The Mortification of Isabel (3 page)

Margaret pressed my fingers into her gash and wriggled her body. I could feel wetness there and I moved my fingers a little which made her squirm even more.

“Isabel,” she sighed. Just my name, nothing more, but drawing out the syllables. She forced my fingers to part the lips of her slit, her fingers on top of mine, and she repeated my name in a soft, breathy voice.

“I’m sorry Margaret, I can’t,” I said and drew my hand away.

“Don’t be afraid, Isabel. There’s nothing wrong with two girls…”

“No,” I said, quite firmly. I was near to tears again as no-one seemed to consider my feelings.

“I’m so sorry, darling,” said Margaret and moved a short distance from me in the bed though there was so little space we were bound to touch somewhere.

I lay awake thinking over the events of the day and curiously my mind settled on Matilda and her plight. Although she was a fictional character I suppose I identified with her in her suffering, though such a notion may seem melodramatic and exaggerated. It seemed to me that both of us had suffered cruel disillusionment. I had expected Laurence Povey to be a writer of talent and sensitivity and Matilda had expected to receive a welcome to her spiritual home. In a strange way, I feared for Matilda’s future more than for my own.

As Margaret’s breathing deepened, I began to feel sleepy myself. Soon the day would be over and I could hope that fate had better things in store for the morrow.

But I woke up again to hear strange sounds coming from Margaret, a kind of moaning. At first I thought she might be unwell but that did not seem to be the explanation as I listened more carefully to the little cries and groans Margaret was expressing. Then I felt her arm rub against mine and realised she was herself the cause of the commotion. Her own hand was active where she had tried to place mine; she was pleasuring herself. I felt my body freeze with fear dreading that she might try to involve me again.

Fortunately she left me alone, probably thinking I was still asleep.

I took deeper breaths to make her think I was in deep slumber, turning my back on her to sleep on my side.

When I woke in the morning, Margaret had gone. For a moment or two I was surprised to find myself naked and then I remembered what had occurred. Recalling Margaret’s self-abuse I tentatively placed a finger between my own cunny lips imitating what she had tried to make me do to her. I remembered her strange cries which had sounded as if she was experiencing both pain and pleasure at one and the same time. It would be untrue to say I had never touched my pussy before but I had never brought myself near to the state Margaret had been in.

However, I was quickly aware that my quim was becoming quite juicy. Now that Margaret had gone, I felt more relaxed and less inhibited and I thought about what she had done to me in a different light. Perhaps it would have been pleasurable to let her go on. Laurence was probably right that I was a prude. Margaret had been about to suggest there was nothing wrong in two girls doing such things to each other. I was quite certain in my mind that respectable people did not indulge in such acts. I knew there were laws against men having carnal knowledge of each other but no-one even discussed the possibility that women would behave in this manner. It was literally unthinkable.

I rubbed myself harder with two fingers instead of one and felt sensations that were both soothing and arousing. Surely it should remain a private, secret activity if it was done at all. To behave in this way with another woman must be unnatural and wrong, against all religious teaching and the mores of polite society, something indulged in by fallen women or those whose minds were disturbed. I had heard that some women behave with complete sexual abandon in Bedlam which attracts visits by men whose motives are very questionable.

At this point I became concerned that I had stayed in bed too long and got up to attend to my ablutions and then go down for my breakfast, wondering what reception I would get from Margaret. I was relieved when she greeted me with in her usual friendly manner; in fact there was something conspiratorial about her smile.

She suggested we took another stroll after breakfast and when we had donned our outdoor clothing against a chill wind, she began by making profuse apologies.

I began to perceive a pattern in our intercourse. It seemed Margaret was always seeking to reassure me that all was well or expressing regret when I was discomfited by events. It appeared she really was concerned for my welfare and I felt myself warm to her again. When she spoke of her forwardness in assuming intimacy I took her hand and said that it was my shyness that had been the obstacle and nothing more. I confessed I was a green girl who needed to learn about the world.

“Does that mean we may be intimate friends in time, my sweetheart?” asked Margaret, rather plaintively.

“I have every reason to hope so,” I replied, turning to her with a smile. “You have been so kind to me since my arrival at Drydon Hall.”

“I meant what I said about your beauty,” Margaret added, making me blush again. “I think the female form is so much more pleasing than the male physique. I dote on your soft curves, my angel.”

“You are beautiful too,” I told her.

“Oh, you say that to flatter me, darling girl.”

I was quick to reassure her, “Not at all. I saw you without your clothes before you got into bed and observed you had a lovely figure.”

Margaret lent across and kissed me briefly on my lips and I hoped no-one was looking out of a window in the house but I did not recoil. I could not bring myself to utter Margaret’s extravagant endearments but I squeezed her hand to indicate my feeling for her.

***

When we returned to the warm kitchen, John informed us that our master was calling for me. Margaret must have seen the effect this news had because she placed a hand on my arm and told me to have courage.

“He will give me double punishment,” I said, trembling with fear. He will punish me for deserting him on the last occasion and for being late today.”

“Would you like me to speak to him on your behalf?”

“Oh, would you do that, Margaret? I would be eternally grateful.”

“I will say how contrite you are and how it was really my fault that you are late this morning because I took you out to the garden for a stroll.”

“I fear he will punish me nevertheless.” John had left the kitchen and there was no one else present so I told her that Mr. Povey had threatened to chastise me on my bare bottom.

“That is his way, dearest. The master believes in bare bottom spankings and even punishes the maids and footmen in that way on occasions. He feels it is more acceptable to them than having their wages withheld. Mr. Povey may be applying the same policy in your case, darling. He may think you would prefer not to lose money because of your misdemeanours.”

“Has he ever punished you like that?” I asked Margaret rather boldly.

“Oh, yes, sweetheart. He has had me naked for a thrashing on many occasions.”

“Naked?”

“Isabel! Don’t sound so shocked. Remember he cannot see you.”

“Why does he insist that we are naked?”

“He says it is the proper way to punish young girls and that clothes get in the way. We ought to hurry, angel, otherwise we will increase his anger still further.”

Margaret stopped me on the landing outside my bedroom and told me to wait inside while she went in to see the master to act as go-between.

I sat on my bed still trembling. The thought that I would have to walk about into his room without my clothes made me feel sick with dread.

Margaret emerged some minutes later.

“You are to leave your clothes here, my dear, and go to him. He will use a Martinet which is not the very worst of his instruments of correction and he says that I can be present. I hope that is some comfort, dear friend?”

“Of course,” I said. “Thank you for interceding on my behalf.”

Margaret helped me out of the rather plain, Quaker-like dress I had put on thinking it was appropriate as day-wear considering my clerk-like function in the house, followed by my two petticoats decorated with
broderie
anglais
(which struck a more frivolous note). I was wearing elastic suspenders attached to the border of my corset to support my stockings and she unhooked me and rolled the stocking down my legs.

“Your legs are as shapely and strong as a ballerina’s,” she whispered.

Now Margaret unlaced my stays and the front closing bodice of my dress, then my under petticoat came off so that I was down to my chemise and drawers. At this point she kissed me full on the lips much more passionately than she had done before.

“You are the loveliest of girls,” she said. “Now your undergarments, Isabel.”

When I was quite naked she led me by the hand and knocked lightly on the master’s door.

“Ah, you take a remarkably long time,” Mr. Povey said, addressing me as I imagined though it was difficult to know where he was looking because of his mask.

“I am very, sorry, sir,” I said.

He was standing by the hearth with a long stick in his hand tapping his leg with it, obviously the Martinet to which Margaret had alluded.

“Margaret is going to prepare you in the bedroom,” he told me.

There was a curtain screening off his bedroom from his sitting room and Margaret took me through to the huge four poster while our master remained warming himself at the fire.

With gentle hands and whispered reassurances, Margaret arranged things so that I lay on my stomach across the bed with a bolster and cushions under me so that my lower half was raised up to offer a better target
  
Then she used stockings which appeared to come from her apron pocket to tie my wrists to the spars of the bed head. I imagined this was to prevent me using my hands to protect my rear. Then she stuffed a stocking into my mouth and tied it tightly behind my head so that no sound could escape my lips.

Lastly, to my great surprise, Margaret clambered up on the bed and sat on my shoulders facing Laurence Povey.

“It is better for you if you do not move about on the bed, Isabel. I will help you stay still.”

I couldn’t see my master but guessed he had come into the bedroom annex because I heard Margaret guiding him to the best position from which to strike his blows.
   

His aim was not perfect and the first stroke landed in the small of my back across the lower part of my spine and I must have tested Margaret’s strength to the utmost by the way I bucked and kicked yet she held me firm. The gag did its work reducing my intended scream to a muffled groan.

She gave him more advice about his stance and position and the next swish of the cane landed full on the fleshiest part of my bottom.

“How was that, Margaret?”

“Your aim was true, sir.”

“It felt right,” he said, “and sounded right.”

Another stroke landed and Margaret held me tight.

“Be my eyes, Margaret. How do the trollup’s cheeks look now?”

“Marked with three bright stripes, sir.”

“Are they raised up and hard to the touch?”

I felt Margaret draw her finger along the line of one of the welts. “They are raised high, sir. Her skin is very soft and downy and the cane has altered it very markedly where it has landed.”

“Take my hand, Margaret and let me feel them.”

I felt more fingers tracing the welts and sobbed bitterly from pain and humiliation. I could scarcely belief the severity of the strokes and the agony they occasioned.

“These blows are no more than feather-light tickles. How does the little tart receive them?”

“I’m afraid she’s is in tears, sir.”

“Then heaven help her if I have reason to be less forgiving.”

“She is not used to the cane, sir.”

“Nor the whip, I wager. But she will feel both on her soft virgin skin if she cannot improve her attitude and demeanour. She has been found wanting, Margaret. I am not impressed with the start she has made.”

With that, he cut me again more fiercely than he had done before as if to underline his words.

“Any change in colour, Margaret?”

“Some of the early marks are now purple at the edges, sir.”

“You have not described the creature’s rump to me save for her soft flesh. How is her arse shaped?”

“Her bottom is pert, sir, but pleasantly rounded.”

“Is it jaunty and proud? Does it protrude?”

“It does, sir. She is certainly not flat there.”

“Not like a skinny young boy?”

“No, sir. Very much a woman.”

“And a nice deep cleft between her womanly cheeks?”

“Indeed there is, sir.”

So this strange conversation continued literally over my head as though they were discussing an inanimate object like a vase or table or if a living creature, perhaps a prize pig.

“Untie her,” Mr. Povey ordered. “She has work to do.”

***

I was made to go straight from my caning to the desk naked as I was but found I could not sit down for the pain and I had to write standing up. I was also obliged to write quickly to follow the speed of Mr. Povey’s dictation because flagellation appeared to serve as his muse. It was as though the stirring of his blood was accompanied by vigorous mental activity and his account of Matilda’s tribulations proceeded apace. I cannot remember his words verbatim but the gist was as follows:

The abbot summoned the postulant Matilda daily, usually on two or three occasions during the day and night. He explained he wished to help her overcome her overweening vanity for the good of her immortal soul and he would apply a test he had devised for his young charges which was called
The Purity Test
.

For the test the abbot stripped himself naked and ordered Matilda to do the same.

She was required to assume a posture of humility and stand close to him. The essence of the test was simplicity itself. If the abbot had an erection, Matilda failed and had to do further penances. If he was not aroused, Matilda passed the test and would not need to mortify her body.

Matilda failed the test repeatedly because her body was still an object of desire, the abbot explained. If she could achieve a state of grace in her mind and in her heart, her body would follow and men would no longer be filled with lust when they looked at her without her clothes.

The abbot hung a sign about her neck bearing the legend
I am Filled with Vanity
and made her crawl naked on her belly scrubbing the floors in the refectory, chapel, dormitory, hall and stairs, every part of the convent. Whenever she encountered another sister she had to beg her to walk across her supine body so her back and bottom bore her sister’s whole weight and became bruised. The abbot said they would help crush the tyranny of the physical self so that Matilda could become as completely spiritual as it was possible to be. She should rejoice that her hair had been shorn; it was a symbol of her total renunciation of the vanities of the world. She should rejoice that she was under personal instruction from the abbot. There was a chance she could be redeemed if she did what she was told to the letter and if she prayed hard.