Read Online Rectory of Correction by Amanita Virosa - Free Book Online Page B

well-filled shorts. The crack of crop on bottom came back to her as she laboured up the hill, as did Charlotte’s startled gasp of pain.
    She knew in her soul what was coming, but it did not come for a short while yet. The Reverend concentrated a little longer on Charlotte, chivvying her up the slope with a judicious mixture of sharp strokes of the crop and blood-curdling threats.
    Gretchen had a stitch by the time she reached the little gate in Hope Hall’s surrounding walls. Tears misted her eyes as she stumbled up towards the iron gate and the man who stood awaiting her there.
    â€˜Not a very good show, is it Gretchen?’ he asked mildly as she reached the gate.
    â€˜Ha... I... oh, I can’t...’ she gasped as she staggered through.
    The Reverend Dawes fell into a slow lope at her side.
    â€˜Faith, go and up and keep an eye on Lady Charlotte, she is falling somewhat behind,’ he said, breathing but little more heavily than usual, while Gretchen was now gasping desperately for air. Faith increased her pace and soon disappeared from view amongst the rhododendrons and camellias that lined the gravel drive.
    Gretchen tried. True terror ensured no one ever tried harder, but it was no use. Too many cream cakes and lazy afternoons had taken their inevitable toll.
    â€˜You are a fat, lazy trollop, aren’t you, girl?’
    Gretchen did not have the breath to answer. Between her broken breathing and the sound of feet on gravel she did not even hear the warning whistle of the crop.
    It caught her square across the broad beam of her bottom and pain lanced through her, so sharp that it turned a laboured gasp into a sob.
    â€˜Come along, you great tub of lard!’ Again the crop cracked across her behind. Gretchen gasped and stumbled and this time she fell. Too winded to rise, she panted, quivering like a jelly, as the gravel of the drive abraded her hands and knees.
    â€˜Come on, get up!’ The Reverend Dawes ordered pitilessly.
    â€˜I c-can’t, s-sir,’ she panted, the stitch still piercing her side.
    â€˜Very well, you lazy slut. Stick that fat bottom up and out.’
    Still panting, her hams trembling violently, Gretchen somehow forced her bottom to obey.
    There was a whistle and a crack, and she was in agony. She had neither enough breath to howl her distress nor enough time to catch it, before he unleashed the riding crop again.
    Â 
    Amelia’s lungs felt like they were bursting as she hurried through the rhododendrons, desperate to keep Kirsty in view. Leggy Bella had pulled away with Rose right from the start, and Kirsty was evidently also fit but, somehow, Amelia had managed to stay in touch, whilst slowly outpacing Linnet. She did not know what would happen if she lost contact with the leaders in this race, but she was learning how the Reverend Dawes’ mind worked, and she did not like the prospect one little bit.
    There was something else on her mind as she scrambled along the drive that wound through the overcast shrubbery. The course was taking her ever closer to Hope Hall. To her relief the leading runners did not take the route that led to the Hall’s courtyard and stable block, but it was short-lived relief, for she realised the route would take them in front of the great house.
    As she rounded the corner she knew the worst. A group of elegantly dressed gentlefolk were sitting on the bench before the house and taking tea. Mortified, Amelia recognised the relatives who had so cruelly consigned her to this fate. Lord and Lady Feversham – Amelia’s Uncle Alexander and Aunt Alicia – sat sipping tea with that damned young dandy Jamie Fanshawe and her thrice cursed cousin, Clara. They turned at the sound of her feet pounding the path and smiled smugly as she panted her way towards them. Amelia clenched her teeth. She might have known the Reverend Dawes would not miss an opportunity to humiliate her further. The company clapped languidly as Rose