Doctor Who_ Empire of Death - BBC Worldwide [50]
'And?'
Ì suggest you try the porridge instead'
`Porridge?'
À dish made from oatmeal or another cereal, cooked in water or milk to a thick consistency. Very nourishing. Some prefer it with sugar but porridge is best with a sprinkling of salt, I find. In parts of Scotland they pour the finished mixture into a drawer. Whenever somebody is hungry, they just open the drawer and cut themselves a slice to eat'
Nyssa peered at him across the breakfast table. 'Is that true?'
`You know something, I'm not sure it is. The Brigadier might have been pulling my leg about that.'
`The Brigadier?'
`You must meet him some time. Splendid chap' The Doctor abandoned his kipper and went back to reading The Times.
1863 - I wonder if England are on tour? Can't seem to find a match report'
`Perhaps if you put on your glasses?' Nyssa suggested.
`Good point' The Doctor patted his pockets without success. 'Must have left them in the TARDIS. Remind me to pick them up en route. During the journey I want to check the TARDIS instruments, see if there's been any change to the weakness in the space-time continuum. With any luck that message will reach Corra Linn before the soldiers attempt to enter the portal'
Ànd if it doesn't?'
`Then I shudder to think of the consequences. Now drink your tea. We have to meet General Doulton outside the station in thirty minutes'
Vollmer was determined to get an early start on the day, having failed to get much rest during the night. He had shifted uncomfortably in his sleep for hours, trying to push aside the nagging doubts that troubled him. What had Ashe seen that could frighten a man to death? What did the Queen expect them to find beyond this portal she described? The sergeant found it difficult to escape a feeling of creeping dread, as if he might never see his Clara again. They had grown up on the same street in Whitechapel but she had ignored him throughout their childhood years. It was only when he came home from the army for his first leave, the grubby young boy replaced by a dashing young man in uniform, that she acknowledged his attentions.
They had courted for five months, awkward afternoons sitting in a drawing room under the watchful gaze of her parents, conversations progressing no faster than the hour hand on a clock. Only as Vollmer was leaving and arriving did he get the chance to kiss her, polite pecks on the cheek gradually developing into passionate embraces. Clara was determined to keep her virtue until the wedding night and Charlie - she always called him Charlie, a name he let no one else use - had respected that. The honeymoon had been a disaster, two bleak nights in a Brighton boarding house, the landlady peering around every corner at them. Then it was back to the army for him and back to her parents for Clara, waiting until the day they could save enough to get a room of their own.
She wanted a baby so much, it almost broke his heart.
They tried and tried but nothing came of it. Once she had been with child but the infant was lost after three months, a terrible night. After that she grew colder, unresponsive to his touch. If they couldn't have children, there was no need for him to expect any of that, she had said. So he had volunteered for longer postings away from home and their marital bed had grown ever colder. If only they'd been able to have a child, things might have been different - but it wasn't to be. So Charlie had concentrated on the army instead, rising through the ranks to become Sergeant Vollmer. The young men in his charge had become his boys, in a way, the sons he would never have. But away from home he missed Clara so much. Sleep never