Chapter Two
They made a not entirely successful attempt to stifle their laughter as a young woman of unmistakably serious expression entered the hall.
Most of her thick chestnut hair was pulled to the back of her head, but some was loosened to cluster in ringlets about her face. It was a youthful style, and she couldn't have been more than about eighteen, but she carried herself as stiffly as any stereotypical middle-aged spinster.
"Hullo. I'm the Doctor, and this is Rose," the Doctor said quickly, giving the girl such a theatrical bow that Rose was sure she would take offence.
However, she merely curtseyed politely in return. "Hello. My name is Julia Forsythe. This is my brother-in-law's house. I am afraid he and my sister are out driving at the moment, but I can offer you hospitality until their return. Larkin said you begged shelter from the storm?" She looked quite understandably confused.
"Oh, that's just a joke," explained the Doctor. "Our, er, carriage broke down, you see. A mile or two from here. And it is raining. A bit."
The girl blinked. "How unfortunate! Have you taken harm?"
"Nah, we're fine," said Rose. "Happens all the time with that … carriage."
"I see. Well, do come in and join our party."
She led them into a large room that to Rose's untrained eyes seemed almost as ornate as what she'd seen of Versailles. Various groups of young people were clustered throughout the room.
A heavyset, ruddy-faced man in his late twenties held command of the group nearest the door. He broke off his tale of a particularly wily fox he'd encountered and stood up as the group entered.
The man, who was introduced to them as Lord Alemain, reached out and grabbed the Doctor's hand in a crushing handshake. "Jolly good to meet you. D'you know Wentworth at all? He and I were at Cambridge together, you know."
The Doctor, seeing an opportunity to excuse their presence, allowed himself to be steered into his lordship's group. Rose stood where she was for the moment, looking after him and shaking her head.
For a little while the whole visit seemed great fun, just like seeing some romantic film come to life.
Rose had been quickly taken in hand by a Lady Penelope Wilcox, a woman of about her own age who was clearly one of those natural take-charge types. She led her over to a small group of women who were gossiping while doing needlework.
They began immediately to quiz her about herself and where she was from, in a more genteel manner than she could ever have thought possible. The fact that she came from London seemed to give her some sort of pass, but at the same time a faint undercurrent of disapproval seemed to run through them with everything she said.
Rose, for her part, was just as surprised by their conversation. They were talking about men, same as she and her mates would have been doing, but they were deadly serious about it. Lady Penelope had a fiancé, apparently, and one of the other women was newly married, but the other three were clearly husband-hunting, to put it bluntly. It seemed odd to her that every one of them was her own age or even younger.
One of the girls, Emmeline, gave her age as seventeen. She was the only one of the lot Rose felt immediately at home with. The girl was every bit as man-crazy and clothes-obsessed as Rose or any of her friends had been at that age, with the very important difference that Emmeline's goal was a wedding ring on her finger. Within the next few months, if at all possible. She had high hopes that her first season, whatever that was, would end in an engagement by the autumn.
Rose had been shacking up with a man when she was Emmeline's age, and she still wasn't thinking in terms of marriage. Not that there would ever be any point, of course, with the Doctor, but that was fine with her. The whole thing made her feel terribly old and dreadfully childish at the same time.
Even now the teenager was speculating on her favourite subject. "I daresay Lord Alemain would make a dreadful husband," she said conspiratorially. Lady Penelope chuckled without looking up from her embroidery.
Emmeline's elder sister, who was rather infamously interested in his lordship herself, took the slight rather personally. "Any woman might consider herself quite fortunate to receive the honour of becoming Lady Alemain," she said archly. "He is terribly rich, and very well connected."
"Don't think I'd care 'bout that." Rose spoke up without thinking, her voice low and gossipy. "Any woman with sense'd lock him out the bedroom. Can you imagine wakin' up with that loomin' over ya?"
A collective shudder went through the group at the coarseness of her words. There were some things ladies simply did not discuss, ever.
Rose, sensing she'd messed up, tried to make amends by admiring Lady Penelope's skill with a needle. "'S pretty," she said, leaning over the tapestry.
"Thank you," the other woman replied, with just the faintest touch of frost underneath the civility of her tone.
"Wish I could do that," Rose said, without really meaning it. "Probably just prick myself with a needle and bleed all over everything, though."
"You were never taught needlework?" said one of the other women, absolutely scandalised.
"Nope. Can't imagine my mum even knows what a needle is. 'Sides, when would I get time? Me and the Doctor, we're on the go all the time."
Emmeline gave a dreamy sigh. Who cared about embroidery with a man like that around? "Your Doctor is very handsome," she told Rose.
Rose followed her gaze across the room to where the Doctor sat, deep in conversation and gesticulating wildly. As usual, he'd already made himself the center of attention. "Oh, yeah," she agreed. "Problem is, he's actually as handsome as he thinks he is. Dangerous for a man to know that sort o' thing."
This time, instead of being offended by her words, all her companions were amused.
The Wentworths were only mildly surprised to find themselves with two new unexpected guests when they returned from their afternoon drive.
The Doctor bounced up to greet them, and Alemain lumbered to his feet and attempted to perform a proper introduction. "This is … hang on, dash it, I seem to have forgotten your names."
"The Doctor and Rose Tyler," the Doctor said, nodding to Rose as she came over to join them. After a few words of polite greeting from their hosts, he said shrewdly, "I hear you were at Cambridge. Was there myself, actually. Few years ahead of you, probably."
"Really?" said the host. "Small world. What college?"
"St. Cedd's, same as you. Remember good old Professor Chronotis?"
Wentworth blinked and thought back. "I don't … oh, yes. Chronotis. Queer old bird. He was your tutor?"
"Something like that," the Doctor answered truthfully. "From time to time."
"Quite, quite," Wentworth said vaguely. "I was told your carriage broke down outside our grounds. Rosemary, we cannot leave a St. Cedd's man without accommodation. Order one of the servants to prepare a room for Dr. Tyler and his wife."
The Doctor and Rose exchanged a startled look. Rose opened her mouth to correct the misapprehension, then thought better of it, given her experiences with the women's circle. The Doctor was, for once, quite literally speechless.
