Whip Hands (9 page)

To add point to my resolve I brandished the leather tawse gently across my other palm. It made quite a satisfying crack and caused Fay to flinch visibly. I resolved to let those two off fairly lightly. I would save my strength for this other figure now looking levelly into my face with her dark unblinking gaze, arms folded.

‘You give us each three strokes, okay. But if we are courageous enough not to whimper or make a sound then, Miss Rose, tyranny should be revenged as it was in the history books...'

‘This sounds like a noble speech from the gallows, my girl,' I interrupted rather more shrilly than intended, ‘but we both know that you are the guilty party. I can't begin to imagine what you mean by tyranny being revenged.'

I could have bitten my tongue. Too late I realised this was exactly what she wanted me to ask.

‘The idea is if we take the punishment without flinching then the one who dealt it should suffer the same. That way there could be no question of us suffering tyrannical treatment. You would acknowledge our courage and suffer a kind of just retribution because of it.'

I heard muffled gasps from the other two, who were edging rather to one side of Philomene, perhaps to disassociate themselves from her extraordinary initiative. Had they discussed this among themselves beforehand, I wondered, or was it quick thinking by this teenage siren?

I needed to think quickly myself. Despite the preposterousness of what she had just said I felt myself starting to shiver in anticipation, just as when I had first smelt the redolent leather in the punishment cupboard. In anticipation of what and why was I hesitating? I began to appreciate how Philomene, who now stood with her arms akimbo, one haunch projecting, could so easily influence even the most senior girls.

‘I really don't think you can be serious about this, Philomene.' Against my will I was beginning to stammer and could feel a bead of sweat trickling from under one arm. The girl must be disciplined rather than argued with.

‘But, Miss Rose, we are really serious. And I think that secretly you agree that this way would be more just. How could you fail to reward our courage? How ignoble you would otherwise feel. How could you continue to teach us about the heroes and heroines of times gone by?' She was adopting an increasingly aristocratic tone herself, with a consequent increase in the French accentuation of her speech.

The girl's arguments were making my head reel a little. For some reason my thighs experienced an unfamiliar but faint tingle. Despite being my junior by some ten years she seemed to believe she was in control of the situation. In retrospect I must ascribe what I said next to the confusion of the moment. What other explanation could there be?

‘So, what precisely are you suggesting?'

‘It's simple, Miss Rose. After you have strapped each of us in turn you will say how many times each of us cried out. The others will, of course, be listening, too.'

‘And if one of you happens to remain silent throughout, then what?'

‘Nothing immediately. You will go on to punish the next girl until all three of us have been dealt with.'

‘But then what will happen?' I could feel the tawse in my hand becoming slippery in my nerveless grasp.

‘Why, then it will be our turn to receive our reward. Anyone courageous enough not to whimper or cry will take the tawse. Then you will be given one stroke in return.'

I gasped out loud at the enormity of what she was proposing. The other two girls, standing close together for comfort, dropped their jaws as she proceeded with her suggestion. The idea had clearly occurred to them that there were dangers in this novel approach to discipline.

‘Philomene...' I tried to keep my voice as level as possible, but I could feel my legs threatening to give way ‘...has it occurred to you that in order to make you cry out I may be tempted to strap you all the harder? Think carefully before you propose such a bargain.'

Her response was to stretch out an arm, palm upward. I noticed that it barely quivered. It was a theatrical gesture and I was reminded of the Marie Antoinette incident in the classroom the previous day. She looked me straight in the eye. ‘Go ahead. I have no fear. I have given my word.'

As I raised my arm for the first stroke I noticed the other two out of the corner of my eye. They were inching away towards the safety of one of those well-worn, high-backed leather armchairs placed in groups in all four corners of the room.

Maybe it was this that distracted me, or a sunbeam catching my eye at the last moment, but the first stroke of the tawse barely brushed Philomene's fingertips. She hardly blinked. For the second stroke I moved her hand to a better position and made a satisfying thwack across the palm. This time she bared her teeth, but I could detect no sound.

I began to panic. What would this girl do to me in return? Should I hit her harder to get the cry that would save me from further humiliation or should I go easy to try and pacify her? All at once I saw it was too late for that. Through a red haze of anger I lifted the tawse to shoulder level and sent it hissing on its journey.

The result was like an electric shock to the figure opposite. She whirled round and put her throbbing hand under her arm. She was beginning to convulse, holding back the sobs that threatened to come. But when she eventually turned round to face me again, with tears on her cheeks, she had uttered no cry or other sound.

‘You will agree that I have taken my punishment with courage.' This time in a trembling voice she pronounced the word in the French fashion. Her eyes blazed, and I realised that, drawing on some ancestral reserves of fortitude, her will was stronger than mine.

Compared to her Fiona and Fay were like mice; both were almost whimpering before the first stroke. They squealed like piglets, I noted with shameful satisfaction. But even as I gave them alternately their final stinging retribution my mind was racing ahead to what was to come. What could I have been thinking of?

According to the terms of the agreement the Lamartine girl now had the right to strap me three times. I toyed with bluffing my way out of it and making straight for the door.

I think she must have read my mind. As I finished I turned around to see her directly in my path; she was limply shaking her right hand which had gone an unpleasant, mottled shade of purple. At least, I thought, she won't be able to strike with full strength. But then I noticed her ostentatiously unbuttoning the cuff of the left sleeve of her white school shirt. The unmarked hand was outstretched towards me.

‘Miss Rose, you must hand over that strap to me. Now we shall see if you, too, have courage.'

My heart sank and I began to go numb, as if there was some inevitability about what would follow. I believe if I had known at that point just what was to ensue I should certainly have abandoned dignity and made a dash for the door.

As she took the tawse in her left hand and made a few experimental passes through the air, she indicated to the other two with a scornful toss of the head that they should stand by the door. My fate was now sealed.

I felt I should say something to remind her of my position.

‘Philomene, I have agreed perhaps unwisely to this arrangement. But you took your punishment well and I hope I can acquit myself equally well. So why don't we get it over with and then we can put this unpleasant business behind us once and for all?'

There was an uncomfortable silence as she eyed me up. ‘Lock it,' she hissed over her shoulder at the other two, who obediently turned the old-fashioned key in the door. Still looking unblinkingly at me, she spoke with her strange, unnervingly foreign intonation.

‘It is indeed your turn, Miss Rose, but there will be a slight difference to your punishment.
A bas la tyrannie!
We have read of this often in our history books, and it will happen again today. The overthrow of a tyrant is rarely bloodless.'

I gasped at the menacing tone Philomene was adopting towards me. The other two had also recovered their spirits, it would seem, for they came up on either side of the taller girl, blowing on their stripes. Their look was not friendly, either.

‘Take her arms and put her over that armchair,' she snapped, and before I had even thought about resisting I was pulled across the room. I was then none-too-gently laid front down across the well-padded arms of one of the heirlooms of the common room. Kneeling on the floor, I was not too uncomfortable, but I began to have an inkling of what would follow.

Philomene was moving behind me towards the punishment cupboard. I heard the rattle of the canes and a whistle of one cutting the air. Then another. Instinctively I stiffened. ‘Not like that,' came her harsh nasal voice at my neck. ‘The elbows must be on the floor, to expose the fesses.'

Not hearing her properly, for a moment of heart-stopping terror I thought she meant to strike me across the face. But then, with my knees sinking into the leather arm and my rear portions now in the air, I realised she had another target in mind.

Within seconds this was confirmed as my skirt and slip were lifted to leave me exposed but for a very brief undergarment.

There was another silence broken by some whispering from behind to those standing above me on the other side of the chair. Already I could feel the warmth of the evening sun on my exposed thighs and buttocks. Why had I not worn tights and more modest underwear? There was even more whispering from the two above my head.

My reverie was shattered by the rasping voice of Philomene. ‘Faites attention, Miss Rose. You will shortly receive your first stroke at my hand.'

I began to ask what precisely she meant by that, but already my arms were aching and I could only turn to see her with extreme difficulty. What I glimpsed made me start shivering again. Philomene was brandishing a whippy rattan cane with a coloured tip; there was a strange, distant expression on her face, making me aware that I was to expect no mercy.

The first cut took me entirely unawares and I yelped with pain. This was something I had never experienced. The second followed just as the fire was beginning to spread. The third one made me yell aloud in anguish, as it landed almost exactly on the identical spot. Within seconds the agony was replaced by a dull throbbing and I made a move to free myself from my undignified position. I was aware that my face was very red, and probably tearful; at least the agony was over and I could repair any damage. But my relief was to be short-lived.

‘Rest where you are,' came the girl's harsh command. ‘You cried out three times. Fiona will give you three more in retribution.'

I was held back from rising and I heard Fiona move to take the cane. With her recently strapped hand I thought this time I would get off lightly, but I had no experience of the cumulative tenderness of those fleshy areas of the anatomy.

Inexpert as she was, Fiona had anger on her side and I felt my skin being seared with each extra cut. I cried out twice. The sweat was now breaking out and my limbs were quivering uncontrollably. There was a tear running down one cheek, which I quickly wiped away.

Inevitably I knew what would happen next. Gentle Fay took the cane. Surely she could not hurt me as much? I tried to work out my plan for getting away afterwards, but first I must concentrate on uttering no cry.

I almost jumped with horror as I felt the cane's metal ferrule insinuating between my thighs. Instinctively I knew that Philomene was behind this, but I spread my upper thighs as far as my constricting underwear allowed. Her first stroke caught me well below the curve of the buttock and there I experienced a fresh kind of pain that made me howl uncontrollably. The second stroke was much gentler, as if the girl had yielded to her better nature. I had almost lost count.

‘You must submit to one more stroke from my hand,' the voice that had to be obeyed rasped out. I think I actually mumbled my gratitude to the girl.

I gasped as Philomene ran the full length of the bamboo down from the base of my spine to the cut on the lower thigh and then back up again more quickly. The effect was like sandpaper and I had to bite my lip to stifle a sob. Then, within a split second, I heard a long whistling sound on the air that ended in an explosion of stars in front of my eyes.

My legs collapsed under me and I lay in a heap.

‘You were not completely silent,' the aristocratic voice hissed. ‘Stand up and complete your punishment.'

I heard voices in the corridor outside and the sound of the door being rattled. It sounded like Mrs Linacre, but there was a ringing in my ears. Even as I rose shakily to my knees, pulled down my clothes and stumbled towards the door I was prevented by the point of the cane. ‘Remember, it is you who are punishing us,' Philomene hissed in my face, but there was still the mocking smile.

‘It's all right, Mrs Linacre. I'm just completing the girls' punishment.' I moved towards the door, but I was followed, my skirt lifted and, even before my hand reached the key, a final agonising cut that diagonally dissected those which already marked my flimsily covered backside. This time it was my turn to sob.

By the time I had got the door open, my poise was almost recovered. Someone had thrust the tawse into my hand. There was no sign of the cane.

Miss Linacre strode in magisterially and made a cool inspection of the hands of the contrite trio in front of her, all with their heads bowed. What could I say? It would have been far too humiliating to admit the truth.