The Parliament House

Chapter Ten

Christopher Redmayne was pleased to have made some progress but he was keenly aware of the fact that the most difficult part of the investigation might yet be to come. On his way back from the House of Commons, he had to ride along the Strand so he decided to call in on his brother, less out of any real desire to see Henry than in order to apprise him of the latest development. He hoped that by now his brother's infatuation with Brilliana Serle had either burned itself out or been replaced by another of Henry's temporary obsessions. In the past, prompted by a distant sense of shame, he had always tried to conceal Henry from the Cheever family. To have him pursue a female member of it with all the zest of a rampant satyr would be a calamity. First and foremost, it would jeopardise Christopher's precious friendship with Susan. At all costs, that had to be avoided.

Crossing the threshold of the house in Bedford Street, Christopher saw that his hopes were futile. Henry came bounding along the hall to greet him, embracing him warmly before standing back to look at him.

'Well, Christopher,' he said. 'When am I to see her?'

'I did not come here to talk about Brilliana.'

'What other subject is worthy of a moment's consideration?'

'The death of her father.'

Henry tensed. 'Sir Julius has been killed?'

'No,' said Christopher, 'but his life is in great danger and that means his daughters - both of them - can think of nothing else.'

'Oh, poor Brilliana! I long to comfort her.'

'You can do that best by helping to remove the threat to her father. Until that goes, then her heart is elsewhere.'

'How can I help?' said Henry. 'I've already done what I can.'

'First, let me tell you the news.'

'At least, impart it with some comfort. Follow me.'

As Henry led him towards the parlour, his brother glanced at the painting on the wall of the Roman orgy. Large, colourful and gloriously explicit, it belonged in the home of someone with an unashamed passion for sensuality. The thought that Brilliana

Serle had found it stimulating made Christopher revise his opinion of her completely. It would be wholly out of place in her house in Richmond and was liable to provoke censure among the most open-minded of people. He followed Henry into the room and they sat down.

'Now,' said his brother, 'what tidings have you brought?'

"We tracked down the man who killed Bernard Everett.'

'Bravo!'

'His name was Dan Crothers.'

'I thought it was Field.'

'That was an alias he used to confuse the landlady at the Saracen's Head. He worked as a porter at Smithfield. Separate them out. Smith. Field. He chose the second half of the market as a disguise.'

'Did he resist arrest?'

'No,' said Christopher. 'He was dead when we found him. Someone had cut his throat to stop him from giving anything away.'

'Why employ a meat porter as a killer?'

'Because he was desperate for the money and because he had learned to use firearms as a soldier. Someone knew and trusted him.'

'Then disposed of him when his work was done.'

'But it was not done, Henry,' his brother pointed out. 'Sir Julius survived. I think that Crothers was murdered as a punishment.'

'By whom?'

'That's what we have to find out.'

Henry became pensive. Taking off his wig, he laid it aside so that he could scratch his head. Years were suddenly added to his age. A deep chevron of concentration was branded between his eyebrows. His eyes took on a watery look. After a while, he snapped his fingers.

'Were there any clues on the dead body?' he asked.

'Only these,' replied Christopher, taking out the two letters to pass to him. 'These were hidden inside his coat. They are both instructions to kill but, as you see, the calligraphy differs.'

Henry held up one letter. 'This is the work of an educated hand,' he said, 'while the other could have been written by a child that had just mastered his letters. Neither is known to me.'

'The one is on expensive stationery, the other on cheap paper.'

'Was Crothers employed by two separate people?'

'Yes,' said Christopher, 'but to the same end. Both wanted him to shoot Sir Julius Cheever. Luckily, his two attempts were failures.'

'A third ambush might be more successful.'

'That's my fear.' Taking the letters back, he slipped them into his pocket. 'What do you know about a pamphlet called Observations on the Growth of Popery and Arbitrary Government in England?'

'Only that its author should be burned at the stake.'

'You've heard of it, then?'

'It was the talk of the coffee houses for weeks. Ninian Teale even got hold of a copy. He said that it was the most treasonable piece of prose he'd ever seen. A scurrilous essay, penned by a frothing dissident.'

'Did he know who wrote it?'

'No,' said Henry, 'and that's what made it so maddening. It was a cruel attack on His Majesty by someone who lacked the courage to put his name to such mutinous opinions.'

'The pamphlet achieved its aim, then. It caused an uproar.'

'Ninian Teale wanted the author to be weighted down with stones and dropped in the deepest part of the Thames. And he was not the only one moved to thoughts of revenge. All civilised men were affronted. Had they caught the wretch, they'd have disembowelled him.'

'Who was most outraged by the pamphlet, Henry?'

'That's difficult to say.'

'Ninian Teale?'

'Oh, no. There were several people more incensed than he.'

'Such as?'

Henry scratched his head again. His lips moved as he mumbled to himself a list of possible names. A light finally came into his eyes and he slapped his thigh with finality.

'Cuthbert!' he declared.

'Cuthbert?'

'The Earl of Stoneleigh,' said Henry. 'I remember the anger with which he spoke about that pamphlet. I shared a box with him at the theatre one day. Cuthbert spent a whole hour, devising horrible deaths for the man who wrote those heretical Observations'

Christopher was curious. 'Did the earl ever see military action?'

'See it? I should think so. Cuthbert had his own regiment. One of the suggestions he made in the theatre that day was to have the author of that pamphlet tied to two stallions so that he'd be torn asunder when they were whipped into gallop.' Henry gave a harsh laugh. 'But on consideration, he thought that too mild a punishment.'

'Too mild?'

'Cuthbert has a vengeful streak. But let's put him aside,' said Henry. 'I want to talk about a vision of loveliness. How can you bring me to Brilliana's side?'

'I'll do everything I can to keep you away from it, Henry.'

'What sort of repayment is that?'

'The best kind. I'm saving you from humiliation.'

'I want her, Brilliana wants me. Where's the humiliation in that?'

'You misunderstood the lady.'

'No man could misunderstand the glances she darted at me.'

'Brilliana is married.'

'Her husband is my gateway to ecstasy,' said Henry, rubbing his hands. 'Lancelot Serle has ambitions to enter parliament and to consort with His Majesty. I'm in a position to assist him in both of those endeavours - at a price.'

'To extract it from his wife would be dishonourable.'

'What place has honour in a love affair?'

'Henry!'

'The match is made. Brilliana sealed it with a smile.'

'I know that you've stolen quietly into a marital bed before,' said Christopher, 'and I accept that no amount of finger-wagging from me will ever make you abandon such lascivious escapades, but your interest has alighted on the wrong person this time. Look elsewhere, Henry.'

'How can I when I know that Brilliana is waiting for me?'

'The only thing she is waiting for is the capture of the men who are plotting her father's murder. Once that's been achieved, she will return to domestic harmony in Richmond.'

'Then I'll visit her there.'

'Her husband would not allow it.'

'He'll be too busy in London, distracted by certain friends of mine who'll instruct him in the best way to pursue a political career. While Mr Serle is being educated in the city, I'll tutor Mrs Serle in the country.'

'You'll do nothing of the kind.'

'I will,' said Henry, grinning wolfishly. 'And I have the right to call on you for some brotherly assistance in my wooing.'

'It falls on deaf ears.'

'Will you at least carry a message to Brilliana?'

'Not unless it be a promise to stay out of her way.'

'She pines for me as I pine for her.'

'Henry, you only met her once.'

'Once is enough. Within seconds, I was enraptured.'

'Pure fancy.'

'I was, Christopher. When did you take an interest in her sister? Was it after a week of knowing her, a fortnight, a month, a year? No,' said Henry, confidently, 'I'll wager that it was the first time you set eyes on Susan. Am I right?'

'Yes,' admitted Christopher. 'It was.'

'There you are. We were jointly enthralled in an instant.'

'It's a false comparison. Brilliana is married, Susan is not.'

'A trifling detail.'

'It's the one that will keep you at bay, Henry. If you really care for Brilliana, you would not trample on her happiness.'

'I seek only to increase it.'

'By forcing your unsought attentions upon her?'

'By showing her that at least one member of the Redmayne family has the courage to follow his heart. You've been walking in circles around Susan for an eternity without getting any closer to her.'

'We have an understanding.'

'So do Brilliana and I,' said Henry, rolling her name around his mouth as if it were a delicious sweetmeat. 'We understand that love is but a brief prologue to consummation. She will soon be mine.'

The evening got off to an uneasy start. Arriving by carriage at the house, the visitors were conducted into the parlour. Dorothy Kitson was wearing a beautiful ruby-coloured dress with a bone- fronted bodice and a looped skirt. Puffed and slashed, the elbow sleeves were finished with a row of ribbon loops. Bows adorned the front of the bodice. Her hair was puffed above the ears and held away from her cheeks by concealed wires. She looked poised and handsome. Her brother, by contrast, wearing a serviceable black suit and sporting the periwig that he used as a justice of the peace, was ill at ease and seemed rather dowdy beside her.

Introductions were made and everyone sat down. Susan Cheever was wearing an elegant new dress but it was her sister who had gone to elaborate lengths with her appearance. Serle, too, in a suit of blue velvet, had taken time with his preparation. Sir Julius was oddly uncomfortable, a nervous host who was desperately hoping that his daughters would approve of Dorothy and, by the same token, that she would like them. The grim, judicial expression on Orlando Gotland's face suggested that no approbation would ever come from him.

There was a long and very awkward pause. Even Sir Julius was at a loss for words. Sitting in a circle, they all waited for someone to speak. Into the void stepped Brilliana Serle.

'Have you known Father long, Mrs Kitson?' she asked.

'A matter of weeks, that's all,' replied Dorothy.

'Over a month,' corrected Sir Julius, softly. 'But I feel that I've known you so much longer.'

'Yes, I feel that as well.'

'The acquaintance is still very new,' said Golland, implying that it should proceed at a slow pace. 'I was there when my sister and Sir Julius first met. It was at Newmarket.'

'I understand that you own racehorses,' said Serle.

'It's my one weakness.'

'I don't think that an interest in horses is a sign of weakness, Mr Golland. Horses are the most superb creatures. I've seven in my own stables, though only one competes in races. How many do you have?'

'Three at the moment but I'm negotiating for a fourth.'

'How did you first get involved in the sport?'

Series curiosity had two important results. It not only brought a whisper of a smile to Golland's face, it detached him from the general conversation and allowed the other four to begin a separate dialogue. Serle was a keen horseman and a frequent visitor to races. He and the magistrate were soon discussing the finer points of rearing and riding thoroughbreds. Susan, meanwhile, impressed by Dorothy Kitson's demeanour, made an effort to be friendly towards her.

'Father has told us so little about you,' she said. 'He's been hiding you away like a secret horde of gold.'

'That's exactly what she is,' said Sir Julius, stiffly. 'A human treasure chest. Dorothy - Mrs Kitson, that is - has enriched my life in every way and I am deeply grateful.'

'We can understand why now that we've met her.'

'Yes,' said Brilliana. 'You are nothing at all as we pictured you, Mrs Kitson. We expected someone rather older.'

Dorothy smiled. 'I'm not in the first flush of youth, Mrs Serle.'

'Father did not describe you with any accuracy.'

'Really?'

'Words could never do you full justice,' said Sir Julius.

'You are too kind.'

'We look upon you as a benign sorceress,' Brilliana told her.

'A sorceress?'

'You've cast such a wondrous spell upon Father. Instead of ranting and raving at us-'

Sir Julius frowned. 'I never rant and rave.'

'-he's been the soul of affability. Don't you agree, Susan?'

'Your effect on Father has been truly astonishing, Mrs Kitson,' said Susan, looking fondly at Sir Julius. 'He's been transformed. The shame of it is that you've come into his life at such a troublesome moment.'

'Yes,' said Dorothy, sadly. 'I heard about the attack on him. It's a miracle that he survived. You were brave to travel without a bodyguard, Sir Julius, but I hope that you will be not display such bravery again. In the eyes of those that care for you, it's akin to folly.'

'For your sake,' he promised, 'I will exercise the utmost caution.'

'I'll hold you to that.'

'And so will we, Father,' said Susan.

Brilliana nodded. 'We could not bear to lose you.'

'I intend to be here for a long time yet,' he told them. 'When a man has so much to live for, he'll make sure that premature death is kept at arm's length.' He winked at his elder daughter. 'You'll have to continue to endure my ranting and raving, Brilliana.'

'Mrs Kitson has cured you of it.'

'Not when I enter parliament,' he confessed. 'I am as choleric as ever there. I was so sorely pressed today that I could not help but rant and rave at Maurice Farwell.'

'Maurice?' said Dorothy, ears pricking up. 'How did he arouse your ire, Sir Julius?'

'By trouncing me in debate.'

'He rarely loses an argument.'

'That's what I've discovered.'

Adele, his wife, tells me that he's the most mild-mannered man at home. In the House of Commons, clearly, he's a very different person.'

'He's as slippery as an eel,' snapped Sir Julius. On reflection, he summoned up a forgiving smile. 'No, give the man his due. He's an adroit politician with the gift of rhetoric. I have to be on my mettle to best him in argument. Every blow I try to land seems to miss him.'

'Father, this is hardly the time for political discussion,' warned Susan. 'You are not in the Parliament House now.' 'Yes,' said Dorothy. 'It's a subject about which I know nothing.'

'Then I'll not bore you with it,' vowed Sir Julius, graciously. 'Especially as we have so many other things to talk about.'

'I'd like to know more about your lovely daughters.'

'I'll tell you about Susan,' offered Brilliana, 'then she can tell you about me. Not that you should believe a word she says, mind you. Younger sisters never appreciate the problems and responsibilities that an elder sibling has to face.'

'You talk of nothing else,' said Susan.

'You see? She contradicts me all the time.'

'I deny that, Brilliana. Be more just, please. We don't wish to give Mrs Kitson the wrong impression.'

Dorothy smiled. 'My impression is that your father is blessed in his daughters. He's told me what a comfort you've been at this difficult time. I can see why he's immensely proud of you both.'

Susan and Brilliana were touched. They turned to their father with gratitude but Sir Julius was not even looking at them. A beatific smile covering his face, he was gazing intently at Dorothy Kitson.

Christopher Redmayne was not entirely convinced by the evidence. After studying one of the notes found on the body of the dead man, he shook his head.

'I think it's just a coincidence, Jonathan,' he said.

'But his hands were shaking, Mr Redmayne. He told me that he could not stop them. That letter was written by Erasmus Howlett.'

'He's not the only man to suffer from some kind of palsy. Many people - especially older ones - have hands that tremble badly.'

'I still believe that we should look into it.'

'What is the point? You met Mr Howlett, did you not?'

'Yes, sir.'

'How would you describe him?'

'I found him very personable.'

'And he's one of Francis Polegate's friends. That in itself should be enough to exonerate him.'

Jonathan Bale was abashed. Having walked all the way to Fetter Lane with the information, he had expected it to be received with more interest. Instead, Christopher was inclined to discount it completely. Bale still felt that he had stumbled on something of importance.

'Look at the facts, sir,' he said. 'The killer fired his musket from a window of the Saracen's Head in Knightrider Street. Only days before, Mr Howlett had visited the tavern.'

'He had good reason. His brewery supplied its beer.'

'But he's not involved in its delivery. His draymen take care of that. Mrs McCoy made that very point. She could not understand why he bothered to come in person when he could easily have sent one of his employees.'

'And what's your conclusion?'

'That he came to see if the tavern would provide a good vantage point from which to overlook Mr Polegate's shop.'

'Surely, he'd have known that in advance?'

'I doubt it. The brewery supplies taverns all over London. Mr Howlett could not remember the exact location of each one.'

'So he went there that day to refresh his memory?'

'Yes, Mr Redmayne.'

'But why would he want Sir Julius Cheever killed and how would he know that he would be there on that day?'

'You answered the second half of that question yourself,' Bale reminded him. 'You told me that lots of people were aware that you'd be attending the opening of the shop with Sir Julius and his daughter. In any case, Mr Howlett might have heard it when he dined with the vintner. If he talked about his brother-in-law being there, Mr Polegate would probably have mentioned that you and Sir Julius would also be present. That could have been the origin of the plot.'

'It could,' conceded Christopher, 'but I remain sceptical.'

'As to the first half of your question, I freely admit that I have no idea why the brewer would want Sir Julius to be murdered. But that does not mean a reason does not exist.'

'Quite.'

'We simply have to discover what it was.'

Christopher glanced at the letter again. They were in the parlour and candles had been lighted to dispel the evening shadows. He was on his feet but Bale - always uneasy in a house that was so much bigger and more comfortable than his own - sat on the edge of a chair with his hat in his hand. Christopher could see how disappointed he was at the architect's luke-warm response. He also knew that his years as a parish constable had sharpened Bale's instincts, and that it was unwise to discard any of his suggestions too rashly.

'There's an easy way to discover if Erasmus Howlett wrote this,' he said, holding up the letter. 'We simply compare it with another example of his handwriting. Are there any invoices from him at the Saracen's Head?'

'I thought of that, sir,' said Bale. 'When I asked Mrs McCoy, she showed me all the correspondence she had from the brewery and it had been sent by a clerk.'

'Then we need to look elsewhere.'

'Why not go straight to Mr Howlett?'

'No,' said Christopher, firmly. 'That's the one thing we must not do, Jonathan. If he's innocent - as I suspect - he'll be deeply insulted.'

'Supposing he's guilty?'

'Then we must creep up on him stealthily. He must have no warning that his name has even crossed our minds.' Christopher handed the letter to him. 'Take charge of this in case you can find something else that Mr Howlett has written. And speak to Mr Polegate.'

'I thought that he was away.'

'They return from Cambridge tomorrow. Sound him out gently on the subject of Erasmus Howlett. Say nothing to show that we have any suspicions of his friend but find out if the brewer has any political allegiances,' said Christopher. 'If we can establish a connection between him and parliament, then, in due course, we may think about confronting Mr Howlett.'

'Very well.'

'And it might be worth speaking to Lewis Bircroft again.'

'Why is that?' said Bale.

'I talked to my brother about the pamphlet that caused such an uproar. Henry says that there was an intensive search for the author. Mr Bircroft was one of the suspects.'

'That's why he was set on by bullies.'

'Drop a name into his ear and see how he responds.'

'And what name would that be, Mr Redmayne?'

'One that my brother mentioned. A man who was so infuriated by the pamphlet that he would do absolutely anything to catch and punish the man who wrote it.'

'Who is he?'

'The Earl of Stoneleigh.'

'Is he an acquaintance of your brother?' said Bale, glowering as he thought about Henry Redmayne's irregular private life.

'Yes,' replied Christopher with a laugh, 'but there's no need to look at me like that. The earl does not share Henry's faults. By all accounts, he's a man of many parts.'

'Is he?'

'Soldier, statesman, poet, playwright, favourite at court. The Earl of Stoneleigh has even stolen some of my thunder.'

'In what way?'

'He's also a talented architect.'

The evening had been only a moderate success. Too many hidden tensions had surfaced for it to be an occasion when any of them could relax properly and have any real enjoyment. Sir Julius Cheever had tried too hard to win over Orlando Golland, succeeding only in alienating him even more. Brilliana's questioning of Dorothy Kitson had soon evolved into a searching interrogation and the other woman was discomfited. In attempting to rein back her sister, Susan had only made her lose her temper and Brilliana had been unnecessarily spiky thereafter. The only person to get real satisfaction from the evening was Lancelot Serle, glad to have found a fellow connoisseur of horses and to have gleaned such excellent advice from him about how to become a magistrate.

Conscious that the evening had been less than a success, Sir

Julius consoled himself with the thought that Dorothy Kitson had looked so beautiful in the candlelight. He retired to bed early so that the others could conduct a post-mortem.

'I thought that she was delightful,' said Brilliana.

'Then why did you never stop harrying her?' asked Susan.

'I harried nobody.'

'You did hound her a little, my dear,' said Serle.

'I was entitled to search for the truth, Lancelot. If Mrs Kitson is to marry Father, I need to know as much about her as possible. Having done so, I must say that I would have no qualms about her being our stepmother.'

'Nor would I.'

'Then I must disagree with both of you,' said Susan.

'Why? Mrs Kitson is a charming lady.'

'I do not doubt her charm, Lancelot. She could not have been more pleasant. What I could not do was to see her and Father together somehow. They seem so ill-assorted.'

'That's what people said about Lancelot and me,' Brilliana put in. 'And, quite candidly, I could make the same observation about you and Christopher.'

'Our ages are at least fairly similar,' said Susan. 'Father is so much older than Mrs Kitson and his background is so different. Can you imagine her being happy in Northamptonshire?'

'If a wife loves her husband, she will be happy wherever they are.'

'Thank you, Brilliana,' said Serle.

'Differences simply disappear in a close relationship.'

'That was certainly so in our case.'

'I still have reservations about this friendship,' said Susan, 'and I do not wish to see Father getting hurt. Though he's advanced in years, he's very sensitive in some ways. We must protect him from making a mistake by acting too hastily.'

'There's no chance of that with Mr Golland involved,' remarked Serle. 'He wishes to slow everything down to a snail's pace.'

Brilliana sniffed. 'I found him a rather disagreeable fellow.'

'I liked him. He knows so much about horses.' 'He did not come here primarily to talk about those, Lancelot,' said Susan. 'While we were getting acquainted with Mrs Kitson, her brother was subjecting us to scrutiny. And he was very displeased.'

'How could he possibly have found us wanting?' said Brilliana.

'Because he was looking at us through a haze of prejudices. Mr Golland holds one set of values and they are firmly imprinted on his face. Father has strongly differing principles and we, by extension, are tarred with the same brush. He resented us from the start.'

'But I do not share Father's political views,' said Brilliana.

'Neither do I,' added Serle.

'It does not matter,' said Susan. 'We are all one to Mr Golland. He will do everything in his power to dissuade his sister from continuing with this friendship. Put simply, he detests Father.'

'I gave him the benefit of the doubt,' said Orlando Golland. 'I went there, with judicial impartiality, to weigh the evidence as I saw it.'

'Your mind was made up before we even arrived.'

'That's not so, Dorothy.'

'Yes, it is,' she rejoined. 'You are a man of fixed opinions, Orlando. Those opinions were formed when you were an undergraduate at Cambridge and you have not changed any of them since. I knew that it was a mistake to take you.'

'You needed someone there as an objective observer.'

'You were only a hindrance.'

'So much for gratitude!' he said, huffily.

Dorothy put a hand on his arm. 'I did not mean to hurt your feelings. I can see it from your point of view. You feel that I need safeguarding.' She gave a wan smile. 'Not any more, Orlando.'

They had returned to her house in Covent Garden and were seated in the parlour. On the drive back, Golland had not restricted his criticism to Sir Julius. He considered Brilliana Serle to be too garrulous and Susan Cheever to be too quiet and watchful. The one person who had excited his admiration was Lancelot, a son-in-law who clearly had nothing whatsoever in common with Sir Julius and who would therefore suffer at his hands. He decided that the disparity between the two men was as glaring as that between Sir Julius and Dorothy.

'Differences will out, Dorothy,' he warned.

'You do not have to lecture me.'

'But you did not see how out of place you were in that family.'

'I felt it,' she confessed, 'and it made me look at myself afresh.'

'Sanity at last!'

'No, Orlando. Plain commonsense.'

'Sir Julius is a ridiculous suitor for a woman of your quality.'

'I do not want him as a suitor - only as a friend. When I saw him with his daughters this evening, I realised that I could never replace the wife that he lost. I would be like a fish out of water. When we are alone together,' she went on, 'Sir Julius is wonderful company and I'd hate to lose that. Anything else, I've come to see, is out of the question.'

'I told you so.'

'I had to find out for myself.'

'What will you tell, Sir Julius?'

'Nothing,' she said. 'He's an intelligent man. He could sense that we did not belong together in the wider circle of his family.'

'You do not belong together anywhere, Dorothy.'

'I'll not let you spoil our friendship.'

'But it's so embarrassing for me. How could I admit to anyone in my circle that my sister has formed an attachment with Sir Julius?'

'That's a problem you must cope with as best you may. I love you as a brother and listen to you as an adviser. But the one thing I will not allow if that you should dictate the terms of my social life.'

'As you wish,' he said, backing off. 'One object has been achieved. I've saved you from even contemplating a third marriage. Well,' he added quickly as she tried to speak, 'if we are being pedantic, you saved yourself from that irredeemable folly. But I do claim credit for moving you in the right direction.'

She kissed him on the forehead. 'It's too late for an argument, Orlando,' she said, wearily, 'and I'm far too tired to engage in one. Though you might not have thought it, this evening was a rather bruising encounter for me.'

'I blame Mrs Serle for acting like a Grand Inquisitor.'

'I did not even mind that. Brilliana was within her rights to question me. No,' she continued with a sigh, 'my pain arose out of a sense of loss. The longer the evening went on, the more convinced I became that hopes I'd once nurtured were silly and inappropriate. I'm too old and contented to consider a third marriage.'

'It would have been a form of suicide.'

'No, Orlando. That's unfair. Sir Julius is a good man and my affection for him remains. But the gap that exists between us could never be bridged,' she concluded. 'I'll cherish his friendship instead.'

'Allow a decent interval to elapse before you see him again.'

'I had already intended to do so. Both he and I need to recover from this evening's setback. It was a salutary lesson for me.' Dorothy pursed her lips in resignation. 'I am simply not ready for a more serious relationship with anybody.'

Christopher Redmayne was thrilled to see her again and pleased that she had travelled to his house by coach this time. Since it was such a glorious morning, he took Susan Cheever out into his garden and they sat in the shade of a pear tree. She was unusually subdued.

'You seem rather sad,' he observed.

'Not on my own behalf,' she said. 'I feel very sorry for Father.' 'Why?'

'He built so much upon his friendship with Mrs Kitson. She brought happiness into his life and nobody could deny him that.'

'What happened, Susan?'

She told him about the visit on the previous evening and how the presence of Orlando Golland had cast a dark shadow over it. Christopher was not surprised to hear that Brilliana had been too enthusiastic with her questioning. She had always lacked her sister's tact and forbearance.

'Your father must have been very disappointed,' he said.

'He put a brave face on it last night, Christopher. This morning, over breakfast, he could not hide his feelings.'

'What did he say?'

'Almost nothing - and that was an indication in itself.'

'Did he accept that the friendship with Mrs Kitson would go no further than it already has?'

'Yes,' she said. 'I think so. He looked exhausted. I suspect that he stayed awake all night, tormenting himself with thoughts of what might have happened. By this morning, Father seemed to have realised that Mrs Kitson would not fit easily into our family any more than he would fit into hers. He's deeply upset.'

'How did your sister respond?'

'Fortunately, Brilliana did not join us for breakfast and Father had left the house before she even got up. I don't think that he could have coped with losing Mrs Kitson as a possible wife and facing Brilliana.'

'But you told her how he felt, presumably?'

'Of course. That's what prompted me to come here.'

'I don't follow.'

'It was to issue another warning,' said Susan. 'After protesting for a while, and claiming that she could bring Father and Mrs Kitson back together again, Brilliana finally accepted that it was better to leave things alone. Having failed to engineer Father into a marriage, she's now free to exercise her influence on us again.'

'Not entirely, Susan.'

'What do you mean?'

'It pains me to say this,' he went on, shifting uneasily on the bench, 'but your sister may be distracted by someone else. It's my turn to give you a warning.'

'About whom?'

'My brother, Henry. For reasons that I would not dare to explore, he has conceived a passion for Brilliana and intends to woo her.'

'But she is happily married to Lancelot.'

'Henry sees the bonds of marriage as a challenge to his ingenuity rather than as any safeguard for a wife. In his mind, no woman is beyond his grasp, however unattainable she might seem. And he insists - though I do not believe him for a second - that your sister has given him some encouragement.'

Susan was alarmed. 'Your brother certainly made an impact on her,' she said, 'and she kept praising his taste in art. But that should not have been mistaken for encouragement. Brilliana respects her marriage vows.'

'Henry does not,' cautioned Christopher. 'That's why we must try to put distance between them. When will they return to Richmond?'

'Not until they are convinced that Father's life is out of danger.'

'That can only happen when we have caught those responsible for the attempts at killing him. As you may know, we no longer seek the man who actually fired the shots.'

'Father told me. He was found dead.'

'Silenced before he was able to tell us who his paymaster was. That's the person we must unmask, Susan. The one who is bent on seeing Sir Julius killed.'

'Do you have no notion of whom he might be?'

'One name will bear inspection, Susan.'

'What name is that?'

'The Earl of Stoneleigh.'

An earl?' She was shocked. 'Could he really be behind all this?'

'Only time will tell. When you arrived, I was just about to go off to make enquiries about him. I can make the first one right now. Did you ever hear your father mention the Earl of Stoneleigh?'

'Not to me. But I did hear it in passing a number of times.'

'When your home was turned into a Parliament House?'

'Yes, Christopher,' she explained. 'I heard Father yelling that name more than once. There was real anger in his voice. And I seem to recall that Mr Bircroft took the earl's name in vain as well.'

'But he sits in the Upper Chamber. Neither Sir Julius nor his supporters will ever have come face to face with the Earl of Stoneleigh.'

'That's where you're wrong.' 'Oh?'

'Father first met him almost twenty years ago,' she said. 'He had not been ennobled then. His name was Cuthbert Woodruffe in those days and he had good cause to remember my father.'

'Why?'

'Because he was captured by Colonel Cheever - as Father then was - at the battle of Worcester. He was not held for long. Mr Woodruffe escaped and fled abroad to join the rest of the scattered Royalists. He was so loyal that, after the Restoration, he was granted an earldom.'

'I see,' said Christopher, thoughtfully. 'So he and Sir Julius faced each other on a battlefield, did they?'

'Yes,' she replied, 'and that is something not easily forgotten. From what I've heard Father say, the earl has ever forgiven him for being on the winning side that day.'

'He's waited a long time to take his revenge - if, indeed, that's what he been trying to take. Thank you, Susan,' he said. 'What you've told me is very helpful. The Earl of Stoneleigh clearly needs close examination.'

Even that late in the day, the Parliament House was reasonably full. As a former chapel, it had no aisle and was an ideal conference chamber. The Members sat in the choir stalls on the north and south walls, crammed in together for important debates. The Speaker's chair was placed where the altar had been, in an elevated position from which he could see and control the entire room. His symbol of office, the Mace, lay on a table where the lectern had once stood. Separated from the main chapel by choir-screen was the ante-chapel that served as a lobby when a vote was taken. Those who wished to register their votes as Ayes filed into the ante-chapel while the Noes were accustomed to remain in the chapel.

Countless decisions of historic significance had been made there over the years. Debates had raged, reputations had been made and lost, impeachments had added to the drama of the place. It was at once a seat of government and a cockpit of robust argument. That evening, however, the mood was almost light- hearted. Though a debate was in progress, it was of little general interest and most of the Members were not even listening to the exchanges. They were waiting for something else before they were ready to leave. Whispers had passed around the whole chamber and there was an atmosphere of high amusement.

Eventually, their patience was rewarded. Sir Julius Cheever, who had been there all day, had spent most of it in an anteroom, serving on various House of Commons committees. As one had completed its business, another had taken its place. Only now could he come into the Parliament House itself to take his seat. The moment he appeared, dead silence fell on the chamber and all eyes turned on him. Sir Julius was used to feeling a tide of hostility rolling in his direction but this reception was unlike any he had ever received before.

'Here he is!' cried someone. 'Hail, Caesar!'

'Hail, Caesar!' chorused the Members, rising to their feet and lifting their arms in a mock gesture of obeisance. 'Hail, Caesar!'

The explosion of mirth started. It was not the affectionate laughter of friends but the harsh, derisive, sustained cachinnation of enemies. It went on for minutes, getting ever louder and building to a crescendo. Sir Julius had been howled down in parliament before but this was a more disturbing experience. Almost everyone there was jeering him. He was the laughing stock of the House of Commons and he felt as if he were being pummelled by the deafening noise. What mystified him - and what made his ordeal even worse - was that he had absolutely no idea why he had been singled out for such collective ridicule.