Trapped in Time Page 2

  Lily knelt on the blanket to make a pillow out of a skirt. Emma watched her as she moved about. This woman had been so incredibly kind to Emma; without her, she would have been lost and robbed. Emma sat down next to her.

  "Thank you, Lily. You saved me tonight."

  "Ah, of course. Tomorrow, we shall figure things out. You can stay here for as long as you need to call on that Mr. Nine-One-One again. Maybe the police can help you find this Mr. Nine-One-One?"

  Emma smiled. Mr. Nine-One-One.

  "Yes, I think tomorrow will be a lot easier. I might just need to rest. I think I hurt my head, and with a bit of sleep, things might get back to normal." Whatever normal was, at this point.

  "Hopefully. What do you do for a living? Are you married? You certainly do not look like you are one of us wagtails."

  Emma didn't want to be rude, but no, she wasn't a Victorian prostitute, so she didn't say anything. Lily was a smart cookie and noticed Emma's hesitation to respond.

  "Do not worry. I never thought you a fallen lady. You definitely do not look like a factory girl, either. To be honest, you do not quite look like anything I have ever seen before," Lily said, studying Emma from head to toe. "No, not a prostitute. It is obvious that you have not done any form of hard labor a day in your life." Lily grabbed Emma's hands and turned them around. "See. Soft as a baby's arse. They give you away." Lily smiled, offering Emma her hand to confirm what hard labor looked like.

  Upon closer inspection, Lily's hands felt rough and looked like the hands of a woman in her fifties.

  "You're right. I'm not a prostitute or a factory girl. I've worked hard in my life but not with my hands. I'm…I'm a…" Shoot. What should she say now? Lily probably had no idea what a pharmacist was, not to mention a university student. Sure, in Emma's world, there was nothing to it for a woman to go to school, but wherever she was now seemed to be long before the time of the women's rights movement.

  Lily seemed to have quite the talent for knowing what Emma was thinking. "You can tell me. I shall not think you mad or laugh. That music box alone would make me believe anything you say."

  Emma contemplated. What did she have to lose? Lily wouldn't throw her out or send her to an insane asylum in the middle of the night. She seemed too kind for that. Plus, she'd probably seen and heard a lot worse in her line of work. The worst she could do was laugh at Emma and ask her to leave in the morning.

  "Well, I used to work at a shop where I would sell medicine."

  "Like a druggist?"

  "Yes, if that's what you call it here. But now I am going to school to become a person who makes medicine."

  "Like a chemist?"

  Emma nodded her head.

  "And that is allowed for women where you come from?"

  "Yes, it is. Where I'm from, it's not unusual for a woman to go to university or work at a shop."

  "Here, people would laugh at women for trying to go to school to become a chemist. I was not always a prostitute, you know. I used to live on a farm back when I was still married. But my husband was an awful man. He drank and beat me something rotten. It was so bad, some nights I wanted to be gone. Thin air, the river, you name it, as long as it was away from him. One day, I just woke up and left. I do not remember how I found the courage, but I just did it. Just left. I was unable to find work that would pay enough for me to live on my own. A teacher's salary is not enough to pay for a flat. Many do not know it, but most of us can read and write." She shrugged her shoulders and turned back to stoke the fire in the stove. "We are forced to do this line of work to survive. Nothing else pays a woman enough to be free of a drunk wife beater."

  Lily's words made Emma sad. This woman was nothing but kindness and selflessness, and yet here she was, prostituting herself out to live in an empty place, sleeping on the floor like a dog.

  To Emma’s surprise, Lily laughed out loud.

  “Do not look at me like that. It is not that bad! I work for myself, no pimps. I am free, and at least now I get to choose when I want to spread my legs, which I had no choice over when I was still married.”

  Emma couldn’t help but admire Lily. What a positive way to look at things. Especially after everything Lily had been through. She was a true fighter.

  “But enough for today. Let us sleep. You need to rest. I am sure it hurt when this Mr. Car hit you. Maybe tomorrow, you can tell me more about that fellow. I know everything there is to know about pricks. Believe me.”

  Emma couldn’t deny she was beyond tired, but still, a quiet chuckle escaped when Lily mentioned "Mr. Car." She almost felt regret that she wouldn’t get to know her most likely imaginary friend better when she woke up in a hospital bed tomorrow morning. In Philadelphia, USA, twenty-first century.

  “Goodnight, Lily. And thanks again for everything.” Emma stretched out on the floor and tried to find a comfortable position, something easier said than done. The floor was hard as a rock. Heck, maybe it even was a rock; it was too dark for Emma to tell.

  “Goodnight, Emma,” Lily mumbled, half-asleep.

  Life for a woman in 1881 must not have been easy—if you were poor. What would Emma do if her life, or head state, or whatever this was didn’t return to normal tomorrow?

  Nah, she thought, convincing herself it was all in her head. A coma, maybe. A concussion, for sure. Both preferable to any possibility she was actually sleeping on a cold, hard floor next to a kind prostitute in 1881 London. Things will be just fine in the morning. Back to normal. Back to the twenty-first century.

  It was already bright out when Emma slowly woke to the sound of people talking in the streets. To her surprise, she’d slept pretty good, considering she passed out on a hard floor next to a wood stove in Victorian London—

  “No way!” Emma shouted aloud in panic, tumbling to the window. She pressed her face against the glass so hard it hurt. There it was! Victorian London!

  Behind her, Lily rolled over and rubbed her eyes. “Are you feeling better?”

  Feeling better? Emma fell backward and landed hard on her butt. At this point, there was really no use denying it any longer. Traumatic brain injury, insanity, or time travel. Whatever was going on obviously was going on. This was Victorian London in 1881. And Emma was trapped in it.

  “Emma…are you feeling better?” Lily put a hand on her shoulder.

  “Y…y…yes…” Emma bit her lip, sinking deeply into her thoughts again. How could she get back home? She had no clue. Somehow, she would need to find out what was going on and how she could get back home, but for now, she would have to find a way to survive first. This place was no joke. Emma looked over to Lily, who looked like she was still waiting for an answer from her.

  “What was that, Lily?” It was supposed to sound normal, but to her ears, it had come out sounding totally fake.

  “Do you have anywhere to go?” Lily asked.

  Emma shook her head, unintentionally looking like a sad puppy.

  “Money?”

  Sad puppy face again.

  “Family…?”

  Nope.

  “…friends?” Lily interpreted Emma’s silence to that question as another no. She walked over to Emma. “You have me now. I shall be your friend. You hear me?”

  Stunned by Lily’s kindness, Emma barely got out a grateful nod.

  “So, we shall find you employment today. You could always consider my line of work. With your looks and American accent, you could make it into the finest brothels in no time. Customers love exotic women.”

  Exotic? Emma was from the United States of America, not the moon. But the point was moot. The thought of giving her body up to fat old men for a few coins repulsed her.

  “I mean no offense, Lily, but I would rather try other things first.”

  “None taken. I already knew that this would not work for you. You could always sell that music box of yours. Could fetch you a fortune with the right buyer.”

  Emma had already thought of that herself, but would it be wise to do that? Who knew—it
might be the very thing that would get her back home.

  “No, I’m sorry. I really need to get back home.”

  “I thought so. What is it, anyway?”

  Emma grabbed it out of her purse and handed it to Lily, who accepted it into her hands like she was holding a holy relic. She tapped the touchscreen and almost dropped it in awe when the screen turned on, lighting up the room with a picture of Emma and her dog Winnie, who passed away two years ago.

  “It is magic!” an excited Lily shouted, hopping from one leg to the other.

  “Not really. It’s technology. Where I’m from, everybody has one.” Emma thought it better to take it back before Lily dropped it.

  “How amazing! None of the inventions the newspapers scream about daily even come close to this box! It could make you rich!”

  Emma turned it off to preserve the battery and put it back into her purse.

  “I know, but it will be of more use to me if I keep it. I know it. You can’t tell anybody about it. Ever. If it were to be taken from me—I am not sure I would ever find my way home again.”

  “I shan’t,” Lily promised, still in awe over her magic music box.

  Now that the sale of her phone was off the table, Emma needed to find a job that would make her enough money not only to survive but also to allow her the freedom to do research. Research on anything that could possibly help her understand what was going on here. Medical journals, scientists, psychiatrists, time travel, goddamn ancient aliens, if need be, but she needed to find a way back home asap.

  “What kind of work allows you freedom but also provides you with enough money to do research, maybe even attend college?”

  The corners of Lily’s lips drew down. That wasn’t a good sign. “I shall be as honest with you as I can, Emma. If there is a time in which women will be free to do the things you asked for, this is not it. When I left my husband, I tried many different things to survive. I do not have the education that you do, but I have other talents, and I can read and write. For a woman not part of society, there are only two ways to have enough money to be free and to be allowed to do even the slightest amount of academics privately…”

  That triggered some hope in Emma. “What are they?”

  “One, you rejected.”

  “Oh…” Emma’s hope deflated a bit. “And the other one?”

  “Well, you would only be slightly free. More free with some than others, if you know what I mean?”

  Emma didn’t have to think long to answer that question. Of course. How the hell did she not guess that right away? Every darn period romance novel her mother ever touched was about this exact thing. The one thing Emma swore to herself to stay away from…Marriage, damn it! From a historical point of view, it made total sense. Women had no rights. None whatsoever. The only women who had the time and money to do studies of any sort were either rich by birth or married to money. So those were her options in Victorian London in 1881. Prostitution or marrying into money. As terrible as they both sounded, she already knew in her heart which one she would be able to pull off in no time like a champ, and judging from the grin on her face, Lily thought so as well.

  Chapter 3

  “N ot the pink one,” Antoinette shouted arrogantly, waving her hand fan dramatically as though she were on a theater stage. Like a beaten dog, Emma hung the pink dress back into Antoinette’s collection of the latest Victorian fashion. Lily knew Antoinette from years back. They had arrived in London around the same time and had shared a room together for a few months. Unlike Lily, Antoinette’s looks and noble skin had instantly landed her a spot in one of the best brothels in town, which had clearly rubbed off on her. After hours of debating, Antoinette had finally agreed to trade one of her dresses for the fake diamond necklace and earrings Emma had been wearing the night she was hit by that car. At least, she was pretty sure she’d been hit. She had decided not to question all the mysteries surrounding that night and to only focus on survival and getting home.

  For twenty-first-century standards, the set was pretty but made in China for less than a dollar. In 1881, however, before machines replaced humans to reach new levels of perfection in production standards, the set was considered one of the highest levels of replica and could be mistaken for real. Lily and Emma had played with the idea of selling it under pretense, but then Emma didn’t feel right tricking people like that. Luckily for both of them, Antoinette had taken an instant liking to the set, fake or not, dancing in it in front of her countless mirrors and singing loudly.

  “The pink one is from Lord Warrington, and he is so very peculiar about my wardrobe when he visits.”

  “You mean Lord Warrington, also known as Sucking Willy?” Lily asked with a grin.

  “Who is Sucking Willy?”

  “Every prostitute in London knows Sucking Willy. He wears nappies during his visits and wants to suck your titty like a little baby.” Emma and Lily laughed out loud, much to Antoinette’s annoyance; she did not share their humor.

  “Hurry up now, will you? I have customers waiting!”

  “Well, if not the pink one, then how about the green one? It looks delightful on you, Emma,” Lily said, trying not to laugh again. The green dress was not as extravagant as the pink one, but it was still a hand-tailored dress from the finest shop in London. It was short in the front and on the sides, just barely covering Emma’s feet, and had a heavily decorated tail in the back. Antionette had been sure to boast it was peak fashion.

  “Sure, take it and go. And do not tell a soul about this. I want people to think these diamonds are real!” Antoinette’s last words ushered Emma and Lily rudely out onto the street, the trussed-up prostitute slamming the door behind them. The visit had gone rather well in Emma’s mind, aside from Antoinette’s attempt to talk Emma into hiring her as Emma’s pimp. Emma’s slim-but-healthy feminine curves boosted her potential for popularity to the very top in looks by Victorian standards. Her strawberry-blonde hair and green eyes were uncommon around here as well. Back home, Emma had been considered exceptionally pretty, but here, in period London, she seemed to be a whole different level of beautiful.

  “Is that all we need?” Emma asked, looking about the busy Victorian street she was standing in like it was all a dream.

  “I have a few more things to take care of now, but we should be ready by the morning.”

  Emma wrinkled her forehead. This was all going so fast! It had barely been a week, and tomorrow seemed awfully close to pull off their master plan.

  “Why don’t we wait a bit longer to work on the plan in more detail—heck, maybe even re-think the whole thing?” Emma asked in a voice that clearly exposed her doubts.

  Lily started walking, briskly dodging pedestrians and chaos with practiced ease. “Because I do not have enough money to feed us for another day, even if we skip breakfast and lunch again. I already missed work today, which means no food today and tomorrow. We need to get you out of here as soon as we can. We do not want people to see you walking around for too long and start asking questions about who you are. There are not that many American beauties around here.”

  That all made sense to Emma, and she felt bad once again for taking so much gratuity from Lily; the guilt of taking food from her mouth had her hunching her shoulders as she followed in her friend’s wake, but it didn’t change the fact that she did not feel ready for any of this. But then, she was confident she would never feel ready.

  Her whole situation was insane. The plan Lily had helped her hatch out all week was as terrible as it sounded. Trying to protect her, Emma had told Lily in almost every second sentence that she didn’t want her to be a part of this, and that helping her get the dress would be the end of Lily’s involvement, but Lily wouldn’t hear any of it. Like a broken record, Lily repeated the same argument over and over again.

  She parroted it once again as they moved further from Antoinette’s apartment. “This is my chance out as much as it is yours, Emma. I do not desire to be a prostitute for the rest of m
y life. I want to meet a nice fellow, settle down, have sucklings. This is my last chance to make it out of here.”

  Just like all the other times, Emma understood what she was saying, but at the same time, she didn’t like making Lily an accomplice.

  Lily and Emma split up as Lily said she had a few more things to arrange before the launch of their campaign. Emma’s heart was pounding, and her hands were getting sweaty just thinking about it. Emma decided to go over the plan again. She was lost in such deep thought, she didn’t even notice when she arrived back at Lily’s apartment. It was already getting dark out when Emma finally noticed that Lily was still not back. How many hours had passed since they split? She was about to get worried when the door opened and Lily entered the dark room that she called home.

  “Why are you sitting in the dark?” Lily wondered.

  “I wasn’t sure how much candles cost, so I didn’t want to light one.”

  Lily laughed at Emma. “Candles are not that expensive. And we shall have more than enough candles soon.”

  Lily tended to be too easy-going. She reminded Emma a little bit of a Victorian Lisa. No, as sweet and strong as Lily was in certain ways, she was also childish in others. It was all on Emma to lead this insane mission to success—or prison.

  Lily handed Emma a piece of hard bread out of her wool bag. Not expecting dinner, Emma accepted it gratefully.

  “I was able to get your old blue dress redone into a coat. The shop owner was ecstatic about the material. Said he had never seen a finer, more durable fabric before. I said it was for an American heiress.”

  “It’s called made-in-China polyester.”

  “Yes, that makes sense. Chinese items are quite expensive and exotic.”

  Emma almost laughed. Not where I come from.

  “I also talked to Skip. He will be our carriage driver.”

  “Can we trust him?”

  “Oooooh, yes. I lied for him once and kept his neck out of jail. He stole food for his little sisters after his mother passed. Said he was with me all day in court and got him out, lying under oath.”