Hall of Infamy by Amanita Virosa Page B

these.’
    â€˜Course not – they’re silk, you yokel.’ Dick chuckled.
    Kitty felt the boy tug at her suspender drops, as she watched another tear fall and splash on the flagstone below.
    â€˜What are these things, then?’ There was a tone of rapt, almost awe-stricken, amazement in his voice. A young acolyte, initiated for the first time into a sacred mystery, could not have sounded more reverential.
    â€˜Suspenders.’ Dick’s voice from below was scornful. ‘They’re attached to the trollop’s corset. Haven’t you ever seen ‘em before?’
    â€˜Take no notice of him, Davy,’ Mr Blackstock said. ‘I suppose you often got to fumble silk stockings and suspenders straps before you came up to the hall, eh Dick?’
    â€˜Well, I…’
    â€˜He never saw such things neither, till he came here, Davy. It’s a new fashion, lad, instead of garters. That Mademoiselle Isobel in Hatherby makes ‘em up. Anyway, let’s get on with the job, shall we?’
    Once more the sickening whistle echoed through the stable-block. Kitty howled with pain again.
    â€˜There’s some beer in the jug – complements of Lady Alicia. Pour it out, Dick. There’re three glasses there. Davy, you can unstrap the baggage’s legs for her, now.’
    Kitty slumped limply over the saddle, gasping brokenly and trying her best to stem the flow of tears coursing down her cheeks. Her bottom and thighs throbbed abominably. She had lost count of the belt-strokes she had received, but was sure it was close to two dozen in total. The agony was seeping away to a dull ache but every time her sore bottom was touched, even gently, waves of pain would lance through it again.
    Mr Blackstock waited for his glass of beer, occasionally patting her proffered rear and provoking a new gasp from the maid. She felt the straps unbuckled from her legs and the loosening of the belt that kept her hands pulled back.
    Mr Blackstock walked around the beam to her head. Kitty’s attention was riveted to the stirrup-leather that still dangled from his hand. In the other he held his beer, and he placed this on the bench before turning back to the quietly sobbing girl. A callused hand lifted Kitty’s chin until she found herself looking up into the big groom’s eyes. His expression was one of amusement, but quite devoid of pity. Once again, the thick leather was tapped against her face.
    â€˜Now, sweetheart,’ he said gruffly, ‘have you had enough leathering? You could go another dozen easy, but I thought you might prefer to do something else.’
    â€˜Anything.’ Kitty blinked up at him desperately. ‘I – I’ll do anything you like, sir. Please…’
    The groom released her chin, allowing her to drop her chin again, and draped the stirrup-strap around her neck. Kitty shivered at the contact with the cool leather, closing her eyes and praying he would accept her offer.
    â€˜Funny,’ the big man said thoughtfully, ‘that’s what they always seem to say!’
    â€˜All right, little missy, time to strip.’
    Kitty eyed the three men nervously. She had had cold pump water splashed on her face and been given some to drink, and this indulgence had revived her somewhat. Even so, she swayed a little, her legs still unsteady, and was glad she was no longer in her heels. What did it matter if the stone flags were cold beneath her stockinged feet?
    It was getting dark and the grooms had hung oil lamps on a beam above her, before settling on some bales of hay stacked in the corner. Here they watched, eyes bright with excitement as they drank their beer. It filled Kitty’s heart with a sense of impotent indignation. It was so typical of her mistress: to send down cold beers to the men whom she had instructed to abuse her maid. It was like a message from the Marchioness, ensuring that Kitty remained aware of why, and on whose behalf,