“Yes ma’am,” was the only safe response. She touched my shoulder. “Stand up Ruby.” I stood, my shoes squeaked. “Step over the bench.” I obeyed. The far wall receded. I swayed; she steadied me. “Bend over and place your hands on the table.” As I did, Mrs. Cleanknockers spoke in a voice cold as an icicle, “Let this be a lesson to you all.” I felt the lash on my bottom, the fabric no protection against her fury. She whipped me hard for a minute, it seemed like an hour, then grabbed me by the collar and yanked me upright.
This link goes to The Bumhampton Chronicles category so you can catch up at any time.
That’s me caught up with Ruby’s progress. Glad I didn’t live in those times – I must be a softy sub! Let’s hope things pick up for Ruby soon.
Thanks Missy. I have no idea if this is accurate, but I do know that staff were at the mercy of their employers. You’re not a softy, just different. That’s why fiction exists to provide a safe means of experiencing something else.
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