By Governess
liviaarbuthnot1@gmail.com
Copyright 2023 by Governess, all rights reserved
* * * * *Chapter 54
As Cordelia made her way to collect the children, she thought how
welcome it would be to have a quiet evening followed by some time by
herself. But there were still the concerns of how to punish William for
his tantrum and what to about Samuel’s masturbation. Both were still
weighing heavily upon her.
All three children were wating, and
Samuel and William handed her their reports for the day. Diana had
explained just as she was leaving, that there would be no note on
Elizabeth’s conduct as she herself had not been in school that
afternoon.
“Thank you. I’ll read these at tea time. Yes,
Elizabeth, I know you don’t have a report. Come on, let’s get back to
the house for our tea.”
As they reached the front door,
Cordelia saw there was a package sitting on the shelf in the porch. A
glance told her that it was from France, and once inside, she placed it
on her desk. The children then set about their teatime duties. Samuel
filled the kettle and placed it on the range to boil, and then put
three spoons of tea in the teapot. Elizabeth sliced the bread and
buttered it, while William laid the table. When they sat down, Cordelia
instead of inviting one of the children to say grace, said it herself.
Lord,
we thank you for this food which strengthens our bodies. Strengthen too
our wills that we may obey you in all things. We remember Stephen
McCourt whom I birched today for disobedience. As the weals on his
flesh heal, heal also his soul and grant him new life. We remember,
too, David Cranston who was spanked and caned this afternoon for his
disobedience and for lying. May he, too, learn from his punishment. And
may the children in this family accept their discipline with an open
heart and benefit from it. We ask this in the name of the one true God,
Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.
As Cordelia was pouring the tea, William looked up.
“What is a birch like, Mother?”
“Well, its six or more lengths cut from a birch tree and stripped of
their leaves. They are bound together at one end and at the other they
spread out into a swishy spray that can be whipped across a boy’ bare
bottom.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Yes, William. It does. It
usually breaks the skin and draws blood. The bottom of a boy who has
been soundly birched is covered with long throbbing weals. It is a very
severe punishment.”
“Did the boy you birched, have a bottom like that?”
“Yes, William. He did. And I hope he has learned from it.”
Elizabeth frowned.
“But you’ve never punished us like that, have you, Mother.
“No, Elizabeth. So far, I have found the hairbrush a quite sufficient
punishment. And for exceptionally naughtiness, the cane or the tawse.”
At the end of tea, she slit open the two envelopes. First, she read the note from Edward Crawley, nodding as she did so.”
“Well, Samuel, this is a surprisingly good report. I am pleased with
you. And now let’s see what Mr Greaves has to say about you, William.
She took out the note and read it again nodding as she did so.
“So, William what do you think Mr Greaves has to say about your conduct today?”
He flushed
“I . . . I’m not sure, Mother.”
“Don’t look so worried, William. It is a very good report. Mr Greaves
has commented on your helpfulness in the classroom and that you seem to
be really growing up.”
She paused and pursed her lips.
“But, of course, he didn’t see you throwing a tantrum and rolling on
the floor like a little two-year-old. And that, William, is something
we need to talk before we say prayers. Now I think all of you should
get on with your homework.”
They all settled down around the
long table and got out their books. Cordelia went into her little
office and, with a shiver of anticipation, opened the package that had
just arrived. It contained a good-sized martinet suitable for punishing
a child from the age of six or seven and indeed well into the teenage
years. And there were the two smaller martinets that she had been
awaiting so anxiously. She picked up the accompanying letter.
Ma Chère Cordelia,
Thank you so much for your letter. I am enclosing the items that you
requested. I hope you find them satisfactory and that the children
respond to the discipline that they will surely provide. Do let me know
that they meet your needs.
Anna continues to need regular chastisement and rarely a week goes by without the martinet being taken from its hook.
Mrs
Lavington smiled. She had last seen Anna two years ago. A wilful child
with a small compact body. She could imagine the deep satisfaction of
teaching Anna obedience with the martinet and raising those long narrow
throbbing weals across her bare little bottom. Camille was as
strict a mother as she was, and believed similarly that a child learned
obedience by the swift and certain response of une bonne fessée déculottée. She continued to read.
It has always been a sadness that I only have girls but that has spared me the problem that faces you, ma chère Cordelia.
Having to encourage a boy to desist from that temptation which most
boys succumb to is, I know, a real challenge. And success, it seems
depends on a willingness to exact severe penalties and impose harsh
punishment. Only yesterday I met Florence Aubert in the village
épicerie. She had with her her young son, Marc, who is about Samuel’s
age. She held him by a short leash attached to his wrist. And when they
turned to greet me, I saw that his eyes were red and swollen, and
hanging around his neck was a card announcing, for all to see, MASTURBATEUR.
Florence told me he had been discovered abusing himself in bed before
rising and it was not the first time he had been caught. she had
spanked him severely on his bare bottom with the back of her hairbrush,
followed by a stinging application of the martinet to the little member
he had so sorely abused. That was with a martinet similar to the ones I
have sent to you for punishing Samuel. Florence hangs the martinet from
a hook in Marc’s bedroom. And it serves as a constant reminder that bed
is for sleep and that the only use for his petit verge is for
passing water! I suggest you to do the same. I have sent you two such
martinets for assuredly, before long, you will be needing to hang one
in William’s bedroom, too!
Cordelia put the letter down.
Florence Aubert was clearly a mother with whom she had much in common.
Her strict and purposeful handling of her son’s masturbation was to be
admired. And hanging the martinet in the boy’s bedroom seemed an
excellent idea. She picked up the large martinet and ran the lanières
through her hand. She smiled. At the moment she provided effective
discipline with her hairbrush and with the rattan cane, and latterly
with the tawse. But it was always good to have another implement to
hand. An occasional change of implement showed a thoughtful concern for
a child’s discipline, and showed it was not just an impersonal and
loveless routine.
She then took the two lighter martinets
out of the package and examined them. They were almost identical. As
implements of punishment, they seemed rather inadequate. The lanières were
slight and even though square cut seemed not at all formidable. Used
across the bottom or across the thighs, neither would provide anywhere
near the level of pain required of an effective punishment. But that,
she reminded herself, was not the purpose. They had been crafted
specifically to whip a boy where he had abused himself. And for that,
she was sure, they would prove more than adequate.
She then
prayed for wisdom in dealing with Samuel and then sat quietly until the
children had completed their homework. After checking their
assignments, she gave permission for them to play and amuse themselves
until bedtime.
“But you, William, will go up your room now.”
He looked as though he was about to protest but then thought better of it.”
“Off you go, William. You will undress and stand facing the wall in your pyjamas until I come up.”
Each of the children had their own toy box and Samuel went to his and
retrieved his model soldiers. Elizabeth fetched a book and sat down
quietly to read. Cordelia busied herself in the kitchen and after about
quarter of an hour she picked up the hairbrush from the dresser and
went upstairs. As she entered the room, she was pleased to see William
standing face to the wall as instructed. She placed the hairbrush on
his chest of drawers and returned downstairs. As he waited, William
became increasing anxious. and when he glanced round and saw the
hairbrush, his anxiety increased further. He bit his lip and turned
back to the wall and waited.
After ten minutes, he heard the door open.
“Turn round, William. And face me.”
She looked at him and he lowered his eyes.
“Look at me, William. And tell me why you have been sent up to bed early. Well?”
“I . . . I don’t know . . . Mother.”
“That, William, surprises me.
She waited.
“So how would you describe your behaviour over the last few days.”
“I got a good report from Mr Greaves”
“Yes, I am pleased about that. But a good report is what I expect every
day. But what about your behaviour here? Has that been good?”
“I suppose not. . . not always . . .Mother.”
No. In fact, yesterday you threw a tantrum like a little two-year-old.”
She paused letting his anxiety mount yet further.
“So, tell me what happens to a two-year-old who throws a tantrum?”
He knew the answer. There was only one answer. Reluctantly, he gave it.
“He’s spanked . . . Mother.”
“So, do you need to be spanked, William? For throwing a tantrum.”
“I . . . I suppose so.”
“Well, you suppose correctly. A boy who throws a tantrum should certainly be spanked and spanked soundly.”
She paused.
“But you are not a little two-year-old, are you William? You are a big boy of seven.”
He said nothing.
Well, are you?
“Yes, Mother.”
“So not only do you need to be spanked but you need to be taught to behave like a seven-year-old.”
He could feel the net tightening around him.
“Do you remember my saying that a boy who behaves like a two-year-old
should be treated like one. So, until I decide otherwise, you will use
the chamber pot instead of the lavatory, both here and in school. Do
you understand, William?”
“Yes . . . Mother.”
“And can you think of how else a little two-year-old might be treated?”
He looked down, saying nothing.
“Well, a small child often needs to be spoon-fed at mealtimes.”
He bit his lip.
“And he needs to stay close to his mother and not wander off.”
She paused.
“Look at me, William.”
Reluctantly, he looked up.
“So, William, for the next week the only food you will eat will be what
I feed to you on a spoon. And there will be no play. You will sit at my
feet and do your work on the floor. You will do exactly what I tell
you, and you will do it uncomplainingly. And you will wear a nappy at
night.”
She smiled at his all too evident consternation.
“I hope all that is clear. I was planning for Mr Greaves to have a
chamber pot in his classroom but I have had second thoughts about that.
Instead, you will move to Mrs Fairclough’s class. She has no objection
to having a pot in her class. None at all. So, whether you want to pass
water or do something more important, you will do it in the pot she
provides.”
“But . . . but . . . Mother what about the girls?
“What about them William?”
“But they will see . . . everything.
“Well, as they have eyes in their heads and will no doubt be looking, I am sure they will.”
Tears welled up in his eyes. “But Mother I don’t want to be a two-year-old. I’m really seven.”
“I know, William. But you behaved like a two-year-old. Treating you
like a two-year-old should help you realise that you need to act your
age. When I am convinced you have learned that lesson, then your
seven-year-old privileges may be restored. Until then you will treated
exactly like a two-year-old.
She smiled and ruffled his hair.
“And remember, two-year-old’s need plenty of discipline. They are still
learning how to behave and the slightest misbehaviour cannot be
ignored. Boys of that age usually need to be spanked two or three times
a week. And fortunately, Mrs Fairclough shares my views on that.”
“You . . . you mean that Mrs Fairclough will be . . . be allowed to punish me?”
“Of course, William. If you are in her class, and you need to be punished, she will do what is necessary.”
“But . . . but . . . how will she punish me?”
“Well, she punishes the girls by strapping their hands with the tawse.
But not, I am sure, a two-year-old boy. A two-year-old boy needs to be
put over the knee and spanked on his bare bottom. And I am sure that is
how Mrs Fairclough will be punishing you.”
She smiled inwardly at the expression on his face.
“But that . . . that would be in front of the girls.”
“Yes, William it would. And, I am sure the girls will be most
interested to see how a naughty little boy is spanked. Now no more
discussion.”
She smacked the hairbrush across her palm and sat
on the upright chair. She beckoned to him and released the cord of his
pyjamas so they slithered down to his ankles. And she spanked him. And
after saying prayers and a goodnight kiss, he was left to sob quietly
into his pillow before sleep eventually overtook him.