The Parliament House

    'You must at least allow for the possibility.'

    'Lancelot's point is a telling one,' said Brilliana, touching his arm in acknowledgement. 'Father is clearly enthralled with Mrs Kitson and a woman of her age would not encourage his advances unless the feeling between them were mutual. In due course, I suspect, what is now a mere possibility might well evanesce into a probability.'

    Serle grinned. 'Sir Julius married again! Who'd have thought it?'

    'We've not even met the lady yet,' Susan reminded them. 'When we do, she will understand what is at stake. In addition to taking on a third husband, she will also be acquiring two stepdaughters. Some people might find that rather daunting.'

    'There's nothing remotely daunting about me,' claimed Brilliana, striking a pose. 'I'm the most agreeable person I know. Lancelot?'

    'You are extremely agreeable, my dear,' he said, taking his prompt. 'And highly desirable as a stepdaughter - as, indeed, is your sister.'

    'There were are, then - it's settled. Oh, how satisfying!' Brilliana rubbed her hands together. 'Father will wed Mrs Kitson and Susan will be free to accept a proposal from her inamorato.'

    'Christopher is only a friend,' said Susan with exasperation.

    Serle beamed. 'That's all I was when your sister and I first met,' he said, 'and look at us now. Cynics may cry that marriage is a form of enslavement but I found it an act of liberation. Brilliana has enabled me to do a whole host of things that I thought were completely outside my compass. She has empowered me.'

    'That's why you must take the next step forward,' said Brilliana, imperiously. 'You must cut a figure in parliament, Lancelot. You are more than ready for it now.'

    'You've made me believe I am ready, my dear. When you first mentioned the idea, I was anxious and hesitant but not any more. Your confidence in me has provided the fire I needed.'

    Susan had never met anyone less fiery than her brother-in-law but she did not say so. Instead, she had an upsurge of sympathy for him. Lancelot Serle was an educated man with a range of talents but he was hardly suited for the bear pit of political life. Brilliana was trying to force him outside his natural milieu and he would suffer as a result. Living with her father gave Susan an insight into the physical and mental strains of parliamentary activity. Stronger men than her brother-in-law had been broken on its relentless wheel. There was another factor to be taken into account.

    'You'd find yourself in opposition to Father,' remarked Susan.

    'On some issues,' he said.

    'On every issue, Lancelot.'

    'What of that?' challenged Brilliana. 'My husband will stand up for his principles just as Father does. If that means they will clash in the House of Commons, so be it.'

    'Diversity of opinion is inevitable,' said Serle, philosophically. 'It would be a dull Parliament House if we all agreed with each other. Out of discord comes forth compromise - and I am a master of that.'

    'Then I wish you the best of luck,' said Susan, hiding her fears for him. 'What I would suggest, however, is that you do not

    reveal your ambitions to Father just yet.'

    'He would not listen if I did. Sir Julius rarely listens to me.'

    'His mind is on other things at the moment,' said Brilliana with a smile of approval, 'and that means he will listen to nobody. All that he can think of is his future wife, Mrs Dorothy Kitson.'

       Dorothy Kitson stirred her cup of tea before tasting it. After taking a few sips, she set cup and saucer down and looked across the mahogany table at her brother.

    'What objections do you have, Orlando?' she asked.

    'They are not so much objections as lingering reservations.'

    'You lawyers will play with words!'

    'Then let me be more blunt, Dorothy.'

    'I'd prefer that to all this equivocation.'

    'First,' said her brother, counting his reasons off on his fingers, 'Sir Julius Cheever has the most abhorrent political views.'

    'It's something we never discuss.'

    'Second, his estates are in the wilds of Northamptonshire.'

    'I'm given to believe that it's a county of some appeal.'

    'Third - and you wish me to be honest - the fellow is too rough and ready for someone of your fine sensibilities. He's a farmer, Dorothy - and a soldier to boot. There's an uncouth air to him and he blusters. You have absolutely nothing in common with him.'

    'Then why do we delight in each other's company?'

    'Witchcraft!'

    Dorothy laughed. Though she loved her brother, and leaned heavily on his advice, there were moments when he seemed hopelessly out of touch with normal human behaviour. She put it down to the fact that he had never married, or fathered a child, or ventured a single step outside the legal realm. Orlando Golland was a fleshy man in his sixties with heavy jowls that shook as he spoke, and a ginger wig that sat askew his overly large head. A brilliant lawyer in his day, he was now a justice of the peace in the city. His benign features concealed the fact that his habit of issuing unduly harsh sentences to those who appeared before him was legendary.

    'Four,' he concluded, 'I do not like the fellow.'

    'You did not like my first husband either,' she recalled.

    'I came to appreciate his few recognisable virtues.' She laughed again. 'You sought my opinion and I've given it with clarity. I'm sorry that you ever met Sir Julius.'

    'Then you should not have introduced me to him.'

    'It was Maurice Farwell who did that.'

    'Yes,' she riposted, 'but it was you who took me to Newmarket.'

    'My horse was running there.'

    'You must accept some of the blame, Orlando.'

    'Not one iota.'

    Brother and sister were in the parlour of Dorothy Kitson's house in Covent Garden, a stately mansion that was only one of four properties that she owned. The table at which they sat was cushioned by an expensive Turkish carpet and caught the light from the sash window. Two large, ornate, matching mirrors stood either side of a display cabinet that contained oriental porcelain. Large and well-proportioned, the room was an accurate reflection of her taste and her evident prosperity.

    'Sir Julius does not belong here,' contended Golland. 'He would be totally out of place, Dorothy.'

    'He has properties of his own.'

    'Yes - the main one is in Northamptonshire!'

    'It is not the end of the world.'

    'It seems so to me. No,' he said, fussily. 'I could not possibly let you live there. It would be unbearable.'

    'For whom?'

    'For you, for me and for everyone who cares about you.'

    'I appreciate your concern,' she said with a smile, 'but your assumptions are premature. All that I've told you is that Sir Julius and I have become friends and you immediately throw up a barricade across the aisle. Can one not have friendship without proceeding to marriage?'

    'Of course.'

    'Then your strictures become irrelevant.'

    'The man is not good enough for you, Dorothy.'

    'You hardly know him.'

    'I know him by repute.'

    'You are reputed to be the most ruthless magistrate in London,' she said, 'but it would be unfair to judge you solely on your record in court. I know that you have a more compassionate side to your character. The same is