Lady Ann's Holiday: Chapter Thirty - Part Three

5 

Burt lay on the hard narrow bed in his cell trying to ignore the jeering whisper of the jailer. The old man sat on a chair just the other side of the bars and as he hissed on with his monologue he kept breaking into rough cackles, as though the words he was saying were hilarious.

“They’re gonna take you out of here and put you on trial tomorrow,” he said. “The Earl’s sent for the magistrate; paid extra to have him come tout suite.” He chuckled. “He’ll preside over your trial and most likely sentence you to prison.”

Burt covered his face with his arm.

“It’ll be Wakefield you get sent to I’d have thought. Nasty place. Really nasty place. But more than appropriate to a hardened criminal like yerself.” He laughed again but degenerated into a long series of hacking coughs. When he recovered he went on, grinning from ear to ear. “I’ve heard the Earl talking. He’s going to push for the maximum sentence; did you know that? Do you know how long that is?”

Burt screwed his eyes shut.

“Seven years. Seven long years!”

It wasn’t possible. It just wasn’t possible that his life had come to this.

“And if you listen to the whispers of the servants up at the hall about you propositioning Lady Harriet then I wouldn’t put it past him to press for an attempted rape conviction. That’s could be another five or ten years, depending on the mood of the magistrate.”

Burt moaned.

“Locked away with murderers and rapists, burglars and pickpockets – no women; no niceties; no comforts; no freedom. You’re going to come out of there a changed man. You’ll either be bitter and broken; stooped and useless, or else associating with all that scum: you’re gonna come out just like all the rest – a hardened criminal.”

He cackled again.

“And even if neither one of those happens you’ll never get honest work again. You’ll be branded a convict; a thief. No one will trust you to do an honest day’s work. You’ll have to live a life of destitution or a life of crime. Either way you’ll be dead or back in the lock-up within a year.”

He tapped on the bars with his stick. “You hear me in their prisoner? Your life is over! You’re going to prison and it’ll ruin ye, one way or another, you mark my words.”

He got up, laughing, and walked away to find his brandy bottle.

Burt didn’t move – didn’t react. He lay in terror, guilt and regret.

Why, oh why, had he gone into the manor? Why hadn’t just followed his orders and lived up to his man’s responsibility? He was going to lose everything he had and there was nothing he could do.

When he was put on trial they would ask him if he had gone into the manor; if he had rifled through her ladyship’s things; if he had tried to take the pendant; if he had propositioned Lady Harriet. What could he do but answer yes? He had done all those things and he had known it was wrong.

The pendant didn’t belong to him. It belonged to Lady Ann. He wasn’t Lady Ann; he was Burt Harper. He was a thief! He was a thief and he deserved to be punished!

He would be condemned by his own words. What could he do but admit to his crime. It wasn’t right to lie to his betters and he’d been caught red handed anyway. With the Earl pushing for it he was going down for the maximum sentence, just as the jailer had said.

Seven years. Or more!

He covered his face with his hands.

He had had such a good life as a labourer, being told exactly what to do, getting a roof over his head in the hay barn, being around the horses, basking in the glow of the upper classes. He wished he could just go back to that – to being a good honest salt-of-the-earth working man. All he wanted was to be a servant at the hall; following orders, digging ditches, shoveling horse shit. He knew now that old Harry was a decent man. He yearned to be able to go back in time and not disrespect him; just do exactly what he was told the second he was told it. That was all he wanted.

He missed Mavis. She was the best woman a man like him could hope for – a right bewer. He would have given anything to be back in her arms; to kiss her and shag her. He missed his mates in the Dog & Pony – he missed every aspect of his life.

Lying there in his cell he vowed that if he ever got the chance to have that life back he would cling onto it for all he was worth. He wouldn’t long for a silly life as a cultured woman – that was forever out of his reach. No. He’d be the best servant he could be – the hardest working and most servile man who’d ever been employed at Griply Hall. If only he could get out of this cell he’d never try to escape his servant’s life again!

6 

“I have good news Ann,” said Richard as she entered. He was sitting at her late grandfather’s desk, working on some papers.

Ann was cold, still shaken from her experiences. The room would have been warm enough but she still felt chilled in her shawl. “Oh? What is it?”

“We know the whole story now and the blackguards responsible for your abduction will all be going to prison.”

“Thank goodness.” Ann sat on the edge of the window seat.

“You may be surprised to learn the true culprit behind it all,” said Richard, “the originator of the plan.”

“Who?”

He smiled grimly. “The maid that you had fired from your grandmother’s employ.”

“Betty? No, really?”

Richard nodded. “She was no mastermind of course but the man who led the kidnapping ring was her beau.”

“That’s horrifying.”

“She told him about you and they kept watch until they knew your movements. They knew of… our acquaintance and thought they could profit from it.” He lit a cigarette. “They’ll all stay locked up of course and I’m going to push for hanging on the ring leader.”

Ann turned the corner of her mouth up, so grateful for Richard’s strength and protection. She went to him, placing her hand on his shoulder. “Richard. I can’t thank you enough for finding me; for getting me out of that place.”

He patted her hand. “You’re my fiancée.”

“Kiss me,” she said, passion flowing through her breast suddenly. “Richard, I need you so much. Please, kiss me.”

She tried to turn him in his chair to face her but he didn’t let himself be turned. Instead he gave her a brief peck on the cheek. “I’m working darling. See.”

“Oh. Alright. Sorry,” replied Ann, disappointed.

Richard kept eye contact and allowed her a curt smile. “I did explain the importance of my work to you Ann dear. I know you’ve been through a terrible ordeal but you’ve made it clear you want us to travel to Griply tomorrow. I can’t very well leave if this work isn’t done.”

“Yes. Of course. You’re right. I’m sorry.” She stepped back from the desk.

Richard sighed. “Don’t pout Ann. It isn’t becoming of a lady. As my wife you will have a responsibility to manage the household and hostess the business dinners we will throw. My responsibility is to conduct the work that keeps my business going. It’s nothing you would understand but I must ask you to keep yourself amused while I do it. I am in the middle of organising the construction of two new factories in Nockton Vale at the moment and it’s demanding the bulk of my efforts. I wasted far too much time searching for you. Obviously I didn’t mind, but if you wish me to spare even longer visiting your parents then will need to give me the chance to get on with this. Is that clear?”

“Yes,” said Ann, too quietly to be heard. She cleared her throat. “Yes.”

He put his head down, concentrating again, ignoring her and she watched him, returning to her window seat.

She thought about the life she had envisioned with Richard, the happiness she had felt to look forward to their love together. She wondered what that would really be like with this formal and rather distant gentleman.

She thought about her desperate craving to become a man again.

She remembered the beating the servant had received the day before; the servility of Gladys and the other lower orders she came into contact with.

All she wanted was this man’s protection and love. If he kissed her now she might relent on her desire to become Burt again. That was all she needed; to keep her in this life. She just needed to be loved. She needed to feel passion and desire.

Outside, through the window, the stable hand was closing up the stable doors, locking the horses in for the night. Ann watched him silently for a while – his fine masculine figure; his strong arms – then she turned back to look at Richard, hard at work on his papers.

It seemed like a hundred years ago when she had bedded Mavis every night, living in an endless whirl of lewd abandon.

Becoming Lady Ann had been such an incredible escape from her life of poverty and hard work – from being an idiot uncultured servant – but… there were things that she missed; things she wished she could still have.

If only she could have everything: the passion and the wealth; the intelligence and the security.

Richard looked up at her sternly and in a testy voice said, “Do you mind Ann. I’m trying to work and your presence is making it impossible. When we’re married you’ll see far less of me than this. I suggest you start getting used to that now.”

Ann smiled curtly and stood. She had one more look at the stable hand outside then went to the door, wondering briefly if there wasn’t a way she could have this wealth and beauty but still get some passion in her life.

She wondered if she dared do what she was considering.

Lady Ann's Holiday: Chapter Thirty - Part Two

3 

It should have made him feel better, but seeing Mavis come to visit him in the jail made Burt feel far, far worse. 

She appeared in the doorway of the jailhouse and through the bars and across the open space their eyes met. A part of him quickened to see her, yearning for some affection and caring. He longed to touch her; for her to hold him; but a flap of dismal understanding fell over him instantly. She couldn’t hold him. The bars would prevent that if the jailer himself didn’t. And her presence only underscored how pitifully low he’d now tumbled.

Mavis was the barkeep’s daughter, little more than a slag and sometime prostitute, but she was unfathomably superior to him now. She was a peasant with no prospects or potential, education or breeding, but she was free. She was a free woman. He was a criminal. All the freedom he’d had was gone and he would have given anything to have it back.

Not to be Lady Ann again. That was out of his reach forever. But to have the freedom to be a man of liberty; freedom to do a hard day’s work and get the pennies at the end of it that he’d earned through his labour.

All he wished for was to be back under Harry’s employ, hurrying round the grounds, fetching and carrying; following his orders to the letter because Harry knew best.

He hated being locked up. He hated it.

But what could he expect now? No better certainly. He knew he’d done wrong. He accepted that. He had to put his former life out of his mind now and submit to his punishment.

He was a prisoner – a thief. That was who he was and nothing more. The sooner he accepted his new lower station, the sooner he might gain a satisfaction of sorts.

Mavis started to approach.

“Where you goin missy?” asked the jailer, emerging from the side room and spitting on the table.

“To see Burt,” stammered Mavis uncertainly.

“Oh, aye?” said the jailer.

Mavis nodded.

“Well you can get thee gone,” said the jailer. “This ain’t a house of pleasure like yon pub. You can’t tout your wares ere like I seen you doin down there. That filthy creature in the cell ain’t a man no more. He’s a convict. He ain’t even human. He don’t get visits from his lady friend whenever he wants. He’s being punished. He’s a crook. He ain’t getting a look at no woman while he’s in ere as long as I got somethin to say about it.”

Burt sat forward, wishing he had the courage to intercede. But what could he say? The jailer was right. He didn’t deserve any visits. He was getting exactly what he’d earned.

“I just wanna see im for a second,” said Mavis.

“Aye,” replied the jailer. “But you ain’t been listenin. If you had you’d know that a mingy old slag like you ain’t getting any further in ere than that.”

“You can’t talk to me like that.”

The jailer approached her, leering. “I can talk to a whore anyway I damn well please.”

“Ey!” shouted Burt, scrambling up.

The jailer looked back at him.

Burt grabbed the bars. “You don’t talk to a lady in that way!”

The jailer pointed back at her with his thumb. “She ain’t no lady prisoner; same way you ain’t human no more. She’s nothing but a slag and a whore.”

“You shut your mouth!” cried Burt.

The jailer lowered his head. When he raised it again he was grinning. He walked slowly across to the bars of Burt’s cell. “You talkin back to me prisoner?”

Burt lowered his voice, suddenly unsure of himself again. “You shouldn’t talk that way to her.”

“Burt; it’s okay,” said Mavis.

“No it ain’t,” he said.

“What was that?” asked the jailer, cocking his ear. “I didn’t hear you. You say you wanted to see the Earl? Is that what you said?”

Burt shut his mouth, glaring back at the old man.

“That’s what it sounded like you was sayin,” said the jailer. “And I’m sure the old gaffer wouldn’t mind runnin down ere to ave a chat with ye. I wager he’d love to hear what you’ve got to say, prisoner. Is that what you want?”

Burt stared back at him coldly.

“Eh? I can’t hear you prisoner. Speak up. Do you want me to fetch the Earl down ere to hear what you’ve got to say?”

Burt shook his head slowly.

“What’s that?”

“No,” mumbled Burt.

“I can’t hear you.”

“No sir. I’m sorry sir.”

The jailer grinned and gave a loud hacking chuckle. “No sir. That’s right. And if I want to call that whore a whore then I chuffing well will. Eh?”

Burt hung his head.

The jailer cackled and looked back at Mavis. “You better run along now whore. This stallion o’yours is well and truly broken. He ain’t no use to you no more.”

Mavis looked at Burt, her eyes brimming with tears, but Burt didn’t lift his head to return her gaze.

The jailer was right.

He had no right to talk back to one of his superiors and dictate the way they spoke to anybody. He was nothing but a convict now; nothing but a thief.

4 

Ann loitered in the shadows at the corner of the room, waiting for the Earl to come to the telephone.

She thought about how it would feel to have him as her employer again instead of her “father.” She imagined slipping into that role as being akin to being enfolded in a comforting blanket: to have the precise boundaries of her life defined rigidly by others; to be protected in a cocoon of rules and instructions. She would know exactly what she had to do and would twirl round day after day on the same safe stretch of track, from the hayloft to the stables, to the pub, to the hayloft. All the uncertainty would be removed. There would be no more peril. She would never leave Griply Valley again.

There was a rattle at the other end of the line and the Earl’s deep voice came through the earpiece. “Ann. Is that you?”

She hesitated, wondering how many more times she would be asked that and it remain true. “Yes father. It’s me.”

“Everything still going to plan for the wedding I presume? Your grandmother hasn’t entirely taken over the preparations I trust?”

She smiled quietly. “No father. Not yet. In fact…”

“Yes?”

“I was planning to come home. As soon as tomorrow or the next day.”

“Ah, good. Yes. Your mother will be pleased. We were all… very concerned during your abduction. Very pleased to hear your voice last night. How are you holding up?”

“Well. Thank you. But I feel a need to get out of the city.”

“Of course.” There was a long uncomfortable pause as the stuffy old man floundered for the correct words. “We’ve had some action of our own in the last few days,” he said.

“Oh?”

“That filthy stable hand…”

Ann’s brow creased. “Burt?”

“I don’t know the devil’s name, but he was found inside the house, in your own bed chamber, trying to steal some jewellery.”

Ann’s eyes widened then narrowed.

“Course we locked the blackguard up.”

“Oh no.”

“He deserved far worse. Got fifty lashes of the whip for his trouble and he’ll get more if he looks at me the wrong way when I see him.”

Ann’s mind was spinning. Burt must have been trying to get the pendant. But what did this mean for her plans? Did it ruin everything? She didn’t know if she could stand the thought of being trapped as a weak and defenceless woman; but to go back to that life branded a thief and locked up…? Was that a price she was willing to pay?

“I wonder…” said Ann.

“Yes?”

“Just that… He has been a loyal servant. And if he was caught before any crime was committed then no harm was done.”

“No harm done? He riffled through your undergarments! Harriet caught him red handed.”

“I see. But… he’s only a simpleton. He’s too much the idiot to understand what he’s done wrong. He’s a dog – nothing more. Now that he’s been punished he won’t do it again… And he takes awfully good care of my horse.”

The Earl chuckled. “You and your horse Ann. That’s what this is about, isn’t it? You just want to keep him working on your filly.”

Ann allowed herself a little giggle, knowing her father would hear. “You know me too well I think. But I would rather you released him.”

There was silence for a moment. “Well. We’ll have to see. But I don’t think so Ann. That impudent baboon has to be punished to the limit of my ability or else all the peasants will get ideas that I’m lenient on thievery.” He thought a moment longer. “No Ann. No, I’m sorry. I won’t show mercy to a servant of mine caught stealing in my own home. Simpleton or not, that craven fool if going to spend no less than ten years behind bars and that’s final.”

Lady Ann's Holiday: Chapter Thirty - Part One

 No Escape

1

Burt sat on the floor of his cell as morning came, slumped against the wall at an angle so that he wasn’t putting pressure on his back where the Earl’s whip has flayed his skin. One knee was raised, his arm propped on it, covering his eyes.

He had cried in the night, feeling even more deeply ashamed because of it, but the tears had run out now. His eyes were red raw. His throat felt swollen.

When he’d been locked in the stocks it had taken time for him to fully realize the truth behind his predicament. Not now. He had long since accepted his role in the Griply hierarchy. He didn’t struggle against his identity anymore. He knew he was only Burt Harper. He knew he was nothing but a criminal now.

When he’d been trapped in the life of a stable hand, it had seemed untenable. When Jeb had been given his responsibilities and he’d been demoted to little more than a menial labourer, there hadn’t seemed to be any lower he could fall. He had been wrong. He continued to be wrong. It seemed, in this living nightmare, that there was always lower to sink – some new awful mistake that could drag him further into ignominy and humiliation.

A racket came from the front of the jailhouse. Burt could barely raise his head to look, his strength had been so terribly sapped by this ordeal. The jailer was wrestling with a wizened toothless woman with long white hair, dragging her toward the cells.

“Carla, ye ugly old crone!” snapped the jailer. “Stop struggling! You ain’t getting free!”

“Let me go! I ain’t guilty a nothin! Let me go!”

He forced her along, grunting with the effort. Her skin was crinkled with wrinkles – she was very old – but that hadn’t seemed to have reduced her stamina. She fought like an animal, but that barely slowed the jailer. He forced her into the cell beside Burt’s and locked her in.

“That’ll learn ya Carla,” he said. “You’ll think twice before causing a disturbance again, won’t ye?”

“Ah chuff off,” she snapped back at him.

Burt covered his face.

This shouldn’t have been happening to him. He shouldn’t have been here. He should have been free.

He was furious at himself – at the choices he’d made that had brought him here.

He was angry that he’d been such a spoiled witch of a woman who appreciated none of her blessings.

He hated the fact that he’d found the pendant, and worse, had been foolish and arrogant enough to think he could control the swap – had given up all right to privilege and control.

But far more than these, he was angry that he had risked his position by going into the hall to fetch the necklace when he had no right to do so. He was angry that he had dared to break one of the most sacrosanct rules there was for a man of his lowborn rank.

He should have accepted who he was now – just been happy with his lot in life. He wasn’t Lady Ann no more. He never would be. Why couldn’t he have just been happy with that and gone on doing his duty as a servant? Why had he thrown away a good laboring job and a future as groundsman for that impossible dream?

He wasn’t Lady Ann no more! He never would be again! He had no right to violate the bed chamber of one of his betters. He had no right to try and take a pendant wot didn’t belong to him.

That pendant belonged to Lady Ann, not him. He wasn’t fit to clean her shoes. She was infinitely better than the likes of him. He was nothing next to that beautiful cultured lady.

Oh why couldn’t he just have accepted that and gone on being a servant for the rest of his days!?

2

Lady Ann had not changed her mind by morning. She was still going to become a man again as soon as she could.

She sat quietly by herself in the morning room on an armchair, blankets tucking her in, an undisturbed tray of breakfast things beside her.

She imagined what it would be like to journey back to Yorkshire; to take Burt aside as soon as she got the chance; to withdraw the pendant and place it around her neck. She imagined allowing the big muscular man to enfold her in his arms, knowing that in moments it would be her taking on that strength and power once more.

It didn’t matter to her about the drop in status she would reclaim, or the loss of intelligence and breeding. All that mattered to her was that she feel safe and secure once more. The kidnapping had torn that security away from her forever. She could never feel it as long as she was confined to this body.

Becoming Burt again was her only escape.

Some movement caught her eye in the window. Richard dragged Thornton, the servant boy who had accompanied her in the park on the day of the abduction, out into view and threw him to the floor.

Ann sat up slightly to see what was happening.

Thornton was saying something, his hands half raised in pre-emptive defence. Richard shouted back at him, his words audible but not quite discernible through the glass. He thrust his pointing hand out again and again, shouting furiously down at the servant. Then he revealed the riding crop in his other hand.

Thornton spoke more, obviously begging for mercy, but Richard didn’t even respond. He started whipping Thornton’s arms and face, his shoulders, the back of his head. Thornton went down into a ball but Richard didn’t stop. He bent over the boy, striking him over and over and over again.

Ann watched the entire thing, unmoving from her chair and only turning away from it when she heard movement at the door.

“Are you alright m’lady?” It was Gladys, her eyes lowered, her hands clasped neatly at her waist. “Can I get you anything?”

Ann didn’t reply at first, and then she said, “No Gladys. Thank you.”

Gladys dipped her head and curtseyed. “Very good m’lady. Would you like me to remove your breakfast things?”

Ann looked down at the tray and then nodded haltingly. “Yes. Clear it away.”

“Of course miss.” Gladys fussed in and gathered up the tray, all deference and humility then withdrew, curtseying again.

Ann watched her leave then turned back to the window.

Thornton was gingerly touching the cuts on his hands and face as Richard glared down at him, then with a snarl, Richard whipped him again as hard as he could and marched away.

Ann closed her eyes.

Become Burt again. Become a man. Become a servant.

That was all she wanted now. She was sure of that.

But she thought of Thornton, and she thought of Gladys’s fawning obsequiousness and just for a moment she questioned that resolve.

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

17

Burt was unshackled from the stocks by the jailer and immediately crumpled to the floor in agony.

“Burt!” Mavis ran to him, clutching his arms and shoulders, trying to avoid the open wounds on his back from the lash. Tears were running down her cheeks.

“Get back girl!” cried the Earl, grabbing her shoulder and pulling her clear, hurling her onto her back in the dirt. A gasp went up from the crowd; the tension in the square cranking up another notch. Mavis stared in alarm at the Earl. His face was like a gravestone.

The jailer chuckled to himself as he reshackled Burt’s wrists and the Earl’s attention went back to him, but Mavis got to her feet. With a defiant glare at the Earl, she went back to Burt, dabbing again at his back with her damp cloth.

The Earl saw this and opened his mouth to speak but said nothing.

Whispers went through the crowd. Everyone was watching.

Burt could barely get his thoughts together. The impact of what had happened had wiped out any chance of coherence in his mind. There was only room in there for pure white shock. He could feel the jailer’s hands on him but couldn’t make any sense of the sensations. No word-thoughts crossed his mind; the sensory flood had overwhelmed all of that.

The jailer stood upright and looked to the Earl for instructions.

“Take him away!” cried the Earl. “Lock him up!” He looked out across the crowd of onlookers. “And let every one of you watching remember this: the punishment that I will mete out to any criminal!” He pointed at Burt. “This man is a thief! And he will be punished as a thief!”

The jailer yanked on the chain between Burt’s shackles, pulling at his arms. The stable hand didn’t move. The jailer pulled again, almost jerking Burt onto his side.

“Well help him then girl!” cried the Earl and Mavis jerked from fright, putting her shoulder under Burt’s armpit, trying to help him up.

“You!” shouted the Earl, “and you!” He pointed. “Get over here and get this thief to the village jail!”

The two men he pointed at loitered, unsure of themselves.

“Hurry up you idiots or you’ll bloody well be joining him!”

They rushed over and got Burt upright then helped him along as the jailer pulled at his chain.  

Almost too late to allow passage, the crowd pulled back, parting to allow the miserable entourage to pass along the front of the pub and down the street.

No one spoke but they went on watching. The Earl stood proudly, his fists on his belt, sneering at the retreating figures. When they passed out of sight he let his eyes wander across the sullen faces of the villagers who looked now back at him.

The Earl didn’t like it. He felt uncomfortable, almost guilty, and that didn’t sit well with him. It didn’t sit well at all. It was his right to punish criminals on his land. What did he care about the feelings of a few commoners? That was inconsequential compared to the need for discipline. But the tension was palpable, the faces dark and troubled. He couldn’t take the silence any longer.

“Get back to your business!” he cried. “Go on! There’s nothing more to see here! A criminal has been justly punished! There’s nothing more to say on the matter!”

He turned his back on them and strode back to his horse, climbed astride and rode away without a backward glance.

18

The pain was awful but as he was dragged through the streets of Griply, Burt started to regain his sense of what was going on.

The agony across his back was something that had, once upon a time, been inconceivable to him. Less than four weeks ago he had been Lady Ann Neville – a beautiful and cultured heiress. The worst punishment he might have expected at that time was a mild scolding from his mother. This was entirely different from that. And it was far from over.

The jailer kept jerking on the chain binding his wrists. The two men helping had his arms and shoulders. The only thing that made it better was the glimpses he got of Mavis, following on with them, her eyes full of the most endearing concern Burt had ever seen. In his anguish he clung onto that. It was the only thing he had left to cling to.

The jailer led them through a narrow gap between two buildings and onto the back road. Burt’s eyes were bleary but he saw the squat building lying ahead and his horror deepened.

The jailhouse.

He jerked back, pulling on his shackle chain, digging his feet into the ground. “No! I ain’t goin in there! Please!”

The men supporting him almost lost their grip as Burt struggled, trying to break free, strength suddenly returning to his limbs in his utter desperation. The jailer yanked hard on the chain but Burt pulled back, ignoring the bite on his wrists.

They couldn’t put him in there; they just couldn’t!

He wasn’t a common criminal! It was all just a horrible mistake! He’d only been trying to get back what was his! This wasn’t meant to be happening! He was supposed to be Lady Ann!

He knew he wasn’t her no more; he knew he was only Burt and he always would be; but that made it worse. He was a good honest working man! He didn’t deserve to be imprisoned! He didn’t care about the pendant anymore or even getting his old life back. He just wanted to take back what he’d done that day. He wanted to go back to his job as a labourer – that was all he wanted. He didn’t need to be one of the gentry. He just wanted his freedom.

But the jailer wrenched hard, putting all his weight into it and Burt toppled forward, almost losing his footing. “Cam on ye thieving cur!” snarled the jailer. “The Earl’s given ‘is orders and you’re gonna be locked up!”

“No! Please! Let me go!”

Mavis cried out, “Burt!”

He fought to break free but the men held him fast, tightening their grip on him, forcing him forward, closer and closer to the jailhouse.

He couldn’t be locked up! He couldn’t! But there was nothing he could do to stop it!

“Please!” he shouted. “Please!”

But it was no good. The jailer laughed at his desperation, yanking harder on his shackles, pushing ahead faster. He couldn’t get away!

His life was over. Every shred of goodness had gone from it. He’d lost his position. He’d been branded a thief. He was going to be thrown in jail with no way to get out. He might rot there for years!

And even if he was released in months of years it would be far too late. He would have no job and no money. He’d be vilified for his criminal past. He’d either starve to death or end up scraping a living in the worst and most dangerous jobs imaginable.

And worse: he had ruined the original Burt’s life beyond all measure or hope. For all he knew, Lady Ann was still planning on coming back to reclaim her body – to live up to their original agreement, even though there had been a delay.

Now that would never – could never come to pass. He had ruined her old life. What would ever motivate her to take it back? She wouldn’t!

Even if she came back planning to switch he had ruined all chance of that forever!

They reached the front steps of the jailhouse and Burt fought one last time with all his fury to get free, but the jailer and men were ready for it. They held him fast, pulling his squirming form through the door and inside.

“This way!” cried the Jailer, leading them into the back of the building were two cells stood side by side.

Burt saw where they were leading and gaped in terror, fighting all the more to get free, but it was impossible.

They reached the open cell and hurled him inside. He fell to the floor in the centre of the narrow space, cracking his knees on the floor painfully and sending a fresh jolt of agony though his back.

He scrabbled round and up, trying to get out while there was still chance but he was far too slow.

The jailer slammed the cell door shut with a sneer and a chuckle and Burt grabbed hold of the bars as the key clicked round in the lock.

“Please,” he moaned, “I’m beggin ye. Let me out of ere. I’ll do anythin!”

“Not likely,” laughed the jailer. “You’re in their for keeps ‘Arper! For months at least – depending on what the Earl says – maybe longer. You better start getting used to it.” He leered cruelly. “You’re nothing but a common criminal now and this is the punishment you deserve.”

19

Hundreds of miles to the south, Lady Ann lay awake within the soft covers of her bed, Grandmamma sleeping nearby in a chair with a blanket over her legs.

She stared out the window at the night sky, into the endless blackness of space, reliving the imprisonment she had suffered through: the feel of the gag in her mouth, the binding round her wrists; the clothes torn from her; the rough hands of the tall man; the suggestive gleam in his eye as he closed in to take advantage of her.

She shuddered and pressed her eyes closed, pulling the covers up around her face.

It had been awful. Simply awful!

In the darkness under the blankets the memories returned but now they were glaring – the feelings associated with them more potent. Ann curled into a tighter ball within her blanket cocoon, wishing this had never happened to her: this violation.

But hidden there, weeping into her hands, the knowledge still burned bright of her intentions. It had not faltered once since she’d been freed from that terrible bondage.

She was going to go back to Griply as soon as she could and she was going to become a man again – there was no doubt in her mind about that.

It didn’t matter how bad it would be to go back to being Burt, she wouldn’t let anything deter her. She was going to be a man again and she was prepared to sacrifice anything to achieve that!

Indefinite Overhaul - Finale

When I opened my eyes I felt shaky all over and quite heavy, but most of all weak. I moved my limbs as I woke and the effort was greater than I was used to. And I could hardly see. My vision was completely unfocused. I could make out the ceiling fan which hummed above me though the outlines were opaque, layer upon layer of overlapping images giving an overall effect of a deep blur. I moved my head to the side and could just make out the figures of two men standing over by the counter. They were talking in subdued tones, but the taller one seemed to turn toward me, or at least a white blob appeared in place of the brown blob that sat on top of what seemed to be his shoulders. He spoke in a rather crisp public school accent I didn't recognise that seemed to be full of concern over my well being.

"Look!"

"She's awake!" That sounded like the old man. The smaller figure came toward me and stooped down next to my face coming a little more into focus. Yes, the old man, the shopkeeper.

"Goodness," exclaimed the other man almost effeminately, "it's so strange hearing you say that and meaning that young man, that young man in my body."

I remembered where I was suddenly and exactly what had been going on. Had he done it already? Was I a woman right now!?

"I can't see properly!" I said, the words coming from my throat high pitched but in a monotone, like a woman talking when really bored.

"Here, drink some of this." The old man pushed a paper cup to my lips and I sipped at it, my throat sore and burning as the water struck it. Finally, more from annoyance than satisfaction I pushed it away."Enough," I said. The words were like a woman's again. My heart was racing. It had really happened!

"Put these on," said the other man. It had to be me. My body. She was in my body and talking in my voice, but shaping the words with her own accent. That was why I didn't recognise it immediately. Now though, there was a trace of familiarity there. A pair of glasses were being pressed into my hand by a grip stronger than my own.

This was a powerful moment. I lifted them in my hands and held them poised in front of my face. I knew that if I put them on and I could see, everything my friends and the old man told me was true. I had traded my body and life for the life of a probably very rich middle aged woman. Oh, whenever I thought of what I had become, of what I had given away for it, I was almost overwhelmed by mixed feelings. I'd escaped from my life, a life I hated deeply. But I was a woman now. Not only that I was a good twenty years older. If I never went back, that was a good two decades I'd never see. When before I'd have been entering middle age, I'd now be booking my place at the old folks home. I suddenly felt a crushing despair. Then I though of what I was now, and my heart was filled with joy.

I slipped the spectacles onto my nose and blinked to clear the tears from my eyes. And I could see.

The old man croutched above me where I lay on the floor squinting down into my face. Above and beyond him, almost indistinguisable from that shadows (my vision was no longer what it had once been, even with the glasses), was the woman, now of course clothed in my flesh, looking back at me with concern spread across her face, alluring still, though a man, and standing in the most ludicrous stance, the backs of her hands resting loosly on her hips, on my hips.

"Are you alright?" she said.

My gaze dropped finally to myself, and though I knew the reality of it already, the sheer intensity of seeing it for real almost killed me with shock. Spreading out and away from me across the floor were the same shapely legs I'd seen on her before the change, still slinky in their stockings, the high heels discarded now and resting just beyond on the dusty planked wooden floor. And there were my breasts, great curving hills beneath the loose fabric of the blouse, and down the neck I could see right down the crack to the bra, which cut a little into my skin. The sight of the fleshy skin concealed beneath the silk before, and now visible only to me sent a little chill of pleasure through me. Then finally there were my hands and arms, still poised in front of my face since I put on my glasses. The skin was tight but soft, the nails glazed and shining in the half light, and the arms were still just as perfect as they had been before.

"Sarah?" said the old man, looking right at me. I was confused for a moment though it was obvious he was beginning the charade. It made me realise that I'd never see my friends again probably until we changed back, that to everyone I met from now on I would be Sarah. Hell, there had to be a few hundred people out there right now who knew me on sight as just that. I was going to have to do some pretty sharp acting from here on in.

"Sarah?"

I looked up again, and now both my double and the shopkeeper were standing close. The woman in my body had her hand out toward me.

"Are you okay?" she said, her 1st rate accent still shaping her words. I put my hand into her and winced as she gripped too hard, her massive fingers scrunching mine up in her palm. "I'm sorry," she said, "I'm simply not used to all this strength." I looked into her eyes as she started to pull me up, the shopkeeper supporting my back, both of them acting as though I were an invalid, and I could still see her old fire. She was still the woman I had fallen in love with, just wearing the equivalent of a Halloween outfit that covered her face.

They were lifting me up, and as my weight finally came to rest on my feet solidly enough though they still supported my shoulders, it was clear that even this would be different now than it had ever been before. All the stresses on my legs and muscles were different. My legs, used to walking in heels presumably, felt strange just standing still like this, and the extra weight of her body, the drop in body strength I was experiencing, all these things added up to make being her a totally fresh experience. With sensations as peculiar as this, I would never sink into a state of forgetfulness, never forget who I had been before. Or so I thought.

At last I stood on my own, a cool breeze coming from the open door which rested on a wedge doorstop, left open I supposed, to help me come round from my faint, caressed my bare legs. I looked from the shop keeper to my double. The former seemed worried about my infirmity, he appeared concerned that we didn't accuse his process of failing in some way. Sarah, the woman in my body still seemed concerned for my well being and continued to support my arm a little too tightly.

"I'm fine," I said holding my hand to my forehead and pushing the low fringe clear in the process. Strange hearing my accent come through coloured by a woman's voice. Just like a woman doing a mediocre impression. The old man was satisfied by my testimony and smiling, stated that now he could finish the change-over.

"But it's done isn't it?" said my double, one hand still on my arm, the other limply resting against his thigh, proving by his actions that this was not the case. He caught my and the shopkeeper's gaze and blushed when he realised where we were looking. "Of course," he said, "you've yet to condition our minds to our new bodies!"

"Correct," he replied, wheezing over to the counter and retrieving what looked like a couple of necklaces tangled up together. He came back towards us, and as he placed half over my head and half over my companion's, I saw that it was two lockets made of gold and inlaid with little jewels, big clunky things really, and connected to one another by a gold chain.

"What will this do again?" I asked.

"It will cause you to think and act more as though you were the woman you now are in body." I started to feel a tingling on the back of my neck where the chain touched my skin. My double's sudden perplexed look showed that he too was experiencing this. The tingling increased, like a patter of little electric shocks, and the metal grew warm and then hot.

"It hurts!" I said, but my double's lips moved as mine did, mouthing the words. There was a sudden sharp pain through my head, or at least a sensation that swept right through my brain. I started to feel a little light headed. The old man saw this and pushed a chair up behind me though he took pains not to physically touch me. There was another flash and my vision went dark for a moment, tiny firework flashes going off under my eyelids. Without willing myself to do so, I collapsed in the chair. My double too seemed to be under strain. Before he could collapse as well however, and as rapidly as it had begun, the pain withdrew. My head cleared.

"Oooh," I said, "what happened?" But I asked no more. I stopped when I heard my voice. Gone were the monotone and traces of my accent. The words I'd spoken were enunciated identically to the way my predecessor in this body would have spoken. I spoke in the same crisp accent as she had. I needed to test it out. "The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain," I said. Again, my voice came out like the Queen's. I could hear my double doing similar tests on his voice. It came out in the husky drawl I had always like to speak in, though it sounded different when not heard through my own ears. I realised that this was what other people had always heard when they had been listening to me, and it sounded pretty good.

"What's your name?" demanded the little man of me suddenly, poking his face up to mine. I was a little flustered but refused to let him see that. I took a deep breath before answering. "Sarah Jorden," I said. Then I stopped. What had I said? Why did this sound strange to me somehow though I'd been saying that name since my marriage, almost thirty years ago now?

Wait a minute, I thought, I'm married? Then I realised what was wrong here. That wasn't my name. I calmed myself and thought in words in my head, "What's my name?" The words Sarah Jorden sprang into my head. No. That's wrong.

I knew what had just happened, I knew that the man standing in front of me had used to be me but I just couldn't for the life of me remember what his name was. Hold on, I never used to say things like, "couldn't for the life of me...." What was going on here?

Then I remembered the telephone conversation I'd had with the shopkeeper. He told me the young man's name then. Yes. Robert Jont. And I realised that that had once been my name. Now I had it I remembered countless instances of being called just that throughout my life. I was definitely a guy back then.

This was so confusing. I still seemed to remember most of my old life if I tried to, but whole segments seemed to be overwritten by memories of my life as a woman. I, for example, could never have spoken to the old shopkeeper on the phone though I remembered quite clearly sitting in my husband's study and getting excited about the news that a suitable transfer mate had been found.

My mind wasn't filled by these interloping memories, but they were there, ready to rise when bidden.

The young man now called Robert was, meanwhile, presumably, trying to sort his own head out. The shopkeeper was questioning him, pushing him around, and I found his fear of the old man somehow fascinating. He was a handsome devil too. So young for me though, almost a boy still.

Then I remembered who I was looking at. Having two sets of memories in my head was proving to be harder than I originally thought to get used to.

"Is that it then," I asked in my thick posh accent, and touched my fingers to the soft, fleshy skin at my throat.

The old man was taking the locket from around Robert's throat.

"That's right," he said, then turned toward me and reached out for my locket. I didn't want him groping around my neck so I lifted off myself and handed it to him. "Here you go," I said.

"I'm a man now?" asked Robert, "forever?"

"Yes."

This struck a chord in me, a disharmonious one. I had imagined the change-over would be a temmporary arrangement, and although I had no desire to re-enter my old life in any hurry, the idea that I would not so muchnot be myself again, but that I would remain this woman forever was one that troubled me slightly. It nagged at me the realization that I would be old before my time, that I would be weak. Then I looked down at myself,at the counters of my body beneath my clothes, the curve of my legs, the gracefulness of my arms. I thought of the riches I owned now. Then I looked at my old self and remembered the passion with which I wanted to escape that life. I still had nagging doubts, but I was happy enough to be a woman that I would walk out that door right now without looking back.

"You should put your shoes back on Mrs. Jorden," said the shopkeeper. He was probably right. I suddenly recalled that my driver was waiting outside and I didn't want him to become more suspscious than my altered behaviour would make him. So I reached down and slipped my shoes on one by one. I had expected it to be difficult to stand and walk on such high heels, but with the transfer complete, it was as though all the instincts a woman learns throughout her life were there within me should I need them.

I turned toward the other two. Now, standing on my heels, I was almost as tall as I had been as a man. Robert was shaking the old man's hand firmly though his expression seemed full of aprehension. I wondered how the strong willed woman who had entered the shop would cope with being a man who was afraid to stand up even for his fear. Then I realised that I was that strong willed woman now, and with a warm glow of happiness in my chest I spoke out and broke the silence.

"I really must be going," I said, smiling. I reached out with my hand and gripped the shopkeeper's in my fingers. "Thankyou so much for all your help." I turned then to face Robert. "And thankyou Robert for giving me the use of your body." Robert smiled, embarassed. "I hope you find more happiness," I continued, "in that body than I did."

"I hope so to," he replied.

I laughed at his remark though he'd not meant it as funny, then I broke away from them and made for the door. I turned on the threshold and looked back into the room. Both men stood expectantly in the semi-darkness waiting for me to speak, and I realised that I was in control. It was I who would decide if the conversation were to continue, and on a whim I concluded that it would not. Without another word I turned on my heel and left the shop, letting the door swing shut behind me.

I stepped out onto the pavement, careful not to stumble in my heels. Although, as I said, I had the memory of walking around in these things, predominantly I was still me, a guy in a woman's body. I wasn't a real woman.... yet.

The sunlight, seemingly magnified through the thick lenses of my glasses was dazzling. I smiled to myself. It was strange seeing everything through glass, but the idea of it, so different from how it had been before and thus symbolic of how I'd escaped my life, was incredibly satisfying.

There were crowds literally milling round me and I suddenly felt embarrassed. I realised everyone could see me for what I really was. I could see that I had merely been hypnotised, that I was standing there in drag and that my friends, the ones who'd set me up had to be around somewhere laughing at me.

Then, as quickly as it had come, this feeling of paranoia vanished. There simply wasn't anybody looking at me out of turn. No packs of cackling hyenas mocked my clothing. No-one even seemed to notice me. I was a little offended that they did not. Of course, if I'd become a pretty young woman, I'd hate all the oggling guys would be giving me. Still, I felt a bit cheated, especially since my own intense attraction to the woman I'd become. But when I thought of that I suddenly felt ashamed for finding beauty in a woman that most normal men wouldn't even see. I didn't really care though what other people thought anymore. I was worrying out of habit, and quite simply told myself not to be so silly.

I suppose my new found indifference was due to my being influenced by the strong personality of the old Sarah Jorden, imprinted upon my own, but there was also a degree of freedom granted to me because I felt that whatever happened didn't really happen to me. I couldn't die or become a laughing stock. If anything bad as that ever happened, I was sure I'd just wake up in my old body, safe and well. You can probably tell by the way I'm phrasing this that it wasn't quite the case.

So anyway; I stood by myself on the pavement and looked round absently for the driver I knew was supposed to be there, trying to wrack my new found memories for the description of the car and the driver. I was soon to realise that the memories implanted were by no means infallible.

Eventually, the driver got out of the car and tapped me on the shoulder.

I turned, rather surprised, and almost tumbled when my heel twisted awkwardly. I didn't recognise him instantly, and thought for a dreadful moment that my first minutes as a comparitively weak woman would include (shock horror!), a mugging and/or a rape.

I made to scream, not sure what else I should do, but a sudden image leapt into my skull of his face. I definitely knew him, or I was supposed to. So I let my mouth relax from its O shape, and smiled as pleasantly as I could.

"Ah, there you are," I said in my most womanly voice, eager to gain control of the situation, "now where's the car?"

"Right here ma'am," he said, and pointed to a monstrous black car I was sure I should have been able to name. Something else I supposed had "slipped my mind" since the transfer. I walked to the back and he opened it for me. Once inside, I slipped one leg over the other quite naturally and made myself comfortable.

The driver climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine. then as though we were still stationary, the car moved seamlessly out into the traffic.






And that was as far as I ever got... Though maybe, if encouraged, I could add to it one day. It stands alone as it is but I always intended it to go on further...