Chapter Text
The Doctor barely looked up from his work as Jo breathlessly hurried into his improvised laboratory.
"Morning, Jo," he said, giving perhaps a quarter of his attention to her and the rest to the varnished copper wire he was carefully winding around a wooden core. "Sleep well?"
"Fine, thanks." Jo looked slightly put out at how little attention her arrival had merited. "What do you think of my clothes?"
The Doctor glanced briefly at her cotton print dress, muslin scarf, and ruffled petticoat.
"They look perfectly normal to me," he said, his tone suggesting that he'd have said much the same thing if she'd turned up in plate armour. "Are they new?"
"Of course they're new! They're the latest thing. Everyone's going to be wearing an outfit like this next year, you'll see. But I'm wearing it now."
Seeing that her conversation had failed to grasp the Doctor's interest, she wandered over to a side table, where a magnifying glass and a week-old copy of the Times lay. She opened the paper, picked up the glass, and peered at the tiny print.
"Oh, that's dreadful," she presently said. "That poor woman." She waited for the Doctor to ask who she was talking about, and when he didn't, answered anyway. "Charlotte Corday. Having her head cut off like that in front of all those people." She read on. "And that executioner... well, serve him right, that's what I say."
"Jo, how many times have I told you–" the Doctor began. But before he could rebuke her for her repeated interruptions, the door opened again. This time it admitted the familiar figure of the Brigadier in his red coat and powdered wig.
"Good morning, Doctor, Miss Grant," he said.
The Doctor put his coil of wire down on the bench.
"I can see I might as well give up any hope of getting useful work done today," he said. "What's happened now?"
"Something a little out of the ordinary."
"Of course it is, or you wouldn't be dealing with it, would you?"
The Brigadier cleared his throat. "I must emphasise that this is how it's been described to me, but: We have been asked to investigate a haunted house."
"Really?" Jo looked up, her eyes wide. "A ghost? A real one?"
"That's what we have to establish."
"Is it far from here?"
"No more than ten miles, perhaps twelve by road. It's at a village called Foxworth."
"Oh, yes, I know where you mean. You go through it on the way to Conistead, don't you? A few miles past Wellcote?"
"That's the one."
"So where's the ghost?"
The Brigadier glanced at the Doctor, who was still pretending to ignore them. "There's a house called Woodford House on the outskirts of the village. Quite recently built, I believe. It is currently occupied by a Mr William Ramsey and his family. It seems that three days ago, Mrs Ramsey and her daughter left the house and went to stay with the local parson. They told him that their house was haunted.
"According to Mrs Ramsey, there were various unearthly occurrences in different parts of the house." He glanced at his report. "There aren't any more details than that, I'm afraid. Anyway, the rector decided that he had better call upon Mr Ramsey and discuss the matter with him. He found that nobody answered his knocking."
"Do you mean the house was empty?"
"He said there was still smoke from one of the chimneys. He caused various enquiries to be made, but nothing of substance was discovered. In due course, two men from the local militia entered the house."
"And did they, too, encounter ghosts?" the Doctor asked.
"Apparently nothing to see. But both reported that the atmosphere of the place made them uneasy. They made a search of the house, and found no sign of Mr Ramsey."
"Then what?"
"According to this, the parson and the local militia colonel discussed the situation and decided to send to Bow Street for an experienced investigator. Mr Ford, the chief magistrate–"
"Don't tell me," Jo broke in. "He took one look at their letter and sent it straight here."
"Quite so. Well, Doctor?"
The Doctor frowned. "Well, what?"
"How do you propose to investigate this?"
"What makes you think I will?" The Doctor gestured at his workbench. "There's quite enough that needs doing here. The TARDIS–"
"The TARDIS will still be here tomorrow, Doctor."
"That's rather the point," the Doctor grumbled. "And the next day, and the next week, and the next year, unless I can bypass the override on the dematerialisation circuit. And I won't be able to do that – I won't even be able to build the necessary tools to do it – if you keep distracting me with ridiculous stories about ghosts and superstitious villagers."
"Oh, come on, Doctor," Jo said. "It's a lovely day. And the change of air will do us all good, I'm sure."
"And give you the chance to impress a lot of people with your new dress?" The Doctor rubbed his neck. "Well, I suppose it can't hurt to take a closer look into things. I'll take Jo with me. If I need you to blow anything up I'll send for you."
The Brigadier frowned. "Doctor, are you sure that's wise? We'll be several hours' march away."
"Exactly. Far enough away that you can't cause any trouble with your cannons and your muskets while I'm trying to bring about a peaceful settlement. Come along, Jo."
The Doctor rose to his feet and swept out. Jo gave the Brigadier an apologetic look, and followed suit.
Left on his own, the Brigadier contemplated the fact that on many previous occasions, the Doctor had dismissed his men and their from consideration in similar terms. On a good number of those occasions, it had turned out that they weren't quite as unnecessary as the Doctor had thought. It might be as well to make a few preparations, just in case.
"Benton!" he called.
*
The day was bright and sunny, though a strong wind meant Jo was glad of the bonnet and cloak that the Doctor had insisted she wear. Fortunately, there was no sign of rain. In dry weather, riding with the Doctor in his gig could be an enjoyable pastime; in the wet, whenever possible, Jo preferred to retreat to the Brigadier's closed carriage.
Ever since they'd passed the last settlement, Jo had been eagerly peering forward, expecting to see their destination around each bend. This time, she was rewarded by the sight of a handful of buildings, mostly brick, but with a few older thatched cottages among them.
"This is Foxworth, isn't it?" she asked eagerly.
The Doctor nodded. "It ought to be, judging by the map. Keep your eyes out for the church."
"The church? Is that where we're going?"
"Not exactly, but the rectory should be nearby."
"Oh, of course. That's where Mrs Ramsey and her daughter are staying, isn't it? Are you going to ask them all sorts of questions?"
"One or two, perhaps. And it would be polite to ask permission before entering the house, wouldn't it?"
Jo smiled. "And if we don't get permission?"
"Then I've got two alternatives. The sonic screwdriver, and you. You've brought your lockpicks, I presume?"
"Of course."
By now, the gig was passing between a row of buildings – mostly houses, but with a handful of shops – on the left, and what was presumably the village green on the right. A little further along, a stubby stone tower was visible above the rooftops, indicating the position of the church. The place seemed nearly deserted, with only a few red-coated militiamen and a handful of mostly elderly women strolling on the green or peering into shop windows. Of course, Jo reminded herself, it was harvest time. A lot of the able-bodied men and women would be out in the fields, getting the corn in.
"I suppose you've come up with a clever explanation of why it isn't really ghosts at all," she said, with a smile.
The Doctor nodded. "Several, as a matter of fact. But until we've got more evidence, there's no way to choose between them."
"Several?" Jo furrowed her brow in thought. "I suppose it could be actual aliens, but you'd have to know what the people saw before you could tell what it was." She thought for some more. "What else could it be?"
"There are several possibilities," the Doctor said. "For example, it could be–" He broke off, as the gig rattled up a short drive towards a large, if shabby, house.
"Here we are," he said. "Whoa, Bessie."
He pulled gently on the reins, and the horse came obediently to a halt.
*
The front parlour of the Rectory was better appointed than Jo had been expecting, given the run-down appearance of the outside of the building. It was clear that while the incumbent might not care about external appearances, he paid close attention to matters of personal comfort.
The parson in question, who rejoiced in the name of the Reverend Samuel Fairchild, joined them within minutes. He was a large, rubicund man, wearing the wig and bands that proclaimed him a clergyman. Jo quickly found herself thinking of him simply as 'the Rector', perhaps because his attitude, which verged upon the self-important, reminded her of the two Time Lords she was most familiar with.
Once the Rector had been introduced, his two house guests were presented. Mrs Ramsey looked pale and careworn, her hands twitching even as she curtseyed and professed herself glad to meet the visitors. Her daughter Clarissa, perhaps a couple of years younger than Jo and a couple of years behind her in fashion, seemed determined to say as little as possible.
The Doctor, who during the various introductions had left most of the talking to Jo and the Rector, then started taking more of an interest in proceedings.
"Now," he began. "You and your daughter left Woodford House– when, exactly?"
Though he had addressed his remarks to Mrs Ramsey, it was the Rector who answered for her: "Three days ago."
"Is that right, Mrs Ramsey?" Receiving only a nod by way of confirmation, the Doctor continued. "Can you tell us what led you to take that decision?"
"The night before, I saw–" Mrs Ramsey shook her head. "I cannot describe it."
"Could you try?"
"I could not see it plainly. Maybe it cannot be seen plainly."
"You mean it was just something out of the corner of your eye?" Jo asked.
Mrs Ramsey shook her head again. "It was obvious enough that something was there, but what the thing was I cannot tell you. It forced me to go to my bedchamber. I sat up all night in that room, waiting for the dawn, with the–" She searched for a suitable word. "Spirit, or ghost, or demon, what it was I cannot say, but it remained outside the door. The next morning, it departed. I found Clarissa, and brought her here."
The Doctor turned to Clarissa. "Miss Ramsey, do you have anything to add to that?"
"I have not, sir." She looked down, avoiding his eyes, and seemed to realise the inadequacy of her reply. "That is, I was asleep in bed, and heard nothing. The first I knew of any of this was in the morning."
"So you haven't seen this thing at all?" Jo asked.
"Oh, I have, but later. When Mother told me we were to leave, she sent me to find Father. But I could not find him anywhere upstairs, and when I went to his study, my path was blocked by–" She closed her eyes, as if trying to picture what she saw. "A disturbance in the air, that pushed me back. That is all I can call it."
"Was there anyone else in the house?" the Doctor said. "I presume you have servants?"
"I believe the housemaid had already left," the Rector said.
The Doctor turned to him with an exasperated air. "My dear fellow, I appreciate the service you have done in giving these ladies shelter in their distress. But that doesn't mean that you have to answer all my questions for them. Surely you must see that their direct knowledge is far more useful than any hearsay you can give me?"
The Rector swelled indignantly. "Sir, this is my house, and the ladies are under my protection. You would do well to remember that."
"If you have any intention of helping these ladies," the Doctor retorted, "I suggest that you leave the conduct of this investigation to me. Now, Mrs Ramsey, what can you tell me about the servants?"
"As the Rector said, Ellen had already left. I think she must have seen what we saw, though at the time none of us believed her stories of ghosts. The housekeeper and the other servants departed when we did. I gave them a week's wages – I could not afford more."
"And did any of them see anything?"
"I could not say. I only had thoughts for Mr Ramsey's safety, but none of them had the least idea what had happened to him."
"When did you last see your husband?" the Doctor asked.
"After dinner, that evening. He said he was going to his study."
"And that would be normal for him?"
"Oh, yes. He spends most of his time there."
"And nobody has seen him since."
"No." She stifled a sob. "Colonel Travers says his men searched the house, but found nobody, alive or– but if my husband is not in the house, where can he be?"
"Sir," the Rector said, rising ponderously to his feet. "I believe that Mrs and Miss Ramsey now wish to retire." He glanced down at the huddled figure of Mrs Ramsey, who managed to nod.
The Doctor looked, for a moment or two, as if he was going to argue, but thought better of it. Instead, he suffered himself and Jo to be led out of the parsonage, bade the Rector a formal farewell, assisted Jo into her seat in the gig, and took his place beside her.
"Walk on, Bessie." The Doctor guided the gig out of the Rectory drive. "Do you have any thoughts on the matter, Jo?"
"There's something I don't understand," Jo said. "Everyone seems to be sure that Mr Ramsey is still in the house. But if he is..." She paused, getting her thoughts in order. "Where is he getting his food? Surely someone would have to take it to him? But they said all the servants had gone."
"Yes, I think a few enquiries in the village might be in order," the Doctor said. "But first, we'll take a look at the house."
*
Woodford House was large, modern and, to all external appearances, completely unremarkable. The garden was tidy and well-kept, the windows unshuttered, and smoke was rising from a chimney at the back. The Doctor brought his gig to a halt outside the front door, climbed down, and helped Jo to do the same. While he was attending to Bessie, Jo paced nervously. She'd hoped that the Doctor, having heard the Ramsey' stories, would have come up with a solution there and then, explaining their visions as the appearance of some alien he recognised, or as the result of some arcane scientific phenomenon. But on their way here, he hadn't dropped so much as a hint. That meant either that he didn't know what was in there, or that he felt Jo was better off not knowing the truth.
The Doctor's hand fell on her shoulder; she jumped, and looked at him.
"Ready?" he asked.
Jo nodded, and followed him to the front door. From his pocket the Doctor produced the key Mrs Ramsey had lent him, unlocked the door, and pushed it open.
The entrance hall of Woodford House was considerably more grandiose than would have been necessary, given the size of the building. It was two floors high, with pillars at the four corners painted to look like marble. Between the pillars, arched alcoves had been painted onto the walls.
"I wonder." The Doctor glanced around. "I'd say whoever built this had been to Blenheim Palace and decided he wanted one of his own – but he didn't have several hundred thousand pounds to spare."
"You've been to Blenheim?" Jo asked. "Don't tell me, you knew the Duke of Marlborough, too."
"Yes, but not at the same time. John didn't live long enough to see his palace completed, poor old chap. Spent the last few years of his life living on a building site. The first time I met him was at Elixheim, you know. Complicated business. Turned out that the Gaztaks were filching supplies from the–"
The Doctor's anecdote was cut off by the distant sound of a crash from somewhere in the depths of the house. All Jo's worries, which she'd been managing to overlook, sprang back in full force.
"Wait here, Jo." The Doctor was already hurrying in the direction of the sound, looking back over his shoulder at her as he spoke. "I'll find out what that was."
He disappeared through an elaborate pair of double doors. Left to her own devices, Jo wandered around the hall, looking aimlessly at the few items of furniture and the painted decorations. There was nothing here that seemed out of place. Everything was exactly as it should be, save for a few days' dust on the flat surfaces.
Somewhere upstairs, she heard a buzzing noise. It reminded her of a swarm of bees.
"Doctor?" she called.
There was no answer.
Jo glanced around, wondering if she'd really heard anything or if she'd imagined it. Then the noise came again, almost directly overhead. She looked up, but saw only the decorated ceiling.
"Doctor!" she called again, louder.
Once more, there was no answer. Feeling alone and vulnerable, Jo picked up a stick she'd noticed in a stand by the front door. More of a cane to be flourished by a dandy than a prop for age, it made a poor weapon, but she felt more comfortable with something in her hand. Cautiously, she advanced to the foot of the stairs, and listened. She still couldn't hear anything of the Doctor, but she was sure that a soft humming sound was drifting down from above.
Jo swallowed, and climbed the stairs, slowly and cautiously. The staircase turned twice, then emerged on a wide balcony that overlooked the hallway below. As the floor level of the balcony came into view, Jo paused, waiting for whatever was there to show itself. Nothing did, so she continued climbing, even more slowly than before, glancing to left and right as more of the balcony came into view.
Before stepping onto the balcony proper, Jo stopped and listened, but heard nothing save her own heartbeat. She took a deep breath, and walked onto the balcony. To her left and her right, the balcony ended in grandiose doors, designed to give the impression that they led to apartments fit for a King. Ahead, a delicate wooden balustrade marked the edge of the balcony; through and over the banisters, Jo could see the door through which she and the Doctor had entered.
Choosing a direction at random, she turned to her left and began to explore. As well as the huge door at the end of the balcony, there was a similarly oversized doorcase on the wall beside her. Experimentally, she twisted the handle, but the door didn't move. Either it was locked, or it was a dummy, there just to make the hall symmetrical.
The door at the end of the balcony, though, did open when Jo tried it. Beyond it, a dimly-lit corridor presumably led to bedrooms, parlours and other regions of the house. Jo wondered whether to investigate further, and decided against it – at least, until she'd tried the doors at the far end of the balcony. She closed the door, which latched with a noticeable click, and headed for the far end of the gallery.
Before she got there, she froze at the harsh sound of buzzing behind her. She turned, slowly.
Jo had wondered why Mrs Ramsey and her daughter had found the thing they'd seen so hard to describe. Now that she was face to face with – presumably – the same thing, she realised why. The creature, whatever it was, seemed to be permanently out of focus. She blinked, and screwed up her eyes, but it didn't improve matters in the slightest. She couldn't even make out the thing's overall shape. What was clear, though, was that it was between her and the stairs.
She tried to back away, in the direction of one of the doors. But just looking at the unfocused shape in front of her made her dizzy. She held her free hand in front of her eyes. As she did so, she saw, or thought she saw, between two blinks of her eye, a dozen or so shapes, not resembling anything she'd seen on Earth before, fist-sized, each with a profusion of wings and limbs. Then they were gone again, leaving only the vision-filling haze.
She realised that she was backing away, and the apparition was still advancing on her.
"Stay back," she said, though it came out as more of a whisper. "Please."
If the thing heard and understood her, it gave no sign, but continued to approach Jo. She took another step backward, and bumped into the wooden balustrade that ran along the edge of the balcony. There was nowhere left for her to go.
"Keep back," she said, brandishing the stick. "Keep away from me!"
The blur swooped on her. She reeled, as if from a blow, though nothing had touched her. Thrown off balance, she fell back against the wooden railing. It cracked under her weight, and with a scream she tumbled off the balcony toward the stone floor below.