LADY ANN'S FOLLY: Chapter Six - Part One

No Turning Back

Burt wandered through the village, thinking again about the wedding ring that he wanted to buy, still wishing he had a little more money than he did.

He had put all his brain power to the task of coming up with a plan to achieve this goal but so far he hadn’t got anywhere. His mind kept wandering all over the place whenever he tried to get it under control and he was reaching the conclusion that he should just accept the need to ask the advice of one of his betters.

There was no shame in doing that. He knew how dim he could be and somebody like old Harry would know what to do. He was married. He knew a thing or two about living life – certainly more than Burt did.

He chuckled to himself, thinking how it was his own stupid fault after all. A month earlier he’d been an extremely intelligent woman with the finest education money could buy. He’d chosen to trade places with a simple-minded stable hand and he’d encouraged the transformation to go on developing, enjoying the fact that he was taking on more and more traits of the original Burt.

Losing his intelligence had been horrifying at first but it had quickly become just part of the lure – the excitement of giving up everything that used to be his as Lady Ann and taking on every quality of the lower class servant. In the end it had given him great pleasure to wallow in the limited brain power of his new role, even as it had frightened him.

And of course he’d pushed the transformation past the point of the original Burt’s limited intellect. He knew that he was little more than a slavering idiot now with nothing in the way of manners or book learning and the need for constant instruction.

But did he regret it now?

No. Not at all. Why would he? He knew he was a simple man but he enjoyed his place in the pecking order. He liked not having to make decisions. Making decisions made his head hurt. It was far better to do as he was told and just enjoy life and enjoying life was what he did best.

It gave him a glow in his chest to think about the night before with Mavis. She was a right bewer; a right raunchy bit of fluff. That was why he had to do the right thing and marry that girl as soon as he could – start a proper life together.

He was a man now and he always would be. He was going to live this servant’s life until the day he died and Mavis was the same. He wanted nothing more now than to make a declaration of that – to make the statement that he was going to live this life with Mavis until the end of their days and do everything he could to make her the happiest woman on Earth.

There was a little commotion in the village square up ahead and Burt slowed to see what was going on.

Bessie, the whore from up the valley, was looking perturbed, a semi-circle of villagers pointing at her and laughing.

“There’s the whore,” said one of the men. “Look at her, flaunting herself about the place like she has a right to live ere.”

The woman with him snickered but Bessie railed back. “I’ve got as much right to live here as anyone else! You mind your own business!”

Burt hadn’t seen her since he’d been locked in the gaol but she looked every bit as rough as she had then: tossed blond hair and flesh on display everywhere it could be. She didn’t do herself any favours if she wanted respect from her neighbours.

The villagers laughed at her. “Why don’t you get thee gone over to Blacklake?” called one woman. “Somewhere you might be wanted!”

“Yeah. You ain’t wanted here and that’s for certain!”

Burt stepped forward. “Ere, leave off.” Everyone fell silent and he glared back at them. “It ain’t er fault how she is. Let er alone.”

Bessie lowered her head but looked gratefully at Burt. She glared at the other villagers for a long moment then walked on. A couple of the women whispered some further nastiness but Burt gave them a glare and they stopped.

He didn’t know Bessie and he didn’t have any desire to, but he hated to see a woman being run down.

The little cluster of people started to disperse and Burt loitered for a minute, watching them. As he did so he caught the eye of Joan Landon, the vicar’s wife. She was watching the debacle from further back, on her way from the church if her direction of travel was anything to go by.

Their eyes met and a clear recollection of the night of the boxing match came back to Burt; of guiding her into the garden at the rear of the vicarage and taking her down onto the soft grass; having his way with her like any common strumpet.

Joan was clearly thinking of the same thing as the colour rose up her neck and into her cheeks. She swallowed and looked at him a moment longer. There was a shift in her expression that changed the aloofness to something that almost reached a smile, then she put her mask of civility back up again and hurried on.

Burt watched her go, smiling smugly to himself, then he went on his own way, thinking how great it was to be a man.