Rectory of Correction (11 page)

‘Of course, my dear,' he said quietly, ‘if that is the way you feel, I could not allow any question of impropriety. I tell you what, if you would bear with me whilst I get these others ready, why don't we go and telephone your grandmother, and see what she says?'

Charlotte looked nonplussed at this proposition, delivered in the most reasonable and amiable of tones. She licked her lips uncertainly, eyes darting about as if looking for a trap, then hesitantly gave a nod of her head.

‘Good,' the Reverend said, ‘that's settled. Come along, you three, fold up your skirts and blouses neatly and put them on the desks.'

Amelia could not help but be aware of the sight she presented, for Arabella and Gretchen were identically clad. The wickedly tight corsets left their breasts entirely bare, and the bizarre whipping drawers were designed to leave no part of their charms to the imagination. Indeed, as Gretchen walked awkwardly over to the desks, Amelia could clearly make out the dark pink lines that striped her bottom though the thin tight cotton of her drawers.

‘They will not be needing their hands for a while, Faith,' the Reverend Dawes said with a meaningful wink. The maid got straight to work. First a supple belt, in a figure of eight shape, was slipped over Amelia's shoulders. The strap went around the front of her shoulders, crossing in the middle of her back, where it was tightened up. Amelia was still wondering about this as leather cuffs were buckled firmly on to her wrists. Then she wondered no more. Faith hauled up her right and then her left wrist, clipping the cuffs to the middle of the shoulder belt. It was mildly uncomfortable, like having her arms pinioned in the wrestling move known as a back-hammer. A sick feeling in her stomach told Amelia the discomfort would get rapidly worse.

As she stood helplessly in this bondage, the Reverend Dawes stepped in front of her. He smiled, watching her reaction. Amelia dropped her gaze. She saw his hand come up. He stroked her breast gently, finger circling her nipple until it stood out like a little strawberry.

‘I hope
you
do not feel there is anything indecent about detention?' he said softly.

Amelia bit back a moan. She wanted to step back, but did not dare; she felt horribly vulnerable with her arms bound behind her. Closing her eyes she whimpered as he took her nipple between thumb and forefinger. Of course it was indecent! It was an utter outrage! She wanted to voice her objections, but did not.

Strange things were now happening in her crotch: a tingling that could drive a girl quite out of her mind. Part of her wanted to tell him to unhand her, another part to beg him to grant her some relief before she went insane. Fortunately for Amelia, residual pride and her sense of self-preservation somehow prevailed a moment longer.

‘N-no, sir,' she managed to whimper.

The Reverend raised her head with his hand and planted a kiss on her perspiring cheek. ‘Good girl,' he said with a wicked smile. ‘Right, shall we get on with the game?'

Gretchen and Arabella had been trussed up as tight as Amelia now, and the three girls each gave him an uncertain nod of assent.

‘Very well, Faith, the peas if you please.'

Amelia could not imagine what he wanted with peas, until Faith took the container from the tray. She walked over to the first of the three boxes and opened the tin.

The hard sound of dried peas bouncing on wood struck fear into Amelia's soul, as profound as any crack of whip on bottom or back might have engendered. A couple of dozen peas covered the bottom of the box. The Reverend took hold of Gretchen's elbow.

‘Now, my dear, would you care to step this way.'

Gretchen gave a sob as she was helped down until she knelt in the box.

‘Oooh,' she said. ‘Ach, please sir, how long must I...?'

‘Be silent, or I shall have you gagged, girl,' the Reverend said sharply in response.

Faith buckled the strap that joined the sides of the tray closed over Gretchen's calves. She did not fasten it particularly tightly, but Amelia realised with mounting terror that with her arms pinioned, it would now be next to impossible for Gretchen to get out of the box unaided.

The rattle of dried peas in the next box cut short such thoughts. Amelia's mouth went dry as the Reverend Dawes took hold of her upper arm. Gently he steered her over to the box. There was little she could do about her situation so, looking around wildly, she let him guide her down on to her knees.

Right away Amelia found herself in the most acute discomfort. Several of the stone-hard peas were lodged beneath her knees. Her pinioned arms hurt almost as much, but Amelia had no doubt that the pain in her knees would soon eclipse this. It was going to be exactly what the Reverend had promised them. No less than a little trip to purgatory.

 

‘I do apologise for bothering you with this matter, Lady Peaslake, but I am afraid Charlotte has voiced certain objections to her treatment. No, no, my policy is to meet any reasonable objections. If she does not wish to uncover in front a man, I quite understand... What? Yes, she is here...'

The Reverend Dawes handed Charlotte the telephone. Nervously she spoke into the handset.

‘Grandmama, please can I come home? I promise I will stop behaving in such a... But, Grandmama...'

A minute or so later the dainty hand that returned the telephone to the Reverend was trembling slightly. Charlotte felt a surge of anger at her grandmother's treatment of her, but it was not so hot that it could dispel a mounting sense of terror.

‘Yes, naturally.' The Reverend's eyes were on her as he spoke. ‘Of course, Lady Peaslake, with the utmost rigour. Yes, well... I have to pay a visit to the police station anyway... Yes, quite, cords I thought, though those judicial birches they use are also salutary.'

He smiled at Charlotte as the words conjured terrifying images. Police station! Cords! Judicial birch! Charlotte felt her dimpled knees go very weak indeed.

Amelia could see the perspiration beading Gretchen's back where it was bare above her appallingly tightly laced corset. She could see the plump shoulders quivering and her fingers clenching and unclenching helplessly in their bonds. Gretchen gave a sob and continued her strange motion, a sort of slow, desperate writhing as she moaned in pain.

Biting back a groan of her own, Amelia tried to move her legs again. The peas beneath her felt like crucifixion nails being pounded into her knees. Moving, even an involuntary fraction, sent jolts of agony lancing through her. The discomfort had built distressingly quickly, until it was simply too much to endure. Her arms ached abominably, too, and the tightness of her drawers was terribly distracting.

The maddening throb of her clitoris beneath the cotton was more difficult to ignore than the excruciating pain in her legs, if that were possible. Tears of unendurable frustration began to trickle slowly down her cheeks. Gretchen's shoulders heaved again as she moaned in her discomfort.

A groan came from behind Amelia. It seemed Bella was also having difficulty enduring the pea box purgatory. How long had they been there? Amelia bit her lip to prevent another wail. It seemed to have been hours, days even, though she suspected she had been kneeling there for less than ten minutes. The design of the box was simple but diabolically effective. With hands bound behind her and the strap fastened across the backs of her calves near to the knee, there was no way to get out of the thing unaided. She looked around wildly, blinking tears away.

The only person in the room not in bondage was Faith. The maid had been left in charge and was dutifully waxing the Reverend's canes. Amelia looked at her with pleading eyes.

‘Faith, please, let me out, just for a minute. I'll do anything... Oh, God, this is torture. Please, let me out just for a little break.'

It was hopeless, of course. Faith seemed to live in terror of her master. At any rate, Amelia had yet to see her do the least thing to disobey the Reverend Dawes. But that did not stop Gretchen and Arabella begging, too. It was as if Amelia's appeal had broken the other girls' ability to suffer in silence.

‘What is this noise?' The familiar, dread voice came from behind the kneeling girls. Amelia gave a startled sob. How long had the Reverend been standing there? When had he come in?

‘All three of you mewling like boiled cats after a mere five minutes,' he continued. ‘I'd hate to think what you will sound like at fifteen!'

Gretchen's shoulders slumped at this and Amelia could see the woman's body was racked with desperate sobs.

‘There, there.' The Reverend stepped into Amelia's field of view and patted Gretchen's head fondly. ‘That is not a fate you must face quite yet.' He turned to the maid. ‘Unstrap them, Faith. I need to take this little baggage down to the police station. Before I go I think it is time these girls met the bristle pigs. But first, you had better help them to get out of their flogging drawers.'

 

They walked the short distance to the police station, and no two companions ever seemed so mismatched, partaking of an evening stroll. The Reverend Dawes strode along confidently, cheerfully pointing out places of interest to his charge and exchanging cheery greetings with neighbours met along the way.

Charlotte, in stark contrast, hung back with palpable reluctance, her feet fairly dragging. The truth was that she was already regretting refusing to disrobe. She did not know, exactly, what awaited her at the police station, but she did know she had no desire at all to find out. Indeed, it was all she could do not to recant, to beg the Reverend to forgive her recalcitrance and take her back to the rectory to rejoin her fellow sufferers in detention.

‘Good evening, Reverend, I trust I find you well?' The speaker was a weaselly man of modest height, whose gold tooth glinted in the gaslight as he grinned at Charlotte with all too evident interest.

‘Indeed, Jack. Lady Charlotte, say hello to Mr Campion, worthy winner of this year's Silver Cup. Curtsy, girl, curtsy!'

Charlotte bobbed, blushing at being made to do so for such an ungentlemanly type, but not daring to defy the Reverend Dawes. To her chagrin the man grinned and winked, then dropped his eyes to her breasts, staring at them openly.

‘One of your trainees, eh, Richard? Very nice – very sweet. I could get a good price for her in the flesh markets of Fejr.'

The Reverend Dawes chuckled. ‘I'm sure you could, Jack, but I am afraid the young lady is being trained for her place in society, not for the harem of some heathen potentate.'

‘Pity.' A hand went out and raised Charlotte's chin, fingers rough on the tender flesh beneath her jaw. ‘A pity, indeed. I am thinking of making another trip in a couple of months, actually.'

‘Oh, really?' The Reverend said urbanely. ‘And what of the cup winner, will you...?'

He was cut short by Jack's throaty chuckle. ‘Sorry, Richard, I have already sold Princess to Lord Alex. I thought it only fair after winning his precious Blossom. The sheikhs of Fejr will pay good money for a filly as pretty and as fast as that young baggage.'

‘Damn! So Alex has her?' The Reverend shook his head ruefully. ‘I shall have my work cut out next year if I am to win back the cup.'

‘You will need a new mount for sure,' Jack said with a mischievous grin. ‘Your Rose is game enough, but she does not have the legs to match Princess. Mind you,' he shot the Reverend Dawes a sly, sideways look, ‘roans are rare enough where I am going to fetch a premium, and you have already broken her to harness...'

The Reverend Dawes furrowed his brow thoughtfully. ‘Well, she is very useful to me, but I might be persuaded to let her go, if the price were right. I tell you what, I meant to ask you to give my girls a lecture on the whips of the Western Hemisphere; I know you have a fine selection of quirts. Why not come up and have dinner before you leave?'

The matter was apparently resolved and Charlotte and her guardian resumed their stroll. The young woman was puzzled by the conversation she had just heard, but she had little time to consider the matter. They had met Jack Campion outside Kimblewick's, the saddlers', which was in the row of shops that made up Hatherby's main street. The blue lamp of the police station had been visible at the end of the thoroughfare, even as Charlotte waited for the men to conclude their peculiar conversation. In fact, she had found it hard to look away from the ominous beacon, and now it was but a few short strides away.

‘Reverend Dawes, very nice to see you, sir.' A rather portly sergeant beamed at the Reverend as he entered the police station, then he looked at Charlotte and licked his lips in a way which made her distinctly nervous.

‘What have we here then?' he asked. ‘Been a naughty girl, have we?'

The Reverend Dawes chuckled. ‘She has indeed, Sergeant Billings. A very naughty girl indeed. This is Lady Charlotte. She is a modest, delicately brought up young lady, who did not wish to uncover for correction in front of me. As my position and cloth can permit of no breath of scandal, her grandmother and I thought we would ask if your female constable would mind standing in. Then there could, of course, be no question of impropriety.'

‘I should think not.' The sergeant stared so coldly at Charlotte that goosepimples came up on her arms. ‘Though such a question ought never to have been put. All the world knows the Reverend Dawes to be the most upright of men!'