The Fool On Mott Hill (Doctor Who)

Chapter 5

One year later, on the anniversary of Wilfred's death, Donna decided to finally clear out his hideaway cabin. Everyone offered to help, but it was something she needed to do alone. Her Granddad had a secret trunk and she'd just found the key hidden under his bed in an empty gun box. She was intrigued to know what he kept hidden from the rest of them.

As Donna struggled up the road with cardboard boxes she noticed a tall middle aged man standing by the foot of the hill. His curly silver hair licked the nape of his neck and seemed to glow under the moonlight. He stared up wistfully at the empty cabin and the large telescope alongside it.

Donna cocked her head and hesitated, giving him a full once over. He was dressed in an odd mix of modern and Victorian clothes – A black hoodie covered by a black frock coat with a red lining. He had on a black tee with holes, dark grey plaid pants, Dr. Marten boots – All something a young rocker might wear. She pictured him a wild 80's youth. A punk with a Mohawk causing anarchy all over Britain who later retired and became a magician. She decided he would've looked good as a Ginger too.

Her imagination ran away with her again, she always made up stories about people as soon as she met them. Donna also got the silly notion that he was the 21st Century version of Death himself. All he needed was a sickle. As if he read her thoughts, he swiftly turned and she gulped.

"Hello! Can I help you, Sir? Nice night for stargazin' I guess." Donna said politely. She inched forward. He looked perpetually cross. She carried mace if she needed it and owned a pair of lungs that would wake up all of Chiswick, but he stood very still, almost unsure of what to do.

His intense blue eyes were shrouded by fierce eyebrows the same color as his hair. But she caught a sudden friendly glint. As if he saw someone dear to him after a very long time. His features at once softened and his frown broke into a wide smile. Donna had the impression he wasn't much of a "smiler" so she felt honored that he did it for her. She admitted to herself that he was a handsome older bloke.

Donna came closer. "I know it looks out in the open, but this is private property, Sir. We call it Mott Hill, after my grandfather. He passed a year back."

"Yes...I know. Sorry, was thinkin'...My name's...Stewart. Stewart...Tyler." The man fumbled over his words with a throaty Scottish accent she found glorious.

The Doctor continued, trying to recall his rehearsed lines. Why did he feel the need for index cards? "I...I was an old friend of Wilfred, I knew him as a young man, he err...he was mates with my father in the war. Saved my Da's life durin' a skirmish. My Da' died years ago, but I read the notices about Wilfred's passing so I had ta come as soon as I was...free. I'm sorry for the delay."

He approached and held out his hand. Donna carefully shook it. He had slim fingers with an iron grip that she could swear she'd held before. But that couldn't be right. He kept on shaking and looked more nervous than she did.

"You must be the amazing Donna Noble. I mean, Temple. Shirley...no, uhh...Noble Temple! Donna Temple-Noble." He snapped his fingers. "Finally got it. Acch...shame on me. He never stopped talking about you. Good ol' Wilf."

Did he have dementia? It took a lot out of the man to speak so kindly and Donna was greatly impressed. He was no doubt a grumpy numpty, but she resolved to be at her cheeriest.

"Oh...so ya heard of me, then? Good things, I hope."

He nodded and shifted awkwardly like a child awaiting punishment.

"Well, that's very kind of ya to pay a visit, Mr. Tyler. Gramps never mentioned ya. But he kept a lot of secrets." She smiled appreciatively and could've sworn he held back tears. "Gramps knew a kabillion people, remembered every detail about 'em, but rarely spoke of 'em. So don't feel bad."