Hall of Infamy (30 page)

After that the strokes started to blur. The agony seemed to be a constant blaze, the new whip-strokes providing extra pulses of intensity, like a constant fiery glow pulsing to white heat, rhythmically as some diabolic bellows pumped away. The clapping was a distant, disconnected thing now. Blossom no longer knew what it was, although she was dimly aware of the sound. Some searing whip-strokes made her open her eyes in surprise, but the tranquil lake view meant nothing to her. The shrieks of her companions in this purgatory, the whistle of the whip, the crack of cord on buttock and back, the desperate rattling as the girls fought against their bonds, most of all the swirling crimson pain that engulfed her, these were the only sensations that had any sort of meaning. As the whip lashes fell, again and again, ever more frequently, Blossom felt her mind swept away by a boiling tide of pain.

‘Listen to them roar! I told you it would be better to win, eh, girl?' Jack Campion fondly pinched the cheek of his pony-girl.

As the whipping had progressed, Amelia had watched him stroll up the slope, leading Princess by a simple rope halter. Though her hands were free, the naked girl made no effort to hide her extraordinarily well-developed charms. She followed her master placidly, ignoring the ribald shouts of picnickers as she past. Amelia did not know where to look. The black girl fascinated her: those magnificent breasts gently bobbing as she trotted up the lawn, such wonderfully muscular thighs, the nest of luxuriant black pubic curls.

But even as the winner approached, the whipping of the losers compelled attention. Amelia's own blistered bottom twitched in sympathy at the sound of every stinging lash. The hissing carriage-whips left long welts on the backs and bottoms of the naked girls stretched out on the frame. The weals rose like brands, heart-stoppingly vivid, especially on the pale flesh of fair-skinned Belinda and red-haired Rose.

As the drivers took their turn to progress down the line, delivering three strokes to each victim on this pass, it did not escape Amelia's attention which of the whips produced the most piteous cries. The Reverend Dawes stood rock-steady in front of Rose and lashed the naked girl three times in quick succession, producing startled squeals. Then he stepped smartly to the side and raised his whip again. Three pistol shot retorts rang out across the park, and Belinda howled in turn.

‘The Reverend Dawes is showing his usual enthusiasm.' Jack Campion had reached Lady Alicia's party now, and took up the winner's seat. Amelia found herself kneeling, her face but inches from Princess's superbly muscled thighs.

Another three cracks rang out and Blossom gave full-throated witness to her pain. Amelia looked down to see the tall girl's muscular tanned back writhing helplessly as she fought against her bonds. Welts criss-crossed the whole of her back now, and laced the girl's firm bottom and the top half of her thighs. The sight made Amelia shiver, but she could not look away.

‘Richard is invariably enthusiastic when it comes to whipping girls,' Lady Alicia said in a somewhat husky voice.

Connie squealed as she was lashed in turn, and then the Reverend stepped aside as Mrs Treadwell prepared to take his place.

The pain in Amelia's bottom had faded to a dull throb, but the discomfort of the corset and the back-board grew more vexatious with every passing minute. Fascinated as she was by the prospect of the whipping, she devoutly wished for the spectacle to be over, that she might begin to hope for release. She glanced at Clara, who was kneeling at Jamie's knee. The blonde girl seemed to be feeling the discomfort less, for there was an almost blissful expression on her face as Jamie absently stroked her golden curls.

Amelia's wish was not to be soon granted. The flogging of the losing fillies seemed to take forever. The sun glowed red as it began to set. She tried to ignore the aching of her shoulders and the insistent tingling that tormented her loins. The languid clapping of the crowd was now reserved for especially vicious strokes, or particularly skilful applications of the whip.

The long shadowed September sun; the ripples of applause; the simmering sense of barely suppressed arousal in the crowd; the sound of carriage-whip cracking against flesh. It seemed to Amelia that she was lost in some dream world, beyond time and place. That, perhaps, she was stuck, condemned to kneel forever, tight-laced and trussed to an unbending back-board, her bottom throbbing from the last beating, uncomfortably awaiting her next appointment with the rod.

Blossom cried out in pain and the crowd clapped a particularly wicked stroke of the whip. Amelia moaned softly. Would she ever escape this state of bondage? The girls in the whipping-frame struggled against their restraints, silhouetted by the crimson sun, dancing to the tune of leather against tender female flesh.

The tune of birch and leather, that was the music of Hope Hall.

Amelia awoke to the familiar figure of Betsy standing over her bed. As usual the clamminess of the rubber sheets and the chemical smell of latex assailed her nostrils, and she rose with alacrity. Only once she had escaped the sheets' latex embrace did she begin to wonder what new torments might lay in store that day.

‘I've run a bath for you, miss. Your clothes are set out in the dressing room.'

Amelia was not certain, but it seemed as if the nursery-maid was being more respectful than usual. Perhaps the frolics following the Silver Cup had taught the girl some regard for her betters, Amelia thought as she followed the buxom girl into the bathroom.

The bathroom was beyond the parlour and she had to cross this, naked as she was, to gain her bath. As she passed through the room she glanced at the mantel clock. To her astonishment, she saw it was almost nine o'clock. Amelia almost stumbled, surprised that she had been allowed such luxury.

The bath was wonderful. It was deep and hot and provided with rose-scented oils. As usual, Amelia found the combination of sensuality and privacy irresistible. There had been no sign of Jamie in the parlour; with any luck he would still be sleeping off last night's debauch. Amelia's fingers stroked her inner thighs, and then gently circled her clitoris. The vision of the Reverend Dawes imposed itself, unbidden, in her mind. She saw him whipping his pony-girl again, his grey eyes devoid of pity. Then she found herself imagining herself imprisoned between the shafts of his sulky as he flogged her on.

Her climax took her by surprise. A sudden explosion of ecstasy ripped through her, making her cry out with its intensity.

‘Good Lord, Amelia, you sound like a boiled cat.'

The blood rushed to her face in shame, even as she froze in fear at the sound of Jamie's voice behind her. How could she have been so foolish as to let him catch her once again?

‘If you can stop frigging yourself for a moment,' he said in an amused voice, ‘I suggest that you get dressed. We are breakfasting with Lord Alex and Lady Alicia this morning.'

To her great relief he left then, saying no more about catching her in the act of masturbation. Why was it she always seemed to think about that man? Amelia wondered as she towelled herself dry. The Reverend Dawes terrified her and she hated his arrogance and air of superiority, but terror seemed to have led to a sort of horrified fascination. It was awful, and she wished she could think of something else when she touched herself, but he seemed to have mesmerised her, somehow.

However, she had more immediate causes for anxiety. Her bottom still felt blistered from her Aunt Alicia's paddle. What new torments had been devised to vex the cousins? she wondered.

In the dressing room, Betsy laced her into her little corset. The maid hauled tightly but, to Amelia's relief, did not lace her so viciously as she had the day before. Looking around anxiously, Amelia saw no sign of the dreaded back-board, either. What she did see filled her mind with questions.

‘Drawers now, miss?' Betsy asked, almost respectfully, holding up a pair of new, white cotton drawers.

Amelia blinked at the things, astonished for a moment. They looked respectable and comfortable. Was she really to be free of the awful latex bloomers? She stepped into the drawers and Betsy tied the strings. Then the nursery-maid picked up the gown of emerald silk that had been laid out.

Amelia just stared at the elegant garment for a second. Then, as she put it on and allowed Betsy to fasten it, she found she had to swallow a lump in her throat. Do not be so silly, she chided herself as she blinked away tears of pure relief. After all, proper adult attire was no more than her due.

Once dressed she joined Jamie and Clara in the parlour. Amelia stared at her cousin in surprise. Clara wore a gown, every bit as proper as her own, of pale yellow satin. The cousins looked at one another for a moment with wide eyes.

‘Splendid, splendid. I must say that you both look splendid,' Jamie said jovially. ‘One would hardly recognise you, Amelia.' The uncouth young man gave her a leery wink.

For once, Amelia really did not care. As the little party made its way from the nursery to the breakfast room, Amelia's mind was full of desperate questions. Could this be the end of her long humiliation? Might she have seen the end of those awful clothes and Jamie's rule? She tried not to allow her hopes to flourish, knowing that this might be some cruel trick.

Yet when they arrived at the breakfast room, they were treated in the way she had expected on that first dreadful day. Lady Alicia greeted them fondly and urged them to take kidneys and mushrooms from the dishes laid out on the sideboard. Lord Alex greeted them affably from behind his paper, as if their appearance were the most normal thing in the world, and the months of humiliation in the nursery no more than a bad dream.

Amelia did not dare to ask, so she sipped her tea and breakfasted warily on toast and some fine sausages, awaiting some explanation of the change. Lady Alicia said nothing until all had eaten their fill, then she clapped her hands together for attention, and even Lord Alex put his paper down.

‘Now, my dears, we have an important announcement. Jamie has proposed to Clara, and been accepted.'

Lord Alex gave a grunt of approbation, Clara blushed and even Jamie coloured a little. Amelia looked at her cousin with astonished outrage. The little slut: how could she? After all the outrages that swine had perpetrated…

‘I know this summer has been hard on you two girls. You have had a taste of life on the receiving end, the better to fit you for your place. I know that nursery discipline has been vexatious to you – especially to you, Amelia, for you have great spirit. You will both be glad to know that it is over. The summer season ends traditionally with the Silver Cup.'

Any resentment Amelia might have felt at what she saw as Clara's betrayal vanished at this news. It was over, it was finally over, she thought exultantly. Relief that she would no longer be subject to Jamie's tutelage vied with eagerness to pay off a few scores. Betsy would be bending for her rod, to name but one, just as soon as she ever got the chance.

‘The wedding will be in April,' Lady Alicia continued, smiling broadly. ‘Clara will stay with us, in new and more salubrious accommodations until then.' The dark beauty turned her near-black eyes on Amelia. ‘You, my dear, I suspect, would like to get away from here.'

There was truth in that. Amelia had accounts to pay, it was true, but it was hard to forget that most of Hatherby had seen her naked, humiliated, and in bondage. It might be altogether better to begin, elsewhere, anew.

‘A change,' she said cautiously, ‘might be… appropriate.'

‘Splendid,' Lady Alicia clapped her hands together delightedly. ‘Then it is settled. You see, Amelia, we have some marvellous news. One of the girls on the Reverend Dawes's little course has had to cancel, and guess what?'

Amelia did not need to guess. Her stomach had turned into a churning fist. She seemed to have lost the power of speech altogether. There was a thunderous pounding in her temples, as if all the huntsmen of Hades were galloping her down.

‘That means that there is a place for you.'

‘You see, m'dear,' Lord Alex put in with a mischievous grin, ‘we don't feel you have really learnt your lesson yet.'

‘I'm afraid that my best efforts have failed.' Jamie shook his head regretfully. ‘You still need taking down a peg or three.'

‘And if I know Richard Dawes,' Lady Alicia said with a steely smile, ‘he is just the man to do it. Six months of really rigorous discipline at the Rectory ought to do the trick.'

Amelia felt the world spin around her. She looked in turn at the faces around the table. Lady Alicia smiled steadily at her, Lord Alex had returned to his paper, and Jamie and Clara were staring idiotically into one another's eyes.

Amelia opened her mouth to protest, but no words would come. Six months, under that man's rule! The prospect made her dizzy with fear. When she finally managed to speak it was a desperate, terrified question. ‘Wh-wh-when?' she stuttered at last. Just as she got the word out, Lucy bustled in.

Lady Alicia looked at the maid enquiringly.

‘The Reverend Dawes's coach, ma'am. It's arrived for Miss Amelia.'

The world spun around Amelia and she fainted dead away.