LADY ANN'S FOLLY: Chapter Eight - Part Seven

Hattie didn’t know what time it was but it was very late; late enough that she’d had to pinch herself repeatedly in the soft flesh of her upper arm to keep from falling asleep in the blackened maid’s room at the top of the house.

Lottie was asleep and snoring lightly in the bed beside her. There was no other sound she could detect. She started to move, froze, listened again, then climbed out of the bed.

She stood on the boards, listening acutely. No sound came back to her.

She took the pendant out of its box and held onto it, taking the vial of drug she’d used to taint Lottie’s mug of cocoa with her as well.

She went to the door, opened it a crack; listened again. Nothing. She didn’t bother to get dressed. She stayed in the nightie she’d found waiting for her after the evening’s chores were complete.

Now she was excited at last. There was nobody awake in the whole house and creeping along the top corridor, heading for the stairs, everything seemed possible. Her eyes were well accustomed to the dark but it was very, very black. She didn’t mind. She could guide her way down using the walls.

There was no thought of doubts anymore. She’d had more than enough time waiting for the house to quiet to go over it a thousand times. She’d come this far. She wasn’t going to turn back.

On the first floor landing she paused to listen then padded barefoot toward the front of the house. At the door to her parents’ room she listened again. Her father’s trumpeting snore was clearly audible and nothing else. Hattie opened the door a crack, peeped into the gloom, then slipped inside, closing it behind her.

It was very dark but she could tell both parents were asleep, and deeply. Even if it weren’t for the drug, her mother had to be almost deaf to sleep through the grinding noise coming from her husband’s throat.

With her heart beating almost audibly inside her, Hattie held her breath and turned on the electric light, filling the room with dim illumination that nevertheless dazzled her. Neither figure in the four poster bed stirred.

Hattie crept closer to examine them, fearful but growing in confidence that they would not wake no matter what she did. The drug wouldn’t affect them past morning but it had pitched them into a sleep that was deep enough that an earthquake wouldn’t have woken them.

Her mother was on the far side of the bed, lying on her side facing away. She was a very large woman and made a great mound of the covers. Her hair was wound intricately round her curlers but no flesh was visible above the blankets.

The Earl lay on his back with his immaculate pressed pyjamas visible covering arms that lay straight on top of the covers. His balding head lay in perfect repose, aquiline nose pointing upwards, bushy handlebar moustache matching his silver hair.

Hattie gazed steadily at him, flicking her eyes from one subtle feature to the next, trying to imagine herself behind that face, looking out through those eyes. She got a quiver of a chill in between her shoulder blades but shivered it off, then she giggled, covering her mouth to dull the sound. Becoming her father was just a side-effect of her scheme. She had no particular interest in being a man (though it would be interesting). This was all about turning him into a pitiful homely lady’s maid. Everything had led to the that and now it was about to happen. She couldn’t stop grinning.

Obviously she hadn’t been foolish enough to get the maid to swap with her father directly. The three-way trade had been necessary to place her in a position of sufficient authority to maintain rigid control over everything. The earl had too much power to trust to anyone else and the way she was planning to do it was too perfect. If everything went according to plan he would never know that it was she that was responsible, even after he regained his true form in a day or so.

Hattie giggled again then swallowed in concern as she raised the pendant box and unlocked it. She put the box down on the bedside table and looked one last time at her father’s sleeping face. He snorted then reduced his snores to a light buzzing.

Did she really want this? Was it worth it?

She wouldn’t be a woman anymore. She wouldn’t be a lady.

She could go back to her room now, wake the maid and make the exchange. It wasn’t too late. She could be Harriet again. She didn’t want to be a middle-aged man – she really didn’t – but it was too good a trick to play to pull out now. It was worth putting on the disguise of being her father for a couple of days. And surely that would be a fabulous experience in and of itself. It might have only been a side-effect but it was going to be a riot to strut about the house as the all-important Earl, shouting orders left, right and centre. As Hattie she had a kind of respect, at least from the servants, but not really from her own family. As the youngest daughter she was looked down on by practically everybody who mattered.

Uncle Patrick and Aunt Geraldine were still staying. It was going to be hilarious to talk to them on equal terms for a change.

Yes. It was time to do it. It was going to be amazing.

Hattie took the pendant out of its box, feeling a sudden queer feeling rush through her. She frowned, wondering what it was, but she felt no different. She had no conception that it was a milder form of the blinding flash both Ann and Burt had felt when they touched the pendant again, sealing their swap in place. In her new body for so much shorter a time, the effect of locking the change was insignificant. She disregarded the sensation right away and stood closer to the bed.

Her father, the Earl, was sleeping peacefully. He had no idea what was about to happen to him.

Hattie giggled to herself once more than pressed the pendant to the back of her father’s hand and waited for the transformations to begin.