Doctor Who_ The Roundheads - Mark Gatiss [46]
She was about to speak when she looked past Ben, started, and then grabbed the young man by the hem of his cloak.
She slammed her bulk back into an alcove and pulled Ben in beside her, laying a fat finger against his lip to silence any protest. Then she nodded towards the end of the street.
To Ben’s astonishment, both Captain Stanislaus and his mysterious passenger, Godley, were making their way down the narrow alley towards them. Neither spoke but they were walking quickly, as though anxious to keep an appointment.
Winter let the two men pass before she and Ben moved carefully and silently from their hiding place.
‘That was the passenger you told me of?’ asked Winter.
Ben nodded. Winter scowled and slammed her fist into her palm. ‘By Christ, that man. He vexes me like a plague of boils.
I have tracked him these twenty years but never had the chance of a proper reckoning.’
Ben frowned. ‘A reckoning? For what?’
Winter prodded her silver nose. ‘For this, Ben. It was that scurvy knave who took it from me.’
Ben let out a low whistle. ‘I see.’
He folded his arms and thought hard. ‘Well, maybe this is your chance, Sal. Stanislaus is up to no good. Maybe we can nail him and get your revenge at the same time.’
Winter smiled. ‘I like your thinking, lad. But what game is he at now? Lord knows, he’s glutted himself on every pirate’s trick there is.’
‘What’re his politics?’ asked Ben with sudden inspiration.
Winter shrugged. ‘He’s no friend to Parliament, that I do know.’ She squared her shoulders and ran both hands through her mane of greasy hair. ‘Come along, Master Ben Jackson. I think you and I had better find out what Captain Stanislaus is up to.’
Ben nodded eagerly and the big woman and the skinny sailor set off, keeping a safe distance from their quarry.
CHAPTER 5
Polly and Frances approached the bakery laughing like little girls. Despite Frances’s rather frail appearance, she had proved to be great fun and Polly found herself much cheered by her presence. They had fallen to discussing Frances’s impending engagement and she had said something of the problems that faced her. Then Polly had spoken of her strange experience in the room above the inn and Frances found herself intrigued by Polly’s account of the charming stranger.
‘What was his name?’ she whispered as they made their way through the snow towards the door.
‘I don’t know,’ said Polly with a giggle. ‘But he was terribly handsome.’
Frances pulled a face. ‘Not as handsome as my Tom, I’ll bet.’
‘Oh,’ said Polly. ‘It’s Tom, is it?’
Frances produced a long, spindly key from her apron pocket. ‘Thomas Lemuel Culpeper,’ she announced grandly.
‘It’s a fine name,’ said Polly.
‘He’s a fine man,’ responded Frances proudly. ‘As fine a man as ever served in the service of Parliament.’
She bent down, inserted the key in the door, and turned it, then beckoned to Polly, and they both entered the bakery.
Polly looked about the pleasant room, taking in the comforting clutter of pans and trays. It was still very warm from the heat of the ovens and instantly she felt a sweat break out on her forehead. She took off her cloak and laid it on the chair.
Frances closed and locked the door and then turned round, her jaw dropping open as she saw Polly’s minidress and boots for the first time.
She waved her hand up and down, struggling to find words. ‘Do you... do you not feel the cold, Polly?’
Polly laughed. ‘That I do. You couldn’t fix me up with something when we get back to the inn, could you?’
‘Surely.’ Frances shook her head in disbelief. How could a lady dress so indecently? She sighed and moved to the table.
‘But first we must leave the message for my Tom.’
She found some paper, a quill and a bottle of ink and sat down to write.
Polly glanced at the window and, for a moment, thought she caught sight of a face, pressed to the glass. Then she realised it was her own bedraggled reflection and grimaced.
‘Oh, what I wouldn’t give for a hot bath.’
Frances didn’t look up. She was concentrating hard on the note.
Polly sat down and rubbed at her grimy