Doctor Who_ The Roundheads - Mark Gatiss [77]
He turned as she entered and his face was suddenly wreathed in smiles. He dashed across the room and swept her into his arms, holding her so tightly she thought he might crush her.
She ran her hands through his long hair and smiled simply.
‘Put me down, put me down,’ she cooed gently.
Thomas shook his head. ‘Nay, Frances. What say I carry you like this throughout all our lives?’
He chuckled at the thought. Frances tapped him lightly on the shoulder. ‘But I should hate to make my husband into a crook-back, Tom!’
Thomas set her down and cupped her face in his hands.
‘Why, you’re no weight, my pet.’
He frowned and brushed a lock of hair from her eyes. ‘But you look pale, Frances. Are you ill?’
She shook her head and sat down, deliberately avoiding his attempted embrace.
‘Nay, Tom. I’m tired, that’s all. Father has been very bad again.’
Thomas sighed angrily. ‘That man. He storms around that inn like a loosened bear.’
Frances rested her weary head on one hand. ‘Nevertheless, he is my father, Tom. And we are stuck with him.’ She turned suddenly and clutched his hands in hers. ‘But tell me, my love, what have you been about today?’
Thomas shot her look of mock indignation. ‘What’s this?
Taking an interest in my affairs again?’
She laughed lightly. ‘’Tis true I’ve always regarded your politicking with... indifference...’
‘Disdain!’ cried Thomas.
She inclined her head slightly, in agreement. ‘But if we are to be married then I will want to take a far more active part in your work than has heretofore been possible, Tom.’
Thomas dragged a chair to her side and sat down. ‘If we are to be married? Where does this indecision come from?’
Frances tapped him lightly across the chin. ‘You know what I mean, you scoundrel.’
They both smiled and gazed deeply into each other’s eyes.
Then Thomas looked down and shrugged.
‘Well, Franny. If you really want to know, my day was taken up with nothing more exciting than trying to find the funds to pay our troopers’ back salary. I’m afraid that the reality of power is far less glorious than you might imagine.’
Frances looked up into his earnest-face. ‘And did you find the money?’
‘Enough for now, I think,’ he murmured with a frown.
‘And enough to appease Sir Thomas Fairfax. But we’ll only really be able to release funds when the King is dead.’
A chill gripped Frances’s heart like the fingers of a ghost.
‘Must it come to that?’
Thomas nodded gravely. ‘I can see no other outcome.’
They sat in silence for a minute. Then Frances cleared her throat. ‘But how is the trial to be administered? Surely these things will take much organisation?’
Thomas nodded quickly, ‘Oh, indeed. And that is to be my task in the coming weeks. The general is soon to address a meeting of the rump of this Parliament to decide who is to sit on the trial, who is to judge and all other matters.’
‘Oh?’ said Frances lightly. ‘And when is this to be?’
She listened in respectful silence as her lover explained, and played directly into the hands of her father and Sir John Copper.
‘Wait, wait!’ cried Oliver Cromwell, sucking his fingers and almost bouncing in his seat with excitement. ‘The right! No, no. The left! The left!’
The Doctor stood before him, his hands held out in fists and a broad grin on his face.
‘Are you sure, General?’ asked the Doctor slyly.
‘Oh, don’t make me doubt myself again, Doctor. I can’t bear the suspense. No. It is in your left hand, I know it.’
Slowly and deliberately, the/ Doctor opened his left hand, revealing it to be quite empty. Cromwell groaned disappointedly but then let out a small gasp of astonishment as the Doctor opened his right hand, also empty.
Cromwell smote his forehead. ‘But _?’
At once, the Doctor leaned forward, reached behind the general’s ear and produced the little spiral seashell he had spent most of the morning apparently making disappear.
Cromwell clapped his hands together. ‘’Tis wonderful!
I’ve seen tricks before, Doctor, but nothing like yours.’
The Doctor