Doctor Who_ The Roundheads Part 19

As she followed her father, Frances heard a distant church bell toll three in the morning.

Keeping close behind Kemp, she realised they were ascending the stairs towards the upper room, the room she had so wanted to see inside. Now she desired none of it, wanted only to run back to bed and hide beneath the blankets. What if the men Polly had spoken about were still there? Might they question her too?

Kemp knocked gently on the door and a man's voice told him to enter.

The room she saw was lit by three or four candles and Frances found herself shivering in the unaccustomed brightness.

An imposing-looking man with a white beard sat at the top end of the table, studying a sheaf of papers. He didn't look up as Frances entered but the other occupant of the chamber did.

He was every bit as handsome as Polly had said and smiled kindly as Kemp led Frances to a chair.

'Father,' she said quietly. 'What is it? What's amiss?'

Kemp laid a heavy hand on her shoulder. 'Hush, child,' he said testily.

Frances felt her heart begin to pound. She watched the older man reading for a while, then he looked up and stared at her. His eyes were cold, malicious.

'Mistress Kemp,' he said at last, 'you know a man named Thomas Culpeper?'

The name went like a dagger to Frances's heart. She felt a cold sweat spring out on her forehead.

'Tom? Yes, of course. He was the baker's lad. I used to see him often. When I was a girl. I've been running errands there for years.'

She glanced up at her father, seeking confirmation, but Kemp's blank expression didn't alter.

Christopher Whyte took his turn. 'He left his father's service and went to war.'

Frances frowned. 'He did? I hope he is well.'

Whyte smiled, charmed by her play-acting. 'He is. In fact, he's done rather well for himself. He's been appointed to General Cromwell's lifeguard.'

'Really?' said Frances, stifling a yawn.

Copper tossed a square of paper across the table. 'Did you write this?'

Frances did not have to look at the letter to know. A wave of cold terror washed over her. Was everything discovered?

Her relationship with Thomas? Their secret trysts?

'Well?' hissed Kemp, looming over his daughter like a vengeful giant.

Frances clasped her hands together. 'What am I accused of? Is this a star chamber that I am brought to '

Kemp lashed out with his big hand and slapped her across the cheek. She yelled as she felt the impact sting her soft skin.

's.l.u.t!' barked Kemp. 'I have toiled to save my King's life whilst my own daughter ruts with his enemies!'

He raised his hand to strike her again but Whyte shot to his feet and grabbed Kemp's arm.

'Enough, Kemp! This is no time for recriminations.

There's too much to be done.'

Kemp swung away, his back ramrod straight, boiling with fury. Copper regarded Frances steadily as tears rolled down her cheeks.

'My dear,' he said quietly, 'we don't seek to blame you.

Heaven only knows where the heart may lead us. But what we ask of you now is to help us.'

Frances could hardly think straight. 'What do you mean?'

Copper looked up at the ceiling and stroked his beard.

'You are in an invaluable position, lady. You have the heart and, therefore, the ear of one of Cromwell's closest aides. We only ask that you acquire a little... information for us.'

Frances was aghast. 'And betray Thomas? Never!'

Kemp swung back and raised his hand threateningly.

'You'll do as you're instructed, girl or '

This time Whyte's sword flashed from its scabbard and he pointed it menacingly towards the landlord's throat.

'I've warned you, Kemp. I'll not tolerate such behaviour.

Your daughter may be of use to us, but you are eminently dispensable. Is that understood?' Kemp glowered, his hand still raised. 'Is it?' hissed Whyte.

Kemp nodded slowly and lowered his arm. Whyte sheathed his sword and resumed his place, huffing with repressed fury.

Sir John Copper gave a small sigh and continued, as though the incident had been a minor distraction.

'It is not a question of betrayal, Frances. We merely wish to know certain dates and times. How we put this information to use is our own business. Besides ' he arched an eyebrow mockingly 'have you not betrayed your father and your King already?'

Frances set her jaw determinedly. 'I will not do it.'

Copper returned to his examination of the papers. 'You'll find that you will, my dear. In the morning.'

He waved her away. Kemp put his brawny arms around Frances and dragged her to her feet. Kicking and protesting, she was hustled out of the room.

Copper turned at once to Whyte. 'This is heaven-sent, Chris,' he smiled. 'Through Culpeper we might find out the duty times of the King's guards. It will make the whole operation much easier.'

Whyte nodded. 'It would still be better if we had someone on the inside.'

Copper considered this. 'What of the serving girl? At Hurst Castle?'

Whyte grimaced. 'Unreliable. I would hate to stake my life on her cooperation. No, better that we subst.i.tute another.'

Copper's face contracted into a smile. 'You have someone in mind?'

Whyte nodded slowly. 'I do. A rare woman indeed.'

CHAPTER 6.

The Teazer Teazer creaked and shuddered as she sc.r.a.ped alongside the other ships in the harbour. creaked and shuddered as she sc.r.a.ped alongside the other ships in the harbour.

Ben and Winter had clambered aboard. There was only one man on watch and he was sleeping soundly, his huge chest rising and falling like the bellows of a pipe organ.

Winter looked rapidly about. 'I can't think why I've not done this before,' she said, shaking her head. 'Lord knows I've had opportunity enough.'

'You just needed someone to spur you on,' whispered Ben. 'Now, come on, let's get to his cabin.'

The captain nodded and thrust her peg leg forward. Ben went ahead, crossing the deck on which he had so recently toiled.

As stealthily as possible and keeping flat against the woodwork, the two made their way to what was Stanislaus's cabin. Winter turned up her nose in disgust. 'I can smell him from here,' she spat.

With a nod to Ben, and a sharp intake of breath, she kicked open the door and swaggered inside.

Ben followed a little more sheepishly.

The cabin was large and handsomely furnished. Rich red velvet drapes shrouded Stanislaus's narrow bed, which occupied the whole of one corner. There were bra.s.s navigation instruments on every surface and a broad oak desk covered in papers.

A bra.s.s chandelier which was hanging from the low ceiling swung gently back and forth in time to the ship's gentle movement.

Winter cursed and spat a great black gobbet of tobacco on to the bare floor. Ben glanced through the mullioned window at the rapidly lightening sky.

'We'd better get a shift on,' he muttered.

Winter leaned over the desk and peered 'at the papers.

'Now then, before we start looking for whatever it is we hope to find, you keep your eyes peeled for a strongbox.'

Ben was puzzled. 'What do you mean?'

Winter began pulling books and charts from shelves, scanning the room with an intensity that was almost feverish.

'The Pole has a strongbox somewhere,' she insisted. 'There's something of mine in it that I want back.'

Ben looked a little sick and fluttered his hand over his face. 'It's not... ?'

Winter turned and laughed loudly. 'No, Lord bless, it ain't my nose!'

Still cackling, she began to sift through the charts and maps that were stacked in the corner of the cabin.

Ben joined in, though he was more concerned with the paperwork, hoping to find something that would give them a clue to the mystery.

'So Stanislaus is sort of your Moby d.i.c.k?' he said absently.

Winter did not pause in her search. 'My what?'

'Nothing,' said Ben, moving back towards the door.

'Found anything?'

Winter shook her head, hands grabbing at everything that wasn't screwed down. 'A moment, Ben. I've been waiting many years for this.'

Suddenly the door creaked and slammed shut, revealing a figure who had been hiding behind it the whole time.

Ben and Winter turned to see two pistols levelled at their chests.

The Doctor gazed at his reflection in the frosted-over bowl of water and then, with a resigned shrug, shattered the ice with his elbow. He rolled up his sleeves and splashed cold water over his face.

There was no towel about and he stumbled over to the bed, water dripping into his eyes, until he found his frock coat. He wiped his face dry with it and then stumbled backward on to Jamie's bed.

The young Scot sat up with a cry and the Doctor flashed him an apologetic smile.

'Sorry to wake you, Jamie.'

Jamie rubbed his eyes and stretched. 'What time is it?'

'Sixteen forty-eight,' said the Doctor cheekily.

Jamie tutted and buried his head in the pillow.

The Doctor got up and struggled into his coat. 'It's about six in the morning. I think we should be ready for an early audience with Cromwell.'

Jamie groaned. 'Och, do I have to go through all that again?'

'I'm afraid so,' said the Doctor sheepishly. 'And it's even more important now. We had a visitor last night.'

'Yon smelly fella?'