Lady Ann's Holiday: Chapter Twenty Seven - Part One

Lowest of the Low

 

1

 

 

The morning after the boxing match, Burt Harper woke up feeling great.

 

Yes, he’d taken some licks but he’d given out far more than he’d got back and all things considered he was glad of it. He was the champion! He was officially the toughest bloke for miles around and he couldn’t wait until later when he’d be able to strut into the village and hear all the congratulations; see the adoring glances from the women.

 

This was what being a man was all about.

 

He sighed happily, scratching his balls. He didn’t remember ever feeling so… at peace with himself. Just… content. With who he was and his lot in life.

 

Burt climbed out of bed fully naked and went over to the shelf where he kept his shaving stuff and bowl of water. He gave himself a grin then proceeded to lather up his chops and set to work with his cutthroat razor.

 

While he glided the blade over his cheeks, smoothing off the lather and his bristles he thought about what had gone on after the boxing match with the vicar’s wife. Now that had been a bit of alright!

 

It was such a riot shagging someone who always looked down on him but she had been gagging for it after he’d beaten her husband in the ring. And she hadn’t been demure about it. She’d obviously been thinking a lot about him since she’d seen him rogering that chubby girl in the alley a few weeks earlier.

 

She led him by the hand through the little wooden gate in the stone wall at the side of the rectory and they did it there at the back of her garden, safe from prying eyes and close enough to home that she could look at the spot on her lawn in future and reminisce.

 

And she hadn’t been too bad a shag either. Burt definitely got the feeling that she had been hoarding some repressed passion for some time. He was used to doing it in his clothes but she made him strip naked, trying her hardest to stifle cries of ecstasy as he had his way with her.

 

I right good time and no mistake. That was a fact.

 

But he couldn’t waste the morning away reminiscing. He had chores to do and it wouldn’t be right to be late. Jobs like this weren’t easy to come by, he knew that, and he did enjoy it. It was great to just get on with good hard work, knowing exactly what he had to do. And he loved working with the horses.

 

He popped open his drawer and had a longer than usual look at his secret photograph of Lady Ann. She was so beautiful. He sighed. He wished more than anything that she would come back from her holiday so that he could see her again. He was so looking forward to getting her horse ready for her to take out. She could be petulant at times; sometimes right nasty; but on the odd occasion that she smiled at him it made him the happiest man alive. He just wished she’d notice him. Didn’t she realize how much he adored her? Why, he’d lay his life down for her if he got the chance, just so as she’d recognize how dear she was to him.

 

He kissed the photo and put it away then went outside.

 

What he had to do was ensure that he did the best possible job to get Rosebud ready for her ladyship’s return: really polish the leather of the saddle and bring the filly’s coat up to a lovely shine. When he was shoveling up the shit today he would make sure the stable got a first rate clean. The harder he worked, the better it would look; and it didn’t hurt to keep Harry sweet.

 

When Lady Ann came back she’d see the trouble he’d gone to and maybe, just maybe, she’d realize he was the man of her dreams. Or at the very least be a bit kinder to him. He was so looking forward to her being back. He grinned to himself, imagining it. It was going to be so good to have her around, giving him jobs and making sure he did them quickly. Any contact with that beautiful angel was worth any kind of hardship. He’d gladly labour for the rest of his days if it meant he could have contact with her from time to time.

 

Feeling happy, Burt walked round the outside of the stable building, at no point noticing the change that had come over him overnight as the potion the gypsy woman gave him was digesting in his stomach.

 

That he forgotten his original identity.

 

That he really thought he was Burt now.

 

And he believed he always had been.

 

 

2

 

 

Lady Ann dozed in her huge sumptuous bed in London, somewhere east of sleeping and west of awake, feeling warm and comfortable, entirely safe. In her half-sleeping dream she lay unclothed on a narrow bed under a bare wooden ceiling, waiting; anticipating the arrival of someone at both a physical and emotional level as in the waking world, her crotch began to moisten and grow hot.

 

In the dream the ugly door in the corner of the room opened and her grandmother’s stable hand stood there, wearing his cap, which he doffed immediately, stepping closer.

 

“You look lovely m’lady,” the dream man said. “Like a picture.”

 

She smiled in the dream and in the real world her sleeping body smiled too, stirring. Writhing.

 

The dream man stepped closer again, coming nearer to her naked form as she pointed her knees upward then dropped them out to expose her vagina. The stable hand grinned at her, coming closer again, his clothes gone now, nowhere to be seen.  

 

He clambered onto the bed, grazing her sides with his big manly hands, looking down at her with respect and adoration, his eyes afire with lust.

 

“Take me,” whispered Ann, and the stable hand leaned down to kiss her on the neck. She gasped from the delight of it. “Take me like I’m some lower class girl you’ve just picked up.”

 

“Alright m’lady,” replied the stable hand.

 

“Not m’lady,” she breathed. “Just Ann.”

 

“Ann.” He took her nipple in his mouth and sucked on it hard, making her cry out with bliss.

 

Then she came awake, suddenly, unpleasantly, and Gladys was standing over the bed, touching her arm. Ann sat upright, her heart banging and looked about her, disoriented.

 

“I’m sorry m’lady,” said Gladys. “I didn’t mean to startle you. You were having a bad dream.”

 

Ann looked at the window, at the morning light coming through, then she glared fiercely at her maid. “Get out of here you stupid girl! How dare you wake me!”

 

Gladys withdrew from the bed. “But I always wake you miss.”

 

“Don’t be insolent,” snapped Ann. “I’ll not have you talk back to me. You heard what I said.”

 

“Yes miss.”

 

“Well go on then! Get out!”

 

Gladys hurried away and Ann got her legs free of the covers irritably and sat on the edge of the bed, glowering at the closed door that the maid had retreated through.

 

Then she thought about her dream and covered her mouth with her hand, shaking her head.

 

“Oh dear Lord,” she murmured.

 

She couldn’t believe she’d dreamt that – been unfaithful to her darling Richard in such a way. It was deplorable behavior for one of the gentry.

 

But it had been nice. And more than nice. She rubbed her legs together, recalling the sensations.

 

It had actually been rather glorious.

 

 

3

 

 

Burt went into the stable, still with no clue in his mind that he hadn’t always been a man.

 

If any Lady Ann memories remained in his dull-witted brain then he had neither cause nor need to recall them. There were so many Burt memories in his head now that they overwhelmed everything else and the potion had done its work. He no longer felt ill at ease in the least in this body. He didn’t resent his lot in life. After all, hadn’t the men in his family always been in service? Of course they had… as far back as he remembered.

 

He went through to Rosebud’s stall and let himself in. Lady Ann might be back any day and he was determined to ensure that everything was just right when she was.

 

“Eh up horsie,” he said. “Yer’right this mornin? Ye lookin forward to er ladyship comin back and givin you a ride, eh?” He patted her down, smiling fondly.

 

Just wait until Harry appeared and saw him already in here hard at work. The old gaffer’d be proud sure enough. He might even stop riding Burt so hard. And Burt was looking forward to seeing if Harry had heard about his success the night before at the boxing match. That might earn him a bit of respect around here if nothing else.

 

He went to get the brush to start grooming the horse but paused in mid-reach, unsure. For the life of him…

 

“That’s queer.”

 

For the life of him he couldn’t remember which brush to start with. Was it… the body brush? He wasn’t sure. He didn’t think it was the curry comb, but it… It might have been. He wondered…

 

“That’s odd.”

 

He just wasn’t sure.

 

“Burt!”

 

That was Harry’s voice. Burt loped from the stall and outside. “Yes sir?”

 

Harry was leaning against the cart with Jeb of all people. “What you up to scurrying about in there?”

 

“Just tending to the orses,” replied Burt.

 

“Oh aye? I ear you’ve been showing your strength in the boxin ring.”

 

Burt grinned proudly. “That I ave. You shoulda seen it. Jeb tell im.”

 

“He ain’t wrong,” said Jeb. “Burt’s the boxing champion of Griply fair! He ‘ad me down in no time, though I got a few good punches in.”

 

“I’ve got the bruises to show fer it,” chuckled Burt happily. “You gave me a good run fer me money that’s fer certain,”

 

“Well I’m ready for a rematch any time you want Burt,” said Jeb. “Just try me when I ain’t ad so much to drink!”

 

They both laughed.

 

“Aye, well enough,” said Harry, “but there’s work to be done now. You can josh all you want later down’t pub.”

 

“Sorry sir,” said Burt hurriedly, feeling bad that he was neglecting his duties and worried he’d get a well-deserved shouting at. “I’ll get back to the grooming now.”

 

“Aye, well hold on a minute,” replied Harry.

 

Burt stopped and turned back. “Sir?”

 

“Earing tell o’your great victory in’t Dog & Pony last night got me to thinkin. Bout what I get you doin ere when yer workin.”

 

Burt’s jaw slackened a little as he listened, concentrating on the old man’s words.

 

“There ain’t doubt you’re as strong as an ox boy,” said Harry.

 

Burt brightened again, feeling proud of himself.

 

“But you ain’t got the brains you was born with, everyone knows that. Am I wrong?”

 

“Well…” Burt wasn’t sure what to say. When he’d been growing up his mam had always told him he was a dullard and she hadn’t been wrong. “No sir.”

 

“You ain’t been too bad workin ere,” went on Harry, “doing a passable job at looking after the horses and such. But lately… since you ad yer holiday… Well you ain’t been doing as well as you used to.”

 

“Eh?”A tight knot formed in the compressed skin between Burt’s eyebrows.

 

“You’ve been good enough at yer labourin so long as I keep watch and only give ye simple instructions, but you ain’t been seeing to the horses as well as you should.”

 

“Sir?”

 

“Your grooming’s been sloppy. Not good enough. And so you ain’t gonna do that no more.”

 

“Eh?”

 

“I’m takin you off it Burt,” said Harry.

 

“You mean you’re getting rid of me?” Burt couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He was terrified this meant the worst was going to happen – that he wouldn’t be able to work here no more.

 

“I ain’t getting rid of you ye great wazzock. But you ain’t fit to look after the horses no more. I’m gonna get you doin more of what you do best.”

 

Burt gaped at him, confused.

 

“Labourin,” said Harry. “Diggin. Carryin stuff. You know as well as I do, that’s all you’re good for.”

 

“But… But I’m the groom.”

 

Harry shook his head. “Not anymore you’re not. You just ain’t good enough no more.”

 

“But I’ve been… doing it for years.”

 

“And I’d keep you on if it weren’t that it just ain’t quality work you’re doin.”

 

“But sir…”

 

“No,” snapped Harry, folding his arms. “I don’t want to ‘ear no more about it. The decision’s been made.”

 

“But who’ll do the orses from now on?” asked Burt.

 

“Jeb,” said Harry, putting his hand on the other man’s shoulder. Jeb stepped forward, looking a little awkward that he was in this position.

 

“I’m sorry Burt,” he said. “Harry asked me last night at the pub after you’d gone ome… and the money’s better.”

 

“Ah yes. That reminds me,” said Harry. “You won’t be paid as much if you ain’t grooming Burt obviously. I’m sorry about that but if you don’t do good work you can’t expect to get paid for it, eh?”

 

Burt just looked back at him, stunned by what he was hearing. He wanted to speak up for himself, argue the case, make reasoned points to support why he should go on working with the horses. But he knew that to do so would be speaking out of turn. If Harry had made the decision then that was that. It wasn’t his place to question it. He wasn’t even a groom no more. He was just a farmhand. The very bottom of the pile. The lowest wage of any men he knew and the lowest rank in all the holdings of the Neville family.

 

“Now why don’t you get in there and start shoveling up the horse shit while Jeb gets on with the grooming, eh Burt?”

 

“Yes sir,” he mumbled.

 

“And see that you do a good job this time,” continued Harry. “There ain’t no lower post round ere than shit shoveler. You can at least make sure you do that right.”

 

He laughed loudly as Burt turned back toward the stable and shuffled forlornly into the darkness, unsure what had just happened but feeling that he’d lost just about everything that mattered.