Fogging Over by Annie Dalton Read Free Book Online

heard that Scotland Yard know who it is,” said his customer through a froth of shaving foam. “But they’ve been asked to hush it up.”
    The barber stopped with the cut-throat razor in his hand. “Why would they do a thing like that?”
    “It’s obvious, ain’t it? It’s got to be a member of the Royal Family.”
    In the street outside, some guy was buttonholing anyone who’d listen. “It’s a Hebrew conspiracy!” he shouted, spraying spit. “Send them murdering Jews back where they come from. Coming here, taking food out of our children’s mouths!”
    That was too much for Georgie. Without warning he bolted into a side street. Outside a tumbledown tenement, two kids, brother and sister, were crouching in the gutter. They looked blue with cold. Drunken shouts drifted from an upstairs window.
    But Georgie kept on running and just five minutes’ walk away from that hideous street everything was calm and peaceful. I could hear a little winter bird tweeting, and the sound of someone busily scrubbing something with a brush.
    Georgie turned into somewhere called Milkwell Yard. The houses were small and narrow but well cared for. Outside Number 7, a maid was polishing a brass knocker.
    “Hello, Ivy,” said Georgie.
    She beamed at him. “Why it’s Georgie Porgie! Haven’t seen you for days. Too busy kissing the girls, I suppose!”
    “You suppose wrong,” he said cheerfully. “I’ve got business to attend to.”
    Ivy laughed. ‘“Ark at you! You sound just like a gent on the Stock Exchange! Go round the back, lovie, but keep your voice down. The mistress had another bad night.” She gave him a grin. “If you ask me, the spirits are getting their revenge!”
    I assumed this was another reference to gin, but then I saw the name on the brass plate. Miss Minerva Temple, Medium.
    I nudged Lollie. “Is that cool or what!”
    She looked uneasy. “Don’t mediums talk to the dead?”
    “Yeah, Victorians were really into it. We are going to get SO many brownie points for this. Mr Allbright is going to love us forever!”
    We followed Georgie down some steps.
    A fair-haired girl rushed to open the door.
    “Georgie! Where have you been? I was worried something had happened to you.”
    Georgie’s sister was so pale, you could practically see daylight through her, except for her cheeks which were a hectic pink. In her lavender gown and button boots, she looked like a little china doll. She dropped her voice. “We’ll have to be quiet,” she whispered. “Miss Temple is feeling rather fragile this morning.”
    “She still treats you well I hope, Charlotte?”
    Hello! I thought. Georgie had suddenly changed his way of talking. He sounded almost posh.
    “Oh, no, she’s really kind,” his sister reassured him. “She’s extremely satisfied with my work. She says my face is ‘wonderfully ethereal’!” Charlotte’s giggles turned into a long coughing fit.
    “I’m afraid you are getting ill again, Charlie,” said Georgie anxiously.
    She shook her head. “Don’t be silly! I just catch my breath sometimes.”
    As the children chatted, I noted down useful facts for Mr Allbright. Georgie and Charlotte were orphans. Their mother had died only a couple of years ago. Until recently, both kids were surviving on the streets, by selling matches and bootlaces. It was
    Georgie who had found his sister her unusual post as a medium’s assistant. Georgie was the youngest, yet he was fiercely protective of his sister, wanting to know if Miss Temple was working her too hard.
    Charlotte said the hardest part was trying not to laugh when Miss Temple pretended the spirit guides were speaking through her. “She sounds exactly like a bullfrog!” She broke off to cough, and this time she couldn’t seem to stop. It sounded like rusty machinery rattling inside her chest.
    “The poor kid’s got TB,” Brice said in a low voice.
    “Don’t be stupid!” I hissed. “Charlotte’s fine. Look at her pink rosy