I'm Sorry I Haven't a Clue: R rated: Five/Jack: Spoilers for Black Orchid
Title: I'm Sorry I Haven't a Clue
Author: mad_jaks
Rating/Warnings: R (for gratuitous semi-clad touching)
Spoilers: HUGE ones for the Classic Who episode 'Black Orchid' - it's basically a rewrite with fewer bodies.
Characters: Five/Jack, Tegan, Nyssa, Adric
Prompt: #23 for miss_zedem: Earth, 1925 - Jack meets a blond man at a cricket match... Er that got reversed somewhere along the line. I'm *really* sorry about that.
Thanks to padawanpooh for a super speedy beta - if my tenses are still all wrong it's absolutely no fault of hers.
Summary: A masked, murder mystery, in 4830 words. I hope to goodness for miss_zedem's sake I've pulled it off okay... Did I mention there's touching?
I'm Sorry I Haven't a Clue
As parking places for a TARDIS go an early twentieth century railway station, complete with a steam locomotive dozing on the tracks, wasn't bad, though the Doctor could have done without the irate looking Station Master bearing down on the four of them when all he really wants to do is climb on the footplate and play engine driver for a bit.
“Oi. You can't leave that 'ere!”
“Shan't be long I assure you,” the Doctor apologises, plunging a hand into his pocket and dragging out an assortment of coins, several of which he thrusts toward the bewildered man. “We'll be gone before you know it! Be a good chap and make sure no-one tows it away while we're gone will you?” And leaving the poor fellow scratching the back of his head over the palmful of strange shapes, the Doctor strides on, with Nyssa, Tegan and Adric trailing behind.
They're met in front of the station by a uniformed chauffeur, complete with breeches, a peaked cap, and an open top Bentley: the Doctor isn't surprised - this sort of thing happens to him all the time.
The Doctor folds himself onto the rear seat beside Adric. “So where are we off to?”
“The master's requested you be taken straight to the cricket match, sir.” The chauffeur consults his pocket watch. “It'll be well under way by now, I reckon.”
“What are we waiting for, then?” The Doctor grins happily. “Drive on!”
“What were you thinking?” Tegan hisses, as they bowl along through the countryside.
“I was thinking that I like a good game of cricket and if this other chap hasn't turned up whoever's expecting him is hardly likely to look a gift horse in the mouth.”
“It's not as if they know what he looks like,” puts in Adric.
“And what makes you think that?” Tegan demands.
“Well it's only logical isn't it?” Nyssa smiles, sweetly. “if they *did* know what he looked like the chauffeur wouldn't have thought we were him would he?”
“See?” Smiled the Doctor, patting Tegan on the knee, as she continues to glare. “Now, why don't you just sit back and enjoy the ride? It'll be fine.”
Lord Cranleigh, 'call me Charles' was waiting to meet them little more than halfway along his tree lined driveway. His delight in meeting the final member of his team turning to astonishment at the sight of Nyssa stepping down from the Bentley in front of him. He hurries them across a field, toward the pitch where the Doctor can see the match is already well under way, talking all the while.
“Spitting image of my fiancée d'you see?” He explains to them for the fifth time as they walk through the tall grass. “Can't wait for you to meet her...”
The Doctor nods politely but he's only half listening, he knows the TARDIS rather better than to believe that she's brought him, here, to Surrey on a beautiful, balmy, summer's day purely to take part in a 'Manor against the Village' cricket match.
“...slow? Medium paced? ”
“Oh like your opposition friend down there.” The Doctor gestures to where the village team's bowler was thundering toward the crease. “Fast.”
“Excellent.” Charles Cranleigh claps his hands together. “Looks like we might stand a chance after all.”
There's just time for the briefest of introductions outside the pavilion, before the Doctor is forced to abandon Tegan, Adric and Nyssa to the tender mercies of the local pleasantry and take his place at the crease. The bowler he'd spotted from the hillside above is still up: a tall, dark haired chap with a magnificent arm - well a pair of them if the Doctor is honest with himself - even if he is a bit erratic with the delivery of his balls.
The Doctor easily hits several for four before carelessly clipping an unexpected slow ball that rises off his bat and smacks him, squarely on the chin, so, for a brief moment, he's seeing stars for the second time that day. As the swirling darkness fades he finds the bowler standing, awkwardly, a few feet in front of him - the fellow really does have the most startlingly blue eyes.
“Sorry,” he mutters, absently polishing the ball on his chest - like the rest of his team mates he isn't in flannels - and the blue cotton of his open necked shirt is already liberally streaked with green.
“Quite all right, I assure you. See?” The Doctor lifts his chin. “No harm done.” The bowler takes a half step toward him and, the Doctor could have sworn, would have reached out to touch the place except that, next moment, the Umpire is upon them and the fellow's striding away from him - rolling his shirt sleeves back up again, determinedly, as he goes. Leaving the Doctor fighting a sudden urge to jog after him - a monumentally bad idea which he smothers with a welter of sixes before finally getting run out.
Put in to bowl after lunch, the Doctor finds himself more and more mystified by the 'demon bowler' - as he'd quickly labelled him. Despite his best efforts he'd not been able to get close enough to introduce himself during the break - it was almost as if the fellow had actually been trying to avoid him. Now, instead of squaring up to him at the crease it seems as seems as if he can't bring himself to look the Doctor in the face: stubbornly keeping his head down until the last possible moment before swinging almost blindly at any approaching ball then loping up and down the wicket with his head down. It's really quite disconcerting.
...
Nyssa's resemblance to Ann Talbot really is quite uncanny - no wonder Charles Cranleigh had been so surprised when she'd stepped from the car. For the Doctor the experience is not unlike meeting one of his other selves. The two girls immediately hit it off and disappear off to the other side of the hearth with Adric - plotting mischief of some kind if the occasional glances they throw over their shoulders at the rest of the room are anything to go by. Tegan too is soon deep in conversation, with fellow guest Sir Robert Muir, who the Doctor catches, more than once, staring in the direction of Charles's widowed mother, the still beautiful, Lady Cranleigh. The Doctor sips his lemonade, content, for the moment, to watch his companions enjoying themselves.
“A black orchid?” Tegan exclaims in delight.
“My son discovered that in the Amazon,” explains Lady Cranleigh.
The Doctor looks at Charles, sharply. “They're held sacred by some tribes aren't they?”
“That's right. What a mine of information you are Doctor; though it was not I, but my older brother, George, who found it a couple of years ago and had it shipped home.”
On the far side of the room Ann rises to her feet, she crosses to join Charles and clutches his hand tightly.
“George Cranleigh? I think I've heard of him, a botanist and explorer..?”
“He was my dear Doctor alas he is no longer with us. He never returned from his last trip.” Lady Cranleigh pastes on a brave face. “Ann was engaged to him...”
“We couldn't bear to lose her too, so now she's marrying me instead.” Charles puts in, grinning inanely. As he pets her arm.
“If you marry the right girl,” Sir Robert smiles, raising his glass to Nyssa.
The Doctor laughs, dutifully, along with the rest though Adric's frowning as if he doesn't get it - the Doctor hopes the boy won't say anything - he did like to have things explained so - and the ins and outs of arranged marriages among the upper classes of English society wasn't something the Doctor thought he could handle right now, especially not in their hearing. He catches Adric's eye and shakes his head at him just as the boy opens his mouth and he closes it again with a snap. Satisfied that at least one, small, disaster has been averted the Doctor turns to Sir Robert to enquire about his 'demon bowler'.
“The Captain you mean?”
“Do I?”
“Tall chap, good looking - or so they tell me - caused quite a stir amongst the ladies of the parish I can tell you. Demon bowler's about right too. Not got your finesse of course...” Sir Robert grins and the Doctor rubs his chin, ruefully, in acknowledgement. ”He can be a mean bat too - for a colonial... don't know what happened to him today - must've been distracted... Forgets himself sometimes and swings it around like some kind of club. Can't be helped I suppose, his main game's what d'you call it? Not rounders... Fellow explained it to me once...”
“Baseball?” Put in Tegan. “So he's an American then?”
“Baseball, that's the one! Damned silly game for grown men to play if you ask me,” huffs Sir Robert.
“Yes, yes but what does he do?”
“Do? My dear chap. Well he's a Captain of course!”
“A serving Captain you mean?”
“Of a sort my dear fellow, of a sort. Normally we just have enough time to get used to having him back in the village when off he goes again, Lord alone knows where, for weeks at a time with only a note out for the fishmonger to say he's gone.”
“The fishmonger - isn't that a trifle odd?”
“Hmm? Well he has a cat don't you know... wouldn't do to see the poor thing starve I'm sure... It's all jolly hush hush whatever it is. That's to say he doesn't talk about it and we know better than to ask. What?
“What indeed,” echoed the Doctor nursing his drink, thoughtfully.
...
Alone at last the Doctor shuts the door to the room he's been given only to have to open it again a few moments later: Ann's grinning up at him from behind one of the housemaids who's all but invisible under a mountain of boxes.
“I've brought you your costume for the Ball - Harlequin - I hope you don't mind: it's one of the last ones suitable for a boy. Sorry. Man. And you simply *must* wear it or I shan't forgive you...” She doesn't stamp her foot but it's a close thing.
It's easy to imagine this is the sort of life Nyssa might have still been enjoying on Traken - full of parties and boys and laughter - if it hadn't been obliterated as a result of the Master's machinations.
“I don't.” He forces himself to smile as he slides the topmost box toward him. “Mind that is.”
Closing the door the Doctor leans against it collecting his thoughts, it would be so like the Master to show up here, in his own diabolical way he was as fascinated by the Earth, and the humans that inhabit it, as he himself was. Shaking his head, he steps out of his clothes and slides into the satin dressing gown that had been waiting for him on the bed. There'd be plenty of time to look for the Master - later - his old enemy had a habit of making himself known: one way or another. Right now he was looking forward to a real bath: with four of them on board the TARDIS was having a hard time keeping up with the demand for bath water, and sonic showers lacked a certain charm not to mention the whole absence of a rubber ducky. With both taps running full force the Doctor added a generous handful of delicately fragranced bath salts, swirling them through the water and turning off the taps before being wandering back to his room. There's something- He scans the room: his costume's still where he'd left it and his own clothes are folded neatly on the chair but- Surely there hadn't been a door *there* before? Feeling ridiculously under-dressed he steps through into the darkness beyond the open panel and it swings closed behind him. Typical really. Why must he always let his curiosity get the better of him? The faint sound of music's coming from somewhere though, concentrating on feeling his way toward it in the gloom, he still almost misses the tell-tale change in surface that marks another hidden door .
“At last!” he sighs groping for the trigger mechanism. “Or not...” He groans, falling back against the fake brickwork only to have it swing open abruptly behind him. Landing spread eagled on the floor of what's obviously a seldom used part of the house, he dusts himself off as he scrambles to his feet. “No matter.” No-one's there to see him after all. He sets off down the panelled corridor trying doors at random - having carpet underfoot again is a bonus, not to mention the lights. He finds several pairs of trousers hanging up behind the second door he tries and, thanking his lucky stars, he slips into a pair - they're rather too short in the leg and bit large about his middle but a belt soon sorts that. There's shoes ranged neatly on racks as well but they're all too small so he leaves them where they lie and pads on. Along the corridor several more likely looking doors reveal books, cleaning supplies, more books and, up a short flight of stairs, a bedroom - not to the luxurious standard of his own, small, guest room but more like a servant's quarters, if the Cranleighs believed in keeping their servants tied to their beds. Under guard, no less. Though in this instance the white coated guard was now quite, quite, dead on the floor and the prisoner has flown. “Move over Goldilocks,” he mutters to himself, running the cut ends of rope through his fingers. Some papers on the desk catch his eye and leafs through them, curiously.
“Portuguese,” he announces to the silent room.
...
Retracing his steps, only slightly more cautiously, he discovers yet another secret panel that opens, easily enough now he's found the knack, when he bumps up against it with his shoulder. Stepping gingerly through the gap he finds himself on yet another 'secret' landing with bare, stone steps spiralling out of sight in both directions. Deciding that any more skeletons were as likely to be found in the dungeons as the attic he heads down - if nothing else he'll find the kitchens - he's beginning to feel rather peckish. His luck holds for exactly two and half flights of stairs, when a tall, masked, figure dressed in red, wearing a cape and armed with bullwhip, suddenly appears, bounding up the stairs two at a time. The latter only becoming apparent when the Doctor finds himself toppling head first into his captor's waiting arms with it coiled, tightly, round his calves. The hands that help him back onto his feet are wearing gloves but the Doctor would recognise that particular pair of forearms anywhere.
“A whip Captain? Isn't that overkill? For a costume party I mean...” It was hard to sound insouciant whilst standing, little more than half dressed, on a cold floor with someone as fearsomely good looking as the Captain kneeling in front of you but the Doctor thinks he manages rather well, considering the slow, deliberate, care the Captain's taking to unwrap the leather thong from his legs.
“You know me?” Finally free, the tip of the whip's handle settles on the Doctor's bare chest.
“I know *of* you“
“Right.” The crawling feeling in the pit of the Doctor's stomach has little to do with whip handle's slow descent.
“And who are you tonight? Zorro is it?” He gabbles as it trails lower still, “Though I don't seem to recall him dressing in red, or leath-”
“Captain Scarlett,” corrects the Captain.
“Tell me,” the Time Lord lifts a hand - below the level of his mask the Captain's teeth gleam briefly in the dim light - and presses the whip, finally, away from his body, ”are you always this 'friendly' with people you haven't been properly introduced to?”
“So they tell me. How about you?”
“You forget I know who *you* are.”
The Captain laughs. “Captain Scarlett?”
“A Captain certainly - whereas you haven't even thought to ask me my name...”
“So...” The Doctor feels hot beneath the Captain's gaze. “Who are you?”
“I'm the Doctor.”
“Pleased to meet you, Doctor.”
“Likewise I'm sure-”
The Captain silences him with a finger pressed to his lips. “Hear that?” He whispers, backing the Doctor into the nearest wall and pressing up against him - the soft leather of his trousers dragging the stuff of the ridiculously ill fitting pair the Doctor's wearing across the bare skin of his thigh. And if the whip before hadn't left him gasping this would. For a moment the Doctor can hear nothing but the pounding of his hearts. Then he hears it: heavy breathing that isn't his or the mysterious Captain's and the sound of dragging footsteps on the stairs, drawing closer. The pair of them stumble, untidily, to the next landing, tumbling inside the closest door - yet another cupboard - and stand, arms, somehow, about each others necks as whoever - whatever - it is halts right outside. The Captain leans his forehead onto the Doctor's, inhaling deeply, and the Doctor digs his nails into own palms to keep from doing something stupid like running them over the Captain's shoulders in response. There is something oddly familiar about it all - in a way that has everything, and nothing at all, to do with fond memories of stationery cupboards back at the Academy.
“He's gone,” mutters the Captain, lifting his head, a few moments later - apparently manfully ignoring the fact the Doctor is slowly growing hard against his leg. Maybe - hopefully - he just can't feel it through the thickness of those trousers. “And much as I'd like to continue this 'conversation'-” Or then again maybe he's just used to getting that kind of reaction from perfect strangers. “-we'd better hurry before he vanishes through another of these damned secret panels.” He slides round the edge of the door and the Doctor, after taking a second to rearrange himself, follows.
...
“You know there's a dead body up here don't you?” The Doctor says, quietly, as they exit back onto the corridor he'd left not long before.
“It wouldn't surprise me - the things that go on in this house!”
“Oh?”
“Odd comings and goings in the middle of the night - lights showing where there aren't any rooms...”
“Indians in the cupboards?”
“Indians?”
“Yes South American natives would be my guess. Have you seen any?”
“No.”
“You sure? They're pretty recognisable.”
“Long hair and unusual body art?”
“Yes. You seen any?”
“No or Mysterons either...” The Captain snorts.
“Pity. Though I'm sure I'm right... Wait a second-” The Doctor grabs at the Captain's arm. “That's Lady Cranleigh's voice isn't it?”
“What do you want to do?” The Captain hisses.
“Regroup,” the Doctor whispers, tugging the Captain up against him.
The Captain raises an eyebrow, then melts into him as the Doctor's fingers find the nape of his neck, his mouth actively seeking the Doctor's when he brushes their lips together.
“Doctor!”
They break apart, reluctantly. “Lady Cranleigh.”
“Captain,” she adds, resignedly.
“Lady Cranleigh. Or should that be Marie Antoinette?” The Captain responds, gallantly stepping forward to take her hand and kiss it. “I think perhaps I should explain-”
“Please don't.” She eyes the Doctor over the Captain's shoulder. “There's really no need.” He really doesn't know whether to be affronted or flattered.
“I got lost,” he offers, unable to stop himself from staring at the striking looking man beside her.
“I'm sorry,” she smiles, tightly. “This is an old friend of the family, Dittar Latoni, from Brazil.”
“How d'you do?” The Doctor sticks out his hand, only to have the Captain take it.
“Perhaps we should...” He nods toward the wall.
“Allow me,” says Lady Cranleigh, neatly sidestepping past them to operate a hidden latch. “Doctor, I think the pair of you can find your way back to your room from here?”
“Quite possibly...”
“Yes,” the Captain cuts in. “Come on Doctor.” He winks, theatrically.
...
“Long hair,” says the Doctor leading the way through the darkness, his feet felt like ice cubes, “did you see?”
“With some *really* interesting body art.” The Captain grins. “And from Brazil. You were right. Why didn't you mention the body?”
“What if he or she already knew? Why didn't you?”
“Oh don't look at me - it's not my body!”
“Thank goodness,” the Doctor sighs.
“I beg your pardon?”
“The end of the passage,” he says, more loudly. “My room should be right HERE.” He punches the wall. Nothing happens. He turns round and tries bumping up against it. Nothing.
“Let me.” Jack mutters, reaching over his shoulder.
Not again- the Doctor thinks, falling backward onto the floor of his room with the Captain on top of him.
“Now if you could...” The Doctor arches his back, which has the unfortunate side effect - since the Captain seems loath to move - of grinding him up against those infernal trousers again and earning him a knowing grin.
“Not that,” he groans.
The Captain's lips find the Doctor's mouth and for a second kiss it's far too sweet and chaste, and nothing like what he wants.
“No?”
“No.”
“Liar,” the Captain hisses, burrowing into his neck.
“There's already one dead body in this house-” The Doctor says, hooking a leg and snagging a wrist before rolling sideways in a manoeuvre that would have been more effective if it wasn't for the cape. Placing one hand either side of the Captain's shoulders he fights his legs free before levering himself up and away.
“And you're worried about your friends?” The Captain clambers to his feet.
“Aren't you?” The Doctor's weighing the options available to him: Harlequin - well it is a costume party - or his own clothes...
“I'd be worried if I was you...” the Captain rips the cloak from his throat, allowing it to pool on the floor. “I'm not worried for her Ladyship, not after seeing her with, whatever his name was - Latoni - or Charles but Ann?” His mouth twists.
“You care for her?” The Doctor turns away, cursing himself for asking.
“She's a cute kid - makes me feel old sometimes... And you? Your friends...?” The question hangs in the air between them.
“They're cute kids,” he acknowledges, zipping himself into his trousers before turning back. “They're like family to me.” He admits under the Captain's gaze. “Pass me my shirt could you?”
...
Ann's sobbing, hysterically, in her mother-in-law to be's arms when the pair of them descend the stairs. Charles is standing near Sir Robert a few feet away, making no move to go and comfort her which the Doctor thinks strange until he realises they are trying to keep her from being able to see the body of a man that's slumped on the floor behind them.
“What's happened?” Demands the Captain.
“There was someone in fancy dress,” Ann wails.
“There, there, my dear.” Lady Cranleigh folds her close. “She's had the most dreadful dream...” she says to the men.
“My head's throbbing,” Ann hiccoughs, “and it wasn't a dream!”
“You do have a nasty bump,” the Doctor says, examining her as best he can, while she clings to Lady Cranleigh.
“Perhaps you had too much to drink, and fell,” suggests the Captain with a sideways look.
“Yes,” agrees her Ladyship a shade too quickly, “perhaps that's it!”
“NO,” cries Ann, allowing herself to be led away. “There was someone in fancy dress!”
“Perhaps some brandy,” says Lady Cranleigh.
“Is that wise - if she's already had too much to drink?” The Doctor asks, following them.
“I only drank lemonade!” Ann sniffs. He makes to pat her on the shoulder and she flinches away from him.
“It was you,” Ann says slowly, breaking free of Lady Cranleigh's grasp and backing away from him. “You in your Harlequin costume! Why aren't you wearing it?”
“I haven't had it on all evening I swear...” The Doctor doesn't bother to appeal to Lady Cranleigh, instead he turns to the Captain and gets the slightest of nods in reply. “And what's more, I can prove it!”
“You may have to dear fellow,” Sir Robert says, peeling off his wig. “The police have already been sent for.”
“He came down here;” Ann's legs buckle and she collapses into the nearest chair. “danced me inside; and then... And then-”
“There, there, my darling,” croons Charles, squatting down beside her.
“When I screamed for help he hit poor James over the head...”
“He's been with me, all night. You have my word as an officer and a gentleman,” puts in the Captain.
Lady Cranleigh snorts.
“Please, you have to believe me.” The Doctor turns from Sir Robert to Lady Cranleigh. “She was there too! She saw us.”
“I saw no such thing!” Two bright spots of colour burn on her Ladyship's cheeks.
“You're lying,” splutters the Doctor.
“Are you calling my mother a liar?” Blusters Charles.
“Yes” chorus the Doctor and the Captain.
“And why, pray, should she do that?” Asks Sir Robert.
“To protect her son.”
“I've been at the party - ask anyone - ask your friend Nyssa - she's danced with me.” Charles straightens to his full height.
“Not you, your elder brother George.”
“Well I say!” Tegan says, brightly, into the sudden silence. “Aren't you a miserable looking lot! And why's there some unconscious guy in the hall?”
There's no colour at all on Lady Cranleigh's face, she sways and Sir Robert catches her before she can fall. “Utter nonsense!” He protests. “Your brother's dead. Tell him Charles.”
“How did you know?” Charles croaks out with a desperate glance at his fiancée.
“Will somebody please explain what's going on?” Asks Tegan, pouring herself a stiff drink.
...
“It's quite simple really,” begins the Doctor. Besides the Captain, the Doctor and his companions all the other guests have been sent home. The doctor that had been sent for for James is sucking his teeth over the corpse in the attic instead and wondering what's best to do for the poor deformed creature that he's been assured is George, Lord Cranleigh. Half the local constabulary is being fed left over cold cuts in the kitchen and the other half is in the drawing room - licking his pencil as he flips open his pocket book. “This house is riddled with secret passageways, you see.”
“Tell us something we don't know!” Huffs Sir Robert.
“Please Sir Robert?” Says the constable, frowning, “Do go on sir.”
“Which, as we discovered when we got lost in there-” He tips his head to the Captain. “-lead to one of the biggest, well 'priest hole' doesn't come close to describing it really, you could probably hide a small army in there and no-one would be any the wiser. But in this case all it had to conceal was one dreadfully damaged son and his nurses. Or should I say jailers?”
Ann starts sobbing with renewed violence and Nyssa puts an arm around her shoulders.
“I'd like to believe Lady Cranleigh did what she did with the best of intentions...”
“She did. She did,” mutters Charles.
“There's certainly no shortage of clothes - freshly laundered; books - about botany, mostly; pens, ink, paper, all manner of things to keep a fellow occupied. Prints on the walls of his room-”
“Ropes to tie him to the bed...” scowls the Captain.
“You can't understand. He was a danger to himself!” Burst out Lady Cranleigh. “He'd been tortured... Driven out of his mind by those savages...”
Ann runs from the room followed closely by Nyssa.
“All for the sake of that blessed flower!” Charles grinds out.
“Which itself was my first clue,” says the Doctor.
...
“What's going to happen now?” Yawns Adric.
“Charles has told us we must stay the night. As for the rest we'll have to leave that to Sir Robert and the police to sort out.”
“Must we stay?” Tegan wrinkles her nose, “Someone was killed here today,”
“And someone else had a life returned to them,” the Captain says, slipping in between them. “Don't forget that.”
“Hopefully,” sighs the Doctor bumping up against him, “Hopefully... Anyway we can't leave Nyssa behind and she won't want to leave Ann on her own tonight so I don't see we've much option.”
Tegan stretches, and holds out her arm. “Adric, could you see me to my room please?”
“Certainly Tegan.” He smiles, taking it. “And you Doctor, are you going to bed too?”
“No, right now I think I'm going to take a bath... I've been looking forward to one all evening.”
“Need a hand with that?” The Captain whispers in his ear.
“Well I wouldn't want to make you a liar now would I?”
The Captain raises his eyebrows.
“'With me, all night. You have my word as an officer and a gentleman,' were your exact words I think...”
The Captain smiles.
“Only one thing,” adds the Doctor, “you're not planning on leaving that infernal mask on all night are you?”
the end
Author: mad_jaks
Rating/Warnings: R (for gratuitous semi-clad touching)
Spoilers: HUGE ones for the Classic Who episode 'Black Orchid' - it's basically a rewrite with fewer bodies.
Characters: Five/Jack, Tegan, Nyssa, Adric
Prompt: #23 for miss_zedem: Earth, 1925 - Jack meets a blond man at a cricket match... Er that got reversed somewhere along the line. I'm *really* sorry about that.
Thanks to padawanpooh for a super speedy beta - if my tenses are still all wrong it's absolutely no fault of hers.
Summary: A masked, murder mystery, in 4830 words. I hope to goodness for miss_zedem's sake I've pulled it off okay... Did I mention there's touching?
I'm Sorry I Haven't a Clue
As parking places for a TARDIS go an early twentieth century railway station, complete with a steam locomotive dozing on the tracks, wasn't bad, though the Doctor could have done without the irate looking Station Master bearing down on the four of them when all he really wants to do is climb on the footplate and play engine driver for a bit.
“Oi. You can't leave that 'ere!”
“Shan't be long I assure you,” the Doctor apologises, plunging a hand into his pocket and dragging out an assortment of coins, several of which he thrusts toward the bewildered man. “We'll be gone before you know it! Be a good chap and make sure no-one tows it away while we're gone will you?” And leaving the poor fellow scratching the back of his head over the palmful of strange shapes, the Doctor strides on, with Nyssa, Tegan and Adric trailing behind.
They're met in front of the station by a uniformed chauffeur, complete with breeches, a peaked cap, and an open top Bentley: the Doctor isn't surprised - this sort of thing happens to him all the time.
The Doctor folds himself onto the rear seat beside Adric. “So where are we off to?”
“The master's requested you be taken straight to the cricket match, sir.” The chauffeur consults his pocket watch. “It'll be well under way by now, I reckon.”
“What are we waiting for, then?” The Doctor grins happily. “Drive on!”
“What were you thinking?” Tegan hisses, as they bowl along through the countryside.
“I was thinking that I like a good game of cricket and if this other chap hasn't turned up whoever's expecting him is hardly likely to look a gift horse in the mouth.”
“It's not as if they know what he looks like,” puts in Adric.
“And what makes you think that?” Tegan demands.
“Well it's only logical isn't it?” Nyssa smiles, sweetly. “if they *did* know what he looked like the chauffeur wouldn't have thought we were him would he?”
“See?” Smiled the Doctor, patting Tegan on the knee, as she continues to glare. “Now, why don't you just sit back and enjoy the ride? It'll be fine.”
Lord Cranleigh, 'call me Charles' was waiting to meet them little more than halfway along his tree lined driveway. His delight in meeting the final member of his team turning to astonishment at the sight of Nyssa stepping down from the Bentley in front of him. He hurries them across a field, toward the pitch where the Doctor can see the match is already well under way, talking all the while.
“Spitting image of my fiancée d'you see?” He explains to them for the fifth time as they walk through the tall grass. “Can't wait for you to meet her...”
The Doctor nods politely but he's only half listening, he knows the TARDIS rather better than to believe that she's brought him, here, to Surrey on a beautiful, balmy, summer's day purely to take part in a 'Manor against the Village' cricket match.
“...slow? Medium paced? ”
“Oh like your opposition friend down there.” The Doctor gestures to where the village team's bowler was thundering toward the crease. “Fast.”
“Excellent.” Charles Cranleigh claps his hands together. “Looks like we might stand a chance after all.”
There's just time for the briefest of introductions outside the pavilion, before the Doctor is forced to abandon Tegan, Adric and Nyssa to the tender mercies of the local pleasantry and take his place at the crease. The bowler he'd spotted from the hillside above is still up: a tall, dark haired chap with a magnificent arm - well a pair of them if the Doctor is honest with himself - even if he is a bit erratic with the delivery of his balls.
The Doctor easily hits several for four before carelessly clipping an unexpected slow ball that rises off his bat and smacks him, squarely on the chin, so, for a brief moment, he's seeing stars for the second time that day. As the swirling darkness fades he finds the bowler standing, awkwardly, a few feet in front of him - the fellow really does have the most startlingly blue eyes.
“Sorry,” he mutters, absently polishing the ball on his chest - like the rest of his team mates he isn't in flannels - and the blue cotton of his open necked shirt is already liberally streaked with green.
“Quite all right, I assure you. See?” The Doctor lifts his chin. “No harm done.” The bowler takes a half step toward him and, the Doctor could have sworn, would have reached out to touch the place except that, next moment, the Umpire is upon them and the fellow's striding away from him - rolling his shirt sleeves back up again, determinedly, as he goes. Leaving the Doctor fighting a sudden urge to jog after him - a monumentally bad idea which he smothers with a welter of sixes before finally getting run out.
Put in to bowl after lunch, the Doctor finds himself more and more mystified by the 'demon bowler' - as he'd quickly labelled him. Despite his best efforts he'd not been able to get close enough to introduce himself during the break - it was almost as if the fellow had actually been trying to avoid him. Now, instead of squaring up to him at the crease it seems as seems as if he can't bring himself to look the Doctor in the face: stubbornly keeping his head down until the last possible moment before swinging almost blindly at any approaching ball then loping up and down the wicket with his head down. It's really quite disconcerting.
...
Nyssa's resemblance to Ann Talbot really is quite uncanny - no wonder Charles Cranleigh had been so surprised when she'd stepped from the car. For the Doctor the experience is not unlike meeting one of his other selves. The two girls immediately hit it off and disappear off to the other side of the hearth with Adric - plotting mischief of some kind if the occasional glances they throw over their shoulders at the rest of the room are anything to go by. Tegan too is soon deep in conversation, with fellow guest Sir Robert Muir, who the Doctor catches, more than once, staring in the direction of Charles's widowed mother, the still beautiful, Lady Cranleigh. The Doctor sips his lemonade, content, for the moment, to watch his companions enjoying themselves.
“A black orchid?” Tegan exclaims in delight.
“My son discovered that in the Amazon,” explains Lady Cranleigh.
The Doctor looks at Charles, sharply. “They're held sacred by some tribes aren't they?”
“That's right. What a mine of information you are Doctor; though it was not I, but my older brother, George, who found it a couple of years ago and had it shipped home.”
On the far side of the room Ann rises to her feet, she crosses to join Charles and clutches his hand tightly.
“George Cranleigh? I think I've heard of him, a botanist and explorer..?”
“He was my dear Doctor alas he is no longer with us. He never returned from his last trip.” Lady Cranleigh pastes on a brave face. “Ann was engaged to him...”
“We couldn't bear to lose her too, so now she's marrying me instead.” Charles puts in, grinning inanely. As he pets her arm.
“If you marry the right girl,” Sir Robert smiles, raising his glass to Nyssa.
The Doctor laughs, dutifully, along with the rest though Adric's frowning as if he doesn't get it - the Doctor hopes the boy won't say anything - he did like to have things explained so - and the ins and outs of arranged marriages among the upper classes of English society wasn't something the Doctor thought he could handle right now, especially not in their hearing. He catches Adric's eye and shakes his head at him just as the boy opens his mouth and he closes it again with a snap. Satisfied that at least one, small, disaster has been averted the Doctor turns to Sir Robert to enquire about his 'demon bowler'.
“The Captain you mean?”
“Do I?”
“Tall chap, good looking - or so they tell me - caused quite a stir amongst the ladies of the parish I can tell you. Demon bowler's about right too. Not got your finesse of course...” Sir Robert grins and the Doctor rubs his chin, ruefully, in acknowledgement. ”He can be a mean bat too - for a colonial... don't know what happened to him today - must've been distracted... Forgets himself sometimes and swings it around like some kind of club. Can't be helped I suppose, his main game's what d'you call it? Not rounders... Fellow explained it to me once...”
“Baseball?” Put in Tegan. “So he's an American then?”
“Baseball, that's the one! Damned silly game for grown men to play if you ask me,” huffs Sir Robert.
“Yes, yes but what does he do?”
“Do? My dear chap. Well he's a Captain of course!”
“A serving Captain you mean?”
“Of a sort my dear fellow, of a sort. Normally we just have enough time to get used to having him back in the village when off he goes again, Lord alone knows where, for weeks at a time with only a note out for the fishmonger to say he's gone.”
“The fishmonger - isn't that a trifle odd?”
“Hmm? Well he has a cat don't you know... wouldn't do to see the poor thing starve I'm sure... It's all jolly hush hush whatever it is. That's to say he doesn't talk about it and we know better than to ask. What?
“What indeed,” echoed the Doctor nursing his drink, thoughtfully.
...
Alone at last the Doctor shuts the door to the room he's been given only to have to open it again a few moments later: Ann's grinning up at him from behind one of the housemaids who's all but invisible under a mountain of boxes.
“I've brought you your costume for the Ball - Harlequin - I hope you don't mind: it's one of the last ones suitable for a boy. Sorry. Man. And you simply *must* wear it or I shan't forgive you...” She doesn't stamp her foot but it's a close thing.
It's easy to imagine this is the sort of life Nyssa might have still been enjoying on Traken - full of parties and boys and laughter - if it hadn't been obliterated as a result of the Master's machinations.
“I don't.” He forces himself to smile as he slides the topmost box toward him. “Mind that is.”
Closing the door the Doctor leans against it collecting his thoughts, it would be so like the Master to show up here, in his own diabolical way he was as fascinated by the Earth, and the humans that inhabit it, as he himself was. Shaking his head, he steps out of his clothes and slides into the satin dressing gown that had been waiting for him on the bed. There'd be plenty of time to look for the Master - later - his old enemy had a habit of making himself known: one way or another. Right now he was looking forward to a real bath: with four of them on board the TARDIS was having a hard time keeping up with the demand for bath water, and sonic showers lacked a certain charm not to mention the whole absence of a rubber ducky. With both taps running full force the Doctor added a generous handful of delicately fragranced bath salts, swirling them through the water and turning off the taps before being wandering back to his room. There's something- He scans the room: his costume's still where he'd left it and his own clothes are folded neatly on the chair but- Surely there hadn't been a door *there* before? Feeling ridiculously under-dressed he steps through into the darkness beyond the open panel and it swings closed behind him. Typical really. Why must he always let his curiosity get the better of him? The faint sound of music's coming from somewhere though, concentrating on feeling his way toward it in the gloom, he still almost misses the tell-tale change in surface that marks another hidden door .
“At last!” he sighs groping for the trigger mechanism. “Or not...” He groans, falling back against the fake brickwork only to have it swing open abruptly behind him. Landing spread eagled on the floor of what's obviously a seldom used part of the house, he dusts himself off as he scrambles to his feet. “No matter.” No-one's there to see him after all. He sets off down the panelled corridor trying doors at random - having carpet underfoot again is a bonus, not to mention the lights. He finds several pairs of trousers hanging up behind the second door he tries and, thanking his lucky stars, he slips into a pair - they're rather too short in the leg and bit large about his middle but a belt soon sorts that. There's shoes ranged neatly on racks as well but they're all too small so he leaves them where they lie and pads on. Along the corridor several more likely looking doors reveal books, cleaning supplies, more books and, up a short flight of stairs, a bedroom - not to the luxurious standard of his own, small, guest room but more like a servant's quarters, if the Cranleighs believed in keeping their servants tied to their beds. Under guard, no less. Though in this instance the white coated guard was now quite, quite, dead on the floor and the prisoner has flown. “Move over Goldilocks,” he mutters to himself, running the cut ends of rope through his fingers. Some papers on the desk catch his eye and leafs through them, curiously.
“Portuguese,” he announces to the silent room.
...
Retracing his steps, only slightly more cautiously, he discovers yet another secret panel that opens, easily enough now he's found the knack, when he bumps up against it with his shoulder. Stepping gingerly through the gap he finds himself on yet another 'secret' landing with bare, stone steps spiralling out of sight in both directions. Deciding that any more skeletons were as likely to be found in the dungeons as the attic he heads down - if nothing else he'll find the kitchens - he's beginning to feel rather peckish. His luck holds for exactly two and half flights of stairs, when a tall, masked, figure dressed in red, wearing a cape and armed with bullwhip, suddenly appears, bounding up the stairs two at a time. The latter only becoming apparent when the Doctor finds himself toppling head first into his captor's waiting arms with it coiled, tightly, round his calves. The hands that help him back onto his feet are wearing gloves but the Doctor would recognise that particular pair of forearms anywhere.
“A whip Captain? Isn't that overkill? For a costume party I mean...” It was hard to sound insouciant whilst standing, little more than half dressed, on a cold floor with someone as fearsomely good looking as the Captain kneeling in front of you but the Doctor thinks he manages rather well, considering the slow, deliberate, care the Captain's taking to unwrap the leather thong from his legs.
“You know me?” Finally free, the tip of the whip's handle settles on the Doctor's bare chest.
“I know *of* you“
“Right.” The crawling feeling in the pit of the Doctor's stomach has little to do with whip handle's slow descent.
“And who are you tonight? Zorro is it?” He gabbles as it trails lower still, “Though I don't seem to recall him dressing in red, or leath-”
“Captain Scarlett,” corrects the Captain.
“Tell me,” the Time Lord lifts a hand - below the level of his mask the Captain's teeth gleam briefly in the dim light - and presses the whip, finally, away from his body, ”are you always this 'friendly' with people you haven't been properly introduced to?”
“So they tell me. How about you?”
“You forget I know who *you* are.”
The Captain laughs. “Captain Scarlett?”
“A Captain certainly - whereas you haven't even thought to ask me my name...”
“So...” The Doctor feels hot beneath the Captain's gaze. “Who are you?”
“I'm the Doctor.”
“Pleased to meet you, Doctor.”
“Likewise I'm sure-”
The Captain silences him with a finger pressed to his lips. “Hear that?” He whispers, backing the Doctor into the nearest wall and pressing up against him - the soft leather of his trousers dragging the stuff of the ridiculously ill fitting pair the Doctor's wearing across the bare skin of his thigh. And if the whip before hadn't left him gasping this would. For a moment the Doctor can hear nothing but the pounding of his hearts. Then he hears it: heavy breathing that isn't his or the mysterious Captain's and the sound of dragging footsteps on the stairs, drawing closer. The pair of them stumble, untidily, to the next landing, tumbling inside the closest door - yet another cupboard - and stand, arms, somehow, about each others necks as whoever - whatever - it is halts right outside. The Captain leans his forehead onto the Doctor's, inhaling deeply, and the Doctor digs his nails into own palms to keep from doing something stupid like running them over the Captain's shoulders in response. There is something oddly familiar about it all - in a way that has everything, and nothing at all, to do with fond memories of stationery cupboards back at the Academy.
“He's gone,” mutters the Captain, lifting his head, a few moments later - apparently manfully ignoring the fact the Doctor is slowly growing hard against his leg. Maybe - hopefully - he just can't feel it through the thickness of those trousers. “And much as I'd like to continue this 'conversation'-” Or then again maybe he's just used to getting that kind of reaction from perfect strangers. “-we'd better hurry before he vanishes through another of these damned secret panels.” He slides round the edge of the door and the Doctor, after taking a second to rearrange himself, follows.
...
“You know there's a dead body up here don't you?” The Doctor says, quietly, as they exit back onto the corridor he'd left not long before.
“It wouldn't surprise me - the things that go on in this house!”
“Oh?”
“Odd comings and goings in the middle of the night - lights showing where there aren't any rooms...”
“Indians in the cupboards?”
“Indians?”
“Yes South American natives would be my guess. Have you seen any?”
“No.”
“You sure? They're pretty recognisable.”
“Long hair and unusual body art?”
“Yes. You seen any?”
“No or Mysterons either...” The Captain snorts.
“Pity. Though I'm sure I'm right... Wait a second-” The Doctor grabs at the Captain's arm. “That's Lady Cranleigh's voice isn't it?”
“What do you want to do?” The Captain hisses.
“Regroup,” the Doctor whispers, tugging the Captain up against him.
The Captain raises an eyebrow, then melts into him as the Doctor's fingers find the nape of his neck, his mouth actively seeking the Doctor's when he brushes their lips together.
“Doctor!”
They break apart, reluctantly. “Lady Cranleigh.”
“Captain,” she adds, resignedly.
“Lady Cranleigh. Or should that be Marie Antoinette?” The Captain responds, gallantly stepping forward to take her hand and kiss it. “I think perhaps I should explain-”
“Please don't.” She eyes the Doctor over the Captain's shoulder. “There's really no need.” He really doesn't know whether to be affronted or flattered.
“I got lost,” he offers, unable to stop himself from staring at the striking looking man beside her.
“I'm sorry,” she smiles, tightly. “This is an old friend of the family, Dittar Latoni, from Brazil.”
“How d'you do?” The Doctor sticks out his hand, only to have the Captain take it.
“Perhaps we should...” He nods toward the wall.
“Allow me,” says Lady Cranleigh, neatly sidestepping past them to operate a hidden latch. “Doctor, I think the pair of you can find your way back to your room from here?”
“Quite possibly...”
“Yes,” the Captain cuts in. “Come on Doctor.” He winks, theatrically.
...
“Long hair,” says the Doctor leading the way through the darkness, his feet felt like ice cubes, “did you see?”
“With some *really* interesting body art.” The Captain grins. “And from Brazil. You were right. Why didn't you mention the body?”
“What if he or she already knew? Why didn't you?”
“Oh don't look at me - it's not my body!”
“Thank goodness,” the Doctor sighs.
“I beg your pardon?”
“The end of the passage,” he says, more loudly. “My room should be right HERE.” He punches the wall. Nothing happens. He turns round and tries bumping up against it. Nothing.
“Let me.” Jack mutters, reaching over his shoulder.
Not again- the Doctor thinks, falling backward onto the floor of his room with the Captain on top of him.
“Now if you could...” The Doctor arches his back, which has the unfortunate side effect - since the Captain seems loath to move - of grinding him up against those infernal trousers again and earning him a knowing grin.
“Not that,” he groans.
The Captain's lips find the Doctor's mouth and for a second kiss it's far too sweet and chaste, and nothing like what he wants.
“No?”
“No.”
“Liar,” the Captain hisses, burrowing into his neck.
“There's already one dead body in this house-” The Doctor says, hooking a leg and snagging a wrist before rolling sideways in a manoeuvre that would have been more effective if it wasn't for the cape. Placing one hand either side of the Captain's shoulders he fights his legs free before levering himself up and away.
“And you're worried about your friends?” The Captain clambers to his feet.
“Aren't you?” The Doctor's weighing the options available to him: Harlequin - well it is a costume party - or his own clothes...
“I'd be worried if I was you...” the Captain rips the cloak from his throat, allowing it to pool on the floor. “I'm not worried for her Ladyship, not after seeing her with, whatever his name was - Latoni - or Charles but Ann?” His mouth twists.
“You care for her?” The Doctor turns away, cursing himself for asking.
“She's a cute kid - makes me feel old sometimes... And you? Your friends...?” The question hangs in the air between them.
“They're cute kids,” he acknowledges, zipping himself into his trousers before turning back. “They're like family to me.” He admits under the Captain's gaze. “Pass me my shirt could you?”
...
Ann's sobbing, hysterically, in her mother-in-law to be's arms when the pair of them descend the stairs. Charles is standing near Sir Robert a few feet away, making no move to go and comfort her which the Doctor thinks strange until he realises they are trying to keep her from being able to see the body of a man that's slumped on the floor behind them.
“What's happened?” Demands the Captain.
“There was someone in fancy dress,” Ann wails.
“There, there, my dear.” Lady Cranleigh folds her close. “She's had the most dreadful dream...” she says to the men.
“My head's throbbing,” Ann hiccoughs, “and it wasn't a dream!”
“You do have a nasty bump,” the Doctor says, examining her as best he can, while she clings to Lady Cranleigh.
“Perhaps you had too much to drink, and fell,” suggests the Captain with a sideways look.
“Yes,” agrees her Ladyship a shade too quickly, “perhaps that's it!”
“NO,” cries Ann, allowing herself to be led away. “There was someone in fancy dress!”
“Perhaps some brandy,” says Lady Cranleigh.
“Is that wise - if she's already had too much to drink?” The Doctor asks, following them.
“I only drank lemonade!” Ann sniffs. He makes to pat her on the shoulder and she flinches away from him.
“It was you,” Ann says slowly, breaking free of Lady Cranleigh's grasp and backing away from him. “You in your Harlequin costume! Why aren't you wearing it?”
“I haven't had it on all evening I swear...” The Doctor doesn't bother to appeal to Lady Cranleigh, instead he turns to the Captain and gets the slightest of nods in reply. “And what's more, I can prove it!”
“You may have to dear fellow,” Sir Robert says, peeling off his wig. “The police have already been sent for.”
“He came down here;” Ann's legs buckle and she collapses into the nearest chair. “danced me inside; and then... And then-”
“There, there, my darling,” croons Charles, squatting down beside her.
“When I screamed for help he hit poor James over the head...”
“He's been with me, all night. You have my word as an officer and a gentleman,” puts in the Captain.
Lady Cranleigh snorts.
“Please, you have to believe me.” The Doctor turns from Sir Robert to Lady Cranleigh. “She was there too! She saw us.”
“I saw no such thing!” Two bright spots of colour burn on her Ladyship's cheeks.
“You're lying,” splutters the Doctor.
“Are you calling my mother a liar?” Blusters Charles.
“Yes” chorus the Doctor and the Captain.
“And why, pray, should she do that?” Asks Sir Robert.
“To protect her son.”
“I've been at the party - ask anyone - ask your friend Nyssa - she's danced with me.” Charles straightens to his full height.
“Not you, your elder brother George.”
“Well I say!” Tegan says, brightly, into the sudden silence. “Aren't you a miserable looking lot! And why's there some unconscious guy in the hall?”
There's no colour at all on Lady Cranleigh's face, she sways and Sir Robert catches her before she can fall. “Utter nonsense!” He protests. “Your brother's dead. Tell him Charles.”
“How did you know?” Charles croaks out with a desperate glance at his fiancée.
“Will somebody please explain what's going on?” Asks Tegan, pouring herself a stiff drink.
...
“It's quite simple really,” begins the Doctor. Besides the Captain, the Doctor and his companions all the other guests have been sent home. The doctor that had been sent for for James is sucking his teeth over the corpse in the attic instead and wondering what's best to do for the poor deformed creature that he's been assured is George, Lord Cranleigh. Half the local constabulary is being fed left over cold cuts in the kitchen and the other half is in the drawing room - licking his pencil as he flips open his pocket book. “This house is riddled with secret passageways, you see.”
“Tell us something we don't know!” Huffs Sir Robert.
“Please Sir Robert?” Says the constable, frowning, “Do go on sir.”
“Which, as we discovered when we got lost in there-” He tips his head to the Captain. “-lead to one of the biggest, well 'priest hole' doesn't come close to describing it really, you could probably hide a small army in there and no-one would be any the wiser. But in this case all it had to conceal was one dreadfully damaged son and his nurses. Or should I say jailers?”
Ann starts sobbing with renewed violence and Nyssa puts an arm around her shoulders.
“I'd like to believe Lady Cranleigh did what she did with the best of intentions...”
“She did. She did,” mutters Charles.
“There's certainly no shortage of clothes - freshly laundered; books - about botany, mostly; pens, ink, paper, all manner of things to keep a fellow occupied. Prints on the walls of his room-”
“Ropes to tie him to the bed...” scowls the Captain.
“You can't understand. He was a danger to himself!” Burst out Lady Cranleigh. “He'd been tortured... Driven out of his mind by those savages...”
Ann runs from the room followed closely by Nyssa.
“All for the sake of that blessed flower!” Charles grinds out.
“Which itself was my first clue,” says the Doctor.
...
“What's going to happen now?” Yawns Adric.
“Charles has told us we must stay the night. As for the rest we'll have to leave that to Sir Robert and the police to sort out.”
“Must we stay?” Tegan wrinkles her nose, “Someone was killed here today,”
“And someone else had a life returned to them,” the Captain says, slipping in between them. “Don't forget that.”
“Hopefully,” sighs the Doctor bumping up against him, “Hopefully... Anyway we can't leave Nyssa behind and she won't want to leave Ann on her own tonight so I don't see we've much option.”
Tegan stretches, and holds out her arm. “Adric, could you see me to my room please?”
“Certainly Tegan.” He smiles, taking it. “And you Doctor, are you going to bed too?”
“No, right now I think I'm going to take a bath... I've been looking forward to one all evening.”
“Need a hand with that?” The Captain whispers in his ear.
“Well I wouldn't want to make you a liar now would I?”
The Captain raises his eyebrows.
“'With me, all night. You have my word as an officer and a gentleman,' were your exact words I think...”
The Captain smiles.
“Only one thing,” adds the Doctor, “you're not planning on leaving that infernal mask on all night are you?”
the end