The correspondence began here.

Dear Miss Carlisle,

On receipt of your letter my tummy turned somersaults and I must confess I felt a little sick. I truly did not mean to fail my imposition; I do hope you can forgive me. Please find enclosed the corrected and extended document. It took me all Sunday afternoon to write out your request and I had to hastily cover the paper with my book every time the maid came in. I felt sure that she might have guessed what I was doing for every time she entered my face was strawberry red.

I am also sorry for my impertinence regarding the matter of Ruth Compton. Of course it is no business of mine how you proceed, know only that I am curious and I am entirely at your service in this matter.

I know I deserve a jolly sound spanking for both my failures, although I can scarce look at my own hairbrush at the thought of it. However, do you really mean to birch me? Is my punitive exercise not enough?

I did want to plead more eloquently for your mercy, but I see the time and I do not dare risk missing the post.

Yours most humbly and regretfully,

Amelia

*

Dear Amelia,

I received your imposition, as you style it, and this time you did not fail yourself. That is all to the good, but I expected no less from you. Both your apologies are accepted, have no fear, but I cannot stint on the correction that you are most certainly owed. I would be failing in my duty to spare you the least stinging stroke.

It amused me that you feared that your maid noticed the redness of your visage. I wonder what she would say if she spied the strawberry red of your bared bottom standing in the corner once I am done with it?

If you wish for discretion I suggest you give the girl Saturday afternoon off, for I will be with you then and the matter of a thoroughly sound spanking will be addressed.

The birching will be handled on the following morning before church. You remember my method I trust? Know this; you will sit uneasily at your pew, if at all. You may wish to stand at the back and brave the speculations of village gossips.

Yours truly,

Jane Carlisle.

To be continued…