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

5

Harry ordered Burt to saw up a fallen tree after lunch so he walked into the woods east of the hall and got to work, quickly building up a sweat as he started. It was laborious but not too bad once he got going. It was a nice break from his usual labours and being out in the woods made him feel more relaxed. He didn’t like Harry shouting at him all the time, even if he usually deserved it.

But though he worked hard and continuously, his thoughts never strayed far from the little bottle in his pocket and the potion inside.

He knew now that Lady Ann had left him stranded in this body and life and the stress of that was raking through him constantly. He didn’t know what to think anymore but he knew he was anxious and unhappy. He couldn’t believe that she would do that to him! He had only swapped places with her temporarily!

The idea of making that decision intentionally and then finding himself trapped and having no control made his head wring with claustrophobia and panic.

How could this have happened to him? How could he have lost everything?

Burt stopped sawing, leaning against the tree trunk, trying to catch his breath. His breathing was shallow and rapid. He couldn’t quite capture enough air. He was feeling faint. Tension was scratching the inner walls of his stomach and clawing up his throat.

Why did he do this??

WHY???

He slumped over the tree, groaning in anxiety and regret, slipping down onto his knees.

And then he thought of how relaxed he’d felt these past few days, doing his best to enjoy being who he was. He released a ragged sigh, holding the back of his head. He had been almost happy now that he had accepted his role; understood that he needed instruction; welcomed the orders from his betters.

He just couldn’t stand feeling like this anymore. He couldn’t fight against it. He didn’t have the brains for it. Now that her ladyship had chosen not to swap back and the pendant had been removed there was no way he could ever change things. He had to just accept it now. He didn’t have any choice. He had to really BECOME Burt one hundred percent.

He had to take the potion.

He slipped the little bottle out of his pocket and looked at it, the back of his hand resting on his knee. The unknown herbs swirled slowly in the thick dark liquid. What it’s other ingredients were was equally mysterious. But did he have any other choice?

Surely if he took this now then he could finally be at peace. His soul would feel fully at home in this body at last.

But what if he was mistaken? What if it was all a misunderstanding? What if Lady Ann still planned to switch back, or if she changed her mind? Would drinking the potion mean that they couldn’t ever swap back? Or that he wouldn’t want to if he got the chance?

There were so many variables and he couldn’t even begin to think it all through with his sluggish brain power! He had to just follow his instinct.

And his instinct desired nothing more than a release from this constant stress. He wanted to be happy. And his gut told him that Lady Ann would never want to trade places with a filthy country bumpkin like him.

No. The potion was his only option. He had to take it. He had no choice.

“Burt!” Harry’s voice drifted through the trees from afar. “Burt! Have you finished cutting that wood yet you lazy big idiot?”

“Not yet sir!” he called back. “But I will’ve soon!”

“Well hurry it up you chuffin great plonker!”

Burt scrambled back his feet, shoved the still corked bottle back in his pocket and got back to work. It wouldn’t do to keep Harry waiting and he still had a lot more jobs to do before the end of the day.

But he didn’t stop thinking about the potion and each time he considered it he came closer to thinking that perhaps taking it would be for the best.

6

Lady Ann and her new family returned to Grandmamma’s townhouse, still chattering gaily but Ann herself felt slightly subdued. When they climbed out of the coach, Ann made a little excuse to hang back so that she could have a moment to herself.

It was all so engulfing, racing from one intense experience to another. It was only weeks since she’d had no prospects at all and now she was surrounded by loving family and was going to be married to a man! And she would be rich beyond the dreams of the gentry.

But there was something wrong; something scraping away at her peace of mind, and she wasn’t sure what it was.

The coachman dismounted and led the coach through on foot to the rear of the property though the low arch. Ann followed, calmed by the proximity to the horses. The stable hand appeared to help and the two men worked together to unhitch the coach from the horses and set it all ready for when it would be needed again.

Unnoticed, Ann watched them work, thinking back to the simple times of her past life and found herself watching the stable hand closely. Though lowborn, he was a fine figure of a man, more… rugged than the distinguished looks of Lord Hurley. He wasn’t handsome as such but he certainly possessed a… masculine quality that made him fascinating in his own way.

Ann smiled to herself and turned away. These were silly thoughts and it was only because she was… only because she was tired from her walk. That was all.

She went to go inside but allowed herself one more glance back at the stable hand and his strong muscular form, visible in silhouette through his shirt as the sun shone through it.

7

When he had finished his work for the day, Burt climbed up to his hayloft feeling a fusion of dread and exhilaration.

He had the bottle out and in his hand. Between his shoulder blades and in the bristles of hair round the back of his head he awash with sweat. He clutched the bottle, loosened his fingers then clutched it tight again, over and over, walking straight to the mirror.

In the glass he almost didn’t recognize himself with his strange charged expression. His eyes were red-rimmed, his skin pale, his moustache starkly visible in contrast. His shirt was moist and clinging, the underarms soaked and stained a pale yellow.

He still felt faint and queasy, his heart fluttering and it occurred to him that he was near breaking point, both physically and mentally. If he didn’t stop this now then he might shatter somehow inside, becoming hollow and empty.

He pulled the stopper from the thin neck of the little bottle and brought it to his nose, sniffing briefly. It was a strong heady scent that intensified his dizziness and blurred his vision, making him think he could see strange floating ghostly images around himself in the reflection.

This was a mistake. He knew it was. But what other choice did he have?

None. It was this or nothing.

He held the bottle poised to his lips and as it touched the damp skin there the strange floating vision grew stronger, more visible. Nervous and shaking, he tipped the bottle back, taking a little of it into his mouth.

The taste was a little bitter but powerful. Absorbing. It gave him the immediate compulsion to bolt down the rest, but he didn’t. He kept it there on his palate for several long seconds, feeling the taste and the herbs that grazed his tongue. Then he did swallow and his throat contracted.

And that was when he saw it. His soul as it was now.

A shimmering translucent spectre hovering about him just inches out of synch with his body; almost a mirror image of how he looked now, but not quite. Different. A bad fit. Not feminine; not that; but wrong.

He gazed at it, spellbound, watching the tiny fluctuations in its ethereal form. It moved like the long hair of a woman might if underwater, slowly and languidly, holding his attention completely.

All he had to do was finish the potion and this soul would change entirely into the male servant’s spirit that was meant to inhabit this body. He would become Burt completely finally in body, mind and spirit, a working class servant and nothing more, most likely forever.

The part of him that was still Lady Ann was screaming at him to stop but it was such a tiny voice now, compared to huge mass of instinct telling him that following orders was the right thing to do, that he didn’t deserve anything more, that he was a dimwitted country bumpkin and he had to accept that – it was only right.

He lifted the neck of the bottle to his lips again and started to tilt it back. The liquid touched his tongue, swelling into his mouth, delicious this time; tantalizing.

But he stopped, pulling it away, holding it down near his waist, glaring at it.

He looked into his reflection again, at the dopey, slack-jawed expression, the muddled eyes.

He didn’t want this. He didn’t want to be a common labourer for the rest of his days! He didn’t!

But he did!

Without a second’s further hesitation he knocked back the liquid, holding the bottle at such an angle that it struggled to leave the bottle, plopping into his mouth in bursts as air pushed up inside to replace what was coming out.

The potion filled his mouth, went down his throat in great long gulps. His head swayed, thoughts becoming more and more dazed and dizzy. The herbs swirled round his gullet and shot down toward his stomach.

He was doing it.

He shouldn’t be doing it.

But he wanted it so much!

He had to do it!

He had to do it now!

And then it was all gone. And the bottle was empty.

It fell from his fingers and shattered on the hard plank floor. Then Burt rocked forward, falling against the workbench hard, head and arms, pressing down to hold him up.

He couldn’t hold his thoughts. Couldn’t see. Couldn’t feel anything.

His stomach was an acute hole of pain and pleasure. The rest of his body was something thick and heavy that seemed disconnected from that place. He knew nothing for a second, completely unaware of anything, then he flew back upright, gaping at himself in the mirror.

The spirit form was still visible, but it was shifting. It was changing and it was too late to do anything about it now. He’d made his choice and the transformation was running ahead, extinguishing the vestiges of his strong will, his angry womanly spirit. It was destroying the part of him that made him Lady Ann. And he felt that death. He felt it as a part of his soul being eradicated and he cried out, slumping to the floor, almost passing out.

He lay gasping, bent over, clawing at the floorboards, unable to catch his breath or sense which orientation he was. He fell onto his back then rolled, groaning, pushing himself up with his hands.

Then he sprung up and fell once more against the workbench under the mirror. He cried out in pain and determination, lifting his head and shoulders up so he could see himself again.

And there he was.

The spirit aura didn’t look strange anymore. It matched his body. It matched his heart.

And as he watched, it sank back inside him, binding silently with his physical form, closing him into this body and brain and life that he’d become trapped in.

He closed his eyes, wincing, and when he opened them again, he was Burt.

He was Burt, body and soul.

And he had done it to himself.

He was nothing more than an illiterate ignorant servant with no prospects and no breeding.

And he had done it to himself.

8

Night fell across the country, long shadows stretching to consume the land from west to east until all was dark.

In London the ongoing celebrations wound down while Ann’s family dressed for dinner and the servants went about their business getting ready for it.

Ann dressed quickly as she had already had Gladys prepare the dress she was going to be wearing. It was a gorgeous golden dress that left her arms bare. She looked at herself in the mirror, smiling with satisfaction as she applied her makeup, then left her room, pausing on the landing as she realized that no one else would be ready yet.

She toyed with going to see Hattie to have a sisterly chat, but she didn’t feel like it. Though her Ann memories had gone so far in attaching a real sense of family belonging there was still a gap, and the connections she had so far with ‘her’ younger sister had been rather biting.

Instead, she took a wander through the corridors, hesitating at the foot of the hidden staircase going up to the servant’s accommodation, then climbing cautiously up, unsure why she was doing it. To explore perhaps.

Yes, just to explore.

The upper corridor was silent and dark. The décor was much more sullen and dowdy than the opulence on the lower floors. The corridor itself was narrow and airless; an unpleasant place. Ann took several steps down it, wondering what the servant room were like that she passed but afraid to open any of the doors. At the far end was a tiny frosted glass window showing no view of the outside world beyond the hazy silhouette of the next door rooftop. Ann put her hands on the glass, peering through curiously but there really wasn’t much to see.

Then she turned and the stable hand was standing at the far end of the corridor at the top of the stairs, alarmed at seeing one of the quality in such a place where he would normally be safe to be himself.

For several moments the two of them stared at one another, then the stable hand quickly removed his cap and said, “M’lady.”

Ann gave him a brief and curt smile. “Don’t you normally sleep above the stables?”

“Er, aye miss. That I do. But I… I came up ere to ave meself a bath.” He started toward her, gesturing to the end door, to her right.

Ann started moving too, towards him and the top of the stairs and as they came closer toward the middle of the corridor she looked at the inverted triangle of exposed flesh on his chest where he’d already unbuttoned his shirt. A warmth spread through her and a slight giddiness.

They were getting closer and closer. The stable hand’s face had grown flushed. He was perspiring. The corridor was too narrow for two to pass easily. They could both see that, but they still kept coming.

Then the stable hand stopped, putting his back to the wall and Ann came up to him. For a moment they were close enough to kiss and the deep aroma of his hard-working body filled Ann’s nostrils. A moisture developed in her crotch. Their eyes met. She glanced down at the fold of fabric on the front of his trousers, at the erection he quickly covered with his cap, then she looked back into his eyes.

Then she was past and she was moving toward the head of the stairs.

Behind her, the stable hand stood watching her retreat, his strong masculine body dowsed now with sweat. When she reached the top of the stairs, Ann paused, wanting to glance back at him. But she didn’t. She walked down the staircase in measured steps.

Only when she was out of sight from both upper and lower landings did she stop and close her eyes, letting out a slow breath, placing her hands against her soft cheeks.

What had happened up there had been entirely wrong. She knew that. Entirely wrong. But it hadn’t been her fault. She couldn’t have known she would see him up there.

She walked the rest of the way down, trying not to dwell on the fact that she might not have known she would see him, but she had hoped…

9

In the centre of Griply Common was the scrappy boxing ring that Burt and one of his slags had watched being erected. It was surrounded by people from all over Griply and from all the neighbouring villages. It had drawn a huge crowd and there was a palpable buzz in the air as the excitement rose and fell with each match.

It wasn’t a conventional boxing match. It was more a series of fist fights and a lot of shouting. Few rules, plenty of liquor and a lot of broken noses; but also a lot of fun.

Whoever won the first fight stayed on as the champion until he was knocked down. Whoever knocked him down became the new champion. It was as simple as that. Bets were laid and money was made.

The current champion was Donnie Beagle – a pit worker from the neighbouring village of Garton. He’d managed to knock down three men so far and strode now around the ring, grinning, as callers cried out for another opponent. Everyone had seen him fight though and no one wanted to risk it.

“Cam on, ye bunch of wusses! Cam and try ye luck!” bellowed Donnie, shaking his fists at the audience. “Oo thinks ee can ave me, eh? Show me a real man!”

Burt climbed into the ring, a smirk on his face.

“Oo’s this then eh?” cried Donnie out to the crowd. “Oo thinks ee’s tough enough to take on the champion? Wot’s ‘is name, eh?”

Burt smacked him hard under the chin, sending him stumbling back.

Donnie, shook his head, snarled and charged across the ring. Burt sidestepped, raising his arms like a toreador and Donnie flew past, impacting with the ropes. Glowering with impotent rage, Donnie turned and threw first one punch then another at Burt. Burt twisted, then twisted back the other way, avoiding both, then hammered his fist into the side of the other man’s head, bringing him down hard.

“Me name’s Burt,” he said.

The crowd roared in pleasure and Burt slowly undid his tatty waistcoat, hanging it on one of the corner poles. He slipped his shirt up over his head and did the same, then he turned to the crowd and shouted, “Who’s next!?”

10

The fourth person Burt faced in the ring was the vicar with chuckles all round from the people watching.

He was wearing a loose shirt with his sleeves rolled up and he frolicked gamely round the ring, demonstrating his rapid footwork and balance, rolling his fists in front of him, ready for action. Burt watched calmly as he took a proffered pint of bitter from the landlord of the Dog & Pony and slowly knocked it back. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and glanced into the crowd.

Mrs. Landon, the vicar’s wife was scowling up at him from close to the front. He chuckled to think of the time she’d caught him shagging that bint Ethel in the alleyway. She was surely thinking of that too because her face coloured with simmering fury.

“Alright then lad,” called the vicar. “Let’s have you.”

Burt grinned broadly and played with him awhile, giving him a chance. The older man was wiry and pretty strong. But he was no Burt. When the crowd started calling for blood, Burt gave him a quick jab and put him down.

The vicar lay on his back like a dying bug, puffing his cheeks then Burt helped him up and patted him on the back. “Not bad vicar. You almost ad me there.”

“Er thank you. Thank you,” replied the vicar, climbing down with Burt’s assistance, while in the crowd, Mrs. Landon was no longer glaring. She looked disarmed if anything, and possibly a little… No. Surely not. But Burt had seen that look on many a lady in his time.

He shook his head to himself and smiled ruefully then held his fists high to a great cheer of the crowd.

He’d never felt like this. So special. So loved. So desired. It was magical to be such a powerful man, to feel that strength pulsing through his limbs; know that nothing could take him down.

He loved being a man. He loved it!

Then he caught Jeb’s eye in the crowd. “Come on there Jeb!” he called. “Let’s see if you can take on the champ! Or are ye chicken?”

Jeb gave a wry grin, holding his hands up to say no but the crowd started calling his name and making chicken noises. He shook his head and got playful jeers until, as though a hook had been slipped in his belt and the rope it was attached to was pulling, he started moving toward the ring.

Burt helped him up and shook his hand.

“Ahright our Jeb. Let’s see what kind of man ye are.”

“I’m a bigger man than you Burt Arper and you knows it.”

“Aye. Well, we’ll see.”

The crowd started chanting Burt’s name and the dance began, except this time they were evenly matched. Jeb and Burt had already gone a round or two int’pub and it had never really been resolved.

The smacked one another time and again, dodging back and maneuvering round the ring. Both men knew the other’s methods and Jeb was a bit faster. He kept hitting Burt hard in the stomach, over and over again, but Burt’s muscular stomach could take it. He barely felt it, he was so focused.

He punched Jeb in the cheek, turning his head in a shower of sweat, then when the farm hand came back round with a hard right, Burt cracked him in the nose.

Jeb staggered, teetered, stepped forward, threw a wide blow then collapsed.

The crowd roared its approval and Burt knocked back another pint, meeting eyes with Mavis in the sea of faces. She had a troubled expression and Burt’s eyes flicked to the man beside her: the bad-un who’d had her in the alleyway the day Burt had been thrown in the stocks.

Burt’s eyes narrowed and he crooked his finger at the runt, beckoning him up, grinning at him as forebodingly as he could.

The weedy man trembled then lowered his gaze, glanced at Mavis, then hurried away through the crowd.

Burt gave Mavis a wink and turned his back on her, raising his arms high.

Cheers came from all around him as the callers shouted for more opponents, but though half a dozen more climbed up onto the platform, the young stable hand remained unbeaten. He put each one down with a mixture of stolid endurance, strength and sheer bloody-mindedness.

And it felt great.

Really great to be a man.

11

When Burt climbed down from the boxing ring at the end of the evening he felt really bloody marvelous. It was one of the best nights of his life. He’d taken a few licks, especially as he got tireder toward the end of the evening, but he’d given out worse than he’d gotten.

It really was a grand night.

Men were patting him on the back and shaking his hand. Women were whispering to one another then giggling if he looked in their direction. He strode through the crowd proudly and slowly, really drinking up the atmosphere. He even got paid for it – winning the cash prize – enough to keep him in beers for a month! Well worth the bruises. Though he’d learned enough not to buy drinks on the house this time. Those bastards down’t Dog & Pony hadn’t returned one of them after he’d run out of cash before.

Mavis was waiting for him on the edge of the crowd, her dress pulled down as far as she dared (very far) to show her cleavage. She gave Burt a leer and said, “Hey darlin. You didn’t arf look fine up there. I was thinkin I’d like to get a bite of that when you was finished.”

“Oh aye?” said Burt calmly.

“Aye. How’s about coming back tut pub to have a few bevies and then slippin upstairs for a night o passion.”

Burt looked at her then shrugged his shoulders. “Nah. I’ve got better fings to do wi’me time. Sorry luv. You’ll ave to find someone’s willin to pay your prices. I don’t need whores no more. Never did.”

Mavis’s face went bright read and she started to build up a head of steam but he ignored her and wandered on, leaving her to come to a boil by herself.

He found a quiet spot out of the way and leaned against a wall, watching the dispersing people, his lips just slightly curling into a smile. He thought about the potion, still slowly digesting in his stomach, working on his body and mind and closed his eyes for a moment. He’d made the right choice. He was sure of that. He wasn’t Lady Ann no more, not in the slightest. He was a man. He was Burt Harper. And he was finally happy.

He opened his eyes and a woman was standing a few yards away in the shadows.

“Hello,” she said. He didn’t recognize the voice but it seemed vaguely familiar. It wasn’t Mavis or one of the women from up at the hall. Her face was deep in shadow.

“Ello,” replied Burt.

“You were very impressive in the boxing ring.” Her voice was timid but better formed than the kind of slags he usually palled around with – almost refined like. “Very impressive.”

“Oh aye? Did you think so?”

“Well I thought it was all quite vulgar at first,” she said, “but when you knocked down my husband I was… quite taken aback.”

“Your usband?”

“The vicar.” She stepped forward into the slanting moonlight and he saw her face at last. Mrs. Landon – the vicar’s wife. The posh bird who was always looking down on him.

“Well were you now?” said Burt, stepping forward.

Mrs. Landon was breathing a little heavily, her chest rising and falling and he smiled at her obvious attraction. He knew enough to spot the signs, even in an older woman like her, someone who usually thought she was so far above him. “Yes. And I’ve… I’ve seen you with different women.”

“Givin them a seeing to?”

“Yes.”

“And you were wonderin…”

She looked up at his face expectantly, only inches away from hers.

“If you could ave some too?” he said.

She nodded, trembling and looking worriedly behind her. They were concealed by the shadows, well out of the way. No one would notice them. She didn’t have anything to worry about.

Burt took her hand. “Well come this way,” he whispered, leading her further away from the ebbing frivolities under the trees, thinking to himself that life could certainly be surprising, but it didn’t get much better.