Frances Daley woke slowly once again, but something was different. She realised she was lying on something soft, and the room was warmer, and there was a sweet smell that she couldn"t quite place. She tried to move, but, as before she couldn"t. Her arms were stretched out above her, securely cuffed to the corners of the headboard and her ankles similarly secured to the footboard of the bed on which "The Doctor" had placed her. That"s when she realised what was different from before. She was on a bed. The bastard who"d done this had moved her while she slept. Memories of the previous night, (was it just one night ago?), came slowly back into her drugged mind, the man from the tearoom collecting her from home, taking her for a lovely meal, wining and dining her and offering to take her home.
