A Slip in Time Read Free Page A

alleyway, diving into a sudden bank of thick fog and surfacing again opposite a row of neat little terraced houses.
    â€˜That’s the one,’ the Masher pointed, stopping as suddenly as he’d set off. ‘That’s the doctor’s house. Third from the far end. You got that? I’m talking to you, Jack Farthing!’
    â€˜Oh! Right!’ said Jack. ‘But why are you telling me? I don’t need a doctor.’
    â€˜Yes, you do. There’s a poor old lady, sick and like to die, if you don’t fetch the doctor to her, quick sharp.’
    Jack was opening his mouth to say ‘What old lady?’ and ‘Why me?’ when the Masher gave him a shove. ‘Off you go, then. What are you waiting for?’
    â€˜You haven’t told me where she lives,’ said Jack.
    â€˜Where she lives?’ The Masher looked blank. He turned to Fadge, as if to say, ‘Do I have to do his thinking for him?’
    Fadge shrugged.
    â€˜The Spread Eagle,’ rasped Rusty.
    â€˜That’s a pub, right?’ said Jack.
    â€˜No!’ exclaimed the Masher, spreading his arms wide and flapping them up and down. ‘It’s a great, big, live bird! ’Course it’s a pub, you cloth-head!’
    â€˜Is that where she is?’ offered Fadge. ‘The Spread Eagle?’
    The Masher beamed. ‘Got it in one, young Fadge!’
    â€˜Took bad, she was,’ said Fadge, ‘rightoutside the door, an’ the landlord, like a Christian gentleman, he took her in. Right, Masher?’
    The Masher nodded.
    â€˜Go back down the alley, Jack,’ said Fadge. ‘Turn left at the end, instead of right, back the way we came. Then first right and second left and keep straight on. The Spread Eagle. You can’t miss it. Ask for Mrs – Mrs –’
    â€˜Smith,’ grated Rusty, like he was already sliding the old lady’s first coffin nail into place.
    â€˜Granny Smith,’ nodded the Masher.
    â€˜Just leg it, the first chance you get,’ Fadge muttered out of the corner of his mouth. ‘I’ll meet you,’ he glanced from Rusty to the Masher, ‘the same place we met before.’
    The Masher, with his hand clamped fast to Fadge’s shoulder, was already hurrying him away, with Rusty close behind.
    â€˜Where are you going?’ demanded Jack.
    â€˜We got to fetch the old woman’s family, before she snuffs it. Eh, Fadge? Eh, Rusty?’
    â€˜The priest,’ wheezed Rusty. ‘She’s asking for a priest.’
    Jack caught Fadge’s desperate look, as he was dragged away. Fadge was well worried,but it wasn’t about some poor old lady.
    Then the Masher whisked them round a corner and the only evidence they’d ever been there was the fading sound of Rusty coughing. Jack was on his own after all, still with a load of shopping to get and not the foggiest idea how to find his way back to Grandad’s. There was nothing he could do about it, not just at present. Not that he could see.
    So he set off down the narrow street of terraced houses until he came to the third one from the end, where a plump young man in shirtsleeves was busy polishing a brass plate on the wall beside the front door.
    â€˜Excuse me,’ said Jack.
    The young man gave a guilty start and spun round, trying to hide his polishing cloths behind his back.
    â€˜I’m looking for the doctor,’ said Jack.
    â€˜You’ve found him! John H. Watson, M.D.’ The young man stuck out a hand to shake, noticed the cloth still in it, and hid it behind his back again. ‘My housekeeper!’ he explained. ‘Old lady. Bad chest.’ He thumped himself twice on the chest to demonstrate. ‘Outside work. Not good for her in this pea-souper.’
    He seemed very young for a doctor, with a round baby face, bright, innocent eyes and a shock of curly hair. The moustache looked like a cheap disguise. But the brass plate said Dr J.H.