Hall of Infamy (9 page)

‘Good journey, girls?' The sandy-haired youth who had manacled them into the carriage looked in, grinning. He climbed in and unlocked the handcuff securing Emma. ‘Step outside, if you please.'

Emma did as she was told. A stern-faced, black-clad woman awaited her, next to a big balding man.

‘Yours, I think, Mrs Pritchard. I can't see this little chit winning the Silver Cup!'

‘Emma Swift?'

‘Yes, ma'am.' Emma gave an awkward curtsey.

‘You'll need to be swift here, girl, if you wish to save your tender skin.'

There was a creaking from the carriage as the boy and Polly descended. The man and woman looked from Emma to the tall girl.

‘And this must be your filly, Mr Blackstock. Come along with me, Emma.' The woman turned on her heel and hurried off.

Emma half-turned to follow her, then looked back at her new friend.

‘Polly Thomas, sir.' The big girl gave a curtsey in her turn.

As Emma turned to scurry after the receding back of Mrs Pritchard, she heard the groom growl, ‘Not any more, you're not.'

‘That's it. Good girl.' Lady Alicia beamed at Clara who was flat on her belly and fervently licking the woman's stockinged toes. ‘The little darling really tries to please, don't you think, Amelia? She just needs some rigorous training to stop that silly thinking about orders. Soon, I am quite sure, the little love will learn to just obey!'

Amelia could neither see nor guess what Clara could do to be more submissive or obedient. For the last few throws of the rubber toy, she had waited for the order to fetch, poised like a retriever, as Lady Alicia stroked her golden hair. Then she had shot across the room and grabbed it in her mouth, hurtling back on hands and knees as fast as ever she could. Trembling, Clara had awaited the judgement. Twice she had been given a sweet and time to eat it as tears of relief and gratitude welled in her eyes. Once more she had been judged deficient and received another five hard cracks across the bottom with the paddle. Amelia had never heard her cousin, or anyone else, howl quite so heartbreakingly before.

Amelia's need to urinate had not grown any less pressing as she sat watching her aunt train Clara. Part of her was delighted by the sight. Part of her was truly frightened for, at any moment, she knew she might replace Clara as the object of Aunt Alicia's spite. Mostly though, she did not really care what was happening to Clara, but just wanted the performance to end so she might get the chance to go and seek relief.

‘Very well, Clara, put my shoes back on. I think it must be time for us to join the gentlemen. Kitty, you may go up to my chamber now and prepare yourself. I doubt if I will be very long.'

Amelia was aghast as her aunt picked up her leash. She looked down at her still-naked and shaven quim, and back up at Lady Alicia.

‘Please, Aunt, you can't. I mean—' The cold look in Aunt Alicia's eye stopped her mouth, but she continued pleading with her eyes.

The woman patted her on the cheek consolingly. ‘Amelia, don't make such a fuss. You don't have anything down there that these gentlemen have not seen! Now, come along girls. No, Clara, no need to get up.'

It was an odd little party that made its way down the corridor; the elegantly turned-out Lady Alicia, rustling in her mauve silk gown and lingerie, Clara crawling in her little smock and stockings, scarlet bottom glowing like a beacon, and Amelia, similarly attired, arms still in bondage, trotting along stiff-legged on Lady Alicia's leash.

‘All right, girl, get those clothes off and get into the bath.'

The scullery was stone-flagged and gloomy, but at least it was not cold. A tin bath had been placed and filled in the middle of the floor. Emma looked up at Mrs Pritchard uncertainly, and started to unbutton her grey reformatory dress.

‘Get undressed.'

The stable smelled of leather, hay and horse-sweat. Polly looked up furtively at Mr Blackstock and the two grinning stable-boys. She could not stop the blush, but there seemed to be nothing else for it. Dropping her gaze, she began to unbutton the coarse uniform.

‘Ah, splendid! The ladies at last. Amelia, my dear, and Clara too. May I say you both look radiant.'

Amelia stared at the floor as Lord Alex greeted them, and tried not to pout too obviously. She was having difficulty standing still now, the insistent pressure of her bladder becoming more and more uncomfortable by the minute. However, this was not so distracting as to materially lessen her sense of shame. She could feel the hem of her smock against her belly, just too high to cover her freshly shaven quim. Furtively, she leant forward, in a futile attempt to lower the material enough. There were three men in the smoking room: as well as Jamie and Lord Alex, who she had expected, there was a well-built man in a dog-collar, who had been chatting when the girls' entrance brought the gentlemen's conversation to a sudden halt.

Lady Alicia bent and placed the handle of Clara's leash in her mouth. ‘Clara and I have been playing fetch. I'm afraid I had to smack her bottom a little bit. Scamper over there now, mischief, and show Master Jamie your behind.'

Clara did as she was told. Amelia glanced up long enough to see that the three men's eyes were locked onto her cousin's still-red rear. Then Lady Alicia clapped her hands together.

‘But, for heaven's sake, where are my manners? I forgot that you have not been formally introduced. Miss Clara Tattershall and the Honourable Amelia Colinbrooke, may I introduce our rector, the Reverend Richard Dawes. I expect you might have heard of him, for he is rather famous.'

Heard of him? Amelia was thunderstruck – of course she had! How could any girl not know the name of the author of
Dawes's
Domestic
Discipline
, a copy of which sat on the shelves of every house of quality in the country? Who did not know the name of the man who had written a dozen best-selling works on every aspect of corporal chastisement, with especial regard to the punishment of girls? The man whose disciplinary skills had been called upon by the highest in the land, and whose cane had been applied, so it was rumoured, across the bottoms even of royal princesses.

Amelia was no coward, yet even so she might well have preferred not to meet the man at all. To meet him so, half-naked and helplessly bound, was enough to make the bravest young lady quail. There was nothing for it, though. She took a deep breath and looked up, determined not to reveal the extent of her trepidation.

He was quite a handsome man. At least, his visage was less diabolic than she had imagined. He was clean-shaven, with rather short brown hair, greying at the temples. His face was ordinary – except for his eyes. They were grey, a cold slate grey, and there was something about the intensity of his gaze that caused Amelia, just for a moment, to forget to breathe. It was as if the man looked straight into her soul, searched and judged and found her wanting.

He kept his eyes on her for a long moment, and Amelia found herself mesmerised, unable to look away whilst he kept her locked in his gaze. Then he looked down at her lower belly.

‘Charming,' he said at last and took another pull at his cigar. Then he looked down at Clara, who was wincing as Jamie stroked her martyred bottom.

‘Well, Jamie, it looks like you are teaching them a thing or two.'

‘Oh, it's early days,' the young man said. ‘And Clara is a good girl, really. Would you not agree, Aunt Alicia?'

Lady Alicia murmured her heartfelt assent to this as Jamie gestured with the stub of his cigar towards Amelia. ‘Of course,' he said languidly, ‘that little minx is a different prospect altogether.'

‘Oh, yes,' the Reverend Dawes said quietly, ‘yes, indeed. That I can see. For one thing, the way she is fidgeting, one might conclude that she had ants in her pants.' He paused. ‘That is, had she any pants within which to contain such minuscule arthropods!'

Amelia's cheeks burnt as the company roared with laughter. Just as this was fading, there was a tap at the door and Mrs Pritchard entered.

‘The secure carriage has arrived, milord. You asked to be informed.'

‘Quite right, thank you, Pritchard – and the filly?'

‘Is in the stables now, sir.' She turned to Lady Alicia. ‘The new maid has been put to work in the kitchen.'

Lord Alex stood and bowed to the Reverend Dawes. ‘Going to beat you this year, Richard! Please excuse me, I need to go and check my secret weapon.' He stood and hurried out.

‘Would you think me very rude if I were to leave you with Jamie and the girls now, Richard?' Lady Alicia asked. ‘I also have some pressing staff matters to attend to.'

The Reverend Dawes expressed his perfect satisfaction at being left with Jamie and his charges and Lady Alicia withdrew, to the accompaniment of a great deal of rustling.

‘This is the way it's going to be, see.'

Polly was completely naked now. Her long hair had been pulled into a ponytail by Mr Blackstock's surprisingly deft fingers, and a rope halter put around her neck. He had led her into a little stall. Open at the front, this consisted of a stone back wall and two partitions of planking, about two yards in length, and four feet apart. The floor of this was strewn with straw which tickled her bare feet as he led her into it and secured the rope on a large iron ring.

‘You are to be trained to run with a cart. You are to be Lord Alex's pony. It won't be forever, but it will be pretty tough. Lord Alex is determined to win the cup this year, and that is going to mean a lot of very hard training.'

He used her hair to pull her down until she was kneeling in the straw. Then he left her for a moment, returning with a length of thick-looking leather strapping. ‘Now, there's something you must understand. His Lordship believes you get the best out of a girl if you treat her strictly, like a pony. I don't know if there's anything in this method. The Reverend Dawes don't hold with it and he's won two years on the trot, to coin a phrase.' The big man grinned at his own joke and slapped the strap against his massive thigh. ‘But, anyway, it's what his lordship wants, and so it's what his lordship gets, understand?'

‘Y-yes sir, I think… Ooh!'

The strap cracked across her upper arm.

‘Wrong! Ponies don't talk, you silly mare. You may nod or shake your head in response to a direct question. Otherwise, from now on, a single word from those pretty lips will earn you a leathering.' He slapped the strap against his leg again and grinned. ‘Ponies don't try to cover up their titties, neither.'

Hurriedly Polly dropped her arms, although this made her breasts feel horribly vulnerable to the terrifying groom.

‘Good girl,' he growled and motioned her to turn around. Polly faced the stone back wall and felt his rough hands explore her body. ‘Well, there is a little muscle here.' He slipped his hand between her legs and squeezed her thigh firmly, appraising the flesh in a brusque professional manner.

‘Will she do, Ben?' Polly froze as she recognised the languid tones of Lord Alex.

‘Perhaps, your lordship, but there's a lot of work to do. These long legs will eat up the ground, but she'll have to put on a lot of muscle if she is to have a chance of staying on the second ascent of Holly Hill.' He gave the back of Polly's right thigh a stinging slap, by way of illustration. She bit her lip and made herself stay in position.

‘Get her up for me. We can trot her properly in the morning, but I want to have a look.'

The groom took her by the ponytail and guided her to her feet and out of the stall into the open area of the stable-block. Lord Alex held a lantern up, his bewhiskered face illuminated by it, his sharp eyes gleaming in the lamplight. Polly was not sure if she was more frightened of the lord, or the groom holding her halter and his wicked strip of leather.

‘Yes, yes,' Lord Alex spoke a little hoarsely. ‘Damn me, Ben, I think the filly might just do it. Now, I want her fed well. We need to put some meat on those thighs.' He stepped forward, holding the lamp up, and Polly suppressed a whimper as he reached between her legs as the groom had done a moment earlier, but this time from the front.

‘Steady, girl. Easy, now, easy,' Mr Blackstock whispered in her ear. His hand stole around her back and rested on her hip, gently preventing her from stepping back as Lord Alex felt her thighs. ‘Have you decided what to call her yet, your lordship?'

‘Mm, yes. She's such a pretty filly, I rather thought I would name her “Blossom”.'

His strong hand started to move up her thigh. Despite herself, she gave a gasp and flinched, but Mr Blackstock's strong arm held her steady. His hand stroked up and down reassuringly, without relinquishing its hold.

‘Easy now, there's a good girl,' he murmured as Lord Feversham's finger probed and she whimpered nervously. Then, on finding a well-lubricated welcome, it slid inside her sex.

The low insistent voice was almost hypnotic in the soft glow of the lamplight. ‘Easy, Blossom, easy girl. Easy now, Blossom, my beauty.' The naked girl leant back in the groom's grip and a lost cry escaped her lips in response to the touch.