Doctor Who: Black Orchid Read Online Free Page A

The bowler grimaced in self condemnation and sent in another tempter pitched well up on the off stump only to see it cracked through cover to the boundary.
    ‘If only Courtney can keep them out at his end,’
    muttered Cranleigh, his eyes on the Doctor’s partner as the bowler paced in for the last ball of the over. The Doctor punched the ball past the man fielding close in and called
    ‘Come one!’ The two batsmen crossed over without attempting another run.
    The overjoyed Marquess shot up to his full height like a jack-in-a-box. ‘He’s going to farm the bowling,’ he chortled.
    ‘He’s farming the bowling!’ squeaked Tegan.
    ‘He’s what?’ asked Nyssa.
    ‘Farming the bowling.’
    ‘Farming it?’ Could this be it, thought Nyssa. The ducks? A duck farm?
    ‘Yes. It means he’s going to try to keep the other man...
    the one at the other end... from having to face the ball. The Doctor’s the better man but he’s the last man in. When either of them is out the innings is over.’
    ‘What do you mean, out?’ asked a perplexed Nyssa.
    ‘If the ball hits the wicket... that’s the three sticks... or if it’s caught before it hits the ground, or they could be stumped or run out or leg before wicket.’
    ‘Please!’ said Nyssa, shutting her eyes and clenching her fists. ‘Please, don’t go on!’ But Tegan was far too excited to take any notice of the baffled Nyssa.
    With total concentration, a fine wit and consummate technical skill the Doctor continued to farm the bowling with a cunning single or an aggressive three runs at the end of every over. The home team’s score began to climb spectacularly and the excitement of the spectators mounted with it. Onlookers from all parts of the grounds crowded the ropes and the pavilion and the marquee emptied, something not unnoticed by Adric who took the opportunity further to fortify the inner man.
    The Doctor had taken the score from a hundred and thirty-five to an auspicious two hundred and twenty-five when the distant chapel clock clanged the half hour. As the last note sighed into the silence of the still trees surrounding the cricket field, a distinguished-looking man broke from a group of more than usually excited spectators and moved quickly towards the captain of the home team, his piercing eyes ablaze and his hawk-like nose flared; a hunter accepting a challenge.
    ‘Charles!’
    ‘Robert,’ responded Cranleigh.
    ‘This man of yours...!’
    ‘Magnificent, isn’t he?’
    ‘Yes,’ agreed Sir Robert Muir, ‘but d’you know how long he’s been out there?’
    ‘About half an hour I should think.’
    ‘Exactly half an hour. He went in at two o’clock.’
    ‘Is something wrong, Robert?’ enquired Lady Cranleigh gently.
    ‘Wrong?’ echoed Sir Robert.
    ‘You look so upset.’
    ‘Upset,’ repeated Sir Robert. ‘He’s on ninety. Your man’s on ninety.’
    ‘Yes, dear,’ said Lady Cranleigh. ‘We know. Isn’t it splendid?’
    Sir Robert looked sightlessly at the dowager Marchioness for a moment and then turned again to her son. ‘He’s five minutes off the record.’
    ‘Record?’
    ‘Percy Fender’s.’
    ‘Percy Fender?’ questioned Lady Cranleigh.
    Sir Robert looked with desolation first at mother then at son, refusing to believe their lack of comprehension.
    ‘P.G.H. Fender,’ he explained, ‘Captain of Surrey... made a century in thirty-five minutes. Five years ago. It’s the record. A hundred runs in thirty-five minutes. And your man’s got five minutes to...’
    He was interrupted by an enthusiastic round of applause as the Doctor stroked a single past cover point and the batsmen exchanged ends at the conclusion of yet another over. Sir Robert took a watch from his waistcoat pocket. ‘Is the chapel clock right?’ he asked.
     
    ‘Two minutes slow,’ said Lady Cranleigh.
    Sir Robert made a mental calculation. ‘If he can make nine runs in three and a half minutes he’ll have the record.’
    He watched the players