Miss Strang Chapter 75

Miss Strang Chapter 75
By Governess

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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 75

I held my breath. Mrs McLaughlan walked across to the pail where the birches were steeping and selected a rod. It was long and the stock thick with five or six stout lengths, each about half an inch across, bound tightly together. The end that was of more interest to a boy splayed out into an array of lithe, springy twigs. Enough to cut and score the bottom but not so many to cross and entwine, mitigating the sharp punishing effect that was desired.

I waited to see who would flog the boy. Rachel Innes and Mrs McLaughlan were different not only in technique but in their whole style and approach. Miss Innes was like a tormenting demon sent to flay the unrighteousness. Even at my young age, I could see there was a harsh, salacious, retributive spirit at work.

But Mrs McLaughlan, although severe, and willing to cause a boy extreme suffering, nevertheless punished with a mother's concern. A mother who would brook no nonsense. Who would have recourse to the rod as the natural remedy for sin. Who would measure out the stripes in accordance with the gravity of the offence. Mrs McLaughlan was the paradigm, the very icon, of maternal strictness.

When I had watched Miss Innes flog the boy Burns, I had experienced a breathless excitement, as she flayed the skin from his bottom. Nevertheless, it was Mrs McLaughlan that I wanted to see birch Cameron. And when she retained the birch in her hand, swishing it through the air, and stood beside the boy, I was pleased.

The birch, without doubt, is the ideal implement for a woman to impose her will upon a young boy. The harsh leathery twigs extending beyond the binding have almost a life of their own and, with an easy wrist movement, can be made to leap back and forth with a frightening momentum. And this power latent in the birch can be readily harnessed by even a slight woman with no natural strength in her arm. Many a boy who thought there was little to fear from a young governess of small stature, however strict her manner, swiftly revised his opinion when he had suffered his first birching at her hands.

Mrs McLaughlan had promised long throbbing weals on the boy's flesh and this promise was fulfilled. But although the birch cut and scarified the skin, it did not inflict the same deep lasting damage as the tawse. A severe and prolonged tawsing slowly flays a boy, bursting the skin and leaving his bottom red and glazed like a vast smarting sore. The birch, however, scores the surface of the buttocks and although the many thin seams and cuts bleed freely, it is essentially a small boy's punishment, with no lasting damage done. I subsequently saw many a boy birched as severely as Cameron, some more severely, and later the same day they were up and about, even if with a sore rump that made sitting uncomfortable. The boy Burns however, would be in agony face down in the infirmary for several days.

When the rod was at last laid aside, deep choking sobs racked the boy's small body. All an eight year old's bounce and confidence had been stripped away as meat is stripped from the bone. He was alone. A small boy whose world had shrunk to a dark solitary cell beyond which was only the prison yard. He was left sobbing, fastened to the table, with his bleeding bottom for all to gaze upon.

Mrs McLaughlan turned to us.

"Well, Miss Strang, I have been delighted to welcome you to the reformatory and for you to see how we co-operate with the magistrates in the matter of punishment. I am sure it has given all three children something to think about. And provided a warning of where misconduct and delinquency can lead."

She smiled.

"And I have a feeling that we may be seeing you again before too long."

"Yes, Mrs McLaughlan you may indeed. But there are matters concerning the children's discipline that have still to be resolved with their father."

She turned to Rachel Innes.

"And it was good to meet your again, Miss Innes. I am aware that certain undertakings were made to Mr and Mrs Innes about Livia's working at the Rectory. That, too, has to be further discussed with Mr Arbuthnot."

Miss Innes nodded.

"Thank you Miss Strang. We were all looking forward to welcoming Livia at the Rectory."

She gave a faint smile.

"Whether as a girl or a boy. But tell me, Miss Strang, I recall that Livia had a rather substantial debt owing, in your words, to the Bank of Chastisement. I'm wondering whether it has yet been repaid?"

"No, Miss Innes. That debt has yet to be called in. But credit cannot be extended forever and I am sure the Bank will soon be demanding payment."

"And no doubt with interest after such an extended loan?"

"That, Miss Innes, is quite possible."

I looked down in my embarrassment. But I could tell from Miss Strang's tone that she had no wish to discuss the matter further with Miss Innes.

Mrs McLaughlan then accompanied us to the door and watched silently as we clambered into the trap. Miss Strang passed me her riding crop and picked up the buggy whip. With a crack over the horse's flanks we set off.

After arriving back at the house, we disrobed and went straight into lunch. I felt a little sick and far from hungry. And John looked pale and ill. Simon was also subdued. Witnessing the flogging of the two boys had affected us all deeply.

Miss Strang rang for lunch to be brought up. And within minutes Mrs Mountfield bustled in with a steaming pie and a large dish of vegetables.

"Thank you Mrs Mountfield."

"Well, I hope you all enjoy it. Cottage pie was always a favourite of mine when I was a child."

She paused.

"And if it's not being too inquisitive, Miss Strang, I trust those two tearaways, Cameron and Burns, got their just desserts."

"Indeed, Mrs Mountfield, both boys were soundly flogged. Cameron received thirty strokes. Twelve with the birch approved by the courts, followed by a further eighteen strokes with a more substantial reformatory birch."

"And no more than he deserved for what he'd done, Miss Strang. I trust he had a sore rump by the time they'd finished."

"There is no doubt about that, Mrs Mountfield. I should say a very sore rump."

"And the boy Burns?"

"Burns was given thirty six strokes with an extra heavy tawse across his bare backside. And then a final dozen across his thighs. I should expect him to be lying face down in agony for the rest of today and probably tomorrow too."

Mrs Mountfield gave a sly look.

"And I understand the children watched everything, Miss Strang.

"Yes, Mrs Mountfield."

"Well, that must have been an education. And very timely, too. I've done what you asked me, Miss Strang, and written out as best I could the sorts of bad behaviour these two boys got up to in the months before you arrived. And if I'm not mistaken it'll add up to a good reformatory flogging for the pair of them."

She handed Miss Strang two sheets of paper.

"Thank you Mrs Mountfield. And if I recall rightly I said you might participate in their correction. In the circumstances that would be highly appropriate."

She turned to John and Simon.

"Stand up, the two of you. And thank Mrs Mountfield for the trouble she has taken on your behalf."

"Th . . . thank you, Mrs Mountfield."

Their voices were not quite in unison and lacked conviction. Miss Strang gave a grim smile.

"I am afraid neither of you sounds sure that Mrs Mountfield deserves to be thanked for her efforts. But then, all small boys are happy for their sins to remain unacknowledged."

She paused.

"But what is hidden must be brought into the light and dealt with."

She turned to Mrs Mountfield.

"In twenty minutes, perhaps you would ask Mary to clear the lunch table. And would you see that she brings the kitchen scales with her. And a small wicker basket. I think a little demonstration is needed to convince the boys of the value of what you have done for them."

"Certainly, Miss Strang. If that is what you want."

"It is, Mrs Mountfield. Thank you."

Lunch was eaten in silence. I could see the mention of my brothers being ripe for a reformatory flogging was deeply alarming to them. When Mary appeared with the kitchen scales and basket, she was asked to take them through to the schoolroom.

"Thank you Mary. Please place the scales and the basket on the table. And there is no need to detain you further."

Mary looked disappointed at being dismissed so soon. Clearly, Mrs Mountfield had told her the boys were in trouble and probably to be punished. I looked down and refused to catch her eye.

"And now Livia I want you to accompany John and Simon into the garden and they are to collect forty smooth flat stones in this basket. About this size . . . "

She circled her finger and thumb.

"And it is important that they are all the same size and of the same weight. I suggest that you look on the little beach area by the stream. You will then bring them back here to the schoolroom."

"Yes, Miss Strang."

Although unsure of what Miss Strang intended to do with the pebbles once collected, I felt a surge of pleasurable excitement at being asked to supervise my brothers in this way. It seemed a mark of acceptance and of being partially restored to her favour. It took about ten minutes to find and choose the pebbles. Some round, some oval, but all were smooth. I made John carry the basket and soon we were back in the schoolroom.

In our absence Miss Strang had attached a label to each pannier of the scales. On one side it said OFFENCES. On the other PUNISHMENTS.

"Place the basket of pebbles on the table, please, John. No further to the left. That is right. Now the three of you sit at the table, please."

Then, she picked up one of the sheets that Mrs Mountfield had handed to her earlier.

"This sheet relates to you, Simon. Mrs Mountfield has noted twelve instances of bad behaviour over the year before I arrived. And I suspect they are merely illustrative of many more similar such offences. It makes depressing, even shocking, reading. After each is read, you will take a stone from the basket and place it in the pannier of the scales marked offences. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Miss Strang."

"Good. So let us continue.

Refused to eat food set before. Complained that the porridge had lumps in it.

"Place a stone on the offences side of the scales, Simon. As you now know, I do not tolerate selfish and ungrateful behaviour."

Ran over the newly planted flower bed and damaged the young wallflowers.

That is little better than the thoughtless and destructive behaviour for which the boy Cameron was birched. Add another stone, please."

Refused to come in for lunch when told to do so.

And what do we call that, Simon?"

"Disobedience, Miss Strang."

"Exactly. And is disobedience a serious matter?"

"Yes, Miss Strang."

"Put another stone in the scale, then."

And so it continued, until the scale was weighed down by twelve smooth stones.

"Now place your hand under the scale and feel how heavy it is, Simon. Well, is it heavy?"

"Ye . . yes, Miss Strang."

"You feel it, John. Do you think it is heavy?"

He gently placed his hand under the pannier and pushed against it.

"Yes, Miss Strang."

"Yes. Heavy with Simon's sins. Weighed down as he is weighed down. Although the dreadful thing about sin is that we seldom realise how burdened we are. But deep down the sins are there, weighing us down. Making us unhappy and miserable, even sick and ill. Dragging us down to hell."

She paused.

"But there is a remedy. That weight can be made to disappear, to become nothing. The burden can be lifted."

We were silent, hanging on her words, fascinated by the drama of the enactment.

"And what does the label on the other side of the scales say, Simon?"

"It . . it says PUNISHMENTS . . . Miss Strang."

"Indeed it does, Simon. So start placing, one by one, stones on that side the side of the scales."

Almost reluctantly, he picked a stone out of the basket and placed it where he had been told.

Miss Strang smiled.

"I am afraid that one will not be enough, Simon. You will need to keep placing stones there until the scales are balanced. Continue, please."

And slowly he added stone after stone, pebble after pebble, until the weight representing his sins, began to rise.

"Place your hand where it was before, Simon. Feel if it is still heavy."

His reached out.

"No, Miss Strang, its not heavy at all."

He looked up at her.

"And why is it not heavy, Simon?"

He was uncertain how to reply.

"Well, John?"

"Be . . . because . . because of the stones on the other side."

"Yes, John. Because of the stones on the other side. Because the weight of each sin has been cancelled by a corresponding punishment."

She paused, letting her words sink in.

"Tip the stones your have set against your sins on to the table, Simon."

He did so.

"Livia, please go to my desk. In it you will find two leather drawstring bags. Fetch them please."

She turned to Simon.

"Count the stones."

"Slowly he did so.

"Th . . . there are twelve stones, Miss Strang."

"Yes twelve punishments cancelling out twelve sins. And what do you think each stone represents as a punishment?"

"I . . I don't know . . . Miss Strang."

"Well what punishment would you expect for refusing to eat your breakfast, and complaining that the porridge had lumps in it?"

She waited.

"A . . . a spanking? Miss Strang."

"Possibly. But if a spanking how many times would you expect the hairbrush to be smacked across your bottom?"

I could see the horror on his face, as he stared at the stones.

"Per . . perhaps six times . . Miss Strang."

She nodded.

"Perhaps. But perhaps more.

She consulted the list Mrs Mountfield had handed her.

"And what punishment would you expect for disobediently running over a flower bed, and behaving like a young vandal? Well?"

He hung his head. He was twisting his hands now and nervously shuffling his feet.

"So you have no suggestion about what might be an appropriate punishment for such a boy?"

She looked at me.

"What do you think, Livia."

I flushed at being consulted in this way.

"I . . . I think, Miss Strang, that a boy who had done that should expect to be punished very severely."

Miss Strang lifted her eyebrows.

"Indeed. But how would you expect him to be punished?"

I suddenly felt hot and sticky and a shiver ran through me. I recalled the boy Cameron across the birching table and the flogging he had received for his acts of vandalism. I could see him writhing under the rod, and hear the sound of the birch swishing through the air and the splashy noise it made as it impacted on his firm, round little bottom.

"I . . . I think a boy who had behaved like that might expect to . . . to be birched . . . Miss Strang."

"Do you, Livia? And how many strokes should such a boy receive?"

And I knew that the hot sticky part of me wanted to see Simon birched. Birched as severely as Cameron had been birched. His small compact little rump lacerated by the sharp twigs. But as his sister I also feared for him. I hesitated.

"I . . . I suppose . . . perhaps . . . six strokes, Miss Strang."

"Six strokes? You are very lenient, Livia. I certainly would not expect such a boy to escape with less than a dozen strokes, possible more."

She turned to Simon. There was no harshness in he tone.

"And what do you think, Simon?"

(To be continued)