His services are required

Dear Sir Williard,

The morning following my dalliance with Akemi, as he helped me dress, Andrews informed me that my services as Master of the Household would be required when I returned from work. It seems that my other maid, the buxom Hilda was not meeting the expectations of Mrs. O'Brien and that she had on more than one occasion slipped away from the scullery to explore the small cottage.

I remembered how the blonde maidservant had brazenly watched me exercising just the other day and agreed with Andrews that this was a situation that should be handled sooner rather then letting it fester. Andrews' white teeth flashed in a bright smile, pleased that I too saw the need for a strong hand.

"Everything will be prepared when you return, Doctor Baxter," he assured me as he adjusted my cravat, "It should not take long to set that impressionable young thing straight."

Having broken my fast on freshly griddled crumpets and two soft-boiled eggs I set off to work in good spirits. My day began much like the others at Dr. Miller's clinic treating several lacerations and two cases of a local river fever caused (I am almost certain) by a small biting insectoid whose bite inflames the skin of anyone unfortunate enough to be out in the late evening hours without adequate protection.

It was later in the day that Dr. Miller and I had a chance to talk in private. He is pleased by my willingness to learn and he told me that several of colonial ladies who visited his clinic were very impressed by my refined manners and good looks. I have little doubt that soon he will be expecting me to provide a little more for his clinic. He also pointed out a pair of well dressed young teenaged girls who were waiting nervously for an appointment. Both looked as fresh and innocent as alter-girls. Doctor Miller informed me with undisguised glee that their parents had sent the young gentlewomen to him for 'aversion therapy' as the pair had been found in far too intimate an embrace. As you might well imagine my thoughts that afternoon were continually disrupted by thoughts about what your one-time colleague might have in mind for two such delicate budding flowers of our great British Empire.

It was in this agitate frame of mind that I returned to the sanctuary of my cottage to find Andrews waiting for me with a thin rod in his hand fashioned from a particularly flexible sapling native to Rajah-4.

"Hilda is waiting for you in your office, sir." He pressed the springy stitch into my hand and pointed me towards my office. "I think for a first time offence like this a dozen or so whacks on her backside should be enough to set her straight." He must have sensed my surprise, because he quickly added a second thought that had been lurking in the dark corners of my psyche. "I guess if she begs sweetly enough you could find some kind of compromise in exchange for a few of the blows."

So, there I was, Sir Williard standing just outside my office door, experimentally bending the sapling in my hands as I wondered if I was going to thrash the poor girl as Andrews and most likely every one else in my household was expecting.