Doctor Who_ The Visitation - Eric Saward [2]
Then the shape seemed slowly to split open, purple light pouring from the crack. This was too much for the poor old fox, who panicked and fled into the night.
As the split grew larger, an open hatchway could be seen behind what was now clearly a ramp being lowered. As it descended, a figure appeared, his massive form dividing the flood of purple light and casting an enormous shadow across the forest.
When the ramp was fully lowered, he began to move. Wheezing and gasping, his lungs unaccustomed to the Earth's thin atmosphere, he lumbered down the ramp and across the charred undergrowth. He paused for a moment, sniffing the air in much the same way the fox had. He then let out a loud hiss, turned and started towards the manor house.
By the light of a large candelabra Elizabeth and her father were playing cards. Sir John had always fancied himself a good card-player. Indeed he was, as his winnings far exceeded his losses. But Elizabeth, his pretty, shy, excitable daughter was better; much better. Her fast, nimble mind quickly grasped her opponent's stratagems. She had an excellent memory and could always remember which cards had already been played.
Reluctantly her father had acknowledged her superior skill, but it still irked him to lose.
Shoulders hunched, lips pursed in concentration, Sir John watched his daughter pick up a card from the pack face-down on the table. Impassively, she slotted it into those she already held, barely pausing before discarding an unwanted card. Sir John glanced down at the neatly fanned cards in his hand and smiled. She had thrown away the very card he wanted. The game is mine, he thought, reaching for it.
'Too late, Papa.' Elizabeth placed her own cards on the table. 'I think I've won.' Sir John scanned them with piggy eyes hoping for a mistake. But no, she had won again.
Charles laughed, 'Well done, sister!'
The old knight scowled as he gathered the cards together. 'Luck,' he muttered, 'pure luck.'
'Be fair, father. You were beaten by the better player.'
'My concentration was spoiled,' he growled, as Ralph entered the room. 'I could feel a chill on my neck.'
'Impossible, Papa. It's a perfectly warm evening.'
Charles pushed his chair back from the card table, making a harsh, rasping noise on the flagstone floor, and stood up. 'Father always feels a chill when he's losing,' he said, crossing to where he had left his pistols. 'It's either that or his gout bothers him.'
'Arrant nonsense. I felt a definite chill about my neck and shoulders.'
The large candelabra flickered as though to prove his point. 'You see!' Sir John crowed.
'Perhaps Ralph should fetch your shawl, Papa.'
Sir John frowned. He hated his shawl. To him it was the mark of an old man. Years may have aged his body, but not his spirit. 'Certainly not,' he said, clearing his throat, 'I'll have a warmer. Fetch me a posset, Ralph.'
Charles glared at his father as he picked up the pistols.
'You are incorrigible. Haven't you drunk enough already?'
Sir John started to shuffle the cards. He had anticipated disapproval. 'This is medicinal,'
he snapped. 'It helps keep the cold out.'
'Cold? We've barely scratched August, yet your consumption of this "medicine"
suggests we are but half a day from the winter solstice.'
Sir John grunted. But before he could think of an answer, Charles had marched out of the room.
'Insolent oaf!'
Pretending to be bothered by an itch, but really to hide the fact she was smiling, Elizabeth rubbed her nose with the flat of her hand. 'I think I should retire, too, Papa.'
'You remain seated,' he grumbled, starting to deal. 'I've brooked enough humiliation from my offspring for one evening. We will play one more game.
And this time I shall win.'
Elizabeth picked up the cards he had dealt her and fanned them out. 'You can certainly try, Papa,' she said, and smiled sweetly.
On the landing outside the main hall where