Doctor Who_ Ghost Light - Marc Platt [43]
Nimrod was still infuriatingly resistant. If the Doctor hadn’t known better, he would have said it was deliberate.
He was staring into the depths of Nimrod’s inert brown eye, when he heard the drawing room door open and Mackenzie’s voice enquire, ‘You say this house is owned by Josiah Samuel Smith?’
The Doctor released Nimrod’s eyelid and got warily to his feet. ‘No, inspector,’ he announced with clipped tones.
‘I didn’t say owned; I said inhabited.’
Mackenzie, still in full dress uniform and cap, waved a half-eaten beef sandwich at the Doctor in frustration.
‘Then where is he? The whole house is deserted.’ He finished off the sandwich and placed a plate with another three on a side table.
‘He will appear,’ grunted the Doctor and returned to his patient.
Mackenzie sidled up and eyed Nimrod from a safe distance. ‘The manservant, you say. Nasty looking customer. Must be a foreigner.’
‘Neanderthal,’ observed the Doctor.
Mackenzie nodded. ‘Gypsy blood. I can see it in him.
They’re lazy workers. What’s this one playing up about?’
‘He’s mesmerized.’
‘No self control these Mediterraneans: too excitable.
nasty tempers too,’ confirmed the inspector.
‘Only when roused,’ snapped the Doctor, struggling to keep his own temper, ‘which is exactly what is eluding me at the moment!’ So this was the spirit of the British Empire that ruled half the planet. Mackenzie had probably read about foreigners in the London Illustrated News.
Mackenzie shrugged and fetched another beef sandwich while the Doctor busied himself testing the manservant’s reflexes. The inspector peered in close over his shoulder.
‘I’m busy, inspector,’ complained the Doctor.
‘And I have my investigation to complete.’
Once again the Doctor rose. With a fixed smile he asked, ‘Still not found the mustard then?’ Mackenzie looked blankly back, so he continued. ‘Since I woke you up, you have consumed three full English breakfasts and a four-course lunch. If you’re still hungry, get Mrs Grose to make us some afternoon tea.’
The inspector finished off the sandwich and produced his notebook from a pocket. ‘She’s hiding facts from me,’
he asserted. ‘And so are you. If you don’t tell me where the rest of the household are, I’ll arrest you for obstructing my inquiries!’
Ace could hear the argument as she came down the stairs.
She was still trying to adjust to walking in the dress and corset; there must be a knack to it, she thought, if only she could work it out. Deportment, however, had never been on the curriculum at school.
As she reached the hall, she also thought she heard a scrabbling noise coming from the direction of the lift. But the rumpus from the drawing room was enough to drown anything else. Besides which, Ace was not happy about missing out on what the Doctor was doing. After being tricked back to Gabriel Chase, she was not sure she wanted to let him out of her sight.
She opened the drawing room door and saw the Doctor coming towards her. Ace thought he faltered for a second as if he had expected someone but not necessarily her.
Nimrod was still flat out on the sofa and a shortish man in old-fashioned police uniform was standing beside him, watching her.
‘Professor, you could have woken me sooner,’ she said.
The Doctor gently took her arm and confided, ‘This is Inspector Mackenzie of Scotland Yard. He was summoned here in 1881 to investigate the disappearance of the owner, Sir George Pritchard.’
Ace was incredulous. ‘But that’s two years ago!’ she protested.
‘He was in one of Josiah’s cabinets,’ whispered the Doctor. ‘Preserved; hypnotized: humour him.’ He raised his eyes to heaven and left her to cope.
A preserved policeman! Life was never easy with the Doctor. She looked across at the inspector. ‘Hallo,’ she said. ‘All right?’
‘Inspector, this is my friend Ace,’ intervened the Doctor. ‘I like the dress,’ he added to her. ‘How did you sleep?’
Mackenzie approached, notebook