Notebooks of the Young Wife (5 page)

‘That’s encouraging. I mean about the security. You see, I reckon there might be a real gem or two to be had.’

‘So you want to move fast, yeah? Well, there’s nothing I can do for you but the boss will be in at eight sharp. And she’ll be as keen as you are to get things moving.’

‘Thanks, Judith. Sorry to pester. Call in and see me anytime you’re up, won’t you.’

‘Sure. Perhaps I’ll wear an extra layer or two the next time.’ There was a little laugh. ‘Sorry, I’m back in the housemaster’s study again.’

We said our goodbyes and I poured myself another tot. It would be easy to let the mind fill with images of the behind I caned only the day before, but I pushed them firmly to the back. There were a couple of things I needed to sort if we were to be ready for an assessment of the house’s contents. However, as I prepared to set up the laptops that would travel with us, I promised myself the reward of an unopened bundle of photographs from the early twentieth century depicting the discipline of young males. Between Judith and me it was becoming the theme of the moment.

I rang Samantha as soon after eight as I dared, then got through to the house before nine. By eleven in the morning we were actually on the road and were aiming by twelve-thirty to be in the vicinity of Ardingley End. In the meantime I was folded into the passenger seat of the shiny new Porsche, swathed in a boom of drum ‘n’ bass. Tamsin, of course, was at the wheel; strawberry-blonde locks pulled back from a face decked out in wraparound shades. The rest was a jacket in pearl-grey over a mauve micro-skirt and glossy tights. The shoes would have been something special too, but I couldn’t see from where I was sitting. All of which was rather beyond the scope of a salary from the BL, though where the money actually came from it always seemed to me a little indelicate to ask. As was the habit in these infrequent excursions from the world of denim I had opted for a low profile black: leather jacket, roll neck and chinos. Not that I needed to work on being unobtrusive in Tamsin’s company.

That’s the PA for you. She’s not actually personal to
me
as the letters might suggest. In fact, Administrative Assistant is her actual title, but AA might carry a whiff of TT with it that would be entirely out of character. Anyway, Ms T Bingley has kept our show on the road since I came on the scene: about six months at the time of the jaunt I’m describing. I know her better now than I did then, though we have been able to work well together from the start. Tamsin’s not by nature as pervy as I delight in being, but I have yet to see her fazed, and she deals as well with the stuffed shirts of the hierarchy as she does with the women-hating bully boys of the tabloids. Both types take her for Essex-girl stupid and they don’t stand a chance. Best of all from my point of view, is that we don’t have to pretend there is a lot in common: when there’s a job on we do it; when we’re just travelling to one conversation is happily precluded by the endless supply of what she calls her ‘bangin’ choons’.

But we did talk that day over lunch at
The Greene Man
, whose name seemed too apposite to pass up, even though my particular quest was for a woman. The village pub was less than a mile from the house we were bound for, but it was hard work to winkle out even a snippet or two of gossip while we waited at the bar for the food to arrive. I don’t know what the tight-lipped landlord had us down as, but when I revealed that we were interested in acquiring the collection of books, he opened up a touch and leaned over the counter.

‘I would say you’d better be careful going out there. It’s only what I hear, mind, but there’s two maids partial to them alcopops on a night off, and the lads round here tell me you wouldn’t believe some of the stories they come out with after they been plied with a few.’ There was the bang of a door in the distance and he glanced sharply in that direction. ‘I’ll just say this. It’s not pranks they’re up to at the End, but something that sounds very similar... if you get my meaning.’ With an embarrassed smirk he drew back as his wife clattered in with two steaming plates of hotpot and a crusty loaf. I avoided Tamsin’s eye until the dishes had been served, and then behind the cover of a partition we succumbed to a fit of the giggles.

‘Oh, jeez. It’s
so
bad to him he couldn’t get nearer than a bleedin’ rhyme.’

‘Yeah. If only he knew...’ That set us off again like a couple of schoolgirls until the smell of the stew took command. Only after we’d both taken bread and swallowed with it some meltingly tender chunks of mutton did she look at me again.

‘Okay, guv, so when we arrive there, what’s the agenda? Any idea how long a job we’re looking at?’

‘Well, we both packed a toothbrush as instructed. But beyond one overnight it’s impossible to say. Even if we knew how many books I was given no clue as to how they are catalogued. If they are catalogued at all.’ The PA made a face then popped another piece of meat in her mouth. I did the same. The lunch was too good for pessimism to take hold at that point.

‘So we just hole up in the library and get stuck in, and take it from there, right?’ I cleaned up my plate with the last of the bread and pushed it aside.

‘Yeah. Though there was one thing about a house rule that I didn’t understand, largely because Samantha was being coy. Laughing up her sleeve would be a better description, now I think of it. Said we’d find out soon enough for ourselves, as indeed we shall. Better move, eh, Tams?’

The driveway wasn’t one of those tree-lined ones that delivers the visitor gaping before a gigantic façade; instead it snuck round the side of an ornamental garden to reach a relatively modest front entrance. There was pretension in the later eighteenth-century wings, though drawn shutters gave them an air of abandonment. The older central section was of three storeys, crowned at one end by a square tower, with a profusion of ivy around richly curtained windows. I gave the iron lever a sharp tug and we waited in a burst of warm May sunshine for the door to open.

‘You must be the ladies from the Library: Dr Greene and Miss Bingley, if I remember right. I’m Mrs Jencks. Perhaps you would be so good as to come with me.’ She could have been anything from a weathered forty-five to a youthful seventy, and the clipped tones suggested a lady unaccustomed to having her instructions questioned. We followed meekly in her footsteps until we reached double doors that stood open.

‘The Great Hall,’ she said, with an emphasis that signalled capital letters. ‘As you can see, we have prepared for your arrival.’ It was a splendid room. Not huge, but long and low with a massive fireplace framed in carved wood from floor to ceiling. However, the scene contained no obvious explanation for the housekeeper’s words.

‘Er, how exactly do you mean, Mrs Jencks?’

‘Ah, perhaps you were not fully informed. But Miss James assured me there would be no difficulty. There is a tradition by which guests are introduced to the house and we are of the opinion that the Master’s demise makes its observance all the more important.’ There was a hint of amusement, even relish in the gaze that moved from mine back to the further end of the room. Then I saw what she was looking at and everything fell into place. It stood waist high with a stepped side, to the uninformed eye resembling nothing so much as a mounting-block that might be found in a stable yard. But I knew better. This was not a device for mounting anything else: it was to
be
mounted by one destined for the birch. And on that day the one was to be me.

‘I see.’ I remember the effort it took to appear unruffled when instinct was telling me to leg it. ‘I take it you intend to proceed forthwith, Mrs Jencks.’

‘Indeed, with your leave. As to the details, Dr Greene, it is not our practice to count strokes, but to continue until a rod is quite used up. Given your expertise in the area, it was decided that your welcome will require the employment of two.’ It was no time to explain that while I knew a lot about the literature and was an enthusiastic spanker, my experience as a recipient was limited. I had, in fact, never in my life been birched. Think of it as a piece of first-hand research, I told myself sternly.

‘Very well, so what’s next?’ As I spoke a maid appeared at the end of the corridor and the housekeeper called her over. ‘Molly will see to you. By the way, Dr Greene, I hope you understand that all the staff are summoned to witness these events. Now, Miss Bingley, shall we attend to the matter of the accommodation?’ Flashing me a ‘what can you do?’ kind of look, Tamsin went with the older woman in the direction of the car while the maid led me across the Hall into a small antechamber.

‘You’re going to sort all them books, are you, Dr, er Dr...’

‘Jane. Call me Jane,’ I said, handing over my leather jacket before bending to unlace my shoes. Unpractised though I was in the ways of the block, I knew it required a bare bum. ‘That’s right. We’re going to tackle the library once I get past this inauguration, if that’s the right word. I hope it’s worth it.’

‘It’ll be your first time then?’ I sat down to pull off my trousers and she took them from me with a smile. She was a pretty little girl with a snub nose and I was getting a buzz from stripping in front of her.

‘I’m afraid so. Any tips?’ The question went with the offer of a pair of knickers and she laughed.

‘Well Jane, I’d say straight off forget about these after. Cos when you heal up they’ll be sticking.’ First pair on for weeks and I was to lose them: Fate plainly intended me to go without fulltime. But I didn’t like the sound of the bit about healing. ‘Don’t be worried. If you get it as often as we do you don’t think nothing of it. What you got to remember is it feels a lot worse than it actually is. I mean, it smarts like the skin’s being flayed right off your arse but the truth of it is just a few wee cuts and grazes.’ I got to my feet a touch reassured. By then I was dressed in only a short top and a pair of socks, and Molly’s eyes went straight to my groin. It had slipped my mind that I’d indulged a recent lover’s whim to shape the bush into a heart that she’d then dyed red. I could feel the colour rising – what would the girl think of such behaviour in one of my advanced years? – but she giggled and hoisted up her long pinafore dress to reveal a day-glo pink tuft above a prominent clit-ring.

‘Snap!’ she cried. ‘Well, sort of.’

I shook my head. ‘You’ve trumped me, Molly. No contest.’

Her laughter was interrupted by a noise outside and she dropped her clothes back into place. ‘Quick, Jane, we’d better get out there or I’ll be following you over that thing while it’s still warm.’

The Hall was still empty but the block had been joined by a tall tub from which protruded the handles of two bundles of sticks. I was aware of the technique of soaking the instruments and Molly confirmed that they might stand for up to a week in a mixture of brine and vinegar. At the sound of approaching voices I knelt in place, pleasantly surprised to find the step cushioned. No doubt the principal source of pain was considered to be sufficient without making the victim’s lot any more uncomfortable. A wooden bar was fastened across the calves just below the knee, which turned out to be the only mechanical restraint.

‘Laura’ll be here too and we’ll each hold an arm to keep you right forward. If you want to dig your nails in, feel free. I’ll just get you back later.’ But the time for humour was at an end and I lay over the domed top as the audience began to troop in. The last thing I wanted to do was to look openly at those who would be viewing me
in extremis
, but out of the corner of my eye I got the impression of some twenty souls assembled for the occasion. What I did see, all too plainly, was the woman who came to take her place by the tub. There was no floury apron – that must have been left hanging behind the kitchen door – but the food-marked white tunic said it all, and she was endowed with arms that would have graced a female wrestler. Mrs Jencks called for silence, the maids took the strain and the cook pulled out the first dripping rod with a massive hand. I thought desperately of
uxor
: her education had undoubtedly included just such experiences as the one I was about to undergo. I was in good company, and if I was ever to read more...

‘Begin the welcome.’

Since then I have been birched in the manner of much early erotica where the circulation is fired and a deep lasciviousness induced. That afternoon, however, the rods were lean, mean instruments far removed from the veritable brooms that appear so often in illustrations. Imagine the switch cut from a sapling that is a straight yard, budded toward the tip. On its own it is capable of a smart cut to bare skin. Now think of five such bound tight for the first quarter of their length, and thereafter free to fan out into five individual switches that strike the target at the same time, again and again. I can report that the shock to the system of such treatment is extreme and through it my conception of smarting pain has been irrevocably extended. The experience was one I have vowed will never be repeated.

I’m going to gloss over how it feels to have the vinegar and salt of a fresh birch beaten into already raw flesh; suffice it to say that the Great Hall has quite an echo if put to the test. Eventually, of course, the thing was done, the second instrument, shredded like the first, discarded and the spectators gone. Molly was a perfect gem. She left me alone to catch my breath, then returned with a bowl of cool water and sponged down the abused hindquarters to remove all traces of irritants. Then she helped me up and over to the cubbyhole where she poured a good slug of brandy into a tumbler. Not in the same league as malt whisky in my view, but then it was exactly what I needed. After a couple of good slow swallows while the maid carried out another bum inspection, I was ready to think about getting dressed.