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  train."

  "I know that, Mary."

  Lily did her best to keep her voice civil, although she was rapidly

  losing patience with both the Irish girl and her new situation. She

  hadn't realized it would be so hard, rising in the dark hours before

  dawn, the endless backbreaking chores. One morning she had been

  there! One bloody morning. Surely it would get easier when she got

  used to it. The thought of years of unending drudgery made her feel

  desperate. This was why she had chosen the other life, with all its

  risks and thrills and follies. However, the nasty business with the

  American had soured her enjoyment of life at Mrs. Jakes'

  establishment and she had asked a regular and influential client if he

  would help her escape from her old life and make a fresh start. The

  gentleman had presented her with a glowing reference in return for

  her solemn assurance that she would contact him the moment she

  decided to resume her old situation. She was then able to apply for a

  10

  domestic position at "a good house" and thus arrived at remote

  Akenhead Hall on a dark and dreary December evening. The same

  train that had deposited her from a third class carriage onto the near

  empty platform of Church Edmond station would soon be bringing a

  party of house guests.

  "Do come along, Warnock!"

  Reluctantly, Lily rose from the table, a dull ache already gnawing at

  her lower back. She would need to get McGeever to help her tighten

  her stays. As she carried her bowl and plate to wash them at the

  scullery sink, her eyes met those of the butler. Silently, he stood in

  the short hallway between the kitchen and his inner sanctum, coolly

  observing the newest member of his domestic staff. Swiftly, Lily

  dropped her gaze to the task at hand and passed by him in as meek

  and dutiful a manner as she could summon from her rebellious soul.

  11

  CHAPTER II

  FROM PILLAR TO POST

  "I can't bear it any longer. I simply cannot bear it!"

  I couldn't agree more, my dear, but I suspect my lot is worse than

  yours!

  Lily pressed the palms of her hands against the cool frosted glass of

  the conservatory doors. Inside, somewhere amid the potted palms and

  the orchids, a high-pitched female voice remonstrated with a silent

  companion. Wealthy women were often so neurotic, so unhappy, as if

  they knew, in their heart of hearts, that they had sold their souls to

  gain nothing more than some pretty baubles for their throat and the

  perpetual tyranny of their powerful husbands. The woman sounded

  quite hysterical. Suddenly curious, Lily softly pushed open the door

  to the conservatory. If anyone caught her spying that was just too

  bad. A caning from the dreaded Mr. Gerrard or an earful from the

  housekeeper would be little punishment for a few minutes of wicked

  stolen fun. Surreptitiously, the young woman peered through the gap,

  into a shadowy world of lush ferns and sweetly scented tropical

  flowers. She could not even see the woman whose voice still rose, as

  brittle as the wintry frost that encased the surrounding countryside.

  Hardly daring to draw a breath, Lily tiptoed across the parquet floor of

  the conservatory, briefly glancing over her shoulder to see if anyone

  had watched her enter this forbidden room. Her place was now below

  stairs, she must remember that, not upstairs in a scarlet bedroom with

  her soft thighs parted to accept all who could pay the price. A second

  voice, a man's, joined the first.

  "Don't be foolish, Julia. Why don't you lie down for a rest? I've

  really had about enough of your nonsense."

  "But..."

  "Enough, Julia. Do as I say."

  There was a stifled sob, then a very young and beautiful woman

  emerged from the leafy recesses of the conservatory, glanced sharply

  at Lily and hurried out of the room, closing the door behind her with a

  vehement crack. Lily shrank back into the greenish gloom as a large

  12

  man appeared, an expression of irritation on his swollen face. He

  looked to be considerably older than the troubled young lady and Lily

  wondered whether they were man and wife. To her horror, the man

  noticed her lingering silently amongst the shadowy plants and he

  smiled sardonically, then beckoned her to approach.

  "Tell me, child. Do you believe a wife should do as she is told?"

  Lily stared helplessly at the huge man's feet.

  "It's not for me to say, sir."

  The man threw back his head and laughed loudly. Then he folded

  his arms and looked intently at Lily, as if suddenly noticing how

  pretty she was.

  "I'm not going to let you go until you give me an answer, my dear.

  Yes or no? Should a wife yield to her lord and master?"

  The young woman realized that she was blushing quite deeply and

  she bit her bottom lip.

  "I'm sorry, sir, but I think it would depend on the circumstance."

  "Oh, yes? What nonsense. What utter nonsense!"

  The man's breath smelled of brandy, although it was still quite early

  in the day. His skin was sunburned, as if he had recently returned

  from foreign climes. His hands were large, with vast square palms.

  "I think I shall steal a kiss for your impudence."

  "Excuse me, sir..."

  Lily tried to duck past the man but he was too quick for her.

  Harshly, he grasped both of her wrists in an iron grip, then pushed her

  against the rough trunk of a coconut palm. His mouth was hot and

  pungent upon her neck and she struggled with all her might but could

  not match his bovine strength. Finally, he lifted his head and pressed

  his fleshy lips upon her cheek in a coarse impression of a chaste

  caress.

  "You're a sweet one. Indeed, I think I want more than a kiss. Drop

  your drawers."

  "Sir!"

  That would no doubt lose her position. Not that she cared too much

  but where could she go? Perhaps the scent of sex still followed her

  around, enveloping her like a sultry wraith. Maybe her life would

  13

  always be with men, submissively serving their needs, not aiding in

  the running of a big ugly old house. Akenhead Hall felt like a

  cantankerous old matron, forever ringing her bell for attentions, small

  and large, always needy, a sprawling despotic tyrant of a house. But

  men's needs she understood. Resignedly, she let her captor lift her

  skirts, tug down her drawers and fumble with the buttons of his

  trouser fly. In a few brief moments, he had entered her, hard,

  thrusting deep inside her acquiescent body until she cried out in pain,

  taking her, using her in a way that was second nature to her. Once,

  twice, three times he thrust, then promptly discharged himself, crying

  out in an unintelligible moan. His eyes were tightly closed, a trace of

  spittle oozing from one corner of his fleshy mouth. Finally, he

  squinted down at Lily and grinned unpleasantly.

  "You sweet little harlot. You've opened your legs many a time, I'll

  wager."

  Lily had long since ceased counting. Taking advantage of the

  man
's post-congress disarray, she quickly pulled up her drawers and

  darted across the conservatory. The harsh sound of his mocking laugh

  was the last thing she heard as she closed the door. It was a short,

  brisk walk to the scullery where McGeever sat plucking the feathers

  from a pheasant. Her fingers tugged angrily at the limp bird as she

  looked up at Lily.

  "Where have you been? You're in trouble!"

  Lily sighed. How long could she have been absent from her tasks?

  Surely no more than twenty minutes. The walls had eyes. Suddenly

  self-conscious, she surreptitiously inspected herself for telltale signs

  of impropriety but all was well. The Irish maid looked grim.

  "You're to report to Mr. Gerrard's study straight away, my girl.

  And don't say I didn't warn you."

  Lily suppressed an urge to shrug. She had been caned many a time

  and quite enjoyed it. Sharp, biting canings, savage thrashings with a

  riding crop, naughty girl bared bottom spankings. Whatever the

  method, the aim was the same, the subjugation of the squirming,

  writhing female form.

  "Right then."

  14

  There seemed little left to say. The butler's study was beyond the

  kitchen, in a quiet corner, suitably distanced from the constant clatter,

  heat and smells. The young woman straightened her apron and

  knocked distinctly. The dreaded Mr. Gerrard would not see her lose

  her dignity.

  "Enter."

  The room was small but comfortably furnished, very warm from a

  blazing fire in the grate. A single window looked out at the kitchen

  garden, where a boy dug for turnips in the half frozen earth. The

  butler sat at a roll-front desk, his face as round and purplish as the

  Swedes. Lily stood before him, her back to the roaring flames, feeling

  the strong heat penetrate her dress.

  "Miss Warnock."

  "Yes, Mr. Gerrard, sir."

  He had very small eyes, as black as jet buttons, the expression of

  which it was almost impossible for Lily to ascertain. His hands were

  rather white and plump and he tapped an impatient rhythm upon the

  pristine blotter of the desk.

  "It has come to my attention that you are failing to complete your

  duties, that you have even been absent from your tasks."

  Lily remained silent, her eyes firmly fixed upon the butler's lightly

  drumming fingers. He was itching to discipline her, simply distracted

  by the thought. His fat, pale digits were like corpulent worms. She

  knew the type. He'd take the most infinite care to make his victims

  cry, caning them hard in that soft, sensitive place at the tops of the

  thighs, slicing into sweet flesh like a knife into butter. He'd relish the

  violence, the tears and the power.

  "I'm sorry, sir."

  The butler smirked.

  "Oh, how many times have I heard that, Miss Warnock? But, you

  know, your apology makes no difference. You have but arrived here

  and there might have been some excuse for your shortcomings if you

  were a novice member of staff. However, you are not. You came

  here with a glowing reference from Lord Thorburn no less. I am at a

  loss to understand the full extent of your ineptitude."

  15

  Behind Lily, the flames crackled in the fireplace, warming her

  spine and her bottom and the backs of her thighs and calves. It

  wouldn't hurt so much when her flesh was warm, already full of

  blood. She waited impassively for the butler to state her crime, issue

  his decree and procure the implement of his choice.

  Right then, I am guilty as charged, my lord. And punishment is

  preferable to tearing the down from a dead game bird.

  "In this house, Miss Warnock, we do not allow infractions to pass

  without recourse to stringent remedies. Nipping the problem in the

  bud, shall we say. I must ask you to remove your drawers."

  Now, how would he expect her to react to such a shocking request?

  Did every errant maid submit without question or fuss? Surely they

  must have been terribly affronted to have to take their punishment on

  the bare. Mary McGeever was caned quite brutally yet did not seem

  to feel she could escape. It was inexorable, inevitable as the winter

  frosts. Quietly, Lily turned to face the fire, then rummaged under her

  skirts for the second time in less than an hour. Obediently, she

  stepped out of her drawers and let her dress fall back to her ankles. In

  her mind's eye, she could see the butler's face. His codfish lips would

  be slightly parted in anticipation, his steely little rodent eyes intently

  focused on his helpless prey. Perhaps his heart had begun to beat a

  little faster and harder in his chest. Anticipation, that was the thing.

  Like the delicious moment before one takes the first lick of a soft ice

  cream, divine anticipation, almost better than the actual act.

  "Tuck the hem of your skirt into your apron ties, then bend

  forwards to touch your toes."

  The young woman did as she was told, calmly revealing her slender

  legs and round, firm buttocks to the room. Suddenly, she realized that

  the boy in the garden could see her, should he happen to raise his gaze

  and peer through the study window. Carefully following Mr.

  Gerrard's instructions to the letter, she rendered herself vulnerable,

  then dipped down gracefully to accept her fate.

  "An attractive young woman like yourself should not comport

  herself in such a slovenly manner."

  16

  There was a long pause, during which Lily heard the quiet click of

  a cupboard door being opened and something retrieved.

  "Brace yourself."

  Lily grasped her ankles with her hands. She had been punished in

  many positions. Like this, schoolroom style. On all fours, like a

  hapless cur. Bound to bedposts, with her wrists tied high above her

  head in a position of abject prayer. There was a sharp intake of breath

  from the butler and a swishing sound, then burning pain sliced across

  the backs of her thighs.

  That hurts. The old man knows how to wield a stick.

  Again and again the cane caught Lily across her hips, deftly

  striping the soft twin cushions of her buttocks with a multitude of livid

  welts. At first she tried to count the strokes but the mind soon

  becomes confused by such a steady onslaught of pain. The strokes

  fell like a hard stinging rain upon her acquiescent flesh and she took

  each one without a whimper or cry, causing the butler to double his

  effort. She knew he would continue until he broke her, until she

  showed some sign of surrender, a sudden flurry of hot tears or better

  still, implored, beseeched, begged him to stop. If she didn't show

  some sign of contrition, he'd likely mark her for a month. She

  unclenched her teeth and allowed herself a gentle moan. The effect

  was immediate.

  "Am I making myself clear, miss?"

  Lily shifted her weight from one foot to the other and wriggled her

  bottom at the butler.

  "Oh, it hurts, sir!"

  She could imagine his turnip face, even more swollen with self-

  satisfaction. He was gloating at another conquest, feasting his p
iggy

  gaze upon another piece of ravaged flesh.

  "Turn around then get down on your knees, Miss Warnock."

  Lily complied, her bottom throbbing wildly, as if she'd just fallen

  into a nettle patch full of hornets.

  "I want you to beg for forgiveness."

  Good heavens. He really believes himself a God!

  17

  The young woman opened her eyes, at first seeing her reflection in

  the butler's highly polished shoes. She did not look up at him but

  bowed her head, clasping her hands in a gesture of supplication.

  "Please forgive me, sir."

  Her voice was a little flat, lacking in emotion. When had she ever

  truly begged, no matter how severe the discipline? She could open

  her body but her mind remained closed. And as for her heart... With

  a slight shock she recalled the American. He had drained her like a

  draught of wine, leaving nothing but an empty, fragile vessel. He had

  really possessed her, albeit briefly, terrifyingly. She had not opened

  to him yet she could not refuse him either. If he had made up his

  mind to do so, she would have been entered, forced, slit open like a

  fish on a marble slab. Now she knew the reason for her fear. He

  would have taken her in life or in death but, one way or another, he

  would have had his wish. A flood of tears filled her eyes and coursed

  down her cheeks as she clutched at the butler's ankles. With a look of

  intense satisfaction he nodded and answered:

  "Good."

  Outside, the sky was a grey wash, beginning to drizzle chill rain

  upon the boy in the turnip patch. Slowly, Lily got to her feet, seeing

  only the impassive features of the American, which seemed burned

  upon the inner surface of her eyelids, staining her mind with a

  pernicious fear.

  18

  CHAPTER III

  THE DAUGHTERS OF MIDNIGHT

  "Methinks she doth protest too much! What say you, Victor?"

  The young man was blond, somewhat tipsy and barely out of the

  schoolroom. His partner in crime, a ruddy faced lad with a slightly

  lopsided grin, clasped the laughing woman about the waist and

  waltzed her around the smoky tavern until she finally pulled away,

  slapping at her impromptu partner in mock revulsion.