COOK’S PEROGATIVE

AUTHOR: SHIRELING

RATING: G

WARNINGS; SPANKING WITH A KITCHEN IMPLEMENT 

SUMMARY ; A YOUNG HOBBIT MEETS HIS MATCH

The confrontation was inevitable.

Sooner or later the war of attrition would come to a head to the detriment of one of them or the other.

It was clear to everyone that both protagonists were just it itching to best the other and assert their self-proclaimed authority; both too stubborn to back down or to concede that their behaviour was leading to a rapid escalation of hostilities; both so sure of their own position of authority that they could not envision that anything or anyone would threaten the established order.

Amongst the Elders there had been discussion as to whether they should try to diffuse the situation but in the end it was decided that it was for the best to let the conflict play out to its natural conclusion. Outside intervention would only prolong the tension and, in truth, they were all tired of being caught in the middle of the unpleasantness. These two had never yet seen eye to eye and at least one of the pair thought that finally the balance of power was shifting in his favour.

Merry was never one to back down and admit that this was one battle he was never likely to win!

Hester Gillycuddy had served for the comfort of four generations of Masters of Brandy Hall, rising from humble scullery maid to head cook; queen of her own domain, feared and respected for her skills and her wisdom. Nothing missed her eagle eye; she knew first of every blossoming romance, every brewing conflict, knew first of each pregnancy or illness. She offered her wisdom without discrimination to all who sort her and offered her council to those who didn’t. She never chided those who rejected her wise words but would offer a broad shoulder to cry upon and endless cups of strong sweet tea to sooth away pain and distress.

Hester ruled her dominion with the determination of a military commander; she liked order and had her own way of doing things. New scullery maids and pot boys soon learned that it was quicker and less painful to do things Hester’s way; failure to adhere to the Hester’s rule was swiftly met with a sharp flick from Hester’s tea towel; a skill she wielded with all the accuracy of sharpshooter and many a young Hobbit had danced out of her kitchen rubbing the sting from their bottoms or, if she was especially irate, from the back of their knees.

Hester and Merry, the young son and heir of the Master, were old adversaries and it was Hester who had always held the upper hand. She had seen enough youngsters through from childhood to adulthood not to recognise at a very early stage that  young Merry was likely to prove to be the most incorrigible rascal seen in the Hall for many a long year; she had no intention of allowing his mischief to go unmarked. It wasn’t that Merry was a bad lad but he was rather indulged and had learned at a young age how to make the most of his status as the Master’s son and heir; able to charm his way out of trouble with surprising skill. . .with everyone but Hester.

Hester’s response to devilment from the youngster was to send him to his Mamma with instructions to admit to his misdeeds and to allow her to deal with him as she saw fit. On one memorable occasion Merry had decided to ignore Hester’s instruction and had failed to report to his Mamma as ordered. When she learned of his disobedience, Hester cornered the youngster and, taking him by the ear, had marched him through the length of the Hall to his Mamma’s parlour and had informed the mistress of his dereliction, staying to observe as his mother first scolded him and then took him over her knee to administer a very sincere bare bottomed spanking. The pain and humiliation of this distressing incident had dampened Merry’s mischief around the Hall for a whole season, though the incident stayed with him and fuelled his determination to turn the tables on his nemesis.

It was on the occasion of his Mamma’s birthday that Merry worked out a perfect plan for getting one over on Hester.

The birthday celebrations were to culminate in a banquet for friends and family. Hester’s day started before dawn and, while the family shared out their gifts over a long leisurely second breakfast, Hester and her staff were working hard to prepare the sumptuous repast. All morning they baked and prepared in a frenzy of well-marshalled activity; mixing, stirring and basting in an effort to outdo their efforts at previous festivities.  There was one task that Hester would not delegate in this flurry of culinary activity and that was to make the special raspberry and rhubarb pies that were Mistress Esmerelda’s favourite; raspberries being a rare delicacy in the Shire, Hester would not risk the preparation of this treat to anyone but herself.  With the pies baked and cooling in the pantry and the rest of the preparations in hand, Hester retired to her quarters to rest for an hour before taking on the supervision for the rest of the banquet.

Merry, well aware of Hester’s routine, used the cook’s absence to put his plan in action to stake his claim. He waited until Hester took her leave and sauntered into the main kitchen, his arrival greeted by the kitchen staff with fond exasperation.

“What can we do for you, young master?” the undercook asked, hastily moving a plate of apple tartlets out of reach.

“Just thought I’d come and see how preparations are going.” Merry grinned, dipping his finger into a bowl of sweetened cream and closing his eyes in blissful appreciation of the treat.

“Now, now, Master Merry, you keep your sticky fingers to yourself, Hester has been teaching me how to wield a tea towel and I am just itching to put her lessons into practice!”

“OH, Linney, you know you wouldn’t want to hurt me,” Merry smirked, batting his eyelashes at the pretty young cook.

“Get away with you, you young rascal, don’t you try those tricks on me; Hester would have my ears if I let you run riot in here today. We are too busy for any of your nonsense. You just run along and let us get on with our work.” Linney said, flapping her hands and ushering him back towards the door.

“Linney!” Merry pouted but hastily made for the doorway as she reached for her threatened instrument of correction.

“Scat!” she grinned, flicking the towel to snap just short of his thigh.

“Spoilsport,” Merry chided from the safety of the passageway.

Linney took a pace towards him and held out a small iced cupcake. “Now be off with you,” She said, ruffling his hair and turning back to her chores.

Merry used her inattention to slip into the pantry, taking a good look around as he idly munched on his treat. His eyes rested on the cooling pies, all neatly lined up on the pantry shelf, the tempting aroma urging him to throw caution to the wind. Here was a window of opportunity, Hester would be away for at least an hour and the kitchen staff were all busy on their own tasks. He pushed the door closed, watching through the diminishing crack to ensure that his presence had gone unnoticed. He took a deep breath at his own audacity and carefully lifted down the nearest pie and set it on a low shelf, pulling a footstool forward to sit on.

For several minutes he sat and admired his ill-gotten gains, savouring the delicious scents that wafted around him. Finally, unable to resist a moment longer he pushed his fingers through the flaky piecrust and lifted the sticky confection to his lips, blowing on the warm fruit before sampling the delight. His eyes drifted closed as he savoured the delicious combination of sweet raspberries and tart rhubarb. He had to admit to himself that, whatever her other shortcomings, Hester was a master pie maker, no one in the Shire could rival her skills.

Merry was determined to finish the pie, though the last few mouthfuls were a struggle for the greedy young Hobbit. He finally pushed the empty pie dish away and rubbed his bulging stomach and belched. Suddenly aware that he could hear nothing from the main kitchen, he inched the door open and peeped out. The kitchen appeared deserted and it occurred to him that preparations for the feast must have been completed and the staff were off taking a few minutes to themselves. Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, Merry strolled out of the pantry and turned towards the doorway.

“Going somewhere!” Hester stood in front of him, her large bulk filling the doorway. Merry came to an abrupt halt, his grin freezing as his brain whirred in an attempt to come up with an appropriate response.

“I. . .er. . I was. . .Mamma wondered if. . .” he stuttered, seemingly unable to string a complete sentence together.

“I’ve just left your Mamma, so be very careful what you say next, young Hobbit,” she said with a decidedly predatory grin, not missing the fact that he was licking at his lips in a most guilty manner. She took a firm grip of his ear and turned him back into the kitchen, calling for Linney as they moved over to the heavily laden table. Receiving no response from her staff, she pushed Merry down into a chair, “don’t move,” she ordered.

Keeping a close eye on the young Hobbit she took a close inventory of the platters and bowls on the table and could see no obvious damage. Merry tried to keep his eyes down, not wanting to give the irate cook any excuse to turn her investigations towards the pantry. After a long minutes silence Merry began to feel more confident; Hester hadn’t turned her attention to the pantry and he was beginning to feel that he might just get away with his pilfering. He also took reassurance from the fact even if his misdeed was discovered, that as it was his Mother’s special day,  Hester would not wish to upset her by revealing her son’s deed. Feeling his confidence rise, Merry sat up straighter in the chair and brushed Hester’s hand from his shoulder.

“If you will excuse me, Hester, I need to go and get ready for Mamma’s party,” he said, getting to his feet with all the arrogance of youthful overconfidence. Hester’s eyes were drawn to the young Hobbit’s hands as he idly brushed off his waistcoat. Her fist shot out and grabbed his hand; she brought  it up and swiped a sticky smear with her thumb, bravely testing it’s origin with her tongue. Merry winced as he saw realisation wash across her features. Keeping a firm grip of him she pulled him after her into the pantry. Merry cringed in the face of the evidence before him; the empty pie plate in full view on the low shelf.

Without a single word Hester pulled Merry back into the main kitchen, stopping only to lift a utensil from the shelf as she passed.

“Hester. . .NO! Hester I-I. . .you can’t. . .you wouldn’t dare!” Merry blustered, catching hold of the doorpost and bringing them both to an abrupt halt. “You stop right now, Hester. You have no right to touch me. Let me GO!”

“Can’t what! Master Merry!” Hester ground out through gritted teeth, moving her grip from Merry’s hand to his ear and pulling sharply enough to persuade him that further resistance would be ill-advised.

“You put that down, Hester or you will be sorry.” Merry threatened, angling his body away from the imminent threat.

“And just what do you plan on doing about it, youngster.” Hester ignored his writhing and pulled out  a chair.

“STOP! You will not do this! You have no right to chastise me. My Father will not allow it. . .I will have him send you away. It is not your PLACE!” Merry yelled to absolutely no avail, though his shouting had aroused the interest of several inquisitive kitchen staff who viewed the unexpected sight of the Master’s son upended over Hester’s lap.

Hester continued to ignore Merry’s writhing and yelling as she manoeuvred him into immobility over her knee, his legs trapped and his hands restrained. Merry continued to yell.

“Oh, Linney,” Hester said to her assistant, “could you please ask one of the scullery maids to inform the Master that his attention is required in the Kitchen?”

“About time,” Merry exclaimed, “My Father will stop this nonsense. Just let me up and I will forget all about this, Hester.”

“Forget about what, Master Merry?” Hester hefted the wooden butter pat she had picked up in the pantry and waved it in front of Merry’s face. It was a well used implement; one of a pair used to shape and decorate butter for the dinner table.  It was flat on one side and ridged on the other, and to Merry’s eyes it was a fearsome paddle. “Forget about the fact that you stole from my kitchen? Forget about the fact that you have behaved like a spoilt little brat? Forget about the fact that you have shamed your Mamma and Dadda on a day that should be for celebration? I will not disturb your Mamma today with the consequences of your transgressions. . .”

“Then why have you sent for my Dadda?” Merry demanded. The only response was the first fall of the improvised paddle against his vulnerable backside. It was only the first of many such strikes to pepper every inch of his bottom and thighs. His britches offered little protection to the sting of the paddle and within minutes he was writhing and sobbing over Hester’s knee, begging for her to stop and promising all manner of forfeits if only she would cease her attentions.

“Would someone like to tell me what is going on here?”

Hester ceased her spanking and set Merry back on his feet. He immediately ran to his Father and buried his face in the familiar feel and scent of his Dadda’s waistcoat, hiding his pain and embarrassment from view, unable to voice the words he wanted to say. The Master waved the rest of the staff away leaving only himself and the two protagonists.

“Hester, would you care to explain?” the Master asked, his face grave.

“I was just pointing out to your son that I will not tolerate ANYONE stealing from my kitchen, nor will I tolerate him swanning in here and throwing his weight around like some privileged princeling; my staff work too hard to have their efforts sabotaged for his greed. . .his is not the first backside I’ve had to warm and I dare say it will not be the last!” Hester explained with an expression that caused the Master to blush, a fact thankfully missed by his son who was still buried against his chest.

“So what exactly did you do, Merry?”

“I’m sorry, Dadda,” Merry gasped.

“I know you’re sorry, Merry but that wasn’t what I asked you.”

“I-I helped myself to one of the pies H-Hester made for Mamma’s party. . .!”

“One of the special pies? OH, Merry you don’t do anything by halves, do you?” The Master groaned, wincing at Hester’s nod of acknowledgement. “Anything else you think you should tell me while we’re here, Merry?”

“I was. . .well I was a bit cheeky!” Merry admitted reluctantly.

“I see. I can understand now why Hester was so upset with you.” The Master held his son away at arms length and regarded his tear-streaked face.  Merry recognised the moment that his Father came to a decision and his heart sank. His Ada placed his foot upon the seat of a chair and firmly pulled his unresisting son over his knee. Merry gasped as he felt his  britches being lowered over his throbbing buttocks.

“Dadda. . .please. . .not here!” he begged.

“Hush, Merry.”

“But, Dadda. . .!”

“I’m just checking to see if Hester did a thorough job, Son.” After a moments silence the Master addressed the cook. “Seems like you did your usual thorough job, Hester, though if you don’t mind me saying so I think you missed a bit just. . . here!” he punctuated his comment with several hard spanks to Merry’s already tender,  backside. Merry arched up and wailed in response.

“Just so there is no misunderstanding, Son. Hester has my full authority to deal with you as and how she sees fit. I would advise you to think very carefully before you come trespassing in her domain again. Do. You. Understand!”

“Yes, Dadda, I understand. . .I’ll never do anything so foolish again. . .I promise!”

“And I promise that I will keep this butter pat to hand in case you ever forget,” Hester promised, waving the paddle in front of Father and Son. “Now both of you get out of my sight and leave me to get on with my job. . .I have a party to prepare for. . .and you, Merry, can go and explain to your Mamma why you will not be eating any pie at the party. . .you might also ask her if she has a cushion for your chair so that you can sit at the table without any undignified wriggling!” Hester directed, batting the two Hobbits out from under her feet, even as she called for Linney to attend her.

*********

The confrontation was inevitable.

Sooner or later the war of attrition would come to a head to the detriment of one of them or the other.

Merry had the sense to admit that this was one battle he was never likely to win!

The End.

Shireling. Jan 2006