Miss Strang Chapter 90

By Governess

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This story is intended for adults only. It contains depictions of forced nudity, spanking, and sexual activity of preteen and young teen children for the purpose of punishment. None of the behaviors in this story should be attempted in real life. If you are not of legal age in your community to read or view such material, please leave now.

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Chapter 90

Livia knocked at the door and on hearing a curt ‘Enter’, struggled in with her suitcase. There was a moment’s silence.

“Goodness gracious, child, what an earth have you got in that? You’re not going on holiday. You’re coming here to work. Put it down there. There. And open it.”

Miss Strang looked on, saying nothing. I had been told to pack the suitcase myself.

“Go on, child. Do as I say. Open it.”

I bent down and clicked open both catches. Mrs Innes got up and stood looking down at the contents.

“And what is that?”

She was pointing to Amanda, my old rag doll. I had retrieved it from John’s room where he’d thrown it into a corner. For him it was a symbol of Miss Strang’s rule over him. But for me, Amanda, was a link to my past. To the pleasure I’d had in disciplining her as a small girl.

“Well, Arbuthnot? What is it?”

“It’s . . . it’s my rag doll . . . Mrs Innes. Her name’s Amanda.”

“How did I tell you to address me, Arbuthnot?”

“Please, Ma’am, I’m sorry, Ma’am.”

“And these clothes? Do you think you are here to enjoy some sort of social round? Take them out.”

I pulled out a dress.

“All of them.”

She stooped down and began sorting them into two heaps. Most went on a heap to the left of the suitcase. She shook her head, and walked across to the bell. Within half a minute, there was a knock at the door, and the girl Mr Innes had addressed as Emily came in.

“Hankey, take these clothes and bag them up for the rag and bone man. And give me that doll, Arbuthnot.”

“Please, Ma’am. Not Amanda.”

“How dare you oppose me. Give me the doll.”

Reluctantly, I handed it to her.

“And give this scruffy object to cook, and ask her to toss it into the range.”

She looked at me as I bit my lip and struggled to suppress my anger.

“And ask cook for the cane behind the kitchen door and bring to me.”

I watched as Hankey departed, taking my companion of many years to be cast into the flames. I could feel something hardening within me like clay drying and cracking in harsh sunlight. I looked down. Mrs Innes turned to Miss Strang.

“You said the girl had a wilful and uncooperative spirit, Miss Strang. And I can see you were right. Stand over there, Arbuthnot.”

When the girl Hankey returned she was carrying a crook-handled rattan cane. Without a word, Mrs Innes reached out and took it from her.

“Put your hands on your head, Arbuthnot. Hankey take up her dress and pull down her knickers.”

Although I’d felt shame when birched by Mrs McLaughlan, this was even worse. I knew that only a short while ago, it would have been so different. I would have been invited into this graceful drawing room, been seated on an elegant sofa to take tea with my governess. But now I was demeaned and humiliated by the very person who would have welcomed me as my father’s daughter. I remembered how I’d been birched by Miss Strang in the library before Mr and Mrs Innes, but again that was different. A child expects to be corrected in her own home, even when others are present. But to be reduced to the status of a parlour maid, and to be stripped and whipped as a servant in a strange house was terrible. I felt the tears pricking at my eyes.

The girl Hankey draped my dress over my shoulders and eased my knickers down to my ankles.

“Step out of them, Arbuthnot. Hankey pick them up and place them on that chair. And turn around, girl.”

Slowly I turned and faced the wall, exposing the marks of my recent birching. For a short while nothing was said. Then Mrs Innes spoke.

“And yet she seems to have learnt nothing from her morning’s visit to the Reformatory, Miss Strang. She is clearly a stubborn girl. Fortunately, in this household we know how to deal with stubborn girls. Hankey, take Arbuthnot over to the chaise longue.”

I was led across the room and made to kneel on the seat, facing the scroll end.

“Lean forward, Arbuthnot and let your arms hang over the end. Hankey, pull her forward a little.”

With a sharp tug my bottom was elevated and with Hankey holding me firmly by the upper arms, I was as helpless as I had been over the reformatory birching table. I was frightened, but still seething inside at the unfairness of my treatment. The confiscation of my clothes and the loss of Amanda had left me bereft and empty. I clenched my hands into tight little fists. And gave a shiver as the cane tapped against my bottom.

Hold her firmly, Hankey.”

The cane was raised and swished down across my already wealed and smarting flesh. And then again. And again. Until a dozen cuts had been laid across my bottom. I screamed and writhed, but there was no escape and no remission. I lay there sobbing, my heart pumping not blood but bile around my small shaking body. How I hated Mrs Innes at that moment.

“Get up Arbuthnot. And stand there. Face to the wall. And see her dress remains up, Hankey.”

She turned to Miss Strang.

“Well, any who have the pleasure of seeing that bottom should know exactly what has happened, Miss Strang. It reads like an open book.”

“Yes, Mrs Innes. The marks announce all too clearly that she is a stubborn girl who is unwilling to learn.”

She paused.

“It brings back memories, Mrs Innes, of a position I held when still quite young. I had charge of a boy and his sister. The mother, Mrs Leighton, told me the reason for my appointment was that the boy was becoming unusually disobedient and was in need of firmer discipline. It was a very traditional family, and Mrs Leighton did not regard it as her responsibility to raise children. For her it was akin to housekeeping or cooking. Something for others to do. But she made a point of seeing the children once a week each Friday for half an hour before they were settled down for the night. They saw little of their father who spent most of his time in London or abroad.”

Miss Strang cleared her throat.

“Mrs Leighton had a busy social life and would often miss a Friday and sometimes not see the children for several weeks. But when next she did, she was always eager to assure herself that the boy’s discipline had not been neglected. And she would question him closely. And like many boys of that age, he could be evasive and give a far from satisfactory reply. I remember how early on she responded to this.

‘Surely a boy of this age should be able to give a sensible answer to a question, Miss Strang?’

‘Indeed he should, Mrs Leighton. It borders on disrespect.’

His mother gave a disarming smile.

‘Fortunately, Sebastian, we have no need of a reply. I am pleased to say there is a written record of your recent discipline. And where do you suppose that is?’

‘In a book, mother?’

She pointed to the bookcase.

‘That book with the leather binding and gold lettering on the spine. Bring it to me.’

He took it from the shelf, holding it nervously.

‘And what must you do, if you what to read what is inside this book, Sebastian?’

He replied in an unsure and tentative way.

‘Open it, Mother?’

‘Yes, of course, Sebastian. Open it. Otherwise what is written remains covered and hidden from view. So open it. And tell me what you see?’

‘Pages, Mother.’

‘Indeed. And now the book is open, how many pages do you see?’

‘Two, Mother.’

‘Yes two pages side by side and each has writing on it. So do you see anything about your discipline written there?’

He glanced down, puzzled.

‘No, Mother. There’s nothing about that.’

‘No. For that, we have to look elsewhere. Put the book down.’

She paused.

‘And unbutton yourself. And drop your breeches. And your underpants.’

He stood there, reddening with shame. It must have been rare for his mother to have seen him in such a state of undress.

‘Turn around. And bend over the arm of the chair.’

She lifted his shirt and rucked up his vest.

‘You see, Sebastian, on these two pages . . .

(she gave a sharp smack to each buttock)

‘ . . . is written a complete record of your recent discipline. But like any book, it has to be opened. The pages are usually covered by your breeches. But now it can be read.’

She stepped back.

‘Did you know people wrote on skin, Sebastian?’

His voice was nervous and unsure.

‘N . . . no . . . mother.’

Well, they do. It is called vellum and the leather is carefully prepared to make that possible. But the skin of a boy’s bottom is different. It needs no preparation. It’s ready for writing upon just as it is.’

She looked at me.

‘And I see you have been writing a veritable essay on this boy’s bottom, Miss Strang.’

She ran her finger lightly over the tautened flesh.

“What I read is that he was spanked less than a week ago. With the hard wooden back of an oval hairbrush.’

She glanced at my desk.

‘With that hairbrush over there, Miss Strang? I thought so. And what prompted that?’

‘A failure to apply himself to his work. An unpardonable lack of diligence.’

‘And I see overlying those marks, a more recent spanking. Is that right?’

‘It is, Mrs Leighton. I had to give the boy a further twenty four strokes. Again, for a poor attitude and for laziness.’

Mrs Leighton reached out and ran a finger lightly over his bottom.

‘But I also see the tell-tale marks of the cane, Miss Strang. Those little pouting mouths where the rattan has cut deep into the flesh. And that looks to have been an even more recent punishment.’

‘Indeed it is, Mrs Leighton. He was caned only yesterday.’

“And the caning was for?’

‘Coming late to the breakfast table and bringing with him an unhelpful and bad-tempered attitude.’

Mrs Leighton stepped back.

‘Yes, all written in a commendably clear and firm script, Miss Strang. And easy to read. Get up, Sebastian.’

He stood there red and shamed with his nether garments around his ankles. His mother sat back on the seat of the arm over which the boy had been bent.

‘And the boy’s hand writing? How is that coming along, Miss Strang?’

I picked up an exercise book and showed her.

‘But this is disgraceful, Sebastian. For a boy of your age. The letters are ill-formed. And worse, it’s carelessly written. In places it’s barely legible.’

She looked up.

‘Come here, Sebastian.’

She put her fingers under his chin and tipped his head back. She spoke softly and gently.

‘But don’t worry. It can all be remedied. What you need is a great deal of writing practice.’

She paused

‘And if we ask Miss Strang politely, I’m sure she will provide you with some examples of good clear writing from which you can learn. Is that not so, Miss Strang?’

‘Yes, Mrs Leighton. I can certainly do that.’

She looked at her son.

“So where do you think that should be written, Sebastian, so you can best take advantage of it?’

‘I suppose in my exercise book, Mother?’

She smiled and shook her head.

“No. Certainly not in your exercise book, Sebastian. There’s a much better place than that. Miss Strang will write them on your bottom.’

The boy bit his lip. And tears welled up in his eyes.

‘Indeed, it would be a good idea if Miss Strang were to do that now.’

She stood up and turned to me.

‘And how many strokes of the cane did the boy receive for his lateness to breakfast and for his ill-temper?’

‘Twelve, Mrs Leighton.’

‘Then, I suggest you double that. Where do you keep the cane?’

‘On my desk.’

‘Then, you’d better fetch it, Miss Strang. And please ensure the script is very firm and very clear.’

I was a young governess. And eager to please and impress my employer. I picked up the cane and flexed it in front of the boy to demonstrate its punishing suppleness. It was just over three feet in length and nearly half an inch thick. Today, I would not routinely use a cane of that severity on a boy of nine. But then I was young and full of disciplinary zeal. I glanced at Mrs Leighton who was watching with her arms folded. The boy’s sister was sitting wide-eyed. She was seven and a very engaging child. Some children are disturbed and tearful when they observe a brother or sister being chastised, but that was not the case with Hermione.

‘Back over the arm, Sebastian.’

He shuffled forward and heaved himself over. Although a wilful and disobedient child, once sentence had been passed he rarely resisted my authority. I lifted him so his bottom was well presented and I rucked up his shirt. And then I caned him. Twenty four strokes delivered with that springy length of punishing rattan. The flogging lasted over five minutes. For him it probably seemed an eternity. At the end he was sobbing piteously and his bottom was marked and in several places the skin had broken. I looked at my employer. She was still standing with her arms folded.

‘Stop snivelling, Sebastian. You’re supposed to be nine years old.’

She stepped over and stood beside him, placing her hand on his head.

‘Miss Strang has written a lesson on your bottom which it would be wise for you to learn. I asked her to write firmly and clearly and that is exactly what she has done. I suggest you study it in the mirror before you get into bed.’

She smiled.

‘And she’s recorded my dissatisfaction so forcefully that she’s punctured the skin in several places. However, unlike a vellum book, which would need repair, a boy’s bottom heals itself. So it will soon be ready for a further lesson to be inscribed should that be necessary.’

She nodded to me.

‘Thank you, Miss Strang. I’ll send Bridget in with a sponge. We are very pleased with you.’

And with that she departed. Seven year old Hermione had watched intently as her brother was punished. She looked at me.

‘Sebastian has been a bad boy.’

‘Yes, Hermione. A very bad boy.’”

There was a pause, before Miss Strang continued.

“Your mention of a bottom being an open book brought that all back, Mrs Innes. I am sorry to have related it at such length.”

“Not at all, Miss Strang. This household is founded on the principle of firm discipline. And I can only commend your treatment of the Leighton boy. But it reminds me of a time I sent our son, Fergus, to stay with my sister and her two children in the holidays. He must have been about ten. And I’d had occasion to birch him on the morning of his departure. I put him on the train and as a precaution tied a brown luggage label to his coat with his name written on it and the address of my sister. She lives six stops down the railway line and was to meet him off the train. The following day I received a letter from her.

Thank you for the well labelled package. Later, when I stripped off the wrappings I found some damage to the contents on its soft rear end. However, on closer inspection, it was clear this had not been incurred during transit, but inflicted prior to departure. Further examination revealed it to be a message written in a script particularly favoured by mothers. If I have translated it correctly, it reads: this is a boy who is given to disobedience, and a record of any further disobedience should be inscribed here.

Miss Strang gave a faint smile.

“And on his return had any further disobedience been recorded by your sister?”

Mrs Innes shook her head.

“I can’t remember, Miss Strang. But in all probability it had. I and my sister shared a common outlook on raising children. All I can recall is my amusement at receiving Helena’s letter.”

She paused.

“But on a more serious note. You seemed to imply that you regretted caning the Leighton boy so severely. I trust your enthusiasm for such discipline has not waned over the years.”

“No, Mrs Innes. It most certainly has not. What I said was that today I would not routinely use a cane half an inch thick on a boy of nine. And that is true. But for a boy who refuses to respond to my discipline, the severity of punishment is steadily increased until he capitulates. And if that requires a cane half an inch thick ,or a birch rod, then that is what I use. Children in my charge have to learn they are subject to my authority in all matters. Their freedom is the freedom to choose to live within the rules I set. Punishment is not just to mark a behaviour or action as wrong and something to avoid, but to mark the child himself with the deep disgrace of pitting his will against mine.”

“It is heartening to hear you say that, Miss Strang. I recently spoke to the Mother’s Union about the role humiliation plays in leading a child to true humility and meekness of spirit. I took as my text a verse from the First Epistle of Peter.”

She stepped across to a small bookcase and took out a Bible.

“It was from the fifth chapter, verses five and six.

All of you be submissive to one another, and be clothed with humility, for God resists the proud, but gives grace to the humble. Therefore humble yourselves under the mighty hand of God, that He may exalt you in due time.

She looked at Hankey still standing by the chaise longue.

“Thank you Hankey. You may return to the kitchen.”

(to be continued)

(The End)