by Doctor Who
'Do you want to try the coat on?' the Doctor asked. He could see the answer at once from the boy's expression, and he slipped off the jacket and held it out.
It was miles too big of course. But Freddie pul ed back the sleeves and grinned. 'Can I keep it?'
The Doctor laughed. 'Afraid not. I'd get cold.' He waited for Freddie to hand back the coat. As he took it, while Freddie was stil holding it, the Doctor looked into Freddie's eyes. 'Look after yourself,' he said, quietly. 'Leave me to investigate Melissa Heart, al right?'
The boy let go of the coat, and turned away. 'Al right.'
It didn't surprise Rose that the Doctor had wandered off somewhere without leaving her a note or a message. Crowther was able to tell her simply that he had gone out early that morning.
The head steward seemed preoccupied, and Rose recalled that he had told her there was a trustees' meeting late that morning and Mr Pooter was expected. That in turn reminded her of the noises she had heard from the room above the night before. Could it have been the intruders? Had they been on the top floor, perhaps even come in that way? There was no way of knowing, of course, unless the reclusive Mr Pooter returned to discover his rooms had been disturbed.
She looked for Wyse to see if he knew where the Doctor had gone, or when he might be back. But there was no sign of him in the Bastil e Room. Aske and Repple were talking quietly in a corner. She could hear Repple's righteous tones as he described how unjustly he had been deposed. Aske was doing his best to sympathise. They looked up as Rose approached, and both seemed relieved to see that it was her. But neither of them knew where the Doctor was.
'Wyse may be out visiting,' Aske suggested. 'He plays chess against a friend every Wednesday.'
'Is it Wednesday?' Rose asked. 'I lose track.'
'He usual y goes in the evening, though,' Repple pointed out. 'He could be anywhere. Sorry.'
The only useful information they were able to impart was that the trustees' meeting was likely to take place in what they called the boardroom on the first floor. And because she had nothing better to do, Rose decided she might as wel see if she could find where this was. She might also get a glimpse of the elusive Mr Pooter, she thought with a smile.
It was immediately apparent which was the boardroom. There was a uniformed club steward standing outside, though whether on guard or waiting to attend to any orders for tea and biscuits it was impossible to tel . It did mean, though, that Rose wouldn't be listening at the door.
Which was a shame, she thought. She was quite intrigued to see the mysterious Mr Pooter and there was the added incentive that they might wel be talking about the circumstances of herself and the Doctor. Wyse had suggested he would sponsor their application to stay at the club, and with the Doctor showing no apparent signs of even looking for the TARDIS, having somewhere to stay seemed like a pretty good move.
It had struck Rose that as much of the difference of London in the 1920s was to do with what was missing as what was changed. True, the cars and clothes and buildings were different. But there was no London Eye dominating the low-rise skyline. There was no loud music in the streets, little traffic noise, practical y no planes. No road markings or personal stereos or T-shirt slogans. And inside the building she had realised that there were no fire-exit signs or smoke detectors.
But there was a fire escape. A galvanised metal gantry on each floor at the back of the building, with precarious-looking metal steps to each level on the lower floors that became a distinctly treacherous-looking ladder as it reached more than halfway up the building. The gantry on the first floor was reached not from a fire door, but by climbing out of a window of one of the larger rooms – the boardroom. Which meant, Rose reasoned, that if she got on to the fire escape from the floor above, she could sneak down and perhaps get a look at the trustees through the window. Was it worth the effort, she wondered?
What the heck, she'd nothing else to do.
Halfway down, she was not sure this was a terrific idea. The stairway creaked and cracked under her weight. Was it her imagination, or was the whole thing swaying as she moved? How was it fixed to the building anyway – surely it couldn't be just that bolt sticking out of the crumbling stonework? But it was as far to go back now as it was to creep down to the metal balcony and edge along until she could see into the boardroom. If only the late morning sun hadn't been shining directly at the glass, she could have seen in from higher up, from where she was.
She crept as close as she dared, leaning out so that the sunlight no longer glinted back in her eyes.
Sure enough, she could see into the room from here. But it was rather a restricted view. The window was shut, so she could hear nothing. If she went any closer she might have a better view and might even catch a few words, but she then risked being seen. So she crouched down where she was and stared, disappointed, at the shoulders-to-waist view she had of several men in suits. The top of the table was clearly visible, with its array of papers, pens, notes, and resting hands. One of the hands drummed bored fingers on the polished surface. Another was bunched into a fist and crashed down to emphasise whatever point the speaker was making.
The chair at the head of the table was pushed back. There were no papers or notes in front of the man sitting there, and because of how the chair was angled, Rose could see al of the man from the neck down. Immaculate pinstriped suit, dark socks and polished shoes. Mr Pooter, she presumed. Sitting incongruously in the man's lap was the cat. She could clearly see the distinctive white triangle of fur, and she couldn't help smiling at how the creature must have escaped from the river.
Pooter was holding the cat with one hand, almost protectively. His other hand was bunched into a fist, and he rubbed his knuckles into the cat's head. The cat seemed unperturbed, and Rose could imagine it purring at the attention. Its ears stood upright and alert, its green eyes flicking back and forth as if it was listening to every word of the meeting.
Realising she was going to learn nothing of interest, Rose took a careful, crouched step backwards, towards the steps up to the second floor. But not careful enough. Her foot scraped along the metal gantry, and the whole fire escape creaked ominously. She froze.
Inside the room there was no noticeable reaction. Except from the cat. It had turned, Pooter's knuckles stil ruffling the fur on its head. Now it was staring at the window. Its emerald lozenge eyes fixed on Rose's, just for an instant. Just long enough for her to know for certain that it had seen her. Then the cat turned away, dismissing her as inconsequential. Feeling stupid, disappointed and unsettled, Rose padded away.
The Doctor was waiting for Rose in the foyer. He gave every impression of having been there for hours.
He was peering with interest at a painting, tapping one foot impatiently. Rose guessed he had just nipped in ahead of her and that it was al an act. But she couldn't be sure.
'There you are,' he said without looking as she crept up behind him.
'Yeah. Where have you been?'
'Saw Freddie.' Now the Doctor did turn. He grinned at her like a schoolboy. 'Thought I'd check to be sure before venturing into the lion's den. Lioness's den,' he corrected himself.
'Check what?'
Without real y noticing, she had fol owed him out of the club and into the street. The Doctor licked his finger and held it in the air for a moment as he decided which way to go. 'That Melissa Heart took my coat. Deliberately.'
'She's the lioness?'
'Let's find out.'
'How do we do that then?' She had to hurry to keep up. The Doctor was striding off at speed, with a sudden sense of purpose. 'We go and ask her. Keep up.'
'That'l surprise her.'
'Doubt it.' He paused to get his bearings at a junction, then hurried across the road, waving absently at a horse that drew up sharply to avoid hitting them. 'She made a point of tel ing us where she lives. Twice.'
'Invitation?'
'Yep.,
'She's expecting us?'
'Probably wondering what's t
aking us so long. Probably thinks we're being a bit thick.'
'Whereas in fact...' Rose muttered.
'I like people to think I'm a bit thick,' the Doctor declared, to the amusement of a passing couple. 'Makes them careless and arrogant. Ready to explain their dastardly plan in words of one sil ... sil y...' He struggled to get his mouth round the word.
'Syl able?'
'That's it.'
'I got English,' Rose told him.
'Then tel me...' He stopped abruptly and turned to her, eyes dark and serious.
'Yes?'
'I've always wondered, why isn't phonetic spel ed with an "F"?
Rose stared back at him. 'I can teach you how to spel Doctor with an "F".'
They carried on walking. After a while, Rose said, 'I saw Mr Pooter this morning.'
'Oh? What's he look like?'
'Dunno. Only saw him from the neck down. Smart, I s'pose. Dapper. Suit. You know. Likes cats.'
'Doesn't mean he's a bad person.'
The Doctor stopped, looking up and down the street. They were beside the Thames. Rose could smel the river.
'Yes,' the Doctor decided, and walked up the path to the nearest house. 'Here we are.' The bel pul was a long metal rod hanging down beside the front door. The Doctor gave it a tug, and somewhere deep inside the house they could hear the bel jangling.
The door opened almost at once. Melissa Heart was standing there, her face a Pierrot split of black and white. A single white teardrop broke the varnished black of the left side of the mask. 'Why, Doctor, and Rose, this is unexpected,' she said without a hint of surprise. 'You do keep turning up. Like a bad wolf.'
'Penny,' Rose corrected her.
The Doctor grinned. 'Actual y she's Rose. The phrase is, "like a bad penny".' His grin faded. 'Have trouble with the local idioms, do you?'
'I know an idiom when I see one,' Melissa said cool y. 'Tel me, are you here to put a smile on my face? Do come in, let me offer you a cup of tea.'
The Doctor sniffed. 'So, too late for lunch then?'
Across the street a lone figure stood in the shadow of a tree. It watched the door open, saw Melissa Heart standing there. It looked on with interest as she stepped aside to al ow the Doctor and Rose to enter the house.
A cab rattled past, obscuring the view of the house for several moments. When it had passed, the door was closed and the Doctor and Rose had gone. The figure stood watching, thinking...
The house was deep, running back to the river. Rose could see the boats on the Thames from the window of the large room that Melissa took them to. But it was not the view that caught her attention.
Melissa Heart led them to a group of armchairs arranged around a low table. On the table was a teapot, sugar bowl and milk jug and three cups.
'I hope you've not made the tea too many times while you waited,' the Doctor said. We had other appointments.'
She poured the tea without comment.
'Deceptively spacious,' the Doctor went on, hands in pockets as he looked round. 'Doesn't look so big from outside. Which reminds me,' he went on, slumping down into one of the chairs, 'We've mislaid some property. You don't know where it is, I suppose?'
The mask stared at him blankly.
'Thought not.' He raised the teacup, as if in a toast, then pointedly put it back on the saucer without drinking.
The room was large, but dominated by a long table that ran down one side of it. At the far end of the room, windows gave out on to a short terrace beside the river. On the left wal was a large fireplace, and in alcoves either side of it two matching suits of armour stood on low plinths. Their faces were blank polished metal visors. Each rested its clenched metal gauntlets on the pommel of a long sword that jabbed into the plinth between its feet.
The wal opposite the fireplace was adorned with several oil paintings and a large shield with two more swords crossed behind it. The wallpaper had faded and the paintwork was peeling. Dust lay everywhere, as if Melissa Heart had taken up temporary residence in an empty, abandoned house and made only the barest attempt to settle in.
Rose had not sat down. She was standing beside the long, polished wooden table that ran the length of the room. Arranged along it was a line of masks. There must be twenty or more, she thought. She recognised the ornate butterfly mask that Melissa had worn when they first met at Sir George's.
There were others that were just as stylised. Some had crude expressions painted on them with bold, iconic strokes. A broad uplifting smile contrasted with its neighbour – a mouth drooping with sadness and tears dripping from the eyes. Further along, a face with straight mouth, wrinkled forehead and crow's feet round the dark-rimmed eyes stared angrily at the ceiling. One white face was completely blank...
'Why do you wear masks al the time?' Rose asked. After al , why not be direct?
Melissa picked up the happy face. She turned away from them briefly, and when she turned back she was smiling. She put the Pierrot mask in the space where the smile had been.
'Some say it is because I am so beautiful none can look at me. Others say it is because I am so ugly.'
'Beauty's in the eye of the beholder,' the Doctor said. 'So it's possible both those theories are true.'
He leaped to his feet and surveyed the masks arranged on the table. 'A face for every occasion.'
'You think I am beautiful?' Melissa asked. She sounded amused.
'Beauty's only mask deep. Maybe you just don't like people to see your face.'
'Why?' Rose asked. 'Zits?'
'Could be,' the Doctor agreed. 'Or she's afraid her face wil give away what she's really thinking. How much better to wear a mask to show others what she'd like them to see.'
'Isn't that what everyone does?' Melissa asked. 'Perhaps I am simply more honest about it.' She turned, the mask pointing straight at the Doctor. 'How honest are you, Doctor? Are you real y what you seem to be?'
The Doctor's face twitched into a half-smile. 'And what do I seem to be?'
'A man out of his time and place, judging by what you keep in your pockets. By the way your jacket is made and the company you keep.'
'Oi, don't be rude,' Rose said.
Melissa did not turn, but her voice was steel-edged. 'Please don't make me wear my angry face. Your manner, your demeanour, your vocabulary, your attitude. They al mark you out as an exception here.'
'And you're interested in exceptions?'
'Only one. Are you the one I'm searching for, Doctor? I rather think you are.'
'I rather think I don't know what you're talking about.'
Now Melissa did turn to Rose. 'You shield him, protect him despite everything, don't you? Adhering to the letter of the law. Despite what he has done.'
'What has he done?'
'Yes,' the Doctor said brightly, 'do tel .'
'Don't be crass!' In a single gesture Melissa scooped up the angry mask from the table and held it in front of her smiling face. The smile slid out from behind and the angry face was pushed into place in its stead.
'I warned you not to anger me. You know what I am talking about. Why I am here.'
'Humour us,' the Doctor said. Why are you here?'
Her voice was disconcertingly level and control ed behind the angry mask. 'Why, to kil you of course.'
She stepped back and snapped her fingers – a gunshot of sound in the large room. As the noise faded, Rose became aware of another sound – a background ticking. Instinctively, she glanced at the empty mantel above the large fireplace across the room.
So she was looking almost straight at one of the suits of armour when it shuddered and moved. It lifted the heavy sword in its metal hands and stepped stiffly down from the low plinth. The featureless mask of its helmet swung slowly, jerkily at first, as it scanned the room. It paused, seeming to see Melissa Heart. Then it fixed on the Doctor as he stepped across and took Rose's hand. He was tense, ready to run.
The suit of armour stared blankly at the Doctor and Rose. The sword raised slowly, poised to stri
ke the kil ing blow as it lumbered towards them, cutting off their escape. Its internal mechanisms and gears were clicking through their inexorable motions like the ticking of a clock.
EIGHT
'Clockwork, I assume,' the Doctor said. 'How clever.' He sounded calm, but his eyes were moving rapidly as he hunted for a way of escape.
'More clever than you have been,' the Painted Lady told him. She had stepped away from the Doctor and Rose to al ow the clockwork automaton to approach them. Its sword was stil poised, ready to strike.
'Oh?,
'I know how important it is to use one's initiative and avoid traceable, anachronistic technology.'
'Ah.,
'That was how I found you, of course.'
'Of course. The TARDIS, and then the sonic screwdriver,' he explained to Rose.
'I almost dismissed the readings at first, they were so far off the scale. And just when I was thinking you were not on this little planet at al . That all my efforts would be for nothing.'
'Been looking for a while then,' the Doctor said. He was pulling Rose with him round the table, away from the approaching suit of armour, keeping the table between them. Melissa's mask moved slightly as she watched.
'Faceless kil ers on the streets,' Rose said. 'Wonder who that could be then.'
The metal figure lunged forwards suddenly, slashing downwards with the sword. The Doctor and Rose both jumped back. The sword whistled past the Doctor and sliced into the table. It cut through the Pierrot mask, neatly dividing black from white. The Doctor reached across and grabbed at the blade, trying to pul it away from the knight.
His hand came away cut and bloodied. 'Maybe not,' he said. 'That's sharp.'
'More than she is,' Rose retorted. 'Who's she real y looking for?'
The Doctor shrugged. 'Someone you expected to meet at Sir George's, was it? You already had your suspicions. Some alien cuckoo in the nest of 1920s London? You can't have been sure, because you stil came to see me.'
