Dead of Winter - James Goss [70]
The Doctor grimaced. ‘History is back on track. Messy and not enough of a happy ending for anyone, really.’
I jerked a hand at the patients. I tried not to meet Olivia Elquitine’s accusing glare. ‘How will they be?’
‘Well, actually… as good as possible,’ said the Doctor. He was putting a brave face on it. ‘Some will stay cured… and some will not. Depends on what it was trying to mend, what it had to work with. I’ll be fine, so will Rory. And those who’ve left the clinic… but those still being cured?’ He sighed. ‘Well, they’ll have to trust Dr Bloom. Fresh air, hygiene, countryside… it’s all very forward thinking. It’s probably adding years to their lives – and it’s all Dr Bloom’s work. So I’m not going to interfere – this is history playing out as it should do.’
‘Really?’
‘Really,’ said the Doctor, not meeting our eyes. ‘Well,’ he muttered, ‘kind of.’ He realised we were staring at him. ‘What am I supposed to do, go around bumping them all off?’
‘Good luck,’ said Rory. ‘The Elquitine sisters would take you down.’
The Doctor nodded at that. ‘Try and think of it not so much as a happy ending as a less sad one.’
I looked at his face, so pulled down and tired. ‘Prince Boris?’ I asked.
The Doctor puffed out some air and looked down to the sea. ‘A very charming man. I should be more careful of very charming men.’ He tugged a smile from his lips. ‘At least I don’t have that problem with you, Rory.’
‘Oi,’ said Rory.
‘What are we doing about the TARDIS?’
‘Oh, it’ll turn up. Like a late train it’s probably just around the corner.’
‘You hope.’ I grinned at him.
‘Well, otherwise we could get jobs here.’
We stared at him.
‘Just not in France. Not for a while. No.’
He leaned back in his chair. For once it didn’t topple over. ‘Result,’ he said.
A Letter from Maria
St Christophe
9th December 1783
Dear Mother,
So the Doctor made all the monsters go away. Can I come home now? I miss you so much. I have decided that we should call the puppies Rory and Amy.
Your ever loving
Maria
A Letter from Mr Nevil
St Christophe
9th December 1783
Dear Octavius,
Well, there’s good news and there’s bad news, you dear old fraud.
The bad news is that the cure is fading. The good news is that I’m not coming home. So you won’t have to face my wrath and the horse-whipping you soundly deserve.
No, I shall see my days out here at St Christophe – the air is good and I have made friends. I think, you know, I have found peace and companionship here – although perhaps I shall not go for many walks along the beach.
It’s a good winter – the climate is chilly but not too cold, although it looks as though there may be snow falling on the sea. The foreign girl is talking to me again and the sawbones who runs this place is a good enough soul, I suppose. Deserves a chance. Who knows, I may see out the spring…
Your faithful servant,
Henry Nevil
Dr Bloom’s Journal
9th December 1783
There was a knock at the door. The Doctor brought in a tea tray.
‘Good morning, Dr Bloom,’ he said.
I didn’t answer, just stared out at the shore.
Eventually he spoke again. ‘I am sorry about your wife.’
‘And I am sorry I shot you.’
‘Well, there we are.’ The Doctor settled the tray down with a bang. ‘All friends, then. Let’s call it quits.’
This was the man who’d killed my wife. And he was sitting opposite me, smiling. I had killed him. I had made the decision. I’d pulled the trigger. I had decided to live with the consequences, and yet here he was.
The Doctor handed me something. It wasn’t tea.
‘You’re in shock,’ he said gently. ‘I think it’s brandy or sherry. Try it. It’s nice. Well, it’s brown.’
I tried to sip from the glass, but my hands were shaking. I put the glass down.
The Doctor was crouching in front of my chair, staring into my face. He wasn’t blinking at all. ‘I am so sorry. Look, I could say, “Prince Boris made me do it.” He manipulated us all. A brilliant strategist. But I thought I was doing the right thing. In a way…’
‘She was my wife.’
The Doctor