Scrope leaned forward earnestly. 'Come, come, sir. You have told us of the plot against Cromwell.'

'Aye,' spat Whyte, 'I have. And that is all I will tell you.

You may save his miserable Puritan hide but I will not give up my King, no matter what he has become.'

Polly gave him a rea.s.suring smile, impressed despite herself.

Whyte looked long and deeply into her eyes, then got to his feet. 'Now, if you'll excuse me, I wish to get drunk.' With a final glance at Polly, he stepped back into the bar and was instantly swallowed in the crowd.

For a long while, the three remaining sat in silence, brooding. Then the Doctor looked up.

'Polly. May I speak with you? In private?'

She frowned. 'Of course, Doctor.'

Scrope glanced at them both. 'Oh, don't worry. I know when to make myself scarce. People tell me to do it every day.'

The old man rose and elbowed his way towards the bar.

Perhaps he could persuade Christopher Whyte to tell them the King's whereabouts after all. Thurloe would provide ample reward for such information and there were few men who did not have a price, in Scrope's experience.

He looked back over his shoulder and saw that the Doctor and Polly were already in animated conversation.

Scrope found Whyte propping up the bar, constantly jostled by the same gang of lads. Leaning over, he ordered ale from Sarah Kemp but, as he moved to tap Whyte on the shoulder, the young man got groggily to his feet and slammed his mug down on to the wooden bar.

With surprising swiftness, he forced his way through the crowd towards the door. Scrope tried to follow him but the weight of the inn's customers forced him back like a rolling tide. At last, after much pushing, shoving, and swearing, he returned to where he had left the Doctor and Polly.

The Doctor was alone, staring broodingly into the fire. Of Polly and Whyte there was no sign.

Scrope threw up his hands. 'We have lost him, Doctor!'

But the Doctor didn't reply.

Polly caught up with Whyte only a few yards from the entrance to the inn. She stood for a second in the freezing wind and then called out to him.

He turned at the sound of her voice, his boots crunching on the frozen ground.

'Mistress Polly?'

'You didn't say goodbye,' said Polly, pulling a face.

He gave a small, formal bow. 'G.o.d be with you, Polly.'

He made to go but Polly held his arm. 'Must it end like this?'

Whyte's expression melted into a tender smile. 'I wish there could be some other way. But I must flee the country now. You know of the plot against Cromwell the King's cause is as dead as he will shortly be. They will surely come for me.'

Polly found tears welling in her eyes. 'I am... grateful for your kindness,' she managed to say.

Whyte lifted her face by the chin and kissed her on the lips. 'Goodbye, fair Polly,' he said.

He was about to turn and go when he seemed struck by a thought. He opened the clasp at the top of his coat and felt about inside under his shirt. His fingers found a silver chain and he lifted out an oval locket which was attached to it. He slipped the chain over his head and dropped the trinket into Polly's palm.

'Here,' he said softly. 'To remember me by.'

Polly felt the weight of the locket in her hand and then clicked the spring. It opened to reveal a beautiful, delicate miniature of Christopher Whyte's handsome face.

'It is a thing of vanity,' he said with a smile. 'Take it.'

Polly was charmed. 'I couldn't possibly...'

Whyte clasped her hand with his and closed her fingers over the locket. 'Take it. I have many of the d.a.m.ned things.'

He held on to her hand for what seemed like minutes, then with a small, sad smile turned and disappeared into the darkness without looking back.

Polly stood in silence, her head bowed.

She clasped the locket in her hand and shot a quick glance back at the inn. Then, with a heavy heart, she began to follow him.

The morning dawned bright and sparkling. The sky was a perfect, cloudless blue, despite the cold, and Jamie felt immensely cheered as he drew back the curtains in his quarters.

Ben, exhausted by his exertions, was still sound asleep.

Even the shaft of sunlight that fell across his face failed to wake him. Neither the Doctor nor Polly was anywhere to be seen and so Jamie made his way swiftly downstairs, hoping to catch Thurloe or even Cromwell.

He entered into the chamber where he and the Doctor had conducted most of their bogus fortune-telling and came across Thurloe poring over a scrolled doc.u.ment. He looked round as Jamie approached and smiled pleasantly.

'Ah! The McCrimmon of Culloden I presume.'

'Aye,' said Jamie. 'Good morning, MrThurloe.'

Thurloe nodded. 'It is indeed if we are to see the King once again in our custody and the general saved from an a.s.sa.s.sin's blow.'

Jamie looked round. 'Where is everybody?'

'Making the preparations,' said Thurloe darkly. 'If the conspirators are not to suspect anything then we must go on as normal. I have arranged for yourself, the Doctor, and Master Jackson to mingle among the members in the Commons. The Doctor will tell you what we plan to do.'

He turned back to the doc.u.ment and spoke over his shoulder. 'There is a carriage awaiting you. If you would be so good as to awaken your colleague I should be infinitely obliged.'

Jamie went straight back upstairs and shook Ben until he unwillingly woke. Groaning, he stared blearily at the plain Puritan garb that had been laid out for them both to wear.

After a hesitant start, they both found themselves in hysterics as they clambered into the strange, ill-fitting clothes.

Jamie's collar made him look like an overgrown choirboy and Ben's hat was far too big for him, but eventually they both made their way into the cold, fresh morning.

They found the Doctor outside in the open carriage, lost in thought. Bells were pealing madly as though the whole city were celebrating, but the Doctor seemed unaffected by it all.

He smiled as Ben and Jamie climbed in beside him.

'Where's Pol?' asked Ben.

The Doctor leaned forward and tapped the driver on the shoulder. At once, they began to move off. 'She's joining us later,' he said, sitting back down.

Jamie inhaled deeply of the crisp air and settled back to enjoy the ride. Had it not been so singularly inappropriate, he would have said that he felt a little like royalty. Instead he closed his eyes and let the pale sunshine warm his face as the carriage rattled through the narrow London streets towards Parliament.

'Now then,' said the Doctor. 'Ben, you'll be able to recognise this Dutchman on sight, will you?'

Ben grimaced. 'Blimey, I should hope so. I've seen his ugly mug often enough.'

'Good,' said the Doctor, smiling. 'He'll be there, among the MPs just as we will, so the timing will be crucial. We can't act too swiftly or he might escape. Try again some other day.

Ab, here we are.'

They had drawn up outside the ma.s.sive facade of the Commons and were ushered rapidly inside. Everyone there seemed to be dressed just like them in broad-brimmed black hats and plain tunics. It wasn't difficult to merge into the chattering ma.s.s as the members began to take their seats on all sides of the cramped chamber.

To Ben, the panelled room looked remarkably similar to the one he had seen in his own time, although it was noticeably more primitive, with the appearance of a bear pit, its seats five rows deep. 'Can you see him?' whispered the Doctor.

Ben shook his head. 'I don't know if I will with all this lot here. It's like a penguin convention.'

Jamie looked around. 'What if he's not down here, Doctor?' he asked worriedly. 'Maybe he's up there in yon gallery.'

The Doctor shook his head. 'I don't think so, Jamie. These people have no high-powered rifles or anything to a.s.sa.s.sinate with. Any attack will have to be close up. A dagger or some such. It's the only way to guarantee accuracy.'

'What about a bomb?' said Ben.

Again the Doctor shook his head. 'Why go the trouble of importing this Dutch chap? No, no. He's here. I'm sure of it.'

Jamie tapped the Doctor on the shoulder. 'Look.'

They all turned as the imposing figure of Cromwell entered the chamber. He nodded to some of those present and then strode to his accustomed place on the benches.

Outside, a clock began to strike ten.

The Doctor looked quickly around.

Cromwell got to his feet. And in an alcove above the chamber, the Dutchman raised a strange and slender gun...

CHAPTER 12.

Frances Kemp closed the back door and moved quickly towards the kitchen stove. She was humming a little tune, rolling dough on a wide black plate, her pretty face flushed from the heat below her.

There was a slow, tired knock at the door and Frances looked up in surprise. Who on earth could that be?

She wiped her hands on her ap.r.o.n and lifted the latch. A cold wind full of snowflakes blasted inside around the figure of Polly, who was smiling a little wanly.

'h.e.l.lo,' she said. 'Can I come in?'

Frances pulled her inside, grinning all over her face, and sat Polly straight down at the table.

'My dear. You look half frozen. Here, let me get you something.'

She dashed to the corner and lifted up a little jug of steaming liquid. Polly sat where she'd been put, shivering.

'I am a bit worse for wear,' she said. 'It's been a long night.'

Frances pressed a tumbler into her hand. 'Here.'

Polly drank the stuff gratefully, feeling its heat invigorate her. Frances immediately fetched some food, which Polly wolfed down with equal enthusiasm.

'Now,' said Frances, sitting down herself, 'where have you been? My father said you had gone off with those...

friends of his on some kind of errand.'

Polly laughed. 'Yes, I suppose you could call it an errand.

We went to fetch the King.'

Frances's eyes almost bulged from their sockets. 'The King? He's free?'

Polly closed her eyes a moment and sighed. 'It's a long story, Frances.' She looked at her friend and smiled gently.

'But never mind me. How are you? And how is Thomas?'

Frances grabbed Polly's hands over the table and giggled.

'It is a miracle, Polly! You won't believe it. My father has consented to our marriage!'

'What? How come?'

Frances waved her hand airily. 'He has had a change of heart. I always knew that there was a sweet centre beneath the bear. Mother says he is like he used to be again.'

Polly was pleased. 'That's wonderful.'

Frances looked at her slyly. 'And what of you, mistress?

How goes your handsome Cavalier?'

Polly looked away, a surge of emotion rushing through her.