From the Top Shelf - Heatherton Hall, chapter 3a

Let's continue with Rollin Hand's novelette, "The Ladies of Heatherton Hall". Last week, two young ladies felt the force of the Earl's paddle on their posteriors. Who will be in line for punishment this week? Read on!

A day later the cousins were back on the ferry and headed to the mainland. Now that the incident was over, Josh’s attention returned to the problem that had been foremost in the minds of them all before the ruckus in the pub—the developers and their impact upon Oakton Island.

“Let me ask you something,” said Josh as they watched the ferry pull away. “Just how is it that they can build here—especially on the beach? Who decides if they get building permits?”

“The Island Council. They decide. While my father was alive he had tremendous influence, but now .... ” She shrugged. It was a defeated look.

Of course. With the old man gone the vultures had moved in.

“And instead of going to the council you engage in useless protesting with a bunch of kids from the mainland?”

Gwyneth pouted. “It’s not what you think.”

“Isn’t it? Creating a riot, that’s helpful.”

“You have a better idea?”

“I do. You’ve got me wrong. I maybe can help you. Show me where they want to build.”

So Gwyneth drove him out there. It was as Josh suspected. The developers wanted the homes directly on the beach or on bluffs overlooking it. They were building for view, ignoring the soil conditions and building on areas that were inherently unstable.

“Would they bother if they couldn’t get beachfront property?”

“No. It’s the beach that they want.”

“Okay,” said Josh, who had brought tools and a camera, knowing what he intended to do. It was Sunday, with no one around, so they could move about taking soil samples and photographing the building sites.

“What will this accomplish?” said Gwyneth.

“It’s evidence. I’ll get these analyzed. In the meantime, no more protests. Got it? We’ll do our fighting in the council.”

“Oh, yes, Your Highness,” said Gwyneth with some sarcasm. But she was warming to the handsome American. And now, after all that had transpired, he seemed more invested in her and her family and the land.

“I mean it. If I’m the Duke of Earl or whatever around here, they’ll have to listen to me, but I don’t want that authority undercut by any shenanigans on your part.”

“The duke of what?” said Gwyneth, puzzled. “You are the Earl of Carlisle. It’s a hereditary title— there’s no Duke of Earl .... ”

“It’s just an expression, okay? Look, I mean what I said. Don’t undermine my efforts by acting out with those neo-hippies from the mainland.” He decided to yank her chain. “Besides, don’t forget that you can go ‘on report’ too. I took notes the other night.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” she said in a huff. But at the same time she blushed at the thought of the handsome American taking her to task. Just like her cousins. She licked her lips nervously. Over his knee, skirts up, her bottom bare, his sturdy palm smacking her, soundly teaching her... obedience. She shook her head to try and cast that thought away.

The next day Josh took his samples and got on the ferry. It took him a week to get the soil samples tested and the physical layout analyzed, but the results were conclusive. The soil was too unstable, too prone to shifting. In the space of two or three years, beach erosion on the bluffs would cause those houses to fall into the ocean. He procured an official report and returned to Oakton Island, ready to appear before the Island Council. He had to hurry. The meeting was that night.

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

But he arrived back at Heatherton Hall only to find a distraught Lydia Heatherton.

“It’s my granddaughter. She’s been arrested.”

This was not good. Just when he had the evidence in hand. “Why?

What did she do?”

“Oh dear,” she said. “I’m told it was a protest. Things got rather out of hand, I’m afraid. She threw a rock at the developer’s building. They saw her. It broke a window right out. There was other damage, too. Lots of them have been arrested.”

Josh ran his hand through his hair. Well, that’s just great. And with the council meeting tonight.

“That’s not the worst,” said Lydia. “You were away, so she’s been sentenced to the birch along with some others. Please. You must go there. Do something. Listen, as the earl, you have influence. You must use it. The Heathertons have always been immune from the local justice—- with the proviso that the earl must dispense appropriate justice here. This right has been exercised to spare the family from becoming a public spectacle. But of course you already know that,” she said, now recalling the incident with the cousins.

“If you don’t act, she will be strapped to the frame in the police station and whipped. The papers will pick it up. We’ll be humiliated.”

“But then, I have to punish her, don’t I? Only here, in private?”

“If sentence has been passed. A deputy constable may act as witness to see that justice is carried out. But, yes, here in the study, just like the other night.”

Josh took a deep breath. He’d been half kidding when he’d made the “on report” threat. There was no help for it now, though. He’d have to carry through. And just when he thought things were getting interesting between him and the nubile Lady Gwyneth.

“Come with me, Lady Heatherton. Let’s go get Gwyneth.”

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

They were about to come for her. Gwyneth sat in the cell she had occupied for a day. The hearing had been perfunctory. She wasn’t surprised. With her father dead, the constabulary had been compromised by the influence of the developer’s team, all of whom were positively gleeful at the prospect of a humiliating whipping for a Heatherton. She heard footsteps clomping down the hall. This was it. In minutes she’d be strapped over the frame, her bottom bare, while a swishy birch whistled through the air and delivered its stinging message of pain.

Two constables and a matron appeared. Gwyneth shivered. It was the one they talked about. Beacham. Bess Beacham. The one who whipped the girls. She wore a tight-lipped smile, one that said that she relished her job.

“You’re to come with us, Lady Heatherton.”

On shaky legs, she got up to follow. She’d seen the birching frame, a wooden apparatus over which prisoners were bent, secured with stout straps to hold the condemned still while the buttocks were forced to arch out, presented prominently for the birch.

Several protesters had been arrested and sentenced, and those sentences were now being carried out. She had heard the opening and slamming of cell doors, the vocal protests, and then silence—until the whine of the rod and yelps of pain had echoed down the hall.

So they took her. But they headed up front, not to the room in the back where she had heard the swish and thwack of the birch, the cries of pain, and the pleas for mercy. Instead of the dreaded punishment chamber, they emerged in the hearing room, where she was greeted by the sight of Josh Fairchild and her grandmother, Lydia.

They addressed a magistrate. Josh made his statement. “We are here to take Gwyneth Heatherton. We invoke the traditional custom. I understand that she has been sentenced to two dozen strokes of the birch rod for vandalism. I assure you she will be duly punished by the Earl of Carlisle in private.”

The chief constable nodded to the magistrate. Apparently he had been informed by Officer Robinson after the cousins’ incident. Josh explained who he was, backed up by letters from the solicitor and by Lydia Heatherton. Everyone in the room looked at each other as if deciding, but in the end, tradition held. “I will release her to you, sir. But Deputy Constable Beacham will accompany you. Just to act as witness to see it’s done right.”

Josh nodded and looked at Gwyneth. The color had drained from her face as she realized that the fate in store for her might be even more mortifying than she had thought.

It was a silent ride in the car back to Heatherton Hall. Gwyneth sat in the rear with Deputy Beacham. From time to time Josh caught Gwyneth’s eye in the rear view mirror and she quickly looked away each time, clearly ashamed and embarrassed. And nervously awaiting the fate in store for her, very soon, it seemed.

They arrived and got out of the car. Lydia took her granddaughter’s arm. “You brought this upon yourself, dear, so I suggest you prepare yourself.”

“But, Granny,” she hissed, “he’s a MAN.”

“Yes, he is, dear,” she said, patting her granddaughter’s arm.

“Yes, he is.”

Josh took her by the arm as they walked to the front door. “Trust me,” he whispered. “Follow my lead and it won’t be so bad.”

“But I have to tell you something,” she said under her breath. “I get... ”

“Tell me later,” said Josh. “Afterwards. Now scoot.” And he patted her rear to hurry her along. He heard her gasp.

Josh sought out Mrs. Finch and gave her instructions. Then he joined the rest of them in the library where they waited for Gwyneth, who had gone upstairs to prepare herself.

I'm afraid we have run out of room, and will have to end this saga next week.