Miss Strang Chapter 10
By Governess
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Copyright 2008 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

As I walked to my bedroom, I felt like a prisoner who had been released from a dark cell into the light of a new day. My hand reached round, and through the thin cotton of my nightdress, I could feel the heat radiating from the surface of my bottom. The shame at being disciplined before my two brothers was still a hot, sticky reality. For several days I would continue to blush at the thought of it. And yet . . . somehow out of it had come this almost joyful sense of liberation. What had separated me from Miss Strang had been removed. I had been forgiven. Through a child's punishment, I had been reconciled to her and was, or so I hoped, restored to my former position.

I glanced at the visible evidence of my discipline in the mirror. Much as I would have liked to examine my bottom and run my fingers over it, I resisted. Instead, anxious to do Miss Strang's bidding, I quickly dressed, then folded my nightdress neatly and placed it at the top of the counterpane.

I knocked and then entered the schoolroom. Miss Strang looked up and smiled, a warm generous smile.

"Welcome back, Livia. Come and sit down. I'll hear your reading in a moment, when I have finished with Simon."

Simon was not a good reader. He found word recognition difficult and tended to hesitate and misread easily. However, Miss Strang was very supportive and encouraging.

"I can see you find reading difficult, Simon. Do not worry about it. Each child must learn to read at his own pace. You are doing very well and I will help you to improve. All I ask is that you make the effort. That is what counts and that is what I will judge you by."

John looked as though he was still resenting his spanking, which, I thought, did not augur well for the rest of the day. Miss Strang sat beside me and I read the passage I had prepared as best I could, given that much of my attention had been elsewhere. However, I read well and was praised for it.

"That is very well read, Livia. Very well read. It is a pleasure to hear a child read with such fluency and feeling."

She put her arm around my shoulders and gave me an encouraging squeeze. I felt as though a little electric shock had passed through my body.

I had never felt for my own mother what I was feeling for Miss Strang. My mother had been caring, but most of the time she was too preoccupied with my father to give us the attention we craved. I never knew exactly where I stood with her. Sometimes she would be warm and accepting, another time respond with irritation. And when we disappointed her, all we suffered was her displeasure. I remember being smacked by her once or twice when smaller. But what I remember more keenly than the punishment is my resentment. For the punishment was trivial and ineffective and formed no part of a clear disciplinary code that was consistently and rigorously applied.

With Miss Strang it was different. Her response to Simon's reading was characteristic of her commitment to us. She was caring and wanted the best for us. However, her commitment to our discipline was equally strong. And she expected us to be equally committed to hard work and to making an effort to improve. She also expected good manners, truthfulness, and above all respect for authority and unswerving obedience.

After hearing our readings, we were each set a short composition that took us to lunchtime. I cast several glances at John and I could tell that he was still angry and resentful. During lunch, Miss Strang rebuked him several times for his manners but no further action was taken.

Back in the schoolroom, Miss Strang sat at her desk and read our compositions. We were told that spelling mistakes would be corrected in the margin and that we were to copy out the right spelling ten times and make sure we had learnt it by the next morning.

She congratulated me on my composition and then turned to Simon.

Simon flushed with pleasure at this commendation.

She then turned to John, and picked up his composition. She re-read it and, with a frown, did so again. There was a long pause as she continued to stare at it. Eventually she looked up.

"Come and stand in front of my desk, John."

He got up, reluctantly, as though there was no real need to obey her, and then stood, staring down at the floor.

She waited. The seconds ticked by. He wriggled uneasily. Eventually, she spoke.

"John, this composition is the poorest piece of work I have seen by a nine year old boy for a long, long time. It shows a complete lack of care. The writing is slovenly and there is no evidence that any serious thought has been given to it. None at all."

She waited.

"Well, what have you to say?"

John gave a shrug and continued to look at the floor. My heart was thumping in my breast. I had almost stopped breathing.

"So, to your lack of care, your slovenliness and your total lack of effort, you have chosen to add insolence. I am afraid that before the day is out, John, you will be a very sorry little boy. Go and stand facing the wall. You will not speak another word until given permission. Livia, I will be out of the room for five minutes. I am putting you in charge of the schoolroom. When I return I shall expect complete honesty from you. If John speaks, moves or even looks around, you will tell me. You and Simon may start work on your spellings."

As soon as she had gone, I thought it only fair to tell John that I would be obeying her to the letter.

"John, please just do as she says. I think you are very silly. Simon get on with your spellings. And I suggest we all keep very quiet."

I had no idea why Miss Strang had needed to leave the schoolroom, and I wondered about it. However, after a little over ten minutes she returned. She had a grim smile on her face, accompanied by an air of satisfaction. She was carrying a long shallow wickerwork basket, the sort you lay flowers on when they have been cut so that you may carry them into the house. She placed this beside her desk.

"John, I will deal with you later. Sit down and learn your spellings. In half an hour we shall all go out on a short nature ramble."

The sun was shining brightly, and we all welcomed leaving the schoolroom for the open air. Miss Strang, basket in hand, led us into the meadow and then stopped by the stream.

"Simon, can you identify that tree, the one with its branches trailing in the water?"

"Is it a willow, Miss Strang?"

"Indeed it is. And can you tell me what a willow is used for?"

Simon surprisingly knew the answer.

"Cricket bats are made from willow, Miss Strang."

"Good. And anything else? Livia?"

"Wicker baskets like the one you are carrying, Miss Strang."

"Yes, Livia. Very observant."

We crossed the stream and entered the wood. It was of mixed deciduous trees, not thick and gloomy but quite open with grass underfoot. She turned to Livia.

"Livia what is that tree?"

"An oak, Miss Strang."

"And what is the wood used for?"

"Well, Miss Strang, we have oak furniture in the schoolroom, and King Alfred made ships from oak."

"Excellent, Livia. Very well done."

She turned to John.

"And that tree, John. Do you know what that tree is?"

John clearly had no idea and I could see he resented not being able to answer as we had done.

"No . . . Miss Strang. I am not very interested in trees."

"I see John. Well I think you will be very interested in this tree. Does anyone know what it is?"

I thought I knew but kept quiet.

"It is a birch tree, John. And do you have any idea what a birch tree might be useful for?"

"No, Miss Strang. I've no idea."

"Well, let me tell you. Long swishy lengths are cut from a birch tree, stripped of their leaves and bound together into what is known as a birch rod. And a birch rod is used to flog small boys."

Her voice became softer, and she bent forward.

"Especially, small boys who are rude, insolent, slovenly in their work, and disobedient. When other means of discipline fail to bring about an improvement in attitude and behaviour, then the birch will always succeed . . in the end."

John, still maintained a truculent air, but was beginning to look pale and rather frightened. Miss Strang reached into her long basket and took out a pair of short garden clippers.

"We will cut a dozen or so lengths that I judge suitable. When we return to the schoolroom you will help prepare the rod. It will need to be trimmed to size and bound up."

She smiled, and tousled his hair.

"There is no need to look worried, John. I will show you how it is done."

She proceeded to cut length after length, while John held the basket. We watched with a strange fascination as the leafy bundle of birch lengths piled up. Eventually, Miss Strang was satisfied.

"Come, children, let us return to the house. John carry the basket carefully."

We retraced our steps, Miss Strang striding ahead while we followed. My heart was racing. I was sure John's was racing, too. But for a different reason.

(To be continued)