The Parliament House

    'It was an error of judgement, Susan.'

    'It was more than that,' she rejoined. 'It was proof that you neither understand nor care about me in the way that I'd naively assumed.'

    'I do care about you,' he declared, going to her with outstretched arms. 'How can you possibly doubt that?'

    'Then why did you betray me like this?'

    'Susan-'

    'Am I so weak and tender that I'm not able to hear bad news? Do you think that I'll burst into tears if you tell me that Father is in danger? Your memory is wondrous short, Christopher,' she went on, shaking with emotion. 'When my brother, Gabriel, was murdered, I did not take to my bed in a fit of despair. I did my best to help you in tracking down the man who was responsible.'

    'You showed amazing courage.'

    'I was the only member of the family who kept in touch with him.'

    'That, too, was an example of your steadfastness.'

    'It has not fled,' she told him. 'Had I been warned in advance that my brother's life was at risk, I'd have gone to any lengths to protect him. The same is true of my father. I love him. I'd do anything to save him. But only if I knew in advance that he was in jeopardy.'

    'This is all true,' he confessed. 'I deserve your reproaches.'

    'Supposing that he'd been killed in the last few days?' she said. 'How do you think I'd have felt when I learned that you were already aware of the fact that someone sought his life?'

    It was a sobering question and he could find no immediate answer. Instead, he wrestled with his conscience. Should he tell her about the attempted murder of Sir Julius, or suppress the information? Should he risk upsetting her or should he compound his earlier mistake by hiding something from her yet again? Looking into her eyes, he saw the swirling confusion in them. Susan wanted to trust him yet she felt hurt and disregarded. He could deny her no more.

    'I only went to the funeral to keep an eye on your father,' he said.

    'Without a single word of it to me.'

    'I failed, Susan. We were followed.'

    He told her about the incident and how he had agreed with her father to say nothing about it. As a result of the conversation with her, Christopher had changed his mind. Shocked by the revelation, she did at least give him credit for confiding in her at last and she wanted to know every detail of what had occurred on their journey. Some of the vehemence had gone from her voice. He was relieved.

    'I'll take the matter up with Father,' she said.

    'No, no. Let me speak to him first.'

    'The pair of you have done enough whispering together. I'll not be led astray again. Thanks to your brother, I know the truth. Brilliana had the whole story from him.'

    'That surprises me.'

    'Why?'

    'Because I'd not have thought that she and Henry would have been in any way compatible. To speak more plainly, I'd have expected Brilliana to be less than complimentary about my brother and the sort of life that he leads. If she went into the house,' said Christopher, 'she must have seen some of those lurid paintings that he favours.'

    'Brilliana saw them and liked them.'

' Liked them?'

    'It was Lancelot who found them scandalous. He could not stop talking about a picture of a Roman orgy. As for Henry, my sister was very impressed. Brilliana had never met anyone remotely like him.'

    'No,' said Christopher, sighing, 'I suppose that Henry does have a uniqueness about him. It's always been a cause for profound regret to me. On the other hand,' he added, keen to state one thing in his brother's favour, 'he can be extraordinarily helpful. He seems to know almost everyone in London.'

    'Including Dorothy Kitson.'

    Christopher blanched. 'Henry is acquainted with her as well?'

    'He knows of the lady,' said Susan, 'and had actually met her last husband. According to Brilliana, he spoke very highly of Mrs Kitson. It made me feel rather contrite.'

    'Contrite?'

    'I'd had some unkind thoughts about her.'

    'Only because you'd never had the advantage of meeting her, Susan. It was natural that should want to shield your father from any inappropriate advances.' He gave a short laugh. 'Though I pity any woman bold enough to make such an approach to Sir Julius.'

    'He loves Mrs Kitson,' she said. 'I ought to accept that.'

    'Only one question remains, then - does Mrs Kitson love him?'

    The Parliament House was part of the Palace of Westminster. It was situated in what had been, before it was secularised, St Stephen's Chapel, a tall, two-storied building with high turrets at the four corners and long stained-glass windows that reflected its earlier sacred function. Irreverent language was now more likely to be heard in the former chapel, and some of the rituals observed would have been regarded as profanities on consecrated ground. Maurice Farwell had been a Member of Parliament for many years and had risen to occupy an important place on the Privy Council. The House of Commons was his second home. As he alighted from his coach, he saw many familiar figures walking towards the chamber. The man who first accosted him, however, was not a politician.

    'You have a lot to answer for, Maurice,' said Orlando Golland.

    'I'm not responsible for all the legislation that comes out of parliament,' replied Farwell, pleasantly. 'Do not call me to account for it, Orlando.'

    'This has nothing to do with the statute book.'

    'Then why do you look so sullen?'

    'Because I am deeply worried about my sister.'

    'There's no novelty in that,' said Farwell. 'You've spent an entire lifetime, worrying about Dorothy. When she was single, you feared that she might never wed. And when she did take a husband - on two separate occasions - you felt that they were palpably unworthy of her.'

    'They were saints compared to her latest suitor.'

    'And who might that be?'

    'Sir Julius Cheever, of course,' said Golland. 'When we met him at the races, you not only acknowledged the rascal, you introduced him to Dorothy and set catastrophe in motion.'

    'What can you mean?'

    'He wishes to marry her.'

    Farwell's jaw dropped. 'Marry her? I'm astounded.'

    'It was you who played Cupid to this bizarre romance.'

    Well into his forties, Maurice Farwell was tall, rangy and passably handsome. There was an air of conspicuous prosperity about him and a natural dignity that came into its own during parliamentary debates. The last person he had expected to waylay him was Orlando Golland.

    'Have you been waiting to ambush me?' he asked.

    'No,' said Golland. 'I had legal business at the Palace today. When I saw your coach arrive, I felt that I had to speak. This development has been more than worrying, Maurice. It's a daily torment.'

    'Put it out of your mind.' 'How can you say that?'

    'Because I cannot believe that someone as refined and well- bred as your sister would let a boor like Sir Julius anywhere near her. He may want to marry Dorothy - London is full of men who would happily fling themselves at her feet - but there's not the slightest danger that she would accept his proposal.'

    'But there is, Maurice.'

    'Surely not.'

    'Dorothy has agreed to meet his children.'

    Farwell's eyebrows shot up. 'Good gracious!'