Suffer and Sit No more, by Mark Danelaw
The first part: Introduction, can be found here.
Lady Elspeth Cardwell sat by the phone and waited. She hated these Saturday afternoons waiting by the phone for the ever so mysterious Carlos to call. It happened once every fortnight, but he could call any time after 1.30, she just had to wait.
Carlos, a man she had met only once, and then only through the grill of a booth in a Soho restaurant, was her contact with the ‘Organisation.’ She imagined him scurrying about London for a different call box to make such calls, hence the tedious wait. Carlos was supposed to be some sort of Hispanic, but his accent was comical and at several points in their conversation it dropped altogether hinting at an educated well-spoken English voice.
It had just gone 1.45 when the phone finally rang.
“Hello,” Elspeth said and rolled her eyes.
“Carlos here,” Carlos said, “You have the money?”
“There was a donation, yes,” Elspeth hated this method; it seemed to her that the Soho meeting had been more discreet and certainly less dangerous.
“You have passed it on, yes?” Carlos sounded even more cartoonish than usual; he had obviously been practicing his accent.
“There was a purchase of 50 porcelain elephants as instructed, awful things,” she shuddered, “Prizes for the gala apparently at £450 each that is a tidy sum… they can’t be worthy more than a tenner, don’t you think it is taking the piss just a little bit. I have to account for all this rubbish.” It had been 50 different payments of £450… a ridiculous risk… everyone was getting a bit too greedy. Heaven knew where the donations were coming from, drugs probably.
“There will be more donations to the school next month… you are to buy toilet paper from account four… one hundred boxes…” Carlos said and then the phone went dead.
Elspeth rolled her eyes again. This was getting too obvious now; it was a good job the blame pointed squarely at Margaret Clements and the account in her name that collected £5,000 month. Oversight had been terrible; Countess Avebury would have to resign to avoid scandal… Margret Clements would have to resign… a small lie that she would avoid prison… the school was full of criminals anyway so in a year or two it would all blow over.
The phone rang again.
“Lady Avebury,” Elspeth was startled by the coincidence, “I see, yes I think we had better… will it be the four of us?” Elspeth did not like the sound of this. “Just you me and Margret… right.”
Elspeth hung up and then immediately called Rachel Denton.
“Rachel… yes, listen, Margret has worked something out, she wants to meet me with Lady Avebury… and listen Rachel, you are most definitely not invited… no Rachel, listen… this was all a part of the plan… this is what you do…”
***
It was over an hour into the detention and not a single girl had escaped getting the cane across their bare bottom. Some admittedly only once, but most had had a couple of dozen strokes at more than one session.
Annabelle was unfortunately one of these and the Latin themed correction was far from over. Her arse was fried with three dozen biting lines throbbing across it, some cuts so deep she was sure the skin must be broken. It was humbling and more than a little wearing, anymore and she was going to cry.
It was a Saturday afternoon and to maintain my cover I joined eight other young ladies in a corrective event designed at enforcing the rules. In the course of this event I was experienced three dozen strokes across my buttocks which had been rendered nude, a repetition of such that this constable cried like a little girl.
The faux report tormented her and she was now definitely struggling.
“Now girls, let us see if you have learned any Latin,” Miss Carney gave them all an evil grin, “Statim surge.”
None of them reacted for a moment and then the two girls who had actually learned some Latin got to their feet followed by two more.
“You five still sitting did not stand when told, bend right over your desks with your bottoms sticking out,” Miss Carney said sharply.
Annabelle groaned and then with an unlimited reluctance painfully made to bend over the desk in front of her.
Miss Carney walked the line of bending bare bottoms and gave each three swats with a paddle. Annabelle saw Jenny Clarke standing with her mouth and eyes wide after three quick swats and then knew her face was the same as the paddle burned her arse.
“Sit,” Miss Carney ordered. None of them really wanted to. There was a pause and the Latin teacher pondered. “Velitis, quaeso, omnes sedentes manere,” she finally announced.
Annabelle and three others stood up quickly before the realised they were the only ones. Annabelle winced; she could not take much more.
“Oh dear, why are you four standing up,” Miss Carney sighed, “Bend over,” she added sharply.
There more swats and this time Jenny Clarke’s face was woeful and dripping tears.
“Noli surgere,” Miss Carney said and whirled around to see who she could catch out.
Annabelle stayed sitting, assuming she might just make it to her feet if the two girls who knew did. They didn’t. Only Jenny Clarke made to stand.
Carney made a tutting sound and gestured to Jenny to bend over. Three swats were harsh and Annabelle felt them from a meter and half away. Jenny felt them too and began to cry uncontrollably.
***
It was a long walk back to her room and Annabelle could only take very slow and careful steps. She absolutely certain she was never going to sit down again and the worst part was she was already slated for another Detention next Saturday. I quit, I got the documents… I could just… these and other such thoughts assailed her all the way back to the room she shared with Alice.
Alice was out and her bed was the most welcome sight she had ever seen. This was where she crashed face down then threw off her skirt and hauled down her underwear. Her arse was a mess, a red raw mess with dozens of standout welts criss-crossing it and generous helping of welts as a side order. The undercover detective started to cry and once the damn broke she cried until she was bawling.
The case was broken, it was, Margret Clements was laundering money through the school, she was siphoning donations… Annabelle sighed. Except she wasn’t, she knew, she absolutely knew it. In any case, where was the money coming from?
The detective constable lay there for a while feeling sorry for herself, but gaining some clarity from the pain. She felt cleansed and with an uncluttered mind. She had to talk to Guardian.
It was with an extreme effort that she staggered to the bathroom; completely heedless that she naked below the waist. She dad neither the stamina or fucks left to get dressed again before she had allowed a river of cold water pour over her martyred arse.
It was in a long skirt and no knickers that a refreshed Annabelle limped through little side door and through the trees to the pub. There was no need for secrecy on a Saturday afternoon; the only thing was there were other girls using the phone box. Still the queue wasn’t too long and in less than 30 minutes she made that call.
“Shit,” she groaned when no one called back. It wasn’t a scheduled contact. She rang the emergency number.
“Anna?” Guardian came on at once.
“It’s fine, well apart from the usual…” Annabelle said lauding to the state of her bottom. “I just have to know… what did you think? I have a hunch,” she sounded urgent.
“Clements, a relatively new head, decided to make some readies for her retirement. We pull her in and get her to give up her underworld contacts… good job Crofton, good fucking job,” Guardian was elated.
“Yeah, I wish… you have no fucking idea how much I want out of here… by this Friday if possible…” Annabelle gritted her teeth another detention was going to be bloody hell. “It isn’t her boss, she has been set up.”
“You got the paperwork yourself, we are getting a warrant… the rest will show…”
“The rest will show exactly what it is supposed to show; check the signatures… I mean have them analysed… I bet there hooky,” Annabelle was fierce with injustice. “It is Denton, Cardwell and Holt et al… I know it.”
There was silence at the end of the phone. “If you are right… what do we do next?”
“I have an idea… but please check my hunch out first…” Annabelle said, her bottom was really beginning to hurt now.
A girl outside began hammering on the glass of the red phone box for her turn.
“It’s the weekend, it could take a few days… keep your head down, we won’t act yet and make contact on Tuesday night as usual,” Guardian said.
“Will do boss,” Annabelle sighed and put down the phone.
New part: Ringing the Changes
Leave a Reply