LADY ANN'S FOLLY: Chapter Twelve - Part Eight

Elizabeth had lived a pampered life as a woman. She had come from titled stock and a wealthy home, a rather plump but attractive girl who netted the dashing Howard Neville when she was still only nineteen.

They had been married the following spring and her life as a married woman had begun. She had loved her husband deeply, despite his bluster, and had given herself entirely to his care and the management of his home here at Griply Hall.

She had given him the children he wanted and quietly grown older and fatter here in Yorkshire, becoming more and more comfortable in her wealthy position as Countess, mother and wife. She had been always content and occasionally even happy and she had looked forward to a long life of comfortable leisure ahead of her.

Which was why she was finding it impossible to be trapped in the body of a four year old child – and a boy no less!

Elizabeth had slept through nightmares in her time and this day had all the qualities of them, from the lack of control and the sense of impending doom, to the surreality of it. Her every sensation was different to the proper order of things, from the crispness of her untainted vision to the lack of body mass, the diminution of height, and worst: the drop in status.

Sitting at the dining table was the worst part yet, demoted to the position of an afterthought; an inconvenient minor with no rights of conversation or decision; a shadow who must remain silent and composed lest the wrath of an angry parent be tossed in her direction.

She sat there between Geraldine and her newly minted sister, Felicity, ears red with dormant rage, glaring at the imposter in her body at the end of the table.

Reggie, in her body, was being implausibly successful at taking her place and that angered and frustrated her. How could she expect anyone to believe she was who she said she was if he didn’t prove himself a fraud through his actions and speech.

He was keeping quiet but when he did speak he showed no signs of his characteristic lisp. This petrified Elizabeth because if his language skills had improved then perhaps hers would, by contrast, atrophy. At any moment she might begin speaking with the lisp he had lost and she didn’t think she could bear that.

It irritated her that her husband had, as yet, done nothing to aid her in her predicament. Quite the opposite, he had remained aloof. She still couldn’t believe his lack of support when she had been struck by Patrick: the most painful and humiliating experience of her life. Even now Howard was avoiding her gaze, chewing his steak noisily as he always did and slurping his wine.

Her anger was bubbling. When was he planning to do something about this? It was almost night time. Did he mean for her to stay like this overnight? And where would she sleep? Her place was by his side in their own bedroom. She couldn’t possibly sleep in the children’s room!

And that idiot child was sitting there in her body and nobody was noticing! She couldn’t stand it anymore! She couldn’t sit here for one more minute!

“Enough!” she cried and everyone around the table went silent, looking at her in astonishment. Elizabeth glared round at them. “Listen to me,” she said. “I am sick and tired of being treated like a child and disbelieved! I have explained the fact of my true identity already and still no one is paying my predicament the attention it deserves.” She held up her hands. “Patrick, I appreciate how hard it is to believe – I would have found it hard too – and I am sure you want nothing more than to punish me now as the child I appear to be. Please though, if you will only listen, you will understand that I am not your son Reggie. I am Elizabeth. I am the Countess. If it isn’t obvious from my choice of words then you need only interrogate the imposter.” She pointed down the table. “That is your son Reggie, there in my body. She is not a woman. She is a little boy.”

Everyone looked down the table at the woman who appeared to be Elizabeth Neville, then they all looked back at her. Reggie, in her body, said nothing to confirm or deny it.

“Speak Reggie!” cried Elizabeth. “Tell you mother and father the truth: that you and I have exchanged physical personas!”

He said nothing at all at first, then slowly he said, with perfect enunciation, “Reggie dear, you’re taking this little joke too far.”

Elizabeth stared at him in disbelief. How could that child be able to mimic her voice so well? How could this be?

“Howard,” she said, looking to her husband. “Tell them now what happened. I know you were unsure how to address it at first but this charade can’t go on. I can’t stand pretending anymore. Explain to everyone who I really am.”

Howard looked passively back at her, then he started to speak and the horror of the situation crept higher and higher. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about boy and frankly I’ve had enough of your impertinence. I know my own wife and she is sitting at the other end of the table.” He pointed. “This fantasy of yours is ridiculous; any fool could see that. There’s no such thing as magic and certainly no way that your aunt and you could have exchanged places.”

Elizabeth stared, her mouth hanging fully open.

Her husband’s expression was entirely closed. He showed absolutely no sign that he was even faking it and she could think of no conceivable reason why he would.

How could he do this to her?

How could he trap her like this?

Nobody was believing her. Nobody was supporting her. She really was trapped this way.

And Patrick was bubbling with rage now, his round face red, his fists white on the tabletop.

The blood drained from Elizabeth’s cheeks to look at him. “Please,” she whimpered. “I’m telling the truth. I really am the Countesh.”

And as she said it she heard the lisp enter her voice. She heard it for the damning evidence it was.

And she knew that there was no hope now.

She might never get back to her real life. And she was about to be punished as brutally and as inescapably as any naughty child.