Back in Service (16 page)

‘I am thorry, thir.’ She slowly removed her finger from her sex, opening her eyes as she did so. ‘I got carried away, thir.’

‘You will be carried away by the time I am finished with you, for you will not be able to walk,’ he snarled, in a tone that made Hetty’s blood boil.

Dorothea stood silent and submissive again, but she made no attempt to rearrange her skirt, which remained hitched about her waist. Reid ordered her to turn around, and her pert round buttocks were exposed to the room as she did so, eliciting a spontaneous burst of applause from the onlookers.

‘Now then, prepare yourself for punishment,’ Reid commanded. ‘Kneel before Sir Victor, since you have chosen his family heirloom to be the instrument of your chastisement.’

Hetty watched as Dorothea knelt before the wheelchair. Through her spy hole she could see the old man’s hands placed to receive the woman’s bare breasts as she positioned herself on her knees, and he immediately began fondling her nipples.

‘Wield the lash a few times to test the action,’ Sir Victor advised. ‘It is a bit of a devil that one, with a mind of its own.’

Reid cut a few experimental strokes through the air. The heavy braided lash reared like a cobra, curling and twisting as if with a life of its own. When he got up a good rhythm, he took a few paces forward and aimed the instrument at the twin-lobed pink cushion of Dorothea’s posterior.

A scream rang out through the summerhouse as the pointed tip of the lash caught her naked flesh. The second time the whip bit into her bottom, she was more prepared for it and only moaned ambiguously, caught between the exquisite pleasure of having her nipples tweaked and the agonising pain of being whipped. The third lash had her writhing in Sir Victor’s grasp, but whether in the throes of an orgasm or in an extremity of agony Hetty found it impossible to determine.

When informed three lashes were to be the extent of her punishment, the woman collapsed against the wheelchair in a position of extreme lassitude. Jane looked utterly appalled by the scene and Hetty longed to put her arms around the girl and comfort her with hugs and kisses.

‘Carry that disobedient little whore over to the chaise lounge,’ Sir Victor ordered Mr Reid. ‘While she recovers, I shall regale you all with the most fascinating tale associated with the Longton Quirt.’

The men drew their chairs around his very much like children in a nursery about to receive a bedtime story. Hetty could only see the lower half of Sir Victor now, and Jane’s face was all but hidden from her view. She did not dare shift her position too much, however, for fear of discovery, so she had to be content just to listen like the rest of the company.

‘Hand me the quirt,’ Sir Victor said. ‘It will help to remind me of the story.’ He began stroking the worn leather braid resting in his lap almost lovingly. ‘Ah… how many scenes of crime and punishment has this antique horsewhip witnessed, gentlemen? The one I am about to describe occurred in the seventeenth century.’

‘The whip is that old?’ Reid asked in surprise.

‘Indeed, and the tale concerns a young daughter of the house who refused to marry the gentleman her father had chosen for her. Instead, the little hussy preferred to lie in the stable with the well-endowed livery lad. A handsome fellow by all accounts, and one used to rogering any village girl he could lay his hands on and slide his prick into. Of course, Lady Anne knew nothing of his philandering. All she knew was that Thomas loved her and her alone, and worshipped her body like a priest adores his god.’

‘Were they discovered
in flagrante?
’ Sir Anthony enquired.

‘You are jumping ahead of me,’ Sir Victor protested peevishly. ‘First you should know that Lady Anne’s parents were worried about her. She seemed pale and restless; displaying those symptoms which had they known about the stable boy they might have recognised as a bad case of lovesickness. Instead, they thought she must have some wasting illness and called the physician.’

‘Was she
examined?
’ Reid asked with relish.

‘Indeed she was, and suspecting the true nature of her sickness, the wily old doctor tested her virginity. On finding it vanished, he secretly informed her parents their pretty daughter was no longer the maid they took her for, for someone else had taken her!’

The gentlemen laughed and the ladies of the night tittered.

‘A plan was laid to have the girl followed discreetly, and that very night she made for the stable, where by the light of a full moon she could be seen sporting in the hay with Thomas, her humble lover. The romp was long and involved since they had been lovers for a while and knew each other’s preferences. It seemed Lady Anne had honed her tongue on the whetstone of his fine fat cock many a time, while he had perfected the rustic art of honey suckling, much to her delight, I am sure.

‘Only after several lightning storms of passion had surged through the pair in the barn did they grow bolder and, heedless of the dangers of producing a bastard, their coupling became even more vigorous. First Thomas probed her from above, then they made a pair of loving spoons, then she got astride him and rode him home. They took such an age over it the servant who was sent to watch them had time to go back to the house and fetch her parents, who could barely contain their disgust at being forced to observe such a debauched scene. In fact, they were so disgusted they could not believe their eyes. They had to stare hard at the couple for a full twenty minutes before they were convinced their wanton daughter truly was rolling in the hay with a commoner.’

Laughter filled the summerhouse, until Sir Victor held up a hand for silence. ‘At last the pair were overpowered by his lordship and dragged back to face an impromptu court in the great house. There was no hiding their guilt. The question was how they should be punished. Anne’s poor father dreaded laying hands upon his own sweet girl even though she had sinned grievously and needed correction. He thought about punishing the lad instead, but reasoned it would make Anne feel all the more tender towards him out of pity. He wondered if he should summon the suitor who had been promised Anne’s hand in marriage and allow him to vent his disappointment upon the varmint who had stolen his future bride. It was an attractive option, but once again the old man feared Anne would pity her illicit lover all the more as a result.’

‘Quite a dilemma,’ someone murmured.

‘Indeed. But the solution proved to be his lordship’s downfall, as you shall hear. In the end, he reasoned the best way to punish the pair and ensure they were parted forever was to force the lad to whip Lady Anne sorely, so she would come to hate him. The Longton Quirt was therefore put into Thomas’s hand and Lady Anne was prepared to receive seven strokes of the whip from the man she loved most in all the world.’

‘Harsh,’ commented Sir Anthony.

‘But in the circumstances, quite justified, I am sure you will agree. For in those days, as to a lesser extent in our own times, a girl who lost her virtue was regarded as soiled goods and few men would look at her, let alone take her to wife. For the wretched father, this was a tragedy.’

There were murmurs of assent.

‘So picture the scene, if you will… the reluctant stable lad with the whip forced into his hand and the delectable buttocks of his erstwhile lover, Lady Anne, bared and thrust up before him. No doubt she was trembling, the tears coursing down her fair cheeks. Yet there seemed no escape from this terrible punishment. At a word from her father, who was near to tears himself, the young lad raised the whip and landed a half-hearted lash across his sweetheart’s bare bottom. The girl yelped, although the blow had not been as painful as she feared. But then her mother, who was even more incensed than her father by her daughter’s shame, commanded Thomas to put more strength into it.’

‘And did he?’ Reid queried lustfully.

‘Indeed he did, for there was no escape. Perhaps he reasoned the harder and faster he performed the dreaded deed, the sooner it would be over for both of them. He set up a fine rhythm of lashes, stinging the tender flesh of his beloved until her pretty posterior was covered with red stripes and the girl was gasping, moaning and panting in agony.’

‘Poor thing,’ one of the ladies commented mockingly.

‘After seven strokes were administered, Anne collapsed in a heap and her lover rushed forward. Impulsively, he cradled her in his arms as if afraid she might be dead, but when her eyes opened their expression was not at all one of hatred or disgust. Instead, she gazed on him even more adoringly than before, her eyes shining with the light of love. And in that instant the young man acted. He lifted her up and ran with her across the hall, kicking his way through the great oak door and sprinting back to the stables. Before anyone could catch up with them, the pair were on horseback and riding off into the night.’

A cheer broke out around the summerhouse and Sir Victor smiled. ‘Yes, my story has a happy ending. The pair fled abroad, and legend has it they lived a happy and contented life as man and wife. Lady Anne would only disobey her husband when she craved the feel of his hand upon her bottom or the stinging taste of the whip, which would lash her into a frenzy of longing and desire so strong she would reach the heights of ecstasy the instant he plunged into her. Alas for her poor father, however. He thought a whipping from her lover would make her hate him forever, but instead it had quite the opposite effect.’

‘And what of the Longton Quirt?’ one of the women asked.

‘It was never used again in the lifetime of that family, but kept strictly under lock and key. Strange superstitions grew up around it. Some said one taste of the whip was enough to make any woman fall for the man who wielded it. Others swore the whip had been rubbed with witch’s ointment, to make Lady Anne immune to its sting. And there was another curious tale suggesting the girl already had a taste for the whip, nurtured by the stable lad in their private revels. It is true whips were hanging on the walls of the stable where they made love, so that was certainly a possibility.’

‘A fascinating tale,’ Mr Reid murmured.

‘Well now, which of you young ladies will be next to confess your wicked ways?’ Sir Victor turned to the three women who remained standing, and they smiled and simpered at him, basking in his attention. ‘I know you all look as though butter would not melt in your pretty little mouths, but you have secret sins to share with us tonight, I am sure. Helena?’

A woman in a green dress, her dark-blonde hair caught up in a heavy bun, stepped forward and curtseyed to the assembly. ‘At your service, gentlemen.’

‘Mr Dawkins, as the only man of God present, will you take this lady’s confession?’

‘I shall be delighted.’ He looked around the room. ‘Let that screen be brought forward so I may listen unseen to Miss Helena’s sins as in the confessional.’

‘Splendid idea,’ Sir Victor declared.

Panicking, Hetty slipped from her stool and threw the turquoise cloth over her, crouching behind the easel to hide herself before the screen was moved, but her clumsy efforts were in vain. The cloth would not cover her skirt, try as she might to pull it down, and the easel tottered and clattered to the floor as she struggled with it. She looked up to see the screen being folded back, and the amazed face of Mr Dawkins staring down at her.

When the cloth was whisked away and Hetty’s crouching form revealed, a gasp of collective astonishment filled the summerhouse. She bowed her head, trembling with shame and fear, but Sir Victor’s stentorian tones forced her to look up again, and the gloating look on his face as he wheeled his chair towards her was the worst thing of all.

‘Well, well, well, if it is not my dear son’s lovely wife.’ He sneered. ‘Gentlemen, I am sure some of you will remember little Miss Hetty?’

There was a murmur of assent.

‘Are you not going to invite her to join our revels?’ Sir Anthony asked.

Hetty caught her father-in-law’s eye, noting the lustful gleam in his dark irises and the lascivious curve of his thick lip beneath his moustache. The shadows cast by the flickering candles and oil lamps made his wart-covered face look mottled and pale and more repellent than ever.

‘Of course,’ Sir Victor replied. ‘You will join us now will you not, my dear? I am sorry I did not issue an invitation, but I naturally presumed you would be with your husband at this late hour.’

A snigger went around the room and Hetty’s blush deepened. She caught sight of Jane, whose hands were clasped in astonishment over her bosom, and remembered it was for her sake she had risked this humiliation. She could not leave her in the lurch now. ‘Y-yes, Sir Victor, thank you,’ she mumbled.

‘Then come and sit by Mr Reid on the couch while I think up some suitable entertainment for you.’

Hetty’s legs almost gave way beneath her as she made her way to the couch, where Mr Reid took her hand and kissed it as she sat down beside him. ‘So pleased to make your acquaintance again, Mrs Carstairs,’ he said mockingly.

‘Some port wine for our unexpected guest,’ Sir Victor ordered, looking at Jane.

The girl hurried to do his bidding, but as she approached the sofa holding the decanter and a full glass, Hetty saw that she was trembling and her heart went out to her. ‘I am here to help you, Jane,’ she whispered as she accepted the glass. ‘Do not be afraid.’ But Jane’s hand was trembling so much she dropped the heavy decanter and port wine spilled out across the floor.