XIII
The months rolled on; spring and summer had passed, and it was again autumn. I had divided my time pretty equally between Oakhurst and St. John’s Wood, and altogether I had managed to amuse myself in a satisfactory manner.
Accompanied by Ford, I had paid several more visits to Mrs. Leslie’s establishment; on each occasion seeing a fresh selection of tableaux; some of the whipping scenes being exceedingly quaint, as the actresses were dressed and coloured to represent quadroon slave girls.
And one afternoon, much to Ford’s delight, — and to my own, I must confess-we saw the little girl Ethel, who had committed some offence, birched in reality by Mrs. Leslie. There was no tableau arranged on that occasion; and the punishment was inflicted in the “whipping room” of the establishment, a large apartment situated at the top of the house.
It was well furnished, and thickly carpeted, and there were large mirrors on the walls, which, as well as the door and windows, were draped with heavy tapestry; and it contained everything that could possibly be required by the most enthusiastic votary of the rod.
There were cushioned “horses,” and sloping benches; long and short ladders; whipping blocks, and posts with rings for securing the victim’s wrists and ankles. And, hanging in rows on the tapestry-covered walls, were birch rods of all sizes, whips of various kinds, leathern tawse, straps of all lengths and breadths, and fiat, round, wooden “spankers,” with long handles.
No one was present but Ford and myself, and when we had taken our seats, Mrs. Leslie quickly tied the whimpering young culprit by her wrists and ankles, over one of the flogging blocks; and in another moment, her short petticoats were up, and her drawers were down. Then Mrs. Leslie gave her twelve smart cuts with a small, but stinging birch rod, reddening and wealing her plump, little white bottom all over, and making her squeal shrilly.
As Mrs. Leslie was skilled in the use of the rod, she had handled it in a most graceful way; so that altogether it had been a pretty little whipping, and Ford was so much excited that he sent for his favourite Rose and took her off at once to a bedroom,
I, however, managed to restrain myself that day. But on two other occasions when I had been more than usually excited by the lascivious play of the girls, I gave one of them a poke; but I did not enjoy either of them much, and I always returned with increased zest to Frances, to whom I had been faithful, with those exceptions.
We got on together very well; she never bothered me, and she was as loving as ever; but with all her love, I think she stood a little in awe of me; which perhaps was only natural, as she had always been so completely under my authority ever since the day I had first picked her up: moreover, I was nearly sixteen years older than she was.
Anyhow, she appeared to consider herself still subject to discipline; and therefore, on the rare occasions when she offended me, I did not hesitate to spank her soundly. She never remonstrated, but would place herself in any position I told her; and sometimes I made her let down her own drawers, and raise her own petticoats to receive her punishment, which she always took in a most submissive manner, though I generally spanked her till she cried with pain.
She did not like it, but I did!
However, she never showed any signs of anger; and when the smart had passed off, she would fasten up her drawers, wipe the tears from her eyes, and sit down quietly in a chair. In fact, she seemed to be more affectionate to me just after I had given her a good spanking. There really seems to be some truth in the saying, that: “A woman, a dog, and a walnut tree, the more you beat them, the better they’ll be.”
She was fond of music and had practised diligently, so that she had become a very fair player, and she had also taken a fancy for painting in water colours: so that with her piano, and her paint-box, and her books, she always contrived to amuse herself during my absences.
The time passed; and as I had promised to take Frances abroad that winter, I asked her, at the beginning of December, what part of the continent she would most like to visit. She at once chose Italy; for since she had taken to painting she was always longing to see the picture galleries in Rome and Florence. So a few days afterwards, on a raw, cold December afternoon, we left London, which was looking dreary and wretched, and began our journey to the “sunny South.”
From the moment we got on board the steamer at Dover to cross the channel, Frances was in a state of exuberant delight; everything being so perfectly new and strange to her. And it amused me very much to watch the girl’s unaffected pleasure at all she saw, as we made our way by slow stages to Rome. I had been there before and had “done” the place pretty well; but I enjoyed going over the ground again with an intelligent companion like Frances, who, though she was very like a child still in many ways, was thoroughly interested in all the antiquities of the “Eternal City.” And as she had been reading up Roman history she had got to know more than I did about the Pantheon, the Coliseum, the Baths of Caracalla, and all the other celebrated ruins.
From Rome we went to Florence, where we “did” the Florentine and Uffizi galleries, to the intense delight of Frances, whose nature was more artistic than mine; for I sometimes got tired of the pictures. However, I did not like to check the girl’s enthusiasm, so we wandered through the galleries and museums, Frances hanging on to my arm, with a rapt look on her face, her cheeks pink, and her eyes shining with pleasure. The pictures never seemed to pall on her.
Then we went to Venice, which was a fresh delight to her: and she was never tired of going about in a gondola with me on the beautiful moonlight nights. The gondolier Could not see us, so she used to sit on my knees and recite bits of Byron to me, and I sometimes poked her as she sat on my lap. It was very romantic and delicious to “have” my pretty sweetheart in a gondola, on a canal in Venice, on a balmy Italian night
We visited Naples, and the south of Italy, and finally we went to Nice, where I intended to stay for some time, as I wanted to have a little play at Monte Carlo.
I took a suite of rooms at a good hotel, and we settled down to make ourselves at home for a bit after our wanderings. The hotel was full of people of all nationalities; and my “wife” and I soon made a number of acquaintances, both male and female, but chiefly male; for Frances quite eclipsed all the other women in the hotel, and they were rather jealous of her. She certainly was far prettier, and was always more tastefully dressed than any one of them; though there were some “smart” American girls staying in the house.
The men were all very attentive to my “wife,” and I soon saw that she was extremely fond of admiration, which, after all, was not to be wondered at. She knew she was a beautiful woman, and she had hitherto hardly ever spoken to any man but me; therefore, when she suddenly found herself surrounded by a number of admirers, her head was a little turned.
We went to picnics, and made up parties for drives in the country, and on all occasions Frances had a lot of young men dangling after her, and she quickly developed a talent for flirting that would have done credit to a fashionable young lady who had gone through half a dozen London seasons. I could see however, that her flirtations were quite innocent, and were merely due to her natural feminine desire to attract men to her side. And it rather amused me, to see the girl whom I had brought up, and who would at any moment submit to a spanking from me, surrounded by a circle of swell admirers. However, as I did not wish her to be too pronounced in her manner, I spoke to her quietly, telling her that I had no objection to her amusing herself with a little flirtation; but that she must be more careful in many respects, or she would get herself talked about by the other women.