It was an awkward gathering late that evening in drawing room of the grand London townhouse: the gentleman, his niece, the police inspector.

The girl, aged seventeen, had been missing all day. Panic had ensued; her absence had been reported, searches undertaken. They’d found her, eventually – in the cell of a police station, amidst the other protestors they’d arrested earlier.

“Wilful vandalism”, the inspector called it – daubing messages demanding equality on the walls of public buildings across the capital. “They want equality?” he continued: “They should be birched, then.” But, thanks to the gentleman’s friends in high places, no charges would be brought against this particular young lady – this time.

The gentleman raised his hand to silence the officer: “Thank you for your help, inspector, and for your advice. I shall take matters into my own hands from here.” He rang a bell; the butler appeared. “Thomson here will show you the way out.”

When they were alone, he turned to the girl. “I shall see you in your bedroom in twenty minutes’ time,” he told her. “Go and get ready for bed.”

She mounted the stairs, half in anger (“I was doing what was right”), half in dread. He was a kind man: he’d been good to her since he’d taken her in. But she knew what happened when he sent her upstairs like this. And, she had to admit, she’d deserved the two whippings he’d had have to give her.. But her righteous fury made the thought of bending over, of taking the harsh strokes with his crop, even worse.

She was washed and in her nightdress by the time he arrived. She started to protest: “It’s not fair. We should have the vote. You can’t punish me for trying to change the system when it’s wrong.”

And he listened, and sat next to her on the bed, and agree. He confided in her: he knew the ringleaders, was active behind the scenes lobbying on their behalf. If she wanted to protest, he was proud of her.

“But,” he added, “that doesn’t excuse you leaving the house without permission today, or the worry you’ve caused us. We’ve been beside ourselves dreading what might have become of you.”

She nodded sadly. And when he told her that he was going to put her over his knee and spank her, she was almost grateful for the chance to make amends – not for her protest, but for hurting those who cared about her.