Doctor Who_ The Roundheads - Mark Gatiss [42]
She seemed to be standing there right now, but, as Polly shook her head, she realised another girl was next to her and that she was still in the crowded, heaving inn.
The newcomer was very pretty and rather delicate-looking, wearing a heavy blue woollen dress with an apron over it and her blonde hair was tucked up into a little lacy cap. She was frowning concernedly.
‘Are you well?’ she asked gently.
Polly put on her bravest face and nodded.
The girl sat down next to her and took her hand. It was warm and reassuring and Polly felt instantly comforted. She wiped her eyes again.
‘I must look such a state,’ she laughed. ‘I’m never usually like this.’
Her new companion smiled kindly. ‘My name’s Frances,’
she said.
Polly introduced herself and then looked around the busy inn. ‘Not the sort of place I’d expect to find a demure young lady like you.’
Frances shrugged. ‘Nor you.’
Polly laughed. ‘Quite right.’
Frances laid her hands in her lap. ‘My father is the innkeeper,’ she said. ‘I have to spend most of my evenings in here, trying to fight off the brutes this place attracts.’
Polly leaned forward. ‘Is your father that one over there?’
She pointed across the room at Kemp, who had emerged from upstairs and was hard at work. He still seemed much more cheerful than normal and the customers, at first bemused but then delighted, had noticed and were carousing raucously.
Frances nodded. ‘That’s him. Though I can’t see what has come over him this evening. He’s quite the life and soul.’
Polly grimaced. ‘I tried to speak to him earlier but he was... unavailable.’
‘Why did you wish to speak to him?’ asked Frances.
‘Oh, it’s a long story,’ muttered Polly, waving her hand dismissively. But then she frowned and moved closer to the young woman. ‘But maybe you can help me. I’ve lost my friends, you see.’
Frances swept some tankards across the table and shuffled closer. ‘Go on.’
‘My friend Ben and I were supposed to meet up with two others last night at sunset. But we were attacked. I don’t know what happened to Ben but I was taken back here. To a room upstairs.’
Frances’s eyebrows shot up. ‘The room above the inn?’
Polly nodded. Frances swallowed excitedly. ‘Who took you there?’
‘Some paid goons...’
‘Some what?’ asked Frances with a puzzled frown.
Polly shrugged. ‘Hired men. The people inside were quite different. There was a very handso— er... quite a distinguished-looking young man and a much older one with a white beard. They thought I knew something about the King.’
Frances sat back, suddenly afraid. ‘The King?’
Polly nodded. ‘They overheard my friend and me talking and got suspicious.’
‘Do you know anything about the King?’ Frances’s face was a picture of wariness.
Polly smiled. ‘No more than anyone else.’
Frances chewed her lip thoughtfully and folded her arms.
Polly sat back. ‘Look, you don’t know me, but I’d really appreciate a little help. I can’t find my friends and I’m honestly in big trouble if they stay lost. Couldn’t you let me see upstairs? If I could just talk to those people again, I’m sure they’d help me.’
Frances shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, Polly. It’s out of the question. My father won’t let anyone near that room. I’ve tried myself.’ She suddenly smiled, a lovely, enchanting smile. ‘But I do know someone who might be able to help you.’
Frances stood up and pointed towards the door of the inn.
‘Come on.’
Polly got up and gratefully followed Frances out.
Christopher Whyte lifted the brim of his wide velvet hat from over his eyes and watched them go. Then, laying a few coins on the table, he jumped up and made his way outside into the freezing night.
The unmistakable sound of drunken laughter led Ben and Ashdown to a lopsided, cheerful-looking hostelry, on the far side of the Botermarkt.
They had to bend low to enter and were immediately confronted by a scene of wild and wonderful chaos. The room beyond was packed with sailors from all comers of the earth, just like an enlarged version of Stanislaus