by Fiona Wilde
No. No it wasn’t. It was rubbish, that’s what it was.
So I did the right thing and put the whole business out of my mind, went home and cuddled close to my husband. And the next morning when I got up, and put on my prettiest, most feminine, most form-fitting dress, I told myself it was because Miss Parsham might appreciate my looking a bit more pleasant. And when I dabbed perfume behind my ears I told myself it was because the back room of the shop could be musty and the pleasant scent I wore would offset it. And the bit of extra makeup? Well, I just bought a new brand. Might as well try it out.
“See,” I told myself when Miss Parsham did indeed compliment me on my appearance.
“Much better,” she said, regarding me over the top of her horned-rimmed glasses. “You’ll make a far better impression on the customers looking like a lady than you will dressed like a slattern.”
I frowned but said nothing, though I wondered a bit petulantly if she thought I dressed like a slattern, why she hired me. I thought I dressed stylishly.
“I’m off to another estate sale,” she announced. “So you’ll be at the helm again today. Mind?”
“No,” I said, and then quickly before I could forget. “Before you go, Miss Parsham, a gentleman found this in the box you bought back, I think, from the schoolmaster’s estate sale. He wanted to know what price you put on it.”
She slid her glasses further up on the bridge of her nose and took the paddle, squinting at it with a deep scrutiny before handing it back
“I’ve never seen it,” she said.
“But he took it out of the box,” I countered.
“I didn’t say it wasn’t in there. I just said I don’t remember seeing it,” Miss Parsham replied. “There was a ledger, several inkwells, some slates. But not that thing as I recall. However, if you say he took it from the box he took it from the box, although why he wants that and nothing else I have no notion.”
She glanced at the paddle again. “Charge him twelve pounds.”
“Twelve pounds? Is that all? It looks old.”
“Perhaps I could get more, but it’s of no interest to me compared to the other things,” Miss Parsham said, pulling on her raincoat. She looked out the window and sighed. “Ugh. I do hate going to estate sales in the rain. Half the time the relatives haven’t the sense not to haul everything out on the lawn even though they know it will get soaked.”
I put the paddle back behind the counter. “Maybe you’ll get there before it rains,” I said. “It’s not supposed to come in 'til sometime after noon.”
“Let’s hope so,” Miss Parsham replied. “There’s supposed to be books at this one. The last thing I need is to find some lovely old valuable volume wet through. I don’t think my heart could take it.”
I smiled as she left and turned my attention to two women who were walking in. They were looking for teapots and I directed the to several especially lovely ones we’d acquired. They were pleasant and chubby and were part of a club which held what they called “eclectic teas” at a different members’ home each week.
I was quite enjoying their company when I saw the shop door open and Ethan Willoughby stroll in. He was wearing a long black coat, and his shoulder length hair was pulled back this time. He also carried a cane and the first impression I got was of a country gentleman who’d stepped not through a shop door, but through a portal in time.
He gave me a little smile when he saw me but left me to my other customers, who continued to chat me up about their unusual tea club and some of the interesting things they’d done. I cast sidelong glances at Ethan as they finalized their selection, worried that he’d get tired of waiting and leave. But he seemed in no particular hurry as he quietly perused the shop shelves, his hands deep in the pockets of his overcoat.
The ladies were pleased with their teapots. One was green and shaped like a cabbage and the other gold with an exaggerated stem and a lid handle shaped like a key. The pair thanked me profusely for my help and promised they’d be back as they left
“We’ve taken up enough of your time,” said the shorter of the two. “And I’m sure you’re eager to wait on that dashing gentleman there.”
I glanced over to see the corner of Ethan’s mouth lift in a smile, and blushed a bit as I saw the two women to the door.
“Come again,” I said, and meant it. I get some oddball customers. Most of them were nice, but some aren’t and spend the majority of their time dickering with me over prices I had no authority to change.
I looked to the left and right as I closed the door. Rain had started to fall and no one was coming. We were alone.
I shut the door, and the little bell on it jingled as I did. Then with a deep breath I turned my attention to Ethan. And my life changed from that moment on.
Chapter Two
“Mr. Willoughby. You’re back.”
“Yes.” He smiled. “I told you I would and I always keep my word. I’d hardly be a gentleman if I didn’t.”
“Of course not.” I felt silly saying that, but really couldn’t think of any other reply and walked over to the counter. “I suppose you’ll be wanting to know about that…piece you inquired about.”
“The paddle,” he said, and I felt heat rise to my face.
“Yes,” I said. “Miss Parsham was kind enough to price it for me before she went to...”
“You look lovely today.”
My blush deepened as I murmured a “thank you” without looking up from where I now knelt under the counter.
“That dress. It’s very feminine. I think all women should be required to dress as you are. So many run around these days clad in that horrible androgynous garb. Should I ever find myself so fortunate to have so exquisite a lady as you, she shall be required to dress just as you are dressed today.” I stood and placed the paddle on the counter and he reached for it. As he did, his hand covered mine and I turned my eyes to his. They locked. “Or else,” he said.
“That seems a bit harsh, sir,” I replied.
“Somehow I don’t think you really disagree with me.” A smile played on his lips, faint, but it was there and slightly mocking.
“Whatever do you mean?”
“I detect a rather old-fashioned girl in you,” he responded.
“Nonsense, you don’t even know me.” I said, trying to appear equally aloof. But I’ve never been good at masking my true feelings. My heart was beating so wildly that I was sure he could hear it.
“Now you’re just being coy,” he said.
“Hardly,” I said, managing a nervous laugh. “I’m not one to play games.”
“Then you deny it?” He raised one elegant eyebrow.
“I neither deny nor confirm,” I said. Good Lord. I was being coy.
He laughed, delighted. “Very well then,” he said. “As you wish. So tell me, what price does you employer put on this implement, then?”
He pulled out his purse and I suddenly felt a sharp, nearly unbearable sting of disappointment. He was finalizing the purchase and within moments would walk out the door and I’d never see him again. The depth of my feelings shocked and disturbed me. How was it that this stranger could arouse such a reaction in me?
“Twelve pounds,” I muttered, picking up a bag from under the counter.
He handed me the money and I took it. Why I asked the next question still remains a mystery. I like to tell myself I was just curious. But I know now it was something more. I wanted to keep him there, to keep him talking, to continue what I know now I cold feel starting…
“Why do you want it?”
“Want what?”
I frowned. Who was being coy now?
“That awful thing. The paddle. Why do you want it?”
“I’m an historian,” he said. “I just bought the old Drumlin place six kilometers outside of town. You know it?”
“Yes,” I said. “Miss Parsham went there for an estate sale when the owners passed.”
“Then she’ll know there’s an old school on the prop
erty. I’m restoring it.”
“You are?” I was delighted. “That’s marvelous, that you’re caring for it. I rather like old things – love them actually. That’s why I enjoy working here..." My voice trailed off. I was starting to sound silly, but he seemed not to notice.
“I thought the paddle would look grand on the wall. The cane was the preferred implement of choice, the paddle was more popular among schoolmasters in America. But a few used them here…”
I blushed. “You seem to know a great deal about…”
“…corporal punishment? Yes. I’m quite a fan.”
The color crept back into my cheeks and I moved past him quickly so he’d not see and walked towards the box where he’d originally found the paddle.
“There are other things in here you know,” I said. “Inkwells and slates and even an old primer or two. Perhaps you’d like to take a look.”
“No thank you,” he said. “There was a good deal of that sort of thing left behind. Even an old school bell. Solid brass. Almost everything one would need to run a classroom, except for this.” He held up the paddle. “And of course, the cane,” he added and then paused, studying me. “Would you like to take a look?”
“Excuse me?”
“At the schoolhouse. It’s really quite remarkable. It’s nearly lunch time and I take it you are allowed a modest break.”
“I—why, yes. I am,” I said as I tried to think of a half-hearted excuse not to go. “I’m married” sprang to mind, but I batted it away. It was hardly an unfaithful act to indulge my love of historical things. The old Drumlin place with its stately – albeit rundown - manor house and farmlands had once been the epicenter of what was a small village. Conley Drumlin, who’d built the house, had generously donated land and built the small school for the growing population of tenant farmers and tradesmen. Then an epidemic of fever wiped out nearly everyone and the remaining residents migrated away. I’d read a few papers on the place and had always wanted to see it.
“Oh, why not,” I said, smiling as I reached for the shop keys. “I’ll be educational, and a nice departure from my regular trip to the sandwich shop.”
“Excellent,” he said, and walked with me to the door. A paper clock hung on the front and I moved the hands on the “Back At” side to one o’clock before flipping it around.
The weather was dreary as we walked to his car and I wondered how Miss Parsham was faring. I imagined her racing around in the garden of some large house that had seen better days, eagerly attempting to save oil paintings and books and linens from the cold rain. I hoped she would; I hated it when she returned from a sale in a bad temper since she almost always took it out on me. The last time a sale had gone badly she’d made me rearrange all the bookshelves in alphabetical order, which was far less effective than my system of arranging books by category. I’d sneezed for two days from the dust alone, and it’d taken me a fortnight to surreptitiously rearrange them back the way I wanted.
Even in the rain the drive to the Drumlin place was pleasant. The roads to the place were narrow and lined with ancient stone walls. Farms on the way to the estate hearkened back to a time when larger beasts roamed the fields – cattle and huge draft horses. Now only a few sheep could be seen dotting the landscape and I wagered half of the were kept mainly for aesthetic reasons.
“Are you planning to live there?” I asked, “At Drumlin's, I mean?”
“Eventually,” he said. “There are workmen there now getting it prepared for habitation. The pipes are worthless and there’s a problem with mold in some of the rooms. And the roof is a waste.”
“Sounds expensive,” I said.
“It is,” he admitted. “But anything worth having is worth investing in, whether that investment is money or time. I have a passion for bringing out the natural beauty in things, of watching them unfold and blossom under my influence. I suppose I’m quite paternalistic in that way.”
I thought about that. And then I thought about Mark and how different he was from the man I was sitting next to as we bumped along the rutted country road to the old estate. I felt a terrible sense of betrayal, comparing the two. And yet I could not help it. I’d always longed for the kind of oversight that came so naturally to Ethan Willoughby, an instinct that was so sadly lacking in my own mate.
Drumlin Manor loomed on the left, just past a sign reading “Private” and a thick growth of trees. I couldn’t help but to exclaim with delight when I saw the place. Rundown or not it was still grand.
I looked behind me as we drove past. “It’s lovely.”
“It is,” he said. “I’d like to eventually open it to the public once it’s presentable.”
We rounded a curve and then the road took a dip past a few cottages, some occupied and some not. And then we came to the schoolhouse, a two-story stone structure. It wasn’t large compared to some of the modern schools but from what I’d read, Drumlin had intended to expand the place as needed.
Unlike the house, this building had clearly seen recent work. The windows looked new and the doors had been refurbished, as had the slate roof.
“This is amazing,” I said, as he stopped and continued to stare as Ethan Willoughby walked round to open my car door.
“It wasn’t in so sorry a state as the house,” he said. “Work here went faster. Would you like to see inside?”
“Yes!” I exited the car and we walked in together past a sign reading “Drumlin School for Gentlemen.”
“It’s a shame girls weren’t educated here,” I said.
“They had their own schools, or learned at home.” Ethan Willoughby opened the front door of the school and we walked in. The place looked larger indoors, with an office to the right and classrooms on both floors. Those on the top could be seen behind the railing and even now, years and years later I could almost hear the shouts of boys running about and the sounds of chairs scraping the hardwood floors.
“Come with me,” he said. “I’d like to show you my favorite classroom.”
“You have a favorite?” I laughed. “How can you choose. There are so many.”
This one has the best view, and a sort of ambiance to it.
We walked upstairs and entered a room lined with rows of benches and tables. Primers sat on each one, along with inkwells. My host walked to the front of the room where a podium stood. Behind it, on the wall, hung a cane and I watched as he pulled a piece of leather cord from his pocket and tied it through the hole on the paddle, which he hung beside the first implement.
“Those lads won’t even think of getting out of line now,” he said.
I laughed nervously. “Well, lads will still be lads.”
“Would you….?” He looked at me curiously then. “You know, it just occurred to me that I’m standing here sharing this place with a beautiful woman and I don’t even know her name?”
I blushed and knew he could see it because he smiled. I looked away.
“Mary,” I said. “My name is Mary. And I’m not.”
“Not what?”
“Not beautiful…” My answer was barely audible and I wasn’t sure why I’d even given it. I was attractive – very attractive and I knew it. But I’ve never been told I was by anyone as dashing as Ethan Willoughby. Perhaps I just wanted to hear him say it again. But he did not. Instead he did something that took me completely by surprise.”
“You should be ashamed of yourself, Mary,” he said, his voice so stern I nearly jumped.
“Ashamed? Why?”
“For lying.”
“I…what? What have I lied about?”
“Back in the shop you said you weren’t one to play games, did you not? I nodded. “And yet you stand here denying something we both know is true, but to what end? So I’ll tell you again how pleasant you look in the dress you wore just because you knew I’d be coming back today to see you?”
My mouth dropped open from shock and embarrassment. The nerve of this man! The complete unmitigated hubris! For him to suggest…even if
it was true, it was dreadful!”
“How dare you!” I finally managed.
“How dare I?” he asked. “You dare speak to me in that manner while standing in my classroom, young lady? And you just a simple school girl?
Then before I could process his statement he turned and took the paddle down from the wall.
“I’ll not tolerate coquettish games in my classroom, Mary. You knew when you arrived that I was a man of rules and order. And yet you’re here only moments before deciding to test me.”
He walked over, gently tapping the paddle against the palm of his hand. When he was just inches away from me he stopped and looked down at me, his eyes filled with authority, with intensity. And I could not look away as I stood there, rooted to the spot and feeling completely chastened.
“You know you need this, Mary,” he said. “Even more, you know you want this. Why else would you have come to this isolated place with a man you’d only just met?”
“I…”
“Don’t deny it.” His voice was soft but his tone was hard. “Don’t lie. Or I’ll double your punishment. As it is, the other students are watching. Do you really want to add to your humiliation with so many eyes on you?”
And when I looked around, in my mind’s eyes I could see them, the faces of those ghostly students looking, looking at me, each of their gazes saying the same thing, “Better you than me, lass. Better you than me….”
So why did I bend over? I really don’t know. I could have just as easily stormed out, refused, told him he was a complete nutter and then demanding he drive me back to town. But I did neither of those things. Instead I lay over the table in front of me, hooking my fingers over the little lip of wood on the end and held my position, heart pounding, as Ethan Willoughby lifted the hem of my dress to expose my cotton knickers.
“Since this is your first offense, I shall not bare your bottom,” he said. “However, should you anger me in the future make no mistake that the knickers will come down and I will smack you on the bare. Is that understood, naughty Mary?”
