A Caning for Cassandra.
A Caning for Cassandra.
Note: This following is an extract from my novel "Miss Carmine's Ladies' Correctional Service." which I have posted here for any readers of my blog's entertainment. The novel is a historical novel set in London in the year 1871 during the high Victorian era. I do hope that you enjoy it and I hope it will tempt you to read the book.
The rest of the week was fraught with tension in Cassandra's house. Cassandra's anxieties manifested themselves in ill humour and impatience. She was honest enough to concede that she was short tempered with her staff and unduly curt with them. Worried about letting Elisabeth out of her sight, she had cancelled all her appointments for the week and spent most of the week indoors striding about the house anxiously or brooding in her study with her staff affording her a wide berth.
Robert did not help this mood of irritability. Thomas returned from delivering Cassandra's letter bearing a brief reply informing Cassandra tersely that he was abreast of events and that they would have occasion to discuss the matter when they attended the concert on Friday. Lacking from this short note was any hint of reciprocation for the affectionate tone Cassandra had fondly imagined to be contained in her own letter. It was rather stiff, short and to the point and Cassandra was a little miffed by it. She knew it was possible that Robert feared the letter's content might fall into the wrong hands and was thus constrained from including any compromising intelligence but he might at least have tried to say something agreeable or flattering about her in it. It sounded as if it were a brief response to one of his lesser aids, curtly informing them that, while their observations had been duly noted, appropriate action was being taken by those with the authority to do so and not to jiggle his elbow over matters which did not concern them. Cassandra felt almost jilted by it.
It certainly did not auger well for her hopes of bending Robert to her will. She had hoped to find him in a malleable mood but his response to her was indicative of cool professionalism rather than the love struck compliance she would have preferred. She had flung the letter aside with a few choice rude words concerning blasted men and their blasted ill conceived notions of honour and duty to queen and country! Meiling had had the misfortune to be the bearer of this letter to Cassandra's study and her Mistress had been so sharp with her that she had fled the room in tears.
Indeed there were few in the household who escaped the sharp end of Cassandra's tongue or worse over the course of the week. Juliette found herself on the receiving end of a hard strapping for an offence that barely merited a word of reprimand at best, Molly became the subject of a s**thing lecture regarding her failings for laying out a dress with a tear in the hem and Mary fled from Cassandra's presence after having a piece of burned toast flung at her. Even Elisabeth was not immune from Cassandra's ill humour and had to be comforted by her friends after a sharp admonition over a trifle that Cassandra would have ordinarily simply laughed at.
Cassandra, to give her her due, was ashamed of her unwarranted ill temper with her servants but, unable to confide in anybody regarding her anxieties, felt compelled to express her feelings in some way. The only consolation, as far as she was concerned, was that Robert had not immediately acted to remove Elisabeth to a new location at the knowledge of the secrecy of their arrangements being breached. She had feared that he would instantly make arrangements to have her spirited away and the very thought of that was a dagger to her heart. For the moment however he seemed content to leave her be although how long that happy state of affairs would continue was impossible to discern.
Compounding Cassandra's reprehensible mood this week was the fact that, on Wednesday, they were due to have the chimneys swept. Most diligent households had their chimney's swept once a year but Cassandra had hers cleaned every six months. It was a wise precaution for the necessity of lighting fires even in the warmer months to provide hot water for the house meant that they had an unusually heavy burden to bear. Coal fires produce prodigious amounts of soot and chimney fires were a ubiquitous fact of life in the city. Having her chimneys swept frequently kept the build up of soot to a minimum and lessened the labour involved at each servicing.
They employed a most reputable Master Sweep for this task but it was not a situation that had been achieved without a struggle. Cassandra had been in a running war with the local chimney sweeps for some years and, at one point, many of them had tried to boycott her household. This conflict had had its genesis in an unfortunate incident when Cassandra had happened to walk in on proceedings when the sweep commissioned to clean her chimneys was at work and discovered a naked eight year old boy being sent to climb up her chimneys to clean them; being urged on by having the souls of his feet pricked with a sharp spike on a pole. Cassandra had been utterly furious. She had thrown the sweep out of her house and reported him to the authorities for the i*****l use of c***d labour.
The local guild of chimney sweeps had retaliated by imposing a boycott on Cassandra. It had been a bad move. Cassandra was a dangerous woman to cross and, faced with this open declaration of war, had strode into battle in a mood of righteous zeal. She certainly had right on her side. The exploitation of c***d labour in the chimney sweeping profession was something of a national scandal. There were something over a thousand chimney sweeps servicing London's chimneys and most employed as many as six to eight “apprentices”, young boys (and sometimes girls) often as young as six years old, as climbing boys to shin up narrow chimneys to clean them.
The conditions these unfortunate c***dren laboured under were quite frankly appalling. They were little better than unpaid c***d slaves of the Master Sweep. A young boy could be bought as an apprentice for as little as seven shillings and faced a life of such ardour and peril as to horrify the most indifferent of consciences. The casualty rate among them was frightful as many died through suffocation through becoming trapped in tight corners of chimneys. A large percentage of them later suffered horrific cancerous illnesses through continual exposure to the carcinogenic soot; particularly the feared “soot wart”, a cancerous tumour developing on the genitals which cost many of them their lives by their early twenties. The abuse Cassandra had observed was commonplace. Clothes were an encumbrance in the tight confines of a chimney so many of these c***dren were compelled to climb naked and such measures as pricking them with spikes or even lighting small fires under them to hurry them along were routine.
It should not have been that way. It had been theoretically i*****l to employ anyone under the age of 21 to climb a chimney since the “Chimney Sweepers and Chimneys Regulation Act” of 1840. The law had been ill enforced however and almost universally ignored. The “Chimney Sweepers Regulation Act” of 1864 had finally added teeth to the earlier law by imposing stiff fines or even terms of imprisonment on sweeps using c***dren as climbing boys and authorising the police to arrest those in violation. The regulation was still widely flouted however and would be until later legislation would make it mandatory for all sweeps to be subject to licensing, official authorisation from the police and supervision.
Nevertheless there had been enough bite in the 1864 regulations to arm Cassandra in her battle with the sweeps that serviced her neighbourhood. She had launched a campaign among the local residents; igniting their social conscience against this malpractice and, with neighbourly solidarity on her side, had swung to the offensive against the sweeps. Within a year she had driven all of the most blatant local offenders out of business and two of the worst had had time in Newgate Prison to contemplate the folly of crossing swords with the formidable Cassandra Carmine when she had her dander up.
So it would have been madness for the chimney sweep who serviced their flues that Wednesday to flout the regulations under Cassandra's roof and gimlet eye. As it happened, he was, by the standards of his profession, an honourable man. In his case, being honourable was also very profitable because, having assured herself of his compliance with the regulations, Cassandra had promoted him among the local residents of the neighbourhood. He now enjoyed a virtual monopoly among the rich households of Belgravia; a most lucrative position for which he had Cassandra's patronage to thank.
Honourable chimney sweep or not, days devoted to having the chimney's swept were always ones of stress for the household. It was a dirty business and all rugs had to be taken up, curtains taken down, furniture to be covered in d****s and large clothes to be spread across all floors. Even with all these precautions, there was inevitably a prodigious amount of cleaning up to be done afterwards.
Most of the soot was carried away by the sweeps. Soot was a valuable commodity. The sweeps augmented their income by selling soot for the production of fertilisers at around a penny a gallon or more. The chimneys of a big house could yield as much as twenty gallons on occasion. With an industrious sweep servicing several houses during the course of a day, it added up to a handsome side line to the business.
But soot, by its very nature, is a peculiarly persistent substance, worming its way into every nook and cranny once dislodged from its location up a chimney. Cleaning up the residue after a visit by the sweeps was a laborious and vexing task not helped by Cassandra stalking irritably about the house and criticising everybody's labours out of need to vent her spleen. By Thursday evening, the household was thoroughly fed up of her.
“It all de fault o' dat Massa Robert.” declared Alice with authority to the company assembled around the table in the servant's dining room, behind the kitchen, that evening. The servants liked to gather there in the evening to drink tea or sip port; tinkering over small tasks and gossiping among themselves. Cassandra was upstairs in her study and the silence of the bell linked by cord to her chambers indicated she was not currently in need of their services. “He ain't but been ter see but one time since she came back from dat fancy house in de country an' Missy don' take kindly ter bein' neglected.” Alice continued as she cast a critical eye over the silver platter she was polishing. “I done tole Massa Robert as how she needed a firm hand. Missy gwine plum drive you ter distraction, you don' keep her on a short leash. Ain't no point in bein' no gennelman 'bout it. It time he git round here, give Missy a good whuppin' and den gits his ass in Missy's bed where it belong!”
Molly looked up from her needlework. “It's time someone did sumfin wiv 'er! She's bin like a bleedin' scalded cat wiv a squib up 'er bottle an' glass all week; devil a good word out ov 'er an' a boat race like bleedin' thunder ever since Sunday.”
“She were a right misery at breakfast this mornin'.” Mary grumbled. “'Er flippin' coffee weren't to 'er likin' an' moanin' as 'ow 'er kipper an' poached eggs was cold. Bin no pleasin' 'er this week.”
“I 'opes she's in a better mood when Mr Weatherstone teks 'er out tomorrow evenin'.” Molly noted, “It'll be a right frost fer 'im otherwise.”
Alice frowned deeply at the remark. The same thought had occurred to her. In her current mood, Cassandra was hardly going to make for agreeable company with Robert. The evening could be a disaster. “Dat ain't gwine happen!” she declared with finality. “It time we take steps!”
“What sort of steps?” asked Elsa, who had been following the exchange with interest.
“De sort o' steps Massa Robert should be takin'.” Alice replied ominously. “It time Missy taken down a peg or two an' learnin' dat high class ladies don' go makin' everyone's life a misery jes cause dey beau ain't pesterin' dem enough! Y'all jes leave Missy ter me. I bin dealin' wi Missy Cassie an' her tempri-mental falutin' ways since she no older dan little Lizzie dere. I gwine settle her hash fo' her jes fine. 'Fore she go ter bed I gwine have her drawers down and give her a whuppin' she ain't never gwine forgit.” Alice nodded in stern resolution. “Ain't nuttin' complicated 'bout handlin' Missy Cassie. She jes needs 'mindin' she ain't de Queen o' England jes yet an' dat she ain't so high an' mighty dat she ain't gwine have her ass whupped when she deservin' it. Make sure she whupped reg'lar an' she jes sweet as candy. Y'all gwine see. A good whuppin' tonight an' she gwine be all sweet an' cooin' like one dem pigeons in de garden when Massa Robert come callin' tomorrow.”
Peggy grinned. “Blimey! I wish I could watch! Rank hath no privileges in this 'ouse I see.”
Alice frowned at her. “No dey ain't an' don' you forgit it. Dat go fer you too! Y'all might jes be guest in de house but, under dis roof, Missy Cassie be de Mistress, whether she be ord'nary o' not, an' you gwine have a stick tek to yo rump jes de same as everyone else I catches you bein' disrespec'ful 'bout her.”
Peggy held up her hands in surrender. “'Ere leave orf! Message understood. I've bin on the end o' one 'idin' from Miss Cassie an' I ain't fishin' fer another.”
Alice nodded but another thought occurred to her. “Well it ain't jes Massa Robert due all de blame fer Missy's bad temper. You gals ain't doin' yo' job proper neither.”
Molly blinked in surprise. “'Ere! What are we supposed to 'ave done wrong?”
Alice wagged her finger at the younger members of the staff in admonition. “Y'all been neglectin' yo Mistress... dat wat. If'n Massa Robert ain't dere ter tender to her needs den dat be yo' job! It mo'n two weeks since Missy had someone ter warm her bed an' she like a shecat on heat fo' de moment. Why she 'spected ter sleep alone every night? Y'all want she git hitched up with her right hand? Ain't surprisin' she mad as a bobcat wid its foot caught in a trap when y'all neglectin' yo' duty ter keep her warm in de night an' sweet in de mawnin'!”
Molly had to ruefully concede the justice of Alice's observations. The girls had all been so involved with each other of late that they had indeed neglected their Mistress. “Yer right Alice. We should 'ave paid more attention. I'll make sure someone's in 'er bed ternight.”
Alice nodded in satisfaction. “Why dat jes fine. She gwine need someone ter take de heat out'n her after de whuppin' she got comin' ternight.” Alice allowed herself a small chuckle. “Jes tell whoever it is not ter expect much sleep ternight!”
Oblivious to the plans being made among her servants for the modification of her ill humour, Cassandra spent a quiet evening fretting. After bathing she reclined in her study in a robe and tried to read an improving book but found herself unable to concentrate on the weighty subject matter. She thought of revisiting one of her favourite novels by Mr Charles Dickens who had died the year before. In the end however she attempted to alleviate her ill mood by opening the newest offering by Mrs Ellen Wood that had been delivered only that week. Mrs Wood's novels had been somewhat of a private indulgence of Cassandra's since the day she had chanced to pick up a copy of “East Lynne” and she enjoyed their mix of passion and sentimentalism in a genre that really had its origins in the previous century with the likes of Jane Austen and the Bronte sisters. She was not alone in enjoying Mrs Wood's work. The lady, who lived in Upper Norwood to the south of London, was an internationally acclaimed best selling author and hugely popular.
Engrossed in her book, Cassandra never noticed the passing of time until the room grew dark enough to necessitate the lighting of the gas lights. There was no fire lit in Cassandra's study and since she didn't want to disturb her servants she lit the lamps herself with a box of Bryant and May matches. The unobtrusive little box of matches she used might have served as an embodiment of the age with ingenious, technological innovation leading to the mass production of consumer wares but at the cost of terrible accompanying social evil. The inexpensive, self igniting matches, by providing an instant flame, were indeed a boon to a household where all lighting and heating required the application of fire. They had forever banished the frustrating and wearisome tinderboxes to history but such steps forward so often came at a price. The white phosphorous used in the manufacture of the matches was frighteningly toxic. The women matchmakers who worked at Bryant and May's Bow factory in London suffered a dreadfully disfiguring and lethal malady called “Fossy jaw.” through the inhalation of phosphorous fumes. Their plight and those of thousands like them would lead to the call for the replacement of white phosphorous with safer alternatives but it would take more than another three decades before the lethal substance would finally be prohibited, through international agreement, in the manufacture of matches.
The clock had turned eleven and was approaching Cassandra's bed time when her study door was flung open to reveal the figure of Alice wearing an ominously determined expression. Cassandra recognised the expression immediately. It was the face that Alice wore when set upon a course of action and not prepared to brook any argument in her execution of it. Cassandra frowned. “Is there a problem Alice?”
“Yes dey is! You... dat de problem!”
“Me? Whatever have I done to be a problem?”
“You done jes plenny. De whole house jes a misery fo' de moment, yo' servants jes 'bout ready ter mutiny an' it all yo' fault!”
Cassandra glared at her and asked in full regal manner. “And to what pray do I owe this monstrous accusation?”
Nearly anybody else would have withered under Cassandra's frosty glint of grand hauteur but it simply bounced off Alice without leaving a dent. She wagged a finger at Cassandra. “Don' you be playin' all high an' mighty with me Missy Cassie. You knows damn well what you done. You been mean as a cottonmouth all week an' de servants an' me jes plum wore out wid yo' crotchety ways. Y'all ain't had a good word to say to nobody dese past days and de gals ain't done nuthin' dat dey deserve you so ornery wid dem.”
Cassandra winced, fully aware that she had taken her ill humour out on her domestic staff. “I'm sorry if I've been a little irritable Alice. I do have a great deal on my mind for the moment however.”
“Well it time we done give you sumpin' ter make you fergit wat botherin' you den! I cain't run dis house proper while de Mistress o' de place makin' all her servants' lives a misery. How I supposed to git anythin' done when half de gals bawlin' dey eyes out 'cause Missy Cassie got sumpin' botherin' her and cain't curb de vinegar on her tongue?”
Cassandra had the grace to bow her head shamefully in the knowledge that Alice's analysis of her disposition was entirely justified. “I'm sorry if my worries have caused me to be impatient with the girls Alice. Perhaps you would apologise to them for me.”
Alice shook her head firmly. “No ma-am! Y'all kin 'pologise to dem yo'self... in person... in de mawnin'. Youse kin stand in front o' de whole house an' tell dem dat you shamed o' yo'self fo' yo' ornery ways; dat youse sorry an' dat it ain't gwine happen no mo'. Dat wat you gwine do Missy! But 'fore y'all do dat you kin go git me dat cane outta yo' cupboard an, shuck outta dat robe you wearin'! De gals an' me been 'scussin' de matter an' 'cided it time youse taught a lesson in curbin' yo' bad temper!”
“Really Alice! Don't you think....”
Cassandra blustered and protested but ultimately she realised that it was futile and that Alice was not going to budge one inch until she had complied with her wishes. “Ain't tekkin' no no fo' an answer!” was how Alice phrased it. “Now go git me dat cane an' save yo' breath fo' de howlin' you gwine be doin' while I canes yo' uppity rump fo' youse.”
With a sigh of resignation, Cassandra padded over to the cupboard and took down the cane from its hook. Alice took the implement in satisfaction. “Dat better!” she flexed the cane in her hands in approval. “Dis be jes fine. Dis gwine do youse a power o' good. Ain't give youse a good whuppin' since de last time Massa Robert be roun' here and dat only a few swats wid ma strap. I declare I's bin neglectin' ma dooty. Ain't no peace in dis house less'n de Missy gits her precious ass whupped reg'lar. Now I ain't go be damagin' no fine silk an' wastin ma effort on dat robe o' your'n so git youse nekk** an' bend over dat chair!”
Cassandra complied resignedly; stripping out of her robe and dr****g herself naked over the back of the chair. Alice took the opportunity to admire the naked body of her Mistress prostrate in submission before her. She was still a fine figure of a woman at thirty six she noted in satisfaction. Massa Robert would be a lucky man if he could win her she thought. For all her difficult ways, Alice loved her Mistress with all her heart and was deeply proud of her. She'd make Robert Weatherstone a wonderful wife if Alice could just beat a little of the pride and haughtiness out of her. Well a few strokes of the cane would go a long way to restoring her to sweetness and gentility. Her face set in determination, Alice raised the cane high above her shoulder and, in a long sweeping arc, swung it down to land with an authoritative crack across the centre of her Mistress's shapely buttocks.
The huddled group, gathered outside on the landing, drew in its collective breath sharply at the sound of the first sonorous report of the cane, and the strangled cry that accompanied it, from behind the door to Cassandra's study. The entire household staff had mustered outside Cassandra's study to listen to their Mistress receive her just desserts. A second, even louder crack, from within elicited a yelp of anguish from the nominal household head and a couple of muted giggles from her unseen audience. “Blimey,” whispered Molly to her colleagues, “Sounds like Alice means ter do a proper job on 'er!”
Molly's observation was more than borne out over the next few minutes as Alice wielded the cane with stern authority on her suffering Mistress. Cassandra yelped and squealed as the cane landed again and again in bitter agony across her rear. It was one of the hardest beatings Cassandra could ever recall receiving and even the most aloof of dignity could not persist in the face of such searing pain. It was to her credit that Cassandra bore the caning, if not in dignity, at least with contrite submission. That she did so was testimony to the fact that she knew that she deserved it. Her mood and behaviour over the last week had been unacceptable she knew. She would surely have caned any other of her staff that had disrupted the tranquillity of the house with an ill tempered display of petulance. It was only right and proper that she should set an example and meekly accept her own punishment for similarly doing so.
The servants on the landing listened in astonishment as Cassandra's cries grew ever more shrill and turned to sobs and pitiful wailing. Their giggles and whispers died away and they listened in sober silence. Few of them had ever seen or heard their Mistress cry before. She had always seemed so strong and imperturbable; a solid certainty at the heart of the household. It almost seemed to shake the very foundations of the house that its formidable Mistress could be exposed in such vulnerability.
For her part, Alice regarded Cassandra's tears in satisfaction as she belaboured her swollen bottom with the cane. It was good for her Mistress to cry in Alice's opinion. Cassandra carried the burden of the house and all its occupants on her shoulders alone. She was indeed the strength for all of them, the bedrock of their community. Yet Alice was wiser than many gave her credit for and she knew of the worries and fragilities that lay behind the granite walls of Cassandra's public façade. She knew too of the personal griefs she carried and the deep compassion that ruled her. No person could remain strong forever. Everyone needed their moments of frailty and the catharsis of tears; even Cassandra Carmine. Let her cry now; cry only under the punishment of those who truly loved her. When her punishment was done she would dry her tears and, her tranquillity restored, be stronger and more able than ever for the benefit of having shed them.
It was cathartic for Cassandra. She cried as much for the accumulation of her worries and fears as she did for the pain of the cane. Indeed the agony of the cane seemed to drive her worries from their dark corners of her mind and exorcise them under the light of painful exposure. The wisdom of Alice's therapy must be conceded for, when she laid the cane aside at last, it was over the prostrate body of a Cassandra in tears and in pain but also, of a Cassandra, in some oddly detached way, at peace with herself.
“Now go put dat cane back in de cupboard and den go stand agin de wall wid yo' hands on yo' head while youse go 'flect on yo' behaviour Missy.” ordered Alice.
“Yes Alice,” murmured Cassandra in a voice of meek humility that would have astonished anybody not privy to her most intimate moments.
Cassandra took her position of disgrace against the wall and Alice nodded in approval. “Now youse jes stay right where you is while I go fetch sumpin' fo' de swellin'.” With that command, Alice strode from the room. The audience on the landing s**ttered and fled at her approach to the door. Alice caught a glimpse of the younger maids scampering up the stairs in their night gowns, as she stepped out onto the landing, and allowed herself a grim smile. So they'd all been listening outside the door then. Well that was no bad thing. They'd all know that Miss Carmine had been well beaten and it was all to the good of the house's morale that even the humblest maid should know that even their almighty Lady and Mistress was not above having her backside thrashed when she deserved it. They'd not be able to claim that justice was unfair and inequitable when their own turn came to lower their drawers for a whipping. Nobody was immune from retribution under this roof. A sound caning was a great leveller.
Alice was pleased to note that Cassandra was still holding her position against the wall obediently when she returned carrying a small tray. Her bottom and thighs were livid with crimson stripes from the cane but she held perfectly still and only her soft weeping betrayed her distress. Alice knew that if she ordered Cassandra to remain standing at the wall the rest of the night, she would do so, in penitence and bravery. Alice caught her breath, suddenly overcome with a surge of love for this extraordinary woman with whom she had cast her lot all those years ago in South Carolina. She owed this woman everything; her freedom... her life. She would do anything for her and, if it should be demanded of her, she would lay down her life in defence of her without hesitation. She thanked her God every day for the gift of her.
Alice softened her voice. “Come here Missy so Ise kin put dis cream on yo' po' ass.”
Cassandra crossed the room to her; naked in obedience and contrition. Her hair was a tangled ruin, the lovely face, Alice held so dear, was damp with her tears and Alice thought her heart would break for the love of her. She paused before Alice and lowered her head humbly. “Thank you for punishing me Alice.” she murmured in a tiny voice. “I deserved to be caned. Please forgive me for my wretched behaviour.”
Alice took a deep breath; tears threatening at her own eyes. “Dere now Missy. It all fo'given... youse allus gwine be fo'given ter me. Now jes come here an' give yo' po' old maid a hug and lets her know dat she fo'given too an' dat everyt'ing gwine be just de same between us.” She embraced Cassandra in a great hug, wrapping her arms about her as Cassandra wept softly on her shoulder. For a moment the years vanished for Alice and it was not Cassandra Carmine in her arms but Elizabeth Beaufontaine, the frightened lonely girl bride she had so often comforted in those terrible days on the plantation in South Carolina. She'd been sixteen, barely more than a c***d, and her b**st of a husband (may he burn in hell forever) nearly twice her age. Alice had had no time for “white folks” back then but Elizabeth had touched Alice's heart with pity. She had been so innocent, so sweet and vulnerable, just as she was now.
She had buried her innocence with her daughter on that most awful of days. Alice knew too what it was like to lose a c***d. Her baby boy had been sold away almost as soon as he was weaned. She had never seen him again. She did not even know if he was still alive. The night little Cassandra had died they had not been Mistress and slave but just two women holding each other in grief, lamenting their lost c***dren.
The steel had entered then. With the passing of her c***d, she had cast away her own c***dhood. The sweet young Elizabeth had vanished, to be replaced by the altogether different proposition of Cassandra Carmine; the strong woman whose bravery and resourcefulness had carried them both away from the hell of captivity to freedom. Those same qualities sustained them still but there were times, times such as this, when Alice could yearn for the lost little Elizabeth she had come to love in South Carolina.
Alice had never lost the faith she had been indoctrinated with in her youth. She still believed in God. But Cassandra was the biggest challenge to her faith. She knew that Cassandra had thrown away her own religious upbringing in South Carolina; cast it from her with her c***dhood dolls and her old name. That she had turned her face from God was painful to Alice but she believed in her heart that God had not turned His from Cassandra. Many in her church would consider Cassandra to be wicked and damned beyond doubt. She might have once thought so herself. She was wiser now though. She knew the gentleness, kindness and compassion that lay beneath the surface of Cassandra's soul. Cassandra had brought more good to the world than a hundred pious hypocrites praying in church. She had saved hundreds. There were people who worshipped her and thanked her for their lives. For all her sins, she was pure goodness. God would judge her ultimately on that.
“I'm sorry Alice.” Cassandra wept as she buried her face in Alice's shoulder.
Alice patted her on the back and stroked her hair fondly. “Dere now Missy. Ain't no cause ter be sorry. Youse a good woman. Don't never let no one tells you different.” Alice hesitated and then, casting caution to the wind, ventured her theory. “It dat Lizzie gal ain't it? It her youse been frettin' yo'self crazy 'bout ain't it?”
Cassandra nodded. “Yes Alice. I...I can't tell you the story yet but yes... it's her I'm worried about. I... I have to protect her but I don't know if I can. I'm sorry... I'm not allowed to tell you why.”
“You gwine tell me jes as soon as youse ready Missy. I done knowed dey was mo' ter de story dan her jes bein' some servant o' Lady Pennington's. Why dat gal never served no one in her life fo' she came here!”
“She's in my custody Alice.”
Alice thought for a moment. “She got de same name as you Missy... de name yo' Mama gave you. Why roll back de years an' she could be you... jes a little gal, name o' 'lizabeth, lost in de world. I knows you gwine find a ways ter take care o' dat gal!” She gave Cassandra a squeeze. “Now you jes dry dem tears Missy. Everything gwine be all right.” Alice reached for her tray. “Here now. Drink dis while I rub some dis lotion on yo' rump.”Cassandra took the small glass Alice gave her and took a sip. She choked on the pungent liquid. Alice fixed her with her eye. “Git it down youse. It medicine.”
“Medicine? It's neat rum!”
“Sure. Jes de ting fo' a sore ass after a whuppin'! Now turn 'roun' so's I can put dis lotion on.” Cassandra turned around and Alice reviewed her handiwork critically. “Well dat one well whupped ass though I says so myself. Dat sure gwine help youse 'member yo' manners fo' a few days! Best you asks fo' a cushion fore you sits down to yo' concert wid Massa Robert tomorrow.”
After attending to Cassandra, Alice picked up her robe and handed it to her. “Now pull dis on Missy and git you ter bed. It a big day tomorrow.” Leaving Cassandra to robe herself and finish her rum, Alice took her leave, climbing the stairs to her own rooms.
Mary was waiting on the landing to report to her. “Everything's arranged Miss Alice. Just as we planned.”
Alice nodded. “De bedchamber?”
“All ship shape an' Bristol fashion. Molly an' Peggy 'ave tekken care ov it.”
Alice grunted in acknowledgement. “Dey better done. Missy ain't all mellow an' sweetness at breakfast an' dere gwine be another pair o' asses ter whup! Now git youse into bed an' you tell dem gals dat de nex' time dey sneakin' 'bout on de landin' ter spy on Missy in her private rooms I gwine line de lot o' youse up fo' a whuppin'!”
Cassandra walked stiffly to her bedroom; the stinging in her rear a maddening dolour. Entering her bedroom, she blinked in surprise. The gas lights were switched off but the room was softly lit by Price's paraffin wax candles manufactured in Bedford; a modern industrial innovation, much cleaner and without the disagreeable odour of the tallow candles that had preceded them. It was the scene they illuminated however that caused Cassandra to pause in surprise. Molly and Peggy were kneeling by the side of her bed. Both girls were completely naked.
“What the devil is this?” spluttered Cassandra indignantly.
In response the two girls rose to their feet and hurried to her side. Molly took her hand with a grin. “We jus' thought yer might be needin' a bit o' company Miss.” she told her. “Seein' as 'ow yer've just 'ad the cane ovver yer bottle an' glass!”
Cassandra looked outraged. “Does the entire household know I've just been caned?”
Molly's gin widened. “Of course Miss. It ain't like you was quiet about it. Arf the bleedin' street probably knows you've 'ad yer arse thrashed be now!”
Cassandra groaned. “Oh just wonderful! And now I have my public disgrace to thank for the presence of you two in my bedchamber have I?”
Molly nodded earnestly. “That's right Miss. We thought you might need a little comfortin' after yer 'iding.”
Peggy snaked a hand around Cassandra's waist. “An' mebbe a bit more than comfort Miss. Nuthin' quite like a good 'iding ter put yer in the mood fer a bit ov 'ow's yer father! I know it does me. I were as randy as a bitch in 'eat after yer caned me at Lady Balding's 'ouse.”
“Well that's very thoughtful of you girls but I think I might prefer to be alone.”
Molly shook her head firmly. “Not on your Nelly... beggin' yer pardon Miss. We're under strict instructions not ter leave you alone ternight an' we ain't goin' nowhere! So you'll just 'ave ter put up wiv it an' lie back an' think of England.”
“Really girls...” began Cassandra in protest but Molly was already unfastening her robe.
“Now no arguin' Miss. We 'ave our orders. Yer've bin in a foul mood all week an' me an' Peggy know just the thing ter put yer in a better 'umour.”
“This is preposterous! Have all my staff conspired to improve my temper?”
“We all 'ave us different methods Miss.” Molly told her. “Alice 'as 'er way o' mekkin' yer squeal and me an' Peggy 'ave ours! No sleep fer the bleedin' neighbours ternight! Ger 'er robe off 'er Peg.”
Peggy slipped Cassandra's robe from her shoulders from where it fell with a whisper to the floor. Sandwiched naked between the two girls, Cassandra found herself more and more interested in the mood alleviating programme on offer. The burning in her rear was igniting sympathetic conflagrations in her loins; fires demanding consummation and quenching. Peggy slid her hand down to cup Cassandra's swollen buttocks; her caress inflaming Cassandra's desire. Slowly she began to steer her towards the bed. “Come along now Miss. Me an' Molly 'ave it all planned out what we're goin' ter do ter yer. I think yer gonna enjoy this, We've bin practisin'!”
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Should you have enjoyed this extract then you can find the whole novel at;
http://www.a1adultebooks.com/ebooks/b11965-miss-carmines-ladies-correctional-service.htm
Note: This following is an extract from my novel "Miss Carmine's Ladies' Correctional Service." which I have posted here for any readers of my blog's entertainment. The novel is a historical novel set in London in the year 1871 during the high Victorian era. I do hope that you enjoy it and I hope it will tempt you to read the book.
The rest of the week was fraught with tension in Cassandra's house. Cassandra's anxieties manifested themselves in ill humour and impatience. She was honest enough to concede that she was short tempered with her staff and unduly curt with them. Worried about letting Elisabeth out of her sight, she had cancelled all her appointments for the week and spent most of the week indoors striding about the house anxiously or brooding in her study with her staff affording her a wide berth.
Robert did not help this mood of irritability. Thomas returned from delivering Cassandra's letter bearing a brief reply informing Cassandra tersely that he was abreast of events and that they would have occasion to discuss the matter when they attended the concert on Friday. Lacking from this short note was any hint of reciprocation for the affectionate tone Cassandra had fondly imagined to be contained in her own letter. It was rather stiff, short and to the point and Cassandra was a little miffed by it. She knew it was possible that Robert feared the letter's content might fall into the wrong hands and was thus constrained from including any compromising intelligence but he might at least have tried to say something agreeable or flattering about her in it. It sounded as if it were a brief response to one of his lesser aids, curtly informing them that, while their observations had been duly noted, appropriate action was being taken by those with the authority to do so and not to jiggle his elbow over matters which did not concern them. Cassandra felt almost jilted by it.
It certainly did not auger well for her hopes of bending Robert to her will. She had hoped to find him in a malleable mood but his response to her was indicative of cool professionalism rather than the love struck compliance she would have preferred. She had flung the letter aside with a few choice rude words concerning blasted men and their blasted ill conceived notions of honour and duty to queen and country! Meiling had had the misfortune to be the bearer of this letter to Cassandra's study and her Mistress had been so sharp with her that she had fled the room in tears.
Indeed there were few in the household who escaped the sharp end of Cassandra's tongue or worse over the course of the week. Juliette found herself on the receiving end of a hard strapping for an offence that barely merited a word of reprimand at best, Molly became the subject of a s**thing lecture regarding her failings for laying out a dress with a tear in the hem and Mary fled from Cassandra's presence after having a piece of burned toast flung at her. Even Elisabeth was not immune from Cassandra's ill humour and had to be comforted by her friends after a sharp admonition over a trifle that Cassandra would have ordinarily simply laughed at.
Cassandra, to give her her due, was ashamed of her unwarranted ill temper with her servants but, unable to confide in anybody regarding her anxieties, felt compelled to express her feelings in some way. The only consolation, as far as she was concerned, was that Robert had not immediately acted to remove Elisabeth to a new location at the knowledge of the secrecy of their arrangements being breached. She had feared that he would instantly make arrangements to have her spirited away and the very thought of that was a dagger to her heart. For the moment however he seemed content to leave her be although how long that happy state of affairs would continue was impossible to discern.
Compounding Cassandra's reprehensible mood this week was the fact that, on Wednesday, they were due to have the chimneys swept. Most diligent households had their chimney's swept once a year but Cassandra had hers cleaned every six months. It was a wise precaution for the necessity of lighting fires even in the warmer months to provide hot water for the house meant that they had an unusually heavy burden to bear. Coal fires produce prodigious amounts of soot and chimney fires were a ubiquitous fact of life in the city. Having her chimneys swept frequently kept the build up of soot to a minimum and lessened the labour involved at each servicing.
They employed a most reputable Master Sweep for this task but it was not a situation that had been achieved without a struggle. Cassandra had been in a running war with the local chimney sweeps for some years and, at one point, many of them had tried to boycott her household. This conflict had had its genesis in an unfortunate incident when Cassandra had happened to walk in on proceedings when the sweep commissioned to clean her chimneys was at work and discovered a naked eight year old boy being sent to climb up her chimneys to clean them; being urged on by having the souls of his feet pricked with a sharp spike on a pole. Cassandra had been utterly furious. She had thrown the sweep out of her house and reported him to the authorities for the i*****l use of c***d labour.
The local guild of chimney sweeps had retaliated by imposing a boycott on Cassandra. It had been a bad move. Cassandra was a dangerous woman to cross and, faced with this open declaration of war, had strode into battle in a mood of righteous zeal. She certainly had right on her side. The exploitation of c***d labour in the chimney sweeping profession was something of a national scandal. There were something over a thousand chimney sweeps servicing London's chimneys and most employed as many as six to eight “apprentices”, young boys (and sometimes girls) often as young as six years old, as climbing boys to shin up narrow chimneys to clean them.
The conditions these unfortunate c***dren laboured under were quite frankly appalling. They were little better than unpaid c***d slaves of the Master Sweep. A young boy could be bought as an apprentice for as little as seven shillings and faced a life of such ardour and peril as to horrify the most indifferent of consciences. The casualty rate among them was frightful as many died through suffocation through becoming trapped in tight corners of chimneys. A large percentage of them later suffered horrific cancerous illnesses through continual exposure to the carcinogenic soot; particularly the feared “soot wart”, a cancerous tumour developing on the genitals which cost many of them their lives by their early twenties. The abuse Cassandra had observed was commonplace. Clothes were an encumbrance in the tight confines of a chimney so many of these c***dren were compelled to climb naked and such measures as pricking them with spikes or even lighting small fires under them to hurry them along were routine.
It should not have been that way. It had been theoretically i*****l to employ anyone under the age of 21 to climb a chimney since the “Chimney Sweepers and Chimneys Regulation Act” of 1840. The law had been ill enforced however and almost universally ignored. The “Chimney Sweepers Regulation Act” of 1864 had finally added teeth to the earlier law by imposing stiff fines or even terms of imprisonment on sweeps using c***dren as climbing boys and authorising the police to arrest those in violation. The regulation was still widely flouted however and would be until later legislation would make it mandatory for all sweeps to be subject to licensing, official authorisation from the police and supervision.
Nevertheless there had been enough bite in the 1864 regulations to arm Cassandra in her battle with the sweeps that serviced her neighbourhood. She had launched a campaign among the local residents; igniting their social conscience against this malpractice and, with neighbourly solidarity on her side, had swung to the offensive against the sweeps. Within a year she had driven all of the most blatant local offenders out of business and two of the worst had had time in Newgate Prison to contemplate the folly of crossing swords with the formidable Cassandra Carmine when she had her dander up.
So it would have been madness for the chimney sweep who serviced their flues that Wednesday to flout the regulations under Cassandra's roof and gimlet eye. As it happened, he was, by the standards of his profession, an honourable man. In his case, being honourable was also very profitable because, having assured herself of his compliance with the regulations, Cassandra had promoted him among the local residents of the neighbourhood. He now enjoyed a virtual monopoly among the rich households of Belgravia; a most lucrative position for which he had Cassandra's patronage to thank.
Honourable chimney sweep or not, days devoted to having the chimney's swept were always ones of stress for the household. It was a dirty business and all rugs had to be taken up, curtains taken down, furniture to be covered in d****s and large clothes to be spread across all floors. Even with all these precautions, there was inevitably a prodigious amount of cleaning up to be done afterwards.
Most of the soot was carried away by the sweeps. Soot was a valuable commodity. The sweeps augmented their income by selling soot for the production of fertilisers at around a penny a gallon or more. The chimneys of a big house could yield as much as twenty gallons on occasion. With an industrious sweep servicing several houses during the course of a day, it added up to a handsome side line to the business.
But soot, by its very nature, is a peculiarly persistent substance, worming its way into every nook and cranny once dislodged from its location up a chimney. Cleaning up the residue after a visit by the sweeps was a laborious and vexing task not helped by Cassandra stalking irritably about the house and criticising everybody's labours out of need to vent her spleen. By Thursday evening, the household was thoroughly fed up of her.
“It all de fault o' dat Massa Robert.” declared Alice with authority to the company assembled around the table in the servant's dining room, behind the kitchen, that evening. The servants liked to gather there in the evening to drink tea or sip port; tinkering over small tasks and gossiping among themselves. Cassandra was upstairs in her study and the silence of the bell linked by cord to her chambers indicated she was not currently in need of their services. “He ain't but been ter see but one time since she came back from dat fancy house in de country an' Missy don' take kindly ter bein' neglected.” Alice continued as she cast a critical eye over the silver platter she was polishing. “I done tole Massa Robert as how she needed a firm hand. Missy gwine plum drive you ter distraction, you don' keep her on a short leash. Ain't no point in bein' no gennelman 'bout it. It time he git round here, give Missy a good whuppin' and den gits his ass in Missy's bed where it belong!”
Molly looked up from her needlework. “It's time someone did sumfin wiv 'er! She's bin like a bleedin' scalded cat wiv a squib up 'er bottle an' glass all week; devil a good word out ov 'er an' a boat race like bleedin' thunder ever since Sunday.”
“She were a right misery at breakfast this mornin'.” Mary grumbled. “'Er flippin' coffee weren't to 'er likin' an' moanin' as 'ow 'er kipper an' poached eggs was cold. Bin no pleasin' 'er this week.”
“I 'opes she's in a better mood when Mr Weatherstone teks 'er out tomorrow evenin'.” Molly noted, “It'll be a right frost fer 'im otherwise.”
Alice frowned deeply at the remark. The same thought had occurred to her. In her current mood, Cassandra was hardly going to make for agreeable company with Robert. The evening could be a disaster. “Dat ain't gwine happen!” she declared with finality. “It time we take steps!”
“What sort of steps?” asked Elsa, who had been following the exchange with interest.
“De sort o' steps Massa Robert should be takin'.” Alice replied ominously. “It time Missy taken down a peg or two an' learnin' dat high class ladies don' go makin' everyone's life a misery jes cause dey beau ain't pesterin' dem enough! Y'all jes leave Missy ter me. I bin dealin' wi Missy Cassie an' her tempri-mental falutin' ways since she no older dan little Lizzie dere. I gwine settle her hash fo' her jes fine. 'Fore she go ter bed I gwine have her drawers down and give her a whuppin' she ain't never gwine forgit.” Alice nodded in stern resolution. “Ain't nuttin' complicated 'bout handlin' Missy Cassie. She jes needs 'mindin' she ain't de Queen o' England jes yet an' dat she ain't so high an' mighty dat she ain't gwine have her ass whupped when she deservin' it. Make sure she whupped reg'lar an' she jes sweet as candy. Y'all gwine see. A good whuppin' tonight an' she gwine be all sweet an' cooin' like one dem pigeons in de garden when Massa Robert come callin' tomorrow.”
Peggy grinned. “Blimey! I wish I could watch! Rank hath no privileges in this 'ouse I see.”
Alice frowned at her. “No dey ain't an' don' you forgit it. Dat go fer you too! Y'all might jes be guest in de house but, under dis roof, Missy Cassie be de Mistress, whether she be ord'nary o' not, an' you gwine have a stick tek to yo rump jes de same as everyone else I catches you bein' disrespec'ful 'bout her.”
Peggy held up her hands in surrender. “'Ere leave orf! Message understood. I've bin on the end o' one 'idin' from Miss Cassie an' I ain't fishin' fer another.”
Alice nodded but another thought occurred to her. “Well it ain't jes Massa Robert due all de blame fer Missy's bad temper. You gals ain't doin' yo' job proper neither.”
Molly blinked in surprise. “'Ere! What are we supposed to 'ave done wrong?”
Alice wagged her finger at the younger members of the staff in admonition. “Y'all been neglectin' yo Mistress... dat wat. If'n Massa Robert ain't dere ter tender to her needs den dat be yo' job! It mo'n two weeks since Missy had someone ter warm her bed an' she like a shecat on heat fo' de moment. Why she 'spected ter sleep alone every night? Y'all want she git hitched up with her right hand? Ain't surprisin' she mad as a bobcat wid its foot caught in a trap when y'all neglectin' yo' duty ter keep her warm in de night an' sweet in de mawnin'!”
Molly had to ruefully concede the justice of Alice's observations. The girls had all been so involved with each other of late that they had indeed neglected their Mistress. “Yer right Alice. We should 'ave paid more attention. I'll make sure someone's in 'er bed ternight.”
Alice nodded in satisfaction. “Why dat jes fine. She gwine need someone ter take de heat out'n her after de whuppin' she got comin' ternight.” Alice allowed herself a small chuckle. “Jes tell whoever it is not ter expect much sleep ternight!”
Oblivious to the plans being made among her servants for the modification of her ill humour, Cassandra spent a quiet evening fretting. After bathing she reclined in her study in a robe and tried to read an improving book but found herself unable to concentrate on the weighty subject matter. She thought of revisiting one of her favourite novels by Mr Charles Dickens who had died the year before. In the end however she attempted to alleviate her ill mood by opening the newest offering by Mrs Ellen Wood that had been delivered only that week. Mrs Wood's novels had been somewhat of a private indulgence of Cassandra's since the day she had chanced to pick up a copy of “East Lynne” and she enjoyed their mix of passion and sentimentalism in a genre that really had its origins in the previous century with the likes of Jane Austen and the Bronte sisters. She was not alone in enjoying Mrs Wood's work. The lady, who lived in Upper Norwood to the south of London, was an internationally acclaimed best selling author and hugely popular.
Engrossed in her book, Cassandra never noticed the passing of time until the room grew dark enough to necessitate the lighting of the gas lights. There was no fire lit in Cassandra's study and since she didn't want to disturb her servants she lit the lamps herself with a box of Bryant and May matches. The unobtrusive little box of matches she used might have served as an embodiment of the age with ingenious, technological innovation leading to the mass production of consumer wares but at the cost of terrible accompanying social evil. The inexpensive, self igniting matches, by providing an instant flame, were indeed a boon to a household where all lighting and heating required the application of fire. They had forever banished the frustrating and wearisome tinderboxes to history but such steps forward so often came at a price. The white phosphorous used in the manufacture of the matches was frighteningly toxic. The women matchmakers who worked at Bryant and May's Bow factory in London suffered a dreadfully disfiguring and lethal malady called “Fossy jaw.” through the inhalation of phosphorous fumes. Their plight and those of thousands like them would lead to the call for the replacement of white phosphorous with safer alternatives but it would take more than another three decades before the lethal substance would finally be prohibited, through international agreement, in the manufacture of matches.
The clock had turned eleven and was approaching Cassandra's bed time when her study door was flung open to reveal the figure of Alice wearing an ominously determined expression. Cassandra recognised the expression immediately. It was the face that Alice wore when set upon a course of action and not prepared to brook any argument in her execution of it. Cassandra frowned. “Is there a problem Alice?”
“Yes dey is! You... dat de problem!”
“Me? Whatever have I done to be a problem?”
“You done jes plenny. De whole house jes a misery fo' de moment, yo' servants jes 'bout ready ter mutiny an' it all yo' fault!”
Cassandra glared at her and asked in full regal manner. “And to what pray do I owe this monstrous accusation?”
Nearly anybody else would have withered under Cassandra's frosty glint of grand hauteur but it simply bounced off Alice without leaving a dent. She wagged a finger at Cassandra. “Don' you be playin' all high an' mighty with me Missy Cassie. You knows damn well what you done. You been mean as a cottonmouth all week an' de servants an' me jes plum wore out wid yo' crotchety ways. Y'all ain't had a good word to say to nobody dese past days and de gals ain't done nuthin' dat dey deserve you so ornery wid dem.”
Cassandra winced, fully aware that she had taken her ill humour out on her domestic staff. “I'm sorry if I've been a little irritable Alice. I do have a great deal on my mind for the moment however.”
“Well it time we done give you sumpin' ter make you fergit wat botherin' you den! I cain't run dis house proper while de Mistress o' de place makin' all her servants' lives a misery. How I supposed to git anythin' done when half de gals bawlin' dey eyes out 'cause Missy Cassie got sumpin' botherin' her and cain't curb de vinegar on her tongue?”
Cassandra had the grace to bow her head shamefully in the knowledge that Alice's analysis of her disposition was entirely justified. “I'm sorry if my worries have caused me to be impatient with the girls Alice. Perhaps you would apologise to them for me.”
Alice shook her head firmly. “No ma-am! Y'all kin 'pologise to dem yo'self... in person... in de mawnin'. Youse kin stand in front o' de whole house an' tell dem dat you shamed o' yo'self fo' yo' ornery ways; dat youse sorry an' dat it ain't gwine happen no mo'. Dat wat you gwine do Missy! But 'fore y'all do dat you kin go git me dat cane outta yo' cupboard an, shuck outta dat robe you wearin'! De gals an' me been 'scussin' de matter an' 'cided it time youse taught a lesson in curbin' yo' bad temper!”
“Really Alice! Don't you think....”
Cassandra blustered and protested but ultimately she realised that it was futile and that Alice was not going to budge one inch until she had complied with her wishes. “Ain't tekkin' no no fo' an answer!” was how Alice phrased it. “Now go git me dat cane an' save yo' breath fo' de howlin' you gwine be doin' while I canes yo' uppity rump fo' youse.”
With a sigh of resignation, Cassandra padded over to the cupboard and took down the cane from its hook. Alice took the implement in satisfaction. “Dat better!” she flexed the cane in her hands in approval. “Dis be jes fine. Dis gwine do youse a power o' good. Ain't give youse a good whuppin' since de last time Massa Robert be roun' here and dat only a few swats wid ma strap. I declare I's bin neglectin' ma dooty. Ain't no peace in dis house less'n de Missy gits her precious ass whupped reg'lar. Now I ain't go be damagin' no fine silk an' wastin ma effort on dat robe o' your'n so git youse nekk** an' bend over dat chair!”
Cassandra complied resignedly; stripping out of her robe and dr****g herself naked over the back of the chair. Alice took the opportunity to admire the naked body of her Mistress prostrate in submission before her. She was still a fine figure of a woman at thirty six she noted in satisfaction. Massa Robert would be a lucky man if he could win her she thought. For all her difficult ways, Alice loved her Mistress with all her heart and was deeply proud of her. She'd make Robert Weatherstone a wonderful wife if Alice could just beat a little of the pride and haughtiness out of her. Well a few strokes of the cane would go a long way to restoring her to sweetness and gentility. Her face set in determination, Alice raised the cane high above her shoulder and, in a long sweeping arc, swung it down to land with an authoritative crack across the centre of her Mistress's shapely buttocks.
The huddled group, gathered outside on the landing, drew in its collective breath sharply at the sound of the first sonorous report of the cane, and the strangled cry that accompanied it, from behind the door to Cassandra's study. The entire household staff had mustered outside Cassandra's study to listen to their Mistress receive her just desserts. A second, even louder crack, from within elicited a yelp of anguish from the nominal household head and a couple of muted giggles from her unseen audience. “Blimey,” whispered Molly to her colleagues, “Sounds like Alice means ter do a proper job on 'er!”
Molly's observation was more than borne out over the next few minutes as Alice wielded the cane with stern authority on her suffering Mistress. Cassandra yelped and squealed as the cane landed again and again in bitter agony across her rear. It was one of the hardest beatings Cassandra could ever recall receiving and even the most aloof of dignity could not persist in the face of such searing pain. It was to her credit that Cassandra bore the caning, if not in dignity, at least with contrite submission. That she did so was testimony to the fact that she knew that she deserved it. Her mood and behaviour over the last week had been unacceptable she knew. She would surely have caned any other of her staff that had disrupted the tranquillity of the house with an ill tempered display of petulance. It was only right and proper that she should set an example and meekly accept her own punishment for similarly doing so.
The servants on the landing listened in astonishment as Cassandra's cries grew ever more shrill and turned to sobs and pitiful wailing. Their giggles and whispers died away and they listened in sober silence. Few of them had ever seen or heard their Mistress cry before. She had always seemed so strong and imperturbable; a solid certainty at the heart of the household. It almost seemed to shake the very foundations of the house that its formidable Mistress could be exposed in such vulnerability.
For her part, Alice regarded Cassandra's tears in satisfaction as she belaboured her swollen bottom with the cane. It was good for her Mistress to cry in Alice's opinion. Cassandra carried the burden of the house and all its occupants on her shoulders alone. She was indeed the strength for all of them, the bedrock of their community. Yet Alice was wiser than many gave her credit for and she knew of the worries and fragilities that lay behind the granite walls of Cassandra's public façade. She knew too of the personal griefs she carried and the deep compassion that ruled her. No person could remain strong forever. Everyone needed their moments of frailty and the catharsis of tears; even Cassandra Carmine. Let her cry now; cry only under the punishment of those who truly loved her. When her punishment was done she would dry her tears and, her tranquillity restored, be stronger and more able than ever for the benefit of having shed them.
It was cathartic for Cassandra. She cried as much for the accumulation of her worries and fears as she did for the pain of the cane. Indeed the agony of the cane seemed to drive her worries from their dark corners of her mind and exorcise them under the light of painful exposure. The wisdom of Alice's therapy must be conceded for, when she laid the cane aside at last, it was over the prostrate body of a Cassandra in tears and in pain but also, of a Cassandra, in some oddly detached way, at peace with herself.
“Now go put dat cane back in de cupboard and den go stand agin de wall wid yo' hands on yo' head while youse go 'flect on yo' behaviour Missy.” ordered Alice.
“Yes Alice,” murmured Cassandra in a voice of meek humility that would have astonished anybody not privy to her most intimate moments.
Cassandra took her position of disgrace against the wall and Alice nodded in approval. “Now youse jes stay right where you is while I go fetch sumpin' fo' de swellin'.” With that command, Alice strode from the room. The audience on the landing s**ttered and fled at her approach to the door. Alice caught a glimpse of the younger maids scampering up the stairs in their night gowns, as she stepped out onto the landing, and allowed herself a grim smile. So they'd all been listening outside the door then. Well that was no bad thing. They'd all know that Miss Carmine had been well beaten and it was all to the good of the house's morale that even the humblest maid should know that even their almighty Lady and Mistress was not above having her backside thrashed when she deserved it. They'd not be able to claim that justice was unfair and inequitable when their own turn came to lower their drawers for a whipping. Nobody was immune from retribution under this roof. A sound caning was a great leveller.
Alice was pleased to note that Cassandra was still holding her position against the wall obediently when she returned carrying a small tray. Her bottom and thighs were livid with crimson stripes from the cane but she held perfectly still and only her soft weeping betrayed her distress. Alice knew that if she ordered Cassandra to remain standing at the wall the rest of the night, she would do so, in penitence and bravery. Alice caught her breath, suddenly overcome with a surge of love for this extraordinary woman with whom she had cast her lot all those years ago in South Carolina. She owed this woman everything; her freedom... her life. She would do anything for her and, if it should be demanded of her, she would lay down her life in defence of her without hesitation. She thanked her God every day for the gift of her.
Alice softened her voice. “Come here Missy so Ise kin put dis cream on yo' po' ass.”
Cassandra crossed the room to her; naked in obedience and contrition. Her hair was a tangled ruin, the lovely face, Alice held so dear, was damp with her tears and Alice thought her heart would break for the love of her. She paused before Alice and lowered her head humbly. “Thank you for punishing me Alice.” she murmured in a tiny voice. “I deserved to be caned. Please forgive me for my wretched behaviour.”
Alice took a deep breath; tears threatening at her own eyes. “Dere now Missy. It all fo'given... youse allus gwine be fo'given ter me. Now jes come here an' give yo' po' old maid a hug and lets her know dat she fo'given too an' dat everyt'ing gwine be just de same between us.” She embraced Cassandra in a great hug, wrapping her arms about her as Cassandra wept softly on her shoulder. For a moment the years vanished for Alice and it was not Cassandra Carmine in her arms but Elizabeth Beaufontaine, the frightened lonely girl bride she had so often comforted in those terrible days on the plantation in South Carolina. She'd been sixteen, barely more than a c***d, and her b**st of a husband (may he burn in hell forever) nearly twice her age. Alice had had no time for “white folks” back then but Elizabeth had touched Alice's heart with pity. She had been so innocent, so sweet and vulnerable, just as she was now.
She had buried her innocence with her daughter on that most awful of days. Alice knew too what it was like to lose a c***d. Her baby boy had been sold away almost as soon as he was weaned. She had never seen him again. She did not even know if he was still alive. The night little Cassandra had died they had not been Mistress and slave but just two women holding each other in grief, lamenting their lost c***dren.
The steel had entered then. With the passing of her c***d, she had cast away her own c***dhood. The sweet young Elizabeth had vanished, to be replaced by the altogether different proposition of Cassandra Carmine; the strong woman whose bravery and resourcefulness had carried them both away from the hell of captivity to freedom. Those same qualities sustained them still but there were times, times such as this, when Alice could yearn for the lost little Elizabeth she had come to love in South Carolina.
Alice had never lost the faith she had been indoctrinated with in her youth. She still believed in God. But Cassandra was the biggest challenge to her faith. She knew that Cassandra had thrown away her own religious upbringing in South Carolina; cast it from her with her c***dhood dolls and her old name. That she had turned her face from God was painful to Alice but she believed in her heart that God had not turned His from Cassandra. Many in her church would consider Cassandra to be wicked and damned beyond doubt. She might have once thought so herself. She was wiser now though. She knew the gentleness, kindness and compassion that lay beneath the surface of Cassandra's soul. Cassandra had brought more good to the world than a hundred pious hypocrites praying in church. She had saved hundreds. There were people who worshipped her and thanked her for their lives. For all her sins, she was pure goodness. God would judge her ultimately on that.
“I'm sorry Alice.” Cassandra wept as she buried her face in Alice's shoulder.
Alice patted her on the back and stroked her hair fondly. “Dere now Missy. Ain't no cause ter be sorry. Youse a good woman. Don't never let no one tells you different.” Alice hesitated and then, casting caution to the wind, ventured her theory. “It dat Lizzie gal ain't it? It her youse been frettin' yo'self crazy 'bout ain't it?”
Cassandra nodded. “Yes Alice. I...I can't tell you the story yet but yes... it's her I'm worried about. I... I have to protect her but I don't know if I can. I'm sorry... I'm not allowed to tell you why.”
“You gwine tell me jes as soon as youse ready Missy. I done knowed dey was mo' ter de story dan her jes bein' some servant o' Lady Pennington's. Why dat gal never served no one in her life fo' she came here!”
“She's in my custody Alice.”
Alice thought for a moment. “She got de same name as you Missy... de name yo' Mama gave you. Why roll back de years an' she could be you... jes a little gal, name o' 'lizabeth, lost in de world. I knows you gwine find a ways ter take care o' dat gal!” She gave Cassandra a squeeze. “Now you jes dry dem tears Missy. Everything gwine be all right.” Alice reached for her tray. “Here now. Drink dis while I rub some dis lotion on yo' rump.”Cassandra took the small glass Alice gave her and took a sip. She choked on the pungent liquid. Alice fixed her with her eye. “Git it down youse. It medicine.”
“Medicine? It's neat rum!”
“Sure. Jes de ting fo' a sore ass after a whuppin'! Now turn 'roun' so's I can put dis lotion on.” Cassandra turned around and Alice reviewed her handiwork critically. “Well dat one well whupped ass though I says so myself. Dat sure gwine help youse 'member yo' manners fo' a few days! Best you asks fo' a cushion fore you sits down to yo' concert wid Massa Robert tomorrow.”
After attending to Cassandra, Alice picked up her robe and handed it to her. “Now pull dis on Missy and git you ter bed. It a big day tomorrow.” Leaving Cassandra to robe herself and finish her rum, Alice took her leave, climbing the stairs to her own rooms.
Mary was waiting on the landing to report to her. “Everything's arranged Miss Alice. Just as we planned.”
Alice nodded. “De bedchamber?”
“All ship shape an' Bristol fashion. Molly an' Peggy 'ave tekken care ov it.”
Alice grunted in acknowledgement. “Dey better done. Missy ain't all mellow an' sweetness at breakfast an' dere gwine be another pair o' asses ter whup! Now git youse into bed an' you tell dem gals dat de nex' time dey sneakin' 'bout on de landin' ter spy on Missy in her private rooms I gwine line de lot o' youse up fo' a whuppin'!”
Cassandra walked stiffly to her bedroom; the stinging in her rear a maddening dolour. Entering her bedroom, she blinked in surprise. The gas lights were switched off but the room was softly lit by Price's paraffin wax candles manufactured in Bedford; a modern industrial innovation, much cleaner and without the disagreeable odour of the tallow candles that had preceded them. It was the scene they illuminated however that caused Cassandra to pause in surprise. Molly and Peggy were kneeling by the side of her bed. Both girls were completely naked.
“What the devil is this?” spluttered Cassandra indignantly.
In response the two girls rose to their feet and hurried to her side. Molly took her hand with a grin. “We jus' thought yer might be needin' a bit o' company Miss.” she told her. “Seein' as 'ow yer've just 'ad the cane ovver yer bottle an' glass!”
Cassandra looked outraged. “Does the entire household know I've just been caned?”
Molly's gin widened. “Of course Miss. It ain't like you was quiet about it. Arf the bleedin' street probably knows you've 'ad yer arse thrashed be now!”
Cassandra groaned. “Oh just wonderful! And now I have my public disgrace to thank for the presence of you two in my bedchamber have I?”
Molly nodded earnestly. “That's right Miss. We thought you might need a little comfortin' after yer 'iding.”
Peggy snaked a hand around Cassandra's waist. “An' mebbe a bit more than comfort Miss. Nuthin' quite like a good 'iding ter put yer in the mood fer a bit ov 'ow's yer father! I know it does me. I were as randy as a bitch in 'eat after yer caned me at Lady Balding's 'ouse.”
“Well that's very thoughtful of you girls but I think I might prefer to be alone.”
Molly shook her head firmly. “Not on your Nelly... beggin' yer pardon Miss. We're under strict instructions not ter leave you alone ternight an' we ain't goin' nowhere! So you'll just 'ave ter put up wiv it an' lie back an' think of England.”
“Really girls...” began Cassandra in protest but Molly was already unfastening her robe.
“Now no arguin' Miss. We 'ave our orders. Yer've bin in a foul mood all week an' me an' Peggy know just the thing ter put yer in a better 'umour.”
“This is preposterous! Have all my staff conspired to improve my temper?”
“We all 'ave us different methods Miss.” Molly told her. “Alice 'as 'er way o' mekkin' yer squeal and me an' Peggy 'ave ours! No sleep fer the bleedin' neighbours ternight! Ger 'er robe off 'er Peg.”
Peggy slipped Cassandra's robe from her shoulders from where it fell with a whisper to the floor. Sandwiched naked between the two girls, Cassandra found herself more and more interested in the mood alleviating programme on offer. The burning in her rear was igniting sympathetic conflagrations in her loins; fires demanding consummation and quenching. Peggy slid her hand down to cup Cassandra's swollen buttocks; her caress inflaming Cassandra's desire. Slowly she began to steer her towards the bed. “Come along now Miss. Me an' Molly 'ave it all planned out what we're goin' ter do ter yer. I think yer gonna enjoy this, We've bin practisin'!”
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Should you have enjoyed this extract then you can find the whole novel at;
http://www.a1adultebooks.com/ebooks/b11965-miss-carmines-ladies-correctional-service.htm
6 years ago
Michaela xxxxx