Doctor Who_ Ghost Light - Marc Platt [25]
There did not seem to be any soup for dinner or even any entrée, although each place at the table was laid with enough cutlery for six courses. Ace hated formal dinner parties like this, because she never knew which knife or fork to use first.
Josiah and Ernest faced each other as opponents across the length of the table, flanked on one side by Ace and the Doctor and on the other by Gwendoline.
And in the red corner... thought the Doctor as the maids busied themselves at the sideboard.
At a nod from Josiah, Mrs Pritchard set a dish into the centre of the table. The host lifted a large spoon, apparently prepared to do his guests the honour of serving them himself.
‘I hope you have a taste for calves’ brains, young lady,’
he said with a smile to Ace.
She gulped and glanced at the Doctor, who was scrutinizing the dish with what looked more like scientific curiosity than a gourmet’s enthusiasm.
‘I’m still trying to work out where this place is,’ said Ace, hoping to stay within the bounds of Victorian etiquette and change the subject at the same time.
‘And I am still awaiting an explanation for your unholy and blasphemous theories,’ said a voice from the far end of the table.
Ace was almost grateful to Ernest for delaying the main course. She nudged the Doctor.
‘What theories?’ she whispered.
‘Darwinism,’ he replied. ‘The theories that have set the whole of science in this country on its head.’
By now, Ernest was getting to his feet, a sanctimonious smile on his face. Too late, Ace recognized the warning signs.
‘Do we get a free lecture thrown in with dinner?’ she muttered.
‘Sermons are his speciality,’ said the Doctor.
She giggled. ‘Do we take notes?’
Before delivering any lecture, Ernest always felt it necessary to enlighten the less intelligent of his students with a few facts.
‘Mr Smith disputes Man’s rightful dominion over the forces over nature,’ he began. But he had a less than rapt audience. Indeed Josiah was already ladling out servings of the calves’ brains. Undeterred, Ernest raised his voice a tone and continued his condemnation. ‘Instead, he says that mankind should itself adapt to serve nature or become extinct!’
He had thrown down his gauntlet at last and he surveyed the table for the looks of outrage that would support his cause. Everyone else looked at Josiah.
Their host tensed for a moment and then slowly and deliberately laid aside his serving spoon. Ace could feel the malevolence as Josiah glared down the table at his opponent. She wanted the Doctor to intervene, to say something — anything — because in the dim gaslight, Josiah’s black-lensed spectacles had given him the look of a death’s head. She was certain that there were no depths to which this dusty, leech-like creature would not sink, and probably no horror that he was not capable of committing either. The loathsome Reverend Ernest Matthews faced him defiantly — a sitting target. Ace braced herself for something terrible.
‘Well, sir...’ growled Josiah. There was a sudden ring of a telephone from a room nearby. Josiah stopped abruptly; the ring came again. He glanced angrily at Mrs Pritchard, who gave a quick nod, then he rose apologizing to his guests and hurried from the dining room.
‘Infernal telephonic machines,’ complained Ernest, sinking back into his chair in disgust.
Gwendoline stared anxiously after her guardian; the Doctor, deep in his thoughts, fiddled with his fish knife; the maids waited, positioned around the red walls like statues.
Ace couldn’t bear the silence any longer. ‘Let’s ring out for a takeaway,’ she suggested. ‘Anyone fancy a curry?’
The Doctor folded his napkin and handed it to her.