Doctor Who_ Grave Matter Part 11

'Oh, sorry. Just a joke.' He smiled his apology. 'But not for me, thank you. Not right now. Where is he?'

'What?' Janet asked.

'Mr Sheldon. Where is he?'

She looked at Packwood, who was pouring himself another drink now. 'He flew to the mainland this morning. On business,' the large man said.

'Of course.' The Doctor stood up. 'In that helicopter of his.'

'That's right,' Janet said with something like relief in her voice. 'Well, if there's nothing else...?'

'No,' the Doctor said lightly. He turned to go. Then he turned back again. 'But you know,' he said thoughtfully, 'it's the oddest thing.'

'What is?' Packwood asked patiently.

'Only, I could swear I saw the helicopter parked in the coach house outside.' He waited a second before adding. 'I'm sorry, perhaps you don't park helicopters. But whatever. Does Mr Sheldon have several?'

'Just the one.' Packwood put down his drink, untouched.

'Rogers took Mr Sheldon to the mainland. Then he returned.

He will pick him up when his business is concluded.' He took the Doctor by the arm and led him towards the door. For a smaller man it would have been quite a task, but he made it look simple.

'Concluded,' the Doctor mused as they pa.s.sed through into the hallway beyond. 'There's an air of finality about the word.'

'Goodbye, Doctor,' Packwood said as he opened the front door. 'I'm sorry we couldn't be more helpful.'

'Not at all.' The Doctor was all smiles again now on the threshold. In the distance he could hear the sound of an outboard motor chugging rhythmically away. He cupped his hand to his ear. 'It's so peaceful out here, isn't it?' he said.

Janet Spillsbury was standing behind Packwood in the hallway. 'We like it here,' she said.

'But what noise there is does carry, that's the devil of it,'

the Doctor said.

'Unfortunate,' Packwood agreed, starting to close the door.

'Makes you think, though.' The Doctor put just the right amount of wistfulness into the words. 'Makes you think.'

The door paused. Packwood's pale eyes reflected the fading light as he stared at the Doctor. 'What does it make you think?' he asked.

'Oh nothing.' The Doctor turned away. 'I was just wondering why n.o.body heard the helicopter when it took Mr Sheldon to the mainland this morning. Or when it came back again, for that matter. It was noisy enough last night after all.

And that was in the fog.'

'I expect the wind was blowing the wrong way.'

The Doctor raised his index finger and stabbed it in the air.

'Good thought,' he said.

Behind him the door closed. There was the sound of a key turning in the lock. 'Good thought,' the Doctor repeated to himself. 'But not,' he decided, 'good enough.'

He set off towards the jetty, whistling the 'Skye Boat Song' happily. It would be dark soon. He was looking forward to a nice row across the sea. The calm and the peace and the quiet. Like a bird on the wing. Just right for a good hard think.

As the evening drew in, so it got colder. Peri had found a bench in the churchyard close to the hedge. From here she could huddle up to try to keep warm and see over the hedge and into the lane that led to Cove Cottage. She had set her watch by the clock in the pub, and she glanced at it every five minutes, continually surprised at how slowly time was pa.s.sing. The Doctor had said he would meet her at the pub any time from about nine o'clock if he didn't return to the churchyard sooner. But if she saw anything interesting not to worry about him.

Worry about him? That was a joke. It was nearly half past eight and close enough, she reckoned, to call it a day. Ten minutes to walk to the pub. If she took it slowly. Nothing to report. He would be disappointed, but then maybe the Doctor had enjoyed some success in his journey to Sheldon's Folly.

Or maybe there was n.o.body at home there either. Perhaps they were both spending their day watching an empty house.

Peri wrapped her coat tight round her, pulled her knees in to her chest and shuffled round on the bench in an effort to find a comfortable position. There was a bra.s.s plate on the back of the bench. In Loving Memory - Mildred Roberts. A In Loving Memory - Mildred Roberts. A good neighbour to all. good neighbour to all. Peri traced the etched and fading letters with her fingertip. She could barely make the writing out now as the light died. But she had read it so many times in the last few hours. So many times...So many... Peri traced the etched and fading letters with her fingertip. She could barely make the writing out now as the light died. But she had read it so many times in the last few hours. So many times...So many...

She awoke with a start. Somewhere nearby an owl hooted.

The breeze was cold against her cheek and the sound of the sea was faint in the background. There was a hint of mist in the air, swirling across the silhouettes of the gravestones and the stark brittle trees. Peri shivered and swung her legs off the bench. She had almost fallen asleep there. Maybe she needed to walk about a bit. Stamp away the tiredness. She glanced at her watch, peering closely to make out the minute hand. It was gone half past eight now. Time to leave. In fact, it was almost quarter to...It took her a moment to work out what was wrong.

The hour hand wasn't there. It should be close to the minute hand if it really was nearly quarter to nine.

It was up near the eleven.

It was quarter to eleven. She had fallen asleep and it was quarter to eleven. She leaped up and looked over the hedge, down towards Cove Cottage. There was a light shining through the trees. A light in the cottage. Sir Edward, or whoever he really was, had come home and she had not seen him.

Her best plan now, Peri reckoned, was to get to the pub and report to the Doctor that Sir Edward had come home. But just to be sure, she decided she would take a quick look at the cottage on the way. She did not expect to discover anything other than perhaps whether Sir Edward was really there or not.

But she could at least then say that she had been and looked.

From wandering around in earlier bored moments while it was still light, she knew there was a back gate out of the churchyard. From this a narrow path led round the back of the churchyard to join the lane further down, close to Cove Cottage. It was only as she was making her careful way along the path that Peri realised there was no light.

The moon was struggling to be seen through the cloud and gathering mist, and it gave barely enough light for Peri to negotiate the pathway between the churchyard fence on one side and the uneven ground leading to the edge of the cliff on the other. Feeling carefully to discern the difference between path and gra.s.s, she made her cautious way forwards. Towards the light. At first she was grateful for the light that bobbed its way towards her, gleaming faintly in the mist. Then she realised that it was not the light of Cove Cottage or some other fixed lamp she was heading towards. This light was waving about, was approaching her. It was a torch, held by someone who was coming along the path.

For a few moments Peri considered. Whoever it was had probably not yet seen her. Should she go on and meet them?

Maybe it was the Doctor. Or should she keep out of sight until she could see who it was?

She opted for the cautious approach, retracing her steps to the churchyard gate. There was a large bay tree against the outside of the fence just past the gate, and she ducked behind it, waiting for the torch to arrive.

As the light came closer and Peri could make out the shape that went with it, she thought that a vehicle of some sort was approaching. The torchlight picked out a grey rectangle in front of it that b.u.mped its way forwards along the path.

Behind the light was a dark silhouette. A figure. It was almost at the gate before Peri could make out what it was.

It was a man pushing a wheelbarrow. He was tall and thin, dressed in a long dark coat. He held the torch in one hand, together with one of the wheelbarrow handles as he steered it along the path. When he reached the gate he stopped, set down the barrow, and opened the gate. Then he pushed the wheelbarrow through, and closed the gate behind him.

As he turned to close the gate, he angled the torch upwards for a moment as he fiddled with the latch. As he did so, Peri could see his face. It was Sir Edward Baddesley. He looked round for a moment, then started wheeling the barrow across the churchyard.

Peri waited until he was a good way off before she cautiously let herself back into the churchyard and followed.

She kept at a distance, dashing across patches of open ground from tombstone to bush to tree. She stumbled over the stone edges of graves, and b.u.mped into bushes and branches. But Sir Edward did not seem to hear her. He did not turn or pause.

On the far side of the church, Sir Edward finally stopped.

He set down the barrow beside a mound of fresh earth, and turned to look all round.

Peri ducked down behind a tombstone as he shone the torch over the churchyard. Its light licked round the tombstone, but Peri remained in the shadow, waiting until it had moved on before peering cautiously round the edge of the stone.

As she watched, Sir Edward set down the torch on the ground. It was angled so that it pointed at the mound of earth, and Peri realised with a shock that this was the grave of the dead fisherman - of William Neville, buried just yesterday. At the same moment she had a premonition of what Sir Edward Baddesley was about to do.

Sure enough, he was reaching inside the wheelbarrow, his arm breaking through the beam of light from the torch as he pulled out a spade. He set it down on the ground as he took off his coat and laid it across the handles of the barrow. Then he lifted the spade again, and started to dig.

Chapter Seven.

Unearthing the Truth Peri watched in disbelief, her mouth open and her nerves numbed. There was a surreal quality to events, she thought.

Here she was, crouching behind a tombstone in a misty churchyard in the dead of night while an elderly man dug up a recently buried body not twenty yards away from her. As she watched, as she listened to the sound of the spade biting into the soft earth, she wondered if perhaps she was still asleep on the bench, if she would wake up and find that she was late meeting the Doctor at the pub and that nothing had happened.

But since meeting the Doctor she had wondered on several occasions whether she was dreaming or sleeping or mad. And from experience she knew now, knew really, that the event she was witnessing was horribly, undeniably real. More than that, she knew also that more often than not it was up to the Doctor and herself to confront the bizarre and the horrific and stand against the forces of the night. Despite herself, she yawned.

The first few drops of rain splashed on to Peri's face as she watched Sir Edward lay down the spade. He lowered himself carefully into the hole he had dug, stepping down into it gingerly, stiffly. Peri remembered that at the pub he'd had a walking stick, though he did not have it with him now. His arm emerged from the hole and felt round for the spade, dragging it in after him. For the briefest of moments she felt a sudden sympathy for the poor man and wondered if his joints were stiff and aching from the work.

Then she heard the sound of the nails protesting as the lid of the coffin was prised off with the blade of the spade. Her sympathy evaporated.

The spade reappeared first, flung up and out of the hole to land close to the wheelbarrow. Then a man's head appeared, emerging over the edge of the hole as if looking out of a First World War trench. The head was not Sir Edward's.

Peri took a step backwards and gasped. She almost slipped on the damp ground and her hand was at her mouth. The eyes that stared directly at her across the churchyard were closed, the face was pale and pasty in the faded moonlight. It was a face she had seen before. The face of the corpse. As she watched, transfixed, the head moved, the body was rising up out of the grave, was coming towards her. The head flopped forwards as the dead body dragged itself up out of the hole, the thickening rain matting the lank hair. Then the body pitched forwards, face down in the new-dug dirt.

A moment later, Sir Edward hauled himself out of the hole, and Peri realised he had been pushing the body up from below. Now he grabbed it under the arms and heaved it fully out of the ground. He stood, panting, looking down at the corpse for a few moments. As he got his breath back, he looked round the churchyard again, his gaze flickering obliviously over where Peri was crouched, holding her own breath, afraid he would see the mist of it. Then he bent and pushed his arms under the arms of the corpse and hoisted the body up again, dumping it heavily into the wheelbarrow.

It sat there, lidded eyes staring sightlessly out of the barrow, arms dangling over the sides and knuckles grazing the ground. Sir Edward lifted the arms and tucked them inside before dropping the spade into the barrow beside the corpse.

Finally, he retrieved the torch.

Peri ducked away as the light played over the churchyard while Sir Edward struggled to get a grip on both torch and barrow. He seemed to find it more difficult than before, probably because the barrow was rather heavier this time. He had to rock it back and forth a little to get it moving.

Peri followed him back to the churchyard's back gate, letting him get well ahead before she herself ventured out and on to the path. He seemed to pause ahead of her as she ducked out of the gate and closed it quietly behind her. But he did not look back. He was already wheeling the barrow down the narrow path towards his cottage.

Peri shivered in the cold night air, shook her head in an effort to dislodge the rain from her cheeks and nose, then followed him.

As he pushed the wheelbarrow along the narrow pathway back to Cove Cottage, Sir Edward had some thinking to do. He had spent most of the day out walking on the moors and round the coast as he considered what he should do. Whichever way he tried looking at it, he had always returned to the same conclusion, the same course of action.

As he had stood looking out over the sea, as he had watched the breakers crashing over the rocks at the base of the cliff far below him, his thoughts had turned without any conscious decision from what he should do to how he should accomplish it.

One of the details he had forced himself to consider was what to do if he was caught. He was not naive, and he knew full well that if someone came across him at close to midnight digging up a recent grave then the conclusion they would draw would be speedy, obvious, and pretty much undeniable. It was not a situation for which he just needed a decent excuse.

His mental processes of the late afternoon had returned to him, played again through his mind as he picked up the torch.

For the briefest moment he had seen the eyes of the woman shining through the night as the torchlight reflected off them.

He hoped he had not made it obvious that he had seen her, just as he hoped as he wheeled the barrow home that she did not realise that he knew she was following him. He paused long enough, listened hard enough to hear the faint click of the catch as she refastened the gate behind her.

He knew he could not catch her if she ran. Despite the hill walking and the exercise, there was no way his still frail legs would be able to catch up with her. And given the circ.u.mstances he was unlikely to be able to entice her to stay and talk by means of a friendly greeting or a few choice words. So his only option was the one he was currently taking.

To continue as if he did not know she was there.

There was a temptation to adopt the 'ignore it and it will go away' approach to the problem. But it manifestly would not go away. And it would not take much for the woman, whoever she was, to persuade someone - anyone - to check the grave, or to knock at his cottage door. Better by far to lead her to the cottage. She had not fled as soon as it was apparent what he was doing, so he could hope that her curiosity would bring her all the way to the cottage. Close enough for him to be able to surprise her. And then...Well, then circ.u.mstances would be rather different.

He had left the back door unlocked so that he could go straight in. He wheeled the barrow into the cottage, across the sheets of paper torn laboriously from a large notepad he had laid down to catch the mud from the wheel. He set down the barrow without turning on the lights, then stepped briskly across to the cellar door. He opened it enough for the light to shine out into the room. Then he moved back into the shadows by the outside door, leaving it ajar.

The back door was slightly open, and Peri could see a faint light coming from within. She gave the door a gentle, tentative push and it swung open a little further. Peering through the gap between door and frame she could see the wheelbarrow silhouetted against the light spilling from the open door down to the cellar. Her best guess was that Sir Edward had gone down to the cellar to prepare something. She was not at all sure she wanted to consider what that might be. But he would be back soon for the body. And then the chances were that he would also shut and lock the door.

She took a deep breath and slipped inside the cottage. She could find somewhere to hide, maybe even sneak down to the cellar while he was occupied, get a good look at what was going on. Then she would have something to report to the Doctor. Or if she got no opportunity to find out, she could simply slip away while Sir Edward was in the cellar. With the body.

The body was slumped in the wheelbarrow still, as if asleep. Peri tried not to look at it. She glanced towards the light from the cellar, wondering if she would see Sir Edward's shadow break the light as he came back up the stairs. She needed somewhere to hide before his return.

She stepped away from the door, feeling the draught created as it slammed shut behind her. But before she could be surprised or worried, a hand closed over her mouth from behind and she felt herself propelled across the room and flung into an armchair. She landed heavily, tried to get up again, but a hand pushed her down. The dark shape of a tall thin man loomed over her, and from a few feet away the twisted corpse echoed her slumped position.

'I think there's some explaining to be done,' Sir Edward said. His voice was solemn, calm. He leaned down towards Peri, his hands on the arms of the chair either side of her, preventing her from getting up. His face was a dark oval, shadowed from the light from the cellar door.

Then the main light in the room came on, and Peri saw him blink in surprise before he straightened up and turned towards the back door.

'Explanations would indeed be very useful,' the Doctor said. He was standing in the open doorway, his hand still on the light switch. 'h.e.l.lo, Peri,' he added with a smile. 'Sorry I'm late. You been having fun?'

Sir Edward looked from the Doctor back to Peri, confusion evident on his face. 'You, you were at the pub. Last night.' he said.

'And an excellent establishment it is too,' the Doctor told him. He stood beside the wheelbarrow and peered closely at the body. He waved his hand in front of the dead, closed eyes and seemed vaguely disappointed to get no reaction. 'I'm afraid you've missed last orders,' he said quietly.

'You're not from the islands.' Sir Edward said. 'Thank G.o.d for that.' He slumped down in a chair close to Peri and wiped his brow with a handkerchief. 'My apologies, I'm a little worn out from the exercise.' His face was flushed red and smeared with grime and sweat.

'Mmm,' the Doctor agreed. 'Digging is exhausting work, isn't it? You want to talk about that? At all?'

Sir Edward looked up. 'You want to talk about it? You catch me red-handed -' He broke off to inspect his hands.

'Black-handed, more like, digging up a dead body, and you want to talk about it?'

'Well, call me old-fashioned,' the Doctor said as he found himself a chair on the other side of the small room and sat down. 'But I like a good story. And I think there must be a good story here.' He stretched out his legs and rested his feet on the side of the wheelbarrow. The corpse within wobbled slightly. 'Don't you?'

'Good grief,' Sir Edward mumbled. 'You're even battier than I am. Thought I'd be clapped in irons, not given centre stage.' He took a deep breath. 'Well,' he said slowly, 'as I was about to explain to the young lady...'

'Peri,' Peri said. 'You were going to explain to me?'

'Er, yes. That's what I was just telling you when your friend here joined us.'

'You can call me the Doctor. And please do go on. You were explaining.'