Miss Strang Chapter 71
By Governess
Copyright 2010 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 71
The Arbuthnot family settled in Northumberland having moved from Scotland some time in the seventeenth century. It was my grandfather who had taken the family back north of the border into Roxburghshire. And it was here that my father, in addition to his other responsibilities, was a magistrate. Nevertheless, we still had ties in Northumberland and often shopped in the little town across the border.
The trap rattled along. Miss Strang was in a bright mood whereas John and I were silent, filled with anxiety at what might transpire. And yet, I could also feel within me a bubbling excitement at the prospect of seeing the two boys flogged. Simon seemed oblivious to what was going on. Probably just grateful to be out of the schoolroom.
The reformatory was a rather grim building set in its own grounds. It had rather imposing wrought iron gates through which we passed on to a long, curving drive that led to the main house. We drew up and Miss Strang indicated we were to alight. There were some shallow steps up to the door and at the top stood a woman of about thirty. She was slim but by no means thin or angular. She smiled at us and extended her hand to Miss Strang.
"And you must be Miss Strang."
She extended her hand.
"And these must be Mr Arbuthnot's children who are to witness the two boys receiving their punishment. I am Celia McLaughlan, the matron here. Would you follow me, please."
We did so, passing down a number of corridors, with Miss Strang walking purposefully ahead of us, her riding crop in her hand and her long coat swirling around her. Eventually we were ushered into a room. It was large with a stone flagged floor. In the centre was a low wooden table. I noticed that it had a number of holes in it. To one side of the room were half a dozen hard wooden upright chairs.
"Children, please sit. You are all very welcome."
Miss Strang held her crop in both hands.
"Thank you for your welcome, Miss McLaughlan. It is good of you to receive us."
"Miss McLaughlan smiled.
"Not Miss McLaughlan. Mrs McLaughlan. I am married and live on the reformatory estate with my husband and children."
"My apologies, Mrs McLaughlan. It is rare to find a married woman in your position. Please forgive me."
"You are right, Miss Strang. It is unusual. But the Principal particularly wanted a married woman to take the post. He feels that most boys sent here have lacked a mother's discipline, and have little or no respect for women. So my job is not just to run the infirmary but to mother these boys and to gain their respect. To help them see women in a different light."
Miss Strang nodded.
"And you provide a mother's discipline?"
"Mrs McLaughlan smiled.
"Well, Miss Strang, this is a reformatory, and the punishments here are harsher than many mothers would provide. But the Principal was anxious that the 'reformatory mother' should play her part in that. And today, I shall be administering the floggings to the two boys."
"And your own children?"
"Well, for them, too, I certainly believe in the rod of correction."
She paused.
"As I believe do you, Miss Strang."
Miss Strang smiled.
"And what makes you so sure of that?"
Mrs McLaughlan nodded towards us.
"I have only to look at these children to see they are well disciplined. But I have to confess that Rachel Innes told me of your predilection for the rod. She works with me several times a week and has become a very good friend. Indeed, she is on duty today as the assistant matron."
Miss Strang nodded.
"Yes, I had been told that she assists in the boys' reformatory."
She looked around her.
"But perhaps you would explain to the children what exactly they will be witnessing today."
"Certainly. But perhaps you would first introduce them, Miss Strang."
"Stand up, children. This is Simon, the youngest. The next in age is John. And the eldest is Livia."
After each introduction, Mrs McLaughlan reached out and shook hands with us.
"But I see your discipline is not confined to the rod, Miss Strang. John is petticoated and dressed as a girl. And Livia is wearing boy's clothing."
I looked down, ashamed at being the centre of such unwelcome attention.
"And why are you dressed as a boy, Livia? Perhaps you would explain to Mrs McLaughlan."
"I . . . I wanted to be a boy and . . . and so Miss Strang put me in . . . in boy's clothing."
"You make it sound, Livia, as though I were indulging you in a whim. Tell Mrs McLaughlan the reason, please."
I could feel the resentment welling up within me.
"Because . . . because you wanted me to know what it really meant to be a boy . . . and be treated like a boy."
"Yes. But there was something more, was there not?"
"No, I . . . I don't think so, Miss Strang."
"Then you think wrongly. And I do not appreciate the way you toss your head when replying to me."
She turned to Mrs McLaughlan.
"Livia has unfortunately acquired the bad habits of a boy. She amuses herself in bed and yesterday decided to get into bed with her brother and amuse herself with him. She now knows that a girl who behaves in such a way, and abuses herself like a boy, will be dressed as a boy and punished like a boy. And as a first step in that process, she is here today."
She looked at me.
"To see how a boy of her own age, or a little older, is punished."
Mrs McLaughlan turned to me.
"And how old are you, Livia?"
"Nearly thirteen, Mrs McLaughlan"
"Well the boy, Burns is fourteen. Not much older than you. Your father has sentenced him to thirty six strokes of the tawse. Would you like to see the tawse?"
I nodded She went to a cupboard and opened it. Inside I could see several tawses hanging from hooks, as well as several canes. Mrs McLaughlan selected a tawse.
"And this is the extra weight reformatory tawse that Burns is to be flogged with, Livia."
She held it out. It was dark and forbidding, and the leather tails hung heavily in front of me.
"Feel it, Livia. Feel how thick and solid it is."
I grasped one of the tails and held it tightly in my hand. It was hard and unyielding. A tremor ran through me at the thought of its being whipped across bare bottom flesh. I thought of the small boy with the fair hair and frightened expression. And suddenly I was eager to see him flogged.
"And is he really going to get thirty six strokes, Mrs McLaughlan?"
"Yes, Livia. He is. That was the sentence of the court. But he has also been sentenced to six months in the reformatory. And that means he is now subject to reformatory rules, so he may receive additional strokes."
She paused, pulling the tawse away from my grasp and running it through her own hand.
"I am told your father regretted he couldn't sentence the boy to four dozen strokes. If he is not completely co-operative, I may have to add that further dozen strokes at the end."
She smiled.
"It would not be the first time."
I was almost trembling at the prospect of witnessing such a flogging. To see a boy flogged with such a tawse . . . and then the other boy birched.
"But . . . but, Mrs McLaughlan. My father told the other boy that he could only sentence him to twelve strokes of the birch, but . . . but that he deserved thirty strokes for what he had done."
"You have a good memory, Livia. That is what has also been reported to me."
She walked across and laid the tawse on the table. And turned to John, who was pale and twitching his hands nervously.
"And how old are you, John?"
"Please Mrs Mc . . Mc . . ."
"McLaughlan, John. Mrs McLaughlan."
"Please, Mrs McLaughlan. I am nearly ten."
"So older than the boy, Cameron who is just eight. Well, I am sure you'll be interested to see how a boy even younger than you is punished."
She turned to Miss Strang.
"Has John been birched, Miss Strang?"
"He has, Mrs McLaughlan. But with what I would call a nursery birch. Suitable for a naughty little boy of his age. But looking over there . . . "
"Yes, Miss Strang. Some of those are certainly not nursery birches. However, for a boy of Cameron's age we do use a lighter birch. We have no choice when a boy of his age is sentenced to a flogging by the police court. However, once in the care of the reformatory, things are different. We then have the discretion to use a much heavier rod. And that would be done if he got into serious trouble. Or was particularly stubborn and refused to mend his ways."
She paused,
"I saw from the papers sent from the court that the boy Cameron tried to burn down an old lady's house as well as breaking a greenhouse and stealing from an elderly gentleman."
She turned to me.
"Tell me Livia, what do you think would happen to a boy in this reformatory who attempted to burn it down, or who vandalised reformatory property or who stole from another boy? Do you think we would punish him with a little nursery birch?"
I shook my head, trying to look serious and grown up.
"No, Mrs McLaughlan."
She stepped across to a deep, broad, wooden pail in which a number of birch rods was steeping. She reached down and lifted one out. She gave it a shake and drops of water spattered on the stone floor.
"No, Livia, you are right. He would be punished with a birch like this."
She swished it through the air. And then offered it to me. I held it almost nervously. It comprised five stout lengths of birch, each of which at the bound end must have been three quarters of an inch in diameter. I looked at Mrs McLaughlan.
"How long is it Mrs McLaughlan?"
"Thirty six inches, Livia. Three feet."
I felt a tremor run through me at the thought of an eight year old boy being flogged with such a birch. It was tightly bound for two thirds of its length. The last twelve inches splayed out into a whippy but sparse bunch of leathery twigs.
"Swish it, Livia."
I did so, and it was as though the end was on a sprung hinge.
"And do you think that a boy who has tried to burn down an old lady's house, who had broken a old man's greenhouse and who is also a thief, deserves to be flogged with a birch like that?"
I was almost breathless. I nodded.
"Yes . . . yes, Mrs McLaughlan."
She walked over to the pail and reaching down took hold of a smaller birch that was hidden by a larger.
"But this is the birch the court judges appropriate for a boy of Cameron's age. And a boy of his age may only be sentenced to twelve strokes. So what do you say to that, Livia?"
"It . . . it doesn't seem very much . . . Mrs McLaughlan. For . . . for what he's done."
"You are a sensible girl, Livia. It isn't very much. But once the boy Cameron has been swished with this little nursery birch, he'll be in the care of the reformatory. Your father regretted he couldn't sentence the boy separately for each of his offences. A total of thirty strokes. Well, once the sentence of the court has been administered, we have the discretion to give the balance of eighteen strokes. And as that would be a reformatory flogging it can be given with a more appropriate birch."
She smiled.
"How old did you say you were, Livia.?"
"Nearly thirteen, Mrs McLaughlan."
"And I see from your good sense and the look on your face that you have a real interest in the boy's punishment."
I blushed.
"Yes, Mrs McLaughlan."
(To be continued)