Doctor Who_ Wolfsbane - Jac Rayner [32]
George Stanton hadn‟t seen Harry die. Sarah had to cling to that. But would the Doctor accept that as proof that Harry was still alive? Of course not. Because, much as her heart wanted to tell her otherwise, it wasn‟t proof, not in the slightest. And after all, they‟d seen his grave.
But if the grave were empty...
She had to check. It was the most important thing in the world: she had to look into Harry Sullivan‟s grave.
She had barely thought the idea than she was in the churchyard. She began digging at the mound of earth with her bare hands. Worms squirmed through her fingers, escaping from the frenzy. She dug and dug until the flesh of her hands had worn away and she was scraping with harsh white bones. The coffin was several miles beneath the surface, and the sunlight no longer reached her, but she could still see.
The lid of the coffin vanished. There was Harry, barely visible through a sea of maggots. She put forward a hand, brushed the crawling life away, Harry‟s dead skin flaking away with it. As beetles swarmed from the corpse on to her hand, up her arm, over her whole body, Harry‟s eyes opened.
His mandible dropped. „Give us a kiss, Sarah Jane Smith.‟
When Sarah awoke hours later, shivering, she knew that her dream had been telling her what she had to do.
There were cocktails before dinner, mixed by the butler and served in proper James Bond-style glasses with green olives on little wooden sticks. Lady Hester had glanced at the tray and said, „We have a guest, Trelawny. An extra glass, please.‟
The butler had coughed. „Pardon me, Madam, but I believe only four glasses are required.‟
„Oh yes,‟ she‟d said. „I forgot. Poor Lucinda.‟
George had offered to lend Harry a dinner jacket and the works. Harry, grateful for any excuse to get away from the apparently story-hungry Emmeline Neuberger, had accepted, and was dapper in stiff shirt front and black tie. It rather suited him. If only Sarah could see him now!
George was drinking rather a lot of cocktails. His breath had smelled of the alehouse when he had handed over the jacket earlier, and Harry had detected a slight unsteadiness.
Trying to cope with the death of his fiancée, despite his appearance of casualness? Overcome with horror at having killed her himself? Or just a man who liked rather a lot to drink?
„What I mean to say is - sheep, don‟t you know,‟ George said to Harry, out of the blue.
„Ah, the sheep,‟ said Harry, his mind scooting back hurriedly, and finally remembering talk of sheep mutilations.
„I gathered that the, er, natives were a bit restless about them.‟
George nodded, nearly overbalancing. „That‟s the thing.
Can‟t see the appeal myself, no idea how they make a decent golfing pullover out of the dirty brutes, but the folks round here think they‟re the bee‟s whiskers. Positively the cat‟s pyjamas, don‟t you know.‟
Harry, a man of the world, nevertheless needed somewhat more clarification, and requested it.
„Well, worst thing that could happen. Fellow in town hears
“two sheep mauled, killer not found”, and thinks “Right-ho, better stick with the roast beef, then.” Fellow in the country knows there will be nothing to take to market, and the wife and kiddies will probably end up starving in a ditch.‟ He waved his glass in the air emphatically, but without spilling a drop. „Starving,‟ he said again, bringing the glass back down and draining it.
„They were actually mauled, were they?‟ said Harry, trying to make conversation and utterly unable to think of a way of changing the topic without appearing rude.
„Well, I say -‟ George leaned in closer and hissed in a whisper that was several decibels louder than his ordinary speech – „don‟t like to say when there are ladies present.‟
A hand landed on Harry‟s shoulder. He had a sudden flash of deja vu. The hand was white, long-fingered and distinctly feminine. He stopped breathing.
„But vetter George, you need not worry about me. Tell me all about your sheep.‟
George shook his head and muttered something about „not for delicate ears‟.
Emmeline Neuberger moved round