被迫接受的惩罚
abel abel
也许在我的记忆之中，关于伯爵老爷残忍形象的印象最深的例子，就是约瑟芬把汤洒在布雷主教身上的那次。
夏初，约瑟芬就来找我们了。那天，她只是来到仆人专用通道的门口，问我们是否有工作给她。原来，作为家中的六个孩子之一，她从威尔士的家出发，来伦敦找工作。她走到我们这里时，已经没有钱了，所以急于想赚点钱来维持生活。
碰巧的是，她很幸运——不久前，女仆之一的夏洛特因与一个马厩里的小伙子私下交往而怀孕，并立即被解雇了。大约一周后，约瑟芬就来到这儿，而我们仍然缺少一位女仆——她看起来是一个体面、诚实的姑娘。
因此，我们接纳了她，为她提供食宿，外加少量零用钱，她发誓要把这些钱存起来寄给她的家人。她很快就适应了环境——一开始只是打扫楼下的房间，后来被允许打扫房子的公共区域。她干净、整洁、仪表端庄、认真负责，且渴望被接受，希望自己的所有工作做得完美。
她也是一个文静漂亮的女孩，有一双深蓝色的眼睛，短而黑的头发，扎在后面，这似乎是许多威尔士女孩的特点。不过她很矮——我猜大约五尺二寸——而且身材苗条。虽然她已经18岁了，而且就她的年龄而言发育得很好，但她仍然有某种少女的魅力。而且——似乎是为了避免给我们带来麻烦——她小心翼翼地避免了夏洛特失败的那种暧昧关系！她似乎没有那种特殊的想法。她在老家似乎也没有什么特别的男性——我猜村里有一半的小伙子门一定在她离家出走的那一天感到十分后悔，因为他们还没能得到她的芳心。
总之，她在和我们一起工作了大约三个月后，三个侍者中的一个说她要打算辞职。侍者比女仆要高一个档次：她们在用餐时经常与主客人接触，所以必须有礼貌，表现良好，彬彬有礼。约瑟芬绝对是那种非常适合的人，女仆长和我毫不犹豫地给了她晋升的机会。
约瑟芬很高兴，毕竟这意味着有更多钱，更多的表现机会以得到其他女孩的认可——还有机会真正与老爷家和他们的客人门打交道。我们向她展示了基本的技巧——从右边递上食物，从左边拿走空盘，优先为女士们服务，诸如此类的事情——但当然不包括实际的餐桌布置：那是我作为管家的职责所在！她将从本周四早上开始工作。
她的工作从周四早上的早餐开始。一切都很顺利，尽管她非常紧张：也许是有点太想给老爷留下好印象了，老爷在早餐从来都是要求最好的。不过，她一直保持沉默，没有像一些愚蠢的年轻人那样试图进行交流。她一直把注意力放在自己的工作上。
然而，现在看来，在家中的一个重要周末快要到来之前，就这么快让她开始工作是个多么错误的决定。周六晚上，是老爷的年度聚会，该地区的大人物们都来了。其中至少有三位贵族、两位当地议员、主教、地方法官之类的名流，非常正式。爵士非常希望彰显他作为一个极有品味和修养的人的声誉。
总之，大约八点时，他们坐下来吃晚饭，在喝了一杯健康的雪利酒和白葡萄酒之后。他们都穿戴整齐：缎带、奖章、白领带和燕尾，相互攀比着。七道菜，每道都是精心准备的，是大厨们的呕心沥血之作。约瑟芬表现得很好，尽管每次她回到厨房时都紧张得像一片秋叶一样颤抖，生怕她自己——还有我们——在这样一个重要的事件中出问题。
我想正是她的紧张导致了这次事故。当她从主教——一个身材魁梧、脾气暴躁的人——面前收拾奶酪盘时，她的手一定是碰到了放在桌子上的波特酒瓶。它翻了过来——这瓶酒是为今晚而特别装满的——直接翻倒在了主教大人的面前，落到了他的腿上。我从未见过餐桌上有如此混乱的场面：主教被泡在了鲜艳的波特酒中——而且这是老爷最好的波特酒，直接从葡萄牙的商人那里拿来。他在战争中留下的丝带被淋湿了；他像是跌坐在了一个水坑里，而他就像被刺穿了心脏一样整件衣服都被染红了。
约瑟芬想帮忙，试图用餐巾纸把他擦拭，但这只是让情况变得更糟：主教不喜欢被普通仆人用他们那肮脏的爪子碰，即使他们是想帮忙。爵士扯着嗓子对那个可怜的女孩吼道：”马上离开这个房间”，她从房间里跑了出来，眼里流下了泪水。
好在我们很快就控制住了局面：主教被女主人领走了，女仆长给他提供了一套干净的晚餐服——但房间里的气氛完全被破坏了。我可以看出，老爷很生气，尽管他试图在客人面前表现出平静的形象。当主教回来时，他深表歉意，并说了一句后来很快成真的话：”当然，这个女孩将受到严厉的惩罚。”
很快，参加晚宴的人就分散开了——女士们谈论最新的时尚和音乐。先生们带着威士忌和雪茄去了斯诺克室。我谨慎地巡视了一阵后，趁机下楼去了厨房，约瑟芬此时已经被安抚下来并擦干了眼泪，正坐在那里，茫然地盯着她面前的墙壁。”我想我现在会被辞退吧？”，她问，”你要让我收拾东西吗？”
我没有选择，不得不说实话。我告诉她不要着急，但她必须在第二天早上离开。我会给她一个好的推荐信，她可以说她是想找更好地工作而离开——但如果她想再次找到工作，她就必须离开这个地区。
我回到了先生们和他们的斯诺克桌前。深色的长桌傲然坐在房间的中央，一端是长长的窗台。四周都是木质书柜，上面摆满了家族在过去两个世纪里获得的古老的皮装书。老爷打得很坚决，毫不收力地把球打过桌子。
当他们结束游戏，我为他们重新斟满酒杯时，老爷转向主教，表情突然显得比我以前见过的更严肃。”我想我对晚餐时失误的道歉还不够，阁下，”他解释道。
“别多想，”主教回答着。”这可能发生在我们任何人身上。正如他们所说的那样，又没造成什么损失！”
正是这种不会——事实上也没有也没有——发生在”我们任何人”身上的事实，引起了伯爵的哂笑。
“如果可以的话，打扰一下先生……”我开始说。
“什么事，詹金斯？”
“我已经告诉那个女孩，她会收拾行李，明天离开。”
“谢谢你，詹金斯。但是……我们的工作人员总是来来去去的，不是吗？她走后，其他人最多会记得她一天，然后就会忘记她曾经存在过，不是吗？”
“我想可能会是这样的，大人。”
“然后他们就会忘记她的所作所为，他们都不会知道我对这种不光彩的表现有多么重视。我想我们需要确保他们所有人得到一个教训——所有的人——你说呢，詹金斯？”
“如果先生觉得这样做是合适的。”
“是的，詹金斯，我会的。先生们，”他说，转向房间里的客人，”也许在我们的下一场比赛之后，你们不会反对我向我的女仆展示我对她的行为的看法。”
大家发出了礼貌性的低声赞同。
“很好。詹金斯，我想让你直接去马厩，给我带一些马鞭回来。哦，在路上，也许你可以向夫人提一下，我想让那个女孩在15分钟内送到这个房间来。但注意，不要提这件事。我不想让她受到惊吓而跑掉：只需告诉她我们希望那女孩上来道歉。
我心中非常震惊。”是的，先生，”我喃喃地说。这真是前所未有的事。我知道老爷对他的两个儿子很严厉——但对仆人的管教一直是由我来负责的。
我快步离开房间，通过像往常一样在厨房门外等候的女仆向女主人发出了我简短的信息，然后在黑夜中向马厩走去，一边走一边拿着一盏石蜡灯照亮我的路。我简直不敢相信我在做什么：他这的打算这么做吗？我走向马具区，把三根不同的马鞭捆起来，然后冲回屋里，我的心怦怦直跳。
我回来的时候，约瑟芬还没有到，男人们正在进行的斯诺克游戏快要结束。”把这些放在窗下的桌子上，”伯爵指示道，眼睛一直盯着游戏。
不久之后，一阵安静的敲门声传来，约瑟芬走了进来，看上去吓得魂不附体。而她只以为自己是来给人道歉的。”在那里等着，”伯爵吩咐道，她默默地服从了，随着比赛的继续，她又溶进了阴影里。
这肯定是一场势均力敌的比赛——他们继续玩着，全神贯注地又玩了十分钟。这似乎是一个漫长的过程。我试图避开约瑟芬的视线——这并不难，因为她站在那里盯着地面。我拼命地试图不去想可能会发生的事情——反正他肯定只会吓唬她的？他肯定不会这么做的吧？
最终，与主教合作的当地议员将黑球打进了口袋，并站了起来宣布胜利。”哇! 终于……！”
突然，房间里变得紧张起来，气氛中似乎闪烁着紧张和期待的光芒。所有的目光都转向伯爵，然后转向女孩，再回到伯爵身上。
“走出角落里，女孩，站到中间来。” 老爷大步流星地绕过桌子，边走边对我说。”她叫什么名字，詹金斯，我们雇佣她多长时间了？”
“约瑟芬·琼斯，先生，她已经和我们在一起三个月了。”
“好吧，约瑟芬·琼斯。你怎么解释你今天晚上的行为？”
“我……我……我很抱歉。先生。我不是故意的，那是个意外，我非常抱歉，我明天就走，我只希望主教大人现在没事。” 这些话带着颤抖的声音从她嘴中涌出。
“那你离开后会去哪里？”
“我不知道，先生。也许是回伦敦。”
“那你要做什么工作，我的姑娘？我可以告诉你，你绝对不会得到任何一份服务性质的工作——我可以保证这一点的。如果你想挣钱吃饭的话，几天之内你就会上街卖身。你有没有为钱出卖过身体，约瑟芬？”
“什么！没有，先生。”
“有没有被一个男人碰过？”
“没有，先生。”
“一个处女，嗯？那你为什么想去做妓女？”
“我没有，先生。” 她现在几乎要哭出来，但好在勇敢地忍住了。
“所以我打算让你留在这里。”
“先生，谢谢你，先生。”
“不过，不是为了你的利益。你认为如果我们让你离开这里会发生什么？你认为其他工作人员会在超过一两天后注意到你的离开吗？”
“我觉得可能不会，先生。”
“没错，但我想让他们记住，约瑟芬。我想让他们记住我对那些让我的尊贵客人难堪的愚蠢女孩的看法，避免他们将来在我自己的房子里愚弄我和我的贵客。”
他转向一旁的桌子，目光扫过那些鞭子。
“你父亲在你小时候有没有打过你？”
“没……没……没有，先生 “她脸上涌现出恐惧。
“也许假如他当初这么做了，你现在就不会站在这里了。它可能已经给你上了一两课，让你知道要注意自己的行为。现在，脱衣服。”
约瑟芬站着，一动不动，因恐惧而僵硬。
“脱衣服，我告诉过你。”
她仍然没有动，几乎就像她不能理解发生在她身上的事情一样。
“你，脚夫。” 他转向一个工作人员，他谨慎地站在房间的角落里。”给她脱衣服——如果你想保住你的工作，就快点。”
安德森是个30多岁的大块头，身材魁梧。他意识到，违抗老爷的命令，或者试图帮助这个女孩，都不会有什么好处。他走出阴影，两步走到女孩面前；他站在她身后，用一只手握住她的胳膊，另一只手拨开她黑色制服外套前面的一排白色纽扣。他解完了这一排，上衣就散开了，露出了她下面苍白的皮肤。
当她打算挣扎时，他已经把注意力转移到她的裙子上。他的右手穿过她的腰部，将她更紧地夹在他身上，扯开了她裙子侧面的按钮。他拽住拉链，把它往下拉。当他这样做时，长长的黑色衣服慢慢地向下滑落到地上。
他把脚放在裙子中间，把小姑娘举到空中，转了一圈，把她的脚从鞋子和裙子里拎了出来，并把她惊恐的脸转向他。他抓住她外套的领子，把它们向后褪到她的肩上，再让它滚落到地上。
“谢谢你，脚夫，这就够了。转过身来，姑娘。”
约瑟芬面对老爷，浑身颤抖，只穿着薄薄的黑色胸罩和短裤。她的双手遮住了她的前胸，保护她的清白不被聚集在一起的人群看到——这些人已经看得目不转睛了。
“现在脱掉你的内衣裤。现在！”
约瑟芬惊恐万分地伸手解开了自己的胸罩。她慢慢地把它往前拉，顺着她的手臂，释放出她那对丰满的乳房。她身躯前倾，轻轻地把她的内裤褪到地上，当内裤碰地面时，她双脚一蹬，跳出了内裤。
光着身子，她试图遮住自己。她的右手划过胸前，沿着乳头的线条形成一道屏障，而她的左手则掩饰在她的阴部前。现场有十五个中年男人凝视着她，有些人因看到这个颤抖的、赤裸的少女暴露在他们的视线中而明显兴奋起来。
然后——仿佛这种羞辱还不够重——老爷说出了下一个指令。”女孩，把你的双手握在一起，放在你的脑后面。
至此，她的娇躯终于完全暴露了出来。她的手肘向两侧伸出，约瑟芬的胴体一览无余。那张文静而迷人的脸下方，露出一对坚挺的白色乳房——不大但很饱满。下面，一小块整齐的黑色阴毛（与她的头发相配）将人们的目光引向了她那未知的、未被触及的女性部位。然后是她的腿——纤细而有型。总之，她是一个非常纯真、美丽和有魅力的年轻女子。同时也是一个心中充满了恐惧的人。
老爷在她身边走来走去，仿佛闻到了她的恐惧。”现在，我的姑娘，你将被鞭打。一旦你接受完鞭打，你就可以离开这个房间，你今晚的可耻行为将不会再被提起。虽然现在，我非常期待着鞭打会给你带来的痛苦，但我要求你必须安静地接受——如果你叫出声来，我就会更用力、更长时间地鞭打你。你明白我的意思了吗？”
“是的，先生”。
他在桌前停下，拿起一根又长又细的马鞭。这根鞭子大约有三英尺长，上面覆盖着优质的棕色皮革，他把它慢慢地掰弯，以暗示它的鞭打效果。
“弯腰趴到斯诺克桌的边缘，女孩；继续，腿也要靠着它，身体向前倾。把你的手放在头后面。靠紧一点，再紧一点。” 约瑟芬向前伸了伸手，当她完成这个指示后，几乎是踮起脚尖，将她赤裸的臀部进一步举到空中。
他满意地后退了三步，把手臂高高举过肩头，向前跨出一步，把鞭子从空中挥下来，打在约瑟芬的身后。鞭子直直地落在她的臀部中央，发出像枪声一样的破裂声；她一下子就哭了出来，尽管她的心里之前已做好了准备。一条伤痕横生，如同两条细细的红线衬托着一条深色的山脊，继而迅速变硬。
啪！鞭子再次抽打在了这个无助女孩的背上。似乎如果不是约瑟芬紧紧地靠着斯诺克桌的边缘，这一击就会把她打飞出房间去。第二条愤怒的线划过她的后臀，与第一条平行但略低——同样，老爷小心翼翼地没有真正打破皮肤，约瑟芬试图压制住她的啜泣，把眼泪呛回去。
老爷再次用鞭子抽打她的臀部。观众们站着，完全不说话，整个房间人的注意力都集中在这位被激怒的同行和他无助的受害者身上。我也在看，被正在上演的这一幕迷住了。我希望约瑟芬能挺过去：只要她能再坚持一分钟，鞭打就会结束，我就可以带她走，给她一些安慰。
大人这次走得更远了些，把鞭子高高地举过头顶。他飞快地向前一步，打出了比前三次更凶猛的一击。约瑟芬昂起头，哭喊着，紧紧抓住她火烧般的臀部。
“我必须重新给你那一下。我已经告诉过你，我不想听到你的任何声音。如果你再退缩，我就给你多打四下。”
这时，一个声音从旁观者中传来，一个当地的主教问道：”你打算打她多少，老爷？”
老爷停顿了一下，想了想。”好吧，我想六下就够了——当然，还要再加上她的额外惩罚。尊敬的阁下，您也是因这个女孩的愚蠢而受冒犯的人；您对这件事有什么看法吗？”
主教挥了挥手：”不，这应当留给您自己判断。”
老爷转向女孩，用手抓住她的马尾辫，把她的头往上拉，看向他的眼睛。”那就再来三下吧。”
我几乎不忍心再描述这个场景了。下一击与前一击的力度相当，鞭子以凶猛的速度划破空气，直接落在第一个伤口上。再下一次，他调整了目标，并将鞭子直接落在了约瑟芬的臀部与大腿交界处的最柔软的地方。最后一击，则是带有有角度的，直接切过之前的六条线，再次刺痛了每一条伤痕，使疼痛达到了她几乎无法忍受的顶点。
约瑟芬留在原地，不敢——或者说不能——移动，她布满整齐划一伤痕的臀部显示着她一定感觉到了强烈的痛苦。老爷把鞭子递还给我，并指着另外两条道。”我希望你把这些东西放回它们应在的位置。”
他回头，看到约瑟芬仍然在桌子上抽泣。”那就离开吧，姑娘——起来，穿好衣服，别挡这我们的桌子；我们还有一场斯诺克比赛要打。”
她站起来，转过身来，脸上流着泪水。她的双手摸着自己跳动的臀部，拼命想抑制住疼痛——之前所有想遮住自己的裸体不被围观者注视的害羞念头，现在都被忘得一干二净了。
“来吧，快一点，又或者你还想再来点惩罚。”
约瑟芬的衣服散落在地板上。透过泪水朦胧的眼睛，她大声抽泣着，找到了她的胸罩，双手颤抖着把它夹回原处。她穿上外套，摸索着纽扣，然后捡起她的内裤。她停顿了一下，想着自己如今无法把这紧贴着的黑色布料拉到炽痛的臀部上，就把它塞进了外衣的口袋。她轻轻地把裙子遮盖在裸露的肉体上，然后穿上她的鞋子。
她转过身来，无助地看着我，她的眼睛在问我下一步她该怎么办。”我想你也许应该向老爷和他的客人道歉，然后回到你的房间去，约瑟芬，”我说。
她回过头来，面对那个几分钟前让她遭受可怕和痛苦鞭打的人。她无法直视他的眼睛，而是盯着他的脚：”对不起，先生。”她喃喃地说。
“走吧。我希望你明天能恢复正常工作，因为你已经得到了教训。”
我从桌子上拿起另外两条鞭子，带头走向门口，约瑟芬跟在后面。”能容许我暂别一会吗，我的主人？” “当然可以，詹金斯。”
我把门打开，把约瑟芬带出门。当我把门在我们身后拉上时，我把食指放在唇边，告诉她保持安静。我搂着她颤抖的肩膀，带她从后面的楼梯走到我的房间。我把鞭子扔到地板上，张开双臂，约瑟芬扑向我，大声抽泣起来。我轻轻地抱着她，用手轻抚着她的头发。她腾出一只手，轻轻地抚摸自己的后背，感受着横亘在上面的愤怒的伤痕。
几分钟后，我让她离开：”我想你最好洗洗脸，然后回你的房间去。”
她把冷水泼在自己脸上，然后用我的毛巾擦干。”谢谢你对我的照顾，詹金斯先生，”她说。”我不会再犯这样的错了，我保证。”
“我相信你不会了。现在，你自己去睡觉吧。确保你明天早上准时到岗。”
后记
我想这是很不幸的，约瑟芬还要在第二天早上供应早餐，但从某种程度上说，我想对她来说，与其让再遇时的不安情绪继续打扰她，还不如让她很快再次面对老爷。
结果，他没有理会她——就像他通常对仆人所做的那样，没有评价，一个字也没有——尽管他在前一天晚上把这个可怜的小姑娘打得几乎失去了知觉。
至于约瑟芬——嗯，鞭打之后的几天里，我没有什么机会和她说话。当我有机会时，是在接近一周之后，我问她怎么样了。结果发现她还是很疼——事实上，根据女仆长告诉我的，她的臀部足足过了三周才恢复正常。至于在餐桌旁的服务工作——好吧，她再也没有打翻过一次东西。她在我们这又待了一年，然后离开了，在苏塞克斯的一个庄园里找了一份女管家的工作。此后我再也没有听到她的消息了。
THE END
Made to Take Her Punishment
Perhaps the most memorable example that comes to mind of His Lordship’s cruelty is the time when Josephine spilt the soup over the Bishop of Bray.
Jo had come to us at the start of the summer. She’d simply arrived one day at the servants’ entrance, and had asked whether we had any work for her. It turned out that she had set off from her family home in Wales, where she was one of six children, to come to London to look for work. She’d got as far as us, having run out of money, and was desperate to earn something to live on.
As it happens, she was in luck: Charlotte, one of the house maids, had managed to get herself pregnant by one of the stable lads, and had been dismissed forthwith. Jo arrived about a week later, and we were still short of a maid – and she seemed a decent, honest enough sort of girl.
So, we took her on: board & lodgings provided, plus a small amount of pocket money, which she vowed to save and send back to her family. She quickly settled in – just cleaning the downstairs rooms at first, then allowed to clean the public areas of the house. She was neat, tidy, well-presented and conscientious: keen to be accepted, keen to do well.
She was a pretty girl, too, in a quiet sort of way. Short, dark hair, tied back, and the deep blue eyes that seem so typical of many Welsh lasses. Short, though – about five-two, I’d guess – and slimly built. Although she was eighteen, and nicely developed for her age, she still had that certain girlish charm. And – as if to save us the trouble – she was careful to avoid the sort of dalliances that had been Charlotte’s undoing! Not that she seemed to have any particular boyfriends at home – I guess half the lads in the village must have rued the day she left home, before they could get their hands on her!
Anyway, after she’d been with us about three months, one of the three serving staff announced that she was leaving us. Serving girls were a definite step above the house maids: they came into regular contact with the family at mealtimes, and had to be polite, well-behaved and courteous. Jo was definitely the sort of person who’d fit in excellently, and matron and I had no hesitation in offering her the promotion.
Jo was delighted, of course. It meant a bit extra money, more “glamour”, recognition from the other girls – and the chance to actually mingle with the Family and their guests. We showed her the basic techniques – giving food from the right, taking away from the left, serving the ladies first – that sort of thing – but not, of course, the actual table laying: that was MY preserve as butler!
She started on the Thursday morning, at breakfast. Everything went fine, although she was very nervous: perhaps a little too keen to impress his Lordship, who was never at his best first thing in the morning. She kept quiet, though – didn’t try to strike up a conversation, like some of the silly young things would do until they learnt better!
Perhaps, on reflection, it was a mistake starting her so soon before a big weekend at the house. On the Saturday night, it was his Lordship’s annual gathering of the great and good of the area. At least three other peers, two local MPs, the Bishop, magistrates – that sort of thing! Very formal, Sir very keen to live up to his reputation as a man of the utmost good taste and refinement.
Anyway, about eight o’clock they sat down to dinner, after a healthy dose of sherry and white port. All dressed up in their finery, they were: ribbons, medals, white ties & tails – all trying to outdo one another! Seven courses, each elaborately prepared, to chef’s utmost capability! Jo was fine, although every time she came back into the kitchen she was shaking like a leaf with nerves, lest she her herself – and us – down, at such an important event.
I guess it was her tension that led to the accident. As she cleared away the cheese plate from in front of the Bishop – a large, rotund, irritable man – her hand must have caught the port decanter, that was sitting on the table. Over it tumbled – and it had been specially filled to the brim for the evening – right over his reverence’s front and into his lap. I have NEVER seen so much chaos at the dinner table: the Bishop was soaked, in bright, staining port – and His Lordship’s best port at that, brought direct from the merchants in Portugal. His ribbons from the war were drenched; he was sitting in a puddle, and his shirt looked as if he’d been stabbed through the heart.
Jo tried to help, attempting to mop him down with a serviette, but that only made it worse: Bishops do not like being pawed by common servants, even if they are trying to help. “Leave the room, now”, bellowed Sir at the top of his voice at the poor girl, and she ran from the room, tears streaming from her eyes.
Well, we soon had the situation under some form of control: the Bishop was led away by Her Ladyship, and matron provided him with a clean set of dinner clothes – but the atmosphere in the room was completely spoilt. I could tell that His Lordship was furious, although he tried to present a calm image to his guests. As the Bishop returned, he apologised profusely, and said a phrase that later came so true: “the girl will, of course, be punished severely.”
Soon, the dinner group split up – the ladies to talk about the latest in fashion and music. the gentlemen to the snooker room with their whisky and cigars. I hovered discreetly, but took a chance to pop downstairs to the kitchen, where Jo – having been calmed down and dried her tears – was sitting, staring blankly at the wall ahead of her. “I suppose I’ll be sent away now?”, she asked, “Do you want me to pack my things?”
I had to be honest: I really had no choice. I told her not to rush, but that she would have to leave the following morning. I would give her a good reference, and she could say that she’d wanted to move on for more responsibility – but she would have to leave the area if she wanted to find work again.
I returned to the gentlemen and their snooker. The long, dark table sat proudly in the middle of the room, with long bay windows at one end. All round were wooden bookcases, filled with old, leather-bound volumes acquired by the family over the past two centuries. His Lordship was playing determinedly, thwacking the balls across the table like there was no tomorrow.
As they finished their game, and I refilled their glasses, the Count turned to the Bishop and suddenly looked more serious than I think I’ve ever seen him before. “I don’t think I can apologise enough for the fiasco at dinner, your reverence,” he explained.
“Think nothing of it,” came the reply. “It could have happened to any of us. Nothing broken, as they say!”
It was exactly the fact that it wouldn’t – and didn’t – happen to “any of us” that raised the Count’s heckles.
“If I may, Sir…” I began.
“Yes, Jenkins?”
“I have already told the girl that she should pack her bags and leave us tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Jenkins. But… We have staff come and go all the time, don’t we? When she’s gone, the others will think about her for a day, and then forget she ever existed – won’t they?”
“I imagine that would probably be the case, my Lord.”
“Then they’ll forget what she did, and none of them will learn how seriously I take such disgraceful performances. I think we need to make sure they learn a lesson – all of them – don’t you, Jenkins?”
“If Sir would feel that to be appropriate.”
“Yes, Jenkins, Sir would. Gentlemen,” he said, turning to the guests in the room, “perhaps after our next game you’d not object if I showed the maid what I think of her behaviour.”
There was a murmur of polite consent.
“Very well. Jenkins, I’d like you to go directly to the stables and bring me back a selection of the horse whips. Oh, and on the way, perhaps you could mention to matron that I’d like the girl sent up to this room in fifteen minutes’ time. Nothing more, mind: I don’t want her to take fright and run off: just tell her we’d like the girl to come up and apologise”
I was shocked. “Yes, sir,” I murmured. This was unprecedented. I knew His Lordship had been hard on his two sons – but the discipline of the servants had always been left to me.
I rushed out of the room, fired off my curt message to matron via the serving maid who was waiting, as usual, outside the kitchen door, then headed out into the dark night to the stables, picking up a paraffin lamp as I went to light my way. I couldn’t believe what I was doing: surely he wouldn’t go through with it? I headed to the saddlers area, and bundled up three different rods, and rushed back to the house, my heart pounding.
Jo had still not arrived when I got back, and the men were finishing their game of snooker. “Put the crops on the table under the window,” the Count instructed, keeping his eyes on the game.
Shortly after, a quiet knock came at the door, and Jo walked in, looking scared out of her wits. And she only thought she had come to give an apology. “Wait there,” the Count instructed, and she silently obeyed, blending back into the shadows as the game continued.
It just have been a close match – they continued playing, intently, for another ten minutes. It seemed like an eternity: I tried to avoid Jo’s eyes- which wasn’t hard, as she stood staring at the ground in front of her. I desperately attempted not to think about what might be to come – surely he was only going to frighten her, anyway? Surely he wouldn’t go through with it?
Eventually, the local MP, who was partnering the Bishop in the game, smacked the black ball into the pocket, and stood up in triumph. “Voila! At last…!”
Suddenly, the room went tense: the atmosphere seemed to sparkle with tension and expectation. All eyes turned to the Count, and then to the girl, and then back to the Count.
“Come out of the shadows, girl, and stand in the light.” His Lordship strode round the table, speaking to me as he went. “What’s her name, Jenkins, and how long have we had her?”
“Josephine Jones, Sir, and she’s been with us for three months.”
“Well, Josephine Jones. How do you explain your conduct this evening?”
“I…I…I’m sorry. Sir. I didn’t mean to, it was an accident, and I’m dreadfully sorry, and I’m leaving tomorrow, and I hope the bishop is all right now.” The words gushed out, in a trembling voice.
“And where will you go when you leave?”
“I don’t know, Sir. London, perhaps.”
“And what will you work as, my girl? You won’t get a job in service, I can tell you – I’ll make sure of that. You’ll be on the streets whoring within days, if you want to get the money to eat. Ever sold your body for money, Josephine?”
“Why no, Sir.”
“Ever been touched by a man?”
“No, Sir.”
“A virgin, eh? So why do you want to go to be a whore?”
“I don’t sir.” She was almost in tears by now, but bravely held them back.
“So I’m going to let you stay here.”
“Sir? Thank you, sir.”
“Not for your good, though. What do you think would happen if we let you leave here – do you think the other staff would notice you’d gone after more than a day or two?”
“Probably not, Sir, I suppose.”
“Well I want them to remember, Josephine. I want them to remember what I think about stupid little girls who embarrass my honoured guests, and who make a fool of me and my hospitality in my own house.”
He turned to the side table, and ran his eyes over the whips.
“Did your father ever thrash you when you were a child?”
“N..n…no, sir” The fear welled up in her face.
“Perhaps if he had done, you wouldn’t be standing here now. It might have taught you a lesson or two about taking care of what you’re doing. Now strip.”
Jo stood, motionless, rigid with fear.
“Strip, I tell you”
Still she did not move, almost as if she couldn’t understand what was happening to her.
“You, footman.” He turned to one of the staff, who was stood discretely in the corner of the room. “Strip her – and be quick about it if you want to keep your job.”
Anderson was a big, burly man in his late 30s. He recognised that there could be no advantage in disobeying his Lordship’s orders, or in trying to help the girl. He stepped out of the shadows, and in two strides had the girl; he stood behind her, holding her arms behind her back with one of his hands, and with the other flicked open the row of white buttons down the front of her black uniform jacket. He completed the row, and the top fell apart, revealing her pale skin below.
As she struggled, her turned his attentions to her skirt. His right hand came across the front of her waist, pinning her tighter to him, and he wrestled open the button on the side of her skirt. He tugged at the zip, and jerked it downwards. As he did so, the long black garment slithered slowly downwards to the ground.
Placing his feet on the middle of the skirt, he lifted the small girl up into the air and around, both freeing her feet from her shoes and the skirt, and turning her frightened face towards him. He grasped at the collars of her jacket, and thrust them backwards over her shoulders, sending it tumbling to the ground.
“Thank you, footman, that will suffice. Turn around, girl.”
Jo faced His Lordship, trembling, clad only in her thin black brassiere and knickers. Her hands covered her front, protecting her innocence from the gaze of the assembled crowd, who looked on, mesmerised.
“Now take off your underwear. NOW!”
Terrified, Jo reached round and unclipped her bra. She pulled it forwards slowly, down her arms, freeing her pert breasts. Leaning forwards, she gingerly pushed her knickers down to the ground, doubling up as they reached the ground and she stepped out of them.
Naked, she tried to cover herself. Her right hand crossed over her chest, forming a barrier along the line of her nipples, while she held her left hand demurely in front of her pubes. Fifteen middle-aged men gazed at her, some becoming clearly aroused by the sight of the trembling, naked virgin exposed to their sights.
And then – as if the humiliation could get no worse – his Lordship uttered the next instructions. “Clasp your hands together, and hold them behind your head, girl.”
So, she was finally completely exposed. Her elbows out to the sides, Jo’s nudity was plain for all to see. The quiet, attractive face curved downwards to a pair of firm, white breasts – full, but small. Below, a small, neat triangle of straight black pubes (matching her hair) drew the eyes towards her dark, untouched womanhood. And then her legs – thin, well shaped: all in all, she was a young woman of great innocence, beauty and charm. And one filled with very great fear.
His Lordship walked around her, smelling her fear. “Now, my girl, you are going to be flogged. Once you have been beaten, you will then leave this room, and nothing will be said again of your disgraceful behaviour this evening. Now I fully expect that the thrashing will cause you a great deal of pain, but I must ask you to take it in silence: if you scream out, I shall simply thrash you harder and for longer. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir”.
He stopped at the table, and picked up a long, thin riding whip. The crop was about three feet long, covered in premium brown leather, and he bent it slowly in two to illustrate how whippy it would be.
“Bend over the edge of the snooker table, girl; go on, legs against it, and lean forward. And keep those hands behind your head. Tighter, much tighter.” Jo stretched herself forward, as she did so rising up almost onto tiptoe, thrusting her naked backside further into the air.
Satisfied, his Grace took three steps back. He raised his arm high above his shoulder, and danced forward, bringing the whip crashing through the air and down across Jo’s behind. It landed straight across the centre of her buttocks with a crack that sounded like gunfire; she cried out, despite her best intentions. The weal stretched across, two thin red tramlines lining a darker ridge, that hardened rapidly.
CRACK! Again, the rod lashed down on the helpless girl’s backside. It seemed as if, had Jo not been tight up against the edge of the snooker table, the blow would have sent her flying across the room. A second angry line traced across her behind – parallel to the first, but slightly lower – again, his Lordship careful not to actually break the flesh Jo tried to muffle her sobs, choking back the tears.
Again, his lordship whipped the crop across her buttocks. The audience stood, completely silent, the whole room focused on the enraged peer and his helpless victim. I watched too, mesmerised by the scene that was being played out. I willed Jo to pull through: if she could only hold out for another minute, the flogging would be over and I could take her away to give her some comfort.
His Grace walked further back this time, and lifted the crop high above his head. He galloped forward, and dealt a blow even more ferocious than the first three. Jo reared up and cried out, clutching at her burning behind.
“I’ll have to give you that one again. I’ve told you that I don’t want to hear any noise from you. And if you flinch again, I’ll give you an extra four strokes.”
A voice came from one of the bystanders – a local M.P.: “how many are you going to give her, your Lordship?”
His Grace paused for thought. “Well, I’d thought six would do the job – plus any extra she earns, of course. Your reverence – you were the one who suffered for the girl’s stupidity; do you have any views on the matter?”
The Bishop waved his hand – “No, I’ll leave it to your judgement.”
His Lordship turned to the girl, and grabbed her next pony tail in his hand, pulling her head upwards to look into his eyes. “Three more, then.”
I can hardly bear to describe the scene any further. The next blow matched its predecessor for strength, the rod cutting through the air with ferocious speed and landing directly on top if the first weal. For the next, he adjusted his target, and brought the crop crashing down right on the softest spot where Jo’s buttocks merged into her thighs. And the final stroke; angled, cutting right across the previous six lines, stinging each of them once more into life, bringing the pain to what must have been an almost unbearable crescendo.
Jo stayed in position, not daring – or not able – to move, her neatly striped buttocks revealing the extent of the pain that she must have been feeling. His Grace handed the rod back to me, and pointed to the other two. “I can rely on you to return these to their rightful place.”
He turned back, seeing Jo still sobbing on the table. “Well go on, then, girl – get up, get dressed and get out of our way; we have a snooker game to play.”
She stood up and turned around, her face streaming with tears. Her hands felt for her throbbing buttocks, desperately trying to contain the pain – any previous modest thoughts of covering her nakedness from the gaze of the onlookers completely forgotten now.
“Go on, get on with it, or I’ll think you want some more.”
Jo’s clothes were scattered across the floor. Through the haze of tears, and sobbing loudly, she found her bra and, hands trembling, clipped it back into place. She put on her jacket, fumbling with the buttons, and then picked up her knickers. She paused for a moment, unable to contemplate pulling the tight black material over her throbbing buttocks – and thrust them instead into her jacket pocket. She gently slipped her skirt on over her naked flesh, and stepped into her shoes.
She turned and looked at me, helpless, her eyes asking me what was expected of her next. “I think you should perhaps apologise to his Lordship and his guests, and then go back to your room Josephine,” I said.
She turned back to face the man who minutes previously had subjected her to the terrible and agonising flogging. Unable to look him in the eyes, she stared at his feet – “Sorry, sir” she murmured.
“Go away. And I’ll expect you to resume your normal duties tomorrow now you’ve been taught your lesson.”
I gathered up the other two whips from the table, and led the way to the door, Jo following behind. “If you would excuse me for a few moments, my Lord?” “Certainly, Jenkins.”
I held the door open, and ushered Jo through it. As I pulled it to behind us, I held my forefinger to my lip to tell her to keep quiet. I put my arm around her trembling shoulders, and led her down the back stairway to my room. Throwing the rods onto the floor, I opened my arms, and Jo threw herself against me, sobbing loudly. I held her gently, stroking her hair with my hand. She freed one of her hands, and gently cradled her behind, feeling the angry weals stretching across them.
After a few minutes, I let her go. “I think you’d better wash your face, then go back to your room.”
She splashed the cold water over herself, and dried her face on my towel. “Thank you for looking after me, Mr Jenkins,” she said. “I won’t do it again, I promise.”
“I’m sure you won’t. Now, get yourself to bed, and make sure you’re on duty promptly in the morning.”
Epilogue
It was unfortunate, I suppose, that Josephine was due to serve breakfast the following morning, but in a way I suppose it was better for her to have to face his Lordship again quickly, rather than to let the prospect of the encounter loom up ahead of her for some time.
As it turned out, he ignored her – as he usually did with the servants. No comments – not a word, even though he had thrashed the poor lass almost senseless the night before.
As for Josephine – well, I didn’t get much of a chance to speak to her for a few days after the whipping. When I did – and it must have been close on a week after – I asked her how she was. Still sore, it turned out – indeed, from what Matron told me, it took fully three weeks before her backside returned to normal. And as for waiting at table – well, she never spilt a drop again. She stayed with us for another year, and then left to take up a housekeeper’s job on an estate in Sussex. And we heard no more from her after that.
THE END
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最后想了想，决定还是把原文放上来了，可能有人会需要。感谢原作者，希望大家能喜欢！
