Previous Chapters: 1&2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9.
Death at Fairbourne Hall
The winter of 2028 was severe. Climate change had caused gale force winds to howl in from the Arctic, bringing freezing sleet, snow and sudden hailstorms across all of Devonshire.
Aunt Agatha still enjoyed her daily jogging around the grounds of Fairbourne Hall, but the cold and damp gave her a terrible cough which turned into pneumonia, and she had to take to her bed.
Doctor Bertram Coffin was brought in from the village and he diagnosed the root cause as Covid 19 aggravated by the cold conditions. He prescribed a series of antibiotics, but the cough continued and instead of improving, Aunt Agatha seemed to get weaker every day.
Aunt would drift off into delirious sleep and then awake in a sweat. In her lucid moments she reflected upon her life: she’d always been a God-fearing woman and believed that she’d soon be meeting her Maker and would be judged by Him. She knew that in her heart she’d been a good person, but guilt crept in – she hadn’t been kind to Priscilla…but on the other hand Priscilla had needed a firm hand and training in old fashioned Victorian virtues: Chastity. Obedience, Respect for her Betters, Cleanliness, Godliness and a strong Work Ethic.
She tried her best to justify her actions, but God would soon be weighing her on His Scales of Justice.
Agatha thought about the terms of Grandpa’s Will and the possibility that Fred, Flo, Lizzy and Clive could receive a windfall of two million pounds each but decided that the St John Peters’s hard-earned family fortune should not be frittered away on the working classes. Between bouts of hacking coughs, she told Priscilla that she was going to sign the necessary documents and that she’d release the ten million pounds to her. Surely, He would add that to the Credit side of her account with Him.
Hugh Botherington had recently died so Piers Higginbottom was summoned, and in private she gave him instructions on how to draw up the documents and how to amend her Will.
The following day, Higginbottom brought the documents, and with Peregrine Sneed and the Reverend Ashley Bonham Hart as witnesses, Agatha signed the release of the ten million pounds to Priscilla (known in the documents as Dennis St John Peters). Then to everyone’s surprise Agatha bequeathed Fairbourne Hall and all her personal assets to Dennis.
After the solicitors and the Reverend had left, Aunt Agatha summoned Priscilla and informed her of her sudden change of circumstances then told her to lean over. Agatha whispered some instructions in her ear and Priscilla scurried off, returning breathlessly in a few minutes – she had the dreaded Magic Square keyboard in her hands!
Very carefully Agatha typed in the secret code and Priscilla felt a click inside her panties: the awful cock cage had been released! Priscilla sobbed with joy. She was free and wealthy. Agatha drifted off into a deep sleep and Priscilla left the room.
Word spread rapidly throughout the Hall (Lizzy had been eavesdropping) and as Priscilla quietly closed the bedroom door, Fred, Flo, Lizzy and Clive were waiting for her.
Flo and Lizzy curtsied; Fred and Clive, clutching their hats in their hands, bowed deeply.
“Good afternoon, Sir” they chimed as one.
Lizzy spoke: “We have been very concerned about Miss Agatha’s ill health and the anguish that you must be suffering, Sir. We hope that Miss Agatha soon gets well. If you need anything - anything at all - please ask, Sir. We are at your disposal 24 hours a day, Mr Dennis.”
That night at 3:17 am Agatha passed away, and within the week she was buried in the family plot in St Michael’s graveyard. Within an hour her grave was covered with snow.
The year 2029 started bitterly cold, and Dennis took to wearing Aunt Agatha’s old clothes around the Hall – warm Glencoe tweed skirt suits, black silk blouses and black garter belts with beige stockings. She let her blond hair flow freely, wore discreet makeup and red lipstick.
She instructed the servants to call her Mistress Rosemary – a name she’d always liked.
The last vestige of Dennis’s male-self flickered, then the guttering flame was finally snuffed out like a candle in the wind.
Mistress Rosemary instructed Lizzy to keep all the fireplaces burning 24 hours a day to keep the Hall warm. Fred had to bring in pails of coal every three or four hours, night and day, to replenish the fires, and Lizzy had to be in permanent attendance to stoke the fires and rake out the ashes – vacuuming and mopping the carpets and corridors where Fred had left muddy wet footprints and coal dust.
At the end of January Mistress Rosemary hired a Housekeeper – Frau Bertha von Liechtenstein, a stern middle-aged widow who’d impressed Mistress Rosemary during the interviews. Frau Bertha was a firm believer in firm discipline, coupled with a strong work ethic.
Bertha dressed in long sleeved, high necked, black brocade dresses that almost touched the floor. She also wore black, lace-up boots and stalked around the Hall giving orders to the servants.
Frau Liechtenstein soon became disappointed with the servants and easily persuaded Mistress Rosemary to replace them.
Fred, Flo and Lizzy were fired, and they were last seen standing in a blizzard, bags in hand, at the bus stop in Little Shipton waiting for the bus to Exeter (which arrived over six hours late due crashed vehicles having blocked the icy roads).
George and Lucy Harper were hired as gardener and cook, and a local girl, Nancy Hastings, as housemaid.
Clive hadn’t been fired because it was difficult to find a substitute but finally Frau Bertha hired Hank Strongbow – a burly fellow who had been a professional wrestler in his youth.
That afternoon Hank was given instructions to bring Clive to the Drawing Room where Mistress Rosemary and Frau Liechtenstein were waiting.
Hank returned dragging Clive by the ear and pushed him into the centre of the room, then stood, arms crossed in front of the door.
Mistress stood glaring at Clive, who was quivering nervously, eyes twitching.
Mistress Rosemary commenced:
“Fred was an uncouth thug who enjoyed torturing me,” she stated coldly; “Flo was a cruel woman who was given to making snide hurtful remarks, while silly Lizzy was an airhead who let authority go to her head.”
Clive dropped his gaze; Frau von Liechtenstein looked at him tight lipped; Hank stood emotionless.
“But you Clive, you pretended to be my friend then you betrayed my trust; you took advantage of my loneliness, and you forced me to submit to your selfish desires. You humiliated me just as much as my Aunt Agatha…worse. You were worse than all of them put together.”
Clive was trembling.
“Hank, kindly help me.” Rosemary asked courteously.
Hank pulled a chair out to the middle of the room and dragged Clive over to it.
“You know the drill, Clive. Adopt the punishment position!” she ordered.
Clive dithered and waited then slowly bent over the chair.
“No! No! No! Drop your trousers and underpants to your ankles! Now!”
Seeing there was no escape, he slowly and shamefacedly obeyed, bending over the chair, and began to whimper then started crying.
“Now we all take turns; a total of fifty strokes of The Tickler!”
Frau Bertha helpfully told Mistress Rosemary that 50 didn’t divide exactly into three, so the ladies agreed to increase it to 17 strokes each, giving a nice total of 51, but Hank was of the opinion that 17 was an ugly number so they all agreed to increase it to 20 strokes each.
While this arithmetic was taking place Clive began to sob and beg but to no avail.
“Ladies first” said Hank cordially.
Frau Bertha said deferentially “You first, Mistress” to which Rosemary answered “No, you first, Frau Liechtenstein.”
“No, I insist, Mistress. As Mistress of the household, it is your honour to go, first.”
While this politeness was taking place, Clive started wailing.
Mistress Rosemary took the cane and walked around Clive several times making menacing air swipes with Tickler. He was trembling and sobbing.
“Please, please, no! I beg you. Please don’t do this.” He wailed pitifully.
“Remember who you are talking to, young lad!” barked Mistress Rosemary, “You forget! I demand respect from my servants!”
“Mistress Rosemary, Madam…yes Mistress Rosemary. I’m begging you…don’t, please don’t. I’m sorry Mistress Rosemary…”
Mistress Rosemary ignored his pleading; walking behind him, she tapped his bottom three times with the tip of Tickler and said “Ready, Clive? Here it comes!”
She made a great sweeping stroke…………………………..which swished past Clive’s bottom and thwacked onto the floor.
Hank let out a guffaw, Frau Liechtenstein grinned. Clive dissolved into uncontrolled sobbing and sank to the floor in a heap.
“Humiliation isn’t much fun, is it Clive? You knew how to dish it out, but you don’t know how to take it.
You will now have your final punishment before being expelled. Sit down on the chair!” She ordered fiercely.
With his trousers and underpants still around his ankles, Clive sat blubbering, runny snot streaming down from his nostrils. His face was red.
“You’ll now have a taste of some real old fashioned Victorian punishment that you won’t forget in a hurry.” And with that, Frau von Liechtenstein strode over with a dark glass fluted bottle in her hands; she had a determined look on her face.
“If you would be so kind, Frau von Liechtenstein; Please commence the dosing.”
Frau Bertha unscrewed the bottle cap and carefully measured out a tablespoonful of the oily liquid from the bottle. “Open!” she demanded, and Clive, panic stricken, opened his mouth. The spoonful of liquid was emptied into Clive’s mouth, and he nearly gagged on the taste. It was truly revolting.
Frau Bertha repeated the dosing until Clive had swallowed three tablespoons full of the awful liquid. He heaved and almost threw up but managed to keep it down.
Frau Bertha then produced a pair of adult disposable diapers and instructed Clive to take off his trousers and underpants, pull on the diaper and stand there in front of everyone in this humiliating garb.
At Mistress Rosemary’s bidding, Clive was dragged off, clutching his trousers and underpants in his hand, and was taken down to the Box Room, where he was locked inside.
Next morning, Hank unlocked the Box Room door and told Clive to follow him back to the drawing room where, once again Mistress Rosemary and Frau Liechtenstein were waiting. Clive walked awkwardly and the awful smell indicated to everyone that he’d dirtied the diaper that he was wearing underneath his trousers.
“You stink!” snapped Mistress Rosemary. “Frau Bertha, kindly administer another three tablespoons full of the castor oil, then, Hank, take this miserable excuse of a man and throw him out of the Hall.”
Clive was again dosed with the foul-tasting oil and allowed to change into a clean diaper, then Hank escorted him out of the front gate.
After walking a few paces along the road, Clive suddenly bent over clutching his stomach, groaned, and uttered out loud “Oh No! No! No!”
Justice had been served in Fairbourne Hall.
Chapter 11