Doctor Who_ The Roundheads - Mark Gatiss [26]
‘Chelsea, as it happens. But I’ve... I’ve been away. Out of the country you might say.’
Copper laid a finger to his lip and tapped it thoughtfully, then turned to his companion. ‘She’s no common woman.’
‘Indeed, no,’ purred Whyte.
Copper turned back to Polly. ‘Do you have contacts in France? With the Queen, perhaps?’
Polly sighed. ‘I wish I did. She might get me out of here.
But, no. I’ve been travelling some time. Great distances.’
‘Have you indeed?’ said Copper. He inclined his head towards Whyte and they spoke in whispers for several moments, the older man occasionally nodding.
‘Well, Mistress Polly.’ he said at last. ‘I have decided to let you go.’
‘That’s very magnanimous of you,’ said Polly sharply.
‘But I would advise you and your friend to keep your tongues still in future. These are dangerous times.’
Polly stood up. ‘You’re telling me. What did you do with Ben?’
Whyte frowned. ‘Your companion? Nothing. He was left where he fell.’
Polly was appalled. ‘What? I thought you must have kidnapped him too!’
‘Nay, my dear,’ said Whyte, genuinely concerned. ‘I’m sorry.’
Polly ran to the doorway. ‘I’ve got to find him!’ she cried, throwing open the door and clattering downstairs to the inn.
Copper looked at Whyte. ‘Well, Chris?’
Whyte smiled and held up his hands. ‘She’s a strange one, indeed. But harmless, I’m sure of it.’
Copper stroked his silvery beard. ‘Perhaps, but I think it can do no harm to follow her for a while.’ He nodded towards the door.
Whyte picked up his hat. ‘It will not be an onerous task,’
he said, bowing low and then slipping out of the door after Polly.
Copper crossed to the window and sat down on the sill. He saw Polly emerge into the street and begin to look wildly around. Then Whyte stole outside and concealed himself within a doorway, his attention fixed on Polly.
Copper grunted, satisfied, and turned back to the table and the sheaf of documents that covered its surface. On the uppermost one was drawn a large, detailed map of a fortified building, the thin body of water that snaked by it etched out in thick black ink.
‘It’s the bull’s pizzle for you!’ laughed the watchman. ‘Or maybe the Water House.’
He swung round to face his small, scarred jailer companion. ‘What say you, Jem? Or are such things too good for ’em?’
The man with the knife giggled horribly. ‘Too good for
’em, yes,’ he repeated.
The Doctor was practically hopping with frustration. He stood at Jamie’s side while Jem the jailer threatened the young Scot with the vicious-looking blade.
‘Look –’ began the Doctor.
‘’E can speak for ‘isself, can’t ‘e?’ spat the jailer, his yellowy eyes blazing.
The Doctor held up his hands. ‘Well, naturally. But, you know, with all the confusion...’
The jailer frowned, and his brows sank unpleasantly over his eyes. ‘Confusion? Who are you anyway?’
‘I’m... I’m his doctor.’ said the Doctor sheepishly.
The watchman pressed his fat body back against the door of the cell. ‘It’s not catching, is it?’
‘No, no,’ smiled the Doctor, ‘nothing like that.’
‘Right, then. Shut your face,’ said the jailer, turning back to Jamie. ‘Now then, master Scotchman. You tell me what you’re doing in London?’
Jamie shot a look of desperate appeal at the Doctor but the little man just shrugged helplessly, raising his hands, palms upward.
‘There’s nothing to tell,’ announced Jamie boldly. ‘We’re just... visiting.’
‘Visiting?’ spat the jailer. ‘I say you’re a deserter!’
‘No!’
But the jailer pressed on. ‘Couldn’t stomach your nasty Scots friends making up with Parliament. That’s it, isn’t it?’
Jamie was angry now. ‘No!’ he bellowed. ‘I’m no deserter!’
The watchman came forward, his chins wobbling excitedly, ‘But you admit you’re a soldier?’
‘Look –’ said the Doctor again.
‘Silence!’ screamed the jailer. He peered at Jamie. ‘Are you a soldier?’
Jamie shifted his weight and looked down at his boots. ‘I...
I was.’
‘Oh Jamie,’ said the Doctor sadly.
The jailer stood up straight and fixed Jamie with a penetrating stare.