Weller lit every fire in the house, every lamp, every candle. We changed from our finery, locked the doors, shuttered the windows, and sat down in the kitchen. He’d even had the sense to order in from the inn round the corner. We dined very snugly on boiled fowl, a really good broth, roasted beef and frumenty. Look it up.
We discussed the events of the day, running through our own individual perceptions, speculating on what might happen next. The appearance of Clive Ronan, bold, brazen, and unconcerned was a shock to us all. We knew he was here somewhere, but this close to the queen …
And what of the queen herself?
‘She’ll send for us,’ I said, confidently.
‘She might not send for all of us,’ grinned Peterson. ‘She certainly preferred some of us over others.’
‘And rightly so,’ said Farrell calmly, mopping up the last of his sauce with a piece of bread. ‘At last, the technical section comes into its own.’
‘About bloody time,’ said Guthrie. ‘I think all of us have wondered, at one time or another, just what exactly you do all day down in Hawking.’
‘The mysteries of the technical section are not for lesser minds. Suffice to say we have, once more, saved the day.’
‘Depressing, isn’t it?’ said Schiller. ‘That we should live to be grateful to the technical section. Who’d have thought?’
‘She will send for us,’ I said, dragging them back on track. ‘It’s just a case of when.’
‘First thing tomorrow morning?’ suggested Randall. ‘She did seem a bit – keen.’
Schiller shook her head.
‘It’s a game,’ she said. ‘She’ll make us wait.’
I nodded. We had only just over two weeks. If she decided to play hard to get, we could have a problem.
Farrell looked at Peterson. ‘We might be called to discuss business. Maybe an opening will present itself. Something will happen.’
It didn’t.
We stayed at home the next day, just in case. And the day after. We used the time to discuss our biggest problem – what to do with Ronan.
Typically, the security team were still all for executing him on sight. We had some difficulty explaining why this would be A Bad Thing.
‘We’d be wrecking our own past,’ said Schiller again. ‘If we kill him now, he won’t go on to attack us in his future. Changing his future means we wouldn’t be here today to kill him. Paradox.’
‘So what do we do with him?’
I was at a bit of a loss. We couldn’t leave him here, free to screw up the timeline. And we couldn’t kill him.
Farrell pushed his plate away.
‘Once again, and not for the first time, the technical section will save the day. We have enough on our plate. We must unite the queen and Bothwell. If we don’t do that then everything else is immaterial. I suggest we concentrate on that. If the opportunity presents itself and it well might, we follow Ronan, wait until he’s alone, render him helpless in an efficient but painful manner, and get him back to St Mary’s for Dr Bairstow to decide. Removing him from this time will solve our immediate problems. He’s done – or will do – so much damage to the timeline that I think dealing with him ourselves is a bit above our pay grades. This should be decided at Director level, I think. And maybe by more than one Director.’
Round the table, heads nodded in agreement.
He caught my eye. It would give Dr Bairstow the opportunity and satisfaction of dealing personally with the man who had caused the death of his Annie, crippled him, and murdered members of St Mary’s past, present, and future. An admirable solution, not least because it left us free to concentrate on the queen up the road and wait for the summons.
Which didn’t come.
After four days, I was stressed and even Farrell was looking tense.
‘Relax,’ I said, trying to ignore my own jiggling left knee. ‘You weren’t that bad. She’s just playing hard to get.’
He sighed. ‘If she plays much harder, we’ll miss her completely.’
I wasn’t anywhere near as confident as I sounded. Time wasn’t just ticking on – it was flying by. The silence from the palace was deafening. Had it really been just an afternoon’s flirtation for her? Why wasn’t she impressed by our show? Did the proposed trade deal not tempt her at all? Had we overestimated her desire to put one over on Elizabeth? What was going on up there? Had she forgotten all about us? And the vitally important question – had Ronan, working through Castelnau, persuaded her to send Bothwell away? Or worse, execute him? Guthrie and his security team were scouring the streets daily, looking for Ronan but there was no sign of him anywhere. We suspected he spent his time with de Castlenau and we couldn’t get to him there.