LADY ANN'S FOLLY: Chapter Eleven - Part Nine

When the coach pulled back up outside Griply Hall, Hattie climbed down without waiting for the coachman to open the side panel door feeling rather frustrated but gratified at least that she didn’t have to climb daintily down clutching at a long skirt. Her new manly body enabled her to spring down without difficulty and stride toward the house quickly. She looked back at the coach, where Reggie, in her mother’s body, was struggling to get out, and snapped, “Do hurry up, for Goodness’ sake!”

She unlocked the front door, pausing briefly when she caught her reflection in the glass as she waited for Reggie to catch up. It was still something of a shock to see her father’s regal face staring back at her – the bushy brow, the shiny pate, the thick moustache; not to mention his stature and solid build – but it was no longer a surprise. She was used enough now to the idea that she had become him to somewhat expect it.

But she hadn’t become him of course; not as such.

Yes, she wore his face and clothes – she was living in his body. Yes, she had taken on his posture and way of walking – she could talk almost exactly like he did. But she didn’t think of herself as Howard Neville. She didn’t have his memories or his business acumen. She still thought of herself; essentially; as female.

Still, she was aware of the way that could change over time; was aware of the limit she had given herself to remain this way.

Though on the other hand, she was enjoying being her father far more than she had thought she would. It was almost a shame she couldn’t put off changing back until she had taken on more of his traits. That would be a fascinating experiment.

Fortunately... or unfortunately...  she wasn’t as foolish as her sister. That wasn’t going to happen. She would be back in her own body before too long.

Hattie went into the house snapping “Pick your feet up for God’s sake,” back at Reggie.

Reggie hurried across to the foot of the manor steps after her, hating the fact that he was in trouble with his Uncle Howard.

When his uncle had first approached him that morning he had felt very proud to be given an important job by this imperious man who never normally wasted his time on him. Then when he and his Aunt Elizabeth has swapped places he had thought it an hilarious diversion. It had been funny to see her punished in his stead and even funnier to go to the picnic and pretend he really was the Countess, but here he was in trouble again. It seemed as though he was always in trouble for something. He was so tired of that.

But also , fun though it had been to become a grown-up, he was tiring of it quickly. It was no fun pretending to be someone else if you couldn’t pull off the mask and amaze everyone with how well you’d tricked them. And he missed his mummy and sister. He didn’t like it when the Earl snapped at him and he wanted a cuddle.

As Hattie had done before him, Reggie paused at the doorway to look at his reflection.

His vision wasn’t as good as it had been as a boy but he could still clearly look into his womanly face; see the fear in his eyes, the worry on his brow. He had never liked girls and now he was one. Now that he wasn’t excited by the newness anymore he just didn’t like it. He was so fat and so old and the big, squashy breasts on his chest made him feel uncomfortable. The dress was silly. It made him look even more like a girl than he already did. He hated it. And it was so big and uncomfortable. His whole body was big and uncomfortable, bulging in the rear and the legs and the arms.

But most of all he hated the fact that he wasn’t allowed to play anymore. That wasn’t fair. It was Uncle Howard that had wanted him to change like this. Why should he not be allowed to play now?

Uncle Howard popped his head out of the library doorway and hissed, “Reggie! Come here now or you’ll feel the back of my hand!”

He hurried to comply, bustling through the hall and following the tall gentleman into the room.

The library was always a quiet place, it’s tall walls filled with books on every side. There were comfortable chairs and a chaise longue for family members to read on and a large desk. Uncle Howard was at the desk, his hands behind his back, chin raised imperiously, glaring down the length of his big, hooked nose. “Sit,” he barked, pointing with his open hand to the leather studded desk chair.

Head hanging, Reggie did as he was told, afraid to talk back to the overbearing man. The Earl had always been a tyrannical man and there was nothing in his demeanour now to suggest that he was any different from the man he had always been.

Reggie sat and looked up at him.

“What is your name?” asked the Earl.

“R-Reggie,” he said.

“No!” The Earl slapped his big hand down on the desk with a mighty crack. “For now you are my mo— my wife, Elizabeth Neville. Say it.”

Reggie felt like crying. He pouted, eyes trembling as he looked up at his uncle.

The Earl lowered his voice but there was still menace in it. “Say it. Please.”

“I’m, uh... I’m Elizabeth Neville,” said Reggie and immediately he felt better; more relaxed.

The Earl smiled, the scored lines from nose to mouth framing his moustache. “Again.”

“But I don’t want to be Aunt Elizabeth,” whined Reggie. “Can’t I shwap back now please Uncle Howard?”

“No. Not until I say so!” he snapped.

Reggie’s pout got bigger.

“Now say it again,” said Uncle Howard. “In fact, better yet, here.” He reached for pen and ink. “You acted deplorably at the picnic. You embarrassed me and you embarrassed yourself. You’re going to stay like you are until I say different and from now on, if you don’t do your best to act the part then I will give you a hundred lines. Is that clear?”

“Yesh Uncle Howard,” replied Reggie forlornly.

“Take this pen,” said the Earl, “and write one hundred times, My name is Countess Elizabeth Neville and I am the wife of Howard Neville.”

“But I can’t write very well Uncle Howard. Not much more than my own name really.”

“For God’s sake woman, at least try!” shouted the Earl, and, cowed, Reggie took up the pen and tried to write what he was told, mouthing out the words as he wrote them.

“My name is Countesh Elizabeth Neville and I am the wife of Howard Neville.”

He was amazed to see that he was able to complete the whole sentence. The handwriting was still about as bad as it ever was but at least he had managed it. He couldn’t understand how really. There had been several words there that he had never attempted to write.

“Good,” said the Earl. “Again.”

“My name is Countesh Elizabeth Neville and I am the wife of Howard Neville.”

He let out a deep sigh, suddenly feeling rather better and not resenting the task quite as much. Uncle Howard stepped back, though still watched, and he went on writing the sentence out.

Over and over he wrote it, whispering the words to himself as he did so, and the strangest sense of peace and tranquillity came over him. At first he had hated admitting that he was stuck as his aunt for now but as he went on that didn’t seem to matter as much. He just felt more and more relaxed and happy. And the relaxation had a positive effect on his state of mind. He found that his lisp was getting less pronounced as he went on. Soon he was saying the sentence quite clearly.

Hattie watched this process go on. As an observer it was even clearer to her that something odd was happening as the former child went on writing out the lines. His handwriting was clearly improving. Line by line it was getting better and better. By the time he reached the bottom of the sheet and started the next one it was hard to tell from the words that they hadn’t been written by an educated adult. Moreover, there was a definitely feminine slant to the letters that was becoming more and more familiar the further down it went.

Reggie’s posture was shifting too as he continued, becoming more erect, less of a slumping childish pose. Hattie shook her head, amazed at it.

When Reggie finished the last line his handwriting was indistinguishable from that of Hattie’s real mother. It was incredible. He spoke these words as he had the others but he did it louder and as with the written words it came out crisp and clear, just as the real Countess might have said it. “My name is Countess Elizabeth Neville and I am the wife of Howard Neville.” There was no trace of the boy’s characteristic lisp.

“There Howard,” said Reggie, turning to face her. “Are you satisfied now?”

And Hattie had to nod. The change that had come over Reggie was amazing and she couldn’t help but ask herself how such an activity might affect her.

What if she were to sit down and do the same; write, My name is Lord Howard Neville. I am the husband of Elizabeth Neville?

It beggared the imagination to think.