Trapped in 1895

He said ‘jump’ with such force that Cheryl complied and before she could gather her thoughts she tumbled, head over heels, till she landed on her back at the feet of four people but as she landed, her arm hit a piece of jagged metal sticking out from a machine. It ripped into her arm.

“Professor, you did it,” said a tall, distinguished man with a beard.

“Sir. Please let me help you,” said another man dressed as a butler.

“Oh, you poor dear, your arm is bleeding,” said a portly little woman in an apron and bonnet. Cheryl realised she was talking to her and her arm was bleeding. The woman extended her hand to Cheryl, asking if she could bandage the wound. Cheryl stood up, her mind whirling in confusion, while the little woman wrapped her arm in a bandage.

“Goodness. What has happened to my machine?” asked the little man. In the room’s corner stood a smouldering heap of burnt wire, twisted metal, and molten glass. Wisps of smoke were rising and drifting out through an open window while little flames shot out from the twisted metal.

“I’m sorry, Professor, but the extra person was too much for the machine. It exploded as you came through the gate.”

“Oh calamity, now the young woman can’t return to her own time.”

This was too much for Cheryl. The world started spinning, and she fainted.

“Quick, Rowland. Pick her up and put her on the sofa.”

Rowland picked up the unconscious Cheryl and carried her into the lounge room. Cheryl opened her eyes to find herself surrounded by concerned faces.

“I think we owe you an explanation, my dear.”

“Blimey. I say you do,” Cheryl retorted, “One moment I’m waiting for a bus, looking forward to my tea. Next thing I know, I’m in an insane asylum.”

“’ere, are you calling us mad?” asked the portly lady.

“Calm yourself, Mrs Cole. The young lady is just confused,” said the tall, grey-haired man. “Let me introduce ourselves. My name is

Professor Scott. This gentleman is Professor Schmidt.”

The little old man raised his hat.

“This fine man is Rowland. Professor Schmidt’s butler.”

The butler bowed.

“And this wonderful lady is Mrs Cole, the professor’s housekeeper.”

Mrs Cole curtsied.

“And what is your name, young lady?”

“Cheryl, Cheryl Brown.”

“Professor Schmidt has brought you back in time as proof his experiment worked.”

“In my defence,” Professor Schmidt interjected, “I intended to take you back. I didn’t know my machine had exploded.”

Cheryl stared at the Professor.

“Are you telling me I’ve travelled back in time?”

“I’m afraid so,” said Professor Schmidt.

“What year is it?”

“January the fifth, eighteen-ninety-five.”

“And the place?”

“Salsbury Street, London.”

Cheryl swung her legs off the sofa.

“Nonsense,” she said. “where is the telephone? I want to call a cab.”

“My dear,” Professor Schmidt replied, “I don’t know what a telephone is, but I can ask Rowland to summon a Hansom cab for you, but it might take a while in this weather.”

Before Cheryl could reply, Mrs Cole arrived to announce that tea and scones were ready in the kitchen.

“Come, my dear,” said the Professor, “you’ll be better after some of Mrs Cole’s tea and scones.”

The little group shepherded a protesting Cheryl to the kitchen. She gazed in amazement at the surrounding room. It was spacious and filled with a delicious aroma of newly cooked scones. Light streamed in through a large window and around the walls were candle holders holding large unlit candles. Straight ahead, in the centre of the wall, was a huge cast-iron stove, with a dying red glow, through the grids. On top of the stove stood a huge iron kettle with steam coming out of it and hanging on a hook was a large, empty pot. The walls were draped with pots, pans and cooking utensils and in the centre of the room a sturdy, large, well-worn oak table. The only one she had ever seen, had been in an antique dealer’s shop worth thousands of pounds. In the centre was a large heap of huge scones, a bowl of knobs of butter, a bowl of cream and one of jam, a silver teapot and plates with a knife. Cheryl had no idea where she was but the aroma of the scones made her realise she was starving.

Mrs Cole fluttered around the table, cutting and buttering the scones, pouring cups of tea and urging everyone to help themselves with cream and jam. Cheryl took a bite of the scone.

Oh my god, she thought, the scones are delicious.

She took cream and jam with the next one and swooned with pleasure.

“Where did you buy these, Mrs Cole?”

Mrs Cole laughed out loud.

“Buy them? I make them. Didn’t your mother teach you how to cook?”

Cheryl grimaced. Her mother just had the skills to heat an Indian takeaway in the microwave oven.

“I’m afraid not, Mrs Cole.”

“You won’t make much of a wife then.”

Preferring to ignore this slur on her character, Cheryl said, “The scones were delicious, but how do I return to my own time?”

“I will rebuild the time machine, my dear,” replied the Professor.

“And how long will that take?”

“Oh, six months to a year.”

“What! I can’t be away that long. I’ll get evicted, lose my job and mum will have a fit.”

“Do not worry, my dear. We will return you to the exact moment you left. Nobody will notice a thing.”

Mollified, Cheryl said, “Well, what will I do till then?”

“Why don’t you explore London? You have a unique opportunity to see how your grandmother lived,” said Professor Scott.

“That young girl is going nowhere in those clothes,” interjected Mrs Cole. “If she isn’t arrested for indecent dress, she’ll freeze to death.”

“What’s wrong with my dress?”

“Well, my dear, there’s six inches of snow out there and you’re liable to over excite any young man you meet,” said Professor Scott.

Cheryl looked at her dress. She was wearing a light summer dress that reached her mid-thigh, bra and panties underneath, and a small cardigan. Cheryl had lost her six inch high heels when she tumbled through the time gate. She had to admit they were right.

“My Emma’s eldest daughter is the same size as Miss Brown. I’m sure she will let us borrow clothes. I’ll get them this afternoon.”

Cheryl yawned, and an extreme wave of tiredness came over Cheryl.

“What time is it?” she asked.

“Ten in the morning, miss,” said Mrs Cole.

“No wonder I’m so tired. It’s midnight for me. Is there somewhere I can sleep?”

“Of course, my dear. Time travel is very tiring. Rowland, escort Miss Brown to the guest room and settle her into her room.”

“Yes. Sir.”

Rowland led Cheryl up three flights of stairs. The guest room was built at the top of the house and Cheryl shivered. Rowland closed the curtains and prepared the bed. Cheryl was relieved when he lit the fire and the little room became warm. Once the fire was burning, Rowland left with a parting, “Good night, ma’am.” It was the only words he uttered. Cheryl flopped onto the bed and was asleep when Mrs. Cole entered the room carrying a hot basin of water, a cotton nightdress, a pair of long, thick woollen socks and a bed cap over her left arm and a towel and washcloth on the other.

“Wake up, miss. I’ve brought your nightclothes.”

“Blimey, that’s a lot of clothes,” said Cheryl, struggling to stay awake.

“When that fire goes out, you will find out how bitter the nights are,” retorted Mrs. Cole, “now, you have a nice wash before you go to bed, and show me that arm.”

Mrs. Cole unwrapped the bandage to show a clean three inch cut in the back of her forearm. Mrs. Cole said, “Need two stitches there.”

She went off to get her medical bag, opened it up and removed a needle.

“What will you do with that?”

“It needs two stitches or you will have a nasty scar.”

“I’ll take my chances. Just bandage the arm.”

“But first we must sterilise it,” said Mrs. Cole.

She opened a small bottle and dabbed it on the wound. Cheryl screamed and felt faint again, but Mrs Cole ignored her and bandaged the wound.

“Do you have a bathroom, Mrs. Cole?” she asked.

“Why do you want a bath?”

“No. No, not a bath. I need to do a wee.”

“A wee?” said a puzzled Mrs. Cole, ”Oh, you want a piss? There’s an outhouse in the courtyard we share with our neighbours, but it may be occupied and it’s freezing out there. You will find a chamber pot under the bed,” said Mrs. Cole, pulling it out. “It’s uncomfortable, but you will get used to it.”

Cheryl looked in horror at the white ceramic pot.

“I can’t use that!”

“You can always stick your bum out the window, but it’s not a good idea. You will get frostbite,” she said, leaving the room laughing. Cheryl removed her panties, said a brief prayer, and closed her eyes as she sat on the pot.

Despite the stress, Cheryl slept till morning and as she came awake her mind was thrown into confusion. The small bare room, her breath fogging up as she breathed into the freezing air and the unfamiliar clothes she was wearing. It was when she reached out for her iPhone she remembered where she was.

‘It’s a dream. It’s got to be a dream,’ she thought.

The dream feeling vanished when the freezing air hit her, then she noticed a warm, woolly gown with a note attached which said, ‘Put the gown on and join us for breakfast.’

Donning the gown, she stepped into the corridor and realised why it was needed. Her breath hung in the freezing air. She hurried to the kitchen and was relieved to discover it was nice and warm. Mrs. Cole was cooking, and the Professor was sitting at the table drinking tea and reading the morning paper.

“Sit here, my dear, and eat your breakfast,” said the Professor then went back to his newspaper. Without a word, Mrs. Cole plumped a plate of chops, sausages, and eggs with a huge buttered slab of bread in front of her. Cheryl looked in horror at the plate. She was used to a bowl of muesli, two slices of toast, and a mug of strong coffee. She cut the sausage and, to her surprise, ate the lot and didn’t realise how hungry she was. As Mrs. Cole cleared the empty plates, she said, “I have your clothes, so let’s go to your room and get you dressed.”

For the next hour, Cheryl had to endure the sarcastic comments of Mrs Cole regarding Cheryl’s lack of clothing.

“Maybe you go naked in the future, but you will be dressed in my house.”

Mrs Cole pushed two pairs of cotton stockings into her hands and Cheryl held them at arm’s length while she inspected them.

“Why two pairs?”

“Coz it’s bloody freezing out there.”

“Oh.”

“Now put these on,” said Mrs.Cole.

“What’s this?”

“A pair of very sensible pantalets.”

These were thick woollen pants, split and buttoned, front and back

but open in the middle. They stretched to her calves with little frills round the legs.

“Golly. They’re bigger than my gran wears.”

“Just put on the bloomers. Now this.”

She was handed a woollen chemise.

“Turn around and take a deep breath.”

Moments later, she found herself encased in a corset.

“I... I can’t breathe.”

“Yes, you can. Now this dress.”

Cheryl put on a cotton pinafore style dress, then she picked up a cloth bag that appeared to be full of rags.

“What is this for?” she asked.

“Your monthlies, dear.”

“My what?”

“Your monthlies. You have them in the future, don’t you?”

“Yes, but why are these rags here?”

“Here, let me show you.”

She delved into the bag and brought out a belt.

“You put this around your waist and this between your legs. It holds the rags in place.”

Cheryl held it at arm’s length and stared at it in horror.

“When is your monthly due?”

Cheryl thought, but the sudden change of dates confused her.

“I don’t know, but I only just had one.”

“Well, let me know and I’ll help you.”

One hour later Cheryl was wearing several layers of clothing and Mrs Cole had lashed her dress up so tight she couldn’t breathe. She hoisted her dress up and stared at her feet. No glittering six-inch heels instead a pair of army boots. A satisfied Mrs Cole looked at

Cheryl.

“Good,” she said, “now you are fit to be the Professor’s niece.”

“Niece?”

“A strange young woman shouldn’t be staying with an unmarried man. A niece is acceptable.”

Mrs Cole strode towards the door, turned, and snapped.

“Quick. Follow me. We’re going shopping and my larder needs filling.”

Cheryl scurried after her.

The moment Cheryl stepped outside, she felt the comfort of several layers of clothing. This was the time of the Great Frost, a cruel winter. Wrapped in her fur-lined cloak and hood and her hands encased in a muffin, she followed Mrs. Cole along the ice-covered sidewalks, giving thanks to the sturdy army boots that gripped the ice. Despite the weather, the roads were busy with people, horses and carts with young boys shovelling snow from people’s pathways, pitifully under-dressed. As they passed an alleyway, she tripped, then gave a scream. Lying stiff and lifeless was a frozen old man.

“Come along, dear. Take no notice. There’s plenty of them lying around here. The council will collect them.”

Trying to get over the shock, she hung on to Mrs Cole’s hand. She went to cross the road, then stared, horrified, at the frozen and fresh horse manure blocking her way.

“Where did that horse shit come from?” she asked.

“Where do you blooming think it came from?” retorted Mrs.Cole, and she pulled Cheryl back.

“Wait,” she ordered and a young girl in rags said, “Sweep the street for tuppence.”

Mrs. Cole handed over the tuppence, and the young girl began sweeping a path for them to cross. Mrs. Cole crossed the road, pulling Cheryl behind her, then she entered a butcher’s shop. They were greeted by a man in a striped apron with blood stains covering it.

“My, it’s the charming and seductive Mrs. Cole.”

Cheryl looked in surprise at Mrs. Cole, who wasn’t impressed by

this compliment.

“How are your sausages today, Mr. Jones?”

“Nice and fat, Mrs. Cole, nice and fat.”

He gave Mrs. Cole an evil wink, which was ignored.

“I’ll have two pounds and keep your thumb off the scales.”

When they were packed up, Mrs. Cole directed Cheryl to pick up the package. She ordered more meat until Cheryl was loaded up to her chin.

“Can’t you take something, Mrs. Cole?”

“I’m an old woman. Besides, I’ll be carrying the vegetables. Didn’t they carry things in your time?”

Cheryl was going to answer, but surrendered.

Mrs. Cole bought vegetables and bread, then made their way back. It was snowing now so hard it was impossible to see. The snow had built up to their knees and the hems of their dresses were getting soaked.

Cheryl didn’t realise how tired she was until they returned home. The two feet of snow that lay everywhere, her load of meat she was struggling under, her constrictive underwear squeezing everywhere and her gigantic army boots. She heaved a sigh of relief when she sat in the dim, warm, friendly kitchen with the Professor and Mrs Cole. Mrs. Cole, however, had things to say.

“I realise, Miss Brown, you are not here voluntarily, but you are not a guest either. I expect you to do some jobs around the house.”

“I’ll be damned if I’m going to be an unpaid servant around here. I didn’t ask for this and, anyway, I’m supposed to be the Professor’s niece. I’m going to bed.”

Cheryl stormed up to her bedroom. The fire was lit, and she tried to undress but had to call Mrs. Cole to undo the corset. She heaved a sigh when she realised there was no shower or bath, so she soaked a washcloth in the basin and rubbed soap into it, then washed herself.

Cheryl’s sleep was broken by dreams of shabby clothed women begging in the snow or lying frozen in the street till she

was abruptly woken by Mrs. Cole.

“Get down here, young miss. You’ve got work to do.” yelled Mrs. Cole from the bottom of the stairs.

‘Work?’ thought Cheryl, ‘I’ll be damned if I’ll do any work.’

She got dressed and hurried downstairs and ran straight into the professor.

“Professor, Mrs. Cole seems to think I must work here.”

The Professor shrugged and said, “Mrs. Cole runs this house, my dear. I usually agree to keep the peace. If you help a bit she is more likely to be pleasant to you throughout the day.”

Cheryl stomped down the stairs and into the kitchen.

“I’ll have no idle hands in this house,” announced Mrs. Cole. Before Cheryl could protest Mrs. Cole dressed her in yet another layer of clothing. An apron that covered her entire body.

“Now start scrubbing those pots.”

Cheryl tried to pull the apron off and yelled, “I will not! Who do you think I am, some sort of slave?"

Mrs. Cole was not to be dissuaded and in a firm, matronly voice said, “Now let’s not behave like a child. You have a duty to be useful while you are staying under the professor’s roof.”

“I am his bloody niece. I will NOT scrub pots and pans. I didn’t even want to come here.”

“But you have, I acknowledge you had no say in it but don’t you think you should at least contribute while you are staying under the professor’s roof or are you one of those visitors that leach on the professor’s generosity?”

She stood there glaring at Mrs. Cole while she tried to work out a response that would save her dignity, when a voice broke the silence.

“Auntie Mabel,” said the voice.

“Mary dear, what brings you here?”

“I just had to meet this poor unfortunate woman that has no clothes and I see you are trying to put her to work already.”

“I have and I’m determined she should earn her keep, but she refuses.”

“Oh fiddlesticks, you’re just a bully, auntie,” she said. She grabbed Cheryl’s arm and pulled her along.

“Take that disgusting apron off and come into the parlour. I have a million questions.”

She guided Cheryl into the parlour, chattering away.

“Don’t worry about Auntie. She just likes to boss people. If she tries to make you work again, just say you are going to visit me.”

Cheryl had doubts that would work.

“Now, sit down and tell me why you ran away from home. Was it over a young man?”

Cheryl thought of her miserable boyfriend.

“No. I just had a fight with my father. I’ll probably go back home, eventually.”

“You must get your uncle to buy you some decent clothes and do something with that awful hairstyle. Then we will do the theatres. All the handsome men go there”

“But I have no decent clothes. Just the ones you gave me and I’m afraid they don’t fit properly.”

“Hmm,” said Mary, “I seem to have expanded a bit, but anyway, I have an idea. I’ll take you somewhere where clothes don’t matter. Meet me outside before dinner time. You’ll need your appetite.”

“I don’t know. I don’t think Mrs. Cole would approve.”

“Oh fiddle, faddle. Don’t let auntie bluff you. I’ll fix her.”

This ruffled Cheryl’s feathers and she replied, ”You’re right, we don’t need her permission. I will meet you outside.”

As Cheryl put on her fur coat, she heard Mrs Cole call out.

“Where do you think you’re going, Miss?”

“I’m going out, Mrs Cole. Don’t put out dinner for me.

“Over my dead body, young lady,” retorted Mrs Cole in a loud voice, startling Cheryl.

“But ...but I’m meeting Mary, your niece,” replied Cheryl, her voice trembling.

“Take that coat off and go straight up to your bedroom. If you apologise, I will send up some dinner.”

This sparked Cheryl into action. She drew herself up to her full height.

“I am twenty-three years old and I will not go to my bedroom.”

Mrs Cole responded by grabbing hold of Cheryl’s ear, pulling her toward the stairs.

“Oww, ah, oh. Let go, let go.”

The professor burst out of the cellar.

“Mrs Cole. Please let go of the young lady’s ear. What’s going on?”

“This unruly child is refusing to obey me.”

Cheryl stomped her foot and said, “I’m not a child.”

“I will not have her running in and out of this house as if she owns it.”

"Yes, I can. I’m a guest here. The professor’s niece. Aren’t I professor?” said Cheryl, using her most innocent and helpless eyes. Mrs Cole turned to the professor and said, “If she goes through that door, so do I.”

“Oh dear, oh dear,” moaned the professor, and the tableau

froze. The professor nervously fidgeted with his tie; Mrs Cole’s face a bright red and her eyes burning embers; Cheryl’s body poised to fight and her eyes fixed on Mrs Cole. It seemed to last forever until Mrs Cole suddenly softened.

“Well,” she said, quietly and confidently, “if the young lady were to contribute to the running of the house, I would be inclined to let her do what she likes on her time off.”

“What do you mean ’time off’? I’m not employed by anyone.”

“No, you’re not but have you considered your position if the professor doesn’t employ you? Who else would?”

The full enormity of this statement hit Cheryl. She could be kicked out of here, then game over. After all, who needs a computer scientist in eighteen ninety-five?

However, the professor spotted the opportunity to settle things.

“What do you have in mind, Mrs Cole.”

“That the young lady be our scullery maid instead of your niece,”

“I see. It makes sense. There are people that know I don’t have a niece.”

Cheryl was astounded. A scullery maid!

“What time off do I get?”

“Sunday’s and after dinner.”

Cheryl thought.

“Saturday and Sunday and I can do what I like.”

The professor answered for Mrs Cole, who was going to object.

“That’s perfectly acceptable.”

“And can I go out tonight?”

“Yes dear,” said Mrs Cole, “Just wrap yourself up and beware the oysters.”

Cheryl got out of the house to meet Mary as fast as possible and told Mary everything.

“Don’t feel too bad,” said Mary, “I had to stay with her when Mummy had to go to the seaside to rest. By the second day I was scrubbing pots and mopping floors.”

She hooked her arm through Cheryl’s and went off to find a cab.

“What does a scullery maid do?” Cheryl asked, innocently.

“Scrubs pots, pans, kitchen floors and various other disgusting things.”

“I’ve got a degree in IT,” moaned Cheryl, “and a senior analyst position with a big company and I’m reduced to this.”

“What?” said Mary.