Cordelia Lavington Chapter 34

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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Chapter 34

Mrs Lavington opened her Bible. She was reading through St Paul’s First Epistle to the Corinthians, and had reached the third chapter. Yesterday she had studied the first half of that chapter about the evil of divisions in the Church. Today, the reading was from verse 10 onwards. She read it carefully, and then re-read it. She was particularly struck by the verses that spoke of building on the foundation laid by the Apostles and how that would be tested at the Last Day.

Every man’s work shall be made manifest: for the day shall declare it, because it shall be revealed by fire; and the fire shall try every man’s work of what sort it is.

If any man’s work abide which he hath built thereupon he shall receive a reward.

If any man’s work shall be burned he shall suffer loss: but he himself shall be saved; yet so as by fire.

Afterwards she sat quietly and thought of how over the years she had been laying a foundation for each of her children’s lives. And how, when a child disobeyed and was brought to judgment, it was in a small way an anticipation of that last final judgment of which the Apostle was speaking. She was uncertain of what sort the fire would be that would test each Christian’s works at the Last Day, but she was quite clear how a child’s works were tested by the fiery flame of corporal chastisement.

And it had been the same for her. She, too, had been a child who’d had to learn obedience by frequent and painful chastisement. When seven she had drawn a picture of a mother whipping her little daughter with the martinet, and each of its leather lashes were snakes, and each snake had a forked tongue flicking from its mouth like a bright burning flame.

She remembered how one Sunday before church, she had deliberately put on a different dress to that chosen by her mother. On the Lord’s Day, such defiance was regarded as particularly reprehensible, and she was whipped with unusual severity. The agony had been overwhelming, searching out every crack and cranny of her being. And even at that young age, she knew that somehow it should be cleansing, a fiery purgatorial suffering. But only if she submitted to it, without complaint, fully accepting her mother’s right to chastise her for her disobedience. Only then would all her wilfulness and self-regard be burnt away, leaving a small sobbing child who like a phoenix would be born again from the flames. But how difficult was that. She remembered how she would often seethe under her mother’s ruling and refuse to submit to the punishment. And even though her mother would lovingly increase the severity of the correction to break her stubborn self-will, all too often that was to no avail. She would be plunged into the fiery waters only to emerge struggling and unrepentant.

And so often she encountered in her daughter the same refusal to submit with a willing and contrite spirit. Elizabeth could be as stiff-necked as she had been. That much was clear from the journal she had so diligently kept over the years.

She remembered, as a very young girl, when she was still living in Sainte Foy, listening to her mother’s discussing her behaviour with Mme Soler. She had just been disciplined, and was standing facing the wall with the marks of the martinet visible on her bottom and thighs. Strangely what she remembered most was the cold of the flagstones on her bare feet.

As you can see, Mme Soler, Cordelia has just been whipped. We are fortunate in having M Aillot to provide us with such excellent martinets.

We are indeed Mme Réglat. I, too, had to take the martinet from its hook yesterday. And like Cordelia, Anna spent time afterwards sans culotte. But to shame her for her rudeness, I made her stand outside in the street by the front door.

She sighed.

Why do our children choose disobedience and le petit fouet, when obedience is so much more pleasant for them?

That, Mme Soler, is a great mystery. But even where the martinet brings outward compliance, there may still be a rebellious heart. Only by the grace of God does a child learn l’obéissance du coeur.

But not, I think, without les coups de martinet, Mme Réglat.

Bien sûr, Mme Soler. But even la grande fessée only brings a child to the threshold of true obedience. A child has still to choose to pass over and accept la règle de la mère with a humble spirit. And for that la grâce du Dieu is necessary.

So what is a mother to do, Mme Réglat?

Continue to apply the martinet for the slightest disobedience. And always sans culotte. Never tire of bringing the child to the threshold of true obedience and pray that a contrite spirit may be granted so she may step beyond and be renewed.

But how do we know, Mme Réglat, whether a child has taken that step? As you have said, a child may appear to be contrite and compliant, but still have a rebellious heart. How do we forgive a child if we cannot be sure of that?

Il n’y a pas de problème, Madame. If the child has received a whipping commensurate with her sin; if she is tearful and heart-broken; and if she is willing humbly to accept forgiveness; then forgiveness should not be withheld. Whether there is true contrition only God knows . . .

My mother paused and then added.

. . . and the child herself.

Mrs Lavington closed her Bible. How she remembered those words of her mother to Mme Soler.

Only God knows. And the child herself.

And she did know. It was a secret she shared uncomfortably with God. How deep down, in the marrow of her being, she resented her mother’s rule over her. And how a whipping although it quenched her disobedience did not wreak the change that she knew was possible. Sometimes her tears were verging on true contrition, as she looked into the land beyond. But only rarely did she allow herself to take a step into that world of grace and light. And when eventually, as an older child, she did, she felt only gratitude to her mother for time and again bringing her to that threshold of true obedience, that obéissance du coeur, and trusting that in God’s good time she would step across.

How she had dreaded the martinet cutting into her bottom, legs and thighs, and leaving red smarting weals. But looking back it was the means of her salvation. Like the Cross, a means of torture and shame, her whippings had become for her the gateway to a renewed life.

And she now applied the same stringent, unrelenting discipline to her children. And to the reformatory boys. She wondered how Graham and Clough were faring in the dormitory, wrists secured to the bed rail and with the chilli ointment burning their abused members. She had no regrets. It was a punishment commensurate with their sin and if it opened their lives to true and unblemished repentance, then it would be as nothing to the glory that would follow.

. . . . .

The next morning, she rose early and prayed and read her Bible. It was a bright and glorious day. She went downstairs and stepped outside, smelling the freshness of the air. She felt full of life and exceptionally vigorous.

At a quarter to seven, the children came down and commenced their morning chore of preparing breakfast.

“Well, children, did you enjoy having Mrs Fairclough to help with homework and to put you to bed?”

They all nodded; and Samuel added,

“Yes mother. She helped me with my equations. She said we had all been very good and well-behaved.”

“And that is what she told me. I am very pleased with you.”

She smiled.

“If she had said any differently, you would all be looking forward to a sound spanking this evening. Now let us say prayers. And then it is William’s turn to say grace.”

During breakfast there was the usual chatter from the children and the occasional reproof from their mother about manners. Toward the end of the meal, she decided to test William on his Bible reading. All the children were set a series of readings for the month, and this month they were reading through the first 12 chapters of the Book of Genesis. William was reading from a Bible for Little People which made comprehension easier. He didn’t like reading from a different Bible to his brother and sister, but his mother insisted.

“So what was your Bible reading today, William?”

He wriggled. For the last few days he had neglected his scripture reading, and he knew immediately that he was in serious trouble. He couldn’t fathom why his mother regarded the regular reading of the Bible as so very important. He hesitated.

“It . . . it was about the world being made . . . mother.”

“Really, William. I thought that was the reading for several days ago.”

She turned to her daughter.

“What did you read today, Elizabeth?”

“It was about Adam and Eve and the Serpent tempting them to eat from the tree. And they did, and everything went wrong.”

“Yes, Elizabeth. That is what I thought. Do you agree, Samuel?”

“Yes, mother.”

She looked at her small son.

“So why is your memory so bad, William? Or did you read about the story of creation this morning by mistake?”

She watched as William grasped at the straw she had offered.

“Yes, mother.”

She paused. She could sense the other two children holding their breath.

“So what did you read yesterday, William? And the day before?”

There was a long silence.

“I . . . I read the story about the world being made.”

“So you read the same story three days running. Is that right?”

“Yes, mother.”

“Well in that case, you’ll be very familiar with all the details.”

She tapped her finger on the table.

“So, tell me, how many days did it take God to make the world.”

He bit his lip.

“W . . . was it, ten?”

“You think God made the whole world in ten days. Is that right, William?”

He nodded.

“Yes, mother.”

“And what did God do on the very last day?”

“He . . . he finished it all.”

“And what was the very last thing God made?”

There was a long pause. He shook his head and his eyes filled with tears.

“I . . . I can’t remember . . . mother.”

Mrs Lavington sighed. She spoke gently.

“I think you’ve been lying to me, William. Perhaps you’d like to tell me the truth?”

“No! Please mother. I haven’t been lying. Please I haven’t.”

“You do know what happens to a boy who is caught out in a bad lie, don’t you William?”

He hung his head. His voice was low.

“Yes, mother.”

“So what happens?”

“He’s spanked.”

“A little boy might be spanked. But an older boy like you, William, would be caned.”

She let her words sink in.

“You were caned the other day, weren’t you, William? For the first time. Over your pyjamas. And how did I say you’d be caned in future?”

He reddened.

“On my bare bottom . . . mother.”

“Yes. On your bare bottom. Like your older brother and sister, when they’re caned.”

Both Elizabeth and Samuel were sitting completely still, listening, scarcely breathing.

“Go and fetch the cane from its hook in the hall, William.”

“No! Please, mother.”

“How dare you argue with me, William. Do as I say, this instant.”

Reluctantly he went and returned with the whippy length of crook-handled rattan.”

She stood up.

“Give it to me.”

He handed it to her and she held it in her right hand with the left gripping it half way down its slender length. She shook her head sadly.

“I’m in no doubt, William, that today, and probably for the past few days, you have been neglecting your Bible reading.”

She turned to Samuel.

“Can you remember, Samuel, how I dealt with you, when you did that. Although unlike William, you owned up. But you still needed to be punished. So how were you punished?”

Samuel reddened with embarrassment. He hated his punishments being discussed before others.

“I was spanked, mother.”

“Yes. With my hairbrush across your bare bottom. Ten hard strokes.”

She turned back to William.

“But you didn’t own up, did you, William. You’ve been lying to me. And we’ve already agreed that a boy who lies needs to be caned.”

By now William was quietly crying. All protest gone. A small, limp bundle of hopeless boyhood, facing the prospect of a painful punishment.

“You lied to me twice, William. First about having read your Bible when you hadn’t. And then denying that you were lying, when you were.”

She looked at him and raised her eyebrows.

“So, William, that should mean a double caning. Not twelve strokes, but twenty four. But I’ll be merciful and reduce that to twenty. So count yourself fortunate.”

She waited.

“Well? Have you anything to say?”

“Th . . . th . . . thank you . . . mother.”

“But those twenty strokes will be preceded by a spanking with my hairbrush. And that will be for neglecting your Bible in the first place. And as you are going to receive a sound caning across your bottom, those ten strokes will be given to the backs of your thighs.”

She handed him the cane.

“Please hang this back on its hook. You’ll bring it to me again as soon as we return home this afternoon. Now let’s clear the table quickly or we’ll all be late.”

As they made their way across the meadow to the main reformatory building, William reached up and inserted his hand into his mother’s. He turned his face towards her, and in the early morning light his eyes looked almost lilac. The lashes glistened still wet with his tears.

“I . . . I’m sorry, Mama. I’ll do my Bible reading every day now.”

She slowed her pace and let Elizabeth and Samuel walk on. She spoke in a low, reassuring voice.

“I’m pleased you’re sorry, William. And pleased that from now on you’ll read your Bible as I’ve asked.”

She squeezed his hand.

“And will you lie to me again?”

He gave a little sob.

“No, Mama. I promise.”

They walked on in silence. Then, she squeezed his hand again. By now, the other two children were some way ahead.

“You do realise, William, that when we return home this afternoon, the first thing you’ll be doing is fetching the cane?”

He looked up at her, imploringly, his eyes brimming with tears.

“Please, Mama. Not the cane. It hurts so much.”

She smiled, shaking her head.

“I’m sorry, William. I know it hurts. But a boy who has disobeyed and lied to avoid punishment cannot just be let off. As though he’s done nothing.”

They had now reached the main reformatory entrance.

“Now off you go to class. And remember I mean to speak to Mr Greaves sometime today about the lack of effort you’re making in your work.”

He said nothing but slowly made his way inside. Part of her regretted mentioning her talk with Howard Greaves. She wanted the caning he was facing to be the one thing hanging over him throughout the day. The the sole focus of his concern.

(to be continued)

(The End)