She landed on something coarse but soft. Hay. A sliver of light slipped through gaps between the boards comprising walls of this strange enclosure. The young English noblewoman raised her hands up to the light. They were not the hands she knew with long, white well-manicured Dresden fingers. These were rough, calloused and almost square. One of them brushed her face. Stubble. 'Am I now a man?' The other hand shot to her throat. 'My necklace.' The red jasper touch piece her governess gave her as a child was gone. Wherever she was the light was too scarce to even reveal the gold chain much less the stone.
The stone was gone and so was the dress, stockings and heeled shoes she wore. Dungarees, pull-over homespun shirt, and muddy boots replaced them. Something was in a pocket. Thrusting in a hand she pulled out three stones, one of which was her red jasper. The other hand checked the other pocket and pulled out empty. 'Nothing but stones in my pocket. Oh, my God! Is it not bad enough I've become a man? Must I be Irish as well?'
The stone was gone and so was the dress, stockings and heeled shoes she wore. Dungarees, pull-over homespun shirt, and muddy boots replaced them. Something was in a pocket. Thrusting in a hand she pulled out three stones, one of which was her red jasper. The other hand checked the other pocket and pulled out empty. 'Nothing but stones in my pocket. Oh, my God! Is it not bad enough I've become a man? Must I be Irish as well?'
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