Author's Note: In Britain a gooseberry, whilst being a fruit is also someone who is an unwilling or embarrassed chaperone.

Height

When Uncle Toby had suggested that Clarissa and I went down to the lake whilst he and Aunt Genevieve took their usual postprandial nap I was surprised when Clarissa accepted the suggestion so eagerly.

A young man was sitting on the lakeside wall, and Clarissa's face lit up. 'This is John' she said; there was no doubt that this was a regular assignation.

Whilst gooseberries can be excellent in a pie, it's not a good thing to actually be one.

I made an excuse and made my way back up to the mansion house, and into the library. It was pleasantly cool in the summer's heat and I browsed the bookworm's treasure trove, the shelves weighed down with gems each making its siren call. I chose one and moved to the window for more light.

As I stood there my eye caught a movement in a window in the wing across the courtyard, something thin flicking through the air inside.

The upper sash of the window opposite had been lowered, and as I watched I saw the movement again. What was going on? Curiosity gripped me; if I could just see above the top of the sash I might get a clearer view.

The library stool wasn't high enough, but I noticed a broad ledge on the wainscoting. Solid oak; it was bound to take my weight. I kicked off my sandals and clambered onto the ledge, raising myself on precarious toes to hold my nose close to the glass, fingers scrabbling for a tenuous grip.

I peered across the courtyard and down into the dim interior of the room opposite and nearly fell off my perch.

A woman was laying face down on the bed. She was completely naked.

The broad expanse of her milky white back glowed in the dim light from her greying hair past a still trim waist to to her plump backside which was raised on some pillows.

It could only be Aunt Genevieve.

It was then that I noticed something about her bottom that confused me. There were darker patches contrasting with otherwise alabaster skin.

I caught the movement again, it was the flight of a cane through the air, landing full square on my aunt's buttocks which wobbled under the impact. She lifted her head and I heard her muffled cry.

The cane withdrew, waited, and struck again.

Although I knew I shouldn't, I stayed looking on, wondering what it would be like to offer my own bottom to the bite of the cane, waiting for each stroke, then feeling the pain which I could only imagine. I shuddered but stayed watching greedily, knowing I might be observed yet unable to tear my eyes from the tableau.

I was transfixed. I'd never seen anything like this before. Why was she being caned? By whom?

A man walked into view, then stopped and turned.

Uncle Toby looked out directly at me and as I watched his initial shock turned to anger.