Lady Ann's Holiday - Chapter Twenty - Part One

Indefinite

1

 

 

Burt was relieved it was Sunday. It meant he didn’t have to put in a full day’s work. He got the morning off to attend church.

 

He’d slept a lot better on his pallet in the hayloft and the aches he’d had from going back to hard labour after a fortnight of growing soft had all but gone. He actually felt fit and strong again and caught himself enjoying it before he reminded himself that he didn’t like anything about being a man. He hated every element of it.

 

He wore his Sunday best to the service, though it was hardly cleaner than his normal working clothes. At least the stench was lighter. A brisk brush (with one of the horse grooming brushes) got a lot of the dry dirt off and made them look half way presentable.

 

He sang a couple of hymns tunelessly, not even noticing anymore how bad his voice was, and then the vicar climbed up to the pulpit to deliver the sermon as the congregation settled down to listen.

 

It was almost an exact repeat of the speech he’d heard in Blackpool. The vicar talked at length about how God had chosen the quality to be in charge; how they were given superior bodies and minds with which to make the decisions for the lower orders. Peasants, like Burt, were made from inferior materials. They weren’t capable of appreciating the finer things in life. They were created only to serve and to work.

 

The lower classes should be grateful for being provided for by the quality. They should be obedient and hard working, They should never question their superiors. They should live only to serve those whom God had chosen to be their superiors. The upper classes were better than them in every way. They deserved to be waited on and obeyed without hesitation. The lower classes were unworthy of anything but living a life of poverty and hard work and if they worked hard enough – if they did as they were ordered – then they might receive their reward in heaven.

 

Burt sat still, listening to every word as a gentle heat warmed the back of his head and a light buzzing rattled against the interior of his brain, leaving him feeling relaxed and attentive. In both lives he had always believed very much in the word of the Lord and so the vicar’s words carried a divine authority of sorts, gently scratching away at the inhibitions he felt in giving in to the urge to follow orders without question, because after all, he had always believed that the lower orders were inferior and needed to be told what to do… and now the fact that he truly was a member of the lower class was inescapable.

 

 

2

 

 

Lady Ann opened her eyes, rolled over and smiled, remembering the night before with Richard. It was simply the nicest time she’d ever spent with another human being. She enjoyed Richard’s company more than she had ever enjoyed another’s. It was so delightful to be with him.

 

This has been the holiday of a lifetime and it ewas such a shame that it had to end – that she had to go back to being Burt: a man with absolutely no control over his life.

 

But that gave her pause for thought. Because of course for now she wasn’t Burt; she was Lady Ann; and that meant that she still had that control. She had as much control as she wanted! She was one of the gentry!

 

Why, if she decided to she could stay in London for another day, or another. And with that kind of power and control it seemed foolish to rush back. She felt a little guilty at the idea of postponing her return again with poor Burt stuck doing hard labour, but she reminded herself that when he had his body back he’d be only too happy to leave the hard labour to her.

 

She frowned, pursing her lips, thinking it over.

 

Yes. It was foolish to run back when an extra day or two wouldn’t matter. There were a million days waiting for her as Burt back in Yorkshire. This was her only chance to enjoy herself as Ann. She still planned to go back of course and trade back, but there was no hurry.

 

She wondered for a moment if she should decide exactly when she was going to go and book her ticket now to lock herself into it… but that seemed silly really. There was no rush. She’d stay for… a while longer and go back when she was good and ready.

 

And in the meantime, that clodhopper Burt could do her work for her. She giggled. The idea of that was far too amusing for words!

 

She reached over to the side of her bed where the damaged copy of Wuthering Heights still lay and picked it up. It suddenly didn’t seem such a bad idea to keep reading. She didn’t have to be afraid she’d never get the chance to finish. She could just extend her stay until she was done!

 

 

3

 

 

Burt dumped the fourth sack of coal round by the servant’s entrance to Griply Hall and turned to hurry back down to the stables to receive his next orders. Harry had been do much less abusive since the night before he was determined to work as hard as he could to keep the old man sweet. That meant working quickly and it meant doing the best job he could, ensuring he spoke to Harry with the correct deference.

 

He still resented it terribly but this was his only choice still. He was convinced now that the reason Lady Ann hadn’t returned yet was because she had taken ill. It couldn’t be a mild illness because she would have been home by now; therefore it had to be something fairly serious which left him very worried. Obviously he didn’t want something terrible to happen to her – at least while she was still in his real body. She could die on her own time!

 

As he turned away from the coal sacks he paused because he spotted Lady Harriet on a seat in the gardens. He gazed at her for a minute or two then took a shambling step toward her. He was wary to do so after the balling out she’d given him the other day when he’d propositioned her… and because he knew the gardens were out of bounds for the likes of him, but conversely, he knew that she would have the full story on her sister’s whereabouts.

 

And he needed to know when she would be back!

 

He paused, fearfully eyeing the house, worried about the ramifications if the earl saw him crossing the perfect lawn, then took a series of hesitant steps across to where she sat reading in the sunshine.

 

“Er… Beggin yer pardon mi’lady,” he said, not even noticing the automatic use of the correct deferential title, “I was wonderin if you as a minute for a quick word.”

 

Hattie turned laconically to face him, clearly irritated at the interruption which made Burt sweat a little and clear his throat once, then twice. “Oh. It’s you,” she said.

 

“You aren’t allowed out here.”

 

“Er, sorry miss. I was ‘opin to ask you when Lady Ann was comin ‘ome.”

 

“Oh really? I thought you might be here to apologise for your entirely inappropriate behavior the other night.”

 

Burt flushed read from neck to hairline. “Aye. I’m sorry miss. That was wrong of me. I shouldn’ta done it. I shoulda known better than to think a proper lady like you would be interested in the likes of me.”

 

“Oh don’t be so obsequious!” she snapped. “You’re always loitering around, doing nothing. That’s not why we keep you, is it?”

 

“No miss. I’m sorry miss.” Burt hated this – being treated like he was scum beneath his little sister’s shoe, but what choice did he have? He couldn’t dare talk back to her.

 

“If you’ve got so little to do that you have time to be bone idle then I’ll give you something.”

 

“It’s alright miss, I have chores to be—”

 

She rose. “Are you talking back to me man?”

 

“No. Sorry miss. No.” Burt lowered his head, fearful to meet her glare.

 

“I don’t like this seat here. Move it for me.”She pointed to the heavy stone bench she’d been seated on. Burt’s shoulders sagged. It looked incredibly heavy. “There,” she said, pointing. “Move it there.”

 

Burt shuffled past her and did his best to lift it, straining under the gargantuan weight. After several minutes of back-breaking labour and with sweat streaming down between his shoulder blades, he managed to get it into position. He stood back up straight and looked back at Hattie.

 

“No,” she said. “I think I preferred it where it was. Move it back.”

 

Burt hesitated.

 

“Now!”

 

He looked at the stone bench then back at his sis— at Lady Harriet. He had the awful feeling that she was just doing this to punish him but he had no choice but to follow her orders or risk punishment or dismissal. He shambled forlornly into position and lifted it at one end, dragging it again so that it was back where it had started. The stone corners cut into his fingers and his muscles ached terribly but he went on doing it.

 

He placed it down where she’d commanded then stood back and lowered his head in deference.

 

“No,” she said, smiling coldly. I think it was better where you put it.” She glared at him right in his eye with such intensity it made him want to cower and said, “Move it back. Quickly!”

 

She was tormenting him and nothing more but he had to do it. He couldn’t dare contradict her. And part of him felt it would be wrong to anyway. She was quality. He was a servant. She had every right to tell him what to do.

 

So he bent down once more and hefted the mammoth bench along until she was satisfied such that his entire body was trickling with sweat and every muscle ached.

 

“That’ll do I suppose,” said Hattie at last, turning her back on him as if he didn’t matter. “Run along now and stay off the lawn. You know you aren’t allowed out here.”

 

“But Lady Harriet,” said Burt. I wanted to ask you about—”

 

“Do I have to give you some more commands before you get it through your thick skull that I don’t wish to be addressed by you?” She glared at him in open hostility.

 

Burt blanched and backed away, lowering his gaze. “No miss. Sorry miss. I shouldn’t have disturbed you.”

 

“no, you shouldn’t,” she replied, going back to her novel as he shuffled off awkwardly hating everything that had happened but most of all hating how obsequiously he’d followed her instructions – he own sister!

 

Except she wasn’t his sister anymore. She was Lady Harriet, Lady Ann’s little sister. He was only Burt Harper, the stable hand.

 

 

4

 

 

Ann descended the stairs until she saw Gladys crossing the hall, carrying some clothes for washing.

 

“Gladys! Stop where you are.”

 

The girl stopped dead and looked up as Ann made her way down the remainder of the stairs and held out a note. “See to it that this note is taken to Lord Hurley immediately.”

 

“Yes miss. I’ll just take these things to the wash room.”

 

“Immediately I said,” snapped Ann.

 

“Sorry miss.” She hurried off and Ann watched her go, irritated with the girl. She was such an idiotic thing with no breeding. Ann didn’t know why she kept her on. But that was the problem with being upper class. They needed the lower classes to fetch and carry for them but that meant they had to put up with their ignorant ways on a daily basis.

 

Ann sighed, folding her arms. Sometimes she wished she could just take all the lower orders out, put them up against a wall and have them shot. The world would be a far more agreeable place without them.

 

 

5  

 

 

In the middle of the afternoon, Harry dropped off to sleep and Burt was able to get five minutes by himself.

 

The old man had spent the whole day giving Burt orders and though he didn’t bellow them anymore, there was no doubt in the… in the stable hand’s mind that a good shouting at was only seconds away if he didn’t do as he was told quick enough. Now that he’d accepted he couldn’t do anything about it, he hated to get bawled at and found himself desperate to do anything to avoid it. Being shouted at wasn’t just unpleasant in itself; it underscored his new position at the bottom of the pecking order, reminding him over and over again who he was now.

 

And that was the worst of all because he knew that each time he was reminded of it, it worked the magic even more and made it all the more true.

 

All this made Burt determined to follow every order immediately and to the letter so he could avoid it happening. His muddled brain didn’t notice that this made him act all the more like Burt anyway.

 

After checking Harry was definitely asleep, Burt slipped up to the hay loft and scrabbled through his things for paper and pencil. He had to find out what was going on with Lady Ann in London and surely she would respond to a letter if he couldn’t find out from anybody there in Yorkshire.

 

He found what he was looking for and cleared a space to sit down at his tiny wooden table. He thought for a minute what he wanted to say then started to write, his tongue poking out the edge of his mouth in deep concentration as he tried to force his sluggish brain to form articulate sentences.

 

dEEr lAYdEE anE,

 

iTZ BUrT EErE woTT yOOO dOinne dOun ThERR?

 

wEnn wEElE yOOO BE BaKK EErE?

 

bEggin YOOuR paRdinn bott i wonTs mE bOddEE baKK nOw PlEEEz mi LaDeE iF yur LaDeEship dOnnT mINd THaTT iSS NOUW!!!!!

 

 

BurT

 

 

Burt put the pencil down and look at what he’d written, feeling proud of himself, He’d been worried his handwriting and spelling would have gotten worse now he’d spent so long in that body but there didn’t seem anything wrong with what he’d put. It was clear enough and his handwriting wasn’t bad at all. Surely it was fairly similar to what it had been when he was a right well educated woman.

 

Then he frowned, noticing that he’d signed the note “Burt.” Doing so in a letter to Mavis was one thing but identifying himself as that to the real— to the original Burt didn’t seem right. It made him feel ashamed of himself and angry.

 

What would her ladyship think when she saw that he called himself Burt? She’d laugh at him! The thought of that made his shudder.

 

He went to cross it out, but paused before he could, fascinated suddenly by the name; by the handwriting. He glanced across at the little mirror hanging from a nail on the wall, at his face; at the muddled-looking eyes and the moustache, the stubble on his neck and cheeks.

 

Frowning again he went to cross it out once more but stopped himself, feeling confused.

 

He’d addressed the letter to Lady Ann obviously – that only made sense. If he signed it Lady Ann as well then it would look stupid. Her ladyship would think he had become an idiot and he really didn’t want that to happen.

 

Maybe he shouldn’t have addressed it to “Lady Ann,” but that didn’t make sense because that was… that was who he was writing to. The was Lady Ann and he… he was Burt.

 

He just felt so confused and frustrated. It was so hard to think things through enough to know what the best thing to do was. Most of all he couldn’t bring himself to sign the letter “Lady Ann” because he wasn’t Lady Ann, he was Burt. And what if somebody saw that he’d signed that and thought he was some kind of pansy? He wouldn’t be able to live that down at the Dog & Pony.

 

Unable to make a decision either way, Burt folded up the letter and put it in its envelope. It would have to stay as it was.

 

He turned the envelope over and wracked his brains for the address. His… Lady Ann’s nan lived in London – he knew that much – but he couldn’t for the life of him recall her address. He groaned, slapping the side of his head. He was sure he had known at one time but it had completely gone now. Whether that was because he was too stupid to remember or because the Ann memories had been overwritten with Burt ones, he didn’t know, but he was scuppered. Without that he couldn’t send the letter. And without that, he might never find out when her ladyship was coming home!

 

He had to find it out some other way, but for the life of him, he couldn’t work out how to do so.