Doctor Who_ The Roundheads - Mark Gatiss [23]
The three men moved off with Polly. She dug her heels into the soft ground, leaving furrows in the snow, struggling desperately. She could smell tobacco on her abductor’s thick fingers and tried in vain to sink her teeth into his tough flesh.
In the blink of an eye, however, the three men had succeeded in spiriting her away.
Ben’s rescuer watched them go and then strode swiftly towards the sailor, helping him to sit up.
‘Are you well, mate?’ he asked in a thick, West Country accent.
Ben tried to focus on the newcomer’s tanned face but the image kept swimming in and out of focus. ‘Polly... ’ he croaked. ‘They’ve taken Polly. Help... me.’
The man patted Ben on the head as he sank back into unconsciousness. ‘Don’t you fret, my friend. You stick with Isaac Ashdown. All will be peachy. Just peachy.’
He smiled strangely and began to drag Ben to his feet.
Frances Kemp slipped out of the inn, her angelic features disguised beneath a long, grey, hooded cloak. Her cheeks were flushed from an evening spent helping her mother by the kitchen fire but there was an altogether more intangible warmth burning inside her. Something that made her forget the chill of the night altogether.
She made her way swiftly through the maze of narrow alleys which led off the main street, until she approached the baker’s shop she knew so well.
Ever since she had been old enough, she had carried a hefty sack of flour from the shop to the inn twice weekly.
Once it had been an onerous task, staggering back through the filthy lanes in all weathers, but now Frances did it with a glad heart.
Making her way around to the back of the darkened shop, she stood at the door and craned her neck to see the upstairs windows. One long, diamond-patterned pane was aglow with candlelight from within.
Frances bent down and, with her ungloved hands, pressed some snow together to form a ball. She carefully aimed it at the window and looked around quickly. Then she threw it and winced as it made a louder-than-expected thud on the leaded glass. Nothing happened.
She was preparing to throw another snowball when there was a noise just inside the shop and the heavy back door was opened. A figure stood framed in the doorway for a moment and then two arms emerged and dragged Frances inside into a fervent embrace.
‘Oh, Tom!’ cried Frances ecstatically. ‘Tom! Is it really you?’
The young man crushing her in his arms was a tall and striking figure. His face was strong and handsome with neat blond brows and grey eyes. His hair was cut quite short for the time, just curling under his ears.
‘Yes, my little dove, it’s me,’ murmured Tom Culpeper, grinning.
Frances planted kisses on his hands and face. ‘But when did you return? Your father told me this afternoon that they did not expect you back for a week!’
Tom clasped his hands over hers and pressed them to his chest. ‘All is changing, Frances. The general brought me back with him. Something... something is afoot here in town.’
Frances leaned her face close to his, revelling in the warmth from his body. ‘Whatever is happening, I am glad it has brought you back to me.’
Tom grinned again and kissed her. They gazed into each other’s eyes until he finally spoke again. ‘Does he know yet?’
Frances shook her head. ‘Nor will he if God’s willing.’
Tom let their hands drop. ‘But he must one day, my dear. I mean to marry you. I am proud of you. I will not have this thing done in a corner.’
Looking down sadly, Frances’s face was made even more pale and lovely in the soft glow of the candle. ‘There is only one way you could earn my father’s favour Tom,’ she said quietly.
Tom looked long and hard at the woman he loved and then sighed heavily. Then he gathered Frances once again into his arms. They kissed with the passion of long-separated sweethearts until the candle flame sputtered and died.
The night sky was rolling over and over, the stars cartwheeling like a projection in a planetarium.
Ben looked up, vaguely aware that he was lying on his back on a broad, flat,