Reformatory Girls Ch. 11

"'Dear Tina'" she reads aloud: "'Life is hell in here - far worse than you can imagine."' Miss Bulstrode pauses to give Clare a look of extreme disfavour. "'There are things going on that you would not believe. Sometimes even I can't believe they are real. Where do I start? You remember Matron's new assistant, Miss Lucy? You remember how excited everyone was, thinking they wouldn't have to be shaved by Matron any more? Well she's evil. Vicious, malicious - just the most awful and dangerous person you could imagine.

"And she hates me. Can you guess why? She wanted me to spend the night with her. She wanted me to pretend I was sick, and spend the night in the sick bay, so she could sneak in and we could spend the night having sex. I was tempted, I really was - you know how frustrated I get - how frustrated everyone gets. But I was much too scared. I remembered how all those girls were thrashed after Eve Thomas pretended to faint. There was no way I was going to have that happen to me, not for all the orgasms in the world.

"But when I said 'no' Miss Lucy turned on me. She did things you would not believe - shoving her finger up my arse then wiping it on my nose and pushing it into my mouth. It was vile, Tina. I couldn't get rid of the taste or the smell.

"Then she threatened to pluck me. No, that isn't a mistake - pluck me as in pull out my stubble with tweezers. I only escaped because last Saturday I had a stomach ache and asked to see Matron.

"And that's not all. Last Sunday, guess who came to me in the night and pissed in my bed? I can't even bear to write her name she fills me with such dread. But I'm sure you know who I mean. She came again on Monday night and wet my bed again, and I had to wear nappies all day. Can you imagine that? Being forced to wet yourself like a toddler, being laughed at and sneered at, and being changed by Bulstrode in front of the whole class. I though I was going to die.

"I have to stop now Tina, time's almost up. I know you'll never read this, but just maybe you'll pick up on my thoughts. I think I know when you rubbed yourself off the day you left here."'

An absolute hush has fallen over the class. Miss Bulstrode is holding the letter at arm's length, as though it is some piece of rotting meat, or even excrement. She seems almost at a loss for words.

"Never," she says, "In all my years here, have I come across such a revolting piece of trash. The mind that can produce these disgusting sexual fantasies is sick beyond anything I have encountered before. And to base these sick fantasies around a respected member of Staff - words practically fail me."

"But Miss Bulstrode," Clare begins.

"Say nothing Davenport," says Miss Bulstrode, rapping her riding crop against her calf. "Get yourself to the front of the class, take off your skirt and knickers, and bend over the back of my chair."

Clare trudges dolefully to the front of the class and sets up Miss Bulstrode's chair. Then she removes her skirt and knickers, leans over the back of the chair and places her hands on the seat. Scared though she is, she is also aware of the sight she is presenting to the rest of the class.

Miss Bulstrode continues to collect letters from other girls. She seems to be in no hurry, and Clare wonders if she will keep her waiting, the way she kept Karen Frayn waiting all through break and into the afternoon.

The other girls watch her, buzzing with this unexpected excitement. Miraculously, Clare Davenport has never been caned before, and it is always fascinating to see how a girl will react to the cane. Will she scream or whimper? Will she dance or clutch at her bottom or collapse over the chair? Will she wet herself?

They do not have long to wait. Miss Bulstrode does not intend to delay. She takes up a position alongside Clare.

"I don't usually give a girl six the first time," she says. "But today I'm going to make an exception."

There is an audible intake of breath in the classroom. It is very rare for a girl to be given six. Karen Frayn in particular is so white you could almost think it was she who was going to be caned.

"Grip the sides of the seat and brace yourself," Miss Bulstrode instructs Clare. "This is going to hurt."

She taps lightly along Clare's bottom, as though lining up where she is going to strike. Then she raises the riding crop.

But before she can bring it down a trembling voice is heard:

"Please Miss Bulstrode," says Karen Frayn. "It's true. What Clare says about Miss Lucy: it's all true."

Every head in the classroom turns towards Karen Frayn. Karen is shaking so much she has to steady herself by pressing her desk with her hands.

Miss Bulstrode's head has also turned towards Karen Frayn:

"And what would you know about it?" she demands.

"I know because she's done the same things to me," Karen says.

Miss Bulstrode stares hard at Karen: her crew-cut seems to bristle. But before she can say anything the scrape of a chair is heard, and another girl is on her feet.

"Please Miss Bulstrode," says Kelly Watson: "She's done things to me as well."

Miss Bulstrode looks from one to the other of the two standing girls: and then another scraping sound is heard, another chair is pushed back, and Sienna Sharples is also on her feet.

"To me as well Miss Bulstrode," she says.

And the three are joined by Fay Dudley: and although Fay has her head bowed her words are still perfectly audible:

"And to me Miss Bulstrode," she says.

The gap between Miss Bulstrode's eyes narrows. Frown lines appear on her brow. She cocks her left hand to her ear:

"Am I hearing voices this afternoon?" she says.

Nobody answers. Miss Bulstrode turns to Clare:

"Stand up," she says. "And face the front."

Clare stands and turns. She is still shaking; her blouse stops short at the tops of her legs leaving her thighs and her shaved pudenda exposed.

"Do you realise how serious these allegations are?" demands Miss Bulstrode.

Some of the standing girls murmur and nod their heads.

Miss Bulstrode crosses to her desk and takes up her notebook and pen. Then, calling each name aloud as she does so, she starts to inscribe the names of the standing girls. The girls watch anxiously, none more so than Karen Frayn. This is it, thinks Karen, we're all being detailed for a flogging in the gym. She wishes now that she had held her peace: that she had not, at the last minute, summoned up resources of courage which she had not known, until then, that she possessed.

"Do any other girls want to add their names to this list?" Miss Bulstrode asks.

Nobody expects any girl to reply: but another girl does stand up, and another girl does reply.

"Please Miss Bulstrode," says Ruby Grey: "Miss Lucy: she did some things to me as well."

Miss Bulstrode adds Ruby's name to the list, then casts her eyes over the class. No-one else has anything to say.

"I will look into this," says Miss Bulstrode. "And if I find I have been made a fool of - "

She brings the riding cane down so hard on the desk of Suzanne Clarke, who is sitting at the front of the class, that Suzanne practically topples over backwards, and all the girls sitting close to her jump.

"Now Davenport," says Miss Bulstrode turning to Clare. "What about this other matter? Some girl who came to you in the night and wet your bed."

Clare is staring out over the sea of faces, and her eyes alight on Donna May. Donna is sitting very rigid, staring back at Clare. Both of her fists are clenched.

Clare's nerve fails her:

"I made that up," she tells Miss Bulstrode.

"So you made that up," says Miss Bulstrode. "Very well, bend over my chair again."

Just when she thought she was out of the woods Clare is obliged to take up her position over Miss Bulstrode's chair once more. This time Miss Bulstrode does not bother with preliminaries: she raises her riding crop and in one swift movement brings it down sharply on Clare's behind.

Clare's scream is a strangled one. Indeed, it takes a second for her body to register that she is in pain: but when the pain bites it bites hard: soon Clare is gasping, breathing out with her mouth wide open as though she has just put a hot potato inside it. At the same time her hands reach behind her and clasp themselves to her buttocks, pressing down on the red line made by the crop.

To the relief of many and the disappointment of a few, Miss Bulstrode tucks the riding crop back under her arm.

"That will do for now," she says. "But if I find you have been lying I will thrash you until you howl like a dog. And that goes for the rest of you," she adds, ranging her eyes over the other girls.

After the girls have been safely tucked away into their chastity belts and their beds, Miss Bulstrode seeks out Miss McCloud in the latter's rooms. Miss McCloud is not overjoyed to see Miss Bulstrode: she does not feel in the mood to help the Senior Warden scratch an itch.

But Miss Bulstrode comes straight to the point:

"What do you think of Rebecca Lucie?" she asks.

"If you are asking me about her professional competence I know of no complaints," says Miss McCloud. "Matron certainly speaks very highly of her. If you are asking me to give a personal opinion..."

"Yes," says Miss Bulstrode.

"She has a devious air about her which is not to my liking."

"I know what you mean now you've said it," says Miss Bulstrode. "Perhaps you should take a look at this."

She shows Miss McCloud Clare's crumpled letter, and expounds on what took place in the classroom.

"It's probably some sort of mass hysteria," she adds. "Nevertheless..."

"Nevertheless we must investigate further," finishes Miss McCloud. "It is our duty."

She takes a turn or two round her small living room, deep in thought. Presently she comes to a halt in front of Miss Bulstrode:

"I've a notion as to how we might proceed," she says.