Doctor Who: Black Orchid (5 page)

The larger part of the Hall’s staff from the butler and his housekeeper wife to the fourth footman was still crowded onto the terrace. Even Lord Cranleigh’s valet was there, clothes brush in hand. From the drawing room Lady Cranleigh looked out on her assembled servants with amused tolerance and, not wanting to interrupt and cause embarrassment, sent her maid with a message for the butler before consulting the clock in the hallway. She was watched by the Indian from the shadows in the curve of the stairs.

Out on the terrace the butler sent his staff about their respective duties before going in search of his employer.

Under the eyes of the watching Indian, the dowager Marchioness, accompanied by the butler, went out onto the terrace to inspect the layout of the running buffet that was to be part of the evening’s entertainment. The Indian waited patiently, listening to the distantly heard instructions. Then he heard Lady Cranleigh recross the drawing room. The moment he had been waiting for had come. He would pounce the moment she reached the stairs.

But his intention was to be suddenly and unexpectedly thwarted.

As her Ladyship entered the hallway a great shout went up from the distant cricket field, greeting the end of the game and the home side’s resounding victory. Lady Cranleigh turned back to rejoin the butler on the terrace, since catering for the continuation of the entertainment was now imminent.

The Indian left the shadow of the staircase and slipped quietly into the passage that led to the west side of the Hall.

The tenants on the Cranleigh estate were reluctant to disperse, all anxious for a closer, longer look at the hero of the day. The Doctor’s companions, together with Lord Cranleigh and Sir Robert, had to force a way to the besieged Time Lord.

‘An absolutely ripping performance,’ pronounced Cranleigh. ‘You must come and meet the mater.’ To a prolonged chorus of unstinted tribute the Marquess led the way towards the distant Hall.

High up on the west side of the manor house the Indian watched through a barred window the departing tenants and the approaching cricketers. He turned and looked thoughtfully about the room as if seeking a clue, an answer to a great problem. The room was large and agreeable and luxuriously furnished. There was a magnificent bed and deep, comfortable armchairs. A large, handsome desk and a Jacobean dining table and chairs were among the many pieces that spoke of every convenience for gracious living.

Bookshelves lined the walls, and where there were no books the spaces were filled by framed flower prints and photographs of exotic plant life. The two discordant notes were the bars on the window and the heavy, dominant door which stood open to reveal a stark passage of unrelieved gloom. The Indian took one more troubled look round the room and then went out to the passage leaving the door open behind him.

On the way to the Hall Tegan fell in beside the Doctor who looked away in embarrassment from eyes still shining with admiration.

‘I’d no idea you could play the game like that.’

‘I had a bit of luck,’ mumbled the Doctor modestly.

‘Are you sure you haven’t got any Australian blood in you somewhere?’

The Doctor grinned. The idea of a Time Lord possessing, to any degree, a form of blood to which could be attributed human fame or blame was a concept beyond the grasp of the primitive Tegan. ‘Quite sure,’ he twinkled.

‘But I learned the rudiments of the game in Australia.’

‘I knew it!’ chirped a triumphant Tegan.

The Doctor looked about him to confirm no one was within earshot. ‘It was during a previous regeneration. I’d dropped in to intercede on behalf of a group of aborigines.

I met a boy called Don. Come to think of it he’d be about the same age now; it was during the mid nineteen-twenties.

He had a very good eye. He used to practice hitting a golf ball against a wall with a piece of thin piping. Taught me all I know. I sometimes wonder what may have happened to him, but I always forget to look it up.’

‘Wouldn’t be Don Bradman by any chance?’ said a self-satisfied Tegan.

‘That’s it... Bradman. Don Bradman.’

‘
Sir
Donald Bradman, that’s what happened to him.’

‘You don’t say?’ said the pleased Doctor.

‘But I
do
say!’

Lady Cranleigh came from the hall to greet the two teams. ‘I hear you’ve had some splendid cricket.’

‘Phenomenal!’ said Cranleigh. ‘Mother, may I present the Doctor?’

‘How d’you do?’ greeted the dowager Marchioness.

‘How d’you do?’ responded the Doctor.

‘Doctor who?’

‘I’m sorry mother, he’d like to remain incognito. And I think we should respect that after what he’s done today.’

‘But, of course. But I can’t promise I won’t be very curious this evening.’

‘This evening?’ enquired the Doctor politely.

‘At the ball.’

‘It’s fancy dress, isn’t it?’ asked Tegan.

‘Yes, my dear.’

‘I thought so. I saw one of your guests arriving. Got up like an Indian with one of those funny lips...’ she gestured appropriately ‘... you know?’

A look flickered between mother and son. ‘Really,’ said Lady Cranleigh steadily. ‘I’m glad you all came prepared.’

Tegan looked puzzled and Lady Cranleigh continued.

‘And I must congratulate you on the originality of your costumes. They really are quite enchanting.’

The Time-travellers looked a little self-conscious. The Doctor smiled one of his broad, masking smiles, Nyssa looked down at her knickerbockers, Adric glanced at the star fixed to his tunic, and Tegan grinned at the thought of her Air Australian uniform being mistaken for fancy dress.

Lady Cranleigh smiled radiantly upon the Doctor. ‘And your costume, Doctor? What’s that to be?’

‘I fear I brought no fancy dress,’ confessed the Doctor.

‘In that case I’m sure Charles will be able to fix you up, won’t you, Charles?’

‘Oh, yes,’ agreed Cranleigh. ‘We have any number.

Quite a choice. We have a museum room. It’s a sort of play room my brother and I used to use. Dressing up...

theatricals and all that sort of thing, don’t you know. I’m sure we can find you something.’

‘In that case,’ put in Nyssa, ‘I’m a bit hot in this.’

Tegan thought she’d help out. ‘And I don’t think that any of us can hold a candle to your Indian gentleman.’

Lady Cranleigh again exchanged a private look with her son. ‘Charles?’

‘Leave it to me,’ said his Lordship. ‘But first, some refreshment. We have a lot of thirsty players here.’

The statement was greeted by a happy murmur of agreement from those who had laboured in the warm afternoon sun. Cranleigh looked with proprietorial concern on the star of the day’s cricket. ‘I’m sure the Doctor would like to take a cocktail to his bath.’

‘Thank you,’ responded that worthy. ‘A cool drink would be very welcome.’

‘Then come along!’ The young nobleman led the way into the Hall. Yet again a look between Nyssa and Adric exchanged their amused puzzlement. Adric had in his mind’s eye a complex notion of a bird’s rear feathers stuck into a cake of soap. ‘What do you do with a cocktail in a bath?’ he spluttered.

Lord Cranleigh turned back to look at him with a smile that attributed such ignorance to tender years. ‘Drink it, my young friend.’

Adric grimaced and gave up. Cranleigh followed his mother into the drawing room and said quietly, ‘How’s Ann?’

‘Much better for her rest. She’s up and about and should be on her way down.’

‘Oh, good!’

At a table bedecked with a rich array of bottles and buckets of ice, the butler supported by two footmen and two maids, was preparing to disperse a variety of mixed spirituous drinks known as ‘cocktails’ that had become fashionable in the United States and had, inevitably, found their way into the homes of the smart set in Britain. The popularity of the cocktail was owed, in no small part, to a flirtation with a mild form of socially acceptable wickedness. The prohibition of alcohol in the States six years earlier had led to secret drinking and the need to disguise the nature of the alcohol that was consumed in public. What had mystified Adric also confused the law enforcement officers in the States. What looked like an innocuous glass of fruit juice could be a concoction based on the alcohol requirement of an individual taste. In Britain, where no such repressive law existed, there was no consequential abuse of alcohol and the cocktail had become little more than a graceful and exotic aperitif.

The spacious room was by no means crowded with the presence of two teams of white-flanneled gladiators and their immediate supporters. Cranleigh gestured towards the range of tall windows. ‘When the weather’s fine we hold the ball on the terrace. We so enjoy the light, summer evenings. And my mother casts spells on the weather.’

‘Charles,’ murmured his mother in mild reproof.

‘Lady Cranleigh is clearly a bewitching lady,’ declared the Doctor in his best Edwardian manner. Her Ladyship glowed. The talents of this engaging young man manifestly extended beyond the cricket field. ‘Where have you been hiding this young man, Charles? In future I shall expect to see much more of him.’

Tegan studied the radiant features of their hostess. It was such a great pleasure to be associated with someone like the Doctor when he was displaying the refinement of his social accomplishments. She remembered the time when she was suspicious of his impeccable manners. She had grown so used to so many rough diamonds in her own country. Diamonds without a doubt but, oh, sometimes so in need of a bit of polish.

Cranleigh delighted in his mother’s approval of their guest. ‘I’ll give you a fixture list, Doctor,’ he said. ‘You must let me know when you may be able to play again. And I can’t wait to talk to "Smutty", I can tell you.’

‘There’s more to life than cricket, Charles,’ said his mother dryly. The Doctor was grateful for any dampener to delay the inevitable talk with ‘Smutty’ that would certainly mean involved explanations complicated by the compelling need to speak the truth. The Doctor reflected, yet again, that curiosity was not without its dangers. It even killed cats, and cats had nine lives. And the Doctor’s life was about to become more complicated than any projection of his wildest dreams.

The murmur of polite conversation was suddenly hushed by the appearance of Ann Talbot. The groups of cricketers parted for her as she made her way towards her fiancée and, in her wake, the silence was broken by muted expressions of wonderment. For, seen together, Nyssa and Ann were indistinguishable except in that they wore different clothes and different hair styles. Nyssa’s tumbled locks contrasted sharply with Ann’s bobbed hair. And Ann’s simple white silk dress amply excused Lady Cranleigh in mistaking Nyssa’s plum-coloured velvet costume for fancy dress.

The Doctor was startled into expressing on oath. ‘Great Gallifrey!’

Cranleigh left his mother’s side. ‘Ann, my dear, come and meet the hero of the day and his friends.’ He brought her forward to Nyssa and the two girls stared at each other, aghast.

Tegan sneaked an astonished glance at Adric and hissed at him, ‘Stop it! Your mouth’s open.’

‘Ann Talbot, my fiancée. This is Nyssa.’

The two girls reached slowly for each other’s hands, scarcely able to believe their eyes. Cranleigh went on with the introductions, enjoying for the second time that day the amazement on the faces about him. ‘And this is the Doctor.’ But Ann was unable to take her eyes from Nyssa.

‘And this is Tegan... and Adric.’

‘It’s open again,’ muttered Tegan out of the side of her mouth. But Adric didn’t hear her. Fascination had taken possession of him.

‘How d’you do?’ said Ann to Nyssa.

‘How d’you do?’ said Nyssa to Ann.

‘Quite fantastic,’ breathed the Doctor. ‘Even the voices are alike.’

‘Worcestershire!’ said Ann suddenly. ‘Have you an Uncle Percy?’

‘No,’ replied Nyssa.

Lady Cranleigh shook her head almost sadly. ‘Not a Worcestershire Talbot.’

Ann’s astonishment beckoned beyond her manners.

‘Then where
are
you from?’

‘Traken,’ admitted Nyssa, trying hard not to make it sound apologetic.’

‘Where’s that?’

Nyssa looked desperately at the Doctor, who, for some reason unknown even to himself, looked at the languid young man, who, as captain of the opposing team, had been the centre piece of his hat trick. The languid young man was disposed to attempt to reclaim some of his damaged reputation by suggesting he was something of a topographer. ‘Near Esher, isn’t it?’ he ventured.

The need for a denial from Nyssa was prevented by the arrival of a footman bearing a cocktail on a tray which he offered to the dowager Marchioness.

‘Could there be Talbots near Esher?’ queried Ann.

‘Not possible,’ pronounced Lady Cranleigh taking her drink. ‘The hunt isn’t good enough.’

Tegan marvelled at the question and the answer pointing, as they did, to the divine right by which certain families claimed areas of the country for themselves as if they were otherwise uninhabited. She smiled secretly at the thought of Talbots in Tibooburra, or Thargomindah, or even in Alice Springs.

Cranleigh turned to the Doctor. ‘What may I offer you, Doctor? Brewster can make absolutely anything - quite superbly.’

The Doctor allowed his eyes to stray to the large number of bottles representing the wide choice of slow poison readily available. ‘I have a tremendous thirst,’ he confessed. ‘Perhaps a lemonade with lots of ice.’

His Lordship nodded unhesitatingly at his butler.

‘Ann?’

‘The same as the Doctor, please.’

Cranleigh turned to Tegan. ‘My dear?’

Tegan, after tustling with the events of a turbulent day, felt the need for something to settle her down, some relaxing of tension that could be achieved by the decorous imbibing of a modest vodka and orange juice. ‘A small screwdriver, please.’

Brewster nodded and Adric blinked. ‘Is that something you can drink?’ he whispered. Tegan had had more than enough of explaining the inexplicable to Adric. ‘Do stop asking silly questions!’ she hissed. ‘And if only you knew how stupid you look with your mouth like that.’