The Parliament House

Chapter Thirteen

Still at home with his two visitors, Christopher Redmayne needed time to think. Two imperatives were guiding him. He had to rescue Sir Julius Cheever from his perilous situation, and he had to win back Susan's love and trust. The two demands were linked. The only way that he could liberate Sir Julius from the Tower of London and restore his reputation was by unmasking those who had devised the plot against him. That, in turn, would make Susan look on him more favourably again. At least, that is what he hoped. After the way that he had let her down, there was no guarantee that she would ever let him back into her heart. Christopher accepted that.

After what Jonathan Bale had told him, he felt certain that the Earl of Stoneleigh and his cousin, Erasmus Howlett, were implicated in the murder of one man and the attempted murder of another. And it seemed crystal clear that the earl had baited the trap that had left Sir Julius imprisoned on a serious charge. The revelation from Henry Redmayne had forced his brother to question his assumptions. It had been Maurice Farwell who had penned the defamatory scene in The Royal Favourite and not the play's author. Were the two men working in concert with Howlett, or had Farwell and the brewer hatched the plot between them? An already complex situation had suddenly become even more confusing.

While his visitors waited in silence, Christopher pondered for a long time. Eventually, he turned to Henry.

'What do you know of Maurice Farwell?' he asked.

'Nothing to his disadvantage,' said Henry, peevishly. 'Every man should have at least one vice in his life but Farwell seems to have none. While others scheme, he has risen by sheer merit. Now Cuthbert is cut from a very different cloth,' he added with a grin of approval. 'He knows how to carouse the night away with a pretty actress on each arm. Cuthbert is able to enjoy himself.'

'That's not my idea of enjoyment, sir,' said Bale.

'Then your life is too circumscribed.'

'My enjoyment comes from my wife and family.'

'It's the same with Cuthbert,' said Henry. 'He delights in his wife and children as well. But he keeps them in their place so that they do not interfere with his work.'

'Carousing with actresses is hardly work,' noted Bale.

'It's one of the privileges of being a celebrated playwright and Cuthbert is like me. He's not a man to neglect any of his privileges.'

'What about Mr Farwell?' said Christopher. 'Is he a good friend of the earl's?'

'I've never seen them together. On the other hand, they must be well-acquainted if he was allowed to write a scene in one of Cuthbert's plays. And what a hilarious scene it was! I laughed for an hour.'

'Did you admit that to Sir Julius?'

'Of course not,' said Henry. 'I'm not that stupid. And his daughter must never find out the truth either. Jeering at her father is not the best way to endear myself to Brilliana.'

'I think that she already has your measure,' said Christopher.

'What can I do next?' asked Bale. 'We know that Mr Howlett is related to the earl. Do you want me to find out how well the brewer knows this Mr Farwell?'

'My brother is the best person to do that,' said Christopher. 'We need him to obtain a copy of their handwriting.'

'Whatever for?' asked Henry.

'Because we have that unsigned letter, instructing a man to kill Sir Julius on his way to Cambridge. The person who wrote it was either the Earl of Stoneleigh or Maurice Farwell.'

'It was certainly not Cuthbert.'

'How can you be so sure?'

'Because I know his hand well,' said Henry, reaching into his pocket. 'In fact, I have an example of it right here.' He produced a piece of paper and gave it to Christopher. 'It was my summons to act as his second. You showed me the two letters you found. As you see, Cuthbert's hand bears no resemblance to either of them.'

'None at all,' said Christopher. 'Look, Jonathan.'

Bale glanced at the letter and shook his head solemnly. 'It's not him, Mr Redmayne. The earl did not send that letter to Crothers.'

'Then only one person could have done so.'

'Maurice Farwell.'

'Get us a copy of his handwriting, Henry.'

'I'm not on those terms with him,' said his brother.

'Then find someone who is,' said Christopher. 'And do so as a matter of urgency. We're trying to solve one murder and prevent another one.'

'Another one?'

'You don't suppose that they will let Sir Julius escape now, do you? They have him exactly where they want him.'

'The law must take its course,' said Bale.

'I don't think that it will be allowed to, Jonathan. These men are devious. Why wait for a trial when they can have him removed any day they wish? No,' decided Christopher, 'my guess is that they had Sir Julius imprisoned in the Tower so that he would be at their mercy. Act swiftly, Henry,' he instructed. 'We simply must find out the truth about Maurice Farwell.'

'I thought that I might catch you, Maurice,' said Orlando Golland. 'You always dine here when parliament is in session.'

'I'm a creature of habit,' said Farwell.

'You are like me. Work comes before everything.'

'But I do like to eat well while I'm doing it.'

Maurice Farwell had just left the tavern in Westminster when Golland intercepted him. The lawyer was itching to learn more about the rumour that his sister had passed on to him.

'I can guess why you came, Orlando,' said Farwell, tolerantly.

'Dorothy gave me the most remarkable tidings.'

'She had them from my wife, I believe.'

'Is it true? Sir Julius has been arrested?'

'Arrested and clapped into the Tower. He challenged Cuthbert to a duel and committed a crime in doing so by seeking the life of a Privy Councillor.'

'I had a feeling that might be the offence.'

'It all arose out of a scene in one of Cuthbert's plays,' said Farwell, blandly. 'You may have seen mention of the performance in the newspaper. Sir Julius was attacked with unabated savagery, I hear, and several Members were there to witness the wicked satire. When they reported what they had seen to the rest of us, we could not help laughing at Sir Julius Seize-Her - his name in the play, apparently - as he entered the chamber. The whole place was consumed with mirth.'

'That must have made him smoulder.'

'He turned bright red and stormed out of the House.'

'I can picture it well, Maurice,' said Golland, 'and I have no pity for him. He's brought all his troubles upon himself.'

'This may be the last time he does that.'

'What does the law dictate?'

'A death penalty has been imposed in the past.'

'His Majesty could show leniency.'

'Yes,' said Farwell, 'he could, and I hope, for my part, that he does. We need one or two politicians like Sir Julius Cheever. His chances, however, are not good.'

'He has too many enemies on the Privy Council.'

'When all is said and done, Orlando, we hold the major offices of state. We advise His Majesty and we make all the decisions affecting the people of this country. To threaten one of us is a rash thing to do,' he said. 'To challenge a Privy Councillor to a duel and thereby seek his life is even more impulsive. In pleading for clemency, I suspect that I may well be a lone voice.'

'If he came up in front of me, I'd pronounce him guilty.'

'Is that a judicial or a personal opinion?'

'I never let my personal opinions influence me,' said Golland, pompously. 'I assess each case on its merits then make an objective judgement. In this instance - though I would have to study the relevant statute beforehand, naturally - the outcome is unavoidable. Sir Julius was bent on taking the life of Cuthbert, Earl of Stoneleigh.'

'He was provoked, Orlando.'

'He should not have yielded to provocation.'

'Sir Julius is hot-blooded,' said Farwell. 'You must make some allowance for that.' 'None at all,' said Golland, dogmatically. 'A man should learn to control himself at all times. It's what I do. I never lose my temper.'

'You must have solid ice in your veins. Unless one of your horses is running in a race, of course. Then you can actually show passion. Disciplined passion, Orlando.'

'As you wish.'

Farwell touched Golland on the arm by way of a farewell. 'It's good to talk to you, Orlando, but I must get back. We have a committee meeting in half-an-hour. By the way,' he said, casually, 'how is Dorothy? This news must have shaken her.'

'It did. In time, she'll come to perceive that it was good news for her. At the moment, however, she still has emotional ties to Sir Julius. For that reason, Dorothy is suffering.'

'Your sister was always soft-hearted.'

'It's a weakness I've pointed out on many occasions.'

'An attractive weakness,' said Farwell with affection. 'I've not seen Dorothy for ages, not since our visit to Newmarket, in fact. You and she must call on us some time.'

'Thank you, Maurice. We'll take up that invitation. When this whole business is settled.'

'Yes, it might be sensible to wait.'

'The fate of Sir Julius Cheever weighs down on her. Until he is dispatched, Dorothy will pine for him. She is not good company at the moment. It would be wrong of me to inflict her upon you.'

'Pass on my warmest regards.'

'I will, Maurice.'

'And assure her that at least one member of the Privy Council will be speaking up for her friend. Sir Julius can count on my vote.'

It was Jacob who saw him first. Old as he was, his eyes remained sharp and his instincts keen. Since his income was more regular now, Christopher also employed a youth to do all the menial chores but it was Jacob who still ran the house and watched over his master with paternal care. He raised the alarm at once.

'There's someone outside, Mr Redmayne,' he said.

'There are hundreds of people outside, Jacob. Fetter Lane is always busy People come and go all day.'

'But they do not stand still in the same place.'

'What do you mean?' asked Christopher.

'I noticed him when I showed your brother in, and again when I showed him out. He was still there when Mr Bale left.' 'So?'

'He's keeping the house under surveillance.'

'Surely not.'

'See for yourself, Mr Redmayne,' advised the servant.

Christopher went over to the front window and, standing well back so that he would not be observed from the street, he peered out. Two coaches were passing in opposite directions to obscure his view. When they had vanished, he saw a figure lurking in a doorway that was diagonally opposite. The man was pretending to show no particular interest in Christopher's house but, every so often, he tossed it a look. Jacob stood at his master's shoulder.

'Well, sir?'

'As always, Jacob, you are right.'

'Would you like me to scare him away?' offered the other.

'No,' said Christopher. 'I want to know who he is and why he's there. Jonathan warned me that this might happen.'

'What, sir?'

'Never you mind.'

Christopher did not want to alarm Jacob. If he confided his fears, the old man would worry. He hated the thought that his master could be in any danger. Christopher welcomed the appearance of the stranger. If someone was concerned about the way that the murder investigation was going, it showed how much he and Bale had achieved. Since he was taking the leading role, Christopher was almost more likely to be a target. He recalled what Bale had said about Erasmus Howlett. The brewer had taken an unduly close interest in the architect. The man outside might well be the result.

'Fetch my hat, Jacob,' he said. 'I think that I'll take a stroll.'

'When that fellow is still watching the house?'

'He'll lose interest in that when he sees me.'

'That's what I'm afraid of, sir. Let me come with you.'

'There's no need.'

'I could ensure your safety,' said Jacob.

'You'd also frighten the man away,' said Christopher. 'If I'm on my own, he may follow me. With you at my side, he'll be more circumspect and I'll never get to know his business.'

While Jacob went for his hat, he strapped on his sword belt and slipped his dagger into its sheath. He took another look at the man who was keeping a vigil outside. Wearing nondescript clothes, he was a relatively short individual of stocky build. He wore a dark beard so Christopher could see little of his face beneath the hat. At that distance, it was difficult to put an age on him. Christopher could see that he wore a dagger but there was no sign of a musket or pistol.

'Goodbye, Jacob,' he said. 'I'll not be long.'

'Take care, sir.'

'I always do.'

Opening the front door, Christopher stepped out and walked towards High Holborn. He did not look in the direction of the man as he passed and gave no indication that he knew he was being followed. He turned the corner and joined the many pedestrians heading east towards Shoe Lane. Strolling along, he sensed that his shadow was not far behind him. He felt safe. An attack was unlikely in such a crowded thoroughfare. To tempt him to make his move, Christopher had to go somewhere more private.

He soon saw his opportunity. An alleyway zigzagged off to the left, too narrow for coaches, too dark and uninviting for most passers-by. Crossing the road, Christopher turned into the alleyway and lengthened his stride. He was going around the first bend when he heard footsteps scurrying behind him. The ruse had worked. Following the next twist in the lane, he stopped abruptly and flattened himself against the wall. Hurried footsteps now broke into a run.

Sword drawn, Christopher was ready for him. As the man came running around the bend, the architect stuck out a leg and tripped him up, sending him headfirst into the accumulated refuse on the ground. The man let out a roar of anger and tried to reach for the dagger that had been dashed from his grasp as he hit the hard stone. Christopher’s foot jabbed down on his wrist and he used his sword to flick the dagger out of reach. The point of his weapon also deprived the fallen man of his hat so that he could have a proper look at him. When his would-be attacker attempted to get up, Christopher held his sword at the man's throat.

'Who sent you?' he demanded.

'Nobody, sir,' replied the man, feigning innocence.

'Then why were you watching my house?'

'What house?'

'You were hired to kill me,' said Christopher, pricking his neck so that blood trickled down. 'I've every right to kill you in self- defence and that's exactly what I will do if I do not get honest answers.'

'I'm a thief,' pleaded the other. 'I was only after your purse.'

'Yes - when you'd slit my throat. Were you the villain who murdered Dan Crothers?' The man started guiltily. 'Yes, I thought that you might be. So you have two crimes to answer at least.'

Close to desperation, the man began to burble excuses. His eyes darted everywhere. He was about Christopher's own age with a craggy face and long curly hair. Seeing that there was no escape, he appeared to give in. His head hung in shame.

'I do confess it, sir. I did cut the meat porter's throat.'

'Who paid you?'

'A certain lord, sir. He did not give his name.'

'I think he did,' said Christopher, 'but you are obviously not going to give it to me. I'll take you somewhere where you can be interrogated by people who know how to get the truth out of criminals.' The man glanced downwards. 'Leave the dagger here.'

All I want is my hat, sir,' said the other. 'May I?'

Christopher relented. Standing back, he allowed him to stoop down to retrieve his hat. Instead of putting it on his head, however, the man put his hand around the crown and squeezed it tight so that he could grab Christopher's blade without risking injury. At the same time, he leapt up and swung a vicious kick at his groin. Had it connected, Christopher would have been badly hurt but he managed to jump back in time. It was all the leeway that his prisoner needed. Leaving go of the sword, he dropped the hat to the ground and sprinted off down the alleyway. Christopher went after him but he soon abandoned the pursuit. The man had outrun him.

'How did you find him, Susan?' asked her sister.

'Very low.'

'Did you apologise on my behalf?'

'Lancelot did that,' said Susan. 'Father understood. He was very embarrassed that we should see him in such a condition. To have you there would only have added to his grief.'

'What did he say? How can we help him?'

When they returned from their visit to the Tower, Susan and her brother-in-law were disconsolate. Brilliana was desperate for hopeful news but there was none to give her.

'Under the circumstances,' said Serle, 'your father is bearing up remarkably well but, then, Sir Julius has always been resilient.'

'Were you able to offer him any succour?' said his wife.

'Very little beyond a promise to engage a shrewd lawyer to plead his case. His defence will be that was deliberately incited by that lampoon. The Earl of Stoneleigh tricked him into it.'

'Why?'

'Father is a stern critic of all that he stands for,' said Susan. 'The earl is in the Upper House but he has a large following in the Commons. They would all be happy to intrigue against Father.'

'That's outrageous!' said Brilliana.

'That's political life, my dear,' her husband pointed out.

'Then I'm not at all sure that you should enter it, Lancelot. You have too much integrity for such a world. I could not bear the thought that you would be a party to such conspiracies.'

'Treachery is foreign to my character.'

'Then you are too good for parliament.'

'I disagree,' said Susan. 'Goodness is exactly what the place needs. That's why Father was such a breath of fresh air in the chamber and why others flocked to him. He was seen as a good man.'

'And reviled by the bad ones.'

'They hold the reins of power, Brilliana, and some of them have been determined to bring Father down. They finally succeeded.'

'Yes, Susan.'

'Do not admit defeat yet,' said Serle, firmly. 'If the plot is fully uncovered, Sir Julius will have to be set free. Christopher will be working hard to effect that.'

'Yet it was he who acted as a second at the duel,' recalled Susan, bitterly. 'He took part in the event that landed Father in the Tower. And he was not the only member of his family to do so.'

'What do you mean?' asked Brilliana.

'Sir Julius could not be certain,' said Serle, 'but he had a strong impression that one of the earl's seconds at the duel was none other than Henry Redmayne. I find that astonishing. The man who came here to warn your father about that disgraceful play then turns up to assist its author. It's beyond belief.'

Brilliana was simmering. 'It's a betrayal,' she said, mind racing. 'A vile and unforgivable betrayal.'

After his confrontation with the man sent to kill him, Christopher went back to Fetter Lane to collect his horse, then he rode to Addle Hill to see Jonathan Bale. The constable was alarmed by the report.

'You took too great a risk, Mr Redmayne,' he said.

'I was determined to find out who he was.'

'Yes, but he may not have been acting alone. Granted, he kept watch on your house. But, for all you knew, he might have had a confederate loitering nearby. Two attackers would have given you much more of a problem.'

'I agree,' said Christopher. 'I could not even hold on to one.'

'You disarmed him, that was the main thing.'

'Could we trace the owner of the dagger somehow?'

They were in the kitchen of Bale's house and the constable was holding the weapon that Christopher had recovered from the alleyway. It was a long-bladed dagger with a carved handle.

'There's nothing distinctive about this, sir,' said Bale. 'I've seen a dozen that are identical.'

'Not quite, Jonathan. In one respect, that dagger is unique.'

'Unique?'

'It slit the throat of Dan Crothers.'

'Did he confess that?'

'Loud and clear.'

'And he intended to do the same to you.'

'I did not give him the opportunity,' said Christopher. 'Is it worth trying to find out where that dagger was made and sold?'

Bale returned it to him. 'It would take far too long,' he said, 'and we might never get the name that we seek. The weapon could have been stolen, or passed on to him by someone else. No, the dagger will not help us, alas. It's a pity he left no other clue behind.'

'But he did.'

'And what was that?'

'His hat,' explained Christopher. 'I'd hoped the dagger might help us but maybe the hat will do so instead. Perhaps we can find out who made it and to whom it was sold. A dagger is the same size for everyone but a hat has to fit an individual head. It's outside, in my saddlebag.'

'Then let me see it,' said Bale.

The horse was tethered to a post near the house and someone was stroking its flank. It was Patrick McCoy and he stood to attention as the two men came out of the house. There was still bruising on his face but the black eye was now a faint yellowish colour.

'I'd still like to help you, Mr Bale,' he volunteered.

'You did your share earlier on, Patrick.'

'I enjoyed being a constable.'

'Even though you were beaten as a result?' said Bale.

'He took me unawares.'

While the two of them were talking, Christopher extracted the crumpled hat from his saddlebag and straightened it out. It was wide-brimmed and high-crowned. It had a black hatband around it. Before giving it to Bale, he tried to remove some of the filth it had acquired in the alleyway.

'What's that?' asked Patrick, fascinated.

'It might be a clue,' said Bale.

'How do you know?'

'Here you are, Jonathan,' said Christopher, handing it over. 'I'm sorry about the dirty marks and the creases. It was twisted out of shape when he grabbed my sword.'

Bale examined the hat, turning it over so that he could look inside it. Then he did something that had never even occurred to Christopher. He held it to his nose and sniffed it.

'What are you doing, Mr Bale?' said Patrick.

'Trying to find out where someone worked,' said Bale with a grin of pleasure. 'In this case, it's quite easy.' 'Why?'

'Because that smell clings to your clothes, your face and, most of all, to your hair. I had some of it on myself after I'd been there.'

'Where?' asked Christopher.

'The brewery,' said Bale. 'This hat stinks of it. I suspect the man who tried to kill you is employed by Erasmus Howlett.'

After the exigencies of the morning, Henry Redmayne felt the need to return home to change out of the dull apparel he had worn to the duel into something more ostentatious. He felt restored. When he glanced out of the window of his bedchamber, he saw a coach draw up outside his house and he was thrilled when its passenger turned out to be none other than Brilliana Serle. Completing his joy was the fact that she seemed to be alone. He grabbed his periwig, thrust it upon his head, spent only seconds in front of a mirror to adjust it then fled down the stairs so that he could open the front door himself.

His prayers had been answered. Instead of rebuffing him, as he had feared, Brilliana had simply waited until a more suitable time to declare her love. When a beautiful woman came alone to the house of a man who adored her, it could have only one meaning. He flung the door wide then spread his arms in a welcome.

'I need to speak to you, Mr Redmayne,' she said, calmly.

'Then step inside, Mrs Serle.'

'Thank you.'

He stood aside so that she could pass and was rewarded with another whiff of her exquisite perfume. Closing the front door, he led her into the parlour and indicated a seat.

'I prefer to stand,' said Brilliana.

'As you wish, dear heart.'

'Are you an honest man, Mr Redmayne?'

'I am renowned for my truthfulness.'

'Then I expect an honest reply from you. Did you or did you not act a second to the Earl of Stoneleigh this morning?'

'Ah,' said Henry, sensing from her tone that the wrong answer could ruin all his hopes. 'I was forced into a situation that was not of my own choosing.'

'One word is all I require - yes or no?'

'My brother needed intelligence about Cuthbert - about the earl, that is - and the only way that I could obtain it was by posing as a friend of his. Indirectly, it was in your father's interests.'

'Yes or no?' demanded Brilliana.

'A qualified yes.'

'You viper, sir!'

'But I was trying to help Sir Julius.'

'By assisting a man who had him consigned to the Tower? I fail to see how that helps my father. You were part of the conspiracy against him and I despise you for it.'

'Do not say that!' he implored.

'When you came to our house, you deceived us all.'

'I would never deceive you, Brilliana.'

'Under the guise of supporting Father, you tried to practise your wiles upon me. That was shameless enough. Even more shameless was the way that you told Father about a play you professed to loathe when you are a good friend of the villain who wrote it.'

'Cuthbert did write the play,' he told her, 'but someone else inserted the scene in which Sir Julius was mocked.'

'That does not matter now. The fact is that you were complicit in the whole plot. You sniggered at my father in the theatre then claimed to be appalled at what you saw. And, even though you knew that he would have been roundly abused in the House of Commons as a result of the play, you did not have the grace to confide in Susan or myself. You are a fiend, Mr Redmayne.'

'But I love you!'

'A cruel, uncaring, unprincipled, odious fiend.'

'Brilliana!'

'Do not dare to speak my name, sir. I spurn you.'

'Could we not discuss this more amicably over a glass of my finest wine?' he suggested, quivering with contrition.

'I'd sooner take poison than accept a drink from you.'

'You cannot mean that.'

'Be grateful that I came alone, Mr Redmayne,' she said with blistering anger. 'And be thankful that I am but a woman.'

'A princess among women!'

'Were I a man, I'd have challenged you to a duel and sent you to the grave that is your rightful home. Good day to you, sir. I'll not soil myself with your company any longer.' Henry followed her as she went out into the hall. Brilliana paused in front the painting of the Roman orgy. 'My husband was right. This is an abomination. I cannot believe that it amused me even for a second. It is like its owner,' she went on. 'Indecent, unchristian and utterly corrupt.'

Opening the front door, she sailed out with great dignity. Henry was distraught. His romance with her was unequivocally over.

They first called at his house in Aldermanbury Street but, when they learned that Erasmus Howlett was at work, they walked on to the brewery. Jonathan Bale had the privilege of bearing the warrant. Tom Warburton accompanied him and Bale had taken the precaution of recruiting two constables from Cripplegate ward as well. Since he also had Christopher Redmayne in support, he felt as if he had adequate numbers to apprehend the two men.

'Will you recognise him if you see him, sir?' asked Bale.

'Yes,' replied Christopher. 'With or without his hat.'

'Are you going to return it to him?'

'Of course - though I might think twice about his dagger.'

'Mr Howlett should give us no trouble. He does not have the look of a fighting man to me.'

'He pays others to fight and murder on his behalf.'

'Those days are over,' said Bale, happily, 'and so is his ambition to be Lord Mayor of the city.' Two drays, loaded with full barrels, were driven past them. Bale took note. 'When they learn what Mr Howlett had been involved in, a lot of taverns may choose to buy their beer elsewhere.'

'I suspect that the Saracen's Head will be among them.'

They reached the brewery and went in. Christopher reacted to the insidious aroma. He could understand how it would penetrate the clothes and hair of anyone who worked in it, and why Bale had been able to identify it so easily. It made Christopher grimace. Having seen them from his office, Erasmus Howlett came down the steps to meet them. He seemed unperturbed by the appearance of four constables. When Christopher was introduced, however, a ripple of alarm went across the brewer's face. Bale took out the list of ingredients that Howlett had given him earlier. He held it out.

'We came about this, sir,' he said.

'A complaint about my beer?' Howlett gave a nervous laugh. 'I've never had that before.'

'It's not the beer we complain about,' said Christopher, taking a piece of paper from his pocket. 'It's the handwriting.' He thrust the paper under Howlett's nose. 'It matches this exactly.'

'I never wrote that!' exclaimed the other.

'Yes, you did. They were your instructions to Dan Crothers and they sent him off on a murderous mission. When he failed to kill Sir Julius Cheever, you had his throat cut in Old Street.' Christopher took out the dagger he had taken from his attacker. 'We even have the weapon that committed the crime. It belongs to one of your men, Mr Howlett. Perhaps you'd be kind enough to point him out.'

'I've no idea what you are talking about, Mr Redmayne,' said Howlett, indignantly. 'You are trespassing on my property and I must ask you to leave at once.'

'We will, sir,' said Bale. 'When I've served you with this warrant for your arrest. First, however, oblige Mr Redmayne, if you will.'

'Pick out the man you sent to kill me today,' said Christopher, taking out his sword. 'I'd like to renew my acquaintance with him.'

Howlett gave up all pretence of innocence. He knew that he was trapped but his accomplice might yet escape. Cupping his hands to his mouth, he yelled at the top of his voice.

'Run, Sam!' he called. 'Get away while you can!'

A figure emerged from behind one of the huge vats and raced off through the brewery. Seeing that it was his attacker, Christopher went after him, dodging round the various people and obstacles in his way. As before, the man had too much of a start and a far greater knowledge of the geography of the place. After leading his pursuer on a circuitous route, he darted through a door at the rear of the building and slammed it shut behind him. Christopher feared that he had lost him for the second time. When he opened the door, however, he had a most pleasant surprise.

The man he had chased was lying flat on his back with blood gushing from his nose. Standing over him with a grin of triumph was Patrick McCoy.

'I knew you'd come to the brewery, sir,' he said. 'I waited here because I thought someone might try to escape through the back.' He grabbed the fallen man by the collar and lifted him without effort to his feet. 'Here he is, sir. I just wanted to help.'

Susan Cheever was both disturbed and impressed with what her sister had done. When she came back to the house, Brilliana was glowing with satisfaction. Her husband was aghast but Susan had a grudging admiration.

'You scolded Henry to his face?' she said.

'I told him exactly what I thought of him, Susan.'

'Why did you not tell me you were going there?' asked Serle. 'The very least I could have done was to accompany you.'

'It was something I needed to do alone, Lancelot, and it was all the more effective as a result. I accused him of betraying our family in the most atrocious way and told him how much I despised him.'

'That will have curbed his amorous intentions,' said Susan under her breath. She spoke up. 'What did Henry say?'

'I gave him no chance to say anything.'

'Not even an apology?'

'What use is an apology that was bound to be insincere?'

'The strange thing is that you liked him at first, Brilliana.'

'I did,' said her sister. 'I was taken in by his dazzling manner. Then I learned the truth. Henry Redmayne is like that painting he has hanging in his hall - arresting at first sight but, when you look more closely, ineffably sordid.'

'Oh, I'm so glad that you say that, my dear,' said Serle. 'You have described him perfectly. There's a lesson in this for you, Susan. Having seen how both brothers have let us down, I hope you'll no longer seek a closer relationship with the Redmayne family.'

'I'll oppose it with every fibre of my being,' affirmed Brilliana.

'It's highly unlikely that there is anything to oppose,' said Susan with regret. 'Christopher and I have drifted apart. However,' she continued, remembering his vow to her, 'we must not lose all our faith in him. Nobody will try harder to save Father's life.'

'What can he possibly do?'

'You'll be able to ask him,' said Serle, looking through the window as a horseman approached the house. 'Unless my eyesight deceives me, Christopher is outside.'

Susan rushed to the window. 'Where?' She saw him dismount. 'Yes, that's him. He must have news.'

She went into the hall and opened the front door to greet him. Susan was unable to disguise her pleasure in seeing him again.

When she brought him into the parlour, Christopher was smiling.

'I don't know what you have to smile about,' said Brilliana, tartly. 'As far as I'm concerned, you are little better than your snake of a brother.'

'I'm sorry you think that, Mrs Serle,' he said. 'I've just come from Henry. You were too severe on him. He deserves rebuke, of course, and I've administered it in full. At the same time, he has earned praise. But for the information he supplied about the certain political figures, we would have made little progress. Only today, he has performed another valuable service.'

'Acting as second to the Earl of Stoneleigh.'

'Discovering that the earl did not write that lampoon of your father at all. It was the work of Maurice Farwell, a Member of Parliament with his own reasons for disparaging Sir Julius. But I run before myself,' he said, indicating that they should all sit. 'I've much to tell you, beginning with the arrest of two men. One helped to devise the plot against your father, the other attempted to murder me.'

'When?' cried Susan.

'I'll explain.'

When they were all seated, Christopher gave them a brisk account of events, taking care to point out that his brother had actually been helpful to them. They were delighted to hear that a warrant had be issued for the arrest of the Earl of Stoneleigh and wondered why Maurice Farwell had not been taken into custody as well. Christopher took out one of the letters found on Crothers's body.

'I was certain that he had written this,' he said, 'and my brother managed to get hold of an example of his hand this very day.' He looked at Brilliana. 'Another reason to moderate your censure of him, Mrs Serle.'

'Does the calligraphy match?' said Susan.

'Unhappily, it does not.'

'So who did send the information about Father's attendance at the funeral? Somebody must have done so, Christopher.'

'They did, and I have a vague suspicion of who it might be. In order to secure confirmation, I must ask you a favour.'

'What can I do?' said Susan.

'Give me permission to search your father's study. That's where I'll find the evidence we need. May I?'

'No, you may not,' returned Brilliana. 'It would be a flagrant breach of Father's privacy. He would never allow it.'

'If he knew that it might save his life, I believe that he would.'

'So do I,' agreed Susan. 'I'll show you where it is.'

Brilliana rose to her feet. 'I object strongly.'

'Then you are overruled, my dear,' said Serle, restraining her with a hand. 'Susan and I are both ready to authorise a search. You may proceed, Mr Redmayne.'

'Thank you,' said Christopher.

He went out with Susan, ascending the stairs beside her. Much of her old warmth towards him had returned, and he had been touched by her response to the news that his own life had been threatened. She had been able to see the risks he was prepared to take on her father's behalf. The study was unlocked but she rarely went into it. It was the secret domain of Sir Julius Cheever and she looked at it through Christopher's eyes, as if for the first time. It was scrupulously tidy and lined with books that were neatly stacked on their shelves. On the desk were neat piles of correspondence and notes for various speeches that he had given in parliament.

Christopher sifted through the letters but found none that caught his eye. A thorough search of the drawers of the desk also failed to yield up the confirmation that he sought. What he did unearth - carefully hidden at the back of one drawer - was a copy of the Observations of the Growth of Popery and Arbitrary Government in England. Flicking through it, he saw that both Maurice Farwell and the Earl of Stoneleigh were mentioned by name several times. Their influence over the Privy Council was deplored.

'What exactly are you looking for?' said Susan.

'I'll tell you when I find it.'

'But we've looked everywhere.' 'Not quite,' he said, scanning the bookshelves carefully. One title aroused his curiosity. 'I'd not have taken Sir Julius as a lover of poetry. I know that he has a great respect for Mr Milton but I've never heard him speak with enthusiasm about any other poet.'

'Neither have I, Christopher.'

'Then why does he have a copy of Shakespeare's Sonnets?'

He reached up to take it from the shelf and felt a thrill of discovery when he saw that something was pressed between the pages. Opening the book, he extracted a short letter, written in a graceful hand on expensive stationery. Holding it one hand, he took out the letter he had brought with him. Every detail matched.

Susan was wounded. 'Mrs Kitson!'

'Where else would he hide a letter from her but in book of love poetry? It's as I suspected, Susan. On our way back from Cambridge, your father told me that he had dashed off a note to Mrs Kitson before he left London, so she would have known his movements. I never for a moment had any doubts about her,' admitted Christopher, 'but this evidence is conclusive. She probably sent this note to Maurice Farwell and he passed it on at once to Crothers. It's the only way that it could have happened.'

'But she adored Father. She told us so.'

'She was used to win his confidence. Sir Julius would have told her about his visit to Knightrider Street, and that seemed like the ideal opportunity to strike.'

'He loved her. He even thought of marrying her.'

'Dorothy Kitson would never have let it reach that stage.'

'Father will be heartbroken when he finds out.'

'This letter gave him intense pleasure when he received it,' surmised Christopher. 'That's why he treasured it so.'

'He will wish it was never sent now,' she said.

'No, Susan. He will be glad. It was written to deceive him, to let him think that he was loved. When she sent this, Mrs Kitson could not have realised that she was doing him a favour.'

'That was no favour - it was a piece of cunning.' 'But it's worked to our advantage.'

'How?'

'What we have here,' he said, waving the cherished letter in front of her, 'is the key to your father's cell in the Tower.'

Maurice Farwell poured wine into both Venetian glasses then handed one of them to Dorothy Kitson. Caught up in a mood of celebration, they were alone in the parlour of her house. They clinked their glasses gently before sampling the wine.

'Excellent!' he said, licking his lips. 'But, then, everything in this house in an example of excellence - beginning with you, my love.'

'Will you be able to stay the night?'

'Of course. On such a day as this, I'd never desert you.'

'What about Adele?'

'I've told her that I'm staying in London.'

'Strictly speaking, that's quite true,' she said. 'What she does not know - and must never find out - is that you always spend the night with me when here.'

'Who would be the more surprised if they learned the truth?' said Farwell, sitting beside her. 'My wife or your brother?'

'Oh, it would be Orlando without a doubt.'

'Does he think you lead a life of celibacy?'

'My brother thinks that widowhood is a form of virginity,' she said. 'When my first husband died, he could not believe that I should want to take another.'

'And now you have a third husband.'

'Albeit married to another wife. I prefer it that way.'

'Pleasure without responsibility. A love that remains fresh because we spend so much time apart.' He lifted his glass. 'To Sir Julius Cheever for making this evening possible!'

'Sir Julius!'

They clinked their glasses again. The doorbell rang.

'That's not Orlando, I hope?'

'If it is, he'll be sent away,' she said, easily. 'Anyone who calls will be told that I'm not at home. Nothing is going to interrupt this moment, Maurice. We have earned it.'

She leaned forward to kiss him on the lips. They soon sprang apart. Raised voices could be heard in the hall then the door of the parlour was flung open. Christopher Redmayne entered with Jonathan Bale at his heels. Farwell jumped to his feet.

'What's the meaning of this?' he demanded.

'We have a warrant for your arrest, sir,' said Bale, holding it up.

'How dare you burst in here!' exclaimed Dorothy, taking a step towards them. 'Remove yourself at once, do you hear me? Mr Farwell is a guest of mine. I'll not have him insulted under my roof.'

'I'm afraid that we'll have to insult you as well, Mrs Kitson,' said Christopher, 'because there is a second warrant in your name. And before we go any further, you should know that Erasmus Howlett is in custody with a man called Samuel Greene whom he paid to commit murder on your behalf.'

'Those names are unknown to me,' she said.

'And to me,' added Farwell, maintaining his composure.

'I'm surprised that you do not know Mr Howlett, sir,' said Bale. 'He's a brewer and cousin to the Earl of Stoneleigh. I had the honour of arresting the earl as well.'

Farwell shrugged. 'We have no connection with him.'

'Then why did he include a scene that you wrote in his play, The Royal Favourite? Mr Howlett attended the performance. You may well have seen him there.'

Dorothy glowered. 'You must be Christopher Redmayne.'

'The very same,' he said, politely. 'I'm a friend of Sir Julius Cheever and I dislike the way that you have maltreated him. Here is a letter you once sent him, Mrs Kitson,' he went on, taking it from his pocket. 'The handwriting is identical to that in a note that we found on the corpse of Dan Crothers, another hired assassin.'

She clenched her teeth and turned to look at Farwell.

'They are bluffing, Dorothy,' he said. 'They know nothing.'

'You must come with us, sir,' said Bale.

'Of course, officer.' He offered his arm to Dorothy. 'We'll come together gladly. My lawyer will soon sort out this horrific mistake.'

'The mistakes were all made by you, Mr Farwell.'

'We shall see. Let's go with these gentlemen, Dorothy.'

'If you wish,' she said, visibly unnerved.

He squeezed her arm. 'Do not lose heart. Trust me.'

Walking past the visitors, he took her out of the room. As soon as they entered the hall, however, Farwell released her and rushed across to the suit of armour that stood in an alcove. He grabbed one of the two swords that hung on the wall beside the armour then he turned to confront the two men.

'Do not be foolish, sir,' advised Bale, holding up a hand. 'There's no escape. We have other officers outside.'

'Then we will have to leave by another means - without you.'

Holding the heavy sword in both hands, he swung it at Bale who stepped quickly back out of reach. The hall was large but it suddenly seemed very small to Bale, Dorothy and the watching servant. It was no place for a duel. Christopher had drawn his own sword but his rapier was no match for the other weapon. As soon as the blades clashed, a shudder went up his arm. Farwell swung the sword again and Christopher ducked beneath it.

'Grab what you need and leave by the back door,' Farwell called to Dorothy, circling his opponent. 'Please hurry.'

She moved to the stairs but Bale got there first, seizing her by both arms and keeping her in front of him as a shield. Christopher tried to distract Farwell by thrusting at him but it was no time for the finer points of swordsmanship. Swishing his weapon in the air, Farwell brought it down so hard that it knocked the rapier from Christopher's grasp. Bale acted promptly, shoving Dorothy towards Farwell before he could strike again. It gave Christopher the moment he needed to snatch the other sword from the wall. They were now fighting on equal terms.

Sparks flew as the blades clashed but it was Farwell's arm that now trembled on impact. Time was against him. Christopher was younger, stronger and more agile. Farwell was bound to tire first. He therefore summoned up all of his remaining energy and hurled himself at his opponent, flailing away with his sword as if intending to hack him to pieces. Christopher ducked, dodged, prodded, parried and retreated. The sleeve of his coat was ripped apart but he sustained no injury. He knew that he was winning. As Farwell's attack weakened, Christopher was able to hit back, swinging the heavy sword at his adversary.

He backed him against a wall then feinted cleverly before thrusting his sword point at Farwell's arm. With a yell of pain, Maurice Farwell dropped his weapon to the floor with a clatter. He put his other hand up to the wound. Christopher relaxed. Pouring with sweat and panting from the effort he had made, he stepped away and lowered his sword. Farwell was not finished yet. Seizing the other weapon, he used it like a lance and hurled it hard at Christopher. It missed its target. Christopher stooped low, the sword shot over his head and it was Dorothy Kitson who was struck by its sharp point. Hit in the chest, she staggered back, uttered a cry of disbelief then collapsed on the marble floor with blood streaming down her dress. Maurice Farwell dropped his sword and darted across to hold her.

His resistance was over.

When he was released from the Tower of London, Sir Julius Cheever found that his younger daughter had come to take him home. Christopher Redmayne was with her but he left one piece of information to Susan. They were in the coach before she told her father about Dorothy Kitson's involvement in the conspiracy against him. He was pole-axed by the news and dazed even more when he heard of the accident with the sword.

'Will she live?' he asked.

'Yes,' said Christopher. 'A surgeon was able to save her though she may not thank him for doing so when she faces her trial. Maurice Farwell was inconsolable. He feared that he had killed her.'

'Dorothy and Maurice Farwell,' said Sir Julius, incredulously. 'I would never have linked their names together. I always thought that Farwell was happily married.'

'That was the impression he strove hard to give in public,' said Christopher. 'It acted as a screen for his private life.'

'But what could possibly have brought them together?'

'Religion, Sir Julius.'

'Roman Catholics?'

'Both of them were devout. Their faith was like their friendship - something deep and lasting that had to be kept secret. Though I doubt if any pope would have blessed their union.'

'They were sinners,' said Susan. 'Capable of any crime.'

'All this makes me feel very foolish,' confessed Sir Julius on the verge of tears. 'I was taken in completely. How ridiculous I must look now. Just think. I wanted that woman to be your stepmother, Susan.'

'Try to forget her, Father.'

'I can never do that.'

She gave him more details of the investigation that had finally led to his release, explaining the vital importance of the letter found in his book of sonnets, and stressing the crucial part that Christopher had played throughout.

'God bless you, Christopher,' said Sir Julius, taking his hand between both palms. 'I owe you everything. A thousand thanks.'

'Save some of those for Jonathan Bale,' said the other. 'It was his sensitive nose that led us to the brewery. Oh, and Patrick McCoy must not be forgotten either.'

"Who is he?'

'The landlady's son from the Saracen's Head. He helped to capture Samuel Greene, the man who was sent after me.'

'You should not have gone down that alleyway,' chided Susan.

'I had to tempt him somehow.'

'Not with your life, Christopher.'

She spoke with such love and concern that he knew she had forgiven him his earlier mistakes. Christopher was reminded that someone else deserved a degree of gratitude.

'My brother made his contribution,' he said. 'Henry not only educated me in the black arts of political life, he discovered that it was Maurice Farwell who penned that callous attack on you in the play, and who led the laughter when you entered parliament.'

'Brilliana scourged him unfairly,' observed Susan.

'I would not go that far. Henry did go astray at times. Your sister's harsh words were a sobering experience for him in a number of ways. But I must add one more thing in his favour,' Christopher told them. 'I needed an example of Farwell's hand to compare it with that in the letter sent about your visit to Cambridge. Within the hour, Henry had answered my plea.'

'How?'

'By going to the Navy Office. He reasoned that someone as important as a Privy Councillor must have had correspondence with the Surveyor at some time or another, so he went through the boxes of letters like a whirlwind.' He laughed. 'He not only found what he was after. Henry was so zealous at his task that his superior was very impressed. He actually commended my brother.'

'Then I shall do so as well,' said Sir Julius.

'Look for no commendation from Brilliana,' warned Susan.

'Henry will not seek it,' said Christopher. 'He's content simply to share in the joy of your father's escape, and in the arrest of those who plotted against him.'

'But why? That's what I never understood. Why did they conspire against him like that?'

'I had to be silenced,' said Sir Julius. 'My voice was getting too loud in the Parliament House.'

'That was not the reason, Sir Julius.'

'What else?'

'They thought you were the author of that pamphlet that created such a scandal. It attacked popery and unfettered power. When we discovered that copy in your study, I was convinced that you had actually written it. Is that correct, Sir Julius?'

'Unfortunately, it's not,' replied the other. 'I'd have been proud to claim it as my work because I shared so many of its sentiments. But I've neither the wit nor the scholarship to produce something like that.' He smiled at Christopher. 'Since you have fought so bravely on my behalf, you deserve to know the truth.'

'Lewis Bircroft? Was he the author?'

'No - and neither was Arthur Manville.'

'Then who was, Sir Julius?'

'Bernard Everett.'

Christopher gaped. 'Are you sure?'

'He let me read it before it went to the printer.'

'But do you see what this means?'

'I think so,' said Sir Julius.

"Well, I do not,' said Susan. 'What is its significance?'

'A man was sent to shoot your father in Knightrider Street,' said Christopher, 'because it was supposed that he was the author of the pamphlet. It was Mrs Kitson who discovered that Sir Julius would be there that day and Erasmus Howlett who put an assassin in position at the Saracen's Head.'

'Then Mr Everett was killed by mistake.'

'But it was not a mistake,' said Sir Julius.

'We know that now,' Christopher said, 'but they did not. How ironic! In hindsight, all the efforts they took to kill Sir Julius were quite unnecessary. Without realising it, they had already killed the right man.'