Hirst Hall

Chapter 9 – Success and disaster at the house party

All at once it was Mid-April and the house party was upon us. The preparations were so intense during the last week that Sir Thomas did not even seek to disturb the household’s rhythm by ordering me to tea in the Yellow Salon. Rose was allowed her proper maid’s dress with two days to go.  The preparations to have twenty guests stay for five days and to hold a grand ball for everyone in the district on the last night are hard to describe.  Suffice to say that extra staff for the kitchens had to be brought in from Hirst village, where many of the estate families lived.

It took an entire afternoon for all our guests to arrive.  Bedchambers had been assigned and the footmen moved luggage to and fro.  As each guest brought with them a maid or manservant all our servants on the top floor had to double up with extra beds being brought in.  Meals in the servants’ hall had to be taken in two sittings and tensions ran high below stairs as the crowding took its toll.

While nominally Mr. Edwards, the butler was the head servant, in reality it was Mrs. Jones who ran everything.   Whatever I might have thought of her morals her ability to organise was indisputable.  Nothing fazed her.  When Lady Sydenby brought two maids instead of the expected one, she merely arranged for another bed to be put into Rose’s room to accommodate the girl.  Whenever disputes seemed about to break out she quelled them. Rose told me it was that everyone was terrified of her.  I supposed that none of the maids wanted to end up under her skirts being punished in such a disgusting fashion.  And men are always in awe of a woman in a position of power.

The kitchens looked like a scene from Bedlam.  This was the true test of Mrs. Shepherd’s skills as a cook.  Her efforts for Sir Thomas and me had always been excellent, but cooking for two undemanding people is quite different from arranging meal after meal for twenty-two.  As I entered with Mrs. Jones on the first evening I could see that there were more than double the normal staff all set to different tasks and the cook was bustling between them barking shrill orders and occasional reprimands.  I was surprised to see she had a little switch in her hand that she used twice on scullery maids who did not move out of her way quickly enough.

“Do you think that is the proper way to get them to do their best?” I asked Mrs. Jones.

The housekeeper gave me a half-smile. “I think the kitchen staff prefer the switch to her other threat.”

“Which is?”

“Being sent to see me to explain their misdemeanour and to ask for my punishment.  None of them want that.”  That was understandable I could not wish for anyone to receive that Sapphic humiliation.

Despite the turmoil behind the scenes the dinner that evening was superb.  I sat at one end of the long table while my husband was at the head.  Separating us were our twenty guests, ten to a side of the long mahogany table.  The entire dining room shone with myriad candles.  On a usual evening the two of us just sat at the far end side by side and only half the room was lit.  The meal, like the others that followed showed off Mrs. Shepherd’s cunning.  There were always one or two dishes that were complicated and required immense preparation.  These were interspersed with courses that focussed on quality and freshness to deliver their effect.  That evening we had pigeon en croute to start where every individual dish had a sculpted bird on its pastry lid.  Then came a fresh cream of vegetable soup, excellent roast beef from the estate herds and finally a whipped mousse of egg, cream and sugar teased into little spires.  Cheese and port finished the meal and when we ladies retired to leave the men to it I made a little detour to the kitchen to give the staff some of the many compliments I had received from the guests.  As I left the kitchen I heard a little cheer followed by a high-pitched snarl from Mrs. Shepherd to get on with the tidying up and to start preparing bread for baking in the morning.

During the day the men went shooting and hunting while us ladies walked the gardens, rode out (for those of us who were more energetic) or spent time in indoor pursuits.  One day Sir Thomas took the entire party over to the mine and the mills to show them the sights.  It served both as a point of general interest and as a demonstration of the Dalrymples’ considerable wealth. 

Our most important guests were Viscount and Viscountess Hawarden who had estates to the west in Wales.  I knew they had a son, Lord Llanbedr, in his early twenties who was unmarried and would one day inherit his father’s title and so I was more than a little interested on Georgina’s behalf.  That the Hawardens were of necessity looking for a suitable dowry to pay down mortgages on their estates made my need to find a way to keep my daughter away from any scandal while securing for her a dowry from my husband all the more pressing.  And while Lord Llanbedr was not present (he was in London for the Season) there were several other eligible men who might have done almost as well.

As a first step on this journey to my daughter’s future I passed a letter addressed to Georgina into the hand of Anne Graves when we were out walking in the rose garden.  The letter gave no hint of what had befallen me at Hirst Hall but instructed her that when her schooling was done in early June that she was to go to London and to stay with her uncle for the time being.  I begged my friend not to let anyone know of the existence of the missive and she promised that it would be sent as soon as she returned to Ludlow.  This task done I turned my full attention to my guests and the ball.

The ball was a magnificent success and the dancing went on till near dawn with the musicians having been brought from Shrewsbury for the occasion. And with near two hundred in the Hall I was overcome with pleasure at the compliments I received: on the ball, on the house, on the music.  Everyone kept calling me Lady Dalrymple and all that I had undergone in the past two months seemed washed clean.  This was how I had imagined being the lady of Hirst Hall would feel like.

The next day was tiring as we had none of us had more than a couple of hours’ sleep, if any at all.  The last ball guests left at dawn followed by clearing away and the packing of the house guests who began to leave after a final luncheon.  Finally, late afternoon, the last of the guests’ carriages departed down the drive. 

I planned to rest in my room for an hour but first I had to thank the servants who were already hard at work trying to overcome the mess throughout the house.  It would clearly take days before it was all returned to pristine order.  As I was standing with Mrs. Jones thanking the kitchen staff, both the temporary and the permanent, a message arrived from Sir Thomas requesting our presence in the Yellow Salon.  I was amazed, surely he could not want to abuse me there now; we were all so fatigued.  And yet it had been nine days since he last tormented me, the longest such period since I had come to the hall.  Mrs. Jones and I hurried there to find out.

When we arrived he courteously bade me to be seated. He congratulated me and Mrs. Jones on the great success of the house party and the ball.  Then, just as I was beginning to relax, he produced from his pocket a letter and held it up to me.  It was my letter to Georgina.

“But how...?” I began.

“Simple enough, I asked Rosie which among our guests was your particular friend and she mentioned Mrs. Graves.  I sent her to tell Mrs. Graves that you had changed your mind about the letter and to request its return.  Had there been no such missive then she would have admitted to a maid’s misunderstanding.  As it was the letter was promptly returned to Rosie so she could pass it to you.  Instead it came to me.”

“It is merely a letter to my daughter.”

“And why would any caring mother, having not seen her only child for nigh-on six months command her to go to London.  Especially when the young lady in question must be eager to see her new home.”

“I thought it better for her.”  I was finding a well of defiance deep within me.

“Then you should have discussed it with me first.  This is most disobedient.”

“I am sorry, Sir Thomas, for my disobedience, but I believe my decision to be entirely justified.”

“Well, my dear, you are to be punished for it.  I will not have disobedience.  Rosie, strip your mistress.  Mrs. Jones, bring me the crop from the chest.”

So I was to be beaten.  I resolved to endure any chastisement for Georgina’s sake.  Soon enough I was naked and bent over the back of a Chippendale chair.

“Grip the arms, wife, and do not release them.”

I complied which left my breasts swinging as I leant forward.  I was determined to remain silent under this unfair cruelty.

With a whistle and a crack the crop landed hard on my bare, taut bottom.  I felt the intense pain lancing through me, waves of shocks radiating from my damaged flesh.  The sensation was near overwhelming and I gasped but managed to stifle any other sound.  More strokes followed and my behind became as hot as a brazier, radiating pain in fierce surges through my body.  I felt as if I were floating away on a sea of agony. After the firth stroke Sir Thomas stopped.

“Damnation, I do not believe it!”  With that exclamation of surprise I felt his fingers enter my sex.

“You’re wet, you harlot!” And I was.  Overwhelming though the pain felt it had travelled straight to my loins and made me as hot as it was possible to feel.  I did not crave the pain and would have done most anything to avoid it, but the physical reaction was undeniable.  I said nothing; I was determined in my silence.

“You are NOT supposed to be enjoying this!  Rose, Mrs. Jones, arrange Lady Caroline on the sofa.  Bind her.  I want her feet together and pointing upwards.”

While they arranged me on my back on the settle with my ankles bound and fixed above my head, my husband went and fetched a different instrument from the chest of drawers between the windows where the implements of my torment were kept under a lock to which Mrs. Jones carried the key.  He returned flexing a tawse.  This was a wooden handle from which sprang a long leather strap, split so that the two sides could move with a slight degree of independence.  I had seen one at Deepwell where it had been used on servants in the days before I became mistress.

“This you will not find so pleasurable,” he said with a fierce earnestness that was terribly disconcerting.  The tawse landed with a loud whipcrack across the soles of my feet.  He was right.  This was pain of a quite different sort, well beyond any semblance of pleasure.

I have discovered since that day that for me there are three kinds of chastisement.  There is a punishment where each stroke serves only to stoke my fire, the pain being quite secondary.  A spanking comes in this category.   Then there is a beating such as the crop I had just received on my bottom where the pain is intense and the suffering real but which leads to an underlying, growing warmth, like hot coals under a layer of ash.  The third kind is where the pain obliterates any possible pleasure. The application of the tawse on the soles of my feet is most certainly in this third class.

Within minutes I was howling unrestrainedly in abject misery.  I was squealing like a pig in a slaughterhouse, bereft of all dignity.  The entire household must have heard me and I cared not one bit. I begged and supplicated to no avail.  When finally he desisted my feet carried on screaming their suffering almost as if he had continued.

“Will you be an obedient wife?” I was stung by the ferocity in his voice.

“Yes, yes, I will. Please, no more!”  I would have said anything to get my release.

“Good. Rose, dress your mistress and take her to her room.  She may eat there this evening.”  With that he turned and left the room, throwing the tawse on the sofa beside my bound body.

Once they had unbound me Rose and Mrs. Jones got my dress back on and had me carried in a chair up to my room.  I could not put any weight on my feet. I laid on my bed while Rose fussed around me.

“Why?” I asked Rose in tears.

“Sir Thomas asked if I were an obedient girl and I said I was.  Then he told me to make the request from Mrs. Graves.  I didn’t know what was in the letter, Ma’am.”

“And if you had known?”

“I would still have done what he asked.  He is the master here and I do not want to be beaten again.  You should obey him too, Ma’am.”

A maid appeared with a bowl of water.

“Mrs. Jones says you are to use this.  It will help.”

Rose helped me get my feet into the bowl.  The water was cool and soothing and smelt of liniment which stung my feet slightly but was undoubtedly good for them.  After a while the housekeeper herself appeared and inspected my feet.

“Rose, make sure her ladyship now keeps her feet up.  They must be at the same height as her head.  Use pillows if necessary.  Lady Caroline, trust me, this will aid with the swelling.”  For maybe the first time since I had met her, Mrs. Jones seemed to care about my welfare.

That evening I ate alone in my room and I spent the night in my own bed, the only time this had happened since coming to the hall.  Even when it was my time of the month I had spent the night with Sir Thomas in his bedchamber.  I was lonely and desperately worried that I had done some sort of irreparable damage to my marriage.  But Georgina came first in my mind.

The next morning Rose appeared and laid out my bath.  I could just about put my weight gingerly on my poor martyred feet. As I headed toward the tub she stayed me gently.

“Your clyster, Ma’am.”

Without a word I arranged myself back on the bed and submitted to my irrigation. After soaking for a long while I arose to get dressed.  It was then that I noticed the dress that Rose had put out for me and was waiting to help me with.  It was one of my dresses that had been modified.  It now ended at the knee, had no sleeves whatsoever and extreme décolletage. 

“What is that?” I stammered.

“Your dress, Ma’am. Sir Thomas says you are to wear shortened dresses until you have shown yourself to be obedient.”  Rose blushed.  She was clearly embarrassed for me.  I noticed a complete absence of undergarments.

“I will not wear that.  I plan to go riding.  I take it that my riding habit has not been destroyed?”

“No, Ma’am.  Are you sure you should be riding with your feet in this condition?”  But she moved to begin laying out the riding costume.

“Quite sure.”

Rose lacing on my riding boots made me weep with pain but I managed to get down to the front steps where Ralph was waiting with both of our horses.  Even using the mounting block I found getting on the filly’s back difficult.  I wanted to cry out with agony.

I rode deliberately towards the east end of the estate down towards Church Stretton.  After an hour or so Ralph, who generally hung back by twenty yards or so approached me and suggested we turn back.  Usually I never rode so far from the hall.  I agreed but as he turned his stallion I kicked mine into a gallop and headed away.

My filly was slower than his stallion but I was a much better horsewoman and the filly was much more manoeuvrable than the bigger mount.  For a long while he found it impossible to catch up with me.  When he did I turned this way and that avoiding him as I sought to reach the main road in the hope of some succour.  Eventually my poor little mount stumbled in exhaustion and he seized the reins.  He looked at me reproachfully as he turned us back towards the hall.  It took us the best part of two hours to reach it and during that time I begged and entreated him to let me go.  He kept silent the entire time, refusing even to respond to me.

On return to the hall I hobbled to my room, part in shame and part in impotent fury, my feet in complete unmitigated pain.   Soon though Rose came to say I was summoned to the Yellow Salon where Sir Thomas met me, having been informed of my attempt to ride away.

“Rose,” he snapped as we entered, “why is Lady Caroline wearing that?  I ordered her dresses shortened till she is obedient.  Was I not clear?”

“I’m sorry, Sir Thomas, the seamstress only had time to modify one overnight and her ladyship asked to go riding.  I did not know.  I am very sorry.”

“You will be even sorrier if I stripe your arse again and have you drawerless in a short shift.  Am I clear now?”

“Yes, Sir!”

“And tell Ralph that her ladyship is only to go riding if she is hobbled and properly attired from now on.  She will have to ride side-saddle and in a short dress.  That should make her less adventurous.  Now let’s have Lady Dalrymple back on the sofa as per yesterday.”

I fought them not at all as they positioned me.  Soon enough the tawse was hitting my soles again.  The pain was even worse than the day before as the blows were landing on my already bruised and sensitised feet.  He did not even need to hit as hard as before.  I was screaming and begging from the second blow.  After fifteen minutes I was lost in a world where all I could feel was agony.  My entire self was the nerve endings in my feet.  I babbled incoherently and barely noticed as I was unbound and carried half unconscious to my room.

Some while later Mrs. Jones herself appeared to bring the water and liniment.  Even that was full torment to me now.  I spent the evening alone in my room, was fed there and slept fitfully.

In the morning I tried to bribe the chambermaid to carry a letter for me by offering a piece of jewellery.  She declined and I was soon reported.  This time I was carried to the Salon and arranged as before.  I was already begging before Sir Thomas even showed me the tawse.  He barely needed to hit me now.  The blows were probably only half as hard as on the first day but the pain was worse.  Once more I was carried to my room near insensible.

When Mrs. Jones brought the water for my feet this time she bathed them herself.  I wept from the pain as each scrap of my foot suffered.

“This cannot go on, Lady Caroline, you must give in to him.  These bruises will take weeks to heal.  If this carries on he may end up damaging your nerves.”  I could hear the concern in her voice.  She was gently drying my feet now.

“I cannot,” I sobbed.  “I must save my daughter.”

“He is your husband, you have sworn to obey him.”

“Not in this, I cannot.”

“Then I pity you...”  And with this she left me to my misery.

The next morning Rose had to help me arrange myself for my irrigation as she was unwilling to let me forego it.  I had my breakfast in my room as I was unable to walk more than a step or two.  I noticed that the chambermaid did not reappear.  Only Rose and Mrs. Jones came in.  I supposed that the housekeeper did not wish me to make another futile attempt.  In truth I do not believe I could.  I was now in terror of further pain and would do nothing to bring it on myself.

After an hour of resting on my bed reading they both reappeared.

“Yes?” I enquired, shaking inwardly.

“Sir Thomas wants to see you,” said Mrs. Jones gently. “Now.  In the Chinese Salon.”

“But I have done nothing wrong.  And why the Chinese Salon?”  It was my favourite room and the one I used for my writing and reading.  There was a lovely chinoiserie Chippendale writing desk and gorgeous Chinese style wallpaper and ceramics.  It was a delicate and bright place and now I was terrified of going there.

“A man may talk to his wife whenever and wherever it pleases him.  Don’t keep him waiting.”  And with this they began to attire me.  The modified dress was scandalously short, finishing at the knee and also terribly low leaving my nipples barely covered.  In fact the dark halo round my nipples could be seen above the level of the hem, leaving me blushing with shame.  I was given no undergarments.  Boots were an impossibility and instead I put on felt slippers which were all I could stand.

“Shall we call the footmen to carry you downstairs?” 

“No thank you, Mrs. Jones. But please help me.”  And so I half-hung between the two women as we descended the stairs and made our way to the salon.  At the door they made to help me inside but I gently pushed them to one side.  I entered, hobbling and wincing, alone.

Sir Thomas was sitting on the chinoiserie settee and rose immediately to greet me politely but seeing me hobbling rushed to help me to be seated.  The pain was all consuming and I had no time to think of the spectacle I must be making in my travesty of a dress.  Nor did I even notice my lack of undergarments.  By the time I was seated there were beads of perspiration on my forehead.  My husband sat next to me and I felt his extreme closeness.  This in itself was unusual as he normally sat in a chair across from me so that he could watch me.

“I would ask how you are, dear, but I think the answer is obvious,” he began.  “Mrs. Jones tells me I have to agree terms with you.” 

Inwardly my heart leapt.  Maybe there was some way of saving this for I knew that if he ordered me beaten again I would capitulate immediately before even the first blow.  I could not take any more abuse on my poor feet.  I owed the woman a genuine debt.

“And do you always do what your housekeeper tells you, Sir Thomas?”

“Mrs. Jones rarely offers me any advice, much less bluntly tells me what I should do.  She is a remarkable woman and I value her.”

“Have you slept with her?” The thought had suddenly sprung up in my mind.

“Not at all,” he laughed.  “As I am sure you know I would not be to her taste.”

“So what is it that makes her remarkable?”  I was happy to keep the conversation away from dangerous subjects.

“She organises as well as any person I have ever met and is a fine judge of character.  I met her ten years ago when she was 26 and a junior housekeeper at Stansfield Grange near Shrewsbury.  It was a high position for someone of her age and a tribute to her hard work and abilities.  While Lady Anne and I were staying there overnight she was caught in flagrante delicto with the lady of the house.  I later discovered (she told me quite honestly) that the master had walked into his bedchamber only to find Mrs. Jones more than half naked and seated on the face of his entirely nude wife while enthusiastically pumping a candle in and out of her mistress’ cunt.  She admitted that it she had been the seducer.  Dismissal was instant, with neither pay nor references.  Our carriage passed her walking towards the nearest town.  I offered her the same position at Hirst Hall as she had held at Stansfield.  She accepted having nowhere else to go but the whorehouse.  Three years after she became the housekeeper here.”

“Then why is she Mrs. Jones, especially if she only likes women?”

“You can ask her yourself.  But I understand she married at eighteen because it was the expected thing to do.  Her husband left her a few years later when her true nature became apparent.”

“And what did Lady Anne say to this?”

“Lady Anne was an obedient wife,” he said with heavy emphasis.  “And as you may have found out Mrs. Jones has a talent for humiliating other women, given the opportunity.  And my dear departed wife derived immense pleasure from occasionally being sexually humiliated.  It formed the basis for an entertaining if complicated relationship between them.”

“I do not derive any pleasure that way.”  It was my turn to use heavy emphasis.

“No, but you are capable of finding ecstasy in other ways.  Your needs are every bit as intense as Lady Anne’s passions, perhaps more so.”  He paused as if to draw a line in our conversation.  “That is quite enough about the past. What shall we do to get around our current impasse?”

I took a deep breath.  “I want to send the letter.”

“No.  You will not.”

I thought for a moment he would ring the bell and order me bound and beaten.  I would have lost all.  I summoned up all my dwindling courage.  “Then how are we to proceed?”

“These are my terms,” he replied carefully.  “You will write to Georgina telling her to come here as soon as her schooling finishes in June.  I will promise that I will never so much as lay a finger on my step-daughter.”

“But you could as easily order Hugh, David or George to rape her in the hallway the minute she arrives.”  I had not forgotten Rose.  “Or your sons, Edward and James, they will be back before her.”

“My sons are but fifteen and fourteen, hardly much of a threat.  Very well then, I will promise that no man or boy shall touch your daughter in any way while she is at Hirst Hall.  It is not in our interests to have any scandal attached to Georgina.  She must make a good marriage and we must not endanger that.”

My heart leapt at these words.  I knew I was negotiating the terms of my surrender and that in the end I would capitulate either through agreement or by having my defences breached by agony.  This was my chance to get what my heart most desired.

“A good marriage will require a dowry.”

“Indeed, and as the Dalrymples are wealthy it will be expected to be a generous one.  Although Georgina is really a Deverne I do not expect your first husband’s family will be making any major settlement on her.  I was talking to Viscount Hawarden the other day while we were out shooting.  He expects that young Llanbedr will marry a lady bringing thirty thousand pounds into the family.”

I gasped.  That was immense sum though I imagine the viscount was exaggerating knowing who he was talking to.

“I told him that Miss Georgina would have a dowry of that magnitude and that I would provide an annual income of two thousand pounds to her during her lifetime.  Hawarden is keen that the two young people should meet in the summer.”

The dowry was that of a significant heiress and would secure Georgina for life.  I had won.  “Can the estate afford this?”

“Easily, my dear.  The new canal cost the estate a quarter of a million pounds and that expense has already been repaid and more besides. And I have no other daughters to provide for. However in return for this settlement on my part I expect that I will have an obedient and compliant wife.”

And there it was: I was to become ‘obedient’ and Georgina was to become a future viscountess.  There was no point being coy. “I will at all times be your obedient wife, Sir Thomas.”

He leant over, held me in his arms and kissed me on the forehead.  “We shall see, my dear, we shall see.  Now, I have an estate to run.”  And with that he rose and left me to savour my triumph and to worry about the nature of the obedience required from me.

Mrs. Jones came in soon after.  “Will you want help returning to your room, your ladyship?”

“No, I think I will remain here for the time being.  And thank you, Mrs. Jones.  I am grateful.”

“No need to thank me, Lady Caroline.”

“I think there is, you have been most kind.”

“I am not usually described as ‘kind’.  Not at Hirst Hall.  You may be the first person to call me that.”  And with a merest hint of a smile she left me.

I spent my day first reading and later writing a very different letter to Georgina informing her that she was come directly here as soon as her schooling was done and full of gossip about eligible young men.  I handed the letter unsealed to Rose and asked her to have it sent.  That it would be read first was no longer an issue.

I retired to my room to have my swollen feet bathed and decided I was in too much pain to go down to dinner.  My lack of appropriate clothing did not help.  Four of my dresses had now been modified and those were the only ones that I was to be permitted to wear.  Undergarments had completely disappeared from my dressing room.

As I was falling asleep the side door to my room opened and in stepped Sir Thomas.  He was as naked as a wild beast and in the light spilling through the door I could see he was already half-erect.  I blushed just looking at him.  Without a word he gathered me in his arms before carrying me back to his lair.  My nightgown offered little protection from the heat of his body. I shivered and then winced as my sore feet brushed against the door jamb.

In moments I was in his bed, my gown was bunched at my waist, I was spread open and he was inside me.  There seemed no need for gentleness as I was very ready for him.  I pulled back my legs and wrapped them round him so that my bruised and aching feet rested together on the small of his back, letting him into me as far as was humanly possible.  His hands gripped my bottom making me feel the welts still there from the crop.

“Take me, oh take me!” I wanted him as badly as could be imagined.  Three days without him combined with the physical torture I had suffered had left me desperate for the comfort of sexual release.

“For God’s sake, say it right,” he whispered in my ear.

“Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me!” I squealed.  And as I said it I climaxed and climaxed and climaxed.  Truly I thought my surrender was complete.

But as I lay there afterwards in the crook of his arm he whispered quietly in my ear.

“I love you, wife.”

And those words, not said to me for eighteen years put me in turmoil.  He fell asleep moments later while I lay there contemplating what my life had become.