LADY ANN'S FOLLY: Chapter Five - Part Six

Looking like nothing but the local barmaid, Ann hurried away from the stable building, but as she reached the break in the path she halted, suddenly unsure. She'd been heading for the main route up to the front of the house as she had the night before, but she caught herself, looking down at her attire and altered shape and remembering the reception she got from the butler there the day before.

Probably no one on earth knew as well as she and Burt how much the form one wore altered the perception of those in the vicinity. And in that perception she accepted fully now how others saw her. How could she not?

"To them I'm Mavis," she said, but realising that and saying it aloud paradoxically made her feel better: gave her a tingle of warmth at the top of her neck.

She had to speak to Mavis in her body; find out what had gone awry; get her away from the house to effect a swap back. But if she went to the front door again the staff would be too busy reprimanding her to listen to any request, especially after the previous incident.

No. Her only hope of getting anyone to listen to her was to go to the rear of the property; the servant's entrance. It was a practical advantage, nothing more, but she felt the impact of that keenly. Her new status was too low to possibly allow her normal access to the hall.

It recalled her former life, as Burt. It made the memories that remained of her former ignominy crackle up about her ears. Hadn't all her old life been tethered in servility and ignorance? And was she so far from that now?

"Oh how could I have been so stupid? How could I have made such a terrible mistake?"

She took the right hand path toward the rear of the house, footsteps weighted and slow; reluctant but resigned. She was in no doubt that it was the only choice available to her.

It was a chilly morning and Ann grumbled to herself, reflecting on her homelessness, her disconnection, even to the “home” in Mavis’s life. She truly had nowhere to go because she couldn’t abide the idea of retreating down to the Dog & Pony and slipping into the tethers of an actual life as a barmaid. She had to sort this out – get her body back. She had to. Anything else was unthinkable. Surely she would be able to persuade whoever answered to ask the imposter Ann to come to the door, and once she was there, she could affect an enforced change if she really had to.

She couldn’t risk staying another night like this. It had been fabulous to enjoy Burt’s virile passion for another extended period but she had no illusions about how much like quicksand this trap of hers was; how soon she would become embroiled in her new class.

Outside the back door, under the cover the outdoor servants used when they had their meals, the gardener was nursing a hot mug of tea. His eyes twinkled when he saw Ann approach, unguardedly eying her exposed chest and her figure; her face. He was haggard and wiry, old but still mightily strong. His face was an awful sight but Ann still found herself taking a moment to size him up; gauge him for sexual potency. Realising what she was doing made her heart fall, appalled, unsure whether it was because she was inclined now to do such a thing or because any part of her would consider a sexual pairing with such a disgusting vagabond. He watched her all the way to the back door but Ann kept her eyes off him, her nose raised in disdain.

As she reached the door she wavered, unsure whether to knock or go inside. She knew well enough the punishment for wandering freely about the hall, but entering just the servants’ areas would be allowed, surely. She vacillated for several moments then raised a quivering fist to the door and looked gloomily at the back of it. Was this really what she was reduced to? Knocking at the servant’s entrance to her own home?

Though this wasn’t really her own home anymore. She had spent the bulk of her life in the role of a servant. It had only been one month that she had enjoyed the lifestyle of one of the quality. This was only a resetting of how things were meant to be. She hadn’t been pushed into a class lower than was her due. She had been returned to her rightful one.

With heavy heart, Ann knocked and waited, conscious of the staring gardener but refusing to turn her gaze his way.

Presently the door opened and the cook appeared with a cruel smirk on her face. “We don’t want your sort ere girl,” she said. “Be off with you.”

“I need to speak to Lady Ann,” said Ann, hating having to speak that name in the third person and also to hear the words being framed in Mavis’s own tones. The clodhopper accent wasn’t prevalent but it stroked at her intonation, giving her speech a slight tang. “Please,” she said. “I need to see er. It’s urgent.” Fetch er out.”

“I’ll do no such thing,” said Cook. “Er ladyship don’t want to waste er time on the likes of you. Ow dare ye come up t’t’hall? It’s bad enough we has to put up with your sort down in t’village. And don’t think I aven’t seen ye goin in and out yon stablehouse to see that good-for-nothing bloke wot does the ‘orses. I ave and I’ve a good mind to tell the butler to ban ye from seein ‘im.”

Ann’s face flushed and her awareness of the world about her narrowed, becoming a tunnel of frustration pointing straight at the older woman. “Look ere,” she snapped back. “Get out of the chuffin way and get Ann out ere or else you’ll know what for. Do you get me?”

“Don’t use those tones with me my girl,” said Cook. “I won’t be spoken to like that by you or anyone.”

“Let me in!” Ann pushed the door back, trying to force her way in, but the cook put her weight against it.

“No. You ain’t getting in ere for love nor money,” snapped the cook. “Powell!” she yelled into the house. “Powell!”

“I just need to see Ann! Just for a minute! Stop being so unreasonable!”

“Powell!” called Cook, straining to keep Ann out. “Powell!”

The butler hurried into the kitchen from the dark interior of the hall and his face stormed over the minute he saw what was happening. “What the devil’s the meaning of this?”

When she saw him coming Ann gave another more violent attempt to shove her way through and the cook gave enough ground to make a wide enough gap. Before she could burst through though, the butler was on her, grabbing her arms and forcing her back and though Ann fought harder than ever she couldn’t hope to best him. And she knew defeat when she saw it and only possible escalation. She couldn’t risk causing too great a scene. She had to pull away; escape without detainment; think of another way.

She snatched her arms back from the butler’s grip and scowled at the two of them, one after another, still breathing heavily. There was a sudden lull as all three people readjusted their positions and contemplated their next action.

Then into the silence, sharp footsteps on stone flags came rapidly, and with them a voice, raised in query and edged with the slightest hint of hostility. “What’s going on here Powell?” said the voice “She hasn’t come back again, surely.”

Ann gaped in alarm as Hattie strode up to the cluster they were making in the back door and folded her arms crossly, glaring into her face, making her feel immediately intimidated and small. She shuffled, unsure how to react, embarrassed and oddly ashamed that she be caught there again like this, doing exactly what she’d already been told not to do.

“We just caught her trying to get in m’lady,” said Powell, “but she’s been restrained without much incident. You needn’t trouble yourself.”

“But this involves me Powell,” replied Hattie, “and it most certainly involves my sister.”

Ann stared at her, hoping for an instant that Hattie might be an ally after all. Then the bottom dropped out of the world and her stare became a gape of abject horror.

“My sister tells me that this girl stole a pendant of hers Powell,” said Hattie. “Get it back off her immediately.”