Chapter Eight –Of Running For One's Life
Rose woke to darkness. That in itself made her hold her breath in alarm. The fireplace in her room usually gave off a soft glow even in the middle of the night when only embers remained, and most nights the double moons of this world shone through her window. Now though, she could not see her hand in front of her face. Or was that her hand?
She reached out and nearly screamed when she touched someone else's hand.
"No! Shhh! Quiet, Rose. It's only me."
The Doctor. She might have known.
Irritated, she moved to push the covers back on the bed, only to find the Doctor's overcoat draped across her instead of the soft linen counterpane. Beneath her, she felt a surface much firmer than her feather mattress, as well as a distinct chill seeping through her thin nightgown. The scent of damp earth filled the air. Not her bedroom, then. With a shiver, she pulled the coat back up around her. "What's going on? What's happened?"
"Err, well..." Though she could not see him, she could tell the Doctor had begun to tug on his earlobe, a sure sign of nervousness or uncertainty.
"Where are we, for one? And why's there such a draft up my..."
"That's two, actually." He rustled around a bit, and a moment later, she felt another layer laid across her legs. The Doctor's suit jacket didn't cover much, but it helped, along with the overcoat. "There. Now, as for the first, I believe we're in the root cellar."
"The what?"
"Oh, you know. Where they store potatoes, vegetables—that sort of rubbish."
"I know what a root cellar is. What I don't know is why we're down in one. Unless you've gone and done something to turn us into onions." She let just enough doubt into her voice so that he couldn't be sure if she meant it or not. Either way, he didn't dignify her with a response.
He did, however, pull out the sonic screwdriver. A bright white-blue light hit her square in the eyes at the same time that a high-pitched squeal hit her ears. She'd complained about the sound once, and he'd looked at her with surprise. Apparently most adult humans couldn't hear the sonic frequency range that he usually used. Since then, he'd tried to modulate the sound so that it wouldn't agitate her quite so much, but this close, with the darn thing right in her face, it seemed to pierce her eardrums. The light was worse, though, after all the darkness. It made her head throb. She made a face at him, but couldn't be sure he saw.
"Oi! Can't you use a torch like any normal person?"
"If I was trying to have a look around, quite possibly," he answered. The light moved away from her eyes, to her relief. He circled her head with the sonic screwdriver, once all the way round, then focused it on the side of her skull.
"Have got I concussion, then?" Maybe the headache wasn't just from the excruciating sound of the sonic screwdriver aimed at her.
He held the screwdriver at an angle and tried to see the readings. "Looks like, but very mild. Hippocampus appears fine, so you shouldn't have amnesia. Sure you don't remember what happened? And I'll give you one clue—I did not turn us into onions. Nor cabbage, nor turnips, nor carrots. Good news is, we won't starve down here, anyway."
Rose reached up and gingerly touched the side of her head. She felt a small, tender knot that would undoubtedly sprout a colourful bruise were it not hidden by her hair. At that same moment, her stomach growled.
The Doctor laughed and flicked the screwdriver off. "Well, you might, at this rate. How can you be hungry again? It can't be past midnight, yet."
"Didn't eat much dinner. You were too busy giving Christopher the evil eye to notice."
"I did no such thing! I behaved with decorum and civility the entire time," he replied with a huff.
Rose laughed. "Did you? Then why's your shin sore?"
"My what?" In the dark, he reached down to rub the front of his leg just below his knee. "Ow! I've got a bruise there. Wonder how that happened."
"Don't you remember?" she asked sweetly. "I kicked you during dessert."
"Ooh, now dessert I do recall. That was some excellent pudding, really excellent. Remind me to get their recipe before we leave."
"It doesn't look like we're going anywhere." She leaned back against the cellar wall, and then she remembered. "Oh! I was getting ready for bed. Someone came in, and I thought it had to be you."
"Why me?" he interrupted.
"Christopher knocks. And he doesn't come in once he knows I've gotten undressed."
"No? The two of you don't... I mean, you've never..."
"That is so none of your business. You're not even allowed to think about that sort of thing!"
He didn't answer for a long minute. Then, "You hang around me in your pyjamas all the time."
"That's different."
"Is it?"
"We're mates," she said. "At least, we were. Best mates."
"You and Christopher, you're not?"
Rose sighed. "S'different here. People don't... Men and women, s'not like that for 'em. We get along, I don't mean that we don't. We've a lot in common. More than you'd think, considering our different backgrounds. We can talk for hours and he's got a brill sense of humour. S'just... more formal. We don't hang about half dressed, laughing and carousing and teasing each other. It'd be indecent. Can't even hold hands, or hug, or kiss in public, not without causing an uproar."
"And you're happy with that?" He sounded appalled.
"It's better than living alone in a cottage somewhere, the potty old lady with a hundred cats. Or giant tame squirrels in this case—they don't seem to have anything like our cats." She shook her head, even though he couldn't see it. "What did you expect me to do, sit on the front steps waiting for you until I died of old age, lonely and miserable? I did wait, you know. I waited five and a half hours, and five and a half days. Then, I waited five and a half weeks, and five and a half months. You never came back. What was I supposed to do then? Sit around and wait five and a half years? I saw what that did to Sarah Jane. Is that what you want me to do?"
She could hear the Doctor's breaths in the dark space, each one filled with regret. "I'd never want that for you, Rose. You shouldn't care that much, not for me. I'm not that important. You... you deserve to have every bit of happiness you can manage to wrangle from this lousy universe." He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice seemed lighter. "Your calculations were wrong, you know. Close, but just a bit off."
"How d'you mean?"
"Six months, you said. But it's not been that long. You were about thirty minutes a day off."
"You sure? No, never mind. Of course you're sure, or you wouldn't be telling me. I've never been that good at maths. So, go on. How long's it really been?"
In the dark, the Doctor's hand reached for hers. "Five and half months. To the day."
-oo-O-oo-
After Rose had cried the tears she'd sworn she'd never cry again, she sat with her head against the Doctor's shoulder and said, "Never do that to me again."
"Never," he promised. "I'll always take you with me, even if it's just to move the TARDIS down the road. How's your head?"
She felt the spot where the bruise had been, but thanks to the sonic screwdriver the swelling had disappeared and it didn't hurt to her probing touch. "Better."
"Good. Now, I think you ought to finish telling me what you remember about what happened." He shifted to try and cushion her a bit more from the hard, cold ground and pulled his coat around her shoulders. "Go on. You said someone came into your room?"
"Yeah. I thought it was you, so I said something rude. I heard somebody laugh and that's when I started to turn around. But they cracked me over the head. Next thing I know, here we are. What about you?"
"Me? I was downstairs talking to Mrs Morris, trying to give her a plausible enough story so that she'd stop looking at me like I'd killed her favourite pet. I think I'd just about had her convinced, when a couple of people came in the front door—her niece and nephew-in-law, Jane and William. They said something to Mrs Morris in private, something that had her wringing her hands and looking quite nervous when she came back into the parlour. Mr Walker said that I had to come with them, that you and I were under arrest, that they would hold us until the constable could take us into custody. When I tried to protest, they said that they already had you and that if I didn't come quietly, they'd hurt you. They threw me in here, and tossed you in a minute later."
Rose frowned in the darkness. "I wonder what they think we've done?"
"No idea. But I expect we'll find out soon enough."
"What about the door? Can't you get us out of here?"
"Already tried," the Doctor admitted. "The lock is on the other side of a very solid wood door. The sonic screwdriver won't penetrate. We'll just have to wait until someone comes and lets us out. Won't be long, I'm sure. Come here, try to get some rest."
Rose laid her head on the Doctor's chest and the sounds of his double heartbeat soon lulled her to sleep.
-oo-O-oo-
As it turned out, they weren't let out for quite some time. Much to their annoyance, the Doctor and Rose stayed locked up in the root cellar the entire night and and a good deal of the next day. Finally, they heard footsteps and the sounds of someone unlocking the door. Rose sat up and tried to straighten her hair. The Doctor took back his pinstriped jacket, and she slipped his overcoat on over her nightgown.
The sudden glare of afternoon sunlight blinded them both.
"Out! Both of you," demanded a deep voice.
"Lady Rose! Are you all right? Have they hurt you?" Mrs Morris nudged the constable aside and helped Rose up out of the cellar. She stumbled up the stairs and over the threshold, and when she stepped out into the yard, the loose gravel bit into her bare feet. Even in the sunlight she felt cold, after a night in such frigid air, so she tugged the overcoat closed around her and valiantly tried not to shiver.
"Oh, your nightdress is ruined," Mrs Morris wailed, "And you're positively blue with cold! I begged them to wait until morning, truly I did, but they wouldn't listen—said you were a danger to the community. Imagine! I asked what sort of danger could you possibly be, Lady Rose, since you've lived among us for so long and never caused a bit of trouble? But, of course, no one would listen to me."
The Doctor left Rose in Mrs Morris' arms and squinted at of the constable, a thickset man in a blue uniform. "What is this about? We've done no harm to anyone."
"The charges will be read at the courthouse," came the gruff reply.
"What charges? I demand to know what this is about."
The constable said nothing, but shoved the Doctor toward a horse-drawn cart.
"It's lies, all of it," Mrs Morris said loudly, as she was forcibly led away from the prisoners.
The constable allowed the Doctor to help Rose up into the back of the cart. She sank onto the pile of hay and shifted around to get comfortable. A moment later, the Doctor sat beside her.
"Could be worse," he said. "At least we're not tied up."
"Worse? They could be dismantling the TARDIS to see how the 'horseless carriage' works, and then you'd know what s'like to be stuck here for six months without the one thing that keeps you going." But before the Doctor could reply to that, Rose shook her head. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. You're supposed to forget once you've forgiven, not keep bringing it up again."
The Doctor put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him to ease some of the jostling when the cart started moving. "That mean you've forgiven me?"
"That's what all that crying was for."
"Ah. Good to know," he said. "I'm rubbish at that sort of thing."
"This is your fault, you know."
"What'd I do?"
"I don't know," she answered, "But I'm willing to bet s'all your fault, somehow."
He hugged her the entire length of the short drive into the centre of the village. It probably was his fault, just as it was his fault for leaving her here for so long. He should have double checked the coordinates before returning. No, he should have curbed his curiosity and waited for her to get up so they could've investigated together.
"Rose, I have a confession to make," he said suddenly, just before the cart pulled up to the meeting hall, a large brick building that served for any public function. "Remember when I took you home, the very first time?"
How could she forget? "You said it'd only been twelve hours, even though we'd spent a couple of days together. Mum slapped you because it'd really been a whole year. She thought you'd taken me away and done unspeakable things to me in your spaceship."
"Yes, well, give me time."
Rose blinked.
"Get out," demanded the constable, standing beside the back end of the cart.
"What I mean to say," the Doctor continued, his cheeks turning an interesting shade of pink as he jumped down, "Is that when that happened, I told you it was an accident. That I'd made a mistake."
"Wasn't it?" She let the Doctor put his hands around her waist and lift her down off the cart. Once on the ground, she slid her hand into his as if she'd never stopped doing it.
He ran a hand through his hair and scratched just behind one ear. "Not exactly, no."
"What d'you mean, not exactly? Was it or wasn't it?" Around them, the villagers gathered, muttering and murmuring amongst themselves. Most of them just seemed curious, but several had dark, angry looks on their faces. If people she knew and trusted could turn against her so quickly, what chance did they have? Still, with the Doctor beside her, everything would be fine.
"Well..." In the late morning sunlight, the Doctor looked sheepish. "It wasn't my fault, honestly, but the fact that we landed twelve months late was deliberate. The TARDIS read my thoughts and felt she was doing me a favour. I needed you with me. She knew that, and she also knew that if you returned home and found everything just as you'd left it, you might find it too easy to slip back into your old routine. So, she made a slight adjustment to the temporal coordinates, changed twelve hours to twelve months, and voilà! Posters of you all over the estate and a mum who hates me."
"My mum thought I was dead, you git!"
"Exactly. Nothing left for you in London except a mother who desperately wants you to stay. And what teenager does just what their mum wants, hm? Bit of reverse psychology."
Rose didn't know whether to thump him on the arm or hug him. "You owe my mum some flowers. Maybe even some of those nice chocolates from Venus."
"Ooh, those were good, yeah? Remind me and we'll pick up a couple boxes on our way back to Earth. I suppose I owe you one as well, don't I?"
Inside the meeting hall, the heat of a hundred people made it stuffy and warm. Rose swapped coats with the Doctor, putting the shorter pinstriped jacket on over her nightgown instead of the heavier overcoat. He neatly folded the overcoat and draped it across one arm just as the constable pushed them to the front of the crowd.
Christopher elbowed others out of the way in order to come to her side. "Rose, are you all right? Have they hurt you?"
"They locked us in the root cellar all night and where were you?" She glared at him.
"I didn't know! Not until this morning, when I came down for breakfast. I tried, but they wouldn't let anyone near you. I suppose they thought Mother and I would help you escape."
"And where d'you think we'd run off to, anyway?" the Doctor interrupted. "The country's big enough to search from north to south in a couple of days."
"There are those who say your magic carriage can carry you across the bog to the land of the overseers."
The Doctor looked intrigued. "You know about them?"
"Only a child knows nothing of our history, Doctor."
"Yes, but... oh, never mind. Let's get this over with, shall we?" He cleared his throat and raised his voice to a level that would have everyone paying attention. "I demand to know why the Lady Rose and I have been treated in such a manner! Why have we been detained without food and water, locked in a root cellar for eighteen hours, and now brought here under restraint? Of what are we accused?"
A man in a dark coat stood forth. Normally the cobbler, he also stood in as the village judge when necessary. When faced with the Doctor's natural authority, he forgot that the accused should not be allowed to ask questions. "I apologize for your treatment, sir. No one knew that you had been arrested until this morning and we convened as quickly as possible. You, Doctor, have not been charged with any wrongdoing. You are free to go, if you desire. It is the Lady Rose who must remain in custody."
"I'm not going anywhere without Rose." His hand tightened around hers, so small among the folds of his jacket. "What is it you say she's done?"
"The charge is impersonation," the cobbler-judge said. "The penalty is death."
Rose made a small noise. The Doctor squeezed her hand to reassure her and to caution her to let him do the talking.
"This doesn't make any sense! I've known Rose for a long time—long before she came here—and she's never pretended to be anything other than exactly what she is."
"I agree," shouted Christopher. "The Lady has done nothing wrong."
The judge shook his head. "On the contrary, if the charges are true, then she has especially wronged you, Mr Morris."
"Explain," demanded the Doctor.
"There are those who believe that the young woman in question is not of the gentry at all, that she in fact has never even been to London, and has no right to bear the title of Lady."
The crowd burst into loud chatter. A few shouted agreement, but most seemed confused by the accusation.
The Doctor felt a cold rush. This was his fault. He'd told Mrs Morris that Rose was actually Lady Rose of London, just to explain why he'd given her the better bedroom. But if he admitted that, they would kill Rose, and perhaps him as well for his part in it. He tried to clear his thoughts. Rose needed him.
"Who makes the accusation?" asked Christopher. "What sort of coward has said this about the Lady?"
The judge made eye contact with someone in the crowd. "Come forward. It is our way that the accused face their accuser."
William Walker angled his way to the clearing, pulling his wife by one hand. "We make the accusation. We do not believe that this woman is Lady Rose of London, if such a person even exists."
"I was born in London," Rose shouted.
"And she was knighted alongside me, more than a year ago," added the Doctor.
"Prove it!"
"How? All of our possessions were lost when our carriage overturned in the bog when we first arrived in this village, nine months ago. There's no way to prove what I say! But I ask you this: has Rose done anything improper during her stay here? Has she done anything that would indicate she is not a lady?" The Doctor turned to face the crowd, knowing their best shot would be to get the people on their side. "Has she hurt anyone? Has she tried to steal anyone's money or possessions? Has she acted indecently?"
The people murmured, mostly in the negative.
Rose adjusted the coat to be certain it covered her modestly. Then she stepped up to face William. "I know why you're saying this. You think I want your wife's role as Elizabeth from the Book. You think I'm a threat to her position and rank within this village. But I'm not. And neither was Davinia."
Those close enough to hear gasped. Mrs Morris put one hand over her mouth and stared at both of them with wide eyes.
"What is it you are saying, Lady Rose?" asked the judge.
Rose took a deep breath. The Doctor's hand wrapped around hers to lend support; her heart pounded at her own audacity. But she knew she was right, and so she continued, "This man will do anything to ensure his wife's position during the Season. He wants her to be Elizabeth, and he's willing to throw false accusations and even to kill to keep it that way. I've overheard 'em talking, I've heard 'em planning. Ask him about the carriage accident five years ago! Everyone thinks he mourned Davinia and married Jane because he could find no one else." Rose paused and turned to Jane. "I'm sorry, but it's true. We see how he treats you. He doesn't love you."
Tears spilled out of Jane's eyes. "It is true. He doesn't. He married me because he knew I would be Elizabeth if anything happened to Davinia. When she died... he asked me the very next day."
William slapped her across the face, and the crowd went into an uproar.
-oo-O-oo-
The Doctor pulled Rose off to one side. They stood for a moment beneath a flickering lamp. The faint scent of natural gas reminded Rose of the first time he'd taken her back in time, when the Gelth had tried to come through the Cardiff Rift. It seemed such a very long time ago. How young she'd been back then, how innocent of the ways of the universe. She almost wished for that naive innocence again, but couldn't bring herself to wish it all away. The extraordinary things they'd done since then—the unique and wonderful people they'd met, the amazing places they'd been to, the evil they'd fought, the hope they'd restored—all of it had shaped her into the woman she'd become.
"There," the Doctor said, pointing to a side exit. He gripped her hand and pushed his way into the mass of near-rioting people.
"Lady Rose," Christopher said, catching up to them, "Is what you've said true? Was it William who caused my sister's death?"
Rose looked at him with sympathy. "When I first heard 'em talking, I didn't know who they were. But I heard 'em another time in the parlour and recognized their voices. He planned the whole thing just to get ahead. I don't think Jane wanted to go along with it, though."
"No, I would imagine not. She has always been a good woman, if a bit bitter from his influence." He shook his head. "Even so, the accusation against you has been made. Without your possessions, how will you prove who you are?"
"She shouldn't have to," the Doctor said, a defiant glint in his eyes.
"No. But they will insist. They might write to London, if necessary, but they will find out." His gaze met hers, filled with regret. "I think perhaps you'd best not be here when they do."
Rose let go of the Doctor's hand in order to hug Christopher. "I'm sorry," she whispered in his ear. The scent of mint and cloves brought a pang of sorrow and tears to her eyes. "I am a Lady. But I'll never be able to prove it here."
He closed his eyes and held her close. When he let go, it was with a sigh. "I would fight for you, my lady. If necessary, I would die to keep you safe."
"So would I," said the Doctor, slipping his hand into Rose's. "But sometimes it's better to avoid the situation altogether rather than to fight."
Christopher nodded. His eyes shone with just a hint of grief as he looked at Rose. "I always knew your heart belonged to your Doctor. I had hoped... But never mind. What's done is done. It is no longer safe here for you, my lady. The Doctor's return is fortuitous—you must go and I will not see you again."
"Come with us," the Doctor offered quietly.
But Christopher shook his head. "I am not as adventurous as our dear Rose. A journey to London is as good as it gets for me, and I have the feeling that you will go much farther than that. It is meant to be." He met Rose's gaze. "I only hope that the Doctor will treat you as I would have—as you deserve to be."
The Doctor held his free hand out and Christopher shook it. "You're a good man, Mr Morris. You'll let your mother know what's happened?"
"I suspect she already knew. Before we left to follow you here, she packed some of your things, Lady Rose. They're on your bed, if you have time to retrieve them. You'd best be going now, before the assembly recalls why they convened in the first place. I—I shall miss you."
She rose onto her toes and kissed his cheek. "I'll miss you, too."
"Take care of her, Doctor."
The Doctor put his arm around Rose. "That I will always do."
Rose looked into Christopher's blue eyes for the last time. And then she heard the Doctor say softly, "Run."
(To Be Concluded...)