The Ghosts of N-Space - Barry Letts [76]
(Sarah had an immediate picture of a poor shivering organ-grinder’s monkey wearing a red fez, with a large cowboy’s revolver pointing at him.) The Doctor had explained that even if they had to stay in 1818 for days, even weeks, the TARDIS would still take them back to the Brigadier shortly after they left him, just as it had brought them back here, albeit a little later than they’d intended.
As she sat down where the candle would light the page, she caught sight of a small portrait, a miniature hanging on the wall. She very nearly laughed out loud, for although it depicted a female of about thirty, it bore a strong resemblance to the Brigadier’s ninety-two‐year-old Uncle Mario. Here was the little pointed face, the elfish grin, the twinkling eyes – even the shock of unruly hair, reluctantly tamed by the fashion of the day.
‘Who’s that?’ she asked.
Louisa looked up. ‘That? Oh, that’s my lovely Grinley,’
she said and returned to her writing.
265
Sarah smiled to herself. It was clear that whatever else happened there was no danger of the Barone dying childless.
‘A dedicated bachelor such as myself has far more time for such pursuits,’ said Paolo Verconti, recently rendered even more plump by the ingestion of half a fish pie, a quantity of beef ragout, two small guinea fowl and most of a stuffed sheep’s paunch.
The Doctor, who had confined himself to a few lamb chops, nodded in understanding. ‘I have been something of a dabbler in matters philosophical myself; the natural and physical sciences, you understand. It is only lately that I have found myself investigating curious reports of hauntings and such.’
His host, who had been picking his teeth with a silver toothpick, discreetly inspected what had resulted from his delving before returning the indeterminate morsel to his mouth. He gave an almost inaudible burp, replenished his empty glass with Marsala and pushed the bottle towards the Doctor.
‘Thank you,’ said the Doctor, topping up his own glass, from which approximately half an inch had been drunk. ‘I should be grateful if you could expand a little on your account of the legends connected with your remarkable 266
ancestral home. For example, I’m right in thinking, am I not, that there is nothing heard of a white lady – a ghost –
haunting the environs of the castello?’
‘Quite right, quite right,’ said the Barone.
The Doctor took a sip of wine. ‘Or a dragon?’
‘My dear Doctor, I think it is well established that dragons died out in this part of the world thousands of years ago, long before the castle was built. I have seen a stuffed dragon – a small one, you comprehend – brought back from China by a Captain of my acquaintance, a Dutchman; and the same man, a man I would trust with my life – and indeed I did entrust him with my purse, for he multiplied my stake in his venture some five hundred per centum –
what was I saying?’
‘Dragons,’ said the Doctor, with very little hope in his voice.
‘To be sure, dragons. This same good man told me with many an oath that he had seen a living dragon with his own eyes – in the East Indies, I do believe. Though he was in drink at the time. In the telling of it, that is; and probably in the seeing too.’ The Barone knocked back his glass and refilled it. ‘But that’s neither here nor there. I am no dragon fancier, sir. Nor a lover of ghosts.’
He offered the bottle to the Doctor, who declined it with a smile.
267
‘For my part, I have a devotion to La Santa Stella,’ said the Barone, a little thickly.
‘I – I don’t think I have ever heard of a Saint Stella,’
said the Doctor carefully.
‘The stars, Doctor, the stars. Those mysterious orbs which in their flight proclaim how dwarfish is this lowly creature peering up at them from the mud.’
He leant forward in a conspiratorial way. ‘You are a connoisseur of wonders, I collect. If the weather holds, I shall show you a wonder this very night. A wonder not beheld by man for a century and a half. And more.’
A faint