Doctor Who: The Highlanders (9 page)

‘We’ll see,’ said Ben. ‘It’s a long way across the Atlantic.’

Polly was waiting anxiously for Kirsty to return. She was in a large barn on the outskirts of Inverness. There was a noise outside the barn door and Polly ran to it and put her eye to a crack. Outside, a man leading a small donkey laden down with pots and pans – obviously a Highland tinker –

made his way along the narrow cobbled streets. Polly went back to the straw and picked up Kirsty’s dirk which she had left on her plaid. Polly practised stabbing with it, but the thought of having to use a weapon was far too distasteful to her and she dropped it again.

There was a sound behind her and she turned just as Kirsty entered. ‘Oh,’ cried Polly, ‘you did give me a fright.’

She ran forward. Kirsty was loaded down with clothes and a small sack. ‘Phew,’ she said, ‘I’m no used to fetching and carrying. We had our servants at hame.’

‘That’s quite obvious,’ remarked Polly drily. ‘Have you got everything?’

Kirsty nodded. ‘Aye, clothes for ye.’ She indicated the clothes. ‘Trays.’ She dropped the wooden trays from the sack. ‘And,’ a little reluctantly, ‘these oranges. Though why ye have to spend that money on oranges... they’re no cheap you know, not up here.’

‘You’ll see,’ said Polly. She held up the clothes. ‘Oh, that’s the gear. You know,’ she said, forgetting whom she was talking to, ‘last time I went back to the past I had to wear boys’ clothes all the time.’

Kirsty stared at her blankly. ‘Sometimes I canna understand a word you say.’

‘Never mind,’ said Polly hastily. She started drawing on the clothes over her mini-skirt and T-shirt. Finally, after settling the skirt and the petticoat and the handkerchief around her neck, copying the way that Kirsty had hers arranged, Polly was ready. ‘How do I look?’ she said.

Kirsty looked at her, unwilling to admit that she felt a little jealous. Polly’s blonde hair and clean-cut good looks complemented the green gown she was wearing. ‘Oh,’ said Kirsty, ‘you’re bonnie enou’.’

Polly made a snub nose at her. ‘Now for the oranges,’

she said. Polly began emptying the oranges out on the plaid and arranging them on the two trays Kirsty had brought.

Kirsty looked with growing comprehension. ‘You’re not going to have us selling oranges, are ye?’

Polly suddenly reacted anxiously and turned back to Kirsty. ‘Oh gosh,’ she said. ‘They do
have
orange sellers, don’t they? I haven’t got it all wrong, there is Nell Gwyn and all that?’

Kirsty looked puzzled. ‘Nell Gwyn? I dinna ken her –

but there are orange sellers in Scotland. Where are your eyes, Lass? But they’re mostly coarse, common girls, ye ken.’

‘The sort that hang around soldiers?’ said Polly.

‘Aye,’ said Kirsty.

‘Then we’re orange sellers,’ said Polly. Kirsty looked at her in dismay. ‘How else can we find out where they’ve taken the Doctor and your father? There must be something we can do.’

‘But if they find us out...’

‘We still have a friend who can help us,’ said Polly.

‘Who?’

‘Good old Algy. I wonder where he is now?’

11

The main dining room of the Sea Eagle was almost full with a bustling crowd of soldiers and local inhabitants eating, drinking, and occasionally starting to fight before the two massive Highland serving men came forward to eject them. In the centre there was a large fireplace with an inglenook on either side. Opposite this, there were rows of rough oak tables and benches at which most of the soldiers and townsfolk sat. On the far wall, there was a succession of wooden partitions of tables and benches affording some privacy to the occupants, who were able to pay for a complete meal instead of the hunks of bread, meat and cheese favoured by the less well-off customers at the inn.

At the far wall were two huge barrels of beer from which three soldiers were drawing large foaming mugs. Every time they drew one they made a chalk mark on the barrel, carefully watched by the proprietor of the inn who was sitting at a table near the door keeping an eye on the activities.

The Doctor, still in his old woman’s disguise, shuffled up holding out a mug to be filled from the barrel. He nudged one of the soldiers who was blocking the way and said, in a cracked voice, ‘Ladies first.’

The soldiers turned round and laughed at the strange-looking old woman. They started to shove her from one to the other. The Doctor put up with it for a couple of minutes, trying to preserve his disguise, and then he suddenly reached his hands out, grabbed the startled soldiers by their cross belts, and banged their heads together with the most unladylike strength. As they subsided to sitting positions on the floor, half stunned, the Doctor took the full mug from the third soldier who just stared at him and, with huffy dignity, stepped over their legs to the shelter of one of the partitions.

The attention of the soldiers was diverted from the surprisingly strong old crone when Algernon Ffinch, limping slightly, entered the room. The men from the nearest table stood to attention.

Algernon turned to them. ‘Sit down, sit down!’ he said.

The proprietor nodded to one of the serving wenches who hurried forward with one of the better bottles of French wine that the inn afforded. Algernon slumped into an empty booth and as a glass of wine was poured out, took it from the girl. ‘Be off with you,’ he said, ‘I’ll pay later.’ He took a long draught of the wine and sank back, closing his eyes contentedly. That’s better, he said to himself, much better.

The door swung open. ‘In there, both of you!’

Polly and Kirsty, both in their orange-sellers’ outfits, and holding their trays of oranges before them, walked into the room followed by the Sergeant, who grabbed each by the arm. The Sergeant was the same one who had pursued the girls on the moor. ‘Come over and see the officer, both of you,’ he said.

As they made their way across the room, the Doctor looked up from his beer and recognised them. He looked down again immediately in case they saw him and gave away his presence.

The Sergeant pushed the girls before him through the room amidst the murmurs and comments of the troops and townsfolk to Algernon’s booth.

Algernon opened his eyes wearily. ‘Oh, Sergeant,’ he said in a bored voice, ‘w-w-what is it now?’

‘Take your hands off me,’ snapped Kirsty.

‘Kirsty, be quiet,’ said Polly.

Kirsty shook her head. ‘I’m not going to have a great ignorant Englishman laying hands on me.’

The Sergeant gave Polly and Kirsty a final shove, then saluted Algernon.

Polly saw Algernon and clapped her hands in pleasure, almost upsetting the orange tray around her neck in the process. ‘Algernon,’ she cried, ‘Algernon.’

Algernon looked up in dawning horror. ‘What... what?’

‘These two look like the rebels we was hunting yesterday, Sir,’ said the Sergeant.

Polly sat down in the seat beside Algernon and rested her head against his shoulder. ‘Tell the nasty man we’re not those rebels, Algy dear.’

Algernon drew back. ‘Now just a moment,’ he said.

Kirsty swung herself into the seat opposite. ‘Aye,’ she said, ‘we’re old friends, aren’t we, Lieutenant!’

The Sergeant glanced from one to the other. He knew the Lieutenant’s ways with women and these obviously were very familiar with him. ‘I can see that,’ he said.

Algernon looked up. ‘That’s all, Sergeant,’ he said, ‘go about your business.’

Some of the men standing close by began to laugh, much to Algernon’s discomfiture, but the Sergeant turned and withered them with a glance. ‘Right,’ he said, ‘time you men were back in barracks. Do you think the King pays you to idle here all night? Come on, come on... the last man out gets three lashes.’

The soldiers yawned, protesting, and rose to their feet as the Sergeant almost pushed them out of the room.

Once the soldiers had gone, the room was a lot quieter.

The Doctor shifted from the bench he was sitting at over to the booth next to the Lieutenant and the two girls, and leaned forward to hear better.

Algernon looked from one to the other. ‘This is really t-t-too much,’ he said.

Polly pouted. ‘Oh, Algy,’ she said, ‘we thought you might have been flattered. We turned to you for help immediately we were in trouble, didn’t we Kirsty?’

Kirsty had now picked up something of the easy banter of the London girl. ‘Aye,’ she said, ‘just the kind of person two defenceless girls would turn to in trouble.’

‘I can have you thrown in prison,’ threatened Algernon, trying to be fierce.

Polly looked up at the ceiling, quoting from his identity disc. ‘Lieutenant Algernon Thomas Alfred Ffinch of the –’

‘Stop! Stop!’ Algernon looked around, and the Doctor withdrew back into his partition to keep out of sight.

‘What more do you want of me,’ he said, feeling very sorry for himself. ‘You’ve got my money. I haven’t even got the price of a glass of wine on me.’

Polly’s voice and manner changed. ‘I don’t suppose the Doctor and the others have water to drink, never mind wine. Now, where are the prisoners?’ she said, in a hard, business-like tone of voice.

Algernon shrugged his shoulders unhappily. ‘How should I know? In prison, I expect. Where they belong.’

Kirsty shook her head. ‘They’re no there, we’ve checked. Now where are they?’

Algernon spread his hands. ‘I don’t know. I just round them up. You have to ask Solicitor Grey, he’s the Commissioner in charge of prisoners.’

‘Where can we find him?’ said Polly.

‘He has a room here in the inn. Now please, can I go?

It’s been a very long day. I had to fight a battle this morning, and now there’s you two...’

‘Oh, poor little fellow,’ said Polly sarcastically. ‘Go on then.’

She got up and allowed Algernon Ffinch to ease out of the partition and straighten himself. ‘But mind,’ she warned, ‘not a word to anyone – or you-know-what.’

Algernon nodded and started making his way to the door. As he went the Doctor rose to join Polly and Kirsty, but suddenly the door opened and in came Perkins. The Doctor abruptly sat down again, lowering his head so that his face was covered by the large mob-cap.

Algernon nodded to Perkins at the door. ‘Two wenches over there,’ he said, pointing over to Polly and Kirsty, ‘to see the Solicitor.’ He then leaned forward and added,

‘Frankly, he’s welcome to them.’ He then went out, slamming the door behind him.

Perkins glanced over and seeing two pretty girls in the booth, smiled. Despite his years and his egg-like appearance, he fanced himself as something of a ladies’

man. He waddled across the room to the girls and looked from one to the other. ‘Cedric Perkins, Solicitor’s Clerk, at your service, ladies. What can I do for you?’ There was something over-familiar and insinuating in Perkins’ voice and manner that made the two girls draw back slightly.

’Where is Mr Grey?’ said Polly.

‘The Commissioner,’ Perkins said with dignity, ‘is seeing to his duties, Miss. He’s giving some rebel prisoners the choice between life and death.’

In the hold of the brig, Solicitor Grey stood by the ladder leading down to the crowded hold, some parchments in his hand. Standing beside him, Trask, more threatening than ever, was playing with a long cat-o’-nine-tails whip – a collection of knotted strips of leather bound to a wooden handle, and the most feared means of punishment at sea.

‘Silence, you bilge rats,’ Trask shouted. ‘The Solicitor has news for ye.’

The men in the hold who had been muttering to themselves now fell silent.

‘Rebels,’ said Grey, ‘your attention, please. I have an offer of clemency from his Gracious Majesty King George.’

There was a murmur of protest at this.

‘Quiet!’ Trask’s huge voice rang round the room again.

He cracked the whip at the nearest man, who drew back clutching his arm in pain. The room quietened down again.

Grey looked reflectively around the room. ‘The clemency can be withdrawn, so hark ye.’

‘We’re listening.’ A voice came from the back of the hold, and Trask pricked his ears up as he recognised the familiar voice of Willy MacKay.

‘It has pleased His Majesty,’ said Grey, ‘to declare that whereas there are a great many of his rebellious subjects in gaol, a speedy example must be made of them.’

‘Clemency,’ Colin’s voice carried on from the back of the hold.

‘Clemency,’ Grey repeated. ‘Therefore it is ordained that there will be those required as witnesses to turn King’s evidence.’

‘Traitors, you mean,’ Jamie called out.

Grey smiled a thin cold smile that made his long narrow face even more forbidding. ‘Those not wanting to turn King’s evidence will be hanged immediately,’ he said.

A storm of protest broke out at this. Trask waved his cat-o’-nine-tails and strode forward, and the murmurs died down.

‘Wait, Mr Trask,’ Grey called. Trask, who was about to start belabouring the defenceless men around him, lowered the whip. ‘There is one other alternative.’ Grey turned and beckoned up the ladder, and two seamen, the first carrying a small table, the second an inkstand and a pen, came down. Both men were armed with two long pistols at their belts. Grey held up the sheaf of papers. ‘Plantation workers are wanted for His Majesty’s colonies in the West Indies. I have here contracts for seven years. Sign your names to these and you will have free transportation to your new homes and a chance of liberty when your seven years’

indentures are completed.’

His words seemed to cast a spell over the room. The men who a few minutes before had been looking forward to almost certain death now began to take in the meaning of Grey’s words and their faces lightened.

‘I’m offering you life and hope,’ said Grey. ‘Who will be the first to sign?’

One of the Highlanders stood up and walked forward to the table. Grey spread the top contract form and dipped the pen in the ink, handing it to the man. The Highlander bent down when Willy stood up abruptly at the back of the hold, his voice ringing over the assembled prisoners.

‘Dinna touch that pen!’ He made his way forward through the men. ‘I ken fine what ye offer, Solicitor,’ he said. ‘I‘ve seen these West Indies plantations. Not one of you who sign that document will live your seven years.