Michaela and the Perils of the Pen.

Michaela and the Perils of the Pen.

(A St Margaret Clitheroe's Story.)



It is Friday tea time beneath the hallowed gables of St Margaret Clitheroe's school and the student body is gathered in the school dining hall for the consumption of the evening meal. We are perched on wooden benches lining long, ancient wooden tables that look for all the world as if they have seen continual usage since first being pressed into service for medieval banquets. Indeed it takes but the merest exercise of imagination to replace the uniformed girls of the school beneath the oaken beams of the dining hall with unwashed knights, clutching mugs of ale in one hand and legs of mutton in the other, singing bawdy songs, tossing the bones to the dogs scrabbling about in the straw underfoot and slapping the serving wenches on the rump. At least that would have been more entertaining than Friday tea time!

Lining a table towards the front, where the nuns seated at the staff table on the raised dais at the front of the hall can keep a sharp eye on us, my colleagues of the Dead Fish Liberation Front and I are sat down with plates purportedly bearing healthy nutrition before us. It is not an edifying spectacle. We are poking dispiritedly at some grey, amorphous organic matter that the school catering staff have assured us, in flat contradiction to all visible evidence to the contrary, is the mortal remains of some finned aquatic vertebrate belonging to the Class “Pisces”.

Julia for one, is not convinced by this dubious claim. Hesitantly she inserts a fork full of this mysterious substance into her mouth and chews tentatively wearing an expression that manages to convey the emotions of anxiety and outrage simultaneously. She swallows with difficulty and regards the rest of her repast with distaste. “Is there such a thing as “tough fish”?” she inquires plaintively.

Wendy shrugs resignedly. “Eating fish is supposed to be a healthy dietary option!” she opines unconvincingly.

Rachel allows herself a cynical laugh and stabs at the offensive offering on her plate with her knife. “Healthy? This? It looks as if the fishermen didn't bother to cast their nets but waited until the fish just expired with some malignant disease and floated belly up before scooping them out of the water! We'll probably all come down with white spot or fin rot or something!”

I pat Rachel on the knee reassuringly. “Never mind Rache,” I say soothingly. “It could be worse. In fact it will be worse! There's tapioca pudding for dessert!”

Rachel rolls her eyes to heaven in despair. “Oh joy!”

Wendy blinks in surprise. “I quite like tapioca pudding.” she announces to the collective disbelief of her comrades.

“You would!” Rachel tells her feelingly.

“What do you mean?” asks Wendy with an air of affront.

“I think what Rachel is trying to say, Wendy dearest,” I interject smoothly, “Is that you are well known for having the gourmet sensibilities of a not particularly fastidious warthog! It is on record after all that you are the only person ever known to have returned for second helpings of the school's “strawberry blancmange”; a confectionery calamity almost universally regarded as the foulest outrage ever inflicted on the human palate!”

Rachel pushes her plate away in disgust. “I can't eat this muck!”

Sally clicks her tongue concernedly. “You'd better at least try to give an appearance of eating it Rache.” she tells her. “If sister Claire sees you not touching your food she'll assume that you're sickening for something and she'll have you down the infirmary before you can say “salmonella”!You wouldn't want to fall into Nurse MacBain's tender clutches now would you?” We all wince at the mention of the school's nurse; a Scottish ogre considered, by the more fanciful among us, to be the spiritual descendant of one of the witches in Macbeth and a practitioner of the dark arts of medicine that haven't materially advanced since the days of leeches, trepanning and the administration of tincture of snake bile and bat's vomit. Given the choice of a sound thrashing from Miss Pearson or a routine medical visit to the infirmary, I'd pull my knickers down for the cane without hesitation!

Rachel stares at her plate sulkily. “The bloody penguins can't possibly expect us to eat this garbage.” she grumbles.

“They probably think that it's character building.” Sally observes. “A reminder that better things await us beyond this mortal coil.”

Rachel pulls a face. “You mean if I can stomach my tapioca pudding now then I can look forward to ambrosia in paradise?”

“We are talking about a bunch of retards who have taken life long vows of austerity and chastity here.” I point out. “They probably think that edible food is a sinful indulgence at best or the temptation of the devil at worst.”

We all glance towards the row of nuns seated along the top table. They are eating in silence and with little indication that they are relishing it. sister Claire is taking her indigestion pills. Julia looks uncertain. “Father Ignatius seems to be enjoying it.” she points out.

Rachel snorts contemptuously. “Well after a bottle and a half of Tullamore Dew I suppose it all tastes the same! He's that bladdered you could slap a plate of putrefied porcupine gizzards down in front of him for all he'd notice the difference! Tapioca pudding won't faze him for an instance.”

I still don't see why you're so down on tapioca.” Wendy bleats pathetically.

“Shut it Newt!” Rachel tells her.

Julia shakes her head sadly. “God knows what Pauline will say when she sees the culinary delights on offer.”

Rachel looks up interestedly. “Where is Pauline anyway?”

Sally shrugs. “Extra hockey practice apparently. The team was a shambles against St Winifred's on Wednesday and Political Commissariat Pearson and Emily Dixon have cracked the whip. Pauline said that they'd be late for tea.”

“I've asked the dinner ladies to keep Pauline's meal warm for her.” says Wendy helpfully.

I draw in a breath. “Well that's very considerate of you Wendy,” I tell her placatingly, “But I wouldn't expect an effusion of gratitude for your thoughtfulness if I was you!”

Sally glances around. “Heads up girls! Tweedledum and Tweedledee have entered the house!”

The personages to whom Sally refers are the Benson twins who, at this juncture, are just arriving in the dinner hall. “Where have they been?” asks Rachel, “They're bloody late.”

“Prefect duties!” says Sally curtly. There is a collective frown around the table. “Prefect duties” is a description that could cover a multitude of dishonourable activities, few of which are likely to meet the approval of the assembled company.

“If ever there'd been any last lingering doubt that this dump was on the high road to Hades then it was forever dispelled the day those two goons got their prefect badges!” Rachel observes sourly.

Sally is covertly watching the Benson twins as they take their places alongside Stephanie “Slippery” Stockworth-Smyth; the mastermind behind their nefarious schemes and our sworn enemy. There seems to be much conspiratorial consultation amid the unholy trinity and a suspicious amount of stifled giggling. Sally narrows her eyes. “I smell a rat!” she declares decisively. “The bitches are up to something!”

Julia is inclined to agree with that analysis. “Yes they seem awfully pleased with themselves.” She watches them out of the corner of her eye for a second or two. “Why do they keep looking at you and sniggering Michaela?”

I shrug unconcernedly. “So they're brewing something. What else is news? Dog p*o smells; Slippery Steph and her tame lower primates are up to no good... who's going to grow fat on the difference?”

“I don't like it.” says Sally. “There's definitely foul work afoot. I can smell it a mile away. Evil stalks the land tonight girls. Dark deeds are in motion. The Smyth is on the prowl!”

Before we can conjecture further upon the sinister machinations of the Stockworth-Smyth/Benson axis we are joined by the delayed Pauline who arrives looking weary; her hair tangled, her face flushed with exertion and with bruises on her shins. Hockey practice has evidently been strenuous. Wendy dashes off to retrieve Pauline's evening meal as our latecomer eases herself gingerly onto the bench at the table. “Now then lasses.” she greets us. Oddly she is carrying a sheaf of papers in her hand.

“Blimey Pauline,” remarks Sally, looking over Pauline's bedraggled condition in some concern. “I thought you were just practising. By the state of you though it looks as if you've been bullying off against the sis Leibstandarte regimental first eleven!”

Pauline dismisses Sally's concerns with an airy wave of the hand. “Never mind about bleedin' 'ockey practice Sal.” she says grimly. “We 'ave a crisis on us 'ands! If you were 'opin' fer a quiet weekend then ferget it! We 'ave a problem or, ter be more precise,” Pauline pauses to nod at me. “Michaela does!”

I sit bolt upright. “Eh? What?”

Before Pauline can elucidate she is interrupted by Wendy placing her meal before her. It is difficult to stagger backwards whilst sitting on a hard wooden bench but Pauline takes one look at her evening repast and manages the feat with alacrity. “bloody 'ell!” she explodes feelingly. “What the 'ell is that?”

“Fish, according to the official designation.” I inform her.

Pauline stabs an accusatory finger at her plate. “If that is a bleedin' fish then it were spawned an' raised in t' stew ponds o' Mordor!”

“Never mind the sodding fish,” Sally interrupts, knowing that Pauline's monologues on the unsatisfactory standards of St Margaret's cuisine can be prolonged and tedious. “What about this crisis you mentioned?”

“Aye! Ah were comin' ter that.” By way of explanation she slaps the papers she is carrying down in the middle of the table. “Yer might want ter cast yer eyes ovver that little lot!”

“What are they?” asks Julia in puzzlement, picking one of the sheets of paper up.

“Nowt less than photocopies o' Michaela's private love letters ter Jackie Destet, the love o' Michaela's life! Right romantic they are if'n a bit graphic in places. There's a bit where Michaela reminisces about wot 'er an' Jackie gor up ter in t' stables that day we all went down ridin' in Market Snedworth. Dun't leave owt ter the imagination! I got quite 'orny readin' that!”

“Give me those bloody papers!” I yelp in alarm. It is too late. They are already being distributed amongst my colleagues.

“Then there's another little bit about Michaela rememberin' 'ow she stripped Jackie down to 'er knickers and 'ad 'er way wi 'er in that equipment storage room by t' gym that'll raise a few eyebrows an' all. I 'ate ter think wot Pearson would say if'n she 'eard wot were goin' on wi t' 'elp ov 'er volley ball nets an' trampolines!”

“I insist that you return those documents to me this instance!” I declare heatedly.

“Crikey Michaela!” says Julia, perusing another of the papers. “Does Jackie really own a strap-on? I've always wanted one of those. Where did she get it?”

“This instance!” I repeat in agitation.

“Hey listen to this girls,” says Rachel reading from another sheet, “My dearest darling, I have been wearing your knickers that you sent me all day long. It thrills me that you wore them as you were thinking of me and playing with your....”

“Desist!” I cry, “This is an outrage!”

“Here let me see that one!” says Wendy snatching the sheet of paper from Rachel's hand.

“Give me that back!” I whimper as my protests fall on deaf ears.

Sally is deep into study of one of the epistles and clucks her tongue disapprovingly. “I must say Michaela that it was very unwise of you to sign these letters with your real name. They're pretty explosive after all. I mean this bit here about a bottle of baby oil and an electric toothbrush is...”

“They were not intended for public dissemination!” I protest.

“At least you had the sense to conceal Jacqueline's real name.” Sally continues. She allows herself a small chuckle. “I didn't know that you called Jackie “Cuddles”!”

Rachel grins. “I think it's quite sweet. Michaela and “Cuddles”! What a lovely pair!”

I grip my forehead and groan. “Can it ladies! I know for a fact that you called Jenny Roston “Hot Lips” before she dumped you for Alice Townsend, Pauline and Sally's paramour from last term went under the sobriquet “Bouncy Boobs”!” I glare at Wendy who is giggling over her own reading. “Delicacy precludes me from mentioning the pet name Wendy that endowed upon Susy Weatherstone as a result of their extra-curricula activities in the school boiler rooms! I suggest that you all remember that St Margaret's is a house constructed of glass walls!”

“Do you really wear Jackie Destet's knickers?” Wendy inquires interestedly.

I slap my hand on the table. “I refuse, utterly refuse, to have my private correspondence aired and discussed in the public domain in this fashion!” I declare indignantly.

“Well ah'd get used to it if'n I were you.” says Pauline.

“What do you mean?”

“Ah mean Michaela that the 'ole school'll be discussin' t' finer points o' yer epistolary style afore lights out ternight.”

I stare at her in shock. “Please don't tell me that these are not the only copies of those letters!” I whisper in horror.

“Far from Michaela love! Copies o' them letters is posted up on walls all ovver t' school... dozens ov 'em... 'undreds! Some bugger's bin busy an' it don't take an 'Ercules Poirot ter figure out oo!”

“Stockworth-Smyth!” declares Sally. “I'll bet it was!”

“Aye!” confirms Pauline. “She's be'ind it without a doubt. She let 'er two simians wot 'ang on 'er coat tails do the dirty work though. Ah saw t' Benson twins busy in t' copyin' room on me way ter 'ockey practice an' thought they were up ter no good even then. Then, on me way back ter t' dorm ter change, I caught a glimpse ov 'em vanishin' round a corner wi' a big wodge o' paper in their 'ands. No prizes fer deductive skill fer puttin' them two tergether! They've done a thorough job an' all. If'n there's a wall, locker, blackboard or any other blank space in this school wot isn't adorned wi Michaela's literary output I 'ave yet ter see it! Ah grabbed down wot I could but Ah didn't 'ave time to scour t' ole school.”

I lean forward on the table and lower my face into my hands. “Oh God! This is a disaster!”

“Where the hell are the letters from anyway Michaela?” asks Sally.

“They're the letters I wrote to Jackie from last summer camp. We didn't see each other for three weeks and she insisted that I write to her every other day.”

“But what are they doing here then?” Sally demands to know, determined to get to the bottom of the matter.

“I've no idea! I sent them to Jackie's home and told her to destroy them as soon as she'd read them. I would surmise that the barmy bitch not only did not destroy them but was even mad enough to bring them with her to school when term started. God knows why! Stockworth-Smyth must have got her slimy paws on them somehow or other.”

“How come that you were sending her handwritten letters?” Julia wants to know. “Don't you have facebook?”

I look at her witheringly. “At summer camp? Give me a break! The only computer outlet at summer camp was out of commission presumably because someone forgot to change the gas bottle. I had internet on my phone but I got that confis**ted after I was caught downloading Japanese sex games.”

“Well all I can say is that when the rest of the school gets to see these letters then you're going to be a laughing stock Michaela!” Julia observes.

Sally shakes her head worriedly. “Bugger the rest of the school!” she states dismissively, “What will happen when sister Claire chances to cast an eye over these masterpieces? She'll blow a bloody gasket! Thank God you didn't use “Cuddles”'s real name Michaela. As it is it's only you who's going to get your arse thrashed to a pulp so it's not so bad. It would be terrible if poor Jacqueline was to get the cane over your excessively amorous scribblings.”

“Well thank you so much Sally!” I tell her bitterly. “I am deeply warmed by your heartfelt sympathy for my predicament!” I continue with heavy sarcasm.

“Well you should have known better Michaela.” Sally tells me. “It was very indiscreet of you to send those letters. One can only hope that poor Jackie doesn't have to pay the penalty for your foolishness.”

“My foolishness?” I demand with some asperity. “How the hell is it MY foolishness? It was “poor” Jackie's imbecilic indiscretion by not destroying those letters and bringing them to school that's caused this disaster in the first place!”

“I agree wi' Sal.” Pauline interjects. “It were madness you sendin' them letters! Yer should 'ave known better than ter trust 'em ter Jackie. I mean she's not t' sharpest tool in t' shed now is she?”

“What are you implying?” I demand rebelliously.

“Ah mean Michaela love that, while your Jackie is a right bonny lass an' a little sweet'eart an' all, she in't exactly ovver burdened wi' brains. I wouldn't trust 'er ter know 'ow ter push a pram down a promenade let alone wi' possession ov summat as dangerous as them letters!”

“Pauline has a good point there Michaela.” Rachel agrees. “Jackie is a lovely girl and drop dead gorgeous but even you have to admit that she's no intellectual giant. It would be just like her to underestimate the perils of something as incendiary as your imprudent letters. The air-headed, sentimental little dipstick probably couldn't bear to be parted from them. Probably takes them to bed to read to herself every night, knowing her. It's like placing nitro-glycerine in the hands of a four year old toddler. I don't know what you were thinking of!”

I feel it incumbent on me to defend my beloved's honour before these slurs. “Jackie's not that thick.” I protest. “She gets good grades on her work.”

Sally looks at me pityingly. “Yes but that's only because you do all her study assignments for her Michaela. I mean look at that history assignment she handed in last week. She got a Grade A on the Repeal of the Corn Laws in 1846 and I know for a fact that she thinks Robert Peel was a disc jockey! She probably thinks the Victorian era was when David Beckham's bloody wife was still in the Spice Girls!”

“Well all right.” I concede. My darling Jacqueline, it is true, will probably never aspire to high academia or ever get her head around anything more intellectually demanding than the latest copy of Cosmopolitan. I love her for many reasons but her piercing insights into modern civilisation or her philosophical analysis of the human condition are not among them. “I didn't think she'd be this daft though!”

“Well it would appear as if she is.” Sally concludes. “Therein lies the problem. If these letters come to the attention of sister Claire then it'll be knickers down in her study and no error. Now Michaela getting caned within an inch of her life is neither here nor there...”

“What would I do without friends like you?” I inquire bitterly.

“But we can't be letting poor Jackie suffer the same.” Sally continues, ignoring my interruption completely.

“But Jackie's name isn't mentioned at all in the letters.” Julia points out.

“Immaterial!” declares Sally. “Michaela's name is. There's only one girl in this school called “Michaela”. Now if Michaela's mum and dad had had the sense to call her something sensible like “Susan” or “Sandra” or something then the identity of the author of these letters might have been in doubt. As it is sister Claire will home in directly on the epicentre of the scandal, and, once Michaela has been brought to justice, she will immediately launch an investigation into the identity of the “Cuddles” featuring so prominently in these letters. We all know what sister Claire thinks about the “sins of the flesh”. She'll leave no stone unturned in her eagerness to uncover the mysterious “Cuddles”. She'll be like a truffle pig with its snout in the mud on a hot scent!” Sally shakes her head sadly. “I don't think it will take her long to get to the bottom of the matter either.”

Rachel nods in agreement. “That's true enough. Half the school must know that Michaela's been rug munching with Jackie Destet.”

“Exactly!” agrees Sally, “And, once Jackie's cover is blown, then she'll be joining Michaela on the caning rota!” Sally pauses for a moment to think. “I don't think poor Jackie has ever been caned before.”

Rachel rubs her chin thoughtfully. “I can't think of an occasion either. I know in year eight Divinity class, sister Maria put her over her knee for a spanking when, in response to a question about the significance of the Madonna, Jackie erroneously asserted that she'd had a hit single with “Like a Virgin” in 1984 and had appeared nude in Playboy. Other than that I don't think she's ever been in any serious trouble which is a remarkable record considering that she's Michaela's girlfriend!”

“Well she could be in big trouble this time!” Sally notes grimly. “So, as soon as tea time is over, it's all hands to the wheel girls! The minute that we're dismissed we'll all split up, divide up the school and grab as many of these flyers down from the walls as we can. Grab some of our junior cadres and press gang them into the job as well. With a bit of luck we might be able to eliminate them before they come to the notice of the penguins.”

“I'll take the main block.” Rachel volunteers.

“I'll cover the quadrangle and the science labs.” I venture.

Sally shakes her head firmly. “No Michaela. Julia can sanitise that quadrant. Your job is to go find Jackie and collar her. Find out how the hell Smyth and the blighted Benson bitches got hold of your correspondence! Then tell her to keep a low profile and, most of all, to keep out of your way until the thing blows over. It is imperative that your conduct over the next week or two is impeccable and that the pair of you keep your knickers on at all costs.”

“Aye.” agrees Pauline, “Keep away from Jackie. If yer must 'ave a bit of “'ow's yer father” yer'll 'ave ter mek do wi Julia!”

Julia shoots bolt upright. “Here leave me out of it! I'm going nowhere near Michaela! I'm buggered if I want sister Claire thinking I'm the elusive “Cuddles”!

“Order ladies!” demands Sally, “Now I think you'd better cover the gymnasium, sports pavilion and anything around the games fields Pauline....” There is an interlude as Sally, our appointed leader, allocates areas of responsibility to each of us. Finally, the task of advance planning complete, she asks if everybody understands exactly what they are to do. There is collective concordance. “Good.” says Sally, “So, as soon as dessert is out of the way and we're dismissed it's straight into the fray ladies. There's not a minute to lose!”

Wendy raises a hand, “I have a question.”

“Yes?” inquires Sally.

“Did Michaela wash Jackie's knickers before she put them on?”

I stab a finger at Wendy furiously, “One more peep, just one more frigging peep out of you Wendy Newton, and it won't be me wearing Jackie's knickers, it'll be you wearing your sodding tapioca pudding!”

********************
We reconvene later that evening in the school boiler rooms. It is, as Wendy has proven through her relationship with Susy Weatherstone, a safe haven at this hour since the school caretaker, Mr Bairns, is sleeping off his dinner in front of the television in his cottage by this time. Pauline is feeding sheets of paper into one of the furnaces whilst Sally runs a hand through her hair worriedly. Well we got all we could.” she surmises. “I think a lot of them were purloined by other students however so I'm afraid that there are still quite a number in circulation. You might have to put up with a certain degree of public humiliation Michaela.”

I groan. “Tell me about it! If one more person in this school comes up to me with a snigger and asks me how “Cuddles” is, I swear I'm going to dot the bitch! Alice Freeman of the Upper Fifth even offered me a pair of knickers since I was so obviously impoverished as to not be able to afford my own! I described in crude and graphic detail exactly what she could do with her underwear!” I pull a sour face. “I wouldn't mind so much except that I know damn well that what Alice Freeman gets up to with Tracey Althorpe would make Jackie and I look like a pair of virgin choir girls in comparison! bloody hypocrites, the lot of them!”

“Virgin choir girls?” muses Rachel, “There's a novel notion. I can't think where you'd find any of them. Not in the senior school choir at any rate!”

“I was being rhetorical!”

Sally purses her lips. “Well I'm guessing that you're probably going to have to put up with this for some weeks to come Michaela.”

I sigh heavily. “Don't I just know it! Stockworth-Smyth collared me in a corridor and managed to stick in her pennyworth as well!”

Sally raises an eyebrow, “Oh yes? What did the bitch have to say?”

“Plenty! Discussed my private affairs in quite unnecessary detail before telling me to send her love to “Cuddles” and departing. I'd have wrung the bitch's neck for her if she hadn't had Phobos and Deimos at her heels!”

“Well look on the bright side Michaela,” Rachel assures me. “We got most of the flyers they stuck up. I don't think there are any left on the walls so, with a bit of luck, the penguins might still be unaware of your morally questionable liaison with Miss Destet.” She pauses to shake her head in wonder. “I can't believe how many the bitches managed to put up! I counted over thirty just around the refectory alone and God knows how many more round the assembly hall!”

“There were close on fifty round the quadrangle!” Julia adds, “They sure meant to do a number on you Michaela. There must be a sizeable hole in the stationary supplies for the photocopier and enough Blu-Tack around the school to stick Humpty Dumpty back together again!”

“Did you manage to have a word with Jacqueline Michaela?” Sally wants to know.

I nod miserably, the memory of that painful interview still fresh in my mind. I collared Jackie in a corridor on the way to her dormitory, dragged her to a secluded recess and demanded to know what the devil she'd been thinking of by not destroying my personal letters to her or, at the very least, placing them beyond all possible danger of falling into hostile hands. I received no straight answer to begin with but instead was treated to a flood of tears, wailing lamentations and little of any coherent sense for my trouble. I had intended to be cross with her but her copious tears rendered my stern admonitions impotent and I ended up holding her in my arms, patting her on the back and murmuring something that sounded suspiciously like “there, there”. Gradually, amidst her pleas for forgiveness and her fear of her identity becoming known to higher authority, I was able to ascertain that Rachel's analysis of the situation was indeed accurate. The woolly headed little darling had not been able to bear the thought of destroying my letters and kept them among her most cherished possessions. It had never occurred to her apparently that somebody of evil intentions might purloin them. Everything is sweetness and light in Jacqueline's world; all princesses, bunny rabbits and fairy Godmothers. The likes of Stephanie Stockworth-Smyth barely impinge on her universe at all.

I report all of this to Sally. Sally listens with the air of someone having all their worst fears confirmed. “Was she able to cast any light on how the Smyth cabal was able to lay their hands on her private possessions?” she wants to know.

I nod grimly. “Yes, I did finally winkle that out of her, after about fifteen minutes of tearing of hair, beating of chest and rending of clothes. It's not good! If you recall the occasion when Wendy, Julia, Annika and I were caught red handed rifling through Stockworth-Smyth's personal possessions it was the Benson twins who shopped us to sister Claire.”

“Yes of course.”

“Well it would appear that sister Claire was most impressed by the Benson twins' vigilance and, having been on a crusade for some time against the proliferation of petty pilfering, has invested in them the authority to conduct spot searches in the dormitories for stolen property. Apparently they conducted just such a search Jackie's dorm and it was only after their having done so that Jackie discovered that her cache of intimate correspondence was missing.”

My comrades listen to this intelligence with alarm. “bloody Smyth'll have put them up to it!” declares Rachel feelingly. It is undoubtedly an accurate assessment. As I have noted previously in these memoirs, the Benson twins are not possessed of advanced thought processes and the formulation of any concept not involving crude physical v******e quite beyond them. The whole scheme has, beyond question, been conceived in the dark corners of Miss Stockworth-Smyth's malignant mind.

“bloody hell!” expostulates Sally in some agitation. “We'd better put out a general alert girls! If the bloody Bensons can go sniffling through people's private possessions at Stockworth-Smyth's instigation then nobody is safe!”

“Exactly!” I agree. “At the moment I am having to endure some considerable mockery from my fellow students as a result of the general publication of my endeavours in romantic communication. I wonder how long that will last before there is a growing awareness among the student body that the details of their own intimate and illicit activities are vulnerable to similar exposure. I doubt very much if there is a single girl in the entire upper school who would relish the thought of the innermost secrets of their bedside cabinet being disseminated in the public domain.”

“What if the Bensons and Smyth tell sister Claire that they found the letters in Jackie's possession?” Wendy wants to know.

Rachel shakes her head. “Not even that foul trio would stoop that low! There is still a code of honour in this school after all. You don't shop somebody and their girlfriend directly to the penguins; well not unless you wish to have a large delegation of senior students pop round to your dormitory for a midnight chat involving hockey sticks and rounders' bats!”

“In any case,” Sally points out, “They can hardly report that to sister Claire after posting copies of the damn letters all over the school. Bringing it to her attention privately might have been one thing but making a public spectacle of it is a pretty serious abuse of power. The Bensons could kiss their prefect badges “adieu” after that.” Sally rubs her chin thoughtfully. “No I think they'll be content in having done the dirty and to sit back in the shadows to await events. They've done enough mischief as it is.”

“There will be retribution!” I mutter darkly, sinister plots of vengeance brewing in my brain. “I'll make the bitches pay!”

Sally tuts at me; an annoying habit of hers when she feels her position of authority calls upon her to curb unnecessary excess among the ranks. “You'll do nothing of the sort Michaela! I counsel caution. All we'll accomplish by declaring open war at this juncture will be to draw attention upon you and Jackie. Right now the best thing to do is to maintain a low profile and hope the penguins haven't clocked any of your literary prose. With a bit of luck the whole thing will wither on the vine and the worst that will happen will be that you have to endure some public lampooning and take a bit of a knock to your reputation which, let's face it, isn't all that robust in the first place.”

I grumble a little but defer to our appointed leader's sage advice. We disperse from the boiler room and leave the matter to the hands of fate.

********************
It appears that Sally's recommended course of action has proven to be wise for, throughout the weekend, there is no sign of thunderous reprimands from the higher authority of the nuns. I spend the weekend on tenterhooks in daily fear of a dreadful summons to sister Claire's inner sanctum but, mercifully, the summons does not come.
This is not to say that the interval is without its tribulations. Far from it. In fact the entire period is one of unmitigated misery. My private correspondence has become the hot talking point of the entire school; which is not unsurprising given the limited opportunities for entertainment within the grim walls of St Margaret's. There are girly giggles in the gangways, sniggers in the snickets, chuckles in the chapel and titters in the toilets. The scandalous speculation regarding my personal affairs reaches such depths as to render them not only fanciful in the extreme but of dubious physical possibility.

There is a poem making the rounds which has it that,

“With her girlfriend Michaela becomes muddled,
Some say even somewhat befuddled,
For together they get,
Exceedingly wet,
And thoroughly, disgracefully “Cuddled”!

Neither is this the only the only artistic output to which my fellow students have been inspired through the perusal of my my love letters. There is a ditty, originating I believe in the Upper Fifth, set to the tune of “The Camptown Races”, and gaining popularity, whose opening verse runs,

"Cuddles and Michaela sing this song,
Doo dah, doo dah,
In Snedworth stables all night long,
Oh diddy doo dah day,
Gwine to shag all night,
Gwine to shag all day,
I'll tickle your fancy with my riding crop,
For a nice long roll in the hay!”

Propriety and decorum preclude me from listing any further verses of this irritating ballad for posterity. It is all very trying.

This public ignominy would be intolerable in any circumstances but it is exacerbated by the necessity of maintaining a discreet distance from my beloved Jacqueline. I had rather hoped for some little interludes of uninhibited domesticity with my muddle headed darling this weekend but events have rendered such agreeable distractions impracticable. Instead we are reduced to barely exchanging a civil word to each other in chance encounters in the corridors and fleeting, longing glances from the width of the chapel at morning prayer. There is little compensation from other quarters either, with my colleagues of the Dead Fish Liberation Front unwilling to step off the substitutes' bench for fear of being misidentified as my own “Cuddles”. Sadly my only physical recompense is to recourse to what is colloquially referred to as an “Annie Lennox” at St Margaret's; a reference to that popular recording artist's 1985 hit single “sisters are Doing it for Themselves.”. It is, at the risk of repeating myself, all very trying indeed.

Most trying of all is the almost constant harassment of Stephanie Stockworth-Smyth. In the normal course of events, Stephanie is not a person whose company I would actively seek. On the contrary, unless it was entirely necessary, I would take considerable pains to avoid her company. Over this period however she seems to be wedded to me like my own shadow. It seems that there is not an obscure corner of the school where I can evade her presence. Whether it be in the gymnasium locker rooms, the sanctuary of the library, the classroom or corridor, I need only turn around to spy her there with the Benson twins flanking her like Huginn and Muninn. Stephanie is enjoying my discomfiture very much indeed and wastes no opportunity to rub salt into my wounds with the Benson twins chortling heartily at her jibes; which is not an attractive spectacle at the best of times. Her mocking and heckling is a continual burden to bear; her gloating an incessant accompaniment to my purgatory. In my imagination I subject her to ever more vengeful demises but Sally urges restraint so I grit my teeth and endure her taunting.

At least however it would appear that I have evaded the recriminations of higher authority. The weekend passes without any summons to justice from the upper echelons of moral jurisdiction. Monday comes and goes and there is no sonorous blast of censure from upon high. Tuesday passes without official castigation and I am starting to breath easier. By the time Wednesday has passed I begin to believe that the danger has abated and that it is all water beneath the bridge. By Thursday I am sure of it. The bombshell lands on Friday!

It is at the conclusion of the evening meal in the dining hall. We have already been obliged to suffer the indignity of some unidentifiable goo, reposing beneath a thin layer of lumpy mashed potato, which scandalously purports to be “fisherman's pie” and had our evening further blighted by the reappearance of the infamous “strawberry blancmange”. As our digestive systems attempt to cope with this latest assault, sister Claire rises to make the customary announcements.

sister Clarence's fourth year History class are confined to school premises in detention for the weekend for their unruly behaviour on their field trip to the museum on Wednesday. sister Maria's third year Divinity class will remain behind after evening mass for extra Bible studies with Father Ignatius after the discovery that over three quarters of them have been found to believe that the Virgin Mary conceived the Lord Jesus after being shagged by the Archangel Gabriel. Caroline Waters and Bernadette Fitzpatrick of the lower sixth have found to be in possession of illicit alcohol and tobacco and are subsequently ordered to report to Miss Pearson in the gymnasium for the cane immediately after the evening meal. The hockey team are to assemble on the playing fields for extra practice this evening since they face the might of the Mary Magdalene's Academy first eleven on the morrow and all steps are to be taken to avoid a repetition of the abysmal performance against St Winifred's.

Finally, sister Claire announces, coming to the meat of the matter, Michaela Francis is to report to her study immediately after Vespers. sister Claire is desirous of having words with her. The heavy emphasis on “words” leaves no doubt in my mind that the “words” are to be anything resembling an agreeable chat and my heart sinks. Neither am I the only person to think so judging by the worried looks on my companions' faces and the stifled sniggers from the Stockworth-Smyth camp at the next table.

At the appointed hour therefore, I take the doom laden path to sister Claire's study with a heavy tread. I knock nervously on the door and a peremptory bark from within bades me enter. With my heart fluttering I step into the chamber to face my fate.

sister Claire is sat at her desk looking grim. Of course sister Claire never looks anything other than grim but there is a particularly sinister air to her demeanour on this occasion. She is frowning at me over the top of her spectacles and drumming her fingers on her desk. Laid across that desk, in an accusatory body, are the copies of my, by now notorious, epistles and the topic of conversation to be followed is obvious.

She regards me severely for a few seconds before commencing. “A serious matter has come to my attention Michaela.” she announces sternly and quite superfluously. She points a bony finger at the letters. “I refer to these abominable documents! They are quite clearly copies of letters written to some other girl in this school and a more disgraceful litany of unnatural lust and perversion I find hard to imagine. These letters are clearly written by you. I shall save you from the further sin of mendacity Michaela by telling you straight away that there is no point in denying your authorship of these shameless writings. I have made a long study of handwriting Michaela and, though the Lord our Saviour protect me from the sin of pride, it is my modest boast that I can, with alacrity, identify the handwriting of any senior girl in the school. Even were your name not affixed to these letters, I would still instantly know that you had penned them. Your handwriting is distinctive Michaela and quite unmistakeable. They are copies of your letters are they not Michaela?”

I nod miserably, denial futile. “Yes sister Claire.”

She picks one of the letters up between her thumb and forefinger distastefully as if fearing it might taint her hand by doing so. “And I trust that the disgusting acts described herein are a record of your shameful misconduct with the unnamed person to whom these letters are addressed?”

“Please sister Claire they were only a joke.” I plead. “Just girlish foolishness.”

“Nonsense!” sister Claire thunders. “You dare to stand there and have me believe that this scurrilous scribbling is merely some adolescent silliness? Why there are vices described here that I would have thought that only the sluts of Sodom and the harlots of Babylon were familiar with! Do you take me for a fool Michaela?”

I shake my head vigorously. “N...no sister Claire.”

“Then you confess that you are indeed guilty of the abominations described on these pages?”

I squirm abjectly and clasp my hands together in penitence. “Please sister Claire... forgive me. I...I was tempted by Satan!” It is always a good idea, when confronted by religious authority, to deflect responsibility for your misdeeds onto the Devil.

sister Claire glares at me for a second or two before slapping the piece of paper down on her desk and carefully removing her spectacles while she masters her temper. Finally she takes a deep breath. “I am disappointed in you Michaela...VERY disappointed! I had hoped that following the last occasion I had cause to call you into this office that you would turn over a new leaf. You were caned on that occasion for petty theft Michaela but you showed such admirable contrition that I considered that perhaps you were turning away at last from the paths of temptation and sin. I see now that my optimism was premature and that you have strayed all too quickly back onto the road to damnation.”

She sighs heavily and rises to her feet wearily. She walks over to the big bay widows and gazes out across the school yard to the playing fields beyond. I fancy that she is mumbling a prayer to herself as if seeking spiritual solace in the face of the wickedness of the world. She turns back to me looking sorrowful. “I am informed Michaela that copies of these degrading letters were posted all over the school. I was fortunate enough not to witness this appalling display for apparently they were quickly removed. I hope so for I shudder to think what effect these letters might have on the innocent sensibilities of girls in the lower years!” Having just that afternoon had to suffer the particularly lurid taunts of group of first years, I could tell her that her faith in their innocence is sadly misplaced but I hold my tongue.

“The letters,” sister Claire continues, “Were brought to my attention by sister Juliana who collected the samples you see on my desk.” sister Claire shakes her head sadly. “sister Juliana is a kindly soul and perhaps not the most worldly of the sisters in our order. Nevertheless she perceived at once that some person or persons unknown had posted these letters in order to embarrass you publicly. Therefore she removed several of the letters and secreted them in her own chambers. Thereafter she was racked with indecision.

On the one hand she considered that you had been the victim of a malevolent prank. Set against that however was the obvious guilt of yours revealed all too clearly in your own hand in the letters in question. sister Juliana, with what I can only describe as saintly dedication, has appointed herself your mentor and spiritual guide; thankless task though it must seem sometimes! She maintains, in the face of all discouraging evidence to the contrary, that there is good in you Michaela, bless her. She was truly shocked by the content of these letters yet still held out some hope that you might yet be brought to salvation. She tells me that she has spent half the week on her knees in prayer, seeking God's guidance in how best to proceed. In the end her conscience told her that, of the two sins, yours was the greater and that, should there be any aspiration of saving your immortal soul, then you should be held accountable for it. Thus she sought out my counsel today and placed the letters in my hands.”

sister Claire pauses to regard me gravely. “As I have mentioned, sister Juliana is a kindly soul and she pleaded with me to be merciful with you knowing full well that I would view the matter most seriously and proscribe a severe punishment. I persuaded her however that it would be no mercy to spare you punishment. These are sins which are impossible to overlook and such clemency would serve nothing other than to imperil your soul. Better, I told her, that you should face punishment now in the hope that it correct your sinful ways than have to answer for them on the day of judgement. In melancholy and with pity she conceded that it was necessary to have you punished.”

sister Claire takes a deep breath. “Therefore it's to be the cane for you Michaela! Please remove your skirt and blouse and lay them neatly on my desk.” Resignedly I begin to unbutton my blouse as sister Claire marches to the cabinet against the wall to select a cane. She takes her time in this selection as I fold my blouse and place it carefully on the desk before slipping my skirt down my legs and stepping out of it. She waits impatiently while I place my skirt on the desk, flexing the cane ominously in her hands. When I am reduced to my vest and knickers she nods. “You are to receive fifty strokes Michaela! Lower your knickers to your knees and assume the customary position for punishment.”

With trembling fingers I slip my knickers down and, keeping my feet together and my legs straight, I bend over to touch my toes in the proscribed manner. sister Claire limbers up with a couple of practice strokes before placing the long, cool length of rattan against my quivering buttocks to measure the distance. Satisfied with her preparations she lifts the cane away and raises it high above her shoulder.

The reader must forgive me if I gloss over the next few minutes. It is not a period that sees Michaela at her very best and it is not becoming to my dignity to describe in detail the wailing lamentations and pathetic snivelling that accompanies sister Claire's efforts on behalf of my salvation. I will only note that sister Claire must be deeply concerned about my immortal soul for she applies the cane with what I can only describe as “missionary zeal”. Indeed, such is the force and dexterity with which she wields the cane that even our games mistress, the formidable Miss Pearson, would, were she to be witness to the caning, be compelled to nod her head with respect and concede that she has a serious rival as the most feared exponent of the rattan cane at St Margaret's school.

Finally, with an air of a person satisfied with a job well done, sister Claire wipes the sleeve of her habit over her forehead, damp with perspiration from her exertions, and lays her cane aside. “You may stand up straight now and pull your knickers up Michaela.” she tells me. I comply painfully, easing my knickers over my swollen bottom gingerly. “And cease your whimpering!” she commands. “It is all very well to cry now but you should have considered the consequences before indulging in your despicable behaviour. The punishment was nothing less than you deserved and let me tell you young lady, that, had it not been for sister Juliana's entreaties on your behalf, I would have had you marched to the gym, tied down over the vaulting horse and flogged in front of the whole school! As it is I have been merciful after all! My first inclination upon reading these contemptible letters was to beat you until my arm ached. sister Juliana implored me to lessen the sentence however and, in deference to her virtue and selfless espousal of your cause, in spite of your continual betrayal of her trust, I have acquiesced to her wishes. The minute you have been dismissed from here you will go straight to sister Juliana, fall on your knees and kiss her hand in gratitude for her self-sacrificing faith in you.” sister Claire pauses to wag a finger at me. “Be warned however Michaela, that next time I shall not be so forgiving. Should there be any repetition of this type of conduct then woe betide you! It will not be fifty strokes next time Michaela but one hundred!”

Leaving me for a moment to contemplate this dreadful threat, sister Claire picks up her cane to replace it in the cabinet and then reseats herself behind her desk. She pushes a box of tissues across the desk towards me. “Now dry your eyes and blow your nose girl!” I dab mournfully at my tear streaked face while sister Claire watches me impatiently. “Now stand up straight young lady and heed what I am about to say.”

She leans back in her chair, clasps her hands across her chest and stares at me intently. “There are some other matters to attend to. First of all, in furtherance of your punishment, you are placed in penance for a whole week. You are confined to school quarters for the duration of your penance and are allowed to wear nothing other than a pair of knickers, a vest and a pair of gym shoes for the entire time. You will attend Vigils in the chapel at 6.00 a.m each morning as well as Lauds at 7.30, Midday Prayer, Vespers in the evening and Compline before you go to bed. You will spend these interludes of prayer on your knees in the chapel praying forgiveness of your Lord Jesus Christ. Furthermore, after Lauds tomorrow, you will make a full confessional to Father Ignatius and comply with whatever further penance he deems appropriate. At meal times you will receive only plain bread and water for the entire week.” This latter clause is the only piece of good news I have heard so far.

“Then there is a more serious matter.” sister Claire continues. She leans forward to tap on the letters adorning her desk with significant emphasis. “You are not the only person implicated in this affair.” she rumbles stentoriously. “It is plain from these letters that there is a willing accomplice to your wickedness. I wish to know the identity of the person in question; the one to whom these letters are addressed; the one referred to by the puerile name of “Cuddles” in them.” She glares at me as I remain mute. “Well Miss Francis? I am waiting.”

I glance nervously at the cabinet containing sister Claire's collection of canes, wondering if the contents are about to be aired once more. “I... I can't sister Claire.” I bleat pathetically. “I can't tell you! Please don't ask me to.”

“Do you wish to be caned again Michaela?”

I bite my lip and wring the tissue still in my hands from my earlier ministrations on my ruined face. “I... I'm sorry sister Claire.” I murmur. “I am sworn to silence. Beat me again if you must but I cannot break my sworn word.”

sister Claire regards me with exasperation. “I see.” she says before nodding sagely. “I rather thought you would say some such thing.” She heaves a sigh and rubs her chin. “I suppose in some perverse way you believe yourself to be acting honourably in that you would rather take another caning than reveal the name of your partner in sin. There is even, I confess, a part of me that respects you for your misguided sense of honour and bravery.” She shakes her head wearily. “Very well then. I will not ask you to reveal this person's name.” She pauses to rap on the desk with her fingertips. “Be very sure however Michaela that I mean to have this person's name and to bring them to justice. You will therefore inform this girl at your earliest convenience that I expect her to voluntarily come to my office and make a full confession between now and lunch time tomorrow.”

“Will you cane her if she does?” I ask fearfully.

“Indeed I shall! She will receive exactly the same punishment as you have done.” sister Claire raises a finger. “That is if she presents herself before lunch time. If she does not do so...” sister Claire pauses for dramatic effect, “I shall presume an even greater culpability on her part and an unwillingness to face the consequences of her deeds. Then, when I discover her identity, and I will discover her identity believe me, then she can expect to face double the allotted sentence! That will mean one hundred strokes and two weeks penance Michaela! You will oblige me by informing her of that Michaela and, if you have any decency, you will persuade her that her best interests lie not in further concealment but in full and contrite confession. Do I make myself clear?”

I nod woefully. “Yes sister Claire.”

“Very well. In that case you may pick up your belongings and you are dismissed.” she tells me, “And remember Michaela... she has until lunch time tomorrow!”

******************

I walk away from sister Claire's study with her final words still ringing in my ears. Well, to be quite honest, “walk” is perhaps rather too grandiose a term to describe my painful shuffling gait as I hobble my way gingerly along the corridors; each tentative step sending jolts of pain through my tender, swollen nether regions. I have just turned a corner and am passing a small alcove when an arm suddenly snakes out from the recess, grabs me urgently by the elbow and hauls me unceremoniously into the alcove. I fear for a moment that my already fragile heart will cease operations entirely but then I see who it is that has accosted me. It is Jacqueline.

“Oh my poor, poor Michaela!” she wails frenziedly before snatching me up in her arms and proceeding to smother my face with kisses.

Under normal circumstances this would be most agreeable but here, under the current circumstances and in close proximity to sister Claire's study, it is madness. Feebly I try to beat her off. “Stop it! Pack it in! What the hell are you doing here you dozy, demented dibble dabble?”

“I had to come! They said you were going to get the cane and I had to come! That rotten, b**stly sister Claire!”

“Hush for crying out loud! Keep your bloody voice down! You shouldn't be here at all. What if one of the nuns comes by and sees us? What the hell are they going to think?” The question is purely rhetorical of course. Should any of the school authorities chance to spy us then their thought processes would not be hard to predict. I am, after all, dressed, according to the strictures of my period of penance, only in my vest and knickers. The sight of Jacqueline pawing at me feverishly in my underwear would draw an instantaneous conclusion.

“I don't care! I haven't seen you all week! I've missed you SO much!”

“For fuck's sake Jackie! This is lunacy!”

“Don't swear Michaela! Vulgar language doesn't become you.”

“Stop changing the bloody subject!”

“sister Maria says it is an awful sin.”

“I think sister Maria might have more serious concerns about our sins than my occasional use of an earthy epithet right now Jackie.”

“Did it hurt terribly?” asks Jacqueline, changing tack once more with bewildering speed.

“Yes it damn well did and, unless you wish to learn at first hand just how much it hurt, I suggest you get the hell out of here right now and stay out my way.”

“sister Claire is a b**st!” Jacqueline declares heatedly. “I've a good mind to go straight to her study and tell her that to her face!”

“You'll do nothing of the bloody sort!”

“And those horrid Benson girls! Fancy stealing my most treasured possessions! I gave them a piece of my mind but they just seemed to think it was funny!” I could of course remark that a piece of Jacqueline's mind wouldn't amount to a great deal but, on reflection, it occurs to me that the contribution of even a tiny part of almost anybody's mind would improve the collective Benson IQ beyond measure.

“Look darling,” I say as soothingly as I can, “Will you please put me down and get the hell out of here. We mustn't be seen together!”

“I can't see what sister Claire finds so terrible in your letters anyway.” muses Jacqueline, evidently oblivious to my entreaties. “It's nothing compared to what some people write. You ought to see the sort of things that Emily Dixon writes!”

I blink in surprise at this startling revelation. Emily Dixon of course is the large and athletic captain of our school hockey team and, unless confronted with incontrovertible proof to the contrary, I would have scarcely credited her with the ability to write her own name. “Emily Dixon?” I query.

“Yes. Arabella showed me some of her letters.”

“Arabella?” ask I in complete bewilderment.

“You know. Arabella Pennington in my dorm. She let me see Emily's letters after I let her see yours.”

I stare at her in shock. “You've been showing my letters to Arabella bloody Pennington?”

“Of course I have. I share everything with Arabella. She's my Besty Eff!”

“You're what?”

“You know... my Besty Eff... Besty Friend.”

I frown uncertainly at this. “I thought I was your er... “Besty Friend”.”

“No silly! You're my girlfriend! It's different.”

“Oh! Er... right.” say I, struggling with the distinction.

“It's like you and your Besty Friends,” Jacqueline explains, “You know... those girls you're always getting into trouble with; the “Dead Kippers” or the “Sibilation Front” or whatever it is they call themselves. They're your Besty Effs not your girlfriends.” Jacqueline pauses with a frown. “Of course I'm a little concerned about that Julia girl. I think she gets rather too familiar with you Michaela. You really ought to put your foot down and inform her firmly that you already have a girlfriend.”

I shake my head in the hope of clearing it of the strange, labyrinthine paths that any conversation with Jacqueline is liable to lead it along. “Never mind about bloody Julia! We were discussing Arabella Pennington. Why the hell would Emily Dixon be writing letters to her?”

“Why they're sweethearts of course silly. Arabella is Emily's girlfriend.”

“You're taking the piss!”

“Really Michaela! I really must ask you to curb your language!”

“Never mind my sodding language. Are you seriously asserting that Emily Dixon is having an affair with Arabella Pennington?”

“Why of course. They've been seeing each other for absolutely ages. Arabella says it's true love!”

“I don't believe I'm hearing this!” I say feelingly and I mean it. I know Arabella Pennington of course. She occupies the bunk below Jacqueline in their dorm. She's a very pretty girl albeit one not much greater endowed with grey matter than my beloved Jacqueline. What on earth she sees in a Neanderthal like Emily Dixon is beyond me.

“Don't spread it around.” warns Jacqueline. “It's ever so secret. Don't tell a soul!”

“No, no. Of course not. But you say you've seen Emily's letters to Arabella?”

“Yes!” Jacqueline giggles. “They're ever so naughty in places. Emily writes an awful lot about cunnilingus!”

“That can't possibly be true! Nothing will persuade me that Emily Dixon knows how to spell “cunnilingus”!”

“Well she doesn't actually call it that. She calls it...”

“Never mind darling! I think we'll table that one... save it for the long winter nights shall we? These letters are addressed to Arabella are they?”

“Well not by name.” Jacqueline says as if shocked at the very idea, “Emily calls her “Fluffy Bum”.”

“Fluffy Bum!”

“I think it's quite sweet.”

I grip my forehead in despair. “God help us all!” But the unexpected diversions of Emily Dixon's intimate private life have distracted me from the peril of the current circumstances. Hastily I glance around the corner of the alcove to note with relief that the corridor is empty. “Quick now Jackie. You must leave. Go on scram while there's no one about.”

“Not without a kiss first!” she pouts at me.

“Oh for Christ's sake!” I dutifully comply and then speed her on her way with a sharp slap on the rump. Once she is clear I resume my painful progress back to my dormitory.

***********************

Some time later I am sat on my bed surrounded by what Jacqueline would doubtless refer to as my “Besty Effs”. I have just finished recounting the details of my unpleasant interview with sister Claire and my subsequent encounter with Jacqueline, omitting only those fragments of conversation pertinent to Emily Dixon's love life. I have even had to suffer the indignity of lowering my knickers the better to display the results of sister Claire's handiwork to my admiring comrades. To their credit they have not allowed this pleasant diversion to detract from the seriousness of the matter. They are looking grave with the possible exception of Wendy who appears to be most taken with the sight of my heavily striped hind quarters.

I found the girls waiting for me in my dormitory having been somewhat delayed in my return to my quarters. This delay was the result of my obedience to sister Claire's command to present myself to sister Juliana to humbly thank her for her “selfless” espousal of my cause. This supplicatory obeisance proved to be somewhat of a trial. There were many sanctimonious imprecations to suffer and sister Juliana compelled me to join her on her knees to heckle God with entreaties for my immortal soul.

She even, in spite of my protests, insisted upon anointing my punished posterior with what she optimistically described as “soothing ointment”. I can testify that this is a spurious claim for the substance in question was entirely ineffective in ameliorating the throbbing in that part of my anatomy so recently the object of sister Claire's undivided attention. I'm afraid that I suspect that the merciful application of this ointment had rather more to do with sister Juliana's personal gratification than it had with any faith in the efficaciousness of the ointment's medicinal properties. It may be wicked of me to say but, whilst laying across her knee with my knickers down as she applied the ointment, I was once again struck by the thought that the reputation for purity and sanctity of sister Juliana's “selfless” motives rested on shaky foundations indeed.

So all in all it has been a long and arduous journey across the school before finally attaining the sanctuary of my dormitory. This excruciating odyssey has been exacerbated by the fact that my journey obliged me to cross public areas; by this hour filled with the student body of St Margaret's at its leisure. There is no known way of maintaining one's dignity whilst obliged to cross an open plaza filled with mocking schoolgirls while dressed only in vest and knickers and displaying the marks of a severe caning across the backs of one's thighs and those portions of the buttocks inadequately concealed by the afore-mentioned knickers. sister Juliana has, but a few minutes before, had me recite Psalm 23 which states, “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.” and was presumably written for the benefit of those unfortunate enough to have to walk the length of St Margaret's school in their underwear after suffering the dubious comforts of the rod.

Nevertheless, despite these tribulations, here I am and my comrades are looking worried.

“What the hell are you going to do Michaela?” Rachel wants to know.

I groan and lower my head abjectly. “I've no idea!”

“You say you haven't told Jackie about sister Claire's ultimatum?” she presses.

I shake my head in misery. “I didn't have the heart to. How the hell am I going to tell her?”

Sally starts to tut. “You're going to have to Michaela. She only has until lunch tomorrow. If she hasn't presented herself by then then sister Claire will launch an immediate inquiry and I wouldn't give Jackie a snowball's chance in Hell of remaining incognito once that happens. As it is, Jackie is going to have to resign herself to the most tragic event in her life since Bambi's mummy died. If she doesn't make that deadline though and sister Claire discovers her identity...” Sally pauses to contemplate the grim prospect, “Well... a hundred strokes! It doesn't bear thinking about!”

“Do you think Jackie will let us see her arse after sister Claire's finished caning it?” Wendy wants to know brightly.

“Shut it Newt!” I growl at her. “You go anywhere near my Jackie's arse and I shall conduct experiments in spatial engineering by seeing if I can stuff you into the nearest lavatory cistern!”

“You're not helping here Wendy!” Sally admonishes her.

“I was just interested.” says Wendy, looking hurt before retreating into sulky silence.

“But you're really going to have to tell Jackie Michaela.” says Sally returning to the subject.

“I know, I know.”

“Well when?”

I sigh deeply. “I'll tell her in the morning after breakfast.” I stare miserably at the floorboards of the dormitory. The future looks a dark and hopeless place.

***********************

If anybody were to stop me in the corridor the following morning and ask “How's it going Michaela? Are things looking brighter?” I would be compelled to respond “Not perceptibly Charlotte or Anastasia or Jennifer Carstairs-Fitzpatrick” or whoever I would be addressing at the time. If anything the pall of gloom has thickened to a dark, glutinous consistency not entirely unlike the mulligatawny soup which caused a school wide epidemic of gastric upset the week after Lent the previous year. Suffice it to say that I have suffered many truly awful, wretched starts to a day at St Margaret's over the years but this one is right up there with the best of them.

There is a considerable crowd assembled in the corridors leading to the dining hall as I make my melancholy way to my frugal morning repast at breakfast. It would appear that those students unfortunate enough to have missed the spectacle of my public disgrace the day before are determined not to squander this second opportunity and have reserved advantageous vantage points lining the route to the dining hall. They are doubtless well rewarded for their vigil as I run the gauntlet in my vest and knickers with the visible marks of sister Claire's endeavours on behalf of my spiritual redemption still, even so many hours later, clearly visible to be seen.

And this is only the latest purgatory to blight this new day. I have been out of my bed since a quarter past five this morning which is no great feat since I have barely slept all night with worry and concern. I have already, by breakfast, endured two periods on my knees in the chapel impeaching God to spare my miserable soul on the day I shuck off the mortal coil.

In addition to this I have further endured a soul searching session in the confessional booth reciting my litany of sins to Father Ignatius. For some perverse reason I decided to spare our good Father no lurid detail; describing my manifold sins in graphic narrative. I could hear him breathing heavily and starting to pant ever so slightly on the other side of the dividing grill.

Yet these tribulations, distressing as they may be, are only the heralds preceding the worst doom that the morning has yet to offer. These are burdens I could bear with courage and fortitude but my heart quails when I think of what is yet to come. In despair I realise that, sometime before the lunch time hour, it will be my melancholy duty to seek out Jacqueline, love of my life, and sombrely inform her that she is best advised to skip along to sister Claire's study; there to lower her knickers, expose her innocent, and hitherto unsullied, bottom and receive the thrashing of her sheltered life. It is not a happy thought.

I file my way into the dining hall and take my place amidst my colleagues. There are only a few nuns gracing the top table for many of them prefer to break their fast in their own cells on Saturday mornings and only a token, skeleton staff remain to monitor behaviour in the dining hall. sister Claire is ominously absent but sister Juliana is present and she observes my entrance carefully, placing her fingertips together and mumbling a prayer.
Grace is said and we sit back to wait for the members of the junior years, upon whom this duty devolves, to distribute our morning meals. My comrades seem concerned about my appearance.

“Er Michaela...” ventures Julia hesitantly, “I don't wish to be unkind but this ordeal appears to be adding years to your age. Your hair seems to prematurely greying!”

“Ash!”

“What?”

“Ash... to be precise some of the powdered embers from the chapel boiler fire. At confessional, Father Ignatius insisted upon me adorning my silken raven locks with the substance. Apparently it's what the well dressed penitent is wearing this season!”

“Ah! I see.”

At this juncture we are interrupted by a pair of small, spotty faced First years delivering our breakfast. I grimace as my own breakfast is placed before me. In accordance with the strictures of my penance, it consists of a lump of plain bread and a tumbler of water. I regard this offering dispiritedly although, if truth be told, it might as well have been the finest Eggs Benedict, topped with Beluga caviar accompanied by a flute of Dom Perignan and, in my mouth, and it would still have turned to something resembling the cinders in my hair this awful morning.

Rachel sees my despondency and kindly offers to swap her breakfast for mine. Her motives are not entirely altruistic since she has just discovered some foreign body that looks suspiciously like a toe nail in her scrambled eggs. I decline politely.

If I am not enjoying my morning repast the same cannot be said of Stephanie Stockworth-Smyth and her associates seated on the next bank of tables. Stephanie is clearly enjoying the morning very much indeed. She is grinning in my direction and, judging by the giggles and ribald chuckles from the flanking Benson twins, is maintaining a running commentary and having much fun at my expense. I glower at her darkly but it only seems to increase her amusement. “That foul blighted bitch will pay for this!” I grind out between my teeth.

“Take no notice of her Michaela.” Sally advises. It is difficult to do so. Even as I look across again Stephanie waves at me and scribbles something on a notepad in front of her. She holds the notice up for my perusal. It reads, “HOW'S YOUR BREAKFAST?” I growl and pick up the lump of bread in front of me with the intention of throwing it at her but Sally restrains me. “Leave it Michaela! You'll only make things worse by starting a fight.”

For the rest of breakfast I have to endure taunt after taunt from Stephanie as every time I glance in her direction she has a new notice prepared for me. One asks, “DID YOU FORGET TO GET DRESSED THIS MORNING?” another informs me “SOFT CUSHIONS FOR SALE, £5 EACH!” Yet another says “LOVE THE NEW HAIRSTYLE!” Eventually I refuse to look at her any more and try to ignore her harassment. Stephanie, faced with my defiant disdain, changes tactics. The young first year clearing our plates hands me a note. “Ith from Thephanie Thockworth-Thymth.” she lisps at me informatively.

I unfold the note and read. Stephanie's mockery has reached new heights.

“My poor little Michaela,” It reads, “Has that rotten b**stly sister Claire caned your pretty little bottom for you? How could she be so mean? I wish I could have been there to see you pull your knickers down for the cane. It would have made me get all wet to see your bottom all bare and quivering! Can I kiss it better for you?
Your darling “Cuddles”
P.S. You look cute in your vest and knickers!

It is the last straw. I stand up determinedly and address my colleagues. “If you'll excuse me ladies I just have to pop over and re-arrange Stockworth-Smyth's facial features for her!”

In alarm Sally sees sister Juliana looking sharply at me and, grabbing me by the elbow, drags me bodily back down to the bench. “Sit down for Christ's sake Michaela!” she hisses. “Forget bloody Smyth! sister Juliana is watching you like a hawk!”

I glance darkly in the direction of the top table. sister Juliana is looking at me with such a look of sanctimonious pity that I feel like pushing her face into her porridge. In the other direction, Stephanie and the Benson twins have dissolved into helpless giggles.

“Aye calm down Michaela.” Pauline adds to Sally's entreaties. “No point startin' a brawl ovver breakfast.” She points at Stephanie's note. “An' get rid o' that!”

I thrust the offensive note into my bag with the intention of nailing it to Stephanie's forehead in the, hopefully, not too distant future.

“You've got to stay calm Michaela.” Sally admonishes. “Have you spoken to Jackie yet?”

“Like when? I've been wearing out my knees in the chapel all morning so far!”

“So when are you going to see her?” Sally presses.

I shrug. “It'll have to be after I get back from the chapel.”

“The chapel?” asks Sally in puzzlement. “You have to go back to the chapel?”

I nod resignedly. “Yes. Father Ignatius requires me to write out the “Hail Mary” one hundred times straight after breakfast. It seems like everybody and their granddad is inventing new ways to make my life a misery this morning!”

“Well you'll have to see her after that!” Sally insists.

“I know, I know.”

**************************

After breakfast I find myself in the chapel once more. I am issued with pen and sheets of paper and, taking a seat in a pew before the altar, I begin to write,

“Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of death. Amen”

I stare at the words on the page. It has taken me about a minute to write them so I estimate that the entire allotted penal task will take me a little over an hour and a half to complete. After that I will have to see Jacqueline. I cannot bear it. The words on the page seem to drift in and out of focus as tears fill my eyes.
I stare miserably at the words I have written; the words in my own hand; the hand that sister Claire so readily identified. I look at the pen gripped in my fingers and back at the words on the page. The words seem charged with significance. In the dark abyss of my world something is niggling at the back of my mind. I hold the pen up to examine it critically. The pen; the root of all my woes, reputedly mightier than the sword. I look back at the words on the page feeling that I am missing something. Then, in a blinding flash, the light comes back on in my world.

Perhaps Father Ignatius was right after all. Perhaps it only took this act of penitence to find salvation. In the gloom of the chapel I have merely penned this simple prayer to the blessed Virgin, Mother of God and behold, the dark clouds above have parted and I am bathed in the Holy light of hope and redemption! Revelation is at hand. I fancy a host of angels are singing songs of rejoicing.

It takes me an hour and thirty seven minutes exactly to finish my appointed task but the time seems to fly by. I hand my assignment to Father Ignatius and suffer having to kneel at his feet to utter a prayer of contrition while he stares down the front of my vest and then I am dismissed. Then I dash off to find some quiet corner to while away the time until lunch. I wish to remain unavailable for the rest of the morning.

Lunchtime comes. sister Claire is absent from the dining hall. Presumably she is waiting in her office for my paramour to present herself for punishment. It will be a lonely vigil for her wait is in vain. The appointed hour passes and there is no sign of the guilty party. I can imagine sister Claire's eyebrows furrowing in grim resolve. Sally presses me as to whether or not I have spoken to Jacqueline. I curtly inform her that the matter is in hand and refuse to discuss it any further. sister Juliana looks sad.

Immediately after lunch in fact, sister Juliana collars me and leads me to a quiet corner. “Have you spoken to your... your friend Michaela?” she wants to know. I nod dolefully. “And is she presenting herself to sister Claire?”
I shake my head even more dolefully. “I see. Is she aware of the consequences of not doing so?” I nod; my dolefulness reaching new heights of theatrical woe.

sister Juliana sighs wearily. “I think it best if you were to tell me this young lady's name Michaela although I fear I may already know it. It is best that you make a clean breast of it. It will be to your credit once sister Claire conducts her investigations.”

“I... I can't sister.” I wail. “Please don't make me!”

“You cannot protect this girl indefinitely Michaela.” sister Juliana tells me sadly. “Nor should you. There is no virtue in protecting her from the consequences of her sins Michaela. Just as you have done she must be called to answer for her actions and to endure the penalties. Only in this way may she earn forgiveness, come to grace and find the blessing of our Father in heaven. You had best tell me her name.”

“If I tell you she'll kill me!” I blurt out.

sister Juliana's eyes narrow. “Are you telling me that you are maintaining your silence under threat Michaela?”

“I... I can't say any more.” I mumble miserably, not wishing to overplay my hand. “I'm sorry sister.”

“I think I begin to understand.” says sister Juliana thoughtfully. “I fear that this girl has led you badly astray Michaela. I further fear that she has some dark hold over you. It makes me more certain than ever that she should be brought to account; not only for the sake of her soul but for yours as well. Do you still insist upon misguidedly refusing to reveal her identity?”

I lower my head. “Please sister. I can't tell you.” I whisper.

“Very well Michaela. You leave me no option but to take action. I will go and confer with sister Claire. In the meantime you will retire to your dormitory and remain there until I summons you in one hour's time. Do you understand?”

I nod feebly. “Yes sister Juliana.

“Well run along then.”

I depart with the pieces falling nicely into place. I do not however immediately obey sister Juliana's command to remove to my dormitory. I have an hour before I am summonsed and there is one last little detail to attend to.

********************

I catch Emily Dixon just as she is leaving her dormitory. She is carrying a pair of boots, a hockey stick and her games bag slung over her shoulder; presumably on her way to the preparations for the afternoon's match against the much fancied Mary Magdalene's Academy. I step out into the corridor to intercept her. “Ah Emily.” I say brightly, “Just the person I wanted to see!”

She is large and muscular this doyenne of the school's playing fields. She is athletic and possessed of formidable sinews although the rumours that she can crack walnuts in her eyelids are almost certainly spurious fancy. She is also, I am obliged to report, possessed of a very short temper and unforgiving nature which, given her undoubted physical prowess, makes her a very bad person to cross or, for that matter, a hazardous one to accost in a corridor against her will. She is not a person who I would have credited with a tender side for the likes of Arabella Pennington. She is not a person I would have credited with having a tender side at all!

She comes to a surprise halt at my appearance. “Well, well, well!” she booms. “If it isn't “Cuddles'” infamous girlfriend!” I wince as Emily's voice assails me. The term “sotto voce” is not one that you would associate with Emily. Years of bawling commands on the hockey field have afforded her vocal projection with the carry of a well hit golf ball. Poor Arabella Pennington must be half deaf from Emily bellowing endearments in her ear. “Shove off Francis!” she continues in the same sonorous tones. “You're occupying space I require for other purposes. Bugger off and go and put some clothes on! You'll catch your death of cold walking round in your undies like that!”

“Well thank you Emily for your deep concern for my well being. I wondered however if I might have a quiet word in your ear.”

“You wish to speak to me?”

“That was my intention, yes... purely as a matter of mutual interest to us both you understand.”

“I can't possibly imagine what mutual interest I could share with the likes of you Francis.”

“Nevertheless I would advise you to hear me out. I think you may find it to your advantage.”

“Well get on with it then blast you! Be quick about it. I have a game to get to.”

“I just wanted to appraise you of a conversation I had with my er... Cuddles yesterday evening.”

“I'm not in the slightest bit interested in the fatuous rot you talk about with your blighted girlfriend Francis!”

“You might be interested in this. Apparently she occupies the bunk immediately above a certain Arabella Pennington.”

This gets Emily's attention. She is instantly on guard and regarding me suspiciously. “What about it?” she asks warily.

“Bear with me Miss Dixon. It appears that my Cuddles and Arabella are on most cordial terms with each other. They are, I believe the expression is, “Besty Effs”. In the spirit of this mutual admiration they are wont to share details of their most intimate secrets with each other including I understand such details regarding their private life and romantic attachments as one would prefer not to be circulated among the general public.”

Emily is all ears now. “You're saying that your damn girlfriend and Arabella tell each other all their secrets?”

I nod gravely. “Regrettably so it would appear. Of course one should deplore such foolish indiscretion but what can you expect from young ladies who call each other “Besty Friends”? They are what they are I'm afraid and this occasional foolishness is the burden we more sensible souls have to bear as the price of adoring them.”

“Get on with it damn your eyes Francis. What have they been telling each other?”

“Well most pertinently to this conversation they have revealed to each other the identity of their particular significant other halves. Thus the said Arabella is cognisant of the romantic liaison between Cuddles and myself and Cuddles in return is fully aware of the affections of this Arabella or, as I believe you habitually refer to her as, “Fluffy Bum.”!

Emily growls; a sinister lowing deep in her throat. “What are you after Francis?” she demands dangerously.

“Nothing at all.” I declare virtuously, “I merely wanted to appraise you of the fact that I am aware that you and Arabella Pennington have more than a passing acquaintance; have in fact the sort of intimate relationship you would wish to remain a guarded secret from the school authorities.”

Emily takes a menacing step towards me and balls her fists. “If one word of this gets out Francis,” she tells me, “I shall break your spine in three places!”

“Please! I would not dream of...”

“I shall disembowel you with my bare hands! I shall remove both your spleen and your pancreas and compel you to eat them!”

“Please Emily, please,” I say placatingly. I am gratified that she is regarding the matter seriously but I feel that these vulgar anatomical details are uncalled for. “You may count on my discretion completely. I would not dream of revealing any relationship between you and er... “Fluffy bum” beyond our four ears. I fully sympathise with your affections for Miss Pennington and who you want to bully off with is nobody's business but your own. Unfortunately there are others who do not share my respect for other people's privacy and I wished to whisper a quiet and friendly word of warning to you about certain of such people.”

“What do you mean?”

“Allow me to explain. As you are you aware, my private correspondence with Cuddles was posted up around the school. Are you aware however that the people responsible for this outrage were the Benson Twins?”

“The Bensons?”

“Yes. I'm afraid so. I find it deplorable the way some girls, upon being elevated to positions of higher authority, so abuse the powers invested in them in this way. Don't you agree?”

“Stop beating around the blasted bush Francis! What's this got to do with Arabella?”

“I was just coming to that. It might interest you to know just how the Bensons came to be in possession of my private correspondence. Apparently, in their function as school prefects, they are authorised to conduct spot searches among the private possessions of other students on their own initiative, ostensibly with a view to the recovery of stolen property. The Bensons instigated just such a search in the dormitory shared by both my girlfriend and yours. It was during this unwarranted intrusion that they came upon my letters to Cuddles. Therein my dear Emily lies the peril to yourself. It was not only my Cuddles who suffered the indignity of this meddlesome search. The Bensons rifled through the bedside cabinets of the whole dorm. It is certain that, it being in such close proximity to that of Cuddles, they examined the contents of that belonging to Arabella. Cuddles tells me that Arabella may well be in possession of certain compromising letters that you have, perhaps ill-advisedly, written to her. If so then there is a high likelihood that the Bensons would have come upon them and, I'm afraid to say, be familiar with the content of them.”

Emily stares at me in shock. “Are you saying the blasted Bensons have been reading my letters to Arabella?”

“I would consider it most probable. In fact I thought it best to warn you that they may in fact, at this very moment, be in possession of copies of the afore-mentioned correspondence and, should you wish your relationship with Arabella to remain incognito, you would be advised to take immediate steps to rectify the situation.”

Emily's face turns a vivid shade of crimson, which is not an attractive sight to tell the truth. “I'll break their spines in FOUR places!” she snarls, “I shall pound their faces to a pulp! I shall mince their inner organs and extract the residue through their nostrils!”

“Yes. Quite so Emily.” I tell her cheerfully. “I shall leave the matter in your capable hands then shall I?”

*****************

Following the satisfactory interview with Emily Dixon I scurry back to my dormitory where I while away the minutes before I am summonsed by practising looks of culpability in the mirror. At the appointed time a school prefect appears at my dormitory to inform me that my presence is required in sister Claire's study.
I remember reading in history once about the notorious hanging judge, George Jeffreys who presided over the “bloody Assizes” in 1685. To my surprise I learned that he had married twice and I wondered at the time what sort of women his wives must have been. Now possibly I am doing them an injustice and, for all I know, they were perfectly decent women who wrote poetry, treated the servants well and were kind to orphans. Nevertheless I cannot help but feel, upon seeing sister Claire behind her desk, that she, had she not taken vows of chastity in the service of the church, would have made a perfect spouse for Judge Jeffreys.

She is looking grim although this simple adjective barely does justice to the demeanour of ominous foreboding hanging over her like a dark cloud of recrimination and denunciation. The mere sight of her glaring across her desk at me turns my legs to a consistency not unlike that of the school's infamous strawberry blancmange and tests my resolve to the limit. I stand on the carpet before her desk, trembling in my underwear as sister Juliana, stood to one side, manages to look resolved, compassionate and vaporous all at the same time.

To complete the tableau of doom, sister Claire's longest and most formidable cane is lying across the front of her desk. My buttocks clench in involuntary response at the sight of it and, for a moment I wonder if the frightful instrument is destined for me.

“Well Michaela,” sister Claire begins, “It would appear that your intimate in iniquity is not prepared to stand forth and confess their guilt. I have waited all morning for them to do the decent thing but sadly they appear to have forsaken the opportunity to do so. I take the most serious view of this Michaela. Perhaps your associate in sin believes that I shall not discover their identity. If so they are sadly mistaken. I shall find out who they are and once I do so you may rest assured that I shall apply the full penalty due to them. I outlined in brief in our discussion yesterday Michaela just what that penalty will be and I see no reason to waver from my resolve to implement it.”

sister Claire pauses to point at the cane on her desk. “To that end Michaela, I have placed my cane in readiness and I have vowed not to replace it in the cupboard until such time as it has exacted just retribution on the miserable girl who, even now, hides away in cowardice believing herself beyond my righteous wrath. Bitter will be the lesson when it is called upon to disabuse her of that belief. Now Michaela, do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“N...no sister Claire.”

“I see. sister Juliana here informs me that you still refuse to divulge the identity of your partner in perniciousness. I said yesterday that I considered your attempt to protect this girl's identity was misguided Michaela and my first inclination is to cane you again for your obstinacy. However you were severely caned yesterday and sister Juliana has implored me to spare you a further beating. She still, our good Lord bless her, believes you not beyond redemption and is persuaded that your reticence to reveal the name of your partner is founded upon fear of them. I shall reserve judgement on that Michaela but, in deference to sister Juliana's imprecations, you will not be caned today.” sister Claire raises a finger in warning, “Be advised however young lady, that my mercy has very finite limits. You still have a week of penance before you and I am adding a period of honest labour to your sanctions. I noticed at Lauds this morning that the chapel floor is in need of a good scrubbing. Therefore, tomorrow, when not required on your knees in prayer, you will spend the rest of the day on your knees with a bucket and scrubbing brush. I expect you to apply yourself diligently to all the tasks and penances imposed upon you this week young lady and I further expect, at the end of the week, to find a suitably chastened and contrite Michaela. If this is not the case,” sister Claire points at the cane, “then that will be waiting for you. Do I make myself plain?”

“Y...yes sister Claire.”

At this point, sister Juliana, who has remained silent up until this point, feels it necessary to intercede. “I am sure that Michaela is sorry for the sins she has committed sister Claire and will accept her penance with due contrition and remorse. I shall be there to guide her and assist her this week to seek forgiveness for her weaknesses.”

sister Claire regards sister Juliana sadly. “You have my deepest respect sister that you champion the cause of even the most hopeless and worthless of sinners. God only knows that Michaela here needs all the help she can get if she is to avoid the furnaces of Hell for her depravity. I chanced to encounter Father Ignatius after he had taken Michaela's confession this morning. He would not of course compromise the confidentiality of the confessional but he appeared quite pale and shaken by what he had just been obliged to listen to. The poor man retired to his chambers to rest and take his medication!” I keep my face neutral at this point but I can't help but feel that there are not going to be articles in “The Lancet” any time soon regarding the medicinal qualities of Tullamore Dew whisky. “I sometimes fear for the fragility of Father Ignatius' health.” sister Claire concludes.

“I know that Michaela's sins are grievous sister Claire,” sister Juliana pipes up, “But remember our Lord Jesus's words in Luke 15:7 in the parable of the lost sheep;

“I tell you that in the same way, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance.”

Michaela is a lost sheep sister but, with our guidance and the Grace of God, she may yet return to the fold.”

sister Claire looks dubious but dismisses the matter. “Well, be that as it may, there is one other lost sheep to run to ground. I refer of course to this mysterious partner of hers.” sister Claire turns to me. “Since you abdicate all responsibility of revealing this person's name Michaela I am obliged to conduct a thorough investigation. I have discussed the matter with sister Juliana and she believes she knows the identity of the person although she lacks the proof. On the other hand she informs me that she believes that there may be evidence within your possession that will lead us to that identity. Is this true Michaela?”

I shake my head vigorously. “No, no, no sister Claire.” I protest with a face hopefully riddled with guilt.

sister Claire regards me shrewdly. “I believe you are not telling me the truth young lady. I believe such evidence exists. I have no option therefore but to instigate a search of your belongings to uncover it. We shall take a look in your dormitory later but in the meantime sister Juliana is of the opinion that you might well have the afore-mentioned evidence about your person. Is that the case?”

“No. no sister!” I whimper but I clutch my bag to me protectively.

The action does not escape sister Claire's gimlet eye. “I thought as much. Turn out your bag please Michaela.”

*********************

At tea time I take my customary seat at the long table in blissful serenity. There is to be bread and water for my evening meal but at least that is preferable to the “Toad in the Hole” available to those people unfortunate enough to be not under penal diet. There has been much speculation regarding this item of the menu in the past with opinion divided as to the nature of the meat content within this dish. The radical contingent holds that it really is toad whereas the more moderate viewpoint is that it is in fact merely sausage meat processed from the carcasses of the most discontented pigs in England.

Rachel takes her place and jerks a thumb over her shoulder. “Sally's just on her way.” she informs us, “but Pauline's running late. The hockey team's being held back for post match analysis and high level recriminations following the crushing defeat against Mary Magdalene's this afternoon.”

Julia frowns. “The hockey team are not the only ones conspicuous by their absence.” she notes. “I don't see the Benson twins anywhere.”

I nod knowingly. “I fear they may be somewhat delayed as well.” I inform my comrades.

“What's keeping them?” Rachel wants to know.

“I believe the absence of the hockey team and that of the Benson twins are not unrelated incidents. Rachel here is in error to assume that the hockey team's absence is entirely due to a soul searching review of the team's performance in this afternoon's humiliating demise. It is true that the reproofs and accusations did drag on for some length of time but I understand that the matter was concluded some time ago, and, whilst that may be the official reason for their delay, there is other business which may explain their absence.”

“What other business?” Julia wants to know.

“As far as I am aware, the hockey team, under Emily Dixon's leadership, wished to have a private conversation with the Benson twins in the lavatory block adjoining the sports pavilion.”

“Why there?” asks Wendy who is never too sharp on the uptake.

“Well it would seem to be an admirable venue for such a conference.” I point out. “It being sufficiently removed from the more inhabited regions of the school so as to not to disturb the harmony and tranquillity of the student body with the Benson twins' screams.”

Rachel raises an eyebrow in my direction. “Are you behind this Michaela?” she demands to know, “You've got that smug smile on your face and it's got you written all over it.”

“I merely had a quick chat with Emily Dixon,” I confess modestly, “and was able to impress upon her my concerns regarding the disgraceful misuse of power exercised by certain prefects. I found her to be fully in accordance with my views and it would seem that she has taken matters into her own hands.”

Before my comrades can press me further, we are joined by Sally. She is looking furious and, as soon as she takes her place, she stabs an accusatory finger at me. “Michaela Francis! You have some bloody explaining to do! I've just seen Jacqueline chatting to Arabella Pennington and looking like she hasn't a care in the world! You never bloody told her did you?”

I shake my head wearily. “I'm afraid not. I decided it would be imprudent to do so.”

Sally rolls her eyes heavenward in despair. “I don't bloody believe you Michaela! Are you completely mad? If sister Claire finds out who she is then she faces double the punishment she would have received had you told her to report to sister Claire as you were supposed to do! She'll never forgive you.”

“Yes I'm afraid there might be some resentment yes.”

“You are completely barking Michaela! What are you going to say when sister Claire discovers the identity of “Cuddles”?”

“I'm afraid she already has done.”

“WHAT!”

I nod sadly. “I said that sister Claire is already apprised of the identity of Cuddles. I expect that at any minute she will arrive to summons Cuddles to her study there to acquaint her with a long stout length of rattan cane, Cuddles' bottom for the beating of.”

“Oh my God! The poor girl! How the hell did she find out so quickly?”

“I'm afraid it was partly my fault. sister Claire's first action in the investigatory process was to initiate a search of my belongings in case there existed any evidence therein to point to the identity of Cuddles. Sad to say I had a letter that Cuddles sent me this morning, in my bag, and sister Claire discovered it. It was remiss of me not to have destroyed it immediately.”

“Oh Christ!” Sally expostulates. “Did she sign the letter with her own name?”

I shake my head. “No. It was signed Cuddles but unfortunately that label of anonymity won't suffice to conceal her identity. sister Claire is an expert on handwriting styles it turns out and she recognised the writing immediately. If any further proof had been needed it was provided by sister Juliana who testified to having observed Cuddles deliver the letter to me. I'm afraid it's all up. It's to be the cane for Cuddles; one hundred strokes and two weeks penance to boot. Doubtless she will be joining me on my knees in the chapel at Vespers this evening!”

Sally groans and clutches her head in her hands. Rachel however is looking at me curiously. “You're looking awfully calm about all this Michaela! You're up to something aren't you?”

I clasp my hands before me serenely. “I had a revelation in the chapel.” I tell her. “I have seen the light of righteousness. sister Claire was right. It is wrong to protect the sinner from the consequences of their sins. They must be judged in the here and now, accept their punishment and pay their penance lest they be judged by a higher authority in the hereafter and suffer the punishment of eternal damnation. I hope Cuddles will forgive me for my carelessness and for not protecting her identity better for it was meant to be and, hopefully, she will thank me later that her punishment might mean the salvation of her immortal soul.”

Sally groans once more, evidently unmoved by my evangelical zeal. “What the hell was Jackie thinking of?” she laments. “It was madness sending you a letter while you were under such scrutiny and clouds of suspicion.”

“She didn't.”

Sally blinks and stares at me. “I beg your pardon?”

“I said Jackie didn't send me a letter.”

Sally flounders in confusion. “Just a minute! Rewind will you. You just said she did. You said quite plainly that you received a letter from Jackie this morning.”

“No! I said I had a letter from “Cuddles” this morning.”

“But they're one and the same person.”

“Not in this instance!”

“But, but...”

Before I can elucidate, sister Claire strides purposefully into the hall. She does not take her place at the top table but instead takes a stance before the student body and raps sharply on a table to gain the hall's attention. We leap to our feet as she contemplates us sternly. “A certain young lady of the sixth form was advised to report to my study before lunch time today to confess their sins and receive due punishment.” she informs the school in a sonorous voice. “I regret to say that she has not done so. The young lady in question knows who she is so I give her one last chance now to step forward and own up and I may yet exercise some mercy in the application of her punishment. If she does not then I shall be compelled to administer her just desserts in full measure and with all the authority deserving of her!” She glares at the students. “Well?”

There is much stirring and muttering among the students at this sensational announcement. Sally is still looking bewildered. Then I see the light bulb turn on in her brain. “Wait a minute!" she murmurs under her breath. “You DID receive a letter this morning! You received a letter at breakfast time!”

I smile blissfully. “Exactly! And right under sister Juliana's nose as well!”

“But...but it wasn't from Jackie, it was from....”

“Precisely... signed “Cuddles and in her own handwriting too!” I roll my eyes wonderingly. “Who would have thought that sister Claire was such an authority in graphology?”

“But that means...” Sally begins.

“Very well!” sister Claire thunders after a pregnant pause. “Since the young lady in question refuses to step forward I must call her out myself!” Her eyes sweep across the room like the beams of Barad-Dur before settling on one lonely figure currently abandoned by her customary companions. “Stephanie Stockworth-Smyth!”

Stephanie staggers in shock. “Eh? What?”

“You will follow me to my study to be caned immediately young lady!” With that sister Claire turns and marches to the door, pausing only to look back over her shoulder at Stephanie to bark, “Come along now girl!”

Stephanie totters after her, her eyes wild in fear. As she passes our table, she turns to glare at me maniacally. I treat her to my sweetest smile and raise my hand to wiggle my fingers at her. “Catch you later at Vespers..... Cuddles!”

**********************
Michaela