Doctor Who_ The Roundheads - Mark Gatiss [105]
The Doctor smiled as the scent of lemons came to him from Scrope’s newly washed body. ‘Shall we take a seat?’
He ushered Scrope and Polly forward into the rowdy tavern. Polly was looking out immediately for Frances but it was Sarah Kemp who stood behind the bar, dealing gamely with a gang of rough young lads who had come in from the cold.
‘Anything?’ said the Doctor, sitting down and peering at the rough, packed crowd.
Polly shook her head. ‘I know the girl who works here.
She might have some idea of who –’
The door clattered and swung open, banging against the wall with a loud crash.
Polly stopped talking and whirled round, thinking the wind had blown open the door. Instead, she saw Christopher Whyte framed there, his clothes stiff with frost, his face fixed into a murderous glower.
Polly looked away as he marched in and made straight for the bar.
Sarah Kemp caught his eye. She pointed upstairs but Whyte shook his head. They exchanged words and Sarah poured him a large glass of some ruby-coloured spirit which he swiftly drained. He pushed the glass back across the bar and Sarah refilled it.
‘Looks like a man in need of company,’ muttered the Doctor.
‘That’s him,’ whispered Polly. ‘Christopher Whyte.’
The Doctor leaned closer and nodded. ‘See what you can do.’
Polly got up and threaded her way around the tables and stools, struggIing to avoid the maze of outstretched legs and backsides.
A big, burly lad stepped straight in front of her, grinned stupidly, and was about to mutter something cheeky when Christopher Whyte glanced round.
He saw Polly at once, took in the situation and pushed the youth roughly out of the way. The boy crashed to the floor and didn’t get up, already the worse for drink.
‘Polly!’ cried Whyte delightedly, making room for her to stand by him. ‘I am so pleased to see you. I had thought...’
Polly looked him up and down. ‘You thought the Roundheads would have tortured and killed me.’
‘At the very least!’
Polly’s face remained impassive. ‘Yes, well, fortunately they’re a lot saner than some people seem to think.’
Whyte put out his hand as if to touch her face but then let it fall to his side. ‘I confess that I thought you dead. After what happened at the castle...’
Polly nodded. ‘You left me for dead, Christopher.’
Whyte shook his head. ‘I prevented your death!’ he cried.
‘I must tell you that Sir John’s behaviour left me much vexed.’
‘It left me with a bump on the head,’ said Polly sourly.
‘But never mind that. You also lied to me.’
Whyte looked down and bit his lip. ‘You lied to me about Frances Kemp. You lied to me about the Doctor being in that castle. And you lied about your desire to help me.’
‘No,’ insisted Whyte. ‘I did... I do want to help you, Polly.’
Polly nodded. ‘Then will you join my friends?’
Whyte looked over. He could just make out the Doctor and Scrope deep in conversation. ‘Is this the Doctor of whom you spoke?’
Polly nodded. ‘Yes. He wants to talk to you.’
Whyte drained his glass and followed Polly to the table.
Both ignored the constant, ribald mutterings that accompanied them. After introductions, Whyte took a seat next to Polly.
The Doctor looked at him with interest. ‘I gather you seek to put the King back on his throne, Mr Whyte,’ he said.
Whyte snorted and rubbed his eyes. ‘Aye. I did. And have risked much in that cause.’
‘Did?’ queried the Doctor.
Whyte stared into space, his face betraying his troubled mind. ‘I cannot speak of it,’ he mumbled at last.
Polly looked him directly in his bright blue eyes. ‘Please.
If you do want to help me.’
Whyte looked from one to the other of the three seated next to him, then sighed. ‘I... I no longer believe this King to be a man of honour. Nor worthy of his great office.’
‘Then will you tell us where to find him?’ urged Scrope quickly. Whyte shook his head. ‘No. I cannot. I have fought for Charles these past seven years. I cannot betray him now.’
The Doctor said nothing and it was left to Polly to continue. She grasped Whyte’s hand tenderly.
‘Listen, Christopher. We know