Trapped in 1895
Chapter 21

Cheryl arrived at the Black Stallion, ready for work, when Mrs. Hill intercepted her.

“Can I have a word, Miss Brown?”

Wondering what she had done wrong, Cheryl entered the small office.

“Miss Brown, I’m in a spot of trouble. I own a small tavern in a village outside London, but my barmaid has gotten herself pregnant. I need another barmaid, someone I can trust. It’s only for a few days.”

“It’s rather far away. How do I get to it?” asked Cheryl.

“By train, then a short carriage journey. There is a room you can stay in, so go home and pack a bag.”

Cheryl explained she had no barmaid experience but Mrs. Hill just waved her away with the words, “Now you will, so enjoy yourself”.

One hour later, Cheryl found herself on a small country platform wondering what she had gotten into but, she had to admit; it was beautiful here. She walked over to the Station Master and asked him where she could get a carriage to Shoebury. The Station Master guffawed under his enormous moustache and said, “The only way you will get there is if you have your own carriage otherwise, walk.”

“How far is it?”

“About an hour or so but the walk is lovely and you will enjoy yourself. Just follow the signposts and you won’t get lost.”

Heaving a weary sigh she started walking in the direction of the sign, down a narrow lane, little more than a track, towards the village. As she walked, she passed some cows staring at her over the fence, so close she couldn’t resist the temptation to reach out and stroke them. She stopped and became engrossed at the sight of a huge bull, snorting and staring at her. She had a quick look around to make sure the bull couldn’t escape and moved up to the fence for a better look. The bull appeared not to like this as it snorted louder and began pawing the ground, but Cheryl felt secure behind the fence and continued staring. The bull had enough of this, so with a loud bellow charged at Cheryl, who gave a squeal of fright and darted backwards just as the bull swerved off at the last minute. Cheryl’s heart rate went up even further when there was a loud neighing of a horse, the cursing of an angry rider and hooves flying inches from Cheryl’s head. The rider fell off the horse, and it galloped a short distance off. The rider got to his feet.

“Apollo, Apollo, you damn horse, get back here.”

He attempted to get to his feet when he fell again but the horse trotted back. Cheryl ran to the man’s aid crying, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

She took his arm and helped him up.

“Thank god, it isn’t broken. That was a silly thing to do, Miss.”

“The bull frightened me. I’m not used to them.”

“Who is,” he replied, “and what is a young lady doing out here?”

“I’m on my way to the village.”

“So am I. I’ll give you a lift.”

“But you have no carriage.”

“On horseback, of course. Haven’t you ridden on the back of a horse before? I’ll help you up.”

Before Cheryl could object, he gripped her around the waist and swung her up on the horse and she found herself balanced, astride the horse in front of the saddle. Then he expertly swung himself up. The horse trotted off, oblivious of the extra weight.

“I really should know your name,” said Cheryl.

“Henry Farrer. I’m a writer. I’ve been in London for the past month trying to get my book published, but I live in the village.”

Henry launched into a long preview of his romantic novel until he dropped a tired and sore Cheryl at the door of the tavern.

“Adieu, Miss Brown. I’m sure we’ll meet again.”

Cheryl smiled lamely and limped into the tavern. It was a romantic little tavern with two floors. The ground floor comprised two rooms, the bar and a kitchen. Outhouse, laundry, etc. were all located well away at the rear. The top floor consisted of six rooms for guests and behind the bar was a sullen barmaid. Cheryl limped up to her.

“Hi, I’m Cheryl Brown. I’m here to do the barmaid’s job.”

“So you’re the one taking Peggy’s job,” she said, glaring at her.

“Only for a few days. Someone else is coming. Can’t we be friends? All I’m doing is a barmaid’s job, which I’ve never done before.”

“A barmaid!” She exclaimed, “she was more than a barmaid. She ran the place.”

“Mrs Hill said nothing about that.”

“That’s cause she’s never here and never seen what she does and just because she gets pregnant, she’s got rid of her.”

“Can I go to my room now?”

“You mean Peggy’s room. Number One on the top floor. I can’t leave the bar.”

It was a nice room with a very large bed. Even though Cheryl hadn’t had tea she undressed and fell into bed instantly asleep. She dreamed she was back in her flat again and the miserable boyfriend had come home. She forgave him and he climbed into bed with her. She felt his arms around her and she turned in her sleep towards him. She felt his lips meet hers and she was enjoying the sensation when she wondered when the boyfriend had grown a beard. Her eyes snapped open and she instantly became awake. The eyes were brown, not blue. She screamed and leapt out of bed and recognised the man.

“What the hell are you doing in my bed?”

“Well, why are you in Peggy’s?”

“She doesn’t live here anymore. Was she your girlfriend?”

“Yes, I haven’t seen her for a month.”

“Do you know she’s pregnant?”

“Good god, no. I have to replace her.”

He grabbed his clothes and ran out the door. Cheryl lay back down on the bed, yawned, and fell asleep. After all, if you’ve travelled one hundred years back in time, a stranger in your bed is nothing.

When Cheryl went to go down to the kitchen, she found a note with some keys pinned to the outside of her door. The note instructed her to unlock the doors and prepare the kitchen for the cook. Just can’t escape being a scullery maid, she thought. She went about these duties swiftly and efficiently and was wiping the last of the pots when a little plump, rosy-cheeked woman came in.

“Hi, I’m the cook, Wendy. I guess you’re the new barmaid?” she said.

“I’m Cheryl and just for a few days.”

Wendy walked over to the oven and discovered a kettle boiling away.

“You’ve done a marvellous job on this oven. You’ve even blackened it,” said Wendy, picking up the kettle and filling a tea-pot, then poured out two cups. Cheryl sat down and took her cup.

“Now young lady, tell me all about yourself.”

For the next hour, Cheryl poured out everything that had happened to her since she arrived and Wendy told Cheryl what her job would be. It was nothing like Mrs. Hill’s description.

“Now a word of warning. There are things Peggy did I know nothing about. Strange, rough men come looking for her at strange hours. I have my suspicions, but I’ll keep them to myself. Just be careful. Now best get out to the bar and sweep it out.”

Cheryl proceeded to prepare the bar for opening, then unlocked the door. She went behind the bar wiping everything just to keep busy when Wendy wandered in with a lump of bread and a large piece of cheese. Cheryl realised she was starving, having not eaten any tea last night.

“I’ll swap you this bread and cheese for a glass of stout,” she Wendy. Cheryl thought this was a grand idea and soon disposed of the fresh bread and tasty cheese.

“What time does Maggie get in?”

Wendy laughed.

“She won’t. She never comes in on Tuesday or Wednesday. Nothing ever happens on those days.”

“What happens here?”

“Farmers, fishermen. The farmers come in on Friday nights and Saturday. Can get quite hectic and noisy. Some fishermen come in on the afternoons when they have come back from fishing, but mostly they go to the bigger ports down the coast.”

Wendy paused for a bit, staring into her port.

“Occasionally, a merchant ship will come in. It’ll anchor just outside the harbour, then the place will be filled with the toughest lot of sailors you ever saw.”

Throughout the day, the bar got busier and Henry came in.

“Oh, Miss Brown, please forgive me but I thought you were my sweetheart.”

“Don’t worry about it. Did you replace her?”

“No but I know where she is. Her father has forbidden her to see me and he will shoot me if I go near her.”

“He doesn’t approve of you, I guess.”

“No. He doesn’t approve of me being a writer. He thinks I’ll drag his daughter into poverty,” said Henry, who took a large drink of ale and stared miserably into the remains, “and he is probably right if I don’t get my book published.”

“You could always get a job,” said Cheryl, then was startled by a sudden banging of the door and a large burly farmer barged in, carrying a shotgun and followed by a young woman.

“You,” he bellowed, “you’re the scoundrel that got my daughter pregnant.”

Henry drew himself up, ready to defend himself.

“I love Peggy and am prepared to marry her,” said Henry.

“Oh Henry, I do, I do,” cried Peggy.

“You bloody well won’t, not while he is wasting his time writing things down,” he said and turning to his daughter, he continued, “You’re going to your Aunt Caroline and have that bastard. The church will take it then.”

Peggy ran to Henry’s side and yelled back, “we’re going to get married and you can’t stop us.”

The farmer lifted his shotgun and said, “Damn right I can. Get away from him.”

Cheryl decided to ring the bell and summon Hercules. Hercules was the odd-job man who looked after the grounds of the inn and any other manual jobs. He took up the space of two normal men and could toss heavy weights around as if they were feathers. He ambled into the bar.

“Alright Mr. Fogerty. You know shotguns aren’t allowed in the bar.”

Mr. Fogerty lowered the shotgun.

“It isn’t even loaded,” he said, snapping it open to display empty chambers. Cheryl decided to further cool the situation.

“Could Henry marry your daughter if he got a job?”

Mr. Foggerty relented.

“If he could properly support my daughter and her child, I suppose it would be possible.”

“Then give him a job on your farm.”

Both Henry and Mr. Fogerty said, “What!” but Fogerty continued, “I suppose he could do the jobs Peggy does now and soon won’t be able to.”

“And you could wait for your book to be published without ending up in the workhouse,” said Cheryl to Henry.

“And we’ll be together,” said Peggy, draping her arms around Henry’s neck.

“All right, I’ll do it,” said Henry and Peggy put her hands through each man’s arm and marched them out the inn.

Cheryl was in the bar wiping things down and tending to the few customers when Polly walked in.

“What are you doing here? You don’t usually come in on Wednesdays.”

“The ‘Blue Dolphin’ is in the port.”

“What’s the Blue Dolphin?” Asked Cheryl.

“You’ll replace out soon enough.”

As Cheryl wiped the last table, six sailors barged in, slapping Cheryl’s bottom and crying out for rum. Throughout the afternoon, the number of sailors grew till the bar was filled with cursing, shouting and fighting sailors. Hercules had his hand full, Throwing out the worst of them while Polly showed her skill as a barmaid, pouring drink after drink and deflecting all the suggestive comments. Darkness fell outside and the noisy crowd looked like it was there for the night. Single women would slip in and mix with the sailors, provoking fights between them over possession of the women.

Cheryl jumped when someone tapped her shoulder and she turned to replace a sailor beckoning her to follow him. She was led out to the courtyard, where there was a cart holding two barrels and several large boxes.

“We got to hide these quick, miss. The coast guards are roaming around. Where do you want them?”

Cheryl’s mind was whirling with questions, but she pointed to a hut at the corner and several men unloaded the barrels and boxes.

“Ok miss, all done. You got the money?”

When Cheryl hesitated, the sailor said, “The captain will be upset if you don’t. You’ll be shark feed if you don’t have it.”

“I’m sorry, but I know nothing about any money.”

The sailor stared at her, swore, and signalled to his men. Two of them grabbed Cheryl’s arm.

“I think you better tell the Captain that yourself. Take her to the dinghy.”

They threw Cheryl into the dinghy and she landed, painfully, in the water at the bottom of the dinghy. She pulled herself to a seat and watched the merchant ship grow closer. When they reached the ship, the sailor pulled Cheryl up before the Captain. He stared at Cheryl while he lit a huge, evil smelling cigar.

“I’m not an unreasonable man. If I could return the merchandise and recoup my money, I would, but I can’t. What do you think I should do?”

“I don’t know what’s going on. I’m only there for a few days. Can’t you wait and speak to Mrs Hill herself? I’ll let her know you’re waiting for your money.”

“Mrs. Hill. I’ve never heard of her and I can’t wait. You’re an attractive woman. I’m sure I’ll get my money back by selling you in Jamaica. Take her below and chain her up.”

Before she could scream, the sailor clamped a hand over her mouth and carried her down below. They tied her hands behind her, attached a chain to her ankle and wrapped a cloth around her mouth then left her on a bed of sacks. Pools of dirty water lay all over the floor and she could hear things rustling in the dark. The only light available was moonlight shining through the trapdoor. She could hear the captain yell out orders and the ship moved. With a sinking heart, she realised she was moving out to sea.

As the panic seeped from her mind, she began to assess her position. Whoever tied her wrist must have been an amateur. She was sure she could wiggle out of them and settled down on her stomach, working her wrists.

It was an hour before she made any progress, then she heard a rustling nearby. She turned her head to stare at a rat and in her vulnerable position, she couldn’t defend herself. She tensed up, waiting for the first bite when a dark shadow launched itself at the rat and a fierce battle ensured. When it finished, a pair of malevolent slitted green eyes stared at her, then went about the business of eating its prey. Half an hour later, her hands slipped free, but she lay still, listening. The ship was swaying in the sea, but nobody was paying her any attention. She slipped her hands off then concentrated on the shackle around her ankle. She forced it down on her heel. If she could straighten her foot, it might slip off. She massaged it, stretched it, and forced the manacle downwards. Moonlight showed through the hatch door and in desperation she gave a vicious pull and almost screamed out in pain as the shackle slid over her foot, taking an inch of skin with it. Biting her lip to stop groaning, she felt the foot. She could stand on it but anything else was out of the question.

Her head snapped up as she heard someone come down the ladder. She quickly searched for a weapon and found a heavy spike. She lay still as he came nearer. When he bent down to her, she swung the spike, hitting him on the head. He stumbled backward, and she jumped up, swinging again, knocking him unconscious. A plan began to form in her mind and she stripped the man, then swapped their clothes. She pulled him over to the sacks, forcing the shackle over his foot, tied his hands and gagged his mouth. He had long hair tied in a ponytail, which she loosened and spread. She was satisfied anyone looking down the hatch would think it was her. She smeared mud over her face to hide her womanly looks.

She climbed the ladder to replace a sailor staring at her.

“Har, Har, Piggy” he laughed, “had a good time with our little whore. Don’t let the captain replace out, though.”

He wandered off laughing and Cheryl climbed out. There was a mop and bucket nearby, so she started swabbing the deck. She swabbed for about an hour, then darted behind a stack of empty rum casks, hiding there till nightfall. All the sailors went down below to drink rum, leaving two on deck who were totally uninterested in what was going on. The lookout in the crow’s nest was nowhere to be seen. There were two lifeboats on board and she crept to the furthest one. She thought about taking the canvas off, but decided against it. She undid the ropes, and the boat began to swing away. In desperation she lept and landed on the canvas, clinging for dear life, but nobody noticed. She crawled to the rope holding the boat up and cut it with her knife. The rope snapped, and the boat plunged down into the water and Cheryl slid off the canvas, hanging on to the side. It made a lot of noise but now there was silence as the ship sailed on, leaving the lifeboat behind. No one had noticed and Cheryl crawled into the boat.

She lay there wondering what she should do now as the sun set on the horizon. As she lay on the seat, staring at the stars, she wished she had paid more attention to the astronomy class. That way she might be able to figure out which way she was supposed to be going. The soothing swaying of the waves soon put her to sleep.

She drifted awake to the rays of the morning sun and the sight of a tall masted ship on the horizon and realised there was nothing she could do as it sailed far away. However, that way lay England and since the ship was not sailing towards her, it was probably paralleling the coast. The problem now was how to get there.

She searched the trunk where she found the rations and discovered a compass and set it up on the bow. She tried to handle the oars but could only manage one and just went round in circles. Exhausted, she slumped on the seat, then remembered an old documentary on South American Indians and canoes. They propelled them with one oar at the stern. Like a fish’s tail. She found a rope and carefully tied the oar to the stern and pushed it back and forth. To her pleasant surprise, the boat moved forward. All morning she rowed in the direction of her compass, marvelling at the long straight trail she was leaving. It wasn’t till evening when a navy frigate crossed her path, picking her up. She was back in her room by midnight.

Cheryl was awoken in the morning by a vigorous knocking on the door. Staggering up she opened it to replace Peggy standing in front of her, very agitated and waving a key in front of her.

“Oh, heavens, Cheryl. I didn’t know the Blue Dolphin was in port. It wasn’t due for another two weeks.”

“Get in and tell me what the hell happened.”

Peggy came in and collapsed on the bed.

“Mrs. Hill has a little thing going on. Every few months, she gets a delivery of rum and other spirits. The Blue Dolphin brings them in. All we are supposed to do is pay them, then send it to London.”

“And you have the key?”

“I do. Right here and in the safe is the money.”

“Could I have that key?”

“Sure, I don’t want it. Never had. Dangerous men, those sailors from the Blue Dolphin.”

Cheryl took the key.

“Perhaps we could keep what happened to ourselves.”

“There’s seven hundred quid in that safe. It would be a nice start for Henry and me.”

“Do you know what Mrs. Hill would do to us if she found out?” said Cheryl. Peggy shivered.

Cheryl put the piles of notes in a bag and handed the inn over to her replacement. When she got back to the Black Stallion, she handed Mrs. Hill the money. Mrs. Hill stared at it.

“You could have kept this money and I wouldn’t have known about it.””You would have found out,” replied Cheryl.

“So you’re not completely honest.”

Cheryl smiled and replied, “I just like living.”

Mrs. Hill slid her a five-pound note and said, “Get back to work.”