Disclaimer: Doctor Who, Ian Chesterton, and Barbara Wright belong to the BBC. I'm just playing in the sandbox.
Everyone knew him as a very nice old gentleman. He always thanked the staff, he always lifted his hat to the ladies, he always tipped the taxi drivers. He never seemed to get very angry about anything – once, Louise accidentally drenched the front of his coat with tea, and she thought she was in for the tongue-lashing of her life, but he had only very mildly made some comment about how very fortunate it was he was sending some clothes to the dry cleaner's that day anyway, and sent her away to fetch a fresh pot of tea. His wife was just as gentle-mannered with the staff, though now and again she would put him smartly in his place if she thought he was getting out of line. The staff largely believed that when she was younger, she was quite a firebrand.
He and his wife lived on the second story of the hotel which served as a retirement home, mostly keeping to themselves, always taking tea on the terrace at three in the afternoon, taking a taxi down to Hyde Park on Saturday afternoons for a stroll. They were both retired teachers – he once taught Chemistry, and she, Mathematics. But they seemed interested in everything – every time a new exhibit opened at a museum in town, no matter what the subject, they would phone down the night before and request that a taxi come the next morning. They were a bit odd, of course, most old couples have their oddities – sometimes, they would be talking, sometimes animatedly, but if anyone came within earshot they either became as silent as two church mice, or quickly changed the subject to something terribly dull, like the weather or the chances that there would be orange marmalade for breakfast that morning. Still, they were very pleasant, which made a change from some of the retirees which came through the hotel, and when they did tell stories about the past, they were interesting and vibrant – these were people who had paid attention to the time they were living in, and could bring it back to life whenever they wanted.
The staff rather liked Ian and Barbara Chesterton.
It started as a quiet morning, much the same as every morning before it. Mr. and Mrs. Chesterton arrived for breakfast at an early hour, intent on going into town later that morning, and they peaceably dealt with tea and eggs and fruit and toast while their neighbors trickled in, some with less grace than others. Mr. Lanthan, a retired police officer, was in a foul mood, sending back his eggs and bacon twice and complaining bitterly about how the tea had been prepared. Mrs. Greenfield, the minister's widow, seemed more depressed than usual, morosely moving her toast around the plate and fiddling with her tea until it was cold and quite undrinkable. One of the serving girls had to be dismissed for the morning, since she wasn't quite over the tequila she'd had the night before, and no one likes one's waitress to be that particular shade of green. The hotel manager was a little green himself, but that was more due to having gone over the last fire code inspection earlier that morning, and realizing that major renovations would have to be done, sooner rather than later. He wasn't serving any food, however, so that was alright.
The Chestertons had just risen from their table – both dressed for a day on the town, with Mr. Chesterton holding his hat in his hand as he helped his wife rise, when the sun went out.
As the world outside plunged into darkness, the dining room suddenly became chaotic, as residents screamed and servers ran to the windows to see what was happening and the whole world seemed to be ending all at once. Sure, some said later, you hear about the end of the world all the time in church, or on the news if they're going on about global warming again, but somehow you never quite expect the sun to just not be there anymore. No one quite remembers what happened first, or even second, third, or fourth, but everyone remembers that the first voice of reason, of sanity and calm, that they heard after the world started to end was that of either Ian or Barbara Chesterton. The little old couple that always kept mostly to themselves had split up and started cautiously making their rounds of the room, reassuring each person with a confidence that was startling and reassuring in it's strength that this was not how the world ends, so please do pipe down so that cooler heads could sort out what was going on.
After everyone had received this oddly comforting talking-to, it seemed that Ian and Barbara quickly came to the conclusion that the only cool heads there were… well. Theirs. It was then the staff learned that Barbara Chesterton was still a firebrand, chivying everyone in the dining room to go find candles, go find matches, come away from the windows, close the shutters, sensible things that no one had thought to do in the panic. Ian had quietly left the room, returning with a radio from behind the front desk which he set up on a central table and fiddled with until he found a news station. It was then that the staff (and the residents) learned that he was no slouch himself, smartly putting a busboy back in his place when the lad suggested that someone a bit more modern should be the one working the radio – a quiet "When I actually am senile, I am sure there will be plenty of time then for you to show how much smarter you are than I." Sent him back into his seat without another word.
Hearing an alien voice come over the radio nearly sent the room into a panic again. Explainable, too – being told you are going to be exterminated, like a bunch of roaches, isn't exactly calming. Sophie still insists that the look exchanged between the Chestertons at that moment was more… knowing, than horrified. As if this was something they'd done before, that they were ready for.
Sophie does have a fantastical imagination.
Still, as soon as Ian and Barbara got everyone calmed down again, they demanded the key to the cellars (though how they knew there was a cellar, when most of the house staff didn't even know, no one has been able to explain, and no one has quite worked up the nerve to ask). The manager handed it over without a word. The Chestertons worked their magic again, this time sending everyone on separate tasks to fetch things, important things – blankets and food and books and matches and candles and flashlights and batteries and somehow no one had time to think or worry when every time someone stopped, Ian or Barbara would be there, distracting, ordering, encouraging.
Once inside the cellar, Ian refused to turn the radio on again. There was almost a riot at that, if a crowd of teenaged servers and graying retirees can riot, but somehow the confidence of the previously unassuming old couple held sway. They didn't need the radio, they knew it would all be alright, we just needed to stay out of harm's way for a little while.
No one asked how they knew how best to stay out of harm's way.
No one asked for the radio again, either.
You read about it, in history books, or if you're really lucky and your granddad or grandmum are still alive, you hear stories about it first-hand – how people forced into horrible situations just sort of make do, and put a brave face on it. Many of the servers used to mock that whole 'stiff upper lip' thing, but when there are aliens outside threatening certain death, and only a cellar with a couple small storage rooms off to the side to hide in, they learned fairly quickly that complaining about the conditions of the toilet (such as it is) or the company or really anything will only earned them a few moments of utter silence before their comments were ignored. All any of them had left, for certain, was each other, and fighting could bring the alien menace down on their heads.
The cellar shelter stood through an entire day, before someone banged on the cellar door from the outside. It was Ian who went to answer it, Ian, with his wife right behind him holding a heavy flashlight. Whether she brought it to light the steps so he wouldn't trip, or to brain whoever it was on the other side of the door, the staff would never learn – when Ian opened the door, bright sunlight poured in, and the policeman almost giddily informed them all that the sun was in its rightful place again, and the aliens, the Daleks, were gone.
Someday, maybe, someone will get the reason behind why the Chestertons were so confident that it was not yet time for the world to end.
It won't be today.
Today there is a gallery opening downtown, and the taxi just left ten minutes ago.