Doctor Who_ The Roundheads - Mark Gatiss [69]
The door opened fully, revealing Thurloe with a puzzled expression stamped on his wily features.
The Doctor looked up and smiled. ‘Come to tuck us in, Mr Thurloe?’
Thurloe looked down at the keyhole. ‘This door has been left unlocked,’ he stated flatly.
The Doctor swung his legs off the bed. ‘Oh dear. You mean we could’ve escaped any time we liked?’
Thurloe frowned and then shrugged. ‘Escape? Why would you want to escape? You’re the general’s guests. Now, come along, he wants to see you.’
The Doctor threw an exasperated look at Jamie as Thurloe ushered them out. ‘Well,’ he whispered out of the comer of his mouth. ‘Worth a try.’
With the addition of a lacy white cap and apron, Polly looked every inch the serving girl.
As Whyte and Copper had promised, a tiny door at the back of the castle had been left unguarded and she stood outside it in the darkness, shivering.
She knocked twice and then left a pause before the third knock, as instructed. There was no response from beyond the solid black door. Polly pulled her cloak tightly around her slim body and cast a worried glance back towards the shore where she knew Whyte and Copper to be waiting.
She was about to knock again when she heard movement and a series of latches and bolts being drawn back. The door opened and a strange, wizened old face appeared, framed in a halo of thinning white hair. The old man looked Polly up and down and grunted to himself, then gestured impatiently for her to follow him.
With one last look behind her, Polly dashed inside and the old man slid the door gently shut behind her.
She found herself in a roomy kitchen, lined with pots and cutlery. Baskets of firewood were stacked in each comer and there were freshly killed grouse and even a couple of swans laying across marble tables, their throats cut and congealed with blood.
Polly shuddered and looked away. ‘Thank you for your help, Mr... ?’
The old man held up his liver-spotted hands. ‘No names, girl. It’s better that way. I seek to serve His Majesty and that is all. Now we must get you upstairs.’
Polly nodded her understanding and slipped out of her cloak. The old man walked past the huge, crackling fire and began to quietly ascend a rickety staircase which occupied the centre of the room.
He put his finger to his lips and beckoned for Polly to follow. Hitching up her skirts, she did so, keeping closely behind him all the way up.
‘Are you the one who has seen my friend?’ she whispered.
The old man shushed her again with the same gesture and Polly lapsed into silence. Eventually they reached a trap door inset in the ceiling and the old man paused before opening it.
‘Up there you will find a tray of food and drink. You must take it up the second flight of steps on your left. Do you understand me?’
Polly nodded vigorously. ‘Second on the left, yes.’
The old man clasped his hands together. ‘You will come out next to a room with two doors. There are guards posted there and they will be expecting another girl. You must say that she is ailing and that you are to replace her tonight.’
‘And who am I supposed to be?’
The old man shook his head testily. ‘What matters that?’
Polly shrugged. ‘Quite a lot if they’re suspicious.’
The old man seemed to see the wisdom in her words. ‘Yes, very well then. You are to say you are Spufford’s niece.’
Polly looked up at the trap door. ‘And that’s you, is it?
Spufford?’
The old man grunted. ‘I see that it is no use playing the cloak and dagger with you, mistress.’
Polly pushed at the trap door and it opened easily. ‘No. It isn’t.’ she muttered, and slid through on to the next level.
She found herself in a long passageway, panelled in some dark wood and lit only by a single candle which stood on a tray close to the trap door.
As quickly as she could, Polly picked up the tray and moved left. In the gloom she could scarcely make out the entrance to the first stairway but she kept her shoulder pressed to the wall and soon found herself at the relevant place.