"Napoleon Bonaparte!" Ian said aloud as he took off his dusty apron and threw it onto the dressing table. "I still can't believe we just spied on Napoleon Bonaparte!"
Barbara laughed, almost feeling giddy with the sensation of yet another encounter with a famous historical figure. She'd taught her pupils about the infamous ruler of France many times, but somehow she'd pictured him differently, discovering that the images she'd had in her head were never quite the same. She also never expected to meet the man, and she certainly never expected to be running a pub in revolutionary France with her schoolmaster friend Ian Chesterton by her side. She laughed again with the absurdity of it all. Oh those days with the Doctor!
Running the 'Sinking Ship Inn' had only been their job for one evening, yet Ian had caught the innkeeper bug, and was still speaking like a hoarse, gruff, alcohol-fuelled working man of the period. He was ridiculously over playing it somewhat and Barbara hadn't the heart to tell him it was painfully embarrassing. It was one of the things she loved about him though, the way he threw caution to the wind and immersed himself fully in a situation so different than his own. She'd done the same, without the silly accent of course- but travelling into the past certainly required a considerable amount of improvisation and role-playing.
Barbara took off her bonnet and laid it gently on top of the chair next to the bed. She had been unsure of spending the night in the inn, but there was little the two of them could do until morning. They had no choice but to help James Stirling, and get Susan out of prison with their bargain. She looked at the clock, it was nearing one, and she felt exhausted.
"One bed," Ian announced. Barbara wasn't really paying attention, too wrapped up in her own tiredness to listen to what he was saying. He told her again, this time with more volume. She heard him, looked at the bed and frowned.
"Oh. Well I suppose we couldn't really ask for a twin suite could we?"
Ian scratched his chin, considering the best option, as if there were any. Quite what he could do without sawing the bed in half was anyone's guess. "I suppose I should take the floor," he said, trying to turn the holey, tatty blanket into some kind of sleeping bag. Barbara took the blanket from him and placed it back on the bed, straightening it out as she did so.
"You can't sleep down there, its dirty and crawling with god knows what."
"Don't think the bed's much better," Ian told her unhelpfully.
"Still, we'll share the bed. We're adults; we shouldn't need to worry about what people think."
"Well technically people think we're innkeeper and wife so that's not the problem."
Barbara told him that they would just have to make do with the small bed and set some boundaries so that they both felt comfortable. "Now, as long as we have some space we should be fine," she said, fluffing her one pillow, trying to ignore the brown stain in the corner. She quickly turned the pillow over to the other side, but frowned when she saw another stain on that side too. "It's the revolution," she told herself. "There is much worse to worry about."
Ian scratched the back of his neck and then gestured that he was going to get ready for bed. For a few moments they fumbled around each other, getting in each other's way on route to the bathroom. Finally Barbara declared that he should go first to get ready, and then she would after.
…
Ian was already lying in the bed when Barbara emerged from the bathroom having washed as much of herself as she could with the flannel and cold water. She wanted to laugh at Ian as she saw his bare toes sticking out of the end of the small blanket. She carefully walked to her side of the bed and climbed onto the uncomfortable mattress. She shuffled noisily from her side and tried to get into a suitable position, but it wasn't easy with all the lumps and bumps digging into her back. Ian had no control as his body bounced about due to Barbara tried to find a comfy position and moving erratically around the mattress. He felt like he was on a bouncy castle so he extended his elbow ready to jab her in the ribs.
He groaned. "Barbara, stop fidgeting, I'm getting dangerously close to the edge."
She frowned and started scratching her arms aggressively, ignoring Ian's request to keep still. "Oh dear, this blanket will have to go."
Ian scrambled in the blanket and then rolled over to face her. "Barbara, it's cold, and this is all we have. The blanket, itch or no itch is staying. Stop worrying and try and relax eh?"
She agreed but as he moved again to get back into his former position, his toes caught her leg. She jumped back slightly in shock.
"What is it?" he asked with a sudden panic, ready to leap out of bed at the sign of possible intruders.
"Your feet are freezing!" she said shoving him in the back. "Don't smell too nice either."
Ian pouted and folded his arms next to his cold body. "Have you any idea how hard it is to keep clean in this era? Perhaps you'd care to remember that I was chained and imprisoned like an animal."
"I'm not blaming you Ian, I'm just observing. A history teacher takes in all the details."
"I doubt my odorous feet are part of your history curriculum!"
Barbara smirked and pulled the itchy blanket up to her chin. As she did so the blanket uncovered their legs completely. They both laughed loudly at the image of four white legs, four white knees, and twenty wriggling toes. Ian was still laughing as he rolled over onto his back, putting his arms behind his head, and looking up at the ceiling. He kept his eyes open. The only light came from the dim candle on the bedside table that illuminated the far wall in the tiny bedroom.
"Barbara?"
She rolled over to face him. "Yes?"
"I quite like this old pub lark really."
Barbara smiled. "I sensed you quite enjoyed playing the innkeeper."
He yawned loudly. "It's tiring and there's no chance I'd want to run a pub in the middle of the French Revolution as a career, but… I don't know- something about being back to the normal things, makes you think, doesn't it?"
"It makes me think how close we are to England, but how truly far way from home we really are," she sighed.
Ian closed his eyes gently. "That's true. The Doctor really did try to get us back though, didn't he?"
Barbara laughed. "I think so. I'm going to assume that us arriving in his favourite period of history was anything other than intentional."
Barbara shuffled over in the silence and rested her chin on Ian's arm. He smiled, his eyes still closed, and she watched as his chest moved up and down gently. It wasn't long before she could hear his gentle snoring. As usual she was wide awake. She was always the last to fall asleep, so many thoughts scurrying around her mind, little questions forming, and trying to come up with answers and solutions. She suddenly felt anxious and started to nudge the sleeping Ian. He snorted, grumbled, and then sat bolt upright like Frankenstein's monster being brought to life by the flick of a switch.
"What's the matter? What's wrong?" he said on auto-pilot, the way he did so often on their adventures, always alert for possible dangers, and ready for anything.
"I can't sleep, Ian."
Ian caught his breath, folded his arms again and looked at her, his eyes still bleary and trying to focus. He sighed but found it hard to stay mad at her when her eyelashes were fluttering at him in that way they did when she was thinking deeply about things. "Do you want to talk about something?" he asked, feeling she wanted to.
She shrugged and pulled the blanket away, getting out of the bed and making her way to the tiny window shutters in the room. She opened them and the space was flooded with moonlight. "I just can't rest when we're all separated. I keep thinking of Susan in that awful cell, and the Doctor pacing about worrying about her."
Ian smiled, and with a groan hauled himself out of the little bed, shuffling uncomfortably and rubbing his back. He joined her by the window. "The Doctor will be tucked up in a warm bed, fast asleep. Susan will be fine; we'll be back together in no time. Don't worry."
He placed his arm around her shoulder and pointed to the image of the full moon in the night sky. It looked quite spectacular. He'd seen it many times of course, but the moon sitting in an 18th century sky made it appear different somehow, and special- a moon that he was never supposed to see, in a night so many years before he was even born. How many times had the world turned since this night? How many times had the moon been full and so vivid?
"Barbara, are you alright?"
There was a pause as she considered. Her cheeks flushed. She wasn't sure why she came over so warm, but Ian's voice seemed to calm her in a way no other soul could calm her, and she relaxed slightly.
Her voice cracked. "It's such a brutal time period, I was thinking about the people governed by fear. I worry for Jules and Jean, everyone." She looked at Ian who was smiling sympathetically at her. She knew what he was thinking, she had to try and not become emotionally involved.
"We've played our part," he told her as he looked out at the moon once more and over gestured. "Oh swear not by the moon…"
Barbara giggled and playfully hit him on the arm. He laughed and bowed before her as if he'd been performing at the Globe Theatre rather than mumbling a few lines in an 18th century Parisian inn. She shook him away, refusing to let him think he was making her laugh.
"Do I see a little smile there?" he said to her. He prodded her gently. "Eh? Eh?"
Barbara swatted him away. In retaliation she attempted to tickle him but his body twisted away from her as if he was prepared for it. Their arms interlocked as they both tried to tickle the other, but neither had success and they broke apart declaring that it was a tie. Barbara was about to sneakily tickle him again when she heard a banging noise. She hushed Ian who was laughing beside her and approached the bedroom door quietly, putting her head to the wood when she got there. Ian followed her.
"What is it?"
She listened. "I heard something shuffling about."
"Well it could be the real innkeeper," Ian said. "You do remember Jules tied the poor fellow up down in that cellar?"
Barbara was unnerved but knew he was right. "Yes, yes, I'd forgotten about that."
She forced a smile and suggested they make another attempt at a goodnights rest before they set off again in the morning. Ian was more than eager to settle his head on the pillow and have a long deserved rest. He lay down upon the bed and waited for Barbara to get in the other side before he covered the blanket fairly over the two of them. The itchy material made Barbara's skin crawl but she clenched her teeth and rolled over to her side to ignore the prickly sensation. Ian rolled over to face the window, and let out a deep sigh.
"Goodnight innkeeper's wife," he said with a hearty yawn.
Barbara closed her eyes and smiled. "Goodnight innkeeper."