Lady Ann's Holiday: Chapter Twenty Five - Part Two

5

Burt spent well over an hour shoveling up the horse dung into sacks and carrying it out for compost then got a mop and bucket and swabbed down the floor of the stable. While he worked his mind didn’t wander; he remained focused only on what he was doing, lacking the brain power to consider other things at the same time.

Once he was done mopping the floor he carried down fresh straw for the stalls and hay for the horses to eat and then, when he was finished, he took a short break, sitting on the steps up to his hay barn. It was only then that his mind reflected on what had happened to him so far and what it all meant.

He was supposed to be Lady Ann Neville, heir of the Neville family fortune, a cultured lady and distant relative of the king. He had spent his entire life being groomed for a position in high society as a beautiful and delicately mannered woman.

But what had become of him?

He was nothing but a hard working yokel farmhand now, with a painfully limited intellect. And how had he responded when the earl and his former family had been present earlier?

He had been bumbling and obsequious, fawning and desperate to please. But he’d also been nigh on incompetent, he knew that. He had made a mess of even the simplest instructions and gone on to question he own ability to think so completely that he couldn’t make the simplest decision without asking for instructions from his betters.

He put his head in his hands.

How far he had fallen! How low he had become!

And he couldn’t help it! This was just the natural way he acted and reacted now. He really was just a bungling idiot. He truly was exactly like the original Burt in every way.

But no. Surely not. Not completely. He still knew who he was. Deep down inside him he was still Lady Ann. He hadn’t absorbed all of the original Burt’s memories. He still had some of his own.

But that was little comfort. He knew that the difference between him and the former Burt was negligible now. He had the same body and manner; the same job; the same lack of education and intellect. And now he was acting obsequious and servile in front of his betters, just as the original Burt would have.

It made him feel panicked and trapped, but there was nowhere to run to get away from it; no way to escape. This was his life: the pathetic life of a commoner. A man. A servant. This was who he was.

And it felt like this was who he always would be.

The distance between this and his old life was just too great and her ladyship still showed no signs of coming home. Every day he came closer and closer to becoming the original Burt in every single way. Surely the same thing was happening to her – to Lady Ann. Eventually a point would come where they were so totally one another that swapping back might cease to be an option. If the new Lady Ann was taking on his former traits as quickly as he was losing them then she would reach a point where she would never agree to switch back. That point might even have been reached already – thus explaining her absence.

When she really became Lady Ann in every way then she would become as cruel and vindictive as he had been and surely would refuse to swap bodies again. And then he truly would be stuck.

Burt dreaded her return now if anything. He was convinced she would refuse to swap and he couldn’t bear the idea of seeing her and acting every bit the servile country bumpkin. She would lord it over him and he would obsequiously follow her orders without question. He was terrified of that. He couldn’t bear to imagine acting that way in front of her, but felt sure now that he wouldn’t be able to resist.

And part of him knew that this was only right. She was one of the quality. He was just a servant. Obviously he had to follow her commands without daring to hesitate.

She was Lady Ann and she always would be. He was only Burt, her humble servant. And he would be until the end of his short and pitiful life.

6

Ann waited patiently while the phone rang, smiling to herself mischievously and thinking again about the letter she’d received from the simpleton Burt.

It was just so delightful to think of the former Lady Ann being trapped in that body and brain; forced to act the way she used to.

The butler of Griply Hall answered and she identified herself, musing briefly at how afraid she used to be of this old man.

“Your parents and sister have set off safely m’lady,” said Powell. “I believe they plan to rest this evening in their hotel and meet with you in the morning.”

“I know all that already,” she snapped. “I’m calling on another matter.”

“Apologies miss. How may I be of service?”

“Did you manage to find the amulet in the holiday cottage?”

“Yes miss. It has been secreted away safely as per your instructions.”

“And you’ve told no one?”

“No one at all. It is quite safe. You can rely on my confidence. No one even saw me fetch it.”

“Good.”

“Apart from Burt.”

“What?” Ann’s eyes narrowed and she felt a little scratch of alarm.

“The stable man m’lady.”

“I know who he is,” she said, her voice cold.

“You needn’t worry miss. He didn’t know what it was that I was carrying. It was well hidden.”

Ann sighed tensely. “Good. I suppose that will be alright. As long as he had no idea what it was.” She paused. “Powell… About Burt…”

“Yes m’lady?”

“Has he been acting… out of character of late?”

The butler considered his response for a moment, perhaps wondering why she would be asking. “Well, as you know he was given two weeks holiday and during that time he did seem rather…”

“Yes?”

“Rather… bold. More… sure of himself than normal, acting as though he were more important than he was. Old Harry told me he was quite disobedient.”

“And now?”

“Now… Now that he’s working again he’s back to his old self. Doing his labour without complaint. Following orders. Working hard.”

“He’s cleaning out the stables?” Ann smiled to herself.

“Yes. And digging down the fields. Doing general labour; fetching and carrying; cleaning out the pig pen.”

Ann grinned broadly. “And what about his intelligence? Any change there?”

The butler chuckled. “Well that’s hard to say m’lady. He was never the sharpest tool in the box.”

“And what about now?”

“Well…” He paused again while Ann waited expectantly. “If anything I’d say he’s even stupider than ever. Easily confused; obsequious; eager to please but only worth trusting with the simplest tasks.”

Ann giggled, covering the mouthpiece with her hand. This was simply too hilarious. She had to see it for herself.

“He’s not a bad lad,” said the butler, covering for the clodhopper somewhat. “He does what he’s paid for admirably well. He’s a hard-working labourer… just not much more. As long as you don’t expect much of him he’s perfect for heavy lifting; digging; that sort of thing.”

Ann was laughing out loud now, doing her best to keep it from the butler, but it was difficult.

“May I ask why you’re enquiring madam?”

Ann quieted herself. “He took it upon himself to write to me here in London.”

“He did?”

“Yes. And I want you to punish him. I don’t want him thinking he can correspond with me. He needs to know his place.”

“Of course m’lady.”

“Punish him tomorrow. And ensure that the punishment forces him to acknowledge his position most accurately.”

“Yes miss.”

“I want him to comprehend in no uncertain terms exactly how low he is compared to me; is that clear?”

“Yes miss.”

“I want him to appreciate exactly how limited his position is and how subservient he should be acting.” She smiled, thinking of how repeating who she was had helped to cement the change in herself. Perhaps a similar thing would work with that little fool. “Powell.”

“Yes m’lady?”

“Give him lines to write if his handwriting is up to it. Give him a hundred lines. I want him to write a hundred times exactly how low down his position is; how subservient he should be to his betters. By the time he is finished I want it to be entirely clear in his mind just how wide the gulf is between him and me.”

7

Burt wandered down into the village, musing about how recently it was that he would have been driven down in a coach if he’d wanted to. Now he had no choice but to walk.

Truth be told though, it wouldn’t have felt right driving around in a carriage. They were for posh folks, not paupers like him. It didn’t take that long to walk down from the hall and to be honest he’d have felt like a bit of a prat riding down. There were them that had money and them that didn’t, and them that had it threw it away on the stupidest things; least that was the way he saw it. Though like the vicar was always saying, the quality were different. They might be cleverer and in charge and all, but they didn’t have the stamina of the masses. Most of the gentry would have had their hearts give out if they were faced with the kind of hard work Burt had to do. He chuckled, thinking to himself how much better he was than them in his own little way.

Then he grew morose again, thinking about his realization of how trapped he was now and how sure he was that he was never going to change back.

And he wasn’t a complete idiot. He knew that if he really was going to stay this way for the rest of his days then he just had to get used to it. He had to convince himself again that it was what he wanted. If he could just do that; really make himself think that this was the life he desired then he could just relax and be happy. If he couldn’t get back to his old life then he might as well just forget about it and be satisfied with being a man.

He sighed. There was still a huge part of him that wanted that with all his heart but the other side of him was constricted by horror that if he did that then he would be saying goodbye to even the slightest chance of regaining his rightful… his former life.

When he reached the square he saw a range of stalls had been erected on the common and kicked himself to recall that this was the travelling fair here at last that he’d heard was coming.

There were little tents set up all over and a tiny stage on the back of a wagon where travelling players would be putting on a show. He smiled to think of it, imagining how crass and bawdy it would most likely be.

Just his sort of thing.

Burt wandered between the tents, giving them a closer look. Most of them were still setting up and he marveled at the gaudy outfits of the gypsies. He couldn’t imagine dressing up in such fancy clothes. He was much happier in his dull moth-eaten trousers and shirt. It didn’t occur to him that he’d spent the better part of his life wearing fancy dresses and skirts of all colours. His simple mind was far too cluttered with memories of “his” new life, dressed in the dreary men’s clothes of a labourer and farmhand.

A woman sat on a stool outside one of the set up tents who caught his eye. She had a great mane of knotted white hair and the most piercing grey eyes he’d ever seen. Her clothes were as threadbare as his but she stared at him intently, holding his gaze. He found himself approaching her as she smiled predatorily.

“Ow do ma’am,” he said, then faltered slightly. “What is it… What is it you do ere?”

“A little this, a little that,” she said, still fixing him in her gaze. “Some telling of fortunes; some reading of minds.”

Burt shuffled uncomfortably. “Oh aye? Well that’s grand is that, I suppose.”

“Would you like me to read you?”

“My fortune?”

“If that is what you desire.”

Burt shrugged, feeling increasingly unsure of himself and threatened by her strange intensity. “If’n you want I guess.”

She smiled. “Then come inside. Please.” She withdrew backwards into the tent, still focused on him, and vanished in the darkness.

Burt hesitated then followed her in.

Burt found himself in a shadowy and atmospheric inner chamber with candlelight and other gaudy trappings of the sideshow traveller. The fortune teller was already seated behind a small circular table, smiling up at him and not removing her intense and disconcerting gaze.

“Take a seat young man,” she said, “and let me look at you.”

Burt did so feeling terrible conspicuous and actually worried. His last brush with the supernatural had devastated his life. And added to that, although, as Ann, he had not believed in the occult he had a far more prominent memory of “his” childhood as a boy wherein his ma had warned him against messing with this sort of thing. “Mark my words Burt, my boy,” she’d said, “nothing good comes of meddling with those gypsy folk.”

He didn’t know quite why he’d come in aside from the mesmerism of the woman’s stare. But he was here now. What harm could possibly come of it?

“Tell me your name young man,” said the gypsy.

“Burt.”

She gave him a little mischievous smile and said, “Alright… Burt, give me your hand.”

He laid it palm down on the table and she took it in her hands and turned it round, tracing the lines there with a claw-like fingernail. “Hmmm. Yes.” She let her eyes half close, the retinas drawing up beneath the lids until they weren’t visible. “You’re a labourer. Yes.”

It wasn’t a question. Burt murmured in reply.

“And you wonder what the future holds. If all your future days will be the same now.”

He nodded, unsure, though the gypsy couldn’t see him do it.

“Destiny is a strange thing,” whispered the woman. “It can be almost impossible to divert it unless some… powerful force intercedes. And once diverted, that new destiny becomes yours forever, for good or ill.”

Burt’s mouth hung flaccidly open as he simply looked at her, his thoughts sluggishly flopping from one thing to another.

“To play at diverting one’s destiny is a foolish thing,” she said, “and always leads to regret. Only another intervention of great power can change the course of fate back and such intervention is unlikely.” She smiled a brittle smile. “A change of destiny is almost always permanent.”

She fell silent for several moments as Burt forlornly digested what she’d said, confirming all his worst fears, knowing that this meant he was just as trapped as he’d thought he was.

He was never going back.

She started to release a low humming groan from the back of her throat with her lips parted and Burt just sat and watched her, wondering dully if he should do something in particular. The humming grew in intensity and then lowered, increasing in pitch. Then abruptly, it cut off and the gypsy’s eyes flicked fully open so that she was staring right back at him.

“There is something very wrong with you… Burt,”she said, “isn’t there?”

He hesitated then nodded slowly. “Aye. I suppose you ain’t wrong there.” He felt a tug of embarrassment suddenly that she would expose his secret somehow. He imagined the other blokes down’t pub laughing at the fact he used to be a woman if she spread it round. He imagined the Earl and his family laughing at his terrible mistake before they gave him yet more orders for the rest of his life, paying him back for all the times, as Ann, he had been petulant and unreasonable.

“It’s your soul,” she said. “It doesn’t fit. Not properly.”

“My soul?” Burt swallowed. He didn’t know how she could possibly know unless she really did possess real talents but she was undoubtedly right. The soul of Lady Ann Neville resided in this Burt-flesh. It wasn’t a surprise that this was causing him intense difficulty and unhappiness. He imagined his soul as a ghostly beautiful feminine figure crammed into his manly body. “Does it look different than it should?” he said. “Does it look like… like someone else?”

She stared intently at him and his heart shuddered when she said, “No. Not like someone else. A person’s soul will normally be a duplicate of the physical form and yours is for almost identical; but there are slight aberrations that are preventing it from fitting snugly in alignment with your earthly form.”

Burt frowned. “Aberra…?”

“Differences. Your soul looks almost the same as you do but not quite.”

Burt sat silent and stony-faced, trying to wrap his comprehension around what he was hearing. Ever since this has started he’d told himself that everything would be okay because he still had Lady Ann’s soul in his body. Now he knew indubitably that this was no longer the case. His fears were all true. His very soul had transformed along with his body and now was almost the same as the original Burt’s. He sat stunned.

“I think you know why your soul is out of alignment,” said the gypsy.

Burt gaped back at her but said nothing.

“I think you’ve been meddling with things that didn’t concern you.”

He lowered his head.

“And you should know,” she said, glaring at him, “that you will never feel content as long as this misalignment continues. You will only be happy if body and soul match.”

Burt nodded forlornly. “I know. I’ve known that for a while now.”

She brightened. “But there’s no need to fret now.” She got to her feet. “I know a way to help soothe the difference and bring your spirit in line with your body. A potion; I could make up for you; if you wish it.”

“A potion?”

She nodded briskly. “The ingredients are simple enough. I could mix it for you by this time tomorrow for a small fee.”

“And then my… my soul would look the same as I do.”

She smiled kindly for the first time and nodded. “And you need never struggle with your nature again. You could be happy with who you are and accept your destiny once and for all.”

8

Lady Ann couldn’t have been more delighted as she sat with her arms folded and legs crossed out on the balcony overlooking the park, smoking a cigarette daintily.

Her life was quite simply perfect. Not only was she a rich heiress now, she was going to marry into even more money, becoming one of the wealthiest women in all England. She had a handsome fiancé and all the time in the world to languish in her prosperity without having to lift a finger to support herself. She had servants attending her every need here at Grandmamma’s, and the number of underlings would only increase in the future! Why at Hurley Castle, Richard’s ancestral holdings, there were purported to be well over a hundred staff in all.

But all that wasn’t the best part of it. The best part was what she’d had confirmed to her by Powell, the butler of Griply Hall: that the former Lady Ann, imperious and petulant harridan that she was, had indeed changed in character every bit as much as she had.

What had Powell said? That after a period of acting as though he were more important than he was, he was now “back to his old self.”She chuckled to recall it. “Doing his labour without complaint. Following orders. Working hard.”

The proud mistress who had always thought herself above the common masses had transformed into nothing but a toadying little cur; a blunt instrument fit only for hard labour. And it was hard labour that miserable fool was getting and would go on getting. He would be spending the better part of fourteen hours a day doing the relentless and thankless tasks that would have been her lot in life. Their destinies had been well and truly exchanged, not just their physical forms.

The fact that the punishment she’d designed for him to be given for daring to ask for his former body back would further cement the changes only made it better. It was simply too delightful to imagine and Ann was eager to get back to Yorkshire to see it for herself. But that would have to wait. “Her” family were on their way to London to celebrate the news of the engagement and the days ahead would be full of delight. There were plenty of things to hold her here in London.  

But Burt Harper wasn’t going anywhere. He would still be waiting up in Griply however long she delayed, slaving away at his chores and wondering what went wrong with his life.

He would still be waiting whether she chose to go back in days, weeks, months or years: living out his new life of endless drudgery.

9

Burt nuzzled his face into the tight cleavage of yet another girl, groaning in passion as she giggled, then he came up and forced his tongue into her mouth, gripping her arms tight to her sides in his strong hands.

They were at the other side of the common from the Dog & Pony, nestled between two bushes in the long grass and he could hear the racket of the fair being set up over the top of the girls sighs as he pulled at the strings on the front of her dress and snatched it open to reveal her pendulous boobs. He chewed roughly on her nipples, feeling more and more aroused, overcome by the instinctive animal drive to couple and release his seed; loving every second of it and entirely focused on the activity as though nothing else mattered.

She squealed in a burst of saucy surprise when he thrust up her skirts and hooked her panties out of the way. “Oh Burt! You’re so forward!”

“I’m a damn sight more than that luv,” he said and pressed the end of his knob up against her minge, feeling the lubrication and slipping in this time without resistance. “But I can’t see you complainin.”

She laughed and he started rocking his pelvis, forward and back, raising his shoulders so he could get a better look at the slag and get access to her boobs again with his big clumsy hands. He smiled broadly, really enjoying himself, loving again this part of his transformation – the part that had never disappointed him and always been more if anything than he ever could have anticipated.

Just as before, this act was the absolute culmination of his fantastic masculinity. He felt his manhood in every part of his body without doubt or regret. He reveled in it, knowing at that moment that he wanted it as he wanted nothing else – that he wanted it to go on forever; that he could never give this up: such power and unbridled intent; such strength and indomitability. He wasn’t a servant now. He wasn’t an imbecile. He wasn’t fawning and sycophantic. He sure as damn wasn’t some jumped up airy fairy woman thinking she was better than everybody else! He was just a man; just a virile man taking exactly what he wanted without pause or fear.

He came, thrusting over and over against the girl’s crotch, his entire being pulsing down through his body and out through his engorged cock. Then he flopped down over her, panting, and then ever so slowly, withdrew and slid to the side so that they were both lying on their backs looking up at the starry sky.

Burt felt perfectly satisfied and perfectly content. Tawdry and dirty though this carnal act had been, at that moment he wouldn’t have wanted to change a thing in his life. He was perfectly content with who and what he was.

Then, as he lay there, the other concerns of his life slowly crept back in and in his mind he stood as though looking down at this squalid ugly scene: the tart with her legs splayed; he, a dirty servant, his hairy thighs and penis still exposed where he hadn’t even bothered to pull his trousers up: the two of them lying in the bushes at the edge of a field, just two rutting peasants, little better than beasts.

He saw the scene as though he were his old self and felt nothing but shame and a vague sense of panicked regret.

“I’ve been with lots o’ blokes in me day Burt,” said the girl, whose name he didn’t know, “but I ain’t been with any wot’s as strong as you.”

Normally such a comment would have given him a swell of male pride, but not today, not now that the mood was irreparably lost. He just couldn’t stand this steeple chase of different emotions, feeling really happy to be a man one minute and resenting how low he had fallen the next. He just wanted it to end, one way or another.

“You know they’re building a boxing ring for the fair,” said the harlot, “with local men fighting to see who’s champion; tryin to prove who’s the toughest. I think you should sign up.”

Burt lifted himself onto his elbows and scanned the common until he saw what she was describing. The workmen were almost finished erecting the structure. It wasn’t nothing compared to the big ring he’d seen in Blackpool but it wasn’t bad for a country fair. He remembered the fun of watching the matches there and then the fantastic time he’d had afterwards, fighting blokes himself. Then he remembered the beating he’d go from the bouncer at the race course on the day his luck took its awful turn for the worse, the pain of his broken nose.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I ain’t got nothin to prove.”

She giggled. “You can prove what I already know. That you’re the biggest man around.”

“Biggest… man?”

“Yeah. If you win that boxing tournament then everyone’ll know you’re the best man around these parts; the biggest, strongest, most masculine man of all. And I’ll be able to say I bedded you.” She laughed shrilly, covering her mouth with a clutch of his shirt.

Burt lay back, looking up into the darkness and pondered that for a while; thinking that his manhood was all he had now really, the only thing he could really be good about. How if he did win then he could really be proud of himself again and not have to feel bad no more. He’d be the envy of all the other blokes. They might be cleverer then wot he was but they’d know they couldn’t cross him.

And he might even win back Mavis.

Then he thought about the gypsy fortune teller; of what she’d said about his destiny being set now and her offer of the potion; the potion that, from the sound of it, would accelerate the transformation of his soul and really make it fit his manly body at last.

He wasn’t sure if he’d been right to or not but he had asked her to make it up for him.

She would give it him tomorrow.

Now all he had to do was decide whether he was really prepared to take it. And really prepared to complete his transformation into Burt once and for all.