The Parliament House

    'It is,' she said. 'A parish constable has a lot of responsibilities. He has to keep his eye on so many different things. He has to make reports and appear in court. You could never do that.' 'I could if Mr Bale showed me how to do it.'

    'Your place is here,' she said, cupping his chin in her hand. 'I need you beside me, Patrick. What would I do without my son?'

    'Find someone else.'

    'There's nobody like you.'

    Bridget spoke with an amalgam of fondness and practicality. She loved her son deeply and depended on him completely. Had he been more competent, she would not have thwarted his ambition but she was aware of all the things that were beyond him. Ever since he had been born, she had been protecting him from mockery and doing her best to build his confidence. At the Saracen's Head, he had an important role. Anywhere else, his limitations would be cruelly exposed.

    'What if I was to catch him?' he asked.

    'Catch who?'

    'The man with the broken nose.'

    'You've no idea what he looks like, Patrick.'

    'You do, Mother.' The vacant smile surfaced. 'Do you remember what you used to do when I was little?'

    'I played with you whenever I could. So did your father.'

    'You were much better at it than he was.'

    'Better at what?'

    'Drawing pictures for me,' he said. 'You drew pictures of animals and people and ships on the river. I liked them.'

    'That was years ago, Patrick.'

    'You can still do it.'

    'I haven't the time,' she said. 'Besides, why should I bother?'

    'Because it would help me.'

    'I think you've outgrown childish pictures.'

    'But it would show me what he looked like, Mother.'

    'Who?'

    'The man who fired that musket from upstairs,' he told her. 'If you drew a picture of his face, I'd know who he was if I saw him at the market. I'd be able to catch him for you. That's what you want, isn't it?'

    She was taken aback. 'Yes, Patrick. It is.'

    Bridget embraced him lovingly. It was not because she believed for a moment that he could ever apprehend the wanted man. It was because he had just given her an idea that might possibly assist the hunt for the killer. As a young mother, Bridget McCoy had indeed had a moderate skill as an artist. It had been employed in those days to amuse a demanding son. All that she used it for now was to design placards that went in the window to advertise the cost of drinks and accommodation. In the corner of each one, she always drew a smaller version of the Saracens Head that adorned the signboard hanging outside the tavern. Customers had remarked on the accuracy of her portrayal. If she could recreate one head, she could surely copy a second from memory

    'Yes, Patrick,' she said. 'I will draw a picture of the man.'

    'Will you give it to me? Can I take it to market tomorrow?'

    'We'll show it to Mr Bale first.'

    And she gave him another impulsive hug.

    'At your age, I was already married,' Brilliana Serle proclaimed. 'It's high time that your mind turned in that direction.'

    'That's for me to decide,' said Susan Cheever.

    'It's my duty as an elder sister to advise you.'

    'And it's my right to ignore that advice, Brilliana.'

    'Married life can bring true fulfilment to a woman.'

    'Not only to a woman,' Lancelot Serle interjected. 'It's the same for a man as well. I had no conception of what happiness really was until I met and married Brilliana. My whole world has been enlarged.'

    'I'm delighted for both of you,' said Susan, looking from one to the other, 'but my situation is different. Brilliana was free to wed. I am not. As long as Father needs me, then he will always have first call on my love and time.'

    'And what about your love for Christopher Redmayne?' asked Brilliana, aiming the question at her like a stone. 'Not to mention his patent adoration of you.'

    Susan blushed. 'That's a private matter between the two of us.'

    'Has he made a declaration?'

    'He makes it every time they are together,' said Serle with a gentle smile. 'You can see it in his eyes and hear it in his voice. Christopher Redmayne is spellbound.'

    'Excuse me,' said Susan, anxious to terminate the conversation.

    She reached across him to snip some roses with her shears. They were in the formal garden at the rear of the 'Westminster house, and Susan was collecting flowers for display in the parlour. Compared to the extensive gardens at their home in the Midlands, it was relatively small but it allowed her to grow a whole range of flowers and fruit. During their time away, men were employed to tend the garden. When she and her father were in residence, however, Susan liked to supervise them. For her, the garden had two major attractions. It was a pretty, secret, tranquil refuge from the ceaseless commotion of London, and, more important in her opinion, Christopher Redmayne had designed it.

    It was ironic. She thought about him every day and longed to be with him. Yet now that her sister wanted to talk about the architect, Susan was rather unnerved. Strolling across the lawn, she hoped that she had curtailed the discussion but Brilliana was not so easily shaken off. She pursued her sister without mercy.

    'Have you met his family?' she said.

    'Yes, Brilliana.'

    'They must have found you eminently acceptable.'

    'They were not asked to accept me in the sense that you imply,' said Susan, adding some lavender to her basket. 'His father is the dean of Gloucester cathedral and his elder brother, Henry, works at the Navy Office.'

    'The father is above reproach then. What of the brother?'

    'He and Christopher are very different.'

    'But the fellow is respectable, I trust?'

    Susan faced her. 'Brilliana, I resent this interrogation.'

    'We can't have anyone who lowers our family's standards. Before I even consented to have Lancelot as a suitor, I took very careful note of his people. That was imperative.'

    'Fortunately,' said Serle, joining them, 'we survived your scrutiny. I'm certain that Christopher's family will do the same.'

    'That remains to be seen, Lancelot.' 'No, it does not,' said Susan, turning to face her. 'There's no need for scrutiny of any kind. You are taking far too many things for granted, Brilliana. My place is here beside father. Christopher and I have made no plans whatsoever.'

    'You'll lose him if you dither.'

    'Yes,' agreed Serle. 'Tempus fugit.'

    'He'll slip right through your fingers, Susan.'

    'I'll not be rushed into anything before I am ready,' asserted Susan, 'so I'll thank you to stop pressing me on the matter. Christopher and I are close friends. That situation contents both of us for the moment. I find it indelicate of you even to raise the matter.'

    'My only concern is for your well-being,' said Brilliana.

    'You may safely leave that in my own hands.'

    'Things may soon change,' Serle pointed out. 'If Sir Julius should, by chance, marry, then your occupation's gone. A stepmother will replace you, Susan. You'll be in the way.'

    'I don't foresee that happening,' said Susan.