Miss Rowan Learns Her Lesson (Lady Detective Book 1)

by Sterling Scott

  “What are you doing, hussy?” Mrs. Davenport’s sharp voice stabbed me in the back.

  Quickly standing and assuming the posture directed by Sir Anthony, I said, “Ma’am, I only wished to please her ladyship and was merely cleaning the items on the floor, as when last I retrieved her ladyship’s boots I noticed that they had acquired a significant layer of dust.” I displayed my dusty fingers as some evidence for this deception.

  “You clean what I say to clean. If her ladyship wanted her closet cleaned then I would have told you to clean it.” She removed the paddle from its pocket and without further instructions I lifted the hem of my frock and opened my drawers before prostrating myself across the arm of Lady Ann’s dressing chair. The discovery of the hidden strong boxes came at a price.

  Mrs. Davenport administered ten firm smacks with her paddle, but my compliance to her punishment without complaint or additional command from her had worked to lessen her ire. Thus, the smacks were only a stinging reminder of what she could have done to my tender rump, had she been so inclined. If I learned nothing else during the past few days, I learned that bratty complaints and arguments only made a bad situation worse.

  I must persevere and determine the nature of Lady Ann’s crimes. I must to earn Captain Stuart’s approval.

  It was the evening of the third day of this searching enterprise – the sixth day of my employment – when Lady Ann bade me to assist her in undressing for bed for the first time. She and Sir Anthony had been in attendance of a local theater with accompanying social engagement, during which she had consumed what might have been too much libation. Thus, she required assistance as she prepared for bed. After removing her evening gown and all undergarments, for apparently her ladyship slept bare under her nightdress, I assisted her by lowering her nightdress over her head. She then sat before her mirrored dressing table while I brushed and wrapped her hair in curling tape for sleeping. Finally, I carefully placed her sleeping cap over her bundles of hair.

  It was at this moment when Sir Anthony entered the room wearing his dressing jacket. To maintain the thinnest of veiled notion that he was a mere perpetual houseguest, Sir Anthony maintained his own bedroom. It had been in that room where I had received my lessons and it was in that room that he kept his closet collection of spanking implements. This separate room notwithstanding, I had no surprise when, via the mirror, I observed him enter her ladyship’s bedroom without knocking. It was to my surprise, however, that he began to berate me.

  “Marge, to what do we owe this uppity behavior of yours? Are you perhaps thinking yourself to be too high and mighty to attend to your mistress this evening?”

  I had said nothing and done nothing except those actions required of me by Lady Ann, so I attempted to defuse his ire saying, “I apologize, sir, for any misunderstanding that I may have presented. The attendance to my ladyship’s needs is my only desire.”

  “Keep a close watch over that tongue of yours,” he snapped while pointing a finger as though he held a pistol.

  I opened my mouth to again apologize, but thought better of adding any fuel to the fire in his judgments. However, he discerned my slack jaw itself to be a snipe comment and gripped my ear, as he again verbally attacked. “I’ll not tolerate this disrespect for Lady Ann.” She made no to attempt to enter the discussion on behalf of my defense when Sir Anthony continued, “Another instruction in minding your tongue is in order. Assume the position!”

  As her ladyship remained seated in the room’s only chair, he directed me to lie across the foot of her bed. Though my tongue had said nothing inappropriate, I did not hint at an argument when he commanded me to, by my own action, raise the hem of my frock and release the ribbon of my drawers to expose my own bottom bare for this man to view.

  “Lower them to the floor,” he command and I let my drawers drop to my ankles. My humiliation was completed. Taking the very hairbrush that I had been using to smooth Lady Ann’s hair he began to use its backside in the manner of Mrs. Davenport’s paddle and SMACK my delicate rear. He energetically repeated this action bringing my tush to a crimson state. Through it all I gripped the bedspread and held my silence, though my eyes did vigorously wet. My silence was important for two reasons, the first being that I wanted to pass this impromptu examination on the first try. Perhaps more importantly though, was the second reason which was to ensure that no one else in the household knew of my plight. Most significantly, I did not want Lucy to have any reason to delight in my predicament.

  Ever since my elevation in the household status, she had ended all semblance of friendship and taken delight in any admonishment I received. Humiliating as my current bare bottom punishment was, enduring Lucy’s smirks and giggles would have been unendurable. I had no intention of being the object of her entertainment and ridicule.

  I had lost count of the number of stinging swats Sir Anthony had administered with the hairbrush when he finally stopped, asking her ladyship, “Look here, dear. Do you like this shade of pink or would you prefer something closer to a deep red?” His punishment had not been as severe as before, as he appeared to be more interested in my humiliation than my physical agony.

  Lady Ann stood and took notice of my plight for the first time. She walked over to the bedside and pressed a finger hard into my sore bottom. She released it and giggled, “I do like the way the color changes.” She pressed several fingers into my red butt and again giggled as she released them. “Open your legs and show Sir Anthony your charms,” she commanded me with a pinch on the butt.

  With a hard swallow I opened my thighs and a rush of cool air hit my moist folds.

  “Yes, I do like that color. See how it enhances the color of her inner pinkness,” she finally answered Sir Anthony’s question. “My goodness, Marge I do believe that you are wet. Is this some pleasure for you?”

  It’s true. As my thoughts once again turn to what Captain Stuart might think of my pink charms thusly framed by a pink bottom, a delicate tickle has once again entered my inner region. He must never learn of the sacrifices I have made for this case!

  Sir Anthony used his hand to SMACK me hard one last time and then said, “You are dismissed,” before I could attempt a reply to her ladyship’s question.

  I retrieved my drawers and scampered down the stairs to my room. To ensure that Lucy did not see the pinkness of my bottom, I undressed in the darkness of our shared room. With my nightdress on, I quietly slid between the sheets of my bed, but before I could find sleep my fingers found their way inside my drawers to caress my swollen, sensitive bud.

  The following morning held still more amazement. As was my new found custom with Lady Ann, I attended to her morning ritual of washing and dressing. Sir Anthony returned to his bedroom to sleep until midday. This morning she not only awoke with her usual smile, but she also did express an unusually high degree of pleasure in the day. There being no apparent connection with my late evening punishment, I could imagine no specific reason for her enhanced joy. The nightly task performed by Sir Anthony was still a mystery. As I brushed her hair, my curiosity overtook reason and I spoke out of place to investigate Sir Anthony’s mysterious purpose. That is, I asked her, “Lady Ann I see you are in the best of moods this morning. Was it some delightful dream that set you upon this path?” Her having not asked a question or made a statement requiring my reply, this brash question could have earned me an adventure with Mrs. Davenport’s paddle. However, as I guessed, her mood was too bright to be so easily dimmed.

  While glancing into my eyes via the mirror she simply said, “Oh yes, it most surely must have been a dream.” Then, adding to the astonishment of the moment, her hand glided up to rest on mine, while her eyes softly closed and her mouth formed a soundless ‘oh’. A moment passed before she released a relaxing sigh, while her eyelids fluttered open and then her composure returned as she again glanced into the mirror’s reflection of my eyes, but this time with a hint of embarrassment as though I had intruded upon something very private.

/>   This brought to mind my experience of four years ago when Father accused me of ‘uncontained disagreeableness’ or simply being a naughty brat. As I was beyond the age of maturity without benefit of a husband, he feared that I had contracted female hysteria, a condition that had become oddly prevalent among London’s idle, unmarried rich women. Subsequently, he sent me to consult with my physician. This was the one and only time, before my experiences in Barnet House, that a man ever saw my nude bottom. The physician agreed that I had developed a mild case of hysteria, but suggested that I need not be committed to an asylum or undergo surgery. Rather he prescribed a treatment of massage leading to paroxysm.

  The odd nature of this massage treatment was initially quite embarrassing, as my physician had me first remove my drawers, petticoat and shoes. And then he commanded me to lie on my back upon his examination table. While he sat to one side and looked away, he lifted my knees and placed his hand between my thighs to touch my most secret of places. His fingers first opened and explored my womanhood and then he began to make circular motions around the tiny nub at the top of my cunny. Quickly these motions became pleasant as the tiny bud grew and stiffened.

  My thoughts of embarrassment were quickly washed from my mind. Within minutes – I wasn’t sure how long, as all sense of awareness left me – I was swimming in pleasure as my body’s muscles pulsated uncontrollably. I was forced to grip the edges of the examination table to keep from involuntarily throwing myself to the floor. It was my experience that this massage treatment did successfully release substantial pent-up energy leaving me relaxed and in a very pleasant humor. Therefore, it was my opinion that female paroxysm had something to do with the relationship between Lady Ann and Sir Anthony, though I dared not inquire into the subject further.

  I averted my eyes away from her reflection in the mirror and hastened to complete my task with Lady Ann’s hair and cosmetics, and took my leave.

  The following two days represented a complete reversal of fortune. While mornings remained the bright spot of her day, Lady Ann’s mood noticeably darkened as she became preoccupied with some unspoken trouble.

  “Madam?” I spoke to attract her attention one afternoon as she stood in her room still wearing her nightdress.

  When she did not respond, but continued to stare out the window despondently, I asked again, “Lady Ann?”

  Still she paid no attention to me, so I picked up and rattled her teacup against its saucer, “Did you require more tea, my lady?” I inquired a third time.

  This brought her attention into focus as she scowled at me, “Of course I require more tea and if you break that cup it will cost you a day’s wage!”

  “Yes, my lady. Will you be requiring assistance dressing?”

  “NO!”

  “Very well, madam, I’ll fetch the tea immediately,” I said and then curtsied as I backed out of the room.

  She became so troubled by this unknown event that she even canceled an upcoming party. As I mentioned at the beginning of the narrative, Dowager Countess Barnet was at the pinnacle of London society, primarily due to her lavish parties. I had been looking forward to witnessing one of these parties as one had been scheduled for three days hence. But now she spontaneously canceled the event. Lucy having more experience with her ladyship’s moods knew to stay well away from her. I had not been so forewarned.

  ~ 4 ~

  The Achievement

  The very next day was Sunday and the unusual proceedings of this day proved to be the beginning of the end for the Countess Barnet. The day began as those before it until I entered her ladyship’s bedroom soon after dawn to wash and dress her for the morning church service. Sir Anthony had not retired to his own bedroom, but remained sleeping in her bed. He was apparently nude as his nightshirt was on the floor. This was unusual, as she normally preferred for him to sleep the morning away in his own room. Ignoring his presence as best I possibly could, I assisted Lady Ann with her morning routine. I immediately noticed that she was not graced with her usual morning smile. Whatever the nature of Sir Anthony’s nocturnal task, he had failed to complete it to her ladyship’s satisfaction that night.

  I placed the pitcher of hot water beside her dressing table. After I removed her nightcap and unwound her curling tapes, I assisted her with the removal of her nightdress. While she gave no appearance of embarrassment at being naked within the same room as a man, I was highly embarrassed. I had never before seen a nude male, even if only from the waist up. I poured the hot water into her washbasin and began by washing her face and then back. Normally, she would take the cloth from my hand and complete the rinsing of her body herself. However, on this unusual morning she simply lifted her arms, indicating that I was to complete the washing of her upper body. I had never touched another woman’s breasts before. And then without comment, she stood and coldly stared into my eyes until I realized that she wanted me to complete washing her everywhere.

  Setting the washbasin aside, I assisted her with donning her chemise, drawers and stockings. I held up her stays, but she said, “No. I want my new blue frock this morning. It is sufficiently modest and the day will be hot, so I will go without the stays.”

  I quickly stepped into her closet to retrieve the garment she had purchased three days before. I held the dress high while she slipped under and into it. After I completed fastening the buttons, she sat in her chair and I began to attend to her ladyship’s hair and facial cosmetics.

  My eyes continually wandered to Sir Anthony’s reflection in the mirror. I marveled at the sight of the dark curly hair and tiny pink nipples upon his chest. It had not occurred to me that men would have hair covering so much of their body or that they would also have nipples. As I teased the ringlet curls into Lady Ann’s hair, my fingers imagined what it would be like to twirl in the tiny locks on Sir Anthony’s chest. The only people I had ever seen nude had been women, thus the sight of Sir Anthony’s chest was quite a marvel.

  Does Captain Stuart have such hair upon his chest? What would it be like to touch his tiny nipples?

  “Oh my, Marge, you are such the tart!” Lady Ann suddenly spoke with a giggle when she noticed that my eyes were not on her hair, but rather on the reflection of the furry-chested Sir Anthony.

  “My apologies, my lady,” I said in a deadpan voice as my eyes darted back to their work. Tart – this was one of the never-ending compilation of nouns Mrs. Davenport used in lieu of my name. I had only the slightest notion of their exact meaning, but they were clearly intended as insults upon my position of servitude as she spoke them with such venom. However, I could never quite understand how comparing a serving woman to a dessert pastry could be an insult. Adding to this confusion, Lady Ann had just used the word in reference to my staring at Sir Anthony’s tiny nipples and she had considered my action comical.

  “I see your attentiveness needs some correction. Ask Mrs. Davenport to refocus your attention by giving you ten of her best with the paddle, if you ever manage to finish with my hair.” Her voice turned stern.

  “Yes, my lady.” Maybe she was not thinking me so comical. I finished my task, keeping my eyes averted from the scene in the mirror. Kneeling on the floor, I slipped on and tied her boots. And then the final step in the preparation was to hold her petticoat as she stepped into it and then I tied it around her waist under her gown. When I turned to take my leave, my eyes could not fail to dart across the bed. In that brief instant I saw that Sir Anthony, while motionless, was awake and his eyes were upon me. In addition to Mrs. Davenport’s paddle I could now expect to be summoned to ‘have a word’ with him following the midday meal.

  This being Sunday, Lucy and I were to dress for the service following our morning tasks. Thus, Lucy was in our shared room donning her best frock when Mrs. Davenport draped me across the foot rail of my bed to receive ‘ten of her best’. For this punishment she insisted that I present myself completely nude.

  When last Lucy had been summoned to ‘have a word’ with Sir Anthony, her examinat
ion had involved his use of the cane and I had shown her genuine sympathy when I gently placed a cool damp cloth to numb the sting out of the horizontal welt lines that decorated her bottom. Therefore, her giggles as she watched me strip and endure my present plight were daggers of betrayal thrust into my back. Being paddled was agony by itself, but this torment of having my bum beating and my entire nude body exposed for the viewing pleasure of one of so low a class was beyond any limit of humiliation. With each of the ten hard SMACKS of the paddle, I swore an oath to myself that I would always be diligent to keep my eyes on my work to stay any possibility that I would ever be so humiliated again.

  I will find the nature of Countess Barnet’s crime and she will pay dearly!

  After the completion of my paddling, I was the last one to finish dressing, which drew additional admonishment from the Countess Barnet. “Another ten for Marge if we are late for service,” she said matter-of-factly to Mrs. Davenport, as her ladyship escorted the women of the household outside to the curb. Fortunately for my bottom’s sake, Mr. Cambridge had already secured a horse drawn carriage for us and we were not late for the service. Thusly, we attended church at St. Paul’s Cathedral leaving the men, Sir Anthony and Mr. Cambridge, to their own devices.