Doctor Who_ The Visitation - Eric Saward [1]
In the main hall of the house, Sir John dozed before the unlit fireplace. He had just consumed a vast meal along with two bottles of his favourite wine. Although the rhythmic movement of his bulky stomach suggested contentment, his high colour and twitching countenance more accurately indicated the onset of indigestion.
Ralph, the elderly servant, blew out the taper he had been using to light extra candles, and slipped it behind his ear for safe keeping. 'Do you want me to clear away, Master Charles?' he said.
Charles, who was sitting in his favourite chair cleaning a pair of saddle pistols, glanced across at his now-snoring father. 'Leave the bread and cheese,' he said, 'I'm sure Sir John will want a little more to eat before retiring.' He gazed at the undulating stomach and sighed. 'Although heaven only knows where he puts it all.'
The servant smiled and started to shuffle towards the dining table. Suddenly the door burst open and the highly excited Elizabeth rushed into the room. 'Papa! Papa!'
Sir John's face turned deep purple as he coughed, spluttered and then sat bolt upright, placing his hand on his racing heart. 'Fire and brimstone!' he screamed. 'You should know better than to enter a room like that.'
'I am sorry, Papa,' she bubbled, setting her candle on a side table and running to the window, 'but you must see them.'
Sir John craned his neck as he endeavoured to keep his daughter in view.
'The lights, Papa.' She tugged at the curtains. 'They're so beautiful.'
'Lights?' Sir John clambered awkwardly out of his chair. 'What lights?' It was clear he was uneasy.
Elizabeth continued her tussle with the drapes, but her final victory was a hollow one.
'Oh, they've gone,' she sighed, staring into the blackness of the night.
Sir John turned from the window, clearly disturbed. 'What were the lights like?' he muttered.
'Like a million shooting stars. The whole sky was ablaze.'
The old knight made his way to the dining table, picked up a quarter-full bottle of wine and emptied it into a goblet. Charles watched, concerned by his father's reaction. 'Are you all right, father?'
'Of course I'm all right,' he growled. 'It's just this talk of lights.' He paused, staring into the goblet. 'I don't like the sound of it.'
Elizabeth moved to her father's side. 'Oh, Papa.' Her tone was slightly disapproving of his superstitious response.
'Strange lights do not bode well for the future. Take my word.'
Elizabeth reached up and kissed her father affectionately on the cheek. 'You're so sweet.' The old man snorted. 'You're so sweet... and so old-fashioned,' she laughed.
Sir John took a long swallow from his goblet and then looked down at his smiling daughter.
'Maybe you're right,' he said at last. 'Maybe you're right.' But in his heart he was less certain.
The fox Elizabeth had watched earlier with such pleasure continued his nightly patrol.
Now clear of the house, he raced across the open ground to the high brick perimeter-wall of the estate. He paused to sniff the air. Something was wrong.
Undeterred, he made his way along the wall until he came to a small gate. Without hesitation he squeezed through its narrow bars. Ahead lay the forest and a good night's hunting. But something was definitely wrong.
Cautiously, the fox moved into the silent forest, ears cocked, nose keenly analysing the night air. He sensed danger. The game keeper? The local poacher? But no. He knew their smells only too well. This was new.
Something was burning.
The fox moved on. Thin, whispy twirls of smoke hung in the air and bushes, its acrid smell irritating his nose and eyes. He sneezed hard and shook his head, trying to clear the irritation. A little way ahead he noticed an