Doctor Who_ Empire of Death - BBC Worldwide [13]
Doulton paused before a mirror to adjust his dress uniform. The golden sash across his chest gleamed against the vibrant fabric of the red tunic, a row of medals firmly affixed above his heart. The general's ruddy face confirmed his rude health, the old wounds long since healed. He fancied there was the hint of a twinkle in his eye. At last, it felt as though the game was afoot once more.
Satisfied, Doulton resumed walking, the scabbard of his sword slapping heavily against his left leg as he strode confidently forwards, back erect, chin up, every inch the fearsome warrior. Yes, if any assassins tried to get past Old Blood and Guts, they would have quite a job on their hands.
Ahead he could see the double doors leading into the Queen's office, two servants standing either side of the entranceway, each wearing a black armband of mourning.
Doulton raised an imperious eyebrow at the servants.
‘Well? What are you waiting for? Announce me!'
Sir Henry Ponsonby appeared from the shadows, catching the general off guard. The Queen's private secretary was light of foot and unobtrusive, qualities essential in royal service.
'Ahh, General, there you are. Her Majesty is occupied with visitors at present and thus cannot see you.'
Doulton was having none of that. 'It's about these visitors I wish to see her!'
Sir Henry smiled thinly. 'For now, she wishes to interview them herself.'
'Damn it, man, this is most irregular. The Queen has appointed me as her personal adviser on matters of household security but refuses to let me do my job. How, pray tell, am I supposed to protect Her Majesty from herself?'
The general's voice was rising in volume, a symptom of his increasing frustration. Whitehall and its monarch would be better served by military men, rather than the black-suited rabble of self-important, obsequious civilians represented by the likes of Ponsonby.
'Please, General, I must ask you to respect Her Majesty's wishes in this matter.'
`What about my men?'
`What about them?'
‘I received a despatch last night saying more than two dozen have been sent to make camp in Scotland! Perhaps you'd care to explain to me how such an order was given, without my knowledge or consent?'
`Her Majesty commanded it,' the private secretary said.
'Do you question her right as ruler of the British Empire to command the forces of that empire?'
'Of course not! Deuce, man, why must you twist everything I say? I simply wished to know how and, more importantly, why this has happened.' Doulton bristled with exasperation, his cheeks becoming redder by the moment.
'Her Majesty received word of a significant discovery in the area to which your troops - your men, as you put it - have been despatched. She directed an exploratory force be placed in the region, to safeguard against any enemy action.'
'Enemy action? In Scotland? For the love of God, from where is this enemy action expected to come?'
Ponsonby shrugged. made the same points to Her Majesty as you have made to me, but her resolve was implacable.
Now, if you please, General, I must get back inside. When the Queen is ready for you, I will have one of the pages sent with a summons immediately.'
The private secretary withdrew, leaving Doulton fuming in the corridor. Damn and blast the woman! And damn and blast her underlings, too! The general stomped away down the corridor. Well, there was more than one way to outwit an enemy. Doulton felt certain his officers would be more forthcoming with news of what was so special about this mission. Nobody commandeered his men without showing him due deference. Another thought occurred to him -
perhaps Scotland Yard might have some fresh intelligence on potential threats to the Queen's safety? Yes, perhaps a letter to the Commissioner...
Baroness von Luckner adjusted the collar of her ward's shirt, making sure it lay flat against his jacket. She brushed a dark comma of hair from the young