They were also approaching the van, but there seemed to be no choice, and nobody was about. Only as they passed it did Thrift see the discreet insignia on the driver’s door - Brewster’s Laundry, Lancaster - and she found herself fighting down a hysterical giggle.
‘Might I see her Ladyship directly?’ she asked as she was led through a door and into a passageway floored in brown linoleum.
‘She’s not here, not until tomorrow,’ Mrs Slyne answered, ‘so just you get those dirty clothes off and we’ll have you in a nice hot bath. I’ll send the stable boy to look for your horse, and Polly’s about your size if you don’t mind wearing something of hers for an evening. My, but this is beautiful silk...’
She trailed off, rubbing a pinch of Thrift’s gown between forefinger and thumb. Thrift hesitated, not certain if it would be wise to reveal her true identity, not if Miss Scarsdale might ring or the chaperones arrive. Yet if the real governess, or companion, or whatever she had been mistaken for turned up...
‘You’re not expected until the Thursday, not really,’ Mrs Slyne went on, ‘but no harm done. Who was it you were with before? The agency did say, but I’m beggared if I can remember.’
‘Lord and Lady Moncrieff,’ Thrift answered quickly naming her aunt and uncle.
‘You’ll be quite at home here at Claughton Hall, then, I dare say, now come along.’
Mrs Slyne had entered a room off the passage, evidently a washroom, with steam presses and row of machines, all working. Beyond was another room, with a tiled floor and a large zinc bath with a twin faucet above it. Mrs Slyne twisted it on and steaming water gushed out, making Thrift more aware than ever of her aching body. Deciding to postpone any decision at least until she had had a bath, she started to undress as Mrs Slyne went on, as rapidly as ever.
‘Everything’s topsy-turvy, what with the family up tomorrow and the whole house to be got ready. We’ve even had the laundry up to see to the curtains and such. Your things’ll be coming on by car, I suppose? You’ll have corsets, I’m sure, as her Ladyship don’t stand for going without, not for a Companion. But of course you do, if you’ve been with Lady Moncrieff. Very respectable family, the Moncrieffs. Stayed here they did, ever so many years ago, when you’d have been no more than knee high. Don’t recall a daughter though...’
‘Lady Patience Moncrieff,’ Thrift answered, ‘she is fourteen now.’
‘She is? Well, it must have been a year or two before she was born then. So you were Governess there then?’
‘Yes,’ Thrift answered and let her dress drop to the floor.
Mrs Slyne responded with a satisfied nod and began to gather up Thrift’s clothes. For all the shame of going naked, Thrift felt very little embarrassment, even as she pushed off her drawers. There had been too many bare bottom beatings at Weathercote House, too many instances of being made to strip by chaperones to humiliate her, or by Kirsty and the twins. Her apprehension for her situation was too strong anyway, overriding all her other feelings, except the sheer bliss of sliding her body into hot water for the first time in months.
‘I imagine that’s welcome,’ Mrs Slyne remarked as Thrift gave an involuntary sigh. ‘Now just you take your time and I’ll fetch something to keep you decent until these are washed and dried, and mended too, by the look of things.’
She left the room, shaking her head as she pulled a thick plastic curtain too behind her, and Thrift was left to lie in the hot water. It felt glorious, and the temptation simply to fall into a dose was close to overwhelming. She knew her deception could not possibly last, yet it only needed to do so until the return of the family, and while her behaviour would undoubtedly be thought odd, it would be bearable after everything that had happened.
As she began to soap herself she was wondering how the others had coped. Lucy would presumably be back in the hall, maybe in the sweat box, maybe shrieking and blubbering under the strap or cane. The twins, if everything had gone to plan, would be in Leeds, maybe sucking cocks in some back alley, perhaps sharing one the way they shared everything else. She giggled at the idea, then found herself blushing for her own wanton thoughts. Elizabeth, Kirsty and Sally-Anne would presumably still be out in the countryside, unless they’d been caught, and she wondered if girls were put in the sweat box together or one after another.
The idea sent a shiver through her, and she went back to washing, enjoying the luxury of being able to relax and take her time, soaping every part of her body to leave her skin feeling warm and fresh. As she did her breasts and belly the thought of quickly rubbing herself off came unbidden into her mind, but she pushed it away, sure that Mrs Slyne would come back and catch her. In some households, she knew, the task of disciplining a companion would go to the housekeeper, although not always.
Sure enough, Mrs Slyne returned at about the moment Thrift would have had her eyes closed in bliss and her fingers at their busiest on quim and nipples. As it was, she brought two towels, with which Thrift wrapped herself before going out into the laundry room. A maid was folding sheets, adding to Thrift’s rising embarrassment as she towelled herself dry as quickly as she could and began to dress in the clothes set out for her. They were good, but plain, panel back drawers and an embroidered chemise, two petticoats, of wool and undyed silk dupion, and a dress of forest green satin. There was also a cheap corset of a hopelessly unfashionable design, and so short it wouldn’t even cover her bottom, and had no panel. Gloves and a hat had also been provided.
If Polly was a maid then the dress was clearly Sunday best, and Thrift felt more than a little guilty for her imposture as she was led upstairs to her room. It was on the top floor, as she’d expected, and reached by a steep spiral staircase built into one corner of the house. The furnishings were plain but solid, hopelessly inferior to what she had been used to, but far superior to anything at Weathercote House. Mrs Slyne fussed around her, chattering and asking questions, some awkward, but Thrift managed to make her excuses and at last found herself alone.
She went to the window, where a balustrade obstructed the view of the lawns and woods but left the twin hills of Whernside and Ingleborough clearly visible in the distance, adding to her sense of strangeness. After a while she went to sit on the bed, then lay down, and was soon asleep, and dreaming of stumbling across the moonlit moor, full of anxiety and the elation of freedom.
It was growing dark when she woke, momentarily confused, and scared, imagining that it was Mrs Budge who was shaking her shoulder, then relieved to see Mrs Slyne’s round, kindly face peering down at her. The housekeeper began to talk at once, faster than ever.
‘My but you poor little thing, you must have been exhausted! No sign of your horse yet, the little rogue. I dare say he’ll be back to his stable soon enough though. Who did you hire him from, Caton’s? There’s supper now, if you’re not ashamed to sit at table with us common folk, or I can set you a place in the dining room, if you’ve a mind?’
‘Your table will do very well, thank you,’ Thrift managed, drawing a beaming smile from the housekeeper, who went on as Thrift swung her legs off the bed.
‘That’s very wise of you, if I may say so, no gain in being hoity-toity. And speaking of hoity-toity, you’ve not met Miss Virtue, I don’t suppose? No? Then I’ll pass some advice, if I may. In the matter of discipline, her Ladyship is of the progressive school, so there’ll be no using the cane, nor any such thing, but if Miss Virtue tries any high behaviour with you, and she’s sure to, you put her straight down across your knee, and do her bare. Never mind who gets a view.’
‘I shall be sure to,’ Thrift replied dutifully as she began to style her hair with an old ivory backed brush from the dressing table.
‘Otherwise she’ll take all sorts of liberties,’ Mrs Slyne continued. ‘I’d find an excuse in the first day or two, if I were in your shoes. She’ll likely as not try to get you in trouble and all. Full of tricks, she is. If you sho
uld ever need your bottom smacked yourself you’ll be sent to me, and I’ll do it in my room, decent like, not that there’ll be any occasion, I’m sure, but if Miss Virtue’s been up to no good on you we’ll play pretend.’
‘Thank you,’ Thrift answered vaguely, knowing that the situation was highly unlikely ever to arise, but glad to be sure who had the right to discipline her.
Mrs Slyne continued to describe the rules and peculiarities of the household as Thrift finished her hair and made-up in what she hoped was an approximation of the genuine Miss Eccles’ manner. No comment was made, and she was treated with polite respect, even by the butler, a round little man in a frock coat and a yellow and black striped waistcoat who presided over the supper table.
Having eaten, she was shown around the house, Mrs Slyne full of pride as she pointed out the quality of the appointments, the number of rooms and the various achievements of the family, the Brookes, a name Thrift was familiar with. The owner of the estate was clearly Lord Brooke, the Earl of Bowland and a prominent Liberal peer, a man Thrift was sure would take sympathy with her position. By the time she went to bed she was full of confidence, and barely spared a glance for the distant black hills before shutting the curtains of her room.
In the morning all was bustle, with the staff making the final preparations for the family’s arrival at noon. Thrift did her best to help, meanwhile marvelling at the sheer number of details there seemed to be, all of which she had taken for granted. She was also in constant dread of the arrival of a chaperone, and started every time the telephone rang for fear it would be Miss Scarsdale making enquiries.
Yet with every passing minute her hope rose, until at last noon struck, and the staff assembled at the main doors to greet the family. A quarter of an hour later a great dark green Humber Northman swung in through the gates, coming to a halt at the exact centre of the carriage sweep. Thrift reacted as she had seen governesses and companions do many times, remaining at her post as the maids and footmen scurried to unload the car and assist the passengers, then curtseying gravely, first to the Lady of the house, then to Lord Bowland, and a sandy-haired young man who was evidently the son, lastly a pretty, snub-nosed girl of only slightly less than her own age, who could only be Miss Virtue. She stepped forward as the butler introduced her, and spoke boldly.
‘Good afternoon, your Lordship, Lady Bowland, Lord Plessey, Lady Virtue. Your Ladyship, perhaps I might beg an interview, on a matter of some urgency?’
Lady Bowland turned her a look of mild surprise.
‘Certainly, Miss Eccles, but in due time. For the present, perhaps you would be good enough to escort Miss Virtue in the gardens?’
Thrift made to insist, but there was a note of asperity in Lady Bowland’s voice and she hesitated, not wishing to make a scene in front of the servants and embarrassed by the need to reveal her deception. Instead she curtsied and made an arm, which Miss Virtue took, allowing herself to be steered away from the group and across the carriage sweep. In her best effort to imitate Miss Challis’ manner, she ventured a remark.
‘The roses are particularly fine. Shall we visit them?’
‘They are not “fine”, they are quite the best blooms in Lancashire, perhaps the whole north of England,’ Miss Virtue replied, in a tone which immediately made Thrift understand Mrs Slyne’s suggested that the girl be spanked without delay. ‘As is our house. You are highly privileged to secure a place here. I hope you realise that?’
‘Without question,’ Thrift answered, and for a few paces they walked on in silence, to where the carriage sweep opened onto the garden paths.
‘Highly privileged,’ Miss Virtue continued, ‘and if you wish to retain your position, you would be advised to listen closely to what I have to say. I have decided that there will be no unseemly incidents between us, as there were with Miss Roseland and Miss Harbet. You will behave politely to me at all times, defer to my judgement, and do as you are told.’
‘I am sure no difficulties will arise,’ Thrift assured her with confidence.
‘They had better not do,’ Miss Virtue responded. ‘Both Miss Roseland and Miss Harbet were dismissed, without references. I believe Miss Roseland now works as tutor to a family of tradespeople or some such thing. I have no idea of Miss Harbet’s whereabouts. Do you understand me?’
‘You may be assured of my absolute propriety in all matters,’ Thrift stated.
‘I do not want your propriety,’ Virtue answered. ‘I want you to do as you are told, and most specifically, you are to understand that I am not to be punished. If I am, I will have you dismissed. Now do you understand me?’
Thrift hesitated, unsure what to say, or of Lady Bowland’s likely reaction to her taking the little brat straight across her knee on a convenient bench. Telling herself that she would not have to endure Virtue’s company for long, she bit down her rising temper, allowing herself to be steered in among the rose beds. She drew in the scent of the heavy red blooms, wishing she had the ease to fully enjoy them as Virtue went on.
‘You do not, do you? Your sort never do. You are always so stupid, and I hate stupid people. I told the same to Miss Harbet, and she paid not the slightest attention. She squealed like a pig when old Slyne flogged her for stealing though, you may be sure.’
‘I have no intention of stealing,’ Thrift said coldly, ‘of that you may be absolutely certain.’
‘Nor did Miss Harbet,’ Virtue replied.
‘Then why...’ thrift began.
‘I didn’t say she stole, you foolish woman,’ Virtue cut in. ‘I said she was flogged for stealing. Has my meaning finally penetrated your tiny brain?’
‘You stole, and pinned the blame on her?’ Thrift demanded incredulously.
‘It was her third chance, her third!’ Virtue snapped back. ‘I had told her what would come of it if she kept on with her horrid behaviour, but no, she would not listen.’
‘What... what exactly did she do to occasion such a revenge?’ Thrift asked cautiously, thinking of Mrs Budge.
‘Why she punished me, of course,’ Virtue answered.
‘She spanked you? Only that?’
‘Don’t use that horrid word! At least, not so far as it pertains to me. It will not happen, not to me, not ever again!’
‘In my case, probably not,’ Thrift admitted, ‘although I would advise you to moderate your tone with your companions, and perhaps it would not be necessary?’
‘You will advise me nothing!’ Virtue snapped. ‘You will do as you are told, and behave towards me as my station in life demands!’
‘At the risk of repeating myself,’ Thrift said coldly, ‘you need have no concerns on my behalf, however much it might seem you would benefit.’
‘Benefit!? What is that supposed to mean?’
‘It means, Miss Virtue Brooke, that far from having been spanked too often, you have clearly not been spanked enough. Yes, Virtue, spanked is the word, spanked on your bare bottom, and preferably with a strap or paddle!’
Virtue’s mouth had come open, and her eyes were ablaze with indignation, but she was shaking, and had pulled away from Thrift’s arm. When she spoke again there was defiance in her voice, if a good deal less certainty, but she almost shouted the words.
‘When Miss Roseland was flogged she had to be held by the head lad, and the chauffeur, she struggled so much! They did it in the mews, where the most common people could see, and she made the most unseemly display of herself! She was screaming most frightfully, and... and forever protesting her innocence, with all her unmentionable places on full view! It was truly comic to see, just as your whipping will be if you say that horrid word to me just one more time!’
Thrift’s mouth and come open to say exactly that, but she held back, instead contenting herself with a light laugh. When she did speak she held her voice carefully level.
‘I do not
fear your threats, Miss Virtue, for reasons that will quickly become clear, but I will say now, speaking plainly, that you are quite certainly the most spoiled, conceited, wilful, little brat I have ever had the misfortune to encounter.’
Virtue made to answer but in turn held back, pouting, then curious as she spoke.
‘Do you not believe I will do as you say? If not, you only have to ask Mrs Slyne what became of Miss Roseland and Miss Harbet. Yes, perhaps that is best. Speak to old Slyne, and after that you will come to me to apologise.’
‘I very much doubt it,’ Thrift answered.
‘Oh, but you will,’ Virtue went on smugly, the confidence back in her voice, ‘or this time I will add a little touch to your disgrace. I will say I caught you with a servant, Tom from the stable perhaps, who is too stupid to know better and certainly too timid to stand up for himself. I will say you were indulging in improper behaviour. Yes, I will say he had you bent down, and that his pego was up your bottom!’
Virtue finished with a peel of laughter, the sheer cruelty of which had Thrift staring open mouthed, even without the awful threat. Now Virtue was smiling, and she bent to pick a particularly fine bloom and slip in among the laces of her bodice before she continued, now walking a little ahead with her hands clasped lightly behind her back.
‘Yes,’ she stated, ‘that is what I shall do if you do not behave yourself. Naturally I shall be terribly shocked by what I have seen. I do not suppose I shall be able to eat for days, and I shall be terribly faint. Only I shall make sure I am well enough to witness your flogging, which I have no doubt will be a final spectacle. Maybe they’ll have you stripped, and then, when you’re all bloody and tearful, they’ll send you off to one of those awful places where disgraced gentlewomen are kept! They get flogged daily, I hear, and are made to do their exercises in the nude, and all sorts of comical things!’
Schooled for Service Page 14
