When an old birthday custom is revived in a very off-limits location, two students at Marlebridge College find themselves unexpectedly observed, and even more unexpectedly instructed. What begins as a cheeky tradition ends with a lesson neither of them saw coming. After all, some traditions are best upheld under expert supervision...
It was 9:30pm when Edie Carlton ushered Lorna Bell from the bottom of the rear dormitory staircase and into the shadows behind the hydrangeas.
“Come on,” Edie whispered urgently, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “If we’re going to do it, it has to be tonight. Otherwise we'd have to wait another twelve months!”
At St Cuthbert’s, discipline was rarely administered, but never forgotten. When Tom Allardyce, a model prefect in his final year, makes one reckless mistake, he finds himself summoned to a place he never imagined he’d be. In the hands of his formidable Housemistress, justice is swift, solemn, and strictly by the book. But behind the ritual of punishment lies something more enduring: a lesson in humility, trust, and the quiet beginning of self-discovery. A story of regret, resolve, and the sting of becoming the man you're meant to be.
There was less than a month to go before the end of term. Devastated, Tom Allardyce found himself outside Miss Harding's private study. St Cuthbert's was a progressive boarding school, but he had committed a cardinal sin.
Corporal punishment was rare, remaining on the books for only a few offences. Smoking, drinking, theft, bullying. He knew this as well as anyone. He'd reached his final year of the upper-sixth and had never faced that awful sanction.
When a genteel tea party at Thistlewood Grange descends into mayhem, the blame can (as usual) be traced to Arabella and Georgina Worthington. A misjudged jug of lemonade, a toppled cake stand, and an ill-timed flirtation send the nieces headfirst into the ornamental fountain—and directly into a rather damp reckoning. With wet bloomers, rattled china, and one deeply conflicted vicar, Fountain of Misfortune is a spirited tale of toppled decorum, toasty buns, and traditional discipline, applied with rhythm, conviction, and more than a few droplets of moral clarity.
Act 1 – Tea, Bickering, and the Baptism of Battenbergs
The garden terrace at Thistlewood Grange had long been a battleground and the scene of countless skirmishes. Most of these campaigns were launched by Lady Worthington's nieces, Arabella and Georgina, whose antics ranged from mere border raids on the biscuit tin, to full-scale sabotage of afternoon tea.
While these forays occasionally yielded temporary gains, Lady Worthington maintained the upper hand with her fearsome arsenal — of which the hairbrush was both first resort, and final recourse. It was said to have quelled more uprisings than the Home Guard, and even had its own campaign medal.
When Delia Hastings is summoned to the headmistress’s study during her final week at St. Eleanora’s Summer School for Young Ladies, she expects a stern talking-to, not a formal correction in front of her peers. But tradition runs deep at St. Eleanora’s, and decorum must be restored. What follows is a quiet reckoning: six strokes, six memories, and a lesson in grace that may stay with her far longer than she ever expected.
“No summer ever came back, and no two summers ever were alike.” (Christina Rossetti)
Chapter 1: Miss Hastings is Summoned
Delia Hastings stood in front of the desk with her hands clasped before her, not because she had been told to, but because anything else felt entirely out of place. She had hoped it would prevent her from fidgeting, though she still felt jittery, her tummy fluttering like a butterfly.
The campaign of comeuppance continues in this second letter from Clementine Beaufort-Smythe, who takes poetic revenge on her friend Poppy with a missing bathrobe, a damp corridor dash wearing only her birthday suit, and a close encounter with the Duchess. But has she gone too far — and what will Aunt Agatha say?
The Damp Corridor Dash
A scheming correspondent from Little Dithering pens a triumphant (if slightly soggy) update.
You will, I trust, permit me a little gloating. For after weeks of simmering injustice, I have at last balanced the scales, or rather, tipped them in my favour.
The final instalment of Clementine’s misadventures sees an attempted double prank spiral into damp disgrace, thorough hay bale justice, and a very itchy finale. A soggy tale of sabotage, sisterhood, and shared regrets.
Just Desserts
Clementine writes from the heart to confess a failed act of vengeance, and a lesson learned the damp way.
I write today from the comfort of an extra-soft cushion, clutching a moist handkerchief, and nursing a wounded sense of dignity. I'm reporting what I hope shall be the final chapter in this regrettable saga of vengeance, miscalculation, and aggravated posteriors.