The Parliament House

by Edward Marston

  '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.<
br />
  '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, h
e'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.