LADY ANN'S FOLLY: Chapter Four - Part Nine

Burt swept the entrance to the stable with a broom, imagining what he would have been up to if he was still a cultured lady; probably being pampered over dinner, eating like a bird and wearing some silly frock. He shuddered at the very idea of that. He was much happier in his britches and old tatty waistcoat; his shirt and cap. There was nothing fancy about his life now but that was the way he liked it.

He didn’t have to put on no airs. He didn’t have to pretend to be interested in all that la de da nonsense. All he had to worry about was getting chewed out by old Harry if he didn’t get his chores done quick enough and truth be told he sort of liked that. You knew where you stood with Harry. He could be a tough old gaffer if he wanted to be but he respected hard work and there was nothing Burt liked more now. A hard day’s work and then bed; maybe a bit of carousing down t’Dog & Pony. Life didn’t get any better.

Ann saw him as he emerged, setting the broom in against the wall there, and stopped dead. A shiver ran through comprising three equal parts. Lust for this paragon of working class masculinity – the desperate need to open her legs to him. Fear and revulsion – that she might be stuck in this life, a penniless commoner for the rest of her days. And same throbbing vein that the original Ann had had and she had inherited – to taste what this life had to offer in the realest possible sense – to give herself to the experience and pretend, just for the night, that she was really Mavis Gibbs and always had been.

If she had known that an almost identical thought had occurred to the former Ann in almost identical circumstances then she would have quailed in panic and run for her life. As it was, the warring imperatives just left her floundering and confused, especially when Burt noticed her there and grinned.

“Eh up darlin. I thought you was workin tonight.”

She shrugged uncertainly. “Not tonight Burt.”

“You wanna go down t’Dog & pony and get some bevies in?”

She shook her head, lifting the corners of her mouth. The idea of surrounding herself with other commoners was repugnant but there was another compulsion she was dying to give in to. “Ow’s about we...” She heard the Yorkshire in her voice and hesitated, then let herself continue. “How about we stay ere?”

Burt grinned broadly. “I was ‘oping ye’d say sommat like that.” He came toward her. “Wait ere while I nip up and get me dinner. I’ll bring some down to you if’n you want.” He pecked her on the cheek before she could react and gave her a wink and Ann flushed crimson. “Why don’t you get yerself upstairs and put on yer birthday suit ready fer when I come back, eh?”

He walked off up the path toward the back of the house and Ann stood watching, thoroughly off-balance.

This was a honey trap, plain and simple – she knew that – but where else could she go? Should she brave the house again tonight? She didn’t know what was best; but she did know what she wanted more than anything; and that was to spend the night with that wonderfully masculine working man. Since she’d seen the stable hand at her grandmamma’s in London she had lusted after being bedded by a man like this. The romp that afternoon and only whetted her appetite for more.

“What the ‘ell does it matter?” she grumbled and walked to the back of the stables. She knew what she wanted and she was going to do it.

Without the immediacy of Burt’s presence, the hayloft was nowhere near as exciting the second time. It was just a draughty and dirty place of clutter and hard uneven wood. Hay was piled high down the further end and various sacks of grain were stacked opposite the door. Drifts of dirt and strands of hay were everywhere. Burt had a few things on the shelf against the right hand wall and an old tin bath hanging from a hook. He had a stove and some shaving things. His straw pallet was stuffed clumsily under the little table along with his blanket to leave the floor clear as per Harry’s standing orders. It was a filthy unwelcoming place, far from the sumptuous luxury Ann had grown used to.

Was this really where she was going to have to stay the night? Might she really be trapped in this new life, her destiny as a lady replaced by the fate of a common barmaid?

She wrapped her arms round her chest.

Growing old as a peasant; getting pregnant and fat and squeezing out bairn after bairn, cursing and shouting at her good-for-nothing working class husband.

She shuddered from her head to her feet.

She still had the pendant. She still had control. Not as much control as she would have liked, but more than enough.

She wondered if the best way would be to go for a two stage swap – into a servant girl first... That might be an easier route into the house.

She shook her head. She could think of that later.

For now there was a different priority in her mind and with a little wince of disgust she started to make the bed ready, pulling the pallet free from under the table and spreading it flat, laying the blanket half neatly on top.

She went to sit at the table to wait for Burt but caught herself, remembering his suggestion that she undress. She chewed her lip, half smiling. It seemed so brazen to do such a thing, but what could it hurt? As far as Burt or anyone else knew, she was really Mavis. He wouldn’t think any less of her. On the contrary, if she didn’t do it then it would be against type. Along with other slight clues: her accent; her knowledge; he might even guess who she really was.

It gave her a thrill to imagine doing it. She only hesitated for a moment longer, then she quickly and almost desperately started to disrobe, throwing the clothes down as she did so but only becoming aware of that when she was almost done.

Since becoming a lady, under the tutelage of her grandmamma, she had learned to act decorously at all times. Hurling her clothes into a heap on the floorboards was in no way decorous.

“What’s goin on with me?” She gripped her forehead with both hands staring at the discarded items.

“Oh, it doesn’t matter!” She snagged at her undergarments, stripping them off one by one. “For now, I’m Mavis. It don’t matter how I act.”

That brought her to a stop.

Was she Mavis?

She looked down at her bare chest, the huge breasts hanging there. She lifted first one and then the other, surprised by how heavy they were.

“Yes. I’m Mavis. I’m Mavis Gibbs,” and the second time she said it her voice tilted a little closer to common Yorkshire. “I’m the barmaid at the Dog & Pony. I’m Burt’s girlfriend; that’s all.”

The words went out to the walls of the hayloft and came back at her.

“I’m Mavis Gibbs,” she muttered.

And in the base of her skull, a warm tingling rippled away, making her feel relaxed and contented. It felt good to say it and pretend it was true.

And it was only for one night. For one night it didn’t matter.