‘A happy New Year, AJ.’
AJ watched the professor disappear into the night then finished his tea. He remembered the white feather, the sign of a guardian angel, fluttering from the professor’s books that night at Gray’s Inn.
I’ve got to trust somebody, thought AJ.
‘You’re the first customer I’ve had all day,’ said the woman behind the counter as AJ paid. ‘I tell my old man every year there’s no point in opening. He says we do it in the spirit of Christmas. Personally, I think we should stay closed to the New Year.’
AJ wondered if the world had lost its grip on gravity.
It was then AJ saw the huge flaw in his plan: there was no way he could climb over the fence into the car park. He was near the electronic gate when he heard whistling. A man was coming down Phoenix Place. AJ hid in the shadows as the whistling man pressed the combination on the pedestrian gate and went through to collect his car. Just before the gate eased itself shut, AJ put his walking stick in its way. He waited until he saw the car’s headlights approaching and the high, skirted metal barrier rose to let the car out. The driver hadn’t seen AJ; better still, he hadn’t seen the stick. AJ let himself into the car park and retrieved his walking stick. As he hobbled towards the wall the fog began to rise.
Chapter Thirty
A resounding din greeted AJ as he stepped out into a different century wearing the clothes that he’d left in the cupboard under the stairs. There was no sign of Mr Ingleby or his mother. The house was hauntingly empty.
Here it was snowing and the steps and the pavement were icy. The noise of door knockers seemed to echo round the city. Knock followed knock in rapid succession, the harsh cacophony of brass on wood sounded as if every door in London was announcing AJ’s arrival. Despite his stick, he nearly lost his footing and, his leg hurting, he walked slower than he wished towards Chancery Lane, trying to keep his balance. A gentleman coming out of his house slipped, lost his hat and almost fell. Instinctively AJ reached out for him.
‘No, no,’ he said to AJ, brushing him off. ‘I have not a shilling more to give. This Boxing Day has cost me dear as it is. My knocker has been made merry use of by first the parish beadle, then the dustman, charity boys, the postman, the street sweeper, the chimney sweep, the lamplighter and finally you, a clerk. I call it daylight robbery, or begging under another name.’
Of course, Boxing Day. Sketches by Boz. That explained the ratatat of door knockers.
‘Merry Christmas,’ said AJ.
AJ could almost hear him say, ‘Humbug.’
The further he walked the more lost in his thoughts he became. Could he really live here, never to return to the electronic jungle? Maybe. If his friends did, then he would stay too. Wouldn’t he?
I’ve one foot in the past, one foot in the future and the whole of me is stuck in the middle, undecided, he thought. Do I walk forward, do I step back?
Thick flakes of snow were falling. AJ had never seen snow cling to the streets and houses as it did here. The lamplights were so dim and some parts were not lit at all and it was hard to see where he was going. He wasn’t sure if he was walking in the right direction. He supported himself on some railings. Freezing as they were, at least he felt he stood a better chance of not going arse over tit. All he needed was a broken leg to add to his injuries.
‘Mr Jobey, if I’m not mistaken. Are you taken ill, sir?’
AJ looked up. How did this stranger know who he was?
‘Jeremiah Flint, at your service. You remember me? Mrs Furby’s boarder. I am sure your friend Mr Slim will be most delighted to see you. Many a conversation we have had, wondering when you will be back from your travels.’
‘I’m very pleased to see you,’ said AJ. ‘More pleased than you could ever know.’
‘Take my arm, Mr Jobey,’ said Mr Flint. ‘The pavements in these snowy conditions are quite treacherous.’
A smell of oranges and cloves filled the hallway of Mrs Furby’s boarding house. The parlour was decorated with holly and ivy, and an abundance of candles lit the charming scene before him. Mrs Furby was playing the piano. Standing behind her, Slim was singing from a song sheet.
‘The spit got up like a naked man … ’ – This was greeted with laughter.
‘And swore he’d fight with the dripping pan.
The pan got up and cocked his tail
And swore he’d send them all to jail.’
‘Another,’ cried the jolly party. ‘Go on, Tom – more.’
All through his time in hospital, AJ’s biggest worry was that he would return to find Slim totally traumatised at being abandoned there. He had imagined him gagging to get back to Stoke Newington and the twenty-first century. Yet here he was looking completely at ease. This was a Slim AJ had never seen before.
AJ’s arrival in the parlour caused the party to come to a halt. Mrs Furby gasped.
‘Oh, my good lord, Mr Jobey! What on earth has befallen you? Not highwaymen, I trust? Or worse? For you look quite done in.’
Mr Flint offered a solution.
‘Nothing, I am sure, dear Mrs Furby, that a glass of punch won’t cure.’
On a table stood a silver bowl, steam rising from it. Beside it was a plate of mince pies. There was a kerfuffle as chairs were moved around to make room for the new guest.
Slim said quickly, ‘It’s all right, no need to fuss. I can see my friend needs to rest.’
‘Of course,’ said Mrs Furby.
‘I didn’t mean to interrupt the celebrations,’ said AJ.
Everyone assured him that he had interrupted nothing, only causing them to be merrier on account of his return.
‘Don’t be long, Tom,’ said one of the guests. ‘We want another of your wicked songs.’
AJ was hoping that his leg would be strong enough take him up the stairs to the top of the house. He longed to sit down.
‘Where are you off to?’ said Slim when they reached the second floor. AJ was about to heave himself up another flight. ‘I don’t live at the top any more. I’ve got a new set of rooms.’
Slim showed AJ into a well-furnished chamber. It had tall, shuttered windows, wooden floorboards covered in rugs and the two armchairs Slim had bought when he’d first arrived were arranged in front of the fire. The room was toasty-warm and looked as if Slim had been living there all his life.
Mrs Furby knocked on the door and brought in a tray with two piping hot glasses of punch and a plate of mince pies.
‘Thank you, Dora,’ said Slim. ‘Much appreciated.’
Dora? AJ saw the way she smiled at Slim and thought, if this wasn’t the nineteenth century he would say she had the hots for him.
‘If there’s anything else you need, Tom, just ring the bell.’
This was a whole new Slim. One AJ felt he hardly knew.
‘Your name’s not Tom,’ said AJ. ‘It’s Toprak.’
‘Yeah, but I’ve changed it to Thomas. Thomas Slim, Esquire, a merchant. Has a good ring to it, don’t you think?’
‘Aren’t you pissed off with me?’
‘No. Should I be?’ said Slim.
‘Don’t you want to go back?’
‘Go back?’ said Slim. ‘Why on earth would I want to go back?’
‘Because of Moses,’ said AJ. Even as he said it he knew he wasn’t making sense.
‘Moses?’ said Slim and laughed. ‘Are you bonkers? I never want to see him or his dog again.’
‘Moses is in prison awaiting trial. The dog’s dead.’
‘Sweet,’ said Slim.
‘Doesn’t that make you want to return?’
Slim didn’t answer. ‘Is the reason you’re looking so peaky to do with Moses?’ he asked.
‘Moses beat me up and his dog thought I was the Sunday joint. I also have concussion.’
‘Then you should have stayed put,’ said Slim. ‘Why did you come?’
‘Leon. He’s in real trouble. He’s wanted by Dr Jinx and his Mr Big Boss.’
‘That’s heavy,??
? said Slim. ‘Why didn’t you bring him with you?’
‘Because I wanted to check that you were all right here. Slim, sooner or later I have to lock the door and give up the key. If the door is open it messes with history and stuff like that. And anybody could get through if they found it. My grandfather and my father wanted it locked but were murdered before they could do it. It’s down to me.’ He paused. ‘I owe it to my father.’
‘Then lock the door.
‘I will when we go home.’
Slim laughed. ‘Home? You are joking, man. Do you think I’m going back to my uncle and aunt? Never. The best thing you’ve ever done for me is to bring me through the door. Century reset, my life reset. I’m not going to give all this up just for a job in Dalston Market.’
AJ found he was staring at his friend.
‘You need to sleep, bro,’ said Slim, kindly.
‘What about Leon?’ said AJ.
‘Bring him here too.’
‘Have you been listening to me?’
‘Tell me, my friend,’ said Slim, ‘what part of the return ticket do you think we’re going to miss?’
Chapter Thirty-One
The following morning, AJ felt less achy. From his bed he could just see the snowy, smoky rooftops of London through a gap in the curtains.
Slim was already up and dressed in a new dark red coat. He looked in on AJ to say that he had to be off.
‘Off where?’ asked AJ.
‘To work,’ said Slim, adjusting his muffler in the mirror.
‘Work?’ repeated AJ.
It hadn’t occurred to him that Slim might have a job. Slim laughed at the puzzled look on AJ’s face.
‘What – do you think I would hang around waiting for the money to run out? No way.’
‘Who do you work for?’
‘Mr Jeremiah Flint. He’s my boss.’
‘You are joking.’
‘Nope. He’s a merchant – he recently inherited the firm when his old dad conked it. Let’s put it this way: ever since, he’s been running after his business without actually overtaking it. Until, that is, he gave me a job. You see, bro, all those years working on my uncle’s market stall have come in very handy. I’ve always had a nose for a deal.’
‘What does he sell?’
‘Tea mostly,’ said Slim. ‘But he buys too quickly and always for too high a price. I’ve put an end to all that – no one is going to swindle me out of a penny. So for the first time Mr Jeremiah Flint has some money in the bank.’
AJ was amazed. Where was the Slim who couldn’t wake up in the morning and dragged himself through the day like unrisen pizza dough except when he was on a skateboard? Where was the Slim of ‘Life is shitty, it sure ain’t pretty’?
‘You’ve changed,’ said AJ.
‘That’s stating the proverbial obvious, bro. Think about it. Back in the land of Moses and his dead dog there are two kinds of men: those who are mummy-fied and don’t grow up, and those who are villainised who grow up too soon. Here we are men. And I have the future in my pocket and tomorrow on the soles of my shoes.’
‘Bloody hell, Slim. You’re turning into a right little philosopher.’
‘Leon will feel the same, you’ll see. Just bring him here. And don’t leave it too long.’
AJ must have fallen asleep again after Slim left, for he woke to hear the church bells ringing eleven o’clock. He was determined to go back through the door while it was still light.
Downstairs, he found Mrs Furby had a visitor, the local beadle. His three-cornered hat sat on the table while the rest of him filled up an armchair by the fire. He reminded AJ of the Slug.
‘This is Mr Jobey,’ said Mrs Furby.
The beadle half-heartedly rose from the chair and bowed.
‘A pleasure, I’m sure,’ he said.
‘Mr Jobey, may I offer you some coffee?’ said Mrs Furby as she rang the bell for the maid.
The beadle was feasting heartily off the remains of a meat pie accompanied by a large glass of beer. When Nellie appeared he asked if it might be possible to have some of Mrs Furby’s excellent plum pudding. ‘It would, madam, fill the few remaining holes of hunger.’
The beadle had an unattractive habit of speaking with his mouth full. ‘Mischief, that’s what I say. Mischief has been going on in that house.’ He stuffed the remains of the meat pie into his mouth. ‘It raises questions, yes, it does indeed. As I said, mischief, mark my words.’
The beadle, having eaten the pie and spoken the pie out, came to the end of his discourse. Nellie reappeared and the beadle instantly lost all interest in anything other than the plum pudding. Shortly after, he left.
AJ said his farewells to Mrs Furby, assuring her that he would return soon. She was delighted to know she would be meeting Leon, another of Tom’s dearest friends.
‘Here, Mr Jobey,’ she said as AJ was about to leave. ‘Take a newspaper to read on the stagecoach.’
With much raising of hats and waving of hands, AJ set off in the direction of Clerkenwell.
At the house AJ changed his clothes, putting the ones he’d been wearing in the wicker basket under the stairs. Without much thought, he stuffed the newspaper Mrs Furby had given him in his pocket.
To celebrate his return to the twenty-first century he decided to treat himself to a cup of tea and a sandwich. He walked up to the Costa at the Angel, ordered and sat down at a table. It was only then that he remembered the newspaper. He looked at it while he drank his tea and ate the sandwich. He was about to fold it away when a name in the close print caught his eye. Samuel Dalton.
He read:
A coroner’s inquest is to be held tomorrow, 28th December at the Crown Tavern, Clerkenwell Green into the death of Samuel Dalton, Esq.
The coroner has requested the exhumation of the late Samuel Dalton’s body so that it might be examined for suspected arsenic poisoning.
The news blew Monday into the butt end of Sunday. So that’s what the beadle had been on about, thought AJ. The image of Mrs Meacock came back to him with all her smarmy sweetness. In this century or any other century he could recognise a nasty piece of work, no matter how much she gilded the gingerbread.
Elsie’s flat was empty and for a moment AJ panicked. Perhaps the police had been round and both Elsie and Leon were down at the cop shop. He found a note attached to the fridge door by a magnet in the shape of the Sydney Opera House. It read:
Gone to get glammed up for tonight’s big quiz at the Rose and Crown. Not missing that for the world or its horse. There’s food in the fridge.
Elsie X
AJ had never felt as jittery as he did standing in that kitchen, every nerve end flashing, a living pinball machine. He went into Elsie’s bedroom and cautiously opened the wardrobe door.
‘It’s me, AJ,’ he said to a collection of Elsie’s dresses that smelled of Lily of the Valley. Leon manoeuvred himself into the room, stretched and said quietly, ‘I’m well pleased to see you, bro.’
AJ had hoped that he would be able to explain Jobey’s Door to Leon in a calm, rational way. But he felt anything but calm or rational. There it went again, that pinball hitting all the bumpers, zooming into oblivion.
‘I can’t stay here any longer,’ said Leon. ‘You’re going to have to take me now to this place where you’re hiding Slim.’
AJ put the kettle on.
‘Not so fast. Before I do I have to explain about where I’m taking you and it’s going to sound beyond weird.’
‘Come on, come on, spit out,’ said Leon. ‘The police might turn up again any minute.’
AJ told him the whole story, kick-off to extra time. He left nothing out. When he’d finished he expected Leon to ask questions, but he stayed silent.
‘And remember, there are no bogs there, no TV, no Twitter, no Playstation. I’m not sure if there’s a white–black problem or –’
Leon stopped him. Stirring sugar into his tea, he said, ‘I take it there is no Dr Jinx, and no police looking to arrest me
.’
‘No,’ said AJ.
‘OK. Do I strike you as someone with a lot of choices? My mum sounded more rational than you do when she was higher than a kite but I’m desperate enough to believe you.’ He took a mouthful of tea. ‘Mum used to say that me and you and Slim had a perfume to us. She said we smelled of fatherless boys. I think she was right. My father died of booze, yours – it turns out – was murdered and Slim’s – well, who the hell knows? Not Slim. AJ, I have royally messed up here. Perhaps there – wherever this there is – I’d have a chance to start again.’
AJ showed him the newspaper Mrs Furby had given him. Leon read it with interest.
‘This is the Dalton geezer you were just talking about?’
‘Yeah. I’m out of any depth,’ said AJ, ‘and this is the place I am planning to take you to.’
‘So Baldwin died soon after Samuel Dalton?’ said Leon.
‘About nine days later.’
‘But he was being kept alive by modern medicine so there is a possibility they were poisoned at the same time. You said they had dinner together at Dalton’s house.’
‘Yes, you’re right. I hadn’t thought of that.’
‘OK,’ said Leon. ‘Let’s go.’
‘Hold on,’ said AJ. ‘I’m not taking you to Disney World. This is a dangerous place.’
‘Do you know what my value is in today’s society?’ said Leon. ‘Nothing. Nada. I’m under the radar, just another loser in a hoodie, the evil of the nation. That’s how I’m seen. And I don’t want to be anyone’s statistic. I would rather risk it in another domain. So tell me, Einstein, how do I get to this door of yours without being picked up by the feds?’
Chapter Thirty-Two
‘How about you wear something of Elsie’s?’ said AJ, working on Dr Jinx’s principle that if you stood out people tended not to see who you were.
‘No way, man. I would look a right wanker,’ said Leon. ‘My feet are far too big.’
AJ fetched the battered suitcase in which Elsie kept Jim’s clothes.
‘You are messing with me,’ said Leon.