The Girls of Cropton Hall

by Stanlegh Meresith

  "Whackees?" suggested Emily. Margaret giggled joyously.

  "Indeed! What a lovely, gay word, Emily! Well chosen! Look, I shall have a talk with Monica and see what she says. But, er ... how does Prudence, erm, fit into ...?"

  "Well, Prudence has admitted to me that she has the same feelings as Monica, even though ... " She paused. "Oh hell! We seem to be spilling everyone's secrets today, so, in for a penny in for a pound - did you know that Prudence was also caned by Verily?"

  Margaret looked genuinely surprised. "No, I didn't."

  "Yes, just before term began. It's a long story but anyway, I don't know if you noticed, but it really changed her."

  "Yes," said Margaret thoughtfully. "Now you mention it, Prudence has been much more ... amenable, and less, I don't know ... selfish recently? I thought Verily had simply had harsh words with her - I'd made a complaint myself in fact, about how awkward she was being about her record of work for Geography. But, gosh, no, I didn't know about the caning! Heavens! It seems that even we staff aren't safe from Verily's caning arm!"

  Emily laughed. "Quite! But what I was going to say was, I think Prudence is, sort of ... well she doesn't like being whacked like we do, and I believe her when she says she's like Monica - I mean, that can't be an easy thing to admit to, can it? She wouldn't make it up. But at the same time ... I think she also feels the need to be punished sometimes. Since last Thursday she's been very morose - not exactly like her old rather ghastly self, but certainly quite grumpy and reserved. Something's obviously bothering her and I think she's feeling guilty - I don't know what about, but I can sense she needs some kind of ... what did the Greeks call it ... in their tragedies? Catharsis?"

  "Yes, an emotional release." Margaret paused. "Well! Emily, this is all rather a lot to take in. But I thank you for your honesty, and your charm, my dear, and I will consult the redoubtable Miss Gibson about your request. I was going to go round to Monica's cottage this Saturday in fact, for a ... well, you know ... a nice evening of er ... well, actually a painful evening, let's say, but fun!"

  They both laughed.

  "I must say, for my part," continued Margaret, "I think it would be delightful to welcome you, and Prudence, but we must see what Monica says..."

  "Whatever Monica says goes!" came the amused voice of Verily Markham from the doorway. She approached the two seated women and drew up a chair from the table nearby. "And what keeps you two so late in the staffroom?" she asked, giving each in turn the benefit of her dazzling smile and with it that penetrating gaze that seemed to see all. Flustered, both women laughed nervously. Verily noticed the copies of Shakespeare on their laps. "Ah! Taming! A wonderful text for the girls!" She turned to Emily.

  "Emily, I wanted to have a word about one of your form girls, Jenny Simpson."

  "Ah, yes, Headmistress," said Emily, sitting up.

  "It seems her mother died not that long ago and her father sent her to us, perhaps not out of the best of motives? Sounds a rather unhappy background and I think her penchant for mischief may be connected - she's already been caned three times. Why don't you have a word, see if you can get her to talk about home? She's a bright girl but I suspect she's going to carry on kicking against the pricks and getting herself into more hot water if we don't try to draw her out a bit."

  "Yes, of course, Headmistress. I'll see what I can do. She's a likeable girl, but, as you say, rather troublesome."

  Verily stood. "Well, I shall let you two get on with your discussion of Shakespeare's fascinating play." She walked towards the door and turned with a smile. "But don't you just wish Petruchio would put Katherina over his knee and give her a good whacking!?"

  Margaret and Emily turned to each other in surprise and laughed. They looked towards the door again to exclaim about the coincidence but Verily had already gone. They heard a noise at the window behind them and turned. Two magpies stood on the sill outside, staring at them, the sheen on their black feathers glinting in the setting sun.

  ---oOo---

  Alice lay in bed that night after lights out staring at the patterns on the ceiling made by the moonlight that sneaked through the gaps in the dormitory curtains. She was thinking about Jenny. There was something so ... lovable about the younger girl; for days she'd just wanted to hug her and nibble her ears. It was a feeling not unlike what she'd felt for her baby sister many years ago when they'd been about seven and five respectively, but there was more in her feelings for Jenny: stirrings in her belly, a hunger to kiss and be kissed, to care for, to love.

  She turned onto her side and let out a sigh. This was supposed to have been her first chance at a half-comfortable sleep since the caning she'd received on Friday - for the past two nights she'd been woken by the throbbing from those stripes as she'd turned over in bed. They'd healed a bit by now but here she was again unable to sleep, this time because her mind was so restless, her heart all aflutter.

  She lost track of time as she viewed the pictures of her thoughts: Jenny laughing, Jenny handing out those books in the SWACK meeting, Jenny bent over next to her, touching her toes (how supple she was!), breathing hard to survive the pain of a cane stroke; most of all though, Jenny smiling at her with those admiring, mischievous eyes.

  She could hear Rachel's even breathing from the next bed and the snores and stirrings of her other dorm mates; everyone was asleep, it seemed. Alice wondered if Jenny was; she imagined her lying there in Dorm C staring at the ceiling too, thinking about ... what? Alice? Her stomach lurched at the possibility and her restlessness grew. She turned over yet again and tucked her hands between her thighs, taking a deep breath: her heart was beating fast and she was feeling such a ... a painful kind of pleasure. Is this what love is? she wondered. The very image of Jenny in her mind made sweet tinglings trickle up and down her middle. But Jenny wasn't here. She wanted Jenny so much - but did Jenny want her? Did Jenny even know this kind of wanting?

  In the end (she didn't know it, but it was one o'clock in the morning and she'd lain awake for three hours) Alice could bear it no longer. She got out of bed, felt for her dressing-gown which served as an extra cover, found her slippers and crept to the door, which she managed to open and close with scarcely a sound. Dorm C - Jenny's dorm - was in the North wing on the first floor which meant negotiating two corridors and a staircase. At least there was moonlight to guide her steps most of the way.

  Alice hurried along, her heart in her mouth; she took the uncarpeted stairs two at a time, wincing at every creak of the old, polished floor-boards, and turned left into the corridor that housed Dorms A, B and C, the latter being of course - who said love was ever easy - right at the end. Fortunately, Mrs Palmer's room was on the second floor, and this might not even be one of her nights on duty anyway.

  Alice stood outside the door for at least a minute trying to calm her breathing and debating with herself whether she shouldn't just go back to her own bed. What if the dorm Captain, Patterson, was awake? Or someone else? What if Jenny reacted with shock and disgust - or even screamed? It was an awful risk and what had seemed so inevitably right as she'd lain in her own bed now looked like extreme foolishness. Her heart thumped.

  No. She's come this far and the reward, so close now, oh the reward is an imagined joy that is too powerful a lure to resist.

  She places her hand on the door-knob and turns it very, very slowly until she can feel the latch bolt reach its limit and then she pushes, inch by inch, until there's enough space for her to slip round the door and into the darkness of the dorm.

  There is no moonlight on this side of the building and Alice stands for a minute waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, her ears on full alert for any sounds of wakefulness. She's been in this dorm this term once before, getting a book from Pringle, and she knows Jenny's bed is the last one on the right. Patterson's is the bed nearest the door, just four or five feet to the left of where Alice is standing. No sound comes from that direction at all, which is a little worrying. She hoped to hear at least some q
uiet breathing, something indicating sleep. As silently as she can she closes the door again, thanking God that the knob doesn't squeak.

  She waits. An owl hoots in the distance. Her heart drums in her chest. Someone turns over and grunts on the far side of the room. She can make out the shape of the bed ahead of her now, and hear its occupant softly snoring. She steps forward very carefully and makes her way past the end of that first bed and down the middle of the dorm until she reaches the end of Jenny's bed, where she stands for a moment looking down at the shape of Jenny's body under the blanket. She can hear her gentle, even breathing. She's asleep, facing the wall.

  Alice moves to the side of the bed and kneels, then she reaches out and pulls the sheet and blanket back a few inches. She places a hand on Jenny's shoulder. It's warm. She lets her hand rest there a moment, her heart still racing, almost in her throat now.

  Jenny lies still, her breathing unchanged: soft, innocent sighs, thinks Alice. She feels like an intruder but her desire and her sense of adventure drive her on. Gently, she presses and shakes Jenny's shoulder until she feels her jerk slightly and turn her head.

  "Uh?"

  "It's me - Alice," whispers Alice, moving her hand to stroke the side of Jenny's face. She senses Jenny is working out what's happening as she emerges from her sleep. She moves her hand and softly runs her fingers through Jenny's hair. Jenny turns on to her back and whispers,

  "Alice?"

  "Yes, it's me." Alice pauses a moment. "Can I get in?" There is another silence and Alice feels all her joy hanging in the balance.

  Jenny shifts towards the wall and pulls the blankets back to make room for the older girl. Alice slips off her dressing-gown eagerly and leaves it on the floor, then she eases herself gently into the bed, immediately feeling her feet come into contact with Jenny's legs. Jenny gasps.

  "Your feet are freezing!"

  "Sorry," whispers Alice as she settles onto her side facing Jenny. She smells Jenny's sweet, sleepy breath on her face. Their legs entwine and their hands reach round each other, feeling, gently stroking. Alice manoeuvres her right arm under Jenny's neck and hugs her close. They squeeze each other tightly for long, blissful moments, both of them sighing and relaxing into this joyful, comforting closeness. Then Alice finds Jenny's mouth with her own. The kiss begins as a simple, fervent pressing of lips upon lips. Then Alice opens her mouth slightly and Jenny responds and, turning their heads slightly, their mouths join and tongues tentatively feel their way forward to meet and play.

  This, thinks Alice, this is love.

  ---oOo---

  There were people around her in the air - Rachel was there and Jenny and Susan and, strangely but rightly somehow, Miss Markham - and Alice was flying, she was FLYING! She felt a calm elation as she soared, a proud sense of having achieved something wonderful, of having grown and become someone important and wise. But then there was a hissing noise and she was tumbling, as if the air had been let out of something inflatable that had held her aloft. She was falling...

  "Jennings!" hissed Helen Patterson, shaking the fifth-former's shoulder. "Get up!"

  Alice woke and jerked upright. She looked about, unknowing. Then she saw Patterson, standing over the bed.

  Oh God! It was light. It was morning. Patterson was looking at her with self-important satisfaction, a slightly sadistic twist to her mouth. Alice looked around again - everyone was still asleep, even Jenny at her side. It must be early still. She remembered Jenny telling her how Patterson was always boasting about getting up 'at the crack'. Alice had joked, 'Crack-pot, more like' and they'd giggled for ages.

  "Go back to your dormitory immediately, Jennings," said the dorm Captain in a forceful whisper. "And don't think you've heard the last of this."

  Alice was mortified: embarrassed at being discovered in Jenny's bed and frightened of the consequences. She hurriedly put on her dressing-gown and slippers and, avoiding Patterson's unpleasant stare, made for the door. She heard Patterson shaking Jenny awake and hissing,

  "Simpson, you'll be reported for this too." Alice didn't stay to hear any more, just cursed the officious, vicious Pattersons of this world and cried inwardly for Jenny's distress at being woken this way and the trouble ahead.

  It was ten-thirty, during French, when Miss Dawson appeared at the classroom door and made her way to the front where she whispered for a few moments with the Countess. The Countess looked over at Alice.

  "Jennings, tu dois aller avec Ma'moiselle Dawson." Alice knew what it must mean but it took her a moment to work through the French words. "Maintenant!" barked the mistress. Miss Dawson had already returned to the door and was waiting, tapping her hand impatiently against her hip. Alice got up, closed her French primer and walked over to join her grim-looking Dorm Mistress.

  The other girls in 5B watched this little interruption with interest, wondering what Jennings had done this time, and whether she'd reappear before the end of the lesson or not - there was still half an hour to go, so she probably would. And when she did, they'd examine her closely, speculating: cane? Strap? Hairbrush? How many? Any sign of tears? And the more morbidly fascinated among them would watch carefully as she sat down, one eye on her bottom as it made contact with the seat of the desk, imagining how it felt, the other on her face, eagerly watchful for signs of the pain. Alice knew all this; she'd done it herself. She just didn't want anyone knowing what she was about to be punished for.

  "Follow me," commanded Miss Dawson, setting off down the corridor. Alice wondered where she was being taken. They were heading in the direction of the Head's study. Alice was surprised and slightly relieved then when the mistress turned right and started to climb the stairs up to the dorms. We must be going to her room, thought Alice. She shivered at the thought of that butter-pat Miss Dawson was now somewhat notorious for. She remembered its fearful sting and the bruises it left all too clearly from that first night of term. She rubbed her backside vigorously as she climbed, testing how sore she still was from Friday's caning. It wasn't too bad, but that didn't stop her tummy from churning.

  Miss Dawson held the door to her room open and nodded Alice inside.

  "Sit down over there, Jennings," she said brusquely, indicating the upright chair on the other side of the fireplace. She opened a cupboard behind the door, took out the butter-pat and placed it on the piano lid. Alice, seated now, stared at it and gulped. Miss Dawson sat on the sofa.

  "Now then," she began, very business-like and still rather grim. "Perhaps you'd care to explain what you were doing in Simpson's bed at 6.30 this morning?"

  Alice experienced an excruciating embarrassment, completely unable to even begin to attempt to think about how to answer that question. She blushed a deep red, looked down at her hands and simply decided to try and wait it out. Miss Dawson, however, appeared to be in no hurry and Alice felt obliged after a while to at least offer an "Erm..." to which the dorm mistress responded with an unhelpful,

  "Well?"

  After another agonisingly expectant silence that felt like a hellish eternity, Alice was at last partially rescued.

  "Alice," said Miss Dawson quietly, "why don't you simply tell me the truth?"

  The use of her Christian name and the mistress' gentler tone gave Alice courage and she blurted out,

  "We love each other, Miss." She looked up desperately as she said it, tears forming.

  "Really?" asked Miss Dawson, a raised eyebrow denoting her scepticism, but her face softened further. "I see," she continued, pausing then for thought. "As I'm sure you are aware, Jennings, the Church teaches us that ... homosexuality ... is a sin and that a woman and a man should lie together only once they've been blessed in marriage." She didn't sound convincing and Alice sensed the mistress' discomfiture as she delivered this homily. Miss Dawson seemed then to surrender to a different impulse. She relaxed visibly and said rather quickly, "Alice, these feelings are quite common among girls your age and not actually something you need to feel ashamed of. However ..." and her face turned
stern again as she gave Alice a penetrating look, "as you are the older girl involved here I must question whether you have not unduly influenced Simpson? Does she really share these feelings? Because if we discover that you forced her, or twisted her arm in any way, especially about getting into her bed, then you will be in very serious trouble indeed - possibly even expelled."

  Alice protested immediately, and a tear now brimmed and tumbled down her left cheek.

  "No, Miss!" Her shock was transparently genuine. "Ask Jen-- ... ask Simpson, Miss ... she kissed me too! She let me get in!"

  "I shall, of course, be speaking to Simpson, but I can see that you are hurt by my suggestion, which is as it should be. I'm sorry I have to clarify matters in this way but it is my duty. I do not believe you are a bad girl, Jennings, but once again you have broken a school rule, haven't you? Girls must remain in their dormitories after lights out unless, and ONLY unless, they need to go to the lavatory."

  Alice bowed her head and murmured, "Yes, Miss."

  Miss Dawson stood. "Very well. Let's get this over with, shall we?" She moved round to the back of the sofa. "Come over here."

  Alice got up and, nervously smoothing down the back of her skirt, came round the other end of the sofa to stand before the mistress, who turned and picked up the butter-pat.

  "Knickers down and bend over!"

  With a barely audible sigh, Alice obeyed.

  "Lift your skirt and blazer out of the way, please."

  As Alice followed this second, preparatory instruction and exposed her bare bottom, Miss Dawson stood back, but then stepped closer again.

  "When were you caned?" she asked. Alice turned her head.

  "Friday, Miss."

  "I see," said Miss Dawson. She stood for a moment reflecting, then Alice watched as she walked over to the cupboard, replaced the butter-pat and returned holding a slipper. The light from the window reflected off the dark, shiny surface of its sole. The mistress noticed Alice watching her return with the apparently milder implement. Only two points, thought Alice. But she was relieved.