Trapped in 1895

The next morning Cheryl stood outside The Black Stallion. It was ten in the morning and the snow was falling steadily, continuing on from the night before. It was Cheryl’s first day. The three-storey building was an impressive building, a character inherited from its previous life as a London mansion of a wealthy aristocrat gone bankrupt and left to ruin.

Cheryl pushed the main door and it swung open. Ignoring the nerves in her stomach, she stepped inside. Men were standing around, quietly drinking and a cleaning woman, with a mop and bucket and a pipe hanging from her mouth, was swabbing the tiles around the bar.

“Excuse me,” said Cheryl. The cleaning woman looked up. The face was lined and harrowed, with several sores on the lips. One eye displayed the milky white of a cataract and she leaned on the mop as if it was needed to hold her up. She did not speak.

“I’ve just started as a waitress. Where is the kitchen?”

She pointed to a gap in the bar and stuck her finger upwards. At first, Cheryl thought she was just being rude, then realised she had to go upstairs. The woman went back to mopping the floor. Cheryl went through the gap and was about to climb the stairs when a voice called out, “Miss Brown!”

Cheryl spun round to be greeted by Penny Hill.

“You’re on time. That’s a good sign. I like punctual workers. Come, I’ll show you the inn.”

She escorted Cheryl into the public bar. The bar occupied the centre and in front was a tiled area for those who like to stand at the bar. Little tables and chairs were distributed around the walls.

“You will not have much to do with this area except to occasionally bring food down to the bar for patrons.”

Then she ushered Cheryl upstairs. This room was set up with dining tables and chairs, linen tablecloths and a door leading into the kitchen.

“Follow me,” said Mrs. Hill and led her up one more flight of stairs.

“This floor is a restricted area. You should never need to come up here. I have two specially trained waitresses on this floor. There are three rooms, small ones on each side, for privacy and a large one straight ahead.”

They entered this one. It was large and had two large round tables with many chairs and a bar at the end.The entire room oozed luxury.

“Now let’s see the kitchen and meet the chef.”

She was led downstairs and into the kitchen, which was well set out and clean. Standing in the middle was the chef. He was easily six feet and thin. A gigantic mop of red hair poked out from under his chef’s hat. Ginger eyebrows hung like canopies over blue eyes and most of his face was covered in a bright red beard. He had the usual chef’s uniform except two skinny, hairy legs poked out beneath the apron. He was wearing a kilt.

“This is Rory, who’s in charge of the kitchen. If there is any dispute between you and Rory, then you lose, understand?”

Cheryl gulped and said, “Yes”.

Without warning, a stream of unintelligible words came from Rory’s mouth. Cheryl could make out the words name and job.

Mrs Hill turned to Cheryl and said, “What’s your name and have you worked in a kitchen before? Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”

“Yes ma’am. My name is Miss Cheryl Brown, and I used to be a scullery maid.”

Another stream came from his mouth.

“He said, at least you can scrub pots and pans,” said Mrs Hill, “I leave you now but a word of advice. Don’t get caught in the kitchen after dark with Rory.”

On that grisly note, she left and Cheryl wondered how she was going to work with this incoherent Scotsman. She stared blankly at him as another stream issued from his mouth.

“I’m so sorry Mr... um... Rory, but could you speak a little slower?” asked Cheryl, then a voice said behind her, “Don’t worry, luv. He was talking to me.”

Cheryl spun around to come face to face with a young man, a boy, really.

“He said I was in charge of you and to show you what to do and don’t bother him again.”

“In charge of me, but you look like you’re sixteen.”

“Eighteen, and I’ve been working with Rory for eight years. I’m his assistant chef. My name is Nicholas Crane. Come with me and I’ll show you what has to be done.”

As he was performing his duties, Nicholas shared with Cheryl his life with Rory.

“Rory bought me from my master when I was ten years old.”

“How can you buy a ten-year-old boy?”

“My mother apprenticed me to this old man in return for him to feed me. He never did and beat me till I learned how to make jellied-eel pies, which I did really good. Then Rory tasted my pies and bought me off the old man. Course, he had to beat him up to make him agree to the deal. I never looked back. Of course, Rory would beat me if I made a mistake but, otherwise, he feeds me and looks after me well. He even made sure I could read and write.”

“He looks really scary?”

“Rory is not a bad man, but he is not a good one either. I saw him feed women and their bairns freely, let an old man thaw out in his kitchen. I’ve seen him give his jacket in the middle of a snowstorm to a homeless old soldier with one leg but I saw him viciously strike a woman in an argument about something, he gets into brawls when he has too much Scotch and he is a bully but doesn’t oppose him. He is just as likely to hit you in anger.”

“Why does Mrs Hill employ such a man?”

“He is the best cook in London. He doesn’t cook great food, but he is an expert in large quantities and fast. He also supplies his own meat at very cheap prices. There are a lot of rumours about where he gets it and not very nice rumours.”

Returning to her duties, he said, “When you arrive in the morning, the first thing is to clean the place. It’s only really a matter of wiping the tables and looking for any rat droppings.”

“Rat droppings?”

“Yes, London’s plagued with rats. We have a rat catcher every month, but he misses one or two occasionally. If you miss a rat dropping and Rory finds it, watch out.”

Cheryl’s first day was hectic. After she had cleaned the place, she set all the tables, then patrons arrived to be fed. These were mostly young wives of professional people, and the dining room was full of chatter. Cheryl was pleasantly surprised to find little bits of change left behind by the diners, filling up her tips purse. During this time she only had to deal with Nicholas, who told her what table to take the food to. The trouble started when the diner closed at eight. Nicholas left and Cheryl went to get her coat when Rory gripped her arm tightly.

“Where are you going, girl?” he rumbled. To Cheryl’s surprise, she understood.

“I... I’m going home.”

He burst out laughing.

“Ach, away with ye, lass. Yer nay gun home yet. You have pots and pans to scrub.”

She looked in horror at the pile of pots and pans. Is she never going to escape from them? She finished at ten and all the time Rory kept coming uncomfortably close. Cheryl was sure she felt his hands on her posterior more than once. She collected her coat and went to leave, but the doorway was blocked by Rory, glaring at her with those blue eyes under the ginger canopy. She gulped, but became determined not to be intimidated.

“One word from me and Mrs Hill will get rid of you. You understand?” growled the Scotsman.

“Mr... Rory, you don’t scare me. I’ve dealt with men like you all my life and you are all gutless cowards.”

This last remark she regretted and waited for the blow to fall, but Rory just stepped aside and Cheryl left.

It was totally dark now, and the snow was steadily falling, dimming the light from the gas lamps. She crossed the road and into the park and was enveloped by total darkness illuminated by the moonlight reflected on the snow. The crisp new snow crunched under her feet, making walking awkward by having to hold her dress clear. She was on extreme edge, aware of the dangerous situation she was in when she became aware of footsteps crunching in the snow. She walked faster and so did the steps.

Oh god, she thought, Rory has followed me.

She was determined she would go down with a fight, so she sped up and rounded a bend in the path. She stooped down, grabbed a sturdy piece of wood, and darted behind a tree. As the footsteps approached, she darted out from behind the tree, accompanied by a blood-curdling scream. The stranger froze and Cheryl swung the wood at his head, but he ducked and it swung harmlessly over him. The force spun Cheryl round, and the man wrapped his arms around her. Screaming, she gave a mighty kick with the heel of her shoe.

“Oww. Oh. Stop,” a familiar voice said.

“Harry?”

“Oh god. You’ve crippled me,” he cried, hopping about on one foot. Cheryl helped him to a fallen tree.

“What are you doing here?”

“Mrs. Cole told me where you were. I just wanted to make sure you got home safely.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t think you were talking to me. When you got home safely, I was just going to go away.”

Cheryl looked into his eyes and did the only thing she could. Kissed him.

The next day, Cheryl was busily tidying the kitchen and clearing the condiments from the tables when Rory said, “Yer a very pretty lassy, yiv got spirit.”

Cheryl stiffened when he felt his hand roam over her bottom. She picked up a very dirty knife.

“Rory, if you don’t take your hand from my rear, I’ll cut your balls off.”

Rory gave a huge laugh and snatched the knife away.

“Och, lass. Yer couldn’t cut butter with this knife, you won’t be needing it. What did ye think I was going to do? Ye have a nice arse, but I’ve got a woman. I just like the feel of arses.”

She jumped when a man carrying a huge side of beef came in.

“Where do you want it, guv?”

Rory pointed to the pantry and went inside with him, leaving a shaking Cheryl, wondering what had just happened. When Rory came out, he said, “Be off home with yer.”

Cheryl didn’t immediately run off home but went down into the bar with a plate for the barmaid on duty, who rarely has time to eat. It was well appreciated but her exit from the Black Stallion was delayed so that when she left by the side entrance, she heard voices.

“Tell yer ma tae slice it up.”

Cheryl glanced up the lane to spot Rory giving a young girl a large parcel.

It was a quiet day in the diner, so Cheryl and Nicholaus shared a plate of food and chatted.

“Is Rory married?” asked Cheryl.

“Good heavens no. Really, who would marry Rory?”

“It’s just that he said he had a woman.”

“Oh he has women, lots of them apparently. He seems to attract them for some reason I could never fathom, although he is a constant source of food to them. I suppose that could make him irritable.”

“Is he into girls?” she asked, hesitantly.

“You mean children. Good god, no. He would kill you just for saying that. Why do you ask?”

“I saw him give a child a large parcel last night.”

“Ah, he may not be married, but I didn’t say he had no children.”

“I wonder what would have been in the parcel.”

Nicholaus rose and took the empty plate.

“I think I’ve said enough. Do what I do and use your eyes and ears, but keep your mouth shut.”

Cheryl used her eyes and when she went into the pantry, half the side of beef was gone. She knew they hadn’t sold that much beef. It must have been the contents of the parcel.

Once more, Cheryl found herself alone with Rory. She was busy washing up the last of the plates, looking forward to going home, when she felt a hand on her rear and gave a gentle squeeze. Furious, she spun round to face a grinning Rory.

“Do that one more time and I’ll tell Mrs. Hill her beef is going into the hands of little girls.”

Rory’s face changed.

“Git yer coat,” he said with a face of cold fury. Cheryl was so frightened, she obeyed.

“Come with me,” he ordered and gripped her arm in a painful grip.

“Ow, stop your hurting me. Let go,” she begged, but Rory ignored her and threw her into a carriage. She tried to escape out the other door, but he grabbed her foot and hauled her back. Effortlessly, he picked her up and sat her down.

“Shut up and stop snivelling. I’m nae going to hurt you.”

The carriage travelled for forty minutes with the passengers in silence till it came to a row of dilapidated houses.

“Git out,” commanded Rory.

Cheryl complied then Rory propelled her to the door.

“Open it and git in.”

Cheryl opened the door to an amazing scene. It was one single room with a woman and many children, from teenagers to babies, twelve in all. The woman jumped up and rushed to Rory.

“Thank you, Rory, thank you for the meat. Ma bairns haven’t had any for so long.”

Cheryl timidly asked Rory, “Are these your children?”

The women laughed, “No. These are his nieces and nephews. Ma man died of disease and I had no money. I take in washing and do house cleaning, my eldest children help by being scullions but I don’t bring in enough money to feed twelve mouths. Rory always helps with a bit of food and the rent money.”

Cheryl turned to Rory and said, “I’m sorry. I won’t tell Mrs. Hill, but I wish you would stop grabbing my bottom.”

The woman laughed uproariously.

“Ach, lassie. He’s harmless. Rory always grabs the lassies bums. That’s all he does. If he takes a real interest in you, you will know about it. Won’t she, Rory,” she said, winking at Rory.

“Ach, lassie. I’ll nae grab yer arse again. Pity, it’s a lovely arse. Now let’s get you home.”

Again, they sat in silence on the way to the professor’s house.

It was Friday night and Nicholaus, who was required to stay on to prepare food for the Friday night card games, was working in the kitchen. Cheryl went into the pantry to return some items and Rory followed her in. Cheryl braced herself for the bum squeeze, but nothing happened.

“Thank ye for not telling Mrs. Hill.”

Cheryl turned and said, “and thanks for not squeezing my bum, but you must be careful. Mrs Hill is not stupid.”

“You’re right, I’m not stupid,” said Mrs. Hill, appearing in the doorway, “and I’m surprised you think I am Rory. The odd piece of bacon and a few vegetables I can tolerate, but half a side of beef is noticeable.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs Hill. I will collect my things and leave.”

“Nonsense. I’m not going to lose a good chef just because he pinches things from me as I was always aware you did.”

“Please, Mrs Hill. He didn’t do it for personal gain. He was helping his starving family.”

Mrs. Hill stared at Cheryl.

“Did I ask you to speak, girl?”

Cheryl stood, mouth open, thoroughly put down. Mrs. Hill turned once more to Rory.

“There is always food left over that will not last till the next day. That food I’m going to lose, anyway. You can freely take that but no more sides of beef. Understand.”

“Aye, missus.”

“And you,” she said, putting Cheryl under her glare, “if you become aware of wrongdoing in my hotel and you don’t tell me I will dismiss you, do you understand?”

Cheryl wilted and said, “Yes, ma’am.”

“You both can stay back and help Nicholaus,” she said and marched off.

Rory and Cheryl looked at each other then for some inexplicable reason they both burst out laughing.

The days were long. Gone was the twelve hour day, replaced by the fourteen hour sometime fifteen hour day, six days a week. She knew it would be useless to complain to Mrs Hill. However, she was amazed when she got paid on Saturday. The wages plus the tips amounted to quite a sum. She put half of it in front of Mrs Cole when she sat down to the brief meal Mrs. Cole always had ready for her.

“There, I think that pays my way.”

“Indeed it does, lass. What are you going to do on your first day off?”

“Go to church, I guess. In the morning I am going with Mary to buy a new dress then we are going to the theatre.”

“My, it’s amazing what a little money does for your life.”

Cheryl was becoming aware of how true that was and how hard she had to work for it.