Lady Ann's Holiday - Chapter Eighteen - Part One

An Unwelcome Change of Plan

1

“Burt” woke up at the crack of dawn and breathed a sigh of relief.

It had been right swell to get away from his life as a prissy stuck-up lady but, despite some reservations, he’d more than had enough of being Burt and looked forward to becoming one of the quality again. He’d loved the carousing and the fights and he loved shagging that tart Mavis, but the plummeting drop in status had been horrible, knowing that everyone looked down on him; even the other working men.

He’d enjoyed not having to look neat and tidy all the time but he was sick of the filth now, the dirt trapped under his roughly bitten fingernails and ingrained into the creases of his hands and his clothes. He’d had enough for one lifetime of the drafty hayloft and sleeping on a his thin rolled up straw mattress; having to clear it away every morning because he didn’t have enough to pay for proper lodgings.

He loved chewing the cud with his mates; with Burt’s friends; but their endless prattle about their sad lot in life and how much better the quality had it was wearing very thin. Yes! They were poverty-stricken lower class oikes! The sooner they accepted that and just knuckled down to work harder the sooner they’d – well they wouldn’t be happy – but who cared about the lower orders at the end of the day. He certainly didn’t!

He got up and dressed in his scratchy clothes then went to his drawer and opened it as he he’d started doing every morning. Without even thinking about it, as was his habit, he kissed the ends of two dirty fingers and touched them to the lips of Lady Ann in the picture, then popped it back out of sight.

Outside the coachman was cleaning his boots on the step. “Ey up Burt.”

“Ey up. Shouldn’t you be up’t railway station waiting for yon train? Lady Ann’s comin’ back today.”

“Ain’t you ‘eard?” replied the coachman. “She’s staying on in the capital.”

“Wot you talkin’ about?” snapped Burt in horror. “She’s meant to be comin’ back this arvo.”

“Nope.”

Burt was flabbergasted. That wasn’t possible! That obsequious cur had meant to return today! She couldn’t change the deal without his leave! Where did that leave him? Until Lady Ann returned he had no way of changing back! He was stuck in Burt’s body! Stuck in his slow-witted brain! Stuck in his life!

He put his hands to his head, trying to come to terms with what that meant. The day before he had relished the aspects of living Burt’s life that contrasted so violently with his old life. Now though, the idea of being forced to keep those traits and qualities without any choice in the matter was truly terrifying.

Until she came back he really was Burt – living Burt’s life and his experiences over the past few days had shown just how little control he had over that life if others chose to lord it over him.

“Well when’s she comin back? Tomorra?”

The coachman shrugged. “Damned if I know. I guess she’ll come back when she’s good and ready.”

Burt was becoming more and more panicked. “That can’t be!”

“You know the quality Burt. They’re a law unto themselves. She might decide to stay there a week or a month or a year if she cares to.”

“A year!? Or even a week!? This isn’t right! She was meant to come back today! Are you sure you’re right?”

The coachman shrugged. “She ain’t comin back today and that’s certain. That’s all I know.”

Burt pressed his hands against his temples, his pulse racing, feeling intense claustrophobia suddenly as though this man’s flesh were closing in on him, trapping him, trying to squeeze out any last traces of culture, breeding and intelligence he had possessed as a lady.

He regretted starting this awful idea to begin with now. Oh, how foolish he had been!

He tried to calm himself, to think of the positive side of things. At least he wasn’t being bored to death at his grandmother’s – that was something. But on the other hand, it meant more poverty with precious little cash left to spend and another night or more in that drafty stable! It meant—

“Burt!”

Old Harry emerged from the stables with a grin on his face. "Holiday’s over, Burt me bucko!" he said. “Time to get back to work!”

Cripes, thought Burt. I’d forgotten about that.

Surely this couldn’t be happening! He was Lady Ann! He was the heiress to the entire estate! They couldn’t make him work as a stable hand! They simply couldn’t!

But Harry was approaching, leering in anticipation and there was nothing Burt could think of to do. He considered, briefly, trying to write another holiday note but it could only be worse than last time. With a fortnight inside Burt’s body and brain it was unlikely he even knew which way up to hold the pen! And Lady Ann was impossibly out of reach, over two hundred miles away! He couldn’t even write to her to ask her to send him back a note!

He was literally trapped!

With great relish, old Harry grabbed Burt’s arm and yanked him forward, handing him a

shovel. He gave an evil grin. "The last few days I left all the shit for you my lad."

Burt was seething, but what could he do? As long as he was Burt, this was his rightful job. If he hit Harry or tried to get away he might end up in prison or worse. The least he’d get was another day and night in the stocks. If he didn’t do the job they’d chuck him out on the street right quick. He might not even be able to get back access to Lady Ann, even when she returned. He might really be stuck like that – living in ditches for the rest of his short and squalid life, or worse yet, stuck working down’t pit for the rest of his days!

And in addition, it really didn’t feel… right somehow… to ignore the orders of one of his— one of his… betters. As long as he was Burt he had a man’s responsibility to do a hard day’s work. A huge part of him urged him that this was only right, that it would be wrong to try and get out of it.

Burt looked down at the proffered shovel, feeling that if he took it then it would mean some awful acceptance of his tawdry fate. He was terrified that if he accepted it now then Lady Ann would never return. He’d be shoveling up horse shit for the rest of his days – nothing but a common unschooled labourer.

But he didn’t have any choice.

He took the shovel and held it firmly in his hands, looking forlornly down at it.

“Go on then, ya big hulking moron,” cried Harry. “Get shoveling that shit! It’s what you’re best at! And once that’s done I want all that grain moved up to the barn down the lane. After that there’s some trenches need digging!”

Burt stared at him in mortification. Surely this wasn’t really happening. Surely Lady Ann was going to return at any second and save him from having to do these things – having to really become a working man. But however much he stared at the entrance to the lane, she didn’t magically appear. He was going to have to go through with it.

“Don’t just stand there staring at me like a slack-jawed twit!” snapped Harry. “Get started!”

Burt looked toward the stables, seeing the steaming piles of horse shit in there, swallowed dryly then sorrowfully shambled toward the building.

2

“Mornin m’lady!”

Ann turned to see Grandmamma’s stable hand emerge from the stable block at the rear of the property. He was the same young man whom she had spoken to shortly after arriving in London and frankly, seeing him again only reminded her of the embarrassment she’d felt when he’d basically pointed out what a rotten job she was doing of acting like a lady. She didn’t respond.

“It’s a lovely morning ain’t it miss? Quite makes man happy to be alive.” He smiled affably but Ann found herself sneering.

“It might be an altogether better morning if you spent less time loafing about trying to engage your betters in conversation and actually did some work!”

The smile dropped off his face in an instant. “Er, sorry m’lady. You’re quite right. I shouldn’t be wasting your time.”

“And yet you continue to do so now,” snapped Ann. “Be off with you.”

The stable hand tipped his cap and scurried back out of sight and Ann smiled coldly, enjoying his fear and subservience.

She hated dirty men like that – always moping about instead of working; thinking they had a right to speak to their superiors.

It was pathetic.

Ann let her mind wander for a moment, imaging if this had been Burt – the original Lady Ann, and her cold smile broadened.

3

“Burt” realised after the first hour that having to shovel up horse shit wasn’t the worst part of this; not by a long way.

His strength made the work easy but it was revolting. He’d never smelt such a stench! The dung had been left to fester and the flies around it were thick: crawling over it and eating it and laying their eggs. He retched several times as he shoveled, not quite vomiting but coming close.

It was impossible to do it cleanly as well and soon his trousers were spotted with wet splotches of faeces that would continue to stink well after the work was done.

But none of this was as bad as the realization of what it really meant – what he was really doing. The idea of being stuck in Burt’s life and job – stuck as a working man – up until now had been a series of dark fantasies; snapshots of him working in the stables and doing other labour. The reality wasn’t a snapshot. The reality was that after five minutes of doing it there was another five minutes. Another hour. Another two hours. Being a labourer wasn’t a single moment in time it was something that went on and on with an end so many hours in advance that it felt endless.

He kept keeping an eye out for Harry, hoping he could somehow think of a way out of this but Harry was always there, keeping an eye on him, and how could he find a way out of it? He was Burt! Until Lady Ann came back he was the one and only Burt Harper with no proper rights and no control over his life. He had already considered the terrible things that could happen to him if he shirked “his” duty and those ramifications weren’t part of a fantasy, they were completely real.

He would be beaten. He would be locked in the stocks. He would be sent away with no money and nowhere to stay. He had to keep on working; living Burt’s life now in its entirety.

“Burt!” It was old Harry. “Get out here you dirty bugger!”

Burt dropped the shovel and hurried outside. Harry was checking things off a list. “I want you up at the chicken coop,” said Harry briskly. Feed them their grain and let them out into the run. You know where the grain’s kept, don’t you?”

Burt gaped stupidly at the older man for a moment, his mouth hanging open then realized with a great deal of regret that he did know. Because the real Burt had known. He had a memory of fetching the grain sacks before – something only the original Burt would have done – and again the memory wasn’t a struggle to find; it just slid up into his forebrain as though it truly belonged to him. He nodded forlornly at Harry.

“After that you can feed the pigs.” He glared at Burt. “Well go on then you big lummox! Don’t just stand there looking like the idiot you are! Hurry!”

Burt jerked and rushed off in the direction of where the chicken grain was stored, regretting not just this stupid swap in its entirety but also his foolish reiteration of who he was the day before.

He’d been so sure he was turning back into Lady Ann today he had pushed the mental changes further than they’d ever gone. Now that he wasn’t going back right away he was stuck with the ramifications of that. He was more Burt than ever – more stupid, more ill-educated; more manly. He even thought of himself as being Burt and of… her as being Lady Ann! That was the most sinister part. He really thought of himself as Burt – however much he also knew that he wasn’t.

Oh, it had all been a ghastly mistake from the start and it felt like it was getting worse and worse!

4

Four hours later, Burt was still working!

Still!

It was unbelievable!

He was having to groom the horses and at least that required some skill and allowed him to be close to the beautiful animals he’d always loved as Ann. He remembered how to do it, just as he had done a week or so earlier when he’d tried it out. This was very different though – having to do it without any choice in the matter – just another barked command from old Harry. And it made it worse that the skill to do it didn’t come from his real life and background but from Burt’s.

The skills of a groom were a seamless part of his brain now as though he’d been doing it for years and the horrifying part of that was that if he let his mind wander then numerous “memories” popped into his head of doing it before… as Burt.

This was terrible! This whole situation! It was like he really was Burt! And he hated it! He wanted to go back right now!

But he couldn’t!

As the horses hadn’t been done properly in so long their coats were much harder to do and Burt struggled to get it done well, sweating in the narrow stable with his sleeves rolled up. It was a position he had seen the real Burt in a hundred times and that was infinitely chilling. Anyone coming in would see him working in exactly the same pose and with the same aptitude as the real Burt.

He was the real Burt now! There was no escaping that! He was Burt!

Over and over he kept thinking that and in the base of his skull the warmth spread and the ticking went on until he realized what was happening and stood up with a jerk, alarmed.

The more he dwelled on his position here and how identical it was to Burt’s, the more that reinforced and accelerated the change – the more it really turned him into Burt, mind and soul!

He almost felt like crying but he forced himself to stay calm. He wasn’t about to start weeping like some pansy. Only girls cried… and softies. And he wasn’t one of them. He was a man!

He put his dirty hands against his face and pressed the palms against his eyes.

Crikey! What was becoming of him?