The Importance of Being Cecily

Victoriana by KajiraGames (MF/F, nc switch, birch).

[Today's entries are unillustrated texts, starting with this Oscar Wilde parody. Back to illustrations tomorrow.]

The Manor House,
Wilton,
Hertfordshire,
3rd May, 1885.

To Algernon Moncreiff Esq.,
5 Lock Gardens,
Camden Town.

Dear Algy,
    How are you, my dear fellow? I trust your pretended visits to your sick friend Bunbury have afforded you plenty of opportunities to get out of town and seek out young ladies, as always.

    Sadly, I may have to put an end to my similar scheme. My 'wicked brother Ernest', whom I use to take the blame for all my escapades in town, has become inconvenient. My young ward Cecily has taken rather too much of an interest in him. It is becoming a bore.

    By the way, with your reputation for 'Bunburying', I shall take great care that you never meet Cecily. She is excessively pretty and only just eighteen.

    Cheerio,
    Jack Worthing.

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5 Lock Gardens,
Camden Town,
7th May, 1885.

To Miss Cecily Cardew,
The Manor House,
Wilton,
Hertfordshire.

My dear little Cecily,
    May I introduce myself? I am your cousin by adoption, Mr Ernest Worthing. No doubt my brother, as your guardian, has warned you against me as your 'wicked' cousin Ernest. I have to admit I've been a little naughty - in fact, I've been quite bad in my own small way.

    However, I feel it a little unfair that your Uncle Jack has never allowed me to meet you. I am sure you would be a good influence on me. Perhaps you might try reforming me! Of course, any correspondence between us would have to be kept secret. Jack would not approve.

    Yours sincerely,
    Ernest Worthing.

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The Manor House,
Wilton,
Hertfordshire,
12th May, 1885.

To Mr Ernest Worthing,
5 Lock Gardens,
Camden Town.

Dear cousin Ernest,
    You are under some strange mistake, right from the salutation of your letter. I am not little! In fact, I am more than usually tall for my age. But I _am_ your Cecily. Ever since Uncle Jack told me about you, I have been intrigued by what a 'bad boy' you are, and have dreamed of meeting you.

    I'm afraid I must tell you, in the strictest confidence, how your letter has caused me no small inconvenience. I was re-reading it instead of studying my German lessons when my private tutor, Miss Prism, entered the room suddenly. Fortunately, I was able to hide your letter. But Miss Prism saw my inattention to my work and said that this was positively the last straw. She has often scolded me about not paying attention to my lessons (which I hate), and said she would speak immediately to my guardian.

    Uncle Jack has also told me that he would have to punish me if my laziness continued. To my dismay, he arrived in the study holding a switch cut from the garden, and Miss Prism by his side. After the most shaming lecture, in which he expressed his disappointment in me, he ordered me to remove my dress and my corsets. I begged him not to hurt me, but Miss Prism began 'assisting' me to remove my clothing.

    I was then made to bend over the side of a voluminous armchair, and Miss Prism raised my remaining petticoats. Meanwhile, Uncle Jack swished the supple switch, making a frightening sound. My sit-upon (if I may be so impolite as to mention it) was now bare, and Miss Prism held my arms.

    Back when I was at boarding school, it was a matter of pride for us girls to take a spanking or a slippering without 'blubbing'. But I cannot describe the awful sting of that switch when it contacted my bare skin the first time. I struggled to rise or protect my hind-quarters, but Miss Prism is very strong. With a swishing sound, another horrible stripe was added, and I howled and begged forgiveness.

    I was given twelve strokes, and at the end I was dropping tears on the armchair and promising over and over that I would pay due attention to my lessons. Uncle Jack said that if I did not behave, he would order Moulton the gardener to make a proper birch, and give me TWO dozen with it.

    When I was allowed to rise, I was so intent on clutching my poor stinging behind, I didn't notice that my petticoats had snagged on the arm of the chair, preventing them from falling into place. Therefore when I turned around, I exposed my most secret parts in front of Uncle Jack, and Miss Prism chided me for my immodesty. I was terribly embarrassed!

    Thoughts of you, my dearest Ernest, are now my only comfort. Emboldened by my guardian's willingness to punish me, Miss Prism has increased my workload and her vigilance. Horrid geography! Horrid political economy! Horrid, horrid German!

    Please write again and advise me in this, my misery.

    Yours affectionately,
    Cecily.

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The Manor House,
Wilton,
Hertfordshire,
13th May, 1885.

To Algernon Moncreiff Esq.,
5 Lock Gardens,
Camden Town.

Dear Algy,

    I have had to delay my plan to fake the death of my 'brother Ernest'. It would be a little too distressing at the moment, after certain consternations concerning my ward. Sadly, I was forced to use a switch to discipline her yesterday. Her inattention to her lessons was reaching such a point, that I became afraid she would turn into one of those frivolous young girls who are such easy targets for bounders and cads.

    Nobody knows better than you, dear boy, how easy it is to deceive an uneducated young lady. That is why, despite our friendship, I reiterate that you are not invited to visit here.

    See you next time I get to town,
    Jack.

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5 Lock Gardens,
Camden Town,
18th May, 1885.

To Miss Cecily Cardew,
The Manor House,
Wilton,
Hertfordshire.

My dearest Cecily,
    I was most distressed to hear of that terrible whipping your guardian and tutor gave you. I am gratified that you confide in me, and if any such thing should happen again, do not hesitate to write to me describing the full particulars. You have a sympathetic ear in me.

    If I may offer some practical advice, it is your Uncle Jack's birthday soon. I am sure he would appreciate, more than anything else, a box of good cigars. Such a present would show that your affection and respect for him are not diminished, and help heal any rift between you.

    Be sure not to spoil the surprise! Hide the cigars well until your guardian's birthday. A good place would be in a dresser drawer under your most intimate garments, as Jack and even Miss Prism would find it unseemly to rummage around there.

    Your dearest friend,
    Ernest.

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5 Lock Gardens,
Camden Town,
18th May, 1885.

To John Worthing Esq.,
The Manor House,
Wilton,
Hertfordshire.

Dear Jack,
    Isn't it sad when a nice young lady needs to be punished, for her own good? I sympathize with your need to give your ward a swishing.

    But you are right to be vigilant. I have heard of a disturbing trend among high society girls, namely, experimenting with smoking. This can ruin her reputation as a well brought-up lady and must be detected and stopped at all costs. Apparently, these errant girls hide cigarettes or cigars amongst their under-things, believing nobody would be so indelicate as to look there.

    Cheerio,
    Algernon.

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The Manor House,
Wilton,
Hertfordshire,
25th May, 1885.

To Mr Ernest Worthing,
5 Lock Gardens,
Camden Town.

My sweetest Ernest,

    Disaster has struck, and I write with tears upon my cheeks. I also write standing up, as the soreness in my (pardon me) other cheeks is fierce beyond belief.

    I purchased some cigars for Uncle Jack and hid them as you suggested. But the next day, he and Miss Prism entered my room, and Uncle Jack instructed her to search my drawers. She found the cigars, of course, and I had no choice but to reveal that they were a gift for him. To my shock, he did not believe me, saying that a friend had warned him of smoking being rife among young ladies.

    He then called for Moulton, and I guessed what this meant! All my pleading was in vain as he was sent to the garden and returned some time later with a bunch of birch twigs tied together. I almost fainted just at the sight of it!

    Once again, I was disrobed below the waist and held over that awful armchair. I am not ashamed to say I wept upon the first stroke. It was far more painful than before, like being whipped with many switches - I suppose because that's what it was!

    My guardian chastised me from waist to mid-thigh with that horrible instrument. I shrieked like a banshee when strokes fell on my tender upper thighs. But I was not allowed up until I had been given the full promised twenty-four.

    So, my dear correspondent, I have given you the full description you requested. No doubt you are gratified by this. But now I must come to the part that is not so fortunate for you.

    As I was crying and desperately rubbing, Miss Prism set to straightening up my underwear drawer. In the process she discovered the other contraband I had placed there, namely your two letters. She showed them to Uncle Jack, and his face became a mask of fury as he saw the return address on them and their content, especially of the last letter.

    Suddenly he hugged me close, and begged my forgiveness. Miss Prism too, after reading the letters in full, cuddled me and kept saying "My poor child"! I am to receive a new dress, hat and shoes of my choice, and Uncle Jack has promised never to whip me again - even if I'm not very attentive to my lessons, which I fear is inevitable.

    So I now know who you are, MR MONCREIFF, and I must tell you that Uncle Jack intends to circulate your letters. You will not be able to go 'Bunburying' again, once your true nature is revealed to society. My uncle also intends to show them to your aunt, Lady Bracknell, of whom I believe you are in mortal terror.

    However, there is a way you can avoid this fate. Uncle Jack has revoked his 'dis-invitation' of you to the Manor House. If you come here within a week and submit to the same punishment I received, at Miss Prism's hands, the letters will be conveniently lost. As the injured party, I will be allowed to watch your punishment, however humiliating that will be for you.

    So what do you say, Algy? Permanent disgrace, or poetic justice? You had better hurry - Miss Prism is swishing the birch most impatiently.

    Yours in great satisfaction,
    Cecily.
    That's 'Miss Cardew' to you!

THE END