The Girls of Cropton Hall

by Stanlegh Meresith

  Lots to do this weekend, so must retire to Bedfordshire. Hoping that creme de menthe won't make me toss and turn.

  ---oOo---

  After Edith and the Countess had said their goodnights - they occupied adjoining cottages half a mile from the school, in the same lane in fact as the one Monica Gibson had purchased with an inheritance as a bolt hole the year before - Margaret lingered in Verily's study. She seemed restless. Verily offered her another glass of the Cointreau she liked, which Margaret gladly accepted. They sat on opposite sofas, and Verily gazed thoughtfully at her Head of Humanities, pondering how to proceed.

  "So, Margaret, that was fun, wasn't it?"

  "Eh?" said Margaret, summoned from distant thoughts. "Oh, yes, very much."

  "Margaret, may I ask you something?"

  "Of course, Verily, please, go ahead."

  "It's ... rather personal ... actually, very personal, so I'm not sure if..."

  Margaret blushed. She thought she might know what was coming. "No, really, Verily, that's fine ... please, ask away." Her heart was pounding, but this was what she had wanted, even though it was terribly embarrassing for her.

  "Well, you mentioned this evening Thomas thinking of whackings as being...sexy. And I sensed that this might be something that you yourself may have, how shall I say, some personal experience of?" Margaret looked down at her liqueur glass. This was the moment. Her face was tomato-red but she didn't care. She wasn't going to let blushing or embarrassment rule her life any longer.

  "Yes, Verily." She heaved a great sigh. "It's true. I do." She looked up with a half-frightened, half-pleading expression. "Please don't think badly of me. I can't help it. I know I'm odd. Ever since I was about eight, I've had these ... thoughts, constant thoughts, about being punished, being whacked. I'm still a virgin because I could never..." She was starting to cry, "...could never contemplate being in bed with a man. All...all I've ever wanted is..." And now tears were flowing down her cheeks, and she shook with sobs.

  "It's all right, Margaret." Verily came across and placed a comforting arm around her shoulders. "I understand completely. I think you're marvellous, and very brave, and not odd at all." Margaret continued to cry with her head bowed for a few more moments before she looked up gratefully.

  "Really?" she said, as if she couldn't quite believe it, her sobs subsiding into hiccoughs. She looked like a little girl.

  "Yes, really," said Verily with a gentle smile. "Now tell me what it is... all you've ever wanted. It's important. You deserve to have what you want, Margaret. You are a good woman."

  Margaret's face crumpled again, she shook her head and another wave of sobbing ensued. It was nearly a minute, during which Verily soothed patiently and stroked her colleague's back, before Margaret could speak again.

  "What I want ... is ... is..." She struggled to reveal the hidden desires of thirty years.

  "Yes, Margaret?"

  "I just want a woman who will ... love me, and hold me, and ... and..."

  "And..." prompted Verily, softly.

  "And, give me whackings sometimes," said Margaret, her voice rising, more tears flowing, as if this were something utterly impossible to ask.

  The moment the words were uttered, however, her sobs began to turn into laughter. She looked up at the ceiling and took a deep breath. Her tear-streaked cheeks started to form a smile, and the beginnings of joy replaced anguish in her eyes.

  "Oh God!" she exclaimed. "I'm so stupid!" She rocked back against the sofa cushions, shaking with a wonderfully releasing laughter. Verily smiled at her happily and removed her arm.

  "You're not stupid at all, Margaret," she said. "In fact, you're a remarkably intelligent woman."

  "No, but..." began Margaret, "all these years ... (hic) ... being so ... so ... SCARED to ... even try ... to..."

  "Well, never mind that. You've done it, haven't you? You've shared your secret," said Verily. "And I'm honoured that you chose to share it with me." Margaret turned her shining, teary eyes to her friend.

  "Oh, Verily, thank you! Thank you so much!" She opened her arms and they hugged. After a few seconds, Verily pulled away and went to sit back on the other sofa.

  "Now, Margaret. Who would you say is your best friend on the staff?"

  Margaret was blowing her nose, and looked up over her hankie in surprise.

  "Well," she said, "I would say that you are! But ... apart from you, it's Monica. We've been friends for ... oh ... ages now."

  "Do you have ... feelings for Monica, Margaret?" Margaret looked shocked for a moment, and paused.

  "Well ... yes, actually I do ... I've often fantasised about ... being with Monica, you know, as more than just friends, but I could never ... EVER tell her." She shivered. "Have you not heard her talking about ... what she calls the Sapphic tendency?" Verily laughed.

  "No, I haven't," she said. "What does she say?"

  "Oh! What doesn't she say? She despises them; says they're unnatural, should be shot ... I just keep very quiet. She's a decent woman really, just very, very prejudiced on this particular point, and ... she can be a bit ... well, cruel sometimes?"

  "In what way?" asked Verily.

  "Well, quite a few times she's lashed out at me and stopped talking to me for a while...almost as if she wants to punish me. She always comes back and apologises, but it's hurtful when it happens. I forgive her too easily probably. And then there are the girls."

  "Yes?"

  "Well ... I feel a bit like a sneak now!"

  "Go on," said Verily.

  "It's just that I've heard many a time, from before Mrs Weekes, and again this term, girls saying she thwacks them much harder than anyone else. And I've seen the marks she's left on occasion, you know, on duty in the changing rooms or the bathroom ... really a bit shocking."

  "Yes, this has come to my attention. In fact I'm going to talk to her tomorrow. There's been a similar case and I'm going to step in."

  "Really?"

  "Yes, but please don't say anything."

  "Of course not." Verily looked down for a few moments before she asked,

  "Margaret, you do know why Monica is so full of hatred towards lesbians, don't you?"

  Margaret blushed, and looked confused. "No, Verily, I can't say that I do...it's always struck me as a bit strange, just so out of proportion really."

  "Quite. Well, I'm almost certain it's because she is one herself."

  "No! Verily, you can't be serious?" Margaret looked utterly disbelieving.

  "I'm not saying that she's ever acted upon it or had any relations with a woman in that way. Far from it. She's what the psychologists call being in denial, Margaret."

  "Gosh!" said Margaret, considering this possibility. "Well ... I suppose that would explain things, in a way. I mean, I've never heard her even mention a man friend, and it would explain why she's so bothered about the idea of...lesbians. Poor thing." Margaret became lost in thought, occasionally raising her eyebrows and looking up to her left.

  "Yes, it is sad," said Verily after a pause. "But, if you're willing, I think I may have a happy solution."

  ---oOo---

  "Phew! Not bad!" said Alice Jennings, inspecting the stripes on Rachel's bottom. "One, two, three ... four, five ... and I guess that's the sixth one," she said.

  It was 9.45 that same Friday evening and Susan was posted by the door to keep a look out for Miss Gibson who was Duty Mistress for all the dorms this evening. The girls had a healthy fear of Gibbo and nobody wanted to be caught out of bed past their bedtime, or caught doing anything for that matter. The girls had already noticed that Gibbo patrolled with either a hairbrush if she was in a good mood, or a strap in a bad one. Jean Atkinson hadn't appeared yet. Prefects were allowed to stay downstairs till ten.

  Rachel had her back to the rest of the girls in Dorm K and was holding her nightie up at the back. She was leaning round to see their reactions. Alice tentatively approached a finger towards Rachel's bottom, fascinated by the ridges.

  "Oy! H
ands off!" warned Rachel. Alice withdrew her finger very quickly, made a hissing sound and shook it, as if it had got burnt.

  "Gosh - feel the heat!" said Alice. Everyone laughed.

  "Thomas ... did it hurt awfully?" asked Elizabeth Stewart, in the next bed to Alice, with quite a good view. Her eyes were glued to Rachel's mature bottom with its five and a bit clearly defined red tramlines. Rachel shrugged; she was enjoying the attention. Susie expressed her disapproval by rolling her eyes at her from the door. Rachel laughed.

  "It's bad when one lands on top of another one. That's probably why you can't see the sixth one clearly. But it's not too bad otherwise. This was only the junior cane, mind you."

  "It's horrible," said Susan. "Don't listen to her. She loves it really."

  "I do not!" said Rachel, giving Susan a warning look. Susan turned away to look down the corridor. "Actually," Rachel went on, "it does hurt a lot, Stewart, yes. It's just that there's no point being a coward about it. If you're sent for a caning, then you've just got to grin and bear it. It won't kill you."

  "Huh!" said Susan. "You weren't grinning after that sixth one!"

  "No, but at least I took mine. You've got four to come!"

  "Rachel!" exclaimed Susan, annoyed, adding sarcastically, "Tell everyone, please, why don't you?"

  Elizabeth and Charlotte were enjoying these exchanges immensely. Since their own painful experience in the changing room with Miss Bainbridge their friendship had grown stronger, Elizabeth having quickly forgiven her classmate when she'd seen how their punishment had made the other girls in 4A look up to them. At fourteen, unspoken pecking order was paramount.

  Charlotte, meanwhile, remained quiet, though she was itching to contribute somehow. She was still a little ashamed of how she'd reacted to her whacking. She wasn't quite sure that her other dorm mates might not have heard about it. She almost looked forward to getting whacked again so she could prove herself braver than she had been that first time.

  "Gibbo!" whispered Susan suddenly and urgently and Alice leapt gymnastically back into her bed. Even though their bedtime hadn't arrived yet, Rachel and Susan followed suit, just to be on the safe side. Books were picked up and suddenly everyone was reading studiously, except for Christina Ward who'd already dropped off with hers flopped in her hand. After a few moments they heard Gibbo talking to the girls in Dorm J, not angrily thank heavens, and then footsteps as she approached, before she appeared in the doorway.

  "Everything all right, girls?" she asked. Heads turned innocently and reluctantly from books as if they couldn't tear themselves away.

  "Yes, Miss," responded three or four small voices.

  "Miss?" asked Charlotte.

  "Yes? ... Wilson, isn't it?" said the mistress.

  "Yes, Miss. How do I try out for the hockey team, Miss? The Under 16s I mean, Miss."

  "Don't worry, Wilson, just play your best and I'll find you. Now girls, ten minutes to lights out." And with that she was gone. Once her footsteps had died away, Susan leapt out of bed again and went to the door to double-check.

  "All clear," she said,

  "Hey!" said Alice to everyone, excitedly. "Did you notice she wasn't carrying anything? To whack with I mean?"

  "Yes," said Rachel who'd noticed the same thing immediately. "That's a bit strange isn't it? Maybe she had her fill on Pearson and Bennett? Did you hear about that?" Heads shook.

  So Rachel began to relate the valuably reliable first-hand account she'd had from Julia the day before, and the younger girls shivered, Charlotte especially making a mental note, in capitals, to avoid the dreaded mistress for her next whacking.

  Meanwhile, as Monica Gibson continued her rounds she wondered again about the heavy feelings that had been weighing down her heart ever since yesterday's confrontation with Bennett. She'd just felt like crying for a day and a half now. And Monica Gibson did not, simply did not, cry. But this tightness in her chest just wouldn't go away and it worried her.

  ---oOo---

  The fine weather continued, this first Saturday of the term turning out to be another bright, warm day with a cloudless sky to greet the weekend's activities for the girls of Cropton Hall. There were lessons during the morning, but they finished at twelve rather than one and included a non-academic option such as music, art or drama for which the girls were organised into mixed age groups. Assembly was a little later, too, at eight-thirty. Those with sporting prowess had the afternoon's hockey games, or tennis or swimming, to look forward to, others the chance to enjoy their leisure. And finally there was the enticing prospect of the first film of the fortnightly series at five o'clock in the Hall. Chosen and organised by the Deputy Head, these were of course good, wholesome films suitable for teen-aged girls, and usually in black and white, the budget seldom extending to colour; nevertheless they were universally popular with the junior girls especially.

  The air of excitement was palpable, then, as the girls made their various ways to chapel, dining-room, form rooms, common room or library. For Monica Gibson, however, it was hard to appreciate the mood of freedom amongst the girls this sunny morning, an atmosphere she normally found uplifting, sharing their glee. She'd been asked to meet the Headmistress at ten, and couldn't help wondering if it had to do with the Pearson-Bennett incident. She found herself having very mixed feelings about this, her usual robust confidence deserting her. She kept hearing Verily's words: 'Not too much wrath, Monica. Remember, fairness is our watchword.'

  Playing over possible ways her conversation with Verily could go, one voice in her mind was expressing indignation and justifying her actions forcefully, but there was another voice too, a voice so unfamiliar she scarcely recognised herself in it. While the first was that of her mother, the never-to-be-argued-with punisher, this voice was quite different: it was a smaller, quieter, sadder voice that seemed to be connected to the leaden feelings she'd been having in her chest these past two days.

  It was with trepidation and a sorrowful demeanour, then, that she met Verily at ten sharp in the Headmistress' study.

  "Monica! Come in. Let's sit on the sofas, shall we?" Verily greeted her kindly, and Monica relaxed a little. They sat opposite each other and Monica adjusted her slacks (she rarely wore skirts, was happiest in a track suit).

  "Monic-"

  "Headmist-"

  They overlapped and both stopped, and then laughed, Verily naturally, Monica awkwardly.

  "Monica," said Verily, taking the lead, "I wish to address two matters with you, one professional and one personal." She paused. "First, you are not yet aware of this - only Edith knows about it - but I have offered the post of Head Girl to Julia Bennett." Monica was taken completely by surprise and frowned.

  "Good heav-" she began, but Verily interrupted.

  "Yes, I know it must come as a shock."

  "But, Headmi-"

  "Monica," interrupted Verily, more forcefully this time and Monica subsided back into the sofa cushions, looking quite mortified. "Let me finish, please. Edith reacted exactly the same way. It is not decided yet. Miss Bennett has the weekend to think it over. I am not going to explain my reasons now; if Bennett accepts I will address the issue fully at a staff meeting on Monday evening. Now then..." She paused and examined Monica closely, observing how sad and tightly-wound her colleague was looking. "I have instructed Bennett to apologise to you." Monica looked a little happier at this. "But I have also told her that you, too, will apologise ... to both her and Pearson." Monica sat up and protested,

  "Verily, no! Please ... you can't possibly expect me to apol--" For a third time, Verily cut in. Her voice was raised and she spoke in a very determined manner.

  "Miss Gibson! This is absolutely non-negotiable. I do not want to lose you, but if you will not do as I ask, then I am afraid you no longer have a place here at Cropton Hall." Monica's mouth dropped open. "May I remind you of what I have said, on numerous occasions since I arrived, about fairness and moderation? And yet you set about punishing Pearson with almost brutal force, as
I am told you often do to girls for quite trivial offences, and then added a further strapping simply because she had deceived you by omission. Was that fair? Was that moderate? No! It was not! It was arbitrary, and undermined the good work of your colleagues who seek to respond fairly and with balance to the girls' misdemeanours."

  Monica was non-plussed and felt her eyes stinging with an unfamiliar sensation; her chest was heaving as she struggled to control the feelings that had been growing for the past two days.Verily observed this with great interest.

  "Headmistress, I ... I've ... I've always tried to ... Oh! Oh dear..." and with that she let out a cry of anguish, her face contorted in agony and tears began to stream down her cheeks. Her head twisted round and up toward the ceiling and she balled her hands into fists with which she pummelled the sofa cushions by her thighs. Her frame shook, and the sobs and cries of 'Oh" continued for a minute or more. Verily's face revealed compassion but she said nothing.

  "I ... I'm so ... sorry!" cried Monica as if to the heavens. "Oh God! I ... I..." Her head fell onto her chest and she rocked back and forth, her hands clasped now in her lap. Verily waited for the storm to pass. After a further minute or two of waves of tears and exclamations, Monica was eventually able to take a huge breath and win back control over the grief and shame that wracked her. She found her hankie and, head bowed, wiped her cheeks and blew her nose. Gently, Verily said,

  "Thank you, Monica. I know that was very, very hard for you." She waited for Monica to compose herself further before continuing. "In a moment I will address another, more personal matter, but first I must ask you something." Monica shivered with a cathartic aftermath and looked up.