‘Nor do I. As has been made abundantly clear, our behaviour has damned us beyond hope of redemption. If this is so, would it not be better to find what love we can?’
‘Ask Miss Scarsdale,’ Thrift laughed, ‘no doubt she will explain, in detail.’
Elizabeth gave her a wry grin as they scrambled up the face of a great, cracked rock. They paused at the top to catch their breath, looking down over the valley with Weathercote House set out like a toy beneath them, tiny in comparison to the great sweep of hill and moor to every side.
‘What of our companions?’ Elizabeth asked. ‘Do you suppose their tales are the same as mine, of seduction and betrayal?’
‘I shudder to think,’ Thrift replied. ‘With Lucy perhaps, but who would seek to seduce Kirsty, or Joanna and Jane? They are she-cats, the three of them! More likely they brought it upon themselves.’
‘Perhaps working class men prefer such women?’
‘Well, I’m very sure I don’t know, save that in every case I have known, of wives among servants, you understand, they have been the meekest and most respectful of individuals. And yet, yes, certainly those people we saw in their village - what was the name, Wasthorpe? - were uncouth to say the least.’
They ran on, pushing themselves to reach King Alfred’s Seat with its view of the great expanse of hillside beyond, thankfully empty of men. Further still, the tops of other hills were visible, on every side save the west where Whernside blocked the view, and the south-west, where the sea glittered in the distance, and a dark smudge which Thrift knew from careful study of the maps in the schoolroom to be the city of Lancaster. Opposite, north and east, a railway was visible, crossing a great, high viaduct of grey stone and disappearing into the flank of the hill opposite. The others had turned, save Sally-Anne, who was a little way down the slope, and she decided that the time was ripe to tell Elizabeth of her plans.
‘I wish to leave,’ she stated, ‘and I intend to. Would you come with me, or at the least support me as best you may?’
Elizabeth showed no great surprise.
‘Either, gladly, but how, and where would we go? We have no money, and would be returned here as soon as we made ourselves known.’
‘No, for I simply need to make my situation clear to some suitable person in authority, and all will be well.’
‘For you, perhaps, what of me?’
‘I will do my very best to ensure that you are removed from here. Indeed, it is my firm intention to institute an investigation into the running of the establishment, which can hardly be said to be maintained on principles of proper Christian morality and justice!’
‘Miss Scarsdale would disagree, and no doubt defend her conduct.’
‘What of Mrs Stoke’s drinking, not to mention Miss Aislebie and Miss Laird! Can it be right to poke the flag haft up our bottoms! And what of Miss Budge, and her inordinate fondling, and the way they make me lose control of myself, as if it were an idle amusement! And Miss Gant, who makes Lucy lick her quim! Is this Christian conduct, or likely to be approved by the Government!?’
‘No, but doubtless it would be denied. We had better move on.’
Sally-Anne has almost reached them, and they gave her a sympathetic smile as they passed, neither Thrift nor Elizabeth ever having been able to feel bitter at the big girl’s behaviour. Lucy was well ahead of them, and they ran as fast as they could, arriving in time to keep their punishments to ten strokes each, although both were made to bend with their hands grasping their ankles and their bottoms showing through the splits in their drawers until Sally-Anne could be put in line beside them.
All three were then beaten, and made to count out the strokes as the thick leather straps cracked down across their unprotected cheeks. The punishment left Thrift and Elizabeth snivelling and clutching their hot bottoms as they ran indoors to wash, with Sally-Anne still bent in position, stolidly counting the strokes. In the downstairs washroom in which they showered in cold water after their exercises, the other four girls were already drying themselves, giving Thrift another opportunity to speak.
‘At the least let us consider how it might be done,’ she urged. ‘It seems best to escape at night. Perhaps, by tying several of the blankets together, we might lower ourselves from the window?’
‘Possible, yes, but the others would be sure to see, and we would need at least five, maybe six blankets, which means borrowing some. The others would be sure to be punished, and therefore are unlikely to help. They might even call for the chaperones.’
‘There are difficulties, yes, but...’
‘What if we were all to escape together?’
‘With Kirsty!? Besides Lucy, would not want to come with us, for one.’
‘Nor would Sally-Anne, I suspect, but Lucy will do as she is told if the others agree. Nor should we worry about Kirsty. Once we are clear, we can split up, and if they have seven to pursue rather than one, why, your chances of escape increase sevenfold.’
‘But if the others won’t co-operate? After all, their lives are, perhaps, not so very different here than at home.’
‘Mine is,’ Elizabeth stated with feeling. ‘Entirely different, and entirely inferior. But to our task. We need as long a head start as possible, which means running in the evening, and through the night. A dry night with a good moon would be ideal, even essential, while there will be no harm in waiting until the weather grows a little warmer. How far would you need to go?’
‘I am uncertain. The closest centre of administration is at Lancaster, where the quality enclave...’
‘The first place they would think you were headed.’
‘I had considered this. Somewhat more to the north and west is the Lake District, where there are several select hotels and the summer estates of important families, although the season is some way away. Or I had thought to elude pursuit by travelling in quite the opposite direction, east, to Ripon, which is said to be genteel, or the spa at Harrogate. South and east is Leeds, a great industrial city known for the manufacture of ironware, steel, and every sort of machinery, and yet it is not a centre of administration and may not even have a quality enclave. Of like kind is Bradford, and to the south is Manchester. There is York, also, where the Archbishop would be sure to lend a sympathetic ear to my plight, and to which my thoughts are beginning to turn. An alternative would be to make for some great estate, and there throw myself on the mercy of the landowners, who are sure to sympathise. Unfortunately I do not know this part of the country, or in which direction a suitable estate might be found, while no map I have seen is of sufficient scale to show individual properties, even those of consequence.’
‘I shall give it thought,’ Elizabeth promised as Sally-Anne entered the showers.
A bare two hours later, as they stood close scrubbing down the kitchen range while the others lined up in the passage ready to be marched to evening prayers, Elizabeth spoke again, in a clear undertone directed not at Thrift, but at her work.
‘I have considered a possible escape, Thrift.’
‘You have?’
‘Yes. Firstly, I have weighed the benefits of having others with you, and feel that you should run alone.’
‘You won’t come?’
‘No, and I trust to you to do your best to aid me.’
‘Be assured of it. So what do you suggest?’
‘This. Leaving at night is impractical without alerting the others. You would be better to leave in the afternoon, after exercises. When we are sent up to the rocks, hang back so that you reach the summit last, and then run on, north along the flank of Whernside, so that you are hidden by the ridge. I will return, and inform Miss Aislebie and Miss Laird that you have twisted your ankle mildly and will be following as soon as you are able. It is likely, I think, that they will wait, doubtless in anticipation of giving you a severe strapping, rather than climb the slop
e themselves.’
‘That we may be sure of, yes. But what of my clothes? I will be in chemise and drawers!’
‘I will explain. Eventually Miss Aislebie and Miss Laird will go to seek you out, and when they find you gone the hue and cry will be raised. Hopefully they will assume you have gone towards Lancaster, whereas in fact you will have come back in a loop, to the House.’
‘To the House!’
‘Not exactly. You may have noted, if you have looked from the window at the end of the passage, that Mrs Ormondroyd’s cottage has only a low stone wall between it and the moor. By then Mrs Ormondroyd, and no doubt her husband, will have been ordered to join the pursuit, or perhaps to stand guard over the remaining girls. Enter the cottage and secure a pair of boots, a dress, and suitable accessories to allow yourself to pass unremarked. She is larger than you, true, but not impossibly so.’
‘I can manage, no doubt. She will have pins to hand, and I can pad her boots. What then?’
‘You hide among the hedges close to the House, which is the last place they will look, and once the sun is down make your way back up to the opposite ridge, following the valley side as far as the railway. Trains must stop, on occasion, where the tracks merge to cross the old viaduct, and you wait, well concealed until one does so. You will have no choice but to take a northbound train, unless you go much further, as you will be at the southern end of the viaduct, but with luck, it will be a sleeper, for Carlisle, to which I estimate a conventional traction unit will bring you in under an hour. Nobody on the train will think you anything but a young chaperone of good family, perhaps going to take up employment in the quality enclave at Carlisle.’
‘What of my ticket? Or if the Great Northern Railway has been alerted?’
‘Explain that you have lost it. Who will question an obvious Lady? As to the railway authorities, if they stop you, simply tell them who you are and demand to speak with a person of quality. I would be very surprised if you were refused.’
Thrift nodded, thinking through the plan. There was risk, but Elizabeth seemed to have almost every possibility covered.
For several days Thrift lived in a state of distraction. Weather control, so precise in London, was rare in Yorkshire, and, according to Elizabeth, employed only when thought necessary, rather than for the comfort of the people. It was therefore unpredictable, and for four days after Elizabeth had announced her plan the sky remained sullen grey and the wind cold, with frequent flurries of rain.
The conditions didn’t prevent them being sent up to King Alfred’s Seat, running across slippery grass and rock, and getting caught in a shower at the summit, which left them with their sodden underclothes clinging to their bodies, and late. On their return they were sent straight into the shower, which for once was hot, and Thrift was actually feeling grateful as she dried herself, only for Miss Laird to appear, marshal the seven naked girls into a line, make them touch their toes and give each quivering pink bottom an exact number of smacks with her strap.
A day of blustery wind and broken cloud followed, then a clear one, but there was no run. The next was perfect, warm and dry, with just a faint breeze blowing up the valley from the sea, and Thrift found her stomach tight with excitement and apprehension from the moment she first looked out of the window. For the rest of the morning and the afternoon she found herself unable to concentrate, with the details of Elizabeth’s plan going round and round in her head.
Five times she was punished. The first was at breakfast when she dropped a plate, and was made to kneel on the floor with her face pushed into the spilt porridge while three hard strokes were applied to her stripped bottom, then clean up with her drawers still open behind. The next came during Miss Scarsdale’s lesson, three of the cane delivered with Thrift bent forward across the desk at the front so that the rest of the girls had a prime view of her bottom and quim. She earned the third for failing to curtsey to Miss Habberwick as they passed in the passage, delivered with Thrift standing against the wall, drawers open as always, and with a lecture on manners. In consequence she was late in the kitchen, and was put across Miss Laithwaite’s knee for a leisurely spanking and three of the strap. The fifth came at the end of afternoon lessons, when she dropped her books in her agitation, right in front of Mrs Stokes. Thrift’s dress was lifted and her drawers pulled open even as she bent to retrieve the books, and her bare bottom was strapped one more time.
With each beating her bottom grew warmer and her quim wetter, but her determination stronger, with her nerves taut and her fingers trembling. As they trooped outside she was praying that Miss Aislebie and Miss Laird would order a run, and sure enough, no sooner was she out of her dress and boots than it was announced, the usual climb up to King Alfred’s seat and return. As she pulled off her stockings she exchanged a glance with Elizabeth, who nodded.
Her heart was hammering in her chest even as they set off, but simply passing beneath the arch that led to the moor gave her a glorious sense of freedom. At the first clump of rocks she developed her fake limp, allowing Lucy and then Sally-Anne to overtake her. Elizabeth hung back, as if in concern, and in the shadow of King Alfred’s Seat they risked a last kiss and a brief hug. As Elizabeth turned back Thrift hesitated, knowing that it was her final chance to abandon what suddenly seemed an insane scheme, but with the feel of her lover’s lips still on her own, she ran on instead of back, full of elation and fear, and determination and pride as she followed the ridge north and east.
Another, smaller, stack of rocks punctuated the ridge roughly a mile further on. Reaching it, she found a place from where she could look back at Weathercote House in safety. The garden was empty, washed in rich gold by the late afternoon sun, with a thread of steam rising from chimneys where the girls were presumably starting to cook dinner. It was a scene of absolute peace, greatly at odds with her feelings, but as she began to start down into the valley in the shelter of a dry stone wall the House bell began to clang in the distance, immediately setting a sick feeling into her stomach.
She pushed on, fighting down the urge to run wildly off across the moors, or back to the house to beg forgiveness, raising her head every now and then to glance at Mrs Ormondroyd’s cottage. As Elizabeth had predicted, the chaperone appeared at the sound of the bell, hurrying towards Weathercote House, then her husband, only he was holding the leads of two great lop-cheeked hounds. Thrift froze, panic bubbling up inside her, which she forced down. The dogs would catch her scent, follow the ridge, and down, reaching her long before she could take any clothes from the cottage, let alone secure the cover of darkness, and yet...
Yet there was every chance she could reach the railway before the dogs, although if no train came in time she was lost. She was running immediately, ducked low to keep the shelter of the wall, acutely aware that the westering sun would make her white underclothes stand out like a beacon against the greys and greens of the moor. Reaching the rocky stream at the valley bottom she splashed straight across, over the road at the far side, and up onto the shoulder of Ingleborough. A final stone wall to clamber over and she was on the open moor once again, when she heard the distant baying of the hounds from across the valley.
She ran on, in blind terror, praying that a train would reach the viaduct halt before the dogs reached her, across sheep-cropped grass and limestone pavement, scattered clitter and scratching bracken, with the baying growing more frequent, and more urgent. The viaduct came into view again, empty, and the track where it curved away to the south, also empty. She came to a stumbling halt, and fell to her knees in despair, sobbing, only to catch her breath as the sleek apple-green bulk of a locomotive appeared in the distance. Her hands came together in prayer that it would stop and not continue straight over the viaduct, but it was already slowing, and she was running forward once more.
For a moment the train disappeared from view, before she reaching the lip of a cutting, and it was below her, drawing to a hal
t, the carriages just yards away, their windows already lit bright, figures visible within. It was inevitable that she would be seen, and questioned, yet she could only hope that the train would be underway before her identity was discovered, or her pursuers caught up. No quality carriage was evident, and she scrambled up to the nearest door, pulling it wide and throwing herself inside, to stumble, and go down on her knees in front of a good fifty astonished soldiers.
The scene held for several seconds, Thrift staring at the soldiers, and the soldiers staring at Thrift. She smiled, and as their surprise gave way to something very different she found herself blushing furiously and her hands went to cover her breasts, where her sweaty chemise was clinging to her skin, the cheap cotton quite transparent. One of the soldiers, red-faced and red-haired with the twin chevrons of a corporal on his sleeve, finally spoke.
‘You alright, love?’
Thrift nodded, struggling to compose herself and behave like a Lady despite her dishevelment. She stood up, her hands over her breasts and the mound of her quim, wishing her bottom didn’t feel quite so big, or the wet cotton covering it quite so inadequate. A glance out of the window showed only the slope of the empty cutting, but the carriage windows were open and she could hear excited barking off in the distance. Bracing herself, she spoke.
‘I trust you will excuse my appearance, but I find myself at something of a disadvantage. Perhaps you would be kind enough to conduct me to an officer?’
‘Only officer aboard is Lieutenant Fitch,’ the Corporal replied.
‘Lieutenant Fitch will do very well, I’m sure,’ Thrift answer.
‘He’ll put you off the train,’ a solider remarked. ‘Against regulations it is, Ladies on troop trains.’
‘He will,’ another added.
‘Stickler for the regulations, is Lieutenant Fitch,’ a third put in.
Thrift hesitated, praying for the train to start, because once it had there would be no question of putting her off, until the next station. By then, she was sure she could convince Lieutenant Fitch to take her to a senior officer, or simply put her off the train at Carlisle.
Schooled for Service Page 9
