Doctor Who_ The Roundheads - Mark Gatiss [106]
Whyte was surprised and shook his head. ‘You are indeed a most formidable lady, Polly.’
‘But we don’t know what they intend,’ she continued.
‘And we shall never escape from here if we don’t find out.’
Whyte looked at her tenderly for a moment, as though they were alone in the room and talking of matters a million miles from the King and Parliament.
‘And where,’ he murmured, ‘where do you wish to escape to?’
Polly felt a rush of affection surge through her. Flustered, she shook her head and looked down at the table.
The Doctor intervened. ‘Polly’s telling the truth, Mr Whyte. Our friends are still with Cromwell and Thurloe.
They’ll be asking all kinds of awkward questions if we come back empty-handed.’
Whyte’s head drooped defeatedly. Then he looked up and smiled grimly. ‘They intend to bring in an invasion force,’ he said quietly. ‘A Catholic invasion force.’
Scrope scowled. ‘And that is their plan?’
‘Aye,’ nodded Whyte. ‘But only after the first stage is complete.’
The Doctor crossed his hands on the table. ‘And what is that?’
Whyte looked at him and then at Polly. ‘Tomorrow morning at ten, General Cromwell will arrive to address the House on the matter of the King’s trial.’
Scrope was astonished. ‘How do you know this? The general’s movements are known to only a very few.’
Whyte smiled grimly. ‘The King has contacts.’ He cleared his throat before continuing. ‘As Cromwell rises to address the Commons, the Dutchman, van Leeuwenhoek, will cut him down where he stands. He is an expert assassin from Holland.’
‘Great God,’ said Scrope, gulping. ‘Bloody Dutch. A plot to murder the general.’
‘And what do you... do they hope to gain by this?’ asked the Doctor.
Whyte looked own at the table. ‘Anarchy. A chance to allow their foreign army to sweep in and take control.’
The Doctor sat back and folded his arms. ‘Where is the King?’
Whyte shook his head defiantly. ‘I cannot tell you.’
Scrope leaned forward earnestly. ‘Come, come, sir. You have told us of the plot against Cromwell.’
‘Aye,’ spat Whyte, ‘I have. And that is all I will tell you.
You may save his miserable Puritan hide but I will not give up my King, no matter what he has become.’
Polly gave him a reassuring smile, impressed despite herself.
Whyte looked long and deeply into her eyes, then got to his feet. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I wish to get drunk.’ With a final glance at Polly, he stepped back into the bar and was instantly swallowed in the crowd.
For a long while, the three remaining sat in silence, brooding. Then the Doctor looked up.
‘Polly. May I speak with you? In private?’
She frowned. ‘Of course, Doctor.’
Scrope glanced at them both. ‘Oh, don’t worry. I know when to make myself scarce. People tell me to do it every day.’
The old man rose and elbowed his way towards the bar.
Perhaps he could persuade Christopher Whyte to tell them the King’s whereabouts after all. Thurloe would provide ample reward for such information and there were few men who did not have a price, in Scrope’s experience.
He looked back over his shoulder and saw that the Doctor and Polly were already in animated conversation.
Scrope found Whyte propping up the bar, constantly jostled by the same gang of lads. Leaning over, he ordered ale from Sarah Kemp but, as he moved to tap Whyte on the shoulder, the young man got groggily to his feet and slammed his mug down on to the wooden bar.
With surprising swiftness, he forced his way through the crowd towards the door. Scrope tried to follow him but the weight of the inn’s customers forced him back like a rolling tide. At last, after much pushing, shoving, and swearing, he returned to where he had left the Doctor and Polly.
The Doctor was alone, staring broodingly into the fire. Of Polly and Whyte there was no sign.
Scrope threw up his hands. ‘We have lost him, Doctor!’
But the Doctor didn’t reply.
Polly caught up with Whyte only a few yards from the entrance to the inn. She stood for a second in the freezing wind and then called