Sunday Conversations by Mark Danelaw
(Part 1 here)
Hadley Hall
Friday afternoon and most of the evening had been wretched for Katherine Horton-Grange. Her afternoon in the drawing room corner had been a shame she could still feel at both ends. As for dinner, it had been a nightmare and since her mother had refused to excuse her, she had had to sit or an approximation of it, at the table looking serene and smile politely. This was a trick only made possible by balancing on her upper thighs to keep all the weight off her bottom.
Although the men were unsuspecting, or so she had hoped, the housekeeper Mrs Partridge was far too studious in failing to notice and her mother’s old friend Patricia Barnwell absolutely guessed her ordeal from the obvious glances towards Katherine’s hips and her many and frequent passing references to the ‘jolly japes’ and scrapes Katherine and her own daughter Pamela had got into before Pam had left for university. Those jolly japes and scrapes and been discussed at 15, 16, 17 and once at 18 over one or other of the mothers’ knee with a hairbrush.
Saturday had been spent belly down on her bed, keeping well out of the way and absolutely dreading an invite to go riding. The pub that evening had been fun, although for once standing room at the bar had been a blessing. A tub of aloe Vera and an ice bag had made things bearable and she had finally convinced herself that mother’s threats were just that and things would blow over.
By Sunday morning she was able to sit for a hearty breakfast and later a damn good pub lunch. Cheeky and confident, Katherine was back, and she just knew her mother would cough up. In fact, so much so, that she considered going while the going was good and skipping back to London that evening.
She was still pondering her afternoon and the days leading up to it as she took in the air on Hadley’s terrace overlooking the garden when her mother strolled up beside her.
“Katherine, walk with me,” Josephine said with a friendly but firm smile and they set off into the grounds and beyond into the woods, “We need to talk.”
“Of course mother,” Katherine said as casually as she could in order to match her mother’s good humour. The butterflies were quiescent in her tummy and the direction of travel for both the weekend and their walk was benign and far away from any hairbrushes, bath brushes and that despicable curtain brush left at the house.
They reached the edge of the immaculate pampered lawn and on into the woods of early autumn. The rich loam and forest smell took Katherine back to her childhood. Sensing her mother had similar feelings they both paused at the bracken covered rise to take in the view of the gentle valley where it fell away towards the stream that ran through the trees at the bottom.
“Katherine, I meant what I said on Friday, every word of it, I hope you understand that,” Josephine began. “This can’t go on.”
Her daughter bristled and squirmed restlessly as a tight knot form in her stomach. “I know, I thought you were jolly clear… I get it no more photoshoots in front of the camera, get a job and…”
Josephine sighed, “A list of good girl promises is not worth much is it? If you get halfway to any of this in the next six months, then you and I might have a different kind of conversation, but I despair that you will.”
Katherine heard the words and knew they were stop soon and in six months it would have blown over. The nudie shoot had been a big mistake and so had Gerald and…
“So this is what I propose,” Josephine turned and the gentle smile evaporated, replaced by eyes of steel as she took both Katherine’s hands in a gesture of guidance, “Tomorrow when you get home total up all your debts, your credit cards, back rent, unpaid bills, everything that you haven’t told me… send me statements and such. I also want the contact details of these… photo people and I want you to tell me about anything you think might blindside me going forward… tomorrow, write or phone me from London if you like” she almost gave an example but thought better of it, “Anything you understand, after today you will have a clean sheet and all offences will have been taken into consideration.”
Katherine was squirming again, but if mother could make the nudie shoots go away and those dreadful credit card payments, the not so small loan and her accounts at… mother’s going to be pissed but she…
“Katherine are you listening?”
“Yes mother.”
“I will review everything, and if necessary I will give you a small increase in your allowance… I promise it won’t go down even if I find I have been over generous. In return there will be no more scandals, no paparazzi and you will get a job, one that holds up with money coming in. I need to see some progress within six months, do you hear me? In a year a solid plan going forward. That means no significant debt, no mishaps… if not you will either be moving back home or you will get nothing more from me,” Josephine found herself scolding.
Katherine felt it too and was somewhat flushed. Part of her knew her mother meant it and another part was just relieved that she was off the hook again, for now.
“Now on Friday what did I tell you would happen this evening?”
Katherine remembered and blushed to her ears, but she shrugged.
“I think you need to say it,” Josephine said, “I really was not joking.”
Katherine could not find the words and was openly squirming again.
“Katherine, if I have to come and find you…”
“You are not really going to… to sp… spank me again?” Katherine asked, her face was hot and she was suddenly aware of the residual ache in her bottom. “Mother, Friday was… you were… angry… but I learned my lesson… I heard what you said… six months some progress…” she desperately nodded.
“I was angry, but I am disappointed and young lady, determined now… what was it that dreadful man said, ‘you are drinking at the last chance saloon?’ You will come and find me after supper, come to my room, I mean it.”
“Mother please, I…”
“Come on let’s go this way, we don’t need to talk anymore now,” Josephine said.
***
Katherine had a shower and then spent several minutes examining her bare bottom in the long mirror, there was little open bruising, but some generous red patches and blotches on the rounds and under-curves. When she squeezed the glutes it hurt a little bit or a lot of she pressed in a finger hard. The sensation was a little bit addictive and she snatched her hand away when she realised what she was doing. She looked into her own eyes and then looked away.
This wasn’t happening was it? Her mother was setting a test, was she obedient enough… no mother would say… responsible enough… she calmed herself. It was actually very plausible.
She put on a sensible bra, mother would neither see nor care but… she wasn’t going to think on that… a T-shirt… no a long sleeve loose roll neck… then she stood there as her mother might have her, dressed on top and still naked below the waist. Bush trimmed so slightly, not vulgarly shaved as was the vogue among the chavvy sort. Her underwear was grown up but not provocative, nothing tarty… God what had she been wearing on Friday? She put them on.
She pondered for a moment over skirt or trousers. Jeans, she thought. That meant no tights and she needed socks.
Once dressed, she looked in the mirror; her attire was casual enough for Sunday evening. She worked up some moisture in her mouth and felt her tummy churn. She could just pack and get in the car…
Five minutes later she was outside mother’s door. She looked up and down the corridor for witnesses and then knocked.
“Come in Katherine,” Josephine said.
Katherine took a deep breath and then entered as matter-of-factly as she could manage. “Good evening mother,” she said in what she hoped was quite breezily.
Her mother had moved a Georgian birthing chair away from the wall and next to it on the bed were a stout Kent hairbrush and a smooth ebony bath brush that was almost 18 inches long. Katherine’s breath caught when she saw them and she made a gulping motion in her throat.
“I see,” Katherine said and made an unconscious movement with her hands as if smoothing down her cashmere top.
“You have had the lecture, the scolding if you will,” Josephine said lightly, “Why don’t you remove your denim trousers and go and stand in the corner.
The corner across from the bed was next to the long curtained windows. A standing lamp had been moved a yard or so from the space leaving a dint in the carpet, like a target on which she might stand.
“Mother can’t we just…?”
“Please Katherine, this evening you are just going to do what you are told, exactly what you are told, nothing else,” Josephine hadn’t meant to sound so vigorously assertive but the girl was hopeless.
Katherine took a long slow deep breath and then worked the button on her jeans. They slipped down easily enough and she stepped out of them. Then she showed mild defiance with a light ‘whatever’ roll of her yes and went to the corner. At once she felt a surge of embarrassment to her head and her heart raced.
“Slip those down and put your hands on your head,” her mother told her.
It felt odd baring her bottom to her mother, but hands on head removed her adultness.
“My hands… Mother, how long… I mean…”
“Please be quiet Katherine, I won’t tell you again,” Josephine said, then once she was certain her daughter was settled and no further resistance or protest was forthcoming she went to the drawer. From it she took a sand timer, an actual antique hour glass, and placed it on the bedside table. The manufacturer had been perhaps more concerned with fashion in his day rather than accuracy and Josephine happened to know that the sand took only 39 minutes to run through. However the 16th century piece was intimidating, and for anyone not in the know its hour was a long time.
Josephine cast an appreciative gaze over the creature in the corner and secretly she was thrilled that someone would pay to lay eyes on what she had made. She compared the globular curves of the glass to her daughter’s bottom and thought of the symmetry. In such concepts there was harmony, a thing sadly lacking in Josephine’s life. She took a deep breath, “Look at me,” she said.
Katherine half turned round and her mother could see that she was somewhat nervously chewing her lip.
“Do you know what this is?” Josephine said.
Katherine forgot where she was and impatiently blurted, “It’s an hour glass,” she might have added a ‘duh.’
“For?”
“Measuring the passing of an hour,” Katherine not only remembered the situation but started having uneasy thoughts about where this was going.
“This one is 16th century, think of that, but the thing is these things were notoriously inaccurate, giving rise to the term the long hour. As you will guess, most were rather given to running out too slowly. This one for example is very inaccurate, radically out in fact.”
“So…” Katherine looked decidedly gloomy.
“So, when I turn it you are going to face that wall and think about all that I have said, really think about it I mean; to reflect. Then when the sands run out I am going to spank you for as long as it takes to run out.” Josephine could see her daughter nervously working her throat. She made a rotation motion with her finger as she took up the glass and turned it upside down.
Katherine made a face of weary dejection and turned back and slumped into the seam of the room.
“Do stand up straight, some of the staff may walk in,” her mother scolded; but knowing no such thing would happen allowed a micro smile to touch her lips.
***
The time for Katherine dragged and she wondered just how long this long hour was going to be. Her arms ached and she felt the strain of standing and leaned so that she gently favoured first one hip and then the other. Nor was it lost her that her bottom was completely exposed not only to her mother’s commanding vista but to any consequences she deemed fit to bring down. Every house sound or movement somewhere set her nerves on edge and no matter how much she told herself that no one was going to come in… what if they came when she was getting spanked? Oh God Friday was hell, her tummy churned.
Then over and over she thought about that stupid sordid fuck at the wedding, and the timing of it, what was she twelve? How could anyone consider her a professional; how could she miss a whole job. The pictures she allowed to be taken had been uncomfortable at the time, one of her few instant regrets; if only she could tell her mother that so that she would hear. But the answer was ‘Most decent people would know it was a bad idea beforehand,’ and it was true. And that fuck… it hadn’t even been good… and, and… what if someone came in right now, she would die, she would actually die, and so her thoughts circled.
The sands had nearly run out and Josephine stood up. She waited out the last slow seconds and then took up the hairbrush.
“Katherine come here,” she said and sat in antique the birthing chair. It was a low wide chair that supported a woman, not in birth, but in handling and feeding young children, with no arms or anything to protrude to get in the way.
Katherine stood with her hands guarding her front, “Mother I…,” I’m really sorry; she wanted to beg to say. But at that moment she didn’t see a very responsive woman before her.
“Across my lap,” Josephine pointed at her thighs with the brush in her hand.
Katherine tottered with childlike steps, her head bowed and for a brief moment contact with her mother felt like a haven. Lap to lap the women were joined for one purpose…
“Are you ready?” the older woman said sharply, breaking the spell.
“No,” Katherine squeaked.
The brush fell from on high in a wide sweep that seared upwards across Katherine’s bare bottom: pure sting. I can do this, she thought as the second spank landed, the sting on sting more than doubled the pain. I can do this, she urged herself. The third and fourth acme quickly, each layering a tissue of sizzle merging to a burn. She can’t keep this up for an hour, Katherine distracted herself with maths, 50 a minute, 500 over 10, multiply by… “Mother please, I’m sorry, please…” A sudden quickening of the pace threw her, threw off her maths, which was now gobbled gook in her mind.
The long full throated yell extending to a scream alerted the few staff still working. Only Stephanie Partridge the housekeeper knew what it meant. She liked the family, especially Josephine, but her brat of a middle daughter was getting just what she needed. She liked to remain detached and professional but she could not help drifting to the bottom of the stairs that led to the family rooms. The thwack was heavy and steady, the Kent no doubt and at such a pace, near one a second or maybe more. There were a few pauses and despite closed doors she fancied she heard an odd ahuh-ahuh-ahuh and nooooo-ieee, form a womanish throat. She smiled and went back to work.
Josephine ceased for a bit. The sands were running long and nowhere near half empty. Katherine was sobbing hard, as well she might, given that her bottom was swollen red and residual hurts from Friday had resurfaced. She marvelled at the extensive welts that sat like rubber pads defining both buttock cheeks. Was that crude, Josephine wondered, arse is, and a much better wor? ‘I spanked my daughter’s arse for her,” she could tell it at dinner parties. The bath brush was a commitment so she resumed with the hairbrush.
Katherine, who had been recovering to a mere sprinter’s breathing, started to panic. “Mother, please, I will do… anything? I will join a nunnery I’ll…” her words were cut short by another onslaught. If London could see her now she would be the laughing stock of everywhere forever.
“Youch, mmmmm,” and other unchosen expressions all ended in a hiss, and then she was back to yelling; a vocalist to her mother’s percussion.
***
Katherine had been reduced to slow steady hiccoughing sobs, and was in total collapse across her mother’s knee. The bath brush had finished her, and she would never sit down again, she was certain. Josephine’s right arm felt as if she had been doing about a thousand one arm press ups and she was quite certain she could no longer lift it, let alone the brush. The sand was running low.
“I trust you have learned your lesson?” Josephine said, hiding her exhaustion.
Katherine’s nose was as red as her bottom from crying and her face wet with tears and snot. There was a trail of it hanging from her chin. It was hard to breath but she managed, “Yes mother.”
As the last grains trickled Josephine lifted the glass and said, “Just one more turn before corner time to make sure?” then she turned it over.
The opened mouth look on her daughter’s face would live forever.
“Hear me,” Josephine said, “Next time I just really might, now to the corner.”
Katherine had never loved her corner so much, the staff could bring popcorn. But her bottom hurt, it really hurt and as she sagged she broke again, big hearty sobs to clean the soul.
***
The next morning was a sombre affair. Katherine knew the wind of change was coming. Time to grow up, she thought, that or spanked as a kid forever. At the door she manged to join in with a rueful laugh with her mother when she was told the news that Katherine would take the train and leave the car until next weekend.
“I don’t need it in London,” Katherine suggested, but she was blushing.
“It’s a bit late to book a seat,” Josephine said seriously, “You will have to stand all the way.”
“You’re so funny mother,” Katherine scowled.
“Good bye dear,” her mother kissed her, “And… please try…” she put her hands in prayer position.
Katherine nodded. “I really, really will,” she impressed back.
Read the next part Monday Study Monday
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