The Sensible Schoolgirl

[goodgulf]

The Sensible Schoolgirl

Spring, 1889

Sir Jarrod Whitby led the girl into his office.

"Please, sit. Now that we are alone, we may talk freely." Sir Whitby told her. "First, I must ask why you are here."

"Well, I am about to finish the Upper Six, but Papa says I cannot come out until the fall season." Melanie Littlefield complained. "Which is simply awful."

"Awful." Sir Whitby agreed, a slight smile playing on his face.

"Oh, it gets worse." Melanie continued. "Mama says that once school ends I must do volunteer work. That I must find a respectable cause and work at it. Me, actually doing work."

"That does sound bad." Sir Whitby agreed. "Now if I am following what you are saying, your father will not allow you to come out until fall and your mother will not permit you to laze around the house during the summer."

"It is just so unfair." Melanie continued. "Mama will not even tell me which cause to support. She says that I must choose. She will only narrow it down to two causes, doing something here or working with those folks who care for abused animals. But Jane Kernan is already caring for sick animals, and after what she did, no, I simply cannot be expected to work with her. Mama must know that."

"Interesting. You mean your mother is practically forcing you to come here?" Sir Whitby asked.

"Practically." Melanie agreed. "Now what is that you do here? What would I do should I decide to volunteer here?"

"Ah hem, yes, well here at the Reddy Township Home for Wayward Women we deal with various miscreants, girls and women, who have been convicted or accused of minor crimes. Petty theft, walking the streets at night, and other inappropriate behaviour. Are you following me so far? Do you have any questions?"

"Yes, two."

Sir Whitby nodded, seeing that she was listening. He had been expecting a single question, one to clarify what he had meant when he said some of the inmates had only been 'accused' of crimes.

"Then please ask them."

"First, you said girls." Melanie began. "How old are they? Would they be very much younger than I am?"

"Ah, no, those would go to the reform school." Sir Whitby told her. "You are at the younger end of girls we accept. Now for your second question."

"We don't live in Reddy and you are not located inside of a township." Melanie said. "In point of fact this place is more than a bit isolated and hard to reach, so where does the name come from?"

The truth was that the people behind the place didn't want it to be easy to find. Boyfriends, admirers, and family members sometimes sought them out to try to free an inmate (often by launching a legal appeal) thus the name was as misleading as it could be. Not that Melanie needed to know that, but they had a second explanation prepared for these situations.

"As to that, it is a very long story, one that would hours to tell." Sir Whitby answered. "Suffice to say that the Reddy family believed that they could purchase a new baronetcy and through a series of misadventures the funds were turned into a trust that currency funds the Reddy Township Home for Wayward Women. Are those your only questions? If so, I shall continue."

Melanie nodded for him to continue.

"Of course the girls given into our care require enlightenment almost as much as they require firm guidance." Sir Whitby told her. "You would be reading books of moral learning to them in the evenings."

"Evenings? Not during the day? But we are so isolated here." Melanie protested. "I shan't be able to return home at a descent hour."

"Alas, our inmates have a rigid schedule, one that we enforce firmly." Sir Whitby told her. "But do not worry, we can arrange for you to spend the night here on the evenings you read. You shall stay here, break your fast with the inmates, and be on your way with a solid meal in you."

"That does sound workable." Melanie nodded. "How spacious are your staff quarters?"

"Staff? But you will not be paid staff." Sir Whitby noted. "The law is quiet clear who and who is not permitted in the staff wing and that is tied to regular, paid employment. Quite simply, there is no way that you could spend the night in the staff quarters. No, you shall be spending the night in a private cell. Now do not worry about fitting in; as I said, you are at the low range of our inmates so I certain that you will be made to feel welcome when you have your breakfast with them."

"I shall have to mix with the inmates?" Melanie asked in dismay.

"Oh, please do not worry. I am certain that they shall be respectful to you." Sir Whitby said, getting and walking to a cupboard. "You see we take a firm hand with the inmates under our roof."

Melanie's eyes went wide as he opened the cupboard and removed a heavy strap and a cane.

"These are the tools that we use to keep order." Sir Whitby informed her as he laid them on his desk. "I dare say that your school must use similar tools. You must be familiar with their use."

"Not since the start of the third form... I mean, no, I don't know what you mean." Melanie stammered, a blush rising to her cheeks.

"Not for more than four years? Truly?" Sir Whitby asked, returning to his chair. "Well, I am sure that you shall remember what to do."

"Me? Remember that?" Melanie asked in alarm. "But sir, I am not to be an inmate here."

"No, of course not, no one is openly talking of admitting you as an inmate." Sir Whitby smirked. "All I am saying is that order must be maintained. Should there be an incident, either during breakfast or during your morning ablutions, then the staff might react as if you were another inmate."

"But, but they should know that I am merely here as a volunteer." Melanie protested.

"They should." Sir Whitby agreed, running a finger down the cane. "Alas, accidents have been known to happen."

"But, but no!" Melanie gasped. "My parents would never stand for that! Never, never, never!"

"You truly believe that?" Sir Whitby questioned. "Has not your mother insisted that you stop lazing around the house? Did not she direct you here? Of all the various causes that you could devote yourself to, did she not direct you to the one place where the cane might reenter your life? Do you not believe that she is trying to tell you something?"

Melanie's face turned ashen. Her eyes fixed on the cane, running her eyes up and down it. Then Melanie's face brightened.

"Yes! Yes, that does make sense." Melanie smiled. "I can clearly see her message. She is telling me that it is long passed time to patch things up with Jane Kernan."

"Of course you might not like it at first, but long before fall arrives..." Sir Whitby halted mid thought. "What did you just say?"

"That I am patching things up Jane Kernan and working with the animal people." Melanie said, rising from her seat.

"But... but you... but your mother directed you to here." Sir Whitby said, searching for the words. Of all the volunteers that had been steered to the Reddy Township Home for Wayward Women, Melanie was the first to speak of leaving before being thrashed at least once. A flash of wonder shook his mind; perhaps he should have focused more on her power to order inmates caned and less on the state of her own bottom? But he gave her the standard welcoming speech, yet she was leaving?!?!

"Yes, she gave me two clear alternatives. To do something very stupid or patch things up with Jane Kernan." Melanie said, making her way to the office door. "And Mama is right that the feud has been going on for far too long. Why, I can't even remember why we fought. I shall see myself out."

Sir Whitby sat there, stunned by this turn of events. Worse still the Littlefields were of too high a class for Melanie to be arrested without a valid charge; he could only hope that her parents would insisted on her volunteering or otherwise return her to his care.

Thus it was that the only sight Melanie's bottom that Sir Whitby ever enjoyed was when it was covered by her dress, slip, and petticoats as she walked away from him. For years to come, at random times he would recall that sight and think regrettably about the one who got away.


1909

"And who would ever complain about such an accident?" Sir Whitby asked in his tired old voice, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth as he pictured this latest volunteer being subjected to a very harsh 'accident'. One that would leave her bottom red as tears streamed down her face.

Age having dulled more than his voice, others now swung the canes while he looked on smiling. Often with an inmate's head at his crotch as the cane played its dance over a bared bottom, but his current guest need not know that.


Margret Isherwood, daughter of Melanie Isherwood nee Littlefield, shuttered at the thought of such an accident happening to her. With visions of that cane filling her mind, she gave no thought to her long standing quarrel with Victoria Higgins, the feud that made volunteering at with the hospital auxiliary an absolutely impossibility.

Later, her mind was too filled with thoughts of cane lined bottoms to pick up on any of her mother's broad hints. Hints that were so explicated that Melanie was completely unsympathetic when those lines made their expected (completely expected by Melanie, not totally unexpected by Margret) appearance on her empty headed daughter's bottom.

Margret's bottom was stripped several times ere her mother enlightened her on the nature of that initial choice, but it took another good thrashing (one at which no one bothered to call the number of the strokes as that number would exceed any sense of decency) before she was willing to make up with Victoria Higgins.


Margret later thought that she might use that same trick when she became a parent, but it was not to be. At the dawn of the Great War, which occurred a mere two years after Margret's marriage, the Reddy Township Home for Wayward Women shut its doors so that its scant remaining funds could be redirected to the war effort.

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