Chapter 3: The Mistress of the Workhouse

10th May 1897

I wasn’t sure what to tell the chief. Admission of my attendance at an illegal fist-fight would finish my career. In addition, I could not stop thinking sinful thoughts about Mrs. Watson-Smythe all weekend. The severe-looking tall shapely college Governess filled my memories. My strange arousal relived how she had so utterly defeated her male opponent. In particular the moments of amazing flexibility and athleticism when she kicked with her legs while wearing a long skirt with great height and power replayed over and over in my mind with high arousal. Remembering the devastation wrought by her powerful knee caused me to spill my seed many times. I was truly ill and besotted in a manner most evil towards a married woman much older than myself. So much so that I considered informing my superior that I had been mistaken about the woman and that she was not under suspicion. However, my conscious would not let me tell a lie and I simply did not mention her name.

Fortunately he did not seem too interested in the details as if he were trying to forget the embarrassing incidents that began this case. I informed him that I had uncovered information that led me to believe that the elderly female assailant who caused so much distress to our fellow Police officers by throwing them around like toys, in fact worked at the workhouse at Whitechapel. The chief interrupted me at that point. “Which workhouse? There are several in and around that area. Whitechapel Union have several buildings, the newish workhouse is in South Grove and that is adjacent to the swanky City of London workhouse in Bow Road. The old one in Charles Street is now the infirmary”. I had to admit that I did not know and would include this in my preparatory work.

He told me that it was imperative to observe the woman and identify any female associates to which she might be passing on this obscene fighting knowledge. I had not given this much thought and on the spur of the moment told him that I intended to enter the premises disguised as an inmate to assess her guilt and her associates. His brow creased with concern “Have you ever been inside a workhouse?” I admitted I had not. “I have on several occasions in pursuit of a felon. Do not take this task lightly. Even as a visitor it was hellish enough, but to purposely become resident” He paused to let that sink in before he continued. He looked me up and down. “That is if they admit you for you are far too decent and healthy. They have very strict rules on who gets in, you know” he paused for thought. “And once inside, how would you gain your release once your reconnaissance has been completed? No, you need to go away and think this through. Speak with Stinky Johnston, he is always working with the down and outs to get information”.

11th May 1897

I spent the day with the City of London Union looking through their staff records. Very wealthy, they made it plain that they did not welcome my presence. It was only back in March that the Guardians were exposed in a scandal over the lavish refreshments served at their board meetings and subsided by the rate payer that more resembled upper-class four-course banquets in earshot of the inmates. I think they suspected I was further investigating them. The records showed that they had built a palatial building costing over o55,000 to construct featuring central heating, a huge dining-hall, marble pillars and boasting a chapel with stained glass windows and an organ. Yet despite this they only had room for those deemed sick and helpless. Those with fair health would be refused admittance. A review of the staff records threw up nothing of note. So I departed empty-handed and to the visible relief of the Guardians.

11th May 1897

A visit to the Whitechapel Poor Law Union was more fruitful. They had erected a new workhouse in 1872 the one in Charles Street now the infirmary. Viewing the list of the administrative staff immediately threw up an anomaly. Most said facilities were overseen by a Master responsible for reporting to the board of Guardians and for the supervision of the male inmates. The Matron sometimes known as the Mistress was his deputy and responsible for the welfare of the female inmates and the domestic arrangements. The Master held the post for life, unless he resigned or became incapable of discharging his duties. The latter would include the case where Master and Matron were a married couple and she passed away, resigned or was dismissed. Beneath these two were a range of other staff members such as chaplain, schoolteacher, medical officer, nurse, porter, labour master, cook, fireman and so on. I was therefore perplexed to see at the top of the list beneath the Master and Matron another role called Mistress to which the board seemed too embarrassed to explain to my satisfaction. Looking at her details gave me a shock for she was 75 years of age, an age when she should have been put into retirement long ago. Her name was listed as Mrs. Regina Wendover-Thompson (widow). I felt certain that this was my suspect.

18th May 1897

After a week being prepared by Stinky Johnston, I felt I was ready for the next part of my investigation. Surviving on only bread and water and exercising, I lost weight and looked more malnourished as would befit my story. Not bathing was bad enough but Johnston had smeared me with filth and dressed me in old torn thread-bare clothes. He had also tried to educate me in how to speak like a down and out, insisting that I do so all week even when at home and off-duty so that I got into the habit of speaking like that.

19 May 1897

In my disguise I met with the Relieving Officer for an interview to establish my circumstances. My story being that I had been out of work for so long that I was destitute. He did not seem too impressed.

24th May 1987

The Chief has arranged for the board of Guardians to authorise my application at their weekly meeting.

25th May 1897

I made my way on foot to Mile End Road and South Grove. It is an intimidating grey institutional building with an entrance block facing onto South Grove. Through the entrance archway there are two receiving wards to each side, one for each sex. Beyond was the main courtyard in front of a three-storey administration block. Entering, I underwent the first of many degrading experiences. First the medical officer examined me to check on my health and to ensure I had no infectious illness. There was then a very extensive laborious process during which the Master ensured with great meticulous precision that all the necessary paperwork had been completed. Following that I was stripped and bathed in a tin bath. I was then issued with a workhouse uniform while my own clothes were taken away to be washed and fumigated. These were put in storage along with my possessions which to my alarm included a notepad that I had intended to use as a temporary diary. Therefore please forgive me as these writings are from my memory after the event as best as I can recall them.

The Master led me to cold dismal room with white-washed walls and a grey concrete floor. There was a single window with frosted pane and vertical metal bars. There was no furnishing of any kind. Just a plain rectangular room with a door at opposing ends. “Wait here to receive further instruction” he told me then left by the door which we had entered. I heard the turn of a key in the lock and realised for the first time how alone and completely cut-off from the outside world I was and began to have misgivings about the wisdom of my choice. For many long minutes I was left alone in that room before I heard the approach of someone behind the opposite door then the sound of a key in the lock.

The door opened and in strode with an air of stuffy arrogance and self-assessed superiority, a formidable looking elderly woman of at least 6 foot in height. My first impression was of a fiercely strict old battleaxe of sour disposition and a face to match. The resemblance to Mrs. Watson-Smythe was unmistakable with the same long thin oval face, sleek nose small thin-lipped mouth except that this woman’s features were more craggy and stony-faced. As with Victoria, her cold air of authority was enhanced by her small hawk-like grey eyes staring out from over the top of a pair of spectacles. She wore an unusual white blouse of soft silken appearance. Instead of being buttoned up vertically in the front, it had a diagonal flap starting upon her right hip and going across the front of her body to her left shoulder. It seemed to be of a wrap-around fashion that reminded me of pictures I had seen of oriental women. It was plain, simple with no ornamentation, coming fully and tightly to the neck pinned together by a large broach of peculiar design. It seemed to feature a pagan Goddess with many legs and arms each carrying a weapon while she danced in a ring of fire. The blouse shimmered with silken sheen and clung tightly to a breath-taking wide out-thrust low-hanging slope of full-busted womanhood of magnificent proportion. It created an unnerving tightening in my groin and although I knew I was staring at that sensational cliff of feminity I had difficulty averting my gaze. Overall her figure was quite plump yet tightly corseted to give it a pleasing hour-glass figure. A long black leather skirt fell in a pleated manner down to the top of black laced ankle boots, yet seemed divided as if for riding. Silvery grey hair was pulled back behind her ears into a tight bun.

Her voice when she spoke was harsh and strident. “I am the Mistress. Honour and obey. That is how you will treat me” She did not allow me time to respond. “You are not allowed to smoke inside or outside near to the building and you may not indulge in a cup of tea other than at half-past six o’clock morning and night. At which time you will also receive a small hunch of bread with butter scraped over the surface along with a mug of that corrupting brew which is so dear to your heart and liver. As one of the younger men, you will never go out nor receive a visitor” My heart sank for how I was I to communicate with The Yard to gain my release once my task was done. “You will take a little gruel morning and night, and meat twice a week that is all the sustenance you require along with hard work and plenty of discipline which I will administer”. “But you are a woman!” I exclaimed in shock forgetting to feign my subservience “Only the Master and his male staff should administer the male inmates”. I fell silent as the old dragon glared at me with such ferocity that it chilled my blood. “You will not speak unless I ask you a question or give you leave. My name is Regina but you will only address me as ‘Mistress’. I spent many decades in India and the Far East where I developed the skills required to instil a firm hand among lazy vagabonds such as yourself who seek to scrounge off society. I was Matron here for many years until my husband who was Master, passed away. I insisted I stay on which the board agreed with once the new Master and Matron proved incapable of maintaining the high levels of discipline that I had created here in one of the worse areas of humanity”.

As she studied me with her steely gaze, I felt belittled as if a school boy in front of the headmistress. She had such a calm arrogance and air of supreme confidence in her authority that I found her fierce old appearance to be strangely stimulating. “You are thinking how a lady in her Seventies can possibly control a strong young man such as yourself” she spoke with a haughty air of assumption that rankled me. All of a sudden she stepped towards me, seized my right wrist with her left hand and pulled it against her ample bosom. Pressing forward with her chest, my hand sank between two very large soft mounds until it was deeply lodged in the deep crease formed by her strange blouse in-between. A rapid tingling spread over my groin at this intimate physical contact with a woman, no matter what her years. Any erotic thoughts were quickly dispelled as she used the base of her chest to bend back my hand sharply at the wrist. “Argh Argh!” I yelped at the sharp pain shooting through my wrist and up my forearm. The old woman then clamped her other hand upon the back of my elbow and twisted it hard towards my left. “Argh!” I cried in pain as I was forced to bend my knees and lean to my left as she twisted my arm. “Argh argh argh!” I yelped shocked at how helpless I was as she pressed her hand upon the back of my elbow forcing me to bend my knees before her. “Down on your knees, boy. I could break your wrist and elbow in an instant. Do as I say” she spoke in such a cold commanding stern voice that I felt my manhood stiffen. I had no choice, I could feel the bones in my elbow stress to surely what must be near breaking point. As I knelt the old woman crouched forcing my face towards the floor. Bowing my arm backwards unnaturally, I felt the tears of pain and humiliation well up in my eyes as she forced my face down onto the concrete floor. Whereupon she suddenly moved backwards forcing me to lie flat out upon my stomach before her with my face pressed upon the hard cold floor.

“Submit to my authority or I will break you this instant” the stern old woman demanded. Although I had seen Victoria display her incredible pugilistic skills a few weeks earlier, I had never really expected to be physically overpowered so easily by her elderly mother. “I submit I submit!” I cried as she twisted around to kneel by my side while cruelly bending my arm behind my back. That my hand was still pressed against her voluminous bosom was a constant reminder of the sex of the person who had subdued me so quickly. That I knew that my hand was bent back using a strangely erotic form of wrist-lock was little comfort. “Please! Please no more” I begged as the fierce old lady maintained the cruel hold upon my arm. That she ignored me deliberately I had no doubt. “Let there be no doubt in your mind that I am truly Mistress in this workhouse and disobedience will only result in severe discipline. I told you the correct form of address. Use it or suffer a broken arm”. Shocked to experience for the first time in my life physical domination at the hands of a woman, I was embarrassed to find my manhood stiffening against the floor. Strangely I was only to willing to comply with such strong feelings that I had never experienced before. “Please Mistress. Please, I submit to your authority” my voice sounded weak and pathetic.

She did not release me but bent my arm back over her knee until I was screaming in agony. “Argh please please Mistress mercy” I begged, my arm feeling as if it would break at any moment. “Who is your Mistress?” her voice was so strident and strong that my manhood lurched. “Arghh aragh you are, you are” I cried as a sharp twist of my wrist made me fear that it would snap my hand right off. “Now crawl around me upon your belly like the worthless worm that you are” her voice was strident and commanding, full of authority. The very next instant she twisted my hand right around and pressed her knee into the back of my elbow bending my arm back the wrong way. “Argh argh!” I cried as lances of white-hot pain radiated from my elbow joint while I imagined the bones grinding. “Move or I’ll break it right off” with no choice I began to crawl around her upon my belly. For the most part the grey-haired lady just knelt there, immobile as her cruel arms forced me in an agonising circle about her. Occasionally she would shift her stance with the minimum of effort to force me to complete a circuit of her long black skirt and pristinely polished black leather ankle boots.