Doctor Who_ Bad Therapy - Matthew Jones [73]
The Doctor must have caught sight of the expression on his face, because he smiled and said, ‘Why not have a look around? See if you can find any clues.’
Jack nodded and wandered a little aimlessly around the room. He had no idea what a ‘clue’ might look like, and suspected that the Doctor wasn’t really expecting him to find anything, only trying to get him out of his hair for a few minutes.
The room was decorated with strange and unsettling objects. A stuffed eagle sat in a tall glass jar, the skulls of small rodents decorated the mantelpiece, and a line of small bottles filled with opaque liquid had been placed precariously along one of the bookcases. Jack pulled the tiny cork out of one of them and, gingerly, took a sniff. It smelt faintly of aniseed. Peering inside, he thought he saw the liquid begin to climb up the side of the glass towards him.
Reminded of the black cab, Jack hastily pressed the stopper back on the bottle and replaced it on the shelf.
A large portrait of a woman hung on the far wall. Something about the painting bothered Jack. It took him a moment to work out what it was. Whoever had hung the painting had placed it too low down on the wall. The bottom of the large picture frame was only a few inches above the ground, and yet there was a much larger gap between the top of the painting and the ceiling. Jack moved forward to examine the painting more closely, it was almost as if the painting was covering a –
‘Blimey,’ he whispered, as he moved closer and saw the face of the woman in the picture. That face was unmistakable. The woman was dressed in elegant, ornamental robes, and wore a strange headdress which concealed her hair.
She was sitting in a room which was decorated in similar symbols to those inscribed on the papers the Doctor had found on the desk. However, it was the woman’s face which had caught Jack’s attention so completely.
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‘Doctor,’ he managed, but his voice was a hoarse whisper. He cleared his throat and tried again. ‘Doctor, I think you’d better have a look at this.’
‘What’s that, Jack?’ the Doctor asked, absently, from the other side of the room.
‘I think you’d better come and see this for yourself.’
The Doctor glanced up from the desk, looking puzzled. Still holding several sheaves of paper he joined Jack in front of the painting. ‘Very striking,’ he turned to Jack, expectantly. ‘Well?’
‘Look at her face.’
The Doctor turned back to the painting. His eyes widened, suddenly. ‘My goodness! I’ve seen that woman somewhere before. How frustrating. It’s on the tip of my mind.’
A small plaque was attached to the bottom of the frame. Jack squinted at the tiny writing. ‘According to this her name is Petruska, First Queen of. . .
somewhere foreign, I think.’
‘But she looks like. . . like –’ the Doctor said, still struggling to remember.
‘Mother. At least that’s what everyone that I know calls her. She’s a friend of Eddy’s. I mean she was. . . She runs a club in Soho,’ he said.
The Doctor clapped his hands together excitedly. ‘That’s right! That’s absolutely right. If I didn’t know better I would say that it was a picture of Tilda Jupp. What on Earth is she doing here, I wonder?’
‘Perhaps it’s just a coincidence?’ Jack said, and then stared at the Doctor. ‘I didn’t know you knew Mother.’
‘It’s a small Universe. We met in a restaurant the night before last. Gosh, that does seem like a long time ago. Do you know, I think there’s something very odd about this picture.’ The Doctor leant forward to examine the painting, his attention completely focused on the image of the woman.
Jack felt pleased to have the answer. ‘I noticed that too. It’s hung far too low down the wall. It’s not where you would expect a painting to be at all. It reminded me of a door.’
The Doctor didn’t appear to have heard him. He’d stepped a few feet back from the painting and squinted. Jack thought he looked like an art critic at a gallery opening.
‘It’s certainly not been hung to its best advantage,’ he said, looking studious.
Jack nodded, impatiently. ‘Perhaps there’s