Such a hot little dream the other night… I was a Victorian gentleman; my daughter stood before me in my study late at night.
“Your governess tells me she had to punish you for laziness this afternoon”.
“Yes, sir”. Ashamed. Rightly so.
“And what punishment did she give you?”
“She used her strap, sir. On my bottom.”
“And not for the first time recently, I hear?”
“No, sir.”
“Then it seems I need to re-enforce the message.”
Skirts lifted; bent far over my desk; a particularly thorough birching on an already-bruised bottom, until my brave girl gave in and sobbed.
“Now adjust your clothing,” I told her when it was finished, “and go into the drawing room to tell your mother what’s just happened, and say goodnight to her. I shall come and see you in your bedroom in ten minutes’ time…”
Nothing quite as humbling as letting down a father who thinks the world of you. That part is timeless.
It’s interesting how they both withdraw into formality, the father channeling his anger into a pretty much pointless interrogation, the daughter showing contrition by not making a fuss. The lack of any display of affection is chilling, maybe Victorian.
I wish someone gave that girl a hug after such a bad day.
Oh boy! đ
I love victoriana! Svetlana, I thought Father was quite rightly very formal, and much as Victorians loved their children, those of a better class than the common man would consider himself vulgar indeed to display too much emotion. I don’t think he even was necessarily channelling anger, perhaps more sorrowful he was obliged to teach his recalcitrant daughter a stern lesson for her own good. There would certainly not be any hugging from Papa…maybe a pat on the head to indicate he was not angry and hoped the lesson he imparted had been learned well.
So, tearful and contrite we follow our young lady. Mama is in her dressing room, with her lady’s maid assisting her toilette, removing the fine jewellery, unlacing her lady’s corsets, brushing her hair (with her Mason Pearson hairbrush naturally) out of the intricate evening arrangement into loose strands for the night.
A nervous tap at the door indicates that her errant daughter has concluded her painful interview with Papa, and Mama gestures the maid to open the door. Eyes downcast, she enters.
âWell,â says Mama, âDid Papa birch you?â
âYes Mama.â
âAnd well deserved too!â
Again, âYes Mama,â although it is obviously a struggle holding back the tears.
My Ladyâs maid is quietly putting clothes away in the armoire, but slyly keeping an eye on proceedings and hoping she will not be chased out of the room.
âVery well,â says Mama, âKindly raise your skirt and open your drawers so I may inspectâ
Not daring to sigh, her daughter meekly complies, reaching under her skirt to pull her drawers apart at the back, and then raising her skirt and turning. As she turns she notices the maid watching, and her face reddens to match her posterior.
Mama rises from her seat in front of the dressing table and peers at her daughterâs widest part. It has certainly been a salutary lesson, but Mama not only endured a strict upbringing, but has for two decades now, supervised armies of young maids.
âLean over the stool, if you please Miss,â orders her mother, âThe light is better thereâ
Again, the girl obeys. Mama moves to pick up the lamp and leans in to inspect more closely, occasionally laying a finger and pressing on what seems to her a particular sore spot.
âYou may rise,â says Mama, and just as her daughter is feeling relief wash over her, continues, âand bring me my hairbrush.â
She cannot help the sob that escapes her as she straightens up to reach for the brush from the dressing table. Mama once more resumes her seat, this time though, facing away from the table and into the room. She takes the brush from her daughter, and as she pats her lap in the time-honoured fashion, Mama says calmly, âOne day my love, I hope that you will find yourself in as happily married a state as I, with a good and kind husband, a beautiful house and a happy family. However, to possess an ordered and well-run house, it is necessary that you yourself must be well-ordered.â
As her daughter lowers herself onto Mamaâs lap, Mama raises her skirt, and smacks down hard with the brush. âA great girl of your age really should have learnt this school-room lesson by now, but if you persist in behaving like an infant, then I think it is only fitting that you should endure a little infant punishment.â
Mama gently pulls open the drawers, exposing the girlâs buttocks and smacks down the cellulose brush again. It is a light brush, and although stings more than wood and causes more distress, its effects are not as bruising. âHow would you keep your staff from laziness, if you yourself are indolent?â
Naturally Mama is not expecting a coherent answer. She knows that the sting she in inflicting on her daughterâs nether cheeks preclude language. Indeed the girl is already in tears, and following a resounding salvo is sobbing like an infant. Objective achieved, Mama bids her daughter rise, and herself re-adjusts the girlâs attire. Ever mindful of her husbandâs ways, Mama pats her daughterâs hand and instructs her to run to her room before her ten minutes are up â it would not do at all to keep Papa waiting!
As the girl disappears out of the door, Mama also dismisses her ladyâs maid, saying she will not require her assistance further that night. She sits again and peers into the glass, assuring herself that all is in order. She is expecting her husband very shortly, for a discussion on how and why she has been so lax as to allow the situation with her daughter to escalate to this level.
She idly wonders whether he will come bearing a riding crop or a cane tonight.
The brush on top of the strap and the birch? As a “little infant punishment”? Oh, please.
You are probably correct about the father not being angry, though. Then again, “I’m not angry, just disappointed” is one of the more effective lines a father can come up with. (“Please, can’t you just be angry?”)
A father in full control of himself is not at all unusual, even in contemporary spanking stories. What I consider special (and oddly appealing) about this one is that the daughter also restrains herself. There’s no excuses, no pleading, not even a spoken apology. She speaks through her suffering.
It’s funny how such a short story leaves so much room for guessing and interpretation. In my reading, the father gets the daughter’sunspokenmessage and manages to see the best in her. The one attribute that comes up in his mind is not “lazy” or “stubborn”. It’s “brave”.
Dear goodness, these are some of the hottest comments ever!! Wow. Love it when posts spark others’ imaginations to such an extent. And I feel even sorrier for the girl now!
I don’t feel sorry for her – she got her just desserts
And I’m also a sucker for the “hard done by” as well – I like stories where the errant girl is punished by all concerned – through stages of endurance until she is thoroughly drained.
Svetlana – a lot of us are turned on by harsh Victorian punishments – sorry if it’s not your bag, but that was my take on it – please do feel free to use your imagination to write something to share with us – we might find it inetersting even if ti doesn’t hit all our buttons.
The punishment was infantile, because in my victorian world, only little children are taken across their mother’s laps for a few stingers from a hairbrush. You will note I made a particular point of saying that it was only a cellulose brush not a more punishing wooden one, and Mother only delivered a few strokes. (Besides, maybe Mother wanted a little revenge for the ‘punishment’ she is about to receive, because even if it will be delivered by a loving husband and will iikely lead to all sorts of naught escapades in the marital bed, it will undoubtedly be painful too
AS for the daughter’s reaction – think Victorian – she has likely been brought up from birth not to make a fuss over her punishments. There is a social history book called The Rise and Fall of the British Nanny published in the 70s I believe and written by Jonathan Gathorne-Hardy. He quotes from someone’s memoirs that Nanny would beat the children with a hairbrush from 6 months old to teach them to be silent during punishment….. So I would have been surprised in the exptreme if she had kicked or made an undue fuss (some sobbing is acceptable of course, but nothing overly emotional or vulgar). Her apology and forgiveness will doubtless come when Papa visits her in her bedroom.
That’s actually one thing I love about Abel’s writing – that he is excellent about keeping in the style and manner of the period. I think it’s quite apt that he used the word “brave” – the victorians admired the stoic and expected no less a standard of their children, and it is quite appropriate that he would acknowledge this quality in his daughter.
And Abel – I’m glad you found the comments hot
love
domino
For the record, I found domino’s follow up very interesting. It didn’t push my buttons – bravery certainly being one of them – the way the original post did, but I enjoyed reading it because it added another perspective to it.
When reading stories like this I tend to put myself into a character’s brain. Imagining that, after getting the strap from the governess and the birch from my father, Mama told me that what I really needed was a little infant punishment, “oh please” came straight to my mind. (My sense of self-preservation would certainly have stopped me from actually saying it to her.)
The comment was not directed at the author, but I can certainly see how it can be read that way. Anyone who uses her imagination to write something and share it deserves better.
My apologies
Svetlana, apologies *after* the punishment to ensure they are really heartfelt
Svetlana – my turn to apologise now – There shoulda been a smiley on my last comment
No worries … I think I would have guessed.