Doctor Who_ The Sleep of Reason - Martin Day [14]
‘Then I very much doubt that that is the source of your problems.’
‘Oh.’ Thorne fell silent, yet I could see that her thoughts were continually moving, hitting an impasse, and then travelling elsewhere. Her face changed between animation and dull vacancy a number of times, and then she smiled brightly. ‘I remember also a doll I used to have, sir.’
‘Yes?’
‘I treated it as my baby. I always wanted a family, and when I was young, to help me. . . to help me wait, I was given a beautiful doll. . . ’ Her voice trailed off, and the smile faded. ‘Yet. . . I cannot for the life of me remember what it looked like. Now I come to think of it, I am not sure how old I was. Is that not strange, sir?’
I felt we were on the verge of breakthrough, but was unable to continue.
There was an impatient rap at the door.
It was Craig, calling on my ‘most urgent’ help.
I stood up to leave. ‘I am afraid I must go. I will try to see you again within the week. . .
And no, I do not count what you describe as being strange.
Memory is a very malleable and ebbing thing – especially my own!’
As Thorne rose and held open the door for me I was, for all the world, a guest being escorted out of a country house.
‘Goodbye, my dear.’
‘Goodbye, doctor,’ said Thorne, closing the door herself.
I allowed her that tiny courtesy, that illusion of a more normal world beyond the walls of Mausolus, before turning the key in the lock.
Craig brought word of another incident involving Mr Fern.
Now, as I have told the trustees on numerous occasions, I do not expect every single member of my staff to be blessed with the temperament of an angel and the patience of a saint. Fern, however, is irredeemably brutal and primitive. Behind his every word and action there seems to lurk the threat of violence; when that violence is actual rather than implied then I am afraid I must take action. In this case, I wish I could rely on poor Haward to tell me exactly what happened before my arrival, but his words are unreliable and full of untruths. (I cannot write ‘lies’, for lying implies the telling of deliberate 24
untruths within a moral framework, and I believe that Haward no longer has any understanding on what is truth – and what is good and ill.) Mr Craig said that he was on his way to the kitchens. He said he wished to ensure that all was well there; my own belief is that he was wishing to talk to one of the village trollops. In any event, he passed Mr Haward’s room. (To my shame, it remains one of the most bare and cell-like chambers in the whole of Mausolus.)
The chill sound of Fern’s voice from within caused Craig to pause awhile.
‘Friend, how are you today?’ Craig said that there was nothing in Fern’s voice that spoke of concern, only contempt.
Alas such subtleties of tone and tenor were lost on poor Haward. ‘They say I am well, kind sir.’
Craig risked a glance into the cell. Haward cowered before Fern; indeed, would have slipped to the floor had it not been for the iron chains and rough manacles that held him. Doubtless Fern would claim that Haward had become violent, that he had been forced to use such awful measures to ensure his own safety. And, given that no one would be able to testify otherwise, and the fear that Fern engenders, Craig found himself for the moment mute and motionless, an impotent observer of Fern’s casually divulged violence.
‘I think you are lying,’ said Fern – then the sound of that stick he always carries as he struck it against the wall.
This shook Craig from his stupor, and he came to find me.
By the time we neared Haward’s cell his usual whispers had become a great shout of anguish. ‘You know how I feel! My mind is open, like a book for you to read.’ Before I could even look into the cell I imagined Haward’s head shaking slowly, long clumps of greasy hair falling across small, grey eyes and down towards a mouth of broken teeth.
‘No secrets?’ bellowed Fern.
We arrived at that moment, and stood in the doorway to observe. As before, Fern’s back was towards us, and Haward’s own eyes saw naught but his inner turmoil.