Doctor Who_ Ghost Light - Marc Platt [15]
‘But that’ll blow our cover,’ she protested. The Doctor thumped a bench in irritation. ‘All right, all right,’
muttered Ace and headed for the door.
It opened in her face and a bizarre gallery of figures brushed past her. A woman in black lace with the severest, saddest face Ace had ever seen was followed by hard-eyed maidservants. Behind them came — almost loping — a figure in the dress coat of a manservant. His shoulders were hunched and his long arms dangled at his sides. A course mass of brown hair surrounded his monkeyish face with its flattened nose and protruding jaw. The bright, brown eyes were set beneath a broad bony ridge across the forehead. Ace was so startled, she forgot to say ‘Wow!’
The woman made a straight line for the explorer, who still stared at his own reflection.
The Doctor removed his hat for the first time that day, raised it and started introducing himself to the housekeeper. He was ignored. The woman was interested only in Redvers.
‘Mr Fenn-Cooper, where’ve you been?’ she enquired.
‘We’ve been worried about you.’
‘Poor old Redvers. Poor old fellow,’ was the plaintive response.
The housekeeper delved into Redvers’ pocket, extracted the silver snuffbox and deposited it in a pouch on her skirt by her keys.
‘Come along now,’ she said, gently turning him round with the affection of a nurse finding a long-lost child.
Redvers began to stumble forward, but she seized his arm, twisting it viciously up behind his back.
The Doctor’s attempt to stop her was immediately blocked by a maid. ‘I don’t want him hurt!’ he shouted, but the housekeeper was already forcing Redvers out through the door.
His voice came to them from the passage. ‘Not the interior! Please, I don’t want to go back to the interior!’
Ace made a dash after them. The last maid, however, gave her an icy stare and firmly shut the door on her. Ace turned back to find the manservant already in conversation with the Doctor.
‘A most unfortunate mishap, sir. I trust you and the young lady are not hurt.’
‘Well, we were just passing...’ began the Doctor, but the manservant interrupted him with impeccably gracious tones.
‘My master, Mr Smith, asks if you will join our other guest in the drawing room.’
So old Josiah already knows we’re here, thought the Doctor. He eyed the room and spotted a dozen places to hide a camera.
‘Is this a madhouse, Professor, with the patients in charge?’ whispered Ace.
The Doctor studied the waiting manservant and admitted, ‘Given the chance it could be bedlam.’ He noticed the servant was reaching out a hairy hand to take his hat and umbrella. Passing them over, he said, ‘Thank you, er...’
‘Nimrod, sir.’
The Doctor raised an eyebrow. It was not uncommon for a Victorian traveller to return to England with an entourage of exotic ethnic origin, but looking at this servant, who bore -the name of the mighty hunter and the features of a long extinct race, he wondered exactly where and how Josiah Samuel Smith went on his expeditions. He was intrigued and anxious to accept the invitation, but he only admitted to the latter with tempered enthusiasm.
He noticed that Nimrod was already looking hopefully at Ace’s black jacket with all its badges; she was plainly going to cling on to it for dear life. The Doctor hardly liked to upset her too much, just yet.
‘Downstairs?’ he enquired cheerfully, managing to distract Nimrod’s attention from the jacket and to look, despite recent events, as if a Victorian tea party might be fun.
Gwendoline wondered how much longer it would be before her guardian made an appearance. Taking tea with the Reverend Ernest Matthews was becoming something of an ordeal. They had discussed the weather, which he found oppressive; his journey from Oxford, which had been most disagreeable. Gwendoline wondered about showing him the collection of insects. She was sure he would like them, but Uncle Josiah had insisted that the dean should be confined to the drawing room.
After