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

15

Richard carried Ann from the coach in his arms, up the steps and into Grandmamma’s house, the darkness and sanctity of it closing round them.

He carried her up to her bedroom and laid her on the bed then stepped back filled with concern as Gladys and Grandmamma set to work cleaning her up. A doctor was present and Richard withdrew to let them get to it.

Ann lay still and almost unresponsive as the doctor examined her and attended to her bruises. Her entire body was spent and she was cried out. She no longer had the energy to move her limbs or even turn her head. Her eyes didn’t so much as follow their movements as they worked to undo the awful things that had happened to her. 

Grandmamma stroked her head over and over again, whispering, “My poor little darling. My poor little darling.”

Ann felt safe at last, and warm; but she felt damaged, as though the things that had happened to her had broken her outer façade of peace and calm. She was so thankful to be back amongst people who cared for her who would protect her now from danger as best they could. But her confidence in that had been shaken rigid. She no longer felt as though she would ever truly be safe.

She had been with a bodyguard in the park when she was taken. He hadn’t defended her. She was never going to really be safe because she could not defend herself. Because she wasn’t a man.

It felt so good to have these people care for her and lie in this luxurious bed; to have a physician there to attend to her need, but she also knew that she had not needed these things when she’d been a man. She’d been tough and enduring. She’d had the hardened male will to protect her from the need for soft comforts. She had been strong in a way she never could be in this body.

And worst was the weakness of heart that had been exposed to her. Her cowardice and fright had left her feeling vulnerable and exposed. She didn’t feel safe anymore and felt like she never would again. Because she wasn’t a man.

She needed to be one again, to recapture that feeling of security she’d always possessed. She needed to get back to Griply as soon as possible.

She needed to swap back with Burt.

Let him be the weak-willed puny woman again. She didn’t want it anymore! She had to get out of this body now!

16

There was total quiet in Griply village square.

The echos of the whip slashing across Burt’s back had died away and no one moved or made a sound. The crowds gaped vacantly between Burt and the Earl. What had started as a jolly spectacle had become a very serious reminder of the precariousness of all their positions and then had become something even worse.

Fifty lashes.

The casual brutality of it was staggering and now as the Earl stepped away from Burt’s crumpled form, swaggering round in a semi circle to proudly look at his subjects, even he caught the reflection in their faces of how far he’d gone; even he looked back at the crisscrossing wounds all over Burt’s back and understood the depth of it.

The Countess had turned away and Hattie was weeping against her breast, her mother pressing her close.

The Earl looked from his family to the house servants, to the men and women of Griply, his resolve faltering slightly. Then he looked at Burt.

Burt hung by his arms and the shackles from the stock post but his body and head sagged as though he were dead. He had cried out and moaned as the first cracks of the whip fell until it became only irresolvable pain striking over and over with no time to respond and no energy left to do it anyway. His mind was a blank welter of agony.

The Earl glared at him and then at his subjects again, at the sullen eyes staring back at him that turned instantly away in fear when he caught them. He opened his mouth to cry out a warning to any others who might cross him but no sound issued. He closed his lips again, the words unsaid.

Mavis pushed through from the back of the crowd, a damp cloth in her hand. She wavered, looking at the Earl. He did not respond, merely looked back at her. She hurried across to Burt, headless of any danger to herself. The Earl watched her movements but said nothing; did nothing.

Crouching beside Burt, Mavis tenderly dabbed at his wounds, rousing him slightly with each wince of pain.

The Countess took Hattie back to the coach without a glance at her husband. Needing no instruction, old Harry climbed into the driver’s seat and clipped the reins, turning the coach round in the road and setting off back toward the hall.

The Earl watched it depart, saw again the sullen looks of disapproval in the peasants watching him, then raised his voice loud, spitting out his words angrily. “This man entered my home without permission! He violated my daughter’s bed chamber! He deserved the punishment he got here today!”

No sound. No reaction from the crowd.

“By my right as land owner of Griply valley, I have taken my punishment of him!”

In the dead silence he marched across to Burt, pushing Mavis out of the way and back onto her behind. Burt’s eyes flashed open as the Earl grabbed him by his hair, pulling his head back. He could barely keep his thoughts coherent they were so blinded by pain but he felt the Earls’ hand on his head, he saw his blazing eyes and heard the harsh whisper.

“Have you learned your lesson my lad?”

Burt nodded; no thought now in his mind except capitulating fully to his employer. All conception that he was Lady Ann was gone. There was only the pain and the Earl.

“Yes sir,” he muttered. “Please sir, yes. I’ll never do it again. I swear to you. Please sir. Please. I’ll do anything you say. Anything sir, please.”

The Earl got to his feet and looked round at the assembled crowd, slightly more alarmed now by the distaste he saw in their eyes at his right of punishment. He had never seen such looks on his subjects faces before and he didn’t like it. It was a sign of the changing times perhaps but he wasn’t about to let his control slip one inch.

They needed a stronger show of exactly what he was capable of if they went against him.

“This thief is unrepentant,” he cried. He walked in a circle, glaring at them. “He thought he could take things that were mine; could shirk his duty when he was supposed to be working.”

The Earl pointed at Burt’s hanging form.

“He clearly needs a further lesson!”

There were gasps and chatter from the assembled villagers.

“Jailer!” cried the Earl, singling the man out of the crowd. “Take this man and lock him up. Now!”

The jailer emerged from the crowd. He was an ageing, haggard old man with a sneering face. “M’lord?”

The Earl unlocked Burt’s shackles. “Take him away. He’s nothing but a criminal and by God I will treat him as such!”