Trapped in 1895

It had been a month since Cheryl got dragged through the time hole. It had finally stopped snowing with a beautiful blue sky. Strangely, this saddened Cheryl as she had grown to like the crisp new feeling each morning as she headed to the outside toilet. The temperature was extremely low and the trip to the outside toilet hut had become moderately unpleasant. She had spent many miserable mornings freezing while she was sitting on the night soil can. It was on such a trip on Friday morning when she spotted Harry carrying his bag of spuds.

“Harry,” she called out, “when did you get back?”

“Yesterday, Mr Jones gave me my old job back. I was coming to see if you wanted to have lunch with me.”

“Yes, meet me outside at noon.”

Both parties then went about their business and met up again at noon.

“I’ve brought lunch,” said Harry. “Let’s go to the park.”

They found a bench seat beside the pond, where couples went skating together. Harry tore open the bag to reveal four jellied-eel pies.

“Hope you like them.”

Cheryl did. The oyster incident had toughened her stomach up and she bit into the pie eagerly.

“How’s your aunt and uncle?”

“They’re ok. Uncle is well, but has difficulty walking. They sold the farm for a good price and bought a cottage in the village.”

Cheryl paused eating, then said, “I’m seeing someone now.”

Cheryl’s heart twisted at the sad look on Harry’s face.

“Is he nice?” he asked.

“Oh yes. He’s very nice. He’s a reporter, you know, for some science magazine. We’ve been out twice.”

“A reporter. Watch yourself, Cheryl. They’re not to be trusted. They lead girls down some bad paths.”

’Oh, I’m sure Gregory wouldn’t do anything like that.”

“I don’t like it,” said Harry, getting agitated. “I would be a lot happier if you didn’t see him.”

A thoroughly angry Cheryl stood up.

“Are you telling me who I can see and who I cannot?”

He realised what he had said and rapidly tried to backtrack.

“I mean, you can see anyone else, just not a reporter.”

“Just not a reporter, but it’s ok to go out with an idiot who carries potatoes on his back for a living.”

She threw the remains of the second pie at him and stormed off, leaving a sad and miserable Harry.

Cheryl was still upset when she came down for breakfast the next morning and was surprised to see Mrs. Cole dressed for church.

“Coming today, Mrs. Cole.”

“Stop your yabering and eat your breakfast. We’re late.”

Mrs Cole covered the three miles in record time and Cheryl was quite exhausted, but they reached the church with a few minutes to spare. As usual, Mary was waiting for Cheryl and when she spotted Mrs. Cole she exclaimed, “Aunty, it’s wonderful to see you.”

Whereupon, Mrs. Cole retorted, “You need to stop scoffing those scones with all that butter and cream. You’re almost the size of a small elephant.”

Mary was speechless, and she said in a little voice to Cheryl, “I’m not fat, am I?”

“No, no dear, you are just full of curves. The boys love that.”

This cheered Mary up marvellously. Mrs. Cole marched them into the church all the way to the front and ordered them to be seated. If the vicar spotted his mother, he never showed it but conducted a perfect service. At the end of the service, Mrs. Cole went to the vicar’s office and knocked on the door, then entered leaving Mary and Cheryl at the refreshment table.

“Let’s have some scones and tea while we wait,” suggested Cheryl.

Mary gave the scones a peculiar look then said, “I’ll just have some tea.”

Thirty minutes later Mrs. Cole emerged with a tear stained but happy face,

“The vicar will be coming for dinner,” was all she said.

Harry and Gregory fight

It was Monday and Harry had finished his deliveries early. He sat at the bar of the Black Stallion, upset with himself for getting angry with Cheryl. He just started his fourth beer when Gregory walked in and ordered a whiskey. Harold couldn’t stop himself.

“You’re that reporter fella. Gregory Blackwater.”

“A science reporter, but yes, I’m Gregory.”

“Stay away from Miss Brown.”

Gregory drank his whisky.

“And why should I do that?”

“Because I know what you’re up to,” snarled Harry.

This startled Gregory. Did Harry know about time travel? He might sell the story to a rival publisher. It didn’t occur to Gregory that Harry didn’t know any rival publishers. Then he decided Harry had burgled his apartment. Gripping Harry’s lapels he growled, “You’re the one who burgled my apartment and stole the photograph.”

Harry pushed Gregory away and threw a punch at his chin. Gregory ducked and hit Harry in the stomach, causing him to double up in pain.

“What have you done with the photograph?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Harry, launching himself at Gregory and catching him around the waist, both falling to the floor. Before Gregory could respond, the bartender poured a bucket of water on their heads and a woman towered over them.

“Throw them out,” she ordered. Gregory and Harold rolled around in horse poo.

“You haven’t heard the last of this,” threatened Gregory.

“I was wondering when you would show your face. How could you attack Gregory like that?”

“Huh. He attacked me. He accused me of stealing a photograph. What was it of, anyway? Was it you?”

“Of course it wasn’t. It was ...”

“It was what?”

Desperate to avoid anyone else knowing about the time travel, she said, “Ok, it was me,” then immediately regretted it.

Harry stood back, scrutinised Cheryl and asked, “Why would someone steal it unless ...”

An enormous amount was left unsaid.

“Harry Coleman. Are you saying I would let someone take a naughty picture of me?”

“Why else would someone steal a photograph of you?”

“Because I’m pretty, because I look nice in a photograph,” she said, holding herself aloof. Harry turned to leave.

“I think there’s something else going on and I’m going to find out.”

“Harry, please, there’s nothing going on.”

“Then why are you seeing that scumbag?”

“Because I like him.”

At that, Harry left.

Overnight, Harry felt bad about the fight with Cheryl, so he turned up at the kitchen, prepared to beg for forgiveness. He found Mrs. Cole preparing the evening meal.

“If you’re looking for Cheryl, she’s gone to fetch some vegetables for me. Since you’re here, you can make yourself useful. There’s a cupboard on the top floor I keep some old pots in. There’s one with a broken handle. Could you bring it down for me?”

“Sure,” said Harry and climbed the stairs, passing Cheryl’s room, whose door was lying open. He couldn’t prevent himself from stopping and looking in. Harry would never enter a ladies’ room unless he was invited, but the business with Gregory was alive and thriving in his mind. Maybe there was a clue to what was going on inside and sitting on the bedside table was a bundle of sheets of paper tied together. Harry picked them up and read:- A Visitor From The Future. He heard Mrs. Cole yell out from three floors below and Harry grabbed the papers, pushing them under his shirt. He rushed down the stairs carrying the pot to Mrs. Cole and handed it to her.

“Sorry, Mrs. Cole. Got to go,” he said and hurried out the door minutes before Cheryl entered.

“You just missed Harry,” said Mrs. Cole.

“I didn’t see him in the courtyard.”

“Strange. He left in a hurry, but I need you to help me. The vicar is coming to dinner tonight.”

Mrs. Cole seemed to speed-up as dinner approached and kept giving Cheryl order after order thoroughly confusing the poor girl until Mrs. Cole came to a rapid stop. Cheryl watched as Mrs. Cole ticked off everything on the fingers of her hand till she satisfied herself everything was perfect.

“Right, time to get dressed. You take this,” she said and handed Cheryl a package.

“What’s this?”

“It’s a proper maid’s uniform. I’m not having you serve the food in your scullery dress.”

“A maid. I’m serving everyone.”

“Of course you are. Someone has to. You can eat anything left over later,” said Mrs. Cole as she left to get dressed. Cheryl was astounded, but didn’t have time to be upset.

“Get a move on, girl, or I’ll lend you out to Mrs. Benning again.”

Cheryl stood in front of the mirror admiring herself in the maid’s uniform. She looked quite good, she thought, I could easily do a maid’s job dressed like this. She left her room when the doorbell sounded.

“Answer it girl and be polite.”

Cheryl opened the door to Mary and her mother.

“Oh my gosh, don’t you look delicious,” said Mary.

“That’s enough, Mary. You do not address the staff like that.”

Mrs. Finch, although only a cook like Mrs. Cole, strongly believed in the hierarchy of the old system.

“Hello Mrs. Finch, Mary. How are you?”

Mrs. Finch walked by ignoring Cheryl while Mary shrugged her shoulders. Gradually the vicar and the other guests turned up and Cheryl was surprised to see Harry. Mrs. Cole, assuming the position of the lady of the house, ushered everyone into the large dining room and signalled Cheryl to serve. On such an important occasion, Mrs. Cole had hired an assistant chef, a happy little Irish woman, who loved cooking. She had the first course ready to go. As Cheryl put the first dish in front of Mrs. Cole, she whispered, “Stupid girl, you’re serving on the wrong side.”

She looked puzzled at Mrs. Cole and Harry whispered, “Serve the food on the left and take the empty plates from the right and you look beautiful”.

Cheryl blushed and almost dropped a plate, then hurried into the kitchen.

“Slow up, luv. You’re new at this, aren’t you?”

You’ve no idea, she thought.

“Yes, I am. Normally, I’m the scullery maid.”

“Really. Yer a good one. Them pots ’n pans are spotless. Usually, I go into a kitchen and everything is covered in grease, here take these in before she yells at yer.”

Cheryl was kept constantly on the run, taking and delivering dishes, piling higher in the kitchen sink till the last course was served. Rowland took over serving the wine and Mrs. Cole stood up.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I have given this dinner to celebrate the return of my son, Vicar Clerk,”

The Vicar also stood up to return the toast.

“I am pleased we have found each other. We all need our mothers and I have needed mine for a long time and now, although my father has passed away, I would ask that my mother forgive him for his sins against her.”

Mrs. Cole turned a slight shade of purple.

“You want me to forgive that pile of horse excrement? That drunken, lazy, no good layabout that never did an honest day’s work.”

Rowland poured more wine and Cheryl stopped collecting empty plates. Everybody’s attention was fixed on the pair.

“Father was not perfect, and he had his weaknesses. Perhaps it would not have been so terrible if he wasn’t criticised and humiliated every day. If he hadn’t had to see you come home with a different man each night.”

There were audible gasps around the table.

Mrs. Cole went from purple to pale within seconds.

“I had to get out of the house. I went to the dance hall and danced. All those men did was walk me to the door, that’s all.”

“Come now, mother. Father told me all about it when I was old enough. He found you in bed with another man.”

“Damn you, damn you. I should never have thought I could have a relationship with that man’s son,” she yelled and ran out of the room.

“Well,” the Professor said, “I think that wraps up the dinner, Vicar.”

The Vicar was visibly distressed.

“I’m really very sorry.”

Cheryl took the plates back into the kitchen, amazed at the revelations.

“Here, dearie, have some roast beef. I saved a plate for you,” said Mrs. McGuire.

“Oh, Mrs. McGuire. You’re my fairy godmother.”

Cheryl didn’t notice the manuscript had gone till she was about to go to bed. In a panic, she searched everywhere, then sought out Mrs. Cole. She knocked and burst through the door to discover Mrs Cole sitting staring out her window.

“Just as well I wasn’t sitting on the chamber pot,” she said, exasperated, “what do you want that’s so urgent you barge in on me?”

“Did you take anything from my room today?”

“Whatever do you mean? Are you calling me a thief?”

“No, no but I had some papers there and now they’re gone.”

“Hmm, I sent Harry up there for my pot and he was acting strange.”

“Oh my god, Harry,” she said but turned to Mrs. Cole.

“Are you ok, Mrs. Cole?”

“I loved him, you know,” she said with a sad look in her eyes

“Who? The vicar’s father?”

“No. The man he found me in bed with. I was going to run away with him. It was before the Vicar was born.”

“What happened?”

“He died. Killed by a runaway wagon,” said Mrs. Cole, then burst into tears. Cheryl sat with her arms wrapped around her.

***

All day, Cheryl was jumpy and nervous, expecting Harry to turn up and accuse her of being in the future. Try as hard as she could, Mrs. Cole wouldn’t give her any time off to find Gregory, so it was early evening before she got to the Black Stallion. She hesitated before going into the bar as she was still in her grubby scullery clothes and she hadn’t washed her face. Nobody noticed her and she had no trouble locating Gregory.

“We’re in trouble,” she said, pushing aside a burly ditch digger.

“Hello,” he said, “You could have washed your face, at least.”

“No time for that. I think Harry has your manuscript.”

“How did that happen?”

“I don’t know, but we’ve got to get it back,” said Cheryl.

“It’s the only copy I’ve got. Do you know where he lives?”

“No but Mrs. Cole might. She knows a lot of things.”

“All right, find out and we will visit him.”

Cheryl returned and sought Mrs. Cole, who was sitting in front of the kitchen oven, enjoying the warmth and drinking a large sherry, was determined to drown the memory of the dinner.

“Come, join me, girl. Get yourself a sherry.”

Cheryl grabbed a stool and a glass of sherry.

“Mrs. Cole, do you know where Harry lives?”

Mrs. Cole laughed and slapped her knee.

“Good for you, girl. Go after yer man, but don’t let him get you with child.”

Cheryl choked on her sherry.

“How many of these have you had, Mrs. Cole?”

“Don’t you worry about that. Now get me that piece of paper and the pencil.”

Mrs. Cole wrote something, then stood up, wavered, then walked off to bed. Cheryl sat and read the address.

Cheryl finished early, washed her face and changed. She met Gregory outside the hotel and together made their way to Harry’s address. They stood outside the boarding house, entered, and climbed the stairs.

“How do we find out what room he’s in? There’s no numbers or names,” said Cheryl. Gregory went to the first door and knocked. A half-dressed young woman came out.

“Well, hello deary. What can I do for you?”

Cheryl didn’t like the way she was looking at Gregory, and the way he was looking back, so she pushed her way between them.

“We are looking for Harry Coleman. Do you know what room he is in, please?”

“Sure, Harry is in that one,” she said, pointing diagonally across the hall. They went and stood outside his door. Cheryl was about to knock when it swung open.

“’ello, what are you doing here?”

“Harry, did you take something from my room?” asked Cheryl.

Harry shuffled his feet.

“Umm, yes, I did,” he said, then he spotted Gregory, “and that is a fantastic story, but I think somebody beat you to it.”

Gregory looked puzzled.

“See, this,” said Harry and retrieved a book from his shelf, “brand new, just come out.”

Gregory read the title:- The Time Machine by H. G. Wells.

“You... you think I wrote a book?” stuttered Gregory.

“Well, didn’t you and you gave it to Cheryl to read it and give you an opinion? Well, I think it’s fantastic, but H. G. Wells is a better writer though. I don’t think yours will make it.”

Gregory looked relieved.

“Well, can I have it back?”

“Sure. Look, I’m sorry about the fight. I was just looking after Cheryl.”

“I assure you, Cheryl is in excellent hands. Now I must be off,” said Gregory, taking the manuscript and rushing away.

“You really think it’s just a story,” said Cheryl.

“Of course. What else could it be? You’ll be telling me you’re the girl from the future,” he said, laughing, “and I bet that photograph was you in the time machine.”

Cheryl returned his laughter and said, “I had better get back to Mrs. Cole.”