Pauper Princess

Chapter Ninteen

The angry red lines left from the switch had not faded by the next morning- which was unfortunate, because we had ballet lessons that day, and Madame Duponte immediately noticed the marks.

"You have birched her?" She asked Miss Lancing.

My governess nodded her head as she took a seat with a book in hand. "I did, Madame. Yesterday."

"Good and hard, I hope, so we can avoid the same antics as last time." Madame Duponte caught my gaze, raising an eyebrow. I ducked my head.

I was told to do the spilts again in morning stretches, and had been practicing the stretches that I had been told to in order to increase my flexibility. It still hurt when I tried to spread my legs all the way apart, though, and I was unable to do so at all without Madame Duponte's hands on my shoulders, slowly pushing me all the way down until the insides of my legs fully touched the floor.

It hurt horribly, but I bit my lip, determined to stay silent and in place. This time I only had to hold it for ten minutes, and I was told to stand back up so we could go over positions.

Elizabeth stealthily reached a hand down, helping me up without Madame Duponte noticing when she saw me struggling. Between the burning on my backside from the lashing the day before and the soreness doing the splits brought about, I had been unable to push myself out of the position myself without causing agonizing pain.

Despite being far less painful than the last lesson, there was still plenty of stress. Madame Duponte seemed to be under the impression that I should have had the 8 ballet positions memorized simply from watching Elizabeth's last lesson- as if I had been able to pay attention to anything other than the feeling of my legs seeming to dislocate from my body.

"Leg straight, Amelia. And fix your posture at once. Efface derriere." Madame's voice was constant and stern. She reached a hand out, firmly adjusting the parts of my body that were not up to her standard, and I could only hope whatever she had said to me in what I assumed to be French was not a command. The only French I had learned from Miss Lancing so far was how to count to ten and introduce myself.

Madame Duponte only brought the martinet down upon me a few times, and none of them were so severe as the first lesson. But it still hurt horribly as the leather straps collided with the angry, raised lines left from the switch the day before.

"Back straight!" Madame demanded, landing another lash across my upperlegs. I cried out and struggled to stay in position, keeping one toe pointed as I quickly straightened up. Elizabeth met my gaze from her perfect holding of the position and darted her eyes between me and the arm she was holding slightly above her head.

It took me a moment to realize my mistake, but when I did, I hurried to unstraighten my arm and leave it at more of a curve, like Elizabeth's was. She sent me a hidden smile to let me know I had understood her silent message, and I breathed a sigh of relief when Madame Duponte finally moved on to the next position.

"I do not think I am very fond of ballet," I sighed as Elizabeth and I made our way up the stairs. Now that we were out of the warpath of Madame Duponte's viscious martinet, I was grateful that my ballet dress was short enough to not brush against my thighs. I reached back, rubbing at the re-lit burn in my heated skin.

Elizabeth looked over at me sympathetically. "It can be fun. Just not with her. But I adored the opera ballet that Father took Mother and I to for Christmas. And it is quite fun to do ballet with a group of friends."

If I had a group of friends in this rich, ballet-dancing, opera-singing world. I may have voiced the words, had there not been a cry from behind us. "Amelia, stop at once!"