As I watched, the door at the far end of the room opened and Meg entered. Behind her followed the maid girl, Polly, whose hands I saw had been tied together in front of her by what looked like a long length of silk ribbon. She wore her normal uniform except that the long white pinafore was missing and there was no little starched cap on her head. Her eyes looked red and I guessed she had been crying.
'I've brought the wretched girl to you for punishment, sir,' Meg said, turning to push Polly ahead of her. 'Erik caught her trying to take the bitch's head off to feed her some pieces of meat she had stolen from the kitchen.'
'I see,' Hacklebury drawled, staring up at Polly where she now stood before him, her eyes downcast. 'And what have you got to say for yourself, girl?'
'I... I'm truly very sorry, sir,' she murmured, 'but I didn't think it would do no harm seeing as the scraps was going to be thrown out anyway, and that poor girl... well, whatever she's done, I knew she hadn't eaten anything proper for days.'
'And so you took it upon yourself to look after her dietary needs, did you?' Hacklebury enquired pleasantly.
'I just... I just thought she needed a bit of something solid in her, to save her getting poorly, like, sir.'
'You did, did you?' He raised an eyebrow. 'You decided, all by yourself, that my orders and Miss Meg's orders were totally inadequate and so you were going to remove part of the stupid wench's punishment? Tell me, Polly, how would you like to spend a month in such a suit yourself? Mr Pottinger is delivering us several new ones later this week and I'm sure we could accommodate you.'
I saw the girl's face turn ashen. 'Oh no, sir!' she cried, raising her bound wrists in supplication. 'No sir, please, I beg you, not that!'
'Then perhaps I should turn you out on the streets again and tell the local magistrate about your little criminal adventures in Bath? How many unfortunate fellows had their purses lifted by your bully-boy associate before I came along? It would be Australia for you, at the very least, or a pretty dance at the end of a rope.'
'Sir, I'm sorry!' Polly wailed. 'It shan't happen again, sir, God's honest truth, as He's my witness!'
So that was it, I thought, that was why Polly seemed to go along with all of Meg's extravagances and didn't try to interfere. Hacklebury had over her that she was a criminal, and the sort of crimes she had been involved in more often than not meant a capital sentence. The fact that Hacklebury couldn't turn her in without risking her spilling his own beans probably hadn't occurred to the silly wench.
'I know it shan't happen again,' Hacklebury said placidly, 'because I am going to teach you a severe lesson in obedience, a lesson you shall not forget for a very long time, my girl. Meg, you may untie her hands now, help her out of her dress and petticoats, and then check to see that her corset is good and tight. If it is, then later you will find her a smaller size and lace her into it once the stripes fade from her backside as a reminder to her.'
Bastard, I thought. As with Angelina, he was turning a supposed fashion accessory into an instrument of torture, an instrument that could be worn undetected by anyone other than the wearer. Going about the daily chores of a maid even in an ordinary corset would have been laborious enough, but to be really tightly laced would be murder.
Polly was quickly stripped of her uniform, which consisted of two long petticoats and an additional shift she wore over her corset, a plain garment with thick laces. Beneath this she had on a pair of voluminous pantaloons that tied about her knees over black cotton stockings, and simple laced shoes with small heels. Meg then immediately checked the corset's lacing and declared it to be far too slack.
'I'll check this myself every morning from now on,' she declared, drawing in on each of the laces in turn. I saw Polly wince, but in truth, the corset fully closed would have been nowhere near as severe as the last one I had worn. Meg also knew this, for she quickly commented on the fact. 'We'll have a much smaller set of stays for you in the morning,' she promised. 'These are for a fat slovenly pig and you wouldn't like people to think you're a fat slovenly pig, would you Polly?'
'No, miss!' the poor girl gasped. 'No, I shouldn't like that!'
'There,' Meg said at last, retying the laces. 'That's as tight as this one gets.' She walked back around in front of Polly and peered down at the girl's pale bosom, which had now been lifted somewhat higher. I saw tiny brown freckles and two thin little blue veins just beneath the surface of her skin. 'She is quite ready for you now, master, unless you wish me to remove her drawers as well?'
'No, that will not be necessary,' Hacklebury said, rising. 'Just put her over the red chair there and tie her wrists to the arms and her ankles to the back legs. It doesn't do to have a girl moving about during punishment.' He turned away and walked to the far wall, where a long sideboard sat beneath a large landscape painting. He opened the cupboard at one end and extracted a selection of canes, which he brought back and laid out on the chaise lounge while Meg set about the task of tying Polly down to the chair.
The maid, her eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears, was made to move behind the heavily padded back of the red armchair and to bend forward over it, laying her arms out along the padded wooden arms whilst Meg, with two lengths of the same material that had been used earlier, tied each of her wrists firmly in turn. Then, from a pocket in her long dress, the older woman drew out two lengths of cord and with these she proceeded to draw Polly's ankles apart and to tie them to the back legs of what was now a very effective whipping horse. The girl's bottom was raised invitingly, unprotected save by the thin material of her pantaloons. Meg then crossed to where Hacklebury was now testing each cane in turn for suppleness and spoke to him quietly, so that the apprehensive prisoner might not hear. I, however, heard every word she said quite clearly.
'I suppose you'll want to fuck the silly bitch afterwards. I can't imagine you being able to say no to such an available target.'
'It'll do her good to know who is master around here,' Hacklebury replied serenely. 'She's a little too flighty about the place, you know, always trying to give me the eye. Probably imagines I might take a fancy to her.'
'She's pretty enough, in a stupid way, but I doubt she ever thought to win your cock whilst bent over a chair with a red raw arse. Yes, you give her a good old-fashioned rogering afterwards. It'll make her think a bit differently then, I reckon. And now, if you have no further need of my services for a while, I think I'll go and see how my little Sheba bitch is getting on. I'd bring her up for you, but I doubt you'll be in the mood for her after you've finished with this little bumpkin.' And with that, she left the room.
Perhaps the worst part of any physical punishment is waiting for it to begin and Hacklebury clearly understood that, for he seemed in no hurry. Instead, he walked slowly around his helpless victim, stroking her back and then her buttocks before reaching down to run his fingers tantalisingly across her bulging cleavage. 'How long is it that you've been with me now, girl?' he asked, gently stroking the nape of her neck with the back of his hand.
Polly sniffed back her tears. 'About two years, I think, sir,' she replied in a shaky voice. 'Quite a time, and I've always tried to be good, sir, honest.'
'Well, I'm going to teach you that you need to try harder, Polly,' he said sternly. 'I'm going to teach you just how hard you need to try and how good you need to be. Otherwise, I'll let Miss Meg have you to play with the same as she's doing with another very disobedient little bitch. Understand?'
'Yes, sir, I understand.'
'Good.' He stepped back and picked up the cane he had finally selected. He flexed it once more and then, positioning himself solidly beside Polly in line with her buttocks, he swung his arm in a wide arc. The whippy instrument cut through the air with a sharp hissing sound and struck the girl's bottom across both cheeks with a high-pitched crack that immediately elicited a shrill scream of agony from her.
'Silence!' Hacklebury roared. 'You must learn to take your punishment quietly or else I shall have you gagged, and leave you gagged
for a whole day.' Again the cane swished down and there was another wicked crack upon impact, but this time Polly let out only a stifled groan from between her firmly sealed lips. 'Much better,' he muttered grimly. 'Much better.' Another stroke, followed by another crack, and Polly could not restrain a sob of anguish. I could see that her eyes were screwed shut and that there were fresh tears glistening on her cheeks.
A fourth and fifth stroke were delivered, each one causing the round bottom to jump upon impact and its poor owner to groan and gasp. I doubted she would be able to maintain her self-control for much longer and hoped the punishment would soon be over, for even though the girl had been rough and rude with me as Angelina, I still did not like to see another human being suffer and having been thrashed similarly myself now, I knew how terribly she must be suffering.
Finally came the sixth and, as it turned out, final cut. Polly began to sob openly then, her shoulders heaving as tears streamed down her face. She tried to plead but her words were an incoherent jumble. It was easy to guess, however, that she was promising anything, and everything, to her master in the desperate hope of being spared further punishment.
'That will do for now, Polly,' Hacklebury said severely. 'Stop your stupid snuffling,' he admonished her, 'and listen to what I have to say.'
Sensing that the terrible caning was over, she gradually managed to stifle her sobs and I saw her shoulders relax somewhat she was so relieved.
'Now then, my girl,' her master said when she had calmed down, 'you have been properly punished, not just for your disobedience today but also for your generally impudent attitude. You seem to think you can do almost anything you please around here and I have to tell you that that is not the case. You are my servant and you will do precisely what I tell you to do, or whatever Miss Meg tells you to do on my behalf. You seem to think that being a pretty girl is enough to excuse your lack of discipline and respect,' he went on as he began fumbling with the sash of his robe. 'You need to understand that prettiness is no substitute for respect, for I can find any amount of pretty girls to amuse me. Perhaps I should replace you with one such?'
'No, sir, please,' she begged. 'I'll do anything you want of me, sir, honest I will.'
'I know you will, Polly.' His robe fell open to reveal a rampant erection as he stepped in front of her, seized her by the hair, forcing her head up to confront his excited state. Her eyes grew big and round, but not, I thought, from fright. 'You know what I'm going to do now, don't you, Polly?' he asked quietly.
She mumbled softly, 'Yes, sir.'
'That's right, I'm going to fuck you. I'm going to fuck you just to show you that you are mine to do with as I please, and you will remain mine until I decide to be rid of you.' He released his grip on her hair and allowed her head to fall as he moved around behind her again. He reached down between her legs, and I guessed he was untying the ribbons that held her pantaloons closed at the crotch. Sure enough, after only a momentary delay, he moved in closer to her, grasping his cock in his right hand and guiding its swollen helmet towards its target. I saw Polly's head come up again as she felt the first contact against her entrance, her lips parted in breathless anticipation.
'Yes,' I heard Hacklebury say, 'that's quite nice, isn't it, Polly?' His hips thrust forward and I knew he was entering her as I saw her lips quivering and her fingers clenching and unclenching. 'How does that feel now, Polly?' he demanded calmly, holding a statue-like pose pressed hard against the smooth globes he had just finished treating so mercilessly.
She sighed, 'It feels good, sir!' Then she moaned and I realised that the stupid girl actually meant it. Hacklebury had caned her arse, talked to her like she was dirt, now he was taking her when she was in no position to resist him, and yet she was actually enjoying it.
But then, I thought as he began to thrust in and out of her and her moans grew louder and louder, who was I to criticise her? She was just some poor street waif without the benefit of knowledge or education, whereas I...
I was awake again, lying in the dark with the images from my dream still fresh and clear in my mind. I sat up, swung my legs off the bed and padded across to the window, drawing back the curtain to peer outside. It was still dark and the clock on the bedside table showed it was just after four o'clock in the morning. I let the curtain fall and made my way back to sit on the end of the bed, wondering whether to put the light on and find my cigarettes, or whether to just get back under the covers and try to go back to sleep.
But I did not want to sleep again, not yet, even though I was still tired. The dream had been so real... I knew it had been more than just the product of my subconscious thoughts. I had been back there again, I was certain, though this time not as Angelina but as an unseen observer. The scene I had witnessed had been very revealing as well as traumatic, but I feared it had revealed as much to me about myself as it had about any of the participants.
I fumbled in the darkness until I found a dressing gown I slipped around my shoulders, and then I opened the door leading out onto the upstairs passage. A small nightlight burned over the top of the stairs and I made my way on tiptoe towards it, not wanting to disturb either Anne-Marie or Andrea, for I needed some time on my own to think and evaluate.
Downstairs in the kitchen, I closed the door, put the light on and took the electric kettle to the tap to fill it. A cup of tea and a cigarette were just the thing right now. I had picked up my packet together with my lighter before leaving the bedroom. A smoke would help me to concentrate, I reasoned. I plugged in the kettle, switched it on, and turned to pull a chair out from beneath the table while I waited for the water to boil.
Yes, that dream had definitely been more than just a dream.
I took out a cigarette and lit it, drawing on it deeply.
How had it all worked? Why had I not needed a body to go back this time around? And why had I been taken back to witness that dreadful scene? I had suspected well enough that Hacklebury would be little different with his servants than he had been with me, his supposed wife, but to actually see him doing it, and in such a brutally casual fashion...
The man was a pig, a bully, a sadist, a... words failed me, but the rage within me was building, an anger that was in some ways directed at myself for my own weaknesses. That bastard and his psychotic woman had treated me even worse than they had Polly, and yet had I not surrendered in much the same way, losing myself in the lusts they had somehow managed to stir in me? And had I not then surrendered in a similar manner, albeit under different circumstances, to Anne-Marie and her temptations and machinations?
What the hell was I doing, both here in the present and back there nearly a century-and-a-half ago? Had I no pride, no discipline, no sense of right and wrong? But of course I did, I reasoned as I stood up again to find a clean mug. Of course I had all of those things, but I also had little choice in the matter, at least in the past, where it wasn't my body that betrayed me. But this was my body here and now, and this was the body that had succumbed to the lures Anne-Marie had spun for it, allowing itself to be used as little more than a toy, allowing itself to be publicly exhibited, allowing itself the luxury of every sensation that stirred within it.
I made tea, finished my first cigarette and promptly lit another. Outside it was still dark and would be for another three-and-a-half hours, at least. Three-and-a-half hours until dawn and my two new friends sound asleep upstairs. Time enough for me to creep back up to my room, dress, and then slip away, not to Rose Lea but back to my own home, back to safety and sanity, normality and love. But also, sooner or later, back to Megan Crowthorne and Gregory Hacklebury, back in time yet again to mingle my fate with Angelina's, to wrestle with her destiny as I was now wrestling with my own conscience, back over and over again until it was settled, one way or the other. No, running away was no solution because the fault and the danger lay not here but somewhere inside myself, with something that had risen from the depths of time, and from depths of depravity I now suspected must lie hidden within each and eve
ry one of us waiting only for the right summons, the right trigger, to surface in all its black ugliness.
I had switched the kettle on again to brew a second cup of tea when Andrea appeared in the kitchen, or I should say Andy, for the wig and make-up were both gone and he was dressed in a baggy pair of pale blue pyjamas.
'Bit of a shock?' he asked, smiling at the look on my face. He moved past me and reached up to take another mug down from a row of hooks. 'I thought I heard someone come down earlier,' he said, dropping tea bags into both our mugs. 'Couldn't sleep?'
I hesitated for an instant but then related the dream to him, though I didn't mention any of my personal misgivings and the reason I had not wanted to risk going back to sleep straightaway.
'Spooky, huh?' He poured the now boiling water and reached for the sugar. 'And you're sure it wasn't just images surfacing from inside you?'
'Well, they probably did surface from inside me, but something must have put them there in the first place. No, that scene took place, all right. I don't know how, or why, but I'm as sure of that as I've ever been of anything in my life.'
'Well, as I said before, that doesn't help us much. We could have worked out for ourselves that Hacklebury enjoyed beating his maids and shagging them and we know that mad Meg tended to pander to his little foibles.'
'Yes, but I'd assumed it was because she wanted to keep him under control for herself,' I said. 'I assumed she was in love with him but now I don't think she was. Yes she was mad and yes she was cruel, but she didn't love him. She wanted to have control over him, but not for himself. No, it was all about money, land and power.'
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