LADY ANN'S FOLLY: Chapter Eight - Part Three

The dressing down Hattie got as she was led from her bedroom by the butler was a jolt to her system that told her in a way that couldn’t be doubted just how firmly ensconced she was now in her new role as a maid in her own household.

“You will have to do better than that if you expect to remain in post here Nellie,” snapped the old man. “I don’t want to see you dallying around your betters in future, is that clear?”

The stormy silence brooked no ignoring of his fierce recrimination and Hattie found herself saying, “Yes. Sorry,” and then hating herself for it.

“You’ll do as you’re told the moment you are given instructions. Is that clear?”

“Yes... Mister Powell. I’m sorry.”

He led her on in fractious silence, heading down the servants’ staircase at the back of the house. Hattie had used it on occasion, mostly as a girl to sneak around when she was up to mischief. Now it was the route she was expected to take and the acknowledgement of that left her faintly uneasy.

This is only for a couple of hours, she thought. I can put up with it until then and after that, no one will be able to tell me what to do.

They went into the kitchen and Powell declared, “Here she is,” to those present. “She was dawdling upstairs with Lady Harriet.

Lady Harriet. It didn’t sit well to hear her name applied to a third person, not present. She was Lady Harriet; or she had been.

“Oh good,” said Cook. “Get over here and sweep the floor.” She handed Hattie a broom and went back to clearing up the dinner things.

Hattie looked at the broom and thought of her plan, worrying suddenly that she would lose sufficient control to carry it off. Remaining in this body overnight was not part of her plan and she was worried she would get trapped in its mode of thinking if she did.

“Well get sweeping you silly thing,” snapped Cook. “We don’t have all night and there’s more to be done after that.”

Hattie considered and immediately discounted the idea of resisting. She was nothing if not observant and she knew there was no point in a servant ignoring her instructions. It could only lead to deeper trouble and more work if anything as punishment. She started sweeping quickly.

“Careful,” said Cook. “You’ll make the dust airborne.”

“Sorry,” replied Hattie bashfully.

“And do a good job this time. I thought you were slapdash at it this morning.”

Hattie’s face fell. “Yes. Sorry.” She worked more carefully, wishing she hadn’t bothered doing this. No revenge was worth feeling such a loss of self as this. She didn’t know who she was anymore. Did the way she look and the perception of others comprise her entire persona? Was she really just a maid now? Or was she still herself?

She got the kitchen floor swept, building up heat beneath her arms and in the small of her back, but no sooner was she finished than the broom was taken from her and a mop put back to replace it.

“Now do the mopping,” said Cook. “There’s water warming on the fire.”

Hattie sighed, hiding it as best she could, then got to work. Part of her smiled grimly at the idea of her father having to do this instead of her when she put him in this body and took possession of his, but another part couldn’t help but feel guilty. It really was a terrible existence. However unjust his treatment of her lately, surely even he didn’t deserve this.

“Nellie! Stop daydreaming” snapped Powell, looking up from his newspaper where he sat at the kitchen table. “Get on with it!”

“Sorry sir,” replied Hattie, blushing in embarrassment and resentment as she put her back into it.

No. Surely she couldn’t go through with it. She must go back upstairs as soon as she could get free and take back her own body.

But then it seemed such a shame to have gone to all this trouble and not see it through to the end. And it was truly going to be delightful to slip into her father’s own body and watch him flutter about trapped in the life of a lady’s maid. That was going to be a riot! Oh yes. She couldn’t back out now.

She went on mopping, looking toward the pantry, knowing that what she needed was in there and with her father on his way to bed already she had to move quickly before he—

DINGADINGADING!

The bell rang on the board up on the wall, the coloured flag beneath it showing the origin was the master bedroom.

That was it. She was going to be too late if she didn’t hurry it up.

“That’ll be the Earl and Countess calling for their nightcap,” said Powell.

“I’ll take it up to them,” said Hattie.

“You’ve got the mopping to do.”

“I’ll... I’ll finish off when I come back downstairs,” she said, her voice trembling slightly.

Powell regarded her coldly, measuring up his own desire to climb all those stairs. “Alright. Just be careful. The brandy’s in there. Pour his lordship a generous portion. He likes his tipple before bed.”

Hattie smiled and gave a curtsy, setting her mop aside and going into the pantry with two glasses.

She found the brandy quickly and poured the required amounts then looked and found the other little bottle she knew had been here: the drug her mother used sometimes to help her sleep.

If her plan was going to work she needed both of her parents to be dead to the world all the way through to morning.

She took down the vial and measured out as large a serving as she dared into each glass and stirred it round with the end of her finger.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, lifting the drinks on their tray.

Was she really going to do this? Really see it through to its finish?

She giggled to herself to imagine it.

Yes she bloody well was!