The Parliament House

Chapter Three

Christopher Redmayne waited until the next day before calling on them. In the interim, he had spoken with a couple of people to whom his brother, Henry, had introduced him, veteran politicians who had sat in the House of Commons long enough to become familiar with its deadly currents and treacherous eddies. Neither of them had spoken kindly of Sir Julius Cheever and Christopher had, of necessity, to conceal the fact that they were talking about the man whom he hoped would one day be his father-in-law. His brief researches into the murky world of politics had been chastening. When he rode towards Westminster in bright sunshine that morning, Christopher was unusually subdued.

His spirits revived as soon as the house came into view. It had been built for Sir Julius so that he could have a base in the city during periods when parliament was sitting, or when he wished to spend time with his other daughter, Brilliana, who lived in Richmond. The property was neither large nor particularly striking but it had a double significance for the architect. It had been the first substantial commission he had gained without the aid of his brother and, as such, marked the beginning of his independence. Previous work had always come his way because Henry had used his influence with various friends. By no stretch of the imagination could Sir Julius be looked upon as a friend - or even a nodding acquaintance - of Henry Redmayne.

But the house had a much more powerful claim to a place in Christopher's heart. It was the catalyst for the meeting between him and Susan Cheever, a relationship that had begun with casual interest before developing into a firm friendship, then gradually evolving into something far deeper. The promise of seeing her again made him sit up in the saddle and straighten his shoulders. He just wished that he could be bringing happier tidings on his visit.

Arriving at the house, he met with disappointment. Sir Julius was not there. It gave him a welcome opportunity to speak alone with Susan but it was her father whom he had really come to see.

'What time will Sir Julius return?' he asked.

'Not until late this afternoon.'

'In that case, I may have to call back.'

'Why?' said Susan. 'Do you have a message for him?'

'Yes, I do.'

'Can you not trust me to pass it on?'

'I'd prefer to speak to him myself,' said Christopher, not wishing to alarm her by confiding what he had discovered. 'Meanwhile, I can have the pleasure of spending a little time with you.'

She gave a wan smile. 'It's hardly an occasion for pleasure.'

'Quite so. What happened yesterday was appalling.'

'I still cannot believe it, Christopher.'

'No more can I. It had been such a joyous occasion for all of us. Then, in a flash, it turned into tragedy. How is Mrs Polegate bearing up?'

'Indifferently well. Mr Everett was very dear to her.'

'It was kind of you to offer some comfort, Susan.'

'I stayed there for hours but I could not ease the pain of her bereavement. Mrs Polegate was inconsolable. The only thing that might take the edge off her grief is the arrest of the man who killed her brother.'

'Jonathan Bale and I will do all we can to find him.'

They were in the parlour of the house, a room that reflected the taste of the client rather than that of the architect. Sir Julius had been the most decisive employer that Christopher had ever had, knowing exactly what he wanted from the start. That brought advantages and disadvantages. The main benefit was that valuable time had been saved because there had been none of the endless prevarication that made other clients so frustrating. On the debit side, however, was the fact that Christopher had to agree to an interior design that was serviceable while also being totally out of fashion. Even when seated beside the woman he loved, he was aware of how much more intrinsically appealing the room could have been had he been given his head.

Gazing fondly into her eyes, he forgot all other problems.

'These past couple of months have been wonderful,' he said.

'Have they?'

'Of course, Susan. I've been able to see so much of you.'

'That's been the saving grace of our visits,' she confessed.

'Don't you enjoy coming to London?'

'Only if I can see you, Christopher. As you know, I'm a country girl at heart. We may have St James's Park on our doorstep, but it's not the same as being surrounded by thousands of acres of land.'

'There are plenty of fine estates on the outskirts of the city.'

'But none that I'd exchange for the one we already own.'

'What about your father?' asked Christopher. 'He used to describe the capital as a veritable cesspool. His exact words, if I recall them aright, were that London is a swamp of crime and corruption.'

'He still holds to that view.'

'Then why has he spent so much time here recently?'

'Commitments of a political nature.'

'But the House of Commons has not been sitting.'

'Father doesn't confine his activities to the Parliament House,' she said. 'He claims that the most fruitful debates take place outside it. He's gathered a small group of like-minded men around him.'

'Men like Bernard Everett, for example?'

'Yes, Christopher. As soon as he was elected, he paid us a visit in Northamptonshire. He and father discussed political affairs all night.'

'That must have been very tiresome for you, Susan.'

'It's worse when we come here.' 'Is it?'

'Far worse,' she complained. 'There are evenings when the whole house seems to echo with political gossip. They talk about who's rising in power, who's likely to fall, how this objective can be best achieved and that one cunningly blocked, how the King exercises too much sway over the House of Commons and how his brother is an even more dangerous threat to civil liberty.'

Christopher laughed. 'Someone has been eavesdropping, I see.'

'What else can I do when the place has been invaded like that?' 'How many people attend these meetings?'

'Five or six, as a rule.'

'And your father is the acknowledged leader?'

'The habit of command is a difficult thing to break. Father, likes to be in charge. Oh, I'm sure that they have worthy aims and pursue them with due sincerity,' she conceded, 'but it makes for some dull evenings from my point of view. I foolishly assumed that you had designed a London home for us.'

'That's precisely what I did do.'

'No, Christopher. This is merely another Parliament House.'

'Then we'll have to devise more ways to get you out of it.'

'I'd be so grateful.'

'I hadn't realised that it was matters of government that had drawn your father back here so much. It crossed my mind that the city held some other attraction for him.'

Susan bridled slightly. 'What can you mean?'

'Nothing, nothing,' he said, seeing her reaction and regretting his comment. 'I was obviously mistaken.'

'You were, I assure you. Father is eager for political advancement. He will not get that by languishing on his estate in Northamptonshire. Friends have to be seen, ideas discussed, plans agreed. There's never a day when he's not engaged in some aspect of parliamentary work.'

'Is that where he is now, Susan?'

'Of course,' she said with an unaccustomed edge to her voice. 'Father is dining with a close political ally.'

'I thank the Lord that you have no interest whatsoever in affairs of state,' said Sir Julius Cheever, beaming at her. 'That would have been disastrous.'

'Why?'

'Because, dear lady, we would never have agreed.'

'I cannot imagine our disagreeing about anything, Sir Julius,' she said, sweetly, 'for you are the most agreeable man I've ever met.'

He chortled. 'Nobody has ever described me as agreeable before.'

'Nobody else has ever divined your true nature.'

Dorothy Kitson was a handsome woman in her early forties with the kind of sculptured features that only improved with age. Twice widowed, she had inherited considerable wealth on each occasion but it had made her neither extravagant nor overbearing. She had remained the quiet, intelligent, unassuming woman she had always been and, while she had had many suitors, none had been treated as serious contenders for her hand. That, at least, was the situation until Sir Julius had come into her life. He was so unlike anybody she had ever met before that she found him intriguing.

They were dining together at his favourite establishment in Covent Garden, a place that combined excellent food with a degree of privacy not usually found elsewhere. Clearly enchanted with her, Sir Julius wanted Dorothy Kitson entirely to himself. Having started with oysters, they had a hash of rabbits and lamb before moving on to a chine of beef, all of it accompanied by a plentiful supply of wine. Since his guest ate and drank in moderation, Sir Julius reined in his own appetite as well.

'I bless the man who organised the races at Newmarket that day,' he said, raising his glass. 'He made it possible for me to meet you.'

'It was only by accident that I was present, Sir Julius. I had planned to spend the day in the city but my brother insisted that I go with him to Newmarket as he had a horse running there.'

'Then my blessing on your brother as well.'

'As it happened, his filly won the race.'

'It was not the only winner that day,' he said, gallantly.

'Thank you.'

'Once I'd seen you, Dorothy, I lost all interest in horses.'

She smiled. 'I'm not sure that I appreciate the way that you put that,' she said, touching his hand, 'but the thought is a kind one.'

'I meant no offence,' he insisted.

'None was taken.'

'Then you'll agree to come to Newmarket with me again one day?'

'Only if you consent to watch the horses this time.'

They shared a laugh then sipped their wine. The change that had come over Sir Julius was remarkable. In place of his blunt demeanour and combative manner was a tenderness that seemed wholly out of character. He never once raised his voice, never once lost his temper. In the company of Dorothy Kitson, he was restrained and gentlemanly. His battered face was permanently wreathed in smiles. She, too, was plainly relishing every moment of their time together but not without a trace of guilt. Dorothy waited until the plates had been cleared away before leaning in closer to him.

'You've been very considerate, Sir Julius,' she said, quietly, 'but you do not have to hold back on my account.'

'I've not held back, dear lady. I've eaten my fill.'

'I was not talking about the meal. You came here today with a heavy heart, and I know the cause. My brother is a magistrate, remember. Whenever a serious crime is committed, news of it soon reaches Orlando's ears.'

His face clouded. 'He's told you about it, then?'

'Yes. I'm so terribly sorry.'

'Thank you.'

'An innocent man, shot down in broad daylight - it's frightening. It must have been a dreadful shock for you to lose a friend in such hideous circumstances. The wonder is that you did not postpone a meeting with me so that you could mourn him properly.'

'I'd never dream of doing that, Dorothy.'

'I could have waited for a more appropriate time.'

'Every second spent with you is appropriate,' he said with clumsy affection. 'In dining with you, I show no disrespect to Bernard. He will ever be in my thoughts.'

'Did he have a family?'

'A wife and three children.'

'This will be a fearful blow to them.'

'I advised Francis Polegate not to send word by letter. Such bad tidings ought to be delivered in person so that he can soften their impact and offer condolences. He rode off to Cambridge this morning.' 'Where will the funeral be held?' she asked.

'At Bernard's parish church,' he replied. 'I've taken it upon myself to arrange the transfer of the body when the coroner releases it.'

'That's very considerate of you.'

'He was a good friend, Dorothy. He'd have done the same for me.'

'Heaven forbid!'

The arrival of the next course prompted them to change the subject. They talked about their first meeting at Newmarket races and noted how many happy times they had spent together since. Sir Julius was eager to see even more of her but Dorothy was cautious. Feeling that their friendship was moving at a comfortable pace, she was content to leave things as they were. At the same time, however, she did believe that one important step could now be taken.

'When will I be able meet your family, Sir Julius?' she said.

'As soon as you wish,' he told her, delighted at what he perceived as a real advance. 'My younger daughter, Susan, lives with me and is in our London abode even as we speak.'

'She has not yet married, then?'

'No, Dorothy.'

'Does she have prospects?'

'Yes, she is being courted by the young man who designed our house here. The problem is that Susan will not commit herself wholly to him while she has to look after her aged and infirm father.'

'You're neither aged nor infirm, Sir Julius.'

'My daughter treats me as if I were.'

'How will she respond when she is introduced to me?'

'Susan will be unfailingly polite,' he said, 'but you will still need to win her over. She's rather possessive, you see. Though I may be her father, she sometimes treats me like an errant child. I mean that as no criticism,' he added, quickly. 'Susan is very dutiful. When my dear wife died, it was she who took on the task of caring for me.'

'What about your other daughter?' 'Brilliana?'

'Was it not her place to look after you?'

'It never even crossed her mind.'

'Why not?'

'Because she had other imperatives in her life,' he explained. 'My daughters are like chalk and cheese, so unlike every particular. Susan is selfless and tender-hearted - Brilliana has inherited my defects.'

'I refuse to believe that you have any.'

'Oh, I do, alas. I can be headstrong and stubborn at times. Outspoken, too. Above all else, I like to have my own way. In those regards, Brilliana takes after her father.'

'How will she look upon me?'

'With utter amazement.'

She stifled a laugh. 'Am I such a freak, then?'

'No, Dorothy,' he said, taking her hand, 'you are the most remarkable woman in London and, therefore, Brilliana will refuse to accept that her gnarled old oak tree of a father could hold the slightest attraction for you.'

'Then I will have to convince her otherwise,' she resolved. 'I look forward to meeting your daughters, Sir Julius. The younger one sounds like a paragon of virtue, and, in spite of what you say, I'm sure that the elder has many fine qualities. I like them both already.'

'And they are certain to like you - in time.'

Brilliana Serle looked at herself in the mirror as she tied her hat in place, tilting it at a slight angle to give her a more roguish look. Now in her early thirties, she was a woman of startling beauty enhanced by clothing of the very highest price and quality. Her husband, Lancelot, came into the hall and stood behind her.

'Do we really need to go to London today?' he asked.

'We do.'

'But I have business in hand here, Brilliana.'

'Then it can wait,' she said with a peremptory wave of her hand. 'You read that letter from my sister. She and Father had a distressing experience yesterday. They saw a friend murdered before their eyes in the street. They require solace. I'd be failing in my duty if I did not instantly repair to the city to provide it.'

'Can you not go without me?'

'No, Lancelot.'

There was a note of finality in her voice that he did not dare to challenge. Lancelot Serle was a tall, spare, nervous individual with features that could have been accounted handsome but for the blemish on his cheek. The little birthmark was all the more visible against the whiteness of his skin, and looked, at first glance, like a blob of raspberry preserve that he had forgotten to wipe away. There was, however, no blemish on his financial situation. He was a man of substance with a palatial house set in the middle of a vast estate. His combination of wealth, social position and readiness to obey Brilliana's every whim had made him an irresistible choice as a husband.

'We do not want to be in the way, my love,' he said.

'What a nonsensical idea!' she exclaimed, rounding on him. 'We are family, Lancelot. We could never be in the way,'

'I do not recall that Susan actually solicited your help.'

'Then why else did she write to me?'

'Merely to keep you informed.'

'I know when I am being summoned, so let's have no more evasion. The chest is packed, the coach is ready and we are going to drive to London. After all,' she said, leading the way to the front door, 'it will not only be a case of offering our commiserations.' 'Oh?'

'We can satisfy our curiosity at the same time.'

'About what?'

She stamped a foot. 'Really! Do you listen to nothing I say?'

'I do little else, Brilliana.'

'Then you must surely recall that father has befriended a lady, a certain Mrs Dorothy Kitson.'

'I recall mention of her,' he said, following her out of the house, 'but I assumed that the relationship would have expired by now. With respect to my father-in-law, he's a most unlikely suitor.

The roughness of his tongue would put any woman to flight within a week.'

'He seems to have curbed that roughness. I want to know why.'

The footman was waiting by the door of the coach and she took his hand so that he could help her into the vehicle. While she settled down and adjusted the folds of her dress, her husband took the seat opposite her so that he would travel backwards. Serle wore exquisite apparel but he could not compete with her finery or with the array of jewellery that set it off. A whip cracked above them and the horses pulled the carriage in a semicircle. They were soon rolling steadily up a long drive through an arcade of poplars.

'How much do we know about Mrs Kitson?' he asked.

'Precious little.'

'Has your sister actually met the lady?'

'Not yet - but Susan has grave reservations about her.'

'Why?'

'Because she has led Father to tell so many lies.'

'Lies!' He was astonished. 'That's quite unlike him. Sir Julius is the most honest man alive. Far too honest, in my opinion, for he blurts out things that should best be left unsaid in civilised company.' Serle was rueful. 'I've suffered a great deal at the hands of your father's famous honesty.'

'Then you should not annoy him so much.'

'My very existence is a source of annoyance to him.'

'You were my choice as a husband,' she said, briskly, 'and not his. You have merits that are not visible to the naked eye and I cherish each one of them.'

He was pleased. 'Do you, Brilliana?'

'You're a man of hidden qualities, Lancelot.'

'Thank you,' he said, basking in a rare compliment from her.

She did not allow him to savour the moment for long.

'By the same token,' she resumed, 'you have shortcomings that are imperceptible at first sight but that slowly emerge on closer acquaintance. I see it as my task in life to remedy those shortcomings.'

'I study to improve myself, Brilliana.'

'Then assert yourself more. Do not be so easily cowed into silence. Whenever you meet your father-in-law, you hardly ever say a word.'

'He gives me no opportunity to do so.'

'Make an opportunity, Lancelot,' she urged. 'You bear the name of a noble knight. Display some knightly heroism. When we are in Father's company, seize the conversation with both hands.'

'That's easier said than done.'

'You'll earn his respect, if you do. And in time, I trust, you'll have enough confidence to follow in his footsteps.'

'What do you mean?'

'You must go into politics,' she decreed. 'You have money and position enough but you lack even a semblance of power. I want a husband of mine to guide the fate of the nation. If my father can become a Member of Parliament, so can you.'

'But I disagree with everything that he stands for, Brilliana.'

'Then oppose him vigorously in the House of Commons. Stand up for your principles. Proclaim them with a full voice.'

Serle lapsed into a brooding silence. Since he first became involved with the Cheever family, the one thing he had never been allowed to do was to express his opinions with any degree of freedom. His wife muffled him and his father-in-law terrified him. As an unswerving Royalist, he had learned to button his lip whenever Sir Julius sounded off about the depravity of the court and the blatant unfitness of the King to reign. The thought of crossing verbal swords with the old man in the Parliament House made him shudder inwardly.

'Coming back to your earlier remark,' he said, finding the strength to speak again, 'what's this about your father telling lies?'

'He would probably call them excuses.'

'For what?'

'Concealing the fact that he is seeing so much of Mrs Kitson,' she pointed out. 'Whenever he leaves the house, he tells Susan that he is to meet other politicians but she knows that it is simply not true. Father has arranged clandestine meetings with his new friend.'

'Is he so ashamed of the lady?'

'On the contrary, Lancelot. He is inordinately proud of her. Susan can see it in his face and hear it in his voice. Yet he pretends that nothing is amiss. I'd not stand for such subterfuge,' she said, smacking his knee for effect. 'That's why I intend to do what Susan has so far been unable to do herself.'

'And what's that, Brilliana?'

'Confront him. Tax him. Bully the truth out of him, if need be.'

'Sir Julius will not be easily bullied.'

'That's why I may need to call on you.'

Serle winced. 'Me?'

'Father will see me as an interfering daughter, but you can speak to him man to man. You can probe for information, Lancelot. You can catch him unawares.'

'I've never managed to do so before.'

'Then see this as a test of your mettle,' she said, firmly. 'Susan and I need to know what is going on and you are the person to find out. If we cannot wrest anything out of him, you must use your wiles.'

'But I have no wiles, Brilliana.'

'Exactly. When you speak to him, Father will be completely off guard. He will not suspect you for a moment. Take advantage of that, Lancelot. Beat him at his own game and use political wiles against him. Prove yourself to me,' she exhorted with sudden passion. 'Will you become the husband that I know you can be?'

He nodded willingly but his heart was a giant butterfly.

Sir Julius Cheever returned to his house in Westminster in buoyant mood. As soon as he came in through the door, Susan knew that he had dined with Dorothy Kitson. She gave him a token kiss of welcome then she pointed in the direction of the parlour.

'Christopher is waiting to see you.'

'Christopher Redmayne?' he asked.

'Yes, Father. He called this morning after you had left. I suggested that he came back later this afternoon.' She shot him a reproving look. 'Though I did not expect it to be quite this late.'

'I'd better go and speak to him.'

He opened the door of the parlour and went in. Christopher rose from his seat but was immediately waved back into it. Sir Julius lowered himself into a chair opposite him.

'I take it that you've come about yesterday's sad event,' he said.

'Yes, Sir Julius.'

'Has any progress been made?'

'Not as yet,' replied Christopher, 'but it will be.'

'Bale is a good man. He'll not let us down. And I know that you have the instincts of a bloodhound as well, Christopher.'

'We'll find the villain between us.'

'I'm counting on it.'

Sir Julius's voice was stern yet he had not altogether shed his air of contentment. A smile still hovered around his mouth and his eyes sparkled. Christopher was puzzled. Whenever the older man had returned from a heady political discussion before, he had always been roused to a pitch of excitement. If he had dined with a parliamentary colleague, he should be highly animated. Instead, he was curiously happy and relaxed. Christopher had never seen him so tranquil before. He was sorry that he would have to disturb that tranquillity.

'I've been talking with my brother,' he began.

'There's nothing unusual in that, surely?'

'We spoke about you, Sir Julius.'

'Oh? To what end?'

'Henry has a wide circle of friends, not all of them entirely suitable, as it happens. But he's well-known at court and numbers several politicians among his intimates.'

Sir Julius frowned. 'Supporters of the King no doubt.'

'Denizens of the Parliament House,' said Christopher. 'Men who know the very nerves of state and who keep a close eye on each new faction that comes into being.' 'So?'

'Is it true that you have formed your own club?'

'That's my business,' said the other, curtly.

'I've been forced to make it mine.' 'Don't meddle in things you don't understand.'

'I understand danger when I catch a whiff of it.'

'What are you taking about?'

'You, Sir Julius,' said Christopher, sitting forward. 'Everyone I've spoken to has told me the same thing. You've been gathering men around you who share your aims and values. Susan has confirmed it. According to her, you hold meetings in this house that-'

'Enough!' shouted Sir Julius, getting to his feet. 'What happens under this roof is entirely my own affair.'

'I disagree.'

'Then you are being impertinent.'

'No, Sir Julius,' said Christopher, rising from his chair.

'And you begin to irritate me.'

'What happens in this house may be your own affair but yesterday, as we both well know, it spilled out into Knightrider Street.'

'Nobody regrets that more than I do.'

'It's a cause for fear rather than regret.'

'Fear?'

'Yes,' said Christopher with passion. 'Bernard Everett was an able man who might in time have caught the eye in the Parliament House. You, however, have already established your worth, so much so that you have attracted disciples.'

'I do not follow your argument.'

'Remember the weather.'

'The weather?'

'It was raining when we left that house yesterday. You and Mr Everett wore similar coats and hats. From a window in the Saracen's Head, it would have been impossible to tell you apart.'

'Someone apparently did so.'

'No,' declared Christopher. 'He made a mistake. From everything I've learned since then, I'm absolutely convinced of it. You were the intended victim. That man was hired to kill Sir Julius Cheever.'