Trapped in 1895
Chapter 16

After the meeting with Mrs. Hill, she kept getting the orders wrong and Nicholas was getting upset and at one point; she tripped and dropped a plate. So the day dragged on, disaster followed disaster and everyone’s nerves were on edge, especially Rory. After the kitchen closed and cleaning up begun, Nicholas spilled a huge container of liquid over the kitchen floor. Rory struck Nicholas with a backhander and yelled some oaths at him. Nicholas just slunk away. Cheryl couldn’t take this and advanced on Rory, calling him a big bully. Rory glared at Cheryl, grabbed a huge rolling pin, and advanced menacingly on Cheryl. Cheryl backed up against a bench as Rory raised his arm, bringing down the rolling pin, passing Cheryl’s shoulder, thudding on the bench. Cheryl staggered away, almost fainting.

“Finally, got the damn rat,” he said. Cheryl looked at the rat, whose brains were all squashed out on the counter and this time, did faint.

She became conscious, sputtering at the acrid fumes of the smelling salts and discovered her head was cradled in Rory’s arm.

“Ach, lassie, ah dinna mean to frighten you. Ah have been after that wee beastie for two weeks.”

Wee beastie, Cheryl thought, it’s as big as a small cat.

“Nicholas has got rid of it.”

Cheryl’s mind was full of both Harry and Gregory, and she wasn’t sure which one she liked the most. Her mind was interrupted by the cry of ‘service’ and she took the plates out to the table and stopped with surprise. Seated there was Harry, with a beautiful young woman. Harry had never taken her to a restaurant.

“Hello,” she said and before Harry could speak, the lady said, “Hello, I’m Nancy. Harry’s childhood sweetheart.”

Cheryl nearly dropped the plate on the table. Harry smiled back, lamely.

“Although we weren’t children that night on the haystack, were we Harry?” giggled Nancy. Harry squirmed and tried to slide under the table.

“It was a long time ago,” said Harry, looking up into Cheryl’s irritated face.

“What are you doing in London?” asked Cheryl, trying to keep the edge out of her voice.

“I’m visiting my sweetheart,” she said, smiling at Harry.

“Childhood, sweetheart,” said Harry, eager not to upset Cheryl.

“And I’m staying with Harry.”

Cheryl’s eyebrows shot up. She knew that Harry stayed in a bedroom in a boarding house.

“The landlady has a spare room Nancy is renting,” Harry responded.

“Hmmmm,” said Cheryl.

“Harold is taking me to the theatre and a very nice restaurant tonight. Isn’t that nice of him?”

Cheryl glared at Harry. Harry never took her to a restaurant and ‘Harold’. Nobody ever called him Harold.

“That’s nice of Harold, isn’t it, Harold?” said Cheryl, with venom dripping from her voice.

“I was going to take you sometime.”

“Oh, thank you,” she said and stormed off.

They had gone when she got around to attending to them again. They left the money for the bill and a very large tip.

Huh, she thought, got plenty of money to spend on her but none for me.

Her misery didn’t end. Mrs Cole would always have a little meal ready for her when she came home. They would sit together, exchanging stories and gossip.

“Harry brought his sweetheart around today,” said Mrs. Cole. Cheryl groaned.

“His childhood sweetheart,” stated Cheryl.

“They certainly look good together,” said Mrs. Cole, taking an amused sideways glance at Cheryl. Cheryl snorted.

“Nancy mentioned she was thinking about moving to London to be with Harold,” added Mrs. Cole.

An annoyed Cheryl said, “His bloody name is Harry.”

Mrs Cole examined Cheryl then said “You know, Harry’s at the age where he should be marrying someone.”

Cheryl burst out in a coughing spasm so violent Mrs Cole jumped up and pounded her back.

“Enough already,” said Cheryl, “I’m going to bed.”

Cheryl’s jealous misery didn’t end. Mary met up with her for a few drinks after work. She didn’t take long to bring up Nancy.

“Harry’s friend is really nice. They go well together.”

“She’s just a country trollop,” sneered Cheryl.

“Hello, do I detect a touch of jealousy?”

“Jealous of that country bumpkin. Where did you meet them?”

“At the park, skating on the pond yesterday.”

“When do you find time to actually work?” asked Cheryl.

“Oh, the Mistress is a real dear and gives me time off when I want it.”

“What were they doing?′

“Laughing, skating, enjoying themselves.”

Desperate to change the subject, Cheryl asked, “Are we still going to Petticoat Lane on Sunday?”

This succeeded, as buying dresses was well up in Mary’s priority list.

Cheryl was finishing up with the last order on Friday evening when one of the bartenders delivered a message.

“Cheryl, luv, a young man by the name of Harry wants to know if you will meet him outside when you’re finished.”

“Tell this young man if he wants to meet me he can meet me in the bar and buy me a drink.”

The barman looked at Cheryl strangely. The bar, on a Friday, is no place for a decent young lady to meet her gentleman friend.

“Are you sure?”

“I bloody well am.”

When eight o’clock arrived, Cheryl descended the stairs and into the bar area. Men and very shady women crowded the room and the babble of voices was a slow roar. Drunk men staggered around with equally drunk women ignorant of the mess on the floor they were standing on. One or two police officers on Mrs Hill’s payroll stood around, ready for trouble. Away in the corner sat Harry, alone. She sat down opposite him.

“Well where’s my drink then?”

Harry jumped up and returned with a pot.

“Cheryl, please, there’s nothing going on between me and Nancy.”

“She doesn’t seem to think so?”

“It’s all my mother’s fault. She keeps telling Nancy all about me. They even plan weddings together. When I was down there, they made me promise, in the Bible even, to give her a nice time when she comes to visit me. Even gave me money for it. I’d take you to these things if I had the money, but I don’t. Anyway, she goes back tomorrow.”

“What if she moves here?” asked a somewhat mollified Cheryl.

“She won’t. She hates London. It’s smelly, dirty, and noisy to her.”

Cheryl began to feel better, so she said,” Come home with me. Mrs. Cole usually has a nice little tea waiting.”

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