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.”