Part 2
.
The talk of a possible cup of tea later had created a truce between them. Of course tea would require a teapot, a kettle of boiling water, and a home that it belonged in. There was much to discuss first.
"It's a lovely day. Perhaps we ought to get you out of the sun, and discuss this," John suggested, pointing along the riverbank. "Somewhere you can rest after your journey."
Donna nodded her agreement, and bent to pick up her suitcase.
"Here, let me, Miss Noble." He leapt forward to take hold of her cases, accidentally brushing his fingers against hers as he did so. "A lady shouldn't have to carry her own luggage," he insisted, not knowing a flush had coloured his weather-beaten skin.
"Thank you," she acknowledged, now feeling awkward with this unforeseen but pleasant intimacy. "Which direction?"
With a wave of his hand, he gestured at a small clump of trees, and walked towards them, obviously expecting her to follow. Fortunately she did.
She had to admit that the scenery was beautiful as she perched on one end of her standing suitcase, him on the other end; slightly turned away from her in polite detachment. "The erm… the mountains over there, on the other side of the river... what are they called?" she asked, trying to find a safe topic of conversation to start with.
"The Monroe Hills," he supplied, gazing in that direction. "The people around here wouldn't class them as mountains. Anyway, they border the whole coast up to the Atlantic. Further up northeast is the village of Gallimouth, and the other way upriver is Gallicester. You've probably noticed a pattern, so I decided to follow suit and named my plot of land Gallifrey."
That had some logic to it, so she nodded. "Is there a Gallibank and a Galliton?"
"No," he laughed with merriment. "But there is a Galliville."
She laughed with him at the thought. "There was a serious lack of imagination when they settled here, wasn't there."
"It would seem so," he agreed, nodding. "It's very different from London."
"Very," she croaked, and suddenly felt a lump in her throat. Why was she unexpectedly compelled to shed some tears at the thought? Homesickness was a thing she thought she had got over long ago. "But then I never got to see much of London, seeing as I was inside most of the time."
"Oh?" He turned his head to look at her, allowing himself to finally do so properly. "Did you not like the sights?"
"Never really had the chance to find out," she confessed. "My days have long been filled with household work. Cleaning, scrubbing, washing; that sort of thing. I was lucky if I got to see my bed at a decent time, especially when I went to work at Windham Place."
"So you were in service?" he asked.
"From the age of twelve; worked my way up from general dogsbody in the scullery to personal maid, at the very end," she stated. "I was expecting to be doing that to the end of my days, but my employer upped and suddenly died on me when I went with her to stay at her sister's; just outside Southampton."
John sat up straighter. "Why didn't you go back to London?"
"Money," she quietly admitted. "Her youngest son came down to see to his mother's things at our lodgings. We never got to her sister's you see. Anyway, he turns up, gives me the whole 'thank you but no thank you' speech, and I'm out on my ear without a job. When I told him I had nowhere to go, he told me a friend of his would be able to fix it for me to have something. A couple of days later I was on my way to you."
He shuffled uncomfortably on his perch. "What about your parents? Did they not object?"
"Nah!" she sighed. "They were over the moon. Me; married and off their hands, with money in their pockets, was the ideal situation, seeing as I'm no spring chicken and it looked as though I'd never meet a man who would ever want me as a wife. I received a letter from my mum saying how pleased she was. My dad is dying, you see, so they need the money desperately. If I went back to them I'd be just another financial burden, and would be sent out to work in the nearest factory, no doubt." Wanting to escape this focus on her, she attempted to slightly change the subject. "What about you? How come you're without a wife?"
His expression saddened as his eyes gained a faraway look. "She died, along with our children. The only blessing is that it was quick, but..."
His grief was still obvious, so Donna didn't push her questions any further. It would be cruel to do so. "The bloke in the mailroom said they call you 'the Doctor' around here, but you pull out teeth. That's a bit unusual, ain't it?"
"It is," he confirmed, grateful for the conversation change. "I was a medic in the army for a while. Thanks to Napoleon I saw a bit of action, so I'm not exactly ignorant, but I'm not a proper doctor. Didn't quite finish the training."
"Still a useful man to know though," she comforted him. "Loads more than someone who knows how to get silver looking its best."
"But you can read and write," he complimented her in kind, warming to her even further. "That is a very useful skill to be able to offer. Not many can."
Donna had to acknowledge the truth of that. In some ways she was a very lucky person. It was rare for someone like her to be able to read, and she'd been blessed that her mother had been schooled by her grandfather, who in turn schooled her.
"Perhaps you could stay with me in the cabin until you can find another position," John brightly suggested. "There must be work for someone as experienced as you."
"This home of yours," she began to cautiously question him, "how many bedrooms does it have?"
"It has the one room," he answered honestly. "Don't need more than that."
"How many beds does it have?" she continued her line of enquiry. "And is there a chaperone?"
"Just the one bed, and only I live there. Nobody else is close for miles," he supplied. "Oh," he murmured in realisation and blushed once more.
"Oh indeed," she responded, now that her point was proven. "My reputation would be shattered whatever you do."
"Nobody need know," he tried to reason, hoping against hope, for her sake.
If only such an idea were possible. "Don't talk wet! People know I'm here. It'll ruin both our reputations if they see you're living with a woman that isn't your wife. Well, unless by some miracle I can get away with dressing as a man; and I doubt that could happen." How could he even contemplate them living together unmarried as they were? The man was a fool. It was as if he was on a mission to humiliate her. And he might not be the only one. "The clerk in the mailroom, would he keep this to himself?" she asked in kind.
"Not a chance," John conceded after giving it some thought. "I assume he sent you to me?"
"Yeah," she softly answered now feeling even more doomed.
They sat together for some minutes staring silently out across the water at nothing in particular. Both hunched over as they contemplated Donna's dilemma. Without money or close living relatives there were only two options available for her and neither of them involved her freedom.
It was John who broke the companionable silence between them. "There's only one option I can justify," he announced as though more people were assembled there. As she held her breath, waiting to find out his decision, he stopped drumming his fingertips against the suitcase beneath him and turned to face her properly, giving her his full attention. "We'll have to get married, so what do you say, Miss Donna Noble? Shall we give it a go?"
Honestly, what could she say to that offer? It wasn't exactly what dreams are made of, but beggars can't be choosers.
~o0o~
The pastor coughed and then stated, "I now declare you man and wife."
John Smith smiled encouragingly at his new wife, doing his best to control her trembling hands held within his own. Truth be told, he was just as nervous after all their efforts to get this to happen.
It had taken a fair bit of persuasion to get the Reverend L. Bennett to carry out the ceremony immediately; but once he realised that Donna would be going to John's home straight away, he had quickly relented and performed the marriage once a couple of witnesses had been rounded up. Luckily the men had been conveniently standing in their path as they went to arrange the wedding. They were two of Galliport's finest drinkers, in fact, by the name of Bill Winston and Tom Greenhorn.
Who would have thought this morning when John had seen that ginger woman on the ferry as it docked that this day would end with them being married, and to each other? Life was bizarre at times. Other times it was crazy. To try and calm her, and himself, he whispered, "Hello Mrs Smith."
"Hello Mr Smith, Dr Smith, whoever you are. I'm Mrs Smith," she echoed as though in a daze. "I'm married; I'm actually married."
"Yes you are," he confirmed as if she needed to hear the words. Blimey! This was momentous and he considered pinching himself to see if it was true.
"Go, my children," Rev Bennett encouraged them to leave, almost shooing them. "May you find happiness together," he tacked on to soften his words.
As one, they turned, arm in arm, to leave the small empty chapel devoid of anyone else, and their two witnesses grinned at them through unkempt beards. No doubt they expected to help celebrate the marriage too and would use their friendship with John to their best advantage.
"And now for the wedding night," Bill, the first witness remarked, grinning lecherously at them. "I hope you have a big enough bed, Doc."
"The erm…. The w….. wedding night," John stammered, fingered his collar, and shared with Donna a petrified look. How on earth were they going to cope with that?
Fortunately the decision was taken out of their hands. "A drink!" Tom, the other witness declared with glee. "We need to celebrate with a glass of something. What say you, Bill?"
"I agree, Tom." The other man nodded his agreement with abandon. "Doc, lead the way."
"But I…," John faltered, not wanting to squander his meagre earnings on something as frivolous as alcohol.
But the two witnesses were not going to be easily warded off from their goal. "Every wedding needs a toast," Bill declared. "And Tom is buying."
"My wife…," John tried again to halt their progress away, but the two men had a strong hold of his arms, and they practically frogmarched him towards the tavern; leaving poor Donna standing alone in their wake.
Sighing deeply, she sat herself down on her suitcase outside the tavern doors and prepared to wait. What else was there to do? With no money, she was powerless to even find a drop of water to drink.
~o0o~
"Are you okay, my dear?" a woman sauntered passed and asked her some minutes later. "This isn't a good spot to stay in."
"I'm waiting for my husband. He's inside," Donna reluctantly admitted with a bob of her head towards the tavern. "There's nothing else I can do until he comes out. You see, I don't even know where we live yet."
Intrigued, the woman stepped nearer and gave a friendly smile. "That is very unfortunate. How come you don't know where you live? Did he blindfold and abduct you?" she joked.
"Oh no," Donna quickly defended her new husband. "I arrived this morning on the ferry and we married this afternoon."
The woman's lips pursed in thought. This was highly unusual but not impossible. "Who did you marry?"
"Mr John Smith," Donna supplied. "I believe he is known locally as 'the Doctor'."
"Oh yes," the woman gasped out in recognition. "But Doc doesn't usually drink in this establishment. I would know because my husband owns it."
"It would seem that today is a special day for him," Donna remarked, "and your husband shall profit from it."
"He will indeed, Mrs Smith," the woman agreed, taking in the sight of this stranger in more detail. There was an air of gentility that seemed out of place in such a location. "What profit will you gain from it?"
"A home and I avoid the disgrace of being a woman alone," Donna answered honestly. "I'm now the property of Dr John Smith. Beyond that I do not know yet. But I hope I have gained a friend. I'm Mrs Donna Smith," she warmly introduced herself, offering a hand to shake.
The woman took her hand and shook it with gusto. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Mrs Hannah Johnson. We don't get many like you around here so I hope I don't appear rude."
"Not at all, Mrs Johnson," Donna replied. "It's all…" She cast her gaze about the small town. "…rather unusual, but I'm sure I'll adjust in next to no time."
"Call me Hannah," she insisted. "Around here us women have to stick together. Let me show you in out of the harsh sunlight and you can rest for a while."
"You are most kind." Donna gratefully followed her new friend in through a side door, glad to be able to gain some further knowledge about this new environment. "I might need your assistance in sending a message to Mr Jack Harkness."
~o0o~
"There you are, my darling!" John exclaimed when he staggered out of the tavern about two hours after he first entered through the doors. "You waited for me. Ain't that nice?"
"Absolutely charming," Donna sarcastically retorted. "Can we go now please?"
He wavered on the spot, obviously enjoying looking down at her as she sat on her suitcase again. "You're all little sitting there. Like a ginger fairy on her wee toadstool."
That got her up and on her feet in less than two seconds. "And you are a great big stinking tramp…," she began to berate him, but his hands suddenly landed on her waist without invitation.
The next thing he knew, he was dumped on his rump upon the dirt, holding his nose in agony. "What did you do that for?!" he loudly questioned.
"Touch me again and it won't be only your nose that I punch," she threatened him, pointing towards exactly where her next intended target would be.
"Is he hurting you?" one of the tavern revellers drunkenly asked Donna as he emerged from the tavern. "I'll get some others to kill him."
Instantly Donna stepped in his way to stop him returning into the bar. "Oh no you won't. Not if you know what's good for you. Leave my husband alone," she threatened in icy tones, grabbing the man by the front of his shirt. "Or you'll have to go through me first. Got it, buster?!"
Shocked, the man quickly shook his head. "I will leave you and your husband alone."
"Good! So hop to it," she spat at him, and threw him away from her as far as she could. Neither watching nor caring where the drunk went once she'd released him, she then looked down at her husband still sat on the ground, but now gazing up at her in awe and adoration. "What you looking at? Get up!"
"Yes, dear," he hastily gulped, and got to his feet.
Unfortunately the drunk hadn't gone far, and sauntered back to comment, "I like her fire, Doc. She'd soon chase away the cold nights much better in my bed." He then swung far too close to Donna and made a grab for her arm. "Once I've given you a good beating, so come on home with me, darling."
Before he was even conscious of the thought forming in his head, John lashed out and knocked the drunk instantly out using a well-aimed punch full in the face. He panted with anger as he stood over the prone body. "Don't you EVER touch my wife again!" he hissed.
A small audience of men from inside the tavern, who had seen the whole thing, gave him a round of applause.
Donna stared at her now sober husband, astounded at his protective streak. This needed her to show that he had earned a reward, so she smoothed her fingers down his forearm and lightly touched his hand. "Why don't you take me home?" she quietly suggested.
"I suppose so," he answered, and took off at a fast trot, making it hard for her to follow.
"How wizard," she muttered to herself as she struggled to carry her suitcase and bag to keep up with him.
In her eyes he had lost every single brownie point he'd just earned; and officially was declared dead in her mind. She wanted to wipe that innocent expression clean off his face.
~o0o~