1x06: The Tenth Sister (2/3)
Title: The Tenth Sister
Author: millylicious
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Rose/Ten II
Summary: When the Doctor's plan for an anniversary celebration is ruined, his back-up plan leads them to meet with one of Rose's favorite authors. But celebration is the last thing on their mind when it becomes obvious that something is wrong - something that could threaten the life and sanity of everyone it crosses path with.
Author's notes: Thanks to shinyopals for all the help and to everyone who provided assistance and compassion. A bit of a scare, some humor and a pinch of romance.
Episode 6 of a virtual series at the_altverse , following The Stuff of Nightmares last week.
Virtual Series Masterlist
The room was dark and a tad blurry when Rose opened her eyes. She blinked a few times, the fog of sleep clearing and making the details of the room come into focus. Next to her, she could make out the rise and fall of the Doctor’s back. He was fast asleep, which was to be expected. Why wasn’t she?
The recurrence of the noise that had pulled her from slumber made her sit up abruptly and after making sure she had not disturbed the Doctor’s tranquillity, she got out of bed. The floor was cold as ice and she let out a muted gasp, cursing under her breath.
“Shoes…shoes…”
The much needed protection was spotted right next to the fireplace and she quickly hopped in their direction. Slipping them on, she wiggled her frozen toes in their new warm shelter. Clearly, someone, somewhere, held a grudge against them.
The repeated noise caught her attention again. Going back to the bed, she dug deep into the Doctor’s pockets. Guesstimating based on the shape and texture of the objects, she pushed aside a comb, a few jelly babies and something furry, before finally closing her hand on what she was looking for. The sonic screwdriver would do as a torch in a pinch, after all.
After a quick change of settings, she left the room. As she wandered down the corridor, she made sure to aim the light low, so as not to surprise anyone who might be left traumatized by the piece of technology. The noise was growing louder now. It sounded like paper being crunched in a ball, or shuffling about. A little bit ahead of her, she thought she heard the click of a door closing and she raised the beam a little, but saw nothing.
Turning a corner, she finally spotted a source of light and she turned off her torch, pocketing the sonic screwdriver. She had to admit, the robe one of the twins - she could not remember which, Clara? Amelia? - had sent for her was rather practical. Its major fails had more to do with comfort; it wasn’t fluffy or made of fleece like her own, which rendered it vastly inferior.
The light was coming from a slightly ajar door, the quick succession of light and shadows suggesting that it was coming from a fireplace. She approached on tip-toes, then peeked in.
It looked as though a tornado had picked up everything in the room and thrown it about. The ground, bed and writing desk were all covered with pages covered in script, with balls of crumbled paper here and there. In the middle of the chaos, Rose saw Jane walking back and forth. She was twisting inked covered palms in a way that reminded her of Jackie, a look of great distress on her face.
Should she just leave? Was it right for her to just wander around in the middle of the night? Would Jane be offended? She no longer had the luxury to worry about any if those things when Jane looked up and saw her first.
“Who’s there?”
There was a fear in Jane’s voice that made Rose want to reach out for her. She pushed the door wide open and walked in.
“It’s me, Rose. I’m sorry, I couldn’t sleep and I saw light.”
“Oh. It’s fine, please do come in.”
After her initial relief, Jane seemed to notice the state of her room and she blushed. Rose tried her best to clear a spot on the bed subtly, so as not to further Jane’s embarrassment, then sat down.
“Terribly sorry for the mess, I don’t get visitors here very often. I’m generally tidy though, but… since coming here, I’ve been struggling so with my work that I tend to get a bit wrapped up in it.”
Jane picked up a few pieces and went to put them on the writing desk. Rose took advantage of the fact that she had her back to her to steal a peek at one of the pages on the bed next to her. She recognized the name instantly and she smiled. Mr Darcy. Pride and Prejudice. She had been right about the date.
“What’s it about?” Rose asked, though she knew full well the story. It felt so odd to her though, to see the novel not as she had grown to love it, but as something that was in the process of being written. It had existed for centuries in her world, and here it was, nothing more than handwritten words on bits of paper. That part of time travel never got old.
“Oh… it's nothing of consequence, really. Just a story,” Jane said, sitting down at an angle on her chair so that she could look at Rose.
“But what about?”
“A lot of silliness. It amused me, but now I fear the story has become far more trouble than it’s worth. Truth be told, the script is rather old, but I just can’t seem to part with it. I keep it in my drawer… These are just some of the changes I’m considering. A bit of a mess, really.”
The difference between the Jane that was before her now and the one she had met at the ball was disconcerting. The intellect was still there, but the bravado was gone. Despite the fact that she probably had a good ten years on Rose, Jane appeared very young indeed.
“Is that why you came here? Change of scenery to help inspiration?”
“Part of it,” Jane replied with a nod. She paused and seemed hesitant to continue. “My father passed away recently. It has been… difficult.”
Rose remembered now. Pride and Prejudice had been published just a year after Jane’s father had died. She remembered that it had been part of the appeal of the book to her, because having lost her father too, she felt a connection to the author. She had always imagined that the relationship between Lizzie and her father in the book had a lot to do with it as well.
“My father passed when I was young. I understand. I’m very sorry.”
“As am I.”
They were silent for a few minutes, both revisiting their own pain. Rose had Pete now, it was true, but despite all her love for him, he would never really be her dad. They were both very conscious of it. Perhaps it was because of Jane’s own story, but the pain of losing her dad felt very vivid, more than it had in years. Clearing her throat, she looked back down at the pages next to her.
“So it’s the ending that’s troubling you, then?”
Jane sighed, though obviously thankful for a change of subject.
“Yes. It really is all about the ending, isn’t it?”
When she had been in school, Rose’s teachers had often reprimanded her for her habit of skipping to the ending when she was but halfway through the book. She would then return to the book, content in knowing that things would end well, or abandon it altogether if they did not. With the Doctor, she had learned that the ride was just as exhilarating when you had no idea how it would end. Perhaps more.
Still, it really was always all about the ending.
“I still think people would want a happy ending, wouldn’t they?”
A shadow passed over Jane’s eyes.
“We all want a happy ending, Rose. I’ve come to learn that we rarely get what we want. Now, if you’ll please excuse me, I need to return to my work.”
Pushing on her heels, Jane twisted in her chair so that she was facing the writing desk with her back to Rose. Rose was about to counter with an apology, when something caught her attention on the pages that were spread across the bed. With a frown, she picked one page and after a quick scan, she stuffed it in her pocket with the sonic screwdriver.
“I’m sorry for disturbing you. It’s very late, I should go.”
Jane offered not response and Rose was off, being careful not to step on any pages as she went.
--
Breakfast was… unpleasant. For lack of a more fitting and even less fun word.
People appeared groggy, most of them keeping their eyes fixed on their plate. It took the Doctor a bit by surprise, but he chose to blame it on this period’s version of a hangover. Mr Austen excused himself early, saying he was expected at his office, which left the breakfast table rather empty. There was another notable absentee: Jane had sent word that she felt unwell.
“See! There is something wrong,” Rose told him pointedly in a low voice. She had shown him the page before they had come down and obviously felt like this situation just further proved her point.
He had to admit, the ending he had read on that page varied wildly from the published version. He still doubted that there was anything out of order though - all authors made changes to their work between the time it was finished and its publication.
“It doesn’t mean anything, really. Perhaps she just wants more time to focus on her work.”
Rose gave him an incredulous look.
“A book that now includes Mr Darcy being killed in a duel, yeah?”
He shrugged, but it was evident that Rose was not about to let go. She seemed to be about to say something else, but instead she suddenly pressed her lips together in a tense smile. The cook bent between the two of them and placed plates filled with pastries on the table, looking rather discontent. He frowned. Since when was the cook in the habit of serving breakfast?
“Excuse me, where is the young maid I talked to yesterday?”
“Aubergine is feeling unwell, sir. She would not come out of her room this morning, so we are a bit shorthanded at present,” she said, clearly addressing the two Austen girls as she spoke the second sentence. It was obvious that she expected there would be repercussions to the young girl’s conduct.
“Ah.”
The cook placed a second plate on the table next to Amelia and the Doctor thought he saw the girl wince, leaning a bit away from the cook His thoughts were otherwise occupied by Aubrey, but he did wonder a bit at that. Amelia probably noticed he was looking at her, because she spoke the moment the cook had exited the room.
“I never did like her. Papa says she’s a good cook, but she was always so mean to me as a kid. Made me afraid of going into the kitchen, she did.”
That was definitely a sentiment he could sympathize with.
“She is rather an excellent cook though, you have to admit to that,” Mrs Brook pointed out. Amelia shrugged, bowing her head. “It seems to be a nice day out and I had entertained the thought of going for some shopping. Would you care to join me?”
Amelia replied with a nod, though she did not appear particularly enthused. Clara announced that she was going to practise her piano, because she was growing terrified that all her skills were gone from lack of play. Next, Mrs Brook turned expectant eyes to Rose. He saw Rose shift uncomfortably on her chair and she glanced his way. Remembering how much help she had been the night before in getting him out of a similar situation, he smiled, before answering for her. “I’m sure Rose would love to, wouldn’t you, Rose?”
She glared at him, her cheeks flushing red. His smile grew even wider.
“Of course.”
She kicked him in the shin under the table and he pressed his lips together to hold back his moan. The three women made plans to depart within an hour of leaving the table, but he was barely listening by then. In his head, he brought up a mental floor plan of the house as best as he could tell from his knowledge of it. There would have to be some exploring to do.
--
Rose would have said that she loved shopping. With the Doctor, she had often gone through markets on various planets, looking through trinkets and picking a few things for herself or others. For all her complaining, Jackie did love the souvenirs Rose would bring back from time to time.
Yet, an hour more of this and Rose suspected she would grow bored out of her mind. Literally.
Perhaps it was because all she really wanted was to spend more time with Jane, trying to figure out what was wrong with her writing. The Doctor may be right, it would not be the first time that there were alternate endings to a book, but it felt wrong. If Rose had learnt anything in the last few years, it had been to trust her gut instincts. Right now, they were telling her that something was going on here.
“What do you think of this brooch, Mrs Smith?”
Mrs Brook’s voice brought her out of her reverie and she looked down at the piece of jewellery the woman was holding up for her inspection. She did not even care to correct her on her name. Rose had lost count of how many shops they had visited and they were all starting to blend together, along with their merchandise. Adding to her annoyance, there was a song stuck in her head. She was trying to figure out exactly what it was, because she suspected it would lead to a full blown migraine if left to roam in her brain too long.
“S’very nice,” she shrugged.
“If you don’t mind me saying, you seem a bit distraught,” Mrs Brook said on a compassionate tone. Rose groaned internally. The last thing she wanted was to discuss her feelings with the woman. She was nice enough, but she doubted they shared much in common. Not enough to build bridges upon, at the very least.
“I didn’t sleep well.”
“I had a most dreadful night as well,” Amelia exclaimed next to Mrs Brook. This was the most invested Rose had seen her in hours. “I had terrible nightmares.”
Mrs Brook placed a reassuring hand on Amelia’s shoulder. “Now, Amelia. I’m sure you were just tired from the ball, that’s all. I think we’re all a bit tired, aren’t we? Perhaps we should make it back home?”
Rose sighed with relief, though she could not help noticing that Amelia looked anything but. With eyes as round as buttons, she shook her head.
“No. I do… I do believe I have some more shopping to do. There is… there is an acquaintance in town to whom I owe a well overdue visit. But you go ahead.”
Amelia spoke very fast, her voice childish and uneven. She looked terrified. When neither Rose nor Mrs Brook said anything, she turned and hurried way.
“What a very peculiar girl…” Mrs Brook commented. Rose had to agree. The woman next turned to Rose. “Shall we?”
Rose took the offered arm, expecting it would be a rather long walk home.
--
Hopefully, the fifth room would be the right one, the Doctor thought as he raised his fist. He knocked three times, then called out Aubrey's name and waited.
Silence.
Pressing his ear to the door, he tried to focus on the noises inside. He heard nothing at first, then came a faint noise. It sounded like a sob. “Aubrey? It's the Doctor.”
He heard shuffling behind the door and finally it opened. Aubrey stood in the threshold, her eyes red, her pinafore wrinkled and her hair undone. She was shaking like a leaf.
“What's wrong?”
She blinked but said nothing, brushing away tears with the back of her hands. He noticed that the skin of her hands was red, as though rubbed raw. Moving past her, he entered the room and looked around.
The room was simple enough, but in order aside from the unmade bed. There was a bit of untouched food on the side table. He turned back to the girl, repeating his question.
“The spiders, sir. Everywhere I look, everything I touch. In the food!” Aubrey pointed a trembling finger at the bit of bread and fruit in the plate and he reached for it. She cried out when he took the bread in his hands. “Be careful!”
He sniffed at the bread, looked at it, then took a bite. Aubrey gasped and covered her mouth with both hands.
“Nothing wrong with this bread, Aubrey,” he said around the food, then swallowed. He put the rest of the bread down on the plate, then rubbed both hands together to get rid of the crumbs. The maid still looked uncertain. “How long have you been seeing these things?”
She still appeared a bit shaken, but his presence was obviously reassuring. Still, she was twisting the fabric of her pinafore between her fingers with obvious anxiety. He had almost given up on her ever providing him with an answer when she finally spoke.
“About a week, sir. 'Round the same time as the lights over the Thames.”
“What lights over the Thames?” he asked, his mind fired up.
“Miss Jane called them northern lights, sir. She saw them too. It was late into the night and I'm usually in bed, but Miss Amelia was feeling unwell, so I had just gotten up to check on her as she had asked.”
It made no sense. Northern lights localized right over the Thames? The Doctor glanced out the window, but they were on the other side of the house, opposite the river. He needed to check the TARDIS for readings. Remembering Aubrey's presence, he spun to face her again. With two long strides, he reached her and placed both hands on her shoulders reassuringly.
“Aubrey, listen to me. Whatever you might see, whatever you might hear, it's just someone playing tricks on you. I promise that I'll take care of it.”
She nodded at him. He knew she was putting all of her somewhat naive trust in him, a man she had only met the night before. He hoped that he would prove himself deserving of it.
--
Rose excused herself the moment Mrs Brook and she made it home, then made a beeline for Jane's room. She was a bit afraid of what she would find behind the closed door, but she took a deep breath and walked in.
It was worse than she had imagined.
There were pages covering every centimetre of the floor now. Some were covered with script, others were torn and a few more were crumbled in a ball. Rose gasped and Jane turned from her writing desk. She was crying.
“Rose.”
Rose was to her an instant, taking the quill out of her hand and placing it in its holder. She lowered herself so that she could look at Jane in the eyes, but was still struggling to find the right words when the woman spoke again.
“The words keep coming, Rose. They’re in my head… All these possibilities and I can’t make them stop. How does it end?”
“It’s gonna be fine, don’t worry,” she replied, though she had rarely doubted her own words as much. She pulled Jane’s head to her shoulder and wrapped her arms around her, hoping the embrace would fill the gaps and provide comfort where her words could not.
“Rose…”
She pulled back, eyes meeting with Jane’s.
“You’re humming.”
Rose opened her mouth to protest, then gasped when she realised that Jane was right. Without being conscious of it, she had been humming the song that had been stuck in her head all day. She could hear it more clearly though, as if it was not just in her head, but actually playing.
Because it was.
A frown creasing her brow, Rose stood up. Jane’s fingers closed around her wrist, stopping her from taking another step towards the door. It sounded like piano. “Is Clara still in the house?”
Jane seemed to have no answer. Fine. It would not be the first time Rose faced something that frightened her. She reached out and scooped up Jane’s free hand in hers.
“Something’s going on in this house, Jane,” she said, her eyes sweeping the room. It stood as enough evidence to support her suspicions and she was pretty confident that they were only about to discover more. “We need to figure out what. Can’t very well do that in this room, can we?”
Jane’s complexion took on a definite shade of green and she looked like she was about to say that staying where they were satisfied her completely. Not giving her the chance to do so, Rose pulled on her hand and the author had no choice but to follow.
Slowly, they made their way down the corridor towards the music room. As they approached, the music grew louder and louder. Finally, they rounded the last corner and were greeted by a bizarre sight.
Clara was sitting at the grand piano, playing the same succession of notes over and over. It was a melody Rose knew too well. Jane seemed to regain some her bravado and she passed Rose, advancing towards her cousin.
“Clara? Please. Clara…”
With a gasp of shock, Jane paused on the other side of the piano. Rose could feel tendrils of growing panic wrap themselves tighter around her heart.
“What? What’s wrong?”
When Jane did not reply, her eyes focused on the keyboard, Rose hurried to her side. From simply bizarre, the situation took a nose dive into horror. The ivory keys were stained red.
Both Jane and Rose reached for Clara at the same time, pulling her hands away from the keyboard. The blood was crusted around her fingernails, but she was most definitely still bleeding. She must have been playing manically for hours, the pressure harming her fingers and nails. The young girl shrieked like a fury, pulling hard on her arms to free herself. “Leave me! I have to play! Don’t you understand? I have to get it right, or I’ll forget everything!”
The commotion caused Mrs Brook to come running in. She stared in horror as Rose and Jane struggled to keep their hold on Clara. “What’s happening?”
“Go get Amelia!” Jane cried out, her eyes never leaving her cousin.
“She’s gone! She hasn’t returned from our shopping trip. She…”
“Go get the Doctor! Down by the Thames, there’s a blue police box. Go!” Rose interrupted, knowing full well that Amelia was still away and where she had gone. When she heard nothing, she looked up. “Go!”
Mrs Brook gave a nod and gathered her skirt, leaving the way she had come.
Part 1 | Part 3
Author: millylicious
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Rose/Ten II
Summary: When the Doctor's plan for an anniversary celebration is ruined, his back-up plan leads them to meet with one of Rose's favorite authors. But celebration is the last thing on their mind when it becomes obvious that something is wrong - something that could threaten the life and sanity of everyone it crosses path with.
Author's notes: Thanks to shinyopals for all the help and to everyone who provided assistance and compassion. A bit of a scare, some humor and a pinch of romance.
Episode 6 of a virtual series at the_altverse , following The Stuff of Nightmares last week.
Virtual Series Masterlist
The room was dark and a tad blurry when Rose opened her eyes. She blinked a few times, the fog of sleep clearing and making the details of the room come into focus. Next to her, she could make out the rise and fall of the Doctor’s back. He was fast asleep, which was to be expected. Why wasn’t she?
The recurrence of the noise that had pulled her from slumber made her sit up abruptly and after making sure she had not disturbed the Doctor’s tranquillity, she got out of bed. The floor was cold as ice and she let out a muted gasp, cursing under her breath.
“Shoes…shoes…”
The much needed protection was spotted right next to the fireplace and she quickly hopped in their direction. Slipping them on, she wiggled her frozen toes in their new warm shelter. Clearly, someone, somewhere, held a grudge against them.
The repeated noise caught her attention again. Going back to the bed, she dug deep into the Doctor’s pockets. Guesstimating based on the shape and texture of the objects, she pushed aside a comb, a few jelly babies and something furry, before finally closing her hand on what she was looking for. The sonic screwdriver would do as a torch in a pinch, after all.
After a quick change of settings, she left the room. As she wandered down the corridor, she made sure to aim the light low, so as not to surprise anyone who might be left traumatized by the piece of technology. The noise was growing louder now. It sounded like paper being crunched in a ball, or shuffling about. A little bit ahead of her, she thought she heard the click of a door closing and she raised the beam a little, but saw nothing.
Turning a corner, she finally spotted a source of light and she turned off her torch, pocketing the sonic screwdriver. She had to admit, the robe one of the twins - she could not remember which, Clara? Amelia? - had sent for her was rather practical. Its major fails had more to do with comfort; it wasn’t fluffy or made of fleece like her own, which rendered it vastly inferior.
The light was coming from a slightly ajar door, the quick succession of light and shadows suggesting that it was coming from a fireplace. She approached on tip-toes, then peeked in.
It looked as though a tornado had picked up everything in the room and thrown it about. The ground, bed and writing desk were all covered with pages covered in script, with balls of crumbled paper here and there. In the middle of the chaos, Rose saw Jane walking back and forth. She was twisting inked covered palms in a way that reminded her of Jackie, a look of great distress on her face.
Should she just leave? Was it right for her to just wander around in the middle of the night? Would Jane be offended? She no longer had the luxury to worry about any if those things when Jane looked up and saw her first.
“Who’s there?”
There was a fear in Jane’s voice that made Rose want to reach out for her. She pushed the door wide open and walked in.
“It’s me, Rose. I’m sorry, I couldn’t sleep and I saw light.”
“Oh. It’s fine, please do come in.”
After her initial relief, Jane seemed to notice the state of her room and she blushed. Rose tried her best to clear a spot on the bed subtly, so as not to further Jane’s embarrassment, then sat down.
“Terribly sorry for the mess, I don’t get visitors here very often. I’m generally tidy though, but… since coming here, I’ve been struggling so with my work that I tend to get a bit wrapped up in it.”
Jane picked up a few pieces and went to put them on the writing desk. Rose took advantage of the fact that she had her back to her to steal a peek at one of the pages on the bed next to her. She recognized the name instantly and she smiled. Mr Darcy. Pride and Prejudice. She had been right about the date.
“What’s it about?” Rose asked, though she knew full well the story. It felt so odd to her though, to see the novel not as she had grown to love it, but as something that was in the process of being written. It had existed for centuries in her world, and here it was, nothing more than handwritten words on bits of paper. That part of time travel never got old.
“Oh… it's nothing of consequence, really. Just a story,” Jane said, sitting down at an angle on her chair so that she could look at Rose.
“But what about?”
“A lot of silliness. It amused me, but now I fear the story has become far more trouble than it’s worth. Truth be told, the script is rather old, but I just can’t seem to part with it. I keep it in my drawer… These are just some of the changes I’m considering. A bit of a mess, really.”
The difference between the Jane that was before her now and the one she had met at the ball was disconcerting. The intellect was still there, but the bravado was gone. Despite the fact that she probably had a good ten years on Rose, Jane appeared very young indeed.
“Is that why you came here? Change of scenery to help inspiration?”
“Part of it,” Jane replied with a nod. She paused and seemed hesitant to continue. “My father passed away recently. It has been… difficult.”
Rose remembered now. Pride and Prejudice had been published just a year after Jane’s father had died. She remembered that it had been part of the appeal of the book to her, because having lost her father too, she felt a connection to the author. She had always imagined that the relationship between Lizzie and her father in the book had a lot to do with it as well.
“My father passed when I was young. I understand. I’m very sorry.”
“As am I.”
They were silent for a few minutes, both revisiting their own pain. Rose had Pete now, it was true, but despite all her love for him, he would never really be her dad. They were both very conscious of it. Perhaps it was because of Jane’s own story, but the pain of losing her dad felt very vivid, more than it had in years. Clearing her throat, she looked back down at the pages next to her.
“So it’s the ending that’s troubling you, then?”
Jane sighed, though obviously thankful for a change of subject.
“Yes. It really is all about the ending, isn’t it?”
When she had been in school, Rose’s teachers had often reprimanded her for her habit of skipping to the ending when she was but halfway through the book. She would then return to the book, content in knowing that things would end well, or abandon it altogether if they did not. With the Doctor, she had learned that the ride was just as exhilarating when you had no idea how it would end. Perhaps more.
Still, it really was always all about the ending.
“I still think people would want a happy ending, wouldn’t they?”
A shadow passed over Jane’s eyes.
“We all want a happy ending, Rose. I’ve come to learn that we rarely get what we want. Now, if you’ll please excuse me, I need to return to my work.”
Pushing on her heels, Jane twisted in her chair so that she was facing the writing desk with her back to Rose. Rose was about to counter with an apology, when something caught her attention on the pages that were spread across the bed. With a frown, she picked one page and after a quick scan, she stuffed it in her pocket with the sonic screwdriver.
“I’m sorry for disturbing you. It’s very late, I should go.”
Jane offered not response and Rose was off, being careful not to step on any pages as she went.
--
Breakfast was… unpleasant. For lack of a more fitting and even less fun word.
People appeared groggy, most of them keeping their eyes fixed on their plate. It took the Doctor a bit by surprise, but he chose to blame it on this period’s version of a hangover. Mr Austen excused himself early, saying he was expected at his office, which left the breakfast table rather empty. There was another notable absentee: Jane had sent word that she felt unwell.
“See! There is something wrong,” Rose told him pointedly in a low voice. She had shown him the page before they had come down and obviously felt like this situation just further proved her point.
He had to admit, the ending he had read on that page varied wildly from the published version. He still doubted that there was anything out of order though - all authors made changes to their work between the time it was finished and its publication.
“It doesn’t mean anything, really. Perhaps she just wants more time to focus on her work.”
Rose gave him an incredulous look.
“A book that now includes Mr Darcy being killed in a duel, yeah?”
He shrugged, but it was evident that Rose was not about to let go. She seemed to be about to say something else, but instead she suddenly pressed her lips together in a tense smile. The cook bent between the two of them and placed plates filled with pastries on the table, looking rather discontent. He frowned. Since when was the cook in the habit of serving breakfast?
“Excuse me, where is the young maid I talked to yesterday?”
“Aubergine is feeling unwell, sir. She would not come out of her room this morning, so we are a bit shorthanded at present,” she said, clearly addressing the two Austen girls as she spoke the second sentence. It was obvious that she expected there would be repercussions to the young girl’s conduct.
“Ah.”
The cook placed a second plate on the table next to Amelia and the Doctor thought he saw the girl wince, leaning a bit away from the cook His thoughts were otherwise occupied by Aubrey, but he did wonder a bit at that. Amelia probably noticed he was looking at her, because she spoke the moment the cook had exited the room.
“I never did like her. Papa says she’s a good cook, but she was always so mean to me as a kid. Made me afraid of going into the kitchen, she did.”
That was definitely a sentiment he could sympathize with.
“She is rather an excellent cook though, you have to admit to that,” Mrs Brook pointed out. Amelia shrugged, bowing her head. “It seems to be a nice day out and I had entertained the thought of going for some shopping. Would you care to join me?”
Amelia replied with a nod, though she did not appear particularly enthused. Clara announced that she was going to practise her piano, because she was growing terrified that all her skills were gone from lack of play. Next, Mrs Brook turned expectant eyes to Rose. He saw Rose shift uncomfortably on her chair and she glanced his way. Remembering how much help she had been the night before in getting him out of a similar situation, he smiled, before answering for her. “I’m sure Rose would love to, wouldn’t you, Rose?”
She glared at him, her cheeks flushing red. His smile grew even wider.
“Of course.”
She kicked him in the shin under the table and he pressed his lips together to hold back his moan. The three women made plans to depart within an hour of leaving the table, but he was barely listening by then. In his head, he brought up a mental floor plan of the house as best as he could tell from his knowledge of it. There would have to be some exploring to do.
--
Rose would have said that she loved shopping. With the Doctor, she had often gone through markets on various planets, looking through trinkets and picking a few things for herself or others. For all her complaining, Jackie did love the souvenirs Rose would bring back from time to time.
Yet, an hour more of this and Rose suspected she would grow bored out of her mind. Literally.
Perhaps it was because all she really wanted was to spend more time with Jane, trying to figure out what was wrong with her writing. The Doctor may be right, it would not be the first time that there were alternate endings to a book, but it felt wrong. If Rose had learnt anything in the last few years, it had been to trust her gut instincts. Right now, they were telling her that something was going on here.
“What do you think of this brooch, Mrs Smith?”
Mrs Brook’s voice brought her out of her reverie and she looked down at the piece of jewellery the woman was holding up for her inspection. She did not even care to correct her on her name. Rose had lost count of how many shops they had visited and they were all starting to blend together, along with their merchandise. Adding to her annoyance, there was a song stuck in her head. She was trying to figure out exactly what it was, because she suspected it would lead to a full blown migraine if left to roam in her brain too long.
“S’very nice,” she shrugged.
“If you don’t mind me saying, you seem a bit distraught,” Mrs Brook said on a compassionate tone. Rose groaned internally. The last thing she wanted was to discuss her feelings with the woman. She was nice enough, but she doubted they shared much in common. Not enough to build bridges upon, at the very least.
“I didn’t sleep well.”
“I had a most dreadful night as well,” Amelia exclaimed next to Mrs Brook. This was the most invested Rose had seen her in hours. “I had terrible nightmares.”
Mrs Brook placed a reassuring hand on Amelia’s shoulder. “Now, Amelia. I’m sure you were just tired from the ball, that’s all. I think we’re all a bit tired, aren’t we? Perhaps we should make it back home?”
Rose sighed with relief, though she could not help noticing that Amelia looked anything but. With eyes as round as buttons, she shook her head.
“No. I do… I do believe I have some more shopping to do. There is… there is an acquaintance in town to whom I owe a well overdue visit. But you go ahead.”
Amelia spoke very fast, her voice childish and uneven. She looked terrified. When neither Rose nor Mrs Brook said anything, she turned and hurried way.
“What a very peculiar girl…” Mrs Brook commented. Rose had to agree. The woman next turned to Rose. “Shall we?”
Rose took the offered arm, expecting it would be a rather long walk home.
--
Hopefully, the fifth room would be the right one, the Doctor thought as he raised his fist. He knocked three times, then called out Aubrey's name and waited.
Silence.
Pressing his ear to the door, he tried to focus on the noises inside. He heard nothing at first, then came a faint noise. It sounded like a sob. “Aubrey? It's the Doctor.”
He heard shuffling behind the door and finally it opened. Aubrey stood in the threshold, her eyes red, her pinafore wrinkled and her hair undone. She was shaking like a leaf.
“What's wrong?”
She blinked but said nothing, brushing away tears with the back of her hands. He noticed that the skin of her hands was red, as though rubbed raw. Moving past her, he entered the room and looked around.
The room was simple enough, but in order aside from the unmade bed. There was a bit of untouched food on the side table. He turned back to the girl, repeating his question.
“The spiders, sir. Everywhere I look, everything I touch. In the food!” Aubrey pointed a trembling finger at the bit of bread and fruit in the plate and he reached for it. She cried out when he took the bread in his hands. “Be careful!”
He sniffed at the bread, looked at it, then took a bite. Aubrey gasped and covered her mouth with both hands.
“Nothing wrong with this bread, Aubrey,” he said around the food, then swallowed. He put the rest of the bread down on the plate, then rubbed both hands together to get rid of the crumbs. The maid still looked uncertain. “How long have you been seeing these things?”
She still appeared a bit shaken, but his presence was obviously reassuring. Still, she was twisting the fabric of her pinafore between her fingers with obvious anxiety. He had almost given up on her ever providing him with an answer when she finally spoke.
“About a week, sir. 'Round the same time as the lights over the Thames.”
“What lights over the Thames?” he asked, his mind fired up.
“Miss Jane called them northern lights, sir. She saw them too. It was late into the night and I'm usually in bed, but Miss Amelia was feeling unwell, so I had just gotten up to check on her as she had asked.”
It made no sense. Northern lights localized right over the Thames? The Doctor glanced out the window, but they were on the other side of the house, opposite the river. He needed to check the TARDIS for readings. Remembering Aubrey's presence, he spun to face her again. With two long strides, he reached her and placed both hands on her shoulders reassuringly.
“Aubrey, listen to me. Whatever you might see, whatever you might hear, it's just someone playing tricks on you. I promise that I'll take care of it.”
She nodded at him. He knew she was putting all of her somewhat naive trust in him, a man she had only met the night before. He hoped that he would prove himself deserving of it.
--
Rose excused herself the moment Mrs Brook and she made it home, then made a beeline for Jane's room. She was a bit afraid of what she would find behind the closed door, but she took a deep breath and walked in.
It was worse than she had imagined.
There were pages covering every centimetre of the floor now. Some were covered with script, others were torn and a few more were crumbled in a ball. Rose gasped and Jane turned from her writing desk. She was crying.
“Rose.”
Rose was to her an instant, taking the quill out of her hand and placing it in its holder. She lowered herself so that she could look at Jane in the eyes, but was still struggling to find the right words when the woman spoke again.
“The words keep coming, Rose. They’re in my head… All these possibilities and I can’t make them stop. How does it end?”
“It’s gonna be fine, don’t worry,” she replied, though she had rarely doubted her own words as much. She pulled Jane’s head to her shoulder and wrapped her arms around her, hoping the embrace would fill the gaps and provide comfort where her words could not.
“Rose…”
She pulled back, eyes meeting with Jane’s.
“You’re humming.”
Rose opened her mouth to protest, then gasped when she realised that Jane was right. Without being conscious of it, she had been humming the song that had been stuck in her head all day. She could hear it more clearly though, as if it was not just in her head, but actually playing.
Because it was.
A frown creasing her brow, Rose stood up. Jane’s fingers closed around her wrist, stopping her from taking another step towards the door. It sounded like piano. “Is Clara still in the house?”
Jane seemed to have no answer. Fine. It would not be the first time Rose faced something that frightened her. She reached out and scooped up Jane’s free hand in hers.
“Something’s going on in this house, Jane,” she said, her eyes sweeping the room. It stood as enough evidence to support her suspicions and she was pretty confident that they were only about to discover more. “We need to figure out what. Can’t very well do that in this room, can we?”
Jane’s complexion took on a definite shade of green and she looked like she was about to say that staying where they were satisfied her completely. Not giving her the chance to do so, Rose pulled on her hand and the author had no choice but to follow.
Slowly, they made their way down the corridor towards the music room. As they approached, the music grew louder and louder. Finally, they rounded the last corner and were greeted by a bizarre sight.
Clara was sitting at the grand piano, playing the same succession of notes over and over. It was a melody Rose knew too well. Jane seemed to regain some her bravado and she passed Rose, advancing towards her cousin.
“Clara? Please. Clara…”
With a gasp of shock, Jane paused on the other side of the piano. Rose could feel tendrils of growing panic wrap themselves tighter around her heart.
“What? What’s wrong?”
When Jane did not reply, her eyes focused on the keyboard, Rose hurried to her side. From simply bizarre, the situation took a nose dive into horror. The ivory keys were stained red.
Both Jane and Rose reached for Clara at the same time, pulling her hands away from the keyboard. The blood was crusted around her fingernails, but she was most definitely still bleeding. She must have been playing manically for hours, the pressure harming her fingers and nails. The young girl shrieked like a fury, pulling hard on her arms to free herself. “Leave me! I have to play! Don’t you understand? I have to get it right, or I’ll forget everything!”
The commotion caused Mrs Brook to come running in. She stared in horror as Rose and Jane struggled to keep their hold on Clara. “What’s happening?”
“Go get Amelia!” Jane cried out, her eyes never leaving her cousin.
“She’s gone! She hasn’t returned from our shopping trip. She…”
“Go get the Doctor! Down by the Thames, there’s a blue police box. Go!” Rose interrupted, knowing full well that Amelia was still away and where she had gone. When she heard nothing, she looked up. “Go!”
Mrs Brook gave a nod and gathered her skirt, leaving the way she had come.
Part 1 | Part 3