Farringham, 1913:

Rose watched with a smile as the Doctor, no, John Smith now, opened his eyes and picked himself up off the ground. It would be great fun to spend some time back in the past, she thought. No aliens trying to kill us, no Mum nagging me to visit more often, no Mickey trying to make me feel guilty about leaving him behind. Just me and the Doctor. She looked down at her too-short dress, tugging at it in a futile attempt to lower it. Maybe I should have put on something longer, she thought, remembering their visit to the Victorian Age. Rose shrugged off the thought, tossing back her long hair.

Meanwhile, John Smith tried to get his bearings. He felt as if his brain was wrapped in cotton wool.

I'm John Smith, he thought, as the confusion began to lift. John Smith, Professor of History at the Farringham School. I start my new position today. He glanced over at Rose, noting her appearance with disapproval. Why that dress scarcely reaches the tops of her shoes and that hair is certainly not a color found in nature, he thought. This female is whom exactly?

Fings sure are different 'ere," Rose said, looking around the quaint English village.

Smith winced. He didn't consider himself a snob, but the cockney predilection for misplacing the 'H" and inability to properly pronounce the 'th' sound had always irritated him.

More memories returned. She was Rose, Rose, Taylor was it? No, it was something else. She was his . . . companion? No, she was his servant, Smith thought. Yes, that was it, this girl was his maidservant, an old family retainer who was to accompany him to his new position. An old family retainer? No, that didn't seem right. This girl was definitely a Londoner. He looked doubtfully at Rose, noting her bare head. He wondered what the Headmaster would make of this young person who most certainly did not seem to be a proper domestic. No, this would not do at all, he thought.

"Um, Miss, I'm sorry, but this won't do," Smith said.

Rose laughed. "What are you running your gob about now?" she said

Smith was both shocked and irritated at her impertinence. "Miss, you don't appear to be, well, I must be honest, suited for domestic work. "

"Wot!" Rose said.

"I am prepared to be generous; I'll pay your fare back to London, but you simply cannot accompany me to my new position," Smith said. "You must return to London at once," he said.

Rose gaped at him. For one horrible moment she thought he was serious. Then she burst into laughter, not noticing Smith's anger.

"Why, wot's wrong with me ," Rose said. Smith winced again.

"I should think it is obvious,' he replied, gesturing at her dress. "That, outfit, it's, a bit short. And your hair, it's, quite frankly, loose. I'm sorry, but you don't look like any housemaid I've ever seen."

Rose laughed and tossed her hair again. "I guess I'll be one of those sexy housemaids", she said cheekily.

Sexy housemaid! Smith could scarcely believe his ears. What kind of woman was this?

He looked more closely at the girl, his unease turning into something near panic. Why she's a painted tart, he thought in shock. That hair, that immodest dress! What was I thinking, bringing her to Farringham as my maidservant? No one will believe my intentions were innocent. I'll be dismissed, sacked without a character, ruined. And for what! A cockney trollop! I must disassociate myself from this person before anyone from the school sees me.

Much to his relief he realized they were nearly upon the train station. He practically ran up to the ticket counter, leaving a surprised Rose standing in the middle of the street.

"What'll it be sir?" the ticket agent said.

"One one-way ticket to London, third class," Smith said. He felt inside his pockets. Finding his wallet he quickly extracted several notes and thrust them into the ticket agent's hand, took the ticket, swiftly returned to Rose, gripped her arm firmly and steered her towards the platform.

Rose protested to no avail. She tried to pull away, but to make matters worse, the fobwatch fell out of her pocket. Smith snatched it up and said, "I'll take that, thank you very much,".

Rose tried to grab the watch from Smith, who glared at her, and said, "If you don't get on that train immediately I'll have you arrested for stealing."

Rose, too shocked too speak, complied. John Smith watched the train depart, relieved that no one had seen him in the company of that painted harlot. He made his way to the Farringham School, introduced himself and quickly settled in.

The train ride was long and uncomfortable, made worse by the behavior of her fellow passengers. As she sat huddled in the hard seat she could hear snatches of conversation, "disgraceful", "outrageous", "an affront to decency". She turned her head towards the window to escape the disapproving stares. Why are they treating me like this?, she thought dismally, ignorant of the fact that prior to WWI only prostitutes wore cosmetics and any dress shorter than floor length was considered shockingly immodest.

Finally the train arrived at it's destination. Rose wandered the streets aimlessly for hours, the gravity of her situation gradually dawning on her.

Three days later:

Farringham School:

John Smith gazed on the lavish evening meal. Good food, good company, an interesting job, my life is certainly looking up, he thought happily. Yes, good company, especially Matron Redfern. For one brief moment a memory began to surface in Smith's mind. There was something important that he must do, something vital, someone he must care for.

"Are you pleased with Farringham so far, Mr. Smith?" Joan Redfern said, breaking into his reverie.

John Smith looked at Nurse Redfern, noting her modest dress, her hair decently arranged, not loose and slatternly, her face innocent of paint. A lady to her fingertips, he thought approvingly, not like that girl, Lily was it? He dismissed the memory of that creature, gave Joan his most charming smile, said, "Yes, yes, quite. I can't imaging being anywhere else."

London:

Rose huddled in the doorway of an abandoned warehouse. She shivered with more than the cold as she remembered the events of the last three days. She gnawed on an apple she'd managed to snatch from a barrow, the fruit doing little to assuage the hunger she felt. She wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all.

Rose pulled the piece of sacking she'd found more tightly around her shoulders. Her stomach, not sated by the meager piece of fruit, growled. She began to sob quietly, the tears running down her face.

A cold rain began to fall.