Catherine's Letters (13 page)

A gasp came from somewhere in the room. I looked in the direction from whence it came, to see a timid young brunette stand up, her face the colour of beetroot. She was robed as we were, simply but elegantly, a dress of maroon velvet pulled about what was a very shapely figure. She clasped her hands before her and hung her head.

‘And now to select our disciplinarian,’ Miss Parker continued, drawing a piece of paper from the second jar. ‘Clarissa!’ she announced. ‘Where are you, you lucky girl?’ There was a movement in the audience, and a second woman rose to her feet. While still a brunette, she was somewhat more fair than Dominique and appeared to be of the same age. Clarissa had chosen to wear a frock of blue muslin, with a neckline tailored lower than any I would have dared to wear in public, displaying an ample bosom which now visibly heaved with some excitement.

The two women were called to the platform, where they stood shoulder to shoulder behind Miss Parker, both trembling, but I guessed for very different reasons. Miss Parker consulted her sheaf of notes. ‘Dominique, you have spoken in your submission this month of a degree of conjugal neglect by your husband of two years. As such, you have been tempted to seek solace elsewhere, even paying extra attention to your junior footman. But your husband fails to notice you still, even to the extent of not punishing you for small misdemeanours, some committed deliberately. Is all this true?’

‘Yes Miss Parker, every word,’ the shame-faced girl admitted with a sob.

‘Never fear, child, it is to your credit that you are aware of your shortcomings, and understand the treatment needed to keep you on the righteous path. You asked for a dozen with the strap and six with the cane, did you not?’

‘Yes, Miss Parker,’ she replied.

‘Very brave of you, my sweet, but I intend to test that bravery. You will receive 18 with the strap and 12 of the best with the cane.’ Dominique gasped, as did I and many in the audience, but she made no other protest.

Miss Parker now turned to Clarissa, who was beaming broadly, as well she might. ‘Clarissa, do you accept your penitent and the sentence passed on her? Remember, you may only decline two penitents before you lose the privilege of handing out punishment.’

‘Do not worry, Miss Parker, I will be perfectly happy to deal with Dominique in the manner prescribed,’ was Clarissa’s eager reply.

The preliminaries thus despatched, Dominique was prepared for punishment. She herself bent over the wooden frame, her legs apart, a foot beside each post, and her hands clutching firmly to the bar midway down the other side. Miss Parker and the matron produced thin leather straps which were used to bind her wrists and ankles in place. By now, the audience had fallen silent, the only audible sound being Dominique’s gentle crying.

Having secured her fast, the two lady assistants returned to their seats and Clarissa stepped forward. She had used her time to good effect, selecting a strap and a cane from the two trays. These she placed on the floor by Dominique’s feet, before seizing the hem of her dress. With one deft movement she lifted it clear, throwing it over the sobbing girl’s back to reveal a pair of pristine white drawers. But these were not to stay on for long. Pulling at the ribbons which tied each side at the waist, they were quickly undone and lowered to Dominique’s ankles.

We were now presented with a perfect view of her bare bottom and thighs, down as far as her garters, which held up her expensive black stockings. I believe it was only at this point that it truly dawned on me we were to witness Clarissa whipping Dominique. Maybe I thought we would be asked to leave at some suitable point, but to tell you the truth, Connie my dear, I was delighted at the prospect, much as I felt sorry for poor Dominique.

Clarissa took up the strap and slapped it lightly thrice against Dominique’s bottom, for aim, I presume. She drew it back to the height of her shoulder, paused but a moment, and then swung it down.

It made a dreadful sound as it slapped across poor Dominique’s somewhat chubby bottom, which quivered with the impact. The girl let out a howl, which gradually subsided back into tears, before she was able to force the words “first stroke” from her lips.

Clarissa raised the strap again, then whipped it down with much the same effect. ‘Second stroke,’ Dominique called, between the sobs which were now shaking her whole body. The punishment continued, Clarissa not allowing the poor girl any quarter, although Dominique bravely counted off each stroke as it burned her bottom.

As each one landed I found myself jumping in my seat and wringing hands in my lap. It was as if I could feel Dominique’s pain myself. Fortunately, by the time she was calling out “seventh stroke”, Miss Prior’s hand had stolen into mine and clutched it tightly to comfort me.

Eventually, the strap’s full measure had been delivered and it was replaced on the tray with its brothers. But this only meant it was time for Clarissa to take up the cane and deliver 12 strokes with that. I had no doubt they would be hard ones. Dominique’s bottom was already a mass of red weals, as Clarissa took aim and prepared to give her more.

As before, Clarissa placed the rod against her target, then drew it back. I held my breath, and felt Miss Prior squeezing my hand, as I waited for the cane to fall.

After a pause which must have been but a few seconds, although it felt an eternity, the cane swept down. Poor Dominique’s bottom quivered as it landed, and she let out a blood-curdling scream, before tearfully announcing to the assembly that she had just received her first stroke.

Clarissa caned her with an enthusiasm felt by everyone in the room. As the wicked rod landed again and again, and the unfortunate Dominique counted off the strokes of her punishment, I cast my eye around the audience. Some grinned, visibly enjoying the spectacle of the young girl’s suffering; still others trembled, their fingers going to their mouths as each blow went home. Miss Parker watched impassively, as if this were no more than a daily duty which had to be despatched before more interesting matters could be entertained.

I also stole a look to my left, to see what Miss Prior’s expression would tell me of her mental state. And what do you think, Connie? I found her smiling at me, as if she were trying to do the very same thing.

I quickly returned my attention to Dominique’s caning, which was reaching its peak. She took two more strokes before her sentence had been fully served, and if I am any judge of the rod’s unique song by now, I would say Clarissa laid them on extra hard. As they were given, poor Dominique wailed loud enough to wake the dead.

Dropping the cane onto the tray, Clarissa then made Dominique decent again, pulling up her drawers roughly, with no consideration for her sensitive and sore skin. Miss Parker was joined by her assistants once more and they released the girl, helping her back onto unsteady feet. As she turned to face us we could see in the redness of her eyes and the wet streaks upon her cheeks how very painful the experience had been for her. Nevertheless, she managed a brief curtsey to the three ladies in charge of proceedings, before she and Clarissa were sent back to their seats, upon which one would sit far less comfortably than the other.

Lots were once again drawn and two more ladies were called to the platform. Now it appeared to be the turn of a golden-haired girl called Victoria to receive punishment, which would be handed out by a redhead named Ethel.

Miss Parker produced the sheet upon which Victoria had written her confession, and spent a few moments reading it. ‘So, Victoria,’ she announced, ‘you have once again overspent on the housekeeping allowance given to you by your husband, and you feel nothing short of a stern dose of the cat o’ nine tails will help you mend your ways?’

‘Yes, Miss Parker,’ Victoria affirmed in a clear and confident voice. She was a tall, slim, and elegant girl, and I wondered how she would look under the lash. To my immortal shame, Connie, I also wondered how she would appear unclothed!

‘And so you shall be whipped,’ Miss Parker told her. Then she added, ‘And also birched. No Victoria, do not protest, this is the third occasion you have confessed to this sin. It is clear to all of us that you are in need of more persuasion if you are to be cured of this fault. Present yourself for punishment.’

Victoria duly bent over the frame, her long arms and legs easily accommodated by its height. Miss Parker and her assistants strapped her into place, as Ethel, a much shorter and rounder girl, picked up a cat o’ nine tails of most evil appearance. Once Victoria was lashed down, Ethel lifted her skirts and pulled down her drawers with what could be said to be undue haste. Victoria’s naked, alabaster-white bottom and thighs were now presented to us in the most uncompromising fashion.

Standing back to measure her stroke, Ethel then swung the tails of the whip about her head, making a swishing noise which I believe was intended to alarm Victoria. It appeared to work, for the blonde’s lean legs began to tremble. Ethel brought the thongs down across her peach of a bottom. There was a scraping sound, as Victoria let out a gasp, before calling “first stroke”. There was a tiny shake in her voice, but she was evidently not yet in tears, unlike Dominique, whom I could still see dabbing at her eyes with a fine lace handkerchief.

Indeed, Victoria continued to take her flogging most stoically, even as Ethel laid on stroke after stroke. She had counted off the 20th when it stopped and her lovely tormentor put down the cat. I believed that to be the end of the punishment, but it was only to provide her with a change of target. With a nod from Miss Parker, Ethel rolled Victoria’s stockings down to her boots, thus contrasting the whiteness of her unmarked flesh with the redness of her bottom. But it was not to stay this way for long: taking up the cat once more, Ethel whipped the tender area of Victoria’s thighs and calves, an operation which caused their owner far more distress than the flogging of her buttocks.

But still she counted them off, and had reached 40 before Ethel called a halt for a second time. Now the cat was replaced on the tray, but only so that the pretty redhead could select one of the birches. After some careful consideration she pulled one, dripping, from the bucket and shook the remaining drops from its twigs. ‘A full 20 strokes for her,’ Miss Parker announced from her seat, ‘and spread them well so that you build up the heat in her bottom and thighs.’

‘Yes, Miss Parker,’ Ethel replied, before returning her attention to Victoria. She raised the rod and held it steady, before flicking it down onto the centre of her bottom. Victoria let out a moan before counting off “first stroke”. The second was delivered only a few moments later, then the third and the fourth, and so on, giving Victoria barely enough time to count them. It seemed to be causing her less distress than the cat, and I wondered why the birch was such a feared instrument of correction. Then I looked more closely at the myriad of little scratches on Victoria’s beautiful skin and realised how much the agony must be mounting within her. Indeed, by the time she reached “tenth stroke”, there was a strained quality to her voice; by 15, she was in tears; and by the time, with great relief, she reached 20, she was sobbing heartily as Dominique had done throughout her punishment.

Ethel replaced the birch, now somewhat frayed, in the bucket, and returned Victoria’s clothing to a state of decency. Miss Parker and her assistants released the poor girl, who rose gingerly and immediately pulled from her sleeve a delicate lace handkerchief, with which she wiped her eyes. Miss Parker congratulated her on her fortitude. Then, to my utter surprise, Ethel and Victoria embraced, kissing one another on the cheeks like old friends, rather than as one woman who had just given the other a severe dose of discipline.

They returned to their seats. I felt Miss Prior squeeze my hand once again. As Miss Parker drew two more names, I was suddenly gripped by a horrid and terrifying thought. Was my name in there? Would I be expected to climb onto that stage, bend over the whipping frame, and allow myself to be tied down? Would my own bottom be bared for whatever horrible sentence Miss Parker chose to pass upon me? The very idea filled me with dread, making the blood run like ice in my veins!

But I was to be spared that ignominy. As two more women were called to the stage Miss Prior rose and pulled me gently to my feet. I was surprised, and not a little disappointed as, my fears notwithstanding, I wished to view the rest of the performance, but Miss Prior seemed most insistent that I had seen enough.

I was led from the room, causing a few heads to turn, briefly, from the exciting tableau about to be enacted upon the stage. I expected to be taken back downstairs to be transported home. Imagine my shock, then, to find myself being taken up to the third storey of the building. As with all town houses, this floor accommodated the bedrooms; four of them, and all quite large. Miss Prior pulled me along the landing to the furthest one, the only one with a closed door. She opened it without knocking, and drew me inside, shutting the door behind us.

I stared at the sight which met my eyes. The room was sparsely furnished, with only a large bed, a chair, and a nightstand upon which stood an oil lamp, providing the room’s only illumination. What it illuminated was the fair serving maid who had caught my eye downstairs, except that now she no longer wore her maid’s uniform. Stripped to her chemise and drawers, she stood on the far side of the bed, her expression a mystery to me on account of her facing the wall with her hands upon her pretty head.

‘This is Betty,’ Miss Prior said, in answer to my unasked question. ‘I believe you have briefly seen her performing her duties downstairs. She has been sent up here because she has been wicked. Miss Parker caught her in a compromising situation with the dairy boy, did she not, Betty?’

‘Yes, miss,’ the small figure mumbled.

‘She shall, of course, be punished in the traditional way,’ Miss Prior went on. Given the girl’s state of undress I had no doubt what this meant, and a thrill ran through my being when I realised I was to be an intimate witness to her flogging. But my heart sank at my governess’s next words. ‘However, Miss Parker and I both feel that Betty would also benefit greatly from seeing how a lady of noble and superior birth endures a similar punishment.’