Disclaimer: Doctor Who is the property of the BBC, and no infringement is intended.

Special thanks, as always, to the wonderful SonicJules for encouragement, beta assistance, and unflagging support!

"Oh." The Doctor's face fell, disappointment darkening his features. "I was really in the mood for that duck a l'orange!"

"You sure this is the right place?" Rose asked, surveying the quiet street before returning her gaze to the tiny, boarded-up bungalow.

"Yep. Best duck a l'orange ever, even better than they do in France. 'Course her grandmother was born there, in Beaune, I think, and she passed down the recipe, but still, Madame Luranne perfected it. The tang of the citrus with just a hint of the zest, and the meat melting off the bones…" He closed his eyes in momentary ecstasy then sighed. "But none of that today."

"Let's just come back last year," she suggested. "Doesn't look like it's been closed all that long."

The Doctor was scratching the back of his head. "Maybe I got the year wrong."

Rose suppressed the urge to roll her eyes, choosing a more practical action instead. She hurried across the street to a small bookshop. Several newspapers lay upon a table just inside the door. She glanced at the nearest one, the Montreal Gazette, to note the date: May 7, 1956. She held up the front page as the Time Lord stepped to her side.

"This what you wanted?" she asked.

He slipped on his glasses to peer at the date. "Ten years off," he replied.

"Too soon or too late?"

"Too late. But still, she'd only be in her early fifties, too young to retire, especially for someone who loved what she did."

A woman appeared from the back of the shop, looking up at the prospective clients expectantly. "Good afternoon. May I help you?"

"Do you know Madame Luranne?" the Doctor inquired in reply, gesturing to the diminutive restaurant across the street.

"Celine? Of course."

"Where's she gone?" he asked.

"Back to France, to stay with relatives there."

"When did she leave?" he continued.

"Three—or was it four—months ago. Yes, it was three. I remember because she lost Geraint just before New Year's, and she tried to go on, keep up the restaurant, for a couple of months, but there were just too many reminders."

"Geraint?" the Doctor queried. "That was her son, wasn't it?"

The woman nodded. "Yes."

"What happened to him?" Rose asked.

The woman frowned. "You haven't heard?"

"We're not from here," Rose replied. "Just visiting."

"But I try to pop in for her duck a l'orange every chance I get," the Doctor added.

"Ah, her special recipe," the woman agreed fondly. "It was Geraint's favourite, too. That was one of the things that told her something was wrong."

Curiosity clearly piqued, the Doctor prodded, "What do you mean?"

"He lost his appetite," she explained. "Just about stopped eating all together, and he was such a robust young man, always active and hungry, but he lost all interest in food, in everything, really, just like that." She snapped her fingers. "Celine felt fortunate at first that the new hospital is nearly in our backyard, which is really almost funny, since none of us wanted it built here at first. But it's brought business to Ste. Adele over the last year, so we can't complain, really. They keep the patients on the premises—there was just that once at the beginning when someone escaped, but they've got better security now. And it seemed a Godsend for Geraint, because obviously something had happened to his mind. They told Celine they could help him, that they specialized in just that sort of case, so she felt hopeful. But then, of course, there was the accident." The bookseller blinked back tears.

"What happened?" prompted Rose.

"It was a real tragedy, because she thought maybe he was getting a little better, and she was beginning to think that he would recover. They let her visit him every Sunday. But that last Sunday, just after she left, he fell and hit his head. They told her he slipped on a bit of melted snow in the hallway. There was sudden bleeding in his brain, they said, and he was gone before they could get him half-way to Montreal."

"That's terrible," Rose said sympathetically.

The woman nodded with a sniffle. "It was. Poor Celine; Geraint really was her world. Still, she was coping, keeping busy with the restaurant. But then Louisa died, and it was just too much for her. She left for France not long after that."

"Who's Louisa?" asked Rose.

"Celine had got friendly with another woman, Louisa, whose daughter was in the hospital, too. Louisa lived in St. Joseph, you know, just down the road, and she was like Celine, felt fortunate that the hospital was here when her girl got sick."

"What was the matter with her?" the Doctor interjected. "Was it the same as Geraint?"

"No, just the opposite, from what Celine told me. The girl seemed to have all this terrible anger, and she couldn't control it. She'd hurt her younger sister, and that's when her parents decided they needed to put her somewhere safe, somewhere that could help her. Anyway, she and Celine met there and I think they both understood each other's feelings, both could offer support. When Geraint died, Louisa was wonderful. She'd worked as a nurse in Quebec City before she married, and she said she'd try to find out a little more about what happened to him, just to put Celine's mind at ease and answer some of the questions any mother would still have. But she never got any answers or any more information, because Louisa's car skidded off the road and into the lake not two weeks after Geraint had been buried."

"Have there been any other accidents around here recently?" the Doctor asked.

"Aside from that skier who bashed in his head, no," she answered. "I heard he'd been careless and was out skiing alone."

"Nothing else at the hospital?" he persisted.

"No, I don't think so." She thought for a moment. "I did speak to an elderly couple about a week ago. Their son was at the hospital, and they'd come out from the Ile d'Orleans to visit him; they stopped here for directions and bought a book to give him—said he'd been a big reader before he got sick. Anyway, I saw their car pass by three or four hours later, and the woman was crying. Probably it was just from seeing her son that way…Oh, I also heard that someone from the government was going to come out and inspect the hospital, make sure everything was running properly out there. Apparently Louisa had made some inquiries with the medical board."

"Where's the hospital?" the Doctor asked.

The woman stepped outside to point toward the base of the nearest mountain. "Just there."

"Along this road?" he clarified.

She nodded. "Take it about a kilometer to the west, then it'll branch off. The hospital's to the left."

He was already striding away. Rose offered a few brief parting words then hurried after him.

"We're goin' to the hospital?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

"Yep. Can't hurt to see what's going on. I think it's the least I can do Madame Luranne."

She nudged his arm. "You're just hopin' to convince her to come back and make that duck for you."

He glanced down at her with a grin. "Well, I wouldn't say no to that." Then his expression grew serious. "But something about this feels wrong to me."

"You mean that girl's mother dyin' in an accident just after she started lookin' into Geraint's death? You think she found out something she shouldn't have?"

"I don't know. But it can't hurt to have a look. And since the government is sending out someone to investigate anyway, I should have the perfect opportunity to poke around."

Rose didn't like the singular pronoun he'd chosen. "So you get to be a government inspector. What about me?"

"You know who has all the good information and really has the inside scoop on what's going on," he began.

She shook her head. "Oh no, not a dinner lady again!"

"It's for Madame Luranne, Geraint, and Louisa," he reminded her.

"Fine," she huffed. "But when we're done, you're buyin' me a lot more than duck a l'orange!"

He looped his arm through hers and grinned down at her. "Deal."

They split up as soon as the hospital came into view. The large stone building lay in a dell, apparently accessible only via a single, narrow road. The setting was secluded and tranquil. A tall wrought iron fence surrounded the entire property, with a guard gate in front.

The Doctor headed straight for the gate, psychic paper already in hand, as Rose circled surreptitiously around the back, looking for a secondary entryway used by staff. She found a smaller gate and considered herself rather lucky when a she saw two slightly disheveled women walking along the path from the hospital.

Rose tried the gate but found it locked. She waved at the women as they approached. "You work here?" she asked.

The younger of the women nodded, eyeing her questioner with some apparent suspicion while her older companion produced a key to unlock the gate.

"You know if they're hirin'?" Rose continued. "I'm lookin' for work, an' I've got experience with food service."

"Food service?" the woman repeated.

Rose recalled the year and amended her terminology. "Helpin' prepare an' serve, dishwashin', that sort of thing. An' I really need a job."

The older woman shook her head. "Sorry, but I'm sure they aren't hiring. They just let two of the gals go a couple of weeks ago. Said they didn't need them anymore."

Rose tried to look disappointed, but in truth she was a bit relieved. She hadn't relished the thought of peeling potatoes and scrubbing pots even for a few hours. "Suppose I'll try back in town," she said. She and the Doctor had agreed that he'd find an excuse to inspect the kitchens and they'd meet up there. Now she would have to think of something else…

"Good idea. You shouldn't be around here by yourself, anyway," said the younger of the two. "I'm surprised the guard didn't stop you."

Rose glanced at the hospital significantly. "Lot of nutters runnin' around in there?" she asked.

The two women nodded. "And they get out occasionally, too," said the elder. Her eyes flicked over Rose.

Rose looked down at her zip-up hoodie, tee shirt, and jeans. The women wore grey dresses with white collars and had wool cardigans draped over their shoulders. On their feet she saw low-heeled pumps, and she remembered the relative formality of the era. Even working women did not wear trousers and trainers.

She grinned. "You thought I was one of them at first, didn't you?" she asked. "'Cause of my clothes, yeah?"

The women exchanged looks then smiled in relief. "We weren't sure," one began.

"I've been travellin'," Rose offered reasonably. "Had my bags stolen in Montreal, an' this was all I could find, odds an' ends."

They nodded sympatically. "We can drop you in Ste. Adele if you like. My car is just over there," said the older woman, sweeping her hand toward a small car park.

Rose didn't particularly fancy walking back to the hospital from town, but she wanted to obtain more information from her new acquaintances. She also needed to figure out another way to get inside the hospital. So she accepted the ride, glad at least that she wore trainers. They might not be fashionable for this period; they might even earn her a few wary glances…

An idea was percolating in her mind. Even as it came to her, she realized it might be among her worst. Then again, it might just prove among her best. Because who could observe the inner workings of a hospital better than a person completely ensconced within it?

To be continued...