Doctor Who_ The Roundheads - Mark Gatiss [10]
He was pacing up and down a modestly sized apartment, its small, mullioned windows letting in scant amounts of the feeble light of that freezing morning.
He had ordered his secretary, a young man of only twenty years, to light the lamp in order to lift some of the gloom Fairfax was feeling. But, if anything, the tallowy illumination only depressed his spirits further, throwing dense shadows over the furniture and the heavy, panelled walls.
The secretary scribbled away furiously on a large sheet of parchment, the nib of his quill scratching and squeaking over the smooth surface.
‘It is an outrage,’ dictated Fairfax, his coal-black eyes blazing. ‘No, an illegal outrage. And I strongly urge that General Cromwell be remonstrated with for sanctioning this action against the lawfully elected Parliament of this nation.
Signed, Fairfax, Commander-in-Chief.’
He paused, his head sinking on to his breast, and then waved a hand to dismiss the secretary.
The young man got up, clasping the still-wet parchment to his chest. ‘I will have this delivered with all due dispatch, My Lord.’
Fairfax nodded, his attention already drifting elsewhere.
There was still so much to be done. The Army had not been properly paid for months. The King was imprisoned, awaiting trial. But what kind of trial could it be if the legally elected Parliament had not voted it through? If Cromwell had to get his way only by this outrageous purge of all those who did not see eye to eye with him?
After a while, Fairfax realised that the secretary was still there, hovering in the doorway.
‘What is it?’ asked Fairfax, frowning.
The secretary cleared his throat, fiddled with the border of his wide collar, and looked down at the faded embroidery of the carpet.
‘I was just wondering, My Lord...’
‘Well?’
The secretary cleared his throat. ‘I was wondering... what kind of a remonstrance Parliament might be expected to pass when two-thirds of its members are being thrown out of office.’
For a moment, the secretary thought the noble Lord might explode with fury, but, gradually, the fiery light in his eyes faded and he gave a harsh laugh. ‘Aye, fair point, lad. I know what General Cromwell will say.’
‘My Lord?’
‘He is still in the North, you know. But he won’t object to what has been done. It leaves the way clear for his followers to vote through the King’s trial.’
The secretary inclined his head to one side. ‘Then this letter...?’
‘Is useless. I know,’ concluded Fairfax mournfully. ‘But I will have it known that I object most strongly to this course of action. History will not say that Thomas Fairfax conspired to murder his King.’
The secretary gave a neat bow and exited.
Fairfax slumped down on to a cushioned chair and stared at the flickering flame of the lamp. ‘Where are you, Oliver?’
he whispered to himself. ‘Where are you?
The TARDIS seemed warm after the freezing atmosphere of the London morning and the Doctor threw off his cloak as he walked briskly through the console room. He thought briefly of extracting the relevant data from the ship’s index files, but he had never liked computers and there was something homely and comforting about a book that the clinical printouts could never match.
He went through the interior door and marched straight past the cluster of rooms that made up the main TARDIS
living quarters. Pausing at a junction, he stopped to get his bearings and held a finger up to his mouth.
‘Library, library,’ he muttered to himself. ‘That would be this way, wouldn’t it? Yes. Past the pavilion, left, right, left again, tertiary console room dead ahead.’
He smiled and rubbed his hands, pleased that his knowledge of the TARDIS’s twisted geography had not let him down, and set off, whistling happily.