Feeling at Home

1

Ann gasped as she was knocked from a deep sleep by a bucket of water being thrown in her face.

She floundered about on her straw mattress, gasping and spluttering as she tried to catch her breath. It was freezing and horrible and half of it had gone down her throat. She’d never been woken up in such an awful way in her life!

Harry, the groundkeeper, was standing over where she lay, laughing at the way she spluttered.

“What the chuffing ‘eck is goin’ on?” groaned Ann. “I was fast asleep.” This time she didn’t even notice that her clodhopper accent was perfect.

“That’s for talking back to me yesterday Burt,” said Harry. “And you deserve more like a good whipping so you’d best be glad of it.”

“Eh?”

“Now get your bony ass out of that bed and get downstairs and muck out those ‘orses!”

Ann didn’t move straight away, trying to clear her muggy hangover so Harry put his boot against her shoulder and knocked her off the mattress.

“Come on bucko! Up you get! There’s work to be done and shit needing shoveling!”

“But I’m on ‘oliday,” said Ann. ”I’s got a note from ‘er ladyship.”

“That was before you stole her ‘orse and took it out for a joyride! I might not be able to go against her note to put you back to work for the fortnight but I can sure as hellfire punish you for doing that!”

Ann gaped up at the burly older man in horror. “But my note…”

“Don’t mean nothing if I says so! Now get up!”

Ann got to her feet. “I ain’t doing nothing,” she snapped back, “and you can’t make me as long as I’ve got my note from Lady Ann.”

“Oh I can’t, can I?” Harry grinned, rolling up his sleeves. “Well I can go and talk to his lordship, the earl, can’t I?”

Ann blanched.

“How would you feel if the earl knew you’d taken one of his horses out without a by your leave, eh? I think you might find a note written by that stuck up daughter of his’d get you exactly nowhere.”

“You wouldn’t,” said Ann.

“Oh I would Burt me bucko! I’d do that quicker than you could say Jack Robinson.” He grinned, folding his arms. “The earl’d be down ‘ere in less than a minute to clap you in irons and pack you off to jail. Or worse!”

“No!” said Ann, truly terrified of that happening. “I’m sorry. I’ll do it. Just don’t tell the earl please!”

Harry chuckled. “Come on then boyo. There’s a right big pile of shit waiting for you. I want it sacked up for compost in ‘arf an hour!”

2

Burt dressed in yet another new outfit of elegant clothes while Gladys obsequiously helped, then applied his own make-up, for the first time without any help.

He looked at himself in the mirror, really allowing himself to take in what he was seeing: the woman’s hair, eyes, skin, lips, cheeks, earrings, neck, arms, shoulders, breasts, clothes.

He gave himself a little smile then recalled what he had done the night before and said, “I’m Lady Ann Neville. I was born into the upper class and have been brought up to be a well bred and well spoken young woman. I am refined and intelligent and I plan to spend the day with my grandmamma. First we shall go to church, then the two of us have a luncheon engagement. Later we might return home to enjoy dinner and a quiet evening.”

He continued to smile at himself then quietly got up and went down to breakfast.

3

Ann filled shovel after shovel with horse shit, tipping it into the top of an open sack.

While she did it she grumbled to herself but not loudly enough so that Harry could hear. She daren’t risk him calling her father down to deal with her. It was one thing for Lady Ann to give a stable boy the fortnight off. It was another thing entirely for the earl himself to get involved.

He was an incredibly strict taskmaster. If he heard of her stealing a horse then the absolute best that could happen to her would be an ending of her holiday and a fortnight spent tending the horses and doing manual labour around the estate. Far more likely was that she would get a whipping or be locked in the stocks overnight. Elsewhere in the country the stocks were barely used anymore but she knew how much her father liked them and she couldn’t think of a fate worse than being the subject of his wrath while she was in this body.

He might throw her out into the cold without a place to stay or even have the police cart her off to prison. It was impossible to predict how the old toff might react.

Which was why she was shoveling horse shit up off the stable floor. Again. And saying nothing about it.

The day before she’d been telling herself she really was Burt and having a lot of fun as a result. But this was other side of that. As long as she was Burt she couldn’t just take out her ladyship’s— She couldn’t just take her horse out whenever she pleased. Because there were consequences for the likes of her.

For the likes of her.

Ann reflected on that, pausing with a spade full of dung.

Although she’d enjoyed pretending, was she really one of the lower orders now? Was she really nothing more than a servant; a manual labourer?

She shook her head. No. She still had her mind. She was Burt in looks and voice but she was still Lady Ann on the inside in all the ways that mattered.

Unfortunately, being Burt on the outside right now meant that she had to pay the price for what she’d done…

“Burt!”

She jerked round. Harry was in the stable doorway with his fists on his hips. “Stop dawdling you stupid great wazzock and get back to work!”

Ann rushed, trying to put the horse shit into the open sack but the top kept flopping over. In the end she had to hold it open with one hand while tipping the dung in with the other. She tried not to get the dung on her but it was almost impossible. In the end she stopped caring, just shoveling away, not worrying if the crap got on her hand. She could wash later.

Finally she got the sack full and hefted it up against her chest. Holding it there she walked round to the back of the stable where the sacks of dung were stored.

But half way round she tripped on a rock and stumbled forward. The sack split and all the horse dung smeared down her shirt and down her trousers.

“Oh for chuff’s sake!” cried Ann.

But Harry just laughed at her. “Go and get the shovel,” he said, “and start over from scratch you clumsy idiot!”

4

Burt sat demurely beside his new grandmamma in church, listening intently to the sermon.

He had always been God fearing and it made him comfortable to be here in these surroundings – even if they were far posher than he was used to. St Paul’s Cathedral was a step up from Griply chapel and no mistake.

It was funny to be here in church in the body of a gentile lady, all dressed up in her Sunday best; a lady of the manor and heiress to a Yorkshire estate.

All his life, Burt had attended church services where the vicar waxed on about the gap between the classes. He’d been told a thousand times about God’s intentions when it came to the upper and lower classes.

The basic principle was this:

The upper classes had been chosen, by God, to be in charge. They were physically and mentally superior and had that God-given right to rule.

The lower orders, by contrast, were inferior to their betters. It was their place to work from dawn til dusk to get things done while the quality watched over them and kept them safe. The lower classes couldn’t manage without the upper classes. The lower classes were less important and generally less human than were the upper classes.

Which brought some interesting thoughts to mind.

Because of course, Burt now was part of the upper class. He was in the body of an upper class woman. He was Lady Ann now. So surely that meant that he had joined that ruling class, even though it was temporary. For the next two weeks he was one of them – one of the elite.

And by extension, his darling Ann, her ladyship… she was one of the lower orders. If he had become Ann then she must have become Burt. He was upper class and she was lower class.

He went on musing while the bible reading began.

That meant then, surely, that she was… inferior to him at the moment. He had become one of the God chosen rulers. She had become one of the ruled – one of the workers.

It was funny to think of her that way – and these were only harmless ruminations; but still… The image of his Lady Ann looking like a common stable boy was rather amusing. Burt pictured her, accurately as it turned out, shoveling horse dung up off the floor dressed in his tatty old clothes and giggled to himself, covering his mouth with a silk handkerchief.

It was so funny to think of her as a lower class working man!

5

Ann lifted her dirty trousers in front of her in the hayloft and sighed at how filthy they were.

The sodden horse manure had left stains all down the front of the thighs and onto the lower legs. And that was just the trousers. Her arms were dirty too and her hands and fingers were ingrained with it.

It occurred to her that she was standing with bare hairy legs and buttocks, her penis flopping in the breeze, thinking how to go about doing her own laundry.

“It caps owt, this does,” she said. “Only a man’d stand ‘ere three sheets to the wind, his todger hangin’ out an’ covered in shite.”

She found an old bit of rag that wasn’t much cleaner than her trousers and wet it with water from the kettle, then she dabbed at the shit on her trousers, doing as much to rub it in as to wipe it off. She did the same to her shirt, swiping half-heartedly at it with her nose crinkled. It was barely done properly but it’d have to do. She didn’t have all day to waste and she was getting cold sitting there in her birthday suit.

She sniffed her fingers and winced at the stink, eyeing the horseshit trapped under her fingernails. Really she needed a bath; her and her clothes, but after the debacle the morning before that was the last thing she wanted to waste time doing.

She settled in the end for using the dirty cloth to wipe her hands with, then she put her clothes back on and threw the cloth down on her bedspread, absently chewing her fingernail.

6

After church, Burt and the duchess had lunch with a pair of very dull old ladies.

The conversation was dreary but it gave Burt the opportunity to test his skills at emulating Lady Ann in public. It was feeling a little less strange being a woman in front of other people now. He guessed he was getting used to it. Telling himself he was really Ann had helped immensely. He made a note to keep doing it regularly.

Despite feeling more at ease in his body and in polite company, Burt was still feeling increasingly skittish for some other reason he couldn’t put his finger on. Then Grandmamma hit the nail on the head.

“Oh do stop fidgeting Ann. If you want a cigarette then just take one. You’ve been eyeing mine for long enough now.”

Surprised, Burt took one of the offered cigarettes. He had never smoked in his life but he did remember now seeing her ladyship partake of it from time to time. He supposed that as he had her body now he had her likes and dislikes as well – her cravings and her addictions.

He placed the long feminine cigarette between his lips and accepted the light offered by Grandmamma’s manservant, drawing in a long breath and immediately feeling a relief of the tension he had been feeling.

He held the cigarette between two long slim fingers and blew out the smoke in a stream before taking another satisfying drag.

“Is that what the doctor ordered Ann dear?” asked the duchess.

“Indeed it is Grandmamma,” replied Burt. “This is precisely what I needed. Thank you so very much.”

7

Ann was not happy as she stomped her way down to the village.

She’d had a simply awful morning so far, what with being woken up by a pail of water, shoveling horse shite and then having to clean her own clothes. She was sick of hanging around the hall and being treated like a servant – even when she had the time off and the money to be something better!

And she was sick of having to walk to the village too! She didn’t see why she couldn’t take the coach or one of the horses down there. She was the earl’s daughter, whatever she might look like!

It crossed her mind to tell everyone that was who she was even, so that they’d start giving her the respect she deserved. But of course no one would believe her – especially without Burt in her body to corroborate it. Maybe she should have done that in the first place: explained what she was doing to her family and staff and then sent Burt off in her body while she lounged round the manor as a man, accepted by all in her rightful role while also being able to get up to mannish activities.

Except that would never have worked out. She knew that. She couldn’t tell anyone about the amulet for fear that they would steal it. And how awful would that be – being stuck as Burt for the rest of her life!?

No. She just had to find a way to go back to enjoying herself and she already had the perfect plan.

It had been niggling away at her that she’d missed out on the shopping trip to York with her mother and sister, but there was no reason she couldn’t go on her own! She had more than enough money to pay for the train and for food and lodgings when she was there.

She stopped at the Dog & Pony on the way to the railway station to let Mavis know she was going.

She wasn’t around and neither was her father but the strumpet’s brothers were leaning on the bar, wasting the day away.

“Ow do,” said Ann. “Is Mavis in?”

“No one is,” replied Eddie, the eldest.

“Right. Well do us a favour and give ‘er a message willya.”

Eddie sneered. “Write her a note. I ain’t your social secretary.” His brother, Will, chuckled. “There’s pencil and paper over there. Help yerself.”

Grumbling to herself, Ann took up the stationery and started to write.

 

Deer

She wracked her brains for a minute then said, “Do you know ‘ow to spell Mavis?”

The brothers blanked her entirely, not even responding but smiling a little at their own unhelpfulness.

Deer Mayvic

… wrote Ann…

I iss gowin two yawke this afterrn today.

She frowned, becoming increasingly frustrated by her inability to write properly. If anything it seemed even more difficult now than it had been before.

I weel de bak twomor tooumorr Mundee.

She scrabbled up the note in anger and threw it on the floor then relented and picked it back up, smoothing it out. It would have to do.

She signed it:

Burt

… and set off for the station.

But when she got there she found she had a three hour wait because it was Sunday service.

When the train finally turned up Ann was in a foul mood. This got even worse when she was pointed in the direction of third class.

“But I c’n pay for first class!” she whined.

“First class isn’t for labourers and thugs,” said the train guard. “You’re going to have to sit back there with the rest of the rabble.”

“No,” said Ann. “I’s got the money! I should ruddy well be able to sit where I like!”

“Is there a problem here?”

A tall man in a suit and coat had just appeared with dark hair and a moustache. He was well dressed and obviously one of the quality and was gripping a cane as though he might at any moment strike her with it.

“No problem,” said the guard. “This… person is refusing to use the third class carriage.”

“Oh is he now?” asked the man and Ann suddenly recognized him.

“Ere, I know you don’t I?” she said.

“What?”

“Aye. That’s right. You’ve been up at Griply seein’ me… Seein me ladyship, Ann… as a suitor.”

“That’s right,” said the man, who Ann remembered now was called Richard. He’d been a bit too smarmy for her but he was very rich and a great sportsman; a boxing champion as she recalled. She suddenly felt very embarrassed standing here in front of him dressed as a working class yob.

“Look,” said Richard. “What’s your name?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say ‘Ann,’ but she managed to restrain herself. Instead, feeling humiliated she said “Burt” instead.

“And what do you do Burt?”

“I…” She didn’t want to say it. Saying it to herself was one thing. Admitting it to a man she knew, who had previously been pursuing her hand in marriage, was something far far worse. “I work up at the ‘all; mucking out the stables and such. Shovelling shite; carryin’ stuff; that sort of thing.”

“So you’re a manual labourer? Is that so?”

Ann cleared her throat. “Aye. I suppose.”

“Well Burt,” said Richard crisply, “Have you ever heard of a manual labourer whose job description is shite shoveller sitting at the front of the train in first class?”

Feeling cowed, Ann shook her head.

“Wouldn’t you say that that kind of man would be better suited to sitting in third class?”

“But I got money to pay—!”

“Look I’m sorry my good man,” said Richard, stepping closer so that he was face to face and eye to eye with her, his expression hardening. “I don’t think you understand. I’ve tried appealing to your better nature as a gentleman but now I see that you clearly don’t have any breeding at all.”

Ann flushed with embarrassment as every passerby on the station platform stopped to listen in.

“If you don’t go and get into third class where you belong then I’ll give you a bloody good thrashing,” snapped Richard, brandishing his cane threateningly. “Is that clear?”

Ann nodded, unable to reply because her throat had tightened up.

“I said is that clear?”

“Yes,” said Ann.

“Yes what, you ignorant oaf!”

“Yes… sir.”

Richard glared at her. “Well go on then boy. Be off with you!”

She turned to go, feeling utterly humiliated and he gave her a sharp crack on the buttocks to speed her up. Everyone on the platform laughed. The men and women in the train windows laughed and so did Richard and the guard.

With her eyes hot and her face steaming, Ann struggled into the crowded third class carriage, squeezing into a grossly overcrowded bench seat between some squealing urchins and some other men.

All of them were smirking at the dressing down that Richard had given her and she hunkered into her seat, glaring angrily at the shoes of the man opposite.

8

Burt had really taken to smoking, and as another activity that Lady Ann had done before and he hadn’t, it made him feel even more feminine while he was doing it.

He stood at the back door of the duchess’s house, enjoying the sunshine on his face and having yet another day of luxurious living without having to work. Since he’d been a lad he’d always had to work most every day of the week – even Sundays. Now, as Lady Ann, his entire life involved simply lounging about and doing nothing more than chat.

Yes, his new grandmamma drilled him every chance she got with better practice on being a lady but he still enjoyed that to some extent. And it certainly beat mucking out the horses!

There was a stable hand here, working in the yard, oiling the leather of the saddles, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Burt watched him working for a while as he enjoyed his cigarette then sauntered over.

“Afternoon,” he said.

“Oh. Sorry m’lady,” said the stable hand. “I didn’t see you there.”

“No matter. I was just seeing what you was doing.” Burt’s voice had slipped naturally back into his Yorkshire accent but he didn’t particularly notice.

“Just oiling these down,” said the stable hand. “It’s not too bad. Should be finished soon.”

“People don’t appreciate how much ‘ard work it is what you do, I bet,” said Burt.

The stable hand looked at him oddly. “No. They don’t at that.”

“You should get more thanks,” said Burt. “You’re doing a grand job out ‘ere.”

“Er, thank you m’lady. And if I might say ma’am, it’s nice to meet a member of the upper classes who isn’t so… so stuck up as some of them round here.”

Burt froze, feeling suddenly bad, like he’d let himself down.

He’d been standing here talking with this stable hand like he was still just like him. And he’d been talking broad Yorkshire at the same time – doing the opposite of what he was meant to.

He’d let himself down and he’d let grandmamma down. Worst of all he’d let Lady Ann herself down.

“I have to go,” he murmured and hurried back inside.

9

By the time she reached the city of York, Ann was feeling a whole lot better.

It was great to be able to walk the familiar streets looking up at the beautiful old buildings. She let herself drift, enjoying the freedom of being able to explore the big city as she pleased without fear, eventually working her way through to the Shambles, the famous narrow shopping streets with their quaint timbre framed buildings.

It was here that she usually came to buy pretty dresses designed by the best seamstresses in the north. Looking down at her muscular body and grubby clothes she couldn’t help chuckling at how inappropriate it would be now to go in for a fitting.

Feeling slightly disappointed she walked on, gravitating toward the theatre district. There was a delightful restaurant there that she went to on every trip to the city with her family before taking in a play. Indeed, as she approached, she spied her mother and sister already inside, seated at their usual table, chattering happily while drinking from china teacups.

She felt a little left out that she couldn’t join them, but she could imagine their reaction if “Burt the stable hand” strolled in and took a seat beside them stinking of horse shit. Still, that didn’t stop her going in and having a nice meal.

What did stop her was the doorman: an overdressed bloke in top hat and tails who sneered menacingly when she tried to walk past him. “We don’t want any trouble friend,” he said.

Ann considered giving him some anyway but she caught another look at her mother through the glass. The last thing she wanted was for the duchess to see her shouting at, or brawling with, this idiot just to get into a restaurant. She would die of shame if that happened.

Instead she scowled and shoved her hands in her pockets, walking off.

When she got to the theatre it was the same story as it had been on the train. They didn’t care how much money she had. She wasn’t allowed to sit on the posh seats she was used to. She had to join the rabble in the stalls where they were crammed in on bare wooden benches, far further away from the stage than she’d ever sat. The uncouth peasants just chattered and shouted anyway. She didn’t know why they were even there. To cap it all she saw her mother and sister take box seats as the play started.

She tried to ignore the racket from the heathens around her. The play was Shakespeare, which she’d always loved. But whether it was the shuffling around her, the discomfort of the seats, or the low quality of the performance, Ann found this particular production tedious.

“There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,” said one of the actors, “than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

“Ye don’t know the half of it and then some,” muttered Ann.

As the first act went on she found it slow and boring, the dialogue over wordy and hard to follow. In the end, bored and frustrated, she got up and left.

What did she care anyway? She hadn’t been that bothered to see it. The toffs could keep their dull ruddy plays to themselves!

10

In London, as he prepared for another good night’s sleep between silk sheets, Burt looked at himself in the mirror once more, saying the words, “I’m Lady Ann Neville. I’m a cultured and intelligent young woman – an upper class lady and daughter of the earl Neville.”

He’d been doing this whenever he got the chance and had found that it made it much easier to slip into his temporary role. The trouble was that he kept contradicting himself in his mind; part of himself reminding him that he was really Burt. That was the problem. It was all well and good telling himself he was Ann but he still felt connected to his life as a man.

Still feeling guilty for how he’d talked with the stable hand and knowing he had to do well for fear of letting his darling Ann down, Burt tried a different tack to cement that side of things and distance himself from the Burt persona.

“I’m not Burt and I never have been,” he said. “He’s just a big oafish labourer who doesn’t deserve to even look at me. He’s a pathetic commoner who’s plainly besotted with me. Like that would ever happen. I’d sooner marry a monkey than get close enough to that smelly man to let him kiss me.”

He felt guilty saying these things but they really helped him to blot out the lingering clumsiness of action and voice that had come from his old life. Each time he said it he found his accent becoming more in line with Lady Ann’s and less like idiotic bumpkin talk. He went through his reaffirmation several more times before going to sleep, reminding himself not only that he was Lady Ann, but that Burt Harper was someone entirely different – someone who deserved nothing but scorn and disgust.

11

After starting to hate the looks of scorn she got from the stuck up toffs in that end of town, Ann ended up walking until she saw more men dressed like she was. The buildings were shabbier, the streets dirtier, but she found herself feeling more at home without the withering stares. The men here didn’t disrespect her. If anything she got friendly nods and the odd leering smile from the women.

These weren’t snobs like those snooty toffee-nosed prigs she’d seen at the restaurant and in the posh end of town. These were just good honest working men you could trust – salt of the earth blokes who’d never do you harm.

There was some right lively tunes coming from a sleazy looking music hall on the corner and Ann went inside, buying herself a beer and taking a seat near the front.

The show was bloody hilarious – really bawdy like – with some rib-tickling comic sketches and silly dance routines. Every so often they broke it up with a song. It was nothing like that pretentious crap at the big theatre. These were songs you could sing along with and feel like you were joining in!

At the interval, Ann had another couple of pints and bought a round or two in for the blokes she got chatting to at the bar. They had a right laugh joking about what kind of knickers the leading lady was wearing and what it’d be like depriving them of her!

Then it was back in for the second half and more hilarity. Ann was three sheets to the wind by this time and laughed louder than anyone else in the hall, throwing her head back and applauding. She had a whale of a time!

Afterwards she went for more drinks at the pub across the road, chatting to the cast of the show and buying jars for all. That made her very popular and several of the lady dancers flirted with her.

After an hour or so, when she was really getting off her head, she managed to persuade one of the dancers to go out back with her. She was a skinny little thing dressed in little more than a sheath of glitzy fabric and Ann felt a pounding in her crotch to have her way with the girl.

With the girl snorting and giggling piggishly, Ann pushed her into the outside toilet and made her bend over, her hands on the opposite wall, the toilet bowl beneath her. Ann undid her trousers, letting them fall down round her ankles again and grunted as she forced her erect cock into the girl’s soggy minge from behind, just like an animal would do it.

Bleary-eyed drunk, Ann pumped into the girl, whacking her pelvis against her buttocks as the girl screeched with pleasure. Ann roared with passion too and they ended up climaxing together, Ann hammering her over and over again from behind until they were both gasping.

She staggered back inside, leaving the girl to recover and set her clothes right, alone out in the cold. By the time the girl came back in, Ann was already chatting up her friend and twenty minutes later took her out to the gents as well to give her a right good seeing to.

Later she found herself in on a conversation between two dock workers. They were going on about the rising problems of inflation and income tax but Ann found her mind wandering. They just kept discussing different figures and calculating the amount of earnings they’d lose because of it. Then they went on to talk about politics and the differing policies of the prime minister and the head of the opposition.

Pissed out of her skull, Ann knocked the one bloke’s beer over, just so she could see the look on his face, then pointed at him laughing as he got angrier.

Next thing she knew she was wrestling with him on the floor of the pub until she got him in a head lock and pounded him in the face until he begged to be let go.

She staggered out of the place laughing to herself.

There had been a few shit things through the day but once she’d found somewhere she felt comfortable, she’d had a great time of it!