The supposedly Great Hall of the second of the stately homes we visited recently wasn’t, frankly, that ‘great’ – and the replica regency costumes so proudly would scarcely have passed muster at one of Lord Fawcett’s weekend house parties. But the not-so-great hall led onto the very fine dining room, and my imagination kicked into gear.
Readers who’ve ploughed through the archives of my stories might recall that one of my very first forays into the world of spanking writing concerned a young lady who’d spilled soup over a dinner guest. And this room, with its table artfully set with the finest china, must surely have witnessed similar events?
I whispered the plot into Haron’s ear, careful not to be overheard by the National Trust steward. His lordship had invited a group of his closest gentleman friends to dinner – no ladies present at the table for this evening of boisterous camaraderie.
The silver platter holding the diners’ starters was clearly too heavy for the serving maid to carry; she stumbled and let it fall to the ground. The mess of broken crockery and wasted food cleared up, she was sent to stand facing the fireplace, dreading the implications of “We’ll deal with you after dinner”, and the gentlemen continued their meal.
As dessert was served, she heard the butler instructed to prepare a birch. When port arrived, she was ordered to remove her dress and bare her buttocks – left there, still facing the fireplace, in fearful contemplation as the gentlemen observed her predicament.
It was only after the decanters had been drained and the cheeseboard cleared away that she was told to come over to the table; to bend over, to learn the full extent of her fate – a birching of twenty strokes, which his lordship administered with gusto to the great approval of the assembled company.
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Us poor clumsy girls always end up with the sore end of the deal..or rather at least a sore rear end!