Chapter 200.
The programmes for the October Show were delivered to reception as promised on Friday afternoon. As soon as Miss Poole heard, she came out of her office and checked through one carefully, to make sure there were no errors. It was an eight-page booklet, with the Centre logo on the cover over a photograph of one of the top senior dressage horses and rider, Charlotte Macilveney. Both inside covers and one side of one page were devoted to full-page commercial adverts, including the Centre’s sponsors, whilst each of the remaining five pages was given over to details of the events. There was a page for the main arena programme, with a timetable for all the senior events, showing, showjumping, dressage, and so in in their various classes, culminating with the dressage final; a page for the gymkhana and junior events, including showjumping, races, show ponies, best rider, best turned out pony and rider; two pages for the timetable of events in the main field, with classes for things like best piebald or skewbald, best lead rein pony, best ridden pony, best veteran, cutest filly or mare, and even a class simply called “think pink”! The final inside page contained a list of all the stallholders and their locations. There would be stalls all around the field, and intermittently around the perimeters of the arenas. The smaller ones would be selling food, drink, and anything horsey, from keyrings, earrings, bangles and stuffed animals to clothing – though there were two large stalls adjacent to the main arena run my major retailers with a full range of clothing, tack and accessories. (Anything that might spook the horses, like balloons or anything noisy, was strictly forbidden.) But out of the whole programme, what immediately caught the attention of Evelina and Gabby was the back cover. Below “Boot Boys at Pitt’s Wood!” in bright shiny red letters like inflated balloons, it featured four small photos: top left, the inner sanctum, top right, Timothy in his superhero outfit, culled from the picture on Miss Poole’s phone, bottom left, one of Bobby in his blue and yellow outfit, courtesy of Clarissa, his face hidden under the peak of his baseball cap, and bottom right….an indistinct one of Mélisande perched on what appeared to be a diminutive bay pony!
Evelina held it up and looked at Miss Poole enquiringly.
“Ah, yes. A little teaser. No-one will understand what that is until after the senior dressage. And I don’t want anyone to see these until we hand them out tomorrow. Timothy’s coming in for a training session at one, and I have a little surprise in store for him. Excellent! The weather’s going to be good. I think we should have a really great day.”
Miss Poole had dropped into stable thirteen earlier that day to see how Timothy’s training was progressing. He had already spent hours on his knees in front of Jasmin or Ellie or both of them together receiving instruction and slaving away on various types of riding and fashion boots, with mixed results.
“Well girls? How’s our new recruit doing?”
“Not bad, Miss Poole,” said Jasmin, unenthusiastically. “He’s learning the techniques, but he still doesn’t comport himself well…”
“His attitude suc-ks,” clarified Ellie. “I’ve explained to him again and again that he needs to show politeness and subservience. He understands all right, miss, but I think it’s just that he can’t bring himself to do it. He’s got this stupid macho thing in his head that men should never defer to women or girls. It’s really annoying. Maybe he’ll be better with the customers, but sometimes with us he’s just plain rude.”
Miss Poole frowned. “I see… Is that right, Timmy?”
Timothy looked flustered. “Well, I don’t see why I ‘ave to crawl to them, any of ‘em. Some of these stable girls are younger than me for one, and I ‘ear that some of the women are, like, old enough to be my muvver. It seems to me…”
“Don’t say another word. You clearly don’t understand the meaning of respect. So, since you are already under contract, I’m going to invoke one of the penalty clauses.” She looked around, Her gaze alighted on a dressage whip propped in one corner of the stable. “Right. Girls, hold him face-down across that bale, would you?”
“Yes, miss.”
“Oi! Get yer ‘ands orf me! I said…”
“And I said, not another word, Master Timmy. From now on, every word you utter will earn you an extra stroke of the whip.”
Timothy wasn’t weak, but those girls were older and used to manual labour. They held him firmly while Miss Poole yanked down his shorts and underpants, picked up the whip, and gave him such a stoke that he yelped with pain, and a thin read weal appeared across his white buttocks.
“No – please!”
“That’s two extra, then.”
She administered another twelve well-aimed strokes, which left his bottom criss-crossed with livid red lines, and him sobbing and moaning. He wanted to plead, but now he was too frightened to do so. She threw down the whip.
“If you don’t quickly adjust your attitude, my boy, you’ll get another twelve tomorrow. I do not tolerate misogyny in my staff. So now you’ll come in tomorrow as well, and practise on some of the other stable girls until I’m satisfied. Ellie, you’re not involved in any of the events tomorrow, are you?”
“No, miss, but…”
“I know. I’m sure you’d like to watch. So I’ll make sure he’s fitted with a collar and chain so he can be tethered up here for some of the time. And I’m going to appoint you as Boot Boy Supervisor going forward. You will be in charge of reports, complaints, discipline, and costume rotation. We can discuss and agree your new duties in due course. And of course you’ll have a substantial pay supplement.”
“Thank you, miss,” said Ellie, delightedly. She couldn’t think of anything nicer than being totally in charge of two big, rebellious sissies like Timothy and Bobby.
“And you – have you learnt your lesson, or do I have to…”
Timothy, completely cowed, struggling to wipe the tears from his cheeks and pull up his pants and the same time, looked up at meekly.
“Yes, miss…I’m sorry…I didn’t mean…I promise…I’ll be nice to all the ladies…everyone…I will…”
“Good. That’s most reassuring. Make sure you are. Tomorrow at one, then. And in the afternoon Cynthia will return with your superhero uniform. She’s made the few adjustments necessary and is confident it’ll fit you like a glove. I’m sure you’re happy about that.”
“Oh, yes, Miss Poole. Fank you. I can’t wait to, er…put it on again…”
Though oddly the expression on his face didn’t betray quite the same level of enthusiasm…
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Topic: His Aunt Nicole (Read 75366 times)
