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.