden backed, like the one I owned myself. The second was a man’s slipper, leather soled. The third a leather strap, shiny with use. Then finally there were two canes, one light and thin than the other heavy and dark. I looked at the final implement with a degree of fear – I knew what it was, the fearsome dragon cane.

I had been expecting this, I knew she would want to punish me but seeing the implements laid out there brought the reality home. How much would she demand of me before she felt that I had earned her favour for Charlotte? I felt both my own excitement and my trepidation increase by another notch or two.

She reached into the drawer and took out a wooden box. It rattled as she placed it on the desk. She lifted the lid to reveal the dice inside.

“We are going to play a game of chance Amelia. There will be a round for each implement, so five rounds in all.”

I glanced at the implements, imagining her caning me like she had before, remembering both the pain and the pleasure.

Mrs Kelling continued, explaining how the game would work. “We both take a handful of dice –as many as we wish, but no fewer than three. We roll those dice and compare the results. Rolls of one are winning dice. Whoever rolls the most ones is the winner for the round. We then look to the loser’s dice, adding up those that are fives and sixes. That number is the number of strokes of the implement that the loser receives.”

I thought I understood, but I wasn’t entirely sure.

“Would you demonstrate?” I asked.

“Of course dear Amelia, you must understand how it works before we start.” She reached into the box and took six dice in her hand. “Now you, you must take at least three dice but beyond that as many as you wish.”

I selected the same number as her.

“And now we roll them,” she said.

We both rolled our dice onto the surface of the desk.

“Now we look for ones.”

We compared the rolls. I had rolled two ones, a three, a four, and two sixes. Mrs Kelling had rolled a single one, three fours, a five and a six.

“As you can see Amelia you have beaten me, your two ones to my single one. Therefore I must be punished. The number of strokes I must take are given by the fives and sixes – I have one of each so must receive eleven strokes.”

I suddenly realised the diabolic twist that this game contained. You could increase your chance of winning by selecting more dice than your opponent. However, that carried the risk that were you to lose then your punishment was likely to be greater.

“Who chooses their dice first?” I asked.

“Let’s say the winner chooses first. But for this first round perhaps I should begin?”
I nodded. She took the hairbrush and placed it in the centre of the desk. This was to be what were playing for.

Before she reached for the dice box she looked directly at me. “Oh Amelia let me make one more thing clear before we start. My agreement to do what you have asked of me is entirely dependent upon your willingness to play to the end of the game, no matter what the dice demand of us. If you find that you cannot continue at any point then poor Charlotte will not get her Mr Lewis.

I gave an involuntary shiver. I did not know the limits of what I could endure, but for Charlotte’s sake I was determined to be resolute.

“That is fully understood Mrs Kelling,” I assured her.

“Excellent,” she smiled.

I watched as she took a handful of dice and counted them into her hand, eight in all. I thought for a moment; should I take more or less? I couldn’t decide. I closed my eyes, dipped my hand into the box and took the dice my fingers closed over. I opened my palm to reveal just five dice. I swallowed hard – this was a round that Mrs Kelling was likely to win.

She looked at me and smiled, a wicked little smile. She rolled her dice and I rolled mine. Eagerly we both bent forward, like two small children, keen to see who had prevailed. I was surprised. I had rolled fewer dice but I had two ones and Mrs Kelling had none! I looked up and met her amused gaze. She did not seem at all perturbed to have lost.

“Oh dear Amelia, I seems you have beaten me. What is to be my forfeit I wonder?”
We both looked down again. Mrs Kelling had rolled high – amidst the eight dice two were fives and two were sixes. A total of twenty-two. She reached across the desk and picked up the hairbrush. She offered it to me. “Twenty-two strokes please Miss Downing.”

I took it from her. Having the implement in my hand seemed to restore some of my confidence. I did not feel nervous anymore, I knew what I was doing.

I crossed the room and pulled an upright chair into the centre of the carpet. I sat down. It was strange to feel my bare bottom against the seat of the chair.

“Come here Anastasia,” I ordered, “Over my knee.”

She ran her tongue over her lips, her eyes were bright. “Yes miss,” she breathed.
She approached me and bent forward over my lap, placing her hands on the carpet in front of her. I placed the hairbrush in the middle of her left cheek. As I raised it I felt her tense. I hesitated, the brush raised in the air. If this had been Lucy or Charlotte draped over my lap there would have been no hesitation but this was different. This was not a girl but a grown woman like myself. I brought the hairbrush down in a weak slap.

Mrs Kelling turned her head. “You can do better than that Miss Downing. Do it properly, I shall not be holding back when it’s your turn to be punished.”

I felt a new determination. Well, if she wanted to be properly spanked she should have her desire!

I brought the hairbrush down smartly on her bare bottom. She gasped softly and shifted across my knees. I smacked her again, the right cheek this time. There was a pink oval mark where the hairbrush had landed. I gave her another, marking her in the same way. Over the course of the next five minutes those marks were transformed from a soft pink to a very rosy red. For her part Mrs Kelling took her spanking very well. She wriggled and gasped but made no attempt to protect her bottom or evade the stinging blows.

She slipped off my lap and knelt on the carpet in front of me.

“Thank you Miss Downing,” she sighed, “That was very well done.”

She got to her feet.

“I always like to be kissed better after being punished don’t you?”

I can’t say anyone had ever offered to kiss me better but I nodded nonetheless. She turned her back on me.

“Kiss it better then.”

I had thought she wanted me to kiss her mouth but now I understood. I leant forward and planted a gentle kiss on her red bottom. She sighed. I kissed her again… and again, planting kisses all over her hot cheeks. She moaned softly and slipped her hand between her legs. I remembered doing much the same when I had spanked myself many months ago. As I kissed she slowly rubbed herself, moaning softly all the time.

“Enough…” she said. “I must see the game all the way through before either of us is allowed to achieve satisfaction. Come, time to roll some dice again.”

She took my hand and drew me to my feet and led me over to the desk again. First she took the slipper and placed it in the centre of the table just as she had with the hairbrush.

As the winner I had first choice of dice. Mrs Kelling had taken eight the first time. Perhaps it would be cowardly to take less? I selected nine. She matched my selection.
For the second time that afternoon we rolled our dice and eagerly looked for the winning ones. My heart gave a little skip as I realised that this time Mrs Kelling had rolled the winners.

“Your turn for a sore bottom Amelia,” she said, smiling. “How many is it to be?”

I examined the dice again, two sixes and a five.

“Seventeen, ma’am.” I replied.

“Very good,” she said, “I shall enjoy giving your bottom a rosy glow.”

“Where would you like me?” I asked.

“Over my knee I think, I’d like to have you close to me so that I can feel your reaction.”

I wasn’t sure what she meant at first but I obediently placed myself across her silken knees. I gave a little gasp of surprise as, without any warning at all, she slipped her small hand down between my legs. Instinctively I clamped my thighs together, trapping her hand. She giggled and smacked me lightly on the bottom with the slipper.

“Part your legs you naughty girl. I told you that I want to feel your reaction and there is only one place to touch you if I am going to do that.”

I felt myself blush with the open wantonness of it. Yes she had touched me last time but I had resisted her touch then even though I had welcomed it. I could not pretend that I did not want it now but the brazenness with which she asked it of me could not but shock me. I opened my legs a little. She gave me a proper smack with the slipper making me gasp.

“Wider girl.”

I spread my legs, my face burning with shame, knowing that even before she spanked me I was already aroused. I felt her index finger caress down the length of my groove before it came to rest, lightly, on my little bud. With her finger there the spanking began. As she had promised she did not hold back. She lifted the slipper high and cracked it down smartly on my bottom. It smarted hotly and I gasped again. As she spanked me I could not keep still, I wriggled and writhed across her knees, pressing myself lewdly against her rigid finger, working myself up into a state of some excitement. Seventeen smacks were more than enough to leave me rather sore and very wet. When she was done she made me sit astride her, one hand rubbing my bottom, the other stroking the nape of my neck and pulling me closer until our lips met. We kissed, gently at first and then deeper and with more passion, her tongue in my mouth and then mine in hers. She tasted sweet.

She made me stand and turn and place my hands on my heed whilst she examined the state of my chastised posterior.

“Nice and pink Amelia,” she pronounced “and perfectly warmed up for a more severe punishment. Are you ready to go on?”

“Yes,” I nodded, trying and failing to keep the excitement out of my voice.

We approached the table for the third time. Anastasia took the leather strap and placed it in the centre of the table. It looked well used and if my experience with similar implements was anything to go by then it was sure to impart a very fiery sting!

As the winner of the last round Anastasia chose her dice first. She picked out eight. I met her gaze as I reached my hand into the box. I could see the amusement in her eyes, she was enjoying this, and thought I hated to admit it, so was I. It felt thoroughly debauched, and yet if I ignored the sense of shame that accompanied this feeling I was honest enough to recognise that this encounter was meeting an erotic need that had long been suppressed. I took nine dice. Anastasia gave me a nod and I rolled my dice. It was a good roll, three ones and just one six. She met my eyes again and gave a little smile. Her dice rattled across the shiny table top. We both looked down. Two ones, no fives, two sixes. Her turn then.

“It seems that we must go turn and turn about Miss Downing,” she remarked.

She picked up the strap and held it out to me on her upturned hands.

“Twelve strokes if you please miss,” she said softly.

“Bend over and touch your toes you wicked girl,” I said sternly. I saw her give a little shiver of excitement at this instruction. Perhaps she enjoyed me being verbally strict with her? She bent forward, and placed her fingertips on the shiny toes of her laced boots. Her bottom was nicely presented, the white skin in contrast to the black of her stockings.

“I am going to give you a dozen hard strokes young lady. A dozen strokes that you thoroughly deserve, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes miss,” she said in a low voice, “I have been an extremely bad girl.”

“Indeed you have Anastasia!” So saying I lifted the strap, caught the end of it in my left hand, took careful aim, then brought it cracking down. I did not hesitate this time, it was a proper stroke just as I would have given Lucy or Charlotte. Mrs Kelling gave a long gasp of pain as the broad red stripe was marked across her bare bottom.

“Count them and thank me,” I ordered.

“One… thank you miss,” she replied obediently.

I lifted the strap again. There was a loud crack of leather on bare flesh as I brought it down across Anastasia’s cheeks. She gasped aloud.

“Two… thank you miss,” she said after a short pause to find her breath.

After six strokes I stopped, we were halfway through. Anastasia‘s bottom was very red. As I had imagined it would be the heavy strap was a very effective implement.

“Stand up and put your hands on your head girl,” I ordered.

She straightened up slowly and raised her arms, placing one hand flat on top of her dark hair and the other on top of it. Her eyes were shining. I stood in front of her and held up the strap.

“You are going to kiss the strap and ask for the rest of your punishment,” I told her.

She did not argue. I held the strap to her lips and she kissed it softly.

“Please punish me further Miss Downing, I deserve to be severely beaten,” she said softly.

“Again,” I ordered.

She kissed the strap a second time, her lips lingering against the shiny leather.

“Please chastise me Miss Downing, I thoroughly deserve a severe whipping for being such a wanton girl.” The excitement was clear in her eyes, she was enjoying this very much indeed. I wondered if Sir George was as strict with her? He certainly should be, for it assuredly added to her pleasure.

“Assume the position,” I ordered.

She bent over again and offered her red bottom to the strap. I took my time with her. Walking slowly around the room between strokes before taking up position and delivering another smart cut. She counted out the strokes in the same low voice, heavy now with arousal. I made sure the last one was a real stinger, putting all the force I could muster into it and landing it right across the fullest part of her bottom. I was rewarded with a sharp yelp of pain from Anastasia. It took her the best part of thirty seconds to find the voice to call out the stroke.

“Stand up,” I ordered.

She stood and pressed her hands to her smarting bottom.

“Well Miss Downing,” she remarked ruefully, “I should have guessed at your proficiency with the strap, you have certainly warmed me very nicely. Give me your hand.”

She took my unresisting hand and guided it between her legs. She was hot there too, hot and wet. I rubbed gently. It was strange doing that to another woman. I had done it often enough to myself but to enflame another with the my fingers was something quite new to me. She moaned softly.

“Mmmm… see what effect your punishment has had on me Miss Downing. You were quite correct, I am a very wicked girl.”

I did not quite know how to respond so said nothing. She planted a soft kiss on my lips.

“Enough Amelia, we have a game to complete do we not?”

She led me back across to the table. The implement she selected this time was the cane. The light, slender rod that she had shown me earlier.

“A nice light cane Amelia, it looks innocuous but it imparts a very intense little sting. I find it quite takes my breath away when Sir George uses it on me. I wonder how you will find it?”

“You are assuming that you will win the next round Mrs Kelling,” I smiled, “Perhaps it will be you that will be feeling its intense little sting?”

She giggled girlishly and indicated the box of dice. “Time to let chance decide I think.”

My hand hovered over the box as I decided how many dice to take. My bottom was still smarting from the slipper and I had enjoyed using the strap on my opponent, I was keen to use the thin, whippy little cane but wasn’t so sure that I relished the thought of being on the receiving end. I took ten dice, hoping that Mrs Kelling might choose fewer. She did so, selecting just six.

We made our rolls. Lady luck smiled on me again. Four ones were more than enough to gain me victory. Not a huge victory, for Mrs Kelling’s roll produced but a single six and no fives, but a victory nonetheless. I picked up the thin cane and flexed it in my hands, it was very whippy indeed. Mrs Kelling glanced at it and for the first time I saw a measure of trepidation in her eyes. This was obviously an implement that she found something of a test to endure. But she had chosen it, just as she had chosen our game, and must now pay her forfeit.

“Bend over the desk young lady,” I ordered, “you’re going to get six of the best, six of the very best!”

“Yes miss,” she breathed.
She bent forward over the desk, her forearms resting on the polished surface, her head well up, her back dipped and her bare, red cheeks beautifully presented. Anastasia Kelling is a very beautiful woman, and I could see why Sir George finds her so attractive. Seeing her place herself in the submissive position I felt my heart beat quicker.

I rested the thin cane across her bottom, then giving her no warning at all I drew it quickly back and whipped it down hard. It left a pure white line across her red bottom, a line that, even as I watched changed from white to deep red. She gave a sharp cry and jerked against the edge of the desk.

“Keep still girl, or I’ll give you extra!” I said, sternly. She shivered – whether in delight or fear I could not tell.

I whipped the cane in again. It almost whistled as it cut the air. Anastasia yelped again and frantically writhed her hips. I gave her a moment to be still before I gave her the third stroke. She gasped and kicked up a heel.

“I warned you about moving – that stroke does not count,” I told her “You still have four to come.”

“Yes miss,” she groaned.

I was completely without mercy. The thin cane was not easy to control but I have had plenty of practice in caning naughty girls over the last few months and although the cane stripes intersected they all landed across her round bottom. Anastasia found it very hard to keep still, she wriggled and writhed and bent her knees. I had given her fair warning and I was not going to be lenient. She might have only been due six but she took ten. When I allowed her to stand up her bottom was criss-crossed with a tracery of very sore looking stripes.

She turned to me, her eyes very bright.

“I can see why Sir George employed you Miss Downing. You are the disciplinarian par excellence are you not?”

I permitted myself a little smile. “I am a professional Mrs Kelling,” I told her.

“Whereas I am simply an enthusiastic amateur,” she smiled. “However, when it comes to the arts of love I suspect that I have the better of you in both experience and expertise. Come here Amelia.”

I could not resist, she drew me to her and kissed me deeply. Even whilst her tongue was in my mouth her fingers played between my legs. Somehow the way that she touched me, enflamed something in me that I had never known before. Oh I had played with myself so often in the past (and been thoroughly ashamed of my self-abuse), but this was something of a different order to anything I had managed to achieve with my clumsy fumblings. Her fingers found the places that excited me the most with a skill that took my breath away.

I could feel myself approaching my peak. Maybe she could sense it too for she broke away from me and held me at arms’ length.

“We must not get ahead of ourselves Miss Kelling, there is still the final round to play!”

“Oh please don’t stop!” I begged shamelessly.

She laughed. “Oh my pretty little Amelia I do so like you. One moment the hard-hearted martinet, the next all aflame with sexual passion and gasping for more. But no, you shall not have your release until I decide that you shall. And certainly not until we have finished the game. I’m sure that we will both enjoy the finale!

A Double Dose of Hurt

2011-08-12T19:50:00.002+01:00

I lay face down on my bed in complete and utter despair. With one cold sentence Sir George had destroyed all my hopes and dreams. It had been such a lovely afternoon with Martin. We had walked hand in hand, we had talked and talked and talked. Already we were making plans for our life together. Already I could see myself as the Vicar’s wife, working with him in the Parish, caring for the sick and distressed.

Against his better judgement I had persuaded him to speak to Sir George. Martin had wanted to wait, to have the chance to visit Winterbrook a number of times before he broached the subject, but I had been impatient. How foolish I had been.

Perhaps we could run away together? Elope to Gretna Green and get married in secret? But that sort of thing only happened in silly romantic novels. If we did that then Martin would be disgraced and would be deprived of his living by the Bishop and then where would we be?

I wanted to cry but no tears would come.

There was a soft knock on the door. It was Miss Downing. She came and sat on the edge of my bed a stroked my hair.

“Oh Charlotte, I am so sorry. Sir George has told me what occurred.”

I turned over. “I hate him Miss Downing, I truly believe that the man has no heart at all. Does he not care that Martin and I love each-other?”

“No my darling, I don’t think that seems of great importance to him. He would rather you marry someone who will have the means to keep you as a lady.”

“But what about what I want?” I said fiercely.

“That is of no consequence as far as your guardian is concerned. And right now he is very angry that you were so rude to him.”

“I meant every word I said!”

“No doubt you did, but it was still very disrespectful to speak to him like that.”

“I don’t care!”

“He wants to see you in his study Charlotte. He is expecting an apology.”

“Then he is a fool as a well as a beast.”

Miss Downing had nothing to say to that. I knew that I had her sympathy and support but that she was as much under Sir George’s orders as I was. He had instructed her to fetch me down to the study and I knew that if I refused he would simply come up to my room, and that would be unbearable.

Slowly I got up, tidied my hair and followed her downstairs.

Sir George was sitting at his desk, he didn’t offer me a seat. He looked up at me with those cold grey eyes and I met his stare with one of my own.

“I know you are upset and disappointed Charlotte. You don’t realise it now, but I have done this because I care about you and have your best interests at heart. That you are angry is understandable. Nevertheless, the way you spoke to me in the drawing room was completely unacceptable. You deserve to be severely punished for your rudeness. However, I am not an unreasonable man and therefore if you are prepared to apologise you will not be chastised.”

I looked at him in disbelief. This man had with one decision ruined my life and he expected me to apologise to him?

“I will not apologise,” I said, keeping my voice calm and level. “I meant what I said and I still mean it. You are the meanest, coldest man I have ever had the misfortune to meet.”

I think that if I had been tearful or hysterical then he would probably have forgiven me anyway. That I was calm and in control of myself simply made him more angry.

“Very well then Miss Middleton. If there is to be no apology then there will be punishment.” He turned to Miss Downing who was standing to one side. “The senior cane if you please Miss Downing.”

I saw Miss Downing hesitate. “Please sir, I’m sure that if Charlotte were to be given time to reflect then she would see the need to apologise…” she pleaded on my behalf.

“Would you like time to reflect?” Sir George asked me.

I shook my head, I wasn’t going to say sorry, not now, nor tomorrow, nor any other day.

“The cane it is then,” Sir George announced grimly, “Six of the best.”

I watched as Miss Downing selected a rod and brought it back to Sir George. He took it from her and gave it a practice swish through the air. I felt a shiver run down my spine. I have not often had the cane, indeed this would be only the third time since I arrived at Winterbrook. The memory of those two previous occasions was seared in my mind. I knew it was going to hurt terribly, but I steeled myself to the coming pain. I did not deserve to be beaten, it was monstrously unjust, but the cold anger at the injustice of it gave me a determination to take it as stoically as possible. I would not cry out, I would not give this man the satisfaction of thinking that he had broken my spirit. I lifted my head and stared fixedly out of the French windows as Miss Downing bared my bottom and as the cane was placed across the middle of my cheeks.

I took a deep breath as I felt the cane being drawn back. There was a soft swish behind me, the crack of impact and then the burning line across my bottom. Although I was ready for it it still made me gasp. Oh it stung so much! I gripped the edge of the desk hard and tried to steady my breathing. I remained absolutely still.

The second stroke was just as hard as the first. I stayed silent even though I wanted to scream, clenching my teeth until my jaw ached. I knew he wouldn’t hurry it. He made me wait a full thirty seconds before bringing the cane down again. The fresh stripe burned with new intensity just as the previous one was starting to ease. I saw my knuckles turn white as I held on for dear life. I breathed deeply, breathing through the pain, my poor bottom on fire. The fourth stroke caught me painfully low. I couldn’t help but emit a low gasp, but managed not to move. I wanted to bring my leg up, to flex my knees, to do anything to assuage the pain but I forced myself not to.

Only two more to go. I heard Sir George grunt as he put extra force into the fifth stroke. I held on, desperate not to cry out, not to move. He placed the cane across the middle of my bottom lining up the final stroke. I kept my head up, staring out of the window. Out there it was a beautiful summer’s afternoon, I tried to focus on the trees swaying gently in the breeze, trying to tear my mind away from the lines of hurt that he had marked across my bare cheeks.
The final stroke was the worst of all. I bit my lip as I stifled the cry that came unbidden to my mouth and tasted the saltiness of my own blood. The cane stripe seemed to burn and burn but I refused to submit to it. The anger coursed through me and gave me strength to endure.

His voice seemed to come from miles away. “Stand up Charlotte.”

I slowly rose from the desk and turned to face him. I blinked away the traitorous tears that were starting to well up. I would not cry, I would not cry!

I met and held his eye. He was the one to look away first.

“You may go,” he said curtly.

I said nothing. I simply turned on my heel and walked from the room, my head held high, my dignity intact. As I reached my door I heard Miss Downing walking rapidly up behind me. She followed me into my bedroom and took me in her arms.

As she held me to her the dam inside me broke at last. The tears that I had forced back overwhelmed my defences. I put my head in her bosom and wept like a small child as she stroked my hair.

“Oh Charlotte, my poor Charlotte,” she murmured soothingly. She simply held me as I cried myself out. At long last when I could cry no more she relaxed her hold on me.

“Oh Miss Downing what is to become of me?” I said, miserably. “If I cannot have Martin I cannot go on living.”

“Hush,” she said, “Don’t despair, Sir George may yet be persuaded.”

“I cannot see how,” I sniffed.

“You may not be able to see a way but I can. But you must be patient my darling girl. I need to write a letter and make a visit and that will take some time, but please do not give up hope, we are not done yet.”

I did not know what she meant but her words put fresh courage in me. I took her proffered handkerchief and dried my eyes. Then I stepped painfully across to the mirror to examine the damage that had been wrought across my poor ravaged bottom.

A Parson Comes to Tea

2011-08-09T20:58:00.001+01:00

A week or two ago Charlotte had asked me if she might invite a certain Reverend Lewis over to tea. The good Reverend had been a long-standing family friend of the Middletons and was now Curate at Great Gandersfield some twenty miles away from Winterbrook. I could see no harm in a visit from a man of the cloth and Miss Downing assured me that Charlotte had been working very assiduously and deserved the treat of renewing an old acquaintance. Consequently I had Jenks write to the man extending an invitation to call on us should he happen to find himself in the district one afternoon. I had a reply by return of post – the man was certainly keen!

The Reverend Lewis arrived just after two this afternoon. I had Eleanor pick him up from the station in the Rolls. He seemed rather overawed by the whole experience and was certainly very nervous as he was introduced to me. The reason for the nervousness I was to find out later!
I had been expecting someone a little older but he can only be in his late twenties. Tall, dark-haired, a pleasant, rather handsome face, he held himself well, formally dressed in his dark clerical suit and collar.

After a few minutes of pleasantries I rang the bell for Jenks.

“Jenks, would you fetch Miss Charlotte?”

Charlotte joined us in the study a few minutes later. I was pleased to see that she was beautifully turned out in her best cream and lace dress. Her hair was up and she was wearing the pearls that had been one of my gifts to her at Christmas. When she saw the Reverend Lewis her face lit up with a smile.

“Charlotte, it is a little while before tea will be served in the drawing room. Why don’t you take Reverend Lewis and give him a tour of the estate. It is a fine day and I’m sure that he would appreciate some fresh air after his journey in the motor car.”

“I’d be delighted Sir George,” she beamed.

The two of them set off, Charlotte leading the way.

Tea was a pleasant affair. The Reverend Lewis had visibly relaxed. He and Charlotte had spent a very enjoyable afternoon. They had walked over to Home Farm and had called in on old Mrs Harrison, now bed-ridden who had appreciated the pastoral visit. They had also been to the stables and had watched Lucinda schooling her favourite pony. Both girls are turning into fine horsewomen but it is Lucinda who has the edge when it comes to horses. She joined us for tea, looking happy and content. It was delightful to see the two sisters in such good form. I know that Miss Downing has constant trouble from Lucinda and finds her surly and rebellious but I had no hint of that side of her character this afternoon.

As tea came to an end the Reverend Lewis leant over to me.

“Sir, there is something that I would like to discuss with you in private, may I crave a few moments of your time alone?”

“Yes, of course, my man,” I agreed, “Come through to my study.”

We left the girls in the drawing room and I led the way to my study, closing the door behind us to make sure that we weren’t disturbed. I bade him take a seat by the fireplace.

He shook his head. “No sir, there is something I must ask you that requires more formality than that.”

I was a little taken aback by the sudden seriousness in his tone and I noticed that he was again as nervous as he had been at the start of the afternoon.

“Ask away my man,” I said blithely, “No need to stand on ceremony.”

He swallowed hard and took a deep breath.

“I would like your permission to ask Charlotte to be my wife,” he said.

Well, I was totally taken by surprise. I had had no inkling that there was any romantic affection between my ward and this young clergyman. I could only assume that this was a relationship that predated Charlotte’s arrival at Winterbrook and that perhaps they had remained in correspondence since. Of course, it was totally out of the question, but it would have been cruel to the young man to deny him without hearing him out first.

“Reverend Lewis, please, do sit down. Before I can give you an answer I must hear more about you and your prospects in life.”

It was as I expected. The young man was pleasant enough but totally unsuitable. He was from a respectable enough family, the younger son of a country lawyer, but there was little money and no reasonable chance of preferment. As far as I could see he had little to offer Charlotte. No, she would make a much better match than this, and although he was obviously infatuated with her that was not reason enough to ruin her future by marrying her into a life of genteel poverty.
I listened to what he had to say but at the end I shook my head.

“I am very sorry Reverend Lewis, but I cannot give my blessing, nor my permission for this proposed union. Your prospects, as you have honestly described them, are not good. You are a pleasant enough fellow I’m sure, but as Charlotte’s guardian it is my duty to do the best by her. In all conscience I cannot agree to her marrying you simply on the basis of shared affection.”

He took it well I must say. He was obviously disappointed but he did his best not to show it. He thanked me for my time and bade my good day. I had Jenks call for the car and he accompanied him out to the front.

I went through into the drawing room where Charlotte and Lucy were waiting. I knew that they were both aware of what Reverend Lewis had been to speak to me about. Charlotte got to her feet as I entered the room. She was clearly on tenterhooks so there was no point in being anything other than direct.

“I am sorry to disappoint you Charlotte,” I said firmly, “But I cannot allow you to marry Mr Lewis, he has no real prospects as I am certain you are aware. You can do far better than that I am sure.”

Her face went white and her nostrils flared. I thought she might burst into tears or shout and scream but she didn’t, her voice was quiet but full of controlled passion.

“You cold-hearted beast,” she said slowly, “What right have you to ruin my every happiness? I will never forgive you, you complete and utter bastard!”

I heard Lucinda gasp. Charlotte was not hot-tempered like her, the outburst was completely out of character. She turned on her heel and stalked out of the room.

Lucinda stood there open mouthed at what she had just witnessed.

I felt the anger burn in me. I had done my best by the girl, saving her from a most unsuitable marriage. It was only natural that she was disappointed but that did not give her the right to speak to me with those words or in that tone. However, I wasn’t going to demean myself by chasing after her.

“Stop gawping girl,” I admonished Lucinda, “Find Miss Downing and ask her to come to my study.”

Peeping Freddie

2011-08-02T20:33:00.001+01:00

I was so excited this morning when we went up to the schoolroom.

At dinner last night Freddie had announced “ I think I might take the opportunity to inspect a local educational establishment tomorrow Papa.”

My heart had turned a little somersault as he had accompanied this remark with a broad wink in my direction. Thankfully Sir George hadn’t noticed the wink.

“I don’t know why you want to do that my boy,” he had grumbled, “I certainly wasn’t impressed by what I saw at Kingsmead School, very modern I must say.”

“Oh I don’t know Papa, it might be entertaining and we must support the cause of education.”

“As you wish dear boy, as you wish.”

I had hardly slept a wink thinking about how much fun it would be to know that all during our lesson with Miss Downing, Freddie would be hidden in the cupboard, watching and listening to everything that was said. That silly Miss Downing would be totally unaware that her every word, her every action would be scrutinised by her employer’s son! Oh how we would laugh about it afterwards!

It was only when I got to my desk that the awful truth of it suddenly dawned on me. If Charlotte or I were to displease Miss Downing in any way then she would undoubtedly punish us, and if she did punish us it would be in her usual manner – on the bare bottom! And I had invited a man to watch! Freddie would see it all, he would see our nakedness! It was mortifying enough when Sir George had caned me, but to have another man, a man my own age, watch me lift my skirts and part my drawers, let him see my bare bottom – well just the thought of it made me flush red with embarrassment! Not only that but I had risked Charlotte’s modesty too!

I didn’t have time to say anything to Charlotte before Miss Downing entered the room. She bade us sit and explained what the morning’s task was to be; a very dull exercise in reading a set of household accounts and trying to spot the errors that had been made there.

“There are ten errors to find, and I will be most displeased if you do not identify them all,” she said.

My heart sank, I hate things like this, I don’t have Charlotte’s attention to detail and I find that after only a few minutes the columns of tightly written figures seem to swim on the page and I can make little sense of them. Before I could even begin though, I had to find a way to warn Charlotte. As quietly as I could I slowly tore a corner from the paper. I checked to see that Miss Downing wasn’t watching then scribbled a quick note. I screwed it up and tossed it over to Charlotte.

Miss Downing glanced up just at the wrong moment, she was on her feet in an instant.

“What is that?” she demanded of Charlotte, “give it to me at once.”

Charlotte hadn’t even had the chance to read my note, she had no choice but to hand it over to Miss Downing.

“Be good!” she read out “Don’t get yourself whacked!”

She swivelled to face me. “Well Lucinda, a fine sentiment and sound advice, but perhaps a little superfluous in Charlotte’s case. Why the need for the dire warning may I ask?”

I felt myself blush bright red.

“I… I just didn’t want her to get in trouble today…” I said lamely “I…I…I thought we might ride this afternoon and I didn’t want her to be in discomfort.”

It was the best I could do and I don’t think Miss Downing believed me, but she had nothing to suggest another motive. Her eyes narrowed as she stepped forward to my desk. She picked up my book and flicked through the pages until she came to the place where I had torn off the corner.

“You have wantonly spoilt this book Lucinda haven’t you?”

“Yes miss,” I agreed reluctantly.

“And you have been wasting time sending silly, unnecessary notes instead of getting on with the exercise I have set you. Stand up young lady.”

I got to my feet, feeling very trembly and blushing bright red. “Please don’t spank me miss,” I begged.

“Give me one good reason why I should let you off a punishment you have richly deserved Lucinda?”

There was a good reason! The good reason was only five yards away and he was watching everything that was happening. But I could not betray him. I shook my head.
Miss Downing took her chair, placed it in the middle of the room and sat down. I knew what was going to happen and there was nothing I could say or do to prevent it. I also knew that, unknowingly, she had placed the chair in the worst possible place. Over her knee I would be looking out of the window and my bare bottom would be pointing directly at Freddie’s hiding place. He would see everything!

“Lift your skirts and get over my knee Lucinda. I have told you before, if you insist on acting like a silly little girl then that is how I will treat you. You never seem to learn.”

I felt like my face was bright, bright red, I could feel my cheeks burning. I knew that my face would not be the only part of my anatomy that would be bright burning red in a few minutes time! I lifted my skirts and lowered myself across Miss Downing’s lap. I gulped as I felt her untie my knickers and part them in order to bare my bottom. She didn’t hold back, she spanked me hard. It hurt like it always hurt but truth be told I hardly noticed the sting so aware was of the shameful display I was making of myself for Cousin Freddie!

It felt like an age before I was allowed to rise and return to my desk. I lowered myself onto the seat, my bottom smarting.

“Now let’s have no more nonsense Lucinda, get on with your work.” Miss Downing instructed.

I really wanted to now. I really wanted to find all ten of the errors in the accounts. If I could only present a perfectly completed exercise to Miss Downing I would avoid any more humiliation. Why oh why had I agreed to Freddie’s silly wager? He must have known what I was letting myself in for but he had done nothing to prevent me making a fool of myself. Try as I might I couldn’t concentrate on the page in front of me, all I could think of was Freddie watching as my bottom was bared and I was spanked like a naughty child! What on earth would he think of me now? He would be laughing every-time he saw me.

“Right ladies, that’s long enough,” Miss Downing announced. My stomach turned over with sick horror. I hadn’t found a single error in the accounts, not a single one!
Miss Downing went to Charlotte first. It didn’t take her long to mark Charlotte’s work.

“Well done Charlotte,” she enthused, “You really are excellent at this sort of thing. You will make someone a very good wife and run a very well ordered household if the evidence of this is to be believed.”

“Thank you Miss Downing,” Charlotte replied.

My heart sank even lower as Miss Downing turned to me. She picked up my exercise book and I saw a frown cross her face. She turned over the pages looking for my answers. She looked in vain, I had written nothing, not a single word.

“Even by your poor standards Lucinda, this is totally unacceptable,” she said icily. “I do not expect perfection from you but I do expect you to have tried. You have not even attempted the exercise, you have sat at that desk and you have dreamed the morning away.”

It was so unfair, it wasn’t a dream I was in it was a nightmare, and it was about to get even worse!

“Luckily for you Lucinda, I have something that will wake you up. Stand up and fetch me the cane.”

My mouth went dry. I hate being caned. Of all the implements she uses the cane is the worst. It hurts so much and it leaves horrid red welts that you go on feeling for days afterwards. I could have argued, I could have pleaded, but it would have been completely futile. I slowly stood up and pushed my chair back. Stiffly I walked across the room and opened the little cabinet of horrors that Freddy and I had laughed over yesterday. It wasn’t funny now and the thought that he was about to watch me being beaten was an especially horrid one. How stupid I had been, and now I was about to pay for my folly. I unhooked the cane and held it out to Miss Downing. She took it from me and flicked it casually through the air making me flinch.

“Face the window, bend over and grip your ankles,” she ordered.

Oh no! It was as bad as before, Freddie would see everything, absolutely everything!
Slowly I bent forward, my face burning with my shame. Miss Downing moved behind me and I felt her lift my skirts, folding them across my back. Her fingers parted my drawers, baring my bottom, and affording the unseen onlooker a perfect view of my feminine secrets. I tensed as I felt her place the rod across my bare cheeks. I gripped my ankles. She did not make me wait long. There was a swish of the cane and the retort as it bit home. Oh my! It hurt so much! I could not help but gasp aloud. No matter how many times you have been caned in the past the first stroke is always a shock, it always takes your breath away.

“You have only yourself to blame for this Lucinda,” Miss Downing said, sanctimoniously. “You are a very lazy little girl. You had plenty of time to attempt the exercise, I am vexed that you made not the slightest effort even to attempt to complete it. I do not enjoy having to punish you like this but if you can’t be bothered even to try then you leave me no choice but to discipline you.”

I just wished she would get on with it. She hadn’t said how many strokes I was to get, but it was clear that she was in no hurry. She left me bent over, the single stripe across my bottom still burning fiercely. I raised my head a little to watch her walk over to my desk and examine my exercise book again. She tutted her lips.
“Pure laziness,” she said. She walked back and placed the cane across my bottom again. I took a deep breath as she drew back the cane. The second landed a fraction lower than the first. Oh it stung so! I gritted my teeth and held on for dear life.

“You are a very lazy little girl Lucinda,” she announced. “What are you?”

I kept silent. It was too shameful to have to say that in the hearing of Cousin Freddie; what on earth would he think of me. I didn’t want him to view me as a ‘lazy little girl’ I wanted him to think of me as a sophisticated young woman.
Miss Downing whipped the cane down hard.

“Answer me girl!”

I shook my head.

She gave me another stroke, a low one, hard across the tops of my thighs. I could not help but cry out.

“Answer me Lucinda.” She placed the cane warningly across the hot, sore stripe that she had just marked on me. My fortitude failed me and the tears started to fall.

“I…am…a…lazy…little…girl…” I sniffed.

The cane swished down again, across the middle of my cheeks this time. I yelped with pain.

“Say it again, louder.”

“I… am… a… lazy…little…girl…” I sobbed.

For the sixth time Miss Downing whipped the cane across my poor bottom. I’m sure my bottom was now as red as my face!

“Stand up,” she ordered.

I quickly straightened up, my skirts falling back to restore my modesty. I thought my punishment was over, but it was not to be. Miss Downing took my elbow and led me over to the corner. She forced me to stand in the corner facing the wall. She lifted my skirts, exposing me again, and then, horror of horrors took two pins and pinned up my skirts to the yoke of my dress. I could have died with embarrassment.

“Place your hands on top of your head Lucinda,” she ordered “You will stay there until the ten minute gong goes for lunch. Do not move and do not unpin your skirts until then. I want you to stand in the corner and reflect on how a more diligent attitude would serve you better in the future. Charlotte, you are dismissed.”

I heard Charlotte get up and leave. I dared not move whilst Miss Downing was there, even though I was uncomfortably aware of the picture that I was still presenting to Freddy. It was a full ten minutes before she had finished whatever she was doing and I heard her chair scrape on the floor and her footsteps as she left. Even then I hesitated to move, for fear that she would return.

Freddie had no such hesitation. I heard the door open. I whipped my hands off my head to cover my bottom and turned as he came across the room. He was smiling, but it was a gentle smile of concern rather than a mocking one.

“Oh poor, poor Lucy,” he said. “She really is the nastiest witch of a governess isn’t she? You were absolutely right, she puts my Miss Littlefield totally in the shade.”

I managed a smile. “But what a brave girl you were! I would have been blubbing after the first but you took six real stingers with hardly a murmur.”

He took a step closer, and for a moment I forgot about my smarting bottom as he took my hands in his and drew me to him.

“I made a wager with you Lucy, that I have convincingly lost,” he said softly, his mouth close to my ear, “And so I must pay my dues. What would you like in payment?”

"A... a kiss?" I suggested tentatively.

Suddenly his lips were on mine, and I was melting in his arms. He kissed me, and oh what a kiss it was! I had heard girls giggle about being kissed like this but never imagined it would happen to me. He kissed me on my lips, and as my lips parted slightly his tongue was in my mouth! Oh it was such an incredible sensation. It made me tremble all over. He held me closer, letting go my hands to stroke down my back. I had forgotten my skirts were still pinned up but realised as soon as he hands moved lower to cup my bottom. He was touching my bare bottom! I almost swooned, as he stroked his fingers gently along the cane stripes. We broke apart and he looked deeply into my eyes.

“You are not a lazy little girl Lucy,” he said firmly, “You are my brave and valiant lady.”

I felt like my heart was melting. I was in love…truly in love!

“But now, regretfully, I must leave you to your time in the corner. It would not do for Miss Downing to catch us like this!”

He was right, it would be truly terrible if she were to come upon us making love! As much as I wanted him to stay I knew he was right. He gave me one more kiss and then he was gone. I put myself back in the corner, hands on head. It was a humiliating position for a girl my age, but I didn’t care, I didn’t care about my smarting bottom, I didn’t care about nasty Miss Downing, the only thing I cared about now was Freddie!

Cousins

2011-07-27T20:06:00.000+01:00

When I heard that Master Freddie was coming home my heart sank. He was sure to be a younger version of Sir George, stuffy and overbearing. It also meant that Charlotte and I would be even further down the pecking order. However, there was a chance that with Freddie getting all the attention Charlotte and I would be able to have a little more freedom to do as we liked. Although with Miss Downing keeping her beady eye on us the chances of that happening were fairly slim.

We were summoned to greet the returning hero. Eleanor and Johnny had been sent to meet him in the Rolls whilst the rest of the staff were lined up outside either side of the front door. Sir George, Charlotte and myself stood on the top step.

I saw the Rolls sweeping down the driveway. It really is a beautiful car, I’m surprised Sir George doesn’t go out in out more often – maybe the thought of being with Eleanor puts him off – it would me. I was surprised to see only two people in the car, and even more surprised to see a stranger in the front seat alongside Eleanor. Poor Johnny had obviously been jettisoned and left to walk. Eleanor’s doing, no doubt.

I had my first proper look at Freddie as the car drew to a halt on the gravel and a footman stepped forward to open the car door. He was taller than I had expected, quite a slender build, dark hair, a rather fetching moustache. I caught my breath, my he was something of a looker! I had heard that Freddie had been injured, so was expecting a sling, or a limp, or a crutch or something. But he seemed perfectly fine and moved without a hint of discomfort.

Beside me Sir George beamed a smile I had never witnessed before and hurried down the steps to greet his son. It was funny to see him put his arm around Freddie’s shoulders and lead him towards the line of servants. I felt a lump come to my throat as I remembered my own dear Daddy. I brushed a tear away with the back of my hand, determined not to show weakness in front of everyone. Charlotte squeezed my hand; she had noticed and probably felt the same.

I managed a smile as Freddie came up the steps.

“Cousin Charlotte, Cousin Lucy,” he beamed “I’ve heard so much about you.” He kissed me on the cheek and I caught the scent of his lovely manly smell. I couldn’t help but shiver, he was so handsome, so full of vitality.

We went through into the drawing room where tea was waiting. Freddie held court, amusing us all with stories of his journey home and all the daring deeds that had happened in South Africa. I found myself hanging onto his every word. I had feared he would be dull and stuffy like his father, I couldn’t have been more wrong. He was fascinating to listen to and very good to look at! Oh if only I could get him to myself, how wonderful that would be!

The opportunity came the very next morning. Since it was Saturday we had no lessons. Nevertheless I had risen quite early and had come down to breakfast before nine o’clock. There was only one other early riser at the table – Master Freddie!

He stood as I came in and wiped his moustache on his napkin.

“Cousin Lucy, why you do look very lovely this fine morning. I don’t know about you, but it seemed too nice a day to by lying in bed.”

I felt myself blush a little. I always go red when I’m complimented by a man; it doesn’t happen often enough for me to be used to it.

“Yes, it is very nice this morning,” I said. I gave myself a mental kick for sounding so insipid. “What are your plans for today cousin?”

“Oh I don’t know,” he said languidly. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been home. I’m sure much has changed at Winterbrook.” He fixed me with his gaze and I saw that his eyes were cornflower blue. “I say, why don’t you give me the guided tour?”

I nearly choked on my tea. “Oh…” I stammered “Yes, why not? That’s a splendid idea.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he said “I’m sure you’ve got other things arranged for today, I mustn’t impose upon you.” He gave me a lovely smile.

“No really, it would be a pleasure.”

And it was a pleasure. He was delightful company, attentive and charming and completely at ease. We toured the house, the stables, and the garden, chatting amiably as we went. We ended up back by the main staircase.

“Well Lucy, thank you for being such a diligent guide,” he said “What takes up most of your day at Winterbrook, it must be riding I imagine, since you love the horses so.”

“If only that were true,” I said, failing to hide the bitterness in my voice. “Most of my days, and Charlotte’s too, are wasted in pointless lessons in the schoolroom. We have a horrid governess who does not allow us a moments’ fun.”

“Oh really? That must be Miss Downing, I was introduced to her yesterday, she seemed pleasant enough.”

“You don’t know her, she’s nice enough in company but she’s nasty and mean in the schoolroom.”

“Do you use the old schoolroom at the top of the house?”

“Yes we do… would you like to see it?”

He grinned “That would bring back a few memories! Lead on Lucy.”

I led the way upstairs to the schoolroom. He stood in the middle of the little room and looked all around him, his hands on his hips.

“This place hasn’t changed at all!” he exclaimed “I haven’t been up here for ten years but it’s exactly the same as it always was. This was where I had my lessons when I was a boy. I had a governess too, Miss Littlefield, she was a holy terror I can tell you Lucy!”

“She sounds like Miss Downing. Was she awfully strict with you?”

He nodded. “Very strict indeed. She had a little cupboard where she kept the strap and the cane…” he paused and turned to look into the corner. “Well I never, it’s still there!”

He crossed the room and flung open the cupboard door. “My God the implements are identical… but I can’t believe Miss Downing ever has cause to use them on you or Charlotte.”

“Cause or not, we’ve both felt the sting of them,” I assured him. “I told you, she’s awfully mean to us.”

“Does she shut you in the cupboard too. I used to hate that.”

I shook my head. “No that’s never happened, what do you mean?”

He pointed to a door in the centre of the wall, a door that to my knowledge had never been opened. I shook my head again. He walked over a tried the handle, it was locked. He thought for a moment and then reached up to the lintel. When his hand came down there was a small brass key in it.

“Gosh I never knew that was there!” I said.

“No, and neither did Miss Downing, or I’m sure she’d have had you in here.”

So saying he unlocked the cupboard door. It was a shallow space, the wall lined with shelves. I reckoned there would be just room for a single person, but they would have to stand with their nose pressed to the inside of the door. I shuddered, imagining how dark and claustrophobic it would be in there.

“Your governess used to lock you in there?” I asked, the horror clear in my voice.

“Often, especially after I had been beaten, she said she didn’t want to have to look at my miserable face. It was horrid to begin with but after the first few times I found a way to make it bearable.”

“What did you do?”

“Come here and I’ll show you.”

He got me to put my face up close to the door. I wasn’t sure what he was trying to show me and then I saw it. There was a crack in the panel, a thin crack, but large enough to see through.

“I made that crack myself,” Freddie said “That way I could see out, and watch what she was doing. Polishing the cane ready to beat me again, usually!”

“She sounds as bad as Miss Downing!”

“I’m sure she was worse!”

“No governess is worse than Miss Downing!”

He laughed “If only I could be a fly on the wall I could see if that was true.”

It came to me in a sudden flash of inspiration. “But you can see for yourself, it’s very easy. All you need to do is hide in the cupboard and you will see everything!”

He laughed “Oh Lucy, you are a girl after my own heart! What a wonderful wheeze that would be! Shall I, shall I really?”

“You must!” I urged him. “If only to prove me right. I wager you’ll find that Miss Downing is five times worse than your Miss Littlefield!”

“Oh a wager is it now?! Very well then Cousin Lucy… but it will cost you a kiss if I’m right.”

I felt myself blush again. “Very well, you have your wager Cousin Freddie!”

Lucy

The Returning Hero

2011-07-24T13:54:00.000+01:00

Well I say! What a spiffing day it’s been. I’m not sure what I expected Master Freddie to be like but I certainly didn’t imagine he’d be quite such jolly good fun!

We arrived at the Station in plenty of time. The Rolls was running like a dream; I’d have been upset if it hadn’t been given the amount of time and attention I lavish upon it. Johnny was rather quiet at first. He’s the youngest member of staff at Winterbrook and he gets plenty of teasing from the maids. As a result he’s quite shy around girls but I soon had him laughing and telling me a few tales he shouldn’t have! They all know that Mrs Kelling is Sir George’s mistress and that the two of them have a fine old time of it when she comes to visit. I listened with fascination. I’m jolly glad to say that I didn’t go too far with that cad Archie Hamilton, not that he didn’t try! But one does think about it quite a lot and you can’t help looking at a chap now and then and wondering what it might be like.

Johnny had come along to carry the bags to the car and also because I wouldn’t recognise Master Freddie from Adam – or so I thought. Just shows how wrong Ellie Randall can be! I could have spotted him from a mile off. The splendid army uniform was a bit of a give-away I must admit, but even in mufti I’d have known it was him. He didn’t walk, he sort of swaggered, his upper lip sported a wonderful ‘tache (I do like a man with a few whiskers!), and there was something about his whole bearing that said military man! Johnny trailed in his wake carrying his luggage.

I stepped out of the car and opened the door for him swinging up a smart salute as I did so.

I was gratified to see him stop in his tracks, his mouth gaping like a startled trout! He quickly recovered his composure.

“My word!” he exclaimed, “My dear Papa must be losing his marbles at long last. You can’t possibly be our new chauffeur can you?”

“Yes sir, I am.” I said, trying to remain serious and solemn.

“Godzooks! What a delectable creature you are! Let me have a proper look at you!”

Before I could stop him he had stepped forward and swept the cap of my head, dislodging my hairpin in the process. My fair hair came tumbling down around my shoulders. He took a step back and looked me up and down.

“Why, you are a fine filly!” he exclaimed.

I grinned; it’s been a long time since a handsome man has paid me a compliment like that and Master Freddie is jolly handsome!

“What’s your name, my little chaufferette?” he asked.

“It’s Randall sir,” I said, trying my hardest to remain formal and proper.

“That’s not a girl’s name, I can’t call you that!”

“My first name is Eleanor,” I replied, feeling a blush come to my cheeks as he fixed me with his gaze.

“Eleanor! A beautiful name for a beautiful girl!” he said.

Through all this Johnny was stood there, gaping, the bags at his feet.

Master Freddie noticed him at last.

“Throw them on the back seat my boy!” he commanded.

“Yes sir,” Johnny replied with a tug to his forelock.

He managed to get the bags into the back of the car, then hurried around to get into the front passenger seat.

“No no,” Freddie said airily, “I’m going to sit up front with the delectable Miss Randall.”

“Very well sir,” Johnny said, holding open the door. “I’ll get in the back then sir?”

Master Freddie shook his head. “No Johnny I don’t think we’ll be needing you along the way. You can make your own way back to Winterbrook.

Poor Johnny looked completely crestfallen. He had enjoyed the ride out to the station, and besides which it was a good six miles back to the hall!

Freddie hopped up into the car. “Drive on Miss Randall, drive on!”

Well I didn’t have much choice. I felt sorry for Johnny but the young master had made it very obvious that he wanted to be alone with me and already my heart was pounding at the prospect! As I pulled away from the station I glanced in the mirror to see Johnny standing there dejectedly, his hands in his pockets. Freddie saw me look.

“Don’t worry about him,” he said blithely “The walk’ll do him good, bit of fresh air never did anyone any harm! I’ll let Jenks know not to expect him back anytime soon. Didn’t want him spoiling our fun now did we?!”

“No sir,” I replied, trying to hide the excitement in my voice.

“Now tell me about yourself Eleanor,” he said, “you’re not from the ranks are you? Your voice tells me that. How come you’re driving motors for my dear Papa?”

So I explained the circumstances that had brought me to Winterbrook Hall. I reached the point about my broken engagement.

“Archie Hamilton eh?” Freddie exclaimed, “Must be a complete bounder to have thrown you off simply because you no longer had the dosh. Didn’t the fellow have eyes in his head to see that he’d caught the prettiest girl this side of Durban! Must need his brains testing, or his eyes or both!”

I blushed again and didn’t quite know what to say. I’m not usually lost for words, quite the reverse in fact, most times I don’t know when to shut up!

“So how’s Papa been treating you then?” he asked.

“Mmmm… well he is quite strict…” I ventured.

Freddie snorted with laughter. “You’re not telling me he’s been disciplining you like one of the maids?”

I felt myself go even redder. It was all I could do to nod my head.

“I’ll have to have a word with him about that!” Freddie said “Can’t have an old goat like him laying his hands on a lovely creature like you. It’s just not right!”

I couldn’t agree with him more. I turned and flashed him my most winning smile. He grinned back but then suddenly grimaced.

“Oh golly are you in pain?” I asked him, suddenly remembering that he was supposed to be wounded. I pulled the Rolls into the side of the road and drew to a stop. I turned towards him, concern writ large on my face.

He stopped grimacing and grinned instead. Before I could even think of trying to stop him he put a hand on each side of my face and kissed me! He kissed me! And what a kiss it was! A proper kiss, open mouthed, French-style! I felt myself melt inside and responded enthusiastically. Archie had never kissed me like that!

We surfaced and he grinned again.

“That was rather splendid!” he said, “Would you like another?”

“Yes please!”

The second kiss was even better than the first as I wasn’t so surprised this time and could enjoy it to the full.

We broke apart and he sat back and looked at me, his eyes sparkling.

“Well there doesn’t seem to me much wrong with you!” I observed.

“You’ve kissed it better!” he said, his eyes twinkling, “I’ll know where to come to if I’m in pain again.”

I don’t think he was in pain at all! The grimace was just a ruse to make me stop the car so he could kiss me before we got in sight of Winterbrook. He put his hand on my knee and gave it a gentle squeeze, a squeeze that sent a shiver of thrill up my spine.

“Drive on,” he said softly. His hand didn’t move from my leg until we reached the gates, it’s a bally wonder I didn’t crash the car!

I drew up in front of the house. The whole household was there to meet him. One of the footmen stepped forward to open the car door and Freddie got out to be greeted by his father.

“My boy, welcome home to Winterbrook!”

Sir George led him off towards the house, his arm around his son’s shoulders. Just as they reached the steps Freddie turned and gave me a great big wink!

Oh I am looking forward to the next few weeks! Winterbrook has gone from deathly dull to jolly exciting in just one afternoon! Lucky Eleanor Randall, that’s what I say!

Eleanor

Collecting Freddie

2011-07-23T13:52:00.000+01:00

Well, I must say the past months at Winterbrook Hall have been a bit of a disappointment. It's astonishing to me how anyone could own a ravishing beauty like our Grey Ghost and leave her shut up in an old garage all the time. I suspect, with Sir George, that in some matters just the joy of ownership is enough. He wouldn't like to hear me say it, but it reminds me of the way Mama used to be before our troubles. She'd spend an entire winter sighing over the Paris magazines, make a gigantic fuss about not having a thing to wear, spend shocking amounts on getting herself and her maids over to the au fait dressmaker of the season, and then even shocking-er amounts of getting a whole new rack of glad-rags fitted, made up, and carted back home. Then she'd have the girls pack it all into the wardrobe and she'd go back to wearing the insipid dove-grey dresses that Mrs. Miller down the road has been making for her for the last twenty years! The silly!

Oh, perhaps it's not quite a fair comparison. Sir George makes noises about sparing petrol and not flashing about in a motor car for short trips when its every appearance stirs up the villagers. Why this should embarrass him I just can't say. He's the Lord of the Manor, silly man. It's not as if his wealth is the best kept secret of the parish! Anyhow, the long and short of it is that I hardly every get to take my beauty out. I've convinced him that the motor really does need regular exercise, just like a horse, and I'm allowed to run her around the edges of the estate for half an hour every Saturday afternoon. Just thrilling, I can assure you. Although there was that time I took a wrong turn and ditched my poor darling. When I stumbled in, my new uniform coated with spring muck, and the poor Ghost panting in the drive, her engine full of the same, there was hell to pay. Of course I got her cleaned up and there wasn't a mark on her, which is more than I can say for myself!

I must say, even aside from the boredom and the beatings, the company here at Winterbrook leaves much to be desired. My duties are simple, my cottage is perfectly charming, and I lack nothing but conversation and larks. But it is a lack! Gosh, I've been homesick. Not for Mama, not really, but for my friends. I haven't seen one of them since Father's disgrace. Of course, I'm sure their mothers are keeping them away. For all sorts of important dull reasons. And I'm sure they'd be embarrassed if they came, seeing me in employment, but it wouldn't last long. I'd take them out in the motor and it would be just like old times. At least, I'd like to think so. Perhaps not. The young ladies of the house here have offered me very little by way of friendship, but they are so strictly kept that I don't like to think they ignore me of their own accord. As a girl chauffeur, the idea seems to be that I am "fast" company for two such delicate and marriageable girls as they've been brought up to be. It doesn't make any sense. Oh, the boring, literal minds of the old and stuffy!

I mustn't moan. I'm disappointed in myself, actually. I have had some fun with the lads around the place. At first they were a little shocked at a girl who was happy to get as messy as them, and stain her overcoat with oil. Then they thought I was too, too funny. They are too young and silly for anything like real friendship, but they are as light-hearted as anyone can be in this mausoleum of a house and they're warm to me and generous with their jokes. If you'd ever told me that Eleanor Randal would be relying on little boys for society I would have thought it a rum joke! But they are friendly and helpful and sometimes even sweet in their shy rough way and will do anything for me if I promise them a chance to sit behind the wheel of the (stationary!) motor. The older servants don't seem to know quite what to do with me. They certainly don't bring me into their gossip, which I suppose is just as well. How many times, when I was stuffed into a corset and drawing room with Mama and her friends and their gossip, did I wish myself out of that predicament and into one like this, where my time is my own, and I may drift about, polishing the Ghost and pouring over my motoring magazines, with no thought to my hair or my hands or my complexion? All in all, though it hasn't been what I'd expected or hoped, it's a cracking life, really.

But look at me writing about silly things that don't matter! All this leads up to the fact that Sir George surprised the socks off of me this morning by sending Jenks to tell me that I was to go to the station and collect Master Freddie this afternoon!

The house, as far as I can gather, have been in a flutter about this Master Freddie ever since they got word that he's been injured and is coming home. I've seen an unprepossessing photograph of a fat winking baby half smothered in lace, and I've heard all matter of witterings by the house servants, which cease when I enter the room, but I gather the Little Lordling has brought all manner of honour to the Empire by getting thumped by some Boer or other. Which I suppose is pretty brilliant of him. Anyhow, I'd imagined they would send the carriage, as usual, but it appears that Sir George thinks the Ghost will make for a smoother journey for the invalid. Of course she will! The most surprising thing is being sent with only little Johnny, to carry the bags. I would have imagined that Sir George would want to meet his hero son himself, or send Jenks at the very least. But I suppose there are all manner of preparations to be completed before the Heir arrives, preparations too important not to be overseen by the most exacting eyes in the house.

There's Johnny now. The Ghost is looking her best, and so am I. Well, at least I'm in my one unstained duster. I'll finish this, make sure funny Johnny's washed his face and then we're off to bear home the suffering Hero!

Eleanor

The Return of Winterbrook

2011-07-22T21:27:00.000+01:00

After a gap of a year the story of Winterbrook Hall is set to continue. With the attention that the name of Middleton has attracted in recent months it seemed prudent to check the genealogy of Charlotte and Lucinda as we would not wish to cause embarassment to the Duchess of Cambridge or her family. We are happy to report that no such connection exists between the girls at Winterbrook Hall and our Royal family and so the story can continue to be told.

A Summer's Evening

2010-06-08T09:00:00.004+01:00

I couldn’t hide it from Jake. Truth is I can’t hide anything from him anymore. One questioning look and I blush. So he knew immediately something was wrong. Knew the smile I greeted him with wasn't honest.

It had become a very comforting habit this evening walk of ours, where arm in arm we’d take a stroll around the grounds. On this occasion we walked in the direction of the woods. The wild flowers were out in abundance and for a moment I was distracted by a glorious bunch of bluebells dancing in the soft evening breeze.

They reminded me of when I was little and father would tell me in all seriousness that if I shook one I’d hear it's bell ring out. It was hard to believe he was gone, would I ever get used to it?

Jake broke in on my thoughts. ‘So out with it, what’s happened today then that has you so upset?’

I felt the colour rise to my cheeks, embarrassed at the thought of it. And angry that he expected me to share. Could nothing be a secret? ‘None of your business,’ I scowled, my tone cutting. ‘Just keep out of it Jake Dodson.’

He gave me an even look in return. ‘If you’re going to act like a lil’ ‘un not able for a civil conversation then I’ll have to put you over my knee until you get grown up,’ he said calmly.

Wretched man, how could he stand there and say such things? I hated how all the men at Winterbrook thought it was their God given right to beat women. Sir George, Jenks and Jake too. At least Father didn't think the same.

Not for the first time I asked myself why I put up with Jake. Not that he had touched me since last year, when he'd put me across his knee and spanked me for being in the woods alone at night. I had ended things then, but it seemed nothing had changed.

And I snapped, the tensions of the day spilling over on him. Stamping my foot I cried, ‘God damn it then get on with it and beat me seeing as that’s all you’re interested in anyway!’

Still he was calm, refusing to rise to my words. We faced each other in silence. ‘Nothing else to say Jake?’ I taunted. ‘No more threats to make?’

The swiftness of his next actions took me by surprise and he had tucked me under his arm before I realised it. He delivered several quick swats to my behind without a word. Even through my clothing it stung but I took it quietly, seething with anger.

I would not satisfy him by struggling or crying out. When he finally let me up I glared at him. ‘Are you done or do you want to beat me some more?’ I demanded.

‘If you’re asking for it, I’ll happily bare your behind and give it to you proper’ he replied still in that infuriatingly calm manner.

I shook my head sullenly, suspecting that he was enjoying this exchange far more than I. But I didn’t resist as he took my arm and we continued our walk. Once again I was confused. Why did I let him do this to me? Why couldn’t I banish him from my life? A little voice whispered that I deserved what I got, that I had goaded him after all. Angrily I shushed it, afraid of what it meant.

It was a few minutes before he spoke and asked me once more what had happened. Glad of the time to collect myself I told him. Of oversleeping that morning. That although Miss Charlotte had dressed herself and made her own bed without a word Mrs Fuller had noticed my absence. She had come to find me scrambling hastily into my clothes. Whereupon she had ordered me to report to Jenks.

Nervously I knocked on the door of his office. He had been kind to me these past few months but I didn’t expect leniency this time and I was not to receive it. He had lectured me soundly and warned me that tardiness was not acceptable especially from a senior maid of my responsibilities, how I'd let myself down. That point had made me feel very wretched. To think I was failing in my duties. I was almost relieved when he ordered me to bare my bottom and position myself over the chair.

From the corner of my eye I could see him flex his heavy leather strap and took a tight hold of the chair legs. As he lifted the strap for the first stroke he warned if it happened again he’d take me straight to Sir George to be caned.

Thankful for the mercy of avoiding such an encounter I tried to be brave for the 12 strokes he gave me. I clung to the chair in agony, sweating with the effort of staying in position. How much it had hurt. Each stroke feeling worse than the last until I couldn't stop the tears from falling. I shivered thinking of it now. Of the pain and the shame of fumbling to fix my clothing afterwards and Jenks' hand on my shoulder telling me he was very disappointed in me.

Jake listened in silence to my tale. Putting his arm around me he gave me a tight hug remarking quietly, ‘I’m surprised he whipped you for that Maria. No warning?’

I couldn’t meet his eye as I confessed I’d had a warning only the week before, for the same offence. Couldn't tell him of how exhausted I was lately. Or admit that he was right in advising me not to be going home so many evenings. Getting back to Winterbrook so late left little time for a good night's sleep.

Jake tutted in sympathy and pulled me closer. I relaxed in the comfort of him, my doubts about him forgotten once more.

We were nearing his cottage and to my surprise he guided me inside. I stood watching quietly as he drew the curtains and lit the lamps. The room was sparsely furnished but spotlessly clean and smelt of him, of Jake.

He offered tea but I refused it, suddenly unsure of myself. We hadn't been here since the night he told me about Father, and I wasn’t sure what to expect. When he finally sank into the big armchair by the fire and beckoned me to him, I hesitated. His smile reassured me and I went to him, allowing him to settle me on his knee. I'm a tall girl all things considered but Jake always makes me feel small. I couldn't decide if I liked this or not.

At first he spoke gently. ‘We’ve talked about this before Maria. You can’t keep going home so often. Not with working such long day.’

‘I don’t go home half as much as I did, you know that,’ I argued back, grasping his hand in mine as I spoke.

‘It’s still too often.' His voice firmer now. 'Your mother has John and Peter now. You don’t have to take it all on yourself.’

There was truth in his words. My brothers were both on hand. John and his wife had moved in with Mother, and Peter had given up his job in the next town to help him in the forge. I wasn't needed as much but I tried to go home as often as I could anyway, it was my duty.

‘Now let me see the damage that brute Jenks did to my little Maria.’ Ignoring my protests he turned me face down over his lap and slowly drew my skirts up. I squirmed as he parted my drawers. Then flinched as he gently stroked the marks the belt had made.

'My poor Maria, my brave little girl,’ he soothed. My cheeks flushed hot at his touch, both wanting him to stop and continue. I was glad he could not see my face. When his hand dipped between my legs I struggled to get up but he held me firm.

‘Now be a good girl and take what you’re given,’ he scolded ‘or I’ll give you something you won’t like as much.’ I sighed and gave myself up to him. His fingers probed and rubbed my private places, making me whimper in delight. It had never felt like this when I touched myself there.

I need relief. In frustration, I wriggled against his fingers, aching for him to go faster. But each time I did so he slowed down even more. ‘I’m in charge here Maria, not you,’ he told me firmly. ‘Just take what you’re given’.

Several times he took me to the cusp of my peak but pulled back before I was satisfied until I begged for release. And when it finally came I cried out uncontrollably.

I was far from composed when he finally let me up. In embarrassment I buried my face in his shoulder, ashamed of my wantonness. He merely laughed and held me tight, whispering of other things he was going to do to me. We sat entwined like that until all too soon it was time for me to go.

Jake walked me back to the house and kissed me chastely on my cheek as we parted. ‘Behave yourself Maria or else,’ he teased and I half-scowled, half-laughed back at him as he disappeared down the path.

I slipped quietly up the back stairs hoping to get to my room without rising Alice. Her endless questions would not be welcome right now. I needed to be alone to compose my thoughts. It had been quite an eventful evening!

But luck was not on my side I had just reached my door when she appeared in the hall. ‘Oh Maria what do you think, the house is in uproar, Master Freddie is coming home!’

In Loco Parentis

2010-06-04T14:03:00.002+01:00

I spotted the bicycles before I saw the two they belonged to. I was taking a short-cut across the lower meadow when I came across them. The bicycles looked like they had been abandoned, thrown haphazardly against the hedge, but they weren’t abandoned, their owners were not far away, down in the long grass; making hay you might say. A boy and a girl. The lad I knew at once, Harry Kemp, one of the labourers from the neighbouring farm. He had three buttons of the girl’s blouse undone and was working on a fourth. She was giggling and trying to push his hand away but it was no more than a token effort at resistance. I didn’t recognise her until she lifted her head and I caught a glimpse of her face. I was quite taken aback. I’d expected a maid or a farm girl, this was neither. This was Miss Emily Garnston, the Rector’s daughter, most widely known around these parts for her Evangelical disposition and her zealous efforts to bring heathen’s to the Lord! Well, I can assure you that it wasn’t a prayer meeting I had just stumbled across!

“Excuse me!” I said loudly.

They jumped apart as though struck by a bolt of lightning.

“Bloody hell!” Harry swore. He leapt to his feet, rapidly buttoning his fly. He grabbed his bicycle, threw his leg over the crossbar and was off across the field without a backward glance. So much for gallantry! Miss Garnston got to her feet, her blonde hair all askew, very red in the face. She made to mount her machine as well but I was too quick for her. I grabbed the handlebars.
“And where do you think you’re going Miss Garnston?” I challenged her.

It was only then that she realised that it wasn’t a stranger who had stumbled across her and her beau.

“Oh! Oh Mr Jenks!” she said breathlessly.

“Oh indeed! I’m shocked Miss Garnston, I truly am. A good Christian girl like you, going with a man! How long has this been going on for? Whatever would your father say?”

She blushed an even deeper red. “Please don’t tell my father…” she pleaded “We weren’t doing any harm… just talking.”

“Don’t lie to me young lady! I have the evidence of my own eyes. I saw exactly what you and Harry Kemp were doing. Lewd and immoral behaviour, that’s what I call it. A few moments more and he would have had you half-naked. I think you had better come with me.”

She picked up her straw boater and put it on.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked anxiously. I hesitated for a moment. Where was I going to take her and what was I going to do with her? I could accompany her back to the Rectory and hand her over to her father, but there was little sport to be had with that. I could deal with her myself, but that might not be wise if she thought to complain – if it was her word against mine I wasn’t sure I’d come out best. No, let Sir George deal with her. I had a fair idea what his reaction might be and with any luck I would get to witness it all.

“I’m taking you up to the hall.” I told her. “Sir George needs to hear about this and to decide what’s to be done with you. You’re on his land.”

It took us ten minutes to reach the hall. We didn’t speak. I made her lean her bicycle up against the kitchen wall then led her through the house. We reached the door to Sir George’s study.

“Stand there, and don’t try to run away. You’ll only make it worse on yourself if you do,” I told her sternly.

I knocked on the study door and when Sir George called out I went in. He was working on some papers at his desk.

“My apologies for disturbing you sir,” I said.

“Yes Jenks what is it?”

“There is a situation that I think you should perhaps attend to,” I said. “I was walking across the lower meadow but twenty minutes ago when I happened across a young couple cavorting in the grass. The boy I recognised as Harry Kemp, one of Mr Lawson’s labourers, but the other, I was shocked to discover was Miss Emily Garnston.”

“Emily Garnston, the Rector’s daughter?” Sir George asked incredulously.

“Indeed sir, the very same.”

“Are you sure Jenks? Emily Garnston, the blonde girl, pretty little thing? I thought that she was a pious girl, given to good works, preaching and the like. Doesn’t she come up to speak to the servants sometimes, gives ‘em religious tracts and so on and so forth? Are you sure it was her?”

“Quite sure sir, in fact she is standing outside the door right now. I thought you might like to speak to her, to give her some guidance perhaps?”

“Damn right I would! Fetch her in Jenks!”

“Very well sir.” I suppressed a grin; this was going to be very entertaining – although I suspected that Emily was not going find it as amusing as I would.

I brought Emily in. She stood in the centre of the carpet, biting her lip, her hands clasped behind her back.

“Well Miss Garnston, this is a very surprising turn of events I must say,” Sir George remarked. “I can’t imagine that your father is going to be best pleased when I tell him of what you’ve been up to. Frolicking in the meadow with a farm boy like some common trollop! What have you got to say for yourself young lady?”

“P…p…please Sir George, please don’t tell my father,” Emily begged. “He thinks the world of me and it would break his heart if he knew how wicked I had been.”

“Wicked is the right word Miss Garnston,” Sir George said severely, “You have no excuse. You know the difference between right and wrong. How could you let yourself down like this?”

“I’m very sorry sir,” Emily said wretchedly. “I got carried away. Harry has had a thing for me for many a month but I’ve always resisted him. But he’s a handsome boy, and on such a lovely day… and…” her voice trailed away.

“That’s no excuse Miss Garnston. You should have exercised some self-control, some self-discipline. You have demonstrated that your personal morality is but skin deep. One look from a handsome young man and you become a girl of easy virtue. Disgusting, that’s what I call it, disgusting!”

It was wonderful to hear the old hypocrite getting himself into a lather about her immoral behaviour. He seems to forget his moral rectitude when it comes to Mrs Kelling!

“W… what are you going to do with me sir?” Emily stammered.

“Well, I have no desire to distress your dear father, a man for whom I have the greatest respect. So perhaps it would be best if I acted in loco parentis.”

“What do you mean sir?” Emily asked anxiously.

“I mean that I intend to discipline you as your father would do, to act in his place. I am going to give you the beating you undoubtedly deserve, in the hope that it puts you back on the straight and narrow.”

Emily had gone suddenly very pale.

“A beating?” she said tremulously.

“Of course. Being a man of the bible I’m sure that your father upholds the injunction in the Book of Proverbs – spare the rod and spoil the child!”

“Why no sir, father never beats us…”

“Well perhaps if he had you would not have fallen so swiftly into licentiousness as you have this afternoon. However, if you would prefer to throw yourself on your father’s mercy I would be happy to have you taken back to the Rectory and I will explain to him exactly what has occurred.”

“No… no” Emily said quickly “I’ll take my punishment. I…I…deserve it.” She dipped her head and I heard her sniff away the start of her tears.

“Very well. Let’s get this over and done with,” Sir George said. “Lift your skirts, untie your drawers and bend over the arm of the sofa.”

I saw Emily give him a panicked look. I doubt that any man had seen her womanly delights, certainly Harry Kemp hadn’t got that far. Sir George didn’t see the look, he was too busy selecting a cane. Emily hesitated for a moment then crossed the room to stand at the end of the sofa. She reached up inside her skirt to untie her drawers, then lifted the hem of her skirts and bent forward over the sofa arm. I looked on, pleased that Sir George hadn’t instructed me to leave the room. Emily had a rather pert little bottom, very round and very white. She buried her head in the sofa cushions, her blonde hair fanning out to cover her face.

Sir George turned, flexing the cane in his hands. He gave it a practice swish through the air and I saw Emily tremble at the sound. She had probably never been caned before. Some of the girls' boarding schools use the rod as enthusiastically as the boys’ schools but I knew that Emily hadn’t been sent away to school.

Sir George placed the cane across the centre of Emily’s bottom. She took a firm grip on the sofa cushions, balling the material into her fists. Sir George drew the cane back. He paused at the top of his swing then brought the rod swishing through the air. It landed hard across Emily’s bare cheeks. She jerked against the arm of the sofa and emitted a long low gasp of pain. Her white bottom was now marked with a neat red stripe.

Sir George gave her a second stroke. It caught her just half an inch below the first. She stifled a squeal and kicked her stocking-clad heal up as the pain cut into her.

It’s been a while since I’ve had the pleasure of witnessing Sir George caning a girl, and what a pleasure it is. He doesn’t rush the proceedings, nor does he lash out wildly. Each stroke is carefully measured and cleanly delivered. He lays them on tight but he knows what he’s doing. Hard and accurate, that’s his style. Not one stroke strayed from the target area and you could count each and every stripe, the angry red in contrast to the pure soft white of Emily’s pretty bottom.

She took her caning well. Eight strokes he gave her, and although she gasped and cried and although she wept she did not try to protect herself with her hand or rise from the sofa until given permission to do so.

When it was over Sir George instructed her to stand and face the wall, with her skirt bunched up into her hands and her red bottom on display.

“I hope you have learned your lesson Miss Garnston and that this chastisement will encourage you to return to your previous good conduct.”

“Yes sir, thank you sir,” Emily sniffed.

“Very well. I will leave you to think about what has happened and how you will amend your behaviour for the future. For my part I shall consider the matter closed and we shall not refer to it again.” Sir George told her.

He turned to me. “Jenks, I have some business to attend to in the stable. I would like you to make sure that Miss Garnston remains in position for the next half hour and then make sure that she goes safely home.”

When he had left the room I went over to Emily. I turned her to face me, she was crying softly. She threw her arms around me and sobbed against my shoulder. I stroked her lovely fair hair.
“There, there Emily, it’s all over now.” I said soothingly. I held her close and let her cry herself out. Eventually her tears stopped.

“I feel so ashamed of myself,” she said miserably. “How could I have let myself down like that, what on earth was I thinking of?”

“Don’t worry lass,” I told her, “You’re not a wicked girl, not really. You’re a good girl who made a silly mistake. And now you’ve paid for it.”

“Thank you Mr Jenks,” she said gratefully, “Should I stand back facing the wall like I was before? That’s what Sir George said I must do.”

“I think you’d better Miss,” I told her “Just in case Sir George comes back.”

There was little chance of that happening, once he gets talking horses with the head groom he can be gone for hours. But Emily didn’t know that, nor did she know what a delightful half hour it would be for me as I sat back in Sir George’s favourite arm-chair and contemplated his handiwork on her lovely bottom! I do love a decent work of art.

Seasons in the Sun

2010-05-25T20:17:00.002+01:00

It is tiresome, for all concerned, to sit in a classroom on a beautiful, warm, early summer’s day. We are enjoying a spell of glorious weather so I resolved that we would spend our afternoon lesson out in the sunshine. An accomplishment which all ladies should possess is that of drawing and sketching, especially subjects from the natural world so I ensured that both Lucy and Charlotte were equipped with a sketching pad and pencils.

It was lovely to be outside and the girls looked very pretty in their white summer dresses. We made our way down through the bottom pasture to a spot that I knew on the river bank. It is not a deep river rather more of a stream or brook, and it made the perfect location to sit and sketch.

Charlotte took to it immediately and was soon engrossed in her work. Sadly to say, Lucy did not share her sister’s enthusiasm for the pastoral scene. She made a few half-hearted efforts but was soon sitting back on the grass, her hands behind her head.

“Come, come Lucinda,” I chided her “You can do more than that I’m sure.”

“Drawing is boring,” she said petulantly, “And I’m too hot. May I paddle in the stream?”

“Certainly not,” I said firmly, “That would hardly be ladylike.”

Lucy gave a theatrical sigh and with great reluctance picked up her sketching pad again. I turned to Charlotte, whose drawing was progressing nicely.

“That’s excellent Charlotte, I think you really have the eye for this,” I complemented her.

“Thank you,” she smiled.

Charlotte and I have been getting on very well recently and she has begun to take me more and more into her confidence. Seeing that Lucy was now engaged in her work she turned to me with a question.

“Miss Downing, may I speak to you about Martin?”

I nodded. Her face lit up with a beautiful smile. When she speaks of her young man she seems to glow from inside. She told me of the latest news from him, the letters she gets every couple of days.

“I really do believe that he is the man for me. I know that he is not from the gentry, but neither am I if the truth were told. I think we could be very happy together. He is a good man Miss Downing, he is kind and generous and I know that he loves me.”

“How do you know Charlotte?”

“I know because he has told me so and because of the way he looks at me, and the tenderness in his voice,” she replied urgently. “If only Sir George were to meet him I know that he would approve of him. He may only be a country parson but he has fine manners. He really is the perfect gentleman and I cannot see why Sir George would dislike him.”

“I think Sir George would find it hard to accept a suitor for you that he hasn’t arranged himself.”
Charlotte looked downcast.

“Oh Miss Downing there must be a way to persuade him. Perhaps if you were to speak to him yourself?”

I shook my head “I would gladly intercede for you Charlotte but it would be to little avail, I do not think I have much in the way of influence with Sir George…”

I stopped mid sentence, my attention suddenly caught by a sound. I looked around. Lucy’s sketch pad lay abandoned on the grass and with it her shoes and stockings! I turned my head. There she was in the stream, holding her skirts up above her knees and splashing around in the water like a ten year old!

“Lucinda!” I shouted, clapping my hands to get her attention, “Come out of there at once!”

She glared at me, the hostility clear in her eyes. She splashed her way to the bank and walked slowly over to where we were sitting. The colour was high on her cheekbones and she did not give me a chance to speak.

“I can’t have any fun, any pleasure with you can I?” she demanded.

That was a little rich considering the fact that I had brought them down to the river bank to enjoy an afternoon in the sun!

“You are determined to make my life as miserable as possible!” she said petulantly “You’re like some dried up old witch.”

That was more than enough. I felt my own temper rise but fought to keep my voice calm and level.

“I will not demean myself by rising to that hurtful comment,” I told her. “Put your shoes and stockings on and return to the house. Go to the schoolroom and wait for me there you horrid little girl.”

There was an awkward silence whilst Lucy got dressed. She would not look at me or her sister and she strode off back to the house, still in high dudgeon.

“Please don’t be too hard on her Miss Downing,” Charlotte pleaded, “she’s not finding life at Winterbrook very easy at the moment, I think she is rather jealous of me and Martin”

“That is no excuse for her rudeness or her disobedience Charlotte. I’m only glad that you are more sensible. Now let me have a think about how I might help you with your guardian…”

Lucy was waiting in the schoolroom when we returned to the house some forty minutes later. I had wondered whether she might defy me in this as well but obviously she had decided that that would have been one provocation too many and thought better of it. She was sitting at her school desk, looking sulky and still defiant.

“Well Lucinda, do you have anything to say for yourself?” I asked.

“I was doing no harm,” she replied, “You were talking to Charlotte, she wasn’t working, so I thought it would be nice to cool off in the river. There was no-one watching so what did it matter if it was unlady-like?”

“What matters, young lady, is that you deliberately ignored my instructions to you. You asked if you might paddle in the river and I told you that you might not. You chose to defy me and were then very rude to me.”

She blushed “I’m sorry I was rude,” she said “I lost my temper.”

“A lady must never lose her temper like that Lucinda, it is most unseemly. However, I accept your apology.”

I placed my chair in the centre of the room and sat down. “The rudeness I will overlook, the disobedience I cannot. Come her Lucinda.”

She knew what was coming, it had happened often enough. Slowly she pushed her own chair back and came and stood beside me, twisting her fingers in front of her. It had been a while since she was last punished, but no doubt the memory of last time was fresh in her mind. However, I had no intention of using the strap on her on this occasion. If she chose to act like a spoilt child then she would be punished like one.

“Over my knee,” I ordered.

Reluctantly she bent over across my lap. I lifted her skirts and arranged then across the small of her back, then untied her drawers so that I might bare her bottom properly. Her bottom had fully recovered from the severe thrashing I had given her last time and was milky white. I rested my open palm on her left cheek then lifted my hand and brought it smartly down. She did not react; no gasp of pain, no truncated squeal, no wriggling. I smacked her bottom again, a little harder. Again there was no reaction. Six more times I brought my palm down on her bare bottom to the same effect, or rather lack of effect. It was clear that she had decided to be stoical, to grit her teeth and to endure her punishment without giving me the satisfaction of knowing that I was getting through to her. That was a very foolish thing to do. It was simply further evidence of the defiance she had shown at the riverbank and could not be tolerated.

The spanking that Lucy got was harder and more prolonged that it would otherwise have been. It was a full five minutes before she gave her first gasp of pain and a minute more before she started to wriggle. That was enough, I did not need her in tears, the point had been made. Her bottom was scarlet and would undoubtedly continue to smart for the next hour or so.

“Stand up,” I ordered.

Lucy stood, reaching under her skirts to re-tie her drawers. Her face was very flushed and she looked on the verge of crying.

“You may go Lucinda,” I said gently, “It is two hours until dinner and I shall expect you there looking properly presentable and in a better frame of mind then you have exhibited this afternoon.”

She didn’t reply but simply turned on her heel and stalked from the room. She closed the schoolroom door behind her. It wasn’t slammed but it was certainly closed with more force than was necessary. I sighed; why did she have to be such a difficult girl?

Hot Cross Buns

2010-04-01T19:15:00.000+01:00

I would not want to be on the wrong side of Mrs Rokeby. She is a formidable woman in all respects, large, red-faced and quick-tempered. She can be generous and kind-hearted if the kitchen maids are ill or upset but she is not one to cross. Those who have worked in the kitchens at Winterbrook have witnessed many an occasion when Mrs Rokeby has exploded with temper. It doesn't happen very often but when it does everyone suffers. Today was one of those days. She has been brewing for a few weeks now, ever since Eleanor upset her. She has not been pleased with the diligence of the kitchen maids and thinks that they look for every opportunity for idleness. If I was one of their company I would have made every effort to keep busy, but they are young and foolish and do not heed the warning signs of the impending storm.

We had just enjoyed a morning cup of tea in my office. Mrs Rokeby returned to the kitchen expecting to find it a hive of activity. They were meant to be making hot-cross buns for Good Friday. Everyone hard at work was not what she found. In fact the kitchen was empty, the kettle had bolied itself dry on the stove and the unmistakable smell of burnt baking was coming from the range! I heard her bellow of rage and hastened through to see what was the matter.

The maids weren't far away. They were out in the yard. One of the kitchen cats had produced a litter of kittens a few weeks ago and had brought them out into the sunshine for the first time. They were irresistable and far too much of a temptation for three young kitchen maids, especially when cook wasn't there to keep them in order. Violet had called the other two outside and they had gone without a thought for their duties.

Mrs Rokeby chivvied them back into the kitchen. I stood in the doorway to enjoy the entertainment.

Violet, Rose and Milly stood shamefaced in front of the kitchen table while Mrs Rokeby berated them.

"Disgusted! That's what I am; disgusted! I leave you for a few moments to enjoy a well-earned cup of tea with Mr Jenks and as soon as my back is turned you're out of the kitchen door to play in the yard like a bunch of naughty children! You are the laziest kitchen maids it has ever been my misfortune to work with. You can't be trusted for one moment! Look at what you've done!" She held up the kettle, which was now blackened beyond repair and holed through the base. "Ruined!" She threw the kettle down onto the stone floor. It landed with a loud clan. "And the buns! Ruined too!" The burnt baking joined the kettle on the floor. "How dare you?! How dare you be so idle and selfish. I work my fingers to the bone in this kitchen and you three simply make more work for me!" This was a little rich for Mrs Rokeby's fingers could hardly be described as bony, in fact she has hands like large plates of meat, not that any of the three were in a position to argue the point. Mrs Rokeby turned on Rose, the oldest of the three, and her neice. "And you Rose Allenby, I expected better of you. You're not a mere slip of a girl like these two. But oh no, it seems you are every bit as foolish! You wait until your father hears about this young lady!"

Rose looked very embarassed but wisely chose to say nothing. Mrs Rokeby rolled up her sleeves to reveal her muscular forearms. She picked up the largest of her wooden spoons, her usual implement of choice. I saw Violet bite her lip as the knowledge of what was about to happen sunk in. Mrs Rokeby pointed the spoon at Milly, "You first. Drawers down, skirts up and over my knee!"

I watched as Milly walked over to stand beside the angry cook. She reached up inside her skirts and fumbled with her drawers, they fell to make a pool of cotton at her ankles, then she hitched up her skirt to reveal her round white bottom. Milly is a well-fed girl, large bosomed and with a nice ample bottom. Slowly, she bent over Mrs Rokeby's lap. Mrs Rokeby is not one for drawing out a punishment. She has none of Sir George's refinement in that area, but she can certainly wield a wooden spoon to good effect. She didn't seem to count the strokes, she simply laid them on hard and fast. Milly squealed as the wooden-spoon turned her bottom from milky white to blazing red. She kicked her legs and wriggled like mad but there was no escape from the stinging blows. Mrs Rokeby was not satisfied until the girl was lying across her knees sobbing her heart out.

"Get a brush and start clearing that mess," Mrs Rokeby ordered as Milly clambered to her feet.

"Yes, Mrs Rokeby," Milly sniffed through her tears.

Violet was next. She was trembling as she positioned herself across the cook's broad lap. She received the same treatment as Milly. The wooden-sppon was broughyt down smartly on her bare bottom, leaving a red oval mark where it struck. She took her punishment with even less grace than her friend. It took only two or three smacks to have her in tears and she had been over Mrs Rokeby's knee less than a minute before she was pleading to be released, pleading with her to stop. Mrs Rokeby was deaf to her complaint, laying on the spoon with alacrity, holding Violet secure with one hand in the small of the girl's back. Violet didn't colour up to the same vivid hues that Milly had done but I was in no doubt that her bottom ended up just as sore.

Finally it was Rose's turn. Rose is a pretty auburned-haired girl, quite petite and with a pale complexion. Her bottom is small, round and very white. It did not take Mrs Rokeby long to transform it from very white to very red. Being older Rose tried to take her spanking with a little bit more decorum. However, Mrs Rokeby was clearly especially mad with her, she had let the familu down after all. As a result the spanking that poor Rose had to suffer was twice as long and twice as hard as that of the two other maids. Even a brave girl like Rose can't take such a beating without reacting and sure enough by the time she was allowed to stand she was wiping the tears from her eyes and trying her best not to cry openly.

"Right girls," Mrs Rokeby said as she got to her feet. "Hot cross buns."

I clouldn't have put it more aptly myself.

The Mistress & The Governess (part 2)

2010-03-26T07:53:00.000Z

“I could tell George all about you… or I could report the matter to the police…” she spoke slowly, teasingly “But I think that I would rather deal with you myself.”

I didn’t know whether to be relieved or horrified.

“I don’t know what you mean” I said, trying to sound braver than I felt.

“Oh I think you do Miss Downing… in fact I’m sure you do. It’s what always happens to naughty girls in the schoolroom, and you have been a naughty girl haven’t you?”

I felt myself blush but didn’t answer. She laughed softly. “You may not be ready to admit it yet, but you will by the time I have finished with you.”

She glanced around the room. “Now where have you hidden your implements of punishment Miss Downing?”

“I haven’t hidden them,” I replied “They are kept in the cabinet by the window there.”

“I’d like you to fetch them for me and place them on your desk,” Mrs Kelling said.

I stood and crossed over to the cabinet. My hand trembled as I opened the door. I unhooked the implements; three canes of varying weights, the heavy strap that I had purchased at Dewar’s, a thin strap that I knew imparted a very fierce sting, a wooden ruler and an oval backed hairbrush. I laid them out on the desk as instructed. Mrs Kelling surveyed the array.

“Excellent,” she pronounced “I shall enjoy employing them all. But first you shall strip. Down to your stockings and corset if you please Miss Downing. I didn’t please, but I didn’t have a choice. I was wearing a simple white blouse that I took off first. This was followed by my long black skirt. I felt her eyes on me as I removed my underskirts and my corset cover. I folded them neatly on a chair then stood and faced her.

“I said stockings and corset Miss Downing, nothing else,” she said, the ghost of a smile on her lips.

I felt the colour come into my cheeks again. My fingers felt clumsy as I untied the bow at the side of my drawers. I turned away from her as I slipped them down and stepped from them.

“Turn and face me,” she ordered.

I slowly turned, very aware of my half naked state. It felt indecent to be standing there, my bottom bare, my private parts on full display.

“Well what a pretty little thing you are,” she said “if only you didn’t dress in such a dowdy way you could be quite attractive. As it is I think you’re going to look rather sweet over my knee. Come here Amelia.”

It was the first time she had used my Christian name and it was, I was sure, quite deliberate, she wanted me to feel inferior, to feel young and vulnerable, and as I draped myself face down across her lap those were exactly the feelings I experienced.

“Now Amelia, I think you were going to tell me that you have been a naughty little girl weren’t you?”

I said nothing, although I knew that I would suffer for my silence. Somehow I could not bring myself to utter those demeaning words. She did not make me wait long to pay for my defiance. Her open hand smacked down hard against my bare bottom. It has been a long time since I have felt that stinging pain and I could not help but gasp. She gave me another smack and another, all on my left cheek. Slowly the smarting pain built up and up until I could keep still no longer; I wriggled across her lap and she had to place her other hand in the small of my back to make me keep still. She continued to spank me even as she spoke.

“Your bottom is looking so pretty Amelia, almost like a white peach, once side so red the other so white. When you are ready to admit your naughtiness then we’ll even things up, but until then I have no intention of making my own hand hurt. I sensed her reaching over to the table. I knew what was coming next.

I gave a sharp cry as she brought the hairbrush down smartly on my bottom. It is a best quality Mason-Pearson and I had bought it knowing that it would produce a decent sting. Now I was verifying the truth of that with my own poor bottom. The smacks were hard to take, not only did each one sting like mad but they were delivered at quite a pace; I had no time to recover between each blow, Mrs Kelling spanked me remorselessly. Not only that but once again she concentrated exclusively on my left cheek. I tried to hold on, I gritted my teeth, I wriggled and writhed but it was no good, the hairbrush smacked down time and time again until I could bear it no more.

"Please… please stop!” I cried.

“Say it then,” she demanded softly. “What are you Amelia?”

“I am… a… very… naughty… little girl,” I admitted, desperately trying to get my breath back.

“Excellent… now we are starting to get somewhere.”

She held me over her lap and ran her open hand over my hot bottom, first caressing the area she had just chastised, then running her long fingernails over the sore smarting area. It was an incredible sensation and I could not keep still. I felt her suppress a laugh. It wasn’t laughter that I was trying to suppress it was another feeling entirely. Now that the initial onslaught was over I became shamefully aware of my own arousal. The way Mrs Kelling was now stroking my bottom only enflamed those feelings; added to which was my anticipation of punishment yet to come. I pressed my legs together, desperate not to reveal my shameful state to my tormentor.

“Very well Amelia, time to even up the picture I think,” she said.

She used the hairbrush from the very start, bringing it down hard on the unpunished side of my poor bottom. It hurt like mad and I bucked across her knees, instinctively trying to escape from the stinging blows. But there was no escape, she held me firm and spanked me until she was satisfied that both cheeks were equally rosy. I was ordered to stand.

“Oh my I am enjoying this Amelia,” she remarked as she looked me up and down. “It must be quite instructive for you to be on the receiving end for once. George tells me you can be dreadfully severe when you want to be. I think it’s time we tried another of your implements on you. Go and stand in front of the blackboard.”

I bit my lip. As much as I wanted to retort I knew it would be foolishness to do so. I was totally in her hands and she would play with me as a cat plays with a mouse, until she tired of me. I walked across to stand in front of the board, wincing with each step.

“Take up the chalk,” she ordered. “You can write the words you said when you were over my knee.”

She obviously wanted to humiliate me as well as beat me. I brushed away a traitorous tear then picked up the chalk and wrote on the blackboard. In my own neat copperplate there were the words she wanted to see:

I am a very naughty little girl

She came up behind me, the wooden ruler in her hand.

“Again,” she ordered “Don’t stop until you’ve filled the board.”

I wished I’d used a larger hand but it was too late now. As I began to write again I heard the snap of the ruler across my bottom and then the smarting line. It was hard to keep my handwriting level. Each line of writing occasioned at least three strokes of the ruler and it took me a dozen lines to fill the board. The ruler re-ignited the burning pain that the hairbrush had produced and although not the harshest of punishments simply intensified the existing sting.

I watched over my shoulder as she selected the narrow leather strap. It looks innocuous but it produces a very sharp pain, albeit of short duration, quite different to anything else in my armoury.

“Read what you’ve written,” she commanded.

I did so, trying to keep my voice calm and level despite the fact that I was on fire in more ways than one. With each repetition the strap was applied to my red bottom. It made my gasp each time, it was the sort of intense pain that takes ones breath away. By the time I got to the end I was very very sore, yet somehow still in control.

I sensed that Mrs Kelling was disappointed – she wanted real tears and proper contrition.

“I don’t think I’ve properly got through to you yet Amelia. Fetch me the other strap.”

I felt my heart come up into my mouth. The strap that I had bought from Dewars was a nasty piece of work. Oh it was well-made but designed to really hurt. I ran it through my fingers knowing that I was really for it now. I felt a shiver of mingled fear and excitement run through me. I was aware of how moist I was between my legs.

Mrs Kelling took it from me.

“Bend over the desk you naughty girl," she said with great relish.

Slowly I bent forward, knees pressed together, back dipped so that my bottom was well-presented. I took a deep breath to steady myself. I heard her move behind me, heard the sound of the strap as it travelled through the air, the ‘crack’ as it landed across my bare bottom and then my own cry of pain. The strap seemed to leave a broad burning line across my cheeks. I gripped the desk hard as I struggled to maintain my position. The second stroke was as bad as the first, the third just as agonizing but it was the fourth that did it. It seemed to blaze across my bottom with a fierceness that I could hardly countenance. I cried aloud.

I could not keep still, I kicked my legs and jerked against the edge of the desk, all thoughts of protecting my modesty and my secret shame completely dissolved.

I heard Mrs Kelling gasp. Too late I pressed my thighs together, but she had seen.

“Part your legs…” she said softly.

“No… please… no…” I whimpered.

“Part your legs girl!” she demanded more harshly, flicking the strap against my bottom.

I had no choice but to comply. I felt the shame wash through me and the tears began to flow.

“Oh Miss Downing, I see that perhaps you and I are more alike than you would care for,” she said. I could almost hear the smirk in her voice. I felt her mover closer. Then her hand was on the inside of my thigh. I trembled as she stroked a single finger higher.

“Please… please… don’t…” I begged, but I made no attempt to close my legs.

She ignored my plea. With the tip of her finger she grazed my sex. I thought I would faint.

“Do you like that Amelia?” she asked softly.

“No….” I gasped “No!”

I said no but my body said yes. I pushed back against her hand, wanting her to touch me again. But she drew back laughing.

“You are going to have to earn my touch Amelia. Sir George and I have a little game. A game of the cane which I will have great delight in introducing you to. After a certain number of strokes you earn a number of seconds of my touch. The last time I played it with Sir George he gave me ten seconds of stroking for every six strokes of the cane. However, as this is meant to be a punishment I have no intention of being so generous. Let me see…”

Her hand caressed my bottom. I waited for her to decide. “Let’s keep it simple. Six strokes for six seconds,” she pronounced. “and I think we might change your position too.”

She moved my desk chair to the centre of the room.

“Stand up Amelia and come here. Behind the chair if you please.”

I obeyed her, straightening up and taking the few paces across the room to position myself behind the upright chair.

“Now bend over the back of the chair. Right over Amelia, legs nicely apart. Grip the chair legs at the front… that’s right… up on your toes…I want your bottom high in the air.”

I felt very vulnerable, very exposed and very aroused. The desk was right in front of me and I watched as she selected the first cane. She turned with the rod in her hand – the light nursery cane that I seldom used on Lucy and Charlotte. It would sting but it would be mild in comparison to its two companions.

She placed it across the middle of my bottom and let it rest there for a moment. It felt cool against my hot skin. She drew back her arm. There was a soft swish and then the line of fire. I could not help but give a little gasping moan. The stroke was not unbearably painful but on my tender bottom it certainly hurt.

She caned me quite slowly, making sure that I fully experienced each stroke before I received the next. I counted the strokes in my head, longing for the moment when she would touch me again. Six strokes given she placed the cane back on the desk then came back to me. I closed my eyes as she stroked her fingers up the inside of my leg. She did it agonizingly slowly, teasing me by bringing her fingertip close to my sex then drawing it away at the last moment. At last she did it, her single finger finding my little bud. She rubbed slowly and gently all the time calling out the seconds. Six seconds passed far too quickly.

“Please… please touch me some more…” I begged shamelessly.

“Greedy girl…” she said. “You must be caned again before you have the pleasure of my touch.”

The cane she selected this time was the one that I used most frequently. It was a senior school cane, a decent length of rattan, that could be used for a proper punishment caning. It was a serious implement that Lucy and Charlotte both feared. I feared it too but longed for it as well.

I tried to slow my breathing as I waited for the caning to start. The fear and the excitement were making me giddy and I was frightened I might faint. I took a firm grip of the chair legs and pushed myself up onto my toes as Mrs Kelling lined up the stroke by placing the cane across the centre of my bottom. I have been caned before and knew how much it would hurt. But then it had been a formal punishment that allowed me to retain some emotional control. This time I felt like putty in Mrs Kellings hands.

The cane swished through the air. I forced myself not to scream but could not stop a sharp cry of pain being emitted. The cane stripe acrosss my bare bottom burned into me. It took a second or two to reach its peak of intensity then began to fade. Just as the pain of the first stroke began to ebb the second was given. She seemed to know exactly the right moment to strike. Somehow she contrived to keep me at the height of agony. Six strokes, six lines of pure unadulterated pain.

And then the touch that I longed for. I parted my legs wider, hungry for her touch. She did not tease me this time but caressed me expertly. I felt the moment almost upon me but just as the wave might break her finger withdrew.

"No.... please...." I begged.

She laughed softly. "Oh Amelia, you are such a pleasure to torment. I think that I ceased my caress at just the right moment. One more second and it would have been too much, but now you must have six more strokes mustn't you?"

"Yes..." I admitted "Yes... but do it quickly please, I cannot bear it much longer, you must allow me my release."

She laughed again. "Perhaps I will make you wait Amelia. Perhaps that would be good for you. Perhaps you need to be taught a little patience."

"No please Mrs Kelling... please I can't..." I begged desperately.

She came around to the other side of the chair and lifted my chin. She looked into my tear-filled eyes and kissed me softly on the mouth.

"Very well Miss Downing. You shall have what you want, but not before you've had six strokes with the dragon cane, well-laid on."

I knew she had saved the worse till last. I had been caned with the dragon cane by Sir George. It is a vicious implement, well named for it's fiery nature. I watched as she picked it up and flexed it in her hands. She looked wonderful, powerful, beautiful. I could see why Sir George loved her. I had hated her but now I did not know how I felt towards her. She had been monstrously cruel and yet there was a rightness to her severity.

I bowed my head and waited.

I have never experienced anything so painful. It was a caning like no other. I'm sure she laid it on no harder than Sir George had but each stroke seemed to bite into me in a way that was totally new. For those few minutes my world narrowed, my entire being became focussed on the rod and my bottom. Nothing else existed but the swish of the cane, the burning lines, the pitch of heightened arousal. Even my cries seemed disembodied, belonging to some being other than myself.

It took a single touch. Her forefinger brushed gently against my bud and I was overwhelmed. It ran through me in waves of pleasure, one after the other, taking my breath away. If I hadn't been supported by the back of the chair I would have ended up on the floor for my legs could not support me.

Mrs Kelling took me in her arms, lifting me from the chair and holding me to her breast. She stroked the back of my neck and I cried soft hot tears. She took her handkerchief and gently wiped the tears away. She was smiling and suddenly so was I.

"Oh Amelia, now I understand you. I thought you a cold-hearted spiteful woman. A dried-up spinster. But now I see you are a woman of hot and lively passions. That is why you wrote the letters isn't it - you wanted George? You wanted him as only a passionate woman can want a man. You wanted him even more when he had enflamed you with the cane. But only if you could separate him from me could you have him. And so you did what you had to... what any real woman would do. What I would do had our roles been reversed. And for that you have my forgiveness." She looked into my eyes and brushed a stray wisp of hair from my forehead. "We must find you a man of your own Miss Downing, for that is what you need and want."

She kissed me on the mouth, her lips open, her tongue flicking against mine.

She was right in so many ways but in one respect she was entirely wrong. I knew what I wanted and needed. It was not a man I desired now. It was her.

The Mistress & The Governess (part 1)

2010-03-24T07:31:00.017Z

I was in the schoolroom after lunch, doing some tidying up and planning what I am going to cover with Lucinda and Charlotte next week. I enjoy these times alone in the schoolroom, my little empire, the place where I am truly in control.

However, today my solitude did not last long. I heard footsteps outside in the corridor and then the door was pushed open. Rudely, they had not even bothered to knock, but I was not suprised at this when I saw who it was; Mrs Kelling. She has been here since yesterday morning and although I try to be civil to her I do my best to avoid if at all possible. She closed the door and turned the key in the lock. This immediately put me even more on my guard - why was she locking us in? I felt my pulse quicken and a mild panic run through me. I tried to remain calm.

"Good afternoon Mrs Kelling," I greeted her "What brings you up to the Schoolroom?"

She gave me a smile, but there was no warmth in it, none at all.

"I've come to talk to you about these," she said softly.

She placed a sheaf of papers onto my desk. I saw, with a start, what they were and felt my breath catch in my throat. My letters! The notes that I had written to Sir George urging him to break off his relationship with Mrs Kelling! I controlled my breathing and spoke as calmly as I could.

"Letters Mrs Kelling? What business are they of mine? I can see that they are addressed to Sir George. I'm not sure why you would want my opinion."

"I don't want your opinion Miss Downing, I want to know why you wrote them - what possesed you to compose such scurrilous and terrible lies!"

I could see she was seething with barely suppressed anger.

"I think you have me at a disadvantage Mrs Kelling, I have not the faintest idea what you are talking about."

"Don't come the innocent with me," she hissed "I've seen the way you look at me, I've seen the hatred in your eyes. I've spoken to the groom and he confirms that you were taken into St Albans on each of the days when these letters were sent."

"A mere coincidence, nothing more. You can't prove anything." I said defiantly.

"Oh but I can Miss Downing," she said softly. "I have many friends in London one of whom is very well connected at Scotland Yard. I am sure that a comparison of your handwriting with that of these letters would quickly reveal that they were written by one and the same person!"

I felt the blood drain from my face. I didn't know what to say. I looked at her helplessly.

"I find your silence most eloquent Miss Downing," she said. "It's as fine an admission of guilt as if you had made a full confession. You are a pathetic creature I must say, you have not even the courage to own your own crimes."

That was a barb that hurt. I have never been lacking in moral courage. I found my tongue at last.

"It is not I who is pathetic but you Mrs Kelling! A married woman, cheating her husband, engaging in sordid games with her lover! You revolt me." I felt the heat of anger run through me.

"I revolt you do I? You think you know enough to sit there and judge me? You really are a self-righteous prig aren't you? Let me tell you a few thruths Miss Downing. I love George and he loves me. My husband might be a cuckold but he is no fool. He knows he can never satisfy me, he never could and never will. He is glad I have taken a lover."

My face must have given away my shock. She laughed.

"Oh you are so provincial Miss Downing. All the upper classes have mistresses and always have done. You needn't look so shocked. George and I are good for eachother, we share similar tastes and know how to meet eachothers needs."

"Including your need to be regularly chastised I suppose," I said sarcastically.

"Oh you know about that do you?" she retorted. "I guess you must have been listening at keyholes like a nasty little sneak. I admit our tastes might seem unusual to you but there is a fine history to what we do. Indeed I believe that our French cousins refer to it as the english vice, so one could argue that we are doing our patriotic duty by keeping up an excellent national tradition."

I didn't know how to respond. That which I was ashamed of she seemed to be proud of, to delight in.

She spoke again. "Enough about George and myself. Now of course I must decide what to do with you."

I felt an ice cold lump form in the pit of my stomach. This was the end of my life at Winterbrook, I would leave in utter disgrace, my prospects ruined forever. I waited for her to pronounce sentence.

A Spot of Tiffin

2010-03-18T18:26:00.000Z

Anastasia arrived just after luncheon today. Eleanor meet her at the railway station with the motor car. I was keen that Anastasia should get to meet Eleanor in her new role for it was Anastasia whom Eleanor had to thank for securing her the post in the first place.

"Well you have got young Miss Randall looking very smart in her chauffeur's uniform I must say George," Anastasia remarked as she pulled off her gloves and handed them to a maid.

"Yes, she does look the part now," I replied, "Which is more than could be said about her a fortnight ago!"

Anastasia smiled. "She did mention that she had a slight disagreement with you over the wearing of trousers."

"A slight disagreement is putting it mildly," I replied as we went through into my study. "The foolish girl thought she would have her own uniform made up and then charge it to my account. I soon disabused her of that notion I can tell you!"

"Oh dear George... has she been giving you lots of trouble?" Anastasia, asked sympathetically.

"She has been rather trying on occassions," I said "But I have ways and means of dealing with tiresome young ladies as Eleanor has found out to her cost."

Anastasia gave a delighted little shudder. "You don't mean to say that you've been subjecting her to the same discipline as the other servants?"

"Indeed I have," I confirmed. "There's no reason she should be treated differently simply because she's from a decent background."

"Apart from enjoying an independent life at the lodge of course?" Anastasia teased.

"That's different... and if you recall that was your idea in the first place."

Anastasia giggled. "So you made her see the error of her ways?"

"Put it this way... Miss Randall discovered that the only way she was going to wear trousers was down around her ankles as she bent over for six of the best."

"Oh George you are a cruel beast, treating a young girl like that!" Anastasia said in mock horror. "Do you think you might be that cruel to me?"

"What... now?" I asked. She had only walked through the door five minutes previously!

"Well perhaps after some tea and cake?" she smiled. She really was incorrigible but I loved her for it.

I rang the bell and presently Jenks came with the tea things. I told him to leave them with us and that we were not to be disturbed until I rang for him.

"Very well Sir George," he said in that arched tone he sometimes uses to remind me that he knows extactly what goes on between Mrs Kelling and myself. "I shall make sure that your privacy is uninterrupted."

When he had gone Anastasia poured the tea and we sat and chatted. It was amusing to sit and make polite conversation, keeping up a pretence when we both knew that carnal matters were very much in both our minds. She flirted with me, looking at me with those big brown eyes, touching my hand with hers, moving closer to me on the sofa.

"Now George I want to hear all the news from Winterbrook… it’s been so long since we’ve had the chance to talk and I’m sure that there have been some very exciting goings on since I was here last.”

She ran the tip of her tongue over her top lip. I knew what she was after. She wanted to hear all the details about who I had had the pleasure of punishing. It always aroused her to hear of other girls getting their bottoms warmed. I knew what she wanted to hear about but I decided to tease her a little.

“Well…” I began, “Thomas has been having a great deal of trouble with Gracie, the old mare. She went lame after losing a shoe down on Harburton Lane and although the vetinary surgeon..."

She interrupted me with a sharp dig in the ribs. "I don't want to know about your boring old horses, I want to know about Lucy and Charlotte and the maids. I want to know who's been bending over your desk. Apart from Miss Eleanor Randall of course."

"Oh if you want to know that dear Anastasia then you'll have to be prepared to pay for the information."

"What price did you have in mind?"

"Well why don't I tell you what you want to know and then we can decide what it's worth?"

She gave a delighted shiver. "Very well I agree to your terms, but I want to sit on your lap while you tell all."

She snuggled onto my lap and I told her all the goings on from the last few weeks. The story she was most interested in was that of young Miss Elizabeth Stanhope, our stone-throwing suffragette. She kissed me hungrily on the mouth after I had described the way that I had looked on as Miss Downing had whipped tight cane strokes across the bare bottom of the impudent young woman.

"Oh George, I wish I had been here to see that," she murmured. "Did Miss Downing cane her very hard?"

"Very hard indeed," I assured her. "I don't think the young miss sat down for the rest of the week!"

"And two dozen strokes you say? That was some punishment."

"No more than she deserved. She had a fine plump bottom, very ripe for a good caning I must say.

"Mmm, how delicious. It sounds like you've hardly missed me at all."

"Oh Anastasia, of course I've missed you," I assured her, hugging her tight. "It's never the same with any other girl. That was discipline, this is something else entirely. I won't deny it excites me to flog a naughty young thing but there's a very different feeling when I apply the rod to your lovely bottom."

"Well then, it's high time you did just that!"

She kissed me again, then slipped off my lap to return a few moments later a crook-handled cane in her hands. She held it out to me.

"What do you think the account was worth then Mrs Kelliing?"

"Well if a young suffragette took two dozen then I would feel that I had let the side down if I took anything less... two dozen and one would be a decent price don't you think?"

Her eyes were bright with excitement. I stood and took the cane from her. I gave it a practice swish through the air and heard her stifle an excited gasp.

"Lift your skirts and get yourself over my desk." I ordered.

There was no need to hurry. I watched as Anasiasia bunched up her skirts above her waist. She was wearing no drawers, simply a pair of opaque black stockings held up with a pale blue garter at the top of each thigh. Her borrom was round and unmarked. She bent foward and arched her back, pushing out her bare bottom to receive the cane.

I pride myself that I can cane just as hard and just as accurately as any governess or schoolmaster. The red lines I placed across Anastasia's bare cheeks stood out clearly against her white skin, each stripe clear and distinct from the others at first but merging into one broad band of red as the strokes merged, one into the other. She gasped and kicked up her heels as I caned her, pressing her thighs together as she rode the pain then parting her legs to reveal the glistening wetness that the caning had provoked.

When twenty-five strokes had been received, she remained in position, bent over the desk. She turned her head and looked at me with a desperately hungry look that I could not have resisted even had I wanted to. I took her from behind. It was glorious. After the abstinance of the last few weeks it was wonderful to be back in the saddle again.

When it was over we tidied ourselves up and I rang the bell for some more tea. It was only as we sat there that remembered the horrid letters that had cast doubt about Anastasia's fidelity to me. After the way she had just performed all thoughts that she might not be being true were dissolved. She would not have made love with such a passion had she also been seeing someone else. It had been the bursting of a dam as much for her as for me. I resolved that I would show her the letters and assure her that I believed not a word of them.

Back to Reality

2010-03-09T22:00:00.002Z

It's been some weeks since I've had the heart to write in this diary. Truth is I don't want to remember these days. The bleakness of life without Father, watching Mother suffer and the boys shouldering on pretending everything is fine.

Poor John has been working all hours in the forge, trying to cover all the work himself. I've tried to help him but I couldn't stay away from Winterbrook much longer than the week. We will have to get a boy in to help but for now he won't hear of it. I'm sure, like the rest of us, he can't bear to think of another man in the forge.

Mother's spirits have been low and since I've come back to work, I visit as much as I can, staying over night and coming back early in the morning. It was strange at first returning to the house. Especially thinking of how I had left. For now I would stay where I was, all thoughts of London gone. I needed to be near everyone.

I replayed that night over and over in my mind, thinking of how Jake Dodson had told me the news and how he'd had been so kind. He has been good to Mother too, visiting her every day. I didn't like to admit how much I missed those visits now I was back at Winterbrook.

In some ways it's been a blessing to be back here, with work to distract me from everything. Although it's almost unsettling just how nice everyone is being to me. Mrs Rokeby gave me some of her prize jam to take home and the other maids keep offering to help with my work. I do wish they would all be normal. Even Sir George made a little speech when I returned, making me blush with embarrassment.

Still it's been some comfort to be back attending to Miss Charlotte again. She is full of chatter over her young man and is hoping he will soon come to visit at Winterbrook. I love to hear her talk, of him and her lessons and what she and Lucy have been doing. Although much of her conversation seems to be about Miss Downing now and less about Lucy. Alice confided that Lucy is not at all happy lately. I wondered whether this was for some genuine reason or just because she is not happy to have her sister's full attentions for a change.

Then there's the newest member of the household, Eleanor. She is proving to be very entertaining and the subject of much gossip. I heard from one of the footmen that she had a party in the lodge last weekend. I hoped for her sake that Sir George doesn't get wind of it or she'll be in trouble. Or I should say, more trouble!

Only the other day she appeared in her uniform, startling everyone with her boldness. As I exclaimed over her breeches she explained that Sir George wasn't too pleased about them and she had been summoned to see him. We walked towards the library together and I tried not to laugh as she worried over his reaction.

'Deary me Maria, I'm sure I'm in for it again. And I've just gotten over the last whupping he gave me too,' she said forlornly as we parted outside the library. I made my way upstairs to start on my darning. I had both ladies to look after now as Alice was so incapable of using a needle.

From my seat in the alcove, I heard the crack of the cane several times as Eleanor felt Sir George's displeasure. Hearing the door open and close a while later, I moved quietly to the banisters and looked down at Eleanor. For all her bravado she was leaning against the closed door brushing tears from her eyes.

I decided I liked her a lot; a common feeling amongst everyone at Winterbrook, I think. She certainly livens the place up. Even Jenks seems to be quite taken with her.

I have just noticed the time and really must finish writing. It's late and Mother is already asleep. I'll need to be up early to get back to the house before I'm needed. But first I must recollect my encounter with Jake today, for it is still on my mind and I do not know what to do.

As I was hurrying up the path this morning he called out to me. A smile rising to my lips I turned to face him only to meet a scowl in return. Jake wasn't happy that I was spending the nights at home - riding home late at night and back early in the morning.

'You can't keep doing this Maria,' he shook his head. 'You'll wear yourself out and then you'll be no good to anyone, least of all your Mother.'

'Good morning to you too,' I said with a smile, determined not to rise to him. 'It's a beautiful day, the first real Spring day we've had don't you think?' And it was a beautiful day and for the first time since Father died I felt like smiling again. Later I'd feel guilty about that, but for now I was happy. As to how much that was caused by seeing Jake, I wasn't sure I wanted to admit that to myself.

He walked me up to the house and we passed the short journey in easy conversation. Reluctantly I left him at the door but as we parted he put his hand on my shoulder, gripping it firmly and looking at me sternly. 'Take it easy Maria. I mean that, or we'll be having more than words.' Then turned on his heel and marched off before I could make any reply.

I stared after him in confusion and anger. How could I have forgotten what Jake Dodson was really like?

A New Uniform for the Chauffeur

2010-02-25T20:09:00.001Z

Sir George was in a very good mood today. Two things have occured that have lifted his spirits. The first is that Mrs Kelling has accepted his invitation to stay for the weekend in a couple of weeks time and will not, on this occasion be accompanied by her husband (although he was, of course, invited). The second is the news that Master Freddy is coming home. His regiment has completed its tour of duty in South Africa and will be garrisoned at Colchester. Sir George is thrilled by the news, I am a little more circumspect. Master Freddy is, one might say, a vigorous and lively young man with an eye for the ladies. I fear for both the virtue of the maids and of the Middleton sisters!

Sir George was in a good mood, I wish I could have said the same about Mrs Rokeby, our cook. She breezed in to see me just before lunch.

"I will not have it Mr Jenks! I will not!" she huffed, her hands on her broad hips.

"What is it Mrs Rokeby?" I enquired, wearily putting down my pen and turning in my seat to give her my full attention.

"It's that Eleanor girl! That showfore, or whatever it is she's called."

"Chauffeur," I corrected her mildly.

"Ridiculous French word," she said crossly "Why can't she be called a driver I'd like to know?!"

"Yes, quite so," I agreed with her "But I suspect it is not the matter of her title that has you riled Mrs Rokeby?"

"No indeed Mr Jenks, no indeed! That silly young woman has spent the morning tinkering with that motor car in the courtyard, distracting my kitchen maids, flirting with the footmen and the boot boy. They've hardly done a scrap of work between them and luncheon is going to be five minutes late as a result! Then only just now I've gone into the pantry and found it a right mess. She's tried to wash her hands in the sink but she's managed to leave dirt and grease all over it and the towel is only going to be fit for a boot rag! And then to cap it all I find she's helped herself to my shortbread, the shortbread that was going to be for your tea Mr Jenks!"

I sighed. I knew Eleanor Randall was going to be trouble the moment I set eyes on her, I don't know what Sir George was thinking when he took her on.

"Very well Mrs Rokeby, I will deal with Eleanor this afternoon, after lunch."

"Thank you Mr Jenks. I trust you'll leave her in no doubt that this sort of behaviour won't be tolerated at Winterbrook!"

So it was that in the early afternoon I made my way down to the lodge where Eleanor had taken up residence. The Rolls-Royce was parked in front of the house and Eleanor was busy polishing the windscreen. She looked up as she heard me approaching. As she straightened up I was taken aback by what she was wearing. It was a dove grey chauffeur's uniform complete with peaked cap and trousers! A woman in trousers - it was a most extraordinary sight!

"Oh I say, hello Mr Jenks!" Eleanor said jauntily. "Isn't the motor-car looking spiffing?"

It certainly did look very shiny, she had obviously been giving it a great deal of attention. "Very commendable I'm sure young lady."

She did a little twirl. "What do you think of the new uniform?"

"Most fetching," I said drily. "Has Sir George seen it yet?"

"No not yet, I went into St Albans and had it made specially. A long skirt is such a nuisance when you're working with machinery, I don't know how those mill girls manage. I thought a smart pair of trousers would be far more sensible. I had them charge it to Sir George's account. I don't think he'll mind do you?"

I perhaps should have told her what I thought Sir George's reaction might be but decided it would be more amusing to let her find out for herself.

I ignored her question. "May I have a word young lady?" I said seriously.

"Of course you may," she said brightly "... shall we go inside?"

She led the way into the lodge and through into a prettily appointed sitting room.

"Now what may I do for you Albert? I can call you Albert can't I?"

No-one calls me Albert, not even Sir George, at least not since I was a footman! "No Eleanor, you may not call me Albert," I told her firmly "You may call me Mr Jenks."

"Oh! Oh gosh I'm sorry, I was just trying to be friendly and now I've made you all cross!"

"Not as cross as you made Mrs Rokeby."

"Mrs Rokeby?" Eleanor looked bemused.

"The cook."

"Oh... she's that fat lady isn't she?... I wondered what her name might be but she looked so fierce I daren't ask."

"Well she knows who you are and she's not best pleased with you."

"Why-ever not?" Eleanor looked genuinely puzzled.

"This morning you worked on the motor car in the kitchen courtyard and distracted the servants. The kitchen maids couldn't get on and I understand you were flirting with the male members of staff. It won't do miss, it really won't."

"Oh dear, the girls just seemed so interested in what I was doing so it seemed a pity not to let them look, and I wasn't flirting with the boys Mr Jenks, really I wasn't, we were just having a laugh and a joke. I didn't mean anything by it."

"I'm sure you didn't, but you're a pretty girl and the boys don't need any encouragement from the likes of you. Nor is it your job to take the maids away from their duties. But it's not just that that has upset Mrs Rokeby. She tells me you left the pantry sink in a state, grease marks everywhere and the hand-towel stained beyond repair. And then to add insult to injury you helped yourself to the shortbread that she had made especially for mine and the housekeeper's tea."

Eleanor looked completely crestfallen. "Oh my I am in trouble aren't I?"

"Yes you are," I agreed.

She looked at me with big eyes. "Please don't report me to Sir George Mr Jenks," she pleaded "He gave me the cane last time he was cross with me and it hurt like the blazes!."

"No doubt you deserved it," I observed. "But this time I'll deal with you myself."

I took a seat. "Come here young lady," I ordered.

It was obviously not the first time she had been spanked. She gave a big sigh but obediently stepped over to stand beside me.

"Shall I....?" she asked, blushing a a little. I thought she was asking whether she should go over my knee. I nodded curtly. Eleanor had obviously meant something different. She gave another sigh, then her hands went to the waistband of her trousers and she started to undo them. She slipped them down and I observed, with interest that instead of cotton drawers she was wearing silk knickers. I guess full-length drawers are more suited to a skirt than trousers but it's not something I've ever thought about before. I did not have long to contemplate the utility, or otherwise, of silk knickers for Eleanor proceeded to slip those down too! She straightened up, giving me a perfect view of her quim!

"Over my knee," I said gruffly, my voice almost deserting me for a moment.

She settled down across my lap, wriggling to get into position.

"Oh gosh, this is just like being back at school Mr Jenks, I can't tell you how many times I spent looking at the carpet in my housemistress's study in just this position!"

"Well let's see how this compares then!" So saying I lifted my hand and brought it smartly down on her bare bottom. She gave a little gasp of pain and kicked up her heel.

"I say, you smack just as hard as she did!" Eleanor observed, turning her pretty head to look up at me.

I gave her plenty of opportunity to confirm that initial impression. I kept her over my knee for a good five minutes, bringing my open palm down against her bare bottom time and time again, making sure that every inch of both cheeks was well-spanked. She had a nice white bottom, full and round. By the time I had finished with it was no longer white but suffused with a healthy pink glow. She was a pleasure to punish. Most of the maids take it in a stoical silence or burst into tears at the first stroke. Eleanor didn't cry but neither did she stay quiet, she gasped and wriggled and writhed across my lap. The gasps and cries becoming a little more frantic as the spanking progressed. It made for a very different experience from that which I'm used to. Maybe that's how nicely brought up girls take their punishment? Most amusing.

Eventually I Iet her stand up. She rubbed her bottom furiously, her eyes closed, blissfully unaware of the sight of her feminine charms that she was still affording me. I sat back and looked on, noting that the triangle of her at the juncture of her thighs was as blonde as the hair on her head.

Suddenly she became aware of my gaze, her eyes shot open and she gave me a shocked look and a little gasp. She went bright red and swiveled away from me, rapidly tugging up her knickers and trousers.

I stood too. "A very good day to you Eleanor," I said to her back.

She turned back, now decent again, a smile on her face, her mood remarkably quickly restored.

"Oh don't go Mr Jenks," she gushed "Won't you stay for a cup of tea... I might even have some shortbread to offer you I think!

I caught the twinkle in her eye and laughed. She really is irrepressible. Despite her faults and her potential for trouble-making I find her hard to dislike.

I'm not sure Sir George is going to be so amused!

Tears in the Schoolroom

2010-02-16T19:49:00.002Z

It seems a long time since I recounted how things are progressing in the school room with Charlotte and Lucinda. Our lessons have now settled into a regular pattern with the girls attending every morning unless Sir George decrees otherwise. Charlotte has proven to be a diligent and sensible young woman. I am taking to her more and more. She applies herself properly to study despite the fact that she is rather too old to be at her lessons and she has made excellent progress in her appreciation of literature, poetry and the history of the British Empire. I wish I could say the same about her sister.

Lucy is not stupid; she has a bright and enquiring mind if the subject happens to interest her. However, if she finds the lesson boring or uncongenial then she simply stops trying. This week we have been doing some more work on book-keeping. This is an essential subject for any woman who aspires to be mistress of her own household. She must be able to check the accounts of her housekeeper and make sure that the finances are kept in good order. One would have thought that this would be motivation enough to study hard. Not so for Lucinda Middleton. Lucy finds book-keeping both tedious and difficult and therefore has chosen not to apply herself in our lessons.

Today I set them both an exercise to complete, having first worked through an example and checked that they both understood it. After half an hour Charlotte had completed the task. By contrast Lucy had hardly begun. She had made little or no attempt at it but neither had she asked for my assistance. Instead she had spent the time staring vacantly out of the window. It is a regret that the windows in the schoolroom are low enough to see out, but I can hardly draw the curtains in the middle of the day, this February is gloomy enough without that!

I took Charlotte’s work with a smile. “Thank you Charlotte, you may go,” I told her. Lucy I told to stay behind.

She sat behind her desk, arms folded, looking intransigent.

“I would like an explanation Lucinda?” I demanded “You have been sitting there for the last half hour looking out of the window when you should have been doing the work I set you.”

“I hate book-keeping,” she said vehemently “And I don’t see why I should have to sit here trying to learn the dull, stupid subject.”

“I have explained to you why this subject is an important one,” I said patiently. “How can you be a lady and run your household if you can’t check the book-keeping?”

“I don’t want to be a lady, I don’t want to run a household, I want to have fun!”

“Oh I see, all the pleasures with none of the responsibilities!” I challenged her.

“Well why not? I could be a chauffeur like Ellie… or even a governess like you.”

“So you think being a governess is fun do you!” I said hotly.

She chose not to answer but gave an infuriating little shrug of her shoulders. How dare she. She has no idea what it’s like. What it’s like to always be the outsider. Not part of the family, nor part of the warmth of the servants’ hall. Always to be between two worlds. To look at Sir George and to want him and to see him waste his affections on that awful creature Mrs Kelling (my letters seem to have had little affect in changing his feelings for her). To know that Lucy and Charlotte will undoubtedly be found fine husbands and go on to have lovely families, whilst I will be left with just my regrets. This silly girl has the temerity to sit in front of me shrugging her shoulders and giving me that infuriating half-smile when she has all the advantages of life and I have none! Well, I am ashamed to say that I felt the anger burn coldly within me.

“Stand up!” I said sharply.

Lucy got slowly to her feet. She knew she was going to be chastised, her laziness with her work made that inevitable, what was less certain was the severity of the punishment. I did not leave her wondering for long.

“Cane or strap,” I asked her.

She gave a little pout. It was a while since she had felt the cane across her bottom. I know how much she hates it.

“…strap,” she said after a moments thought; obviously deciding that this was an easier option than the feared cane.

I smiled inwardly. I hadn’t had opportunity before now to use the heavy strap I had purchased from Dewar’s a few weeks ago. The strap I had used on both girls before now was nothing like as fierce.

“Lift your skirts and bend over your desk,” I ordered, my voice cold and harsh.

Lucy gave a theatrical sigh, but did as she was told. In the past she would have argued the matter, but she had been with me long enough to know that that would only bring her extra punishment. She positioned herself across her desk, kneeling up on the bench, her dress lifted and her drawers parted to reveal the twin globes of her bottom.

I opened my desk drawer and extracted my new purchase. I gave it a couple of taps into the palm of my hand, gratified to find that even gentle strokes produced a hot sting. I took up position behind and to the left of Lucy. I heard her breathing quicken as I placed the strap across the middle of her bottom.

“Six strokes,” I announced sternly.

She tensed as I drew my arm back. There was no warning swish as you get with the cane, just a loud ‘crack’ of leather against skin followed by Lucy’s squeal of pain and alarm. She shot up both hands pressed to her bottom, her eyes wide in shock.

“No!” she gasped “Please Miss Downing… it hurts too much!”

“Get back in position,” I said coldly, “You have six more strokes to come, that one does not count.”

“But it was only some silly book-keeping!” she protested desperately.

“Bend over girl!”

There was something in my tone of voice that gave her cause for alarm. She glanced at me and I saw the fear in her eyes. She bent slowly forward, lifting her bottom for the strap once more.
I adjusted her drawers, making sure she was properly bared. The single stroke had left a broad red stripe that was hot to the touch. I felt no sympathy, the silly girl deserved a sore bottom. Perhaps then she would be a little bit more grateful for her privileged place in life.

I swung the strap down again. Lucy held onto the edge of the desk, her knuckles going white as she struggled to stay down. She gasped as I gave her the third stroke of seven, the strap catching her low. It was a stroke she would be sharply be reminded of every time she sat down for the rest of the day. I laid on the next two strokes hard and fast, one on top of the other.
Lucy’s shoulders heaved and she began to cry.

I think it was her tears that brought me to my senses. The reason I was punishing this girl so severely was as much to do with my own anger and frustration as her laziness and apathy. I put the strap down on my desk and turned away from her.

“You may go,” I managed to say.

“But I’ve… only… had… five… miss,” she sniffed through her tears.

“Just go,” I repeated, struggling to stay in control. I heard the rustle of her skirts as she got to her feet and her quick footsteps as she headed for the door, no doubt highly relieved to be let off the last two strokes.

I felt my own tears start to fall as the door closed behind her

A Donation to Charity

2010-02-10T13:48:00.000Z

I was just finishing my correspondence for the morning when Jenks appeared to tell me that a ‘Doctor Stanhope’ was here to see me.

“Doctor Stanhope?” I queried “I don’t know the fellow do I?” I knew that I had come across the name but could not place the individual.

“No sir, I don’t believe that you have made the gentleman’s acquaintance before. You are however, familiar with his daughter, Miss Elizabeth Stanhope… the suffragette.” He raised his eyebrow and gave me that dry quizzical look that all butlers seem to be able to adopt at will.

I remembered Miss Stanhope very clearly, why it was but ten days ago that she was bent over this desk, her skirts up around her waist and her knickers around her knees, her bare bottom marked very prettily with the evidence of a damn good thrashing. I could guess why Dr Stanhope was here; he had come to complain.

Well there was no avoiding it.

“Show Dr Stanhope in Jenks, and have some tea brought.” I ordered.

Dr Stanhope was a weasly looking individual, a thin gingery moustache graced his upper lip and his suit looked like it had been handed down to him from a more prosperous relative. Most members of the medical profession that I tend to encounter are very well to do; they tend to enjoy hearty food, a good glass of claret and a good quality cigar. Dr Stanhope looked like he needed a decent meal inside him. I recognised his type immediately – the ‘do-gooder’, friend to the poor and destitute, plying his trade for little or no reward ; my heart sank.

“Dr Stanhope, please come and take a seat,” I greeted him warmly, leading him over to the armchairs in front of the fire. “I trust your ride over from Harpenden wasn’t too taxing, it’s not very pleasant to be out on horseback in this inclement weather is it?”

“I have a pony and trap,” he said tersely. “But I did not come here to discuss the weather or my transport requirements.”

“No?” I said blithely.

“Indeed no, Sir George. I have come here about my daughter, Elizabeth. My daughter who was treated very roughly at your hands when she came here a little over a week ago.”

“I don’t believe that I laid a finger on your daughter Dr Stanhope,” I parried.

He waved my objection away with an irritable flick of his hand. “She was beaten, upon your orders. Caned no less, like an errant schoolboy, whilst you looked on. It was cruel and despicable. I saw the marks you left on her.”

I kept my voice calm. “It was only what she deserved Dr Stanhope. It was how I would have treated a daughter of my own. Think of it as parental discipline.”

“I do not beat my children!” he said vehemently. “Nor would I allow anyone else to do so.”

More fool him I thought. No wonder his daughter ended up the way she did, a little bit more discipline at an early age would have done her the world of good. I refrained from saying this.

“Then my apologies for over-stepping the mark,” I said “It seemed better than involving the police.”

“The police?!” he exploded “Why on earth would you have called the police, this was a peaceful demonstration? We live in a free country, not the Tsar’s Russia or the Kaiser’s Germany! The women simply want the right to be involved in the democratic process, an aspiration I wholeheartedly support. Your actions were outrageous and totally disproportionate, there was no crime committed apart from that which you inflicted upon poor Elizabeth!” He had got himself quite worked up.

“You don’t consider malicious damage to be a crime then Dr Stanhope? I think you’ll find that the act of 1861 says that it is.”

“What are you talking about!? Malicious damage? What malicious damage?”

“I had Elizabeth punished for throwing stones and breaking windows.”

That took the wind out of his sails for a moment. Obviously his precious daughter hadn’t revealed the full facts to her dear Papa! But he was only briefly taken aback.

“Even if that is the case, and I very much doubt that it is the truth of the matter, your actions are still completely unacceptable. If we are to talk of crimes then perhaps we should be speaking of the crime of common assault!” His voiced had gone up to a high pitch of indignation.
It was very tempting to have him thrown out on his ear, but it would only have caused more trouble in the long run.

“Look here my man,” I said firmly “What is it you want? I dealt with your daughter in a way that seemed fair and just. You might disagree with my methods but I have kept her name out of the courts and avoided long-term repercussions for her. You’ve had my apology, what more are you after?”

“I want justice!” he said fiercely. “And if I don’t get it I’ll go to the police or the papers!”

Then I saw it. The truth was there in the implied black-mail. It wasn’t justice he was after, it was money. Not for himself of course but for one of the causes close to his heart. I sat back and considered it for a moment.

“Let me be frank with you Dr Stanhope,” I said carefully. “You are going to find it extremely hard to interest any police officer in this county in allegations of assault against your daughter. Similarly you will have great difficulty in getting a reputable newspaper editor to print this story. Nor do I think your daughter would thank you for dragging her name through the courts or the press.”

He opened his mouth to argue but I forestalled him.

“However, I also have a good name to protect and I am aware of the offence that my actions have caused to your own sensibilities. Perhaps we should talk of appropriate compensation? A donation to charity maybe?”

I had struck the mark with that suggestion. He visibly calmed down.

“Well… yes… yes… that would perhaps be fitting. I think Elizabeth would see that as some vindication as well. What figure are you offering?”

“I thought, perhaps, fifty guineas?”

His lips pursed. “No Sir George, it was a vicious beating, fifty pounds is nowhere near the mark I’m afraid.”

I sighed inwardly. “Oh very well,” I conceded “One hundred guineas then. But that is my final offer and I will then consider the matter to be completely closed. Do not think you can come weaselling back for more in a month’s time.”

He drew himself up affronted. “I am a doctor Sir George, not a blackmailer!”

“Good show, I’m glad to hear it. Who would you like me to make a cheque out to?”

I should have seen it coming, should have guessed but I didn’t. I assumed it would be given to help his waifs and strays, but oh no! I winced as he told me, but there was no backing down once the offer had been made.

I hate to have to record it in my diary but “The Women’s Social and Political Union’ is now better off by one hundred guineas of my money! That hurts me far more than the caning that Elizabeth Stanhope suffered. I hope she is damn well satisfied!

Unease at Winterbrook

2010-02-09T12:00:00.001Z

I asked Amelia to help me with my hair this morning and she showed me how to pin the back up myself in a neat bun. We chatted as she fastened my dress and then went down for breakfast together. It was nice to have her help and I was surprised at how used I had gotten to having Maria in the mornings.

The poor girl girl, we had visited her yesterday afternoon and she was not herself at all. She did not know when she was returning to work, her mother had taken ill with the shock of losing her husband and needed her home. Of course Lucy and I could sympathise with her, having lost our own father so recently but she did not seem comfortable for us to visit and we did not delay long.

As we left the cottage we encountered Mr Dodson on his way in. He doffed his cap to us and I wondered at Amelia and the look she gave him. Had I detected a rise in colour in her cheeks? We walked back to Winterbrook arm in arm and when Lucy and Alice had wandered far enough ahead, I asked her about him.

'Do you know much of Mr Dodson?'

'Not at all' she replied. 'I have barely spoken to him.' She paused briefly before asking 'Have you had a letter from Martin this week?'

Clearly she did not wish to pursue the subject and I was happy to talk of Martin. It had been some weeks since I had the pleasure of introducing him to Amelia. She had found him just as charming as I had hoped she would and he had liked her very much.

It had been a delightful afternoon. Although of course thinking back on it I could not help but feel a little guilty that we had left Lucy behind, nor that I had not told her the purpose of our errand. It was Amelia's suggestion but it did not sit easy with me.

As I pondered this thought Lucy turned around and gave Amelia and me a long look before turning back to Alice. She whispered something to her and then they both took up a run and disappeared down the path.

I sighed and looked at Amelia. As I thought she was looking crossly at such unladylike behaviour and I prepared myself for the scolding to come. I wished things were not so difficult between them. Amelia feels that Lucy is nothing but a foolish girl in need of discipline. But the truth is Amelia seems to bring out the worst in Lucy.

And I can see no end to it all. Only the other day Lucy had invited the Clive twins to visit even though Amelia had refused her permission to do so. Timing it with Amelia's afternoon in town the twins were having tea when she returned. She was not pleased but could take no action. To incense her further Sir George had been happy to see them and invited them to stay for dinner.

Whilst I was worried at the consequences for Lucy I at least was happy to see her enjoying herself that evening. Her spirirts have been uncommonly low lately and I cannot understand why. Not even the arrival of the excitable Eleanor seemed to cheer her up. I had suspected Eleanor to be exactly the sort of girl Lucy would like but she is barely civil to her and shows no interest in the motorcar at all.

The day after the visit from the Clive twins, Amelia called Lucy to the front of the classroom and lectured her on her disobedience. Lucy looked around pretending to be bored which of course annoyed Amelia further.

Taking up her ruler Ameila placed Lucy in the corner with her hands on her head and her dress pinned above her waist. It was becoming an awfully familiar sight to see Lucy so small and white waiting for punishment.

Raising her ruler, Amelia struck Lucy sharply on the back of the legs eliciting a yelp of protest. She turned around in surprise and Amelia struck her again. 'Stay where you are and do not move young lady' she ordered. 'Every time you move or make a sound will earn a stroke of this ruler!'

She continued the French lesson with me for the rest of the morning and every time Lucy made the slightest movement she struck her on the back of the legs with the ruler. I winced along with Lucy's gasps. By the time the class had passed Lucy was bright red all down the back of both her legs.

Amelia then told Lucy to bend over the desk and applied the ruler to her bottom in quick succession. Lucy wriggled and kicked under the blows. 'Stay still Lucinda,' Amelia ordered. 'I shall not stop until you hold still and take your punishment. You will learn to obey me'

Lucy clutched the desk crying out as Amelia dealt the ruler until she was satisfied the lesson had been learned. When she was allowed to stand I could see the tears running down her cheeks. I made to offer her comfort but she left the room quickly and Amelia motioned me to leave her be.

All in all it was a trying time at Winterbrook. I hoped that Spring would bring a welcome change of air.

Change

2010-02-01T06:00:00.000Z

I had to bribe Alice to switch her half day off with me and I do think she got the best of it. She would only agree if I promised to do all her sewing for a month! Although Miss Lucy would certainly benefit from it. Miss Downing is always chiding her for losing buttons and such but if Alice sewed them on properly in the first place she'd lose far less.

Fortunately Alice has given up asking me what I do with my days off. She has decided I am seeing some man and is offended I will not gossip about him with her. Still I was pleased she changed with me. I could not shirk my duties. Nor did I wish to be at Winterbrook that day.

I set off straight after lunch for Clifton, a large town some 5 or 6 miles away. The local movement had divided the members into groups, each one to approach an influential person in the area to solicit their support. We were visiting Magistrate Horne. Securing the support of learned and respected gentlemen like him, was very important in achieving our goal. As one of the youngest magistrates in our parts and known to be liberal, we hoped he would be sympathetic.

The day was cool but mercifully dry and I rode along as fast I could, anxious not to be late. Happily I arrived in time to have refreshments with the other women beforehand. The opportunity to converse with so many interesting and clever women is one I wholeheartedly enjoy. It's a blessed relief from Alice's prattle and the dull conversation of the kitchen maids. Despite the huge variation in our education and background, none of us feel out of place; a truly united band of sisterhood.

Our appointment went as well as could be hoped and I was proud that we argued our case in a most determined and civilised manner, without the hysterical passion some of our members were rebuked for.

I was quite in awe of Miss Marianne Fielding and how she spoke so eloquently. One of the leaders of our area and the daughter of a wealthy lawyer, she was passionate for our cause. As was her father who also fully supported us.

So far I had not mentioned my involvement to my parents, although they were aware of my feelings on the subject. Indeed, Father agreed with me in principle, but was concerned for the safety of the women. I could not worry them unduly by revealing my activities.

Magistrate Horne listened patiently and asked several questions about our intentions. Then thanked us for our time and wished us well. He also assured us he would consider everything we had said and would write a letter to The Times in support. It was even more than we'd hoped for and we were all elated as we parted company.

I hurried back to Winterbrook and arrived as darkness was falling. Tired from my journey and the excitement of it all, I was ill disposed to hear the shocking news of what had passed in my absence. As I washed and changed out of my best skirt and blouse Alice excitedly told me all.

Of course I had known they had planned to visit that day, although I had cautioned they would not find a sympathetic ear in Sir George. However, I could scarce believe it had gone so wrong. My mind was conflicted in so many ways. All at once livid at the behaviour of the ladies and angry at the presumption of Sir George to do as he pleased with every woman he came across.

I sent Alice off with that plea I had a headache. Such was her excitement about the goings on she forgot to question me about where I had been.

My mind raced as I tried to digest the information. I could not comprehend how they had resorted to such an act of vandalism. Reasoned argument and determination would serve us far better that such impetuous acts of violence. We were not the equal of Miss Pankhurst in London who carefully planned any show of public demonstration, calculating the benefit of the publicity over the damage to the organisation. What good would it achieve in a small area like this?

I had never liked Elizabeth Stanhope and her contribution to the local group, so it was no surprise to learn it was she who had thrown the stone. I was almost pleased at what had happened to her. But I could not understand how Miss Downing could have dealt her the caning. Had she no compassion for us and what we were trying to achieve? All of us women like her, fighting on her behalf. It distressed me as much as Sir George's part.

I opened my window and ducked my head out into the cool night air. The gardens and lands of Winterbrook stretched out as far as my eye could see. Bitterly I thought of how much Sir George had, of his wealth and power.

I hated him and men like him who abused their position. They were the real problem: the reason why we had not already got the vote. Determined to live in the past, to gain their comforts at the expense of everyone else. Keeping the people poor to afford their lavish lifestyles. Keeping women inferior so they cannot rightly claim what is theirs. His purchase of a motor car of all things was just another example of it. While half the local village barely have enough to feed themselves.

And while he shows some respect to Jenks and the other man servants he has none for us women. I prayed for the the day when Sir George and men like him would get their comeuppance.

In rage I paced my room, not knowing what to do. I could not bear to be in Winterbrook and under the power of such a man another moment. Grabbing a bag I packed my few possessions into it. I took what savings I had. My promotion had enabled me to put by considerably more in the past few months but I had hoped to have twice that before I eventually left.

But that could not matter now; my rage was such I was afraid of what I would do if I came face to face with Sir George. I had to leave now. There was enough to make it to London on the train. With my new friends in the movement I was hopeful of finding a job and lodgings there.

Once I had gathered everything I wished to take, I did not stop a moment further, afraid of being discovered. Sir George would be sure to make me work my notice or even beat me for my impudence in walking out on his household. All was quiet downstairs; the family were at dinner. The other servants were attending or eating themselves.

Slipping out the back door I hurried down the lane. It was a chilly night and I pulled my cloak around me, glad for the full moon that lit my way. In my haste I did not notice the figure coming up the path and had run headlong into him before I knew it.

Excusing myself I made to go on but was pulled back. Jake Dodson's voice rang out in the still night.

'Maria, is that you? Are you on your way home?'

'None of your business!' I replied, anger in my voice. 'Leave me go.' Of all the wretched people to meet. Ignoring me he continued. 'Let me walk you there. It's dark and cold out. Here, give me your bag,' as he tried to take if off me.

I struggled to free myself from his grip. 'I'm not going home and I'll trust you to mind your own business. Unhand me now Mr Dodson!'

'I see, so if you're not going home looks like you're running away then'. Lifting my face to his he looked me in the eye. 'Off to join your suffragette friends?' he asked quietly.

In shock I asked how he knew. 'I know the comings and goings of everyone at Winterbook,' he told me calmly. 'And it's just like something you'd get yourself into.'

He spoke without scorn or rebuke but I could not trust him. Not after what had happened before. 'What about it if I am?' I cried. 'What difference does it make to you? You can't stop me!' I finally pulled myself free and turned to go.

'Maria, wait,' he ordered, his voice suddenly firm. Despite myself I stopped. 'You can't go anywhere,' he shook his head at me. 'I was just coming to find you. There's no easy way to say this. Your father is dead Maria. I'm so sorry.'

I stared at him in horror as he told me all he knew. 'They found him an hour ago,' he said gently, putting his arm around me. 'Just keeled over in the forge. The doctor was fetched straight away but he was already gone. You have to come home. Your mother needs you.'

I could not say anything, unable to absorb the news. My dear father. Who had been so proud of me. Who loved me so dearly. How could I ever be happy again without him?

The tears came unbidden but I could not hold them back. Jake held me tight and whispered comfort. 'I'll take you home to your mother, just let me tell Jenks what's happened.' He disappeared into the house and I knelt on the path where he left me. Grief overwhelmed me. What did having a vote matter? What did going to London matter? What did anything matter now?

When Jake returned he lifted me in his arms and carried me back to his house. There he bade me drink tea laced with brandy and held me as I cried. He insisted on attending to me until I was in a fit state to go home. Silently I let him, meek as a lamb. My mind was spinning over the news. I wanted to stay here forever, dreading returning home and facing the reality that could not be escaped. Everything would change.

Sufragettes!

2010-01-30T12:44:00.003Z

The day did not start well. Jenks always brings me the post first thing after breakfast, so I was sitting in my study when I opened the letter. It was the third such missive that I had received in the last couple of weeks, each in the same handwriting, each bearing a St Albans post -mark. It was very similar in tone and content to the previous two.

Dear Sir George,
I feel compelled to write again as it is clear that you have not heeded my previous advice and are still continuing your relationship with Mrs Anastasia Kelling.

This association bears risking your reputation and with it the respect and esteem that you have in our county. I fear that I must spell out what I have only alluded to in the past, although it grieves me to be so blunt. Mrs Kelling is entertaining other gentlemen besides yourself. Indeed she is gaining some notoriety in respectable London circles. She is cheating not only on her own husband but on you as well.

I write, not out of any malice, but out of great affection for your person. I would hate to see you became a laughing stock and with every day that passes this becomes ever more likely.
Please note my warning and end this destructive dalliance before it is too late.
As with the other two letters there was no signature.

What on earth was I to think? I love Anastasia and believe that she has similar feelings towards me. I cannot believe that she would betray me like this. But there again, she has a passionate nature and an appetite that perhaps our infrequent encounters cannot completely satisfy. She is my mistress not my wife, can I expect her to be faithful to me when I encourage her infidelity towards her husband?

As one might imagine the letter did not place me in the best of moods. I was therefore not in a tolerant frame of mind when Jenks came to inform me that a party of suffragettes had turned up at the front door some twenty minutes and were demanding to speak to me and to address the servants! They were refusing to leave until I came out to them and acquiesced to their demands.

“What monstrous impertinence!” I exploded. “How dare they demand anything? I will not speak to them and neither will I give them leave to speak to any of the servants!”

“What would you like me to do sir?” Jenks asked.

“Tell them that they’ve got ten minutes to leave the estate before I consider them to be trespassers and set the dogs on ’em”

I was damned if I was going to give way to the rabble, even if was a female rabble!

“Very well sir.”

Despite myself I was intrigued to see what manner of woman these suffragettes were. I had read all about them in The Times but had never encountered them in the flesh as it were. What sort of a woman is it who goes around demanding the right to vote? What sort of strange aberrant creatures are they?

Not wanting to be seen I hurried upstairs so that I could watch them out of the window at the top of the stairs. I looked down at the gathering. There were a couple of older ladies, some of middling years but the majority were young women. They were respectably dressed save for the sashes of purple,white and green that they wore. A number were carrying ridiculous placards emblazoned with slogans. ‘Votes for Women’ and other such nonsense. What on earth were their husbands or fathers thinking of, allowing them to go about like that, stirring up trouble, causing a commotion, disturbing the peace?

One of them started up a song, the words of which I couldn’t catch, although the tune was lively. They fell silent when Jenks came out onto the front steps. His message was not received well. I could hear the boos and catcalls even from where I was standing. But good man that he is, he stood firm, patiently taking his pocket watch out and conspicuously checking the time. I do not know if they believed that I would set the dogs on them but I suspect that the chance of such a thing happening was enough to deter most of them. They started to disperse. All but one of them.

She was a young woman, in her mid-twenties I would guess, blonde haired and without a hat. She glared up at the house in a most belligerent manner, her eyes flicking from window to window. Our gazes met and she stared up at me, her expression haughty and hostile. She held my gaze as she slowly crouched down and picked up a pebble from the surface of the drive. I should have seen it coming but I didn’t. For a girl she had a remarkably strong and accurate throw. The stone shattered the window pane just above where I was standing and I was showered with shards of broken glass! As she bent to pick up another missile I hastily retreated from the window. I was shocked to my very core, I was under attack in my own home!
Jenks had seen what she did. He shouted and I heard the footmen come running. By the time I had made it down into the hallway they were dragging her in through the door. She was spitting and cursing like a wild thing, like a woman possessed. Raymond had her by one arm, Fred by the other but she was kicking and struggling and putting up a tremendous fight.

“Bring her into my study,” I commanded.

She stopped fighting when the doors of my study were closed behind her, but I was pleased to see that the footmen did not relinquish their hold on her.

“What’s your name girl?” I demanded.

“I’m not a girl, I’m a woman,” she said spiritedly. “And my name is none of your business!”

Jenks spoke from behind us. “Her name is Elizabeth Stanhope, she’s from Harpenden, the Doctor’s daughter… unmarried”

I pitied the poor Doctor, imagine having a daughter such as this? There was little wonder that she was unmarried, what man in his right mind would have her? Oh she was attractive enough but no man wants to take on a harridan.

The girl shot Jenks a look of pure contempt.

“So now you know my name Sir George, what of it? Are you going to call the police, have me arrested, have me locked up?” she challenged me haughtily.

“I could well have you arrested Miss Stanhope,” I told her calmly “Trespass is one thing but criminal damage is quite another.”

“I’m not frightened of going to prison for the cause. It would be an honour for the sisterhood!” she said fiercely.

“I’ve no intention of involving the police,” I told her calmly, “I have no intention of making you a martyr for your cause and besides, I am perfectly capable of dealing with you myself.”

I turned to Jenks. “Fetch Miss Downing and one of the maids.”

I don’t know if she guessed what I intended but she started to struggle again. “Let me go!” she demanded. “You have no right to allow your men to hold me like this.”

“I have every right young lady. This is my house and I shall do what I please with you.”

“You are a beast and a brute!” she exclaimed, still trying to free herself “It’s men like you that we’re fighting against. You wait, when women get the vote things will start to change around here! You won’t be able to do as you please then!”

I did not bother to rise to her challenge. The footmen still had a firm hold on her and after a little she subsided. Jenks brought Miss Downing, accompanied by young Becky, one of the housemaids.

“This is Miss Downing,” I told Elizabeth Stanhope, “She is governess to my two wards and very experienced at dealing with naughty girls.”

“I am not a naughty girl!” she said hotly.

“A naughty girl is exactly what you are Miss Stanhope. Throwing stones and breaking windows is a schoolboy prank. If that is how you are going to behave then that is how you must be treated.” I turned to Miss Downing. “The senior cane I think Miss Downing.”

Elizabeth stared at me in wide-eyed horror. “No!” she protested “You can’t!”

“I can and I will.” I told her with some satisfaction.

“Put her across the desk and hold her down,” I ordered the footmen.

Elizabeth struggled even more fiercely, kicking out at them as they forced her over the desk. Her foot made contact with Raymond’s shin and I heard him swear under his breath. But there were two of them and they were stronger and larger than she and it wasn’t long before she was bent, face down across my desk.

“Becky, bare her, if you please,” I commanded.

“No! No! Please No!” Elizabeth gasped.

Becky hesitated.

“Do it!” I ordered.

Becky hurried forward, her face red, probably remembering the times when she had been on the receiving end.

Elizabeth turned her head and looked at the maid. “Traitor!” she whispered as the maid lifted her skirts. I watched as Becky unfastened the lace at the waistband of Elizabeth’s pretty lace-trimmed drawers, then looked on as she let the garment drop, revealing the sufragette’s plump, white bottom.

Miss Downing was ready, the cane in her hands, a look of grim determination on her face.
“Six strokes,” I told her “And tightly laid on if you will.”

“Yes sir.”

I saw Elizabeth shudder as the rod was laid across her bare cheeks. Saw her stiffen as Miss Downing drew it back. There was that lovely swishing noise as the cane cut the air and a loud retort as it found its target. Elizabeth gasped and jerked against the edge of the desk.
It was a pleasure to watch Miss Downing cane the girl. She really is an expert. The strokes were hard, accurate and unhurried. Each leaving its mark, a red line that stood out clearly against Elizabeth’s white skin. I could count the stripes, six in total, nicely parallel, almost perfectly spaced.

Elizabeth was breathing deeply, struggling to stay in control. Apart from the first gasp of pain she had uttered not a sound during her punishment. Obviously she was determined to be brave, to gain a moral victory through her stoicism. Well, that wasn’t going to do at all.

“Another six please Miss Downing. I don’t think Miss Stanhope has really learned her lesson yet.”

I glanced around the room as Miss Downing swished the cane through the air again and brought it down smartly across Elizabeth’s bare bottom. Jenks was clearly enjoying the spectacle, his face was set but I could tell he was trying not to smile. The footmen too were also having a fine time of it. No doubt they would be entertaining the servants’ hall with lurid descriptions later in the day. Miss Downing herself was harder to read, but I think I sensed her pleasure in a job well done, certainly she was laying on the strokes with alacrity. The only person in the room (apart of course from Miss Stanhope) who was finding the situation uncomfortable was Becky. Maybe she had some fellow feeling for the girl, for she was finding it very hard to watch.

Six more strokes, six more stripes, one very sore looking bottom, but still the suffragette wasn’t broken. She had her face down on the desk but when I went around and lifted her chin her eyes were moist but her expression still defiant.

“Beast, sadist, brute!” she whispered.

Insults were only going to result in one thing.

Miss Stanhope is clearly not yet contrite Miss Downing,” I said levelly. “It seems to me that a second dozen might change her manner. Lay them on well please. As hard as you like.”
Miss Downing didn’t need any encouragement. She gave me a complicit smile then raised the cane high. It was the fourth stroke of this second dozen that did it. Elizabeth’s silence was finally broken. Her shoulders heaved and she gave a choking sob. Now that the floodgates were open she could not stop herself. She cried as the cane came swishing down time and time again, marking her bottom with the hot red weals she so richly deserved.

I looked at her as she lay across the desk, weeping and broken.

“Thank you for your assistance Miss Downing. I don’t think Miss Stanhope will be troubling us again at Winterbrook Hall.”

I turned to Jenks. “Get her tidied up and escort her to the gate Jenks. I do not expect her to still be on the estate in half an hour’s time.”

“Yes sir,” he said, still trying hard to supress his amusement.

I turned for the door.

“Oh Miss Stanhope… perhaps you can pass on a message to your ‘sisterhood’? If I catch any one of them on my land again then I will not be showing them the leniency I have shown you, I shall be handing them over to my gamekeeper for a public horse-whipping! A very good day to you madam.”

I strode of towards the stables, feeling in a better mood than I had all day.

Lucinda Meets Eleanor

2010-01-19T21:26:00.000Z

It all began when Miss Downing told us at breakfast one morning just after new year that there would be a new addition to the household. I wondered at first why she was telling us this. We care little when new servants join the household, unless they will be serving us directly. It became apparent, though, that this new member of the household was not a servant. She was a woman called Eleanor Randall, Charlotte's age and gently brought up, who would be coming to Winterbrook as a chauffeur to Sir George. Due to her upbringing and social status, she would not be living in the servants quarters, or in fact the house at all, but rather in the East lodge, on her own!

I knew before I was even introduced to her that I would not like her, and so it proved on the day she arrived. She came into dinner and was introduced to us there. As it was her first day, Sir George had invited her to dine with us, but she arrived at the dinner table still with black muck showing on her hands. Goodness knows what it was. When Sir George frowned at it, she blithely started trotting out some nonsense about it being “Grease from the car axle”. Grease? I thought that is what one cooked potatoes in. Luckily for her, he seemed inclined to let this go, and so we got on with the business of dinner, which was a less pleasant experience than normal. To be fair, dinner is rarely a pleasant experience. Only when Sir George is absent can it be considered anything approaching bearable, and even then I have to endure Miss Downing's glares. That dinner, though, was particularly tiresome. Eleanor, or “Ellie” as she entreated us to call her was the most awful “Hail Fellow, Well Met” type of a creature, gollying and goshing all over the place. She prattled on incessantly about the East Lodge, asking if she could decorate it, and telling us her ideas for making it her home.

My anger and annoyance rose and rose as the evening progressed. How dare she? How dare this girl who was no part of this family, come into the house, be given her own residence, freedom, the ability to go where she wanted, when she wanted? All the things that I wanted! I hated her! I fear I was not hiding my dislike either, and after dinner, when we withdrew, Miss Downing requested the pleasure of my company in the schoolroom briefly. A lecture on manners and politeness to others followed. Miss Downing pointed out that however high spirited Miss Randall may appear, that was no excuse for my behaviour at dinner, and it was my responsibility to lead by example and show her how nice young ladies comported themselves. The lecture was followed by her pulling me over her knee, pulling up my skirts and spanking my bottom till there were tears pricking in my eyes, and my poor bottom smarted horribly.

She pushed me to my feet, and bade me rejoin the others in the drawing room. I did so, but I was even less able to be civil to the silly creature. How dare she?! How dare she have all these things that I wanted? I would show her. Just give me time.

Employment!

2010-01-12T14:00:00.000Z

I honestly couldn't believe it when Mother told me that "employment had been found for me." I knew things were rotten around here but I hadn't thought we'd come to this. And gosh--the funny look she had when she said it gave me an awful moment imagining myself in some shabby shop selling--oh, gloves, or something. I'm sure there's larks to be had as a shopgirl, from what you read in the magazines at least, but it gave me the most terrible all-overish feeling. I had an even worse moment when I thought maybe she was going to send me away to look after children. I do love the sweet little things, of course I do, such good fun, but the lessons would get us all in the end. I have the average allowance of brains but I was rubbish at schoolwork myself and happy enough to be rid of it. I just couldn't start that all over again.

Everything and everyone has been in a funny old state since Father's difficulties, and while I'm doing my level best to remain a trusty trout and all that I've had a few nasty shocks myself and wasn't looking forward to another. But as I said, poor old mother was looking a bit strange, and I really do think she's had the worst of all that's gone on, so I didn't want to worry her more by causing a racket. I braced myself and flashed her my best smile.

"All right, Mater dearest, empty the bag, what's it to be? Kids? Gloves? Kid gloves?"

"What? Honestly, Eleanor, darling, I can hardly understand a word you say any more. The influence of those ghastly American girls and their deplorable pulp magazines, no doubt. No, the position that has been found for you...oh Eleanor, how terrible it sounds...a position...employment...oh!"

And she started to cry. Again. I'm afraid Mother is rather a wet blanket at the best of times but recent events have simply been too much for her and it takes all of our best efforts and as much patience as I posess to pet and amuse her out of these storms. To be honest I think she took the desertion of that grunting humbug Hamilton worse than anything else. Bad enough that Father was disgraced, far worse to have to call off a wedding. Still, what can't be cured...

"Now now, buck up, Mama, what is it?"

I resisted the urge to shake her and beamed at her instead. To be honest at that very moment even sending myself out to the factories seemed a brighter future than paying out the rest of my days here, with a weeping mother on a fading couch, and a dim father shut up in his empty study, in continually diminishing circumstances. I wondered where one could obtain those fetching shirtwaists the shop-girls all wear. At a shop, I suppose. I was interrupted in my thoughts by the sudden grip of my mother's hand.

"Eleanor, you...you are to be a chauffeur!"

She sobbed, and hid her face in my shoulder. I burst out laughing, wondering (with some admiration, I must say) just where my mother had found this new sense of humour. But slowly, bit by bit, I pulled the story from her, and as the strange truth dawned on me I could barely contain myself.

"Gosh, this is a rum go! Oh Mama, Mama, stop crying, you goose! Driving a car for a living is hardly work at all! I really couldn't be happier! Are you sure? A girl chauffeur! Even Dorothy Levitt wouldn't believe this!"

I've read every word the "Fastest Girl in On Earth" has ever written, she's a genius--a multiple world-record holder and author of her own motoring column in the newspaper! In fact I have taken her excellent advice regarding automobile breakdowns: “to learn quickly to mend matters and to laugh at them rather than weep” as my personal motto in our current difficulties.

Ever since the minute I first saw a motorcar, I've been in love. I spent the last several summers in San Fransisco with the brilliant Gilcrest sisters and their adorable motor. The fun we had! I might not hold any world records, but I can drive like the dickens and even muck about with the engine a little bit, though it does get one ever so filthy. I wonder if they have a mechanic here at Winterbrook hall--details have been rather scarce so far!

Christmas passed in a blur. All I could think of was my new position, my new home, and most of the all, the beautiful, beautiful new motor that I am to have full charge of. I cannot imagine what could have possesed a man so reportedly conservative and old fashioned as Sir George Radcliffe to make such a startling and funny decision as taking on a girl chauffeur. I'll bet I'm the first in the country--maybe the first in the world! Now that I'm finally here, I must say the strangeness of it all has only increased, for I really don't think the man has any sense of humour at all.

I hadn't been in the house ten minutes before Sir George was roaring at me for upsetting his moany old horse-driver on the way from the train station. I had only been trying to make conversation, but when I tried to explain this, he went puce and, imagine this! Caned me right on the spot! The caning came as a surprise, and golly did it hurt! While they did like to hand out regular thrashings at old Kingsmead, it had been a while. He also went well out of his way to remind me of my status in the house, which I thought was unkind, considering the circumstances. I'm not touchy and I'm not proud, but I'm not entirely insensible, either. Altogether an unhappy start. Still, I'm glad to say I didn't kick up a fuss and least said, soonest mended. You can't keep Ellie Randall down for long, even with a big stick. Never could. As soon as I was dismissed I ran straight down to the garage and comforted myself by examining and crooning over every inch of that lovely shiny new motor car, and in five minutes I'd forgotten all about Sir George. The Silver Ghost! What a beauty she is!

Character Profile - Eleanor Randall

2010-01-11T19:19:00.004Z

Eleanor Randall is 20 years old, the only child of Cedric and Constance Randall. Until recently she was expected to be heiress to the vast Randall fortune, a considerable portion of which was meant to be settled on her upon her next birthday.

Unfortunately, one night, under the influence of too much pear brandy, her father wagered his entire fortune on a game of baccarat and lost, leaving the family in deeply embarrassed circumstances.

Eleanor had been engaged to young Achibald Hamilton, second son of the celebrated fruit importer, and the wedding was expected to be the talk of the society papers in the coming season. However, after watching the Randall estate evaporate, Archie took the opportunity to disappear himself, and escaped to a far-off family plantation.

Being young and naturally resilient, Eleanor has recovered quickly from these blows of fortune much more quickly than her parents. Always a cheerful girl, she has done her best to keep her chin up, and remain optimistic in the face of all difficulties. Raised with a great deal of affection and a rather free hand, Eleanor was petted and cherished by her parents, who in turn have always leant on her good spirits and quick mind for their own comfort and amusement.

The traditional education and no-nonsense discipline she received at the prestigious Kingsmead school provided a safeguard against any risk of her becoming spoiled, and the bracing company of her lively international schoolmates did much to encourage her independent nature.

While not in any sense of the word an intellectual, Eleanor relishes everything new, from ideas to technology, and until her present difficulties, she moved with a very smart set of modern young people, both at home and abroad.

When the opportunity unexpectedly arose for Eleanor to earn a living for herself as chauffer to Sir George Radcliffe, she jumped at the chance. Despite their misgivings, her parents were relieved that such a secure and respectable (if unconventional) option was available to their much-loved daughter.

The natural contradiction of very modern employment in the service of a very old-fashioned household has not escaped her, and will not be without its challenges, but she hopes she will be able to meet them with pluck and good-will.

Two New Arrivals

2010-01-08T16:46:00.000Z

Two new arrivals at Winterbrook Hall today; one perfect, the second less so.

The first arrival was my Christmas Present to myself, my brand new, Rolls-Royce ‘Silver Ghost’. It arrived mid-morning, delivered by a very smart looking driver who was good enough to take me out for a spin before leaving the motor car with me. I must say that it is a remarkable piece of engineering. The ride is smooth, there is very little noise from the engine and the beast is magnificently proportioned. Quite the thing for a man of substance, it shall certainly turn heads when we take it up to town. I have had one of the outbuildings cleared to make a garage for it and have laid in supplies of engine oil and the like as advised by the representative from the Rolls-Royce company. They have been excellent to deal with, Mr Royce is a fine gentleman although I understand that the engineering genius belongs to his colleague Mr Rolls. It seems to me a winning combination if the quality of the Silver Ghost is a measure of its quality.

The second arrival was, of course, my new employee, the girl whom Anastasia had persuaded me to take under my wing, the daughter of her friend Constance Randall. How can one describe young Miss Eleanor Randall? Vivacious? – certainly, confident? – without doubt, pretty? – I would say so (petite, blonde, blue-eyed), troublesome? – oh yes, there will be trouble in spades!

She arrived on the three o’clock train and was met at the station by Thomas with the horse and trap. During the short journey back to the hall she managed to goad and annoy him to such an extent that by the time they arrived Jenks tells me that Thomas was ready to throw her in the pond! Thomas is usually a mild mannered fellow not easily roused but Eleanor had managed it. She had spent the whole journey confidently asserting that motor cars would soon replace the horse and that people like him would soon find themselves redundant. “Why would you want to keep a stable full of old nags like these when you could have a couple of shining motor cars to replace them?” she had told him. Well Thomas has been a horseman all his life… horses are his life, so one can imagine his feelings. He hasn’t said anything to me about my decision to purchase a motor car but I know he is unhappy about it. And now this young woman was confirming all his worst fears.

Jenks told me all this before he brought Miss Randall in to see me.

“What is she like, what do you make of her?” I asked him.

He gave me a quizzical look. “I think one might say sir, that Miss Randall is a young woman who is likely to ‘put the cat amongst the pigeons’ as the saying goes. She is a very modern young woman, not afraid to speak her mind and perhaps rather unaware of the effect that her words might have on others.”

That was all we needed. I have trouble enough with Lucinda and Charlotte but at least they have Miss Downing to keep them in order.

He was right about the self-confidence of the girl. She seemed completely unabashed as she was brought into my study and looked around as though she were about to make me an offer on the paintings! I didn’t invite her to sit.

“Well Miss Randall, welcome to Winterbrook and to your new role.”

“Gosh! Thank-you. I’ve been dying to get here since Mama told me all about it. What a spiffing idea of yours to get a motor and to ask me to be your chauffeur! What do I call you by the way?”

“Sir would be appropriate don’t you think?”

She giggled. “Yes sir,” she said with mock solemnity and threw up a funny little salute. “Golly, it will be just like being back at school having to remember to call people ‘sir’ and all that!”

“Where were you at school Miss Randall?”

“Oh it’s such a funny coincidence! It’s only a few miles from here, not more than five minutes by motor car… ‘Kingsmead’. Do you know it… you must do?!”

I knew it very well. It was the school I had considered for Lucy and Charlotte. If this was a typical product of that establishment then I was heartily glad that I had taken the decision to have them educated by a governess. However, if Eleanor had attended Kingsmead then she was no stranger to discipline.

I nodded my head. “Yes I am very familiar with Dr Carrick’s school.”

Eleanor pulled a face. “The nasty Doctor. His medicine wasn’t always very pleasant!” she laughed at her own joke. I did not join in the merriment.

“Indeed, I imagine that you and Dr Carrick did not always see eye to eye,” I observed drily.

“Gosh no!” she exclaimed “I think I spent more time touching my toes and staring at the floor than I did looking at his face!”

“As you will here, unless you change your manner young lady!” I hadn’t meant to say it quite as strongly but her whole attitude of treating life as a joke had started to annoy me.

“Oh my! I am sorry!” she gushed “Mama, always says that I need to watch my manners and my speech. Have I upset you?”

“You have certainly upset my head groom.” I observed.

“He’s such a silly old fuddy-duddy, I wouldn’t worry about him. You’ll soon be able to get rid of him and all those horrid horses now you’ve got me and the motor car,” she said confidently.

“Thomas is a highly valued member of my staff and you will show him the respect he deserves.” I said through clenched teeth.

“Oh how tedious," he said, brushing a stray hair off her face, "I thought he was a very dull man... but very well I'll be nice to him... if I must.”

That was the final straw! I got to my feet. “How dare you! How dare you come into my study, giggling and talking in that offensive way.” I said fiercely. “How dare you talk about my trusted servants in that impudent manner? You may have had a privileged, nay spoilt, upbringing but in this house you are a servant and you will damn well act like one!”

Her face fell. “Oh gosh, I’m for it now aren’t I?”

“I think you need to be taught a lesson if you want to remain in my employ longer than the hour you've been here!” I told her. I glared at her, looking her up and down, aware suddenly that she was a very pretty little thing. “Have you ever had the cane?” I demanded.

She bit her lip and nodded. “Yes sir.” She had remembered her manners at last.

“Any other servant would get the cane if she acted like you have and I’m not going to make an exception for you. You have a choice Miss Randall, assume the position or walk out of the room…and my service, right now.”

I turned away from her and strode across the room to select a suitable implement. When I turned back she hadn’t gone. She was bent over and holding her ankles. What is more, her skirts were lifted and she had parted her drawers to reveal her bare bottom. Dr Carrick obviously had the girls well trained at Kingsmead.

She wasn’t giggling anymore. Nor was she laughing when I placed the cane across her bare bottom and brought it swishing down to mark a neat red line across her cheeks.

“Oh… oh gosh!” she gasped. It seemed that ‘gosh’ was a word for every occasion!

“One… thank you sir,” she counted. That Kingsmead training again!

She took her punishment well and it was clear that she was no stranger to the rod. I gave her six of the best and she maintained her position throughout and called out each stroke in a clear voice. When I told her to stand she did so and rubbed her bottom vigorously.

“Oh my! I had forgotten quite how much that hurts.” she observed.

“Well you will be getting frequent reminders unless your attitude and bearing change very rapidly Miss Randall. I need a chauffeur, I don’t need a silly, spoilt little girl. And that is exactly what you are at the moment. You need to grow up and start to speak and act like an adult. If you cannot then you can expect to be treated like a child and believe me you will find that a very painful experience.”

I think the words hurt almost as much as the caning. She looked very sorry for herself and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. She spoke in a much quieter tone now.

“I’m very sorry to have upset you and Mr Thomas sir. I didn’t mean to it’s just that sometimes I get rather carried away when I’m excited about something.”

But then her face brightened; she really was irrepressible. “And I am excited about being your chauffeur, and I will do an excellent job and be ever so respectful and…”

I held up a hand to stop her and rang the bell for Jenks. “I think that’s quite enough Eleanor. Go with Jenks now and he will show you to your accommodation.”

When she had gone I had the footman bring me a large whiskey and soda. I needed it. I love Anastasia and would do anything to please her, but what have I done bringing this madcap young woman into the house?!

Thief!

2010-01-05T10:00:00.000Z

Christmas at Winterbrook was very enjoyable. The weather was cold and there was snow on a couple of days but Sir George is not ungenerous when it comes to coal and wood for the fires so there was warmth as well as merriment. On Christmas Eve we all attended the midnight communion in the village, wishing each other a ‘merry Christmas’ as we went out into the cold night air after the service. It was lovely to be able to spend some time with Sir George without the poisonous presence of Mrs Kelling. He can be a touch grumpy and irascible at times but Christmas saw him at his best. He was friendly and charming and I am starting to get the impression that already he has some affection for me. There was a lovely silk scarf from him under the Christmas tree for me; I shall treasure it.

Now of course the New Year begins; 1908, I wonder what it shall bring? I believe that you must make your own luck in life if fortune has decided not to bestow her favours on you voluntarily. Therefore I have determined that if I am to achieve my aim of getting rid of Mrs Kelling then I must begin to take matters into my own hands. To that end I have written an anonymous letter to Sir George that should, hopefully, begin to sew some seeds of doubt in his mind concerning the aforementioned ’lady’. The correspondence must, of course, come from outside the house so I was very pleased when an opportunity arose to go into St Albans this afternoon. I knew I would have the chance to post the letter when I was in the city.

My ostensible reason for going to St Albans was to visit the Educational Supplies shop. Mr Dewar is the proprietor of a small concern on Spicer Street, just around the corner from the Abbey. I have used his services in the past but only through his catalogue, ordering items through the Royal Mail. So when I had been to the Post Office I asked for directions and very quickly found his premises.

Mr Dewar was appeared at the counter as soon as the shop bell started to ring. He was a small man, rather stopped and almost completely bald.

"Good afternoon madam," he greeted me, "Mr Douglas Dewar, how do you do?" There was a slight Scots lilt to his voice.

I took off my glove to shake his proffered hand. "How do you do? Miss Downing."

He obviously has a good memory for he remembered the name. "Ah yes, I believe you have purchased some items from us in the past?"

I nodded my head and smiled "I am impressed by your powers of recall Mr Dewar, I have indeed used your excellent catalogue before but this is my first visit to your shop in person."

He smiled, "Then you are very welcome. What can I interest you in today?"

I had prepared a list in advance and now took this from my handbag. I had decided that it was time for Lucinda and Charlotte to polish up on their arithmetic. If they are to ever be mistresses of their own households they must be able to check the accounts prepared by the housekeeper and they will never be able to do that if their mathematics is not up to scratch. They will also be doing some geometry, which is a useful skill to have when dealing with architects, garden designers and the like. Therefore on my list were a number of textbooks, some exercise books with squared paper and a variety of geometrical instruments. All were in stock and soon there was a small stack of items on the counter in front of me.

"Will there by anything else madam?" Mr Dewar asked.

"Yes, I need to replenish my collection of disciplinary implements," I told him. I had had to recently dispose of one of my canes that had split.

"What had you in mind?"

"May I see the canes that you stock?"

He went out into the back room and returned with a selection of rods. The junior canes I put to one side as I had no use for these, Lucinda and Charlotte were not little girls, no it was the senior variety that I was after. I chose two, testing them first for flexibility and making sure that they were as straight as possible. A decent cane is a pleasure to use, a bent or inflexible one simply makes the task of applying hard and accurate strokes more difficult. Mr Dewar looked at me appreciatively.

"I can see you are a connoisseur of the disciplinary arts Miss Downing," he remarked.

"I like to think that I have certain skills in that area and that a workmen should always have the best tools for the job."

"I couldn’t agree more Miss Downing. I wonder if you might like to see some of our other items? I’ve just received a new consignment of straps and tawses from our Scottish supplier."

"And who is your Scottish supplier Mr Dewar?" I asked.

"My cousin, Mr Dick of Lochgelly, as it happens. He always provides me with his very best."

"Then I would be delighted to view the merchandise," I smiled.

From under the counter he produced three implements and laid them, almost reverently, on the surface in front of me. The first was a traditional tawse, two-tongued and quite weighty. The second was a thin leather strap, the like of which I already possessed. It looked innocuous but I knew that it would produce a very sharp little sting. The third was a heavy strap, made of triple thinkness leather. It was beautifully made and the thickness of the leather meant that it was really quite rigid. I tested it in the palm of my hand and winced. Even a gentle blow imparted a fierce pain.

Mr Dewar grinned. "That one should only be used on the naughtiest of boys. I think you’ll agree that it’s quite the equal of those two canes you have there."

"It’s naughty girls that I have charge of Mr Dewar but I agree, it will need to be reserved for the most serious offences!" I weighed it in my hand. It would certainly produce a vocal response from Lucy or Charlotte, a few strokes with this and they would be begging me to stop. The image of Sir George using it on me sprung unbidden to mind. I quickly pushed the thought from my mind. That wasn’t why I was here.

"I shall take it Mr Dewar," I announced. "Would you please add it to Sir George Radcliffe’s account and have all the items delivered to Winterbrook Hall?"

"Certainly madam."

We concluded our business with some pleasantries concerning the weather and I made my departure. I stopped outside the shop to pull on my gloves and as I did so a boy bumped into me as he hurried past. He didn’t even attempt to apologise. Before I had the chance to call after him and admonish him the shop door was flung open and Mr Dewar shot out. For an older gentleman he moved surprisingly quickly. He was on the boy in a jiffy and grabbed him by the arm.

"Le’ go!" the boy shouted, trying to pull away. "Le’ go… yer ‘urting me!" Mr Dewar was stronger, he forced the lad into the shop and I followed.

I watched, open-mouthed as Mr Dewar reached into the lad’s jacket pocket and pulled out a purse - my purse!

"I saw him take it from your bag as you put your gloves on!" he exclaimed. "The evil little dipper… they come up from London Miss Downing, rich pickings in a tidy place like St Albans!" He hadn’t relinquished his hold on the boy. "Right my lad, let’s get a proper look at you!" He whipped off the boy’s cap.

I don’t know who was more surprised, Mr Dewar or myself. For as the cap came off blonde wavy locks came tumbling down. This was no lad, this was a girl! A girl about the same age as Lucinda.

"Oh so it’s not a lad but a lassie," Mr Dewar said. He gave her a fierce shake. "What’s your name girlie?"

"Alice Keppel," the girl spat. I smiled to myself, it seemed unlikely that the girl shared a name with the King’s most notorious mistress, but you never knew.

"Och really?" Mr Dewar said, the Scots accent stronger now. "And where do you live Alice?"
"Wonderland," she said cheekily.

Well she could have passed for a slightly older version of Mr Caroll’s fictional heroine, she certainly had the blonde hair, but Mr Dewar did not appreciate the joke. "Don’t you give me such nonsense girl! What’s your name, where do you live?"

The girl certainly had some spirit for her only response was to rudely poke her tongue out at him.

"Very well, we’ll see if the constable can get a bit more sense out of you." Mr Dewar said grimly. "Miss Downing, there’s usually a policeman on his beat along the High Street, I’ll keep hold of the girlie until you return."

Suddenly a look of panic swept across the girl’s face as she realised the game was up and that he was serious about involving the law. "Please mister don’t get the copper," she pleaded, "They’ll send me away and lock me up. I’m sorry I were rude and I’m sorry I took yer purse miss."

"Tell that to the magistrate!" Mr Dewar said coldly.

A sudden thought struck me. "Wait a moment Mr Dewar. Perhaps there is another way to deal with this? Perhaps we don‘t need to involve the constabulary?"

"What had you in mind Miss Downing?" he asked cautiously, still maintaining a firm hold on the girl’s arm.

"I thought that maybe this might be a chance to test your cousin’s fine workmanship. We could see if what you’ve just sold me is really as effective as you claim it to be."

"As long as you’ll not be after a discount for used goods," Mr Dewar said drily "Then I think that’s an excellent proposal." He reached over and locked the door then turned the shop sign to ‘Closed’. The girl didn’t resist as he led her through into the back room and I followed.

He relinquished his grip on her and she stood warily looking at us both. I took over.

"What is your real name?" I demanded.

"Sally," she admitted, looking down at her shoes.

"Well Sally, you have been a very naughty girl haven’t you?"

She nodded reluctantly.

"Well Sally I am a governess and I have plenty of experience of dealing with naughty girls. I am going to deal with you as I usually do with girls who need to be taught a lesson." I nodded to Mr Dewar who handed me the strap. I let her see it.

"Yer not gonna use that on me!" she protested.

"It’s this or the policeman," I said firmly.

"Bloody ‘ell…" She looked at the strap her eyes wide. She took a moment before reaching her decision. "Alright… I’ll take a leathering… I’ve had a few from Ma in me time and you’re ‘alf ‘er size, it can‘t be that bad." She was trying to put a brave face on it but I could see she was scared.

"Get your britches down and bend over the table."

"Not with ‘im looking!" she exclaimed "It ain’t decent!"

I was not going to argue with this guttersnipe. "I shall count to five and if you are not over the table with your britches around your ankles by the time I get there then I shall fetch the policeman."

I had not got to two before she was fumbling with her trouser buttons. She undid her britches and let them drop to the floor, she was wearing no underwear. She quickly bent forward before Mr Dewar could get more than a brief look at her.

She had a nice small round bottom. I took careful aim, lifted the strap high and brought it down smartly across the centre of her cheeks. She gave a howl and shot up clutching her bottom.
"Fuck me that hurt!" she swore. "That’s ten times worse than me ma’s belt!"

"Bend over Sally, I’ve hardly started yet." I said in my most icy of governess tones.

She stopped rubbing and bent back over the table, taking a firmer grip of the sides this time. I was gratified to see that there was a broad red stripe marked across her bare cheeks. I waited until she was still and ready then smacked the strap down hard again. She jerked against the edge of the table and emitted a loud shriek of pain. Her hands went back to rub her bottom but she did not rise.

"Move your hands," I ordered.

Sally placed her hands back on the table. She had started to cry and the tears fell onto the tabletop.

She flinched as she sense me lift the strap for a third stroke. I guessed she was going to find it almost impossible not to move.

"Hold her down Mr Dewar," I said.

He took her wrists and held her across the table. Now that she was unable to move I could attend to her punishment properly. What a good strapping it was and what a good strap! I could not have given her more than a couple of dozen but by the time I had finished with her her bottom was crimson from the tops of her thighs to the small of her back, and she was sobbing quietly.

I wanted to give her one final lesson to remember.

"Stand up and face me," I ordered.

She levered herself off up the table. She turned around, her face wet with tears. All thoughts of modesty banished now by the burning stripes across her bottom.

"I hope you’ve learned your lesson Sally and that you will amend your ways before you end up in more serious trouble," I said sternly. "You might think that you have been severely punished but if you ever came up before my employer, who is a magistrate in these parts, then he would have you birched. Believe me a good birching at the hands of a prison warder would make this seem like a walk in the park!"

"Yes… miss…" she managed to sniff.

"I want you to think about that on the train back to London, and just to make sure that you do here’s a little extra to remind you!"

So saying I brought the strap down hard across the front of her left thigh, the tip curling round to catch the tender skin on the inside of her leg. Before she could react I strapped the other leg, hard and fast.

"Owww!! OWWW!!" she yelped, hopping from foot to foot. As she danced around, her movement hampered by her trousers around her ankles, I gave her a couple more strokes across the back of her thighs. She didn’t know where to rub first!

I believe it is called a ‘ring of fire’. Whatever the term is I knew that Sally was going to be very sore whether she chose to sit or stand for the next few hours, and those rough trousers rubbing against her thighs and bottom would be an exquisite agony. Well she deserved it. And if the punishment dissuaded her from continuing her life of crime then I would have done a service both to her and to society.

"Stop dancing around like a Dervish and make yourself decent," I told her.

She suddenly became aware of the shopkeeper’s eyes on her and grabbed her fallen trousers. She pulled them up hurriedly, yelping as they came into contact with her raw flesh. When she was dressed Mr Dewar took her ro the back door of his shop and pushed her out into the street. He did not want passers-by to see the unhappy, chastised girl, not that she was going to complain.

"Well Miss Downing can I report to my cousin that his work passes muster?"

"You can indeed Mr Dewar. A most effective implement for dealing with thieves!"

I suspect it will also be a most effective implement for dealing with naughty young ladies. I wonder when 1908 will present the first opportunity to test that supposition?

Merry Christmas

2009-12-25T12:00:00.000Z

We'd like to wish all our readers a very Merry Christmas and a Happy and Prosperous 2010. Thank you for your tremendous support and encouragement so far. It means so much to us as a very small group of writers to hear from you and to know that you are enjoying the story as much as we enjoy writing it.

We will be taking a break over the festive period but please join us again in the new year as we continue to unearth the Winterbrook Diaries!

Best Wishes.

Eliane, Emma Jane and Jon Thorn

A Christmas Wish

2009-12-22T12:00:00.001Z

It's hard to believe that we have been at Winterbrook now some three months and how the time has flown. Christmas is drawing so near. Although I cannot help be a little sad. Papa loved Christmas so and while we lived at Otterly we did not enjoy the grandeur the like we have at Winterbrook, but we were very happy.

Still I must not be melancholy. There is so much to be pleased over. We have been enjoying the snow with some long crisp walks in the park. Really Winterbrook looks so festive, both inside and out with the beautiful tree in the hall.

Sir George permitted us to decorate it last night with Miss Downing's supervision, and how much fun that was. Although Lucy the silly goose nearly ruined it all by crashing down the stairs on a tea-tray, straight into the tree. She was lucky not to break her neck. Really sometimes I despair of her!

Relations between us have not been as close as they usually are these past weeks. Miss Downing has advised me that the best way to help her improve her manners is to be cold to her when she behaves badly and I think there is some reason in this. Although truth be told I could not be cross with her over yesterday's incident. I felt very sorry for her indeed and she still bares the marks from it all.

Even Sir George seems to be getting into the Christmas spirit. He told us just today that he has bought something very exciting for Winterbrook which we could all enjoy. Lucy did make me laugh when she whispered she hoped it wasn't a new cane!

He also said he was pleased to have our company for Christmas as this was the first the Freddy would not be at home for. He spoke with such feeling I was surprised. We were not used to seeing this side of Sir George and he very rarely spoke of Freddy in our presence.

We were also being treated to an evening in London to the theatre and a night in a hotel afterward. A very thrilling prospect indeed.

But best of all I was to see Martin again. We had been corresponding faithfully and were arranging to meet again. However, he would not agree to see me if I did not have permission. So with nothing else for it, I told Miss Downing.

She and I had formed something of an acquaintance over the past few weeks and she had confided in me about her fiance who had died in service. I felt awfully sorry for her but also hoped that she would understand my own position.

At first she was merely surprised at my revelations, made in the drawing room before the fire. She then became angry when she realised him to be the reason for my absence that night, when Sir George had caned me afterwards.

'Charlotte, I cannot believe you would be so foolish. That kind of behaviour I could have expected from Lucy, but not you. Meeting a man on your own. How could you?'

She lectured me at length on my recklessness and then instructed me to bare my bottom and place myself over her knee. I was appalled at how badly my plan had gone and it was with tears of shame and despair that I lifted my skirts and bent over her knee. How humiliating to be in this position again, especially as I now considered her a friend.

Her hand smacked down on my bottom and I tried to be still and not squirm. But eventually the pain became too much and I wriggled over her lap trying to get away.

'Now Charlotte I feel it quite ridiculous to have to put you over my knee like a naughty child. Especially as I know you can be so mature and sensible,' she scolded, punctuating her words with sharp smacks.

'But I will not hesitate to do so if you ever do anything so foolhardy again. Do you understand me young lady?'

Sniffling through tears of shame I mumbled, 'Yes Ma'am,' and endured another volley of smacks before she permitted me to rise.

Thoroughly embarrassed I stood before her, skirts above my waist until she allowed me to drop them.

'Good girl, now ring the bell for some tea and we shall plan when I can meet your Mr Lewis,' she said with a smile. My heart lifted with joy as I rang the bell, the spanking already forgotten. Oh to see Martin, what a wonderful present that would be!'

A Little Sledging

2009-12-21T08:11:00.001Z

I woke this morning to a winter wonderland; the air felt particularly chilly, and when I looked out of my window, instead of the green of the lawns all I could see was white. Thick, pristine white. I was so excited. We never used to get very much snow in the West Country. We were sufficiently close to the sea to mean that it was rarely cold enough, so it was especially exciting to see so much snow, and this close to Christmas. When Alice came to dress me, she was equally excited, even though she is more accustomed to the snow. I declared that after breakfast was complete, we would wrap in our warmest coats and go outside in the snow. Of course, I should behave like a decorous young lady and merely walk in the snow, but I had a yen to build a snowman.

Alice was much taken by the idea, and after breakfast met me at the door with my warmest coat and boots. I was just starting to dress when Miss Downing walked past, also dressed for an excursion, yet again spoiling my plans.

“Lucinda, you are not thinking of venturing outside are you?”

I looked at her meekly “Why yes, Miss Downing, I was planning on a brisk walk in the snow for health giving purposes.”

She frowned. “Lucinda, you have had a cold this past week, you are only just beginning to regain your full health. You are not to go outside and catch a chill again. I forbid it. Go to your sitting room and sit in the warm and read, or embroider.”

And with that she walked off, leaving me in high dudgeon. How boring she was, spoiling all my fun as always. I asked Alice to come with me up to the sitting room, and we sat and talked for a few minutes about the joys of winter and of snow in particular.

“We used to go sledding, down in the village. We'd all borrow our mothers' tin trays, walk up the hill, sit on them and come flying down again. It was so much fun!”

“It does sound it.” I replied wistfully. This was a childhood memory I did not have.

Alice heard the tone in my voice, and a wicked gleam came into her eye.

“Of course, we still used to sled on the trays, even if there wasn't snow. We'd take the tin trays and go to the top of the stairs and come down sitting on them! We had to make sure Ma wasn't in the house though, or she'd give us a hell of a hiding. Oh, sorry for my language Miss Lucy!” She looked a little embarrassed.

“Never mind that, are you thinking what I'm thinking, Alice?”

She looked at me blankly, and I said with some frustration, “Tin trays! Down the stairs! If I can't go outside, at least I can sledge inside!”

She giggled. “But Miss Lucy, we'll be caught, and then we really will get a hiding.”

“Not if we go now, we won't. The kitchen staff will be busy preparing lunch, and you can sneak the trays away. I know that Miss Downing and Charlotte were just leaving for a walk outside, Sir George is out for the day, and if we are careful, we can wait until there is no one in the hall before we sledge. It will be easy!”

Alice seemed unconvinced, but willing to go along with my idea, and 10 minutes later we were peering over the top bannister of the stairs, waiting for Fred and Raymond to finish bringing in the Christmas Tree. They were moving it into the drawing room today and we were going to decorate it in the evening. They went off into the drawing room, presumably to move the furniture, and we took our chance.

The main staircase is big enough for two people, so we both sat on our trays together, holding on to the bannisters. On the count of three, we both let go, and went hurtling down the stairs, laughing as we went. At this point the plan went a little awry when the trays veered slightly to the left, straight into the waiting Christmas tree, which wobbled ominously before falling to the floor, luckily missing us apart from a few branches which scratched us both rather.

I felt a little dazed as I sat up, and my heart sank as I looked around. Fred and Raymond had come from the Drawing Room to witness the commotion, closely followed by Mr Jenks, and even worse, Miss Downing and my sister had chosen that exact moment to arrive back from their walk. My stomach plummeted. I had no doubt as to what would be coming next.

*********************************************************************

Two hours later, both Alice and I stood in front of Miss Downing in the school room. Our scratches and wounds had been tended, and we both now felt more than a little sheepish. Miss Downing just looked at us and shook her head.

“Girls, what am I going to do with you? Sledding down the staircase? I think you both must have taken leave of your senses. You must learn to act like young ladies. Yes, even you, Alice. Just because you must work to earn your keep does not mean you should not behave with decorum and dignity.”

We both dropped our eyes to the floor. It had seemed like fun at the time, but it was true our descent had been neither decorous nor dignified.

“You should both feel very lucky, girls. By rights I should cane you, and hard. In fact, you Alice should really be at least docked pay for your little display earlier. Mr Jenks is displeased with you, and it was only through my pleading that he allowed me to punish in this manner instead. You both acted like silly little girls who deserve to pay much for their silliness. However, it is nearly Christmas and I am feeling lenient. I also know that you are both still quite shaken after your encounter with the tree. So I will merely spank you with the hairbrush.”

We glanced at each other, faces falling, even though we knew Miss Downing was being blessedly kind.

“Right girls, skirts up, and bend over my desk, next to each other. You may hold hands if you like.”

We did as instructed, and grasped each others hands, her right in my left. With little pause for ceremony, I felt the impact of my governess's hairbrush on my bottom. I grasped Alice's hand only to have mine squeezed harder in return as Miss Downing switched targets. She continued in this way for six or seven minutes, regularly switching between the two of us, until we were both limp over the desk, tears rolling down our cheeks.

“Stand up, please. Very well, I can see you are both contrite. Compose yourselves, and then Alice, go and attend to your duties, while you Lucinda shall come down for luncheon and we can discuss how we will decorate the tree this evening. Alice, if I hear nothing but good reports of your behaviour all day, you may help us make Christmas bows this evening.”

And with that she left the room, leaving Alice and I to give each other a sheepish hug, and go our different ways, her to her work and I to luncheon.

An Early Christmas Gift

2009-12-17T08:14:00.000Z

I lay in Anastasia’s arms and ran my hand down her back to caress the area I had just chastised. I gently stroked the raised stripes that the tawse had imprinted across her lovely bottom and she gave a delightful little gasp as my fingertips re-ignited the sting.

The tawse had been her Christmas gift to me. She had presented it to me beautifully wrapped in red tartan paper; most appropriate since it had come all the way from Lochgelly in Scotland. We had but a snatched hour together and she had insisted that I unwrap her gift and try it out immediately. Six strokes had been enough her to pronounce that it was very satisfactory indeed and that it produced a burning stripe every bit as fierce as her favourite cane. We had proceeded to her bed and were now lying in the afterglow of our enthusiastic love-making.

She propped herself up on one elbow and looked at me, a smile on her face.

“George, may I ask you a very special favour?” she said slowly.

“Anything my dear,” I replied.

“Well… I dare say that you have heard of Cedric Randall?”

I nodded. Mr Cedric Randall had become something of cause celebre in the last few weeks. He was a rich man who had staked his whole fortune on a single turn of the card at baccarat… and lost. I enjoy gambling as much as any man but would never be so foolhardy as to stake everything I had.

“Cedric’s poor wife Constance, is a great friend of mine…” Anastasia continued. “They have a daughter, named Eleanor, she’s about the same age as Charlotte. She was engaged to be married but since her father’s disgrace her fiancé has reneged on the arrangement.”

“What a cad,” I said feelingly. If a gentleman asks a lady to marry him then he is honour bound to see the thing through no matter how her circumstance might change.

“Indeed,” Anastasia agreed, “A cad and a bounder. Which has left poor Constance with a daughter on her hands together with a bankrupt husband who is no use whatsoever.”

I made sympathetic noises, wondering where I came in. I was not in the market for re-marriage nor would I be inclined to bail out Mr Cedric Randall!

“Now am I right in thinking that you are considering purchasing a motor car?” Anastasia asked.

I nodded again, rather taken aback by this sudden change of tack. Motor cars have become very popular in the last few years but I have so far resisted buying such a vehicle for myself, I am always wary of new innovations. However, I had a ride in Natty Rothchild’s Rolls-Royce last month and was highly impressed. Messrs Rolls and Royce have just produced a new model that they are calling the ‘Silver Ghost’ and I am very tempted with the idea.

“Well if you purchase a motor car then you will also need a chauffeur won’t you?” Anastasia observed.

I agreed that that was indeed the case. In fact the need to add another member to the staff at Winterbrook was one of the reasons I had so far held back from the purchase.

Anastasia smiled happily. “Then I have the perfect solution for you. A chauffeur for you and Constance Randall helped out of one of her difficulties.”

“How so?”

“Well George, young Miss Eleanor Randall is absolutely crazy about motor cars and is an excellent driver. She would make the perfect chauffeur!”

I was astounded. It was a mad idea. A young woman from a decent background become a servant in my house?

“I think she might find it rather awkward in the servant’s hall.” I suggested tentatively.

“Yes, you’re right,” Anastasia agreed, “I had already thought of that. But there is no reason that she should live in the servants’ quarters. East lodge has been vacant for over a year hasn’t it? She could live there. She would only need a modest salary I’m sure.”

It was still a crazy idea. A single young woman living by herself in a house on my estate, acting as my chauffeur? I am not one for radical ideas and this struck me as one of the most outlandish things I had heard in a long time.

I did not say anything but my expression must have given me away. Anastasia stroked her hand down my chest and kissed me gently on my neck. She murmured in my ear.

“Why don’t you give me another six strokes and think about it?” she said softly. Her hand went lower to stroke my rapidly hardening manhood. Still I hesitated. She stroked more quickly. “You can do it as hard as you like…” she whispered.

My resistance crumbled as I thought about laying the tawse across Anastasia’s bottom again. Women always know how to manipulate us to get what they want.

“A full dozen and you’ll have my agreement to your mad scheme,” I grinned.

Anastasia rolled away from me onto her tummy. She pushed the sheet off her and lifted her hips, presenting her red-striped bottom for further punishment. She turned her head and looked at me. “Then we have a deal,” she smiled.

A Silly Maid

2009-12-10T19:43:00.001Z

It is very strange. I had a weekend where I was able to indulge my passion for the rod to its fullest extent, caning the pretty Miss Downing and dealing with my darling Anastasia on more than one occasion. One might have thought that this would temper my feelings and that I would be sated and mellow the following week. Far from it. I woke this morning acutely aware of a desire, nay a need, to chastise a young lady. If there is anything that Anastasia has taught me over the last couple of years is that it is injurious to ones mental health to suppress such desires; she is a great follower of the continental alienists. Consequently I let Jenks know that the next maid he had occasion to discipline was to be sent to me. I hadn't expected that my order would bring such immediate results. He was back within the hour to tell me that one of the parlour maids, Mary, was in trouble.

"What has she done Jenks?" I asked him.

He sighed "A silly practical joke sir, nothing that would usually warrant your attention."

"And the joke was?"

"In the servants' hall she replaced the sugar in the in the sugar bowl with salt. Franklin takes four sugars in his tea. You can imagine he wasn't best pleased to take a swig of something that tasted more like seawater than tea!"

I could imagine the scene. The old gardener spitting out the tea and the rest of the servants roaring with laughter. It was the kind of thing that kept the servants amused. Normally Mrs Fuller or Mr Jenks would deal with such pranks. Today Mary was going to be unlucky.

"How do we know that Mary is the culprit?" I asked.

"She admitted it when Mrs Fuller told them the servants that they would all be docked half a days pay if no-one owned up."

I nodded. "I'm surprised Franklin didn't want to take the matter into his own hands."

"Oh he would have taken his belt to her given half a chance. But he was mollified when I told him that you would punish the girl."

"Very well. Send her in."

Mary is one of our youngest housemaids, she joined the staff earlier this year. She is a petite little thing, standing a little over five feet tall, dark hair tied back in a neat little pony tail under her white cap. She was already trembling as Jenks ushered her into the room and had her stand before my desk.

I regarded her with a stern expression on my face.

"Right girl," I said "What is the meaning of this ridiculous behaviour?"

She twisted her hands in front of her and when she spoke it was but a whisper.

"Speak up girl!" I barked at her. She trembled again and a single tear ran down the side of her nose.

"I...I...I am very sorry sir," she managed to stammer "It was just meant to be a joke. I didn't mean no harm."

"Well Mr Franklin didn't find it very funny did he?" I said sternly.

She shook her head mutely.

"You should be ashamed of yourself girl. I expect girls to have respect for their elders and betters. Mr Franklin does not deserve to be the butt of your silly pranks. You need to be taught a lesson! Have you anything to say for yourself?"

Mary trembled again. "Please sir, I know I've been naughty, and I deserve to be punished, but please, please don't cane me! Anything but the cane." she begged.

I took a moment to think. A good caning would certainly serve her right, but if truth be told her offence didn't really warrant it. It was a childish prank and perhaps there was a more fitting way to deal with her.

"Very well," I said slowly "On this occasion I will spare you the rod. But if you ever come before me again then be assured that the cane it will be. As you have behaved like a silly little girl that is exactly how I am going to treat you." I pushed the chair back from the desk. "Come here Mary."

She scuttled over to my side. "Lift your skirts and get over my knee," I ordered.

She blushed very red but did not dare disobey me. She hitched up her skirts and then lay down across my lap. I parted her drawrers to reveal a small, round bottom, unblemished and very pert. I could feel her nervous rapid breathing as she lay there waiting for her punishment to start. I had spared her the cane but that did not mean that her punishment was going to be unduly lenient. I looked up at the clock and noted that it had just struck eleven. I began to spank her. My hand is large, Mary's bottom small. It was not long before it was also rather pink. I spanked her soundly, covering every inch of her bottom with hard, stinging slaps. She was quiet and still at first but as the spanking continued she started to wriggle and whimper. I held her still with a hand in the small of her back. I checked the clock, when five minutes had passed I paused.

"Stand up." I told her.

She got to her feet. Her face was red and she bit her lip to prevent herself from crying.

"I haven't finished with you yet girl," I said. "Can you tell the time?"

"Yes sir," she nodded.

"Go and stand in front of the clock," I ordered. "You will stand there with your skirts lifted and your bare bottom on display."

Mary gave a little gasp of horror, but she hadn't heard it all yet. "You will watch the clock and when five minutes have past you will turn around, come back to me, and ask me politelty to spank you. Each time I want you to say 'I am a silly little girl, will you please spank my bare bottom sir.' Do you think you can remember that?"

"Yes sir," she said miserably

"I will spank you for five minutes each time and your punishment will end at midday."

I saw her eyes widen as she worked it out. She had been over my knee once, she had five more trips yet to make.

"Face the clock, I told her.

Mary took up her position standing in front of the grandfather clock, her skirts bunched up around her waist, her pert pink bottom on display. She made a rather pretty ornament to the room. I think Anastasia would have been most amused by her. I attended to some reading whilst the minutes ticked by.

Mary was keeping a close eye on the time. When exactly five minutes had passed she turned and walked across to stand by my side.

She cleared her throat and spoke in a small clear tone. "I... I... am... a silly... little girl. Will you please spank my bare bottom sir?"

I took her hand and guided her across my knee. For the next five minutes there were no other sounds in the room apart from the crack of my hand on Mary's bottom and her little gasps and squeals of pain. When she took up her position in front of the clock again her bottom was beautifully red.

And so it continued, the wait in front of the clock, the few steps over to my side, the request to be spanked and the spanking itself. I was very pleased with the punishment I had come up with. In terms of physical pain it was nowhere near as intense as a caning but the element of humiliation that was involved would, I was sure, linger in Mary's memory long after her bottom had stopped smarting. She was crying openly after her fourth trip over my knee and sobbing when it came to requesting her sixth spanking. She needed her final five minutes in front of the clock to regain a measure of composure before I dismissed her to her duties. She went, both hands pressed to the seat of her skirt, her eyes still wet with tears. I think I may have cured her of the habit of playing practical jokes!

When she had gone I rang for Jenks to pour me a pre-luncheon drink. What a pleasant morning it had been.

A Cheering Letter

2009-12-09T17:50:00.002Z

The embarrassment of having to write those horrible apology letters was still smarting several days later. It did not help that no one was being particularly nice to me. Sir George was not speaking to me, not that this was anything more than the normal state of affairs. Miss Downing seemed to glare at me every time she looked at me, and even Charlotte was still angry with me, and seemed barely able say one civil word to me. With her in such a temper, I was certainly not going to attempt to make amends. Yes, I had been silly, I suppose, but I had more than paid the price, both in terms of pain and embarrassment.

The only people who seemed to be willing to try and be nice to me were Maria and Alice. Maria had been very sweet to me that horrible evening, bringing me some bread and cold meats when Miss Downing had decreed I should just have bread and water, and Alice had been very gentle with me these past few mornings. I was grateful to them both. It would have been a truly miserable time without their small comforts and smiles. Maria and I had also had a very interesting conversation the night of my caning. We seem to have been able to put our initial differences aside and find common ground. She certainly shared some interesting tales of her childhood and life which I enjoyed hearing.

The worst embarrassment, I think, was having to write to the Clive twins. I had been very taken with them, from the first few minutes after I met them, when they insisted I called them Dickie and Tugger. They were enormous amounts of fun, and having to write them a note of apology sat particularly hard, especially as I knew that news of my punishment would have travelled like wild fire around the assembled guests. It was mortifying that they knew I had been caned in such a manner. My letter was stilted in the extreme, in fact I'm amazed that Miss Downing let me get away with the little I had written to them. It was possibly a lapse on her part. So with that embarrassment still fresh in my mind, I was not much inclined to spend time in the company of anyone else over the following days.

Today brought a delightful surprise, though. After lunch, Alice brought a letter to me, that she had noticed in the mail this morning and extracted forthwith, believing it to be of no little interest to me. Indeed, she was correct, as the letter was from Dickie and Tugger.

Dear Lucy,
We wanted to write and tell you what a good sport we thought you were at Winterbrook last weekend! Your company was much more enjoyable and lively than that of your sister, or Miss Fitzpatrick, upstanding young ladies though we are sure they are. We prefer a girl with a little more spirit, though, and you are certainly that!
If you are ever in our neighbourhood, we would be delighted to renew our acquaintance with you, and possibly partake of another game of billiards or some other interesting pastime. Equally, would you allow us the pleasure of calling on you when we are passing Winterbrook Hall?
Let us know by return, and I'm sure we can arrange to pass by soon.
Your adoring friends,

Dickie and Tugger.

Oh how my heart thrilled to receive their letter. At least there were two people from the house party who did not think badly of me but rather who thought that I was "enjoyable company". With everyone so cross with me here, I wonder how easy it would be to go and visit the Clive twins for a day. It would be quite easy to sneak away one weekend day - nobody pays me any attention anyway, and they would all rather I was not here. I will think on how I could manage this. Maybe Alice or Maria would assist me?

Miss Downing does some Thinking

2009-12-04T08:53:00.000Z

The weather has been very cold and bitter this week and this has matched my mood for the last few days. I dealt with Lucinda very severely at the weekend. She undoubtedly deserved all she got but I regret that I punished her whilst I was still very angry. I should have more self-control than that. I pride myself that I can administer discipline objectively, without letting my emotions become entangled in the process. But when I caned Lucy I was far from calm and in control. The caning that I had received from Sir George and what I had subsequently heard when I had listened to him and Mrs Kelling cavorting in the schooltoom had left me in a state of heightened anxiety and confusion. Added to my disapointment with Lucy it meant that by the time I had got hold of her my feelings of anger with her had been well and truly magnified and the beating I gave her was probably worse than what I had originally intended.

The news of Lucy's disgrace and punishent has spread throughout the household like wildfire. Maria was very short with me and I have had not a civil word from any of the other servants apart from Mr Jenks. I know that they think that I have been cruel to Lucy but they do not realise what a wilful and disobedient girl she is. Well, they can think what they like, it is my job to discipline Lucinda and Charlotte as required and I have done no more than my duty.

It is sometimes very lonely being a governess. I eat with the family rather than in the servants hall, but I am not their equal. I am a member of staff but I am above the other servants; I am not truly part of either world. Mr Jenks is very pleasant but is hardly a friend and Mrs Fuller is polite but unwelcoming. It is hard that there is no mistress at Winterbrook for I miss the relationship that I used to have with the children's mother in my last employment. However if Sir George did have a wife then she might be like Mrs Kelling and that would be far far worse; she really is a despicable woman.

I say that she is despicable, but maybe that is a case of 'the pot calling the kettle black' as my mother used to say. Mrs Kelling and I are alike in so many ways. Why do I hate her? Because she is cruel - am I not cruel? Because she has Sir George - do I not lust after him too? Because she derives perverse pleasure from being disciplined - do I not share the exact same proclivities? Of course the key difference between us is that she can indulge herself without guilt or remorse whilst I am full of such feelings. I do not just hate her, I envy her too.

Perhaps that is the key to lifting this dark mood. Perhaps I need to stop fighting my nature and be more like her? Perhaps I need to find a man who will give me what I crave? But who is that man to be? The answer to that question is obvious. I have not been able to get him out of my mind since he caned me. I have been attracted to Sir George from the very start and that attraction has only grown. But how can I compete for his affections with someone as beautiful as Mrs Kelling? If only I could seperate him from her then I am sure that I could stand a chance. But that will not happen overnight. In the meantime there is always Jake Dodson I suppose, but he is a brute. He could satisfy me physically but there would be no meeting of minds. It might provide some temporary satisfaction but it will not do for the long-term. No, if I am to achieve what I want then Sir George it must be.