A. N. Dedeaux - An English Education Read online

  "You'd like to stick this into her there, wouldn't you, beast, and make her squeal!"

  The boy spoke thickly. "If ever I condescend to take Miss Eyre's cherry I'll bust it so's she feels it through every bit of her belly. If she can walk after it won't be my fault. Listen, Lizzy, if you aren't c-careful. . . ."

  "If you make her blub I'll let you put it up my backhole. You know you like it there best."

  "It's nice and mushy, eh?"

  "I had a pint of cider after breakfast."

  I saw them upside down; Eliza had her right arm slung round her brother, her left palm stroking up the boy's big brutal erection, clearly visible up the left side of his thin fawn trousers. It filled me with an increase of sickness and fear. It was a great thick tube whose blunt head gave a demanding jerk against the material as his sister coned it up at the root, then squeezed the ball-bag between the broadly spraddled legs.

  "Make her suck it after, Jack, and get it ready for me.

  "It's ready for you now."

  I gasped. Fingers palped my seam. Georgiana chuckled creamily.

  "She's growing fat here, too. And hairy."

  "What did you expect," said the brother harshly, "feathers?"

  "She was a billiard-ball a year since. You could hardly get a finger in her cunt. Look at it now. The greedy thing."

  "Stop it, Liz. If you're not careful, I'll cream." Then to me—"Stand up. That buttock's going to look better for a few lines across it. Get the cane." At the door I caught his snarl—"The long one, mind."

  My steps took me through corridors to a flagged passage, giving on an elmy lawn. It was here John Reed kept his things, a racket or two, a cricket bat, and stick. Against a gun case leant two canes.

  You devils! I said to myself as I selected the slightly longer and held it like a serpent in my hand. How I should like to break and burn you both! These lithe rods, which the boy brought back from school, were the living instruments of my agony at these perverse children's hands. How I loathed them both!

  Each was long, smoothly round, yellow and lean, full of whip and cut, with tips hard as stone—it was there one felt them most, as well my poor sides knew. Each had a small knob-like protrusion to grip one end.

  My marrow drained as I held the longer and, I thought, leaner of the pair. It quivered livingly as if all its sleek, soulless length were greedy to get on with the task of cutting into my skin. I made off with it in my hand, head bowed. On my way I met an under-maid, a pretty, pert girl called Olive, who gave me a grin as she went by, plus a roguish wink and much rubbing of herself behind. The staff were happy when little Jane was "for it." How many? my heart was hammering, dear God how many?

  Red in the face, John Reed was doing up his trouser buttons when I re-entered. Eliza was licking her lips like a cat after cream, rubbing her hands over one another. Georgiana was busy with an ottoman she had pulled out into the room.

  "Here is the cane," I said, as composedly as I could. Experience had taught me that in these circumstances the best thing was not to get them all excited.

  He took off his jacket and rolled up his right shirtsleeve.

  "I'm going to give you six for impertinence. Get over."

  "Six is not fair," I said. My heart leapt. I had hoped for less. A "sixer" with that whippy stick could be hell.

  "It's what you're going to get," snapped Eliza.

  "Across these lovely juicy beauties." I turned at the touch. Pretty Georgiana confronted me, grey eyes twinkling, her simple snub face guilelessly smiling. "Come, Jane," she said, leading me to one end, the familiar one, of the ottoman. "Feeling nice and jellyish inside? I should if I were you. I'm afraid it's going to sting like the dickens. Now then, just take 'em down, Miss Impudent."

  I recoiled at this.

  "No. You don't have to. . . ."

  There was silence. John Reed lashed the air with his rod twice, sickeningly. Then he thudded it eloquently into a chairback. Puffs of dust ensued. I gulped.

  "Two extra for keeping on your clothing."

  "Please," I asked, near tears now. "It isn't fair. My . . . things are thin and won't protect me at all. . . ."

  "Say your knickers."

  "My knickers. And, and you can see the marks through. So's to aim. It's not fair to bully me, and use me so, and. . . ."

  Eliza seethed. "Make it three more, John. Such modesty in a parson's chit is simple cheek."

  "I'll make her sorry with eight, don't worry."

  "Eight lovely slices," gloated the grinny Georgi-ana, sitting on the ottoman and making my hands in hers. "Bend over, Janey."

  A smoldering sense of injustice burnt through me as I bent over the settee in the usual position. One arm of it pressed into my thighs in front as, drawn forward by Georgiana's grip, I bent over, legs braced and together, my posterior rounded. She pulled me firmly forward. Georgiana liked to watch my face. Eliza whipped my skirt onto my back and tugged even tighter my bursting knickers. She liked to watch from behind. I felt the measuring tap of the long stick on my skin. All was ready for the fray. Too fast. John Reed went away. I squeezed my eyes tight shut.

  Eliza said, "Really hard now. Just over the crease."

  There was a long silence. I opened my eyes. Then he came forward at me. The air throbbed with that curious desolating whirr of a whippy cane; this was completed by the meaty thud of impact. My head jerked, I gasped as if flung into icy water, but no more. I was determined not to show them how it hurt. He had laid the rod full across my fattest parts and now stood back as the pain flamed up the whole of my hams, drenching me in its sting.

  Georgiana cooed in one ear—"One. Only seven more to go, Janey."

  Thhhwulck!

  Two. Then three. The bendy whack of the cane into stretched flesh was now echoed by my breathy gasps.

  "Lower, Jack," whispered Eliza. "Cut down more now."

  Four, five and six were all ferocious strokes, and the last made me jump up and cry out, "Oh no!" Georgiana held my hands, dewy-eyed, smiling.

  "Two more," she said huskily.

  Then my head buzzed. The accumulation of the cuts began to overcome me and I heard my throat emit a dry whine.

  "Bend her over properly, Georgy. I want to come under her well these last two."

  "Slice her in two, Jack," urged Eliza.

  Whhhhrupp! Red-hot fire lashed my poor soft buttocks and I sprang erect with a cry, tearing my hands from Georgiana's grasp and riveting them to my agonized posteriors.

  "Oh . . . oh . . . oh!"

  With a rapping crack the cane struck full on my grasping hands, skinning the knuckles of my right. I squealed and danced with the pain.

  "Wicked and cruel boy!" I screamed at him, sucking my injured fingers which already bled. "You are like a murderer—you are like a slave-driver—you are like the Roman Emperors!"

  I had read Goldsmith's History of Rome and had formed my opinion of Nero, Caligula, etc.

  "What! what!" he cried, recoiling. "Did you hear that? Run and tell mama, Georgy. But first—"

  I ran headlong at him, seized the horrid cane, broke it in two and flung it on the fire, where it blazed amain. I felt him grasp my hair, but he closed with a desperate thing. I raked one cheek with my nails, I do not well know what I did with my hands, but he called me "Rat! rat!" over and over and bellowed aloud.

  Aid was near him. Eliza and Georgiana had run for Mrs. Reed who came quickly upon the scene, followed by Bessie and her personal maid Abbot. We were parted. I heard the words—"What a fury to fly at Master John!" Then in Mrs. Reed's iciest tones, "Hold her arms, Miss Abbot; she's like a mad cat."

  "For shame, Miss Jane," cried the lady's maid as she consorted with this order. "What shocking conduct to strike a young gentleman so, your benefactress's son! Your young master."

  "Master! How is he my master? Am I a servant?"

  "Mama, I'm bleeding like a pig." They thrust me on a stool where I sat panting, albeit with a pleased eye on John Reed's riven cheek. "Bessie," said Miss Abbot, "le
nd me your garters, and I'll tie her hands behind her back." Bessie duly divested a stout leg of the necessary ligature and my wrists were bound behind me. I was losing something of my excitement, and the sheer pain was subsiding. Mrs. Reed approached, and stood over me, a firmly fleshed woman in her forties.

  "Wicked ungrateful child," she said at last. "Will you never learn?"

  "She needs whipping," said Eliza sulkily. "Have we anyone here," asked Mrs. Reed laconically, "who can thrash the evil out of this wild cat?"

  "Yes, Ma'am," said Abbot shortly. "Thrash her buttocks soundly, give her an hour of the Red Room and bring her to me when she's contrite."

  Phhhhlwupp!

  TWO!

  I jerked, but did not gasp. The stroke caught me about an inch above the other, but was still very low. With his long steady sweeping drive my master was bringing his cane up under me, bouncing my bottoms like blancmange as he did so. The whip and travel of the rod dug in and burrowed through me.

  But the punishment had now started, was on its ineluctable way, its errand of improving my soul by harrowing my flesh. Something in me was called up by womanly pride to show him of my best. I grit my teeth as he drew back. Something in me admired the great lazy strength of his arm which knew so well how to whip.

  Then I groaned as a new access of pain swept me from the blow; the basin of my buttocks seemed to spread out in reaction. Make the next one higher, my heart implored, higher, higher. . . .

  "Ow!"

  2

  Bessie and Miss Abbot took me to the top of the house. My spirits were failing me fast as we climbed the wide stairs, plump, comfortable, Scotch Bessie on my left, and hard dour spinsterish Miss Abbot on the right, the pair of them holding my bound arms as if I were some convict likely to escape.

  "You ought to be aware, Miss, the obligations you are under to Mrs. Reed. She keeps you," said Bessie as we went up. "If she were to turn you off, you would have to go to the poor-house for good."

  "Please, Bessie," I pleaded. "He was chastising me. He bullies me so. I did not mean to scratch his face."

  "You're for it this time and no mistake," was the only grim rejoinder to that.

  We had reached the top landing. The floor was little used. But there was one room here. . . .

  "What we shall do to you," said Miss Abbot at its door, smiling slightly, "is for your own good." And she ushered me in.

  Her words were not new to me, nor was the chamber. It was a high bare room, devoid of furniture but that needed to subdue unruly temperaments like my own. A dim light filtered through unwashed window panes. Abbot turned up the gas. Say your prayers, Miss Eyre, I thought. I was beginning to tremble all over.

  "Feeling chilly, dear?" said Bessie, rolling her right sleeve back over. "We'll warm you up all right in here. Strip off now, quick."

  Abbot was attending to some pulleys on a wall at the side and Bessie got straps from a cupboard. I, accustomed to such dire preparatives, began to peel off my clothing, all of it.

  "Do you leather her first, Bessie," I heard from behind. "Then we'll see how she feels after an hour in the Red Room. I like to work on tender meat."

  "I'll tender it up for you right enough, Miss Abbot."

  I turned at her touch, nude as a slug before them. They examined John Reed's handiwork on my person with professional zeal.

  " 'E fetched her a fair few lively ones, all right, but his aim is all over the shop."

  "Work her for me here on the right, Bessie. She's growing up nice and thick through."

  "I'll have her blue for you there, Miss A., afore I'm done."

  "Please," I whimpered at their inspection, "I'm not a beast, to be used so. I don't deserve to be flogged like this."

  Bessie turned me, her face surprised. "Have I ever made ye faint yet, Miss? Have I?"

  "How many are you going to give me?"

  "Until you're roasted and red as a beet and regretting every second of your little tantrum, Miss."

  They took me in their customary way, which was as follows: naked, my ankles and knees were secured with straps. Likewise, my arms at elbows and wrists. Then my arms were hauled up behind me by a hook dangling from the ceiling and adjusted, by Abbot, to a bracket in the wall; the hook raised me and bent me forwards till I hung almost from my wrists.

  "Get her right on her toes for me, Miss Abbot."

  Bessie took from the wall a heavy tawse. This leathern strap was wide by five inches, thick, and cut into tails at the striking end—where she had thoughtfully hardened them in the fire. The rest was oiled and supple. She stationed herself to my left, swung —and it started. Bessie beat me as she beat her carpets, with the full force of her brawny Scottish arm. And each stroke whacked into my fat with the sound of a pistol crack, driving the breath from my lungs and making me lurch in my bonds. The curl and lap of the tails on the right was almost unbearable and I was soon hopelessly shouting.

  "Yeoww! OW! Oh no. Bessie, please . . .yow!"

  The hard ends fairly belted into me. I had counted perhaps nine or ten when the good woman desisted and the two drew back to survey me from behind, muttering. I was panting with pain. Evidently Miss Abbot gave some instruction as Bessie approached me once more with her strap swinging.

  "NAOWWW!"

  She gave me three or four more good ones and then they took me down and unfastened me, except as to the arms. I hopped and danced to their delectation for a minute or more.

  "Underhand little thing," I heard. "I never saw a girl of her age with so much cover."

  "You ought not to think yourself on an equality with the Misses Reed and Master Reed, because Missis kindly allows you to be brought up with them."

  "Come, we will put her in the Red Room."

  "Pity!" I pleaded, seeing Miss Abbot go to unlock the door.

  "One of these days," Bessie said, "God will punish you and strike you dead in the midst of your tantrums, Jane, and where you would go then will be much less pleasant."

  Naked, my arms bound behind me, I was thrust with a single shove through the low door in the wall. I fell forward and I did so, screaming.

  The Red Room was a small strange chamber, chill and windowless, with a vaulted ceiling and nothing in it at all. It acquired its name from deep red damask with which the sloping walls had been covered. In this little tabernacle, with no light but a soft blush of pink, I was to be left for an hour, and purchase some indemnity for my fault. Why then, gentle reader, did I cry?

  For the correction of the recalcitrant, including the domestic staff, a previous owner had seen fit to pave or carpet the entire floor with sharp wooden pegs. These were such as to make standing up for any time a penance, in truth, and a soft kind of trampling essential. I had fallen on one haunch and side and lay still as a mouse, from experience. The sharp little stakes gradually dug into me with my weight, and Unjust! Unjust! sobbed my reason. After perhaps three minutes, which seemed to be like twenty, the stimulation of the floor pegs became agonizing and to achieve escape from their insupportable oppression I turned on my front. But this was even worse; my breasts begged instant pity. Finally, I contrived to get into a sitting portion and then lean back. Though richly wealed my bottoms were still my fleshiest part, and by rolling slowly from one of their pillows to another I managed to endure longer. But at last my heart beat thick, my head grew hot; a sound filled my ears, which I deemed the rushing of wings. Something seemed near me. Steps. I screamed, and screamed again. The door opened. Light blinded my eyes.

  "Miss Eyre, are you ill?" said Bessie.

  "What a dreadful noise! it went quite through me!" exclaimed Abbot who was holding some thin twigs.

  "Take me out! Let me go!" I pleaded, in tears.

  "What for! Are you hurt? Have you seen something?" again demanded Bessie.

  "If she had been in pain," declared Abbot, in disgust, "one would have excused it, but she only wanted to bring us here. I know her naughty tricks."

  "Out you come, Miss!"

  As I crawled out a
nd stood up, tottering, my buttocks felt all bruised and dimpled by the horrid pegs. And already I could see Bessie, this time, busying herself with the pulleys.

  "Please," I cried, to the iron Abbot by my side, "I have been punished enough. I promise to be civil. Have pity. Forgive me. I could not," I concluded with a desperate glance at those twigs, "bear another cut."

  "You're getting a dozen," said Miss Abbot grimly, "and then we'll hoist ye for half an hour and see if that brings you to your senses, ungrateful girl."

  I wailed again. "Not the . . . oh don't hoist me . . . whatever you do . . . pleeease . . .!"