Summer - story time (3): Finishing school

THE GARRETT FINISHING SCHOOL FOR GIRLS

Todays story is less modern fetish orientated but has a more vintage victorian touch. Have fun with it.

THE GARRETT FINISHING SCHOOL FOR GIRLS (1)

PREPARATION

Punishment exhibitions were not always a favorite time, for each girl knew that she could easily be the on the receiving end at some time in the future, perhaps for the smallest infraction.  The ideology of the school held that, if a girl were disciplined harshly for even small infractions, she would think twice about causing the problem again, and thrice about provoking her betters with graver misdeeds.  This chastening tended to remove any "fun" from any pleasure that might be attained by breaking rules.  On the other hand, these exhibitions DID provide an opportunity for some to gloat at enemies and others to be there to show support for friends.  As a result of the harsh penalties, punishments were few and far in between at Garrett, but never absent from the girls' minds.

Actual exhibitions were even more uncommon, due to the fact that most such chastisement was administered right on spot.  If a girl chose to misbehave, she was given very little time to reflect, for the consequences of her actions were administered immediately.  Very harsh punishments, however, were reserved for times like this.  Such, of course, was the case with Helena, our hapless newcomer with the obstinate demeanor.

Generally, punishment mirrored the infraction.  As we have seen, a leaning girl was allowed to lean for a very long time, but with dire attendant consequences.  Gags were not used for speaking out of turn or being impudent, but, rather the girl would be forced to speak without end for a long period of time, all the while suffering some other consequence.  If one ate too many cucumber sandwiches at lunch, and there ARE limits, then that unfortunate girl might spend an hour ceaselessly eating, whilst severely corsetted.




*  *  *  *

So now, we attend this scene, as Mrs. Marchant completes her measuring, and is preparing to leave us; and as Principal Marlow is presently returning from her short nap (as strait-laced as ever), having been alerted to Mrs. Marchant's imminent departure.  Her vapors seem to have been alleviated, and she seems in strong spirits, eager to get on with the concluding activity of the evening.

They exchange a few words and, after kissing and hugging, Mrs. Marchant retrieves her homely assistant, Miss Gordon, and they begin to take their leave.  On her way out, the respected corsettiere stops to speak with one girl or another, giving advice and reaping accolades.  Finally, after about ten minutes, they are gone.

The girls begin to settle down as Principal Marlow proceeds to the front of the room.

"Calm down, girls -- no more talking."  She pauses.

"Very well, it is time to conclude the evening," glancing at Helena.  "Chloey, please take the penitent to the water closet.  She will not be able to relieve herself until late tomorrow morning.  Leave her backboard in place for now.  You may assist her."

"Yes, Principal Marlow."  Turning toward the unfortunate girl, she leads her out of the room, Helena with a look of anguish on her face.

"Now.  I vouchsafe you all understand why this is necessary.  I believe…"  She stops, and stares out at a young lady near the back of the room.  "Emily, for shame."

The Principal has caught our pupil whispering to her neighbor.  All heads turn to the rear of the room.

Speaking when told not to speak is a cardinal offense.  And punishment will come swiftly.

"Harold, fetch the talking stool."

"I believe you know what is next, young lady."

Emily does know, indeed.  What was going to be an evening of penalty for one girl is now to be for two. The Mistress walks over the chest of drawers, and fetches a large bonnet, its inner lining covered with fluffy lace; she  holds it out for the young girl to take from her.  Putting it on over her coif, we see that it extends about six inches from her face, acting as blinders.  "So you will not be distracted too easily.  Garrett makes every effort to help its students, as you know," tying the attached wide ribbon under her chin.

Harold brings in a stool, perhaps thirty inches feet tall.  The seat is rather small, just large enough for the feet of a girl like Emily.

"You know what to do, Emily."

The culprit, looking downward, approaches the stool, and Harold handily lifts her up onto it.  She carefully positions her feet so that they are completely on the stool.  She has obviously done this before.

"You have a regrettable propensity toward talking out of turn, my girl.  So I shall choose more for you to read this time, so that you may dwell longer on your distracting predilection."

Principal Marlow then walks over the large chest of drawers and removes a fairly large and thick book.  It is Charles Dickens' Pickwick Papers, his first novel, serialized during the period 1836 through 1837, but here in the full book form of  57 chapters.  This is Principal Marlow's very favorite "talking punishment" book, for it is both heavy and wordy.

"Let us see now, Miss Emily, the last time you very nicely read aloud to us Chapters One, Two and Three. So now you may continue, and let us all enjoy Chapters Four through…a…shall we say, Eight?"

The Principal continues, "Hmmm…Chapter Eight, which ends with our hero's lament: (she thinks a moment) 'Then what can you be; or to what, without presumption, can I compare you?'  How fitting."

The girl's face is white.  She has been through this before, and her memories are not pleasant.  The room is absolutely quiet.

Principal Marlow walks over to the girl. "Here you are, my dear," handing her the book.  Please lower your voice later when I address the girls."

"Go on.  Stand straight now. Be stalwart!  Harold, stand near her in the event she should fall."

Emily begins, "Chapter Four: 'A Field Day and Bivouac. More New Friends. An Invitation to the Country'…"

"All right everyone.  Enters herewith our business,"  as Chloey returns with Helena, the latter's countenance gloomier than ever.

"Come, come here."  Of course, except for Emily's monologue, the room remains ever so silent as our poor lass slowly makes her way over to her tormentor.  "Tarry not -- this will be over before you know it, and then you may take your proper place amongst the girls.  Emily, quiet down a tone."

Chloey whispers into Principal Marlow's ear, something about the elbow strap of the backboard being loose.  "I want to assure you, Principal Marlow, that I did not loosen it.  It was that way earlier.  I discovered it in the water closet."

"There is no way I would ever believe you would show such a kindness, Miss Chloey," she says sardonically."

"Just saying, madame."

"Never you mind.  It could have slipped."

"But…"

"Shush.  NEVER you mind."

Compassion from our Principal Marlow, kind readers?  Difficult to fathom.

Then, as the young girl stands before her mistress, Principal Marlow returns to business, and declaring: "Now, miss.  Repeat after me:"

"I, Helena Callow, student in tentative standing at the Garrett Finishing School for Girls…"

In a quivering voice, the girl repeats the pledge, sentence by sentence.

"…in order that I might humbly provide solid proof to the good people of this institution…"

"…of my solemn intention to pursue the straight and rigorous methods here at Garrett in complete obedience..."

A DAUNTING DAY

After breakfast, the girls had to go to class, and that is where it hit them:  They would have to stand for an hour at a time in one place. This beautiful winter morning, dear readers, they were scheduled to attend a class on "Proprietary Behavior and Manners."  Since The Dance was scheduled for May, and this was January, it was a class that the school considered very important indeed.  I think my gentle readers will agree that a young lady must comport herself perfectly in public, especially at social functions, and especially when young gentlemen are in attendance.

There were only two others in the class who were in skirt training, standing in the rear of the room.  Also, near them, sat two girls in single gloves, girls in their second year who were undergoing posture training.  The single gloves prevented them from comfortably sitting in a chair with a back, so little benches were made available to them.  For these upper class girls, this was a refresher class.  They smirked a bit as our girls entered.  The other seated girls either ignored them or stared, whispering.  Gwyenth and Catherine smiled, feeling on top of the world, and took their places in the rear of the room.  Little high writing tables awaited them, for the young ladies who couldn't sit to take notes.

Then they noticed a fifth standee, other than the teacher, in the far corner; no one seemed to know who she was.  She wore a simple black cotton dress with a SEVERELY small waist, of about fourteen inches.  In addition, she was strapped into a backboard.   Her eyes showed that she was in distress.

"Attention, girls!  Attention!" said the teacher.  "Good morning."

"Good morning , Miss Blackburn," they all chanted in unison.  Miss Blackburn was an attractive young woman, about thirty, with her dark tresses in a bun, wearing the Garrett schoolteacher's uniform of a black satin dress with a blue collar; of course, in order to set a good example, she was required to display an eighteen-inch waist and high heels.

"Before we start, I want to introduce you to Miss Helena, there, in the corner.  Apparently Miss Helena feels she can abuse the good graces of this institution at will.  Most of you do not know her, as she left Garrett several years ago, when she was expelled after one year, the result of her inability to follow our simple rules.  After all this time, her father feels that he may have helped her to "adjust," and that now she is ready to come back.  Right, Helena?"  She nodded toward the hapless young woman, who merely stared back, a look of contempt on her face.

"RIGHT, Miss Helena?"  Continued silence.

"I see."  Well, we normally do not take back failed students, for they tend to be a bad influence, but Miss Helena's father has been kind enough to make a very large endowment to Garrett, so we have made an exception in this case.  We hope that she will see how generous he has been, both to us, and to her, in making such extraordinary arrangements."

"I had hoped that she would be a bit more, shall we say, compliant, but I see she is not ready yet.  Hmmm…soooo…in order to prevent her from disrupting your fine education here at Garrett, and to demonstrate both to her and you what happens to pupils who do not fit into society, we will have to take ever-increasing measures until she complies.  N'est  pas?"

"Helena, are you ready to show you father that you can make it here now?"

Again, no answer, merely a scowl.

Miss Blackburn sighed.  "Well.  All right then. You've made your choice, dear."

With that, she walked over to the young girl and held her arms, which were strapped elbow-to-elbow to the backboard.

"Chloey, please get the gag out of my desk drawer."

Chloey was hated by all.  Apparently, she was the daughter of one of the administrators, and not only did she get special treatment (for example, when she was skirt training, she was able to stay in the leaning room for as long as she liked, and with no gag!), but she was called on to help with what the girls thought were unpleasant tasks, but in which she reveled, with a streak of sadism.  Many a girl had vowed that she would "show her a thing or two" after she graduated.  Oddly, Chloey wore her stays an inch tighter then the tightest waist of any girl.  Many believed that this was because she was a masochist as well as a sadist.

The little sycophant promptly walked to Miss Blackburn's desk and extracted what appeared to the skirt-training girls to be the type of "pear" gag used in the leaning room.  But there was a tangle of straps dangling from it.

She didn't appear uncertain of what to do next, for she went straight up to Helena and began forcing the gag into her mouth, while Miss Blackburn held the struggling and grunting girl and the others in the classroom stared, transfixed.

"Perhaps a day of this will convince you to be friendlier, young miss!  Maybe we can take another inch off that fat waist of yours as well!"  Helena's eyes were panicked.  The students' eyes opened wide.

After the gag was inserted, Chloey began tightening the three thin straps around to the back of her head, all the while Helena struggling defiantly.  Once they were in place, another strap, much wider, and covering the other three, was pulled into place, making a tidy job.  Helena was groaning.  You see, dear readers, these straps were so tight as to prevent her from turning her head to either side; so now, she could look only forward.

Then the two of them managed to attach her backboard to a cord which dangled from the ceiling, so that she could go nowhere.

"All right.  Now, Gwyenth, kindly assure that our new friend here gets a copy of the notes you are taking today, so she can study.  We wouldn't want her to be more behind than she…what are you doing?  Did I see you leaning on the wall?"

Gwyneth's face was one of shock. "Oh!  Aaaa…I'm sorry, Miss Blackburn, but I am not used to standing this long at one time. Please forgive me…"

"Leaning outside the leaning room is against the rules, you know that!"  Some of the girls giggled.

"Do you find that funny?"  Immediate silence.

"Gwyenth, since you like leaning so much, we'll just have to give you spell in the leaning room.  Only it might be for a longer period than usual, and you might not be so comfortable.  See me after class."

"Yes, Miss Blackburn."

Now she is in for it.  Catherine looked at her with anguished eyes.  Here she was, given the honor of being skirt trained early, and she was disappointing everyone.  She felt awful.

The remainder of the class passed by with a discussion of curtsying whilst corsetted and with a tight skirt, and some pointers on how one chooses what one eats (or not eats) on occasions like The Dance.

All the while, Gwyenth fretted about what she had done, and sadly contemplated her possible fate in the leaning room.  To say the least, she found it difficult to concentrate on the lesson.

In the corner, Helena moaned softly and tears were coming from her eyes.  Every once in a while, she burst out in emotional screaming into her gag, but everyone knew to properly ignore her.  Obviously, she was paying no attention to the lesson.

When the class ended, and the girls filed out, Gwyenth approached her teacher with trepidation.

"There you are, young lady.  Come with me."

As they walked down the hall to the leaning room, Gwyenth had a difficult time keeping up with Miss Blackburn, due to her hobbling petticoat.  She knew better than to say anything.

As they walked, Miss Blackburn said, "Remember, young lady, that you are responsible for any class you miss today as a result of your infraction.  Missing them will be no excuse for not knowing the material.  Understood?"

"Yes, Miss Blackburn."

The leaning room was near the laundry room, which made it a bit hot, a further discouragement to malingering. But if a girl just could not stand any more in those high heels, well, it was a trade-off.

They entered into a small antechamber, which housedthe attendant, Miss Smyth.

"Hello, Gertrude."  Miss Smythe stood up in deference.  These attendants were much below in status and "rank" to the teachers. "Is there anyone occupying the chamber?"

"No 'mam."

"Good.  Gwyenth, here, is to be given treatment 'Y' for, say, three hours.  Gwyenth, hopefully you will learn a lesson from this."

"Yes, 'mam."  With that, Miss Blackburn left.

"Hello, little lady."  She seemed friendly enough.  "You ever been here before?"

"No, 'mam."

"Well, this special time you won't be able to leave at will.  You're here for three hours."

"Is this difficult?"

"First time, yes.  But you get used it, except, of course, when they make changes.  And you look to be strong girl.  Here you go, now missy, come on in here."

In a matter of minutes, she found herself leaning on her right side on a leather-padded flat board at a 45 degree angle, which certainly took the pressure off her feet.  Her heels were hooked into a small bar extending perpendicularly from the board, which prevented her from slipping down, and her dress had been removed.  But that didn’t nearly compensate for the pear gag in her mouth and the two items of which she was never warned, these apparently being the components added for treatment "Y":   Her arms had been drawn in back of her in a "wing" position (meaning her elbows touched and her hands pointed upward); and a wide brace had been laced around her neck, with a fairly sharp upper ridge, which made her hold her head up and way from it in order for it not to be painful.  VERY uncomfortable!

All the while she was applying and adjusting these devilish components of her anguish, Miss Smythe spoke soothingly and kindly to the young girl.  This made things a bit more bearable.  But the heat from the laundry next door made it worse, and she was getting thirsty and beginning to perspire.

"All right, my girlie, I'll look in on you every fifteen minute or so - the time will go fast.  I'm sorry I could not give you anything to drink, for you cannot relieve yourself."

With that, she left.  The perspiration was making her corset and tight clothing more uncomfortable, to say nothing about her neck collar.

The hours passed, with Miss Smthye looking in every fifteen minutes, as promised.  Every time she came, Gwyenth would moan, as if to plead for her to release her, but she knew it was fruitless.  Her mouth became drier and drier, and her entire body was soaking wet.  She promised herself she would never put herself in this position again!  Please God, let this end!

And then, indeed, it WAS over. She was released from her bonds and gag (Oh! She ached, especially her jaws!), wrapped in a large linen, and sent to her room to clean up and bathe. The dress was sent separately.  Miss Milford was there to meet her.  She was SO glad to see her!  She supposed Catherine was in class.  She must have had lunch and then gone to her afternoon lessons.  Lunch!  After drinking a gallon of water (despite her tight corsets), she realized she was famished!  And the heat had make here very fatigued and her arms, neck and mouth ached.  She felt like sleeping.

As the maid prepared her bath, Miss Milford assisted her in undressing.  She was soaked!  The most difficult part was removing the training petticoat, since it was so tight - it had to be peeled off slowly. Soon, she stood naked, with her hair up and ready for her bath.  How liberated she felt! Especially without the petticoat, to which she had not yet adjusted.  But she would never lean again! That was a surety!  What a day!

Reclining in the hot bath with fragrant oils, she gently drifted into a deep sleep…

PRELUDE TO A DELIGHTFUL EVENING 

She awoke famished.  How long had she slept?  Miss Milford had arranged to keep the water warm while she slept, so it was a delightful awakening.  Her loving House Mother assistant was standing there with a huge towel, and enveloped her with it as she stepped out.

"You are so sweet, Miss Milford!  Thank you."

"You've had a hard time, missy.  But I have a surprise for you and Catherine."

"Really!  What is it?  Ouch!"  She still ached from her ordeal.

"Well, I know Catherine and you have been dying to get a pipestem waist.  So arrangements have been made to fit you both tonight!  Isn't that delightful?"

"Yes!  But…but won't what happened today present problems for me?"  She yawned. "Oh! My arms still ache!"

"Yes, dear, normally you would not get this for some weeks after your punishment, to make sure you are behaving.  However, Mrs. Marchant, the corsettiere, is leaving for an extended trip to the Orient tomorrow and will not be back for two months and, since this was arranged weeks ago, well, and as you DO require new corsets (Have you been here six months already!?), and with shoulder straps in any case, well, Principal Marlow relented, God bless her."  Miss Milford took the girl's hand and put it to her face, looking at her evenly.  "But! You must NOT disappoint her!  ANY infraction will be looked upon as an ungrateful and ungracious act and she will DOUBLE any subsequent punishment.  I KNOW her!  Understand?  Please make EVERY effort!  You must not fail! I don’t want to see my little lady with more aches and pains.  Promise me."

"Yes, Auntie (using the term of endearment she did when feeling particularly close to her and when no else was around).  I promise, I do! I fairly learnt my lesson in that old leaning room!"

"Good, sweetheart.  Now let's get dressed for dinner.  You must be starved!"

With that, she brought out her favorite evening "loungewear," an ivory-colored lingerie dress that was given her by her mother.  Tonight seemed an appropriate time to wear it, she seemed so high in spirits, notwithstanding the day's ordeal.  Her mother. She so missed her, but even now she was beginning to see why she was here, and how she would be a proper young lady one day soon.

Just then, Catherine returned to refresh for dinner.

"Hi, Goopy!"  she exclaimed.  This was an occasional nickname derived from her stuffed rabbit, Goopy.  It was usually reserved for when they hadn't seen each other for few hours.  They ran to each and embraced.

"Hi, Snoopy!" (Just a silly girlish response).  "I MISSED you!"

"And I you!  I hope it wasn't too bad!  Tell me about it!"

"I'll tell you while Miss Milford helps me dress for dinner and you wash up."

With that, Gwyenth proceeded to tell her the whole ordeal, from start to finish.

* * * *

"….and then that nice Miss Smythe wrapped me in a large linen and told me to return to our room, where I fell asleep in the bath! (Aren't I naughty?)  Oh, it was terrible, but she made it bearable.  But I NEVER want to go through that again!  NEVER!"

"Poor little lamb!.  I felt so bad when you got caught.  I think we BOTH learned lesson! But did you see that Helena!? My! Oh!  By the way, Miss Blackburn reminded me to tell that you that you still have to give her the notes from class.  I have your notebook, but I know how distracted you were, what with the leaning room and all, so you probably didn't take good ones, so use mine.  And you can study mine from the classes you missed as well.  Oh, I am SO happy to see that you feel all right now."

"A little achy, that's all.  You know, I do not remember a THING from Miss Blackburn's class, except that horrible situation that Helena caused herself.  And that wretched little Chloey.  What a beast she is. Oh!  Guess what Miss Milford just told me!"

"What?  What?"

Gwyneth paused, smiled, and then giggled.  "I'm not telling you!"

"You meany!  Miss Milford, please tell me!"

"Well, Catherine, tonight you and…."

"No, let me tell her at dinner!  Please?"

Miss Milburn paused.  "Oh, all right!  You two are such chatterboxes!"

Catherine looked at them both.  "Urmph!" 

"Thank you," Miss Milford.”

"Meany."  She spied the dress on the bed.  "Say, are you wearing the lingerie dress tonight?  It's so pretty!  Why don't you wear the blue ribbon corset with it?  It would look divine!"

"Good idea, Kate!  Better yet, why don't you wear YOUR blue lingerie dress with your ivory ribbon?  We'll match! They are so comfortable!"

Miss Milford interjected, "Well, girls, not as comfortable as you have been in the past.   You'll be standing, remember."

"Oh!  I forgot all about the petticoat!  But, anyway, it'll be doubly good at that, to show off our new status AND those beautiful gowns."

The girls started giggling as Catherine washed up and she assisted Gwyneth with dressing, first putting on her training petticoat.  Then the two of them helped Catherine change into her lingerie dress.  Finally, Miss Milford brought out the two ribbon corsets.  Since ribbon corsets were not meant to be for tightlacing (they had no bones, but were made of very stiff material), but rather decorative, they went over the base corsets, which both of the girls wore - standard corsets of the day, which half-covered the breasts and were fairly long.  Of course, these "ribbons," as the girls oft-called them, were worn OVER the gown.

After lacing them snugly over their waists Miss Milford stepped back and admired them.  "You two are absolutely beautiful!"

"Thank you," they said in unison.

"Now.  Let's go to the dining room and show you off."

"Wait a moment, please.  I'll be right back.  I...a...I…a...am indisposed.  Miss Milford, can you assist?"  With that she retired to the bathroom.

"Why couldn't the girl do this before I put on her petticoat?"  Shaking her head, she followed Catherine into the bathroom.

A few minute later, they reappeared, Catherine adjusting her skirts.  "Training petticoats and my monthly indisposition do not get along!  I'll have to have Miss Milford accompany me everywhere for the next few days."  She smiled.  "All right, let's go."

"I think not, missy!  I have work to do.  Gwyenth can help when necessary.  Just make sure you carry some napkin cloths with you.  Here, put these in your purse."

"I have some, thank you."

Chattering, the girls departed.

"Remember that time when you left that napkin on the library bathroom ledge …?"

"…and Harold found it and used it to polish the silver wall lamp?"

"And then gave it back to me in front of all those girls?"

They were laughing, as they remembered that embarrassing time…

"What a day THAT was…!"

" I never could figure out how he knew it was mine."

"That's easy.  Chloey was probably in the bathroom, the little rat."

"And told him?"

"And told him."

* * * *

As they walked down the hallway, they encountered Helena slowly making her way along the wall.  She had been tethered to the "wire and ring," as it was called.  In the "old days," before Principal Marlow, ALL girls were tethered by wire to a rail alongside the hallways.  It kept them in line, so to speak, and, of course, prevented them from running away.  But, under Principal Marlow's tenure, things were different.  Girls were not prone to run away, as the school was kinder and less punitive.  Unless, of course, one broke the rules, in which case a girl may as well have been back in the "old days."  Such was the case with Helena .  Always resentful and ever the trouble-maker, she would certainly dash away very quickly if given the opportunity. Which was another reason why she slept in the locked Tower Room with no room mate.  There was little choice left to the administrators if they were to bank her father's handsome check.  They just put up with her.

Of course, who was near her but Chloey, following her down the hallway.  When they got to the dining room, she would remove her most impressive gag, and then regag her after the meal.  The ever-present large brute of a man, Harold, the marshal-at-arms, would be there to help, as he did on such occasions.  No one ever resisted HIM!  It was rumored that Chloey and Harold were lovers, although no one knew for sure.

The girls noticed that the hapless girl had an enhancement to her predicament.  Apparently someone had added a neck brace, similar to the one Gwyenth had earlier been made to wear in the leaning room.  No doubt she brought that on herself, as she seemed to have every other punishment.  It was apparently quite uncomfortable for her.  Her eyes were moist and red.

Chloey noticed Gwyenth staring.  "Don’t forget to give her the notes."

"Yes, Chloey.  After dinner all right?"  Always be polite to Chloey.

"Fine.  Now what are you staring at?"

"Nothing."  And they continued walking toward the dining room, as quickly as their hobble petticoats would allow.

"Wonder what she did to get the brace."

"Maybe nothing.  Perhaps Chloey just wanted to be cruel."

"Possible.  Poor girl."

As they entered the dining room, some of the girls expressed regret about what had happened to Gwyenth.  Everyone, however, wanted to know about the two girls' dresses, which were the talk of the evening.  No one talked about the leaning room.


THE CONVERSATION

At that very moment, dear readers, intercourse is taking place in the parlor of Principal Marlow's residence on campus.  Of several in attendance is a Mr. Philip Callow, a well-dressed gentleman of large proportions.

Her stiffly corsetted figure erect, forcing her to sit at the edge of her large parlor chair, Principal Marlow is obviously upset, even to the point of her face showing a bit of red.  For a lady of such stature and even disposition, this is unusual.

"This is most irregular, Mr. Callow.  We have gone out of our way to accommodate your daughter.  And now, this!"  She glanced at Miss Becket, her Head Housekeeper, who exudes disapproval.  "MOST irregular!  Money is not everything.  I have my standards, sir."

Miss Becket is a thin, middle-aged woman, with a ruddy complexion, and an extreme manner of deference.  Of course, her waist measures to Garrett standards.

"You must understand, madam, how disconcerting this is for me, what with Mrs. Callow's passing a few years ago.  He has been MOST disappointing, carrying on as if he were in the slums.  And in such an arrogant manner.  Indeed, he has had some close brushes with the local constable.  It is MOST puzzling."

"No. Not at all, sir. You'll pardon my saying, but you are never home for your children, so how can you set an example?  They hardly know you.  I can understand why Helena is the way she is, what with no mother, but one would think that your boy, Martin, would fare better.  What is he now, sixteen?"

"Yes.  Next month. Miss Marlow, please believe me when I tell you that even the strictest boys school wasn't able to deal with him."

Miss Marlow addresses her maid.  "Miss Minnie, please bring us some more tea."

"Yes, mam.  Immediately."  With that, the bird-like Miss Minnie quickly dashes off to the kitchen.

To Mr. Callow: "I am aware of the boy's history at Rutherford's, our male counterpart.  I have never heard of any boy not being made a gentleman there. It is a very harsh school, indeed.  But that is no reason to contemplate what you are contemplating.   Nevertheless, it IS a bit difficult to understand why a young boy would not straighten out after being threatened with internment in a girls school, and as a girl, at that.  Please understand sir, I have one hundred girls here at Garrett, and my first obligation is to them and their parents.  Such an arrangement would surely be quite disruptive."

"With respect, madam, how would that be different from the arrangement we now have for Helena ?"  He shifted his considerable weight in the large stuffed chair.

"Please, Mr. Callow, think of the difficulties:  He IS, after all, a young male, and would remain so under all of his…her feminine clothing, you know.  How can he behave properly amongst all these young females?"

"I have thought of that, madam.  My man, Jenkins, will see to that…that is if you will allow him to be with Martin at all times.  He will have his ways of handling this situation.  I feel compelled to point out that such an arrangement would also augment your staff, so that Martin would need less attention from them."

"And if he misbehaves?" ventures Miss Marlow, adjusting  the tight skirt of her royal blue embroidered gown.  Dear reader, I vouchsafe Mr. Callow has never seen such a high and stiff collar!  With quite substantial stays, it lends Miss Marlow a regal air, her head held so high!

"Well, you have my full permission to do what has to be done…as in Helena 's case.  Treat him as any other girl, and more harshly if necessary"

"I am leery.  He would have to undergo the same training to be a lady.  I'll not disrupt things any more than necessary."

Silence, as Miss Minnie returns with tea.

Principal Marlow looks at the wall, away from the one who beseeches her.

"Might I suggest a….device, for his, ahem...manhood.  I would feel more comfortable and inclined to agree if he was kept in check, so to speak."

"Done.  That can be arranged."

"To be worn at ALL times."

"Agreed."

"Also, a name.  If he is to be treated as one of the girls, well, he  a…she, should have a girl's name, no?"

"Agreed."

"How about…hmmm, let us see…how about.. Melody!"

"Sounds fine."  It is becoming apparent that all Mr. Callow wanted to do was get the boy out of his hair and be gone.

"I shall require a bit more monetary inducement, sir, for such an appalling task.  And then, of course, there is the matter of your man's room and board."  She could see his eagerness to leave.

"Very well.  Double what I am giving for Helena ."

She looks at him, a smirk on her stern, but beautiful face.  Dear readers, she has him.

"Triple."

Without hesitation, the portly man says, "Then it is agreed."

"Yes.  You may go about your business, knowing Martin…a… Melody, is in  good hands."

"He must be humiliated in order learn his place in life."

"Yes, Mr. Callow.  Deposit the boy here in one week.  Make certain he has the appropriate device.  That is essential.  Without it, he will not be admitted."

"Very well, madam.  My man will bring him around.  I will have the bank contact you for the monetary arrangements."

"In two years, you will have a wonderful new daughter."

But Mr. Callow doesn't hear her.  He is out the door and on his way!

"What an absurd, silly man," mutters Principal Marlow, shaking her head, as she begins to return to her room, with Miss Minnie following closely on her heels.

"Yes, 'mam," agrees Miss Becket.  "Good night."

"Good night."

She stops, thinking.

"I'll see you in my office in the morning Miss Becket.  There are arrangements to be made. Including clothing to be purchased. Also, we must contact Mrs. Marchant's assistant for some interim stays until she returns from the Orient. The boy - the girl must not be without stays."

Her mind is racing.

Let's see…Helena is in the Tower Room, so we shall have to prepare the old Clock Room for the time being, so she can be alone, like her (see, I'm used to it!) sister, until we assess the situation. And then we must arrange for initial corsetting immersion, like any other new girl.  Obviously, she will have never worn stays before. Oh my! I am rambling.  We can talk tomorrow.  Go to bed!"

As Miss Becket leaves, the campus clock quietly strikes midnight .  The night is dark.

Dear reader, the future seems bleak for our Miss Melody, but is it really?  Is it a bad thing for a boy to learn the gentle ways of the distaff side? To experience a side of life most males never see?  To be sure, it will be traumatic for him, but, at the end of the day, will he not be a better person?  Will he not want to eschew masculinity forever once he had seen the other side of heaven? Perhaps he is lucky.  We shall see, my fortunate reader.  We shall see.

A CHANCE MEETING

Mrs. Marchant was as respected a corsettiere as there was in the New World.  French by heritage, she spent many of her early years in England, practicing her craft, and was well known there under her maiden name of Madeleine Godiń.

After she was married, her husband, a wealthy importer of fine silks from Westbury, outside London, and she, moved to Boston .  It was to her credit that Miss Marlow was able to lure her out to Garrett for fittings for the girls twice a year -- quite a feather in the cap for this fine school, to which she, by her fame, attracted the most prominent girls.  It was rumored that Miss Marlow knew something about Mrs. Marchant's past which kept her coming there.  Be that as it may, it was clear that she commanded a very high price for her fittings and corsets.

So, dear readers, it seemed a bit odd to most that her daughter, Marguerite, aged seventeen, never attended Garrett, but rather, attended The Hartwick School, a fashionable school for girls in London. The young woman was celebrated there for her fine waist and beauty, returning to America only for short visits (despite the rigors of sea travel) and fittings by her mother.

* * * *

So now we descend on this still night into the fitting room of Garrett, located in the Madison Lodge, where most social functions take place, in its large ballroom. The girls, having finished dinner not long ago, and are now sitting about, chattering, as is their charming penchant.  All but one, that is.

The evening is young, the clock only just now having struck seven.

The fitting room is fairly large, with high windows and beautiful gaslight chandeliers, the chamber ornately decorated with pictures of alumnae from the fifty-year old school.  One can see how the fashionable waist grew ever smaller over the years, some a far cry from the "uniform of the day" here at Garrett now.  But in no case were these waists anything but "neat," as present vernacular describes a small waist.

In one corner is an odd-looking machine with strands of thin wire emanating from it and, next to that, a leather-covered padded bench, suitable for reclining.  It has a hole on one end and straps all along its length. Hanging from the ceiling directly above the bench are a series of pulleys.  An onerous sight, to be sure, but to which the new girls quickly become acclimated.  NOTHING here at Garrett is really bad -- everything is here for the good of the pupils, though, at times, there is certain discomfort.  And, of course, next to these figures stands a rather large rack, draped over which are varying lengths of lacings, in all the colors of the rainbow (many a staylace being strained to the breaking point here in this room!).

In the another corner is an immense chest of drawers, in which Mrs. Marchant's tools of her trade are kept, accompanied by a large table and a small stool, all of which reside on an ornate Persian carpet. (Surely some smelling salts live in one of those drawers!)  On the table, two beautiful, tiny, rare and costly Viennese belts, the pride of Garrett, are in evidence, their brass-plated shiny steel screws twinkling in the light.  Many a girl has clamored to be permitted to wear one, despite their rigorous demands, but few ever have, their wearing being only a reward for academic excellence, to be worn at graduation or, perhaps, at the First Year Parents' Day if one has achieved an honor.  Having a perfectly circular waist, even for day, is the dream of any of the students, so academic studies are very important to them, and the belts' appearance on the table is a great motivation.

Sprinkled about the remainder of the short-tufted carpeted room are several comfortable settees, and a large number of straight-backed chairs, and chairs without backs, as well as a number of tables piled high with fabric samples and ornamental accessories.  Of course, the entire north wall is covered by mirrors, perimetered by a beautifully fashioned mahogany frame, into which are carved representations of scores of different style corsets.  Intertwined amongst these are figures of serpents, representing (according to The Principal before Miss Marlow, the one who commissioned the mirror) The Corset's inherent ability to draw in men (please forgive the ineloquent pun, kind reader, as this humble writer occasionally requires mundane distraction), so to speak, as well as women.  If one were to have listened to this woman's theories, she would have had one believe that there was a corset in the Garden of Eden (as there should have been, no doubt, for proper decorum)!  In the center of the mirror wall, and inset toward the top, is a small portrait of this lady's role model:  Catherine de' Medici, the sixteenth century, Italian-born Queen of France, known to have required all her court ladies to wear their graceful waists at the same 13" she prescribed for herself.  Her countenance contradicts the fact that the magnificent lady is portrayed wearing her usual awesome corset, case-hardened and stiffened in every conceivable way, descending in a long, hard point, and mounting stiff and tight to the throat, giving her the appearance being imprisoned in a closely-fitting bastion. This portrait would make any young girl of this age happy she lived in the present.

The wall is perfect for the summer light during the day, when these sessions are usually held .  However, since Mrs. Marchant's extremely tight schedule this time proscribes a day session, the many gas lights about the room, installed for just for such an occasion, are fully lighted.

Oh!  One more thing, dear reader:  In one corner is a huge glass-enclosed cabinet, with examples of Mrs. Marchant's works of reproduction.  Since the "The History of the Corset" is a required course in the second year, Mrs. Marchant  had three years ago been commissioned to make a display of "Corsets through the Ages."  And a fine set of stays they are!  The masterpiece is the very corset Catherine de' Medici  wears in the portrait in the center of the mirrored north wall.  Gentle reader, I cannot tell you what great enlightenment was gained through this magnificent exhibit! 

 *  *  *  *

Gwyenth and Catherine are seen entering, returning from the leaning room.

"Goodness," says Catherine, "was that worth the rest for my beleaguered feet?"

"Little sissy!  You should have experienced MY earlier tenure there.  Then you would have good reason to complain!"

"You beast!  You deserve it for keeping from me the news the pipe-stem fitting.  Meanie! But it IS exciting news, is it not? (whisper)…Oh, dear!  I had better return to the room and change my napkin.  Please tell Miss Gordon that I shall return immediately."

"All right. See you soon."

Miss Gordon is Mrs. Marchant's assistant, a ugly, dull little women with a hard face, a little bit of a contemptuous attitude, and a staccato voice.  But she serves our illustrious corsettiere well, and so maintains her good graces, having served her for years.  Most of the girls dislike her, but it is roundly admitted that she is a decent corsettiere in her own right, having learned the craft from her mistress, and she is thus grudgingly respected for it.

Our girl Gwyenth enters the room, and immediately spies the magnificently corsetted Helena tethered to the wall, alone, in one corner. She is surprised to see that she is sans gag and neck brace.  However, she remains in her backboard harness.  She appears to have adjusted to it, and seems quiet, merely taking in the room.

Seeing an opportunity, Gwyenth slowly approaches her.

"Hello."

"Go away."

"I'm sorry, but I want to speak to you about the make-up notes from Proprietary class this morning.  Miss Blackburn told me to give them you."

"I'm not interested, girlie."

Gwyenth looks down and quietly says, "Pardon me for being so forward as to say this -- it certainly is none of my affair -- but you are only making things more difficult for yourself with your attitude."

The girl looks at her evenly, and with a scowl.  "You are correct.  It is none of your affair."

"I'm sorry.  I just want to help.  Perhaps we can be friends."

"I do not require any friends.  All I require is to leave this place."

"That will be a very difficult undertaking."

"I shall find a way."

"All right.  Have it your way.  But I MUST give you the notes. May I come to your room tonight, after the fittings?"

"Look (What is your name?).  You appear to be a nice girl, and I appreciate your good intention..."

"Please. Just let me drop them off after I copy them so I get do not get into trouble.  Please?  My name is Gwyenth."  She manages a little smile.

"Hmm…Gwyenth.  What  pretty name.  Here, favor me by loosening this infernal backboard a bit."

"I'll be seen!"

"No you won't, just this buckle back here, very discreetly.  No one will see if you do it with dispatch - everyone is yammering and distracted.  Marchant has yet to arrive.  Quickly.  I suffer greatly."

Gwyenth pauses.  She emphasizes with the pain this girl feels, especially after her earlier bound bout in leaning room.

"Oh, all right.  Here, turn a bit."

"The buckle on my elbows.  Not too loose now, or Chloey (that bitch) will notice.  I only need a little relief."

Gwyenth unloosens the elbow buckle a bit.  "Is that good?"

"Excellent!  Oh!  That is so wonderful!"

The fact of the matter is that her elbows still touch, but they are not crushed together.  Gwyenth shutters, thinking how horrible that must be.

"All right.  You've been nice to me.  Thank you.  Can you come back to my room with me after?…(whisper) Quickly, get away!  They're here!"

Gwyenth glances furtively in the direction of the arriving ladies and whispers, "All right!  See you later!"

With that, she melds into the group with the other girls, as quickly as her skirts allow, taking her place amongst the other standing skirt-training girls.

STAYING THE EVENING

The girls quiet down as the entourage enters.  First comes Mrs. Marchant, followed by her assistant, Miss Gordon, Principal Marlow, the head House Mother (Miss Becket), and an assortment of ladies in waiting -- maids.

"May I have your attention, girls," says Principal Marlow.  Mrs. Marchant has very kindly acceded to coming here tonight, even though she is to be leaving on an extended excursion to the Orient tomorrow.  This merely shows how devoted she is to your well-being.  Please, girls, tender her some applause in thanks."

The students, with the exception, of course, of the single-gloved girls, clap in a lady-like, low tone, made even more so by their glove-sheathed hands, as Catherine slips back into the room.

"Perhaps our wonderful "stay-mistress" will return with some wonderful fabrics from her journey to the East.  Wouldn't THAT be
pleasant?"

The girls look at each other with excitement, and applaud once more.

"As you know, tonight we are going to be fitted for stays.  Some of you are ready for shoulder-straps, some for a nice pipe-stem waist, and some will merely be reducing their sizes to accommodate the positive results of their waist training.  Some, of course, will be doing more than one of the aforementioned things.  In any case, you will all be attended to, one at a time, so please be patient.  This is the reason you were given no homework today. This time we have no choice but to do you all in one evening."

"Now.  The tight-skirt trainees will go first, in order to reduce their time standing. The single glove girls will have their gloves removed by my assistants while they wait.  You girls can leave them off after this, for the rest of night.  Your assistant House Mothers will fetch them here so they will be available to you in the morning when you sweet girls awaken."

She smiles.  "I vouchsafe you would miss them!"

The single-gloved girls, who number ten, smile and giggle, looking at each other.  The others look at them, wishing to be in their shoes.

"Likewise, every girl will have her corset and outer clothing removed for her measuring so as not to require her to be re-laced and re-dressed, only to be undressed and re-dressed again in her sleeping attire.  Goodness knows your assistant House Mothers have enough to do!  You will leave your clothing and corset on the table, here, with a snippet of paper with your name on it.  Again, your assistant House Mother will fetch them at a later time.  Robes will be provided for the short journey to your rooms.  Please hurry, because it IS a bit chilly out there tonight.  Perhaps it may snow later in the night."

"Now." She pauses, as if looking for words.

"Now.  There is one other thing.  These past two days you have seen the young lady in the corner with the backboard here and there.  You may already know that her name is Helena.  It is obvious that she has been enduring some hardships here at Garrett."

As she speaks, Chloey and Harold walk in.

"There have been many a rumor circulating about her predicament, but permit me to assure you that her ordeal is all for her own good.  In any case, she is also here to be fitted…lastly.  But, although her bad behavior has alleviated a bit, she still owes from previous infractions.  So this evening, she will be placed in the Garrett Punishment Corset for the night."

A gasp goes through room, as the girls look at each other, and then at the hapless Helena .  The young ladies have all heard of this monstrous device, but never experienced it themselves.  It is a thing that has become a legend under Principal Marlow's enlightened rule, and tales abound of its punitive and chronic use in the past.  In the corner, a look of shock flashes onto the doomed girl's face. Then, quickly, dejection.  She apparently has been told of this device, and has good reason to be upset.  Dear readers, could this young lady finally be seeing the light?  Apparently, Helena had not been warned of this surprise.  Chloey smiles, in her wicked way, looking in Helena 's direction.

"She MUST learn to be lady!  No matter WHAT it takes.  You skirt-training girls can stay if you wish, after a trip to the leaning room if you like, but you may choose to be excused from witnessing her donning of the punishment corset."

So much for my meeting with her later, ruminates Gwyenth.

"With that said, let us allow our sapient Mrs. Marchant to begin her work for the evening."

Mrs. Marchant addresses the girls:  "Good evening.  It is good once again to be here with you girls.  I trust your year is going well."

"Tonight we shall be doing things a bit differently, due to the large number of you here.  You all know my assistant, Miss Gordon."

Miss Gordon nods her head.  Some of the girls giggle softly.

"I shall be relying on her more than usual, and it is possible that I myself may not even measure you.  Be assured, however, that your stays will be of as excellent a quality as ever.  In the case of those of you being measured for pipe-stem waists (I believe there are two of you -- Gwyenth and Catherine, I shall do that personally, as it is a very delicate procedure for, as you know, the corset is in two parts."

Our girls are radiant with pride.  Along with their precipitate advancement to tight skirt training, these girls are preeminent among the rest, notwithstanding Gwyneth's earlier escapade (Apparently her earlier estimable reputation 'trumped' the debacle).  They are SO happy!

"All of you shall have your stays in about two months - Miss Gordon will begin working on them and, when I return I shall pass by and help complete them.  And yes, I shall endeavor to procure some lovely fabric for your next fitting.  However, I must say I have today brought some fabrics that will delight you all.  So let us proceed."

The girls are getting excited once more, quietly chattering, as young girls are wont to do.  But, oh! my gentle readers, in the corner, our wretched Miss Helena is miserable throughout it all.  Little does she realize what awaits her this still night.  Little does she realize that this is to be a turning point in her life.

"You girls in skirt-training, please make a little queue here in front of Miss Gordon, that is all but Gwyenth and Catherine.  You girls come over here with me.  Harold, please help with putting these girls on the fitting stools."

Harold nods and comes over, as Mrs. Marchant retrieves her tape from a drawer and places it around her neck, covering the beautiful gem-encrusted amber necklace which covers the very high and stiff collar of the bodice of her elaborate gown.

"Thank you, Harold.  As we finish with one girl, perhaps you could lift the next girl on the stool.  You've done that before, I know."

It is an impossibility for the girls to get onto the stools themselves, for the reason of their tight petticoats.

"Please, put Miss Gwyenth up first.  Thank you."

With that, the gigantic man lifts the squealing lass as if she were no more than a toothpick. His hands are not necessarily in the most decorous place, though.

"Now THAT was a adventure!" exclaims the giddy girl.

"Now calm down, young lady, and stand straight, with you arms in the air above your head.  Urmph!  Something you will not be able to accomplish in the near future!"

"Whatever do you mean, Mrs. Marchant?"

"Well, a girl cannot lift her arms when she has shoulder straps on her corset. That is the idea.  Posture!"

Gwyenth is shocked.

"But I was not told I was to get shoulder straps along with the pipestem."

"Well, young miss, you were scheduled to get them at this time, and the pipestem will not change that. I understood that you were eager and HAPPY to get a pipestem."

"But that will be very strenuous, what with my tight petticoat and all."

"Stand firm, miss. Do not do yourself an injustice.  You and Catherine have stepped ahead of the others, and you should be proud of that, and continue to progress in that manner.  To be stalwart is to be a lady.  Besides, would you rather have your single glove now, instead?  Now THAT would be severe."

This certainlyputs a damper on the occasion for her, and certainly for Catherine, who looks back at her and shrugs.  She says no more, as the others are attentively listening, even the girl on Miss Gordon's stool, and she does not want to appear weak.

Gwyenth looks down.  "Yes, 'mam.  I understand.  We'll persevere."

"Good girls!" says the corsettiere, as she glances at Catherine as well.  Catherine will soon have shrugged her last shrug for a while.

In her corner still stands Helena, suffering her future.

Mrs. Marchant proceeds to remove Gwyneth's dress, and loosens the drawstring of her three petticoats after unlacing her ribbon corset, and then begins unlacing her tight corset, admiring her handiwork.

"This is a fine decorative corset, Gwyenth.  Where did you get it?"

"Mother, 'mam."

"She has good taste.  I see you have a similar one, Catherine."

"Yes, our mothers are good friends and often together visit the same mercantile establishments.  We have known each other since we were little girls."

"Hmm..." mutters Mrs. Marchant.  Are you down to eighteen inches so early?  You have only been here six months, if I am not mistaken."

 "Yes, mam.  And so is Catherine.  Principal Marlow sped up our constriction period -- Our mothers told her that we were extremely pliable, and we are!"

Principal Marlow is passing by on her way out, when she overhears them talking.  She seems a bit weak.

"That is correct, Mrs. Marchant.  These girls are exceptional -- in many ways.  And shall be in many more ways, assuming one of them can (she looks at Gwyenth) refrain from leaning outside the leaning room."

She smiles.  "She will be fine, though.  I believe she has learnt her lesson. Am I correct, my dear girl?"

Mrs. Marchant interjects, "Nevertheless, it certainly is highly irregular.  I should have been consulted.  'Fast lacing' can be trouble."

"Surely you are correct, and I apologize.  But you see how well things turned out.  Aren't they just lovely?  Our pride and joy."

Gwyenth blushes and looks down, while Catherine beams.

Mrs. Marchant smiles.  "Which is why they are being fitted for a pipestem so early, I presume. These girls seem early for EVERYTHING!  So, Miss Principal, when you are finished fawning, perhaps I can get back to work.  I am short on time this trip."

"Gracious!  My apologies. I forget myself. Indeed, continue.  I am going to my house for a spell.   I have the vapors and must lie down awhile.  I'll return before you are finished."

"By all means.  Are you all right?"

"I'll be fine.  I shall have Miss Minnie loosen my stays for a short period."

"Have a good rest!"

With that, Principal Marlow takes leave, leaving instructions for Helena 's fate with Miss Becket, who is assisting Miss Gordon with the other skirt-training girls.  Her pointing at the hapless damsel appears to make the poor girl uncomfortable, but she says nothing to exacerbate her agony, merely looking down with trepidation and fear.

As Gwyenth stands on the stool, clad in only her loosened petticoats and under-bodice, Mrs. Marchant begins her measuring, all the while muttering to herself and the girls, as is her manner.

"Let me see now, a one inch run for the pipestem should be adequate, customary for a novice...you will find that quite complimentary...Your dresses and gowns may have to be altered slightly…may want to have some new ones made that will fit the pipestem perfectly…very attractive look…may have it in time for The Dance... wouldn't that be exciting..."

The girls look at each other with broad smiles.

"Of course, not training in it for very long will make it a bit uncomfortable, but I am sure you will be able to tolerate it...hmm..?"

"Yes!", the girls cry in unison.

Mrs. Marchant continues her measuring.  "I think we shall make the bottom a bit lower, say to here," applying her measuring tape a full two inches below where her corset presently reached.

"Will we not have a difficult time sitting?"

The sage corsettiere looks up.  "Sitting?  How on earth will you sit, dear girl, with your tight skirts?  It is good for your overall shape for now, and you can get a shorter set of stays after your skirt training is completed."

"Oh."  Then slowly, coyly, she asks, "Well, if we must endure even more discomfort, then, perhaps, you could make two of silk, perhaps one in pink, the other for Catherine, pale blue?"  She clenches her pretty face, waiting for the onslaught.  She could be cheeky on occasion, but this was a gamble.  Girls were never made corsets of silk until their last six months at the school.  But Mrs. Marchant's answer surprised her.

"I see.  Well dear, that is not an unseemly request, considering your 'status' here as such advanced students.  But I have not the authority to make that decision, so I shall speak to Principal Marlow when she returns later.  Is that satisfactory?"

"Yes, mam," chorus the girls.

"All right, now for the straps.  Here, allow me to tighten your petticoats a bit. Harold…"

As Harold takes Gwyenth off the fitting stool and puts Catherine on, the two girls quickly whisper to each other. "Goopy, You are SO brash, asking for the silk that way!"

"It couldn't hurt to ask, no?" Gwyenth whispers, with a bright smile.  "I didn’t forget YOUR favorite color, did I?"

"Sweetheart," as she is lifted up.

It should be noted, dear readers, that Harold  is, after all, a man, and has a troublesome time keeping his eyes off the young, scantily clad girls, as is usual during these fittings.  Furthermore, despite the lamb's wool gloves he is required to wear, it is indeed apparent that he is very much distracted.  It is quite irregular for a man to see a female sans corset, and unseemly that he may be privy to their 'unmentionables'  (But a strong man is required for these tasks).

But fear not, ladies and gentlemen, Someone in the room is maintaining an attentive eye on our randy fellow.  Across the room, near the despondent Helena, of course, sits Chloey, her attention rapt, as Harold places each girl on and off the stools.  My!  SO observant.  It appears, that whilst our marshal-at-arms is distracted, he is clearly aware of the young female presence across the room.  VERY aware.  Could the rumors of their relationship be true?  The air is charged.

But to return to our measuring.

"All right, young lady, pull your shoulders back as far as you are able."

"More.  No. Here, come here Harold.  Assist me holding this young lady's shoulders back so I can measure her."

"Ouch!  That smarts!"

"Just…one…more…second…all right…There we are! Thank you, Harold."

"Heavens!  Is that what it will feel like when I wear the corset?"

She smiles, "No, my dear. Fret not.  I must take measurements at full force.  You will gradually be buckled to that degree, but it shall take some time, and you will become acclimated very quickly.  Had I placed you in an eighteen inch corset the day you arrived at Garrett, you’d wonder too.  But now you are fine, after months of gradual tightening, correct?  Your young body is very resilient!"  She pats the young lass on the shoulder.

"I see.  You know, I miss my stays already!"

"Well, after you have had shoulder straps for a while, you will feel the same way!  See?"

"Yes, 'mam.  Thank you."

"You sweet young girl."  She kisses her on the forehead.

"Attention, girls!"  It is Miss Gordon.

"Before Principal Marlow departed for the moment, she left me with some new instructions."  Her voice is crackly and high-pitched, and she speaks with an unusual staccato.  That, coupled with her looks, often provokes the girls to make fun of it amongst themselves, imitating it in their playful, youthful way during the parlor games on Saturday nights.  Many of them now quietly giggled under their breath.  The girls refer to her as "the old witch."

"The skirt-training girls who have the option of staying to see Miss Helena's lacing will no longer have to remain here, but, rather, may proceed up to their rooms first and come back in one hour.  They will be prepared for bed, including their night stays and attire, and will then come back in their robes.  They need not wear their training petticoats when they return. That is all."

The girls in their training skirts sigh in relief.  Now they did not have to relinquish the ability to see Helena laced.  Many are merely morbidly curious, but Gwyenth wants to be here for support.  She is beginning to feel sorry for the girl.  SOMETHING must have provoked her bad behavior in the past, and she is determined to find what that was, and perhaps, to help her.  Helena seems so vulnerable now, and it is her Christian duty to try and help.

"That's wonderful!  I'm dying to see the girl punished," says her room mate under her breath, while Mrs. Marchant's back is turned."

"Shush, you. I shall talk to you later about that," Gwyenth whispers.

Mrs. Marchant finishes Catherine's corset measurements and then has Harold place her on the floor for the strap measurements.

"That hurts!" exclaims the young girl.

"Wait..wait...wait...all right.  There."

"That wasn't so bad, silly" says Catherine after she finishes and Mrs. Marchant adjusts her petticoats.  "I guess I am more flexible than
you!"

"Perhaps so.  But not so brave! You surely appeared to be in pain!"

"All right now, girls, go over to the closet and get a robe, and then proceed to the fabric table and make your four selections.  Then tell me what they are before you leave.  Oh!  Also tell me which one you would want to replace with a silk if I can get that approved."

"Yes mam," they sing in unison.  They seem happier now.

Then they wander over to the robe closet, nodding greetings to several girls who are awaiting their name to be called to be measured.  Catherine whispers, "Thank heaven I may return to the room to change!  I require a new napkin quickly. Tell me, what did you want to say about Helena ?"

 Gwyenth glances over to the unfortunate girl in consternation.

 "Yes, Catherine.  In the room."

 "Why are you so curt?  Did I say something?"

 "No.  Let's just choose our fabrics and leave.  I'm tired."

 "All right."

After doing so, they pass Helena as they leave.  The poor girl gives Gwyenth a mournful look, a small tear peeking from the corner of her eye.  The night was turning out to be not so delightful, after all.

THE GARRETT FINISHING SCHOOL FOR GIRLS (2)


INTERLUDE

"Hello, girls!"  Miss Milford sat in a high-backed, upright chair, doing a bit of sewing as they both arrived.  She, too, exhibited a fairly small waist, of course.

"Hello, Aunty!"

"I assume you have decided not to stay for poor Miss Helena's tribulation?"

"No, 'mam,"  said Gwenyth.  "Things have changed.  We were told we return here and you would prepare us for bed -- and then we could go back to Madison Hall in our robes."

"So we would not be without our corsets too long,"  added Catherine

"Yes, I understand.  That is very important, indeed."

"Miss Milford, I am upset about what is to happen to her," said Gwenyth.

Catherine looked at her. "You would think she was a close friend," she said.  "Doesn't she deserve what she gets for being so uncooperative?"

"Not THAT way."

"Now, now, Gwenyth, she must be punished, and, if it will make you feel any better, after she wears The Punishment Corset for one night, and she behaves from that time on, she will be treated as you are.  She must learn how important it is it to act like a lady, and not be so rebellious.  How EVER will she attract a gentleman?"

"Yes, mam."

"Now, I must go to the laundry for a moment -- I'll return soon."

With that, the assistant House Mother leaves, closing the door behind her.

Catherine rushes to Gwenyth.  "Quickly!  What happened?"

"Well, Catherine, while you came back here, I talked to Helena."

"What!  You TALKED to her?  Did anyone see you?  How foolish!"

"I HAD to, to arrange to give her the notes."

"Why didn't you just go to her room sometime?"

"Well, she didn't have a gag in, and I wanted to get it done."

"How was she?"

"Well, a bit rude at first, but then…"

"What?  What happened?"

"Well…she asked me to loosen the strap on her elbows."

"Tell me you didn't…"

"I...a…"  She looked away.

"You did? You actually loosened it? Are you daft?"

"She seems so pitiful, despite her manner."

"Heavens.  Do you know what could happen to you?  Especially after the leaning incident? How could you take such a chance?  Do you want to lose everything you've worked so hard for? This is foolish!"

"I couldn't help myself!  I know the feeling of being trussed like that.  Besides, she was ever grateful that I showed her that small kindness.  She invited me to her room after the measuring."

"I presume she knew not  what was to become of her later in the evening."

Gwenyth seemed sad.  "No, I guess not.  Oh, Catherine, she needs a friend, and I intend to be it.  You should have seen her.  With that one act of kindness, she transformed completely!   It was as if no one ever had done anything nice for her.  It is so sad, really."

"Well, all I know is that you broke a cardinal rule, and that if you had been seen you would be suffering the same punishment as she - you know the regulations.  And I am concerned about the possibility that she is using you for no good."

"Catherine, am I not a Christian?  Do I not have to live as Christian? Is it not Christian to help the helpless?"

Just then, Miss Milford returned.

"All right, girls, I have your nightdresses.  Let us proceed."

"Yes, Miss Milford," they spoke in unison, Catherine shaking her head slowly at Gwenyth, and she shrugging her shoulders, as if to say. 'What else can I do?'

"Come, allow me to undress you."

Since their corsets had been removed, as well as their dresses, her job was simple, reduced to the removal of their hobble petticoats, shoes and stockings.

The girls both sighed with relief when the shoes were removed.  Part of the training here at Garrett was to induce the feet to be as small as possible: Tiny feet were considered the epitome of femininity.  So the shoes were pointed, and usually a bit small, in order to promote this.

Finished, she said, "To the bathroom with you.  Clean up well.  No bath tonight.  It will be too late to draw and heat water."

Clad only in  their drawers and under-bodices, the girls scampered off.

*  *  *  *

"All right, Gwenyth, I'll go along with this Helena thing.  I hope it is not going to bite you in the back."

"Thank you, my dear friend.  It is not enough for me to just SAY I am Christian."

"Of course, you are right.  But when will you see her?"

"After she is on a normal footing, after the punishment night, it will not be so difficult.  I'll ask Miss Milford tomorrow."

Finished washing, they returned to the bedroom, where Miss Milford stood, holding their night corsets.   Night corsets at Garrett were only a bit different than day corsets in that they were, first of all, a bit looser.  So Gwenyth's eighteen inch waist, for example would be expanded to twenty inches for the night.  Also, they were generally of a lighter material and enhancements, such as inner busks, closer boning and pipestem waists were done away with.  Girls at the school DID have the option of wearing one of their day-corsets, loosened, but few did.  They reserved that for situations that did not allow time in the morning for their usual toilette.  Of course, in no instance was the corset used during that day permitted to be used that night -- corsets require rest.

So the first item to be donned were their cotton night shifts, over which they wore their night corsets.

"Since you are not going directly to bed, I shall tighten your night-corsets to your regular day sizes, with one inch spring.  Mustn't be slack, am I not correct?"

"Yes, Miss Milford," as they steeled themselves for the tightening. "No slack."

The girls actually felt naked without their stays, dear readers, as any respectable lady (as they would soon be) would.  Still, they could not be expected not to suffer moments when they felt fatigued, and yearned for a bit of relaxation (after all, they were not ladies until they graduated, am I not correct?) This was one of those times.

But they were good girls, and they wanted to what was necessary to become good ladies, and so, resigned, they submitted, pulling their bodies in so as to help Miss Milford apply their ever-present stays, the constriction from which they would rarely, in their lives, be released.

Gentle readers, grieve not for them.  For if you observe closely the manner in which they look at each other as they are tightened, you may, you just MAY glimpse the edge of the large secret which imbues their bodies and souls, the secret which all gentle ladies share, the puzzle of femininity at its core, the all-enveloping mystery that men may never share, or comprehend, just as they may never fully understand the intricacies of childbirth.  Friendly souls, witness in their eyes the secrets which have the wings of angels enfolding the divine elements of giving and submitting, which endow the "lesser" sex with, what present itself to men as unfathomable strength.

For this, notice, carefully, the smiles on their faces. They know something.

Knotting off, our kindly assistant House Mother says, "There.  Now to put  on your night dresses and robes.  Then I shall help you with your stockings and shoes. Of course, no petticoats for now.  And the rest of your night-fittings will have wait until you come to bed."

The nightdresses were fairly elaborate, mostly of lace and heavy satin, as was the custom here at Garrett.  A taste of their privileged life to come.

As for shoes, there was no "intermediate " footwear at Garrett;  that is, all the footwear which the girls wore had relatively high heels, about four inches.  Unless one was in her room, a girl ALWAYS wore shoes, with cotton or woolen stockings.  Including bed.  More on bed-riggings later, when we describe their time of reposing.

Completing their interim dressing, she patted them on the back and said, "See you later, dears!"

"Good bye, Miss Milford," they chant. They are laughing again.  My dear readers, they are back to being their ebullient selves.  At least for now, for the day is not over.


ORDEAL AND DISCOVERY

And so the trial begins. Let us, for a small moment, dear reader, lend consideration to how our young penitent feels.

Helena , in a prone position, face positioned in the hole on one end of the leather bench, now confronts a discipline the likes of which heretofore she has never  experienced - she knows not what to expect, and her fears are certainly not alleviated by the mostly apocryphal stories she has heard.

She envisions herself being squeezed the death, or fainting, or being encased with pointy spikes inside the leather bag, or itch powder being enclosed with her in this prison.  So the tears begin to fall.  But fear not, kind readers, she will merely experience extreme discomfort, and very little actual pain.  One must discount the rumors and the prevarications of fatuous silly young girls.

Her arms above her head, she is being strapped down by her limbs, hands,  and feet, but the largest and most substantial strap is the one being tightened around her waist, for it is the one which will prevent her from being lifted off the bench by the machine hoist - quite an innovation!  It allows no give, and thus allows the pull to be directed towards the hapless girl's much-diminished waist.  The goal here is not to reduce her waist any further, but rather to assure that The Punishment Corset conforms to her recent newly-acquired waist, a difficult undertaking for mere mortals, even with the strength of Harold, for instance.  This additional pressure will cause inordinate discomfort, and even anguish, for, after the lacings are pulled in on the waist, they will be applied equally to the thighs and legs.

"Begin," comes the word from The Principal.  Baited breath is the condition of the moment, as the girls see her body being strained from the bench, while the Harold works the winch, it pulling the thick leather to conform with her shape.  Even Emily risks censure by momentarily discontinuing her reading.

It is a tense scene, the squeaking of the winch overshadowing everything, the groans, grunts and sobbing from our little prisoner of leather sending tremors of empathy through the pupils.  Of course, this what is desired by the school - to intimidate them into behaving so as NEVER to have to experience this horrible treatment.

Finally, the leather conforms to her contours, and Harold ties off the lacings. Then the whole procedure is repeated on the legs and thighs, the moans less, but the discomfort certainly more.  The tears are running quickly, and begin to overwhelm the groans.

"Finished," says Her Excellency. "Proceed."

A tangible feeling of relief is exuded from the gathering.  But no talking, of course, except for, "…the presence of so many of the gentler sex, and the solicitude and anxiety they evinced in his behalf, were all favourable to the growth and development of those softer feelings which nature had implanted deep in the bosom…"

The girl is now released from her bonds, to be stood upright, with the help of staff, and now they tighten the buckles which overlap the lacings, and securing and settling the attached neck collar, which will require our young miss to hold her head ever so upright.  She is to be afforded no small comfort this long night.  Then, her arms are put into the small of her back, and a long leather cuff binds them together with lacing, the ends sheathing each hand in a rigid mitten, the fingers ever outwardly pointing.

The girl is distressed.  She has taken to closing her eyes against the misery to which she is being subjected.  But soon, she need not even close those pretty eyes.  For, as she is propped there by the staff, Principal Marlow confronts with her last torment.

"Pay attention girls," says The Principal.  "Momentarily, your friend will be in placed darkness for the night, seeing nothing, hearing nothing, saying nothing, and, I vouchsafe, feeling very little save discomfort."

"This will be her last chance to be with the world until after she emerges from her cocoon late tomorrow morning, refreshed and invigorated in the knowledge that, from that point on, she will be on her stalwart path to womanhood."

"Wish her well, my dear girls.  Without this punishment, she would never be able to regain her way.   She would be lost!  Say farewell to fair Helena for now, and thank The Punishment Corset for her redemption!"

The girls speak for the first time: "Good bye, Helena!  Thank you Punishment Corset!.  Thank you Principal Marlow!"

The principal intones, "A Neat Waist Makes for a Neat Mind!"

And the girls chant, "A Neat Waist Makes for a Neat Mind!"

The invocation  of this motto is usually the only time these girls are permitted to raise their voices above lady-like tones  It is the mantel upon which this school is built, and the pride of its habitants.  Vigor is duly called for.  Allegiance is thus tendered.

A full-head leather helmet is brought forth by the Mistress, and she begins, with the help of Miss Becket, to install it on the young girl, whose eyes are full of fear, and whose tears flow abundantly.

"You will be grateful for this, my missy.  Embrace it with love,"  says The Principal , softly.

Emily, finally, concludes with Chapter Eight, and stands silent.

A large leather pear gag attached to the helmet is inserted in Helena's mouth with difficulty, for it must be forced behind her teeth, while cotton is placed in her ears and over her eyes.  The helmet is next fastened into place with a myriad of lacings that contour the head perfectly, and attach to the neck collar.  The girl is now stiff, for her hair has been pulled through an opening in the of the helmet and laced tight.  It is impossible for her to move. The hair has been formed in a tail, and attached to the back of her collar in such a way as to put a small strain on her head.

She has been symbolically "put to death" and, in the morning, she will be resurrected, a new person.

As Harold picks her up to take her to her room, the girls, including Emily and our girls, are bidden to leave, and do so, gawking at the spectacle of a girl turned board.  It was been a long day, but the night dressing must take place before they may rest.


*  *  *  *

Chloey, of course, has been selected to "stand watch" for the night over the unfortunate girl.  Garrett takes every precaution in these instances to assure the penitent suffers no circumstances that could cause her harm.  Dear readers, I am sure a person more qualified and interested might have made a better observer.  Between her fanciful play with Harold and the possibility that she would very easily allow herself to fall asleep, Miss Helena had better suffer no unexpected problems.

Miss Chloey is not any upset, for she is always looking for an opportunity to tryst with Harold.  This is perfect.

Following Harold up the stairs to the Clock Room in the Cynthia Bekins Garrett Dormitory (named after the founder), Chloey is contemplating mischief.  A big, strong man is Harold, bearing Helena is if she were no more than a stick of wood.  Opportunities like this came none too often - she was determined to pursue it.

A fairly arrogant and nasty girl, Chloey Garrett takes her chances in life; most times she is successful, getting what she wants, due to the fact that her father is the absentee owner of the school, and attempts by The Principal to discipline her are generally rebuffed, and even discouraged.  She has thus run amuck, spending the last three years of her eighteen here at Garrett, never progressing (beyond tightlacing, to which she appears to have an affinity).  She is afforded a room in Principal Marlow's residence for herself, and thus can avoid contact with the others at will.  Most of the staff have given up trying to censure her at this point.  It is a strange situation.

Stranger still is Chloey's father's strict attitude toward promiscuous behavior, considering his tolerance to everything else.  Everett Garrett, nephew of the founder, is known to be chronic gambler; at one point, he came very close to losing the school on the card table.

Reaching the top of the stairs, the two enter the Tower Room with Helena en package.  She moves not, apparently she is resigned to the long midnight ahead her, trying sot make the best of her tight predicament and isolation, realizes any struggle is for naught.   There is however, an occasional moan from deep inside her confines.

Chloey slaps the girl on the rump, "Put her on the floor for now, Harold.  I believe we can find better use for the bed for now, eh?"  She smiles and looks at him.

"Yes, Chloey, I could use some rest."

"Not for sleeping, silly!"

"Oh!"  Harold is of two minds when it comes to the petulant Chloey.  On the one hand, she represents a means to release his sexual energy; but on the hand, she can be VERY dominant and rough, and has, in the past, even hurt him. One can never predict what was next with this strong girl, and it could be said that he really fears her.  Her tightlacing is an outward sign of her inner self:  girded, defensive, aggressive, and hard to the touch.

Chloey isn't an unattractive girl, but Harold is the only "available" male  to whom she has access, and she is not the type of female who would do without.  So she tolerates him, but always on her own terms.

Tonight is no different.  As soon as Harold deposits the unfortunate girl on the floor, she grabs him and throws him on the bed and lasciviously attacks him, tearing at his shirt and gnawing at his chest once it is bear. She is as a passionate lynx, hissing and making animal noises.  Harold is, as always, immediately overwhelmed, obviously aroused.  He is biting hard at his nipples, and he is struggling, but her tenacity knows no bounds, and he succumbs, spilling his seed on the bed.

But other eyes are watching, as the angry Chloey proceeds to chastise him and begins process of punishment all too familiar to the secret lovers.

"Oh!  Oh my! Excuse me!"

There in the doorway, it is, of all people, Gwyenth, unfortuitously having come to give Chloey a note from The Principal regarding tomorrow's activities.

She turns to leave, harrowed at the scene she has just witnessed.

Chloey quickly composes herself.  "Stop! Stop. Right. There."

Gwyenth knows she has stepped into trouble. She halts and slowly turns.

"What are you doing here?"

"I…a…Principal Marlow asked me to give you this." Gwenyth notices Helena's cocoon on the floor.  "What...what are you doing with her?"

"What's it to you, dumpling?  Here. Give me that," snatching the note from her, and putting it in her bosom, as Gwyenth trembles.  Harold sits on the bed, fastening his shirt.

"You saw nothing here, girl, right?"

"Y-yes, Chloey, if you say so."

"Pretty little girl like yourself doesn't need any trouble, if you know what I mean."

"Yes."  Gwyenth  knows what she means, and she is frightened.

Chloey puts her face near Gwenyth's. "We do understand each other, correct?"  With that, she rubs Gwenyth's bosom, which startles her - she quickly pulls away.

"What…what are you doing!?"  She had never had anyone, least of all a female, touch her like that.

Chloey turns away.  "That's all right, sweetie.  I'll leave you alone if you leave me alone.  Now go away."  She turns her attention back to Harold, with a gleam in her eye, the motionless leather bag on the floor remaining silent.

Gwyenth has no choice but to leave - she is very upset as she glances at Helena and proceeds to hurry down the stairwell.  She hopes Helena will be all right…

VESPERS

Back at The Portland Pine Building, Gwyenth is beside herself as she scampers though the door of her room.

"Why, hello, Goopie!"

"Hello, Catherine," Gwyenth replies, clearly upset and distracted.  Miss Milford is nowhere to be seen.

"What EVER is the matter?"

"An incident.  A terrible incident. Is Aunty here?"

"No, she will, return presently.  Was Chloey mean to you again?"

"No, no, it was worse than that!"

"My!  What? Are you all right?"

"She…she…touched me."  She begins to sob.

"Calm down.  Whatever do you mean, baby?"

"On my …bosom."

"Touched you?  Do you mean she brushed against you?"

"No, no she…Chloey…er… rubbed me intentionally!"  trying to hold back her tears.

"She didn’t!  Aw…poor girl.  She is disgusting!  Does she stop at nothing?  We should tell…"

"No.  No, we cannot tell.  I will come to harm.  And perhaps Helena .  Poor Helena , all trussed up, and Chloey had her on the FLOOR, whilst she was frolicking on Helena 's bed with Harold!"

"No!"

"I saw them!  Caught them in the act when I tried to deliver the note from The Principal.  THAT'S why she intimidated me!  And you KNOW she has done harm to others.  Remember that Gibson girl?"

"Yes, Gwyenth, she never talked about what transpired, but the girl was so upset that she left school before she graduated."

"Didn't she inform Principal Marlow of Chloey's sneaking off campus one night without permission?"

"Yes, and all for naught, as if anyone would punish her.  So Ellie Gibson ends up at some little school in Connecticut .  Rumor has it that Chloey tied her up and whipped her, the sadistic villain."

"After what she did to me, I wonder what else she did.  I am so humiliated!"

"What can we do, Goopie?"

"I have to collect myself." 

Miss Milford comes back. 

"Later..."

"Hello, girls, let us prepare for bed!" flashing a big smile.

"Hello Aunty," the girls chanted, a bit subdued.

"A bit tired, are you?  You sound so."

"Yes, Aunty."

"You beautiful girls can remove your robes and then kneel for vespers."

The girls do so, and then kneel before their beds.

 Together: "Jesus in heaven, look down on your wretched girls and provide the sustenance and strength to endure the many trials and tribulations we must suffer in your Name for our womanhood.  Teach us to be good Christians, and help us to forgive those who trespass against us and, should temptation come our way, remind us to gird ourselves, seeking solace in our stays, our badges of womanhood.  Amen.  Neat Waists Make for neat Minds."

"Very good, ladies.  Pull up your night dresses so I can loosen your stays for the night."

Gwyenth says, "May I leave mine tightened tonight?"

"Surely, but why?  It is good to relax now and then."

"I just feel like being tighter tonight...I...a...want to practice for the Costume Party."  She glances at Catherine, who immediately understands.

Gwyenth feels quite violated as a result of her incident with Chloey.  It is something that has never happened to her before.  Dear readers, consider that she feels, perhaps unclean, as a result.  And now she is seeking a pathway to "cleanse" and "forgive" herself by suffering a bit.  Such are the complicated thoughts in her mind.  As a Christian, she believes she must redeem herself, despite the fact that none of the scenario was her fault.  Surely, this would have been the case if a man had touched her, but a woman touching her makes things all the more pivotal to her way of thinking.

Miss Milford senses conflict, but refrains from saying anything, preferring to think Gwyenth is merely being diligent and practicing for the upcoming costume ball, as she is wont to do.  "All right, Gwyenth."

"Here, Catherine, I'll do you."

Catherine hesitates.  "No, mam, I will join Gwyenth."

"Have it you own way,"  as she sighs, removing the girls' day shoes.  "Hop into bed, dearies!"

The girls quickly obey - they are, indeed fatigued.  It has been a long day.

There are no covers on the bed now -merely sheets and flat pillows.  "Now your night booties."

These tight booties are made of white kid leather and are without heels, but fashioned in such way as to position the feet in a high-heeled position.  Since the girls wear high heels at all times during the day, it is only kind that they are permitted to retain that position, so as to prevent cramps at night.

"Now your gloves and masks."

The masks, also made of white kid leather, completely cover the girls' heads up to their brow, the only openings being for the nose, and are strapped under the chin.  The gloves, again made of the same material, are rolled up over the girls arms to just below their shoulders.  Both the gloves and mask are first filled with night cream, so that the girls' skins will remain soft, fair and pretty.

The girls groan a bit as these appliances are installed, but they are acclimated to them, and endure them easily.  In any case, they know they are for their own good.  They are going to be LADIES, dear readers!  Discomfort for that goal is welcomed!

Next, Miss Milford places the night bonnets over their coifs, to protect them, and to keep their heads warm in the chilly winter night.

Finally, Aunty ties their wrists, rather loosely, to the frame of the bed on either side. The girls must be protected from their own animal inclinations and remain chaste, even unto themselves.  It is God's will.  Garrett very graciously allows its students the option of having their arms bound into the back of their waists for the night, the advantage being that a girl might possibly maneuver a roll onto her side at night.   But, never are their arms permitted to remain free.  Indeed, why tempt the devil?

"Pleasant dreams, my sweethearts!"  she says as she places the covers over them. The girls emit low-keyed grunting in response.

Miss Milford sleeps in a third bed in the same room, always a protective sentinel should the girls need her.  In that case, the girls know to wake her by moving the little finger in their left glove-encased hand, into which a small bell has been attached.

As the ever-loving Miss Milford turns off the gas lamps, Gwyenth quickly falls asleep, thinking about her horrid experience with Chloey, while her good friend thinks of schemes for retribution.

Miss Milford, as are all staff at Garrett required, remains tightly corsetted for the night. She would get no respite from her strict life if such she wanted.  But to silently suffer for the privilege of bringing a new generation of women into the genteel life is worth all the considerations she must endure in order to set a high example.

She sleeps, secure in the knowledge that her girls are safe, sound, and happy, and will soon be ready for a  new day.

THE COSTUME FITTING

The students had been planning for this event for weeks, and one month ago, they had put in their requests for costumes; after their requests were approved by The Principal, they spent an afternoon in fittings.  Final fittings would be tomorrow, a few days before the actual event.  Most of these costumes required special period corsets, so Miss Gordon, Mrs. Marchant's assistant, made a call for the purpose of concocting these garments.  Her superior could never be bothered with these "imitations," as she called them.  If she deigned to do a reproduction, she was wont to spend meticulous months on it, such as when she produced the Catherine de' Medici facsimile; Garrett costume balls were beneath her.

No one was more excited than Gwyenth, for she had been chosen for the honor of wearing the school's Catherine de' Medici gown, with its small waist.  Thirteen inches was challenge (Oh! It was a challenge, indeed), but she had been practicing occasionally at night, sleeping in incrementally smaller corsets and, in any case, she was to be ensconced in it for only a short evening.

Catherine, on the other hand was to be the Madame de Pompadour, mistress of Louis XV;  a similar challenge, but with a waist of only sixteen inches, which she could easily accommodate for an evening from her normal eighteen inches.  The girls were quite excited, to say the least,  particularly Gwyenth, since she would be wearing the "Costume of Honor," De' Medici being the official school heroine.  This honor brought with it no little envy from most of the students.

For her second year, as she had done her first, Chloey chose (and was not rebuffed) to dress as Czar Nicholas II, male corset and all.

Principal Marlow was to attend as Alexandra, Tsarina of Russia, as an imposing figure as The Mistress herself'; an apt choice, and certainly an suitable choice to echo Chloey and keep her in line.

The reconstructed Helena was chosen to attend as Madame Catule Mendes, a talented Parisian actress, and the daughter of Théophile Gautier, an influential poet, novelist, and dramatic French writer and critic. Dear readers, since her horrible experience last week, she was a changed girl, and a wonderful example of what The Punishment Corset could do.  Totally compliant now, she attempted to befriend everyone, and, most were sympathetic enough to respond in a  positive manner, especially our two girls, Gwyenth and Catherine.  It could even be said that they were fast becoming a trio.

She spent many hours depicting her experience, apparently none the worse for it, and obviously the better.   Her major complaints were the foot straightener, which caused her no end of pain, and the gag, which made her thirsty. The fourteen inch corset she had been wearing really was tighter than the rest of the constriction, so the sensory isolation was mostly the only bother in that respect.  Further, she continued to wear the tight stays afterwards of her own volition, as a sign that she was now one of them.

She had slept for a few hours, fitfully, but for some of that time, she experienced a strange dream, describing it thusly:  "My mask and gag were loosened a bit, and I was given a bitter libation (which certainly didn’t help my thirst!).  Shortly thereafter, The Punishment Corset was partially loosened, and a hand came into my… intimate area, and began to…manipulate me."  She did not become more graphic for fear of upsetting our girls, who began blushing like turnips when she depicted the dream.  "But it all seemed so real!" she told them.  The thought, though, seemed to sadden her.

COULD it have been real?

This writer wonders, given Chloey's predilections.  After all, could not our strong Harold been "convinced" to be of help?  Stranger things, indeed, have happened!

In any case, the misadventure was over, and Helena seemed the better for it, in all respects, including her spirits.

*  * * *

The next day, the girls assemble again at Madison Lodge for their final fittings.  The girls are all a-chatter, occasionally trying to get Miss Gordon's attention as she attempts to adjust many of the girls at once, as they and their assistant House Mothers attempt to final-fit the gowns to perfection.  It is as close to chaos as ever there is at Garrett, but also one of the most "fun" times for the girls.

Of course, Chloey is there, spending most of her time eyeing Helena with an odd look on her face.  She also seems to be spending an inordinate amount of time near the girl, much to Gwyenth and Catherine's consternation.  What is on her mind?  Whatever it is, Helena's new friends intend to protect here, fearful as they are of the wicked girl.

Two days earlier, Gwyenth had asked Miss Milford if she would request of Miss Becket (the head House Mother) to be allowed to include Helena in her charge.  Aunty acceded, but there was consideration:  Helena's room (the Tower Room) was located in the other building from the girls' room, a bit of a trek and inconvenience for Miss Milford.

But Miss Becket appealed to Principal Marlow, pointing out that, since her transformation, Helena should be transferred to a room with another girl.  However, in that there were presently no other single girls, might she not move in with Gwyenth and Catherine, since they were becoming such good friends?  They and Miss Milford would not mind the crowding.

The Principal is very happy with the way Helena is progressing, and generally seeks to make Gwyenth and Catherine happy, since the girls are such good students.  So she has arranged for Harold to move a bed and the such into the girls' room soon.  Happy day!

Of course, Gwyenth is experiencing some difficulty with her dress, since she just cannot get those stays closed (too much breakfast methinks, sweet Gwyenth.  Every little bit counts at this tiny a waist size!).  To exacerbate the matter, Harold is busy running errands in town, and therefore is not available to help with the lacing.  Much strength and purchase is required at this level of tightlacing.  Is this gong to be the end of Gwenyth's aspirations of wearing the revered dress?

Wait!  Principal Marlow is whispering in Miss Gordon's ear!  The assistant corsettiere is nodding, in knowing way, as if to say that she was thinking the same thing.

Principal Marlow speaks: "Gwyenth dear, I know you do not want to miss this great opportunity, so we will use the electric lacing machine."

Everyone exhibits a look of dubiousness her face, and a murmur spreads across the room, for this is an experimental machine, one commissioned to be built by Mr. Garret himself.  The fabricator is none other than the famed Thomas Edison, and this is one of his lesser-known inventions.  Mr. Edison is an erstwhile friend of Mr. Garrett, and the owner of the school imposed this favor on him in exchange for funding he had tendered the inventor a year ago.  When Mr. Garrett failed to remunerate the inventor, Mr. Edison never returned to test it, and, hence, it had never been used.

Gwyenth is apprehensive, but knows that this might be her only chance.

"Come dear. Let Miss Gordon attach you.  Chloey, help her out.  Miss Gordon..."

"Yes, mam.  Chloey, do you know anything about this machine, considering that your father was involved with it?"

"Only a little.  I know that it is fairly straightforward to operate.  Here, let me show you.

Gwyenth flashes a look of anxiety at Catherine, as Chloey, with a serious demeanor, approaches the impressive machine, saying, "Is she firmly attached, Miss Gordon?"

"One moment…there!"  Now, with her body acquiescing to about sixteen hard-won inches, Gwenyth's lacings are attached to the machine, with her standing between the "arms" of the device.  Miss Gordon holds her in place, as Chloey, with an almost indiscernible grin, activates the machine.

Everybody is transfixed, as the humming begins, and the lacings are  slowly drawn in, one side of the device counter-pulling the girl with other side.  Principal Marlow attends with a tape measure around  the girl's ever-diminishing waist.

The device slowly draws in, as Gwenyth's face grows red.

"Are you all right, dear?" says the Principal.

"Yes," she said in a strangled voice.  "I'll…be…fine.."

The machine continues to do its job well, as Chloey stands by, with a strange display to her face.

As Gwenyth's waist slowly closes in on thirteen inches, The Principal puts up her hand, saying, "All right, Chloey, only a bit  more…more...more... VERY WELL! STOP!"

But the machine DOESN'T stop, dear readers!

"I cannot turn it off!" yells Chloey, as the contraption keeps pulling Gwyenth toward oblivion.  It appears that at about twelve inches, our young girl has fainted, and The Principal has the presence of mind to run to the cabinet and get a pair shears to cut the lacings.

As she does so, the corset explodes in a frightening display, depositing Gwyenth on the floor on top of Miss Gordon.  Principal Marlow just barely saves herself from a similar fate by quickly grabbing onto one arm of the machine.

Dear reader!  Gwyenth remains unconscious, and Miss Gordon is trapped beneath her.  The Principal take out her smelling salts, which she always carries, and quickly revives the poor girl, as Miss Gordon struggles from beneath her.

Gwyenth is a spectacle, sprawled on the floor, with her stays laid out on either side, her face one of shock.  Catherine and some girls rush over to help her onto her feet and one scuttles over with a robe to cover her uncorsetted body (being seen sans stays is very embarrassing!)

Chloey continues to stand next to the machine, staring at the hectic scene, with that odd look of satisfaction and surprise on her face.

"Quickly girls, guide them both to the infirmary!" yells The Principal.  "The rest of you, return to your rooms."

As the girls leave, amidst generally excited chattering, Principal Marlow says, "Not YOU, Chloey!  You stay."

"Yes, mam?" A small smile crosses her face.

"I suppose you would have us believe that that machine malfunctioned?"

"Whatever else, mam?"

"Why are you so nasty, Chloey?  What have you suffered that you must make everyone else suffer?  The girl could have been seriously injured.  For all I know, she may be so.  And what of Miss Gordon?  What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Whatever do you, mean, Your Excellency?"

"STOP! DON'T MOUTH OFF TO ME, YOUNG LADY!  I AM EXHAUSTED WITH THIS BEHAVIOR OF YOURS!" she yelled.

"It was accident, mam," Chloey said, quietly.

"I wonder how you father would get along without me here.  Perhaps I shall ask."

"With due respect, mam, I believe you are smitten with the prestige you have here."

"You insolent little wench!  One day you will reap what you sow.  This effrontery will not stand!"

"Is that a threat, madam?"

"Scriptures.  But you would not know about those.  Go to your room."

Her eyes twinkling, the girl snappily turns and leaves.

*  *  *  *

Kind  readers, thus were the costume fittings postponed until the next day, whereupon the girls started afresh, attempting not to think about the events of this horrible day.

Gwyenth and Miss Gordon were shaken, but none worse for their ordeal.  For that matter, Gwyenth managed to get into her de' Medici stays with the help of Harold later that evening, and slept, although fretfully dreaming, in a neat, thirteen inch waist.

The electric lacing machine was covered and not used again for a long, long time, and the events of that day became a school legend.

THE DEVICE

 "Yes, it is quite a unique device, Principal Marlow."  Jenkins, Mr. Callow's trusted manservant, stands in The Principal's parlor.  "It has subdued him quite substantially."

"'Her', Jenkins, 'her'.  Let us start on the proper note."

"Yes, of course madam.  Forgive me."

"Continue."

"Nevertheless, I have had to resort to a gag in order to stifle him, for he...that is, she…is quite upset concerning this turn of events.  Understandably.  But one must sow what one reaps, so to speak, am I correct…a…Melody?"

The young boy, dressed in typical male garb, his hands tied behind him, scowls and looks away.

"And then, of course, The Master and myself had all we could do to shackle him as well."

"Did you have to chain his legs?  He looks like a prisoner."

"Ah...yes, madam, if you will pardon me, that is correct.  He...she IS a prisoner. "

"Of course.  However, we shall, find more a less crude, more appropriate means of keeping her calm. Tell me about the device.  I insist it be totally effective, Jenkins.  I shall accept nothing more."

"Certainly madam -- most important.  I have concocted and fabricated this device myself.  Would you care (looking down) to…a…view it?"

The Principal turns away, toward the wall.  "Well, normally I would entertain no such thing, Jenkins but it is MOST important this be right, so I shall suffer a quick glance.  Take down her trousers."

"With pleasure, Miss Marlow."

"That is PRINCIPAL Marlow to you, Jenkins."

"Yes, right.  My apologies."  He turns to the boy.

"Ah, Madame, this may be difficult without someone to hold him."

"I understand. I anticipated such…which is why I summoned our Marshall-at-arms."

"Miss Minnie, kindly fetch him."

"Immediately, mam," as she curtsies.

As Harold enters, The Principal says, "Harold, here, will be your assistant in your, shall I say, our efforts to civilize her."

"Harold, this is Jenkins."

The two men nod at each other.

"Ah…would you mind coming over here, and hold the b…girl, Harold?  Must take his trousers down, but I may meet with struggling."

Terse, as usual, Harold grunts and takes the boy by his bound arms.

"Thank you."

As Harold keeps the boy in vise-grip, his struggles and groaning for naught, Jenkins pulls down his pants.

The boy wears no undergarments.  The Principal is still turned to the wall.  "Tell me when you are ready, Jenkins."

"Yes, mam.  I shall take the liberty of describing the device first, and then  you may glance at it in what you may deem an appropriate and modest manner.  I would to protect your sensibilities, mam"

"Yes, Jenkins, I know what to do. Proceed."

Jenkins begins to describe the device.  "Well, mam, I began by fashioning the device a form similar to certain "chastity" devices employed in specific quarters for females, if you will permit me to be so bold as to mention them in front of a fine lady as yourself."

"I am not naïve, Jenkins.  I know what they are.  Continue."

"Right, mam.  The device is made of a hardened steel section which girdles his...her waist, and of course, can be adjusted to fit over a corset.  Descending from  the waist, another section covers the, pardon me, mam, intimate area and ascends back to the belt in the rear.  While it must be removed for defecation, the genius of the device is that the b…girl's…a… member, as it were, is positioned in such a manner as to allow her to urinate, but only in a sitting position, as would be the case with a female.  (You will please, madam, I beg of you, be kind enough to pardon my crude nomenclature.)  As  result of this arrangement, his member cannot  become, ah…excited?"

Our "Melody" stands there, shame-faced and fuming, but, my dear reader, this humble writer detects a slow dawning of fear.  Principal Marlow is, after all, an awesome women by any standard, and must be extremely intimidating to a young person in such circumstances. I vouchsafe this new student is beginning to have regrets already.

The Mistress of the School turns briefly toward the boy, and takes in much in that short period.  But most memorable in Melody's mind will be the manner in which she looks up from his groin and deep into his eyes, as would a fire-emoting dragon.  Levelly, she says, "Melody, you are undone.  As of now, you are a girl.  Period.  Do NOT think of troubling me even once.  I warn you, it will be miserable for you.  Accept your fate.  Do not consider it.  Just DO it!  I hope  you understand, because what I have just said will not be repeated.  Harold, escort Melody and her manservant to the Clock Room  - no, let us put her in the Tower Room for now.  More isolated."

Poor boy!  The look in his eyes, dear reader!"

"Miss Minnie, advise Miss Becket to meet them in the Tower Room immediately, and to prepare everything pertaining to Melody as we discussed."

"Right away, mam."

"Jenkins, wait.  Allow Harold to tend to Melody for a moment.  I wish to speak to you, privately.

Jenkins returns, with a look of anxiety on his face.  "Yes, mam?"

"Jenkins, in order to expedite our new young lady's transition into girlhood, and to assure that she never falls back into her old ways, I have made arrangements with a Doctor Beckley, a friend of mine, who has been experimenting with hormones, female hormones, to be exact.  This substance , which is the essence of our female persona, is known as "estrogen."

A look of astonishment crosses his face.  "But, madam…"

She cuts him off.  "THE DOSES will be administered by myself, who will make certain they are added to her meals, and she will be none the wiser.  Until, of course, she begins to acquire female features, especially a…a bosom, and a certain softness and shapeliness.  Also, there may be attendant a certain raising of the pitch of the voice."

"Principal Marlow, I think…"

"THIS HAS been approved by your Master, so it is fête accompli!  All you need do is be quiet about it, and report any possible problem or concerns  ONLY to me.  Understood?"

The pathetic man is about to voice further objection, but falters, and then, "Yes, mam.  I understand."

The Principal stares at Jenkins levelly.  "Good Night, Jenkins.  You are dismissed."

"Good night, madam,"  the man servant responds, shaking a bit.

*  *  *  *

As everyone leaves, there is gleam in Principal Marlow's eyes, a gleam of anticipation.  And something else permeates her aura.  Something forbidding.

But, dear readers, nevertheless, a tiny tear drops from her eye, and drips onto her rigid, tight bodice.


SETTLING IN


The Tower Room, recently vacated by Helena, is fairly isolated from the rest of the rooms in The Cynthia Bekins Garrett Dormitory.  However, due to that fact, it enjoys amenities unknown to the others in the building.

To begin with, it is twice the size of any other room, and allows a magnificent 360 degree view of the Garrett campus.  The privacy is wonderful, something that is in short supply here at Garrett.  That is, unless you have a 24-hour attendant, as is the case with Melody, our new student.

In addition, instead of water being tediously carried up the stairs from the pump or fire in the kitchen, once a day, cold water is pumped up to a holding tank on the roof by Harold.  At bath time, hot water is directly released into to the bathtub by that one and same person.  Such luxuries are unheard of, as you know!  To have even cold water at one's disposal at any time is a treat.

And finally, of course, is the marvelous sea breeze that comes across the Portland campus from the east, the Atlantic, and bathes the room in coolness all summer long, even on the hottest days.  For a girl suffering in hot, sweltering stays, this is a great blessing.

The winter is also a treat, for firewood is hoisted up in a small, hand-drawn elevator and, of course, the fireplace is that much larger as well, and therefore the room warmer on those cold New England nights.

The largest disadvantage to residing in the Tower Room is the fact that one must traipse up a long set of winding steps, which, when one is tightly laced and high heeled, can be exasperating and fatiguing.  So attired, the gentle reader might surmise it easier to descend than climb; but if one has experienced elevated heels, one realizes that it takes much longer to descend than to climb, that is if one values her safety!

*  *  *  *

It is into this lavishly and femininely decorated room that our new lucky new student is "escorted", having been carried by Harold up the steep steps.

As he puts her down, Jenkins remarks, "My!  How pleasant," to which Harold, always compliant to his nature, merely grunts.

Melody surveys the room contemptuously, but, my dear readers, that glint of fear still betrays her real feelings.  She begins urgently grunting, stamping her feet as best as her hobbles will allow.

"What is it, my boy?…hmmm, had better get used saying "girl.  What do you want?  I should take your gag off anyhow for a moment - it's been on for some time."

As Jenkins begins removing the tight, leather, mouth-filling gag, Miss Becket is seen standing in the doorway.

As the large gag is pulled out, our newly "born" girl puckers her mouth, continuing to stamp her feet, and begins to speak without delay, "Hurray, Jenkins, I need to relief myself.  Damn that gag!"

"Certainly, a…Melody," noticing Miss Becket in the doorway.  "Ah…good day, mam, I am Jenkins."

With a no nonsense tone, "Yes. I know.  I am Miss Becket, the Head House Mother. Good day."

"I was just about to…"

"Yes. I heard.  What language for a proper young lady. You should help her curb it. The water closet is over there."

"Yes mam, thank you, mam,"  as he proceeds to escort the girl.

"Don't you think, Jenkins, that I should familiarize myself with our girl, since you shall be assisting me in my commission?  Allow me."

"What?" says Melody.  "I must relief myself.  I'll not have a woman invading my privacy."

"Yes, you shall, sweetness.  And learn to enjoy every minute of it.  And, indeed, since you'll be changing after that, we shall take off those NASTY trousers first - what a thing for a nice little girl like you to be wearing!  Mercy!''

Grabbing Melody roughly by the ear, the girl grimacing and shouting out, "Harold, remove the leg chains and her trousers, as well as her revolting underthings.  Hmm... Might as well release her hands and take the rest of her clothing off.  We can burn them later.  Disgusting!"

"Melody, you WILL behave, or Harold will see to it that you regret it."

"I have to go!"

"You can wait another minute."

"I CAN'T"  With that Melody urinates, the liquid spilling from her device, down her leg, and onto the floor.

"How BEASTLY!  What manners! Imagine! You gentlemen clean this up - Harold, then run the tub.  Plenty of fragrance, now!"

The girl stands, quietly, not knowing what to expect, her face blank.  The fear is returning.

"What an interesting device, my girl," smiling.  "Jenkins, do you have a second key?"

Yes, mam.  Here."

"One never know knows when one will need such," dropping it into the pocket of her dress, again smiling and looking evenly into the neophyte girl's eyes.

Jenkins watches, and then looks away.  And I thought Marlow was stern.

"Melody, my girl, you are in for an experience.  I trust you will enjoy it.  I suggest you try to, in any case.  Your little accident was very unmannerly. And, since what we teach here is manners, I suppose I shall have to punish you, no?"

Melody was uncertain as to how to answer, and just looked at her.

"No?  Let us see, perhaps I should allow you to choose your own punishment this time.  What do you say?"

"A…yes."

"Yes, MAM!"

Clearly intimidated, Melody answers, "Yes...mam."

"So.  What it is to be?"

Standing there naked, Melody is confused.   She has to choose something, but she senses anything light would be rejected.  "How...about…a…small whipping?"

"Ah, yes, of course!  Perhaps with some enhancement.  But first, we shall have to begin the transformation.  Learning to be a good girl is SO much more fun when you are dressed for the part."  That smile again.

Enhancement?

"Thank you, Harold.  Melody, get into the tub."

The yearling girl timidly approaches the tub, which has been filled with hot water and soap bubbles of an extraordinary fragrance.

"This will make you smell…delicious!"

Melody slowly immerses herself in the tub, slowly, as the water temperature is high.  Finally in, she realizes that this is a rather pleasant feeling, and settles down, her countenance conveying contentment.

"There!  Enjoy yourself! I shall return shortly.  Jenkins, come with me," as she leaves the room.

It occurs to Melody that now would be change to escape, but the daunting hulk of Harold quickly erases that idea from her sleepy mind, which begins lazily to drift in the steamy haze.

THE SOFTENING AND HARDENING


Melody awakes with a start.  Jenkins is shaving her!   Miss Becket stands sternly over them, observing, Harold next to her.

"Don't move, young lady!  Mustn't cut yourself!  Soon, you will have a smooth, girlish skin - Oh! and no more sun for you!  We must make it white!"

"Fortunately, you have an advantage that you hair is fairly long, so we can begin to coif soon.  Meanwhile, a pretty bonnet will be your companion.  Won't that be nice?"

Melody looks down into the water, the humiliation beginning to swell, as Jenkins attends to his upper thighs.  His legs and upper torso has already been made smooth as glass as he slept.

"All right.  Stand up.  Harold, pour the rinse water over her."

She awkwardly stands up, and the water began trickling down her body, washing the hair and soap into the tub.

"My!  How pretty!  So soft! Jenkins, please towel her.  A lady must become used to toweling by her maid.  Oh!  We are going to have to make sure her device is always dry, so it does not rust, particularly after bathing.  Also, dear, make sure you wipe it dry after relieving yourself.  Do you understand?"

"Yes…Yes mam."  This is so mortifying.

"Here, allow me to show you."  With that, she takes a thin towel and begins to dry the device, as Melody squirms, humiliated.

"See?  Make sure you reach into the other side," as she pokes her finger into the device.  The young girl is obviously getting excited.

"Ah!  What is this?  My, my! Bad girl!  …Well, nothing can come of it…abstinence is good for you, in any case," smiling and pressing harder against the girl's little privates. "You will be stronger for it.  Young ladies must be strong."

"THIS 'young lady' is distressed."

"Aw, dear, don’t fret, you will be too busy adjusting to your new tight stays to think about those dastardly inclinations."  That smile again.

"St-Stays?"

"Corsets - all girls and women wear them.  A bit uncomfortable at first, but one adjusts.  Besides, you'll want that girlish figure, no?  Stays and your medica..."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh.  Never mind.  Come to the water closet.  You must void before you dress."

Gentle readers, what follows has to have been the most embarrassing few minutes of Melody's short life.  Miss Becket proceeds to open the device and remove it from Melody, and, then actually stands there while the young girl voided.  "Mortification" is too light a word.

When she is done, and cleaning herself, the head House Mother says to Jenkins, whom she had told to follow her in, "The girl will NEVER be alone.  Understand? Never. Whatever she has done in her life to put herself in this predicament is enough to warrant not trusting her for ONE minute.  She is OUR responsibility.  I expect you not to take this lightly.  Your instructions from Mr. Callow mirror mine from The Principal.  I value my job - I hope you do yours as well. In the end, she WILL be a smart young lady!"

"But...but mam, I thought this was to be only temporary."

"My dear girl, by your actions, you have abdicated your role as a male in proper society - your conduct was unacceptable.  If we are going to go through the trouble of initiating you into the ways of womanhood, then why should we waste all that time and effort?  Your father will be expecting a nice new, well-comported daughter in two years, and that is what he will get.  Case closed!"

This is the first our young initiate has heard of these permanent plans, and they come as a great shock to her.  Devastation hangs hard on her whitened face.

"But…"

"NO MORE DISCUSSION!  CASE CLOSED!  Harold, come in here and prepare our slovenly girl for her punishment."

Melody had almost forgotten.  More pain.  She begins to tremble.  Her life is taking an onerous turn.  She decides that she will escape this at the first opportunity.  I will not loose my manhood!

After Miss Becket re-installs the device with the aid of Jenkins ("Show me how to do this!"), Harold takes the boy back into bedroom.   Attached to each of two opposite walls of the room are iron rings, the purpose of which is obvious, and Harold quickly fastens the hapless girl's wrists to cords that have been connected to these rings.  The girl's eyes are wide, and she begins to protest.

"Methinks our young pupil is requesting a gag, no?"  Miss Becket says to Jenkins.  "Please grant her plea.  They are in the drawer, here.  Hmm...let me see…ah!  How about the bridle bit?  Always a popular model...(smiling).  Harold will help you."

"No, no! I’ll not talk!"

"I know you will not.  Must learn your lessons.  And if you make any untoward noises, then I might have to replace that bit with a gag which will stuff your mouth."

The girl falls silent, her head in dejected submission.

The men pull the bit into her mouth and buckle it the to back of her head.  She is subdued.

"All right.  Before we proceed with the punishment, I have a little surprise for you, my girl.  As you might be aware, females sustain a monthly period of discomfort…part of their womanhood.  Not only must they deal with emissions from their private parts, but they sometimes suffer cramps in their stomachs, as well as tender…a…breasts.  So:  As part of your transition, we must make certain that you feel these same sensations.  Since you must be punished now in any case, I thought I might introduce you to this perspective at the same time. (Smile) Therefore, we shall begin with the breast pain."

Talking a pair of small clips out of her pocket, she approaches the hanging girl.  "You will wear these for the two hours you will be tied like this."  Two hours?

The pupil's face is stricken.

"Ah!  Fret not!  Pain and discomfort will, of necessity, be a part of your day for a long while.  One must suffer to be beautiful!"  A twinkle in her eye. "You will get along."

Wasting no time, she adroitly places the clips on Melody' nipples.

If embarrassment was the order of the day before, searing pain quickly takes its place.  The girl had never felt such pain, and begins screaming into her bit.

"Now, now, young lady. The initial dramatic pain will subside shortly.  But, perhaps, we can help you by assisting you in thinking of other things.  Harold, give her ten lashes, not too hard.  Watch the skin!"

She almost faints, as the squirt does its work, and of course Jenkins is beside himself.

But soon the work is done, and the pain of both torments quickly begins to subside to a tolerable level.

"There.  That will teach you to relieve yourself ONLY in a water closet. N'est pas?"

"Jenkins, stay here with your charge - Harold and I shall return in two hours.  Of course, I do not have to remind you to keep him tied, gagged and clipped.  Perhaps you might put some cream on her back.  There, in the drawer."

"Yes, Miss Becket."

The door closes with thud.
DISCLOSURE, HEARTBREAK AND RESOLVE

The woman standing with the Czar is attired as Elisabeth von Wittelsbach, Empress of Austria from 1837 to 1889, popularly known as "Sissi."  She is, to say the least, stunning.

The room lies in perplexed, anticipative silence.

"Hello , ladies and gentlemen,"  begins Chloey, in  a loud, arrogant voice.  "I would like to introduce you to a very special person."

"Please, Miss Chloey, discontinue this highly disruptive and inappropriate behavior -- immediately!"

"Posthaste, madame, after I have completed my introduction.  Please indulge me.  Oh!  And please, might you call me 'Czar'?"

"Well.  I never…"

"Just for now.  I implore you."

Silence.

"I see.  Well, perhaps we all might all, of necessity, call YOU something else tonight.  Hmmm?"   Her voice is mocking.  "'Mary' comes to mind…"

"What ever do you mean?  Who…who is this young woman?"

"In time.  For now, she is Sissi -- Empress Sissi, of Austria."

"Stop this nonsense!"

"Miss Marlow," says Chloey, with an evil smile.  "Do you recall, perhaps twenty years ago, a little tryst, with a certain MARRIED gentleman, named… Marchant?  Victor Marchant?"

The Principal's face is ashen.  Looking closely at Chloey's companion, she immediately faints, the vapors finally getting the better of her.

"That is Mrs. Marchant's husband!" cries Gwyenth.  The room becomes alive with chatter.

Chloey has exacted her revenge.  Eleanor Marlow's secret is out!

"And THIS…is Miss Marguerite Marchant - 'Mary Magdalene's' daughter," (pointing triumphantly at Miss Marlow, supine on the floor, being attended to by Miss Minnie and Miss Becket).

"Marguerite -- your mother, the harlot!"

Now, how Chloey came to use her wits to discover this dark secret will probably never be known.  Some suggest that her father had something to do with it, but that is conjecture and, in any case, what reason  would he have to mar his institution's reputation?  Only a person so arrogant, spoiled and sinister as Chloey could ever have considered going through whatever trouble it took to destroy the life and career of an able administrator such a Principal Marlow, in vengeance and retribution for a small instance of appropriate censure in response to her insubordination.

And what nefarious methods were used to entice the fetching Marguerite to the party, came to be a subject for interesting discussion.

In any case, dear readers, what has transpired is an outrage!  And it is apparent to most everyone else the room.  Rather then reaping accolades for her despicable act as she expected, all look toward her with disgust.  However, it is doubtful Chloey is concerned, self-centered as she is.

 *  *  *  *

The happy party has ended in an abrupt manner.  While Doctor Beckley has quickly arrived to attend to The Principal, The Rutherford headmaster has begun corralling his boys out the door and into the outer hallway chamber to retrieve their coats and hats, whilst the girls mill about in sad disarray and low chatter.

Chloey has drifted off to a corner, and is conversing with Harold, who has just arrived, hearing of the commotion.  Her erstwhile companion, Marguerite, is standing with several of the others, observing the goings on with her mother.  She is tearful, and obviously very distraught.

But wait!  The headmaster is now approaching Miss Becket, who has taken charge, with the news that the storm has turned for the worse, and the quickly falling snow has stopped all carriage traffic to the train station, if not the trains themselves.  It appears the boys will be spending this cold night here at Garrett!

Miss Becket addresses the gathering:  "Girls and boys, give me your attention."

The room falls silent, with the exception of the activity associated with moving The Principal to an small anteroom off the entranceway.

"The Garrett School has suffered a great loss here today.  A tragic figure has fallen, and with it, a bit of our reputation.  Let us say a silent prayer for The Principal and our beloved school."

The room is again quiet, as the girls, including Melody, bow their collective heads, some holding each other's hands. It is a sad moment.  The only head up is in the corner - but that head soon finds a Russian headpiece and the front door, and departs.

"Very well. We have much to think about and discuss in the coming days, but I would like talk of this incident not to take place until after tomorrow, in order that we may meditate a bit.

"We seem to be snowed in, and fickle winter necessitates a change of plans.  Two hours remain before it is time to retire.  I do not think it appropriate to socialize, after the events of this evening."

The girls and boys look at each other, with eyes of disappointment.

"Therefore, the gentlemen from Rutherford will assemble in one corner of the room and conduct themselves in any manner their headmaster finds suitable to pass the time.  The Garrett ladies will likewise do the same, in the other corner of the room - I shall set an agenda.  I vouchsafe you each will be considerate and not disturb the other group."

"I daresay it will be difficult to traverse to the other buildings, especially in your gowns and heels, and we have no place to accommodate all you young men. Therefore, we must of necessity sleep here tonight.  Harold and a portion of the staff will see that as many blankets and pillows are fetched as possible, but, obviously, there will not be enough.  I know it becomes cold here at night, so, as a result, we will consider bundling and, since bundling is a social skill, I shall see to it that it be done amongst the girls and boys together - perhaps we can learn something from this.  I shall instruct you in the proper manner."

All the girls and boys are now smiling, some in embarrassment, quick to disguise their eagerness.   Most of them have, at one time or another, bundled, when the rooms in which they lived were cold.  It is a fine method of conserving heat, particularly when the fireplace is not adequate, as is the case here. Nevertheless, most have only bundled with people with whom they are close: family and, perhaps, servant children.

"But now, let us separate into the far corners of the ballroom."

That done, the boys proceed to conduct a group discussion on books they have recently read, which they quickly turned into game, pitting each other's knowledge of literature against each other, in the typical masculine pastime of competition.

Whereas, in the other corner of the room, our girls (with the exception of Marguerite, who spends the time talking with the House Mothers) show their femininity and decide to discuss "signals" (since they are not in earshot of the boys), with the help of Miss Blackburn's knowledge of social custom.  You will recall that this lady is the teacher of such classes at Garrett, and, although teachers do not usually attend this function, she is there due to the fact that she has a commitment in the morning, precluding her traveling to her home in Portland for the weekend, which is the practice of most teachers here at Garrett.

As an example, allow this writer to condense the portion of the discussion regarding fans, which may be of interest:

Since strict social codes limit flirtation and verbal expression, ladies often use their fans to communicate their feelings.  The discussion revolves about the following signals:

Fan slow
   

I am married or engaged

Fan fast
Fan with right hand in front of face
Fan with left hand in front of face
Fan open and shut
Fan wide open
Drawing fan across the forehead
Letting fan rest on the right cheek
Letting fan rest on the left cheek
   

I am independent
Come on, follow me
Leave me
Kiss me [giggles!]
Love [louder giggles! The boys look their way]
We are being watched
Yes
No

 *  *  *  *

The time goes quickly, as it oft does when discussing such exciting topics!

Miss Becket asks for everyone's attention:  "All right, ladies and gentlemen, it is time to retire. The snow has only gotten worse, and the room, as you can sense, has cooled substantially, despite Harold's renewal of the fire several times.  Therefore, bundling is called for.  Listen carefully to the procedure:

"Chosen staff will spread across the middle of the ballroom, holding up blankets to protect our young ladies' modesty, whilst the girls and boys remove their outer garments and shoes…(hushed, in the direction of the girls) and, for you girls, your outer petticoats, bustles and panniers and bum rolls, if you have them…, and lay them carefully along the outer wall to my rear.  Must not wrinkle!"

"Then, you shall each lay down, one of you helping your roommate to wrap one blanket - only one - about you, tightly.  The other will be attended to by your assistant House Mother.  Melody, you shall stay with me…you need not undress nor will you bundle.  When that is accomplished, you boys will be allowed to enter the girls' area, and, once there, proceed in a similar manner, as directed by your headmaster and his assistant.  The females here will, of course, in a manner befitting ladies, appropriately avert their eyes. After the boys have been swathed, staff will assist in moving them close together into random groups of four or six.  Is that clear?"

Then, quietly to the girls: "Corsets are not to be loosened tonight and, if you have a bonnet, wear it.  Only one petticoat need be worn."

As the girls, boys and staff begin to follow the instructions, Miss Becket approaches Miss Melody, who has been standing silently, of course, near Miss Minnie who, although much distraught over of her mistress' fate, has been charged with watching over Melody.

"Melody, you will stay fully clothed, including your veil and bonnet, and sleep on that settee over there.  I shall see to it that you are tied comfortably under you skirts so you cannot arise.  As for your gag, well, we certainly do not want any possibility of you speaking to your old friends, so…I shall replace your pear gag with something a bit more comfortable, perhaps with a cloth gag that will wind tightly about your mouth, but not enter it. Am I not considerate, young lady?"

Under the veil, it is obvious that the young girl is dismayed.

Miss Becket gathers staff around her to conceal this procedure.  She lifts Melody's veil, and begins to remove her gag, a very difficult task, to say the least, considering the fact that it really doesn't require straps to hold it in place and it is jammed behind her teeth.  The girl's jaws ache, but she manages to say…"Please, mam, my corset is cutting me in half."

"Nonsense, dear. You will adjust," as she begin to wrap yards of scarving tightly about her head.  As she ties it off, she notices a first:  Melody is shedding tears!  She is now a girl!  "That is a start, sweetheart."

"I admit, your stays ARE a bit tight for this early stage," rubbing her waist slowly.  "However, I was unable to locate anything else in our collection that would fit you.  We DO have an underbust corset in your size - it was even suitable for the Civil War period, although the shape is slightly awry. However, you have no bosom [off to the staff, whispering, winking - NOW anyway"], so we were obliged to use a standard modern set of stays to accommodate padding.  Oh, dear!  You DO look so fine!"

Wiping the tears from Melody's face, "Fret not.  It is of no consequence. Next week, Mrs. Marchant…a…Miss Gordon will come by and give you a proper fitting.  Until then, dear, (sigh) you must, of necessity, be a bit uncomfortable.  Good practice, though.  In any case, it certainly is a decent punishment for the sins of your boyhood," smiling.  She replaces the veil.

"Try to remember, my dear, you are going to be a lady from now on - there is no chance of returning to you awful male-hood.  Isn’t this much nicer?  Wearing all this fine pretty clothing, the fine lace and beautiful petticoats?  And deep under all that loveliness, those VERY fine embroidered pantaloons (Such a pity they went out of style!).  Wouldst you have a bosom as well…I mean we would not be required to use padding! And as for your…libido, well, that will come as second nature to you after while - we have our ways.  You will no longer feel the need for those primal urges. They will be subjugated. You will feel closer to God."

Bosom?  To what is she referring?  This is all so confusing. Men don't cry!  But I somehow feel different. How did I ever get into this tight spot?  Father should be ashamed of himself, doing this to me, putting me into the charge of such a woman. How could he do this to his OWN son? The bastard!  Damn, this corset hurts! And my nipples - they STILL hurt from the other day - how can that be?  And curse these outrageous skirts!

"You know, I am thinking…girls here at Garrett have their stays tightened at least once day (They DO loosen bit over time). And we DO want you be adhere to the routine…You have not been tightened today (a terrible oversight!).  So, let us do that before you retire. All right?  You want to do the correct thing, don't you?  You DO want a slender waist, no? "

Her mocking voice was intolerable.  I should have kept my mouth shut!

So, again behind a wall of women, her dress opened, our young lady is subjected to a tightening of her stays beyond what she feels she can tolerate.  Slowly, the lacings close the corset, taking in the one-half inch lost during the day.  When the stays finally close, she cannot dam the tears which again flow down out the unfortunate lass' face.

The look on Miss Becket's face is one of stern satisfaction.  Certainly, school policy is to allow an opening in the rear for springy comfort.  But this is different.  Firstly, the corset is a bit too large for her, and secondly, why fuss about a girl with such a mean-spirited background?  Indeed, Melody DESERVES a little suffering.  Apt preparation for The Punishment Corset she knows not is in her future!  Certainly, Mr. Callow would approve.

Our hapless young female neophyte soon ends up as a mountain of petticoats; her arms are free, but useless, as she cannot lift her body up in her tight corsets and, in any case, the bonds are so immersed under the heavy petticoats, she would have an impossible task finding and undoing them.   To make escape TOTALLY impossible, Miss Becket has wisely tied light mittens to her hands!

The girls assume that she is not bundled because her rash is transmittable.

As for Marguerite , everyone is careful not to speak to her about her mother, but the girls DO make an attempt to make her feel comfortable.  Gwyenth has volunteered to act as her "roommate," since there are three girls in her room, in place of the usual two.

*  *  *  *

The room slowly grows quieter as, one after another, the groups are bundled, the muted excitement permeating the air. So close to the girls - they, unclothed!  So close the boys!  We, unclothed!  My!  It IS tense.

Then:  "Good night.  Ladies and gentlemen.  God bless you!  Let us hope the storm subsides by morning.  Try to get some rest."

It was if "The Principal Affair" ever happened.  But, of course, it did, and has settled heavily on the minds of all in room, but, most especially, the beautiful Marguerite who, this day, has discovered that the famous corsettiere was not her mother but that her father had provoked assignation with another, a women who she has known all her life, but as a close friend of her "mother's."

The wretched Chloey had invited her to this party for a nefarious purpose - not as an offhand guest to surprise Mrs. Marchant, who turns out not even to have been here!  Chloey, using the fact that she knew her father, had sought her out while she was visiting some friends in Boston, telling her that her "Mother" had returned from her trip to the Orient, and was to be here, and that they would treat her to grand surprise.  Indeed.  Marguerite knows how "Mother" feels about this costume party, so, at first, she was dubious,  But Chloey had been so insistent, and, after all, Marguerite had never been to Garrett,  "Mother" always finding an excuse not to take her here.

The look in Principal Marlow's eyes was enough to tell her that all that Chloey spoke was true.  SHE was a bastard!  Her life, and that of her real mother (and even the rest of the Marchant family) was to be changed forever.

In her sadness and dismay, she keeps thinking, There has to be way to find retribution!

Dear readers, there IS a way, and it will come in the guise of three Garrett roommates - three girls she had never met until tonight.  By fortune, three girls who have their own reasons to punish the wretched Chloey.

THWARTED PLANS

The next day, the two always ever-present Viennese belts should have lain covered, as always, atop the table in the Madison Lodge.  Except on Graduation Day, of course, when one or two very fortunate girls (not necessarily graduating girls) -- young women who epitomize the lofty goal to which every Garrett girl aspires -- are given the envied honor of wearing one.  Engraved on the belts are the words of the school motto: "Neat Waists Make for Neat Minds."

It appears that this year the two young ladies who will be chosen are Gwenyth and Helena:  Gwenyth for her elevated standing in the class, and her valiant, but futile, attempt to wear the Catherine de Medici corset; and Helena, for portraying the ideal in actually wearing that same corset with its fabled thirteen-inch waist.

So, it would be preposterous to suspect either of these charming young ladies when the belts were discovered missing that morning by Miss Smythe, the leaning room attendant, one of whose charges was to polish the belts daily.  Entering the hall amidst cleanup from the previous night's costume party and snow bundling, she was shocked to find two leather night belts in their place. 

The storm had ended at about 3 AM, and the boys were now taking breakfast in the dining room with the girls, and were buzzing with the events of the previous evening, preparatory to departing.  Presumably, Principal Marlow nervously rested in her residence, awaiting a visit from Mr. Garrett concerning her disposition at the school.

Chloey was nowhere to be found.

All of these circumstances provide a convenient springboard for the plans concocted by our (now) four conspirators.  Hanging back as the ballroom emptied earlier that morning, Catherine had managed to spirit the two belts away under some blankets, which she claimed were her favorites, insisting on taking them back to her room herself.  From there, she hid the belts in Marguerite's small carriage, which Chloey apparently had, fortuitously, decided not to expropriate on her departure.

The plan was to secret the belts in Chloey's apartment, which was in Principal Marlow's house, using a visit by Marguerite to her mother that evening as a distraction and cover. Marguerite's anger was certainly exacerbated by the fact that her real mother was so hurt, and she was eager to help.

But first, two of them would of necessity somehow abduct Chloey when she set foot on the campus, perhaps using chloroform to quiet her.  So, Gwenyth had gone to Harold (whom she would most definitely see first) and asked him to let her know when she arrived, because she had something for her.  It was to be a 'surprise,' so he shouldn't  tell her she asked this of him.  Being a bit dull, Harold thought nothing of it.

Later that day, Harold, seeing Gwenyth on her way to a class, stopped her and mentioned to her that Chloey had, a hour ago, returned through the rear door of The Principal's residence, and was napping in her chambers.  Gwenyth could now give her her surprise when she awoke.  Surprise, indeed!  What an opportunity!

Thanking the man, and alerting Catherine, the two of them hastened to The Principal's residence.  Furtively entering the back door, they quietly opened her door…and entered.  In a matter of seconds, they were ready to chloroform the sleeping evil-doer and tie her to the bed, since they had hoped initially to capture her away from her room, but would now have to find a  way to remove her later.

Standing over her, they both are very scared.  After all, this girl had shown herself capable of almost anything, and they had most certainly better get this right the first time.  Slowly, Catherine brings the chemical-laden cloth to Chloey's mouth.

Just then, a noise in the hallway - HAROLD!  Now they are terrified!  As he entered, Gwenyth manages to slip past him and out, and Chloey awakens, and, realizing there is a problem, assists Harold in subduing Catherine (not that he requires help).  It is doubtful that Chloey even knows Gwenyth had been there, it all happened so quickly.  For some reason,  Harold does not chase after her, or even alert Chloey that she has been there!  Apparently, she has been beneficiary of the giant's dim witted-ness.

*  *  *  *

Catherine struggled to no avail.  Her neck had been placed in a noose, which Harold had attached to a small chandelier, with a tautness that kept her on her toes.  In her mouth was foul-tasting cloth, which was sealed tightly by several wraps of scarving.   Her arms had been tied behind her back at the elbows and wrists with rope, in a most painful way.

The girl couldn't take it: She was crying.

"MY, my sweet one!  Do not cry.  Save the tears for when it REALLY hurts!" said a smiling Chloey, dressed only in her corset.  The door was locked. Harold had departed, perhaps looking  for Gwenyth; perhaps he had finally remembered her…

"Why were you trying to chloroform me?" tickling her under her chin.

"Never mind, I know better.  You hate me, you little bitch.  You all hate me. That's good.  Let me see if I can get you to hate me more…"

*  *  *  *

Gwenyth had run as fast as she could in her tight stays, high heels and long, petticoated skirts.  If she and Catherine had not recently completed their hobble petticoat training, they would have never been able to attempt this part of the plan -- in any case, even if they had made the effort, she most certainly would never have escaped;  as it is, she is winded.  The feat would have had to be left to Helena and Marguerite - but it was incumbent upon her to get them assistance, somehow.  It would be impossible to chloroform the girl again, so some other method would have to be employed, and these two girls certainly could not overtake the villain, to say nothing of dragging or carrying her anywhere.

Quickly, Gwenyth, Catherine and Helena pretend to be ill -- it takes everything they can think of to prevent Miss Milford from detecting their ruse.  So far, so good, but events appear to headed in a sour direction.

The plan is revised to tie Chloey to the bed and gag her.  Later, at night in the dark, and under the cover of Marguerite's visit, Mercer, the gardener, a fairly stout man, would remove her to the cellar of Madison Lodge, which was not so far away, and where the miscreant could, as best they could, be encased in The Punishment Corset and hidden.  The belts would be secreted in Chloey's room at that time.

Now, Mercer is good, proper man of about forty, who enjoys his work and, occasionally, helps the girls out with a sticky problem.  He understands their plight, and, having had a sister at Garrett at one time, had taken it upon himself to make their life a bit easier.  Although he adamantly agrees with the notion of waist training and discipline and the such for young ladies, he feels that there are times when this training and discipline is a bit too harsh (even under the enlightened regime of Principal Marlow), and fancies himself a savior when asked.

Not that he would do EVERYTHING the girls might ask, but in this case, he takes a special delight, Chloey having always treated him with disdain and disgust.  The girl treated most all staff this way, being nice and using them as she saw fit;  then, when they had served her purpose, tormenting them ceaselessly.  It seems that she treated him with particular cruelty at one point, embarrassing him in front of his family and causing him to be demoted from groundskeeper.

But to return to our quandary:  Poor Catherine is now at the mercy of the monstrous, despicable Chloey, and the plans are thus in jeopardy.  It is up to her, Gwenyth surmises, to save the day.

 *  *  *  *

The poor girl was frozen with fright.  This sadistic Chloey girl was putting her through much pain, doing unspeakable things, the likes of which she never experienced, or even thought anyone capable of inflicting.  Just as horrendous was the fact that (Gwenyth was right!) she apparently liked girls as well as men.  Heavenly God, she is a pervert!

My dear friends, all this weighed heavily on this sheltered girl.  After applying some clamps to her breasts, the inhuman girl then went beneath her skirts and… and… well, there WAS something pleasurable there, but she did not (or would not) recognize it.  My sweet readers, she was being traumatized in a most ghastly manner!

During all this, her tormenter was silent, looking her in the eyes, and smiling now and then,…nothing else.

Then:  "Did you like that, miss?"

Catherine had closed her eyes against the onslaught, praying, hoping it would go away, and listened not.  But she did hear this:

"Would you like to do that to me, dear?"

Her brain stopped thinking.  The idea was preposterous, and unimaginable!

"Well, sweet Catherine, you WILL!  And if  am not happy, then, you shall suffer more"

With that, she released the girl from her noose, leaving her arms and wrists bound, and then tied her wrists to her ankles.  Dragging her to the bed, she threw her into it, and then, almost immediately, and to her horror, lifted her skirt and petticoats, mounted her face, and placed her private area on her mouth.  The poor girl started to choke and cough.

"Easy, lass, it is not all THAT bad!  STOP IT!  LICK!"

The hapless girl had no choice, and began to lick at what she thought was the right place.  It was everything she could do to manage not to suffocate.  Her corset was tight, as usual, her breathing thus stunted as well. 

"NO!  NO!  Up a bit."

She knew she had cooperate or she would die.  So she made the best of it, following instructions, until, after a couple of moments, she succumbed to the misery and fainted.

CHLOEY, CATHERINE, AND THE BELTS



Due to some pressing business, Mr. Garret never appeared that day, promising to visit the next morning instead.  Principal Marlow, embarrassed, anguished and anxious, left a letter for him, tendering her resignation and regrets, and departed for Portland in the late afternoon with minimal luggage.  She would send for her things later.

Hearing the news that her mother had so swiftly departed, Marguerite was despondent.  But she was still committed to the plot -- she would seek out her mother later.  Obviously, the ruse originally concocted was no longer an option, but, since Principal Marlow was no longer there, and Miss Minnie was nowhere to be found (she presumably had left for her sister's home in Portland), it was not as important.

As soon as the sun set, Mercer set to action, approaching the house from the rear, with Marguerite and Helena close behind.  It turns out that Gwenyth had been asked to make certain she saw her Housemother -- something to do with the shoulder straps on her new corset.

The savior was prepared:  He cared with him a small stun-dart mechanical bow, in the event Harold was lurking about, as well as a bottle of chloroform and a cloth.  The girls were given the task of carrying some rope, a pillowcase, and a leather pear gag Catherine had expropriated earlier from the drawers in Madison Lodge, when she absconded with the belts. These were to assure she did not call out or struggle as she was being carried to The Lodge in the event she awoke; being a careful man, he would not risk using too much chloroform.  In addition, Helena carried over her shoulder a heavy linen bag containing  the two Viennese belts.

Slowly, they crept about the side of the house.  As they carefully entered the back, they were startled.  Miss Minnie!  She was there after all!  Her ear was to the Chloey's door.  They retreated back out to the back porch with haste.  Apparently, she hadn't seen them.

"Quickly, Marguerite, distract her!" whispered  Mercer.

Immediately, Marguerite walked back into the house.  After all, she had a room there.  

"Why, hello, Miss Minnie, is it?  I'm Marguerite."

"My!  Good evening mam."  Curtsying, her eyes looking down, "It is an honor to make your acquaintance.  I beg your pardon, I was…a…cleaning the threshold here...and…I heard a noise.  Please accept my sincere regret at yesterday's… a…regrettable... events.  Madame, are you are aware that The Principal has departed?"

"Yes, Miss Minnie."  She looked down.  "It has saddened me enormously."

"Well…, I'll be about my duties, Madame.  Oh!  I have made up your room.  Good evening,"  curtsying.

"Thank you Minnie.  Good evening.  Oh!  Miss  Minnie, what noise did you hear?"

"Perhaps someone slipped?  I heard a loud bump." 

"Thank you."

"Yes, mam."

As Miss Minnie proceeded toward the front of the house, Marguerite, out of the corner of her eye, caught a glimpse of someone hiding off one of the corridors.  She quickly walked to the door again, and alerted the two waiting there, whispering:  "I believe Harold is in the hallway.  I shall go back to Chloey's door, and pretend to listen.  When he approaches, you may do what you must do, Mercer."

But as she approached the door, it suddenly opened, and Chloey, seeing her standing there, pushed her hand into her chest with force, yelling, "Harold!"  Marguerite fell backward to the floor, banging her head on the wall.

As Harold ran into the fray, Mercer was able to place a stun-dart into his chest, and he fell with dispatch a few feet from the door.  Seeing she was outnumbered, Chloey immediately retreated into her room and slammed the door, locking it with a click.

As Helena attended to Marguerite, Mercer busied himself in an attempt to break in to the door, using his weight.  They all feared for Catherine.

Finally, he burst into the room, only to find Chloey by the window, holding a knife in her right hand.  She had been attempting to get up into the window, but her skirts had impeded her progress.

"Stay away, Mercer!  I shall have your job for this. Take heed!  My father will hear of this."

"Oh, yes, little vixen, that he will. That he will."  As he approached her with the chloroform-soaked cloth, she lashed out at him, catching him on the forearm before he secured her, knocking the knife to the floor.  Clasping her tightly around her corset-hardened waist with his arm, he attempted to slap the chloroform-soaked cloth over her mouth.

She was strong, and was not going to succumb easily, but, after a little struggle, and much growling on her part, Mercer finally prevailed, holding the cloth tightly over her mouth, as she slowly slipped to the floor.

It was only then that he saw her:  Poor Catherine, her outer clothing and petticoats ripped away, hung from the chandelier by the lacings of her corset, her arms tied elbow to elbow behind her back, her mouth jammed wide open by a very large apple, her legs tied to her wrists.  Her eyes were closed.  It was a appalling sight.

Mercer ran over quickly, and yelled out, "Helena, come here, NOW!"

As the girl came running in, she abruptly stopped at the startling, bizarre scene.  Unconsciously (and self-consciously), she looked the other way.

"No, girl, CUT HER DOWN while I hold her!  Use the knife on the floor"

She composed herself, and did as bade, holding the bloody knife away from her body.  She looked at this bleeding arm, and then back at her roommate.

"Wi…will she be all right?  Is she alive?"

Mercer said nothing, busying himself attending to her and cutting her staylaces and bindings, gently extracting the apple.  Then, "It looks as if she will survive."

Helena:  "Catherine, are you all right?  Please be all right…"

Marguerite then stumbled in, holding her head.  "Catherine!"

"Are you all right?" said Mercer.

"I shall survive.  But how is Catherine?" leaning over the supine girl.

Catherine slowly awoke, a bit dazed and disoriented.  "What? No! Stop!…Chloey?  Can…where is she?  Oh!  Hello…I…"  A little grin.

Mercer and Helena smiled.  "We are so happy you are all right!"

Helena gave her a tiny kiss on her forehead.  "What a horrible monster!  What did she…never you mind -- later."

Mercer said, " Marguerite, I want you to escort Catherine, if you can, to Dr. Beckley's office.  She will guide you to where it is - in The Pines. Tell him she slipped and fell, and say nothing of Chloey.  We cannot risk anyone knowing about our little plan, or it will be foiled.  Have him look at your head as well  - say you both slipped on ice on the stairway."

"If you cannot do it, then Helena can go, but I would like you to see the doctor soon thereafter."

Marguerite:  "I can go.  I am fine."

Helena, to Catherine:  "Sweetheart, are you up to walking?"

"Let…let me try," as she slowly arose onto her feet, with the help of all three of them.  "There…"

"Go slowly, Marguerite.  We will meet you later, in The Lodge cellar."

Helena:  "Catherine can tell us all what happened later, all right dear?"

"Y-yes." She was clearly affected, but appeared to be able to walk.

Looking over to Chloey, lying on the floor Mercer said, "Helena, I shall require your assistance with Chloey.  Bring in the bag with the belts."

"Yes, Mercer.  What of Harold?"

"He'll sleep it off, then not even remember what occurred."

 As the girls left, Mercer began attending to the unconscious Chloey, bundling the wretch up for the move.

It had been an interesting evening.

*  *  *  *

If the girls had cared to look as they left, they might have noticed Miss Minnie in the window of an anteroom, looking out and smiling.  Perhaps she was reminiscing about the time she reported Chloey to The Principal for some malicious misadventure, only to have Chloey later accost her and beat her mercilessly.  Memories…have they not a habit of accumulating, dear readers?

Mrs. Marchant never again returned to Garrett, and was replaced by Miss Gordon, her assistant, who was rapidly becoming an able corsettiere in her own right.  However, later in the year, a large trunk, containing many bolts of beautiful Chinese silk fabric, was delivered to Acting Principal Becket's office.

THE MISSING MISCREANT


As Gwenyth is making her way to her room to see Aunty, as requested, she happens to notice the new girl, Melody, being assisted into an enclosed carriage near the Portland Pine Building, where the school medical office is located.  Indeed, Dr. Beckley stands by, along with Miss Becket -- the lean gentleman assisting Melody is a complete stranger to Gwenyth.

This mysterious gentleman steps up into the carriage and takes his place next to our new student, whose movements seems very stiff.  Perhaps she is hurt?

In any case, the carriage driver closes the doors and the entourage swiftly leaves, as the doctor and the acting principal quietly look on.

I wonder where they are going?  She only just got here. Odd…

Shrugging it off, she proceeds to the Garrett Dormitory, reveling in the fact that the day had been bright, and the snow had begun to melt - droplets continue to fall from the ice-laden trees, and water is melting onto the walkway into little puddles.  She pulls her cape over her head, and lifts her skirts to keep them dry.  She wonders about what is occurring at The Principal's residence.  Her cheery disposition turns to anxiety as a fluffy cloud drifts overhead, causing a passing shadow.

 *  *  *  *

The task of carrying Chloey to the Lodge in the darkness is not easy.  Mercer is well-capable of carrying the bound, gagged and covered girl, but the night can present different problems than the daytime.  Carrying a torch of any kind is not advisable -- it would draw too much attention to them.  Therefore, dark steps present a most difficult barrier -- the man almost drops Chloey after he loses his balance going down the outside steps to the Lodge cellar. Marguerite is of little use in this respect, for her heels keep her off-balance; earlier thoughts of having the girls wear low-heels were abandoned when it was discovered that there were no such female shoes nor boots on campus!  Furthermore, the girls are so accustomed to wearing higher heels, that low-heeled footwear would cause acute pain.

The two also have to be aware of the occasional private policeman roaming the campus. This would take SOME explaining if they were caught.

Once inside, they enter a back room, where no one ventures -- Mercer makes use of it to sleep on occasion, when he stays in campus overnight, and to nap during the noontime when required.

It has been long and arduous trek from The Principal's residence, and they are happy to arrive in the dimly-lit little room with the single bed and table and chair.  A bit dank, the room is nevertheless comfortable, with it own small fireplace.

Mercer had previously prepared The Punishment Corset, and it lies "invitingly" open on the bed, all ready to receive our wretched wench.

As Choley is placed on the bed, she begins to stir.

"Look, Mercer!"

"I see, my girl.  It'll be all right…"

It becomes apparent that our miscreant has awoken, and she begins to thrash violently, side to side, "screaming" into her gag, unable to see for her blindfold, making her all that more angry.  But the bindings hold, and the struggling and noises eventually begin to subside, as the two of them hold her in place on the bed.

But as Mercer commences to encapsulate her, turning her to and fro, and tightly lacing her as required, she appears to begin to understand what is happening, and begins to thrash once again.  But it is too late -- the Punishment Corset has begun, like a clam, to cocoon her, only to the point, however, where her head remains unfettered.

Marguerite has never seen this before, and, as such, is shocked.  But her shock is diminished when she remembers what this miserable person has done to her dear mother.

Mercer then applies the neck collar to keep her in further discomfort.  Although the tightness of the bag is not as it would be if the machine were used, it is, nevertheless, highly constricted.  Mercer is a strong man!

Because he has to leave her in her bindings whilst lacing The Punishment Corset, her arms are encased, instead of bound outside the contraption.  Certainly a bit more uncomfortable this way, but, then, is that really a concern, dear readers?

Then, feeling angry, Mercer employs a feature of the apparatus that is not always used, because of the rigor of its effect:  "The En Pointe Straps."  Bindings incorporated near each ankle and foot can be pulled in such a manner as to bring the foot into a severe arch, bringing her foot in line with her leg, as if the girl were standing on her tip toes, like a ballet dancer.  For one not used to this position, it can painful.  Urgent noises are being emitted from the gag.  She is indeed suffering. A look of satisfaction crosses the man's face, as he recalls the humiliation she had once inflicted on him.

Now comes the final process:  Chloey has already been pear-gagged, but the helmet has a pear-gag built in, so he will have extract the one she has had on for a short moment, and then replace it with the one attached to the helmet (which is actually a bit larger).

Still blindfolded (and she would remain so encumbered), Mercer slowly unbuckles the formidable gag and begins the slow process of extrication, since it was wedged behind her teeth.

"You may want to cover your ears, dear."

It takes some time, but, it is finally removed.  And, surely enough, after a brief second to exercise her mouth, a most vile procession of verbiage emanates from our captive, as expected.   I shall neither tire nor shock my genteel readers with the specifics, but suffice it to say, her vitriolic attack runs the gamut from frightening threats, to most vicious insults, to sounds of depravity.

But Mercer will have none of it, and totally ignores her, proceeding to apply the helmet and lacing it closed, after adding some cotton to her ears and then gathering her hair, to be pulled through the opening in the top. 

"Mmmurph!"  Chloey is reaping what she sowed.  She begins again  to violently struggle, but soon realizes it is for naught, and the silence returns.  In any case, she would soon tire in such tight confinement, stretched taut as she is.

"Punishment Corset," indeed.  Suffer, little vixen, suffer.

  *  *  *

"Hello, my dear.  Are you feeling better?"  Miss Milford was sitting, sewing.

"Yes, Aunty, it was the vapors."

"Well, I suppose we ladies can have our days," smiling, kindly.

"Miss Milford, do you know anything about that new girl, Melody?  The one who was introduced at the costume party -- with the large hoopskirt?"

"It is my understanding she is very recalcitrant - much like Helena was when she first arrived.  Hmmm…I imagine Helena will be asked to speak with her sometime soon, to give the benefit of her experience."

"Just now, I saw her leaving  campus with a strange gentleman."

"Yes, that is Mr. Jenkins, her father's manservant.  Apparently she requires some dental work and is traveling to Dr. Milkcroft's in Portland for the day."

"I see. I presume she will suffer the Punishment Corset?  Oh! Aunty, I feel SO bad for Principal Marlow!"  She bends down, and puts her head in Miss Milford's inviting, comfortable lap.

"My heart goes out to her, dear.  Chloey will be judged, as we all will one day."

"Yes, mam."

"The Punishment Corset will, of necessity, be imposed in due time."

"Aunty, please tighten me."

"Surely.  That reminds me," as she stand up with the girl and loosens her dress.  "That is why you are here."

"Something about the shoulder-straps on my new corset?"

"Yes, dear.  Apparently, the shoulder strap measurements for you and Catherine were somehow possibly interchanged.  That is what happened when girls are as close you are!  In any case, I must measure you to assure they go on the correct stays - they should  be delivered this week.  You can wear them to graduation!  (Stand still, dear...) Along with the Viennese belt!  My! We wouldn't want one of you to be stooped over, while the other walks about with her eyes to the ceiling!"  She laughs, merrily.

 Gwenyth giggles, thinking of the absurd picture, but then (exactly at the moment Aunty pulls hard on her lacings), quickly becomes quiet and frowns at the thought of Catherine and her predicament, hoping things were being made all right at this very moment.  "Oooo!"

"What is it, dear? Are you all right?"

"Oh.  Nothing…a…The belt.  I was thinking of the belt, and hoping I can fit in it without too much discomfort."

"Is that it?  Silly girl!.  If any girl can be comfortable in those belts, it is you and Helena!  Oh!  Incidentally, the belts were discovered missing this morning.  But do not fret  - I vouchsafe they were put somewhere for safekeeping during the costume party.  They will be found soon.  Yes, and Chloey has not been seen since last night either.  The demon."

"Yes...  Of course…they will be found.  A…did anyone check to see if Chloey was in her room?"

"Well, Harold checked, and said she was not."

"Yes…I suppose someone would have seen her enter anyway…"

"There.  Nice and tight!  All right, allow me to measure."

The corset felt right once again.  Gwenyth really doesn't care for it when it was too loose, she was so used to it.  Most of the girls feel that way, and in some way it is psychological, they wanting to assure they never backslide.  Furthermore, dear readers, we all know that, being  human (and female, particularly), there is always a little competitive undertone.  And it DOES sweeten life a bit!

DICHOTOMY


Three days later, Everett Garrett, always busy, finally made time to visit his school. Having heard of The Principal's abrupt departure, he felt no urgency.  But his visit is prompted by the disclosure to him by Acting Principal Becket that the Two Viennese belts has been missing for some time now, and appear to have been purloined.

Visits by the owner were rare, and the students were quickly put on notice to be their best behavior, particularly in the wake of the happenings of the past few days.  The school was abuzz with talk of these events, and both excitement and anxiety filled the air.  Choley was nowhere to be found, and therefore, the talk was that it was SHE who absconded with the rare, craftsman-made belts.

Two days earlier, the new girl, Melody, had returned to campus -  very few knew why she had left, and had assumed that she had departed permanently.  But, from that day forward, she no longer hid her face under a veil, but continued to wear tight-sleeved bodices which appeared to impede her movements, and her waist seems to diminish day by day.  Stranger still, she was wearing a hobble petticoat, something a student was not privileged to do in her first few months at Garrett - the opportunity had to be EARNED.  Just who WAS this girl?

The night of the costume party, the girls were told that Melody was suffering from laryngitis, and couldn't speak.  Nevertheless, she should have improved by now, but, even when addressed by others, she NEVER spoke in return.  She was ALWAYS silent.

Furthermore, her attendance in classes and mealtimes was always in the accompaniment of an assistant House Mother and a strange little man by the name of Jenkins.  It was rumored that he was her manservant, but (again oddly enough) why did she not have a LADY servant?  And why was Jenkins permitted to spend a large amount of time in her room with her?  Highly improper, dear readers.  A very odd situation. The whole affair was unseemly.

So it should come as no surprise that Gwenyth, our ever-industrious young student, should desire to become a bit forward and confront Melody.  Perhaps she might discover something about her which the other girls may be too bashful ask.

The opportunity came in the dining room, while Melody was taking her supper at the standing table, since she was petticoat-hobbled.  No one else seemed to be with her for the moment.  As always, she looked miserable.  Many wondered why she wasn't pleased to be receiving such a fine education.

Approaching up her, Gwenyth attempted to initiate conversation.

"Hello, Melody.  My name is Gwenyth.  I thought I would introduce myself to you.  You seem so lonely,"  she said, smiling.  "Those hobble petticoats can be difficult, no?  Have you yet been to the leaning room?"

The girl looked at her in a strange manner, making a little guttural sound, and shrugging, but no words came from her mouth.  Gwenyth then noticed that the girl was not eating, but only drinking, using a little rubber tube from the glass.

"Are you all right, dear?"

Melody looked into her eyes, and then, very deliberately, shook her head from side to side, with a frown.

"You are UNABLE to talk!  Are you able open your mouth, dear?"

Again, she slowly shook her head.

But WHY?  She cannot write either, with her gloves so tight. Gwenyth did not know what to say next, but she resolved to unlock this mystery.

"I must go now, Melody.  We shall meet again, I assure you."  Did she notice a little forlorn smile on the sad girl's face?  She smiled back, and took her leave, but first, she gently touched her on her arm.

Just who WAS this girl?

*  *  *  *

Hours later, Jenkins placed Melody into the care of Harold for two hours, in order that he, Jenkins could attend to some emergency family business.  It was a most egregious error.  Harold was not himself, but Jenkins didn't notice, and certainly was unaware of his recent episode with Mercer and the girls.

It took only one brief moment for him to advantage himself of the situation.  Escorting her to her room, he immediately forced the poor girl to pleasure him with her mouth, slapping her with great force when loud guttural noises emanated from her mouth.  But, of course, she was quite helpless, unable to kick for the tight hobble petticoat, unable to swing her arms for the tight bodice, and, apparently even, oddly, unable to open her mouth wide enough to attempt to bite him!  It was, to say the last, a great traumatic shock to the girl.  Such barbarity!  Only another stumbling block to this girl's ability to trust men.  First her father, now this!  So sad.

*  *  *  *

Chloey Garrett inherited much of her disposition and attitude from her father, Everett.  Mr. Garrett was a self-made man, well-known in the Portland and Boston business communities; his little gambling problems were usually accepted as an eccentric peccadillo.  No one ever knew the extent of his losses, but most thought of him mostly as a winner.  In any case, he would always pay his debts with regularity.  But the same was expected of those who owed HIM money, and many came to rue the day they were late.

Oddly enough, he was fairly religious, clinging to his own definition of that word.  He would be seen attending church most Sundays, and many presumed he did so to in order to maintain business relationships; and, indeed, there was some of that.  However, if one were to look closely, gentle readers, he would discover that our Mr. Garret was deeply involved in the church liaison with the police department which dealt with prostitution and moral rectitude.  In addition, while not directly funding institutions which harbored wayward girls who were with child, he WAS on the board of directors of one such organization which administered a counseling service for such troubled girls in the community.   All in all, though, he kept a low profile.

At the time he inherited the school, he was well on his way toward being a self-made millionaire.  Hence, Garrett meant little more to him than status symbol and a place to hide funds when necessary -- at that time the school was relatively young.  He certainly was not known as a philanthropist!

Mrs. Garrett was a weak, insipid and perpetually unhealthy woman, whom barely survived Chloey's birth, and who spent most of her time in bed; they were thus estranged.  She had no relationship with her daughter, and her father could not care less, except for those times when she reflected poorly on him, which was not too often, for she almost always got her way.

Arriving early this day, as was his custom, he summoned Miss Becket and a few of the senior House Mothers into a small office he maintained in the Barton Building, whose main purpose was to house the library; however, he hardly ever used it.

Sternly, without greeting, he began: "I'd like to know what is transpiring on this campus.  Please, Miss Becket…" motioning toward her.  The fear in the room was palpable.

"Well, sir, respectfully, I described it to you in detail my note I had delivered to you yesterday.  Nothing has changed to this point."

"Do you ladies understand how this reflects upon Garrett?  To say nothing of the value of those belts? Have you searched the campus thoroughly?"

"Yes, Mr. Garrett," said Miss Angus.  "Except, of course, in the restricted places, The Principal's residence and some of the private offices of the teachers."

"WHAT!  I want EVERYTHING searched!  Do you understand?  These belts are important, and I will leave NO stone unturned!  Also, Miss Becket, notify the authorities immediately."

"But, I was under the impression that you never desired things like this to go outside…"

"IMMEDIATELY!  This is different!  DO you want to be principal here?  GET IT DONE!"

"Yes sir."

"Conduct the search and meet me here at 5 o'clock.   I shall look around a bit myself.  Go now."

 *  *  *  *

For the better part of three days, Chloey spent most of her anguished time in The Punishment Corset.  But rather than making her weaker, it strengthened her, the unending aches solidifying her resolve - her only desire now was to kill these people who had the temerity to do this to her.  She was hot with rage, wondering why these fools thought they could get away with this, and reflecting on the purpose behind this foolish venture.  If they thought this would "teach her a lesson," well, they were mightily mistaken.  They could put weaker women in this contraption, and expect a positive outcome, as in the case of Helena.  But HER?  Absurd!  The idiots should know better.  Didn’t they know who her father was?

Twice a day, in an attempt to feed her mush and water, Mercer would partially undo the bag, remove the helmet, and extract her gag.  Her bindings and blindfold were left in place - but she knew who he was, and reacted accordingly with venomous threats, surrounded by harsh expletives.  Of course, Chloey would have none of it, rejecting the food, but taking a bit of water.  Fueled with hate and pride, she certainly would NEVER consider begging him to loosen her bindings, lacings or straps.  She had dealt with worse in her short, pitiful life.

Well into the third day, Mercer came to feed and water her.  Imagine his surprise when she removed the helmet and found, not Chloey, but Marguerite Marchant in the Punishment Corset!

"My God!" he shouted.

First looking about with alarm and seeing nothing, he quickly began to extract the pear gag, taking no notice of Marguerite's urgent grunts and her eyes attempting to warn him; for imminently, Chloey stepped out into the open and bludgeoned him with a shovel.

"Yes, 'God' -- you shall be meeting him soon!"   With that she sent him to heaven.

Marguerite watched, terrified, her eyes wide open, and her gag, still inserted, but unstrapped, preventing the screams that most certainly were being emitted from entering the room.

In the end, it was Marguerite's kindness and loving nature that did Mercer in.  She knew that Chloey was rejecting food, and thought that she could persuade her to eat while Mercer was absent.  Surely, she harbored ill feelings toward the girl, but she knew that a sick Chloey would not be in anyone's interest, and, after all, she WAS a Christian.  Of course, Chloey used her wiles to entice her into letting her free enough to attack.  Sadly, despite what she had heard, seen, and experienced, Marguerite never grasped the extent of the evil living in Chloey Garrett.

But in her twisted way, Chloey, even while she used her to rid the school of Principal Marlow, felt a certain attraction to the fetching Marguerite.  So she was inclined toward forbearance regarding her involvement in all of this.

Leaning close to her face, her own face red, she whispered to the sobbing girl, "Marguerite, my dear. Listen to me carefully.  I am going kill everyone involved in this, but… (she brushes Marguerite's hair) I shall spare you…IF you divulge to no one what you saw here today.  You are so sweet."  She kisses the bound girl on her stringent gag… "Do you…do you understand, my pretty?"

What could Marguerite do, but slightly nod her head within the constraints of the strict collars she was wearing?  What could the poor girl do?

And what could the poor girl do as Chloey gently released her from her leather prison, and proceeded to make savage, but tender love to her.  That, dear readers, with the dead man still warm beside them.  Miss Garrett was not one to shun the macabre; rather, she was seduced by it.

EPLILOGUE


It was Miss Minnie who "found" the belts in Chloey's room, coincident with the stumbling by Mr. Garret, accompanied by one of the school's private policemen, into the cellar of The Madison Lodge.

And it was the perspicacity and wisdom of Dr. Beckley that reached the conclusion that our poor Catherine was not the victim of a fall on the ice, but of a binding and beating, as well as sexual abuse.  Trauma was all over the girl's face.

The elaborate plot hatched by the four girls ended in success, but that success had little to do with the stolen belts.  In the end, it took horrible sacrifice by Catherine and Marguerite, and the ultimate loss of Mercer's life.

Mr. Garrett would have no more of his indulged and misbehaving daughter, a child who saw fit to believe that murder and larceny would not cast their shadows from her onto her father.  The police were seen calling later in the day, and Chloey was never heard of again.

But graduation ceremonies WERE conducted that year, and Gwenyth and Helena not only wore the honored Viennese belts, but were given special honors for their part in the Chloey affair.  Marguerite and Catherine were honored in absentia, the former having left after a short recuperation, the latter still hospitalized in Portland.  Gwenyth missed " Goopie" enormously, but DID manage to visit her now and then.

Many times, elsewhere, the Viennese Training Belt was applied over a standard corset and brought to bear to the point where the supplicant's waist was at the prescribed tiny circumference, thusly, in a perfect circle; indeed, showing the same width front to back as side to side. Then the corset underneath was laced and the belt removed.  It was a facilitative manner with which to lace a corset down, particularly to the smaller circumferences.

 However, at Garret, the belt was an end in itself. The beautiful Viennese belt, which closed only at a maximum size of fifteen inches, was applied to the un-boned area and click-screwed to the desired circumference.  There it remained throughout the day of graduation day for all to admire, screws and all.  It was sight to behold!  Oh!  For these girls, a special gown was worn to accommodate the screws, which protruded from her sides, an emblem of pride.  Most times a girl would only reluctantly part with it at the end of the day.  Many of those who were fortunate enough to be so honored, purchased their own Viennese belt after graduation, longing for the wonderfully firm, hard waist.  But none were ever so beautiful as that day when they proudly and radiantly displayed their "perfect" waist to the world!




Miss Becket was installed as Principal shortly thereafter.  It was then that Helena discovered who Melody really was and, after a long, tearful talk with her new sister, requested that she permitted to attend to her, with the help of Jenkins. Of course.  Father would never REALLY be out of their lives!  Once Melody accepted her new role in life, and her budding girlish bosom, as well as her new womanly curves and voice, she became a bit more compliant (especially after her punitive night in The Punishment Corset!).  Moreover, there came a time when she actually began to embrace the concept of tightlacing and attending to all of her newly-acquired girlish charms.  She was proud of her waist and long tresses! Soon, her unique dental braces, which could be adjusted to prevent her from opening her mouth, were finally removed.  The trauma she incurred as a result of the episode with Harold remained in her mind and affected her for many years.

Time progresses, as it will, dear readers, and Helena became very close to her new sister, for she was a wonderful support for her.  Neither ever married, but returned to their father's house, where they stayed for the rest of their lives.

Poor Marguerite was not ever to speak with her mother again, returning to Boston, and searching for her endlessly, to no avail.

"Neat Waists Make for Neat Minds"
THE GARRETT FINISHING SCHOOL FOR GIRLS (3)


A SAD TALE

We come upon Gwyenth hastily making her way to Helena's room.They have made arrangements to spend two hours together and skip lunch and nap.   Occasionally, school authorities CAN be lenient, especially when the subject is one of their best students, and there has been a delay in transferring furnishings into Gwyenth and Catherine's room so that Helena can relocate with them, as promised.

Gwyneth's relationship with Helena has grown quickly, and they have become the best of friends, sometimes to Catherine's consternation.   Not that Gwyenth ignores Catherine -- she usually includes her in her time with Helena, but in this instance it is is not possible.  It is just that Catherine is accustomed to having Gwyenth all to herself and is now, understandably, a bit jealous.  Gwyenth and Helena are sensitive to this, and try to make certain she is included whenever possible.

The reason for today's little visit is ostensibly to discuss Saturday's costume party, and the difficulties Gwyenth is having with her extremely tight stays.  Although she has retired most nights laced to thirteen inches in preparation for the party, she has lately many-a-time awoken in extreme discomfort after several hours, in most instances nauseous, and has had to be loosened to fifteen inches.  Since these symptoms were not extant before the terrible "accident" with the lacing machine last week, Doctor Berkeley believes Gwyenth should not force herself to so small a waist, at least for a few months, and has this morning forbidden The Principal from allowing her to lace any more than fifteen inches.

In any case, health reasons aside, nothing would be more embarrassing than for Gwyenth to faint or not succeed in weathering through the party in her stays, and her gown certainly cannot be made larger in the waist.  After all, it IS a Catherine de Medici reproduction, and doing so would be unthinkable, considering the woman's place in history.

So, Principal Marlow has decided that Gwyenth and Helena are to exchange gowns and stays; she is impressed with how well Helena carries herself in the fourteen inch stays she voluntarily continues to wear even though they were meant to be punishment during the first days after her arrival.  Apparently, she adjusts to extreme tightlacing rather well.  Moreover, the students are of the same height and build; thus, altering the dresses will not be difficult.  When informed of this, Gwyenth was a bit upset, but understood the severe implications of not adhering to the Doctor Beckley's orders.  Wearing the "costume of honor" would have been wonderful, but, since it was now Helena to be so honored, well, the disappointment is lessened, and she is happy for her.  She accepts all of this as God's work, and she will not second-guess Him. The Madame Catule Mendes gown, which Helena was scheduled to wear, is rather nice, in any case.  Her regret is great, but not so great as her intense dislike of Chloey and all of her shenanigans. That girl is genuinely frightening.

Gwyenth knocks on the door, and Helena opens it, smiling.

"Hello, dear Gwyenth!  Come in!"

"Good to see you today, Helena," giving her a little hug. "You also look so wonderful in your tiny stays!  I have something exciting to tell you, dear friend."

"What, pray tell?  Sit down."

Gwyenth sits, and then proceeds to explain to her the details of Principal Marlow's directive.

"My!  This is so wonderful…for me."   She looks downward.  "But, at your expense."

"Do not feel so bad.  It isn't YOUR fault.  It is the fault of that monster, Chloey.  Be assured that I would want NO one else to wear that gown but you!  I mean that."

Helena looks into Gwyneth's eyes.  "I know you do."  Then tears flow from her own.

"What?  What ever is the matter, dear?  Do not be sad."

Sniffling, Helena responds,  "I am not sad, my dear friend.  It is just…"

"What, Helena?"

"Well…you...and everyone here has been so nice me ever since I…shall we say…saw the light...while I was in that horrible leather imprisonment.  I am ever so grateful, and...I…I…"

"Yes?  Tell me what’s on your mind, dear?  I feel so close to you."

Through her tears, "Gwyenth, I am SO sorry for the way I treated you and the girls and everyone here when I first came…SO sorry…"

"God will forgive you, rest assured.  Your repentance is apparent to all."

"But…but…I…have had it so difficult in my life…please, please, this is between us only.  Please?  You mustn't tell anyone, even Catherine."  She breaks down, leaning into Gwyneth's lap, sobbing."

Minutes pass, while Gwyenth holds her dear friend who is crying her heart out.

After a while, she composes herself, her eyes red and moist.

"I am truly sorry, Gwyenth.  Permit me to confide in you."

"Certainly, my dear."

Her voice stutters.  "Well, my mother died of consumption when my brother, Martin, and I were at an early age.  I was five and he, six.  She was an angel, and, even though I was so very young. I shall never forget her."  She pauses again  to compose herself.

"Father is very wealthy, and provided for us, at least, monetarily.   But we paid him back in dark credits."

"Dark credits?"

"That is what Martin and I called them…a…dark credits.  He…you mustn't tell!"

Holding her hand: "I assure you I shall not, my friend.  Tell me…"

"Father…he liked to play…a…a…"games."

"Games?"

"Dark games.  He would behave…he would make us do things to each other, and he would…watch."  Her eyes glazed.

"What kind of things, my dear?"

"He would force Martin to…touch…me, and…he would coerce me do things to him…and to Martin…with my mouth."

"Things with your mouth? What kind of things with your mouth?"

"You know...."  She blushed and looked downward..

Gwyenth sat there, stunned, not knowing what to say.  "Why…what…?"

"He is an evil man," said Helena. "and when we didn't do as he required, he would strike us, and sometimes he'd tied us up in the basement…for hours!  Sometimes he would make Martin put HIS member in his mouth."

"Lord," gasps Gwyenth, taken aback, her hand to her breast, her breath shallow.  In her sheltered life, she has never heard of such strange goings on.  "Did he ever…rape you?"

"I do not think he is capable.  Nothing that...simple...ever happened," Helena says, sadly.

"Oh, Helena!"  They embrace.  "No wonder you acted the way you did.  This is horrible.  What a despicable man!  Where is your brother?"

"He, too, acted up as he got older.  Eventually, father put him into a boys school somewhere, but he ran away.  I have not heard from him in many months.  I know he is ashamed of what went on, but he is now nothing more than criminal.  He told me once he was going to report father to the authorities, but nothing came of it, perhaps because I warned him that he might try to kill us.  We were so afraid...and still are much so!  The worst for him was knowing living with what father had me do to HIM!  My own brother!  He is SO ashamed, poor boy!  Father should suffer greatly for his sick mind. To do this to his own children!"

"You seemed so sad the other day when you were describing the dream you experienced whilst in the Punishment corset.  Now I know why you were so sad."

"I do not know - Perhaps it wasn't a dream. Everything like that gets 'mussy' in my mind."

"Not a dream?  How could that be?  Wait!  Chloey spent that evening with you! I was asked by The Principal to deliver a message to her in your room that night.  I stumbled upon her - she was on the bed - on top of Harold.  Yes!  Then she warned me not to tell what I had seen to anyone or I would regret it.  That was the night she rubbed my bosom.  It was strange…it was as if…she enjoyed it.  I had never been touched there before, least of all by a girl, in that manner."  She bows her head.  "It was terrible."

"What can be done?"

"Well dear, we shall have to bide our time.  Reporting her would be the worst thing we could do - maybe we can make her life miserable some day…in any case, The Christ will punish her."

"Father and she seem to be cut from the same cloth.  What a sad world."

"Sadder that they cannot be punished temporally."

"…or stopped."

"Or stopped."

They both stared into the air.

MASQUERADE


In the northeastern part of the United States, Rutherford Preparatory School for Boys is as well-known and highly regarded as Garrett.  So it should come as no surprise to my dear readers that no other school but Rutherford was ever invited to the annual costume party at Garrett.   And, of course, it is a truth that Rutherford would never decline, even though the distance is a bit far, their school being located in New Haven, Connecticut, a full two hundred miles away.  Many of these young men graduate, and immediately enter Yale University, located in the same city, the following fall.  It is surmised that a full fifteen percent of Yale's students are graduates of Rutherford.

It is important to note that no boy ever complained about the long trip: The young women of Garrett were second to none. 

*  *  *  *

The long-awaited day has arrived.  The gentlemen from the Rutherford Preparatory School will be here at 7 PM.  However, an early spring snowstorm has made its appearance and, perhaps, might delay them.

Boys! Very rarely do these young ladies ever see members of the stronger sex! Of course, the same holds true for the young gentlemen, and they are certain to be eager and as excited as their feminine counterparts.

The food and drink are out, the decorations are up, the string quartet is in place, and the ballroom is all ready for dancing.

One of the charming little games the girls like to play is to attempt to meet boys who are dressed in the same era in which they are adorned.  Thus, a Civil War Union lieutenant might be "targeted" by a Southern belle, or an English soldier during the American Revolution by a lady of the court of King George. Well, perhaps "targeted" is too strong a word.  After all, a genteel lady does not approach a young man with any degree of forwardness.  Nevertheless, there ARE methods which can be employed to become introduced to a particular "someone."

Most certainly, the boys are fully aware of this annual little bit of fun, and tend to use it to their advantage (does anyone presume
otherwise?).  For example, upon the boys' entrance, the girls are sitting in chairs around the perimeter of the ballroom, where the lacing machinery in the corner is appropriately covered.  So, the gentlemen immediately are aware of which of the girls are dressed as their counterpart, and decide if they wish to dance with them.  If they do, then it is a small matter to allow the wiles of the girl to connive to get him to introduce himself to her.  If he desires not to engage the young lady, well, it is no large task to make arrangements to keep her at distance.  Many a girl's focus has been thwarted in this manner, much to her chagrin.  But it DOES make it clear, on both sides, who is desired by whom.  So the little diversion serves a purpose, as do many similar Victorian etiquette customs, such as calling cards.

Of course, none of the girls are hindered by anything that they might be wearing during the rest of the week - no special hobble petticoat, no arm binder or gag or backboard or such.  No, here they are to display their tiny waisted gowns and elegant demeanors. Many of these young ladies are freer then they been in some time.  For many of these girls, sitting is a luxury in which to revel.

On this occasion, the girls are in a titter.  A strange thing has happened.  As they sit along the wall, a young lady, one with whom they are not familiar, is very slowly escorted to a chair by the Head House Mother, Miss Becket, at the end of the line.  She is attired in a large hoop skirted and corsetted dark green gown, with appropriate mid-century styling.  It appears to be representative of the Civil War era, and is embellished with a plethora of pretty ivory-colored lace.

Whispering ensues:  Who IS this mystery girl? She seems so uncomfortable, and she is wearing a bonnet indoors - highly irregular.  Odder still, she is veiled in black, and she appears not to be able to move her arms up from a front and down position - she is barely able to manage her skirts.  The high heels she wears cause her no end of trouble.  Would that the students could see her face!

"Look, girls."  The threesome is seated together, as one would expect - Gwyenth in her gold and brown-colored Catule Mendes gown with a fifteen inch waist; Catherine in a black satin Madame de Pompadour polonaise gown with the a waist of sixteen inches, featuring a brilliant blue taffeta sash; and Helena in her astonishingly small thirteen inch waist, residing in her splendid Catherine de Medici reproduction of blue silk.

Gwyenth is talking: "She has such difficulty moving - I wonder who she is?"

"I know why she cannot lift her arms!" offers Catherine.  "Look at her bodice.  Do you see the sleeves?  They are sewn tight under the armholes.  She would tear her gown if she pulled up her arms.  That is, if the dress is not strong."

"I have seen that before," responds Gwyenth.  "I met one of my friends with her parents at church...a…two years ago. Her dress was similarly constructed, and she told me her parents were punishing her for not being "dainty" enough.  So for a week, she wore dresses that were cut in the arm, so as to disallow her from raising her arms up much further than her lap. Toward the end of the week, the poor girl accidentally tore her dress when she had to catch something to avoid being hurt.  Her father would have none of it:  He required her to wear such dresses for another week, and her elbows were strapped to her side.  It was a harsh lesson."

"How we suffer some times, for propriety's sake," says Helena, sadly.  Gwyenth looks at her with compassion.

Catherine: "She certainly has difficulty walking.  She must not be acclimated to that huge hoopskirt.  I am told that it DOES takes practice."

Gwyenth: "I do not know…it seems there is something else actually IMPEDING her.  And notice the manner in which her skirt is settled now that she has sat down."

Helena:  "Well, at least she need not be with a bustle, sitting on the very edge of the chair!"

Gwyenth:  "Yes, they are SO difficult, but not as difficult as the hobble petticoat!  At least one can SIT!  But look…carefully.  It appears that the entire inside of the hoop is crammed with petticoats, from the inside to the out.  I vouchsafe there to be ten or fifteen under there!  THAT'S why she couldn't manage walking!"

Helena:  "And running would be IMPOSS…"

The girls look at each other.

"She's captive!"  They chorus.

"Who IS she?" says Catherine.  "I don't see anyone missing."

"Well, then, there are so many - are you sure?" responds Helena.

"I counted.  All the girls seem to be here, except Chloey, and she would NEVER accede to wearing such a gown.  What a curious mystery!"

"How queer!" exclaims Gwyenth.

"The veil! Why are they hiding her face?" says Catherine.

"I am going to see," says Gwyenth, rising and walking toward the stranger, whilst pulling on her coif.

"What is she doing? The boys are not here yet.  The directive is to remain seated until they arrive.  She will cause herself trouble!" says Catherine.

"What is she doing to her hair?" says Helena.

Approaching the Head House Mother, Gwyenth says, "Excuse me Miss Becket, but would you mind assisting me?"

"What is it, my dear?"

"Well, our House Mother, Miss Marlow, will not be here for a few minutes, and my coif requires adjusting -- my roommates do not know how to attend to it."

"Certainly.  Come sit over here near the wall."

Whilst being attended to, Gwyenth closely scrutinizes the stranger, close by now.  Yes, they are certainly correct about the hoopskirt and petticoats, and the gown sleeves appear STRINGENTLY tight, especially at the armholes. However, the waist is not really THAT tight; she assumes that, from a distance, the exaggerated skirt causes her waist to appear smaller than it is. The girl merely sits there, her head pointed straight ahead, without speaking, without looking and with no sense that she belongs here or wants to be here.  But even though she is not THAT close, Gwyenth can make out heavy breathing. So odd.  Perhaps she is not accustomed to stays of even moderate tightness like she is wearing - they appear to be about nineteen or twenty inches. And carrying around all those petticoats must be a chore as well; there seems little room for her legs to move. The weight would be great, but pushing against them with every step, well, that would take its toll.

"There you are, young miss!  All proper and in place again.  My!  Those boys are going to appreciate your nice neat waist!” She smiles.

"Thank you, Miss Becket. Neat Waists Make for Neat Minds!"  Looking over at the strange girl, she adds, "A…excuse me mam, but might I ask who our guest is?"

"Yes, well, I shall…a...perhaps introduce her to the class…a… during the costume presentations.  Suffice it to say that she is another rebellious young girl, and not yet worthy of being spoken to.  In any case, she…a…has a touch of laryngitis and cannot speak at the moment.  Now go back to your friends, dear."

"Yes, Miss Becket. Thank you."

Just then, at eight o'clock, the boys finally arrive! (But, dear readers… where is Chloey?)

THE BOYS

The Rutherford boys, as they do every year, march into the ballroom in grand manner, all eyeing the pretty young ladies, thinking about whom to ask to dance, and looking to see which of the girls, if any, is dressed to match their costume period.

What excitement! The girls' eyes are all bright, inspecting the handsome young men strutting into the room, and earnestly hopeful of "snagging" one to their liking.  They are adorned to impress, from their beautiful coifed hair, to their magnificently corsetted raiment, to their elegant high heels.  Other than The Dance, this is the day they have have looked forward to since their acceptance into the highly regarded Garrett Finishing School for Girls.

Our three girls are writhing with the anticipation of being in the arms of a handsome young man - something not in their catalog of experiences.  Something promised to them in their youth by society, and something for which they have evermore yearned; and, tonight, they will finally taste their future.  Their time of practicing to dance with each other has come to an end, at least for now.  It is is the real thing, and, as Rutherford girls, they must show their polish, as well as revel, in their femininity!

For their part, some of the young men of Rutherford have had SOME experience with women (certainly not socially), but, mostly, they are virgins, both mentally, physically, and spiritually, and their libidos are at a very high pitch.  But, then, they have been brought up to respect women, and their social standing and religious mores generally keep them in check. Suffice it to say however, as sexually mature young men, being this close to ripe young ladies is an extremely frustrating circumstance. We must thank heaven that our staff are alert and caring chaperons!  Compromise can come inadvertently, as we all know so well, and our dear young people can be forced to live with such shame for the rest of their lives. This writer posits that corsets, tight skirts and bodices, as well as hindering petticoats, serve a very useful purpose in this regard.  Indeed:  proper clothing for a proper society!

The boys are seated on the other side of the room, facing their counterparts.  Principal Marlow arrives as the final young man sits, and, along with Head Housemother Becket (one of the assistant House Mothers has taken her place watching over the strange young lady), and their counterparts from Rutherford, takes her place standing near the third wall to address the group:

"Good evening, young ladies and gentlemen!  We are most happy, once more, to have you, the pride of Rutherford, here to share in our annual costume party.  You all look wonderful, and I know you will all have a fine time!"

"So: Mingle a bit, and then, in about an hour, we shall conduct our costume pageant, and display our beautiful young peacocks in their wonderful plumage!  Enjoy!"

The boys eagerly approach their chosen partners.  The usual competition occurs for the prettiest of the girls, but, of course, all is settled in a civilized manner. As the party progresses, little strategies are implemented by the girls to become introduced to the boys with whom they want to dance, as earlier described.  Some are thwarted by the boys (and some by their very classmates at Garrett!), but many achieve their goal, as the games that have straddled the centuries go on.

About one half hour into the dance, a tall enterprising young man named Clifford, dressed in a Civil War uniform, and having noticed her sitting there in a Civil War era crinolined gown, approaches our stranger, wondering at her veil, and hoping to glimpse her face.

As he draws near, Miss Becket hurries over, standing in front of the girl and the other House Mother, saying in a low tone, "That will be all, Miss Angus."

"Yes, young man?"

"Excuse me, I was wondering if the young lady would like to dance."

"I see.  I am sorry, but she is not feeling well."

He is disappointed, but knows his place. "Very well, madame. Thank you," as he draws away, a another young lady catching his eye.  Seeing this, Miss Becket immediately turns and walks a few paces to speak to another assistant House Mother, who is seeking her attention.  Her back is to the strange girl.

As Clifford begins to walk toward the other young lady, there emanates a low, but urgent, grunting from under the veil of the hoop skirted  figure.

Startled, the boy walks back to the girl, first ascertaining that Miss Becket is preoccupied.  He finds it very difficult to approach near enough to understand what is happening, due to the voluminous skirts in front of the girl, for not only do they swell out inordinately, they are piled high, so that the girl's face is very difficult to see.  In any case, no intelligible words are forthcoming, merely a sort of grunting; to the boy, the sounds seem similar to those of a person who is gagged!  But the urgency is apparent enough, and the girl appears to be attempting to encourage the boy to look under her veil.

Clifford is hesitant - after all, such a breach of conduct would be cause for severe discipline, and this all seems so unseemly!  But his curiosity soon gets the better of him; so, looking to see if he has remained undetected, he hurriedly leans over and pushes the veil aside with the back of his hand.

What he sees, he can not believe!  Staring into the eyes of the girl, he quickly shuts the veil and begins to walk away, shaking, visibly affected.  He is grateful that no one has seen him, but astounded.  What is this?  It…it… is my old classmate, Martin…dressed ... as a girl! And gagged!  My God!  Clifford is, indeed, very frightened.

What to do?

That dilemma is solved with dispatch. The Principal has caught Clifford from the corner of her eye, just as he is taking leave of our hapless girl, in such a hasty manner.  Obviously, something is wrong.

As she approaches him, Clifford is standing in front of the refreshment table, staring at nothing in particular, and trembling.

"Good evening, young man."

Startled, and definitely on edge, the boy says, "Hel-hello, madame."

"I am the principal here at Garrett. Are you enjoying this lovely occasion?"

"Yes, I know who you are, and yes, I think it is…lovely."

"Have you danced yet?"

"N-No, mam.  Soon."

"Do you find any of our young ladies attractive?"

"Why, yes," composing himself a bit.

"There's a young lady sitting over there who has not danced yet, and she is wearing your era…"

"Y-Yes, I see her."

"Yes.  I know."  She looks at him levelly.  The larger question is…how MUCH of her have you seen?

"Oh!  Whatever do you…do you mean, mam?"

"I think you KNOW what I mean."

"Pardon me, Principal Marlow?"

"Ah!  You know my name!  Excellent!  Then you probably know what a kind mistress I am.  I have a reputation for being very strict.  And you probably are aware of the fact that I suffer disingenuous prattle with contempt, yes?

Clifford seems bewildered.

"Step over here, so we will not overheard..."

"Now, tell me straight (What is your name?):  WHAT did you see?  Did you peer under her veil?  Tell me!"

"Clifford Burns, madam.  Yes…a…I…a…I saw a girl - gagged."

"Perhaps she is being disciplined.  You boys at Rutherford should be familiar with gagging and the such...  You appear too upset to have only witnessed a pitiful girl gagged.  Was she pretty?  Was she crying?  What?"

"I…I…"

Quietly.  "Do you…KNOW her?"

The boy looks down.

Do you KNOW her?  What?"

"I…I…I…know…..HIM."

"Him?  She is a girl, not a boy. Notice the clothing, my dear."

"The clothing.  Yes.  The clothing -  he…he…is, indeed a boy…in girls' clothing."

"Yes?"

"He is my friend, my friend, Martin," he says, sadly.

They look at each other quietly for a long moment.

"Principal, what is his all about, if I may be so bold to ask?"

"If you may be so bold as to ask. Well.  Listen to me, Clifford:  I wield much power here, and at Rutherford as well, due to my close relationship with your superintendent.  You have stumbled upon a situation that is not all that uncommon, but not here at Garrett.

"I am going to explain to you what is happening, because I believe knowing will deaden your curiosity, and make it less difficult for you to keep the secret.  And you WILL keep this secret.  I can be kind, as I am now - or, I can be monstrously cruel.  Do not think, even for one minute that, should you release the secret, you will not find yourself in the same condition as your friend, Martin, or, as she is now known, Melody.  I trust we understand each other?"  She looked at him levelly in the eyes.

"Yes.  Indeed.  I shall comply," his head down.

"Excellent.  Very wise.  Now, permit me tell you the story…"

*  *  *  *

"…So.  Any questions, lad?"

 "It is an astonishing story, Madame.  Will he…she ever be free?"

 "No, Clifford, she is a girl for the rest of her days."

 Quiet again, while Clifford absorbs all he has heard.

 "Madame…Should not my headmaster know?"

 "No need to bother him with this - he is familiar with procedure."

 "I see."

 "Good.  Now, there is one more thing…"

 "Yes, Principal?"

 "A girl being punished is not an uncommon sight here at Garrett, as it is not uncommon to see a boy at Rutherford in restraints and the such.  You are all aware of the virtues of such treatment, and how it will make you all better members of a genteel society."

"Yes, mam."

"Now, I want to expose Melody to as many of the circumstances of being a girl as possible.  Indeed, that is why she is in attendance here.  But, in order to allow that, since she is still a bit recalcitrant, I have restrained her; for otherwise, she might cause problems and, perhaps, even run away."

"I have veiled her only for the benefit of your comrades.  I do not desire any of them to recognize her, as she was a student there for a time, as you obviously know. My plan was thwarted by you, unfortunately.  Is she a good friend?"

"As good as two classmates can be.  I knew him…er…her, for only six months."

"I see.  Well, now you will get to know her better!  I want you to dance with her, as best as she can, since she is not familiar with the female part.  Not only that, her skirts are, shall I say, a bit…binding…and voluminous at that.  But I believe you…and she…can deal with it.   Now that you know, I want to use you to disarm any possible curiosity on the part of your classmates about whom she is, and why she is not dancing.  In this manner, she will be merely another Garrett student to them. And, you can cobborate that - tell them that she is not feeling well, but felt obliged to give one dance  After all, you ARE attired in the same era."

Clifford feels trapped, as indeed he is. "Yes, madame.  I understand."

"Of course, chatter will be minimal," with a big Marlow smile.

"Of course."

"Now, let me inform her of our intention and then I shall ask you to escort her to the floor."

"Yes, Principal."

*  *  *  *

Dear readers, as we take temporary leave of our little happy scene, we observe a grand young couple, slowly, and with some hesitancy, dancing to the music of the quartet.  How fortunate this young stranger is to have caught the eye of such a handsome lad, one so willing to accommodate her hobbling great skirt and grasp her arms in an untraditional manner.   For some reason, she cannot lift her arms;  perhaps her illness makes her weak.  And the conversation appears to be a tiny bit one-sided, for attendant to the weakness-inducing malady of this beautifully gowned young lady, this epitome of femininity, is laryngitis!

SHAME

The time has come for the highlight of the party, the costume presentations!

However, first though, a small presentation of poetry by some of the more artistic girls, poetry which gently conveys the essence of modern womankind, extolling the virtues of such charms as submissiveness, a small waist and feet, porcelain skin, romantic sentiment, and feminine strength, as defined by society.

This is followed by Miss Emily (chosen by The Principal for her lovely voice, of which she took notice the day of Emily's talking-stool punishment), reading a proper popular love poem by W.B. Yeats entitled, "He Remembers Forgotten Beauty":

 When my arms wrap you round I press
My heart upon the loveliness
That has long faded from the world;
The jewelled crowns that kings have hurled
In shadowy pools, when armies fled;
The love-tales wrought with silken thread
By dreaming ladies upon cloth
That has made fat the murderous moth;
The roses that of old times were
Woven by ladies in their hair,
The dew-cold lilies ladies bore
Through many a sacred corridor
Where such grey clouds of incense rose
That only God's eyes did not close:
For that pale breast and lingering hand
Came from a more dream-heavy land,
A more dream-heavy hour than this;
And when you sigh from kiss to kiss
I hear white Beauty sighing, too,
For hours when all must fade like dew,
But flame on flame, and deep on deep,
Throne over throne where in half sleep,
Their swords upon their iron knees,
Brood her high lonely mysteries.


The atmosphere being now proper, at Principal Marlow's directions, the girls then parade, one by one, to the front of the room.  There, they proceed to briefly discuss their costumes, give information about its era (when applicable), and, should the gown be an historic or current reproduction of a specific lady's gown, give a very brief lecture on that person.  One can see then, that preparation for this occasion is not restricted to fittings and corset training! Thus, not only is this an exciting costume party, it becomes, in addition, a forum for academic education, such as it is, a venue that befits Garrett's reputation as, not only a finishing school, but a place of learning as well.

The highlight of the presentation comes near the end when the "gown of honor" is presented -  in this case, as in most, the Catherine de Medici reproduction, with its incredibly small waist, and worn with radiance by Miss Helena, is that gown.

Considering the trial this girl has endured since her arrival at Garrett, it is a wonderful accomplishment.  She stands proud, her eyes gleaming, as if to say, "I am NOW a person, someone who counts!"  Dear reader, this is a metamorphosis to be admired - an example for them all!

But, against the wall sits a silent, forlorn figure, joyful that his sister has finally found some happiness, but immersed in self-pity and sadness.  Martin could NEVER let his sister know that he was here, in such shameful circumstances, encased in stays, hindered by voluminous skirts, and prancing about in high heels like a lady.  Then, actually being forced to DANCE with his old roommate, his arm clasped circling his rigidly corsetted waist, Clifford's legs forced into his awesome skirts, making HIS movements that much more difficult; their feet shuffling about, his in a female novice's manner, while, due to the restricting bodice of his gown, Clifford holding his arms about Martin's waist in an ungainly manner. It was horrible, he averting his eyes, and attempting not to fall over in his attempt to dance backwards. What must Clifford have been thinking?  The utter embarrassment!

So, enduring this agony, and feeling so much love for his sister, (s)he mourns the fact that (s)he will never be able to talk to her again.  First shame at home, and, now shame here. Tears flow down the sullen girl's face, temporarily dammed by the pear gag wedged deeply into her mouth, as she heaves her corsetted bosom in despair, and attempts to move her legs into a more comfortable position, but to no avail, the heavy skirts being too much a burden. It will never stop!

As Helena leaves the arena, Principal Marlow approaches our crestfallen Melody, one hand extended.  "Come, dear, it is your turn!"

Reluctantly coming to the front with her, as the assemblage finishes politely clapping in response to Helena's marvelous display, The Principal announces, "One more gown, ladies and gentlemen!"

"I wish to introduce you all to our newest student, a transfer from another institution.  Melody, here, was eager to be part of our customs, so I invited her, and…here she is!  Does she not look beautiful?  Please make her welcome."

With that, there is applause from the group, and then the inevitable and customary, " NEAT WAISTS MAKE FOR NEAT MINDS!" All assume she requires training, for the tight sleeves and voluminous skirts certainly are not normal.

Smiling, Principal Marlow continues, "She apologizes for her veil - he has a bit of rash on her face, and laryngitis as well, so she cannot speak.  But…is this not a wonderful gown?  Pre-Civil War, anti-Bellum, with a nice, large hoop, and such pretty lace."

She looks out into the group.  "Mr. Clifford, come up here for a moment, and let us see a well-coordinated couple!"

More embarrassment for our new young lady, as Clifford reluctantly joins her. The gag is becoming very uncomfortable. In more ways than one!  If only he could explain…but now…Clifford has taken her hand and kissed it!  Is he mocking him?  As he leans over, he looks into the veil and whispers, "I understand, my friend.  Do not fret.  Persevere."

"What a gentlemen!  What young man could not help but to be charmed by such a vision of loveliness?  You will note the many petticoats she carries -- she just ADORES them so much that she INSISTED upon wearing so many, even though she is hooped, and despite the fact they encumber her stride so!  Are they not delightful?  What a fine young lady!

But at that moment, as she displays the silent lass, Principal Marlow's life changes forever.  For in the doorway, accompanied by a beautiful young woman in a trained gown, now stands a stiffly corseted Czar Nicholas II.

It is Chloey.