The Girls of Cropton Hall

by Stanlegh Meresith

"Well, yes, but still. Middleton was one of them. Got caned by Edith and looked very sorry for herself on Tuesday morning. I noticed her wincing once or twice when she shifted in her seat." They arrived at Edith's door and entered. Edith went over to the small gas ring on the table in the corner. She lifted the kettle to gauge how much water it held, lit the gas with a match and placed the kettle on top. Prudence sat down on the small sofa that faced a gas fire, unlit this warm evening, which was set in an attractive tiled surround with a narrow mantelpiece of the same tiles above.

  "What had she done?" asked Prudence.

  "Oh, she was constantly fidgeting and whispering and nudging her neighbour, giving me these slightly insolent looks, and when I finally lost my temper she was actually quite rude: tried to deny she'd done anything. I think she was testing me really. You know I'm..." Emily looked awkwardly, slightly inquisitively, at Prudence, "still not very confident in the classroom."

  "Yes, it isn't easy at first, is it? Even after a year. Still, I think you did exactly the right thing. If you'd let that go, you'd only have had more of the same, and from others too."

  Emily sat down in an armchair between the sofa and the table. Prudence, who'd been waiting for this chance to be alone with her younger colleague, summoned up her courage.

  "Emily ... I want to apologise."

  "Whatever for?" asked the younger woman, genuinely mystified.

  "Don't you know?" asked Prudence.

  "Prudence, no, I really don't," Emily replied, laughing nervously.

  "For that whole desk business last autumn," said Prudence. "When I think back to how I behaved, I just feel awful ... ashamed really."

  "Heavens!" said Emily, clearly surprised. "Well, you needn't, honestly."

  "I bullied you, and I was selfish."

  "Gosh! I didn't think you bullied me exactly. I was a little ... overawed by you. I was new, and you seemed so ... confident. I just saw it as your right to ask for that desk if you wanted it."

  "Well, it wasn't my right ... at all, and I'm sorry, Emily," said Prudence, embarrassed but assertive. Emily looked at her colleague, whom she had admired ever since she'd arrived at Cropton Hall. Emily was from a humbler background than Prudence. Her parents had pinched every penny to send her to boarding school so that she'd have a better start in life than they had, and this first job after her graduation from Bristol University, in a private school, had made them very proud.

  "Prudence..."

  "Yes?" She'd been looking down at her hands pensively, but looked up now and shook her head slightly as if to dispel her previous thoughts.

  "I hope you don't mind my asking, but, well, I've just noticed ... something different about you this last week. Are you all right? I mean," she said quickly, "you seem fine, just, different somehow?"

  Prudence smiled. She took a deep breath.

  "Actually, I'm glad you've asked. It's a bit of a long story, but if you've got time...?"

  "Heavens, the kettle will be ages yet - and we haven't even had our first cup. It's Twinings by the way, is that all right?"

  "Twinings is fine, Emily, thank you." Prudence took another deep breath, girding herself, and then, gazing at the Vermeer print of a girl's head above the fireplace, poured out the whole story: about her father's death, her estrangement from her mother, her selfish, angry attitude to everyone and everything, how bitterly she missed her father; about taking the desk, about jumping up and down like a spoilt child till Mrs Weekes caved in and whacked French and Thomas over the salt incident; about her rudeness towards Margaret. Emily listened sympathetically, occasionally making sounds of mitigation which Prudence waved away. And then she came to the awkward part - the catharsis, Verily's medicine. She breathed deeply again and looked down before quietly describing the choice with which the Headmistress had confronted her and which option she had chosen.

  "Oh! Gosh! Prudence! She ... caned you?" Emily was open-mouthed with amazement and had started to blush.

  "Yes," said Prudence simply, looking up for the first time to face the reaction of her young colleague. She wondered if she should have told her, and whether Verily, or Edith, would approve, but it was done now, and anyway, it was her choice and she trusted Emily to be discreet.

  "Golly! That's ... unusual!" said Emily, adding quickly and a little nervously, "isn't it?"

  "Yes, it was completely extraordinary, and very painful, but don't worry!" laughed Prudence, "I don't think Verily would ever do that normally. To be honest, it was exactly what I needed to ... shock me out of my stupid pride and meanness."

  "I see," said Emily, not quite seeing, but trying to. "Can I ask ... had you ever been caned before?" Her blush was deepening. The question, and the prospect of this topic continuing, had set her heart racing.

  "No," said Prudence. "I always managed to avoid it at school - cunning, you see! But my Dad used to spank me with a hairbrush, or his belt sometimes, right up till I was about sixteen. And then he died." Emily waited to allow the moment of sombre morbidity its respect. Prudence continued, "How about you?"

  "Me?" responded Emily. "Well, yes, my boarding school was, how shall I say, very old-fashioned? It wasn't in the top rank and I think they thought that ultra-strict discipline was the way to improve their reputation. So, yes, I got caned many times, and strapped and whacked and slippered ... the lot, really."

  "You poor thing!" said Prudence, her eyebrows raised in surprise. She hadn't imagined Emily as capable of ever being rebellious or naughty enough to warrant so much punishment.

  "Oh, it was all right really. In fact..." Emily stopped. Her hands were shaking and she sat on them. Her blush was beginning to pulse all over her head. "Well..."

  "Yes?"

  "I didn't mind it at all. Sometimes I even deliberately courted trouble just to get..." She paused again.

  "Punished?"

  "Yes. I know it sounds silly..."

  "No. There were girls like that at my school too ... they'd show off their marks and keep an account of who'd been up to the Head most often in a term."

  "Yes, we did that. I came top every term in my last year," said Emily, unable to keep a hint of pride out of her voice. "I had to be careful though not to get expelled. Luckily they hardly ever did that, and I made sure I never did anything too bad."

  "But wasn't it really painful?"

  "Yes, but I didn't mind the pain that much ... while it was happening it was quite hard sometimes, but afterwards it felt ... almost nice."

  "I know what you mean," said Prudence thoughtfully. "It's strange isn't it? I felt like that on Monday, after I'd had time to think about it all. Because I felt I deserved it so much, whenever I sat down, or brushed against something, and the stripes started to sting and throb again, it reminded me of how punished I'd been and that felt good."

  "Yes," said Emily enthusiastically, "that's exactly it!" She felt a sudden surge of joy at finding someone who understood. She felt like hugging Prudence and almost might have had the rising whistle of the kettle coming to the boil not interrupted her at that moment.

  Tea was made, Capstan Full Strengths lit and savoured, and the two young teachers sealed their new friendship, with life stories and secrets and feelings shared, late into the balmy September evening.

  ---oOo---

  At 7.15 the following morning, Susan French was jerked violently awake from a deep sleep by the shrill ringing of the morning bell in the corridor outside Dorm K. She'd been dreaming about a large jug of delicious cream she'd found in a beautifully coloured cave, a paradise marred only by a band of determined wasps which kept buzzing threateningly around her backside.

  She groaned and tried to bury her head under the thin pillow, but Jennings was already shouting about something; the dream was gone and reality quickly invaded her groggy mind. Then she remembered, and a lovely feeling spilled up her middle: Rachel!

  The night before, Susan had deliberately lain awake till after midnight, listening carefully in the dark, trying to identify the sounds of each girl
's sleep. Eventually, she'd got up very quietly to go to the toilet and upon her return had stood completely still inside the door checking that Atkinson the Dorm Captain was definitely breathing the breath of the unconscious. Then, tiptoeing like a burglar, she'd gone across to Rachel's bed and climbed in.

  Rachel had woken with a surprised but thankfully quiet, 'Oh!' and had quickly realised whose leg was reaching between hers, who it was snuggling up and stroking her neck. They'd kissed and hugged tightly and rubbed a bit and got generally hot before quietly slipping out of their sleeping clothes to allow more urgent and moister explorations. It had been heaven. It must have been two in the morning before a thoroughly sated Susan had stolen quietly, still glowing with all kinds of love, back to her own cold sheets.

  Jumping out of bed now, she stretched the stretch of a satisfied young woman and grabbed her dressing-gown. Rachel deliberately bumped into her as she passed on her way to the door.

  "Oy! Watch it, Thomas," Susan said indignantly, enjoying the pretence, savouring their secret.

  Washed, dressed and beds made, the two friends had reached the foot of the stairs, jostling among all the other girls headed for morning assembly, when Rachel suddenly noticed and exclaimed,

  "Susie! Your tie! You've forgotten your tie!" Susan clutched her throat; her eyes grew wide with surprise and then narrowed with worry.

  "Oh, lawks! ... Don't wait for me," she called as she turned and started to try and climb the stairs again against the tide of girls still descending. Rachel waited till she was out of sight, then joined the throng again.

  Two minutes later, and with barely a minute before assembly was due to start, Susan, tie half tied, was racing down the last flight of stairs two at a time. She leapt the last three in one heroic bound only to crash thuddingly into a large adult body. It was Mrs Palmer, and she was nearly sent flying herself by the airborne pupil.

  "Wha..?! Good heavens!" exclaimed the mistress in shock which quickly turned to anger.

  "What on earth! French! You nearly pushed me right over! Whatever do you think you're doing, girl?" She glared down at Susie, who had fallen and who was now rubbing a bruised knee and getting to her feet.

  "I..I'm terribly sorry, Miss ... I'm late for assembly ... and it's my second time this week."

  "Well that is no excuse for ... for ... leaping off the stairs! You could have caused us both a serious injury, girl! Whatever possessed you?"

  "I'm sorry, Miss, I really am," mumbled Susan, biting her lip and still rubbing her injured knee.

  "You will be! I should report this to the Headmistress immediately. She takes a very dim view, a very dim view indeed, of actions that endanger others! Gracious, girl, I could have broken my arm the way you clattered into me!" Recovered from the initial shock, Mrs Palmer was now gathering a head of steam. "Completely unacceptable!" she declared. Sensing trouble, potentially bottom-hurting trouble, Susan put on her sweetest, most contrite expression.

  "Miss, I really am terribly, terribly sorry. If I'd known..."

  "Nonsense, girl! There's no excuse. I shall deal with you myself. You will report to my form room at five to nine, is that clear?"

  "Yes, Miss," muttered Susan, her heart sinking.

  "Right, you'd better come along to assembly before the first hymn is sung," said Mrs Palmer, grabbing Susan's collar and pushing her ahead in the direction of the Chapel.

  Rachel had been desperately hoping Susie would make it in time, but when Miss Markham strode in and announced the hymn, and Miss Bainbridge took her place by the entrance to note down any late-comers, she knew it meant a summons that evening in prep. And probably the cane too. They'd heard Peters in 5C had got the junior cane yesterday for being late twice this week. Poor Susie, thought Rachel! She was hopeless! And at that moment Susie appeared, bedraggled, her blond hair tousled as usual, her tie tangled and askew, looking like a frightened rabbit. Rachel had to suppress a smile, serious though the situation was, and she felt a wave of love well up in her breast. Miss Bainbridge frowned at Susan and made a note in her little green book as Susan scurried to her row and picked up her hymn book.

  Neither of the girls heard much of what Miss Markham announced after prayers had been said, Susan especially being horribly preoccupied with what awaited her at five to nine. At least it wouldn't be the cane - the girls had quickly picked up on the fact that only the Head and Deputy Head were using the cane. But still, her heart was pounding and she felt that familiar hollowness in her tummy which seemed to set off that equally familiar tingling in her bottom. And then another nasty thought struck her: Mrs Palmer was form mistress to 4A and chances were her girls would all be gathering for their first lesson at five to nine. They'd all hear her being whacked! Oh God! This was going to be too humiliating.

  The two girls sloped off after assembly and went for a short walk down to the tennis courts. Susie explained about bumping into Mrs Palmer and what had transpired.

  "What'll I get, Rache?" she asked anxiously. Rachel thought a moment, and decided the truth would the kindest thing she could give. At least Susie would be prepared then.

  "Sorry, Susie, but I'm afraid it'll be at least six with the strap. Might even be more, but I doubt it. As she said, you're lucky you're not in the Head's study right now getting the cane." Susan shivered, even though it was another warm, bright morning.

  "Lawks! That bloody strap just seems to follow me around, doesn't it? Still, I bet it won't be half as bad as my dad's."

  Rachel looked admiringly at her friend, glad to see how bravely she was facing up to this latest appointment with a whacked backside.

  "No, I guess not," she agreed. "We'd best head back. It's ten to."

  As they both had a study period at nine, Rachel accompanied Susan along to 4C where, as the latter had feared, several of Mrs Palmer's fourth formers were already at their desks awaiting the teacher. The two sixth formers hovered outside the door.

  "Hello, Thomas! What are you doing here?" asked an annoyingly chirpy voice. It was Wilkinson, younger sister of Mary in the Upper Sixth. She must be in Mrs Palmer's form, too, thought Susan glumly. Why doesn't the whole world just come and listen!

  "Hello, Wilko," said Rachel. "Oh, nothing, just waiting to ask Mrs P something."

  Susan was so grateful sometimes for her friend's quick-wittedness. Even though it wouldn't be long now, the last thing she wanted was for a dozen fourth-formers to be whispering about her and giving her pitying looks.

  "Ah! French! On time for once, I see!" Mrs Palmer approached at a brisk pace from the direction of the staffroom and swept past them into the classroom. "Right girls," she announced. "Everyone outside in the corridor, please. Come along, quickly now. I have some business I must attend to before we can start our lesson. A young lady for the high jump, I'm afraid!"

  The girls came filing out, giving Susan and Rachel some quizzical looks. Young Wilko muttered, 'Waiting to ask something?' sceptically to Rachel, who shrugged. Susan was shifting from foot to foot in her anxiety about the approaching ordeal. Come on, hurry up, she was silently telling the girls. Mrs Palmer appeared at the door to usher out the last straggler.

  "Miss Thomas? Do you have business here?" she asked Rachel, as if to say 'run along'.

  "Er ... no, Miss," said Rachel reluctantly, backing away slowly and turning.

  "Right, French, in here!" commanded the mistress. Susan entered the classroom and the door shut behind her. Rachel was in a quandary. She wasn't worried about Mrs Palmer but she didn't want to seem like an eavesdropper to all these fourth-formers. Again, the truth, she decided, was the best course of action. She turned to the main group of waiting girls.

  "She's my best friend and I hate it when she gets whacked, so, please, help me wish her some courage, will you?" This unusual request, and from a rather admired Sixth former, stopped the gleeful whisperings in their tracks. Several girls nodded and some said, 'All right. Yes.'

  "Didn't she tell you to go away?" asked one. "Mightn't you get into trouble too?"
Rachel smiled.

  "Yes maybe, but, as I said, she's my friend and friends should stick together." This too was met with many admiring looks. Warming to her theme, Rachel asked,

  "So, how many of you lot have been whacked so far this term?" After a pause, three hands were tentatively raised. "And what was it like?" There was another pause before Wilkinson spoke.

  "It hurt," she said simply. One or two giggled, most looked very sombre. Rachel smiled.

  "What did you get?"

  "Four with the hairbrush," said Wilkinson, "for talking out of turn." Two of the girls next to her, probably her friends, nodded seriously, as if at the memory.

  "Was it in front of the class?" asked Rachel.

  "Yes, worst luck."

  "That's really embarrassing, isn't it?"

  Wilkinson nodded appreciatively. At that moment the loud crack of leather firmly applied to bare flesh was heard through the door and they all froze.

  "So's this for Susie ... French," said Rachel after a moment, "with all you lot listening." Again, there were several nods. "So, please, when she comes out, try not to stare, all right?"

  The sound of a second thwack reached their ears.

  On the other side of the door from the now sympathetically waiting girls, Susan French had tears in her eyes already. Mrs Palmer was not messing around. Susan was lying face down on a bench near the door, her knickers round her thighs and her skirt and blazer rolled up on to her back. Her bottom already bore witness to two heartily delivered strokes with the strap, one of which had managed to fall on the still-visible stripe from Miss Markham's cane on Monday.

  Mrs Palmer had pulled the bench out into the room and was delivering the strokes from alternate sides. Susan half wondered if she'd been talking to her Dad, though he'd done it six from one side then six from the other. Susan's legs were tightly pressed together, partly because the bench wasn't very wide, partly in an attempt to minimise the target area. It also made it easier to clench her buttocks, which she had done after each stroke so far, as if she could squeeze out the pain.

  THWACK! came the third, reaching across her right buttock and curling round almost to her hip. Ouch! thought Susan, that hurt! In truth, she was finding it easier to bear this than Miss Dawson's butter-pat, and it didn't match up to her father's belting with that heavy strop either. But that didn't mean ... THWACK! (gasp) ... that ... didn't ... mean that this wasn't ... pretty bad ... as well. She kicked her legs and shook her head.