wall
should she be needed, and James and George.
"Would you
leave us please?" he requested. "I need to be alone with her."
"Yes, yes,"
George said quietly. "Of course, of course."
Lord Michael
waited until they had left the room, then leaned forward and
whispered into Elizabeth's ear.
"Elizabeth, I
am your Master. Am I not?" he breathed, making his voice as stern
as he was able while speaking in such hushed tones. He didn't doubt
that her brother and father were listening right outside the door.
She did not respond for a moment, then very slightly began to nod
her head.
"And you must
obey me, mustn't you Elizabeth?"
She turned her
head and looked at him.
He is my Master. I must obey him .
"I'm waiting
for an answer, Elizabeth," he said, his voice low but no longer a
whisper.
She nodded her
head, this time with more purpose.
"Good girl,"
he said, firmly. Then leaned in to her ear once again.
"Remember,
Elizabeth, good girls get rewarded. Bad, disobedient girls get
punished."
He pulled back
and watched her face. Her eyes were wide and she was staring at
him. He could see a faint glint of something there. A semblance of
recognition.
Oh yes. Good girls get rewarded. Bad girls get punished. I
don't want to be punished .
"Now then," he
said, picking up a piece of bread and jam from the platter and
placing it on her plate, "eat your bread please, Elizabeth," he
instructed, this time his voice crisp and clear.
She turned her
head and stared down at the plate. He waited, hoping against hope
she would obey him. His training and conditioning was being put to
the ultimate test. He saw her hand move and slide toward the edge
of the porcelain, then it stopped and rested. He dropped his head
next to hers.
"If you do not
obey me I shall take my shoe to your bottom, Elizabeth," he warned,
and while his voice was husky and sombre, he was fervently praying
she would believe him. He had never broken his promise, and he
didn't want this to be the first time in his life he would do
so.
The shoe. I remember the shoe on my bottom .
"Followed by
the rod," he continued, knowing how she dreaded the rod, "if you do
not pick up that bread and eat it."
The rod? I remember the rod. I do not want the
rod .
She tilted her
head and looked at him from the corner of her eyes.
He is my Master. I do wish to please him. I don't want the
rod .
George and
James were peering through a crack in the door. They couldn't hear
Lord Michael's hushed promises of punishment, but they could see
Elizabeth was being responsive. Her face had expressions and
reactions. They watched, holding their breath, as Elizabeth reached
for the bread.
"That's my
good girl," Lord Michael said enthusiastically, and proceeded to
follow suit, lifting his bread and jam with the same slow pace as
she.
George and
James gasped in unison as they saw Elizabeth pick up the bread and
slowly lift it to her lips. George brought his clenched fist to his
mouth, fighting his urge to cry out in joy, and James grabbed his
father's arm as close to tears as he had ever been. Elizabeth
opened her mouth and bit into the side of the bread, and very
slowly began to chew.
"I expect you
to finish the whole slice, Elizabeth," Lord Michael said firmly.
"Do you understand?"
Elizabeth
nodded - this time with a little more animation.
I like this. I remember this. This is nice. It's
sweet .
With each bite
she chewed with greater confidence, and each bite was taken with
more alacrity, until, with just a small amount left she was
consuming it as it she were eating normally.
Lord Michael
was having trouble controlling his own emotions and cleared his
throat, then reached for the pot of tea.
"I know it's
usually your job to pour," he commented, 'but I feel like doing so
today. And I expect you to drink the entire cup and have a second.
Do you understand?" he asked, holding the pot in mid-air, staring
at her.
I would like a cup of tea. I haven't had a cup of tea in so
long. With lemon and sugar.
should she be needed, and James and George.
"Would you
leave us please?" he requested. "I need to be alone with her."
"Yes, yes,"
George said quietly. "Of course, of course."
Lord Michael
waited until they had left the room, then leaned forward and
whispered into Elizabeth's ear.
"Elizabeth, I
am your Master. Am I not?" he breathed, making his voice as stern
as he was able while speaking in such hushed tones. He didn't doubt
that her brother and father were listening right outside the door.
She did not respond for a moment, then very slightly began to nod
her head.
"And you must
obey me, mustn't you Elizabeth?"
She turned her
head and looked at him.
He is my Master. I must obey him .
"I'm waiting
for an answer, Elizabeth," he said, his voice low but no longer a
whisper.
She nodded her
head, this time with more purpose.
"Good girl,"
he said, firmly. Then leaned in to her ear once again.
"Remember,
Elizabeth, good girls get rewarded. Bad, disobedient girls get
punished."
He pulled back
and watched her face. Her eyes were wide and she was staring at
him. He could see a faint glint of something there. A semblance of
recognition.
Oh yes. Good girls get rewarded. Bad girls get punished. I
don't want to be punished .
"Now then," he
said, picking up a piece of bread and jam from the platter and
placing it on her plate, "eat your bread please, Elizabeth," he
instructed, this time his voice crisp and clear.
She turned her
head and stared down at the plate. He waited, hoping against hope
she would obey him. His training and conditioning was being put to
the ultimate test. He saw her hand move and slide toward the edge
of the porcelain, then it stopped and rested. He dropped his head
next to hers.
"If you do not
obey me I shall take my shoe to your bottom, Elizabeth," he warned,
and while his voice was husky and sombre, he was fervently praying
she would believe him. He had never broken his promise, and he
didn't want this to be the first time in his life he would do
so.
The shoe. I remember the shoe on my bottom .
"Followed by
the rod," he continued, knowing how she dreaded the rod, "if you do
not pick up that bread and eat it."
The rod? I remember the rod. I do not want the
rod .
She tilted her
head and looked at him from the corner of her eyes.
He is my Master. I do wish to please him. I don't want the
rod .
George and
James were peering through a crack in the door. They couldn't hear
Lord Michael's hushed promises of punishment, but they could see
Elizabeth was being responsive. Her face had expressions and
reactions. They watched, holding their breath, as Elizabeth reached
for the bread.
"That's my
good girl," Lord Michael said enthusiastically, and proceeded to
follow suit, lifting his bread and jam with the same slow pace as
she.
George and
James gasped in unison as they saw Elizabeth pick up the bread and
slowly lift it to her lips. George brought his clenched fist to his
mouth, fighting his urge to cry out in joy, and James grabbed his
father's arm as close to tears as he had ever been. Elizabeth
opened her mouth and bit into the side of the bread, and very
slowly began to chew.
"I expect you
to finish the whole slice, Elizabeth," Lord Michael said firmly.
"Do you understand?"
Elizabeth
nodded - this time with a little more animation.
I like this. I remember this. This is nice. It's
sweet .
With each bite
she chewed with greater confidence, and each bite was taken with
more alacrity, until, with just a small amount left she was
consuming it as it she were eating normally.
Lord Michael
was having trouble controlling his own emotions and cleared his
throat, then reached for the pot of tea.
"I know it's
usually your job to pour," he commented, 'but I feel like doing so
today. And I expect you to drink the entire cup and have a second.
Do you understand?" he asked, holding the pot in mid-air, staring
at her.
I would like a cup of tea. I haven't had a cup of tea in so
long. With lemon and sugar.
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