Trapped in 1895
Chapter 7

The next morning, Cheryl came down for breakfast to find a snow shovel in the kitchen.

“What’s that for?” she asked.

“It’s for shovelling bloody snow, that’s what it’s for,” retorted Mrs. Cole, in a bit of a bad mood.

“But I’ve never shovelled snow.”

“Well, you better learn fast, then.”

“But it’s dark out there.”

”Course it’s bloody dark. It’s four in the morning. Wait till it’s daylight, stupid girl. Now sit down, shut up and have breakfast, then set all the fires.”

Mrs Cole gave Cheryl the task of shovelling snow from the paths. She normally paid a street urchin to do this, but this way, she saved some money and kept Cheryl busy. To add extra irritation to Cheryl’s life, the neighbouring boys kept hitting her with snowballs. In exasperation, she scooped up a handful of snow, squeezed it and threw with all her strength at the boys. Unfortunately, it hit a young man on his head. Swiftly, he retaliated and his snow ball struck Cheryl on the forehead. This surprised her so much she took a step back, tripped and landed in the snow.

She was trying to sit up when a voice said, “Parcel here for Professor Schmidt.”

A small cart had pulled up, and a man was hauling a large box off the back of the cart.

With a grunt, he dropped it at her feet.

“Ma’am,” he said, politely doffing his hat. He mounted his cart and drove off.

Cheryl struggled to get to her feet, fighting the snow and many layers of clothes. The young man hurried over and offered his hand. Together, she managed to get upright.

“I’m awfully sorry. I really didn’t mean to hit you.”

Dusting herself down, she said, “Perfectly all right. I deserved it. My aim is terrible.”

She turned her attention to the box, and grasping a handle, tried to lift it.

“Oh dear,” she said, “I don’t think I can lift this.”

“May I help,” said the young man, “two of us together might do it.”

Between the two of them, they hauled the box inside.

“Professor,” yelled Cheryl.

The Professor came running out of the cellar with a look of annoyance on his face, which vanished when he spotted the box.

“Oh my. Oh goodness. My converter. Quick, bring it down,” said the Professor. He hurried off with no thought about how Cheryl was going to get it down the stairs.

“I have an idea,” said the young man. “Have you any rope?”

Cheryl immediately understood his idea and rushed to the back of the house. She returned with a long rope.

“Will this do?” she said.

“Perfect. Now let’s get the box in position.”

They pushed and pulled the box until it was in position at the top of the stairs. The young man tied the rope to one of its handles.

“Now push the box down. Don’t get yourself killed and let gravity do the work.”

Cheryl pushed the box over the edge of the stairs till it tipped over. Slowly, the box bumped gently down the stairs till it rested on the bottom. The professor danced around it excitedly.

“Quick, quick,” said the Professor

The two young people dragged the box into the middle of the room and the Professor gently dismantled the box with a hammer until a black box with terminals on each side and several knobs in the front.

“See, see,” said the Professor, “connect the power from the battery here and the terminals to the Tesla coil.”

The young man, who had been closely inspecting the box, asked, “Why are all those dials marked year, month, day, hour and minute.”

“None of your business, who are you anyway and what do you do?”

“Gregory Blackwater, a writer, at your service, sir.”

“A writer? How wonderful,” said Cheryl. “What do you write?”

The Professor nuzzled the couple towards the stairs and said, “Why don’t you tell each other all about yourselves upstairs?”

Cheryl escorted Gregory to the door.

“May I talk to you again?” said Gregory.

“Well... I don’t know,” she replied.

“Perhaps you would like to go ice skating?” Said Gregory.

“Go on, girl, ” said Mrs Cole, who had been watching everything, “you’ve worked hard. You’re entitled to some fun.”

“Then, yes, I think it would be delightful.”

“I shall call for you at nine tomorrow morning.”

Sunday rolled around again and Cheryl got out of bed early. Cheryl had learned if Mrs Cole had decided something was going to happen, it would and she had decided Cheryl was going to church. She got dressed and went downstairs for breakfast.

“Mrs Cole, you’re not dressed for church.”

“No I am not. I will not be going today.”

“You mean to say I got out of bed for nothing?”

“I didn’t say you were not going. Eat your breakfast and get on your way.”

As Cheryl mounted the steps of the church, she spotted Mary and they both gave a squeal of delight.

“What are you doing here?” asked Cheryl. “I didn’t know you were religious.”

“I’m not, particularly, but you meet the cutest boys here. Come on, let’s get a good seat. I hear the new vicar is gorgeous.”

“I wouldn’t get your hopes up, Mary. He’s your cousin.”

Mary dropped her Bible, and Cheryl picked it up.

“Whatever do you mean?”

Cheryl related it all to Mary.

“Ooh, goody. I can’t wait to tell mum.”

“Oh no. Please. You can’t tell anyone. If Mrs Cole found out, I would be condemned to scrubbing the outhouse.”

“Oh, yuck. Well, I’ll just find out all about Aunt Mabel without spilling the beans. Mum loves to talk, especially about Aunt Mabel.”

The Vicar appeared, and the sermon began, but the Vicar came nowhere near them.

The next day, Gregory appeared, at the appointed time, with a Hansom cab.

“We could actually walk, but I thought you would appreciate the ride,” said Gregory.

Cheryl did. She was getting sick of walking everywhere.

“I loved ice skating,” said Cheryl. “I used to do heaps as a teenager. My aunty was an ice skating champion. National trophy, nineteen ninety-five. She was even on television.”

Suddenly she realised what she had said.

“I’m sorry. I can ramble on if nobody stops me. How about you? Where did you learn?”

Gregory gave no sign he noticed the slip.

“I grew up on a little farm. It had a large pond near the house and would freeze over in the winter. My sisters, brothers and I would skate every winter.”

They arrived to find a small crowd skating on the frozen river. Gregory guided Cheryl to a covered wagon where a gypsy was renting out ice skates. Gregory hired two pairs, then helped Cheryl put hers on.

In excitement, she rushed onto the ice but soon fell, tripped by her long dress.

“’ere, darl,” said a young woman, “tuck your dress into the legs of your bloomers, like I’ve done.”

Each side of her dress was tucked neatly and primly into the legs of her bloomers, which came down below her knees. Once her clothes were out of the way, she skated off effortlessly. For the next couple of hours, Gregory and Cheryl skated together. They chased each other, showing off their skills till they collapsed, exhausted, on the snow covered banks of the river.

Playing with a ball of snow, Gregory asked, “Have your parents passed away?”

“What!”

“Your parents. Have your parents passed away? I was wondering if that was why you’re living with your uncle?”

Cheryl thought about her parents. They were very much alive. Her father was constantly borrowing money from her and her mother forever calling her about her current imaginary illness. Needless to say, they were divorced.

“They are very much alive.”

“Did you quarrel with them? Over a man, perhaps.”

Cheryl’s mind worked overtime.

“No. They emigrated to Australia, and I refused to go. Uncle was kind enough to give me a home.”

“Australia, whereabouts in Australia.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Some strange sounding name I can’t pronounce.”

Trying to change the conversation, she asked, “Tell me about the farm?”

Instead, he replied, “What do all those knobs on your uncle’s box do?”

“I do not know,” replied Cheryl. “My uncle never talks about his inventions.”

“He seemed to think you did?”

“I think I have had enough skating now. Would you take me home please?”

“I’m afraid we will have to walk back. There don’t seem to be any cabs.”

They casually strolled back, chatting and laughing at each other. Throwing snowballs and making snowmen. They reached home in time. for dinner and Cheryl invited Gregory to dinner.

“I really don’t want to be too much trouble,” he said.

“You won’t be in any trouble. Mrs Cole always makes too much, anyway.”

Mrs Cole, unfortunately, didn’t see it this way.

“What do you think this is, young lady? A blooming restaurant.”

“If that’s the way you feel, I’ll ask uncle,” said Cheryl.

“You do that and see what he says.”

Gregory shuffled his feet.

“Please, Cheryl. Don’t bother on my account.”

“Nonsense. Mrs Cole thinks she’s the boss here. I’m going to speak to my uncle. Wait here.”

Cheryl marched down to find the professor bent over a metal frame.

“Uncle,” she said, “could Gregory come to dinner?”

The professor slowly straightened up.

“I don’t remember sending an invitation to him,” he replied with an indignant glare in his eyes. Things had not been going well with his time machine.

“Well, no. We’ve just come back from skating.”

“And you think you could just invite any young man you like to come and eat my food?”

“Well, no, of course not,” she mumbled submissively.

“And who is this young man?”

“It’s Gregory, uncle. Remember, he helped me with that gigantic box.”

The professor paused and stared at the ceiling.

“Isn’t he that nosey reporter that wants to know everything about my machine?”

“I really don’t think Gregory came just to see your machine,” retorted Cheryl, slightly miffed.

“You can have dinner in the kitchen,” he snorted as his head descended into the machinery.

Cheryl returned to Gregory with an embarrassed expression.

“Sorry. We’ve been banished to the kitchen.”

Gregory laughed.

“It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been banished to the kitchen, but I really need to go. Maybe some other time. Have you ever been to the markets at Covent Garden?”

“I don’t think so. I went to a market with Mrs Cole once, but only to buy vegetables.”

“We’ll spend tomorrow there. I think you will enjoy it, but you have to get up very early in the morning.”

“It will have to be next Saturday. Mrs. Cole has me scrubbing pots and pans all week.”

Sᴇarch the FindNovel.net website on G𝘰𝘰gle to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.