"Unbutton your clothes!"
"What?" said I, in astonishment.
"Take your knickerbockers down!"
I was about to obey her mechanically, when I was seized with a transport of anger and began stamping and shrieking. She then said:
"You refuse to obey me?"
"Why yes! I do refuse… You must be mad.
"Very well!" she replied. "You shall pay for this impertinence and for your rudeness at lunch at the same time."
In the twinkling of an eye, her quick fingers, in spite of her gloves, had unbuttoned my knickerbockers which she then proceeded to pull down to my heels. Pulling up my shirt, she laid me across her knees and gave me a very sound spanking which made me bellow and shriek. The slaps fell thick and loud while she cried to me:
"Shriek away, my young gentleman! Shriek as much as you like. No one will come to your aid. Presently I'm going to give you good reasons for crying yourself hoarse. That I promise you!"
After soundly spanking me, she set me on my feet again and told me to open the drawer of the sideboard, take the birch-rod which I should see there and bring it to her. Instead of obeying her, I rushed away, as she released me, nearly falling at full length on the floor on account of having my knickers down, and took refuge in the farthest corner of the room. With my face turned to the wall, I began to cry bitterly.
"I One! Two!… Are you going to obey?"
I trembled at her voice and sobbing more than ever, as though my head was splitting, went to the sideboard. On finding the drawer, I was seized with a new fit of passion and crying worse, than ever, took refuge once more in my corner:
She got up, seized the rod herself, and holding me by the ear, led me back to the chair. She then made me go down on my knees in front of her, and holding my head between her knees, she flogged me during long minutes, paying no heed whatever to my tears and entreaties.
"Another time I shall flog you till the blood comes, naughty little rascal! It's the only way to make you mend your ways."
I shrieked, rolling on the ground. She told me to get up. I did not want to listen to another word and lay where I was. Leaning down over me, she inflicted a caress on me, which far from calming me, unnerved me more than ever and made me fall into a state of dull stupefaction.
She dried my eyes, washed my face in cold water and led me back to the drawing-room, where ready to die wretchedness and grief, I seated myself apart from my mother and Mr. Baker who at first paid no attention to me. It was only after some minutes that my mother glanced at me attentively, saying:
"Look at him! One would think he had been crying."
Mr. Baker, who was seated in a revolving arm-chair with his back towards me, slowly wheeled rond. In his turn, he gazed at me, but in a contemptuous way which set my heart thumping. He laughed sarcastically, and then suggested:
"Let him alone. It only makes him conceited when attention is paid to him. I quite understand what it is. He's been impertinent and Betsy has punished him. She has a heavy hand – the wench!"
His face bore a strange expression as he said those words, and it seemed to me as though he were menacing me. My mother must have understood the words in the same way, for I saw her redden and lower her head in confusion. Rising to her feet, she looked at Mr. Baker apprehensively; so, at any rate, I interpreted her glance. Later, when the course of events had brought me light, I remembered that my childish intuition had not been at fault. My boyish mind did not easily reach this conclusion which I found very astonishing. I was so absorbed in my reflections on the matter that I trembled at hearing myself addressed in a stern voice by Mr. Baker.
"Well! your wits have gone woolgathering? Listen tome and have done with your blue devil's stare! It is important that you should hear what I say to you. I have known your mother for a long time. She was my mistress during your father's lifetime."
My mother tried to interrupt him.
"Oh! Joe…" was all she could say.
As for me, without precisely understanding the meaning of the words, I saw that they contained something insulting to my father's memory and in my grief I burst into a storm of sobs.
My mother cried, too, and ran to me to take me in her arms, I avoided her and as she ran to me to take me in her arms, I put out my arms to push her away.
Mr. Baker again burst into a hard unpleasant laugh.
"Ha! Ha! He doesn't want you to come near him. Leave him alone, or I shall ask Betsy to take you into the Punishment Room. As for you young man, this is what I have got to say to you. I have decided to marry your mother. The ceremony will take place nest week. But I should be ashamed to show my friends a big boy so badly brought up as you. So you won't take part in the rejoicings. As your education has been horribly neglected and you cannot imitate your father's good manners because he hadn't got any, it is high time for me to think of crushing your stubborn will and teaching you how to behave in society. I have got money, and I am quite willing to spend a large sum in so praiseworthy an object. That is the reason why you will go to school tomorrow. You will be very comfortable there, for the establishment of Mrs. Flayskin is well managed. I may even say that it is a perfectly aristocratic boarding-school where you will meet with the heirs and heiresses to the greatest titles of the United Kingdom and to the biggest fortunes of America. If you behave yourself well and make progress; in a word, if the mistress declares herself satisfied with your conduct, you will pass your holidays with us. I don't think you are a bad child. You love your mother. That is good. Only, in your own interest, you must bend your unruly spirit. While there is yet time, you must uproot, your instincts of revolt. Your understand then? To morrow you will leave the house. Betsy will take you. Come, give me your hand and let us be friends."
But already, like one distraught, shrieking in despair; my whole body convulsed with sobs, I had made a rush for the door wishing to flee this accursed house for ever. My idea was to gain the street and then go on foot to our own house to find once more the abode where my beloved father had died. Through the tears obscuring my sight I recognised Betsy. My childish fits were doubled in vain.
They were powerless against those strong arms cased in black kid.
No sooner had I reached the outer door, than I felt myself caught in a vigorous grip.
CHAPTER II
Mrs. Flayskin, or, more correctly, Lady Flayskin, for by her marriage with Lord Flayskin she had entered the highest rancks of the English nobility – the class which has given the country its most illustrious soldiers and politicians – Lady Flayskin, then, was of American origin. Her beauty was of the American style which is often somewhat grotesque; that is to say, that while the general effect was pleasing, the details were defective. Her eyes were too deeply set and too far apart, one from the other. Her nose was too broad at the top and turned up at the tip like a bird's beak.
Her appearance greatly impressed me, nevertheless. She was tall, she spoke softly and slowly, and could at will give a languid intonation to her words as befitted a blonde beauty.
When Besty and I entered the room into which we were shown, we found Lady Flayskin, and with her a gentleman who appeared to me even more rigid and starched than Mr. Baker. By his nasal twang I took him to be an American. I was right. In New York he was a personage of note, for he was there actively engaged in the organisation of societies for the prevention of vice and assiduously busied himself with the private lives of other citizens.