Cordelia Lavington Chapter 26

By Governess

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This story is intended for adults only. It contains depictions of forced nudity, spanking, and sexual activity of preteen and young teen children for the purpose of punishment. None of the behaviors in this story should be attempted in real life. If you are not of legal age in your community to read or view such material, please leave now.
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Mrs Lavington made her way back to the infirmary. As she entered she asked whether Samuel had come in his lunch break, as she had suggested, but Mrs Saunders had not seen him. Cordelia nodded. She sat at her desk and started the paperwork that was a necessary but unwelcome part of her responsibilities. Records had to be kept, bills paid, and deficiencies in stocks made good. Several bed sheets and pillowslips had not been returned from the laundry and a curt note to the laundryman was required requesting that he find them.   Certain medicines were also running low and needed to be re-ordered.   She worked steadily through the afternoon. And when she next looked up, it was four o’clock.

She made her way to the main hall to collect the children. William looked a bit sheepish and clearly had been in some sort of trouble. Howard Greaves was not like Edward Crawley and had no hesitation in taking the cane to a boy if he judged it appropriate. Samuel was fidgeting and was obviously still in some discomfort from the tawsing he had received the previous evening.   And Elizabeth had an envelope in her hand.   She looked sulky, but also apprehensive. She handed the envelope to her mother.

“This is for you, mother. It’s from Mrs Fairclough.”

“Thank you, Elizabeth. I think we should read this together. We’ll do that over tea.”

She put an arm around Samuel.

“And why didn’t you come to the infirmary at lunchtime so I could check on your bottom and thighs?

“I . . . I didn’t think I needed to. And the iodine does sting a lot.”

She smiled.

“But not as badly as the tawse.”

“No, mother.”

“But it stings because, like the tawse, it’s doing you good. Your skin was broken in places and it’s important it doesn’t become infected. As soon as we get home you’ll go straight to your room and take off your trousers and pants and I’ll come and see whether more iodine is needed. And how was your day, William?”

He hung his head.

“Mr Greaves was displeased with you, was he? We’ll discuss it later. But now let’s get home for tea.”

The four of them made their way home across the grass and through the trees. Once inside the house Samuel went straight to his room and Elizabeth and William started to prepare the tea. After a few minutes, Mrs Lavington followed Samuel upstairs.

“There’s no need to look worried, Samuel. I’m not going to punish your for not coming to the infirmary. It was a suggestion not an order. But you were a silly boy not to come. Turn round.”

She lifted his shirt tail.

“There are still some places where the skin’s not yet fully healed. Lie on the bed while I fetch the iodine.”

“No, mother, please.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Samuel. Any more fuss and it’ll be the hairbrush I’ll be fetching. Do as I say this instant.”

Reluctantly he lay face down on the bed. With a pad of cotton wool, the iodine was dabbed on the red, sore, sticky places where the tawse had broken the skin. He flinched and gasped as it stung him.

“Don’t be such a baby, Samuel.   Get up and put on a fresh pair of pants and pull up your trousers. And then come down to tea. And no dawdling.”

In the kitchen, everything was ready. William, overseen by Elizabeth, had laid the table while she had boiled the kettle and brewed the tea.

“Well, done, children. Now let us see what Mrs Frobisher has baked for us.”

She went to the larder and brought out a large tin. Inside were a dozen or so small fruit buns. She took out one for each of them and set them on a plate. After a few moments, they were joined by Samuel who sat with almost exaggerated care on his seat.

After tea had been drunk and cakes eaten, Mrs Lavington picked up the letter Elizabeth had handed to her.

“William fetch the letter opener from the sideboard, please.”

She slit the letter open and extracted the note within. Elizabeth watched nervously. After reading it, her mother looked up.

“Well, Elizabeth what do you think this is about?”

“I . . . I don’t know, mother.”

“You’ve no idea? None at all?”

“No, mother.”

“Then I will read it do you.

Elizabeth had behaved well today and completed all her assignments in good time.   I had to correct her for speaking during a period of silent working but deemed a reprimand sufficient. She knows that if she repeats the offence she will receive three strokes of the tawse across each hand. I trust you will both have a good evening.”

Mrs Lavington smiled at the final sentence with its oblique reference to the whipping Elizabeth was to receive. She looked up.

“Well, Elizabeth, what have you to say to that?”

“I’m sorry, mother.   I wasn’t meaning to talk. I was asking whether I could borrow Charlotte Grant’s ruler.”

“I see. And how else could you have done that without talking and disobeying Mrs Fairclough?”

She hung her head.

“I . . I suppose I couldn’t, mother.”

“No. You were clearly disobedient. And you have been careless enough to mislay or even lose your own ruler. Do you know where it is?”

“In my room.”

“Well it’s not much use there when you want to use it in school, is it?”

“No, mother.”

“And do you know why Mrs Fairclough wrote this note to me?”

The girl gave a shrug.

“I suppose because I spoke in class.”

“No. She wouldn’t usually write me a note about such a matter.”

The girl gave another shrug.

“The reason she wrote is because I have asked her to provide a report at the end of each day on your behaviour in class.”

She paused.

“Both of us are concerned that you are becoming filled with a spirit of wilful disobedience and a disrespect for authority.”

She looked at the girl, who cast her eyes down.

“The way you shrugged a moment ago is a good example of what I am talking about. It was impudent and is not behaviour I am prepared to tolerate. And when combined with a surly reply it is insolence. And that is exactly the sort of behaviour I have asked Mrs Fairclough to look out for and report to me.”

She paused.

“And while I am happy for Mrs Fairclough to punish your failures in class, I have told her that where those arise from a persistently bad attitude, then I will wish to deal with that myself. Do you understand?”

“Yes, mother.”

She looked at the girl. Her head was hung and she was nervously biting her lip.

“But as you are already facing a severe punishment this evening, we’ll say no more about it. But any more surly behaviour and there will be a job for my hairbrush to do. So be warned.

She smiled.

“So what do you say?”

“Thank you, mother.”

“Good. Then finish your tea and then there is homework to be done.”

She turned to William.

“And what did you do to upset Mr Greaves, William.”

“I flicked something at another boy, mother.”

“And what was it?”

He dropped his voice.

“An . . . an ink pellet . . . mother”

“Flicked it with your ruler? Is that right?”

“Yes, mother.”

She compressed her lips.

“So another boy has a dirty ink stain on his clothing. Something for which he could easily be punished. Was that kind or thoughtful?”

“No, mother.”

“No. It was not. And how did Mr Greaves punish you?”

“He caned me.”

“And quite right, too. Over your trousers?”

“Yes, mother.”

She nodded.

“And was it painful?”

“Yes, mother.”

She knew that Howard Greaves relied on a senior cane, and rarely stripped a boy for punishment. The cane’s length and weight were more than sufficient to provide an effective punishment. Being broken and reduced to a crying baby before his classmates was undoubtedly shaming, but to escape the humiliation of being bared and exposed for punishment was not Mrs Lavington’s way. All her children had been spanked from the outset across bare flesh, and although the cane had been applied across thin pyjama trousers or in Elizabeth’s case her nightdress, once they attained the age of seven, even the thinnest protection was denied them.

“Well after homework, I’ll inspect your bottom and we’ll see whether any additional punishment is necessary. Now help clear the table all of you and then and get on with your homework. This evening I will excuse you the usual chores and do the washing up myself. What do you say?”

“Thank you mother.”

The children sat at the table and began their homework. At the end of the hour, Mrs Lavington inspected it. Pleasingly, all three children had completed their tasks well.

“Very well done, all of you. It’s a pleasure to see such good work. Now William let us see your bottom.”

She was aware that dropping his trousers and pants before his older brother and sister was an embarrassment, but as a boy who had grievously misbehaved, she saw no reason to spare him.

“And turn round.”

She lifted his shirt. The six tramline marks of the caning were clearly visible. The flesh was still raised and the ridges were turning a dark bluish colour. She smiled.

“Well, Mr Greaves seems to have done a good job, William. I see no reason to punish you further. You may go to your room and play for half an hour before I come up and say prayers.”

She turned to her elder son.

“And I am forgetting, Samuel, to ask whether Mr Crawley provided a note on your conduct today. Did he?”

“Yes, mother.”

“Then why didn’t you give it me?   I don’t expect to have to prise it out of you. It should be the first thing you do when you get home. Fetch it please.”

He went to his satchel and pulled out an envelope.

“And I would be grateful if you kept it clean and uncrumpled in future.”

She slit it open and extracted the note. She read it and looked up.

“And do you expect this to be satisfactory or unsatisfactory, Samuel?”

“I . . . I’m not sure . . . mother.”

“And what does that mean? That you misbehaved and hope Mr Crawley hasn’t mentioned it?”

“N . . . no, mother. I’ve been good all day.”

“Well, I hope that’s true. Mr Crawley seems pleased with you and has commended your result in the spelling test he gave you. Eighteen out of twenty is a good mark.”

She smiled.

“So let’s see whether we can get twenty out of twenty next time, shall we?”

His relief was palpable.

“Yes, mother.”

“Well, I am very pleased with you. Now go to your room and you may read for an hour before prayers.”

When both boys had gone she tidied away the last few things from the table and then turned to her daughter.

“Upstairs, young lady. And change into your nightdress and then come straight back down here. And no dawdling.”

Elizabeth reluctantly made her way out of the room and mounted the stairs. She could feel her heart thudding in her chest. She opened the door to her room and slowly undressed. Once she had slipped on her nightdress she turned and looked in the mirror raising the hem of the garment so her bottom and thighs were exposed. She held the material up with her right hand and with the left felt the soft flesh. She shivered.   And then made her way back downstairs.

Her mother looked at her.

“And what do we need, Elizabeth?   To punish you as you’ve chosen to be punished?”

There were two spots of colour on each of her cheeks.

“The . . the tawse, mother.”

“And where is that?”

“In Samuel’s room.”

“Yes. In Samuel’s room, hanging on a hook on the back of his door. Fetch it please.”

Mrs Lavington was all too well aware of the discomfort the girl would suffer at having to retrieve the tawse from her brother’s room. She gave a grim smile. And waited.

(to be continued)

(The End)