Trapped in 1895

The next day, Gregory appeared on the doorstep with a bunch of flowers and asked her out to the theatre. She delightfully accepted. Later, though, she regretted it as she had no suitable clothes except for her green dress, which she felt was not appropriate. She needed something more formal. She threw herself on Mary’s mercy.

“Of course, dear thing. You can borrow anything from me although I think you should ask your uncle for an allowance so you can buy your own clothes.”

Then she said, “but we need to do something about your hair. It is truly ugly and not fit for a young, single woman attending the theatre with her young man. It is short notice, but I have a friend that can do your hair.”

Cheryl was a bit put out about this as her haircut had been quite expensive but after the visit to Mary’s hairdresser she was amazed at how it suited her especially after Mary dressed her in her evening gown.

“There,” Mary said, “that will start making many a heart flutter.”

Gregory was a truly handsome figure when he stepped out of the cab. He stood straight and tall in his evening suit with long tails, top hat, bow tie and starched white shirt. He escorted Cheryl to the cab and assisted her in. Cheryl was quite breathless by this attention. All her miserable boyfriend bought her was fish and chips at the movies and usually left her standing in the rain while he hopped in the cab first. When they reached the theatre, Gregory escorted her into the lobby. Cheryl was virtually floating on her long, silk lilac dress. No army boots tonight, but matching shoes. A row of single pearls hung around her neck, complementing her low-cut bodice and the entire vision set off by her hairstyle.

Just as they entered the lobby, Cheryl noticed Professor Scott.

“Look,” she said, “there’s Professor Scott. He’s a friend of my uncle.”

Cheryl attracted the Professor’s attention.

“Miss Brown, how nice to meet you and your young man,” he said, although he cast a questioning eye over Gregory.

“This is Mister Blackwater. He is a writer. Gregory, this is Professor Scott.”

“I’m pleased to meet you, Professor.”

Just then, the bell sounded to be seated.

Cheryl loved every minute of the theatre, and when they were leaving, they spotted Professor Scott again.

“Professor,” said Gregory, “may I buy you and your excellent wife a glass of champagne?”

“I prefer Scotch myself, but my wife would love a glass of bubbly.”

His wife smiled sweetly, and they all made their way to the lounge.

“I understand, Professor, you are a friend of Cheryl’s uncle. Do you help him with his inventions?” asked Gregory.

“I have provided some input, yes.”

“He has a box with some dials marked, year, hour, and so on. Do you know anything about it?”

The Professor took a sip of his Scotch and said, “You’re a writer, I believe. What do you write?”

“Many articles for monthly journals. I’m very interested at the moment in science.”

“Hmmmm. Are you now? Perhaps you should ask Professor Schmidt directly. Now if you will excuse us, we have a cab to catch.”

The Professor rose, bowed and departed with his wife.

“I think we should go too, Gregory,” said Cheryl.

“Certainly,” replied Gregory.

The next day, Cheryl was surprised to see Gregory when she went out to the outhouse.

“Hello,” she said, “what brings you here?”

“Look, Cheryl. I’m in trouble. I’ve got to get more of that story for my editor.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve told him you might be from the future.”

“You what,” Cheryl almost shouted.

“Calm down, calm down. He doesn’t believe you’re from the future, but he is interested in the time machine and he wants to know more about it.”

“If anyone finds out I’m from the future I’ll be in danger.”

“No one will find out. Just tell me about the time machine. The editor will pay you a lot of money. You can leave the professor and set up on your own”

Cheryl couldn’t help feeling attracted to the idea. She liked the thought of independence. She no longer believed the professor could fix his machine, anyway.

“You won’t reveal any names?”

“No, no. I promise.”

“Ok. I will find out tomorrow.”

“You’re an absolute gem, Cheryl. I will meet you here tomorrow,” he said, standing up and leaving. A glum Cheryl noticed Rowland watching as she entered the outhouse.

The previous night, Mrs Cole must have decided Cheryl did not have enough to do, so she said to Cheryl,

“When you have finished scrubbing that out, I want you to scrub the cellar stairs.”

“You’re off your mind. I’m not scrubbing any cellar stairs.”

She didn’t like the look on Mrs Cole’s face so she compromised.

“I’ll wash them though,” she said, hopefully.

Mrs Cole also recognised the look on Cheryl’s face and said that will do fine and walked away muttering that the girls from the future sure are lazy.

Cheryl grabbed a mop and bucket full of hot soapy water and carried it to the top of the cellar stairs, spilling it and filling her boot with water. She stopped to go through the whole lengthy process of undoing the boots, swore to herself and left them. After all, she thought, at least her foot would get washed, which wasn’t often. She started mopping the stairs and was near the bottom when she stopped. She could feel her foot slosh around in her boot and she scratched her head, hoping she didn’t have lice again. Just as she was about to slosh the last step, she realised the professor was staring at her.

“Come, my dear, sit with me,” he said. Surprised, Cheryl pulled over a stout wooden box then realised this would be a good time to get the Professor to talk about the Time Machine. He pulled out a little box and retrieved a little white cylinder.

“Do they smoke these in your time?” asked the professor, handing Cheryl a cigarette. Cheryl took it, lit it from a candle, and took a long, long drag.

“I just couldn’t get used to cigars and pipes,” said Cheryl.

“Are there time machines where you come from?” asked the Professor.

“Don’t think so. Least no one has told me.”

“Were you a scullery maid.”

“Good, heavens no. I was a highly paid senior IT specialist with a University Degree and now I mop cellar stairs,” then sighed and said “which is all I can do in this century.”

“I wish I could make it better, but Mrs. Coles runs the house. She is a really nice person, you know.”

She knew.

“Do you have a family?” asked the professor.

“A hypochondriac mother and a gambling father. No brothers or sisters and you. Have you ever been married?”

“Good heavens, no. The nearest thing to a wife is Mrs Cole, and she is more of a mother.”

“A bossy one at that.”

The professor laughed.

“She has been with me for twenty years. Ever since I started the hunt for a time machine. My colleagues thought I was crazy, but Mrs Cole stood fast behind me, even though she understood none of it.”

“How many time machines have you made?”

“Nine failed attempts. The third one burnt my house down.”

“Why do you do it?”

The professor didn’t answer that, but pulled out a polished but very battered brass fob watch.

“This was my father’s. He was blown up in a battle and the watch was the only thing left of him. I was two years old. On my tenth birthday, two weeks before my mother died, she gave me the watch. It was to remember him with. I took this watch, and I swore I would conquer time and go back to meet him one day.”

Cheryl whistled to herself.

“And I’m sorry, my dear, for dragging you into my dream, or is it a nightmare?”

The Professor stood up and went to his Time Machine and bent over. With her boot squelching, she moved up behind him till she could see the professor’s bottom sticking up from the machine. She moved up in time for him to say, “Please hand me that wrench, Miss Brown.”

Cheryl looked around and found a large, heavy wrench on the floor beside him. She passed the wrench to the professor, who pounded a large copper pipe.

“The confounded thing won’t go in the hole,” he mumbled from the depths of the machine.

“I don’t think bashing it will do any good.”

The professor’s head withdrew from the machine and he stared at her over his little glasses perched on the end of his nose.

“And you are an expert on time machines?”

Seizing the opportunity to get the professor to speak, she said, “Well, no, but I would like to know how it works?”

“I am afraid the explanation might be too hard to understand by the uneducated mind.”

“For Christ’s sake, I’ve got a degree in Computer Science.”

The professor looked blankly at her.

“Oh never mind. Just try anyway.”

“Let’s talk about time. Let’s say time comprises an infinite number of tiny particles, each representing an instant of time and all the particles of the same time work together. That’s you and me, this whole room, everything but all the other time particles. exist also, we just can’t see them. My machine filters out particles and focuses them on that spot. Anything in that spot will move to another time selected by the control box. The huge batteries supply the energy to the Tesla Coil. The violent arcing of the spark disturbs the time field and the resulting particles are directed to the control box, which filters out the selected particles which are sent down the tube and focused on that spot. Understand.”

No, thought Cheryl, but it sounds good and should keep Gregory happy.

“Oh, yes, perfectly,” said Cheryl. “When will you finish it?”

The professor’s face turned gloomy.

“The control box still hasn’t turned up and I can’t seem to assemble this tubing. I don’t think the factory made it properly. I think you are going to be with us for a few more months.”

“Oh well, at least it’s not snowing anymore,” said Cheryl, leaving as she heard Mrs Cole call for her. When she arrived at the kitchen, she found Mary waiting, covered in several layers of clothes, doubling the size of her already curvaceous body.

“I’ve talked Aunty into giving you time off so we can try these,” said Mary, holding up two ice skates. Cheryl jumped at the idea and rushed off to get dressed.

It felt as though she was floating across the ice. Cheryl loved skating and her worries disappeared for now. So engrossed was she in this feeling she collided with another skater. She landed, painfully, on her butt and the skater slid, out of control, face first, into a large snowbank. Mary hurried over to Cheryl and helped her to her feet.

“Why do I always end up covered in snow when I meet you?”

“Gregory, what are you doing here?”

“Skating, I thought. Could I talk to you?”

“I’m off for another round of the pond,” said Mary diplomatically.

The couple skated to the other side of the pond and sat on the seat.

“Do you have any news for me?” asked Gregory.

Cheryl paused. She searched Gregory’s eyes. Did she trust him? Did he love her? What will happen if everybody finds out she was from the future?

“Do you promise not to name any names or who gave you the information?”

“I swear, Cheryl.”

Cheryl related what the professor said.

“Phew. Do you understand that?”

“How would I understand it? I’m only a scullery maid,” retorted Cheryl.

“Look, could you get me in to take a picture of it?”

“How do I do that? He never leaves the cellar,” said Cheryl.

Gregory pulled something from his pocket.

“Two tickets to the lecture at the University on Time In The Universe. I don’t think he will refuse.”

Gregory was right. The Professor could not thank Cheryl enough and actually raised her allowance.

Cheryl’s luck increased as Mrs. Cole declared she was taking the morning off to visit Miss Hollingworth and gave Cheryl a list of tasks. Cheryl had the house to herself. She was enjoying putting her feet up and a plate of scones with an enormous cup of tea when Gregory knocked on the door.

“Has he gone?” he asked.

“Like a child after some sweets,” she replied, then spotted a man behind Gregory carrying a huge box, “who’s that?”

“He’s the photographer.”

“Oh god. Does he know as well?”

“I don’t think so, but he won’t care. All he wants to do is take pictures.”

“Allright, come on, be quick.”

She led everyone down the stairs of the cellar but out of the corner of her eye she could have sworn she saw Rowland, but he had gone with the Professor.

“Oh, this is good,” said the photographer, setting his camera up to give good coverage. “Now if you could stand there with your hand on that switch.”

“Not bloomin’ likely, Gregory.”

“Just take the photograph, Wilfred.”

There was a flash, then he said, “Two more and we’re done.”

There was a slam of a door, and Cheryl rushed to the stairs, intercepting the Professor.

“Professor, you’re home early.”

“Rubbish. It was all rubbish. They know nothing about time.”

“Well come into the kitchen for some tea and scones. I’ve just made some fresh ones. Is Rowland with you?”

“No the bounder left almost immediately.”

“I have to get back to work,” he said and made to move around her. Cheryl blocked his way.

“You know, Professor, you can’t think properly when you’re upset. A nice scone and tea will calm you down.”

“Yes, you’re right, as usual. Scones and tea would be nice.”

Cheryl waved to the pair to get out as soon as possible and guided the Professor to the kitchen.

The next day, Mrs Cole found Cheryl had neglected to do anything on the list and condemned her to scrubbing out the outhouse. The outhouse was shared amongst six houses surrounding the courtyard. Each house took it in turns to scrub it out so everybody had the task once every six weeks.

“But it’s not our turn till two weeks from now,” whinged Cheryl.

“Only if you had done what you were supposed to do yesterday. Now get to it.”

Cheryl plodded out, not looking forward to the disgusting task, when Gregory stepped out.

“Oh, you’re here.”

“Well, hello to you, too. I have come to tell you I have finished my story and I would like you to read it. The photograph won’t be there as it’s not finished. So, do you want to read it?”

“Yes, of course I do.”

“Here it is. How about dinner at the Black Stallion tomorrow evening and you can return it then?”

“I would be delighted. Now I must get on with a disgusting task. Bye.”

Cheryl meets Gregory to hand over the manuscript and finds out he has been robbed

Cheryl did not put on anything special for dinner with Gregory, as it had been a tiring day. Mrs. Cole had remained in a bad temper and made her scrub out the can in the outhouse after the night soil man had emptied it. Something nobody had ever done before. Then she had to scrub the scullery room, kitchen and the coal bin before they brought the coal to refill it.

She didn’t have time to breathe when she was sent out to shovel snow from the pathway and clean all the windows. She almost lost her temper when Mrs Cole bawled her out for forgetting the bathroom window, which was never shut or washed before, but she held her peace. The thought of Mrs Benning was never far from her mind.

She was fiddling with the cutlery, waiting for Gregory to arrive. This was very unusual, as Gregory made a point never to be late for a lady. When he turned up he was as white as a ghost.

“My heavens, whatever is up with you.”

“I need a large brandy. Make it a double. I’ve been robbed.”

“Oh my goodness. Did they take much?”

“That’s the funny thing. The entire apartment was a mess, but the only thing taken was the photograph of the Time Machine.”

“Good heavens. Does somebody else know?”

“They do now, I guess. Do you have the manuscript?”

“I haven’t finished it yet. I’ll deliver it later.”

“Who would take it?”

“I don’t know, but I have had the feeling someone has been following me for the past week. This proves it.”