Cordelia Lavington Chapter 10
By Governess
Copyright 2010 by Governess, all rights reserved
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This story is intended for ADULTS ONLY. It contains explicit
depictions of sexual activity involving minors. If you are
not of a legal age in your locality to view such material or
if such material does not appeal to you, do not read
further, and do not save this story.
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Chapter 10
Mrs Lavington smartly smacked the brush across the boy's bottom.
"Off my lap, Machin."
He wriggled off. She watched as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his hands behind him, holding his smarting flesh.
She reached out. Still sobbing, he instinctively, almost trustingly, placed his hand in hers. She led him across the room to one of the two green leather armchairs.
"Sit in it, Machin."
He did so nervously. She placed her arm under his legs and swung him round. With a tug she had him on his back with his legs dangling over the arm of the chair. Then, reaching under his ankles, she forced his legs back, just as a mother does when a young child, not yet out of nappies, needs a change.
She had chosen the armchair that provided Mr Fairclough with a clear view of the proceeding. The slack thigh flesh tautened as she pressed down on the boy's legs. The Principal's eyes narrowed and he was gripping a pencil tightly in his right hand. Slowly, with even, unhurried strokes, she spanked her way up from just above the hollow of the boy's knee to the fold of his buttock. His deep throated roars of agony reverberated through the room.
The contrast between the red inflamed surface of the one thigh and the whiteness of the other made it look as though he were to appear in some medieval street pageant. Mrs Lavington smiled. But she was alone. The boy was far from smiling and the Principal had a look of intense concentration on his face. She placed the brush low down, against the flesh of the still pale thigh.
"No . . . Please . . . No . . . Don't . . . Please."
She lifted the brush.
"The boy seems to think he should be spared a spanking on his other thigh, Principal."
"Nonsense, Matron. Please continue."
After his right thigh had received a dozen solid strokes, leaving it as red and sore as the left, the boy was released and made to stand before the Principal's desk.
"Turn round, boy."
The Principal looked with satisfaction at the sight before him. The boy's buttocks had been spanked to a deep angry crimson, and on the backs of his thighs, where the flesh had been stretched taut, the oval marks of the hairbrush were clearly visible. Mr Fairclough breathed in deeply, relishing Matron's handiwork.
"Turn back and face me, boy. And stop grizzling. I want an assurance that you will not be climbing trees in the reformatory grounds again. That Matron's discipline has not been wasted."
The boy, his face wet and his hair dishevelled, rubbed his eyes and struggled to compose himself.
"Well, boy? I'm waiting."
"Ye . . yes, Sir."
"And what does 'Yes, Sir' mean?"
"Please, Sir, I'm sorry. Please, Sir."
"You are sorry you climbed that tree. Is that what you are saying?"
He was still crying.
"Ye . . . yes, Sir."
"Well you have every reason to be sorry. And will you be climbing trees again?"
"N . . . no, Sir."
"Well I am pleased to hear it. It just shows the benefit of a sound spanking. But look over there, Machin. Tell me what you see?"
"A . . a pail, Sir."
"Indeed. And what is in the pail?"
The boy hung his head.
"Not sure, boy? Well, in that pail are three birch rods. And the next time you are referred to me for punishment, one of them will be swished across your bottom. And after I have finished with you, you will certainly need a visit to Matron's infirmary."
He nodded
"You may dress."
The boys did so slowly, shamefully aware of the eyes upon him.
Cordelia Lavington beckoned to him.
"Come here, Machin."
He stood before her nervous and inwardly trembling. She ruffled his hair. It was damp to her touch.
"I want you to know, Machin, that I have dealt with you no differently than I would have dealt with one of my own children. Indeed, yesterday I had occasion to whip each of my three children. You may count yourself fortunate that I am prepared to discipline you in the same way."
She paused.
"And now before rejoining your class you will go to the infirmary and thank Mrs Simmonds for looking after you so well for the last few days Off you go. Unless the Principal has anything more to say to you."
"No, Matron. I have said all I need to say. You are dismissed, Machin. Go and do what Matron has told you to do."
Mr Fairclough looked at Mrs Lavington and smiled.
"So you were dispensing some discipline last evening, were you, Matron? And to all three children?"
"Yes, Mr Fairclough. It was necessary. As it was for young Machin."
"Well, I had better not detain you further. I am sure you have work to do."
He nodded, still twisting the pencil in his hand.
"And do let me know how you get on with Mr Crawley."
"I will, Sir, and thank you."
Mrs Lavington made her way back to the infirmary. She checked that Machin had thanked Mrs Simmonds as she had instructed, and then went into her office and sat at her desk. She looked at the clock. She would catch Edward Crawley just before lunch.
. . . . . . . . . .
She met him coming out of his classroom.
"Edward, would it be convenient to speak for a moment. I had occasion to punish Samuel yesterday evening for lack of effort. And I am not at all happy with the progress he's making. I have to say that, as far as I am concerned, his whole attitude to work leaves much to be desired."
"Of course, Cordelia. Come into the classroom."
Edward Crawley was an affable, well-meaning man who had entered the teaching profession with a strong sense of vocation and had then moved into reformatory teaching. He saw the reformatory boys as more sinned against than sinning and strongly subscribed to the view that to understand all was to forgive all. He therefore leant over backwards to engage with the boys. Encouragement rather than punishment was his watchword.
He waved to a chair and himself perched on the side of a desk. Mrs Lavington declined the offer to be seated and remained standing.
"So you are unhappy with Samuel's progress?"
"Yes, Edward, I am. Samuel is a boy who needs to be driven. Kindness and consideration don't work with him. He's a boy who should be set a fixed amount of work and then caned for any deficiency."
She paused.
"And he has also reached an age when he's showing a lot of unhealthy interest in his own body. And that doesn't help with his concentration."
"So, Cordelia, what are you expecting of me?"
"To rely far less on encouragement and far more on punishment. You are too soft on the boy, Edward. He winds you round his little finger. You need to be tougher and less sympathetic."
"I have to disagree with you, Cordelia. Samuel is a good boy who genuinely finds his work difficult. He needs to be helped and have his confidence built up. And that is what I'm trying to do."
Mrs Lavington pursed his lips.
"And as far as I can see without a great deal of success, Edward. When a method doesn't work, it probably need to be changed. In fact, it certainly needs to be changed. Samuel is fundamentally a lazy boy. Encouragement is simply not enough. Oh, he will listen to you and be grateful for your interest, and promise to try harder. But what he is most grateful for is not having demands made upon him and being punished when he falls short."
She gave a sigh of exasperation.
"Because, if nothing is demanded of him, he never can fall short, Edward. He will contentedly rest where he is and make absolutely no progress."
"I am sorry Cordelia but I don't think you understand the boy at all. He . . . "
"How dare you tell me that I don't understand my own son, Edward. I have cared for him and nurtured him over eleven difficult years. I am in a far better position, a far better position than you can ever be in, to understand him. The boy needs firmness and discipline. The imposition of an structure that will not buckle when he tests it by his laziness and disobedience. And above all he needs to know that the rod will not be withheld. That excuses will not be accepted. And that a sound whipping will be the natural and inevitable consequence of failure."
She paused, flushed and angry now at his incompetence and lack of commitment to her son's discipline.
Edward Crawley, too, was flushed. And also anxious that a complaint might be taken to the Principal. He made a little grimace.
"Well, Cordelia, I accept how you feel and you have every right to express your concern. But I am sure it would not be helpful to single out Samuel and impose on him a more rigorous routine than the other boys. But . . . "
He frowned.
" . . . but how about my providing you with a short daily report on his achievement and his effort? That would be without any comment from me. It would be as objective as I could make it. If I have set twenty sums and he has attempted seven and got only three right that is what I would report. And if he had made little effort or allowed himself to be distracted I would report that, too. Irrespective of whether I considered there to be extenuating circumstances. It would then be for you to question him and deal with him as you considered best."
Mrs Lavington smiled.
"That seems an excellent idea, Edward. And as you suggest, let us start with daily reports. Hopefully, in a short while, we might be able to move to weekly reports."
She nodded.
"And thank you, Edward, for your understanding and co-operation. Give the report form to Samuel at the end of each day and remind him that I am expecting it."
She smiled.
"I would not want it lost on the way home."
(To be continued)