Doctor Who_ The Nightmare of Black Island - Mike Tucker [16]
‘Very nice!’ The Doctor was impressed. ‘Old Nathaniel’s definitely a local boy made good, eh?’
Rose grimaced and crunched up the drive after the Doctor. The house was cold and dour-looking, enough to give the kids nightmares with or without monsters. There was a flicker of movement at the edge of her vision and she looked up in time to see heavy curtains on the first floor swing back into place. She hurried over to join the Doctor on the porch.
‘Someone knows we’re here.’
‘Good. Not much point in coming all this way to find no one at home.’
The Doctor grasped the heavy brass knocker and rapped forcefully on the door. From inside Rose could hear the sound of movement, footsteps on a hard floor, and then, with a clatter of keys and bolts, the door swung open.
An imposing thin-faced woman in a pristine white lab coat stood in the doorway, regarding them imperiously.
The Doctor held out a hand, grinning from ear to ear. ‘Good morning. I’m Dr. . . Jones. . . and this is my PA, Miss. . . Evans. We have an appointment to see Nathaniel Morton.’
The woman looked at the Doctor’s outstretched hand with distaste, making no move to take it. ‘An appointment?’
‘Well, I say appointment. It’s not exactly an appointment. . . it’s not like we booked it with his secretary or anything. You’re not his secretary, are you?’
The woman glared at him.
‘Course you’re not. Silly of me. Well, it’s a bit more informal than 39
that. Less of an appointment, more of a ‘drop by if you’re passing’
sort of thing. Not that Mr Morton said that as such, it’s just we were passing and we thought we’d drop by. . . ’ The Doctor tailed off. ‘He does actually live here, doesn’t he? Mr Morton?’
‘I’ll deal with this, thank you, Miss Peyne.’
With a squeak of tyres, an ancient wheelchair rolled from the shadows. The man sitting in it was pale and gaunt, with wisps of grey hair lying untidily over his head. The wheelchair slid to a halt and the man looked up at the Doctor quizzically.
‘I’m Nathaniel Morton. You have business with me?’
His voice was weak and wavering but his eyes blazed with a fierce intelligence and Rose got the impression of someone very dangerous trapped within that frail body.
The Doctor pulled the wallet holding his psychic paper from his pocket and handed it to Morton. ‘Dr Jones. From Cardiff. Conducting a survey of medical facilities in the area. Surprise inspection. Hope you don’t mind.’
Morton took the wallet and studied the paper. There was a long awkward pause and Rose held her breath. Then Morton abruptly snapped the wallet closed and handed it back to the Doctor.
‘You’d better come into my office.’
Gripping the wheels of the wheelchair, Morton spun it on the spot and rolled back into the gloom of the house. The Doctor and Rose followed. There was a loud bang as the door slammed behind them and the clatter of keys in the lock as Miss Peyne locked the door. Rose tugged at the Doctor’s sleeve. ‘Didn’t think it was going to work that time!’ she whispered.
‘Yes, wasn’t sure myself for a moment. And I don’t think Miss Peyne was too keen about letting us in.’
‘God, she couldn’t have a better name! How scary was she!’
‘I know!’
They followed Morton down the dark hallway, their footsteps echoing off the high ceilings. At the end of the passage was a wide staircase, with weak light filtering through a tall window on the landing. Rose jumped as two pale figures padded down the stairs, their faces 40
hidden by surgical masks, long lab coats flapping behind them. There was an unpleasant smell of disinfectant as the figures hurried past them, vanishing down another corridor. Rose shivered. She didn’t like places like this. It reminded her of the old people’s home her gran had had to go in for a little while before she died: a stale, soulless place full of people with dead eyes and no hope. Her mum had made her promise that she’d never put her in a place like that. Morton rolled to a halt in front of a heavy oak door and pushed it open, gesturing for the Doctor and Rose to enter. They stepped through into a large, gloomy