Doctor Who_ The Sleep of Reason - Martin Day [103]
his regret – and that he would have loved to have had me come home once more.’
I was surprised to hear this. ‘You remember your final meeting with your father?’ I asked.
‘It came back to me as I approached this place – as if drawing near to the body of my father was enough to bring forth buried memories. He was very ill when he saw me – it was clear in his eyes, his complexion. But his love, his regret – they both burned strong. “I wish things had been different,” he said.
“There is not a day that goes by that I do not cry when I think of you here.”’
We both became still and quiet, watching the darkness grow deeper, watching it take on new hues and texture as if it were gently folded velvet.
‘I must take you back,’ I said at last. I could not bear to think that Miss Thorne had survived so much, endured such great torment, only to complete the circle of her family’s curse on this lonely hillside.
Miss Thorne shook her head. ‘No. I feel something within my chest. My breathing. . . I shall not survive,’ she concluded defiantly.
‘But you must try.’
‘It is as I said – I have come here to die.’ She struggled to her feet, an elegant figure in the deepening gloom. ‘But there is one thing you can do for me. I would like to lie with my father.’
I remembered again the stone caskets that lay within the structure. I had never met a relative of Miss Thorne but had, once, been shown around the grounds, and inside the mausoleum, by a family servant. I did not know how many were buried there, nor whether all of the Thorns ended their days within its walls. Perhaps it was only the mad, those intimately acquainted with Mausolus House, that were laid to rest within the mausoleum, and that the family had another, more respectable, crypt elsewhere.
Perhaps Miss Thorn’s father, out of regret and shame, had ordered that his body be buried within the mausoleum. Perhaps sentiment led him to imagine that, from this vantage point, he would be able to watch over his child.
I wish he had indeed been able to.
I rummaged for the keys that I always carried, searched for something old and unfamiliar that might open the lock. Eventually I found the right key, and we pushed open the door.
It was pitch dark within, and we waited for a moment just within the doorway as our eyes became accustomed to the lack of light. The shadow-filled forms of the stone caskets rose from the floor like rows of thick, monstrous teeth; the damp air, the moss-covered stone underfoot only furthered the impression of being within some great, dark maw.
I know not how, but Miss Thorne staggered towards one particular stone sarcophagus, sure that this contained the earthly remains of her father. It 190
certainly seemed newer, and less ostentatious, than many others I glimpsed in the darkness; a simple, unadorned stone coffin fit for a man with concerns other than the frivolous and temporal.
She threw herself at the foot of the huge casket, sobbing uncontrollably. I could also hear that her breathing was becoming more laboured; not quite a death rattle, but something that legitimated her judgement that her life in this world was nearly over. I have watched enough men and women die, their bodies slowing down in readiness for death, their spirit – if I believe in such a thing – beginning to drift elsewhere. I know the signs full well.
I decided there and then not to strive to persuade her to come back with me to the smoking remains of the house, to the fire brigade’s resplendent engine, to those few individuals who stood with me as madness swept through Mausolus. Miss Thorne had made a decision that must be respected.
I cradled her in my arms, as I hope and trust her father did when she was small, when her future still spoke of potential. She did not resist, mumbling words I could not catch. Her tears lessened; her breathing became thicker and more difficult.
She passed away in my arms moments later.
191
Twenty-two
Time’s Tides
(The Sleep of Reason)
Laska suddenly felt very alone.
As the dog creature moved inexorably