Doctor Who_ The Roundheads - Mark Gatiss [58]
He led her down a separate stairway that led directly to the back of the inn.
Two horses, puffing and stamping in the cold, were tethered to a wooden rail. Whyte jumped athletically on to one and helped Polly on to the other.
She sank back on to the saddle in silence.
Whyte looked at her oddly. ‘Is all well, Polly?’
Polly nodded and smiled and urged him forward. She trotted behind him as they moved off and stared at his back, suddenly full of suspicions. Frances had told her about her brother. Dead the past four years.
The figure behind the door of Stanislaus’s cabin stepped out into a beam of dusty dawn light and Ben let out a huge sigh of relief. It was Ashdown.
‘Am I glad to see you!’ chirped Ben.
But his relief was short-lived. Ashdown’s pistols remained levelled at both him and Winter.
‘What are you doing here?’ barked Ashdown.
Winter put her hands on her hips and threw her head back defiantly.
‘What do you think, you sot? We’ve come to find that blasted captain of yours and run the bugger through!’
Ben rolled his eyes. ‘Look, mate. You’ve got to help us.
Stanislaus is bringing something back to London. A package from Holland.’
Ashdown nodded. ‘Aye. And what’s it to do with you?’
Ben indicated Winter. ‘We reckon he’s up to some mischief.’
Ashdown smiled grimly. ‘He wouldn’t be Captain Stanislaus if he weren’t up to mischief.’
Ben held out his hands placatingly. ‘This is different, mate. He could be up to something... treasonable.’
Ashdown frowned but his grip on the pistols didn’t falter.
‘Like what?’
Winter let her fat tongue protrude out over her lip. ‘Well, mate,’ she said slyly, ‘that’s what we’re here to find out.’
Ben looked the sailor in the eye. ‘Come on. You owe me one remember? If it wasn’t for you I’d be safe in London.’
‘In London, but hardly safe, Ben,’ chuckled Ashdown. ‘I found you slugged in the road if I remember aright.’
Ben grinned. ‘So you did. But help us now, can’t you? We must know what him and that Godley fella are bringing back home.’
Ashdown sighed. ‘I confess, some of us have been worried for a while. These constant trips to France.’
‘France?’ queried Ben.
Winter nodded. ‘Aye. I’ve kept an eye on that. The Pole seems inordinately fond of the French these days.’
She looked towards Ashdown, her ruddy face creasing into a horrible smile. ‘Now, lad, if you’re loyal to the new order, you’ll help us get to the root of all this.’
Ashdown grimaced bitterly. ‘I remember a time when a man was loyal to no one but his King.’
Winter threw up her hands in agitation. ‘Was that not what we fought for, oaf? Would you now restore Charles Stuart to his bloody throne? Nay, if we are good Englishmen... well, good English anyway, we must see this thing through, and bring to justice any enemy of Parliament!’
Ben nodded to himself, thinking that an orator like Winter wouldn’t make a bad politician herself.
Ashdown lowered his pistols a little. ‘I don’t see what I can rightly do.’
Ben turned his hand palm upward, pleadingly. ‘You can start by letting us get off this ship, Isaac. And then have a sniff about. Then, when we get back to London, we can compare notes.’
Ashdown thought for a long moment, looking first at Ben and then at the huge, bizarre figure of Sal Winter.
Finally he nodded. ‘Very well. I have a few scores to settle with Stanislaus myself –’
He stopped abruptly as Winter leapt forward and retrieved a small wood-and-iron chest from beneath the desk.
With a cry of triumph, she slammed it on to the desk, pulled a knife from her filthy velvet coat, and prised the lock open with the blade.
The lid sprang back and Winter rooted hastily about inside. ‘Well, well,’ she murmured in surprise. ‘The old dog kept his word.’
So saying, she pulled a bundle of what looked like letters, tied with a mauve ribbon, from the box and stuffed them into her pocket.
‘What are those?’ asked Ben.
Winter winked and tapped the tip of her silver nose.
‘Never you mind, Ben Jackson. Now, let’s away to the Demeter. We sail with the tide!’
Ignoring Ashdown, she