Doctor Who_ The Roundheads - Mark Gatiss [37]
There was a monarch and Parliament but...
She froze a moment as a thought occurred to her. If she knew the Doctor, he wouldn’t be content to hang around waiting for her and Ben to turn up. He’d be doing something.
Using the opportunity to get a closer look at this period of earth’s history. And, given the tumultuous time they had landed in, he would trying to get close to either the Royalists or the Roundheads. Yes! Surely that was it. She’d lay odds that even now the little man would be close to the centre of some kind of power, probably dragging a protesting Jamie in tow. She smiled to herself, a little cheered, and crossed the snowy road, jumping over the muddy furrows scored into it by passing traffic.
Where could she turn for help, though? It would be unwise to go around asking strange questions – the Doctor had warned them all to be circumspect, as had the man at the inn.
Polly stopped in her tracks and let out a little chuckle, delighted at her second revelation of the morning. The men at the inn particularly the rather handsome young one, had been fairly kind to her. She could tell they felt some guilt over Ben’s disappearance. Perhaps she could use that to get them to ask around about the Doctor and Jamie. Restored to her friends, she felt sure they could find Ben. With a gladdened heart, Polly set off for Kemp’s inn at a brisk run.
She moved so swiftly, indeed, that Christopher Whyte had trouble keeping up with her.
Making her way stealthily along the corridor, Frances Kemp held her breath. The shadows were lengthening and the inn was beginning to lose itself in darkness. Soon her mother would be flitting about the place, lighting the lamps and preparing for the evening’s custom. But perhaps Frances could take advantage of this dim hour to find out what was going on and the identity of her father’s guests.
She was close to the room now and could see the old door rattle as her father spoke urgently with his mysterious visitors.
Frances crept over the bare boards and gently pressed her ear against the door, straining to hear the conversation within.
Several voices reached her but she couldn’t separate them.
Only her father’s low grumble seemed recognisable. A point was being debated, she could tell from the rising tone of his voice. But what was it, and why all this secrecy?
After a time, some conclusion seemed to be reached and the voices became more audible and conversational. Chairs were scraped back and Frances ran swiftly to the other side of the corridor, closing her hand on the doorknob of her own room.
But she had not quite managed to slip inside when her father appeared from the opposite chamber. Turning back towards him, she closed her eyes and braced herself for his wrath.
‘Frances?’
She spoke without turning round. ‘I’m fetching darning thread for Mother,’ she said quickly.
‘Yes, yes,’ said Kemp with a chuckle. ‘Good girl.’
She turned to face him and was astonished to see a broad smile plastered over his face. She hadn’t seen her father look so happy in years. What could the men in the room have done to effect such an unlikely transformation?
Kemp patted her fondly on the head and turned away.
‘Now then, we have an inn to run do we not?’ he cried happily, and set off down the corridor.
Frances frowned and cast another curious glance at the closed door opposite.
Lamps were lit the length of the Commons chamber, the sound of their flickering flames combining to produce a faint whispering sound, as though the debating chamber beyond were still full of honourable members.
This place, set off the main room, was a brown, heavily panelled area, so stained with age that the whole atmosphere seemed affected by it. A sepia tinge hung over the assembled men, giving their concentrated faces a pallor like tobacco stain.
Around the table, like knights at a solemn Camelot, sat a fair proportion of the members of Parliament not recently expelled by Colonel Pride.
The soldier