m_findlow

Title: Within these walls
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Gerald Carter Kneale, Harriet Derbyshire, Jack Harkness, OCs
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG
Length: 15,012 words
Content notes: none
Author notes: Written for Prompt: Gerald and Harriet from Torchwood Season 2, in period alien-fighting shenanigans on behalf of the King at who_guestfest
Summary: Gerald and Harriet are on assignment to investigate strange goings on at Buckingham Palace.

'They've cancelled the lectures,' Harriet cried, storming into the hub.

His hand barely twitched from the paper that was held in its firm grip, reading the brief message again. 'There's a war going on, my dear.'

'I know perfectly well there's a war, Gerald,' she huffed. 'That is no reason to shut down the university.'

'I suspect it's the Luftstreitkräfte bombers they are concerned about, rather than the ill-timed pursuits of academia.'

'The wars of the future will be fought by machines and with chemicals,' she stated, shrugging off her coat and hanging it neatly on the stand. 'It will be the physicists who will set the standards of modern warfare.'

'Let's pray rather for no future wars,' Gerald replied.

'You are too much of an optimist, Gerald,' she said, though she meant it in a playful way. She found his temperament endearing for the most part, and not at all hinting that he'd once been military intelligence himself. She expected all military types were straight laced and lacking in any sort of empathy, but Gerald was a far from that as she could imagine. If anything, he was a little too charming.

'Perhaps,' he replied. 'Though your timing is excellent. I've just received a telegram from London.'

Harriet sighed. 'Not another promise to build this underground railway to Bristol, I hope,' she said, settling into the leather chair opposite her superiors’ spartan desk. That much he'd at least retained from his army days, along with the plain clothes and polished shoes.

Gerald laughed. 'I fear that Cardiff's usefulness in the war effort will remain understated.' If anything, he was relieved. Churchill had been mad to think they could have hundreds of labourers working day and night to tunnel under the channel, even with the aid of Torchwood technology, leaving them as the first and last stop. Gerald felt sorry for Lloyd George. Even he couldn't temper his minister's taste for battle.

'And what does London want, then?' Harriet asked. They'd barely heard a word from them since the war had started. Their sole drive had been to develop better classes of weaponry that the allies might use to defend the empire. Only when they had written to London to advise them on artefacts collected in Cardiff did they show any interest. Even then, it was a terse exchange. On several occasions, Harriet had cause glimpses of the letters of reply from Torchwood's London branch. "We appreciate your diligence in these matters, however if you could succinctly state their military value as a matter of priority, it would be appreciated."

At least they were beginning to accept the rift theory that Gerald and Jack insisted upon. It was the only logical explanation for the things she'd seen and the propensity for oddities to occur in the city. She didn't have to be convinced. Jack had told her it was simply fact.

'There's a tear in space and time hovering right over the city,' Jack said. 'Stuff from across all of the universe sometimes slips through. You can't stop it. All you can do is keep an eye on it.' And so that's what they did.

'It's not Torchwood that requests our presence,' Gerald said. 'It's Buckingham Palace.'

'Codswallop,' she said. He handed her the telegram so she could read it for herself. She frowned, looking back up. 'I don't understand.'

'I believe Captain Harkness would call it a hand ball,' he said, leaning back in his chair.

'And Torchwood London have authorised us to attend?' She didn't like getting into the politics. Her interests were purely scientific and there was much to occupy her intellect here.

'We leave on the first train tonight.'

She handed the paper back. 'And will the Captain be joining us?' She hadn't seen Jack for weeks. She was beginning to wonder if this was one of his phases he was going through where he chose not to work for them. He was erratic at the best of times, undeniably good looking, and a shameless flirt, yet extremely knowledgeable, but otherwise he seemed to be a mystery to her.

Gerald's expression was coy. 'Jack has other matters to attend to.' He couldn't tell her that he'd sent Jack on a mission that required him to go undercover in France and that he hadn't heard from the Captain for over two weeks. Death didn't concern him, since Jack couldn't die, but there were far worse things out there.

'Doesn't he always?' Harriet replied. She was hardly disappointed. These weeks together with Gerald, just the two of them had been delightful. She wouldn't deny that she was infatuated with him, even if he was seventeen years her senior and somewhat oblivious to her own interest in him.

Gerald smiled at her. 'I trust that the lack of lectures today will leave you free to prepare for our trip to the capital?'

'Did they make any mention at all of why we've been requested? 'She already had the wording of the telegram committed to memory. It simply stated that His Majesty King George V requested the presence of Torchwood at the Palace as a matter of urgency.

'I called London this morning, just before you arrived. All they would say was that the Palace was reported to be haunted by malicious spirits. London believes we're best placed to handle the matter. I tend to agree.'

'Then I shan't argue with you,' she said, eking another smile out his businesslike demeanour.

'Pack you things, my dear. We're due at the station in an hour.'

Train travel on troop train services was nothing like the jaunts to the countryside Harriet had taken with her parents when she was a teenager, holidaying in Wiltshire, Norfolk and Blackpool. There'd been fine leather seats and trolley ladies serving tea and biscuits. Now they were piled high with infantrymen and their packs, and there was a raucous sound that filled each carriage as they conversed, played cards and wound each other up.

'Boys off to war,' Gerald muttered. 'They still think it's a game.'

She pursed her lips at his depressing commentary. Three years into the war and still they managed to find more boys to ship off to Europe and Africa. How many might return, and when would this blasted war ever end? She let them have their fun and frivolity, even if it made the journey to London less than peaceful. They'd soon find very little to be jovial about.

It was indeed late by the time their train pulled into London, and later still by the time the cab had dropped them at the Palace gates to be escorted inside. They were brought to the White Drawing Room, though to Harriet's mind, it should have been named the Golden Drawing Room. There was barely an inch of wall not decorated in golden paint and gilt furniture, all the fabrics in a similar champagne hue, and huge lead crystal chandeliers dangling from the centre and corners of the room.

It was further surprising that when the King himself arrived to address them, he was not in full dress, but rather slippers and his nightgown, covered by a luxurious claret dressing gown.

'Your Majesty,' Gerald said, bowing low.

'Your Majesty,' Harriet repeated, curtseying lower than she ever had in her life. All those finishing school lesson her father had insisted upon finally coming into good use.

'A fine thing you coming out so quickly,' the King said.

'Whatever is necessary to serve the Empire,' Gerald replied.

'I trust the journey was comfortable?'

'As comfortable as can be expected, given the circumstances. I take it you've spoken with our London office already?'

'Only to tell them to not waste time and get you here as quickly as possible.'

Gerald was genuinely surprised by that. He'd expected London had foisted this upon them. He never anticipated that he'd been asked for specially. He was hardly popular with London, despite all the good work he'd achieved.

'Who is your companion?' the King asked.

'Your Highness, may I present Miss Harriet Derbyshire. She is my most esteemed colleague.'

'A woman?' he said. Harriet schooled her features. At least he hadn't said girl.

'A self-educated scientist,' Gerald replied. 'Specialising in the field of physics. A finer mind I have not met.' Harriet tried hard not to blush at the effusive description. The King simply accepted it with a slight nod in her direction.

'May I ask, Your Majesty,' he began. 'The telegram we received. What seems to be the problem?'

'Ghosts,' the King said, unstoppering a crystal decanter and pouring out a finger of scotch.

'Ghosts,' Harriet repeated.

He brought the glass to his lips and sipped. 'May is half frantic over the whole business. The world is in chaos and the ladies at court are fussing over nonsense. I want a line drawn under the whole thing as quickly as possible. Seems right up your alley, Gerald.'

'We can certainly take a look,' he promised. 'I imagine the timing is not ideal.'

'Couldn't be worse,' the King replied. 'On top of everything else, I've got the Russian delegation here to negotiate expatriation for the Tsars. David is mad if he thinks I can get the Romanovs out. There's a war going on and he thinks I should turn my attention to a revolution in Russia.'

'They are your cousins,' Gerald commented.

'Half of bloody house Saxe Coburg are cousins and they're on the wrong side of this wretched war. Suppose you support Lloyd George in all this, being a Welshman and all?'

'I serve the British Empire,' he replied. His affinity for the Welsh capital was more to do with serving the needs of Torchwood than it was cross border sympathies. Even after ten years, his appointment was still considered somewhat controversial by those in London. 'I'm an Oxfordshire man, myself.'

'Now I didn't call you here to talk politics, Gerald. I've got ministers enough bleating on at me.'

'Of course, Your Majesty. Might we be able to interview some of your household staff? To get a better understanding of what seems to be the issue.'

'Whatever is required to sort this mess out as expediently as possible. Drag them from their beds if you must.'

Gerald nodded in acquiescence. All the rumours were true that George was a hard taskmaster, and the sort of man that wouldn't suffer nonsense. He was the very antithesis of his grandfather Albert. A sensible man, but one not prone to displays of affection or kindness. It was said that he'd feared his father and that he expected his children to fear him as well.

'We shan’t delay a moment longer, then,' Gerald added.

'Good,' came the abrupt reply, downing the remnants of his drink. 'Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll have May sort out her ladies for you. No doubt they're still up, trying to frighten one another with all this silliness.' With that, the King exited the room.

'Harriet, why don't you start with the serving staff whilst I confer with Her Highness and her ladies?'

She stopped dead for a moment. If that wasn't the most sexist thing she'd ever heard. 'I didn't realise that scullery maids were beneath you, Gerald,' barely masking her displeasure.

Gerald barely wavered against her cold stare. 'I understand that women of a certain and age and disposition like to gossip.'

Harriet felt flabbergasted. She set her hands on her narrow hips. 'Women of a certain disposition?'

He laughed at her, which only incensed her more. 'My dear old chap,' he said, grasping her shoulders. 'I meant what I said earlier. You are the cleverest and most remarkable woman I've ever known. I only mean to suggest that they will be far more forthcoming with you.'

She brushed off his hands with as much indignation as she could muster though it pained her to back away from such strong hands. 'Your backtracking needs work,' she replied. 'Jack is becoming a bad influence on you.'

'I'll take that as your acceptance of my apology. Come along. We have work to do.'

Harriet wasn't enthused at the idea of being relegated to the serving staff, but neither was she about to let the task consume her pride. Instead, she straightened her tie and collar, and followed the staffer down to the kitchen where the staff had been assembled, awaiting the anticipated questioning.

The kitchen was far larger than she expected and the staff sitting around a long wooden table at the heart of it far fewer than she'd imagined.

'Where are all the rest of your staff?' she asked their chief of staff, Mr Fulstom, a thin fellow with a sizable moustache, more white than grey.

'I took the liberty of gathering only those members of Palace staff who have, er,' he coughed, 'apparently witnessed these phantasmagoria. She didn't have to read between the lines to know his own feelings on the matter, and that he wasn't about to drag his faithful serving staff out of their beds on account of some nonsense about ghosts. Only those who wouldn't settle until that matter was resolved would have to stay up into the late hours of evening as Torchwood queried them.

She stood at the head of the table and took in the sight of the people gathered. Gerald it seemed had at least been right in some respects, as the majority of staffers sat there were women of a not dissimilar age to her. Perhaps she was the best person to try and get some sense out of them. It was absurd to think that there were ghosts roaming the Palace halls, however. There was no scientific proof whatsoever that there was anything beyond death. Ghosts were nonsense, though aliens were another matter entirely.

'Thank you all for staying back at this hour. I'm sure you're all keen to have the matter resolved so that you can get on with your day. If I could just ask a few questions.'

'The place is haunted, ma'am,' one girl piped up, before tucking her hands tight inside her pinafore pocket.

'Miss Quinn!' Mr Fulstom chastised.

'Well, it's true.'

'You'll, keep your opinions to yourself unless asked a direct question,' he said, intending to silence her.

'When you say ghosts,' Harriet asked. 'Have you seen them?'

'They're not those kinds of ghosts, ma'am.'

'Then what kind are they?'

'The kind that make noises, rattle around, upend things.'

'If this is about that broken vase again, Ms Quinn,' Mr Fulstom warned.

'I keep telling you I didn't break it. It fell on the floor in pieces when I went in to dust. I was moving to the other side of the room at the time.' She gave a defiant look towards Mr Fulstom. Harriet knew the poor maid's wages would be docked for the breakage, which was no doubt a considerable cost.

Mr Fulstom looked around at the group again and frowned. 'Where is Ms Aldershot?' A few of the staff looked around. 'I specifically asked her to be here, since she was one protesting about this so loudly.'

'Took off if she knew what was good for her,' one of them muttered.

'She's got a sister with two children. She wouldn't leave. Besides,' the woman then clamped her mouth shut as if realising she'd already said too much.

'Besides what?' Harriet asked.

'She just enjoyed her position here is all, ma'am.'

Harriet watched the exchange with curiosity. These serving staff would be paid more than thrice what their counterparts in London could ever hope to receive. It would take something fairly terrible to make them give up such a lucrative position.

'How many have let your employ, Mr Fulstom?' she asked quietly as the arguments around the room continued.

'Three this week. Ms Aldershot will make it four.' He looked annoyed rather than disappointed.

'Can I leave you with my wife and her retinue?' The King asked as he led Gerald towards an opulent sitting room.

'Of course, Your Highness. I imagine there are pressing matters that require your attention.'

'Well put,' he replied, nodding the two tower guards who'd been charged with attending the entrance to the room. It seemed an extravagance, but then again, they had no idea what they might be dealing with yet. Gerald had seen too many things in his time now to discount anything, even reports of ghosts.

The guards opened the gilded double doors and let him pass through. Seated in a circle of chairs were the Queen and her closest ladies of court. She stood, looking elegant even in what must have passed for nightwear, a long fringed and beaded shawl covering the modesty of the sleeping shirt worn underneath.

'Your Majesty.' Gerald knelt and took her hand. For anyone else, a kiss would have been part and parcel, but even he knew his limitations.

'Mr Carter Kneale. Thank you for coming.'

'I serve the Empire, my Queen.'

'Please take a seat,' she said, offering him a velvet covered chair between two of her dearest friends, five in all having joined her in the room.

'What can you tell me about the goings on here of late?' Gerald began.

'It is strange,' the Queen began. 'Some of the ladies have claimed that they can sense a presence, something watching them. Myself I've not felt that, though there have been strange sounds.'

'What kind of sounds?'

'In the walls. A sort of scratching sound, rather like the sound of rubbing two pieces of parchment together.'

'It could just be rats, skittering in between the walls,' he suggested.

'I dare think not, Mr Kneale. There are no rats in the Palace.'

'Have you heard any other strange sounds?' He looked around the circle, opening the question up to all. They silently shook their heads.

'I know you must think this very strange, Mr Kneale, but it's the children I worry for,' the Queen replied. 'I can't have my ladies and their staff jumping at shadows, and screaming at the tiniest little thing. This business has us all on edge.'

'Well, you've nothing to fear, my Queen,' Gerald said, laying on some of that charm he was so accustomed to. 'Whatever it is, my colleague and I will get to the bottom of it. I would encourage you to speak with us further if you can think of anything else.'

A serving man led him out of the Queen's apartments, but stopped him for a moment as soon as they were out of earshot.

'Of course there are rats in the place,' he said. 'Those ladies upstairs don't see them. The Queen would be up in arms if she thought there were rats. The whole of London would have to be rid of them.'

'So, you think this is nothing more than a case of vermin?'

'I did. Although, come to think of it, I've not seen any of late, not even in the larder or the laundries.'

'Perhaps the rats are equally disturbed by whatever is here.'

'Then may it stay long. I'd rather have ghosts than rats.'

'Useless, the whole lot of them,' Harriet said as she marched down the hall to meet back up with Gerald.

'I can't say my own interviews were particularly fruitful either,' he confessed. 'I suggest we set it aside and focus on the physically observable.'

'Agreed.'

The two steamer trunks they'd brought with them on the train from Cardiff had been taken to a state room where they were allowed to conduct their investigations. It wasn't nearly as opulent as the other rooms, but it was still grand nonetheless. Harriet had been indecisive in selecting equipment to take with them since they still had no idea what it was they had come here for. One whole trunk was simply packed with cages and containment units, nets and other things that might be needed if they were faced with something living. The second trunk was much more her forte, full of gadgets and scientific equipment. Gerald had of course ensured they also came armed.

They wouldn't have needed half of this if Jack had been here with them, she thought ruefully. His wrist strap that he wore permanently was a fascination to her, wondering how it worked. He was of course coy about its technology, and it was impossible for her to sneak away with it for closer inspection. It did however do the most wondrous things, analysing all manner of scientific data.

'So, we've got strange sounds in the walls and a sense of being watched,' Harriet said. 'At least it doesn't sound like weevils.'

'I think we would rather know if it was,' he said, though he smiled at her as he said it. It was one of those tender smiles that made her knees go a bit wobbly and her brain temporarily stop.

There was a knock on the door that jolted her from fanciful thoughts.

'Ah, good fellow,' Gerald said, walking across to meet him, taking from him a large rolled up parchment. He walked it back across the room and rolled it out across the mahogany table, using the ornate candlesticks as weights to pin the corners.

'A map of the Palace,' she stated, recognising the rudimentary outline.

'Precisely.' He pulled a pen from his coat pocket, self-inking and a marvel that had come through the rift. He had only to unclip the lid and the ink inside its steel nib flowed freely onto the paper. One of the modern things that had come through the rift, Harriet knew. There had been a whole box of them and Gerald had taken to them immediately, though she still preferred her pencils and typewriter.

Much to her horror, he began scribbling across the beautifully drawn schematic, marking out the residences of all the Palace occupants and staff.

'Do you have those work rosters, old girl?' he asked. She pulled them out of a file Mr Fulstom had given her and set them down next to the map, showing him where the staffers had been posted on their duties and where they had reported anything strange. Those areas he marked on the map also.

'Well,' he said, standing back from his handiwork. 'Our poltergeist has a penchant for the second floor it seems, in this area particularly,' he said, sweeping a large circle around it in ink. 'The private residences. Of course. I suspect many of these rooms will be off limits until the morning, once their occupants are up and about,' he added, though knowing few would be in use at present. Most of the royal court except for those closest to the royal family had already removed themselves to Kensington, or further abroad to other estates. The general feeling was that given the war going on, it would be safer to stay outside of London.

'We can still sweep the drawing rooms and the halls,' Harriet replied. 'Start checking for anomalies.'

'And we will.' He left the table with the map and begin rifling through Harriet's trunk of equipment. She watched as he first slipped his revolver into the empty holster beneath his jacket, and then pulled out a long flat device.

'What do think we might be dealing with here, Gerald?'

He began calibrating the scanner. 'I don't know.'

'It could be an alien entity I suppose,' she said. Though how it had gotten into the Royal Palace was anyone's guess.

'We'll know more once we've done some preliminary fieldwork. I thought I might start with a spectral scan. Eliminate the possibility that this ghost is hiding beyond the visible spectrum.'

'Good idea,' she said. 'I'd like to check the walls and floors for any abnormalities. They did say there have been sounds that appear to come from within the walls.'

'Excellent. With any luck we might be able to smoke them out before morning.' Without a further word, he slipped out through the door and began making his circuit of the affected area.

Harriet pulled a small box out of her steamer trunk, clipping the leather strap in place and settling it about her neck so that the box perched against her abdomen. It wasn't strictly required, since the device that monitored unnatural signals was no bigger than a box of soap. It was however metallic and glowed with a light source all its own. Jack had taught her its basic functions, but the box was to conceal its appearance. Whilst they were modern in so many respects, it helped to appear Edwardian to keep the public at ease. So much of what they did defied common belief, and even the most advanced scientific principles.

It felt strange to wander the Palace halls, let alone to be doing so at night. She'd expected there to be a guard posted at every door, but the place was virtually empty. The lights had been left on, partly as a courtesy to aid their investigations, and partly because Queen Mary had insisted that the place be lit until the matter was resolved. She wouldn't have any of her ladies in waiting or her handmaidens being terrified of what might be lurking in the shadows.

'If only you could see me now, Mother,' she muttered under her breath, admiring the plush red carpets, the ornate gilding and the priceless artworks that covered the walls. By her nature, she'd never been particularly interested in the usual feminine trappings, but on this occasion it was impossible not to marvel at them. This was the grandest building in all of Britain, perhaps the world.

Hard as it was, she tried to focus on the readings from her device. She was looking for unusual densities in the walls, patches where the temperature was too warm or too cool, or minute sounds emanating from within. Her focus became so intense when she was investigating. There was honestly nothing like a good puzzle, and Torchwood provided her with many and often. It didn't stop her from wanting to continue educational pursuits externally, though the frustration was that the academic community refused to award her the accolades she'd rightly earned. Torchwood at least had no such restrictions.

Harriet slowed her movements, listening out for any sort of sounds like the ones that had been reported, but all was quiet. She cast her gaze at the walls, every inch covered in fine oil portraits of royal figures. Was it hardly a wonder that one felt constantly watched in here, all those eyes casting down their judgments.

'Hello there, miss,' came a voice behind her. Harriet spun to find man standing there. Not just any man, but one of astonishingly good looks. He was clean shaven, with thick dark wavy hair. His coat, which hung down to mid-thigh, was a deep scarlet, but underneath his waistcoat shimmered gold. She'd never been one to flutter her eyes at a man, however handsome, but this one took her breath away.

'I'm sorry. Did I startle you?' the man apologised. His accent was distinctly Russian.

'I just wasn't expecting anyone up at this hour,' she replied, trying to get her heartbeat to slow down.

'Ah, yes,' he said, smiling. 'The rumours of ghosts hunting the Palace apartments.'

Harriet paused to look him in the eye. 'That sounds very much like you don't believe it.'

'I believe there to be a logical explanation for all things in life. Whether we are yet to discover all of those secrets will only be made clear in time.'

Ah, Harriet thought, a contemporary. 'Are you a scientist?'

'Gods be good, no.' He laughed and she liked the sound of it, such a warm timbre, like swallowing a fine whisky, and feeling its heat course through the body. She had thought all Russians were dour and lacking in any sense of humour. 'I fear I only have too much time on my hands for reading. I suspect that is why Nicholas sent me here, to make use of my idle hands,' he replied.

Of course, Harriet thought, remembering the King's words. The delegation here on behalf of the Tsar.

'May I ask what you are doing, miss...?'

'Derbyshire. Harriet,' she said, holding out a hand. 'I'm here investigating these rumours.'

'Ah, so it is you who are the scientists, yes? Your tools are... interesting,' he said, spotting the contraption around her neck. 'What does it do?'

'Searches for ghosts,' she lied, but trying to be funny also.

'Harriet,' Gerald called, coming towards her. 'There you are.'

'Did you find anything?' she asked.

'Not a jot, I'm afraid. I see you have company, though,' he said, eyeing off the handsome man and feeling a slight pang of jealousy.

'Miss Harriet and I were discussing ghosts.'

'Ah, you must be from the Russian delegation,' Gerald said, extending a hand.

'Dimitri Romanov,' he introduced himself. Harriet realised only then that she hadn't even had the sense to ask his name.

'Yes, I can see the resemblance,' Gerald replied. 'You could pass for a British monarch as much as a Tsar.'

'Thank you,' Dimitri said, his smile congenial.

'What's your take on all this?'

'In my country, serving staff go missing all the time. They do not blame it on ghosts. Humans are complicated creatures.'

'That we are,' Gerald agreed. 'Still, we've been tasked with a job and we shan’t be allowed to leave until it's sorted.'

'Then I shall not delay you further,' Dimitri replied. He took Harriet's hand and kissed it gently. 'A pleasure to meet you,' he said, before disappearing down the long corridor and out of sight.

'New beau?' Gerald asked,quirking an eyebrow at her.

'Shut up,' Harriet replied, feeling foolish.

They spent the remainder of the night wandering the Palace with various pieces of equipment, but there was no sign of anything untoward lurking the halls, which left them feeling frustrated.

'I confess I expected this would be rather easier,' Gerald said, setting down his equipment and a notebook, in which he'd been making observations.

'When has anything ever been easy?' she replied, feeling a weariness in her bones. The train journey had been exhausting and a whole night of searching had her ready to drop.

'I suggest we get some rest and tackle the issue afresh,' he said. 'I believe we've been given rooms. How many people can say that they've had the pleasure of staying at the Palace?'