Trapped in 1895

Cheryl was sweeping the back of the yard when she heard the professor yell.

“Miss Brown. Come here, please. Quick!”

Cheryl hurried to the front door to find the Professor supporting an enormous cylinder wrapped in brown paper. Poking out the top was a pair of horns.

“The Tesla coil. It has arrived. Help me carry it downstairs.”

It looked a lot heavier than it was. The Professor grasped the horn end and Cheryl lifted the base.

“Careful now. Don’t bump it or you will damage the copper coils.”

As he unwrapped it her amazement grew. It stood six feet tall and two feet in diameter. It gleamed with a coppery brilliance. Closer inspection revealed thousands of wire coils laid down with fine precision, terminating at the top in two copper arms that looked like horns. In each horn were two sticks of carbon sharpened like a pencil pointing to each other.

“Help me put it in position,” said the Professor. The pair carefully lifted the cylinder into its position in the middle of the frame, then he connected the cables.

“The batteries will arrive on Friday, then we can test this part. We will soon have you back in your own time.”

Cheryl was relieved. Even though she revelled in Gregory’s attention, she was sick of scrubbing things.

As they stood admiring the time machine, Cheryl took this opportunity to request an allowance.

“Of course, my dear. Just take Mrs. Cole along with you and she will put anything you want on my account.”

When she told Mrs. Cole, she said, “Now we can get you some proper work clothes.”

Cheryl’s face fell.

“I was thinking about a prettier dress and, maybe, more fashionable shoes.”

“What’s wrong with your shoes?” asked Mrs Cole.

“They are more like boots, army boots.”

“Get over yourself. Housemaids everywhere would die for these shoes,” said Mrs Cole.

Cheryl exploded.

“I’m no housemaid,” she shouted. “I didn’t ask to be whisked into the past, from my high-paying job as a computer programmer, to end up as a housemaid. You can stick it up where the sun doesn’t shine.”

Cheryl stormed off, with her army boots crashing on the steps, to her room.

Mrs. Cole did not know where the sun shines or didn’t shine, but realised she better keep a useful member of her staff. She hurried up and knocked on Cheryl’s door.

“Miss Brown. Cheryl dear, can I come in?”

Mrs Cole gently opened the door. Cheryl lay on her bed sobbing. Mrs Cole sat down beside her.

“There, there dear. We’ll go shopping tomorrow and you can buy anything your heart desires.”

She gathered Cheryl up in her arms and Cheryl mumbled, between her sobs, “I miss my mum.”

“Of course you do, dear. Of course you do, ” said Mrs Cole, gently smiling to herself.

Mrs. Cole was as good as her word, and the two women went off to spend the day shopping. Cheryl was fascinated by all the clothes. Fascinating underwear, beautiful lace petticoats, long dresses and Cheryl tried them all. It was a happy Cheryl when Mrs. Cole arranged for the parcels to be delivered.

Chery was at her weekly job of polishing the silverware in the dining room. She didn’t mind this particular task, which was much nicer than scrubbing pots and pans. She had just finished putting a nice shine on a serving platter when Gregory appeared.

“Mrs. Cole told me you would be here.”

“How nice to see you again,” she said, jumping up and giving him a kiss. He appeared somewhat surprised by this.

“Cheryl, I have a favour to ask, again.”

Cheryl stepped back. She was getting a little tired of the favours.

“What is it this time?”

“I really need to replace that photograph of the time machine.”

“That’s it, isn’t it,” she said, throwing a knife into the drawer, “all I mean to you is that bloody time machine and your precious story.”

“No,no. You mean a great deal to me, but I need that story.”

“Do you now?. Well, you can do it without me,” she yelled.

“You are the most selfish woman I know. You don’t care about me. All you care about is getting back to your own time and to hell with the rest of us.”

Gregory got up and stormed out, leaving Cheryl regretting what she said and wondering if she will see him again.

Cheryl need not have worried. Gregory appeared the next morning with a bunch of flowers and an invitation to lunch. He mentioned nothing about the time machine again. Meanwhile, more of the Professor’s parts arrived, the intensifier and the guidance tubes. He was so excited that he pulled Cheryl away from scrubbing pots down into the cellar to inspect it. The intensifier was shaped like half an eggshell and was made from polished tin and two horns of the Tesla coils went through two holes into the centre of the shell. The open part of the eggshell was pointed at the entrance to the guidance tube. The guidance tube itself was made of thin lead and sloped down in a curve to point into the room.

“The lens goes here,” said the Professor, “directing the time warps to that mark on the floor. You stand on the mark and the millions of little time warps propel you into the future.”

Cheryl gulped but said, “When will I be able to go.”

“In about two weeks. The lens will come tomorrow but I need the time to set up and test it.”

Cheryl was enjoying newly baked scones with Mrs. Cole for lunch when they heard a big bang. They ran to the cellar door in time to see a big plume of smoke escape from the cellar. Coughing and spluttering, the Professor emerged covered in soot.

“Professor,” wailed Mrs. Cole, “what happened?”

“I’ve got to have a brandy,” he said and staggered to the lounge, collapsing into his favourite lounge chair. Mrs. Cole poured him a large brandy.

“A damned rat got into the control box and bit through the wiring. It blew up. Oh dear, oh dear, this will set me back a year. I’m sorry, Miss Brown.”

“But... but why?”

“There are very rare elements needed in the box and they come from faraway parts of the planet. When I had the first made I also had a spare made and that’s the one that blew up.”

Dismayed, Cheryl ran to her bedroom and threw herself, weeping, onto the bed. Drying her eyes, she got up and looked out the little window of her bedroom, picturing herself scrubbing pots and pan floors and emptying chamber pots for the next year. Taking a deep breath, she returned to work.

A cloud hung over the household, blackening during dinner. Mrs. Cole was silent, surely a bad omen, and the Professor sat with his brow furrowed, pushing his spectacles further up his nose. Surely another bad sign.

“Miss Brown... Cheryl, dear,” began the Professor but Mrs. Cole butted in.

“What the professor is trying to say is he can’t afford to pay you any more.”

“It’s just that I have only a small inheritance and very little salary from the University. Also, I have used all my savings to get a new control box,” said the professor.

“Are... are you asking me to leave?” asked a horrified Cheryl.

“No, no, no, dear,” said Mrs. Cole, “you can stay here as long as you like, but you will scrub pots and pans for nothing. Look, I have found you a nice paying job as a scullery maid to Mrs. Worthington.”

Cheryl stared at Mrs. Cole.

“Isn’t that the horrible woman you talk to in the market?”

“Yes, dear. She offers you three shillings a week for six days, from five in the morning to six at night. You come back here to sleep, of course. We would need to charge you some board, of course, to cover your food, but you will have a few pennies left over.”

Cheryl got up and hurried up to her room and started sobbing once more. After a short while, she heard a knock.

Wiping her nose on her sleeve, she said, “Come in.”

Mrs Cole entered carrying a cake.

“Would you like a piece of cake?”

Mrs. Cole’s cake was prized by everyone. When she wanted to get on your good side she rolled out the cake.

“I’ve brought a cup of nice tea.”

She sat down beside Cheryl and offered the treats.

Sniffling, Cheryl bit on the cake and drank the tea.

“Look at it this way, dear. You can stay here cleaning pots and pans, scrubbing floors and have no money. Nobody will tell you to leave, but you will have to live on the charity of your friends, whereas if you work for Mrs. Worthington, you will have some money and be helping the professor as well.”

“Ok,” she said in a tiny voice, “when do I start?”

“On Monday week, but I can’t pay you for the rest of the time.”

“Ok,” she whispered. Mrs. Cole left, leaving the cake.