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“Keep reading, please,” Jane says calmly.
“Ladies will learn…”
CRACK!
Storm draws in a sobbing breath as the second stroke lands. The heat is incomparable to anything else, and the aching sting is worse for being laid over the tenderizing marks of the ruler. Jane might have seemed to have a nice and merciful tone when she lured Storm back from the edge, but nobody would say she is not being thoroughly punished now.
“… to cultivate refinement, and be taught social graces and life skills, in addition to pursuing academic excellence, and…”
Two more strokes land in quick succession, both of them close to one another and both of them directed at the area where bottom meets thigh.
“FUCK!”
“I don’t believe that’s in the brochure,” Jane remarks smoothly as Storm writhes out of place, too sore to stay obedient, and too scared to reach back and rub her poor punished bottom. She is sore, and she is sorry — not for what she has done, but certainly for herself.
At the very end of the page is a picture of the Birchbane Institution. It is a large and stately chalet set among the Swiss mountains. External wood beams and great big leadlight windows look out over a panorama of incomparable natural beauty. It looks like the sort of place that has stood for hundreds of years, turning the female offspring of various progenitors into proper ladies who know what side of the tablecloth one is supposed to butter.
With her bottom throbbing and her pride nearly mortally wounded, Storm looks at the stately old manor nestled in the Swiss mountains and swears a private oath:
She will bring that institution, and everyone in it, to their fucking knees.
4OFF TO SCHOOL!
Storm is missing.
The train is about to depart, and the girl is nowhere to be seen. She was with Jane when they arrived at the station together, but Jane is not a jailer, and she cannot possibly keep constant tabs on a willful teenage girl. Still, she wishes she had not agreed to let Storm go to the bathroom by herself. It has been thirty-five minutes since she started searching, and none of the bathrooms yield any sign of the young lady. This is not how Jane intended to start her day, combing the public facilities of one of Switzerland’s largest transport hubs.
By now, Jane has begun to assume she will miss her train, which means making a terrible first impression when she arrives at Birchbane. This is a very exclusive position, one that will no doubt be as challenging as it is rewarding. The faculty at the institution are some of the most accomplished and educated in their respective fields anywhere in the world.
Jane is supposed to represent discipline, and now she is left standing impotently at the train station, watching the seconds tick by until Swiss efficiency leaves her in its wake because of one girl who seems physically unable to do what she is told.
She takes a deep, calming breath, and reminds herself that she is in no way without power here. It further soothes her to make a mental inventory of all the implements she will be using on Storm when she finds her. If she has to miss this train, and thereby make herself late for her agreed arrival time at the finishing school, she will be displeased on a great many levels, all of them painful for her wayward charge.
“Jane!” Jane hears her first name being called in an all-too-familiar manner from the other end of the station. Storm is running, a big bag held against her chest as she comes down the platform from the main station. She is panting with exertion as she arrives in front of the thoroughly annoyed, but completely composed disciplinarian.
“They forgot some of my stuff!” she gasps. “I had to go and get it before we left!”
“Get on the train,” Jane says sternly.
The relief of setting off on time and with her charge actually in tow means Jane can finally relax as they settle into their seats, both window seats. Jane faces in the direction the train is going, and Storm sits facing her, traveling backwards, contrary as usual.
Once the vestigial concerns of having lost her completely settle, Jane has to admit that Storm has been remarkably compliant, all things considered. Storm settles her bag carefully beneath her chair, then looks out the window as the train pulls away from the station, leaving the very north of Switzerland, bound for the south. It is less than four hours to their destination. Jane has a book to read and Storm is quiet. Being able to keep an eye on her in her peripheral vision means Jane does not have to worry about where she is for the moment. She reads her book, content for the moment in the knowledge all is well and under control.
As time goes on, she becomes aware that there is movement in the periphery. At first, she assumes Storm is just fidgeting with her bag, but then, focus taken from her book, she peers around the edge of the page, and realizes that there is a dark, wet snout poking out of the unzipped part of the bag.
She lowers her book with an astonished stare. Of all the trouble she thought Storm might get into on this trip, this had not occurred to her as a potential issue.
“What the? Where…”
“This is Kravik,” Storm says, as the shaggy black and tan dog licks her cheek, shedding the bag like a canvas chrysalis.
Jane recognizes the name from their previous conversation. “Storm! That’s not your dog! He belongs to your host parents!”
Storm is unbothered by her stern shock. “They’re old! They don’t walk him!”
She seems to think this is valid grounds for the canine crime she has just made Jane a party to.
Jane can barely believe this is happening. The short, squat dog is now sitting between Storm’s knees, looking for all the world like he does belong to her, and the train won’t stop for an hour at least.
