Doctor Who_ The Roundheads Part 18

You will see them tomorrow.'

Polly seemed dissatisfied with this, but gradually her expression softened. 'Very well. As long as they're safe.'

She glanced longingly at the comfortable bed. 'I must admit, I wouldn't mind getting my head down.'

Whyte laughed. 'Getting your head down where?'

'You know. Sleep.'

Whyte smiled. 'Ah, yes. Sleep.' He too cast his eye towards the bed but with a different look on his face altogether. He looked back to Polly and c.o.c.ked his head.

'Polly, you are like no woman I have ever known.'

'I should hope not,' she said with a giggle. Then she leaned forward and kissed him gently on the cheek.

'Goodnight, Christopher Whyte. And thank you.'

He held her gaze for a moment and then bowed. 'Good night, Polly.'

Putting his hat back on his handsome head, he left the room, closing the door after him.

He lingered in the corridor for a moment, his face set in a deep frown, conflicting emotions chasing over his features.

Then he made his way up the stairs towards Sir John Copper's chamber.

Ben flung himself back against the wall of the ramshackle barn as Stanislaus and G.o.dley exited into the courtyard and made their way towards the street.

They' seemed noticeably more relaxed and G.o.dley clapped Stanislaus on the shoulder in a friendly fas.h.i.+on.

The captain flinched and scowled at G.o.dley, who shrugged and removed his hand.

'Well, friend,' he said in a determinedly cheerful fas.h.i.+on, 'that's that. What say we have ourselves a little sport before turning in?' Stanislaus's face remained impa.s.sive until, slowly and almost unwillingly, a rather cruel smile crept over his features.

'Why not? I know of a place. A place where we can buy...

entertainment for a few guilders.'

G.o.dley was delighted and clapped his gloved hands together. 'Excellent!'

He ushered Stanislaus forward. 'Onward, my dear Captain.

Onward!'

They strolled away.

When the coast was clear, Ben stepped boldly back on to the street and peered through the darkness after the retreating figures.

'Well,' said Winter, chewing her lip. 'They carried naught that I could see.'

Ben shook his head. 'No. No package.'

He turned to the buxom captain. 'What now? Should we follow them?'

Winter shook her head. 'They're on pleasure bent,' she said. 'And G.o.d help the Judies the Pole lays his claws upon.'

She thought for a moment, rubbing her silver nose as though for inspiration. 'We'd best be getting aboard the Demeter Demeter, friend. She sails at dawn.'

Ben nodded. 'Will we reach London first?' he inquired anxiously.

'G.o.d willing,' said Winter. 'It depends on all manner of things. Tide. Wind.'

'Oh,' said Ben disappointedly.

'And the fact that I was a better captain at three years old than the Pole will be in all his lifetime!' cackled Winter. 'Of course we'll get there before 'em. But what's your plan, Ben?'

Ben shrugged. 'I just want to find my friends, that's all.'

Winter eyed him interestedly, her one eye twinkling. 'And what of this mystery?' Ben shrugged and then grinned. 'Ha!

You're a card, Ben Jackson,' cried Winter, her fat face shaking. 'I can read you like a book. You think there's dirty work afoot, yes?'

Ben nodded urgently. 'All I know is I've got a funny feeling that lot are up to something big. And I think we should find out what it is, don't you?'

Winter drew herself up to her full, imposing height.

'Naturally I do. Sal Winter never runs from a fight. Especially if it's with that d.a.m.ned Pole and his gang of cutthroats!'

Ben chuckled to himself. 'I'm glad to hear it. Now, how about this? Why don't we try and get aboard the Teazer Teazer and have a root around? Maybe there's something in Stanislaus's cabin that'll give us a clue to this whole thing.' and have a root around? Maybe there's something in Stanislaus's cabin that'll give us a clue to this whole thing.'

Winter gave an enthusiastic nod. 'Aye. If we hurry we might just steal a march on every man jack of 'em.'

Keeping close to the walls, the incongruous pair set off at a swift pace for the docks.

The first dreary streaks of dawn were spreading through the sky when the door to the Doctor and Jamie's quarters was opened. The key turned silently in the lock and a figure stole inside, his long black coat, which hung almost down to his boots, whispering around his legs. He scanned the room carefully.

There was the boy, sound asleep on top of the bed. Next to him, the curve of the Doctor's shoulder could be made out.

The boy was snoring gently.

The newcomer was about to step closer when the Doctor's voice came out of nowhere.

'Shall I shed a little light on things, Mr Thurloe? There's really no need for all this skulduggery.'

Thurloe whirled around in surprise. The Doctor's voice was coming from the window cas.e.m.e.nt. A match was struck and a candle lit, revealing the little man, in s.h.i.+rtsleeves, sitting cross-legged on the sill and smiling.

He nodded towards the bed and the bundle he had made from a pillow and his frock coat.

'It's an obvious ruse, I know,' he said. 'But they're often the most effective.'

Thurloe gave a small, grudging smile. 'Well versed in the arts of espionage, Doctor?'

'Oh, I dabble,' said the Doctor. 'But aren't you the spymaster around these parts?'

Thurloe crossed the room and, lifting the skirts of his coat, sat down opposite the Doctor.

He looked out of the window on to the snowy gardens outside. He could see the outlines of hedges and leafless trees beginning to emerge.

'You know that I am not as easily taken in by portents and prophecies as is the general,' he stated flatly.

The Doctor looked at him interestedly. 'I'd be disappointed if you were.'

Thurloe turned and caught the Doctor's gaze. His face was thrown into stark relief by the dawn light and the sputtering candle flame. 'You'll be more closely questioned tomorrow, I can a.s.sure you.'

The Doctor nodded. 'And of course it's your job to protect the general from any charlatans or enemies of the state who seek to... er... bamboozle him?'

'Precisely!' cried Thurloe. 'Charlatans or enemies of the state. You put it very succinctly, Doctor.'

The Doctor looked over towards Jamie. 'We don't mean any harm, you know. We're just travellers. And he's scarcely more than a boy.'

Thurloe nodded slowly and then looked away.

'There is darkness all around us, Doctor,' he said at last.

The Doctor looked out of the window. 'Not really. I think it might be quite a pleasant day,' he said brightly.

Thurloe shook his head. 'That is not what I meant.'

The Doctor frowned and the lines on his face grew deeper.

'Oh. I see.'

Thurloe folded his arms and suddenly began to speak very rapidly. 'Parliament will shortly vote through the trial of the King. If he is executed there will be a new order in this land. I do not doubt that the kingmakers will attempt to place the crown upon the general's head.'

The Doctor nodded, with an expression of feigned ignorance on his face.

'I am completely loyal to the general, you must understand that,' continued Thurloe. The Doctor nodded again. 'But I fear that the mood of the people may turn his head. He is a G.o.d-fearing man, but there could be such clamour for him to take the crown.'

Thurloe looked levelly at the Doctor. 'I do not think this should happen. Cromwell did not want to destroy the monarchy. The monarchy has destroyed itself. And if that is the way it must be, it must remain destroyed.'

The Doctor cleared his throat. 'What do you want me to do?'

Thurloe examined his fingernails in the candlelight.

'The general sets much store by seers and wise folk. If you can... say something that will plant a seed of doubt, chafe away at the back of his mind to make him... think carefully should the throne ever be offered him, then I would be grateful.'

'How grateful?' said the Doctor evenly.

'Your freedom,' said Thurloe. 'Money.'

The Doctor waved his hand impatiently and the candle flame flickered in the draught. 'I don't want money. But I would like to ask a favour.'

Thurloe rose from the cas.e.m.e.nt. 'We will discuss this later. First you have to convince the general that you and the boy are the genuine article.'

He moved back across the room and disappeared into the darkness. A man of the shadows, thought the Doctor. Yes, that's where he belongs.

Thurloe's voice drifted back as he opened the door.

'Charlatan or enemy of the state. As to which of these you are, Doctor, we shall see upon the morn.'

The door closed behind him with a solid thud.

Polly was sound asleep, her curled back rising and falling gently.

Frances was lying next to her, but the landlord's daughter was awake, blinking slowly in the darkness, her mind fizzing with thoughts.

The room was chilly now, its fire long since extinguished, and Frances was grateful for the thick blankets and the warmth of her new friend, lying beside her. She wondered longingly how it might feel to have Thomas's arms around her now, holding her tightly, pressing her to his chest.

Unconsciously, she folded her arms over her own body and squeezed herself, imagining the pressure of her love's strong body. But would such a day ever come? How could there ever be a reconciliation between her father's views and those of Thomas? There could be only one outcome to this: a final and devastating schism between herself and William Kemp.

At least her mother understood. She knew how a young girl's heart could melt and be enslaved by a n.o.ble creature like Thomas Culpeper. Hadn't she said as much about the days her father had spent courting her? Sometimes Frances found it hard to believe that her parents had ever been young, that they had spent lovely, carefree days simply enjoying each other's company. Her father must have been handsome then, full of fun and vigour, not the bitter, misanthropic figure Frances had come to loathe.

There was a soft creak of wood from close by and Frances suddenly knew she was not alone in the room. She reached out to clasp Polly's arm but a broad, warm hand was suddenly clamped across her mouth. She looked round wildly in the darkness and started as her father's voice hissed out.

'Don't be afraid, my dove. But get up now. Your father has business for you.'

He moved his hand from her face and Frances hastily drew on a gown and slippers.

'What is it, Father?' she asked in trepidation. 'Is something the matter?'

She could see her father's bulk looming in the darkness.

'Nothing's wrong, Frances. Just be quick now and follow me.'

He opened the door and crept out into the corridor.

Frances felt a thrill of fear run through her. And yet her father had been in such a different mood all day. Perhaps this had something to do with it.