THE CASTLE -
PART ELEVEN
CHRISTMAS - CONTINUED - MORE FESTIVE JOLLITY!
Miss Berrriman,
the retired headmistress, famed in her day for her merciless
discipline, was staying with her younger sister, a very recently
retired headmistress. As had been the case with Amy and
Priscilla, both these ladies had sat attentively through the Queen’s
Christmas message.
“Wonderful lady!” said the younger Miss Berriman, reverently.
“She should have been sterner with those children of hers!” said the
elder. “A good dose of the stick is what they all needed!”
The younger sister smiled indulgently. She knew how Agnes had
terrorised so many generations of her pupils, but for herself, she had
always preferred a more sensitive and gentle approach, although she had
never been afraid to use the cane when needed - far from it!
Muriel - the elder Miss Berriman - glanced up at a picture on the wall.
It was a group photograph. Three rows of fresh and wholesome,
immaculately uniformed girls stared down at them - and her sister
in the middle.
“Quite recent, Agnes? I can’t recall seeing that before?”
Muriel got up and went to have a closer look. One girl in particular
seemed to fascinate her.
“Yes. My last Sixth. A fine group of girls. They should all go far.”
Muriel was unable to take her eyes off the very striking girl that she
had first noticed.
“Come here, Agnes, please. Who is that?”
Agnes peered at the photograph.
“Oh! That’s Cynthia! Lady Cynthia Beauchamp, to give her her
proper name, not that she ever cared about such things! Eldest daughter
of the Duke and Duchess of Swaffham. One of my most troublesome
pupils of all time! God! But was that girl a handful! Wild was far too
mild a word for that little madam! But she was a fine girl,
nonetheless, that one, despite her never ending mischief. Straight and
true, loyal and determined; I never knew her to tell an untruth - she
would sooner die! And ten times as brave as any man ever was. I
had the unpleasant duty of caning her for her misdeeds times without
number and she never once uttered a sound.
“If that young woman ever set her heart on something there was nothing
would stop her. The other girls all worshipped her, but there was only
one other that she really befriended - that one there, a grocer’s
daughter up on a scholarship, called Amy. Those two were quite
inseparable! We wondered about them sometimes - the love of
Sappho and all that! But Amy showed very early on where her preferences
lay! No man is safe from her - not a bit fussy, our Amy! Any
thing will do, as long as it has a penis attached in working
order!”
“What is Cynthia doing now?” inquired Muriel, as if she didn‘t know!
“I don’t know! Probably married to some chinless wonder! And she is
quite, utterly, brilliant - ought to go to Oxford and be a great
mathematician, but I think all she wanted to do when school was over
was find a man, settle down and produce children. Such a waste!”
Muriel could not take her eyes of this picture.
“Are you sure you know nothing of her career in the last year or two?”
Agnes smiled.
“Of course. It’s in this scrapbook of mine! Take a look, Muriel. She
married……………………….”
Agnes was interrupted by the telephone. When she returned, she was
horrified to see her sister slumped senseless on the floor.
A doctor was called, dragged complainingly away from his family in the
midst of all the jollity. He took one professional look at the sick
woman and ensured that Muriel was transferred to hospital
immediately. He had seen a case like this before and knew that there
was no time to be lost. For years after he would tell the story of how
he had had the privilege, one Christmas Day, of snatching a dying
woman back from the abyss and restoring her to life.
Agnes learned that her sister had been stuck by a viral infection that
had almost totally paralysed her. It would be months before she
regained the use of her limbs and her voice, although a full recovery
was very much on the cards.
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A NEW YEAR!
The New Year came and still the Girl gave her tormentors no good reason
to use the dread Whip. She copped plenty of damage from the belt and
the stick and the switch, but this was water off a duck’s back as far
as she was concerned. Pain had never been her problem, only the shame
of being exposed to jeers and abuse from people she despised. That
banquet still ranked as the nadir of her life, when she had been caged
, swinging over the festive board, the jeers of men and women of
“Quality” ringing in her ears.
Winter dragged its wearisome way. While her friends were in Gstaad
enjoying the Winter Sports, she was stuck in the Castle, being
systematically tormented and worked to death by an ever more crazed
Mistress. And the awful knowledge that, ultimately, the Whip must
cut into her smooth skin haunted her every waking hour.
There was much snow that Winter. The early fall in December had been a
timely warning of a hard Winter ahead, and the Mistress was unrelenting
in her dealing with the poor Girl, who was forced into the bitter cold
time and time again to clear the path and keep the garden in a seemly
and tidy state..
When, in late March, the weather improved, it was not a second too soon
for the rapidly weakening and despairing Girl. She prayed her thanks
when Spring finally arrived with a burst of life-giving warmth and the
dreary cold of winter was cast away for another year.
The Mistress was happy with the way that the Girl was tending to the
garden but worried that too much freedom was being given to her. Never
mind that she was forced to clean all the floors several times a week
and that she never had more than five hours sleep a night, the Mistress
bitterly begrudged the power that the Girl had over the garden. She
determined to hire another gardener, and one who would not be as
soft-hearted as Fitch.
In mid April, the Girl was once more placed under the control of a task
master who would ensure that her delightful bottom would be spanked and
beaten as much outdoors as in. The Mistress and the two Servants,
Jenkins and Huskisson were very happy to watch through the window as
the Girl was overseen by the new gardener and whacked far harder and
oftener than Fitch had ever whacked her!
Dorothy, who had been sinking into a bit of a depression, perked up
amazingly as, day by day, the sweet and delightful sound of leather
being viciously applied to flesh came wafting in through her parlour
window. Just the tonic she needed!
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SUMMER - NOW IS THE WINTER OF OUR DISCONTENT MADE GLORIOUS SUMMER.
“You’ve been so wonderful to Mother these last months” said Angela.
“She is SO grateful to you. You really are a very loyal daughter to her
and sister to me! How can we ever thank you enough?”
“By the old cow not leaving me out of her Will” was the unspoken
response from the relieved Amelia!
This conversation had taken place two days before and now Amelia was
standing on Glasgow station waiting for the Birmingham train. Soon she
would be back to her work and the decipherment of that intriguing
document!
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Mr Hanspacker was sitting on his veranda in Zurich. In a few days
time, the agreement with the IRS would be signed and sealed. He would
be several million dollars the poorer, but he would be going HOME! More
to the point, his cousin had died and left him such a huge fortune that
his debts to the Treasury seemed chickenfeed by comparison! In any case
the good old Republicans were back in the White House. It didn’t seem
so bad, paying up for a decent regular guy!
On the way back, he would call on Fred and have one final drink with
the old sod. He would also tell him all about the lovely streaker.
Quite an extraordinary story, that!
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Amy moaned as Fred Bottomley sank his eager tongue into the warm
moistness of her womanhood. She smiled indulgently on the baldness of
that head stuck between her generous thighs. He really was awfully
sweet and he had, after all, only beaten her darling Cynthia just the
once and hated himself for it ever since. Once he was free of that
Dorothy, she felt sure the two of them would be very happy together,
just as long as he wasn’t TOO fussy about her frequent infidelities
with younger and more energetic men!
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SOME TIME LATER
Miss Amelia Parradine was back in the musty vault. The door had been
seen to and the hinges oiled, although the maintenance staff had
assured her that there had been absolutely nothing wrong with the said
door in the first place!
In the weeks since her return she had made great strides with her
attempts to decode the writing. She was pretty sure what the type of
cipher was that had been used, but there was some refinement which kept
the solution still a few tantalising steps away.
“It can’t be more than a matter of a few short days, now.” she thought
in triumph. “There are about six possible permutations and then I will
have it!”
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The Girl trembled and struggled to contain her urine. She MUST not
shame herself! This was about to be it! She had cheeked Mr Jenkins and
been reported to the Mistress. Jenkins had hit her for no good reason
and she had spat at him in a simulated fury. That had been enough! So
now she was shackled to the cold slimy wall of the Castle Dungeon and
the Whip was being tested by the Mistress. It hissed and swished
through the air, sending wave after wave of sick fear through the brave
Girl’s heart. Soon it would descend many times upon that soft
back and her skin would be torn to shreds as the punishment was
inflicted. There was joy in the air as the three exulted in eager
anticipation.
Finally, the Mistress raised the fearsome Whip in the air and brought
it down upon the Girl’s unprotected, bare and lovely back. There was
barely a gasp from the courageous Girl. The then lights went out and
the ground trembled.
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“How are you feeling, dear Muriel. You’ve been so ill, but they
say you will soon be better.”
“I feel so much better, Agnes. I always knew you were here watching
over me, but I was helpless and couldn’t let you know I saw you. You
have been such a good sister to me. I don’t deserve such kindness!”
“Of course you do! My elder sister whom I have always admired. It has
been a joy to come and visit you - it really has.”
“Agnes?”
“Yes, Muriel?”
“That girl, Cynthia. You remember, Agnes? Your naughty pupil?”
“How could I ever forget her! What about her?”
“My friend Dorothy Bottomley is in danger from her. I know it! I must
get home and warn her. When can I leave and go home?”
“Quiet , darling Muriel! It won’t be for weeks yet!”
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Old Fitch was sitting by the bedside of Jem Buckley, a friend
from many years back. Poor old Jem was dying and Fitch was keeping
watch over his final hours.
“We had our fun over the years, Jem. We fought each other with our
fists over many a fair wench and consoled each other when we were wed
and henpecked.”
“You’ve been a good friend Hubert!”
“All in the shadow of the Castle, eh, Jem?”
“Ay, my old mate. The Castle. The old Lords are gone but the new one is
ready and waiting to take back his own again. I had hoped to live to
see it, but it is not to be!”
“How could that ever be, Jem. They lost all their money and don’t have
two farthings to rub together - and no one has ever seen the present
Lord. His cottage is shuttered and the garden overgrown. The Earls have
left these parts for ever.”
Jem said nothing and his breathing became ever more laboured. Finally
he gasped a few words.
“I KNOW, Hubert! I know. The family were cursed and the curse is over
them to this day, but a legend says that the curse may be lifted one
day. I am older than you and I remember being told by Widow Persimmons
back in ‘03 what would be the way of it.”
He breathed ever more weakly and it was plain that the end was not too
far away for the old man. He motioned to Hubert Fitch and Fitch bent
down to hear what Jen had to say. Seconds later the spark of life
finally died in the old boy and Fitch sat grieving over his long time
buddy.
As he finally left the dead man, he muttered to himself.
“So that’s what she meant on that last day in the castle when I said
I‘d not whip that soft skin and sweet tender flesh. She’ll reward me
for my kindness! YES, now, I know how she will! My Lady. Glory
be!”
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It was a week since the power blackout and minor earthquake. Miss
Parradine was back in the Vault. Her hand trembled as she scribbled
away, decoding the message at last - and what an extraordinary
message it was.
Roughly translated, the first page read thus:
“The wicked Earls of Fortescue shall be dispossessed of their
ancient lands. They have sinned against God and Man and oppressed the
weak and helpless. Forth from their castle they shall go to roam the
world.
One Earl played the demon at Dice and won a Game.
He won the chance to redeem at some far distant time his patrimony.
When the Virgin Wife of the Scholar Earl becomes a dirty Beggar Girl
Then slaves away
For a Year and a day,
Being beaten and naked day and night,
Locked in the Cage and Flayed with the Whip.
The Castle will be restored and the Earls may return”
“What utter nonsense!” said the disappointed Miss Parradine. And I had
hoped for something important.
Then she thought.
“You stupid woman! The Girl! The naked Girl who stank out the town and
has worked as a naked slave. She is the Countess, the wife of the
Scholar Earl! They say he is a kind of intellectual, but no one has
ever cared to look into it - why the hell not! It’s all in the book!
Have we all been blind?”
She buzzed her assistant to bring down the latest edition of “Who’s
Who” When it arrived she looked up
“Fortescue, Earl of.”
“Fortescue, 15th Earl. James Edward Granville. Professor of Ancient
Slavonic languages at the University of London. Age 33 Married to
Cynthia, daughter of the 5th Duke of Swaffham. Heir - None.”
“So, Cynthia, you scheming little tramp! Trying to dispossess my dear
friend Dorothy, are you. We’ll soon see about that!
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