Doctor Who_ The Roundheads Part 38

Whyte sighed and began to tug at his gloves. 'I mean no offence, Your Majesty. But surely we have fought these wars to preserve the lifeblood of the Church of England, not to taint it with Popish mercenaries.'

Charles gazed levelly at him. It was a fair point, of course, and one put to him many times these past few, bitter years. He had lost many loyalists because of it and his intractable defence of his beloved wife's religion.

'Mr Whyte,' he said at last, in a low, grave whisper, 'rather than lose my throne to these r-rebels I would come to terms with the devil himself!'

Polly ran at full pelt across the room and Ben caught her in his arms. She tried to swing him round but was too exhausted.

'd.u.c.h.ess!' he cried joyfully. 'Oh, love. Are you OK?

What's been happening?'

Polly practically crushed the young sailor in her embrace.

'Too much to tell you,' she said happily.

The Doctor and Jamie greeted Ben too and then the Doctor turned to face Scrope, Thurloe, and Cromwell.

'I appear to have done you an injustice, Doctor,' said the general with a smile.

'Not half the injustice I have done Master Scrope,' said the Doctor, reaching out to shake the saltpetre man's hand. 'It seems you really are engaged on state business.'

'Of the highest order,' said Thurloe. 'Even if his... er modus operandi modus operandi is a little eccentric.' is a little eccentric.'

Scrope patted his filthy hair. 'No one bothers a man who reeks like me!' he said merrily. 'But let us to the matter at hand. We know that Prince Rupert is in London and has brought a Dutchman here.'

'For what purpose?' asked the Doctor.

Thurloe shrugged. 'That is what we must ascertain and you, Mistress Polly, must furnish us with an answer.'

Polly freed herself from Ben's embrace. 'Me?'

'Aye,' said Cromwell. 'Were not you in the thick of these conspirators, albeit against your will?'

Polly shook her head. 'But I don't know anything about their plans or their organisation, only...'

She trailed away. Thurloe leaned forward eagerly. 'Only?'

'Only that they met at the inn where Ben and I went that first morning. They may only have hired the room but it's the one place of theirs I know.'

Thurloe clapped his hands. 'Excellent! We must not lose a moment.'

The Doctor nodded. 'I'll come with you, Polly.'

She smiled and squeezed his hand. 'Thank you.'

'And I,' said Scrope. 'If you'll give me a few moments.'

The strange old man dashed from the room, leaving them all somewhat bewildered.

The night had turned bitterly cold, an arctic wind blasting the old city like some primal force let loose on the world.

There was no new snow yet, but everyone could sense it in the air, ready to cover the frosty cobbles, making them even more treacherous to the few souls who dared to venture out.

Those who did huddled themselves up, clutching their tall hats tightly to their heads and swathing themselves in layers of extra clothing.

The wind picked up and whistled down the alley where stood Kemp's inn, the place seeming like the only house occupied and merry, its patrons determined to forget their troubles and the weather in a pint of foaming ale.

The sign above the World Turn'd Upside Down swung wildly as the Doctor, Polly, and Scrope stole inside.

All three stood on the threshold for a moment, s.h.i.+vering and stamping as they became used to the blaze from the fire and the sudden tug of human warmth. The Doctor blew into his hands and turned to Scrope.

To everyone's astonishment, the old man had returned transformed. Quick ablutions had taken away the cake of dirt that had covered his skin, revealing a face that now seemed far more wise and n.o.ble. His hair was brushed back from his high forehead and he was dressed in neat black livery from head to toe. Altogether he looked quite the gentleman.

The Doctor smiled as the scent of lemons came to him from Scrope's newly washed body. 'Shall we take a seat?'

He ushered Scrope and Polly forward into the rowdy tavern. Polly was looking out immediately for Frances but it was Sarah Kemp who stood behind the bar, dealing gamely with a gang of rough young lads who had come in from the cold.

'Anything?' said the Doctor, sitting down and peering at the rough, packed crowd.

Polly shook her head. 'I know the girl who works here.

She might have some idea of who '

The door clattered and swung open, banging against the wall with a loud crash.

Polly stopped talking and whirled round, thinking the wind had blown open the door. Instead, she saw Christopher Whyte framed there, his clothes stiff with frost, his face fixed into a murderous glower.

Polly looked away as he marched in and made straight for the bar.

Sarah Kemp caught his eye. She pointed upstairs but Whyte shook his head. They exchanged words and Sarah poured him a large gla.s.s of some ruby-coloured spirit which he swiftly drained. He pushed the gla.s.s back across the bar and Sarah refilled it.

'Looks like a man in need of company,' muttered the Doctor.

'That's him,' whispered Polly. 'Christopher Whyte.'

The Doctor leaned closer and nodded. 'See what you can do.'

Polly got up and threaded her way around the tables and stools, struggIing to avoid the maze of outstretched legs and backsides.

A big, burly lad stepped straight in front of her, grinned stupidly, and was about to mutter something cheeky when Christopher Whyte glanced round.

He saw Polly at once, took in the situation and pushed the youth roughly out of the way. The boy crashed to the floor and didn't get up, already the worse for drink.

'Polly!' cried Whyte delightedly, making room for her to stand by him. 'I am so pleased to see you. I had thought...'

Polly looked him up and down. 'You thought the Roundheads would have tortured and killed me.'

'At the very least!'

Polly's face remained impa.s.sive. 'Yes, well, fortunately they're a lot saner than some people seem to think.'

Whyte put out his hand as if to touch her face but then let it fall to his side. 'I confess that I thought you dead. After what happened at the castle...'

Polly nodded. 'You left me for dead, Christopher.'

Whyte shook his head. 'I prevented your death!' he cried.

'I must tell you that Sir John's behaviour left me much vexed.'

'It left me with a b.u.mp on the head,' said Polly sourly.

'But never mind that. You also lied to me.'

Whyte looked down and bit his lip. 'You lied to me about Frances Kemp. You lied to me about the Doctor being in that castle. And you lied about your desire to help me.'

'No,' insisted Whyte. 'I did... I do want to help you, Polly.'

Polly nodded. 'Then will you join my friends?'

Whyte looked over. He could just make out the Doctor and Scrope deep in conversation. 'Is this the Doctor of whom you spoke?'

Polly nodded. 'Yes. He wants to talk to you.'

Whyte drained his gla.s.s and followed Polly to the table.

Both ignored the constant, ribald mutterings that accompanied them. After introductions, Whyte took a seat next to Polly.

The Doctor looked at him with interest. 'I gather you seek to put the King back on his throne, Mr Whyte,' he said.

Whyte snorted and rubbed his eyes. 'Aye. I did. And have risked much in that cause.'

'Did?' queried the Doctor.

Whyte stared into s.p.a.ce, his face betraying his troubled mind. 'I cannot speak of it,' he mumbled at last.

Polly looked him directly in his bright blue eyes. 'Please.

If you do want to help me.'

Whyte looked from one to the other of the three seated next to him, then sighed. 'I... I no longer believe this King to be a man of honour. Nor worthy of his great office.'

'Then will you tell us where to find him?' urged Scrope quickly. Whyte shook his head. 'No. I cannot. I have fought for Charles these past seven years. I cannot betray him now.'

The Doctor said nothing and it was left to Polly to continue. She grasped Whyte's hand tenderly.

'Listen, Christopher. We know about Prince Rupert and the Dutchman. We know that some plot is being hatched.'

Whyte was surprised and shook his head. 'You are indeed a most formidable lady, Polly.'

'But we don't know what they intend,' she continued.

'And we shall never escape from here if we don't find out.'

Whyte looked at her tenderly for a moment, as though they were alone in the room and talking of matters a million miles from the King and Parliament.

'And where,' he murmured, 'where do you wish to escape to?'

Polly felt a rush of affection surge through her. Fl.u.s.tered, she shook her head and looked down at the table.

The Doctor intervened. 'Polly's telling the truth, Mr Whyte. Our friends are still with Cromwell and Thurloe.

They'll be asking all kinds of awkward questions if we come back empty-handed.'

Whyte's head drooped defeatedly. Then he looked up and smiled grimly. 'They intend to bring in an invasion force,' he said quietly. 'A Catholic invasion force.'

Scrope scowled. 'And that is their plan?'

'Aye,' nodded Whyte. 'But only after the first stage is complete.'

The Doctor crossed his hands on the table. 'And what is that?'

Whyte looked at him and then at Polly. 'Tomorrow morning at ten, General Cromwell will arrive to address the House on the matter of the King's trial.'

Scrope was astonished. 'How do you know this? The general's movements are known to only a very few.'

Whyte smiled grimly. 'The King has contacts.' He cleared his throat before continuing. 'As Cromwell rises to address the Commons, the Dutchman, van Leeuwenhoek, will cut him down where he stands. He is an expert a.s.sa.s.sin from Holland.'

'Great G.o.d,' said Scrope, gulping. 'b.l.o.o.d.y Dutch. A plot to murder the general.'

'And what do you... do they hope to gain by this?' asked the Doctor.

Whyte looked own at the table. 'Anarchy. A chance to allow their foreign army to sweep in and take control.'

The Doctor sat back and folded his arms. 'Where is the King?'

Whyte shook his head defiantly. 'I cannot tell you.'