by Arthur James
David Anderson was fond of reading. In fact he was so fond of reading he often took a torch up to the dormitory at Morgrove School so he could read a few pages of whatever book he happened to have in his blazer pocket at the time. This was fine whilst Kennedy was the head of the dormitory as Kennedy believed it was none of his business if someone wanted to read a book under his bedclothes. However, since Kennedy had been moved to the dormitory upstairs, Saunders had become the head of the dormitory and the whole atmosphere had deteriorated. No one even dared to talk after the lights were switched out in case Saunders reported the offender to the headmaster, Major Bevan. There were never any pillow fights anymore and he dared not switch on his torch until he was quite sure that Saunders was fast asleep.
He had been positive that he had heard Saunders distinctive snore within twenty minutes of Miss Fellowes turning the light off but obviously that hadn't been the case as he suddenly heard Saunders' bed creak in ominous fashion. Then before he could even switch the torch off Saunders had thumped his shoulder and reached under the bedclothes and snatched it from his grasp.
"Don't be a pain, Saunders," he said.
"Shut up, Anderson," the new head boy had replied in a bullying tone. He was easily the largest boy in the dormitory and had become even more unpopular since his unexpected promotion. It had been entirely the Major's idea to make him the new head boy, of course, as everyone knew that Miss Fellowes had no time at all for Saunders. Maybe the Major thought a spot of bullying would be character building. Still, Anderson along with most of the other boys would still stick up for themselves despite the fact that Saunders was so much bigger and stronger.
"That is my torch. Please give it back now."
"No it's confiscated. In fact I think I might keep it as I could use a good torch," said Saunders nonchalantly, switching it on and directing it's powerful beam towards Bennett-Brown in the bed nearest the door.
"Oh for goodness sake, Saunders, do you have to be so enervating?" sighed Bennett-Brown, who had been nearly dropping off to sleep before being dazzled by Saunders' new toy.
"What did you call me?" he asked aggressively, whilst switching the torch on and off several times.
"Enervating."
"And what the hell is that meant to mean?"
"It means someone who is tiresome and drains people of energy, Saunders. Switch the thing off and go to bloody sleep, can't you," said Abbot wearily from the bed next to Anderson.
"Don't you swear at me, Abbot," said Saunders, who was beginning to enjoy himself by shining the torch on each bed in turn. No one would have been able to stop him even if he wasn't in charge of the dormitory. They were all a puny lot of weeds in his opinion. Then he distinctly heard footsteps. It was a soft clicking sound as if someone was wearing high-heeled shoes. It could only be Miss Fellowes. Saunders switched the torch off and in desperation threw it across the dormitory. He didn't care where it fell just as long as he wasn't caught with it. Purely by chance the torch landed beside Mallory's pillow, narrowly missing his head.
"Why are you throwing things at me, Saunders?" enquired Mallory peevishly. Just then the door swung wide open and a light was switched on. Mallory had enough presence of mind to quickly hide the torch under his pillow.
"I saw the light under the door. Which of you has the torch?" enquired Miss Fellowes in a cool but fairly amiable voice. Nothing ever seemed to upset her. She was calmness personified as she walked past the two rows of beds. Some of the boys were pretending to be asleep, but most of them were sitting up ready to enjoy seeing Saunders get his come-uppance.
"Is no one going to own up then?" asked the young schoolmistress, smiling as if the mystery of the torch was somehow not to be taken seriously. Still there was silence in the dormitory. The pretend sleepers were no longer pretending to be asleep and were sitting up in their beds like the other boys. Several of them were looking at the head of the dormitory expectantly, although no one was going to sneak other than Saunders himself. In fact he would certainly have informed on Anderson if it had been the Major asking the questions; however, he was all too well aware that Miss Fellowes was just as likely to shift the blame on him as punish Anderson.
"You realise if no one owns up I shall have to consider punishing all of you."
Miss Fellowes would get to the bottom of things. No stone would be left unturned. She walked over to Saunders' bed and lifted the bedclothes then looked under the pillow. Without pausing she turned to the next bed, which was Hammonds'. Not for the first time she had come up against a lack of forthrightness in the boys at the school. Of course they were only young but it was still disappointing. She liked it when boys chose to confess to their crimes and misdemeanours. She wouldn't treat them any more leniently; they would still be put in detention, but she would remember who they were and would try to make it up to them in some way. Honesty was always the best policy with Miss Fellowes. Whilst searching a third boy's bed she directed her gaze towards Saunders who was looking decidedly shifty.
"Do you know anything about this torch, Saunders?"
"No, Miss," he said. He coloured slightly as he spoke and would not meet her eye. She knew he was the guilty one without any shadow of doubt. The next bed she went to was Mallory's, but just as she was about to reach for his pillow she heard Anderson say in clear steady voice, "Please Miss Fellowes, it was my torch."
"Was it now? And why didn't you confess to this earlier?"
"I am sorry, Miss," he said, his face was as pale as the sheets.
"And where is this torch now?"
"I don't know, Miss."
He was obviously telling the truth. In any case she knew that he was a truthful child. Saunders was mixed up in it somehow; she would have happily wagered a month's salary on it. She stood for a moment with her hands resting on her slender hips as if she was not quite convinced that Anderson was the only culprit.
Miss Fellowes really didn't look like a schoolmistress at all with her blonde hair piled on top of her head and her high cheekbones and her almond shaped eyes. Usually, she wore her academic gown, but now when she was meant to be off duty she wore a pale blue dress that emphasised both her height and her slender figure.
"Well I shall give you a choice of punishments, Anderson. Either you can have a detention or a smacked bottom."
There was a laugh quickly stifled. Miss Fellowes shifted her gaze to the far end of the dormitory.
"Is there something you find amusing, Bennett-Brown?"
"No, Miss Fellowes," he said nervously. There was complete silence in the dormitory as the boys waited for Anderson to make his decision. The young schoolmistress had a humorous side to her nature. Occasionally, she gave boys a choice of punishments, knowing that a sensible boy would always chose detention over a smacked bottom. In actual fact she had never spanked any of the Morgrove boys before but such was her reputation no one would have ever guessed. Once many years ago she had spanked her nine-year-old nephew with her hairbrush. She had punished him in such a merciless cold-blooded way it had surprised her even more than the unfortunate nephew.
"Come on, I haven't got all day. if you would prefer a spanking to a detention on Wednesday afternoon get out of your bed now and put on your dressing gown. You can wait in my study rather than in the corridor."
"I think I should prefer a spanking, please Miss Fellowes," he said.
David Anderson tried not to look too pleased as he walked down the corridor with Miss Fellowes, who didn't look in the slightest bit cross with him despite being caught by surprise. Anderson's choice of punishment had left the other boys even more shocked than the young schoolmistress. It wasn't as if he was the sort of boy that was always in trouble. Of course, he was wondering whether he might have made the wrong choice. However, he had always had a thing about Miss Fellowes, and the thought of being spanked by her made his heart beat so fast he thought it would explode.
"Let me tell you what I think happened, Anderson. You were reading by torch light and Saunders confiscated your torch. Not content with confiscating your torch he was amusing himself by shining it on boys' faces whilst they were asleep. How am I doing so far?"
It was uncanny. Miss Fellowes surely possessed psychic powers.
"Then just before I entered the room he was somehow able to hide it. I should really be punishing him rather than you, don't you think?"
"I really don't m..." he was about to say he didn't mind being punished by her but had stopped because it sounded so foolish. Miss Fellowes smiled at him. She understood perfectly.
They climbed two flights of stairs, then made their way up a short corridor before stopping by the study door. The young schoolmistress's perfectly manicured hand rested for a moment on the shiny black door handle.
"Go in and wait for me. You may choose a book and sit down by the fire. I shall be a few minutes at least as I must check everyone is behaving themselves in the other dormitories."
He could hear her footsteps receding briskly down the corridor as he opened the door. Whatever confidence he had felt before entering Miss Fellowes study seemed to suddenly evaporate. He was trembling slightly and bracing himself for the ordeal to come. No one had ever spanked him before, and he wondered what it would be like. The schoolmistress's study was by no means a small room, but somehow the heavy furniture made it appear so. In particular, the three large bookshelves against the wall crammed with books seemed to fill one side of the room. On the top of the middle bookshelf there was a small but elegant black Japanese vase which depicted a boy being chastised by a young woman. She was whipping his bare behind with what looked like a long thin bamboo cane. He trailed his fingers down its smooth surface. How perfectly odd, he thought, that Miss Fellowes should possess such a strangely decorated vase.
For several minutes he surveyed the various books which were nearly all in French, which was the subject Miss Fellowes usually taught, although she took the younger boys for Latin and Mathematics. On one shelf he found a few books in English, one book in particular caught his eye, its title was The Wrong Choice.
He pulled it out of the shelf with a sinking heart. Hopefully it was not an omen. Maybe he had made the wrong choice too in choosing a spanking rather than a detention. On either side of the fire there was a brown leather armchair. He sat in the nearest one resting his feet on a small footstool. Despite making himself comfortable, his stomach was churning in anticipation. Miss Fellowes had still not returned; she would probably take her time in checking the other dormitories.
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