Doctor Who_ The Banquo Legacy - Andy Lane [102]
‘Hmm. Can’t hear anything.’ Quietly I unlocked it.
‘No!’ Kreiner was horrified. ‘You can’t –’
‘We have to be sure,’ I whispered. ‘For all we know both Catherine and her brother might have headed off in pursuit of Hopkinson.’ Carefully I eased the door open…
And slammed it shut as Catherine Harries fired. The bullet embedded itself harmlessly in the teak. I rapidly locked the door.
‘Well, at least we know,’ I muttered.
Trying to get my joints and muscles working again, I wandered about the room. Most of the furniture was piled up against the French windows, with deep scuff marks in the carpet attesting to the haste with which the barricade had been built. The only thing that was not being used to block out our captors was the portrait that had originally hung opposite the fireplace, but that now rested on its side by the wall.
I crossed over to the windows. I could just see through a gap in the barricade to an unobscured pane of glass. A faint breeze blew through the gap between the two sides of the window. ‘Must be near dawn,’ I muttered. ‘You know the area, Baker. How long would it take the Doctor and Mr Hopkinson to get to the village and back again – assuming that’s where they’re headed?’
‘Not more than an hour or so each way, sir. After all, Mr Hopkinson does know the area as well. What do you think he’ll do when he gets to the village?’
‘I don’t know, Baker. If I were him, what would I do?’ I mused for a moment. ‘I think I would use the telephone in your office to call for help, then round up every able-bodied man in the village and come back here. That shouldn’t take more than an hour. So, three hours. Four at the outside, from his leaving to help arriving.’
‘It’s been about that long already,’ Kreiner pointed out.
‘Hmm.’
The time stretched on while I stared out of the French windows on to the snowbound landscape. The waiting is always the worst part. Where were they? I imagined myself out there with them, running through the forest, breathless, cold and scared. What if Hopkinson’s ankle had suddenly given out, leaving him unable to move? What if the Doctor, pausing to help, had been caught by Richard Harries and ripped, limb from limb?
Shadows were moving on the edge of the light cast from the drawing-room window. For a moment I thought Harries was out there, balefully watching us with his one good eye. I realised that the movement was too fast, too panicked. With shocking suddenness John Hopkinson stumbled into the circle of light. The hope that was born within me died as the figures of our rescuers behind him became the elegant form of the Doctor closely chased by Richard Harries. Baker and I frantically began pulling the barricade apart with as little finesse as we had used in putting it together. Something ripped in my shoulder in a flare of fiery agony and I collapsed back on to the chaise longue, leaving Baker to complete the gap.
Our last hopes of rescue staggered into the room, exhausted and defeated.
‘Hi,’ Kreiner said with misplaced jocularity. ‘Good day at the office?’
* * *
THE ACCOUNT OF JOHN HOPKINSON (23)
As soon as Baker had pulled enough weight away from the doors for us to force them open a fraction, we squeezed ourselves into the drawing room. The Doctor went first, easily negotiating the narrow aperture. I pushed after him, all too conscious of Harries’s figure looming out of the blackness behind. I jammed for a moment in the doors and then, with brute force and panic to help me, I was through. And so was Harries’s arm, reaching – clutching – after me.
Baker slammed the battered remains of the French windows shut, throwing his considerable weight against the wooden frame. I turned to help him as Fitz Kreiner and the Doctor pushed some of the furniture dislodged from the barricade back into the heap in front of the opening.
Harries’s twisted arm still clawed at us from the gap; and he was slowly forcing the aperture wider despite our efforts. We pushed harder and Stratford attempted to raise himself from the chaise longue