In the blink of an eye they found themselves, not in the back garden at Kirrin Cottage bathed in sunshine, but standing on the dimly lit main floor of a Dickensian abattoir.

George glared at Dick as he dropped the rather unusual talisman he had been polishing with his handkerchief. "Time travel?" Julian muttered in a hushed hoarse whisper. Anne sobbed softly; the only other sound was a soft happy growl coming out from under a nearby workbench where Timmy had discovered a string of sausages.