The Doctor and Clara emerged onto the Mill floor only moments later, swiftly hiding behind a wall of glittering machine parts, and watched as the remaining Pilgrims fled the scene. Once secure, they raced towards the base of the chimney, scything through the steam that billowed from the base of the rocket and smarted at their eyes. The Doctor peered up the staircase where he could see Mrs Gillyflower and Ada struggling towards the top. Inset in the black brickwork were a number of alcoves. Still clutching at her daughter, Mrs Gillyflower darted to the fuselage of the rocket and slipped her fingers into a concealed iron ring. Pulling on it revealed a hatch and, within, a brass handle – clearly of some import.

‘Let her go, Mrs Gillyflower!’ shouted the Doctor over the din of the rocket engines. ‘Let Ada go!’

Aiming the pistol at Ada, Mrs Gillyflower let out a rather deranged chuckle. ‘Secondary firing mechanism, Doctor! Mr Sweet and I are too smart for you, after all.’

‘Let your daughter go!’ yelled the Doctor.

Within his host’s lace collar, the odious Mr Sweet writhed and shifted like a worm. Briefly distracted, Mrs Gillyflower let go of Ada – and the girl pulled away, flopping in a heap of crinolines onto the iron stair. Without hesitation, her mother aimed the shining silver pistol at her daughter.

‘Get up! Get up!’

‘Shoot if you wish, Mama,’ cried Ada, exhaustedly. ‘It is of no matter. For you killed me a long time ago.’

Mrs Gillyflower glared at her and her hand shook as she tightened her finger on the trigger.

Below, the Doctor and Clara made a move forward. Mrs Gillyflower shifted her aim towards them.

Bang!

The pistol spoke with a fearful retort.

Bang!

Clara ducked down as Mrs Gillyflower fired again.

Bang!

Another bullet sang off the brickwork but the Doctor was on the march and, dashing between bullets, made a grab for Ada and pulled her to him.

Manic zeal glittered in Mrs Gillyflower’s eyes. Around her neck, the hideous Mr Sweet gurgled and shifted, his spindly, crayfish legs gripping the old woman’s flesh like a limpet.

And then Mrs Gillyflower began to sing, sing with all the gusto of a Wesleyan on a spring Sunday morn.

‘Then fancies flee away! I’ll fear not what men say. I’ll labour night and day … ’

She wrapped her fingers around the brass handle …

‘To … be … a … pilgrim!’

And dragged down the firing mechanism! The whole chimney – indeed the Mill itself – began to shake as though an earth tremor had come upon it.

Clara grabbed the Doctor and Ada and pulled them round the corner of the spiral stair, flattening tight to the brickwork.

The great black rocket began to rise, rise, rise into the night!