Weatherby's Boarding School for Young Women
Dutch Mark
Chapter One
There are many excuses to which I might ascribe my current depths of depravity. I use that word only because that is the condition into which my father would state I had fallen, although in retrospect God alone knows to what depths he had himself resided therein for countless years. However, that is another story, which I shall allude to only insofar as it relates to my own attitudes and current situation. The story I shall relate here, sparing little of those excuses for myself but describing in as much detail as I can recall, shall be entirely concerned with my own debauched history as a school master at Weatherby’s Boarding School for Young Women.
My father was the second son of a very minor peer, a baron, who was more noted for an old family name than any great fortune. As the eldest son had inherited the entire estate, save only for an annuity of seven hundred pounds per annum, my father was relegated to using his extensive early education and family name to obtain a vicarage in a small parish in northern England, which was more blessed by an abundant and devout flock than worldly wealth. Oddly, however, we did not live in the vicarage house, but rather a quite large and respectable home in the wealthy section of the city, which I am quite certain added to his high standing in the community.
Combined with his title, which earned him a great deal of respect and not some small degree of subservience within the town of Bottomly Upton, the manor house named Whiply Close had been happily offered for my father’s use by the local council upon our arrival. As it had remained vacant for some years since the death of the shire lord, who passed away with no issue from his deceased spouse and no known male relatives, it was actually a burden on the shire residents, and therefore they were ecstatic to have my father take possession (and financial responsibility) for the manor and its rather small acreage. As further compensation – and due to his peerage – the Council named Father as both rector and vicar, and bestowed upon him both livings, which amounted to nearly another five hundred pounds per annum. Whilst Father’s annuity and his combined livings adequately covered the expenses of both the estate and for a small household staff (all of which consisted of young females, although the fact did not of course strike me at the time due to my much younger age), there was little left for such ‘excesses’ as regular parish entertainments or even a modest brougham to convey us around the shire.
Which brings me to the remainder of my family. In addition to my mother, who was in her middle teens when she wed my father, I had three sisters, all at least six years older than myself. Between the servant women and my female relations, there can be no doubt that my attitudes toward and subsequent treatment of women were inherited from my father.
As I say, it was a very obedient parish, which he ruled virtually without question. In our home, he was absolute Master. As far as the women were concerned, I later came to understand that went literally. There was also an abundance of evidence that his sphere of influence with many of the other female members of his flock went much deeper than spiritual guidance, but I was not to know the full extent of that until many years later.
To briefly summarize, at the tender age of twelve years I had discovered some rather startling facts about my father. That included his treatment of my mother and sisters, as well as the servants, and my intense pleasure at being able to occasionally witness their rather sensual corporal punishment. However, once again, that is a story for another time.
To return to this time, I distinctly recall the moments that changed my life. One night after dinner Father called me into his study. I trembled to enter for fear of some punishment, but was shocked even more so by his words.
“You have had an excellent public school education, and I have also taught you many things these past few years, Andrew.” My father’s voice was different from his normal tone: softer, encouraging, perhaps even approving. “Your letters, mathematics, rudimentary Latin, and metaphysics, certainly, but most importantly, your knowledge of God’s word. But one of the lessons we learn from the Bible is one that I have not fully explained to you, and that is Man’s dominion over women.”
I looked wonderingly into my father’s deep, dark, brooding gaze. “Yes, Sir,” I said dutifully, although I had no real clue as to the import of his words.
“I have spoken of this subject before in sermons, and also at the dining table. You must know by now it is God’s will that Man take dominion over all of the other creatures of this world, including woman. This is explained by Paul in the first book of Corinthians. That creates a great obligation for us, Andrew. We have the duty not only of caring for and educating these lesser creatures, but also that we teach them their place, and discipline them when they lose their way. This is a terrible and heavy burden, but one which we must not shirk, and must not ever deny. Too many of our fellow males have done so, and what is this world coming to that we have not ourselves caused by our neglect of our duties to God?”
This lecture went on for quite a bit, and afterwards it became quite clear to me in words as well as deeds exactly what this ‘duty’ entailed. As I must admit, I several times later secretly witnessed physical proof of his beliefs of how to discipline females, pondered them, and came to adopt them myself. Which all leads me to where I begin my present story.
On my eighteenth birthday, Father informed me he had obtained an excellent position for me. I would be sent off to the employ of an old childhood friend of his and later a university companion, a man named Aloysius Weatherby. This man Weatherby owned a boarding school for young women, which my father described in the most glowing terms as being very large and successful. While I was not content in my father’s household, I was quite loathe to lose a comfortable and easy life – especially as I was now being required to trade those indulgences for a life of toil and – so I thought at the time – one of complete self-denial.
How wrong I was. And how happy am I to have been so wrong!
However, the day finally came. As the pony cart in which I traveled plodded its weary way along the long, dusty, narrow road that led to Buntingford, I brooded with self-pity over the terrible fate I believed had befallen me. I could scarcely credit Father’s praise of the school as I looked upon the small, nondescript town I approached. Still, I had been assured a post as a master of the liberal arts (how liberal I would soon learn!), which included room, board, and the princely sum of twenty pounds per annum, should I prove suitable to my new employer’s pleasure. Although I was not enthralled with the prospect of spending the better part of my young, lusty life teaching a gaggle of young, insipid girls, I was grimly determined that I would indeed suit my employer’s desires in order to ensure myself of a comfortable living.
I was surprised the pony cart did not stop at one of the tall, decrepit buildings within the town, but continued upon a small side road that carried me even closer to the fabled town of London. The proximity of this great city at least promised to provide me with some pleasures and enlightenment during my leaves from the school. Another mile and a half down that road we entered a large copse of trees which I later found out surrounded the entire estate upon which Weatherby’s school was located, at which point the road became paved. This in turn eventually led to large wrought iron gates connected to a high, spiked fence running entirely around the estate. The gates were guarded by a small cottage, out of which emerged a large, burly man. Not until this fearsome looking guard had ascertained my identity and purpose in approaching did he permit the cart to enter the vast, but well-kept grounds.
I was impressed by all of this before the cart continued down another long cobble-stoned pathway to stop at a group of large, handsome buildings. The driver halted before the foremost of these, a huge, ornately articulated stone mansion. As I gaped at the building the driver gestured, and I stepped down from the cart. I heaved my trunk down upon the stones and picked up my valise. The driver set off in the opposite direction as soon as I was safely clear.
Then the strangest thing of all occurred! Rather than a butler and footmen emerging to assist me, three young women in long, modest garb descended from the wide staircase. They kept their eyes down, their hands clasped in front of them, and spoke not a word as they curtsied in front of me. The largest of the three picked up my small trunk, the second timidly took my valise, and the third bobbed her head at me, indicating that I should follow. As they silently headed back up the stairs, I did so.
We entered a vast entrance hallway, rich with elabourate furnishings. The two girls carrying my bags – I use that word now, although all three ‘girls’ were several years older than me – walked towards one door at the side. The smallest, whom I thought of as my guide, went directly to the center door in the farthest wall, and I followed.
Never looking back, she led me up several staircases, impressive in dimensions and appearance. As we ascended, I could not help but notice that her young, womanly posterior swayed very seductively under that long, dull serving dress.
Finally, we arrived at what I took as the master’s suite of apartments. The furniture and fittings were noticeably more opulent than those incredibly fine furnishings we had already passed, and it seemed to me that even the landing on this floor was more spacious than those below.
The girl knocked softly on a large, hand-carved oak double door. At the word “Enter!” she did so. With some sense of wonder at all of this, I did the same.
At a large, solid cherry desk sat a man I presumed to be Aloysius Weatherby. Although they must have been nearly the same age, this man looked years younger than my father. He was also considerably more handsome, with large, bright blue eyes, and even sitting I could tell he was taller and still well built.
As he looked up from his work, the girl meekly approached his desk. She actually knelt briefly on one knee, as though to a king! She then stood with her feet apart and hands clasped behind her, looking down at the floor, although Weatherby barely seemed to notice.
The man looked at me closely for several minutes, then nodded curtly as though satisfied at some sign I could not fathom. He flicked a hand, and the girl immediately glided out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her.
“So,” Weatherby said in a moderate tone, with a voice not deep yet still rich. “You must be Andrew Brown. As I recall your father, you are both taller and better looking than he.”
My eyes rose, both because he had echoed by own thoughts about myself as well as the implied insult to my father. He smiled at my reaction, not knowing the first reason, but obviously guessing the second.
“Yes, yes, we were quite good companions as youths, having met at university. However, it has been years since we have even corresponded – excepting the letters regarding your employment, of course – let alone seen each other, and I am certain he would not mind me being so honest with you. Although, as I recall, he would probably have resented the unfavorable comparison.”
Yes, it seemed he still knew my father well. I also appreciated the sense of humour, which was in strong contrast to my father. He smiled at me, and I immediately decided that I liked him.
“Oh, I could tell you stories about your father – perhaps someday I shall. However, it is late, and you must be tired. First, I want to briefly acquaint you with some important facts about my school, which I trust you will consider very seriously this evening so that you might be able to better understand what you shall witness tomorrow, and then decide whether or not you are suited to my employ. Then go bathe and change, and you will find a cold repast in your room.”
He looked at me seriously, and I understood some sort of reply was required, although I had no idea what he was seeking.
“Yes, sir. I am deeply grateful for your consideration as well as any information you may impart as to my position. However, I would like to assure you that I will do everything within my power to make myself suitable.”
He smiled again and nodded in satisfaction. “Excellent. Well, if you are anything like your father – which his letter indicated that you were – then we shall come to a strong understanding very shortly, I am certain. Before you are totally mystified with all of this oblique commentary, let me get to the heart of the matter.”
“Thank you, sir,” I replied gratefully.
There was no other chair in the room, but I felt no desire to sit. On the contrary, for some reason I felt strongly compelled to draw myself up to my full height, spread my feet, and clasp my hands behind my back. It reminded me of what the girl had done before this man, but rather than any feeling of submission, which I had strongly sensed in the poor girl, I hoped I projected rather a posture of a soldier towards his captain, that of respectful attention to his words. Noticing this, my employer obviously approved, as he nodded curtly once again.
“You know that Weatherby’s Boarding School for Young Women is exactly what its name implies. We only take on females between the ages of sixteen to twenty-six as students, and some of them are here for ten months of the year. Most are here all-year round. You may not know that we accept students of any financial circumstance.”
My eyebrows must have risen at this rather surprising statement. First, while the name indeed said ‘young women’, I had assumed they would be from six to perhaps twenty-one. Secondly, it was unheard of for a private school to accept students who could not pay. What could be the purpose? Weatherby gave a small twitch at the corner of his mouth at my reaction.
“Yes, it is so. Basically, there are three categories of students at our school. There are the very rich, which are obviously the minority. The parents of these young ladies pay a handsome fee, and the girls are not only schooled in reading and writing, which all of our students learn, but also the necessary skills for future matrons of society. Those include foreign languages, dancing, deportment, music, and so on. They are also taught how to run a household – which includes how to deal with servants.” At this, he paused and looked at me with significance.
I could not think of any intelligent reaction, as I was still mystified. “Yes, sir. That sounds splendid,” I finally managed.
“The second category,” he said mildly, although his tone vaguely implied that I had missed something of importance in his final sentence, “are the middle class. These are girls of good families with some money and station in life. They get all of the basic education, plus a smattering of the second. However, most are also taught some domestic skills as few of them will run a household with more than one or two servants. Some attention is paid to how they might best utilize those servants, but nothing like the first group. There are some exceptions, those being girls whose family decided that an investment in the higher tuition might eventually bring greater prospects for their daughters to marry well. While there are only a dozen or so young ladies, there is more than three times that number of middle class girls here.”
“I see, sir,” I interjected, hoping to please him more with this response than with my last one. It did not seem to matter to him.
“The last category is, in many ways,” he said, pausing before delivering the last phrase, “the most interesting.” He looked me directly in the eye, and I felt my body somehow straightening even more, as though filled with some sort of tension at the promise of what was to come. “These girls are quite poor. Most are orphans or in some other way wards of the Crown, but the public agencies no longer wish to care for them now that they are no longer classed as children. Some are from families who could not keep them at home, and have sent them to us because we help such unfortunate wretches. In both cases, a small stipend or initial fee is paid by the Crown or the family, and we then accept these students basically out of charity.”
He leaned forward. “Do not think that we do not give these girls the same basic academic education that the other girls receive!” Weatherby admonished, although I had not thought any such thing. “Some of them may someday achieve such skills that they can be placed in positions such as nanny, or household tutor, or even governess. A great few actually attain positions teaching in schools such as this. In fact, a number of our more successful graduates now work here, as you saw on your arrival. However, it is undeniable that the vast majority of them – whom, I might add, more than treble the number of our other students combined – will never amount to anything more than household servants. As such, they must of course receive special schooling in how to properly behave as servants.”
The light suddenly glowed a little bit.
“I see, sir. And these girls receive such training in conjunction with the first group of girls – I mean, ladies – who are being trained in how to deal with servants?”
At these words, Weatherby not only smiled broadly, but actually stood! He nodded vigorously, and strode about a couple of steps.
“Exactly!” he exclaimed. “Excellent deduction, young Andrew. Perhaps your father’s genes were more productive in the intelligence department than they were in appearance.”
I could not reconcile the combination of compliment to myself and insult to my father, so I tried not to react to that at all. “Thank you, sir.”
“Yes, the ladies are taught proper treatment of servants, which includes both how to command respect verbally as well as how to administer discipline. This also applies to some extent with some of the more promising middle class girls. The poor girls receive those instructions in how to obey, how to please their betters, and how to accept any needed discipline with meekness and appreciation for the fact that they are given such discipline rather than being cast out into the world with neither position, money, nor references. Nor, I might add, anyone who has any interest in giving them any help in staying alive, let alone employed. In addition, as my school assumes a great financial burden in order to accommodate these poor unfortunate girls, we also try to offer – well, certain services to some of the gentlemen of the nearby city of London that these girls help us to deliver. Do I make myself clear, Andrew?”
The light was now glowing much more brightly. Partly, it was the continued references to my father. Mostly, it was my own childhood experiences in my father’s extra-clerical activities that alerted me to what Mr. Weatherby was implying. I looked my new employer directly in the eye.
“Yes, Mr. Weatherby. You make yourself perfectly clear.”
“Excellent.” My new employer nodded with satisfaction. Then, as though to confirm that we were truly in accord he asked: “At this time, do you have any questions of me, Mr. Brown?”
“First, I would beg that you call me Andrew, Sir,” I answered without hesitation. “Second, do the faculty members also assist in, how shall I put it, administering the non-academic lessons to that future serving class of girls?”
“Indeed they do, Andrew,” Mr. Weatherby said with both a nod and a small, knowing smile. “Although not all of our faculty members are male, these girls must also learn how to accept the discipline of the masters of the household who occasionally command them directly as well as the mistress of those homes, who normally rule in such domestic matters.”
“Then I shall look forward to accepting my duties to the fullest, Sir, and to giving each and every one of our students the complete education that is suitable to their station in life.”
Weatherby nodded. “You understand, this is not to say that the young ladies are not also taught proper respect. After all, if they are to become suitable wives for men of power and distinction, they must understand and comply with their husband’s dominion over them.”
At this sentiment, so closely in line with that of my father, I gave another brief nod of understand. “I believe I take your meaning clearly, sir.”
Weatherby smiled once again, this time with as much warmth as humour. He reached out his hand, which I accepted with alacrity.
“Excellent!” he said again, this time with evident pleasure in his voice. “I am certain you shall fit in very well here, Andrew. And I do believe that you have the potential to go quite far in this profession.”
“Thank you, sir,” I replied sincerely. “I certainly hope to justify your confidence in me.”
At these words, Weatherby simply smiled once again. He pulled a cord by his desk, which I assumed sounded a gong somewhere nearby, as the girl who had ushered me in appeared instantly at the door. At the bob of her head, I followed her out of the room to my quarters. However, this time as I gazed at that quite pleasing posterior swaying in front of me, I wondered what excuse I might soon find to see it totally unencumbered by that long, plain garb. More importantly, what I might be able to do with it ….