A Fateful Lapse

Extract from the journal of Lady Elizabeth Castleton.

June 18th 1789

Today I truly learnt what it means to be my husband's wife. I have been blessed with such joy from winning the love of my husband. George has always been a kind and honourable man and I am so proud he has dedicated his life to serving God and our community. And our two adorable boys are growing into such fine young men; it's wonderful to see them temper their childish exuberance as they learn the dignified and restrained behaviour of the gentlemen they will surely become.

But last night, what horror! I needed counsel from my husband, he usually sees things so clearly. His mother is becoming so tiresome during her too frequent visits. She interferes with everything I do in the household and is so critical of me. But last night George simply didn't understand me, or refused to understand me. He wouldn't listen to my complaints and the more I talked, the frustration built so violently inside me. In exasperation I found myself screaming "...but she is such an interfering witch - can't you see that!?" Even before I heard my words I was horrified with this outburst. My hand rose instinctively to my mouth, I looked at my husband and saw his shock reflecting mine.

He took my hand from my mouth and held it in his. I watched the tension in his face slowly dissolve as he regained composure. "My dear. You are tired. It is late. But you cannot say these words. My mother is your mother. We disrespect our parents and we disrespect God himself." I could see such uncertainty in his eyes I had never seen before. "Go to bed. Tomorrow we will reflect on this".

So this morning, my husband handed me a bible and said "Read the book of Exodus, and reflect on your words last night. Think about the 5th commandment from our Lord and search your soul for your true feelings. We shall serve our penance today". I knew this was painful for him. I had let him down. He chose to marry me and it is he who bears responsibility for my words and my actions as much as I. "You will wear this today" he continued, and to my horror he lifted a scold's bridle in front of me. I had no idea he even possessed one. It is a hideous contraption. A metal helmet with a hinged strip of iron attached at the forehead, designed to shape over the nose, and curve into the mouth to lay flat on the tongue. The hinged mouth-piece being locked in place by a padlock fixed to the metal collar around fitting around the neck.

As George secured the bridle around my skull I was engulfed with guilt and shame. He turned and left me to consider my sins.

I didn't dare leave our bedroom all day today. I never called for servants, what would they think of me? I could not eat or drink, while wearing this contraption, anyway. The bridle become uncomfortable after a few minutes and painful after a couple of hours. With each movement of my head I felt the metal crown chaffing my skull, and I regularly checked the mirror to ensure it wasn't drawing blood. The mouth-piece quickly disgusted me. Saliva built up in my mouth, I couldn't swallow properly, and I continually needed to wipe my mouth with a handkerchief like nursing a baby. The metallic taste was ghastly beyond words. When I dwelt on it, I found myself gagging and feeling nauseous. I read the bible with all the concentration I could muster, thankful for any distraction I could find.

I had no idea how long George wanted me to wear the bridle, my hopes were lifted when he returned to my room late afternoon. But when I looked at him and saw more pain in his eyes, I quickly understood my ordeal was not over. But Lord help me, I'm not sure I can bring myself to write about the events over dinner this evening.

George told me to tidy myself up and get dressed for dinner. I was shocked and silently shook my head beseeching him with my eyes. I knew he understood me, but I could also see such strong resolve in him, he was already steeled for my reaction. "We must do this. We must set an example." And he left the room.

When George returned I had composed myself as best I could. I held tightly to his arm as we walked downstairs and entered the dining room. I took a deep breath but immediately felt tears welling in my eyes when I saw the others in the room. Lucy, our housemaid and Mr Byrd, our man-servant, were standing erect by the sideboard as they always did. I saw Lucy's bottom jaw drop in shock as she watched me enter the room.

My two darling boys, William and Henry, already stood waiting for us at the table. William looked up at me, and I saw his confusion. "Mother..?". But George quickly intervened, "Hush boy", he said. And William's eyes quickly returned to his place setting at the table. Oh, how my heart ached - how could I have done this to my family? And then my heart sank further as I noticed our house guest - a horrible, short, pompous man - Mr Wainwright, the justice of the peace, who's work had brought him to our parish this week.

George led me to my seat at the end of the table and sat himself down at the far side opposite me. I sat upright and looked directly ahead, only at my husband, holding back my tears. I knew one glance at my boys and my tears would flow.

"Let us say grace". George said quietly. My head instinctively bowed and I flinched as the weight of the bridle rocked forward grazing the side of my head once more. "We thank you, lord, for the food you provide us tonight. We welcome our distinguished guest at our table. We pray for forgiveness from our sins, and this evening, especially, we humbly request your guidance to help us learn from our transgressions. Amen." At this moment, I could not have felt more ashamed.

Lucy and Mr Byrd served the soup. The meal progressed in tormented silence with only the sound of spoons clinking the side of our soup bowls. Mr Byrd placed a bowl of soup in front of me with a hint of a smirk on his mouth, which Lucy cleared away, untouched, a few minutes later. I sat bolt upright with my head held high to balance the weight of the bridal on my aching neck muscles. In reality, all I wanted to do was bow my head in shame, and hide. The main course followed, I watched a beef stew appear in front of me to be removed a short while later.

As George dabbed the side of his mouth with his napkin he looked towards Mr Wainwright and said, "Sir, in your capacity as a judge in our county - what do you feel would be appropriate penance for my wife given the events I explained to you?" Mr Wainwright glanced at me before replying, "Well, I'm not sure this is really my area of expertise, Reverend. I pass sentence on man's law, yet your wife's transgression was against God's law."

"But Sir", George pressed, "you have much experience and indeed wisdom in all matters of law. If I were to push you, what action do you deem appropriate?"

My boys were listening to this exchange with clear puzzlement. Mr Wainwright sighed and looked at me once more. I swear I saw his upper lip quiver. "Reverend", he said with authority, "as I mentioned earlier, I think your wife simply needs to be reminded of what is unacceptable behaviour in a way she will not quickly forget. This is why it's important for her, and indeed a lesson to your entire household, that her chastisement is in front of witnesses. I commend your actions this evening, already." Oh my dear Lord, help me! Mr Wainwright was licking his lips, his mouth was dry. At this moment I knew he was responsible for bringing me to dinner like this. Surely this is enough. George would not listen. But he was listening. He was agreeing! Mr Wainwright swallowed audibly and examined his fingernails. He continued with what to me appeared as overly exaggerated disinterest, "Have you considered some form of corporal punishment?" I starred wide eyed willing George to look at me, but he would not meet my gaze. George nodded his head slowly, deliberately, with an air of resigned necessity. Oh surely not! Not here!

"Very well", George said as he rose from his chair, "Elizabeth, come here please." What could I do? I rose from my chair prompting the others at the table to quickly stand. I walked around the table, behind my boys to George. He positioned his chair away from the table turning it to face the wall behind. Oh please, this can't happen!

As I approached George, he said "Your skirts please, Elizabeth." No, no, no, no, no! I was shaking my head now. Beseeching him with my eyes, tears welling up again, but I was met with the coldest, stony gaze from George. Our boys had their heads bowed, looking down at the table. Mr Wainwright was stroking his upper lip with his fingers. I could see My Byrd over George's shoulder no longer even trying hide his grin. Not in front of the servants! Not in front of our dear boys!

But he was my husband, I had made my vows to him. Could I fight this, or would that make matter worse? I untied the strings around my waist and let my thick skirt fall to the floor, nervous that only my flimsy white cotton pantaloons and knee length stockings were retaining any semblance of dignity for me. I stepped over heap of fabric on the floor and moved to George's chair, relieved that my back was now turned to everyone in the room. I leant on the back of the chair. What was George expecting from me?

There was silence in the room. I heard Mr Wainwright's voice next, talking with impatience. "Well go on girl, tidy up Mrs Castleton's clothes and help her out of her pantaloons." Oh please! He was talking to Lucy. I froze rigid. The horrible, despicable, disgusting, little man. Slender and timid fingers slipped into the waistband of my pantaloons, and slowly I felt the cotton fabric being pulled down over the mound of my buttocks. I stared at a blemish on the wall in front of me with silent tears stinging my face. I felt the material catch between the clammy tops of my thighs. A gentle tug. And another. Then a firmer yank, and the pantaloons were released and fell to my ankles with no further resistance. Lucy lifted my foot, then the other. I looked down and saw my bare knees, white stockings, and white satin shoes, with Lucy picking up my pantaloons and disappearing behind me. For the first time in my adult life, I was naked at the waist in front of anyone other than my husband. I was so ashamed. I cannot find the words.

I heard George whisper in my ear, "Bend over the chair, Elizabeth". The words made muscles deep inside me quiver and tense. This was a feeling I did not expect, a feeling I get when George and I are sharing the most intimate moments of our marriage. A thrill of anticipation and excitement, but it made no sense. With a start, I was all too aware of my surroundings, again. Oh dear Lord, forgive me. I leant forward over the back of the chair and rested my hands on the seat. I had to stretch unsteadily on my toes so I could bend over the chair with its back digging roughly into my tummy. I made a silent prayer that the lips of my most intimate body entrance were not engorging with blood and opening for my audience behind. But with this thought, the ferment inside me escalated further. Desperately, I looked up at the wall in front of me, searching for anything which might empty my mind. But the bridle was too heavy. My neck was aching. I let my head drop and I shut my eyes.

I heard the sharp slap first, then felt the shove from behind as my body rocked firmly against the chair forcing a sharp rush of air out of my lungs. It was a moment later when I felt the sting of pain rise from my left buttock. I bit tightly on the metal plate in my mouth but quickly regretted this when a second smack hit my behind. The jolt scraped the metal across my teeth enamel resonating distressingly through my jaw bone. The pain from my buttocks was catching up with me as the next blow came. I lost balance momentarily when my left foot slipped. My leg instinctively swung out as my weight transferred precariously on my right toes just as George's hand slapped down against me once more, this time missing his target and catching a more unpleasant blow on my upper thigh and exposed labia. George's hand steadied me by pushing down on the small of my back, clamping me firmly against the chair, as his next blow struck my buttocks. Then another. Then another. I don't know how many times he hit me.

And it stopped.

My buttocks were burning with fury, and deep in my womb I felt another fire raging with equally strong demands for quenching. Gingerly, I pushed myself up from the chair and stood upright, taking reassurance that my legs appeared to retain some stability.

Mr Wainwright broke the tension in the room once more, "Well, that's done then. Good. Shall we finish the meal?". What now for me? I thought. I turned my neck to search for George. His hair was unkempt and he was breathing deeply. "Take your seat, Elizabeth" he whispered, still panting from his exertion. Oh, when would this end? Please just let me go.

Mustering what little dignity I could find, I turned to face the table. My hands clasped in front of my wispy, blond pubic hair. I saw Lucy standing beside the sideboard next to my neatly folded clothes. She was staring at me open mouthed with one hand gently gliding across her behind as if she was experiencing my pain.

A saw William standing by the table also gaping at me, and Henry with his head bowed avoiding any eye contact. A small twitching movement caught my eye and I glanced down to see a large swelling at the front of William's breeches. Perhaps I reacted in some way, or perhaps William just followed my gaze, but with a jolt his hands quickly moved to his front and he pushed uncomfortably at his unwelcome protuberance. The blood rushed to his face and he was blushing scarlet. Oh my sweet darling. I so wanted to reassure him. To hug him. Was I the first women he had ever seen unclothed? But, oh for the love of all that is good, what horrible circumstances. Please don't remember me this way. Don't blame yourself, my darling. This was all my fault. And I felt my tears well up again.

I walked back to my chair and with mixed feelings looked at the hard wooden surface I was expected to sit on. Mr Wainwright cleared his throat awkwardly. "Mrs Castleton should stand on her chair." I was dazed now and barely cared what was happening anymore. I didn't even look for confirmation from George but climbed onto the chair facing the table. Mr Wainwright, George and my boys sat down.

"Hands on your head, Mrs Castleton", Mr Wainwright continued. You ghastly man! I looked at George and he nodded with a tiny movement of his head. Mr Wainwright had both his hands under the table on his lap as he glared up at me. I could see small movements in his shoulders.

I raised my hands above my shoulders and interlocked my fingers on top of the bridle. My skin tightened over my pubic mound as my arms reached up. There was nowhere to hide. This was wrong. I knew this, and I knew God would support me, now. Mr Wainwright would have to make his own peace, I truly feared for his soul. God would pity me, forgive me, even. For the first time since these horrible events began, I felt guilt lifting from my shoulders and some comfort rise within me.

Cool air tickled my labia and I sensed my clitoris poking its head through the entrance of its hood as if in defiance against the gaze of Mr Wainwright and who knows who else in the room.

My Byrd placed a bowl of fresh fruit on the table below me, his eyes were inches from my naked pubis as he leered up at me. He walked around me. I could hear his slow deliberate footsteps and became desperately aware of my enflamed behind once more. I dreaded to contemplate the sight he had in front of him. How could I ever command his respect again.

Once more I heard the self conscious chattering of cutlery against crockery as the diners finished their desert in silence. Lucy collected my untouched bowl of fruit and the other empty bowls from around the table.

I felt discomfort from all parts of my body now. Muscles in my calves and thighs were tiring from unnecessary tension as I stood. My shoulders and arms were aching from carrying their own weight. My neck muscles had been burning for hours, and various points on my skull and face were sore with abrasion from the bridle. I could feel saliva dripping from the side of my mouth and collecting in extended droplets under my chin. My bottom was stinging and beginning to feel more permanently bruised. And deep inside my tummy, I felt a glowing and relentless, nagging demand for comfort and release.

I didn't want to move for fear of drawing attention to myself, but I had to adjust my arms to find a slightly less tiresome posture. I was staring now at George. When would this end? And he must have sensed my thoughts. He said, "All right Elizabeth, you may go to your room."

Oh, relief! I let my arms drop to my sides and felt the blood throbbing through them. I gingerly climbed down my chair, supporting myself against the table. I didn't want to run, but couldn't help myself. Desperately, I wanted to hide from everyone and the door was salvation. I scurried to the exit with short erratic steps, not stopping for my clothes. I rushed out of the room, panting, and welcomed the sound for the door jamming shut behind me.