“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.
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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.
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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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