"Arriving back late from the village is a serious matter, girls," she began. "There are good reasons why we have these rules, not least your own safety. What if some harm had befallen you, late in the afternoon? What would we have told your parents? Visiting the village is a privilege. You are both confined to school for the next two weekends. Is that understood?"
The two girls nodded, Wilson vigorously, Simpson slightly.
"And this," she said, still tapping the cane ominously, "is for your disobedience. Come over here, both of you, and face the wall." She pointed to the bench that ran along the side of the room. The two girls walked over and stood next to each other where indicated.
"Move along a bit, Wilson."
Charlotte shifted sideways to her right until she was about four feet from Jenny.
"Lower your undergarments to your knees, girls, and bend over the bench."
Simpson sighed rather loudly as she pulled her knickers down and Edith frowned, confirmed in her opinion about this particular young imp. Once the girls had placed their hands on the bench, Edith stepped forward and raised their skirts on to their backs, exposing their naked bottoms. She noticed immediately that both still bore evidence of previous punishment: Wilson's in some yellowish hues where bruising had been, Simpson's in the faint remaining traces of three cane stripes. Neither, she decided, would still be feeling any discomfort and thus no lenience was required. However, she did feel that Simpson was deserving of harsher punishment. It wouldn't be fair to give them a different number of strokes, so she determined to apply Simpson's more vigorously. If it had been Wilson alone, three strokes would have been sufficient, but she decided on four as being more appropriate in the circumstances, and perfectly commensurate with the offence.
She swished the cane through the air and noticed Wilson flinching. She spoke clearly and authoritatively:
"You will remain bending over until I give you permission to get up, and you will keep your hands firmly placed on the bench for the duration of your punishment. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Miss," said Charlotte in a tiny voice, turning slightly. Jenny merely nodded, facing the surface of the bench.
The Deputy Head took up a position behind and to Simpson's left and held out the cane so that its end rested on the far side of the fourth-former's right buttock. Jenny lowered her head. The cane was raised and swished loudly through the air to land with a high-pitched THWIPP across the middle of Jenny's bottom. Edith was grudgingly impressed that Simpson did not cry out at this very firmly applied stroke; instead the girl rocked forward slightly and, wincing, drew in a sharp breath. She moved her legs back and forth a few times, rubbing her knees, and shook her head. Well taken, thought Edith, but you have three to go, young lady.
She moved across to adopt a similar but slightly closer position behind Wilson and grasped the cane some inches further down its length to reduce its flexibility. She then caned Wilson with equal force, but the swish was less pronounced and the impact likewise. As the red line appeared across Wilson's bottom, the fourth-former gasped and her head flew up; she lifted her left leg for a moment and a brief spasm shook her body. Also well-taken, thought Edith, somewhat surprised.
Edith had in her time caned many a girl and she approached the task with a methodical determination. She did not particularly enjoy it - she had to steel herself to ignore a girl's cries, reminding herself that this painful punishment was in the name of good order, justice and educative correction.
Simpson took the second stroke - if anything even harder than the first, and with the full length of the cane - without crying out, but she did gasp aloud and bend at the knees before wiggling her bottom from side to side. Two livid crimson lines adorned her bottom as Edith moved back to deal with Wilson.
Wilson did cry out at her second, giving a brief yelp followed by a moaning 'Ooooow!' her knees buckling for a moment as she tried to absorb the stinging line. Simpson turned and gave Wilson a sympathetic look.
Two neatly parallel lines in place on each of the miscreants' posteriors, Edith paused before returning to Simpson again. She intended to teach this girl a lesson and lined up her third stroke low down. The cane bit into the fleshier lower buttocks with considerable force, and this time Simpson could not restrain an anguished 'Yeeow' as the initial white line rapidly turned a purplish red. Again Simpson bent her knees and this time stayed in that position thrusting her bottom out and then wiggling it from side to side as if she could somehow throw off the pain.
Wilson's third was much gentler than Simpson's and she took it with fortitude, a brief, high-pitched 'Ouch!' escaping her lips. Both girls were holding their positions with courage, thought Edith as she prepared to deal Simpson her fourth and final stroke.
Again, she felt that it was necessary to show no mercy. This girl had already been caned - and by the Headmistress - yet seemed to show no sign of mending her ways. Edith aimed again for the cusp of buttock and thigh and brought the cane swishing down with force just below the previous stroke.
"Aaaooowweeesshh!" Simpson cried aloud, and her head rose up, her face scrunched in agony. Her right hand rose momentarily from the bench as if to reach back but she stopped herself and stayed down, drumming her feet on the wooden floor.
Edith almost winced with her, but felt satisfied she had done her duty. She turned finally to Wilson again, whose legs were shaking now. She was also whimpering quietly, and Edith had to harden her heart as she raised the cane and brought it down smartly on Wilson's sit spots.
Poor Wilson rose up with a scream and clutched her striped bottom. "Aaaarrgghh!" she cried, and Edith had to intervene.
"GET DOWN THIS INSTANT, GIRL, UNLESS YOU WANT ANOTHER!" she bellowed, and Wilson, who was frozen in an upright posture, hands on bottom, her face grimacing at the ceiling, jumped and quickly leaned forward again, expressing her agony, "Ow ... Ow ... Ow!" as she placed her trembling hands back on the bench.
Edith stepped back to observe her cruel but necessary handiwork. Both girls were squirming and crying softly, Wilson still writhing and twisting her backside, Simpson bending and stretching her legs. Tear drops glistened on the bench below both girls' heads and four vivid stripes ran parallel across both young bottoms, the lowest ones darkest and clearly the most sore. She let them come to terms with their pain and their punished selves for a few moments before she said gently,
"Right, girls, you may get up now and replace your undergarments." She went over to the cupboard and replaced the cane on its hook, returning to observe the tear-streaked faces of the two fourth-formers as they delicately and wincingly pulled their green knickers back over their striped bottoms. Simpson wiped her face with the sleeve of her blazer; Wilson was crying silently still.
"Now, girls," said Edith kindly. "I am sorry I had to cane you, and I know it hurts like billy-o, but you will soon feel better. You have both accepted your punishment bravely, and I trust you have learned your lesson and will be prompt and obedient in future, yes?"
"Yes, Miss," managed Wilson through her tears. Simpson nodded.
"Very well, then. You have half an hour before tea. I suggest you go to your dorms and wash your faces, and I trust I will not be seeing either of you in here again for quite some time, eh?"
"No, Miss," said Wilson, drying her face with her sleeve and hiccoughing.
"No, Miss," said Simpson quietly.
"Off you go then." She watched as the two fourth-formers limped sorrowfully away.
---oOo---
Having called, most unusually, a staff meeting for this Sunday evening, Verily felt that it should at least also be as pleasant an affair as possible. She held it therefore in her study, with extra chairs brought in to make a large circle with the sofas, and laid on a selection of nuts, squash and two bottles of sherry (a very dry manzanilla from the Atlantic-facing hillsides of south-western Andalucia, and a sweeter one for those so inclined). Constance Beecham, she knew, would not be able to attend, but everyone else arrived promptly for 8.30, as requested.
Edith, who already knew about Verily's new plan, had kindly volunteered to remain on duty.
With sherry served to those who partook, and squash being sipped elsewhere, Verily interrupted the lively hum of conversations around the circle.
"Colleagues! Ladies! Thank you so much for coming along at this unusual hour. I promise I won't make a habit of it." She stood in the corner of the circle nearest her desk and surveyed her staff proudly. She noticed, happily, the glow emanating from both Margaret, perched cautiously on the edge of a sofa, and Monica, athletically upright on one of the school chairs brought in. And she felt a twinge of pride, too, as she observed Prudence Waring, seated by Emily Stokes, looking attentive and content.
"Our pupils' success in exams is vital for the future of Cropton Hall. Both 'O' and 'A' level results have been weak in recent years and we must be constantly reminding the girls of the importance of doing their absolute best in all their academic endeavours. With Edith's help, I have devised a new system for monitoring our pupils' academic performance." She held up a small rectangle of yellow card with a grid of lines printed on each side. "These will be known as Study Cards and each girl will be issued with one every fortnight. They have a small box for each lesson of the week, one week on each side..." She turned the card around so all could see. "... and I will ask you all to record any poor performance in the appropriate box. If a girl has been adequately studious, you need do nothing. If, however, you are slightly dissatisfied with their effort or studiousness you will record VS in the box. This stands for Vix Studiosus, that is...Prudence?" She smiled at the Geography mistress.
"Scarcely studious, Headmistress" said Prudence, proud of her Latin, and proud to be given the chance to shine. Verily continued,
"And if a pupil's performance has been clearly unacceptable you will record NS for Non Studiosus." Verily surveyed the room, noting general approval of the simple process. "To pre-empt any attempts to get round this system, I would ask you to record the marks you have given in your mark books. Form mistresses will check every girl's card at the end of lessons each Friday. Any girl who has accumulated two NS, or one NS and two VS, or four VS, or more than this, will be referred in the usual way and dealt with by Miss Bainbridge or myself. And finally, any girl who mislays her card will be punished as if she had accumulated two NS, and will have one NS added automatically to the following week's card." She paused. "Are there any questions?"
The mistresses looked around, eyebrows raised, pondering, but no one spoke.
"Very well, then," said Verily. "I shall announce this to the school at tomorrow's assembly and the system will proceed immediately. You will find a stock of cards in the staffroom. Thank you, ladies. Please do stay and enjoy your sherry."
One or two got up and made their exits, but most stayed where they were, the meeting having been so brief.
Prudence turned to Emily.
"I think this may help me do my first punishment slip," she said.
"Gosh! Have you still not done one?" asked Emily in surprise.
"No..." she lowered her voice, "...and I'm a bit worried the Head will think I'm not doing my job properly."
"I know what you mean," said Emily. "I'm worried too."
"Why?" asked Prudence. Now it was Emily's turn to speak quietly, leaning over towards Prudence to keep it private.
"I'm rather badly behind with my marking, AND my record of work book's only completed up to last Tuesday." She blushed. "I ... I find I just can't force myself to sit down and do it. I was like this at school. Of course, when I was there..." She let her sentence hang. Prudence looked at her quizzically for a moment, then the penny dropped.
"Oh!" she said. "Yes..." Emily's blush deepened as she explained,
"Last year I was new and I tried my best. But this year, smehow, being back in a school environment's made me go all ... I don't know ... recalcitrant, or deliberately lazy or something, as if..."
Prudence leaned even closer to whisper in her friend's ear,
"As if you just need a damn good thrashing?"
Emily giggled, put her hand over her mouth and looked around nervously. Prudence added in another whisper,
"Well, I learned my lesson. Margaret's got all my schemes and my record of work."
Neither of them had noticed Verily approaching from behind.
"And what are you two whispering about so conspiratorially?" she asked with a smile. Prudence felt a surge of courage and mischief, gambling on Emily's forgiveness, or even gratitude.
"Emily's got a confession to make, Headmistress," she said. Emily froze and went pale.
"Really, Miss Stokes? And what might that be?" asked Verily.
"Er ... well ... yes, Headmistress ... but could I possibly come and see you about it later? I'm ... I'm not sure now's quite the right..."
"Of course, Emily," said Verily kindly. "You know my door is always open to my staff, whatever their troubles. Please...in fact..." she looked at her watch. "Why don't you come and see me at ten?"
Emily was blushing again and feeling furious with Prudence, yet fearful and excited too.
"Er ... thank you," she said. "Yes. I'll return at ten."
Verily wandered away to have a word with Margaret and Emily turned to Prudence again.
"Prudence," she whispered half angrily but with half a smile too. "That was ... wicked of you." Prudence gave her a wry look and said,
"I know, but aren't you glad I did it?" Emily sat back in her chair and sighed deeply. She was experiencing a very peculiar mixture of emotions as well as a tingling in her bottom that reminded her of earlier days, another school...
---oOo---
By nine, her colleagues had dispersed, Edith had popped in and kindly offered to clear away glasses, departing with a laden tray, and Verily was able to settle behind her desk and turn her attention to the correspondence that had lain unattended since Friday. She had just picked up her silver Moroccan letter-opener when there was a knock at the door. She sighed.
"Come in!" she called. There was a moment's pause before the door inched open. She expected a frightened pupil to appear with a punishment slip and was ready to send them away for an uncomfortable night's wait when the unusual sight of Tom Arnold's face emerged instead, peeking round the door.
"Mr Arnold!" said Verily, surprised.
"So sorry to disturb ya, 'Eadmistress, special at this hour like, but ah thought ya might be interested in this." The school handyman pushed the door open fully and came forward. He walked heavily and was carrying a long, dark brown stick of some kind which he now lifted up into the light.
"Oh, my goodness," said Verily, rising. He handed her the cane. She took it and held it by each end, turning it round in her hands. "It's Molly!" she exclaimed.
"Aye, well ah thought it best to bring it to ya, Miss Markham, seein' as 'ow ... an' all..."
"Thank you, Mr Arnold. Thank you very much. This is ... quite extraordinary!" Verily was still somewhat overwhelmed. "Where on earth did you find it?"
"It were up in that attic in t'west wing, Ma'am, in 'mongst a lot of ol' books from back in Miss Bentley's time, ah reckon."
"Well, well, well," said Verily. She looked up finally and smiled sweetly at the old handyman. "Thank you, Mr Arnold, thank you again. This will be a useful addition to my arsenal!"
"Aye, well, ya gotta keep t'young minxes in line, han't ya?" said old Tom with a wink, and he turned and plodded his way back to the door. "G'night, ma'am," he said.
"Good night," called Verily, as the door closed behind him.
Verily sat, still turning Molly over and over in her hands, and sighed deeply. The memories, ah, the memories.
16. Of Canings Old and New
As soon as Jean Atkinson had left Dorm K, after popping in to do a 9.15 p.m check that the fourth-formers were in bed as they should be, Rachel stepped up as Mistress of Ceremonies. But she immediately met with resistance: Susan, their usual look-out duty girl, was lying disconsolately in bed trying to read Wuthering Heights,
a set text for her English A level.
"Freench!" whined Rachel. "Come on ... pleeeease. We can't do it without a look-out." Susan looked up.
"Don't even talk to me about canes," she said. "I want to forget about tomorrow morning, all right? Now please. I'm trying to work out what this Joseph character is saying; it's complete gibberish." This elicited a rare contribution to dormitory conversation from Christina Ward, who sat up and said,
"I know. It's hard isn't it? I showed a passage to Mr Arnold the other day and he couldn't make head or tail of it either."
Susan grunted. "Well, if he can't, what hope have the rest of us?" she said and returned to her book.
"I'll keep look-out," offered Sally Evans, eagerly.
"Super," said Rachel excitedly. "Thanks, Evans."
Sally was already in her nightie, and, as a fifth-former, didn't have to be in bed for another ten minutes yet. She went over to the door, closed it till there was just a foot or so through which she could keep an eye on the corridor, and leaned against the wall.
Rachel had had to do some cajoling to get this show on the road, both Charlotte and Alice being reluctant and shy at first, but by reminding them of how she herself had displayed her own cane marks in the dorm two days earlier for their admittedly fascinated delectation, and by shamelessly applying her charm, she had made them both agree.
"Ladies and gentle---, well, Ladies..." she announced, "Roll up, roll up! Tonight, from Dorm K, we bring you a sight for sore eyes ... of sore bottoms!" She giggled at her own joke, and Elizabeth joined in. Susan, too, put her book down and looked up with a smile: she found Rachel irresistible in this kind of mood. Christina carried on reading and Sally grinned and clapped her hands excitedly. "We have three beautiful backsides for you tonight, Ladies, so put your specs on and prepare to be AMAZED!"
Already dressed for bed too, Rachel now stepped into the middle of the room and bent over, thrusting out her bottom which was still hidden beneath her nightie the hems of which she had grasped on either side of her thighs, ready to pull them up.
The Girls of Cropton Hall Page 21
