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here every Christmas,’ she said, laughing like dry leaves. ‘A beach holiday fit for the Monarch!’
    The threadbare grass drifted away into the lonely grey sand of the beach and the uncertain shuffle of the most powerful woman in the world came to an end. She stopped, looking out at the sea and said nothing.
    Her visitor stood patiently, even a little fearfully, at her side.
    ‘I am very old,’ the Queen said eventually.
    Another pause.
    ‘Have I said that already? I am almost sure that I have. You will correct me if I begin to drift. Believe me, it is no discourtesy. My mind needs a firm hand on the tiller, otherwise it is prey to gusts.’ The creases of the Queen’s shrivelled face set themselves slowly into a frown. ‘Yes. How was your journey?’
    ‘I cannot complain, Your Majesty,’ said her visitor.
    ‘And your room?’
    ‘Most satisfactory.’
    The Queen laughed delightedly. ‘And there I catch you lying to the Empress of India! Your room is so cold even the vermin huddle together for warmth. Am I not correct?’
    Slightly abashed, her visitor nodded. She had found a small family of mice wrapped tightly under the counterpane last night.
    ‘Well, no matter,’ said the Queen. ‘Your room lacks festive cheer, and I fear we shall not see the sun today. We are both women almost entirely lacking in the New Conversation. Even I find myself oppressed by the need for inconsequential chatter. Why, on the journey down, the Dowager Mrs Gowan pressed me for my opinion on the gramophone. I found myself completely at a loss for what to say, and so said nothing.’ Another pause. ‘When one is as old and fearsome as I am, a cold silence can be very cold indeed.’
    A lonely gull swept its way across the beach and out to sea. The Monarch watched its passage.
    ‘You are very brave,’ she said suddenly. ‘You know fully what it is that you have volunteered to undertake?’
    Her guest nodded.
    ‘I find it curious that I am in the position of bestowing immortality upon one of my subjects. I can feel only great sadness for you, my dear. You seem so young – and indeed, you will look very much the same for hundreds of years, I suspect. I fear I face my last Christmas, so the notion of being cut adrift from the banks of time holds a strange appeal. I have considered it, and, on the whole, I do not find it a warm prospect. You are certain?’
    ‘I am.’
    ‘Very well,’ the old lady gave a little huff of regret. ‘Time is a hill we can only roll down, my dear. You will travel further and faster than all of us. . . and. . . if you will permit the conceit, you will gather precious little moss. There!’ She gave a delighted little smile, which her guest gave a wintry echo of. ‘But you will be doing me and my Empire a great and invaluable service. The Torchwood Institute is a fine thing indeed. It has already protected us from wordless threats and given us technologies far in advance of sailing boats and gramophones. I know why it is that you are doing this. Of course I do. The pain of losing a loved one is something. . . well, it has marked my life. And I can see that you are letting it do the same to you. And I am old and cold and bold enough to say that it is the things we do for love that are the only proper things we do.’
    They stood there a little longer watching the sea rush up the dead beach. And then they turned around and headed back to the house.
    ‘There are about a hundred coffins,’ Jack said expansively.
    Agnes turned back from gazing out to sea. ‘I make it eighty-seven,’ she said, finally. ‘And how long has this been going on for?’
    ‘It’s been a very long week,’ said Jack, truthfully. ‘We watch over the Rift – as soon as there’s the tiniest peak in activity, we find the coffin and we chain it up here. We haven’t let any of them go ashore. Apart from one. And no one knows they’re here. Ianto’s been doctoring satellite footage personally.’
    Agnes nodded, showing the