Doctor Who_ The Banquo Legacy - Andy Lane [34]
‘Yes, yes, you had better. I did notice,’ he said, and Simpson left us.
George and I carried the body, Kreiner – looking somewhat frail from the experience and getting paler by the minute – opened the doors for us and guided me backwards up the stairs, which now seemed steeper than before with a curve that went round for ever, rather than the mere ninety degrees it had been. Somehow we managed to get Harries to his room and on to his bed without any of us actually being sick or fainting. Harries’s bare teeth were clenched tight together as if he was as nauseated as we were, and I tried not to look at the devastated remains as George pulled a sheet over them.
Susan Seymour and Elizabeth Wallace were sitting side by side on the couch in the drawing room. The Doctor was engaged in a low conversation with Susan Seymour, who seemed to have recovered much of her composure, though she was still pale. Elizabeth was shaking slightly but otherwise seemed almost back to her usual self. Her husband took her hand in both of his, and she looked up at him.
‘We, er – we put him on his bed.’ George answered her silent question. ‘It seemed best.’
‘And how is Catherine?’
‘I’ve given her a sedative. She’ll sleep for a while; should be over some of the shock when she wakes up again.’ George sat down beside her, still holding her hand. ‘I telephoned Baker while I was in the study. He’s the police sergeant.’
‘And what did he say?’ Kreiner asked. ‘Something about lead piping and billiard rooms, maybe?’
‘Fitz,’ the Doctor admonished quietly but firmly.
George frowned, as uncertain of the allusion as I was myself. ‘He said he would come over. Shouldn’t take him too long. Not far.’
As he spoke, the Doctor drew out his watch and examined it. Then he wound it slowly with his thumb and forefinger before returning it to his waistcoat. ‘Time, I think,’ he said quietly, ‘is of the essence.’
‘Oh, don’t worry,’ I told him, ‘just routine – as they say.’ My own voice was loud with nerves. ‘He’ll ask a lot of stupid questions, then call the undertakers for us. Just an unfortunate accident, that’s all.’
‘Just an unfortunate accident,’ echoed George absently.
‘Feel free to query the adjective,’ I told him. Then I caught sight of Susan’s face, the streaks from the tears catching the light as she looked over towards me. ‘I’m sorry,’ I murmured, ‘I need a drink.’
I closed the door behind me as I felt the colour rise in my cheeks, and wished, not for the first time, that I could reconcile my sarcasm to some sort of tact on occasion.
After a few deep breaths, feeling a little more recovered after the events of the evening, I decided that the decanters had probably been taken to the kitchen, and I made my way in that direction. The corridor from the dining room was dim, the lamps low. As I neared the kitchen, I heard a footfall behind me and ducked instinctively into the shadows.
A door I had not noticed before had opened silently behind me and a tall, white apparition stepped as if from the wall into the corridor. It peered around, suspicious, and I saw that the white was the colour of the overalls the man wore. With piercing eyes, the figure’s face turned directly towards me, glaring at my silhouette, apparently annoyed that I had seen him – then he turned abruptly away. Simpson wheeled round and set off down the corridor away from me, heading towards the butler’s pantry. Puzzled, I continued to the kitchen.
Beryl was there, although at first I failed to notice her. She was curled up in a wooden armchair in the corner beside the stove. She stirred as I reached a decanter from