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Chapter Four

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When the morning sun rose the first thing Ruth felt was rejuvenation. It had been the closest thing she'd gotten to a good night's sleep in days, a far cry from her nights out on the moors. She was awoken (as were all the other girls) by the ring of a bell. It was early morning, maybe about nine or so and morning light filtered in through the windows. Ruth leaned up, stretched out her arms and yawned.

At that point everyone climbed out of their beds and started to re-dress them, plumping up their pillows and neatly folding the bed covers back over the mattress. Ruth quickly did the same. However just as she did this, tucking the sleeves of the sheets underneath the bed, she heard some snickering and whispers from the other girls. For a moment Ruth thought that they were teasing her. But when she looked around she saw that she wasn't the one who was the butt of their jokes -- that honour had been bestowed upon Tess. She quickly saw why.

The lanky young girl, who by all accounts looked quite haggard, languidly did her bed. But the sheets of that bed were riddled with wet patches. Tess ignored them and dejectedly went on with her task, whilst Ruth witnessed all this. It was then that she remembered having the most curious of dreams. She recalled Molly and Faye climbing into Tess' bed in the middle of the night and having their way with her. While Ruth was no longer under any illusions as to the nature of this place, she dare not imagine that those images she'd gleaned were a reality. How could it have been, someone as sweet and kind as Tess was? When she looked at Molly and Faye however, standing by their beds with devilish grins on their faces, you would have been forgiven for thinking that they did do it. Their smiles were just deeper than those of everyone else, as if they were in on a joke that no one else was.

Ruth was incredulous. Had they truly seized Tess in the nocturne? And if they did why had she known about it? That wasn't the kind of thing she'd lay back and ogle. Despite her powers, despite what Beatrice had done to her, despite what she'd done to her parents, she was no less a child of God now than before. Ruth was resolved on that and questioned herself no further.

After all the girls had made their beds they stood silently beside them in wait of something. So as not to buck the trend Ruth did the same. A few minutes later the door opened. Beatrice, as tall and muscular and domineering as ever, strode in. The girls all maintained their silence while Beatrice walked and stopped in front of each one of their beds, checking them. Ruth quickly learned that Beatrice checked every morning to make sure that their bunks had been made immaculately, without so much as a crease on them. One by one she surveyed each girl's bed, pacing down one side of the room, then turning to the other and doing the same with that side. Eventually Beatrice came past Ruth's bed. The hulking blonde did the same stop and search, patting the mattress for its firmness. It was good. Beatrice gave Ruth a little something she hadn't spared for the others -- a smile -- then moved on to Tess' bed.

That was where the chorus of 'good behaviour' fell short. Everyone paid close attention as a very scrutinizing eye was cast over Tess' bed. It had been made well enough. But the stains across it were quite undeniable. Beatrice's glare shot from the bed to the girl herself. Tess winced. Her face suggested guilt even though she'd far from been willing to have that happen to her last night, no matter what her own juices said.

"What has happened here, Tess?" Beatrice asked sternly.

The girl squirmed. "...I... I feel I must have... soiled myself."

As soon as she said it some of the other maidens burst out in giggles only to be silenced quite handily when Beatrice angrily yelled, "Stop that now!" at them. They all fell silent again. Then Beatrice leaned over the bed to sniff the sheets. After some prolonged inhalation she arose again. This time frowning irately.

"First to do this, then you lie to me?" Beatrice quipped. "This isn't like you."

"I am... sorry."

Beatrice sighed. "Unfortunately that isn't good enough. You know what must be done. Get a chair."

Tess held back a sob, Ruth could see it. She herself didn't know what was going on here but the others seemed to. They all watched as Tess padded barefoot over to one of the side walls where a few armless chairs were sat. She took one into her hands and dragged it across the varnish of the floorboards until she could stand it in the centre of the room. Beatrice walked up to this chair and sat down on it.

"Masturbation is prohibited at Whistlethorn Manor," Beatrice declared to the room. "Most of you know that. But if I haven't made myself clear I shall do so now, again. Bad behaviour will not be tolerated."

At that moment Beatrice glared at Tess, informing her of what needed to be done. She gave out a nod and a sob before bending over Beatrice's lap, positioning herself so that her pert buttocks was jutted as northward as possible. Because she was fairly tall for her age her arms and legs stretched all the way down to the floor. She used both to brace herself. Beatrice on the other hand grabbed the bottom of Tess' nightgown and pulled it up to her waist, as Faye had done to her last night, only Beatrice had a far more business-minded edge to her. This brandished not only Tess' arse but also her thighs and the gap at their summit. Because she hadn't washed herself yet the wetness that Ruth saw around the girl's crotch last night (that Faye had been licking at) had encrusted and left behind noticeable patches and flakes. Tess had not 'masturbated' but Beatrice took that as evidence of the notion.

Ruth felt protest in her now, especially when she saw Tess' face. She was utterly embarrassed there, obviously, with one half of the room able to stare leisurely at her plump backside while the others witnessed the degradation on her blushing face. Incidentally the latter was more sympathetic than the former. Part of Ruth wanted to speak out when she saw Tess looking like that, to say that it wasn't her fault, that Molly and Faye had taken her during the night. But who would believe her? If anyone else had seen what happened last night then none of them wanted to speak out, clearly. Even Tess was afraid to admit the truth. Even if Ruth did tell Beatrice that Molly and Faye were to blame there was no guarantee that she would be believed. Those two would probably deny it outright and with one else to bolster her confidence on the subject Ruth was incapable of proving it. Worse still, Molly and Faye were the cohorts of Nancy, and if she betrayed them to Beatrice it might provoke Nancy's anger; something Tess had warned her not to do. In short Ruth was powerless to stop this now.

Beatrice pressed one hand down on Tess back to keep her from moving, then reached with the other hand to briefly caress the globes of Tess' arse. The fifteen girls standing at the south wall saw Beatrice meaty, sizeable, vein-ridden hand grope at Tess' rear end. The other fifteen at the north wall saw Tess' face contort with a mixture of embarrassment, discomfort and (what could only be described as) pleasure.

But then came the smack.

The blow was so loud and so hard that drowned out the morning chirps of the ravens outside the window. It was matched only by the intensity of Tess' furious yelp. Tess grimaced at the fiery pain that roared across her arse cheeks. Ruth winced at the sight of it. Any consciousness Tess had of being stared at was tossed to the wayside in favour of consciousness to the stark and searing pain reverberating at her buttocks.

A second smack descended.

Tess screamed again, louder than the first time. Her whole body juddered from the strength of it, from the quick of it, before loosening once again. Because she was Irish in origin, and a redhead to boot, her faint milky skin was more sensitive than most. After only two smacks the pale flesh of her arse began to blister a scorching rouge.

Beatrice smacked her arse a thrice.

An even louder scream, one that could be heard outside the room, and an even louder blow, that caused the ravens lingering by the window to flock elsewhere. Tess sobbed loudly after that, eyes cast at the floor, already beginning to water. What made the pain worse was likely the firmness of her rump. When hit it didn't quiver at all, thus dispersing no power. Every strike with felt to the utmost with nary a joule spared.

Tess' buttocks received the forth blow.

She howled once again. Now the tears were in free fall, dropping from her lashes to the grain of the floorboards, and Tess scrunched her eyes tight. Her long toes curled up into themselves and her little hands gripped the legs of the chair so tightly that her knuckles were turning an even paler white.

A fifth smack.

It hit faster this time, with less of a pause after the last. Beatrice's hand moved even swifter than before. As soon as she retracted it she caressed Tess' arse again. It was utterly enflamed with red now, sensitive and prickly. Whilst Tess sobbed underneath her Beatrice glared at her handiwork -- then at the stunned reactions of the other girl's -- before returning to it...

...with a sixth slap.

By now Tess' throat was so hoarse from screaming that you could here it scratch. So she bit down on her lip and tightened herself in wait for the next blow, tears streaming down her face. The same routine was followed as Beatrice stroked the reddened globes of her arse before a quick and concise return to smacking it.

Then came the seventh slap.

Tess' scream came out as a prolonged, muffled groan because of her lip biting. It didn't stop her body from shuddering, or even the chair from moving, as she was it so hard that the chair, even with Beatrice and Tess' combined weight on it, shook. Now Tess was crying openly before everyone -- although those staring at her was the least of her concerns.

And Beatrice spanked her an eighth time.

Hellfire probably less intensity. Tess' bare legs tossed up in the air reflexively, unable to try to brace herself against the floor anymore. Beatrice growled and shoved them back down. Once again her hands went to Tess' bottom, one hand for either cheek; and cupped them in her grasp. It wasn't a gesture to sooth, only one to toy and to evaluate.

So it was no surprise when Beatrice smacked it a ninth time.

By now Ruth's eyes were welling up with tears as well. She couldn't bear to watch it. From her bed she saw Tess' face the clearest. Salty tear tracks littered her cheeks and jaw. Droplets of those tears sat on the floorboard below her face. The fire of her blush however in no way could match the thunderous flame that was her searing at her curvy bottom.

Then came the tenth and final smack.

It was harder than the rest. Tess screamed harder than ever before. She went rigid with the pain. Then, when it became clear that no more swats were forthcoming, the redhead collapsed into horrible, ragged tears. Her breathing was heavy and her arse as red as a tomato. Ruth felt her own tears fall when it was over. And she angrily glared in Molly and Faye's direction. Molly seemed to be more sympathetic to Tess at that point though -- and Ruth guessed that in some way the Londoner really did think that Tess was 'hers'. She didn't seem to like watching another person hurting what was 'rightfully hers'. But she was as powerless as Ruth to do anything about it. All anyone did was watch as Tess pulled herself up off Beatrice's lap and carefully slipped down her nightgown. She hobbled over to her bed and collapsed, stomach-first, on it. The pillow made good work of smothering her whimpers.

Beatrice sighed. "Alright. Breakfast is in one hour. The rest of you, get washed."

**********

After seeing the horror lying deep beneath this world, one of darkness and demons, Mitchell had truly not considered that there were human beings in the world who could counter all of that unfathomable malevolence. The capture of his beautiful daughter had made him cynical about the capabilities of man. However the man who saved him last night, the priest known as Edmund Cotton, was one of a great number of people fully equipped to counter the black darkness of evil that was raging inside of England.

After the cleric had shunted away the being 'Gazer' to the abyss, he took Mitchell back to a little cottage that he had been staying at, just outside of Queenborough and very close to the shoreline. Once there he had been given the chance to bathe, shave, brush his hair, wash his clothes, eat some breakfast, and essentially get himself cleaned up. It was all topped off with a good night's rest. And now, this morning, Mitchell actually felt like a worthwhile person again. He now stood outside of the cottage and glanced out across the nearby pier to the rushing waters of the Thames. In his hand was a cup and saucer of hot tea. Mitchell took a long sip of that fine Indian blend before breathing out a sigh of relaxation. He was still devastated over the loss of his family but for once since that day, he did not feel lowly.

Just then Edmund came out of the cottage and joined him by the terrace paling. He breathed in deep the cold morning air, smiled at the resplendent caws of the seagulls, and marvelled at the trading boats as they floated down river for the distant colonies of the Empire.

"It is a wonderful morning," spoke the minister. "I relish moments like these."

Mitchell sipped more of his tea before answering him. "It is easy to forget the beauty of this country, I suppose, when such foul creatures dwell within it."

"Do not deceive yourself, Mr. Sharpe. Evil of the kind that you saw exists all over the world. It is the duty of men like myself to do the work of the Lord and eliminate such evil. The battle is far from over... in fact it hasn't even begun."

Mitchell stared at him. "Is that why you were here?"

"In part. I was deployed by the Archbishop of Canterbury to investigate the negative energy fluctuations that have been detected in northern Yorkshire. But while I was on my way I felt a boggy evil simmering deep in the heart of Queenborough. The evil plaguing you."

"But Father, you defeated it."

"You were cursed, Mr. Sharpe," explained Edmund. "The being I banished was a naught but a mere production of that curse. That malady still afflicts you. All it will take is for your sadness to consume you once again and another monster, perhaps even worse than the one before it, will arise to take your life."

Mitchell frowned. "...Is there nothing that can be done?"

"While you were asleep I attempted to use my incantations to nullify the curse. However they were not powerful enough. The enchantment placed upon you is very strong, likely delivered by a sorcerer with tremendous evil power. At the moment the only way to possibly alleviate this curse is to slay the one who cast it upon you."

As he heard that Mitchell thought back and recalled the woman who had done this to him, the bitch that called herself Cassandra Dawes, back in Yorkshire. The same bitch that now had his daughter in her wicked grip.

"That contemptible witch!" Shouted Mitchell. "That woman of poison! I won't rest until I see her body swinging from a noose at the gallows!"

Edmund sighed. "Mr. Sharpe, I think it best if you explain to me what happened. I can tell that your problems and my mission are of the same origin."

There was two deck chairs standing against the wall of the cottage. They unfolded the both of them and sat down so that Mitchell could speak his piece with comfort. "Alright. It started two years ago. I had been living with my wife and daughter in Devon at the time. However she was stricken... by smallpox. After her death I sent a letter to her parents in York about what had happened. They had moved there from Ireland to escape the violence when my wife was child. And when I received their reply a few weeks later they asked me to bring her body back to York for burial. We did that. My daughter and I sold our house in Devon and we moved out to Yorkshire to be closer to her grandparents. Then one day, as we were on our way home from the market... that poisonous woman appeared; she and her grey-haired old man. I remember her raising her hand and blinding us with some kind of bright purple light. It somehow robbed consciousness from me. Then the next thing I knew it was the middle of the night, and my daughter, Tess, was gone."

"...I see..." Said the priest.

"I informed a local constable about the event but neither he nor his superiors believed a word of it. I couldn't prove it and I couldn't find Tess. So I sold my Yorkshire home, using the money to hire a private investigator to find her but still we came up with nothing. As a result I lost everything in the blink of an eye. And when I tried to return to Devon, my old home had already been sold. Now I am penniless. That was how I ended up in Queenborough. I believed that it was only place I could live as the wretch I feel I've become."

Edmund exhaled. This was not the first time he had heard such a story. In fact, in the past three years, he had heard of dozens of cases of young girls, usually between the ages of 14-18, being stolen in the night by a dark, beautiful woman and a dapper but cruel old man. However since no one could prove or account for it the phenomena, at least no one of insight, there was nothing that could be done. Until now.

Mitchell stared up oddly as Edmund stood and adjusted his collar. "What are you doing?"

"I'll not wait for another youngster to be stolen from her family," He said sternly. "I am going to Yorkshire... and I want you to come with me."

**********

The rest of the day proceeded much as Ruth had experienced the day before. Shortly after Tess' spanking the girls were sent, in groups of five, to the bathing room. Since Ruth knew no one here she was quite nervous about it, getting undressed in front of a bunch of strangers like she had been. It was uncomfortable in the least. However she managed to put up with it, mostly because she was so distracted by thoughts of Tess.

It was sad what had happened to her. She was punished for something she didn't even start, where was the justice in that? Tess also seemed so undeserving of it, too. It reminded Ruth how sinful this place in fact was -- that it was little better than a self-sustained whorehouse, a breeding ground of wayward girls shunted together and performing perverse acts at the blunt discretion of Lady Cassandra and her cohorts.

After bathing Ruth returned to the bunk hall with the other girls. By that time Tess wasn't crying on her bed anymore, she was gone. Ruth wondered about where she was but eventually got into the same dreary frock that she and others were ordered to wear, then descended to the luncheon hall for breakfast. Once again the meal was more lavish than Ruth was used to, with poached eggs, salmon slices, bread rolls and so on. It was a quite a spread. While it was quite tasty Ruth found that she couldn't really enjoy it, because today the girl ate alone most of that time. Over her shoulder she could see Nancy, Molly and Faye, so very proud of themselves, eating heartily a table behind.

Eventually however Tess did appear.

Ruth was, unsurprisingly enough, pleased to see her, as she stepped very gingerly across the luncheon hall over to Ruth's table. She was also very careful to sit down, doing so with great care. But when she was settled, she smiled weakly at her new friend Ruth.

"Good morning."

Ruth smiled back, but sheepishly. "Are... are you feeling well?"

"As best as I imagine possible..."

Suddenly Ruth felt guilty. She knew what had happened and she couldn't do anything to stop Tess from being punished. That guilt made her glare at Nancy's table again. She and her two cohorts were giggling with each other, lightly enough, not aware that Tess had come. What kind of place was this where someone could be blamed for something they didn't even do?

When she felt a hand on her own, a calming one, Ruth turned back to her own table. It was Tess and gazed at the new girl pleadingly. With that one look Ruth realized that Tess knew that she knew the reality of what happened last night. "Please let it be. It has happened to other girls here at the Manor."

"And you'll say nothing of it?"

Tess' head shook. "Naught would come of it but Nancy's ire."

At that point someone brought over a plate of breakfast for Tess. The redhead respectfully turned it down, explaining that she wasn't very hungry. All the better, for Ruth had more to say but was scantily likely to utter, lest she upset Tess. Hour by hour Ruth was growing more fearful and resentful of Whistlethorn Manor. Its maidens were almost as perverse as its three stewards were, yet those like Tess, those that didn't carry the same will to lust, were being trodden on. It made her wonder why these girls would even stay here and deal with it. They weren't prisoners after all. But that made Ruth think of her own decision to come here. She hadn't done it because she wanted to but rather because she had to. Maybe Tess and the more pure of this manor's girls were in the same vessel as she. Did they even have the same powers Ruth did?

"Are you alright?" Tess asked suddenly.

"Huh?" Ruth shook out of her thoughts. "Oh. Excuse me."

"Does it trouble you? You shan't receive it, unless you happen to anger one of them, or-"

Tess' comments were interrupted by a bell. But this bell was different from the rest. It struck more than twelve times. Everyone in the luncheon hall stopped talking, stopped eating, and they stopped giggling. Then they all began to rise, abandoning all their half-eaten breakfast plates as they were before walking out of the chamber.

"What is going on?" Asked Ruth.

The bells were still ringing as Tess told her; "It is time for Lady Cassandra's Sunday sermon."

Tess (and a rather more confused Ruth) then stood up to follow the rest of the girls out of the luncheon hall. On their way down to the ground floor Ruth wondered what this was all about. Tess had called it Cassandra's 'sermon'. But that made no sense to her. Their mistress was a dark temptress of young girls, completely without Godly correction. She had readily admitted to Ruth that they shared Devil's Blood. Beyond that she was a woman -- no woman Ruth knew of could claim membership to the clergy. It was unheard of. So what was this sermon Tess spoke of?

Ruth would soon learn that. She followed the group all the way down to the lobby where they all marched through the doors into the frontal greenery of the manor. However Ruth was shocked to see that the maidens of Whistlethorn were not going to be there alone. In fact they were outnumbered by another group of people -- the villagers of Roehaven. There was nearly two hundred of them, men and women, young and old, shopkeepers and farmers, shoe-shine boys and nurses, all gathered together in a clustered arch around the fields at the front of Whistlethorn Manor.

All of the girls lined up, their backs to the villagers, who stood together a few yards behind all of them. Ruth got in line too yet she couldn't help but marvel at the villagers. But her brow creased when she realized that something was off. Though these people were huddled all in a bunch with their faces twisted into happy smiles and grins, Ruth spotted a kind of lifelessness in their eyes, a distance, as though they were in some kind of trance. Then she felt a twinge in her blood. A hotness. The same hotness she felt when she last used her own powers. It was almost as if she was 'sensing' something about the Roehaven villager collective.

"Are they under some kind of enchantment?" Ruth wondered.

Tess nudged her to pay attention. Soon after she saw why. High above, on the third floor of the manor, there was a marble pillar-supported balcony. Everyone was on tenterhooks as a figure emerged from inside. It was Cassandra. The woman gaited out unto the balcony in a flowing, endlessly long black dress that hung from her chest to metres behind her in a train. Her long black hair had been tied up and held in place by ornate needles and shafts of lacquered oriental wood. Sparkling silver sequins, pearls and smoothed onyx stones dangled from the tips of those head ornaments. They jingled as she walked. Her lips had been painted rouge and her eyelashes thickened.

The heart of everyone there; the maidens, the villagers, Nancy and her hooligans, Tess, even Ruth -- could confirm that that woman was the most beautiful thing they had ever seen. A normal woman couldn't hope to be as much as a shadow of her.

Cassandra's fierce, proud glare now darkened as she grew more passionate. "Since time immemorial, it has been Gaeladria who has truly shielded the weak and the helpless from the despotism of the upper classes! Even to one such as I, one of noble birth, she has opened the gates of truth and insight! It is she who must someday take command of the cosmic chains and wreak her glory over us all! It is she who will collapse the barriers that divides man! Under her glory; men and women, whites and blacks, our youth and our elderly; all will see each other as equals! The scorn and self-loathing espoused by the Church shall be cut asunder by the fury of her sword! There will be no rich! There will be no poor! ALL shall be equal and united in our commitment to protecting this world from the quagmire that our current elite is sinking it into! But our savour is weak, my friends! From too much rest she is weary and our enemy is strong! That is why it is up to you, the common man and woman of the rural, to offer her your strength! Lend her your fury! Let our cry for glory and concord ring! Let it quake the very walls of parliament! Let our will for Gaeladria's return shake the haughty heart of Queen Victoria herself! Let it blaze from our moors to London's streets! Let it scream from our throats and spread beyond the borders of Britannia! Let it consume the whole WORLD with its vehemence! Let every man, be he Scot or Spaniard, hear you, and know that it is only Gaeladria that can deliver us all from the onset of the Twentieth Century!"

Cassandra then thrust her arms into the air and bellowed, "ALL HAIL GAELADRIA!"

The simple-minded villagers behind Ruth erupted in cheer then, tears streaming down their faces, gasping for breath from the power of Cassandra's oratory. They thrust their fists into the air and shouted enthusiasm for this `God' that they and their mistress worshipped, this being known as `Gaeladria', and cheered with pride. The Whistlethorn Maidens did the same, some of them weeping, whilst others, in particular Nancy, were struck by love and adulation for the woman who was bringing to them Gaeladria's word, for their mistress, for Cassandra. Ruth was literally stunned.

What on Earth had she gotten herself into?

************

Afterthoughts

* This is officially the first spanking scene I've ever written. Strangely enough, they're more fun to read than they are to write. And I kinda get the feeling that I'm picking on Tess a little, maybe because she's my favourite girl in this story (I have a thing for lanky redheads, you see). I'm such an asshole... ^_^

* I didn't like having to use the word 'Negroes' here, but I'm a historian and I know that people often used this word back then. I want to make this story as authentic as I possibly can without doing any actual research into Victorian England, so its just an unfortunate reality.