The Dominant Male

hide, very tough but supple.’
    ‘I see. A devilish looking thing, indeed. Makes one fairly wince to look at it. These barrels, are they for birch rods?’
    ‘That’s right. My uncle has them cut every February, when the buds are formed but still hard as little stones. He has some birch woods up by Fortingbury. Purchased ‘em expressly for the purpose as the ones here were proving insufficient. Congratulations on obtaining the living, by the way. We shall be near neighbors when I am vicar here!
    ‘Yes, it was a stroke of luck, that. I had the promise of that parish down in Devon. But Devon is a devilish long way from civilisation and infested with troglodytes, of course. I hope you will visit often if you have the leisure once you are ordained.’
    ‘Oh, I shall have plenty of leisure. There is a perpetual curate at St Nicks who knows his business and Uncle Horace has promised to shoot me should I give a sermon more than twice a year. You must come along to the cutting of the birch-rods. We have a picnic and some lovely fun and games.’
    ‘So does he cut a year’s supply then?’
    ‘Every year. Then he pickles em in brine. Nothing beats the birch for discipline of course. I mean proper discipline. The very presence of these barrels, lined up like sentries, keeps the female staff fairly on their toes.’
    The other young man snorted. ‘Spoken like a true Etonian,’ he said. ‘Stuck in the last century, with your damned birch rods. The cane is quite as effectual and you don’t have half the palaver, or the mess.’
    It was Ellington’s turn to snort derisively. ‘Oh, please, spare me another eulogy to Dr Arnold. Canes might be good enough for you Rugby louts but there is no finesse to them at all. Alright for prefects, to use on the hand but not for the behind. Thwack! Thwack! You might as well be beating dust from a carpet. Worst of all the last stroke hurts only as much as the first. The beauty of the birch is the way the pain builds up and up on ever-more scarified—’
    ‘Stuck in the past, Dickie, stuck in the past. A good kooboo cane has just as much finesse as any bunch of old twigs, more. We shall have to try them side by side one day to settle the matter—’
    ‘If you please, Sir,’ Hope’s husky voice piped up, causing conniptions in Comfort’s breast. What could the silly hussy be thinking of to interrupt the gentlemen’s discussion?
    ‘Well girl,’ Richard Ellington said in a slightly annoyed voice. ‘What is it?’
    ‘Well, Sir, if you… if you would forgive the impertinence, we would be glad to be of service Sir, Comfort here and me, to see which was the worser, so to speak.’
    The blonde girl went bright pink as the two men stared at her. Comfort on the other hand, felt the blood drain from her face. Partly this was fear but it was fear mixed with rage. You stupid, selfish little trollop , she thought, aghast, I will make you pay for this. Just you wait! ’
    ‘I say,’ said Ellington, in a much warmer and friendlier voice. ‘I call that a very handsome offer. Very well, let us repair to the orangery where there is room to swing a cat. You and your pretty little colleague can break out three birch rods and some kooboo canes and then bring that little vaulting horse next door. Algernon let me show you the park from the orangery whilst these delightful creatures make their preparations. I believe we might have time for a cigar.’
    The two young men strolled through the double doors that separated the rod room from the orangery, and Comfort directed a glare at Hope so baleful that it would have wilted cabbage. It was quite wasted though on the pretty blonde maid, however for she had gone back into her trance and was staring, with a blissful smile, off into the middle distance.
    The orangery adjoined the rod room. A long gallery with its south side a series of floor-to-ceiling windows, it had been designed to let the gentlefolk stroll in inclement weather, as well as to grow fruit. A fine view of the lawns leading down to landscaped ponds with woods beyond was displayed by these windows and the gallery, some twenty feet deep by five times that in length, had space for many potted orange and lemon trees. However there were few of these now, a mere dozen small standard trees, enough to scent the air but nothing like sufficient to provide fruit for the house. These now stood in their pots, spaced out against the back wall. For Lord Horace found the space and light ideal for