Doctor Who: The Reign of Terror (13 page)

He shrugged. 'Probably just a chill.'

'But what if is something serious?'

Leon sipped his wine and considered.
'We could call a physician, but it is risky. People report every
small occurrence to the authorities these days, just to be sure of
saving their own skins.'

Barbara watched Susan's glistening
forehead and her rapid shallow breathing. 'It is a chance we must
take,' she decided. 'Leon, you must know a physician we can trust.'

Colbert looked full of admiration for
Barbara's resolution. 'Yes, I think I do.' He drained his glass. 'But
it may take a little time to find a reliable man. I wonder where
Jules and Jean have gone? They should have returned by now.'

Barbara grasped his arm. 'Leon, we
shall be quite safe here,' she said earnestly, hinting that he should
be off in search of a doctor.

Leon looked at her and for a moment she
thought he was about to seize her and kiss her passionately. But the
moment passed. 'If I am not able to return myself I will send a
message,' he said, moving to the door. 'You'll tell Jules?'

'I'll tell him. Be careful, Leon.'

Colbert paused in the doorway. Again he
seemed to be on the brink of rushing across to embrace her like a
young blood out of an adventure story. 'Do not worry about me,
Barbara,' he said quietly. 'We shall meet again. And soon.'

As soon as he had departed, Susan
stirred under the blanket and opened her eyes.

'I thought you were asleep,' Barbara
exclaimed in surprise, taking one of the candelabra from the table.
'Come on, I'll help you back to bed.'

'You like that Leon, don't you?' Susan
murmured, a hint of mischief in her voice in spite of her feeling so
unwell.

Barbara smiled secretively and shrugged
and led Susan back upstairs.

Some time later, the shutters were
suddenly thrown aside and the long dining room windows were opened
from outside. Jean backed into the room carrying one end of a body,
its head wrapped up in sacking. Jules Renan followed struggling with
the other end. They laid their heavy burden on the sofa and Jules
hurried to close the shutters and the windows again.

'Now, let's have a proper look at him .
. . ' Jules panted, wiping his face with his sleeve. 'I hope you
didn't hit him too hard, Jean.'

Jean brought the remaining candelabra
over to the sofa. 'It was the only thing I could do, with all the
militiamen about,' he said. 'If he had made the slightest move we
could all have been arrested. It might have been a trap.'

Jules lifted the sacking. 'I wonder who
he is ... ' he muttered.

In the flickering candlelight they
gazed down at the pale unconscious face of Ian Chesterton.

'No, Citizen, I should say you made a
most favourable impression on the First Deputy,' Lemaitre told the
Doctor as they walked across the courtyard of the Conciergerie and
down the steps into the cell vault.

The Doctor shook his head in
disappointment. 'But I didn't manage to say half the things I wanted
to say,' he complained bitterly. 'Citizen
Robespierre simply twisted my words around.'

Lemaitre spread his arms in a French
shrug. 'Politicians usually do,' he smiled. 'Still, you shall have
another opportunity tomorrow.'

The Doctor pulled a face. 'Oh, I think
not, Citizen. I fear that I must take my leave and return home after
all.'

Lemaitre took his arm firmly. 'But that
will be rather awkward, Citizen,' he pointed out. 'Robespierre will
be expecting you.'

The Doctor tugged himself free. 'Well,
you'll just have to convey my sincere apologies to him ... ' he
said regretfully.

'On the contrary,' Lemaitre butted in.
'That would be more than my neck is worth. You must stay.'

The Doctor stopped by the gaoler's
alcove, threw back his head and smiled his strange, rather
frightening half-smile with the corners of his mouth turned down.
'Out of the question, I'm afraid.'

Lemaitre moved quickly round to cut off
the Doctor's escape. 'But I insist!' he murmured.

They stood nose to nose for several
seconds in a head-on confrontration. Then the Doctor gradually backed
down and turned away with a weary sigh.

'Gaoler!' Lemaitre shouted impatiently.

The gaoler had been snoring raucously
in a drink-sodden stupor. He snorted himself abruptly awake, dragged
his head up off the table and blinked at the shadows. 'What's the . .
. Citizen Lemaitre!' he gasped.

'Arrange suitable accommodation for our
guest from the provinces,' Lemaitre ordered.

Clutching his throbbing head, still
swathed in its bloody bandage, the gaoler jumped up. 'At once,
Citizen. For how long?'

'He will be staying at least until
tomorrow.'

'Definitely no longer,' the Doctor
snapped, folding his arms and drawing the capacious cloak more
closely around him despite the heat.

The gaoler unhitched his keys from his
belt. The Doctor's high forehead furrowed suspiciously and his eyes
narrowed. Perhaps he would have to make a break for it after all.

'He can have one of the guards' rooms .
. . ' yawned the gaoler. 'I'll turn the layabouts out.'

The Doctor breathed more easily again.
At least he was not going to be locked up. Or was he?

The gaoler scratched himself
shamelessly. 'I forgot, Citizen. There's a man been waiting to see
you,' he told Lemaitre. 'Says it's very important. He's waiting in
your room.'

Lemaitre excused himself. 'I trust you
will find your room satisfactory,' he told the Doctor, before nodding
and striding away along the narrow passage leading off the alcove.

The Doctor stared impassively after
him. 'I am sure I shall have no cause for complaint, Citizen ... '

The gaoler sniffed, spat, wiped his
nose on his sleeve and jerked his thumb at the Doctor to follow him.
'I'll show you to your room,' he growled with affected courtesy.

Glancing along the passage to make sure
Lemaitre had gone, the Doctor grabbed the gaoler's arm. 'Don't
trouble yourself, gaoler. I've changed my mind. I shan't be staying
after all,' he said quietly. 'Citizen Lemaitre will understand. I
really shouldn't have insisted he put me up overnight. Besides, the
soldiers need their rest.'

'Don't matter about them,' mumbled the
gaoler, hesitating.

The Doctor raised his hand.
'Nevertheless, I really must be on my way. I have a long journey
ahead of me. Give Citizen Lemaitre my sincerest regards.'

The gaoler watched the Doctor start
striding towards the steps to the courtyard. Then he snatched open
the drawer and whipped out a loaded pistol. 'Citizen!' he cried,
levelling it at the Doctor's head. 'Lemaitre said you were to stay. I
must obey him.'

The white plumes in the Doctor's tall
hat quivered with outrage. 'You dare to threaten me!' he breathed,
stopping in his tracks. 'What do you think Citizen Lemaitre will say
when he hears about your behaviour?'

The gaoler shrugged miserably. 'I'm
sorry, Citizen, but if he finds you've gone it could be even worse
for me,' he whined.

The Doctor considered a moment and then
shook his head in defeat. 'Very well, I shall stay ... ' he
conceded. 'And I shall say nothing of this disgraceful exhibition,
since it is not your fault.'

The gaoler grinned hideously. 'Thank
you, Citizen, thank you.' He stuck the pistol into his belt. 'Please
come this way.'

Clearing his throat dramatically, the
Doctor strode off in the direction of the guards' quarters, leaving
the drunken buffoon to scamper after him like a sleepy dog.

Lemaitre's room was a small, bare,
cell-like place with stone walls and floor, furnished only with a
table and two wooden chairs. A pair of guttering candles provided the
only illumination. Lemaitre sat in one chair examining the ring which
his visitor had given him. The tailor sat in the other chair,
dry-mouthed and nervous in the presence of so important an official.

After a long silence Lemaitre sat back,
idly toying with the ring. 'So you claim that the white-haired old
gentleman exchanged his clothes and this ring and that you also
provided him with writing materials?' he asked coldly.

'Don't forget the sash, Citizen,'
mumbled the tailor. 'It was the Provincial Official Sash that really
aroused my suspicions.'

'Yes indeed,' Lemaitre nodded
patronisingly.

The tailor squirmed hesitantly in his
chair. 'Of course, I realise it may be nothing. I may be mistaken.
But I felt it was my duty to report the incident.'

Lemaitre smiled faintly. 'Indeed, you
have done well, Citizen.'

The tailor's pinched features clouded
with disappointment as it dawned on him that he was unlikely to be
rewarded for his information. He got slowly to his feet, assuming
that the interview was over. Plucking up his meagre courage, he
coughed quietly. 'Will ... will you be keeping the ring, Citizen?'
he inquired, loathe to depart empty-handed.

'It may be required as evidence,'
Lemaitre replied, preoccupied

'Only it was part of our bargain,
Citizen. The clothes he gave me in exchange were almost worthless,'
the tailor lied.

'I'm just a poor man, Citizen,
otherwise I'd have thrown the scoundrel out of my shop.'

Lemaitre dipped his hand into his coat
and pulled out several gold livres. 'Here, this should more than
compensate you.'

The scrawny little man grinned
craftily. 'Thank you, but I cannot accept any reward, Citizen. I only
did my duty.'

Lemaitre saw through the feeble
deception. 'Keep it,' he insisted. 'But on one condition ... You
will say nothing of this matter to anyone.'

'You have my word, Citizen,' the tailor
smiled, thrusting his reward into his pocket.

Lemaitre rose and opened a second door
in the opposite wall. 'Go this way,' he ordered. 'I don't want our
so-called Provincial Officer to see you.'

The tailor scuttled out into the
courtyard. Lemaitre locked the door behind him and sat down to study
the ring again, turning it over and over in his hands and frowning
with dark suspicion.

Jules and Jean had sat Ian upright on
the sofa and had been anxiously waiting for the stranger to show some
sign of life.

Eventually Barbara came in, looking
extremely worried.

'Sorry we were away so long,' Jules
said with a wry smile. 'We had to dodge all the patrols. How is
Susan?'

'She's feverish, but she's sleeping
now,' Barbara replied. 'Leon had to leave. He offered to find a
physician for Susan.'

Jules nodded his approval.

Ian's eyes flickered open, as if at the
familiar sound of Barbara's voice. He groaned and clutched his head
and tried to sit up, but the effort defeated him and he sank back
onto the cushions.

Barbara moved closer to the sofa. When
she recognised Ian she almost fainted wth astonishment and relief.
Ian ... Ian, you're safe!' she cried, kneeling in front of him and
taking him tenderly by the shoulders.

Jules and Jean exchanged puzzled
glances as Ian stared at Barbara in confusion and then reacted with a
joyful smile.

'Barbara ... ' he muttered, getting
shakily to his feet and raising her up in his arms. 'Thank God,
you're all right. And Susan? Is she here?'

Barbara nodded. 'Asleep upstairs.'

'This is just great!' Ian grinned. Then
he winced at the dull ache in his head. 'I was convinced you were
both ... Any news of the Doctor?'

Barbara frowned gloomily. 'I'm afraid
not. We don't even know if he reached Paris.'

The two Frenchmen moved closer, unable
to understand the conversation in English.

'Well, Barbara, when we left we had no
idea we were going to meet one of your friends,'Jules laughed.

Barbara introduced Ian to them in
French. 'This is Ian Chesterton. Ian, this is Jean and this is Jules
Renan. Susan and I owe our lives to them.'

Ian stared at Jules in amazement.
'Jules Renan? I have been searching for you,' he said softly in his
halting French.'

'If only we had known who you were . .
. ' Jules apologised, gesturing at Ian's head.

Ian massaged his thudding temples.
'Never mind, Jules. You have reunited me with my friends.'

Jules turned to Jean. 'This calls for a
celebration. Bring a fresh bottle from the cellar.'

Barbara moved to the door behind Jean.
'I'll go up and sit with Susan,' she told Ian. 'She's not at all
well. We hope to get her to a doctor tomorrow, though when she hears
that you're safe it should do more than any medicine for her.'

Barbara left the room and Ian sat down
heavily on the sofa still feeling very groggy, though he actually
looked a lot better.

Jules put his pipe in his mouth without
lighting it. 'I have a question,' he said. 'How did you know Barbara
and Susan were here?'

'I did not know. I am amazed,' Ian
replied.

Jules gazed at Ian. 'But you were
asking for me, for Jules Renan ... Why?'

Ian struggled to gather his thoughts
into some reasonable order. 'Do you know a man called Webster?' he
asked after a long silence.

Jules pondered a moment. 'No, I do
not.'

'We shared a cell in the Conciergerie,'
Ian explained. 'Unfortunately he died, but before that he asked me to
contact a James Stirling.'

Again Jules pondered. 'James Stirling?'
He shook his head regretfully. 'I am sorry, but that name means
nothing to me either.'

Ian's face fell in bitter
disappointment. 'So you do not know him ... '

'Should I?' Jules shrugged.

'I am not sure,' Ian murmured weakly.
'I just took it for granted that you would.'

At that moment Jean returned with a
bottle of wine and fresh glasses. 'I will share one glass and then I
must leave on my journey,' he said to Jules as he poured'out the
wine.

Jules nodded discreetly.

They raised their glasses in silent
mutual toast.