LADY ANN'S FOLLY: Chapter Twelve - Part Eleven

After dinner, the family retired to the lounge.

Geraldine took Felicity upstairs to bed while Patrick sat reading the paper. The maid, Nellie, still in Hattie’s body, sat primly in the window seat. Hattie stood at the mantelpiece, eyeing the box of cigars her father kept there.

She had always found the things disgusting but she was curious how they would taste now that she was in her father’s own body, with his tongue in her mouth. She was unsure whether to try them or not.

Finding herself acting just like him out in the hall earlier had shaken her somewhat; made her question how confident she was that she could maintain control of the situation. While the fury had overtaken her she had completely lost sight of her female identity. She had purely been the Earl, her father. Reflecting on that now disturbed her… and intrigued her.

It had been uncanny. She could remember it in perfect clarity; almost let herself sink back into the moment if she closed her eyes. As a woman she portrayed a totally different persona around the house and with the servants. Yes, she could be strict; what some might even call mercurial – she could be impish – but in every interaction she was just a girl with a reedy voice; no physical presence at all. And she knew that. She never carried herself with the megalomaniacal bearing of her father because she was all too aware of the limitations of her lower status and physical stature.

It was just so different now. When she was shouting at the maid (her father), she had possessed every superior quality of her father, from his powerful body and commanding voice to, at that moment, the bellicose elements of his personality: confidence (near arrogance), self-belief, disdain for those of lesser rank, pomposity.

She smiled to herself to relive it. It had been a real thrill; and more so that her father had been the victim of it.

He deserved every bit of punishment he got as far as she was concerned; him and her mother.

It wasn’t just recent events that fuelled her enmity, though they had been more than enough to start the fire in her. Blaming her for the trouble he got into regarding Burt’s trial had been totally unfair, but her father had been mistreating Hattie her whole life.

It was because he had wanted her to be born a man – that was why – and when she wasn’t, he had displayed his enmity and disappointment to her whenever he could. All through her childhood he had made snide remarks about her weakness of body and mind. He had told her how powerless she was and always would be. He had lamented the weakness of women compared to the strength of men, in body and character. He had made her feel like a lamentable mistake; a second-class member of the household and a rather pathetic specimen of humankind.

And her mother had never once stood up for her; never taken her side. That had been a greater betrayal. The Earl couldn’t help his misogyny. The Countess shouldn’t have stood by him.

And Ann… Ann was never seen as the lesser specimen. She was the daughter they always wanted; the favourite. She was the perfect example of beauty and womanhood who could do no wrong.

Well damn them all. 

The shoe was on the other foot now.

Her smile broadened.

Ann was trapped in the body of a commoner. Her mother was trapped as a little boy. And her father, the Earl was the one who was a weak, pathetic woman now. She, on the other hand, had finally achieved the greatness he might have wished for her. She was the powerful man.

She straightened her waistcoat and jacket; ensured her pocket watch chain hung evenly.

She was the powerful man.

And thinking that made her put her mind back again to her own childhood as a girl. She had already had cause to reconsider some of her views when it came to women and their place in society. She wondered if the perspective she had gained had altered her opinion about her value as a girl. Had her father been right in any way?

It was true she had been a weak and weedy child, more interested in reading that romping about the grounds. She had shown an early interest in pretty clothes and hair and make-up.

Hattie gripped one elbow with her hand and gently stroked her chin with the other, tickling the hair on her upper lip with her forefinger, asking herself, Was my father right to look down on me?

But the answer was no. Definitely not. It had been cruel and vindictive.

And it hadn’t been her fault she was born a girl. She couldn’t help it that she was weak or that she was afraid to cut loose and enjoy the outdoors.

Patrick made a grinding noise and Hattie glanced across at him. He had dozed off, the paper lying open on his broad belly.

Hattie’s eyes flicked over to the young woman in her true body. It had been the first time all day that they had been properly alone.

“How are you enjoying being a member of the upper class my dear?” asked Hattie, surprising herself that she was still using her father’s turn of phrase. There was no one else here to judge her now – she could talk her normal way – but it seemed odd to do so. Her feminine inflexion didn’t feel as though it would fit the form she was wearing.

Nellie squirmed nervously. “I’m… enjoying it.”

“Good. Good,” said Hattie. She opened up the cigar box and rolled one in her fingers. “I’ve been considering when the best time would be to put everyone back in their true forms. My initial plan had been to spend probably two days like this. That would mean would change back tomorrow night.”

Nellie nodded.

“But, er…” Hattie put the cigar in her mouth and lit it. She took two great puffs and then coughed, frowning. “God, it tastes almost as awful as it used to smell when I was a girl. I’m not sure about it at all.” She chuckled. “No, I’m thinking that it’s going so dashed splendidly that it wouldn’t hurt to extend the exchange for one more day. Reggie is supposed to be leaving on Friday. It will all have to be set right by then.” She grinned. “So the good news is you get to enjoy the high life for a little bit longer before you go back to being a maid.”

“Er, thank you m’lord,” said the apparent Lady Harriet. “Uh, I’m sorry. Thank you Father.”

Hattie frowned a little to be addressed like that, especially when it wasn’t necessary. The girl could have called her Lady Harriet. But on the other hand, that would have seemed rather odd too. She certainly wasn’t Lady Harriet at the moment. She was Howard Neville.

She turned her back on Nellie and leaned on the mantelpiece, looking at herself in the mirror above it, and took another deep puff on the cigar. It still tasted awful but she couldn’t deny how much it made her look like she was really the Earl. Women didn’t smoke cigars; only men did.

She smiled at herself, her moustache curling up at the sides, and took another long puff, then blew out the smoke into the mirror, distorting her image.

CLEANER II: Chapter Five - Part Two

MELISSA

“I want you to know how proud I am of you Melissa,” I said, sitting opposite her at the table.

“Thank you,” she replied haltingly.

“Really,” I said. “You’ve come so far and your dedication has been phenomenal. It’s helped me so much; seeing you stick to your path. Lots of times I felt I couldn’t go on with all my training and beauty treatments, but seeing you doggedly stick to your own path has reminded me time and again that it can be done. With absolute dedication it is possible to change. You’re the person I look to when my will is weak. You’re…” I fixed her eyes in mine. “You’re my inspiration.”

I smiled at Dahlia. She squirmed under my benevolent gaze, uncomfortable with the praise.

To look at her it was impossible to believe there was a confident beautiful model hidden under the rolls of fat, the dowdy clothes and hair, and the thick glasses. She had changed so much. She had bloated into something almost disgusting.

Was she as fat as I had once been already?

No. Not quite. Not yet. But she wasn’t far off and her former self was simply gone.

“I thought we’d do something different on your visit today,” I said. “Normally we tell one another stories about our old lives but this time I want to hear more about your new life.”

“My life… now? At the hotel?” she asked haltingly.

“Yes. I want to hear the latest on your new man; the cook.” I smiled, hoping it didn’t sound like I was making fun of her.

She shrugged. “He’s…”

“Hmmm?”

She shrugged again, obviously reluctant to go into it.

“Doesn’t he treat you well?”

“I suppose.”

“Does he take you out?”

She became pensive. “No. Not really. Mostly we… If we meet up then… we just…”

She blushed redly, lowering her head.

I longed to see them together. From the description she’d given me I could only imagine his hackneyed, scrawny looks: his bulging eyes, his big hands, his skinny wrists and greasy hair. What a couple they would make: the fat four-eyed butterball and her slimy foreign suitor! I could just imagine the sight they’d be, walking arm in arm through the streets!

I really had to try hard not to laugh out loud.

“And how much English does he speak?” I asked.

“Some.” She left it at that.

“Do you talk much?”

She squirmed.

“What do you talk about?”

She didn’t make eye contact, blushing ever brighter. She knew exactly how low she had fallen. She didn’t want to admit it to me or to herself.

But that wasn’t good enough for me and I wanted to flex the muscles of how much power I had over her. How would she react if I pushed a little?

“I don’t like being ignored really Melissa,” I said, my voice harder. “I’m showing an interest in you and your new boyfriend. Don’t beat around the bush. I want to know what he’s like.”

She sat up straight: alarmed, guilty, shocked, afraid… unconsciously subservient. “Sorry Miss Western. He’s…” She swallowed. “He doesn’t treat me very well really. He doesn’t take me out at all. We drink together sometimes, while he watches TV. He mainly just… He just wants to have sex. He isn’t interested in me or my life.”

I smiled. “Sounds ideal in some ways. No strings. And you wouldn’t want to fall in love – not with that husband of yours waiting at home.”

She flushed. “No. No. You’re right.”

I narrowed my eyes.

It was at moments like these that I couldn’t be sure how far she was gone; how much further I could push. I wished I could ask her outright but I was afraid that would break the spell.

I’d mentioned “her husband” back in England and she had played along. Fine. That meant she was willing to pretend she was the real Melissa as long as she was here. But did that show any inclination to return to Nockton Vale and continue the charade? Not necessarily.

We’re running out of time.

Saying that, she’d implied that she was still on course only for our original plan: a total swap but only lasting a few months; only continuing while we were abroad.

The trouble was I liked to fantasise about it being more than that – and we were obviously deeper into this crazy game than maybe anyone had ever gone before – but signals though there were, I had no guarantee of anything longer term. I was starting to worry she was going to turn up one day soon and say it was time to change back.

I felt ill at the thought of it: of going back to England and having to fit back into my life as a cleaner; to go back to Robert. I was too used to the wealth and pleasure now. I could never go back. I would die if I had to.

I would kill myself.

“Miss Western?”

I looked back at her. I’d been gazing off out the window. “Yes?”

“Are you alright? You looked… unwell.”

I put on a smile. “I’m fine,” I said. “Fine. Just thinking about things.”

A long pause fell between us. “About the future?” she asked tentatively.

All expression fell from my face. “Yes. About the future.”

We looked at one another.

“I sometimes think about that too,” she said. “But…” She tilted her face forward and looked at her crumpled hands on the table. I waited for her to go on. “I’m not really ready to think about it yet. You know?”

I nodded as kindly as I could manage.

“It… hurts still… to think about it.”

I nodded again and reached my hand across the table.

Hesitantly, she extended her hand too and I took it.

“All play aside…” I said. “You should always remember that I’m your friend. Above all else.”

She looked at me with moisture rimming her eyes and inside me the part of myself that wasn’t heartless, that hadn’t really meant to say those words except as a way of manipulating her, felt a warm stirring that surprised me. It actually disturbed me because I didn’t want to feel that way toward her. I was still angry at the way I had been made to feel all my life, by her and her ilk. It didn’t matter that she had never treated me badly directly. She had made me feel inferior simply by being pretty, slim and wealthy, and by paying my wages.

“We’re doing this for you,” I said, “this thing we’re doing; this swap. We’re doing it because you needed it.”

She nodded, wiping her eye. “I still need it I think.”

“I know. I know,” I said. I squeezed her hand. “And we can go on doing it as long as you want. Okay? As long as you want.”

She nodded, putting on a brave smile. “I’m sorry that I’m so pathetic.”

“Not at all,” I said reassuringly. Then I grinned. “And don’t worry. It suits your new persona perfectly.”

LADY ANN'S FOLLY: Chapter Twelve - Part Ten

Howard was dragged all the way through to the back of Griply Hall by the butler and into the kitchen.

“Please let me go. I didn’t mean it,” he whimpered.

Powell ignored him and the next flurry of words came out without hesitation.

“Please sir. I didn’t mean nothing by it. I just don’t know the rules yet.”

The butler stopped abruptly and turned on her.

Howard gasped as the butler’s hand closed on his neck but the air was blocked off a second later. “You will learn what the rules are here quick enough young lady,” snapped Powell.  “If the Earl says you are to be punished my girl then punished you will be!”

“No,” she rasped. “I’m sorry.”

He pushed Howard backwards, almost making him lose his balance and instantly stripping him of any sure footing. He struggled to keep his feet on the ground, gaping in alarm into the older man’s grim face.

There was a clatter behind him as of a door being thrown back; momentarily confusing him; then his eyes went wide and panicked as he realised what this was.

The door to the cellar.

Powell grabbed Howard’s shoulder and half turned him, forcing him down the stone steps into the darkness and Howard squealed piteously.

Down and down they went, with no lantern or light of any kind. The cellar had not been fitted for electricity or gaslight and it was like burrowing underground like a badger. It got darker and darker and something childlike and terrified cried out in Howard’s heart that had never been there before.

They reached the lower floor, the sudden flatness startling him, then Powell gave a mighty shove and Howard staggered back, instantly losing his footing and going down, his ankle twisting.

He cried out then slammed onto the brick floor and the shock of the impact stunned him, silencing him instantly.

Howard was dizzy and in pain and he started to whimper but Powell wasn’t finished.

“You don’t talk to the Earl unless he talks to you! Is that clear?”

Howard stared up at him in fear.

“Is that clear?” demanded Powell, stepping forward as though he might strike a blow. The only light came from the kitchen at the top of the stairwell and his silhouette was terrifying.

“Yes sir,” moaned Howard. “I’m so sorry sir. It won’t ‘appen again sir. I’m sorry.”

Howard covered his face with his thin arms, afraid that a blow would come, but Powell only stepped back. He straightened his jacket and waistcoat. “You’ve been nothing but trouble today girl and you spilled the Earl’s drink yesterday. You’re liable to get the boot if you aren’t careful. Do you understand that?”

Howard only looked up at him, stricken, horrified by the idea of being turned from Griply Hall and losing all access to any way back to his real life.

“You have to learn what’s what,” said Powell. “It’s for your own good. You think about that overnight.”

“You’re… lockin’ me down ere?” said Howard, tears filling the bottoms of his eyes. He couldn’t believe it had come to this.

“I’m not locking you in but by gum, if you let yourself out you will be out of this house in an instant! You’re to stay down here and accept your punishment. Then and only then might you be given another chance to serve.”

Howard hung his head low, his upper body propped up on his arms.

How could he have sunk so low as this? How could he have?

“What you have to understand,” said Powell, “is that it’s a privilege to serve the Neville family. It’s prestigious. It’s an honour. There’s plenty of girls out there who want your position who already act with respect. If you aren’t careful they’ll get their chance. Do you understand me girl?”

Howard nodded.

“You spend the night down ere; you don’t come up until I let you up… You might have a chance.”

Powell went to the foot of the stairs. Howard watched him go. Powell looked back one last time when he was on the second step. “The sooner you realise this is your last chance, the better,” he said. “If you spend the night awake and thinking about that then all to the good. You’re a Griply maid. You exist only to serve at the pleasure of the Neville family. You have no right to address them as an equal. You are like dirt beneath their shoes. Of the inside servants, you are the lowest and least significant. You will do as you are told or you will be out. Do you recognise that?”

Howard stared at the floor.

“Nellie!”

He jerked his had up in fear. “Yes sir. Sorry sir, he said. “Yes. I understand. I’m nothing but a servant. Ain’t nobody lower than me. I should only speak if I’m spoken to and I should do as I’m told.”

As he said those words he felt an awful finality to them and a dire acceptance. To follow these rules really was his only chance of remaining in the hall and he had to do that to retain some jot of a chance to get his proper life back.

But even as he said them the gentle buzzing tickled his neck, adding cement to the wall he was building between him and his former self, each brick he laid making him more inclined to act like the servant girl he looked like.

Powell turned his back on him and went up the stairs. He slammed the door at the top but there was no click of a lock.

Howard gazed up the shaft forlornly, feeling bruised, cold and uncomfortable.

He wasn’t locked in – he could leave at any time – but he didn’t dare do so. That would land him in deeper trouble and he couldn’t risk that. He daren’t.

He had to follow his instructions completely.

He had to accept his position in the servant hierarchy.

He had to accept that he really was only a servant.

I shouldn’t have tried to speak to the Earl, he thought wretchedly. I had no right to. Mister Powell’s right. I’m only a servant girl.

He tried to reconcile with the perfect performance the fake Earl had given and realised that he couldn’t.

There was no doubt at all in his mind now. That wasn’t an imposter. Somehow – and he couldn’t imagine how – that really was the Earl.

And who and what that made him…?

He shuddered to think.

Because if that was the Earl then maybe what was apparent was true.

He really was only Nellie Barrow, a common serving girl, and he always would be.

CLEANER II: Chapter Five - Part One

DAHLIA

I didn’t know how many months it was now since we’d come to Greece – time and dates didn’t seem relevant to me anymore - but it had been spring. I was sure of that. Now the summer season was coming to an end. The intensity of the heat had lessened. There weren’t as many holiday-makers. The tourist areas had a more empty, abandoned feel to them. Catching the bus from my hotel to Melissa’s was a faintly depressing ride. Most of the seats were empty.

As I did on every journey to see her, I reflected on how I had changed; how different I looked. The transformation hadn’t ended. It went on and on as my body bloated outwards, getting bigger and bigger.

I was truly massive now. Sitting down, my stomach had fold after fold of fat, spreading out in every direction; resting on my thighs. I was wearing a dress and my hips pressed it out, gravity squishing them out to the sides as it compressed them. My knees poked out the bottom of the dress but I couldn’t see my chunky calves and lower legs because my bulk filled too much of the space up. My knees were pushed up against the seat in front. It was lucky that the bus wasn’t full. My mass spread to the side, spilling onto the seat beside me.

The dress was sleeveless and my big, doughy arms were crossed on the metal-topped seat back in front of me. The skin was shiny where it had been stretched, where it’s compression at the elbows made flabby bulges.

Had anyone ever put on weight like this before; with such determination?

I had no idea how much I’d gained but it was a massive amount. I wasn’t myself at all anymore. As my old self I could have climbed inside this body and worn it like a suit.

I rested my head on my forearms and closed my eyes, wondering how Melissa would react when she saw me.

She was always so encouraging and I found that as hard to understand as I ever did. It was the strangest thing I had ever heard of and yet she went along with it gladly; never judging me; playing her part perfectly.

I could understand the benefit she got. It must have been like a dream come true to get to play the part of a rich woman travelling abroad and I had nothing but respect for the way she had taken on that role with gusto, training with an unparalleled passion to get slim; acting out the role of my employer.

Supporting me was another thing entirely. What I was doing was plain mad but she didn’t seem to mind. She encouraged it.

Sometimes she seemed like an unbelievably good friend to support me in this.

Other times I lay awake at night, quaking with anxiety, questioning everything, feeling paranoid and distrusting.

The bus pulled up and I walked the rest of the way to Satine Palace. That hotel too was looking a lot emptier. The woman on reception gave a little sneer as I passed toward the lift. She had seen me visit many times now. I couldn’t imagine who she thought I was.

I rode the elevator up to the penthouse and knocked on Melissa’s door; waited for a full minute; knocked again; waited some more. I was just turning to go when the door opened behind me.

Melissa’s stood there, her eyes twinkling and full of mirth. “Ah, Melissa. Good. Well come in then. Don’t keep me hanging on.”

She stepped back and I entered. There was rather a lot of clutter in her suite: discarded clothes; food and drink containers.

“Give the place a quick tidy would you?” said Melissa, languishing on the sofa. “It’s got a terrible mess and I can’t be bothered to clear up.”

“Yes miss,” I said, hurrying to do it.

She lay stretched out, watching me as I worked, smiling. I felt uncomfortable that she was observing me. I felt scrutinised. It made me tense, sure she would pull me up on some error or clumsiness. The more tense I got, the more I fumbled.

“Do be careful Melissa,” she said, her voice edgy.

“Sorry miss,” I replied quietly, keeping my head down.

It reminded me of the days, back in England when I was still beautiful, when I used to watch her, fantasising about having such a simple job; about being fat and having to wear glasses. She was so much slimmer now than then and what about me?

“Stop,” she said suddenly, that same edge to her tone as was there most of the time.

I did so.

I liked the way she talked down to me.; the role she played as my superior. I hid the smile that tried to compress my lips.

“Let me have a look at you,” she said. “Hold out your arms and turn around.”

I raised my arms as instructed and shuffled around, feeling more than ever how round my trunk was. My tummy and sides bulged outwards, blending into my chunky thighs. My legs were thick, and it didn’t matter that they were still smooth and shapely, they were fat woman’s legs. That couldn’t be denied.

As I’d grown bigger I had bought progressively larger sizes of clothes but the dress I had on now was strained to the limit; uncomfortably tight. I raised my head quickly to look at Melissa and felt a wobble of fat from my chins, the flick of dark hair on my cheeks.

Melissa was grinning broadly. “Oh my God,” she said, clearly delighted, covering her mouth with both hands. “You’re coming on so well sweetheart. It’s almost unbelievable. You must do nothing else but gorge yourself on food. When you aren’t working.” Dimples formed in her cheeks. “How many platefuls do you have at dinner?”

I blushed. “Four. If I can manage.”

“God, really? Four! But small ones though, right? Surely those plates aren’t all piled high.” Her eyes were dancing with delight.

I shrugged. “There’s no limit to how much I‘m allowed,” I said. “And you said I should take advantage of it.”

Melissa giggled. “I certainly did. It’s amazing what you’ve achieved in such a short time.”

“Well it’s almost the end of summer,” I said. “We’re running out of time.”

Melissa became quiet and introspective.

I took the opportunity to look at her and I was just as dazzled as she had been at my weight gain. She must spend all day long in training. She must eat like a bird. She had lost an extraordinary amount; a truly startling loss. And it illustrated how much potential her body had had before she put the weight on in the first place. Had she always been fat as a child? Had she ever realised how nice her body could look?

Her limbs were long and well-toned. Her stomach was becoming compact. I knew she had assisted her weight loss with liposuction, but along with the exercise and the advanced techniques that had clearly been used, she had undergone a magical transformation. She had nice bone structure, oddly similar to my own and again I got the eerie sense that we were like sisters. There were more similarities to our basic faces than there were differences.

But I was conscious that I was staring and at any moment Melissa would remember herself. She might tell me off for loitering.

I decided to get on with the cleaning. That was my comfort zone now. I was so used to it. I think I was happiest when I was down on my knees, scrubbing the floor.

But as I bent down to pick up a discarded wine glass I glanced back at Melissa and saw she was watching me. It made me halt, embarrassed, but I straightened and gave a polite smile. “Sorry Miss Western,” I said. “Would you not like me to go on cleaning round?”

“Yes. Finish doing it,” said Melissa, “but work a bit faster would you. I’m having drinks with a rather dishy man later and I want to have time to look my best.”