Trapped in 1895
Chapter 3

Darkness was descending in London and the snow fell gently but thickly on their heads. Mary muttered something, then said, “Why is it, when you need a cab there is none to be found.”

“Look, there’s one. Yoohoo!” yelled Cheryl, and stepped off the sidewalk to be greeted by a loud squelching sound.

“Oh yuck, what have I stood in?” she moaned as she stared at her boot in the middle of a huge, steaming mound of fresh horse dung.

“Don’t worry about that,” said Mary, expertly hopping over the mess. “Let’s get that cab before someone else does.”

Cheryl pulled her boot out with a plop, lifted her dress, and ran after Mary. She sat in the cab and looked at her boot in dismay with Mary looking on in amusement.

“You sound as though you have never stepped in horse droppings before.”

“At least we keep them where they’re supposed to be,” muttered Cheryl, trying to scrape the muck off her boots, “not in the middle of the road.”

“What are you supposed to do? We have to have horses to pull things around.”

“Well, we’ve got ...” Cheryl was about to retort before she realised what she was about to say. Mary began a lengthy interrogation about Cheryl’s origins when the cab driver yelled, “You’ve arrived, ladies. All out.”

He was anxious to get home.

Cheryl became alarmed when the cab pulled away, leaving the two defenceless women standing in the empty, ominous street. Huge black buildings towered over them, with snow steadily falling. Dark shadows filled the doorways and Cheryl was convinced there were people lurking in them. The darkness was broken by a few gaslight lamps whose light only shone a few feet around the poles.

“Botheration,” uttered Mary, “Where is he?”

“Who?”

“David, my gentleman friend. I thought it would be wise to have a man accompany us.”

“Is that him?” asked Cheryl, pointing to a figure jumping and waving at them.

“Yes, yes. It is,” said Mary, gathering up her skirt and running to him, closely followed by Cheryl. Mary ran straight into his arms, kissing him passionately.

“Cheryl, this is David. My gentleman friend.”

“Yes, I can see that,” smiled Cheryl.

“But don’t tell Aunt Mabel. She would have conniptions.”

“Why?” asked Cheryl.

“Because he’s Italian.”

A gasp of exasperation escaped David’s lips.

“My grandfather was Italian, and he married a French lady. My father married a Welsh lady and the only Italian is my name, Pizzarelli.”

“Well, you look more like a Welsh miner than an Italian gigolo,” stated Cheryl.

“A what?” asked Mary, but was saved when David said, “We’re here.”

Up ahead was an alleyway with light streaming out of it and Cheryl was not prepared for the sight in front of her.

Lamps hung everywhere, from poles, on walls, or just sitting on benches. Metal wicker baskets held large logs or coal burning energetically, pouring out smoke, mixing with the aroma of cooking and blending into the pea soup atmosphere of London. Flames would occasionally shoot out from a food vendor’s oven, frightening the onlookers and delighting the street urchins who would dart between the carts, stealing food. Men and women with dirty, torn rags mixed with silk dresses and tailored suits. Cheryl was entranced with all the food till she looked at the cooks.

“Is this safe?” she asked, trying hard not to stare at the hands of the cooks or their utensils.

“Course it’s safe,” said David, “nobody would dare lay a hand on you here.”

“No, no. I mean the food?”

“Of course, the food’s safe. Here, try some of this.”

Mary had purchased some thick green liquid, a pea soup, from one vendor. He had a large ladle and scooped it full from a large black pot into a grubby cup. He handed it to Cheryl who sniffed it carefully then raised it to her lips and sipped it.

“Heavens,” she said, and took a large gulp.

“That is good. Anymore?” she asked as she finished the cup. She had two more helpings. The little group slowly made its way up the lane, among the vendors sampling everything. They joined a group clustered around a young woman presiding over a large bowl.

“Jellied eels, jellied eels. Penny a scoop.”

“Oh Cheryl, you must try these. They’re delicious. David, get us some, please.”

David returned with three paper bowls full of a quivering mass of some gelatinous substance which contained bits of fish. It really didn’t look good.

“What are these things?”

“Eels. Chopped up, of course. Yum,” she said as she scooped some into her mouth. Cheryl tried to copy her, but only spilled it down her fur coat.

“’ere look. Just scoop it out with your hand,” said David.

Cheryl, ignoring her not so clean hand, scooped up a handful and fed it into her mouth.

“Oh god, that’s delicious. I didn’t think they would have such great food in this century.”

“What century do you think it is?” asked David with a strange look on his face.

“Is she ...” he said to Mary, as he twirled his forefinger in the area of his head. Mary shrugged her shoulders.

The trio slowly wandered down the lane and mixed with the food vendors where other vendors were operating sideshows.

“Roll up, roll up. Guess your weight and win a prize,” yelled an incredibly fat man dressed in a garish striped suit.

“Let’s find out how fat we really are,” said Mary, and gave the man a penny.

“Well, darling. Let’s see.”

He looked Mary up and down, walked around her, stared a long time at places a gentleman should not stare at then declared she weighed one hundred and fifteen pounds.

“What rubbish,” declared Mary, and stood on the scales.

The scales comprised a platform suspended from a beam and another platform which held counter weights. The fat man put counter weights on and Mary rose.

“Remain steady,” said the fat man, then declared she weighed one hundred and fourteen pounds.

The crowd all cheered and clapped.

“Well, I never,” uttered Mary, and marched off.

“You really don’t look fat,” said Cheryl, trying to mollify Mary, but only succeeded in drawing a sarcastic response. It looked as if Mary would walk home, but was stopped when an enormous flame erupted in front of her. She blinked a couple of times then shouted.

“Oh heavens, sheep’s trotters. I love sheep’s trotters. Cheryl, you have to try some.

“I hate sheep’s trotters. I’ve found something better.”

Cheryl was standing in front of a fish vendor who was selling oysters.

“Oh god, oysters. I love oysters and look at the price.”

“Loverly fresh oysters, love. Picked them meself,” said the dirty old man behind the cart.

“I wouldn’t eat them, Cheryl,” advised David, “they’re dodgy round here.”

“Don’t you listen to him, young miss. Look, I’ll throw in another four.”

Cheryl wasn’t to be dissuaded.

“I’ll take them.”

The dirty old man wrapped them up in a piece of old newspaper and Cheryl joined the others, happily swallowing oysters.

It was midnight now, and the trio came across a coffee shop.

“Just what I need, a good strong coffee,” said Cheryl and entered the coffee shop, only to be held back by David.

“Wait,” he said, “decent women don’t go into coffee shops after midnight.”

“Nonsense. I’ve been to Starbucks after midnight many times.”

A puzzled Mary and David looked at each other echoing “Starbucks?” while Cheryl strode inside. They rapidly followed her and as she entered, she realised things were not right. The atmosphere was thick with smoke from many cigars and pipes. The women were not dressed as other women were, indeed some were barely dressed at all. Men were laughing and joking while women sat on their laps. More than one woman left with a man’s arm around her waist.

“Golly,” said Cheryl and sat down at a table, her eyes glued to a large woman wearing a corset and fishnet stockings. The woman became aware that Cheryl was staring at her and ambled over.

“Good Day luv, don’t get your sort around here much.”

“Excuse me,” said Cheryl.

“I’ll take you. I don’t mind chewing on quim whiskers occasionally. How do you like to do it?”

“What’s she on about?” Cheryl asked Mary. Mary leaned over and whispered in her ear. A shocked Cheryl jumped up.

“God no, let’s get out of here,” whispered Cheryl frantically and hurried to the door with Mary and David following giggling.

“Sorry,” said Mary, “we didn’t think you were so innocent.”

“I’m not. It took me by surprise.”

...

It was well past midnight when Cheryl returned to the professor’s home and she made her way through the dark, chilly house to her bedroom. She wasn’t feeling well, and an ache was building in her stomach. She undressed in the dark but just couldn’t get the corset undone and had no desire to call Mrs Cole at this time of night. Rubbing her stomach, she slipped under the covers and was soon asleep. Just before dawn, she snapped awake. In desperation, she leapt out of bed searching for her robe before she realised she would never reach the outdoor toilet in time. Dropping to her knees, she dragged the chamber pot out and sat there in complete misery, her stomach going up and down like a sailing ship in a storm. Completely drained, she dragged herself back into bed but within the hour she leapt out again, rushing to the window, pulling it open and leaned out. The snow filled alleyway echoed to the sound of her vomiting.

It had always been Mrs Cole’s habit, since she was a girl, to be up an hour before day-break and the start of a busy day. It was her quiet time where she could dress, feed herself and enjoy an undisturbed cup of tea. Her room was on the same floor as Cheryl and when she passed her door, she heard the sounds of distress. When she opened the door, the smell and sounds told her everything.

“Oh you poor dear,” she said and hurried over to Cheryl and pulled her back in through the window.

“And you’ve still got your corset on. Let me take it off.”

Mrs Cole expertly and swiftly removed the corset, and the release of pressure on Cheryl’s abdomen caused another explosion.

“Oh god, Oh god. Out of the way,” she shouted as she collapsed on the chamber pot. Mrs Cole waited patiently while Cheryl moaned and groaned.

“Tell me young Miss. Did you have any of the oysters?”

All Cheryl could do was nod.

“You’re young. You will be alright. Miserable and wishing you were in hell, perhaps, but it will pass.”

In answer, Cheryl lept from the chamber pot to the window. With great tenderness, Mrs Cole helped Cheryl from the window, cleaned her up and put her in bed.

“I will get the butler to light your fire,” she said and left, carrying the chamber pot.

“For God’s sake, leave me an empty one.”

...

Throughout the night, Cheryl got weaker and weaker. Fluid flowed out of both ends of her. Mrs. Cole stayed by her side, tending to her till dawn. Out of sheer exhaustion, Cheryl went into a deep sleep and Mrs. Cole wiped her brow and gently washed her face.

“How is she?” asked the Professor.

“Not good, but she should recover soon.”

“I will ask the doctor to come around.”

Mrs. Cole looked in regularly till the afternoon, where she brought in a tray with a little food. Cheryl was half out of bed.

“Cheryl, dear, what are you doing?”

“I’ve got to go to work, mum.”

“Yes, dear, but I think you need to go back to bed.”

Cheryl struggled and stood up.

“They need me, mum. The mainframes have crashed. I’ve got to fix them.”

Mrs. Cole had seen many people delirious. She gently guided Cheryl back to the bed.

“I love you, mum.”

“Yes, dear. Now make me happy and climb into bed.”

Cheryl slipped back into bed and fell asleep. Throughout the night Cheryl thrashed around, muttering strange words Mrs. Cole didn’t understand.

...

The doctor appeared the next morning and examined the sleeping Cheryl.

“I think the food poisoning has weakened her and allowed something else to invade. There are many diseases happening at the moment.”

“What can we do?” said a worried Mrs. Cole.

“Wait, is all I can say. Make sure she drinks plenty of weak tea or boiled water and tries to get her to eat something. She is a strong woman. I think she will survive.”

Both the Professor and Mrs.Cole kept watch in turns. Cheryl’s delusions seemed to have passed and she lay peacefully.

“What will we do if she passes, Professor? How can we get her back to the future? Her mother will never know what has happened to her.”

“I must send her forward to the future. Even if she doesn’t survive. Her timeline must end in her time, or instability in time might occur.”

“What do you mean, Professor?”

The professor sighed and looked at the ceiling.

“I do not know, my dear. I do not know”

...

The morning arrived, and Mrs Cole was gently washing Cheryl’s face when she opened her eyes.

“I thought you were my mum,” she whispered.

Mrs. Cole dropped the cloth.

“Oh my dear, my dear. You made it.”

“I feel as if somebody has sucked the life from me.”

Rowland entered and whispered into Mrs. Cole’s ear.

“Do you feel strong enough to see Mary? She’s been frantic.”

Cheryl nodded and Mrs. Cole left to get Mary, but by the time she Left, Cheryl fell asleep. Mary looked down at her friend’s thin white face with sunken eyes and tears ran down her face.

“Is she going to recover?” she asked Mrs. Cole.

“Yes dear. She’s just sleeping.”

“Can I sit with her? I brought my needlework.”

“Of course. It will let me catch up on my work.”

It was approaching noon, and Mary was getting peckish. She looked up, wondering what she could get to eat, when she noticed Cheryl looking at her.

“You’re beautiful, Mary,” she said.

Mary blushed slightly at this unexpected compliment and dropped to her knees beside Cheryl.

“Cheryl dear, I am so sorry I took you to the food festival. You asked me if it was safe and I said it was.”

“Don’t be, Mary. Everyone told me not to eat oysters. I must realise things are not really safe in this century.”

Before Mary could ask what she meant, Mrs. Cole entered.

“The doctor is here to see the young miss. Come with me, Mary, and make something for her to eat.”

The doctor entered, and Mary left with Mrs. Cole. When she returned, she was carrying a tray with a big bowl of soup and bread. Cheryl was sitting up in bed.

“A couple of days be bedrest and she will be fit and ready to be bossed around by yourself, Mrs Cole.”

“And looking forward to it. Come, Doctor, I will see you out.”

When they had left, Mary fed Cheryl.

“Have you had lunch, Mary?”

Mary shook her head and fed Cheryl another spoonful of soup.

“Let’s share them.”

Both girls settled down to enjoy lunch and then Cheryl asked Mary to leave as she needed to sleep.

...

Cheryl slept soundly through the night and drifted awake to find Rowland again stoking the fire.

“Hello,” she said.

Rowland turned and replied, “Good morning, miss. It’s good to see you well again.”

“Thank you. You know, I don’t even know your last name.”

“Just Rowland, miss. Rowland is enough.”

“How long have you been with the Professor?”

“About five years, miss. It was Mrs. Coles’ suggestion. The Professor needed certain things done only a man servant could do. I have stayed with him ever since.”

“You’re silent, Rowland, and discreet.”

“They are outstanding qualities for a butler. Now I must leave you.”

Rowland left and Cheryl went back to sleep.

…

When she woke, she felt quite herself and got up to wash just as Mrs. Cole entered.

“Here’s your breakfast. Do you think you can eat it today?”

“I sure can. I’m starving.”

“Well you can have a nice bath afterwards.”

“I can have a bath,” said a surprised Cheryl. She hadn’t had a bath since she dropped through that damn time hole. All she was able to do was wash herself with a cloth and a basin.

“Certainly. It’s all set up in the kitchen. The Butler has gone out for the day and the Professor won’t emerge from the cellar till dinner time”

“I’m not bathing in the kitchen.”

“Well, I’m not pulling that thing up three flights of stairs. Do you want it or not?”

There was only one answer to that. Cheryl would kill for a bath.

She finished her breakfast, removed her underwear, put on a robe and ran shivering to the kitchen. It was with some relief to find it nice and warm.

“There it is, over there,” said Mrs Cole.

There stood a very large, copper container with a little fire under it.

“But that’s your laundry tub,” said Cheryl, aghast.

“Don’t you worry, my dear. Laundry day is next Monday but first, sit down here.”

“Why.”

“Lice, deary, lice. No point if you have a nice bath and your head is full of lice. Oh, don’t look so shocked. We all get them sooner or later.”

Cheryl sat down dumbfounded. She never had head lice in her entire life. Mrs Cole held a plate under her head and passed a comb through her hair.

“Hah! Got one,” she exclaimed.

“Oh god,” said Cheryl.

“If you have too many,” said Mrs. Cole, pulling the comb all the way down her hair, “We might have to cut your hair off and scrub your scalp with kerosene.”

Cheryl froze visualising herself, bald with lice crawling over her head.

“All done, now climb in.”

“Will I ever need to get my head shaved,” asked Cheryl whose face was nearly in tears.

“Oh good heavens no. You should see your face. Don’t worry, dear, that went out in my mothers day. Just run a comb through it regularly.”

Cheryl looked at the beautiful clean hot water and spent no time getting in. She slid under the water and lay luxuriating in its heat. For the next hour she scrubbed her body and washed her hair, twice.

“Don’t hurry, luv. Enjoy yourself.”

Cheryl stretched out. Her legs hanging over the edge and her head resting on the rim with her long wet hair hanging down. She closed her eyes.

“Mrs. Cole?”

“Yes, deary.”

“I never thanked you for looking after me. I had a strange dream about you.”

“I am a bit of a nightmare,” she said, smiling.

“I dreamt you were my mum. She never looked after me. Oh, if I needed a doctor she would get one but she never washed my face or did any of the other things you did. Thank you.”

Mrs. Cole looked at Cheryl.

“I had a daughter once. She died when she was five. She looked just like you.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Mrs. Cole. What happened to her.”

“She was a sickly child. She got a chill and it went to her chest. She just passed away in my arms.”

Mrs. Cole wiped some tears from her eyes as she went to get more coal for the copper tub fire when a voice called out.

“’allo, Mrs Cole. Where do you want these spuds.”

Cheryls eyes flew open to discover a large, dirty, young man with an enormous bag of potatoes on his shoulder.

“In the box just behind the copper,” she said, pointing in Cheryl’s direction. Cheryl slid down into the water as the young man approached the copper and spotted Cheryl.

“’allo there. Enjoying a bath, are we?” He said cheerily, swinging the huge sack of potatoes to the ground.

“I like a good bath myself although I usually wait till summer. Gets a chill otherwise,” he continued as he sliced the sack open. Cheryl slid even further under the water.

“That’s Cheryl, my new scullery maid,” called out Mrs Cole, “his name is Harry.”

“Scullery maid, eh. You’re lucky to have Mrs Cole as a governor. None come better.”

“Maybe we could go out together one weekend,” he suggested as he emptied the potatoes into the box. Cheryl tried to curl up to a little ball under the water.

“Well, good afternoon, I’m off. See you next month, Mrs Cole.”

“Bye dear,” she said to the young man but to Cheryl she shook her finger and said, “That was very rude. You could have said hello to him.”

Exasperated, Cheryl replied, “I’m naked, in a bathtub.”

“Oh he couldn’t see anything. That water is as black as the river Thames.”

Startled, Cheryl realised it was and all that dirt came off her. She gave a little squeal of disgust and lept out the copper. Mrs Cole broke out in laughter as Cheryl stood there, dripping and naked in the middle of the kitchen.

Controlling herself, Mrs Cole handed Cheryl a robe.

“You better put this on before someone else comes in.”

Cheryl donned the robe and ran, wet and shivering, to her bedroom.

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