Lady Ann's Holiday - Chapter Twenty Two - Part One

Feeling Real

1

Burt forked up the dirty hay from the floor of the stable, thinking to himself that this was exactly what he had been doing when Lady Ann approached him to— when he, as Lady Ann had approached the real— the old Burt to ask him to swap. The exact same activity, and here he was doing it as though he’d been born to it and there was still no sign of her ladyship coming back to change forms.

He’d lost count of how many days it was now since she was meant to return – how many days he’d had to live Burt’s— live his new life in its entirety. Except it wasn’t even that good. The life he was living was worse than the old Burt’s life. At least back then he’d had Mavis. Now he didn’t have nobody.

He had hard graft from sun up to sun down in a filthy body with no brains to speak of. He had precious little money. He had few mates and no woman. He had his drafty old hay loft to sleep in night after night. His life was miserable.

The only thing that made him happy was when he put his lot in life out of his mind and just thought about his pride at being a hardworking man. He didn’t shirk on the job – not for a second. He did what he was told and did it quickly, rushing back to get more instructions as soon as one task was finished. That made him feel good, as close to happy as he could get. And the labour itself was enjoyable in a way, flexing his strong arms; hauling massive weights. These were things he could never have done in his former life.

His former life…

It felt like that – like his life as a woman was something impossible that could never really have happened; not a part of his past at all but merely a half remembered dream. And one that didn’t really make sense. He actually found himself mulling over whether magic really existed or not. He was sure it didn’t was all; he’d known it all his life. And all his memories of his life as boy and man whispered that the idea of some mystical transformation from being a rich and beautiful heiress who stood to inherit all this land was and could only ever be a silly fantasy.

Inside his dull-witted brain he actually found himself questioning the reality of it, unsure at times whether it really was all false; that he’d always been Burt. Surely that was the case. That was the only thing that made sense.

But then other times he remembered his life as Ann clearly and he knew that the Burt history was the lie. This entire life was a lie!

Except it wasn’t. It was the only thing that truly was real.

He had Burt’s body. He had Burt’s brain. He had Burt’s job. He slept in Burt’s bed. He lived Burt’s life in its entirety.

He was Burt. He really really was Burt.

And it felt like he always would be.

2

Seated in the lounge, Lady Ann watched her grandmamma’s butler clearing away a tea tray and newspaper, thinking about the reaffirmation she kept repeating to herself and wondering if it would have taken effect yet. 

It had felt entirely wrong at first to keep reiterating that she was a haughty and domineering woman who cared nothing for the feelings of others but it gave her a naughty thrill to do it anyway, knowing that in all likelihood it would actually cause her to begin acting and feeling that way. It was difficult to know. She wondered if even wanting to test it, even wanting to alter herself in that way, was already evidence of its gentle working on her but there was only one way to find out.

“Porter!” she said.

The elderly butler turned to face her with a courteous bow. “Yes m’lady?”

“If I wanted that clearing away I would have rung for you.”

She smiled inside to hear this imperious tone flowing so naturally. She saw the flicker of offence in his eyes; of embarrassment; but she kept her gaze fixed on him, pinning him to the spot as if by mesmerism. And she find that she wasn’t awfully bothered of guilty about this. He was, after all, only a servant.

“Apologies m’lady. I shouldn’t have disturbed you.” He made to withdraw.

“Porter!”

He stopped again. “Yes m’lady?”

“Put the things back down then. I said I didn’t want them taken away.”

“Begging your pardon m’lady,” he replied, clearly unsure of himself, “You’d like me to leave the dirty cups?”

“Are you talking back to me Porter?” she snapped.

“Apologies. Of course not m’lady.”

“Good. Then put them back down and scurry off somewhere and do some actual work instead of bothering me.”

Porter placed the tea things and paper back down and withdrew quietly but obviously quite perturbed by the whole encounter.

Ann grinned to herself as he closed the door, enjoying it immensely. “I’m Lady Ann Neville,” she whispered through her smiling lips. “I’m a haughty and domineering woman who cares nothing for the feelings of others.”

And pleasant warmth continued to spread out from the base of her skull into her brain and into her soul.

3

Burt deposited the crate of vegetables he’d been sent up with by the back door to Griply Hall and turned to hurry back, pausing when he spotted Lottie, the chamber maid, beating a carpet on the line to get the dust out of it.

He loitered, watching her work for several minutes, eyeing her figure, concealed though it was by her long maid’s outfit. She was no Mavis and certainly no Lady Ann; she was skinny and her nose was too big; but he was feeling as horny as hell and couldn’t help feeling attracted to her. He was, after all, only a man and he had urges – animalistic urges that he couldn’t rightly control. He found himself wanting her; wanting to have her; and his erection grew to a throbbing rod in his dirty trousers.

His confidence had been knocked with the fairer sex. He felt like he didn’t… like he didn’t understand women at all no more, but he felt he ought to be in with a good chance with her. She wasn’t the prettiest girl around and she was the lowest ranking servant in the house. She was bound to be up for a bit of rumpy pumpy and he still remembered with relish the great time he’d had with those slags in Blackpool. He desperately wanted a repeat of something like that.

He imagined taking Lottie round by the coal shed and taking her from behind like a dog. That would be right champion that would. Right champion.

For a moment he considered what a horrific comedown this was compared to his former life – how low his standards and requirements for romance had sunk – but he shook his head to dismiss any such concerns. He was Burt now, through and through and this was more than good enough for the likes of him.

With his courage fanned a little he sauntered over and leaned against the pole supporting the clothes line. “Eh up Lottie.”

“Oh. It’s you again. What do you want now Burt ‘Arper?”

He flashed his eyes lasciviously. “I was wonderin ow you’d fancy goin over yonder and ‘avin a shag.”

“Eh?”

“In the coal shed.” He winked at her.

She laughed. “You’ve got to be ruddy kidding me!”

“What?”

“Ere, Bessie!” she called. Burt groaned as the cook emerged from the back door, drying her hands on a tea towel. “Get a load o this!” The cook approached. Lottie put on a posh-sounding voice. “Burt requests my presence in the coal shed to partake of what he likes to term… a shag.”

Both women howled with laughter while Burt turned bright red from the humiliation.

“Oh does he now?” said cook. “It sounds like he’s got time on is ‘ands!”

“Oh aye,” replied Lottie. “I wonder if we’ve got anything ee could be getting up to.” They both put their hands on their hips as Burt tried to withdraw.

“Ere, where do you think you’re going my lad?” asked cook.

Burt froze. “I’ve gotta be getting back down to Arry for instructions.”

“I’ll give you instructions young man,” she said, then as she saw him shaking his head, added, “unless you’d like me to call her ladyship out here to hear about you molesting one of er staff.”

Burt paled. “No. I’m sorry. I’ll do whatever you say.”

They smirked. “Get the man the scrubbing brush,” said cook. Lottie popped inside and emerged with a hand brush. “Now,” said cook, “get down on them knees o yours and start scrubbing these flags with the water in yon bucket.”

Burt sighed and immediately did as he was instructed.

“Come on,” snapped cook. “Hurry it up!”

He got the bucket and the brush and, on his knees on the stone floor, started to hand scrub the big flagstones, head down, brushing hard back and forth.

The two women withdrew to watch him from several feet away and started whispering and giggling, pointing from time to time at him as he went on working. He went on scrubbing and they went on giggling. He wanted to tell them what for, to make them stop it but he was afraid to in case it got him in more trouble.

They burst out laughing and he paused, trying to listen to what they were saying.

“Ere!” shouted cook. “Get scrubbing you lazy cur! I don’t see those flagstones shining yet!”

“Sorry ma’am,” muttered Burt, “I’ll work harder,” and put his head down, scrubbing as vigorously and as fast as he could.

4

Being rude to servants was one thing, but though Ann had proved something to herself by being snitty with her grandmother’s senior servant, there was still no firm indication that the more tyrannical side of the old Lady Ann had slid across into her own mind.

The original Lady Ann hadn’t just been rude to maids, butlers and groundsmen; she had treated everyone awfully. And she had done it so automatically that without testing it in context it was impossible to know if that contempt had found purchase in her mind. This frustrated her but she was determined to create that necessary context to determine the extent of the transference.

She called for Thornton, the young footman whom her grandmamma had given her permission to take out on trips to provide service and, if necessary, some measure of protection. She tapped her foot irritably as she waited for him to get ready for their excursion, secretly thrilled when she noticed how impatient and disdainful she was feeling.

She wasn’t sure why it thrilled her so to show signs of taking on these vindictive and petulant traits (did she really want to become such a spiteful and ill-tempered woman?) but it did. And she knew that a big part of that was the hope that if she became self-centered enough she wouldn’t feel guilty about betraying that filthy urchin waiting to thrust her back into a life of servitude in Yorkshire.

But she knew it wasn’t working quickly enough because she did feel some measure of guilt when she thought about that craven dullard trapped in a life that had been given by the good Lord to her.

Thornton emerged from the back of the townhouse and Ann hurried him out through the front door, ignoring him the instant they were outside as she set off down the street.

In the park she kept her eyes peeled for a suitable test and spotted one after only a short while. There was a man selling ices from a little push-carriage with a queue of people waiting in line. In the queue was a man and a little girl. The little girl was pointing at something and the gap they had left in the queue was easily big enough for someone to step into.

Ann narrowed her eyes. The original Ann wouldn’t have cared about anyone else. She might well have stepped into that gap to jump the queue and then snapped at the man for challenging her. If she wanted to take on that same disregard for others then this was her opportunity.

She closed her eyes for a moment and said to herself, I’m Lady Ann. I’m Lady Ann. Other people don’t matter to me as long as I’m happy, then she marched toward the gap in the queue, smiling grimly as the father saw what he daughter was pointed at and pointed too, completely oblivious to what she was about to do.

She was ten feet away, then closed to six and then four. The person in front of the man and his daughter took their ice and thanked the vendor, walking on. It was the perfect moment.

But at the last second Ann faltered. She looked at the little girl and her dad and all the forward action went from her stride. She stopped, looking from the ice cream vendor to the man and his daughter, to the gap of paving that still remained open for her to step into. It seemed like such a simple thing to do so but… she couldn’t do it.

She opened her lips to say, Excuse me. It’s your turn, to the man instead but that didn’t come out either. She just stood there, unsure how to act and feeling a mixture of anger, frustration and… relief…? Maybe.

At this the father stood back up from his crouch and turned, seeing Ann for the first time. “Apologies,” he said. “Are you next?”

Ann looked back at him and then one last time at the vendor and then replied, “No. I don’t feel like an ice cream today.”

The man chuckled. “Well. Perhaps tomorrow then.”

“Yes,” replied Ann. “We’ll see.”