Over the Knee (11 page)

I glanced anxiously at my watch every few seconds. The Ravenscroft uniform had been bottle-green, so navy must be his personal preference. The blazer badge bore the name ‘Westfield’. I tried to imagine Peter going into a school outfitter’s and picking out the uniform. He’d probably told the clerks he was buying it for his daughter. The image made my knees weak.

I didn’t dare present myself as anything but impeccably dressed. I fastened my top button and knotted my tie dutifully – actions that were still second nature to me. Then I lifted my skirt and pulled down my knickers, bending over to see my bottom in the mirror. The marks from his belt were still vivid, but I didn’t think that would earn me any leniency. I suddenly regretted having shared so many details about my punishment fantasies with him. I’d invited him right inside my head and he knew exactly what pushed my buttons. He had to know I’d be disappointed with
anything
less than the real thing. He had set the bar the other night in the alley near Bond Street. This would be even more intense.

I hesitated so long that I suddenly realised twenty minutes had passed. Tardiness was not likely to make him sympathetic. With no more time to stall I made my descent. My shoes clattered noisily on the wooden treads, making me wince with each step. I stopped outside the study door, struck by the sense of déjà vu. My unsteady fist knocked softly on the wood.

‘Enter.’

I took a deep breath and opened the door. The room was darkly panelled and imposing. Bookshelves lined the wall to my left and egg-and-dart plaster mouldings encircled the ceiling. Peter – Mr Markworthy – sat at a large oak desk with an envelope before him. He was wearing a formal schoolmaster’s gown. Behind him was a small fireplace with a lavish surround decorated with scrolls. I gaped at my surroundings like a museum visitor.

‘Ah, Harker,’ he said. ‘Close the door.’

I turned the knob and pushed the door soundlessly into its frame, before turning to stand in front of his desk.

Mr Markworthy stared at me for several seconds, his eyes travelling up and down, scrutinising my uniform. It was a long uncomfortable silence and I shifted my weight nervously, twisting my fingers behind my back.

‘Hands at your sides,’ he told me sharply. ‘And stand up straight.’

I obeyed. At least he could find no fault with my uniform.

He picked up the envelope and I saw that it had already been opened. He slipped the letter out and unfolded it. I watched as his eyes scanned it and then flicked back to me.

The cruel suspense made me tremble and I looked down at the floor.

When he spoke there was a hard edge to his voice. ‘I expect you know what Mr Taylor’s letter says, girl.’

I pictured the scenario. A schoolgirl – me – slipping her bonds to meet a lad from the neighbouring boys’ school.
After
some adolescent fumbling in the dark woods between the schools, one or the other would decide that they should be getting back to their respective dormitories. But sneaking back in would prove even harder than sneaking out.

‘Yes, sir,’ I said.

I could actually feel the rising panic of being caught. Tiptoeing down the hallway, my shoes in my hand to muffle my passage. The sudden male voice curtly telling me to turn around. I could see myself facing the housemaster, frightened, ashamed, apprehensive. Being given the dread command to report to the headmaster in the morning. I wouldn’t have slept the rest of the night.

Mr Markworthy adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat. ‘Tonight I caught Angela Harker trying to return secretly to school after lights out. When confronted, she was insolent and disrespectful. I believe this incident requires stricter measures than I am authorised to administer. Harker shows a persistent disregard for school rules and contempt for authority. This is not the first time that she has broken bounds at night to meet a boy, and she has repeatedly shown poor judgement in matters of personal safety. She seems to feel that danger threatens others, not her.’

He set the letter aside and looked at me gravely. ‘Well, young lady? Do you have anything to say for yourself?’

I gulped. I couldn’t very well criticise Mr Taylor for his opinion or call him a liar. But, as the roleplay had one foot in reality, I had to defend myself. ‘I wasn’t really in any danger, sir. It was perfectly safe.’

‘Perfectly safe,’ he repeated. ‘In the woods, with a boy, after dark, out of bounds. Is that right?’

It sounded positively criminal coming from him. ‘Well, yes, sir,’ I had to admit.

‘Are you aware that there was a murder committed in those woods a few years ago?’

‘Erm, no, sir.’

He shook his head disapprovingly. ‘That only emphasises your temerity, Harker. You took no steps to find out how dangerous it actually was. But let us come back to the letter. I want to hear your explanation for last night.’

‘I just … I mean, I was only …’ I didn’t know what to say. His natural authority had transformed me into a naughty teenager, reduced to stammering lame excuses. He was completely different from the security guard who’d strapped me in an alley two days before. In my head he was really my headmaster.

‘Come on, girl,’ he said testily. ‘Explain yourself.’

‘It was stupid, sir,’ I confessed. ‘And reckless.’

His eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline and he looked down at the letter again, clearly appalled that I hadn’t said what he wanted to hear. ‘Is that all, Harker?’

I fidgeted, plucking at the hem of my pleated skirt. ‘Sir, I –’

‘Hands at your sides, girl!’

I snapped them back to my sides. ‘I’m sorry for sneaking out, sir,’ I said. Then I added pathetically, ‘I won’t do it again.’

‘No, you most certainly won’t,’ he said severely. ‘I intend to make sure of that.’

He stood up, pushing back his chair. He came round the front of the desk to stand in front of me. The black gown framed him like an executioner’s robe. I instantly felt smaller.

‘There are three issues here,’ he began. ‘The first and most serious is your recklessness. You’re a clever girl, Harker, so it’s not stupidity or naivety. So it must be negligence. You know you ought to take precautions, but you just can’t be bothered, is that it?’

‘No, sir,’ I mumbled, lowering my head.

‘Then what is it? Look at me, girl.’

Meeting his eyes was hard, but I forced myself to do it. I floundered for an explanation, but nothing would come. ‘I don’t know, sir. I guess I just assume I’ll be all right.’

‘You find the idea of a little peril exciting, do you? Romantic? Is that it?’

It was. Damn, he was good. I mumbled a sheepish ‘Yes, sir.’

Mr Markworthy eyed me for several uncomfortable seconds. ‘Do you know what hubris is, Harker?’

I turned scarlet and looked at the floor again. ‘Yes, sir.’

He sighed and shook his head, returning to the desk. I thought he was going to sit down again and for a moment I felt relieved. But he stopped at the stand by the fireplace. A selection of crook-handled rattan canes stood there, a silent threat.

‘Now we come to the second issue,’ he said.

I chewed my lip as he withdrew one of the thinner canes. He considered it for a moment and then put it back.

‘Flouting school rules,’ he continued.

He chose a thicker cane and pulled it out. He flexed it in his hands and I was instantly reminded of an old Hulton Archive photo of a woman in a lab coat testing school canes at a factory. She was bending a cane into a dramatic arch in the foreground while in the background her colleague was surrounded by bundles of canes finished and ready for use on the backsides of errant pupils. I shuddered. The moment was approaching.

Mr Markworthy returned to the centre of the room to stand before me again. My legs began to tremble and I felt my breathing grow shallow at the nearness of the cane.

‘I’m sorry, sir,’ I said, knowing it was no defence.

‘Yes, you will be, girl,’ he said seriously. ‘Very sorry indeed. This isn’t the first time you’ve misbehaved, though it’s by far the most serious. You clearly need something more severe than impositions.’ He flexed the cane again for effect and I winced.

‘Lastly, there is the issue of your disrespect to Mr Taylor on being caught. He says you were insolent when confronted. Is that correct?’

My throat felt stuffed with cotton. I could barely speak. He’d set the scene up well. There was no way I could deny it without calling my housemaster a liar.

‘Yes, sir,’ I whispered.

‘Very well, then. Normally a pupil would receive only two or three strokes for any one infraction. But your catalogue of misconduct demands that I make an example of you.’

The anticipation was excruciating and I felt dizzy as I waited for my sentence, though there was no mystery
about
the implement he proposed to use. My heart was throbbing in my ears and I stared in horror at the cane as a bead of cold sweat trickled down between my shoulder blades.

‘Six of the best, Harker.’

Of course. I’d known it couldn’t be any less. But actually hearing the words made my stomach swoop.

‘When I give the order, you will bend and touch your toes. You will stay in that position throughout your caning. And when I have finished you will remain in position until I tell you to stand up. Is that understood?’

‘Yes, sir.’

His belittling words made me want to shrink inside myself. The suspense was unbearable, but so was the thought of what was coming. I was terrified I wouldn’t be able to take it. I reminded myself that a real schoolgirl wouldn’t have a choice.

‘Right. Touch your toes.’

I did as I was told, feeling the hem of my skirt rise up as I bent. I blushed, pressing my fingertips against the tops of my shoes.

Mr Markworthy laid the cane on the desk. Then I felt his hands at the hem of my skirt. He took his time raising it high up over my back while I stared at the polished rattan before me. I had to lock my knees to still the trembling in my legs.

My shirttail was next. He tucked it well up, clearing the target area. My face burnt as he made his preparations.

‘I usually prefer to cane a girl over her knickers, Harker,’ he said. ‘But in cases of insolence I find that the added embarrassment of exposure can be salutary.’

He hooked his hands in the waistband of my white cotton knickers and pulled them slowly down over my bottom. I blushed and bent forwards a little more.

‘Hmmm, it looks as though you’ve been punished recently.’ He traced the welts with his finger, making me jump. ‘But I’m afraid I’m not prepared to be lenient because of that. It’s none of my affair if you’ve got on the wrong side of one of the prefects.’

I held my breath, as much to slow my ragged breathing as to prepare myself. But Mr Markworthy was in no hurry. He laid the cool length of rattan against my bare bottom, tapping it gently. I gave an exaggerated flinch at each tap, expecting the first stroke.

‘Now then, Harker,’ he said in a firm businesslike tone. ‘I expect you know the protocol. You’re to count each stroke and thank me.’

‘Yes, sir,’ I said, my voice a pitiful rasp.

The cane tapped again, addressing where it would strike. Once. Twice. Then it lifted away and I heard the awful sound as it sliced back down through the air and into my bottom. There was a disorienting delay and for a second I wasn’t sure he’d actually hit me. First there was a slight tingle. Then the thin red line began to burn and flare. It spread from the point of impact to encompass my entire bottom. It took several seconds for the full effect to take hold. The stinging agony intensified until I couldn’t help bending my knees.

‘Stay in position, girl,’ he growled.

I straightened my legs, hissing through my teeth at the astonishing power of the cane. A full minute must have passed before the pain began to subside to a dull pulsating ache. And that was just the first stroke.

I felt the cane tapping brusquely. Several seconds passed. At last he said, ‘I’m waiting.’

I suddenly remembered. ‘One,’ I choked out. ‘Thank you, sir.’

He laid the rattan against my bottom again and I held my breath as it drew back again to strike.

This time the pain followed the impact much faster, but it didn’t hurt any less. My hands left my shoes and wavered in the air, desperate to clutch my sore cheeks and soothe away the sting. But I managed to resist, fearing extra punishment. I curled my toes tightly, uncomfortably, inside my shoes, trying to focus on anything but the searing parallel lines across my poor bottom.

‘Two. Thank you, sir.’ This time I remembered on my own, but the added humiliation of having to count and
thank
him seemed to make the stripes throb even more furiously.

The third stroke landed exactly on top of the previous one and I leapt up with a howl of pain, grabbing my sore bottom. Mr Markworthy frowned, but didn’t say a word. I struggled to resume the position, but the burn was too intense. I gasped and panted for nearly a minute before I was able to touch my toes again. With the patience of a gourmet savouring his food, he straightened my skirt and replaced my shirttail over my back.

‘If you break position again,’ he said coolly. ‘The stroke won’t count.’

‘Yes, sir. Three. Thank you, sir,’ I panted, deliriously grateful he wasn’t adding to the punishment this time.

I took the fourth stroke with only a guttural groan. And I didn’t get out of position even though my legs were shaking from the effort of keeping my knees locked. I gritted my teeth until the worst of the blossoming pain was over. Then I counted the stroke.

Stroke number five found its mark between three and four and I yelped loudly. I managed to stay in position, though it took every ounce of my willpower. I forced myself to breathe slowly and deeply, letting the sensation wash over me. I counted.

Squeezing my eyes shut tight, I listened as the cane swished through the air one last time. It struck my tender bottom with a meaty whack, forcing the air from my lungs in a strangled cry. The pain was blinding. Tears shimmered in my eyes.

‘Six,’ I said at last, my voice a dazed breathless murmur. ‘Thank you, sir.’

I stayed in position, breathing hard, blinking back the tears. Tiny starbursts twinkled behind my eyes and I had to open them so as not to lose my balance. I felt light-headed.