Trapped in 1895
Chapter 23

“Miss Brown, can you come in here, please?”

He beckoned Cheryl into the manager’s office. This was new, she thought. Mr. Hill never spoke to the hotel staff. Seated at his desk, Mr. Hill stared at Cheryl in a very impolite manner. Cheryl had met Mr Hill only once and took an instant dislike to him. He often stripped her with his eyes. He stood up and said to Mrs. Hill, “I’m sure you can brief the young lady. I have business to attend to.”

Mrs. Hill ignored him and turned to Cheryl and said,” Miss Brown. My husband and I have purchased a hotel and Mr Hill is going to manage it. I would like you to go with him as an assistant barmaid.”

“But I have almost no experience,” she said.

“I need someone I can trust, besides I received very good reports from the seaside tavern. I need someone that will tell me the truth.”

Aha, thought Cheryl, I’ve got to spy on the husband.

“The hotel is on the fringe of a factory estate. As a result, it was a very, and still is, rough hotel staffed by barmen, but many of the factories closed down and have been replaced by housing estates. The clientele has changed, and the owner tried to better its reputation by hiring barmaids. He replaced about half of them but he went broke and I bought it. Unfortunately, the barmen and barmaid are at each other’s throats. However, most of the barmen will be replaced.”

“And you’re going to put me in the middle of it.”

Mrs. Hill smiled and said, “The pay will be good. Accommodation is provided.”

Cheryl gets to know the other bar staff

On Tuesday morning, Cheryl stood with the other bar staff. Four barmaids and four barmen and two cellarmen. They stood in two groups, glaring at each other, then at her. Cheryl gulped and wondered which group was going to kill her first.

“I’ll have no slackers here,” boomed the voice of Mr Hill, “or thieves. I will watch all of you closely. This is Miss Brown, who will be the assistant barmaid and she will relieve you when you have your break. Do you all understand?”

“Yes, sir,” they all chorused.

“Get to it and don’t bother me with trivia, do you understand?” he thundered.

“Yes, sir.”

He gave them a last stern look, then left, and a barman confronted Cheryl.

“You’ve come to take one of our jobs, ’aven’t you, you little bitch.”

Before Cheryl could respond, a red-haired barmaid in an Irish accent piped up.

“You leave her alone, yer ignorant scouse. Touch her and you won’t wake up in the morning.”

“Please,” said Cheryl, “I can look after myself, but thanks.”

“My name’s Bridie Craith,” said the redhead. “I’m the representative for The Barmaids Association and that was Abner Morris for the Barmans Association, an ignorant guerilla from Liverpool, but gutless.”

Cheryl’s first shift began by relieving Colleen. Colleen was a pretty young woman of twenty who had worked in the trade most of her life as she had been the daughter of a publican. She worked beside Bridie.

“She’s the barmaid’s union representative,” said Collen, “if any of these pigs give you trouble, go see her.”

“Pigs?” Queried Cheryl.

“Barmen. Nothing more than thieving farmhands too lazy to shovel cow dung.

When Coleen returned, Cheryl moved into the public bar to relieve George. George was the oldest of the bar staff. Nobody knew just how old he was, but Cheryl was convinced he would be the first to be replaced. He just grunted at Cheryl as he left to light his pipe. Cheryl stood beside a young, dour, faced young man.

“I’m Mac, ” he said, “I suppose you came to steal my job.”

“No. I’m just an assistant barmaid. I’m not really a real one. I used to be a waitress, but my life just seems to get complicated lately.”

“I’d watch out for the other barmaids. They’d rob you blind, steal your tips and best customers. The way they flaunt themselves to the customer is disgusting, and the clothes they wear reveals everything.”

Cheryl’s eyebrows went up, and she looked down at herself. She wore the same clothes and not a square inch of flesh was revealed.

“They go off with men, you know, and come back an hour later and you know what that means.”

Before she could find out what it meant, a customer banged on the bar with a tankard. Cheryl hurried over. The customer peered at her with bloodshot eyes.

“Cor, you’re a sight for sore eyes, dearie. Wanna go out back for a bit?” he asked, leering at her.

“Sorry, too busy,” she replied, gasping for air as he breathed over her. Other customers spotted her and crowded around, leaving Mac standing alone at his end of the bar, glaring at her.

As she sat on her bed at the end of the day, she counted the contents of her tips purse. It had been a good day, but she didn’t know who to trust.

Cheryl walked past Mr. Hill’s office and pulled up when she heard Abner’s voice raised in anger at Mr. Hill.

“These men have been with this hotel for fifteen years. You can’t throw them out on the streets.”

“Mr. Morris, they are not barmen and are not entitled to accommodation. I need these rooms for my two best barmaids, who‌ bring in more than the barmen.”

“You owe these cellarmen far more than two little whores and they work a lot harder. Put the cellarmen on the streets and we will stop work.”

Mr Hill had stopped the inn’s descent into bankruptcy, but he wasn’t clear yet. A stoppage would cripple him.

“I haven’t made my decision yet. Now get back to work.”

As Abel left, Mr Hill spotted Cheryl lurking in the corridor.

“Miss Brown, come here.”

Cheryl slunk in, embarrassed about being caught eavesdropping.

“I have a job for you. Spend the day in the cellars. I will tell them you’re learning to be a cellargirl. I want you to find something I can fire them with.”

“But... But... I don’t know anything about cellars.”

“I just said, you’re going to learn.”

Mr. Hill waved his finger at Cheryl to follow him, and they descended into the cellars. The musky odour of stale ale, spilled spirits, Sherry and port gradually filled her nostrils making her dizzy and there was another noxious smell she couldn’t identify.

Wooden barrels, stacked to the roofs, with huge spider webs spun between them, lined the walls. Oil lamps cast a yellow glow textured with flickering shadows, and the sound of two men laughing drifted out.

They rounded a corner and two men stood there, holding their sides with laughter. They were quite old by the employment standards of the day but stood like old gnarled Oak trees. Solid, sturdy and well nigh invincible.

When they spotted Mr Hill, they stood at attention and one said, “Good morning to yer, guv.”

He touched his forehead.

“What brings you down to the bowels of your tavern, sir?”

Mr. Hill pushed Cheryl in front.

“This is Miss Brown. She has come to learn how to be a cellarman.”

There was silence for a moment, then both men broke out in large guffaws of laughter.

“Our rats are stronger than she is,” said one, in between bursts of hilarity.

“Not as good looking though,” said the other, and both doubled over in laughter again. Mr. Hill glared at them.

“I don’t give a shit about rats or how Miss Brown looks. You will teach her or you’re dismissed. Do you understand?”

Both men sobered up immediately.

“Yes sir,” they both said.

“Good,” he replied, and turning to Miss Brown he said, “if they give you any trouble, sort it out yourself.”

At that, he turned and left, leaving Cheryl standing in front of the two huge men.

The two men stood in silence, glaring at her, the looks on their face becoming steadily ferocious. Cheryl had the urge to turn and run when one of the men took three huge tankards to a barrel with a tap on it and filled the tankards. He gave one to the other man and one to Cheryl. All in silence. Cheryl held the huge tankard full of ale, wondering what to do with it. The first man put his to his lips and swallowed. He didn’t stop till it was all gone. The other followed suit, then both stared at Cheryl, holding their empty tankards. It became obvious what she was supposed to do. She had only ever tried to drink a beer in one go before and that had disastrous results. The two men started a slow handclap. Cheryl took a deep breath and put the tankard to her lips. It seemed like an eternity and her stomach felt as though it was going to burst, followed by a horrible drowning feeling. Finally, she was finished, and put the tankard down to the sound of two men cheering. Cheryl smiled in victory, then a huge stream of undigested ale erupted in a graceful arc from her mouth. She doubled over in between spasms of vomiting. The two men grabbed each arm and dragged her further into the cellar, depositing her on a little wooden stool made from half a keg. When she finally stopped retching, one of the men gave her a little glass.

“Here,” he said, “drink this. It’s one of the best ports in England.”

The other one pushed a bit of bread and cheese in front of her.

“And eat this. You probably brought your breakfast up.”

Through blurry eyes, Cheryl retrieved the glass and swallowed the sweet liquid, then reached out and tore a piece of bread and cheese. You don’t pass up food in the nineteenth century.

“I suppose we should introduce ourselves. I’m Jacob Keller and this is my brother Henry.”

Cheryl mumbled, “Nice to meet you.”

“Now that we’re friends,” said Jacob, “why don’t you tell us why you’re really here?”

Cheryl fought through the fuzziness in her brain, struggling to find a reason to be here.

“There going to replace you with two women and they sent me here to learn your job.”

“Har, har. Women can’t do this job,” said Henry.

“Yeh, can they do this?” retorted Jacob. He got up and walked over to the far wall and pulled his breeches down around his ankle and proceeded to urinate against the wall. Now she realised where that strange smell came from.

“I don’t suppose they can,” remarked Cheryl. They can, actually, thought Cheryl, but kept her mouth shut.

She was startled by the tinkling of a bell, and Henry arose and retrieved a harness from the wall behind him. He wrapped the harness around a keg of ale, crouched, then slipped the loops over his shoulders. With a grunt, he stood up and steadily made his way up the stairs to the bar. Nope, thought Cheryl, women can’t do that.

Jacob came back when he finished relieving himself and tapped Cheryl on the shoulder.

“Come on, you might as well do some work.”

Jacob led Cheryl to two dozen barrels, then said, “move these barrels over there to be loaded on the cart when the brewery cart comes.”

Cheryl looked in horror at the huge barrels.

“I can’t lift them.”

“Course you can’t, stupid girl. You roll them. Like this.”

He grabbed one by the lip and tilted it over, then rolled it into position and lifted it up again.

“Now get to work,” he said, jovially, leaving Cheryl there. She grabbed a lip and pulled with all her might. It wasn’t as heavy as she thought and it nearly toppled on top of her. When it settled down she rolled it easily to the collection area. When she tried to lift it upright, she discovered how heavy it was. Bracing herself, taking a firm grip and a deep breath, she heaved it upright then stood back and proudly looked at the result.

Feeling good about this, she grabbed the second barrel and tipped it over. Half a dozen rats were feeding on a dead cat and scattered, angry at having their meal upset. Two of them ran straight for Cheryl, who gave an enormous scream and jumped with a superhuman leap on top of a barrel. Both brothers came running at once, then stood laughing at Cheryl perched on an empty keg, holding her skirt up displaying her bloomers to everyone.

“Now that’s a sight you don’t see every day.”

“Please,” whimpered Cheryl, “please get rid of them.”

Henry disposed of the dead cat and remaining rats and lifted Cheryl down.

“You have to get used to the rats if you want to be a cellarman. Here, take this.”

He handed Cheryl a club.

“Belt them with this. It usually fixes them.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Run.”

Cheryl moved three more kegs than came upon the first of the brother’s secrets. Underneath the keg was a box of a dozen bottles of Port. She pulled out one bottle and read the name.

She knew little about port, but knew this was very expensive. Before she could investigate it further, Henry rushed over and grabbed the box.

“You saw nothing,” he growled, “understand.”

Cheryl just nodded her head and went back to work, but watched where he went. She got back to rolling the keg into position. She just sat down to rest when the cellar was flooded in daylight as a huge door opened in the ceiling and a man stood there.

“’allo!” He yelled.

“’allo yerself,” Henry yelled back. The man swung around and suddenly a keg started rolling down the rails which ran up to the door and Cheryl was sitting on one of the rails.

“Git off yer arse, woman!” Yelled Henry.

Cheryl reacted but not before the keg slammed into her bottom throwing her off on her face. The keg derailed, crashing and splitting, on the floor, flooding ale everywhere with Cheryl floundering in a sea of ale. Jacob hurried over, picking up the soaked and sore Cheryl.

“Are ye alright, luv?”

Before Cheryl could answer, a voice yelled out, “keg rolling.” Another keg began to come down the rails.

“Stop fart arsing around and get those kegs,” yelled Henry as he captured it, rolling it off the rails, and another shout about kegs rang out. Jacob jumped and stopped the keg as it rolled down and Henry yelled, ’What are you waiting for, woman?” Another keg started rolling down. Cheryl limped into position and stared in horror as the huge keg rolled straight at her. The ramp had been skillfully built to break the speed of the kegs as it rolled to a stop. Cheryl was not aware of this and tried to stop the keg but was pushed under and watched in horror as the keg rolled harmlessly over her. Henry grabbed her hand and hauled her up.

“Wait till it stops, woman.”

Next time she was ready and skillfully rolled it off, then into position. Lifting it upright wasn’t easy, but she just managed it. The calls of ‘keg rolling’ stopped and the men outside started dropping cases of spirits down to her.

“Follow me,” said Henry, and he took off down a corridor to a room full of cases.

“Stack them over there, and hurry.”

Cheryl ran off for another case, but the man just put a second one on top. Puffing and panting, she rushed to the store room then noticed Henry, who was following her, took a different path and returned without the case. In due course, all the kegs were in place and boxes packed when Henry said, “Right, start loading the empty kegs.”

Cheryl stared at him, exhausted, soaked to the skin with ale and her buttocks throbbing with pain, groaned and said, “On my own.”

“Of course, on your own. The kegs are empty. Just roll them up the rails and the men will load them on the cart.”

“What are you doing?”

“We’re off for a few whiskeys. Make sure you lock up.”

Cheryl looked dumbfounded as the two men climbed the cellar stairs.

“Have a move on, missus. We want to go home,” a voice yelled out. Cheryl stared, rolling the kegs to the rails and up to the waiting men.

After what felt like an eternity, a voice yelled, “that’s it missus. See you next week.”

The big door closed with a clang and darkness fell once more. Cheryl collapsed on a pile of dirt sacks, not taking the slightest notice of the livestock scurrying out from underneath, and fell asleep. She woke up, hours later, damp and stiff, wondering where she was. Then she remembered Henry sneaking off with a case of spirits. All but one of the lamps had gone out, so she took it and felt her way along the passage to a small door. She pushed it and found herself outside, in the grounds of a building next door. A path had been worn to a small shed and when she looked in she found a keg of ale and a dozen cases. She jerked up, startled by the sound of voices, and she hid behind some bushes.

“I got a good haul this time, Arthur, that idiot manager has no idea”

“Let’s have a look, Henry.”

The two men disappeared into the shed, and Cheryl ran back through the door. Thankfully, Harry had got worried and had arrived to give her a lift. When she struggled aboard the cart Harold said, “Phew, what have you been up to? You smell like a brewery.”

“Just shut up and get me home.”

The next day Cheryl limped into the cellar dreading another day, wondering what to do with her information. The brothers were sitting on their little seats eating breakfast.

“Ah, there you are. Sit down. Grab some food and ale.”

Cheryl sat down, wincing as she did.

“Yer, a good worker, Cheryl, but ye, nor any other women, will ever make a cellarman.”

Cheryl tore some bread, a chunk of cheese, and a large gulp of ale.

“I heartily agree,” said Cheryl, thinking why would any woman be so stupid?

“Now, why don’t you really tell us why you’re here, spying on us,” asked Jacob.

Cheryl hesitated.

“I could be dismissed if I tell you.”

“We could do a lot worse if you don’t.”

Cheryl looked sharply at Henry.

“The outhouse needs emptying, and that’s a cellarman job.”

Cheryl grinned.

“You know how many times I’ve cleaned out an outhouse?”

“I suppose you think we are just a couple of thieves,” said Henry.

Before Cheryl had a chance to respond, Jacob said, “we know you found the shed.”

Cheryl stayed silent.

“We’ve worked here all our lives and watched the owners steal and cheat customers and employees, and this new one is just as bad.”

Cheryl sprung to attention.

“What does he get up to?”

“He plans to dismiss all the barmen and replace them with whores pretending to be barmaids. He is going to turn the tavern into a brothel.”

Cheryl whistled.

“We know we’re on the chopping block. He wants our rooms. We have no money or anywhere to go so we helped ourselves. It was easy. We’ve got enough now, so we’re going soon. The point is what are you going to do?”

“He wanted me to find evidence to dismiss you?”

“And have you?”

Cheryl hesitated, then said, “No. I’m going back to work in the bar.”

She took the last piece of bread and cheese, swallowed the rest of the ale, and went upstairs.

Cheryl fully intended to get the two representatives together and come up with a plan to save the barmen but ran into Colleen.

“Oh my god. He’s dismissed all the barmen and brought in new barmaids,” she gasped. “They’re a very queer lot.”

“Miss Brown,” Mr Hill’s voice rang out, “come here.”

Feeling uneasy, Cheryl entered the office. Standing there were four shady looking women, filling the office with their smoke and looking Cheryl up and down, with slitted eyes.

“These are the new barmaids for the public bars only. You will be their supervisor for today and will fill in when needed.”

“Which will be all the time,” one said, the rest tittered.

“I have arranged for uniforms, so take them away to their rooms and get them fitted. I want them behind the bar by ten this morning.”

Cheryl couldn’t believe the sight standing in front of her. Mr. Hill had designed the uniforms and Cheryl had no idea how he would get away with it. There was plenty of chests displayed. The hems of the skirts clearly showed bare ankles and their arms and shoulders were uncovered. Cheryl was quite shocked and a little jealous.

For the next hour, Cheryl told them how to pour ale and measure out spirits. How to ring the bell when the keg was empty or needed new bottles of spirits? Two would go to the front bar and two to the back bar. It soon became obvious pouring beer was not their main goal, as she was constantly required to step in when one of them disappeared upstairs and she often ended up on the bar on her own.

As the day drew to a close, Mr. Hill called her into his office.

“You have performed your duties well, young lady. I have asked my wife to give you a little bonus. You can return to the Black Stallion.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said, wondering why he didn’t ask her to be quiet about the new barmaids.

Before she left, she slipped down to the cellars to meet the brothers going out.

“Well, well, here’s our honorary cellarman. How’s your bum?”

“Bruised, and how are you?”

“We’re out of here and going north. We’ve found ourselves a little inn in a village which we’ve bought. Look, you were sent to spy on us and you did your job. One day somebody is going to ask you. Tell them everything. Nobody will find us.”

“Thank you. It was an honour spying on you.”

She stood on to tiptoe and kissed each one.

The following day Cheryl sat in Mrs. Hill’s office enjoying a nice cup of tea and biscuits.

“Now, did you find out what is going on?”

Cheryl lent forward, eagerly.

“He’s hired prostitutes as barmaids and is now running a brothel in the inn,” she said, sitting back in triumph, but Mrs Hills’ expression did not change.

“Of course he has. That was what he was supposed to do. I’m talking about fraud, selling grog and pocketing the proceeds. Somebody is.”

Cheryl thought of the brothers.

“But aren’t you shocked by the brothel?”

“Do you know how many brothels are in that area? It is changing, but there are still lots of factories and it’s a favourite area for the spoiled sons of Lord and ladies. I’m determined to get my share. I’ll close it down when the factories disappear. Now whose pinching my stock”

Cheryl thought of the brothers and what they said.

“The Cellarmen. they were altering delivery sheets and selling the grog but they’re gone now.”

Mrs Hill stared at Cheryl.

“And the thieving has stopped?”

“Yes.”

Mrs Hill pulled an envelope from her drawer.

“A bonus. Now back to work.”

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