Miss Strang Chapter 92

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 92

Mrs Innes looked at me coldly.

“If you are unable to fulfil the duties of a ladies maid, Arbuthnot, then other employment must be found for you. Dusting and sweeping two rooms is not going to provide sufficient occupation for a healthy, insolent girl like you.”

She paused.

“I will speak to Miss Strang about it. But I have to recognise that you’re here to be disciplined and to acquire a subservient spirit. And that cannot be overlooked.”

She opened the door to the small dressing room.

“For the moment you will sleep in this adjacent room. And understand, Arbuthnot, you do not venture into my room unless summoned by me or to perform the duties assigned to you. However, in due course, you may be moved to one of the attic rooms.”

She looked at the bed and frowned.

“And what is that lump under the covers?”

She swept back the thin sheet and blanket.

“And what is this?”

I felt a cold throb of horror pass through me, as she held up my doll, Amanda, where Emily had obviously hidden it – or endeavoured to hide it. I looked at Mrs Innes biting my lip. Her face was pale with anger.

“Is this your doing, Arbuthnot?”

“N . . . no, Ma’am.”

“Are you telling me this . . . this thing made its own way up the stairs to bury itself under these covers?”

I hung my head.

“No, Ma’am.”

“So how did it get here?”

“I . . . I don’t know . . . Ma’am.”

“Then, you are either lying or dissembling.”

She paused. Her eyes were hard and dark.

“I’m not a fool, Arbuthnot?”

I could feel my breath shallow and anxious. Fear told me to maintain my denial and if necessary to cast the blame on Emily. But I knew, even were I to do so, I wouldn’t escape. That I, too, would be implicated and punished. Far better to protect Emily for her act of kindness.

“I . . . I’m sorry, Ma’am. I was lying. I hid her there.”

“Did you, Arbuthnot. And where did you get the doll from? I seem to recall I gave it to Hankey to dispose of. To give to cook to throw in the range.”

She stepped across to the bell and rang it. After less than a minute there was a knock at the door. And on a command to enter, Emily stepped into the room.

“Come in, Hankey. We have a mystery here that I believe you may be able to shed light upon.”

I watched Emily’s face. She must have suspected the reason for her summoning, but she gave no hint of it.

“I’ll do my best to be of help, Ma’am.”

Mrs Innes smiled and held up the doll.

“The mystery is, Hankey, how this object found its way into Arbuthnot’s bed. The last I saw of it was when I handed it to you to take to cook to burn in the range.”

She waited, her eyebrows raised.

“Well, Hankey? Did you hand the doll to cook as I asked?”

There was a long pause.

“No, Ma’am. I didn’t”

“So, am I to understand that you disobeyed my clear instruction?”

I held my breath. If I had been in Emily’s shoes, I would have been tempted to say that I’d handed it to its owner and that she must have hidden it in the bed. But, then Emily must have realised, as I had done, that shifting the blame to another would not exculpate her any more than it would me. In the stillness of the room, I heard her intake of breath as she realised there was no way of escape – for either of us.

“Yes, Ma’am. I’m sorry Ma’am. I told Arbuthnot that I’d hide it in her room. I could see the doll meant a lot to her. And . . . and that is what I did.”

She curtsied.

“I am sorry, Ma’am.”

“I’m sure you are, Hankey. And I have no doubt that what you did was done with the best of intentions. But you acted in flagrant opposition to my word. And for that you will be punished, and punished severely.”

She turned to me.

“And as for you, Arbuthnot, I am disappointed in you. Not only have you a stiff neck and an obstinate disposition, but you are a liar. You told me you had no idea how the doll came to be in your bed. But a little further questioning made clear you knew full well. Is that not right?”

I bit my lip.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

She nodded.

“Tomorrow you will be punished together with Hankey. For now both of you will stand in the hall in disgrace . . . “

he looked at the clock.

“ . . . until a quarter past six. You will then go without your supper, and when your remaining duties have been performed you will go to bed. You are dismissed.”

We turned and left the room. When the door had closed I reached out to grasp Emily’s hand. And silently we made our way down to the hall.

“What does it mean to stand in disgrace.”

“Stand facing the wall by the grandfather clock and don’t say another word. The mistress will be following us down.”

And a few minutes later I heard the rustle of her dress as she descended the stairs and the clack of her shoes on the wooden floor. There was a long pause before she spoke.

“Turn around, the pair of you.”

She stepped forward, and reaching under Emily’s dress pulled her knickers down to her ankles. And then did the same for me.

“And count yourselves fortunate your dresses have not been pinned up. You will stand there in silence with your hands on your head until the clock strikes the quarter hour, when you will continue your duties. And remember, Arbuthnot, your last duty of the day is to bring up hot water for my ablutions, to turn down my bed, and to lay out my nightdress.”

She lifted her head slightly.

“As I have said, tomorrow you will both be punished. And you know what that means, Hankey.”

We stood there in silence, but with a strange intimacy in our shared disgrace. Half an hour must have passed when a door opened and Mr Innes stepped into the hall.

“My, my, what have we here? Two young girls in disgrace. And no doubt having to stand in silence. As the sheep before her shearer is dumb, as the Scripture says.”

He stood beside me and reaching around ran his hand across my bottom.

“I always think nothing looks so bare as a lamb shorn of its fleece. Except perhaps a girl when her dress is stripped away and her soft little bottom bared for the rod.”

And as his hand moved over my bottom, I could feel my dress slipping tantalisingly across my skin.

“I saw Hemsley in the shed, a moment or two ago, binding up a couple of springy rods. Now would those be for you, I wonder? Or are they for the boys from the orphanage who arrive tomorrow to be tutored by Miss Strang.”

He turned to my companion and reached around to fondle her bottom, bare under her dress.

“But this little rump, Emily Hankey, must be long overdue for a birching. A good two months if it’s a day.”

He shook his head, and giving a sigh departed through another door. We continued to stand, listening to the grandfather clock ticking away the minutes. Eventually the hour sounded. And then, after what seemed far longer than another fifteen minutes, it struck the quarter. I looked at my friend.

“Do we wait to be released? Or do we get on with our work as we were told?”

“We get on with our work. You’ll learn that what the mistress says you do. If we were still standing here when she came down to check in five minutes time, we’d be further punished for disobedience.”

Together we made our way to the kitchen. As we entered Mrs Albright looked up.

“And where have you two girls been? There’ll be an entry going into my book for tardiness, that I can tell you. We’ve guests for dinner and the table not yet laid.”

“Please, Mrs Albright, the mistress was displeased with us and we had to stand in the hall in disgrace. But we were told to continue our chores at a quarter past six.”

“Well, I am pleased to hear it. Go and lay the table. Four additional places. That’s eight in total, including the Master and Mistress and Miss Rachel and Miss Strang. And put out the best silver and the cut glass. And you can help her, Arbuthnot.”

“Who’s coming, Mrs Albright? Is it someone we know?”

“It’s no business of yours, Emily Hankey. But if you must know it’s the Superintendent of the Boys’ Orphanage and his wife, Mr and Mrs Thorne. And Colonel Massingham, the Rector’s Warden, and Mrs Massingham. Now hurry along.”

The dining room was panelled in oak, with several rather dark paintings on the walls. It was a large room with three pointed arched windows overlooking the back of the house. In the dusk, a well-manicured lawn could be made out, stretching away to a ha-ha, beyond which was a pasture with cattle.

Under Emily’s guidance, I assisted in laying the table, taking plates and cutlery from a long heavily carved sideboard at one end of the room. We were almost finished when Mrs Innes entered. We both curtsied.

“Good evening, Ma’am.”

She gave a brief nod of acknowledgement.

“I have decided, Arbuthnot, that this evening you will stand in the dining room and be prepared to meet any need that might arise. When we’re seated you will go around and shake out the table napkins and lay them on the diners’ laps. You will then stand by the sideboard and, when instructed, ring for the next course. And you will then take around the dishes. I suggest you go and change into a suitable dress and pinafore. Mrs Albright will show you where to find it. You may change in the scullery.”

Emily disappeared to continue her evening chores and after receiving my evening uniform I made my way to the scullery. It was a long room with cupboards around the walls but otherwise empty. I changed and then, wondering whether I was doing right, took my clothes back to my small bedroom. I tiptoed in and out again for I could hear through the intervening door, Mrs Innes in her own room moving around.

. . .

I stood in the dining room awaiting the arrival of the guests who had been taking sherry in the library. They entered talking animatedly and when seated I went around and spread the table napkins over their laps.

“Thank you Arbuthnot. Please ring for the soup.”

After a few spoonfuls, Mr Thorne set down his spoon and turned to Miss Strang.

“So tell me, Miss Strang, what plans have you for the three boys the Rector has so kindly agreed to have tutored at his own expense?”

“Well, Mr Thorne, I suppose the simple answer to that is educate them both intellectually and morally. And to my mind the two are inextricably linked.”

“Indeed, Miss Strang. How so?”

“The basis of the moral life is an understanding of the moral law combined with the strength of will to keep it. Learning right from wrong is first an intellectual achievement and needs to be taught and inculcated in a child. And then keeping that law requires effort and strength of will. The same effort and strength of will that a boy needs to learn his lessons and advance in learning. And when he falls short in either moral effort or the effort to master his lessons then the remedy is the same.”

Mr Thorne smiled.

“And that is?”

“The rod, Mr Thorne. Administered firmly and unsparingly. In a governess’s hands it is none other than the rod of Aaron striking the barren life of a boy and causing the waters of enlightenment miraculously to flow.”

Mrs Massingham nodded.

“How aptly put, Miss Strang. And we are told by St Paul that that rock that Aaron struck, the rock from which water flowed, followed the Children of Israel in their long journey through the wilderness, and continued to provide them with refreshing water until they reached the Promised Land.”

She smiled.

“Just as the rod needs to follow a boy through his journey from childhood to maturity.”

“Indeed, Mrs Massingham. And in the hand of a governess, it strikes not unyielding rock but a boy’s soft flesh. And although water flowing from the hardness of rock is a miracle, no less is the change wrought in a boy. Blood rather than water may flow from the stripes she lays on, but the consequence is equally miraculous. A brokenness of spirit and a contrite heart. And those God will not despise.”

At Miss Strang’s words, Mr Thorne shifted in his seat and tapped his finger on the table.

“It gives me great reassurance to hear you say that Miss Strang. When Mr Innes proposed to tutor some of our boys at the Rectory, I admit I was reluctant. To take boys from a well regimented and disciplined community and to treat them with individual consideration struck me as unwise, liable to unravel the tight garment of control that determines their lives. But I have to say, listening to your exposition, I am more than reassured.”

Again he tapped his forefinger on the table.

“My fear had been that with a sense of corporate discipline destroyed they would return to the orphanage and infect those they had been separated from with a malign independence of spirit. But I am now confident that will not be the case.”

“I am pleased you are reassured, Mr Thorne. Mr Innes you wished to add something?”

“Yes, indeed, Miss Strang. The Boys’ Orphanage is not just an isolated community but shares in the wider community of the Church. Mr Thorne’s understanding of his boys’ needs is not personal to him but shared by all who submit themselves to Our Lord and are committed to following Him. In recent years, we have seen how easy it is to sentimentalise Our Lord and his teaching. And I deprecate that. But all those who are true to their calling to minister to our children will never forget that Our Lord Jesus came into the world to save sinners and when a child sins we need to work together with the Holy Spirit to convict him of that sin. For unless a child is convicted of his sin, he will see no need of repentance.”

He spread his hands.

“For without such conviction, there is nothing of which to repent.”

Mrs Innes nodded.

“And let us remember that the rod not only punishes sin but itself creates an awareness of sin. My sister Jane would tell her children that sin was like a sickness that needed treatment. And she would ask her children what it was that made a sick person go to the doctor. And with a little prompting they would agree that a person goes to the doctor when they are in pain. Then she would explain that the trouble with sin and disobedience is that they’re not painful. Indeed a naughty boy enjoys his naughtiness. There’s no pain to tell him he’s doing wrong. That is, unless his mother provides it. Unless she spanks him whenever he’s naughty or disobedient. For only then does he know he’s doing wrong. And the wonderful thing about a spanking is that it not only marks out behaviour as wrong, but provides a good reason for a boy to do right. A boy can heal himself. He has a choice. Either to continue his naughtiness and pay the penalty for it. Or to be a good and obedient boy and avoid the pain of being spanked. And, of course, if he fails to learn, then the next spanking has to be more painful.”

She paused.

“Last Christmas, Jane’s eight year old, William, was hoping for a box of toy soldiers, but instead she presented him with a long and narrow box which, when he untied it, burst open to reveal a long and exceptionally swishy birch rod.”

“Which she then used?”

“Yes. He was birched several times that Christmas.”

There was silence for a moment. Then, Mrs Massingham cleared her throat.

“I do so agree with you, Rector, about not sentimentalising Our Saviour. Children hear too much of the gentle Jesus, meek and mild, and not enough about the Jesus who is their judge and to whom they will have to answer on the final Day of Judgement.”

Her husband smiled.

“But if I may play Devil’s Advocate for a moment, my dear, surely Jesus told his disciples to let the little children come to him and not to forbid them, for such, he said, is the Kingdom of Heaven. Isn’t that right, Rector.”

“Certainly, Colonel. But let’s not take Our Lord’s words merely at face value. What he is saying is that if we want to enter the Kingdom of Heaven we need to become as little children. And what is it that distinguishes children from adults? Surely that they are under the authority of their parents and are subject to their discipline. And this is exactly what St Paul says in his Epistle to the Hebrews:

For whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth, and scourgeth every son whom he receiveth. If ye endure chastening, God dealeth with you as with sons; for what son is it whom the father chasteneth not?

So the idea of children being sweet innocent little things coming to a meek and mild Jesus is quite mistaken. Much as I admire many of Charles Wesley’s hymns Gentle Jesus Meek and Mild is not one of them.”

I had been listening intently when Mrs Innes instructed me to clear the plates and ring for the next course. And then I took round the vegetables in their silver salvers for the guests to serve themselves, before returning to my place by the sideboard.

Mr Thorne eat heartily and commended Mrs Innes on the excellence of the venison.

“So easy for venison to be dry, Mrs Innes. But this is truly succulent. Most delicious.”

He turned to Rachel Innes.

“And how is your work going at the Reformatory, Miss Innes. We have our difficulties at the Orphanage, but I am sure they are as nothing when compared with the problems you face with convicted delinquents in your charge.”

She smiled.

“But all boys, Mr Thorne, are delinquents. The boys in our care are simply those who have come to the notice of the law and been sentenced by the courts. As my father said a moment ago the notion that children are sweet and innocent is a nonsense and quite contrary to Scripture. All those set in authority over children have the challenge of restraining sin wherever they are.”

“But surely the Reformatory is intended to provide a more punitive regime?”

Miss Innes nodded.

“Indeed, Mr Thorne. But punishment should be the backbone of any boy’s discipline. It makes no difference whether he is in an institution or at home with his mother. Punishment is the one thing that will effectively reform a boy. You don’t break a wild colt with apples and soft words. What is needed is a halter and a whip to the flanks. And like a colt a boy needs firm handling. He needs the saw bit of his mother’s rule and the rod applied unsparingly to his bare flesh.”

She paused, aware that the whole table was listening with rapt attention. And then continued with her strangely sweet but insistent voice.

“A colt is broken once, but a boy has to be broken afresh each day. It is his will that needs to be reformed not just his behaviour.”

Mr Thorne leant forward, one elbow on the table.

“And why do you think, Miss Innes that a boy is so resistant to being broken?

Rachel Innes smiled. A thin lipped smile.

“Because he is conceived in sin and born in iniquity, Mr Thorne.”

(to be continued)

(The End)