Doctor Who_ The Roundheads Part 24

Jamie had watched him open the big, leaded window and scramble out with the enthusiasm of a child and the agility of a monkey. But the treacherous conditions outside and the height of their room on the third storey seemed to have somewhat quelled the Doctor's appet.i.te for escape.

'Why don't you let me try?' asked Jamie helpfully.

The Doctor shook his head and moved his feet a fraction.

'Don't argue. I'll be able to accomplish far more when I'm on the other side of the door.'

His right foot slid across the ledge and he dug his fingers into the wall, feeling his nails sc.r.a.pe against the powdery mortar.

Some four feet away was another window, identical in design but slightly ajar. The Doctor had taken careful note of the layout of the third storey on their way back from their audience with Cromwell. He was confident that the open window would lead him into the corridor and, from there, he could organise Jamie's escape and find Richard Cromwell's room.

As the darkness stole over the scene, the Doctor breathed a sigh of relief that he was not only practically invisible to an onlooker but that he could see less and less of the ground below.

He reached out his hand and began to slide further. Jamie looked on helplessly, his hands describing anxious little circles as he leaned out of the window.

The Doctor took a deep breath and made three or four quick steps. His boots rang off the frozen stone but his grip on the wall didn't falter. He looked back to wink at Jamie but the boy's image was disappearing in the dusk.

Turning back to face straight out, the Doctor steadied his breathing and shuffled his feet again. He could see the cas.e.m.e.nt of the next window only a few feet away.

Emboldened by this, he began to move more rapidly, hoping to get the whole process over and done with. Reaching for the elaborately carved exterior of the window, he s.h.i.+fted his left foot and suddenly slipped.

A great, lurching, sickening rush raced through him as his foot met empty air and he struggled to right himself. His fingers scrabbled at the brickwork, desperate to find purchase, but there was nothing bulky or strong enough to take his weight.

In a second he had fallen.

The Doctor's breath was knocked out of him as his chest connected with the stone ledge. He hung in silence for a moment, wondering how on earth he had been saved.

Jamie's voice came sailing through the dusk. 'Are you all right, Doctor?'

The Doctor felt the cold wind streaming over his, back and realised that his cloak had caught on the windowsill as he fell.

It was ripped from the bottom almost to his shoulder and it was the only thing keeping him from falling.

'Doctor?'

He dug his fingers in and pulled at the ledge, trying to hoist himself back up. There was a dreadful tearing sound and the cloak split further. The Doctor felt it flapping about him like a damaged wing.

'Jamie!' he gasped at last. 'I'm in a bit of bother!'

He heard scrabbling nearby. 'Hang on! I'm coming!'

The Doctor shook his head, for the benefit of no one in particular. 'No. It's too dangerous. Wait a minute.'

He glanced upward and saw that the cold breeze was stirring the heavy brocade curtains of the room he wanted to enter. Biting his lip, he made a huge effort and managed to heave his elbow on to the ledge. His legs swung below him, kicking at the air.

The Doctor had timed it well, and, as the curtain billowed outwards, he grabbed hold of it for dear life just as his cloak tore completely in two and floated to the darkened ground.

Smiling to himself, the Doctor grasped the curtain with both hands and began to hauI himself up, his feet clas.h.i.+ng against the wall.

'It's all right, Jamie. I've got it now ' he began.

The curtain began to tear, just as the cloak before it, and the Doctor could see the wooden rings that attached it to its rail splinter and crack under his weight.

With a worried bellow of fear, he dragged himself up on to the ledge and did a neat forward roll into the corridor, casting the curtain out as he did so.

. He stood in the darkness for a moment, catching his breath, and then poked his head out of the window.

'Jamie!' he hissed. 'I'm in. Just wait there and I'll have you out in a tick.'

He didn't wait for Jamie's a.s.sent but raced down the dark deeply carpeted pa.s.sageway, slowing only as he approached the outside of their room.

The guard stood there, looking bored and tired, his helmeted head drooping on to his chest.

The Doctor watched him in silence for a while, sucking on his finger and gazing at the long rug which stretched the length of the corridor. He frowned deeply and, reaching a decision, pressed himself flat against the wall so that the shadows cloaked him completely.

Then, without warning, he began to sing in a quiet, gentle voice. '"Her husband was a soldier, and to the wars did go, And she would be his comrade, the truth of all is so..."'

The guard looked up, dragged from his reverie by the unexpected voice. He peered into the darkness and thrust his pike out before him. 'Who's there?'

There was silence in the corridor and then the Doctor's voice sprang up again.

'"She put on man's apparel, and bore him company, As many in the army for truth can testify."'

The guard slid the visor of his helmet upward and began to advance, slowly and carefully, along the corridor.

'Who's there, I say?' he barked, steadying the pike in his hands.

Again there was silence and then the Doctor stepped out from his hiding place, holding his hands above his head.

The guard was puzzled. 'What the devil... ?'

The Doctor smiled sheepishly. 'No. Not the devil. The Doctor.'

He threw himself down on to the floor and, grasping the trailing end of the rug in both hands, pulled with all his strength. Wrong-footed, the guard was sent sprawling against the corridor wall. His head slammed against the plaster, and with a groan he slumped unconscious to the floor.

Losing no time, the Doctor rifled through the keys that hung at the guard's waist, found the one that gave access to the room, and then, slipping his hands under the guard's armpits, dragged the unfortunate man into a darkened recess.

The keys rattling in his hand, he stole across the corridor and slipped a heavy black one into the lock.

'Hang on, Jamie,' he whispered. 'Almost there.'

As the door opened, the Doctor's head jerked round.

Footsteps echoed dully on the floor. Footsteps coming his way.

Jamie's grinning head appeared around the door and the Doctor immediately pushed him back inside.

He slipped inside himself and closed the door. They stood in silence, listening, as the footsteps came closer and finally paused outside.

The door began to open and the Doctor gestured frantically to Jamie to get to the other side of the room and close the window.

The young Scot had just managed this as the Doctor threw himself down on to the bed and affected an air of the utmost nonchalance.

The door opened fully, revealing Thurloe with a puzzled expression stamped on his wily features.

The Doctor looked up and smiled. 'Come to tuck us in, Mr Thurloe?'

Thurloe looked down at the keyhole. 'This door has been left unlocked,' he stated flatly.

The Doctor swung his legs off the bed. 'Oh dear. You mean we could've escaped any time we liked?'

Thurloe frowned and then shrugged. 'Escape? Why would you want to escape? You're the general's guests. Now, come along, he wants to see you.'

The Doctor threw an exasperated look at Jamie as Thurloe ushered them out. 'Well,' he whispered out of the comer of his mouth. 'Worth a try.'

With the addition of a lacy white cap and ap.r.o.n, Polly looked every inch the serving girl.

As Whyte and Copper had promised, a tiny door at the back of the castle had been left unguarded and she stood outside it in the darkness, s.h.i.+vering.

She knocked twice and then left a pause before the third knock, as instructed. There was no response from beyond the solid black door. Polly pulled her cloak tightly around her slim body and cast a worried glance back towards the sh.o.r.e where she knew Whyte and Copper to be waiting.

She was about to knock again when she heard movement and a series of latches and bolts being drawn back. The door opened and a strange, wizened old face appeared, framed in a halo of thinning white hair. The old man looked Polly up and down and grunted to himself, then gestured impatiently for her to follow him.

With one last look behind her, Polly dashed inside and the old man slid the door gently shut behind her.

She found herself in a roomy kitchen, lined with pots and cutlery. Baskets of firewood were stacked in each comer and there were freshly killed grouse and even a couple of swans laying across marble tables, their throats cut and congealed with blood.

Polly shuddered and looked away. 'Thank you for your help, Mr... ?'

The old man held up his liver-spotted hands. 'No names, girl. It's better that way. I seek to serve His Majesty and that is all. Now we must get you upstairs.'

Polly nodded her understanding and slipped out of her cloak. The old man walked past the huge, crackling fire and began to quietly ascend a rickety staircase which occupied the centre of the room.

He put his finger to his lips and beckoned for Polly to follow. Hitching up her skirts, she did so, keeping closely behind him all the way up.

'Are you the one who has seen my friend?' she whispered.

The old man shushed her again with the same gesture and Polly lapsed into silence. Eventually they reached a trap door inset in the ceiling and the old man paused before opening it.

'Up there you will find a tray of food and drink. You must take it up the second flight of steps on your left. Do you understand me?'

Polly nodded vigorously. 'Second on the left, yes.'

The old man clasped his hands together. 'You will come out next to a room with two doors. There are guards posted there and they will be expecting another girl. You must say that she is ailing and that you are to replace her tonight.'

'And who am I supposed to be?'

The old man shook his head testily. 'What matters that?'

Polly shrugged. 'Quite a lot if they're suspicious.'

The old man seemed to see the wisdom in her words. 'Yes, very well then. You are to say you are Spufford's niece.'

Polly looked up at the trap door. 'And that's you, is it?

Spufford?'

The old man grunted. 'I see that it is no use playing the cloak and dagger with you, mistress.'

Polly pushed at the trap door and it opened easily. 'No. It isn't.' she muttered, and slid through on to the next level.

She found herself in a long pa.s.sageway, panelled in some dark wood and lit only by a single candle which stood on a tray close to the trap door.

As quickly as she could, Polly picked up the tray and moved left. In the gloom she could scarcely make out the entrance to the first stairway but she kept her shoulder pressed to the wall and soon found herself at the relevant place.

This second stairway seemed narrower than the first and perceptibly older. What she could see of the steps in the candlelight showed them to be of splintered, spiralled wood, rising up into the darkness.

Polly took a deep a breath and moved swiftly up them, grimacing as the pressure of her feet made the ancient wood groan.

The landing on to which she emerged was far better lit and much more cheerfully furnished than what she had so far seen of the castle. Huge and elaborate tapestries of crimson and gold hung from the walls, depicting scenes of bygone hunting days, picked out in delicate thread.

Spluttering lanterns were bracketed to the walls on either side of an impressive set of double doors and standing stiffly before them were two Roundhead guards, pikes in hand, their faces set into hard, unyielding frowns.

Polly took in all this in an instant as she poked her head around the top of the stairway. She jerked back into the shadows and took stock of the situation, trying to keep the tray steady in her shaking hands.

Whyte had told her very clearly what was to happen. His agents within the castle had drugged most of the Parliamentarian guard but it would be impossible to get near the two actually guarding the King's quarters. This was where Polly would come in.

She set the tray down on the top step and felt around in the candlelight until her fingers came upon a small gla.s.s phial.

Inside was a glutinous, honey-coloured substance and, with the greatest care, Polly poured it into the jug of wine.

Stirring it rapidly with the candle taper, she watched as the red liquid swirled in a little vortex within the jug. At last she was satisfied and, picking up the tray once more, stole quietly into the pa.s.sageway.

The Roundhead guards responded immediately.

The closer one, indistinguishable from his companion because of his helmet, swung round and jabbed his pike within inches of Polly's abdomen.