Doctor Who_ The Awakening - Eric Pringle [13]
She felt as if the barn, like those great dark beasts in nightmares, had opened its arms to envelop her. She had to get out fast, or be swallowed up.
In his Cavalier clothes Sir George Hutchinson looked like a brilliantly plumed bird as he swept into Ben Wolsey’s parlour. What he saw – his Sergeant pointing a pistol into the eyes of a stranger – displeased him, for it implied unlooked-for complications when there were already enough matters of overwhelming importance to be dealt with.
‘What’s this?’ he growled.
Without taking his eyes from the Doctor, Willow explained, ‘He tried to escape, sir.’
With a gesture of impatience Sir George pushed down Willow’s arm. ‘But he isn’t a prisoner, Sergeant Willow.’
He kept his voice mild and friendly, for the stranger’s benefit. ‘You must treat visitors with more respect.’
Surprised by his Commander’s attitude, Willow lowered the pistol. Sir George smiled placatingly at the Doctor, then turned away to glance at Wolsey and find somewhere to lay his hat. The Doctor, no longer under immediate threat, felt encouraged to speak to the new arrival: Sir George was only too obviously involved in these War Games, and he also seemed to be in control around here.
‘What is going on?’ he demanded, like Sir George keeping as civil a tone as he could manage.
Sir George spun round. His eyes glowed. ‘A celebration!’ he cried. His expression displayed pleasure and triumph and his voice an eager, tense excitement. He moved close to the Doctor, almost alight with anticipation, like a firework about to go off. ‘On the thirteenth of July, sixteen hundred and forty three,’ he exclaimed, ‘the English Civil War came to Little Hodcombe. A Parliamentary force and a regiment for the King destroyed each other– and the village.’
He made it sound like a party. ‘And you’re celebrating that?’ the Doctor asked, puzzled by this feverish excitement.
‘And why not?’ Sir George’s words were thrown down like a challenge; as he removed his riding gloves he watched the Doctor closely for a reaction. ‘It’s our heritage,’ he continued.
‘It’s a madness,’ Jane exclaimed, unable to contain her impatience with such talk any longer.
Hutchinson treated her to a sardonic, dismissive smile,
‘Miss Hampden disagrees with our activities.’
‘I can understand why,’ the Doctor said, looking at the sadistic enjoyment on Willow’s face.
Irritated by their opposition, Sir George held out a chair for Jane, inviting her to sit down and keep quiet. Then, moving around the table to approach the Doctor, he looked him up and down and demanded, in a voice clipped with anger, ‘Who are you?’
‘I’m known as the Doctor.’ The Doctor blandly endured Sir George’s examination, aware of his puzzlement at the frock coat, cricket pullover and sprig of celery in his buttonhole,
‘Are you a member of the theatrical profession?’ Sir George finally asked.
The Doctor smiled. ‘No more than you are.’
‘Aha!’ Sir George laughed at the joke, but his sideways glance at Wolsey was humourless, hinting that these intruders might turn out to be more of a nuisance than at first appeared. Then he glared sharply into the Doctor’s eyes. ‘How did you get to the village?’
‘Through the woods, via the church,’ the Doctor bluffed.
‘That’s where found him, sir,’ Willow confirmed. Sir George was silent for a moment. He studied his gloves, flicking then against his hand. When he spoke again his voice was quiet and deliberate, and contained more than a hint of threat. ‘I would avoid the church if I were you,’ he said. ‘It’s very dangerous. It could fall down at any minute.’
‘So I noticed.’
‘However,’ Sir George smiled, now deliberately lightening the tone of their conversation, ‘since you’re here you must join in our game. It’s our final battle.’
‘Do you know, I’d love to,