fanfic | doctor who | the haymarket precedent (M) - chapter 3/5
Title: The Haymarket Precedent 3/5 (this chapter: 2,951)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Series: Interaction Locations
Characters: Rose Tyler, the Doctor (eighth)
Rating: M - violence|romance|adult concepts
Spoilers: This is a sequel to The Sky On Fire and also has potential spoilers for DW series 4, EDAs and Big Finish Audios
Disclaimer: I own nothing
Betas: No betas ... urk.
Teaspoon: As with most of my fic, this series can also be read on A Teaspoon and an Open Mind, if you prefer.
Author's Note: Dammit! Why does my family need to come over in person to wish me farewell? I had everything all planned out, both packing and proofing today and it all went to sh!t. You'll have to wait for the next two chapters, but at least that will give me something to do on the plane! I'll try to post them while I'm away. I should be able to swing something by the 21st at least, so that's only a week until the conclusion.
The Haymarket Precedent - A Novel Solution
Buckstone had kept up a steady stream of shocked commentary all the way back to the Mallory's Westminster residence. Timothy fueled the drama with the odd, carefully placed comment about near misses and public opinion, while the Doctor watched intently, wearing that look on his face that told Rose he'd be able to recall the conversation word for word, even the portions where everyone was talking over each other.
In the corner opposite, Josephine Mallory cried silently into her lacy handkerchief. Rose wanted to comfort her, but didn't really know what to say. She seemed younger than sixteen - far too young to be engaged, especially to someone as driven as Buckstone. She couldn't imagine the energetic young playwright sparing much time to romance a girl over ten years his junior. Perhaps the marriage served someone, but she was pretty sure it was neither John nor Josephine.
Rose tried to imagine being married off to her cousin, but since she didn't have any cousins, the nearest she could come to was being married off to Mickey, whom she'd known since childhood. The very fact that she'd considered that path in life made her shift uncomfortably. At least the two of them had manage to clear the air recently ... even if it had made for an awkward scene. Their last stop had been full of awkward scenes. Mickey was a sweetheart and he'd surprised her with his determination and intelligence during the war, but she could no more imagine marrying him than she could imagine marrying the Doctor. For entirely different reasons, of course.
Josephine had been crying steadily since Buckstone had told her off for giving the latest threatening letter to Katerina instead of him. Her well-meaning defense that she didn't wish to worry him further, delivered in the wobbly tones of a child in distress, had caused her older brother to sigh dramatically and deliver a monologue on the intellectual failings of the female sex. All of the above left Rose plagued with hot flushes of anger and chill pricklings of sympathy.
The Mallory's butler, a surprisingly young man with the bland label of "Johns" opened the door before Timothy's hand even reached the knocker. They were shown into a smart, high-ceilinged townhouse, furnished in a style that would have cost fortunes in the modern world, and judging by Timothy's pride, probably did in this era, too.
Johns ushered his masters into the downstairs sitting room and then, joining forces with the housekeeper, Mrs. Stewart, to find their unexpected guests some rooms upstairs. The best they could do was two small, adjoining rooms, which suited the travelers perfectly, but offended the housekeeper's sense of proprietry. It wasn't until the Doctor confessed that he wouldn't be staying the night that Mrs. Stewart abandoned her fruitless attempts to reshuffle furniture.
Rose ducked out of her room while a couple of young maids were fetching water for her wash. The sand and splinters had slipped down her bodice and were pinching and rubbing against the boning of her corset in unmentionable places. If she moved too quickly the dust in her hair filtered down and made her sneeze.
The Doctor's door was ajar. "If you're not staying here then where are you going?" she stage-whispered through the gap, fearing Mrs. Stewart's wrath if she discovered them communicating without a chaperone or something.
"I need to talk to you about that," he called back. "Come in."
She slipped inside and closed the door behind her, not because she feared being overheard, but because she felt like pushing the housekeeper's buttons.
"You shouldn't be in here," the Doctor scolded absently, eyeing himself in the mirror and rubbing his hands furiously over his scalp in an attempt to remove the sand. "It'll be quite the scandal."
"You just invited me in! Besides, we need to find out what's going on here."
"Oh, no doubt of that." He closed his eyes and shook his head like a dog, then reeled slightly and looked very surprised.
Rose sighed heavily. "That happens when you channel your inner Irish Setter."
"Not to me, it doesn't," he objected.
"Well, now it does. Add it to the list," she snapped, not in the mood to dance around his newly-human sensitivities. "Those dancers were scared, and I mean really scared. Even Katerina was scared. Not scared like 'this is a prank' type scared, but properly scared. Fear of death type scared."
"Very scared, then."
"It takes a lot to scare a Ukranian."
He laughed as he shook out his coat, sent sand flying across the room and forced Rose to shield her eyes.
She pinned him with a stern look and he did his best to smother his amusement. "Let's be serious. Two Haymarket staff are missing and people are trying to murder the rest with sandbags. It's all a bit Nancy Drew, don't you think?"
"It is a bit," he nodded, switching from mischievous to analytical in the blink of an eye. "Finding them would be the logical first step towards unravelling this nasty mess, especially given the apparent pathological escalation evident in the anonymous letters."
"Pathological how?"
"Look here." He pointed at the first letter, then at the last. "See the increased number of splashes and errors? Whoever is writing this is becoming angrier." He looked up at her, shoulder to shoulder with him staring down at the paper. "He's becoming more desperate, more disturbed."
"More dangerous?"
"Almost certainly. Plus there's the use of these phrases here and here," he pointed at the relevant notes, underlining the words with one neatly trimmed fingernail. "These are taken directly from one of Buckstone's most famous plays, An Alarming Sacrifice. It's the very same play being rehearsed at the theatre. It's never been seen before, which means that only a handful of people could possibly know these lines." He folded the notes into an uneven square and shoved them into her hands. "Keep these safe. They're the only means we have of tying the perpetrator to the crime other than an outright confession. I'm going looking for Nancy Furst, you can handle Stephen Harrod. Based on what we know, I recommend asking the navy."
"How come you get to swan off and I'm stuck here in the middle of a BBC special, being minded by dumb and dumber?"
He pouted. "I though you liked that movie."
"I hate that movie. Mickey likes that movie, not me."
"Well ..." he shrugged apologetically. "I'm sorry about the company, but there's a lot that needs doing here, too. See if you can't get Josephine to introduce you to the players. She seems like a nice enough girl, if not particularly bright."
"Oi!" she slapped him on the arm with the folded sheaf of notes. "Not her fault the only education she ever got was how to sing, dance and be a clotheshorse. It's hard to make something of yourself without something to fall back on."
He paused at the door, glancing down at his shoes, smiled then looked right at her. "Some do better than others with that kind of education."
"Kareoke and dress-ups don't count. Besides," she caught her tongue between her teeth. "I did gymnastics, not dancing."
"Under sevens junior gymnastics, yes I remember." His eyes twinkled. "You got the bronze."
Then he was gone and she was left behind; an illicit presence in his abandoned room. "Well," she said to nobody in particular. "I suppose I'd better get cleaned up and learn how to make interesting conversation about crochet."
-:-
Whilst not exactly something he relished, the Doctor felt he couldn't exactly leave without announcing his intention and the fact Rose was staying behind. A polite knock on the door got him ushered inside and seated opposite Josephine who was sporting a rapidly developing bruise on her cheekbone.
When he inquired about it, she blushed and stammered, "I got turned about in the dark. I think I hit my head on something."
"And yet the Doctor's companion managed to dodge falling sandbags in the same quality of light," her brother scowled. "In all seriousness Jo, you're as clumsy as the maids. You'll cost your husband a fortune in medical bills. I don't envy John your upkeep, really I don't."
Josephine fell so abruptly silent that the Doctor felt compelled to draw her out. "Rose has had a lot more practice running about in the dark than most. I'm sure when she first started, she was just as likely to run into things as the next person."
"She must be a woman of singular talent," Josephine whispered, "to be so admired by yourself and the government."
He grinned. "She is quite singular, I admit. A diamond in the rough, you might say."
Intrigued, Josephine glanced up for the first time. "How so?"
"That's a very long story," he smiled. "And one that Rose can tell you herself, if you'll allow her to remain here while I follow up some information for Mr. Buckstone."
"Oh, Tim," Josephine whispered. "She can stay, can't she?"
Mallory wrinkled his nose and held his crystal tumbler up to the light, turning it this way and that so that it patterned the spirits within. "I don't see that it's got anything to do with me. Our beloved cousin has deemed it shall be so, and so it shall be."
"Oh, thank you Timothy!"
"Don't thank me, thank John. He's the one who pays the staff."
Josephine blushed furiously and stared solidly at her clasped hands. "You mustn't say such things."
"And why not?" Mallory challenge belligerently. "It's the way of things, isn't it? I'm sure the Doctor isn't immune to the difficulty of station and finance."
With two pairs of eyes on him, the Doctor attempted to divert the conversation. "We're not exactly destitute, in our line of work," he hedged.
"What is your line of work, exactly?" Timothy's eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"Is Rose a relation of yours, Doctor?" Josephine asked, coming to his rescue.
"Not at all. She stumbled upon this lifestyle because of me, it's true, but it's her decision to continue with it." He smiled. "It helps that her sense of adventure rivals mine."
"She must be exceptionally well qualified ... did you sponsor her to school?"
"Josephine!" her brother admonished quickly.
"No, it's quite alright," the Doctor smiled. "Rose is a woman of her own means and makes her own way in the world. Her family earned their fortune through commerce and she's never asked me for anything," his smile faltered. "Certainly not anything she wasn't prepared to give in return."
"Was she left an inheritance?" she pressed, ignoring her brother as he buried his face in his hands.
"In a way, maybe," he allowed, pausing to think about it. "But since then, Rose has made a contribution to this country, and indeed to the world that is largely unparalleled. " There was a tentative knock at the door and he was on his feet, an apologetic expression on his face. "That will be Mr. Johns telling me my cab has arrived. If you'll excuse me?"
The Mallory siblings nodded their agreement and watched as their strange house guest bowed politely and left them.
Josephine toyed with the fringe on her shawl, her mind ablaze with strange new concepts of freedom and self-sufficiency. Not being beholden to the Baldwin-Buckstones would be a blessing in and of itself. But it was the freedoms that came with that excision of reliance that most interested her. Specifically, the ability to escape her arranged marriage and find someone of her own choosing.
"The Doctor spoke of Rose most highly," Timothy mused, aware of his sister's silence and fearing it with good reason.
"Indeed he did," she said, forcing a smile. "He must care for her very much."
"Oh, must he? Honestly, you girls and your romantic notions!" he scoffed, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "Can't an educated man simply admire a young woman without there being a scandal or a romance in play? Rose is evidently worthy of such admiration."
"But the way he looks at her ..."
"But nothing," Timothy frowned. "I know you'd much rather he looked at you in that way you're so intent on imagining, but it would pay you recall that you're already promised in marriage, quite apart from being far too young and naive to suit a man of Doctor Smith's intellect."
Josephine blushed furiously and blinked away the tears that stung her eyes. "Timothy, how could you accuse me of such motives?"
He slid forward on his chair and gripped her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. "Because I'm your brother. And because I know what you're like when you get an idea in your muddled little head, so best I nip these notions in the bud before you make a fool of yourself mooning over a man who doesn't want you and whom Papa could not possibly approve. He's educated, well mannered and pleasant enough to look at, but don't forget that he's a policeman. You cannot marry a policeman, Jo. The family would never stand for it."
"I don't think he is a policeman," she said boldly, holding his gaze. "I think he's a spy."
"A spy!" he let his hand fall and burst out laughing
"Yes, I do think so ... and Rose too. That's why the Doctor couldn't talk about her service to her country and that is why she's so well moneyed." She felt the heat as an angry blush built on her cheeks. "Listen to me, Tim!"
"No," he cackled. "Really, you're too much. A spy? Either of them? Do be serious Jo!"
"I am serious!"
Timothy let his smile fade and ruffled her curls as he made his way to the door. "You should write novels with an imagination like that."
"Well, maybe I will!" she spat, angered beyond propriety. "Then I will be independent and Papa can let me marry or not as I please!"
Her brother's eyes hardened as he gripped the door. "Don't make the mistake of thinking dreams like that ever come true." He pressed his lips into a thin line and shook his head. "You're sixteen now. It's time to make your way in the real world with the rest of us instead of hiding behind childish whimsy."
"If Rose can do it, why can't I?" The tears in her eyes spilled over, making shiny trails down her flushed cheeks.
"That Rose Tyler is a freak of nature," he said grimly. "I shudder to think what this country is coming to that we have young women of poor breeding becoming titled and policing our upper classes."
Josephine gasped. "Don't say such things! What if someone heard you?"
"Oh, who, Jo? Who's going to hear me? Are you planning to turn me in to the government for disrespecting some posing shopkeeper's daughter?" He'd worked himself up to the point where his pale face was flushed, the shock of remembered embarrassment almost gagging him on his own bitter words. "Now that I think about it, you might not be far wrong regarding the nature of the Doctor and Miss Tyler's relationship - only I think it is a far less honourable arrangement than the one you're entertaining!"
Timothy slammed the door and stalked down the stairs. She heard him having harsh words with someone in the hall, probably Johns or Mrs. Stewart.
Josephine fished inside her pocket for a neatly embroidered handkerchief, one of her finest, just as everything she wore today represented the best she had to offer. Title without money imposed all of the societal restrictions but none of the easy luxuries people like John Baldwin Buckstone or Dame Rose Tyler were accustomed to. As she patted her eyes and struggled to control her breathing, she reflected that unlike her brother or John, Rose never seemed to care for the trappings of rank and title.
As though summoned by her thoughts, there was a tentative knock at the door and Rose's face appeared, freshly washed and free of dust. "Am I interrupting?"
"No, do come in." Josephine swiped repressively at her disobedient eyes and hastily vanished the handkerchief.
Rose carefully crossed the room and settled herself on the chaise longue in a rustle of fine cotton print. "Is everything okay? Did the Doctor say something nasty? He doesn't mean to. There's just not a whole lot of ..." she pointed to her head and then her mouth, "... editing that goes on. You'd think that a man of his age would learn to think before he speaks, but no."
Her eyes flashed then, making her look fierce and Josephine was quick to object. "Oh, no, it wasn't him and he's hardly that old."
Rose grinned. "Older than you think."
"How old?" she asked, her red-rimmed eyes suddenly wide with childlike curiosity.
"Old enough that he doesn't say. Nine hundred or nine weeks, depending." At approximately twenty seven years of age, give or take a Time War, Rose was in the awkward position of feeling her first tinglings of sibling protectiveness for someone other than her little brother.
"Now you're teasing me," Josephine accused, smiling through her tears to take the edge off her tone.
"Do you want to tell me what's got you so upset?"
She seemed so torn, with her ringlets bobbing along to each pathetic sniff, that Rose couldn't help but reach out and take her hand. "Whatever it is, I'll help you." She caught her eye and held it, making sure she understood. "I promise."
"Honestly?"
"Cross my heart and hope to die."
Josephine grimaced. "No need for desperate measures. The word of a spy is her bond, no doubt."
Rose felt her mind go into overdrive. Just what had the Doctor told them before he left? "Yeah, that's right," she dissembled. "Now, I'll help you and you help me, sound fair?"
"Anything!" Josephine gasped. "Where shall we start?"
Rose grinned, all teeth and determination. "Who do you know in the navy?"
TBC ...
Fandom: Doctor Who
Series: Interaction Locations
Characters: Rose Tyler, the Doctor (eighth)
Rating: M - violence|romance|adult concepts
Spoilers: This is a sequel to The Sky On Fire and also has potential spoilers for DW series 4, EDAs and Big Finish Audios
Disclaimer: I own nothing
Betas: No betas ... urk.
Teaspoon: As with most of my fic, this series can also be read on A Teaspoon and an Open Mind, if you prefer.
Author's Note: Dammit! Why does my family need to come over in person to wish me farewell? I had everything all planned out, both packing and proofing today and it all went to sh!t. You'll have to wait for the next two chapters, but at least that will give me something to do on the plane! I'll try to post them while I'm away. I should be able to swing something by the 21st at least, so that's only a week until the conclusion.
The Haymarket Precedent - A Novel Solution
Buckstone had kept up a steady stream of shocked commentary all the way back to the Mallory's Westminster residence. Timothy fueled the drama with the odd, carefully placed comment about near misses and public opinion, while the Doctor watched intently, wearing that look on his face that told Rose he'd be able to recall the conversation word for word, even the portions where everyone was talking over each other.
In the corner opposite, Josephine Mallory cried silently into her lacy handkerchief. Rose wanted to comfort her, but didn't really know what to say. She seemed younger than sixteen - far too young to be engaged, especially to someone as driven as Buckstone. She couldn't imagine the energetic young playwright sparing much time to romance a girl over ten years his junior. Perhaps the marriage served someone, but she was pretty sure it was neither John nor Josephine.
Rose tried to imagine being married off to her cousin, but since she didn't have any cousins, the nearest she could come to was being married off to Mickey, whom she'd known since childhood. The very fact that she'd considered that path in life made her shift uncomfortably. At least the two of them had manage to clear the air recently ... even if it had made for an awkward scene. Their last stop had been full of awkward scenes. Mickey was a sweetheart and he'd surprised her with his determination and intelligence during the war, but she could no more imagine marrying him than she could imagine marrying the Doctor. For entirely different reasons, of course.
Josephine had been crying steadily since Buckstone had told her off for giving the latest threatening letter to Katerina instead of him. Her well-meaning defense that she didn't wish to worry him further, delivered in the wobbly tones of a child in distress, had caused her older brother to sigh dramatically and deliver a monologue on the intellectual failings of the female sex. All of the above left Rose plagued with hot flushes of anger and chill pricklings of sympathy.
The Mallory's butler, a surprisingly young man with the bland label of "Johns" opened the door before Timothy's hand even reached the knocker. They were shown into a smart, high-ceilinged townhouse, furnished in a style that would have cost fortunes in the modern world, and judging by Timothy's pride, probably did in this era, too.
Johns ushered his masters into the downstairs sitting room and then, joining forces with the housekeeper, Mrs. Stewart, to find their unexpected guests some rooms upstairs. The best they could do was two small, adjoining rooms, which suited the travelers perfectly, but offended the housekeeper's sense of proprietry. It wasn't until the Doctor confessed that he wouldn't be staying the night that Mrs. Stewart abandoned her fruitless attempts to reshuffle furniture.
Rose ducked out of her room while a couple of young maids were fetching water for her wash. The sand and splinters had slipped down her bodice and were pinching and rubbing against the boning of her corset in unmentionable places. If she moved too quickly the dust in her hair filtered down and made her sneeze.
The Doctor's door was ajar. "If you're not staying here then where are you going?" she stage-whispered through the gap, fearing Mrs. Stewart's wrath if she discovered them communicating without a chaperone or something.
"I need to talk to you about that," he called back. "Come in."
She slipped inside and closed the door behind her, not because she feared being overheard, but because she felt like pushing the housekeeper's buttons.
"You shouldn't be in here," the Doctor scolded absently, eyeing himself in the mirror and rubbing his hands furiously over his scalp in an attempt to remove the sand. "It'll be quite the scandal."
"You just invited me in! Besides, we need to find out what's going on here."
"Oh, no doubt of that." He closed his eyes and shook his head like a dog, then reeled slightly and looked very surprised.
Rose sighed heavily. "That happens when you channel your inner Irish Setter."
"Not to me, it doesn't," he objected.
"Well, now it does. Add it to the list," she snapped, not in the mood to dance around his newly-human sensitivities. "Those dancers were scared, and I mean really scared. Even Katerina was scared. Not scared like 'this is a prank' type scared, but properly scared. Fear of death type scared."
"Very scared, then."
"It takes a lot to scare a Ukranian."
He laughed as he shook out his coat, sent sand flying across the room and forced Rose to shield her eyes.
She pinned him with a stern look and he did his best to smother his amusement. "Let's be serious. Two Haymarket staff are missing and people are trying to murder the rest with sandbags. It's all a bit Nancy Drew, don't you think?"
"It is a bit," he nodded, switching from mischievous to analytical in the blink of an eye. "Finding them would be the logical first step towards unravelling this nasty mess, especially given the apparent pathological escalation evident in the anonymous letters."
"Pathological how?"
"Look here." He pointed at the first letter, then at the last. "See the increased number of splashes and errors? Whoever is writing this is becoming angrier." He looked up at her, shoulder to shoulder with him staring down at the paper. "He's becoming more desperate, more disturbed."
"More dangerous?"
"Almost certainly. Plus there's the use of these phrases here and here," he pointed at the relevant notes, underlining the words with one neatly trimmed fingernail. "These are taken directly from one of Buckstone's most famous plays, An Alarming Sacrifice. It's the very same play being rehearsed at the theatre. It's never been seen before, which means that only a handful of people could possibly know these lines." He folded the notes into an uneven square and shoved them into her hands. "Keep these safe. They're the only means we have of tying the perpetrator to the crime other than an outright confession. I'm going looking for Nancy Furst, you can handle Stephen Harrod. Based on what we know, I recommend asking the navy."
"How come you get to swan off and I'm stuck here in the middle of a BBC special, being minded by dumb and dumber?"
He pouted. "I though you liked that movie."
"I hate that movie. Mickey likes that movie, not me."
"Well ..." he shrugged apologetically. "I'm sorry about the company, but there's a lot that needs doing here, too. See if you can't get Josephine to introduce you to the players. She seems like a nice enough girl, if not particularly bright."
"Oi!" she slapped him on the arm with the folded sheaf of notes. "Not her fault the only education she ever got was how to sing, dance and be a clotheshorse. It's hard to make something of yourself without something to fall back on."
He paused at the door, glancing down at his shoes, smiled then looked right at her. "Some do better than others with that kind of education."
"Kareoke and dress-ups don't count. Besides," she caught her tongue between her teeth. "I did gymnastics, not dancing."
"Under sevens junior gymnastics, yes I remember." His eyes twinkled. "You got the bronze."
Then he was gone and she was left behind; an illicit presence in his abandoned room. "Well," she said to nobody in particular. "I suppose I'd better get cleaned up and learn how to make interesting conversation about crochet."
-:-
Whilst not exactly something he relished, the Doctor felt he couldn't exactly leave without announcing his intention and the fact Rose was staying behind. A polite knock on the door got him ushered inside and seated opposite Josephine who was sporting a rapidly developing bruise on her cheekbone.
When he inquired about it, she blushed and stammered, "I got turned about in the dark. I think I hit my head on something."
"And yet the Doctor's companion managed to dodge falling sandbags in the same quality of light," her brother scowled. "In all seriousness Jo, you're as clumsy as the maids. You'll cost your husband a fortune in medical bills. I don't envy John your upkeep, really I don't."
Josephine fell so abruptly silent that the Doctor felt compelled to draw her out. "Rose has had a lot more practice running about in the dark than most. I'm sure when she first started, she was just as likely to run into things as the next person."
"She must be a woman of singular talent," Josephine whispered, "to be so admired by yourself and the government."
He grinned. "She is quite singular, I admit. A diamond in the rough, you might say."
Intrigued, Josephine glanced up for the first time. "How so?"
"That's a very long story," he smiled. "And one that Rose can tell you herself, if you'll allow her to remain here while I follow up some information for Mr. Buckstone."
"Oh, Tim," Josephine whispered. "She can stay, can't she?"
Mallory wrinkled his nose and held his crystal tumbler up to the light, turning it this way and that so that it patterned the spirits within. "I don't see that it's got anything to do with me. Our beloved cousin has deemed it shall be so, and so it shall be."
"Oh, thank you Timothy!"
"Don't thank me, thank John. He's the one who pays the staff."
Josephine blushed furiously and stared solidly at her clasped hands. "You mustn't say such things."
"And why not?" Mallory challenge belligerently. "It's the way of things, isn't it? I'm sure the Doctor isn't immune to the difficulty of station and finance."
With two pairs of eyes on him, the Doctor attempted to divert the conversation. "We're not exactly destitute, in our line of work," he hedged.
"What is your line of work, exactly?" Timothy's eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"Is Rose a relation of yours, Doctor?" Josephine asked, coming to his rescue.
"Not at all. She stumbled upon this lifestyle because of me, it's true, but it's her decision to continue with it." He smiled. "It helps that her sense of adventure rivals mine."
"She must be exceptionally well qualified ... did you sponsor her to school?"
"Josephine!" her brother admonished quickly.
"No, it's quite alright," the Doctor smiled. "Rose is a woman of her own means and makes her own way in the world. Her family earned their fortune through commerce and she's never asked me for anything," his smile faltered. "Certainly not anything she wasn't prepared to give in return."
"Was she left an inheritance?" she pressed, ignoring her brother as he buried his face in his hands.
"In a way, maybe," he allowed, pausing to think about it. "But since then, Rose has made a contribution to this country, and indeed to the world that is largely unparalleled. " There was a tentative knock at the door and he was on his feet, an apologetic expression on his face. "That will be Mr. Johns telling me my cab has arrived. If you'll excuse me?"
The Mallory siblings nodded their agreement and watched as their strange house guest bowed politely and left them.
Josephine toyed with the fringe on her shawl, her mind ablaze with strange new concepts of freedom and self-sufficiency. Not being beholden to the Baldwin-Buckstones would be a blessing in and of itself. But it was the freedoms that came with that excision of reliance that most interested her. Specifically, the ability to escape her arranged marriage and find someone of her own choosing.
"The Doctor spoke of Rose most highly," Timothy mused, aware of his sister's silence and fearing it with good reason.
"Indeed he did," she said, forcing a smile. "He must care for her very much."
"Oh, must he? Honestly, you girls and your romantic notions!" he scoffed, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "Can't an educated man simply admire a young woman without there being a scandal or a romance in play? Rose is evidently worthy of such admiration."
"But the way he looks at her ..."
"But nothing," Timothy frowned. "I know you'd much rather he looked at you in that way you're so intent on imagining, but it would pay you recall that you're already promised in marriage, quite apart from being far too young and naive to suit a man of Doctor Smith's intellect."
Josephine blushed furiously and blinked away the tears that stung her eyes. "Timothy, how could you accuse me of such motives?"
He slid forward on his chair and gripped her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. "Because I'm your brother. And because I know what you're like when you get an idea in your muddled little head, so best I nip these notions in the bud before you make a fool of yourself mooning over a man who doesn't want you and whom Papa could not possibly approve. He's educated, well mannered and pleasant enough to look at, but don't forget that he's a policeman. You cannot marry a policeman, Jo. The family would never stand for it."
"I don't think he is a policeman," she said boldly, holding his gaze. "I think he's a spy."
"A spy!" he let his hand fall and burst out laughing
"Yes, I do think so ... and Rose too. That's why the Doctor couldn't talk about her service to her country and that is why she's so well moneyed." She felt the heat as an angry blush built on her cheeks. "Listen to me, Tim!"
"No," he cackled. "Really, you're too much. A spy? Either of them? Do be serious Jo!"
"I am serious!"
Timothy let his smile fade and ruffled her curls as he made his way to the door. "You should write novels with an imagination like that."
"Well, maybe I will!" she spat, angered beyond propriety. "Then I will be independent and Papa can let me marry or not as I please!"
Her brother's eyes hardened as he gripped the door. "Don't make the mistake of thinking dreams like that ever come true." He pressed his lips into a thin line and shook his head. "You're sixteen now. It's time to make your way in the real world with the rest of us instead of hiding behind childish whimsy."
"If Rose can do it, why can't I?" The tears in her eyes spilled over, making shiny trails down her flushed cheeks.
"That Rose Tyler is a freak of nature," he said grimly. "I shudder to think what this country is coming to that we have young women of poor breeding becoming titled and policing our upper classes."
Josephine gasped. "Don't say such things! What if someone heard you?"
"Oh, who, Jo? Who's going to hear me? Are you planning to turn me in to the government for disrespecting some posing shopkeeper's daughter?" He'd worked himself up to the point where his pale face was flushed, the shock of remembered embarrassment almost gagging him on his own bitter words. "Now that I think about it, you might not be far wrong regarding the nature of the Doctor and Miss Tyler's relationship - only I think it is a far less honourable arrangement than the one you're entertaining!"
Timothy slammed the door and stalked down the stairs. She heard him having harsh words with someone in the hall, probably Johns or Mrs. Stewart.
Josephine fished inside her pocket for a neatly embroidered handkerchief, one of her finest, just as everything she wore today represented the best she had to offer. Title without money imposed all of the societal restrictions but none of the easy luxuries people like John Baldwin Buckstone or Dame Rose Tyler were accustomed to. As she patted her eyes and struggled to control her breathing, she reflected that unlike her brother or John, Rose never seemed to care for the trappings of rank and title.
As though summoned by her thoughts, there was a tentative knock at the door and Rose's face appeared, freshly washed and free of dust. "Am I interrupting?"
"No, do come in." Josephine swiped repressively at her disobedient eyes and hastily vanished the handkerchief.
Rose carefully crossed the room and settled herself on the chaise longue in a rustle of fine cotton print. "Is everything okay? Did the Doctor say something nasty? He doesn't mean to. There's just not a whole lot of ..." she pointed to her head and then her mouth, "... editing that goes on. You'd think that a man of his age would learn to think before he speaks, but no."
Her eyes flashed then, making her look fierce and Josephine was quick to object. "Oh, no, it wasn't him and he's hardly that old."
Rose grinned. "Older than you think."
"How old?" she asked, her red-rimmed eyes suddenly wide with childlike curiosity.
"Old enough that he doesn't say. Nine hundred or nine weeks, depending." At approximately twenty seven years of age, give or take a Time War, Rose was in the awkward position of feeling her first tinglings of sibling protectiveness for someone other than her little brother.
"Now you're teasing me," Josephine accused, smiling through her tears to take the edge off her tone.
"Do you want to tell me what's got you so upset?"
She seemed so torn, with her ringlets bobbing along to each pathetic sniff, that Rose couldn't help but reach out and take her hand. "Whatever it is, I'll help you." She caught her eye and held it, making sure she understood. "I promise."
"Honestly?"
"Cross my heart and hope to die."
Josephine grimaced. "No need for desperate measures. The word of a spy is her bond, no doubt."
Rose felt her mind go into overdrive. Just what had the Doctor told them before he left? "Yeah, that's right," she dissembled. "Now, I'll help you and you help me, sound fair?"
"Anything!" Josephine gasped. "Where shall we start?"
Rose grinned, all teeth and determination. "Who do you know in the navy?"
TBC ...