Hall of Infamy Read Online Free

pause at the door of the north wing and stand aside. Solemn young women, clad in the grey uniform of the reformatory, were bringing out equipment. Four girls grunted with effort as they hauled out a heavy birching bench. Other young women trotted glumly past with burdens, birch rods, in their arms. Emma waited with mounting impatience as a second bench was taken out and set down in front of the visitors’ chairs. The directress is putting on a show for them, she realised. A pretty girl from Humility Block hurried past, carrying a pail of brine and another full of sponges. The expression on her face, and those of the other grey-clad girls, left no room for doubt who the stars of the imminent performance were about to be.
    It was a long way to her dormitory, a journey involving many stairs, and the unlocking and locking of numerous iron gates and doors. Emma fairly itched to get going, but there was nothing she could do but stand and wait. Finally they were told to file back into the building. Emma hurried up the stairway after Polly and the others, hoping she would get back to the dormitory in time, anxious to find a place at one of the barred windows, so that she could see. She could not have explained it if asked. The prospect of a whipping always seemed to have this effect on her. Emma was both appalled and furiously excited. Most of all she was consumed by an almost compulsive sense of curiosity.
    â€˜Do you know, I believe we shall get along very well here for the summer, Betsy.’ Jamie leant back in his chair and put his hands behind his head with a satisfied smile.
    Betsy knew better than to answer him and carried on with her work, tidying away the things that Master Jamie had taken out to use on the young ladies. She hoped his taste for flogging had been sated by the evening’s activities. First he had caned Miss Amelia which, Betsy had to admit, she had much enjoyed watching. Then he had spanked Miss Clara, afterward giving her a mere four light strokes with the cane, a count which seemed scarcely adequate to the nursery-maid. He had stayed a long time in Clara’s little room, though, and Betsy had heard girlish moans through the door. Surely he must be satisfied for the night?
    She picked up the cane and took it to the cupboard.
    â€˜No – leave that! We shall want it in a minute. Run down to the drawing room and fetch me a brandy. I shall see to you when you get back.’
    Oh, Lord, Betsy thought, her heart pounding as she hurried down the stairs and along the corridor. She was plainly going to be served a portion of rod soup tonight, after all. There was no denying that Jamie was a demon for dishing out the cane, and he seemed to like Betsy’s big and all-too-tender bottom particularly as a target. She just hoped she could get the brandy without incident. Swallowing anxiously, she knocked on the drawing room door.
    â€˜Enter.’ The languid tones of Lord Alexander summonsed her into the room.
    Betsy sighed. She had hoped that the Marquis and Marchioness would not yet be back from their visit to the reformatory. She took a deep breath and stepped inside.
    â€˜Well, girl, what is it?’ Lord Alex was sprawled in a leather-upholstered chesterfield, a balloon of brandy in one hand and a fat cigar in the other. Kneeling before him, and difficult to ignore, was a girl. It was not hard to recognise Lucy, his chambermaid. The girl’s brown ringlets and plump bottom were distinctive even from the rear. The latter was quite bare, Lucy having stripped to her white corset and black silk stockings, and her head was bobbing busily about his crotch.
    Lady Alicia, resplendent in a gown of crimson silk, was lounging on a couch, a little to one side, idly fingering a long and very slender dressage whip. Several welts, narrow but deep red, already graced the creamy flesh of Lucy’s bottom. Betsy knew quite well whence the livid stripes had originated. She studiously avoided Lady