Anticipation is an essential part of good play. And the “50 stroke” caning that finally came to pass for Kay last week was one I’d looked forward to more than any scene in a long, long while.
We’d fixed the premise: a maid, caught stealing silver. Said ‘maid’ had even been despatched home with my cufflinks and a cleaning cloth, with orders to make sure they were nicely polished to ensure the best price. (Bonus of scene: I now have very sparkly cufflinks, and smile whenever I’m wearing them to work).
On the morning in question, I thought a girl needed a little more to contemplate, so sent her the following:
“If you’re selling, get to the market early”, she’d always been told. Buyers still had money, then.
Seven in the morning. A clear, crisp, London day.
Wandering, confused, past the stalls. Ignoring the crude comments and invitations. Eventually, hearing a trustworthy voice: “You need help, love?”
The stall looked promising: neatly laid out, unlike its neighbours. “I… I have something to sell.”
“Let me have a look?” He turned the polished cufflinks over in his hand. “Nice… Hallmarked. Real silver! Where did you come by these?”
Thinking quickly; trying to appear calm. “My master gave them to me as a gift when I left his employ.”
—
Stupid, of course, to trust anyone. The stallholder calling a name. A constable appearing behind her. The questions; the answers stumbling from her mouth, unconvincing.
Strong arms holding her; cuffing her wrists behind her back; leading her away. “I’m not sure the magistrate will be awfully pleased to be woken at this hour. But you can see if he believes your little story.”
—
Shaking.
“If you tell us the truth, it will be easier for you.”
Persisting with her ever-less-convincing excuses.
“I do not like common thieves, Miss Watson. This is a respectable area: a respectable market. I will not have you dragging it into the gutter.”
The magistrate, opening a heavy book and taking out his quill. “Guilty of common theft. You shall be privately whipped. Fifty strokes.” Turning to the constable: “Take her to the Bridewell. And I know their ways. She’s a pretty thing. Tell them to show not one iota of mercy. And I want her brought back here afterwards, so I can verify that justice has been done…”
And yes, if you’re wondering, I hurt her. Ignored her howls. Ignores her pleas for me to stop. Made sure she lost count. Watched as she sobbed afterwards, whilst still tied tight in position. And held her as close as can be once we’d finished. Amazing. I am so very lucky at times.
Lovely :). I am also so very lucky at times