A Truelove of Turtle Doves

Chpt 11 - Difficulties

There was a distinct uneasy silence.

I didn't meet his eyes.

Francis was staring at me with an increasingly concerned and worried look.

I was focused on the horizon, but I had started to chew my bottom lip. This was definitely not a topic I wanted to discuss.

"It's nothing," I dismissed quickly.

"It doesn't sound like nothing," he countered.

"Well it is."

My voice was insistent as I finally turned to face him. Our eyes locked. His expression had hardened, and he narrowed his gaze.

"You're lying to me, mon chéri."

"How do you know that you're not being paranoid?"

"Do you honestly think that I am so dense as to not be able to tell when someone is lying to my face?"

"Why do you want to know so much?"

Francis' face softened ever so slightly, sorrow evident in his eyes. "Because I am concerned." His voice was only just above a whisper.

I could only hold his gaze for a few more moments before I turned back to the view of the sky and the sea. Should I say something? I didn't know if I wanted to. I was aware that getting the cane wasn't exactly an unusual punishment - at least, in England it wasn't. In fact, it was probably the only thing that the upper, middle and lower classes all had in common: hitting your child with a cane or any other sort of stick was a way to discipline them. It was faster than telling them off and they never dared to repeat the activity that had gotten them caned in the first place. Well, regular children didn't. I was a different cause - apparently I never learnt when to hold my tongue. What I knew to be unnatural, though, was the extent at which my father conducted it. It had always been his favourite form of punishment, and although my mother had never taken part in it, she had never actively fought against it either. The last time I'd been caned had, of course, been just over a week ago, and while the bruises were fading quickly, they were being pretty persistent. My horse ride hadn't helped the mild pain that they still gave me, and all the walking in the last few days hadn't aided the recovery process.

"Mon chéri?"

I squeezed my eyes shut and sighed before reopening them. He knew something was wrong. He wasn't dense, as he had said, and not telling him was only going to draw out this moment.

If I say something now, we might at least be able to talk about something else later.

"I... I don't know what sort of punishment is popular in France for kids who don't obey their parents, but over here, caning is the go-to solution."

He was quiet for a moment.

"Parents inflict physical pain on their children?" the question held both disbelief and mild disdain.

"Like I said - it's the popular solution. My father's favourite, actually." My response was full of bitterness, and I knew my face reflected that emotion too.

"He canes you?"

I turned to face Francis to see him with an expression mostly consisting of pain and disgust.

"Was that not the obvious implication?" My bitter tone carried through, and I saw him flinch ever so slightly.

I sighed heavily and rubbed a hand over my face. "Sorry. It... it's not directed at you."

"Show me."

The demand made my eyes widen as I looked at him. A new feeling of dread crawled into my stomach.