Our story began here.
Sylvia had no idea what was happening to her. Each morning she would wake up and consider how crazy her whole situation was. She tried to tell herself that she had lost control and had no choice, but it was a lie. She had made a choice the day she had gone to see Mary and knew now she had wanted in. Well, now she was in and it was dangerous, scary and exciting.
The day before had taken her to a whole new level of humiliating submission. Before, if anyone in the household had missed the fact that Sylvia had been submitting to Mary, then they had been well and truly put in the picture by now.
For two hours Sylvia had stood in the corner on the lower staircase in full view of everyone. Then without being permitted to get dressed she had been given a dustpan and brush and sent out onto the back patio to scour and then wash it on her hands and knees with a well-spanked bottom hanging in the breeze. Even the gardener must have seen her predicament for God’s sake, she now realised.
The most curious thing about the situation was that not only did Sylvia not feel resentment; heaven knew she had certainly tried hard enough for that emotion, but that her overwhelming attitude was the desire to please Mary Granger.
That morning after breakfast she had been given another opportunity to go through the accounts. This time the more ludicrous entries leapt out at her and even a cursory check of the figures had revealed that the totals were hopelessly wrong. In fact by 11 o’clock when she stopped for her first coffee, she was reasonably confident that she had a grip on the books.
“I have an hour to recheck the figures,” she said aloud to herself, “So at least if I am still screwing up and get another punishment, at least I know I did my best.”
As it turned out it only took 25 minutes to reread and check the figures and apart from one small mistake where she had added 10p instead of subtracting, she knew they were as good as she was ever going to get them.
For 10 minutes Sylvia sat hoping Mary would return so she could show her, the first time she had ever been eager to see the woman, but for once no one came. So as she sipped only her second coffee of the morning, she began to think about her husband.
Sylvia realised now that she had always liked Gerald, right from that first day at the party when he had made her laugh. In a rare piece of introspection she even concluded that her scorn and cynicism about her marriage was born entirely of her insecurity and the knowledge somewhere inside her that she wasn’t worthy of him. She swallowed hard and felt tears well-up behind her eyes. She suddenly felt a great urge to apologise to Gerald make things right somehow.
Before she knew it the phone was in her hand and she dialled her husband’s office. It wasn’t unusual for Gerald to work away from home all week and often he did not even come home for the weekend if he had business trip.
“Anything wrong Mary?” Gerald’s concerned voice said over the line.
His voice sounded genuine and real, a side to him she had never seen. Sylvia hesitated and resisted the urge to throw down the phone.
“Gerald… it’s me,” she said cautiously.
“Sylvia, how lovely,” Gerald said, instantly reverting to his old supercilious self. “Need another cheque.”
“No,” she whispered, “Please, no more money.”
“Sylvia, Are you alright?” His voice hovered between the jocular and concern.
“I-I just, well I wondered when you would be coming home. I haven’t seen you for days,” Sylvia sounded like a love-struck teen. “It is even longer since we have just talked.”
“Did Mary put you up to this?” Gerald snapped. “I know she had been… guiding you these last few days.”
Sylvia felt her ears burn, but she already knew that Mary would have kept him informed.
“No, I… no, she hasn’t, but well, I think she had helped me to think about things a little more; to think about us.”
“I see,” Gerald said in a neutral voice, “Well, let’s have dinner on Saturday, I’ll be home by then.”
“Yes,” Sylvia gushed.
“Fine, see you then,” Gerald said hanging up.
“See you,” she replied forlornly to the static on the line.
*
Mary ran her eye down the figures and nodded in approval at the items that Sylvia had marked up as spurious.
“What a change from yesterday,” she remarked.
“So I got them right?” Sylvia asked in surprise.
“Looks like it,” Mary beamed.
Sylvia looked around the office, as if looking for someone else who surely was more deserving of Mary’s praise.
“What happens now?” Sylvia suddenly didn’t know what to do with herself.
“Oh, nothing for now, it will be lunch time soon,” Mary was already filing the paperwork and moving on to her next task.
“Oh, alright then,” Sylvia said, feeling at a loss, but Mary wasn’t listening.
“Goodbye,” she said dismissively. “We’ll talk tomorrow. I am busy this afternoon.”
“Bye then,” Sylvia said lamely.
It seemed odd to be released without a punishment and the promise of harsh chores, but suddenly Sylvia was confronted with her old life and the prospect of luncheon and an afternoon shopping. Somehow it had lost its appeal.
Even lunch an avocado salmon salad seemed workaday to her and she nibbled at it as she had been given a chore and not a treat.
Normally she would not have noticed that Tatiana had not returned to clear the plate, nor that the other staff seemed to have disappeared. She dimly remembered that it was the day most of them had off, but that did not altogether explain the quiet that had befallen the house. In fact, she had seen no one since she had sat down for lunch when Tatiana had gone to answer the door and had not returned.
On any other day she would have just gone shopping, but recent events held her thrilled to the house and its secret peril and if she were honest, its thrills.
“Tatiana,” she called, and then after a moment, “Ms Granger.”
Neither appeared and nor had one of the other maids.
Sylvia stood up, wincing at the scrape of the chair legs on the white marble floor and then listened to the silence that followed.
Only birdsong from the garden and the occasional revving of an engine far out on the main road that passed almost a mile from the house was to be heard.
“I could always read,” she sighed.
Then holding that thought, given her husbands and Mary’s tastes, she wondered if there might be some interesting books in house library. It was an intriguing idea and she might even learn something.
The library was in the east wing of the house where her husband kept a study and she rarely had any reason to go there. Normally, the house being sufficiently large, she could easily pass from the main door to the drive, the dining room and the main staircase that led to her room without troubling herself with the east wing. In fact she couldn’t even recall when she had last even been to that end of the house.
The library could be reached by a sunny passage that had the quality of something of an atrium. There were potted plants and marble statues set in alcoves and Sylvia knew that airy window rich corridor mirrored the impressive long gallery on the floor above.
This really is a lovely house, she observed with a flash of guilt after all the time she had taken it for granted. I am going to explore every room of it as I should have done when I first came here. As she thought this, she did a pirouette and something like a dance on the terracotta tiled floor.
Then she heard it. Unmistakeable to her now; the slow rhythm of someone being chastised and her heart skipped a happy beat.
*
Sylvia crept forward to the edge of the Library door, the risk of being seen adding to the excitement. Whoever was on the receiving end was having a tough time of it and her money was on Tatiana. In any case, judging from the pained stifled grunts of the recipient, Mary was certainly on form.
The door had been left ajar so that Sylvia was able to see into the room through the crack of the doorframe without being seen. At once she saw the naked woman bent almost double over some kind of wooden frame that had been set-up in the middle of the room. Her full but tight bottom was thrust uppermost and there was no doubt that it had already suffered a sustained thrashing, although with what, Sylvia could not yet tell.
Then the woman spoke.
“Please master, I mean Sir,” the voice was strained but there was absolutely no doubt it was Mary.
“How many times have I told you not to use that theatrical and amateur title?” It was a man’s voice and as he spoke he came into view and lay on a heavy thwack with a short leather strap.
“I’m sorry Sir,” Mary wailed, but it took her a moment to respond for first her words were robbed from her as she struggled to gain her breath.
“You harbour such pretensions that you are this disciplined player, but yet I come here ever month to give you a straightener and every month you are sloppy,” as he said the word ‘sloppy’ he struck her exposed bottom again.
“Sloppy,” he continued with another swipe.
Mary announced each of these with a strangled groan.
“There really is nothing for it, you need a good sound birching when I am finished with you,” the man sighed as one more disappointed than angry. “I swear you are worse than that Russia maid of yours and it is standing orders that she always gets double.”
“Please Mr Drake, please you know… you know,” Mary was actually sobbing like a novice, “You know I can’t… I can’t…”
“You can, you have and you will,” Drake growled.
The Spankman, Sylvia realised with glee. Then she turned back to view Mary’s punishment and to Sylvia’s mind, her rather surprising cry-baby reaction to it.
*
Sylvia had no idea how long she watched the action hugging herself in delight, but Drake was in no hurry with Mary and little by little as the tyrannical housekeeper’s bottom grew ever more red, she became even more contrite until she was broken in open sobbing. By this time Sylvia was on her knees peering through the crack in the door, not caring if Mary’s punishment never came to an end.
When it finally did, she still could not tear herself away even if it cost her own bottom, so eager was she not to miss the rest of the scene.
She was well rewarded for no sooner had a totally humbled Mary been released when she was sent to the corner while the Spankman appeared to put some of his equipment away. Not the frame over which Mary had been strapped, Sylvia noticed.
“You can have half an hour or so to pull yourself together and then we will prepare for the birch,” Drake said in a gruff voice.
The threat made Sylvia a little lightheaded and she could scarce control her breathing. She was certain that either Drake or Mary would hear her, but if they did neither showed any sign. So feeling secure enough Sylvia put her eye closer to the slot to take a closer look both at Mary’s sore swollen bottom and Drake himself.
He was tallish, but not overly so and well-built. Sylvia adjudged him to be no more than 45, although his hair was halfway to grey, especially at the temples and his face had a handsome craggy appearance as if experience had crawled under his skin and he had lived at least two lives.
“Do you like what you see?” he said in a clear firm voice.
Sylvia gave a start and on the verge of breaking cover nearly blurted out an apology. But it was Mary who meekly answered him.
“My view is somewhat restricted Sir.”
Sylvia’s heart pounded and she felt as if she had fallen from a great height, even though she hadn’t been discovered while inside the conversation continued.
“Mine isn’t,” Drake said in answer to Mary’s reply, “And if I take the long way around to the woods nor will your neighbours’ and most of your staff’s.”
“The woods?” Mary’s voice was edged in panic.
“Surely you haven’t forgotten that you are now to be birched?” The cocking of one eyebrow could almost be heard in Drake’s voice.
“No Sir, but… please Sir couldn’t you just… just cane me?” Mary’s voice was pleading.
“Oh but the prolonged rasping burn of the birch is so good for you and the added humility is excellent don’t you think?” Drake suggested lightly as if offering Mary a treat.
“Yes Sir,” Mary wailed, fresh tears in every syllable.
“Come along then, we can go out through the French windows,” Drake said firmly indicating the glass doors with an outstretched palm although Mary could not see it.
Mary peeled herself from the corner and looked woefully over her shoulder. Sylvia almost felt sorry for her.
To be continued.
