A Whimsical Adventure - Part Two
Part One
Part Two
Lunch was a far more pleasing affair than Lord Peter Wimsey might have expected, given the eccentricity of his dinner companions. Rose had, by some trick he had not yet uncovered, persuaded him to open his heart and ferreted out Harriet Vane. His exploits to save her from the gallows were immediately drawn forth and, by the onset of dessert, he and Rose were chatting like friends of long acquaintance. Her advice was a little unconventional, and he had been somewhat stumped by the precise meaning of ‘just snog her senseless,’ but the overall tenor of her advice seemed to be to pursue Harriet intensely and doggedly until he was quite certain that there was no hope.
‘She’s just playing hard to get. Me and Shareen used to do it all the time. It’s no fun getting caught too quickly, is it?’ Rose informed him with a perky smile, before reaching for his hand and looking at him intently.
‘Don’t mess it up, though. Tell her how you feel - tell her when it’s not all about gratitude and you having saved her and stuff. If she’s worth it, keep trying, until she listens, yeah?’
Lord Peter nodded his assent, fully cognisant of the spirit, if not all of the matter, of her speech. He was, however, most arrested by the expression in the Doctor’s eyes as Rose spoke to him. Completely consumed with Rose, the Doctor failed to realise he was observed and it was, to Lord Peter’s mind, immeasurably revealing.
He thought he recognised in the gentleman before him the same malady that afflicted him. In actuality, the more he observed the man the more he came to suspect that the Doctor suffered from both of the afflictions he himself bore - the haunting of some trauma, buried but not forgotten, and the yearning for a woman who seemed terminally out of reach. He had not expected to find such fellowship with the brash fellow, but if the war had taught him anything it was that friends could be found in the most unlikely of places and behind the most deceptive of facades. If he had wronged Mr Edward Cornwall, here then was a man who would help him put it right.
The arrival of coffee disrupted the moment and re-energised the Doctor, who had been taciturn throughout the meal.
‘I need to take a look at this so called murderer,’ he stated baldly, apropos of nothing they had been discussing presently. Neither Rose nor Lord Peter were fazed, however, Rose from long experience and Lord Peter from the quickness of wit that made him so adept at his hobby of amateur sleuthing.
Lord Peter pushed his coffee cup aside and lit his pipe, regarding the Doctor through the slightly blue haze of exhaled smoke.
‘I could give my brother in law a call. I’m sure he can ferret us in to see Cornwall.’
‘Chief Inspector Charles Parker?’
‘You are acquainted with him?’
‘Read about him.’
‘Indeed? I suppose the rags were rather full of it. A policeman marrying a Lady of the realm. Quite tiresome. But, in answer to your question, yes. Charles, I am certain, will be of assistance.’
‘Fantastic!’ The Doctor grinned with the same enthusiasm Rose recalled from their encounter with Charles Dickens and she couldn’t help but grin back. Knocking back his coffee with a grimace, the Doctor bounced to his feet, the table wobbling in the face of his over excited ascent. Lord Peter stood more slowly, regretfully tapping his pipe out and securing it back in his pocket. He drew out his wallet and laid a crisp note on the table, before turning to Rose and offering her his arm.
‘The game’s afoot, what?’ he grinned.
The Doctor rolled his eyes. ‘We don’t have time for this!’ he grumbled.
Lord Wimsey paid the Doctor no heed. ‘Don’t listen to him, my dear girl - there is always time enough for good manners when there are ladies present!’
‘Oh, he doesn’t have any manners, Peter! My mum says he must have been dragged up by wild animals, and given the neighbourhood I’m from, that’s saying something. I think he just does it to be impressive, though.’
‘Ah, flinging off one’s upbringing to elicit effect, what? I’m familiar with the type!’ Wimsey winked at Rose conspiratorially, while the Doctor glowered ineffectually.
‘I am impressive!’ he protested weakly as, with a brisk step, Lord Peter led Rose from the private dining room and out into the foyer of the hotel.
A telephone for private use sat on a small table beside a comfortable Queen Anne chair. The nobleman subsided into it and lifted the phone from its cradle.
‘Hullo? Operator? I’d be obliged if you could connect me to Chief Inspector Parker, Scotland Yard… Lord Wimsey… Charles, is that you old chap?... Fine, fine. In the pink. How’s Mary?... Really? Oh, good show!... Quite…’
The Doctor crossed his arms, leaning against the wall beside the occasional table and crossing his legs. One booted foot bounced against the other. Lord Peter’s quirked an eyebrow in refined amusement.
‘I say, Charles, I wonder if you might do me something of a favour?... It’s a bit of a rum do, but that murderer you’ve gone and arrested… yes, Cornwall, that’s the man, well, turns out I met him and… yes… Suffolk… point is, old man, I have some doubts and my mind really won’t be clear unless I… I would rather, yes… Oh, capital! That would be super. Thanks awfully… shall we say half an hour? Good o! So long.’
Lord Peter rang off and turned to the Doctor and Rose with a smile.
‘Charles can give us ten minutes with Cornwall. Invaluable fellow, really the very best of friends to have.’
The Doctor pushed himself from the wall and, before Lord Wimsey could claim Rose, grabbed her hand, giving Wimsey a pointed look. Lord Wimsey sailed past them both, his step light as he headed for the hotel entrance.
‘Shall we take a cab?’ Without waiting for an answer, Lord Peter approached the doorman and requested a taxi for Bishopsgate. The doorman stepped outside and hailed a waiting vehicle and within moments, a black four-seater pulled up before the hotel doors.
The three adventurers clambered onboard, settling into silence as the cab pulled away from the hotel and began its journey to the police station, taking them down the Strand. Rose gazed out of the window eagerly, absorbing the thrilling sight of London before the bombs of world war two rendered so many of its streets barren of their old buildings. Tall, ornate, buildings rose up from the street, their facades riddled with advertising, including a huge, curved billboard advising her to try “Craven A” rich fine tobacco and another promoting the “News Theatre”. It was beautiful - bustling, dignified, elegant London that was both familiar and alien. She blinked rapidly against the tightness in her throat and settled back against the padded seat with a sigh.
The Doctor squeezed her hand and she knew he understood - she’d seen the Earth explode, they’d chased zombies in Cardiff, but she had never seen her home before its innocence was sullied irrevocably. There was something charmed about the world they were passing through, something old, yet close enough for Rose to identify and feel the loss of. She had never felt particularly patriotic, but recognised that it was something akin to that emotion that was swelling in her now. These were the people who would face Hitler’s bombs, the people who would shape the world she was born into. Great-granddad Prentice was out there somewhere, he and his brothers starting into an adulthood that all too soon would demand they be soldiers. Never had time travel seemed so personal, or so painful.
The cab turned into Cheapside and then turned again, pulling up before the requested police station.
‘Here we are, 26 Old Jewry. Ah, and there’s old Charles! Hullo there, Charles!’ Flinging some money at the cab driver, Lord Wimsey bounded from the vehicle and made to greet his brother-in-law. The two men shook hands enthusiastically, as Rose and the Doctor alighted from the cab and followed on behind.
Noticing Wimsey’s companions, Charles Parker raised a querying eyebrow.
‘You didn’t mention you’d be bringing anyone, Wimsey!’
‘Did I not?’
‘No.’
‘Are you sure? I thought I’d said. Doctor and Rose and I. Sure I said something!’
‘Do you think I'm a fool?’
Lord Peter sighed. ‘I had no such hope. By Jove, though, Charles, I wouldn’t trespass on you like this if it weren’t devilishly important!’
‘A man likes not to be taken for granted, Wimsey, even if he is family!’
‘Charles! I would never dream of taking you for granted! Mary would never forgive me, not to mention mother, what?’
Charles grunted, casting a resigned eye over his brother-in-law’s companions. His jaw twitched slightly as he registered the Doctor’s appearance, but he was well used to Wimsey’s eccentricities and so made no mention of the unorthodox pair.
Charles nodded at the Doctor and Rose, before addressing himself to Wimsey. ‘I’ve got you five minutes, will that be sufficient?’
‘It’s damnably tight, old man. Can’t you do better?’
‘No I can’t - this isn’t my patch, and I ain’t going to ask a fellow to do more than he feels able, even for you!’
‘Five minutes is fine,’ the Doctor cut in. ‘Only need one,’ he added.
‘What can you hope to achieve in one minute?’ Charles asked.
‘Everything I need to,’ the Doctor retorted, his chin lifting proudly. Rose shook her head slightly.
‘Smelling the testosterone!’ she muttered, before fixing the policeman with her most pleasant of smiles and stepping into the gulf between the men.
‘We really only need to ask him a couple of quick questions. We don’t think he did it, you see, the murders and, once we’ve checked a few facts, we reckon we can find the real murderer.’
Charles huffed. ‘He was covered in blood and confessed! Seems straightforward to me.’
‘Yes, well, it isn’t,’ the Doctor replied.
Charles stiffened and Rose shot the Doctor an impatient glare. ‘Lord Peter is quite certain, aren’t you, Lord Peter, that he didn’t do it.’
‘What? Oh, yes. Well. No. Yes. Damn it all, Charles, something just isn’t right! Cornwall told me he was having blackouts, that he thought he was committing terrible crimes.’
‘Well, surely that just proves his guilt, man?’
‘But it doesn’t, that’s just the point! Something was peculiar about it. It just struck me as off - can’t say why, Charles, but something queer is going on.’
‘Very well, Wimsey.’
‘To the gaol?’
‘To the gaol!’
****************
Owing to whatever arrangements the Chief Inspector had managed, they encountered not one soul as they descended to the cells of Bishopsgate police station. Most of the cells were occupied, transients for the most part, according to Charles’s report, sleeping off a surfeit of gin.
Edward Cornwall was housed in the furthermost cell.
‘Rose and I need to see him alone,’ the Doctor announced.
‘I really don’t think…’
‘Do you want this solved or not?’ the Doctor demanded.
Lord Peter placed a quelling hand on Charles’s arm. ‘You can trust him, Charles.’
‘That man is dangerous. A young woman…’
‘She’s safe with me!’ the Doctor interrupted.
‘It’s fine, really. Faced worse than murderers, anyway,’ Rose added. Charles looked dubious and nevertheless handed over the key to the cell.
‘Five minutes,’ he reiterated.
The Doctor nodded sharply, before turning away to unlock the door. Taking Rose’s hand, he opened the door and they both slipped in.
‘Odd couple,’ Charles observed to his brother-in-law.
‘I suspect, old chap, that we might never perceive the truth of that statement!’
*************
Rose blinked in the poor light of the cell. The only illumination came from a small, barred, window that nestled just below the low ceiling. It illuminated a dull, forlorn figure, hunched at the edge of the thin bed.
‘Hello! I’m the Doctor and this is Rose. You must be Edward Cornwall. Heard all about you. We’re here to help!’
The man raised his head slightly.
‘There’s no help for me!’
‘Nonsense!’
The man lowered his head again, staring at his hands where they were clasped between his knees. They were shaking.
Rose stepped around the Doctor and settled herself beside the man, reaching out one small hand to rest against his trembling ones.
‘We really are here to help. We don’t think you killed those people and, if you let us, we’ll prove it.’
The man’s head shot up and the Doctor stiffened, reaching for Rose instinctively. Rose, however, remained still, her hand tightening around Edward’s clasped fingers.
‘I did it! I did! I must have done!’ he shouted frantically.
‘No!’ whispered Rose, soothingly, as the Doctor shifted back on his heels.
‘Do you remember doing it?’ he asked.
Edward shook his head, all animation leaving him as quickly as it had come.
‘But I must have. I must have.’
‘Fine, we’ll be off then. Rose?’
Rose’s head shot up, ‘What?’
‘Well, he did it. He said so. Not like he’s having blackouts or has strange bruises or anything, is it?’
‘Doctor…’
‘Blackouts? Bruises?’ Edward lifted his eyes to the Doctor, the first spark of real life flickering to life within him.
‘Yeah. But you’ve not had any of that, so we’ll be going. Bye bye.’ The Doctor spun on his heel and held his hand out for Rose. Reluctantly, Rose relinquished her grip on Edward and made to stand.
‘Wait!’
The Doctor looked back at the seated man. ‘What?’
‘I… I… I have bruises. On my chest. And I don’t recall… that is… my memory has great blanks. Is it… can you? Please? Can you help me?’
The Doctor grinned broadly. ‘Thought you’d never ask! Right, Rose, move away. Hold still a moment, Edward.’ Without ceremony, the Doctor pulled forth his sonic screwdriver and aimed it at the man on the bed. ‘Nothing to worry about. Won’t hurt a bit!’
The blue light flared for a split second. ‘Thought so!’ the Doctor announced. ‘Now, lift up your shirt!’ he instructed.
Edward looked at Rose awkwardly.
The Doctor rolled his eyes. ‘Oh good grief! Turn around, Rose.’
With a grin of understanding, Rose turned her back and stared at the wall as, with a rustle of cloth and a whiff of unwashed flesh, Edward exposed his torso to the Doctor.
‘This hurt?’ the Doctor asked. Edward yelped. ‘Anything on your back?... No. Hmmm.’
There was some more rustling and then the Doctor’s terse, ‘You can look now, Rose.’
Rose turned back round. Edward’s face was now masked in a fine sheen of sweat and he was cradling his chest protectively. She gathered that whatever had hurt had hurt rather a lot.
‘Do you know what it is?’
‘Oh yes. Relax, Edward. You haven’t killed anyone.’
‘I haven’t?’
‘No. Said that, didn’t I? Pay attention!’ The Doctor marched to the door and swung it open. He looked back over his shoulder at Edward, who was gazing after him in confusion. ‘Don’t go anywhere,’ he instructed, before nudging Rose out of the room and closing the door.
‘Well?’
The Doctor looked at Lord Wimsey grimly. ‘It wasn’t him.’
‘Who was it then?’
‘Not who, what. Something nasty, and if we’re not quick, poor Edward in there will be its next victim!’
Part Three