Doctor Who_ Ghost Light - Marc Platt [16]
He told her that Josiah Smith had achieved a certain reputation for the outspoken nature of his work. She protested that Uncle Josiah was a wonderful naturalist: he brought the whole world of living things into the house.
Gwendoline began to stroke the head of the stuffed dodo with affection — some of them were like her best friends.
Ernest could restrain his curiosity no longer. ‘But you leave Gabriel Chase sometimes?’ he ventured. ‘Did I not see you last month at the Italian opera in London?’
Gwendoline seemed confused. She began to stutter.
‘Was I? I don’t... cannot...’ Her fingers began to twist the chain of a locket that hung about her neck.
‘At Covent Garden,’ he reminded her with disdain. ‘The opera was Aida. Signor Verdi wrote the music, if that’s what they call music these days.’
‘Oh yes, sir.’ Gwendoline’s thoughts suddenly cleared and she began to apologize. ‘Sometimes I forget the simplest things. It was so dramatic and beautiful.’
‘But while you watched the opera, your guardian remained in the shadows at the back of your box. He seemed more intent on watching the audience through his opera glasses.’
Gwendoline gave a forced smile. ‘Those are his field trips, sir. He likes to study specimens at first hand, but too much light is painful to him.’
Ernest was no longer concerned with the details of this mystery. They were merely symptomatic of a greater, insidious evil that gnawed at the foundations of society.
Because Gwendoline was threatened, he could conceal this from her no longer. He assumed the sternest of tones.
‘My dear child, this is no place for an innocent. Your guardian’s profane theories have made him many enemies.
In truth, he is a heathen charlatan and must be exposed as such!’
‘But Uncle Josiah is a good man!’ cried the object of his attention, fingering her locket in desperation. ‘And he is a great naturalist too!’
‘So you keep saying.’
‘You will see when you meet him!’
The doors from the hall opened and a manservant of the lowest origins entered. He was followed by an impish figure who was dressed in a dark jacket with flamboyant accessories that marked him out as the dangerous eccentric whom Ernest had come so far to meet.
‘At last,’ muttered the dean, deserting Gwendoline and advancing to confront his adversary without delay. ‘So you finally consent to meet me, sir,’ he announced sarcastically.
‘I am grateful for your hospitality.’
The Doctor smiled and half offered a genial hand.
Seeing that it was not going to be shaken, he nonetheless said, ‘How do you do. Thank you for coming,’ because it seemed to be the sort of thing that kept Victorian humans happy.
There came the first defined peal of approaching thunder.
Ernest had been determined to waste no time condemning his enemy, but his jaw dropped as he noticed the Doctor’s companion: a creature who, without the slightest decorum, was dressed in what appeared to be briefest of undergarments.
‘Good Lord!’ he exclaimed — the best he could manage at the time.
The Doctor knew that any Victorians’ reaction to Ace would be amusing. As he formally introduced her, he surmised that he could not have found a more likely candidate than this pillar of the clerical establishment.
Ernest’s reaction was as extreme as the Doctor had hoped, and he soon found words to express it.
‘I see that all the rumours about you are true,’ he protested. ‘You have no shred of decency — even parading your shameless wantons in front of your guests.’
‘Does he mean me, Professor?’ asked Ace.
‘Professor!’ exclaimed the dean. ‘And at which scholarly seat did you obtain this latest status?’
‘The Ace School of Etiquette?’ suggested the Doctor with a sly grin. The girl giggled. ‘There are so many to choose from,’ he added.
Ernest was getting into his stride now. ‘I have it!’ he mocked, pointing at Ace. ‘This is some experiment related to your mumbo-jumbo theories. Perhaps she’ll evolve