The Parliament House

by Edward Marston

  Arriving at the designated house, Christopher was in a sombre mood. Sir Julius's coach reached the house shortly after him. When he stepped out, he was followed by his other second, Francis Polegate. Christopher caught the vintner's eye and saw that they shared the same reservations. Notwithstanding that, they had both agreed to participate in the event and had to fulfil their duties. Admitted to the garden, they took up their position beneath the boughs of a chestnut tree. It seemed an appropriate place for someone as prickly as Sir Julius Cheever. Christopher found himself praying that, unlike ripe horse chestnuts, the Member of Parliament would not fall.

  'I'm not at all sure that this is wise, Sir Julius,' said Polegate.

  'I did not ask for your advice, Francis,' said the other, 'only for your assistance. My honour is at stake here. Would you have me walk away?'

  'No, but there are other ways to resolve this quarrel.'

  'I agree,' said Christopher. 'What appeared on that stage was a dreadful libel. There are countless witnesses, including my own brother. Fight for your honour in a court of law.'

  'That would take an eternity,' replied Sir Julius, 'and I do not see it as my mission in life to enrich squabbling lawyers. This matter can be settled within minutes.' He raised his sword. 'Here is the only lawyer that I'll employ.'

  Christopher and Polegate continued to try to dissuade him from going ahead but he dismissed their entreaties with scorn. It was too late to withdraw now. Once given, a challenge could not be rescinded. All that his seconds could do was to hold their tongues and hope for a miracle. Their pessimism deepened when

  Cuthbert Woodruffe, Earl of Stoneleigh, finally appeared. He had already divested himself of coat and hat. Wearing a pair of breeches and with a crimson waistcoat over his shirt, he entered the garden with a flourish and gave Sir Julius a mocking bow. He was a striking man. Tall, lean and moving with easy grace, he exuded confidence. Stoneleigh was too sharp-featured to be handsome but it was an arresting face with a hooked nose and a pair of gimlet eyes.

  'Look at the fellow,' said Sir Julius. 'He's full of himself.'

  'Give him the chance to make an apology,' suggested Polegate.

  'He can have it engraved on his tomb, Francis.'

  'There's still time to abandon this folly.'

  'I'd not even consider it.'

  Sir Julius turned round so that Polegate could help him off with his coat. Christopher was more interested in the people who had come into the garden with the earl. Like Sir Julius, he had brought a surgeon in case he sustained a wound but it was one of the seconds that made Christopher start. The man was wearing dark apparel and a wide-brimmed black hat pulled down over his face, but his gait was unmistakable. Incredible as it might seem, it was his brother, Henry. Christopher had never felt such a burning sense of betrayal. Knowing that Stoneleigh was under suspicion for instigating a murder, Henry was actually helping the man in his long-standing quarrel with Sir Julius Cheever. The sight of his brother sickened Christopher.

  'Let's get on with it,' said Sir Julius, impatiently.

  'Ready when you are,' called Stoneleigh with a grin.

  'Stand back.'

  Christopher and Polegate moved away so that Sir Julius could practise a few lunges in the air. The earl and his supporters gave him an ironic cheer. Christopher was relieved to see that his brother did not join in, but his outrage at Henry remained. The two men were eventually called to the mark and reminded of the strict rules that governed such a duel. They then separated and, on a signal, the bout started. Christopher glanced at his brother but Henry was still hiding beneath his hat, determined not to acknowledge him. Both of them watched the contest with interest.

  Sir Julius was the first to attack, circling his man before lungeing at him. Stoneleigh parried the stroke with ease and did exactly the same when his opponent slashed wildly at him. He was in no hurry to attack, content simply to use his superior footwork and his deft control of his blade to ward off any danger. Sir Julius's lunges grew ever more desperate and he was soon starting to pant. The earl, by contrast, was fit and nimble, showing a speed of movement that belied his age. Christopher could see that he was playing with Sir Julius, wearing him down before moving in for the kill. To show that he had the upper hand, Stoneleigh suddenly feinted, went down on one knee and thrust hard. Sir Julius's waistcoat was sliced open and some of the buttons tumbled on to the grass.

  There was laughter from the earl's friends but Sir Julius was not deterred and he was still strong. Breathing heavily, he continued to advance and lunge at his opponent. Christopher could hardly bear to look any more. When the earl parried a thrust and flicked his blade with precision, he drew a first spurt of blood from Sir Julius's wrist. Since it was from his sword arm, he was halted in his tracks for a few seconds, using his other hand to wipe away the blood. It was a moment when he was completely off guard but the earl did not seize his advantage. Instead, he raised his sword and stood back.

  'Hold there!' cried a voice. 'Stop - in the name of the law!'

  A strapping man in uniform was striding across the grass with six officers at his back. He made straight for Sir Julius, bringing the duel to an end by standing between him and the earl. The officers quickly surrounded Sir Julius and he was forced to surrender his weapon. The burly man produced a document from his pocket.

  'I am James Beck, sergeant-at-arms at the Tower,' he declared, 'and I have a warrant for the arrest of Sir Julius Cheever.'

  'On what charge?' asked Christopher.

  'If you arrest Sir Julius,' argued Polegate, you must surely take the earl into custody as well.'

  'No, sir,' said Beck.

  'Both are guilty of taking part in a duel.'

  'There's no mention of a duel in this warrant. Sir Julius is being arrested in compliance with a statute that was passed in reign of King Henry VII - to whit, that it is a felony for any to conspire the death of a Privy Councillor.'

  'Such as myself,' said the earl, hand to his chest.

  'I'll not be held on such a dubious warrant,' roared Sir Julius.

  'You have no choice,' said Beck. 'Seize the prisoner.'

  Before he could move, Sir Julius was grabbed by the officers and swiftly pinioned. He protested loudly but in vain. Christopher now understood why Stoneleigh had not tried to inflict a mortal wound on his opponent. The earl had obviously known that the interruption would come and that, as a Privy Councillor, he would be exempt from blame. The playwright had stage managed the whole event. Instead of killing his opponent, he was having him immured in the Tower.

  'What's the punishment for this offence?' said Christopher.

  'The decision lies with His Majesty,' replied Beck.

  'And what is the usual sentence?'

  'Death.'

  Christopher saw all the fight drain out of Sir Julius. Far from wreaking his revenge on a hated enemy, he would be hauled off to face the possibility of a death penalty that was legally enforced. The earl did not need to hire another assassin. Sir Julius Cheever could be dispatched with the aid of a long-forgotten Tudor statute. Beck gave a command and the prisoner was hustled off, much to the amusement of Stoneleigh and his supporters. Things had gone exactly to plan.

  Convinced that his friend was going off to certain execution, Francis Polegate was grief-stricken. Christopher was dumbstruck. The outcome could not have been worse had Sir Julius been killed in the duel. If he were sentenced to death, his family would bear the stigma forever. Christopher wondered what he could possibly say to Susan or to her sister and brother-in-law. They would hate him for what he had done. Dorothy Kitson, close friend to Sir Julius, would doubtless add her rebuke, and there would be political allies of Sir Julius to face as well. Christopher was jolted.

  Then he remembered that his brother had had a significant role to play that morning and been guilty of the most blatant treachery. Christopher swung round to confront him but to no avail.

  Henry Redmayne had vanished from the garden.

  When he ente
red the brewery, Jonathan Bale found the compound of smells quite overwhelming. He could not understand how anyone could work in such a hot, fetid, oppressive atmosphere. Shown into Erasmus Howletts office, he had a partial escape from the all-pervading odour. The brewer smiled.

  'One soon gets used to it,' he said.

  'I'm not sure that I would, Mr Howlett.'

  'What you think of as a noisome stink is really the pleasing aroma of money. I could inhale it all day.'

  'Well, I could not.'

  'Then it is as well you do not work in the leather trade or as a butcher, for they have to endure far worse stenches. However,' said Howlett, hands twitching throughout, 'you did not come here simply to catch a whiff of my beer.'

  'No, sir. I came out of courtesy.'

  'That's something in rather short supply these days.'

  'Since I questioned you earlier, I thought you would like to know that the man who shot Bernard Everett has been found.'

  'Congratulations, Mr Bale!'

  'Unfortunately, we did not take him alive.'

  He explained how they had tracked the killer to Smithfield then on to his lodging in Old Street. The brewer was fascinated to hear how they had caught up with the killer and he plied Bale with endless questions. He was particularly interested to hear of the contribution made by Christopher Redmayne.

  'He sounds an enterprising young man.'

  'He is, Mr Howlett.'

  'And a brilliant architect, so Francis Polegate tells me.'

  'Well, you've seen the shop yourself,' Bale reminded him. 'It's opposite the Saracen's Head, the tavern you visited some while ago.' 'Yes, but I only saw the building from outside. I'm told that the interior is a minor work of art. Francis was delighted with it.'

  Howlett's office was on the upper level of the brewery. It was a small, cluttered room with a desk that was covered with letters, bills and documents of all sorts. In an adjoining office, clerks were at work and Bale could see them through the window that separated the two rooms. Through the main window, he could look down at the brewery itself and see the men toiling in a miasma of steam.

  'I helped to design this place myself,' said Howlett, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his waistcoat. 'I made sure that my office overlooked the whole brewing process. Nobody dares to slack when I am up here.'

  'I'm sure that you only employ industrious workers, sir.'

  'There's no place for any other kind here. Howlett's Brewery has a reputation to maintain. We are famed for our quality.'

  'Yet you do not drink the beer yourself, I hear.'

  Howlett chortled. 'I see that Francis has been letting you into my little secret. I used to sample my own product in large quantities,' he said, patting his paunch, 'and I have the stomach to prove it. Wine is kinder to my anatomy in many ways.'

  'But much more expensive.'

  'I allow myself a few luxuries in life. What about you, Mr Bale?'

  'One of my luxuries is a tankard of beer, sir.'

  'Brewed right here, I hope.'

  'No,' said Bale. 'My wife, Sarah, brews it at home and, though there is a smell during the process, it's nothing like as powerful as the one you have to endure. You must use stronger ingredients.'

  'Stronger ingredients and greater volume. I doubt if your wife makes anything like the quantities that we produce. Well, you can see how many men I employ. We have many taverns to supply.'

  'Is there any advice you could give?'

  'About what?'

  'How to brew good beer. I could pass it on to my wife. Sarah does her best but her beer always tastes rather weak. It's too thin.'

  'Often the case with housewife brewers.'

  'I hope that you don't mind me asking, Mr Howlett.'

  'Not at all, not at all.'

  'At the end of a long day, all that I want is a drink of beer to revive me. I just wish that it would have more body to it.'

  'Every brewer has his secrets,' said Howlett, 'and I'd never disclose those to anyone. But I can tell you what the basic ingredients of our beer is and how best to brew it.'

  'I'd be greatly obliged to you, sir,' said Bale, deferentially.

  'Let me write them down for you.' Howlett sat down at his desk and reached for his quill pen with a trembling hand. 'Since you had the courtesy to come from Baynard's Castle ward to give me your news, the least I can do is to help you to enjoy a stronger drink.'

  He began to write. Watching over his shoulder, Bale smiled. He was more than satisfied with his wife's beer and would never dare to suggest that she brewed it a different way. What he really wanted was a sample of Erasmus Howlett's handwriting. To get that, he would gladly endure the pungent reek of the brewery.

  'The Tower of London!'

  Susan Cheever was mortified. She spoke with a mixture of shame and horror. To have her father imprisoned in the Tower was a mark of ultimate disgrace. Even more appalling was the fact that he might pay with his life for his alleged crime. Brilliana Serle burst into tears and her husband had to comfort her. All three of them glared at Christopher Redmayne as if he were solely responsible for the grim predicament of Sir Julius Cheever. Informing the family of what had happened was a daunting task but he had forced himself to do it. As he sat opposite them in the Westminster House, Christopher felt cruel in having to impart so much pain and suffering. Susan's face was a portrait of anguish, Brilliana could barely speak and Lancelot Serle looked as if he were ready to challenge Christopher to a duel.

  'You must take some of the blame for this,' he accused.

  'I acknowledge that, Mr Serle,' replied Christopher.

  'You should have prevented him from going through with it.'

  'Once he has embarked on something, your father-in-law is not an easy man to stop. Had I refused to act as his second, he would simply have found someone else.'

  'Not if you had warned us. It was your duty to do so.'

  'Sir Julius had sworn me to silence. I gave him my word.'

  'I seem to remember that you gave it to me once as well,' said Susan. 'You promised never to conceal from me anything that related to Father's safety. And yet you did this, Christopher.'

  'Against my will.'

  'That's no excuse.'

  'None at all,' said Christopher, lowering his head.

  'You should be in the Tower with Father,' cried Brilliana, pointing at him, 'and so should that brother of yours. He came to this house in possession of information that should have been passed on to us, and he kept it to himself.'

  'No wonder Sir Julius would not let me read the newspaper yesterday,' said Serle. 'It must have contained a report of that play and its attack on him. I agree with my wife. We've been ill-served by the Redmayne family in every way.'

  'That's how it appears to me as well,' said Susan, levelly.

  'Between the two of you,' said Brilliana, you have delivered our father up to complete humiliation. Thanks to you and your brother, he languishes in a cell at the Tower with a possible death sentence hanging over his head. Oh!' she went on as more tears came, 'it's too horrid to contemplate.'

  'Come, my dear,' said Serle, easing her to her feet. 'The shock of it is insupportable. You need to lie down.' He led the sobbing Brilliana to the door then stared at Christopher to make a final comment. 'I hope, when I return, sir, that you have left this house.'

  Christopher was relieved that they had gone and grateful that they did not realise that his brother had, in fact, acted as one of the seconds for the Earl of Stoneleigh. That would have complicated the situation even more and drawn additional bile from them. It was something that Christopher would admit to nobody. Left alone with Susan, all that he could do was to gesture an apology. He could see from the coldness in her eyes that it was not accepted.

  'How could you, Christopher?' she asked, quietly.

  'I did my best to talk him out of it.'

  'That was our duty. We are his daughters. Our task is to look after him. You are not part of the family at all.'

  He
r tone was ominous. She was telling Christopher that he would never be more closely linked with her family. The stab of rejection was like the thrust of a knife. He winced.

  'Susan,' he said, 'please listen to me. All is not yet lost.'

  She was sorrowful. 'What else is there to lose?'

  'I'll hire the finest lawyer in the city to defend your father. The Earl of Stoneleigh never intended the duel to continue for long. He simply enticed Sir Julius into a trap. That will count against him in a court of law.'

  'And if father is found guilty at the trial?'

  'Even then, there is still hope,' he told her. 'I will appeal directly to His Majesty. I've been in a position to render him some service in the past and he has been very grateful. A plea to him will surely meet with favour.'

  'Only if it is made on your behalf, Christopher.'

  'What do you mean?'

  'He would hardly lift a hand to help my father. His Majesty once fought at the battle of Worcester - just like the Earl of Stoneleigh. Neither will show any mercy to someone who was in the opposing army. Father is doomed.'

  'You must not think that.'

  'What else can I think?'

  'Look,' he said, moving across to sit beside her, 'there is something you must know. Berate me all you wish but please accept that I have gone to great lengths to protect your father, and to find out who sponsored the attempts on his life.'

  'You and Mr Bale have worked hard on his behalf,' she admitted.

  'And not without success. We found one killer and we will find a second. More to the point, we will discover who has been paying them. Evidence so far points in the direction of the Earl of Stoneleigh.' She was startled. 'Yes, Susan, if we can prove that he is involved then Sir Julius has no case to answer. He may have attacked a Privy Councillor but the earl will lose all protection if arrested on a charge of conspiracy to murder.'