Trapped in 1895

Cheryl was depressed and miserably aware that her life was going to get worse. She was scrubbing deep into a huge iron pot when she decided she needed a stiff drink and at that moment; she was the only person in the house. Throwing everything down, she headed to the parlour and the liquor bar, reaching in for the bottle of scotch. She poured a large one, then swallowed it. Feeling better, she went back to work and as she passed the cellar; she heard a noise.

She entered the cellar and descended the stairs. Somebody was trying to get into the professor’s cabinet containing the Time Machine papers.

“Who are you?” she said. The man raced to the light switch and plunged the place into darkness. Cheryl felt a blow to the head, and she fell down the few remaining stairs. Rowland found her and carried her to the sofa where she was cared for by Mrs. Cole. The professor called the police, but they found nothing. However, when Cheryl’s head cleared and her memory started working, she realised the man who tried to break in was the one she had seen with Rowland.

It was Saturday and Cheryl’s day off. When Mary arrived, she spotted the bruise on Cheryl’s head and demanded to know what happened.

“What a miserable week I’ve had. First, I’ve got fired by Mrs. Cole and had to work for Mrs. Worthington, then I got attacked in the cellar.”

Cheryl was about to tell her about the time machine but drew herself up in time.

“The man who attacked me was the man we had seen with Rowland.”

“What do you think he wanted?” asked Mary. Cheryl suspected she knew but couldn’t tell Mary.

“I don’t know. Maybe he was just trying to rob the place.”

“We need to watch Rowland. Let’s go to that awful `inn where we saw him last,” said an excited Mary.

“I don’t know. It seems dangerous.”

“Oh, nonsense, it just looks that way. If we dress up the right way nobody will notice us.”

Against her better judgement, she agreed. They went to Mary’s flat and Mary dressed them both up.

“You have a talent for this,” said Cheryl as she admired herself in the mirror. For the first time, she actually looked seductive, without actually showing anything. A friend of Mary’s gave them a lift to the laneway, and the girls made their way towards the inn. Nobody took the slightest notice of them when they entered.

“Can I buy you ladies a drink?” said a man coming up behind them.

“No...,” began Cheryl when Mary piped up,” Thank you. That will be splendid.”

They took their seats as the man went to get the drinks.

“What are you doing?” asked Cheryl.

“We are supposed to be wild women. How do you think it will look if we sit here alone?”

Cheryl could see the sense in this, although it made her uncomfortable. The man returned with a pot of ale and two gins. Mary took it and swallowed in one gulp. She made a strange face and said, “Oh god, I’m going to be sick.”

The man laughed and said, ”Straight out that door. You might find a clean spot.”

Mary ran off and Cheryl slowly drank her gin.

“Your friend isn’t used to gin, is she?”

Cheryl smiled and said, ”No, she’s a bit innocent.”

“And you’re not?”

Cheryl thought about that and decided not to answer instead asked, “Do you know a man called Rowland?”

“What does he look like?” he asked.

Cheryl described Rowland.

“Hmmm, there is a fella who meets that description. Doesn’t come here often, usually meets somebody here. Why do you want to know?”

“He owes me money,” said Cheryl with the first thought in her mind. The man nodded his head in understanding.

“Yeah, there are some fellows that gets it and runs off without paying.”

It took Cheryl a minute to realise what he was saying.

“And I gave him more than he was entitled to as well,” she said without really realising what she was saying. The man looked impressed.

“Look” he said, ”I sympathise with you but I would leave this bloke alone. He goes around with some nasty people.”

Mary reappeared, white as a ghost.

“I want to go home,” she whimpered.

The man looked at Mary and said, ”Is she is new to the game?”

Cheryl whispered in the man’s ear and he whistled. Mary glared at Cheryl, who said, ”Come on, let’s get you home.”

Mary’s friend was loyally waiting for them and was rewarded by Mary when she vomited over him.

Cheryl checked herself in the mirror for her Sunday morning church visit. She was happy with the way she looked and surprised that she was actually looking forward to these days. She went down to the kitchen and Mrs. Cole was pretending to be busy preparing vegetables. Cheryl knew better than to remark, so she simply said, “I’m off now, Mrs. Cole,” but there was no response.

She met up with Mary, who looked sheepishly at Cheryl.

“Did I embarrass myself? I’ve never drunk gin before or anything stronger. Do you know what it was like in that lane? There were people doing many things there. Just as well, I was too involved in heaving the contents of my stomach out. Did you find out anything more?”

“Only he is definitely more than a butler. Come on, they’re about to start.”

The sermon was excellent and Cheryl couldn’t help feeling affected by it. It was something she needed at this low point of her life. They were about to leave when an attendant tapped Cheryl on the shoulder.

“The Vicar would like to speak to you both.”

When they entered, the Vicar offered them tea and scones. Mary turned down the scones.

“I’m very embarrassed about the dinner on Friday evening. It was silly of me to bring my father up but I really thought it would make mother feel better if she forgave him.”

“Was he a drunk?” asked Mary. Cheryl stayed silent as it wasn’t her family.

“Yes, he tried to give it up many times, but failed. He may have been a drunk, but he was a good man.He would help anyone when he was sober, which wasn’t often but his liver gave up.”

“Did Aunty Mabel hound him with criticism?”

“I was three when mum left. All my knowledge came from my father, but I want to move on from that. Do you think mother will ever speak to me again?”

Cheryl and Mary looked at each other.

“She is very stubborn and doesn’t forgive easily. Do you really want to make up with Aunt Mabel.”

“Yes, as God is my witness.””Then we will enlist the help of my mother. She is the only person Aunt Mabel is afraid of.”

This week was laundry week and Cheryl started it by hauling buckets of water to the copper tub and buckets of coal to the various fires. At least, she thought, it’s also bath night, which cheered her up. However, it’s impossible to fill buckets with coal without getting coal dust all over herself, on her apron, on her cheeks and in her hair. She was lighting the fire under the copper bowl when Mary appeared and Cheryl was glad to see her.

“What you need, dearest friend, is a good stiff drink. Come, we are going to the Black Stallion.”

“But what about my work?”

“Are you getting paid?”

“No.”

Mary gave Cheryl a look that was interpreted in twenty-first century language as “Duh!”

Cheryl yelled out to Mrs. Cole that she was going out with Mary and for the first time ever, Mrs. Cole said nothing.

The Black Stallion was a beautiful inn and originally was a little mansion sold because the owner went bankrupt. Mrs. Penny Hill, who recently came by a tidy sum of money, bought the mansion and converted it to an inn. Her intention was to unload it at a tidy profit as the value of Public Houses were rising, fast. Meanwhile, Mr. Hill gained a licence and managed the hotel but Mrs. Hill was the actual owner. Every Monday was when all the young middle-class wives with a little money left over from their housekeeping and before the husband could claim, would be spent in the hotel.

Cheryl felt a bit out of place in her coal-stained scullery maid’s apron.

“Mary, I don’t think I belong here.”

“Nonsense. Most of these women used to work in houses. They just got lucky enough to marry a man with a good job.”

She was right. A few women looked scornfully at her but the rest just got on with drinking, talking and enjoying themselves. Mary bought Cheryl a gin and tonic and found an empty table in the corner. Cheryl was enjoying the drink when she said, “That woman there.”

She was pointing at a woman behind the bar.

“Oh. That’s Mrs. Hill. She owns this place.”

“She offered me a job here.”

“No!”

“Yes,” said Cheryl, and told Mary the whole story.

“Well, ask her,” said Mary.

“Oh never. I couldn’t.”

Two more gins later, Cheryl declared.

“I will.”

She marched over to the bar and asked the barmaid if she wanted to speak with Mrs. Penny Hill. The barmaid looked over Cheryl’s coal stained face and clothes, sneered and said, “I don’t think Mrs. Hill would want to see people of your type.”

Cheryl’s face went red but before she could retort, a voice said, “And how do you know I wouldn’t want to see people of that type?”

“Oh, sorry Mrs. Hill. I didn’t see you there.”

“You weren’t supposed to,” she said, then she recognized Cheryl.

“You’re that nice young woman that saved Georgie. What can I do for you, love?”

“I’ve come to ask for a job,” said Cheryl, now not so confident.

“Come round here and follow me.”

Cheryl was led into a corridor to a door that said ‘Manager’ and was about to enter.

“No. No not in there. That’s Mr Hill’s office. He got the bigger one. I got the smaller one. You’ve got to keep a man’s ego fed.”

The office was indeed small, but it had a comfortable feeling about it.

“Please sit. Would you like a drink?”

Cheryl did and related to Mrs. Hill her circumstances.

“Well, I can’t give you a barmaid’s job as you have no experience yet but one of my waitresses quit yesterday. I can give you her shift.”

Cheryl came back to Mary and joyfully exclaimed, “I got it! Six days, ten hours a day. I start at ten in the morning, picking up glasses and cleaning tables and helping the barmaid and finish at eight in the evening.

Even though she was no longer being paid, Cheryl continued helping Mrs Cole.

“You’ve been good to me, Mrs Cole. Like a mother, almost.”

“God bless you child, but I’ll be alright. Young Phyllis will help in future, but if you could help this week?”

Cheryl was glad to and pushed on with the hard labour of laundering the neighbours’ clothes and sheets. Finally, on Friday lunchtime, the last pair of bloomers were hung out to dry.

“Go wash your face, dearie. We’re going shopping.”

Cheryl wiped the sweat pouring from her dirty forehead. She couldn’t do much about the sweat pouring from other parts of her body.

“What are we shopping for?”

“Clothes. You can’t work in a swanky place like the Black Stallion in scullery maid clothes.”

“But I don’t have any money.”

“The professor has given me a small amount. We will go to Mrs Maloney’s dress shop for working women.”

It was tucked away in town, in a small courtyard. A small window with a dummy dressed in a house maids uniform.

“Mrs. Cole, how nice to see you and thank you so much for giving my Phyllis a job.”

“My pleasure, Mrs Maloney. This is the young lady I was telling you about.”

“Ah, the one that’s secured a barmaid’s job. They’re very sought after these days.”

“I’m not actually a barmaid. I help in the kitchen and serve the food when it’s ready.”

“Nonetheless it’s a good place to be. Now, let’s see. What you need is a modest conservative dress, not pretty, otherwise you send the wrong message to your male patrons, and believe me, they will eagerly read the message wrongly, nor should it be as stern as a head-mistress. After all, the Publican did not hire you for your ability to pour liquid into glass but to get your male patrons to drink more of those glasses. You cannot do that in a dress designed to put fear into their precious hearts.”

She led them over to two dressed mannequins, one in black and one in white.

“As you can see, these are very modest dresses but cut to emphasise your hips, bottom and breasts. All the important things in the eyes of the male patrons.”

Cheryl gazed at them in admiration. She was tired of the shapeless, rough, canvas-like material of the scullery maids pinafore. The material on the mannequins flowed from the neck, which had a pretty little lace collar, down over the shoulders and breasts, close but not clinging to the stomach, highlighting its flatness. The rear of the dress, the bottom, stuck out slightly to emphasise its roundness. Cheryl wondered how they did that, as her butt wasn’t as big as that. The dress then fell in little pleats to the ground, covering the shoes.

Mrs Maloney turned and examined Cheryl.

“However, before a dress can fully do its job, the body must be shaped properly underneath. Come with me.”

She led Cheryl into a room at the back of the shop. Some time later, Mrs Maloney appeared, grinned, and took a black dress of the mannequin. She disappeared again, then emerged with Cheryl in tow. Cheryl had been trussed up, bound up and pushed up and she felt fantastic. Mrs.Cole gasped. Even with Cheryl’s partly washed face and dishevelled hair, she looked magnificent.

“I... I feel like a woman again,” said Cheryl.

“You will truly make a magnificent barmaid,” said a proud Mrs. Cole.