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

13

The Earl pushed Burt out of the manor’s front door and he stumbled down the front steps.

The Countess and Hattie followed them out along with all the indoor servants. Burt looked form one of them to the next, his eyes moist. Every face was blank with indifference or scorn or mirth. It was humiliating. They were all there. They were all going to witness his punishment.

“Powell!” cried the Earl. “Where are those shackles!?”

The butler emerged last at a slow jog and hurried to his master’s side. “Here they are sir.” He had a pair of iron shackle cuffs on a chain in one hand and the Earl’s bullwhip in the other.

“Put them on him,” said the Earl imperiously, with no clue of course that it was really his daughter he was ordering be locked up.

I’m not his daughter anymore, thought Burt morosely. I’m just a servant. He can do anything that he wants to me now. Anything.

Powell approached Burt and snapped, “Hold out your hands!”

Burt did so. What else could he do? He’d done his best to resist when he’d been locked in the stocks. It had gotten him nowhere. He had no illusions now about his lack of power and control. He held out his wrists morosely and Powell attached the first cuff, tightening it a notch too far so that it cut into Burt’s skin.

Burt looked across at Hattie near the doorway. Her expression was riddled with mischief, close to open laughter. Beside her, the Countess looked down her nose at the scene as the second shackle was locked into place.

Burt had thought his life was at its lowest point when he’d realized how trapped he was in this retainer’s life but it had descended even further. He was a criminal now. He had lost even the meager blessings he had had.

Harry appeared, walking up the drive, looking what the commotion was about. He saw the position Burt was in and shook his head sadly. “Oh Burt, ye stupid idiot. What have you gone and done now?”

“You!” cried the Earl to Harry. “Fetch me my horse! Then ready the coach! This blackguard is going to get his just deserts; but not here. Down in the village.”

Burt blanched.

“I shall ride down with this miserable cur walking behind me.” He addressed the Countess. “My dear… and Hattie. I would be grateful if you could follow down in the coach. The rest of you…” He turned to the servants. “I want everyone there. Close up the house and follow down. Is that clear?” There were nods all round.

Burt looked about him feeling increasingly desperate. He kept seeing himself as a woman, reaching down for the pendant from the waters of the stream, thinking he’d found an exciting way to avoid a boring trip to his nan’s house.

Oh, how stupid he had been to risk all the luxuries of his former life over such a trivial thing! And now, surely, he was paying the price for that many times over! Why couldn’t he have just stayed in his old life? Why couldn’t he have appreciated what he had?

Then another darker thought stole into his mind but one that was just as true.

Why couldn’t he have just been happy with his life as Burt? Why hadn’t he just accepted that he was nothing but a labourer now? It was that that had really betrayed him. He knew he was Burt now through and through. Why had he clung onto a hopeless dream that he could ever be anything more? Why couldn’t he have just been happy with his lot in life as a lowborn working-class man?

Harry hurried back up the drive with the Earl’s house in tow. The Earl went to meet him, pulling on the rope that Powell had tied to the shackle chain.

He climbed up onto his horse while Harry steadied it then jerked on the rope, yanking Burt forward. Powell handed him the bullwhip in a tight coil. The Earl hung it off the saddle and then snapped the rein of his horse, pulling away.

Burt was jerked after it, shambling in the wake of the horse, led by his shackles as the family and servants looked on.

He had thought his life as a servant had been humiliating; that being the village idiot had been. He’d thought being locked in the stocks had crowned it all. But he hadn’t known what was to come.

The humiliation hadn’t ended. It was only just beginning.

And it was going to get far far worse before it got any better!

14

The walk down to the village was awful.

The Earl’s horse went just a little faster than walking pace but too slow to run, and as a result, Burt would walk for a little before receiving a sharp jerk of his shackles and having to run to catch up, followed by the slower pace and followed by the jerk.

The Earl didn’t even look at him but Burt could tell he was fuming. Half way down to the village the coach pulled up behind them and followed, manned by Harry. The look Harry gave him was heart-breaking. The old man had been so hard on him since he’d become Burt, and the Burt memories stretched back with more of the same, but now he only had pity there and sorrow in his eyes. It should have made Burt feel better knowing that Harry cared after all but instead it made him feel far far worse.

Burt looked back at the Earl.

“Please sir,” he said. “Please let me go free. I’m sorry I went up there sir, I really am. Please sir, I’ll do anything; just don’t punish me no more. I’m sorry.”

The Earl didn’t even react. He kept his face forward, his chin raised. Another sharp jerk on the shackles pulled Burt painfully forward, making it perfectly clear the limitations of his situation instead.  

When they reached the village, people on the street saw Burt being led by the wrists and he immediately felt a swelling of the shame and embarrassment of his situation. He saw the whispers and the sneers, the laughter and the open jeering but he could do nothing about it.

All he could think about was how he wished he’d never remembered who he really was. When he had forgotten and really thought he’d always been Burt he’d found a kind of happiness. He was well-regarded for his triumph at the boxing match. He’d won back Mavis. He’d settled into a routine of sorts living out the destiny he’d taken on.

He wished he’d just stayed that way for the rest of his days – been happy as a brainless pauper. Why had he let himself push for more than that? It was going against nature. This life was his now as though it always had been. He wished he’d fully accepted it while there had still been time.

But now it was too late.

He was led into the square. A crowd of gawpers was gathering outside the Dog & Pony, whispering and chuckling at his expense. The fair was half dismantled now but what gypsies still remained stopped working on the clear-up and watched him. A beautiful gypsy girl with long dark curly hair pointed at his mournful face and laughed with her companion. He lowered his gaze, wishing he could somehow get out of this but he was resigned to his fate now.

The Earl climbed down from his horse and dragged Burt to the stocks – not to lock him into them this time: nothing so pleasant. He unshackled one of Burt’s wrists and fixed his glare on him.

“Off with your shirt!”

“Sir?”

“Take your shirt off now you miserable cur!”

Burt did as he was told. The Earl ran the chain and empty shackle out through one sleeve of the shirt and dumped the garment on the floor. He looped the shackle chain through the right arm hole on the stocks then attached the loose cuff to Burt’s sore wrist once more. With his boot and hand, he forced Burt down onto his knees so that his arms were raised in front of him, his back to the villagers.

The coach had long since pulled up. Hattie, the countess and even old Harry had dismounted. The servants from the hall were approaching. A circle of crowd closed around the proceedings.

There had been no announcement of what was going on but people could sense it. And the Earl wanted an audience. Burt craned his neck to look back into the people and saw Mavis push to the front. She looked into his eyes and he saw the same pitiful compassion that Harry had shown. The chuckles in the crowd had died away. This wasn’t a laughing matter now. It was solemn if anything. Everyone knew what was coming. The tension was creaking higher and higher; the shuffling expectancy.

Burt mumbled some prayers, begging for aid and succor in what was to come but only the cold wind answered him, touching his sweat-cooled skin and drawing all heat out of it.

“Take a look at this man!” called the Earl, satisfied that he had his audience now. “Look at him!”

He paused. There was total silence. Even Hattie’s hateful mirth was gone from her features.

“He is a thief! And he will be punished as a thief!”

Burt hung his head. He knew there was nothing he could say to persuade them that he hadn’t been trying to take anything that wasn’t already his – that he was really the Earl’s daughter in disguise. His punishment might even be worse if he spoke out now – especially with such ridiculous notions.

“My anger knows no bounds to a pathetic creature such as this,” cried the Earl. “I have taken him into my employ, given him work that a man could be proud of; a man’s wage. But this was not good enough for him! He wanted more and so he tried to take it from his betters!”

The Earl shook his head slowly.

“Nobody steals from me. Nobody! And this man needs to be taught a lesson. You all need to ne taught a lesson of what will happen to anyone who dares to cross me!”

He walked to his horse and took down the bullwhip, unraveling it.

Burt started to whimper.

He was Lady Ann, not Burt. He was Lady Ann, not Burt. This shouldn’t be happening to him.

It shouldn’t be happening!

The Earl cracked the whip hard against the ground to make a nasty snapping sound. Burt flinched though it had yet to touch him. He caught Mavis’s eye again. There were tears on her cheeks.

“Do you have anything to say man?” called the Earl, moving closer to Burt.

Burt shook his head. “Please  sir, don’t do this. Please, I’ll do anything. I’m sorry. Please sir. I won’t do nothing like it ever again. Please don’t hurt me, I’m begging you.”

The Earl shook his hand forward, cracking the whip and it lashed up Burt’s back, breaking his skin.

He gave a yelp of pain and alarm.

“Please sir. Let me go. Please sir. I’ll never steal again sir. I’m sorry.”

CRACK! The whip lashed him once more leaving a nasty red mark.

Burt’s eyes were watering. He was remembering a picture from his childhood as Ann when the Earl had lifted him up into his arms, laughing.

CRACK!

Burt chewed his lip, lowering his head.

CRACK!

The whip fell again and again.

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

The Earl said nothing. Nor did the crowd. The only noise were the tiny sounds that Burt made in his throat with each strike; yelps of pain; and the snap of the whip as it flayed his back.

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

His back was a crisscross of open slits already but the Earl didn’t stop.

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

Burt sank down as low as he could, only the shackles keeping his head up.

His face was wet with tears of agony. His back was pure white pain.

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

This wasn’t meant to be happening to him. He was supposed to be a lady. He was meant to be one of the quality.

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

But he wasn’t anymore.

He was one of the dirty peasants now and he couldn’t expect any better than this for his crimes.

He was entirely in the Earl’s power.