Lord Howard Neville had always been, to his mind, a fairly
perfect specimen of manhood. As the Earl of Griply, a wealthy, titled
gentleman, he had possessed all the attributes he could have wished. At fifty
seven years of age, this towering well-built man had crafted a life and persona
for himself that satisfied every aspiration he had. He was over six feet tall
with a proud jutting chin and a stern brow, a thick, silver handlebar moustache
and a bald head. With his irascible egocentric character, he dominated every
situation he found himself in, perfectly secure in his position and his power,
his physicality and, most of all, his masculinity.
But when he opened his eyes from sleep and realised he was
still trapped in the cellar of his home, he remembered again how utterly all
these qualities had been stripped away.
He wasn’t the lord of the manor anymore. He wasn’t even a
man. He was a pitiful wench; a serving girl; the lowly maid-of-all-work. He was
still Nellie Barrow.
He raised his skinny arms and hands up where he could see
them and moaned. There was almost no light coming from the steep and narrow
stair leading up to the house and precious little coming from the tiny windows
at the top of the walls at ground level, dirty and obscured as they were by
foliage. The arms seemed so weak, so unlike the steely limbs he should have
been seeing. The fingers were so tiny.
He felt his body: the thin legs inside the dress (dress!) he
had been forced to wear, the round tummy, the oddly shaped breasts. Touching the
maid uniform he was trapped in made him want to weep but the idea of that was
just as horrifying. He covered his face in his hands and muttered, “Why me? Oh
Lor’, why me?”
But even that chilled him further. He could hear the
difference in the way he talked now. Even his dialect was being stripped from
him. Straight from sleep, without any kind of forethought, his choice of words,
the simpering lower class inflexion: they were those of the common maid he had
been turned into. Gone were his brash, confident tones and hard well-bred consonants
and the weak ignorant sounds stripped him even further of his confidence.
He recalled the terrible events of the previous day: the
humiliation of waking up to find himself transformed into the body of one of
his own housemaids; being forced to act out the part as though he truly
belonged in it despite all his efforts to stand up to the higher servants who
were now his “superiors.” And the worst: finally confronting the imposter who
had taken his place as the Earl and learning just how complete his doppelganger’s
disguise was as he faced the full ire and retribution he would have meted out
himself for such impertinence.
He couldn’t believe that this could have happened to him, with
still no clue as to how. He couldn’t believe that the fake Earl had been so
real. He couldn’t believe the butler, Powell, had made him spend the night down
here in the cellar. But more than anything else, he couldn’t believe that he had
stayed here, trapped and punished like a snivelling simpleton, even though the
door hadn’t been locked. He could have left at any time in the night but he had
been too afraid. He had gone on following their terrible ruling out of fear.
Why hadn’t he left in the night? Why hadn’t he gone back to
at least his maid’s room in the attic? Why hadn’t he gone up to the first floor
and demanded the imposter Earl get out of his bed and give him his life back?
But the answer was obvious.
He was afraid? He wasn’t himself. He wasn’t acting like
himself. All that confidence and surety that he could solve any problem for
himself had been stripped from him. He wasn’t Lord Howard Neville – not at the
moment. He was only Nellie Barrow. And Nellie Barrow couldn’t risk the enmity
of the butler, and most certainly not the Earl. Nellie Barrow wouldn’t dare
confront anyone, let alone a powerful aristocratic man. Nellie Barrow would be too
petrified to go against a direct order to remain in the cellar.
“I’m Nellie Barrow now,” he whimpered forlornly. “I’m Nellie
Barrow and there ain’t two ways about it.”
There was a scrape and a rattle from the top of the cellar
steps. Howard flinched back into the folds of his maid’s uniform, terribly
worried as the door up there opened a crack then pushed open fully. More light
spilled down the tatty wooden steps but he couldn’t see who was there. He was
terrified it would be the fake Earl but instead the voice of the butler came
down, lanced with chill authority.
“Nellie, get yourself up these steps now before I have a
mind to lock you down there for good.”
Howard jerked up to his feet and hastened to follow his
instructions, rushing up the narrow staircase. Powell stood at the apex glaring
down at him and he wilted still further under those merciless eyes.
“Well?” snapped Powell. “What have you got to say for
yourself girl?”
Howard stammered. This was the moment when he could stand up
for himself; try to explain the truth of this magical exchange or at least attempt
to rebuild some of his pride and self confidence. Instead he said, “I’m so
sorry Mr Powell. I done wrong. I shouldn’t’a talked to the Earl. I should have
done as I was told.”
Powell glared coldly and Howard wilted further.
“I’m so sorry sir. I’m sorry. I should have known my place,”
he said, hating himself for saying those things but truly unable to do any
different.
“Have you learned your lesson?” asked Powell.
“Yes sir. Certainly. I have,” stammered Howard, eager to
please him; to be allowed egress from the cold dankness and be given a chance
to remain in Griply Hall long enough to find some way to change back to being
himself,
“Then get upstairs and make yourself presentable,” snapped
Powell, “and be quick about it. There are chores to be done and the family will
be awake soon.”
“Yes sir. Thank you sir,” gushed Howard, rushing past him
and heading for the servant’s staircase. “I’m sorry sir. I won’t let you down.”
But inside his throbbing head, Howard knew he had let
himself down. He was losing track of everything that made him who he was. If he
wasn’t careful he was going to end up living the life of this maid willingly
and subserviently.
