Rose was preparing to leave for the TARDIS when she heard a light knock at her door. She opened it immediately then exhaled in frustration when she found William rather than her Time Lord.
"I'm sorry to intrude," he said, misreading her expression, "but this was delivered for you."
He handed her an envelope. She recognized the odd, small handwriting as the Doctor's script.
"Thanks," she acknowledged, opening the envelop and reading the missive.
Rose—You won't see me for a day or two, but don't worry. Remain at Seward's house until I come for you. This is very important, and keep the s.s. with you at all times.
A strangely beautiful scrawl served as his signature.
She read it again then sighed in frustration. "Did the Doctor bring this?" she asked. Maybe he was still nearby…
"I'm not sure. I found it on the table in the foyer."
"Excuse me," she said quickly, brushing past him and dashing out the kitchen door.
She hurried around to the front of the house then squinted as she tried to see along the dark street. There was no one about.
"Doctor!" she called quietly.
The slight susurration of the leaves in the night breeze was the only reply.
He had to know what he was doing, didn't he? Rose spent a restless night asking herself the same question over and over again. He was the Doctor. He'd get it right. But what was her role in all of it?
Had she been meant to warn Lincoln when she saw him? Should she have said something to him? But what could she have said? She still couldn't remember exactly how or when he would die. Maybe she should have cautioned him to be extra careful, extra vigilant, or perhaps she should have spoken to one of his body guards.
She didn't know. But what if she'd made a grave mistake? What if her silence ended up costing the President his life?
She was still awake as weak, gray light filtered through the thin curtains. With a sigh, Rose got out of bed. She might as well get an early start on the new day and whatever it might bring.
The Doctor had ambled through nearly all of Washington, D.C. since his and Rose's arrival eight days earlier. His sharp eyes had taken in countless people and places, cataloging each with care.
Today he felt restless and apprehensive. On the surface, all appeared well. The weather was sunny and mild. Cherry blossoms lent a soft perfume to the air along the pretty streets he strolled. But it was all a mask; it couldn't hide the darkness that was looming.
He passed a church and idly noted the neatly printed placard announcing Good Friday services. The date was April 14. He was already aware of that, yet even so the overt knowledge left him slightly chilled.
As morning yielded to afternoon, his steps led him to 12th Street and Pennsylvania Avenue. He paused for a moment to study the men and women who passed by. Government workers and businessmen hustled along, many returning to work after their lunch breaks. A few carried travel cases; they were visitors to the city, just as he was.
And then recognition struck. The Time Lord saw a familiar face in the man with the sable valise. The slightly unkempt hair, scraggly beard, and distracted expression took him back to the late afternoon when he'd passed two men on H Street. He'd seen this individual before, and in a city this size a second meeting was more than coincidence.
Instantly the Doctor's attention focused on the man, but he maintained a reasonable distance and easy pace as he followed along. The journey was a short one. The man entered a hotel called The Kirkwood and waited for a minute while a clerk helped a couple who had arrived before him. The Doctor slipped inside to sit on a bench in the small lobby, where he picked up a newspaper and feigned reading.
Above the page, he studied the man. His stance was tense, and his hand moved repeatedly over his breast pocket. There was a small bulge beneath the fabric of his coat. When he moved to the reception desk, the Doctor watched his back, noting the slight hunch to the shoulders.
Key in hand, the man entered the stairwell. The Doctor waited a minute or so then sauntered up to the desk.
"Afternoon," he greeted the clerk. "Do you have any rooms available? Preferably something facing the back, away from the street noise? And third or fourth floor, but not an odd-numbered room. Bit superstitious, I know, but…"
The clerk frowned in minor exasperation. "Just a moment, sir, I'll check."
When he turned to study the rack of keys, the Doctor leaned forward to skim the guest register. The most recent name was George Adams, and room number 126 was penciled in beside the signature. Five lines above he saw in large, neat script "U.S. Government." A quick glance confirmed that the key to the best suite was absent from the rack.
He took a half step back and looked up with an expression of ennui as the clerk turned around again.
"I have a room on the fourth floor, room 416," the clerk informed him.
"Hmm. Might do. But I require quiet—and another guest told me that you've got someone important staying here. How much commotion is that going to cause?"
"He's on another floor. You shouldn't hear anything."
"And he would be?" He leaned forward to capture the man's gaze.
The clerk blinked then replied slowly, "Vice President Johnson."
"He's here for the night?"
This was met with a glassy-eyed nod.
"Don't pay any attention to me," the Time Lord said, then he turned on his heel and strode back to the bench. He sat down, paper in hand, to wait.
Rose had mulled it over all day. Her gnawing anxiety left a tight knot in her stomach. There was no way around it. She needed to warn President Lincoln. Surely that was her purpose here. So she made up her mind. She would find a way to alert him to the potential danger he faced.
The only question was how to do it. William had told her that Mrs. Seward and Fanny knew the great man fairly well, and Mrs. Seward was clearly friends with Mrs. Lincoln. While contacting the President directly might be difficult, reaching his wife would likely prove much easier.
Just before supper she knocked on Mrs. Seward's door. She waited a few moments until she heard the slightly tremulous, "Come in."
She found the family matriarch sitting in a chair by the fireside. She looked up.
"Oh, Rose. Is it time for supper already?"
"In a little while, ma'am. But I wondered if I could speak with you for a minute before."
"About what? Oh!" She began to rise. "Has my husband gotten worse?"
"No, no," Rose quickly assuaged her, "nothin' like that. Actually Sergeant Robinson said he's more lucid this afternoon than he's been in a week, so he's doin' better."
Mrs. Seward sank down again, appearing faintly perturbed. "Then what is it?"
"It's about the President," Rose replied slowly, unsure how to begin.
"Mr. Lincoln? What about him?"
"You know him, an' you an' his wife are friends, yeah?"
"Yes. Mary and I have known each other for some time."
"I need to get a message to him, an' it'd probably be easiest if it came through her. So I was wonderin'—"
"A message? About what?"
"Erm…" She swallowed; her throat felt very dry. "When he was here yesterday, he took the time to speak to me, an' I just wanted to thank him, 'cause it's not many people who'd do that."
Mrs. Seward's stern expression softened. "He's a kind man. But you needn't bother Mary with such a trivial thing. She knows his nature."
"But I really feel that I should. Please, could I just write a short note, just a few words, an' maybe if you address it she'll open it straightaway—"
"Rose, it's not necessary."
"Yeah, it is." She didn't realize that tears had formed in her eyes until she blinked against the wetness.
Mrs. Seward's brow wrinkled. "Goodness, you were truly moved, weren't you?"
She sniffed and nodded.
"Well, we won't bother Mary with a note; she has quite enough to do already. But she plans to pay a visit tomorrow. I think we can arrange for you to have a few moments with her to convey your gratitude."
"Tomorrow? What time?"
"In the morning."
Considerably relieved, Rose smiled. "Thank you. That'd be great." A few words spoken in person would surely impress the severity of the situation upon Mrs. Lincoln.
"I'd like to dine in my chambers this evening," Mrs. Seward informed Rose. "Please prepare a tray for me."
"'Course. Are you all right? Is there anything else I can get you?"
"Perhaps I'll request that sleeping draught from Dr. Verdi after all. But no, dear, just supper will suffice tonight."
With a polite nod, Rose left, feeling lighter than she had all day.
To be continued…