Doctor Who_ The Roundheads - Mark Gatiss [108]
‘Now then,’ said the Doctor. ‘Ben, you’ll be able to recognise this Dutchman on sight, will you?’
Ben grimaced. ‘Blimey, I should hope so. I’ve seen his ugly mug often enough.’
‘Good,’ said the Doctor, smiling. ‘He’ll be there, among the MPs just as we will, so the timing will be crucial. We can’t act too swiftly or he might escape. Try again some other day.
Ab, here we are.’
They had drawn up outside the massive facade of the Commons and were ushered rapidly inside. Everyone there seemed to be dressed just like them in broad-brimmed black hats and plain tunics. It wasn’t difficult to merge into the chattering mass as the members began to take their seats on all sides of the cramped chamber.
To Ben, the panelled room looked remarkably similar to the one he had seen in his own time, although it was noticeably more primitive, with the appearance of a bear pit, its seats five rows deep. ‘Can you see him?’ whispered the Doctor.
Ben shook his head. ‘I don’t know if I will with all this lot here. It’s like a penguin convention.’
Jamie looked around. ‘What if he’s not down here, Doctor?’ he asked worriedly. ‘Maybe he’s up there in yon gallery.’
The Doctor shook his head. ‘I don’t think so, Jamie. These people have no high-powered rifles or anything to assassinate with. Any attack will have to be close up. A dagger or some such. It’s the only way to guarantee accuracy.’
‘What about a bomb?’ said Ben.
Again the Doctor shook his head. ‘Why go the trouble of importing this Dutch chap? No, no. He’s here. I’m sure of it.’
Jamie tapped the Doctor on the shoulder. ‘Look.’
They all turned as the imposing figure of Cromwell entered the chamber. He nodded to some of those present and then strode to his accustomed place on the benches.
Outside, a clock began to strike ten.
The Doctor looked quickly around.
Cromwell got to his feet. And in an alcove above the chamber, the Dutchman raised a strange and slender gun...
CHAPTER 12
Frances Kemp closed the back door and moved quickly towards the kitchen stove. She was humming a little tune, rolling dough on a wide black plate, her pretty face flushed from the heat below her.
There was a slow, tired knock at the door and Frances looked up in surprise. Who on earth could that be?
She wiped her hands on her apron and lifted the latch. A cold wind full of snowflakes blasted inside around the figure of Polly, who was smiling a little wanly.
‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Can I come in?’
Frances pulled her inside, grinning all over her face, and sat Polly straight down at the table.
‘My dear. You look half frozen. Here, let me get you something.’
She dashed to the corner and lifted up a little jug of steaming liquid. Polly sat where she’d been put, shivering.
‘I am a bit worse for wear,’ she said. ‘It’s been a long night.’
Frances pressed a tumbler into her hand. ‘Here.’
Polly drank the stuff gratefully, feeling its heat invigorate her. Frances immediately fetched some food, which Polly wolfed down with equal enthusiasm.
‘Now,’ said Frances, sitting down herself, ‘where have you been? My father said you had gone off with those...
friends of his on some kind of errand.’
Polly laughed. ‘Yes, I suppose you could call it an errand.
We went to fetch the King.’
Frances’s eyes almost bulged from their sockets. ‘The King? He’s free?’
Polly closed her eyes a moment and sighed. ‘It’s a long story, Frances.’ She looked at her friend and smiled gently.
‘But never mind me. How are you? And how is Thomas?’
Frances grabbed Polly’s hands over the table and giggled.
‘It is a miracle, Polly! You won’t believe it. My father has consented to our marriage!’
‘What? How come?’
Frances waved her hand airily. ‘He has had a change of heart. I always knew that there was a sweet centre beneath the bear. Mother says