The Parliament House

    'Alas, yes,' said Henry, pretending to a sympathy he did not feel. 'I was so shocked on your behalf that I almost fled the theatre. What kept me there was the fact that you deserved a full account of what took place, so I forced myself to sit through the scene.'

    'You deserve my gratitude for that, Mr Redmayne.'

    'There could be no doubt that you were being lampooned. The name of the character was Sir Julius Seize-Her, a rapacious country gentleman from Northamptonshire.'

    'Now I see why they cried 'Hail, Caesar!' at me in parliament.'

    'The actor had a clear resemblance to you and dressed in the sort of apparel that you wear. Everyone recognised you instantly.'

    'I did not know that I was so famous,' said Sir Julius, grimly. 'Was I shown as a Member of Parliament?'

    'Oh, yes,' replied Henry. 'In fact, the whole scene took place in the Parliament House. Sir Julius Seize-Her had inveigled an attractive young woman into the chamber so that he could prey upon her virtue. When she resisted, he pursued her around the stage with gusto.' He gave an admiring smile. 'As a matter of fact, you showed a wonderful turn of foot, Sir Julius.'

    'It was not me, man - only some crude version of me.'

    'Crude and insulting.'

    'How did the scene end?'

    'Rather painfully,' said Henry. 'When she could not outrun her would-be seducer, the lady used her only means of defence and struck him with the Speaker's mace in a part of the anatomy that caused him to abandon his designs.'

    Sir Julius flopped into a chair and brooded on what he had heard. Knowing Henry to be an incorrigible rake, he did not for a second believe that his visit to the theatre had been a rare event. It was a place that Henry and his friends haunted on a regular basis. Nor did Sir Julius accept the claim that Henry had been so scandalised that he had an urge to abandon the play. He was much more likely to have relished the scene with the rest of the audience.

    That being said, the fact remained that he had taken the trouble to call at the house and describe what had happened at the King's Theatre that day. It explained everything. Sir Julius was certain that some of his fellow Members of Parliament had also been at the play, more interested in watching the denigration of an enemy than in attending a debate in the chamber. Sir Julius could imagine how quickly they had raced to Westminster to tell their friends what they had witnessed. When he had joined them, Sir Julius had walked into a solid wall of derision and he was still reeling from the impact.

    Henry cleared his throat to attract the other man's attention.

    'May I have permission to speak to your daughter?' he said. 'What?'

    'Mrs Serle was understandably upset when I told her that you might be in danger of some sort. Since I was unable to give her any details, her fears were only intensified. If I could have some time alone with her,' Henry added, tentatively, 'I could explain to Brilliana - to Mrs Serle - why I had to hold the information back.'

    'No,' snarled Sir Julius. 'You'll tell her nothing.'

    'But she has a right to know.'

    'And I have a right to shield her from any unpleasantness. At this stage, neither of my daughters need know the truth so you must not dare to divulge a word.'

    'On my honour, I'll divulge nothing.'

    'Then I've no need to detain you, Mr Redmayne.'

    'If I could speak to Mrs Serle alone for a mere two minutes…'

    'No,' said Sir Julius, getting to his feet. 'You'll talk to nobody in this house. Leave any explanations to me. It's no secret to you that I've never held a very high opinion of you and I daresay that you know the reasons why. On the other hand, I can recognise a good deed when I see one and this particular deed has earned my undying thanks.' He offered his hand and Henry shook it. 'You have not merely lifted a veil from my eyes. You have helped to determine what my course of action must be.'

    Though he took no active part in debates, Lewis Bircroft was a dutiful man who felt honour bound to represent his constituents on the occasions when parliament met. He had been present during the humiliation of Sir Julius Cheever and was one of the few who had not joined in the raucous laughter. When he got back to his lodging in Coleman Street, he was still wondering why the appearance of his friend had aroused such concerted mockery. Hobbling into the parlour on his walking stick, he learned that he had a visitor. Jonathan Bale rose up out of the half-dark to welcome him.

    'Good evening, Mr Bircroft,' he said. 'Forgive the lateness of this call but you've been out of the house all day. I wonder if I might have a small amount of your time?'

    'As long as it is only a small amount, Constable. After a full day in the chamber, I'm extremely tired.'

    He moved to the nearest seat and lowered himself slowly into it. Bale waited until the other man had settled down before he spoke.

    'You remember what we discussed last time we met, sir?'

    'I do and I have nothing else to add.'

    'What you did not give me was the name of the man who paid those bullies to cudgel you.'

    'I cannot give you what I do not know,' said Bircroft.

    'Then perhaps I could suggest the man's identity.'

    'No, Constable. The incident belongs in the past. As I told you before, even a mention of it causes me great pain and upset.'

    'Would you not like to see justice done, Mr Bircroft:?'

    'I've rather lost my belief in the concept.'

    'Well, I haven't,' said Bale, proudly. 'My whole life is dedicated to it, sir. Nobody can right all the wrongs that are committed for they are too many in number. But I like to feel that I've brought justice to bear in many instances - and I would like to do the same here.'

    'What can a mere constable do against such people?'

    'So you do know who ordered that beating.'

    'That's not what I said,' retorted the other. 'I was trained as a lawyer, Mr Bale. I choose my words with great care. In the wake of what happened to me, I've exercised even more precision.'

    'I do not blame you, Mr Bircroft.'

    'Then do not add to my discomfort by harping on the subject.'

    'Let me ask but one question,' said Bale.

    'The other man sighed. 'Very well - just one.'

    'Do you know the Earl of Stoneleigh?'

    'Yes.'

    'What manner of man is he?'

    'I answered your question - now leave me alone.'

    'Even if we are able to prove that it was the earl who paid those men to attack you?'

    'No,' said Bircroft, crisply.

    'You may have no faith in justice, but surely you can take some satisfaction from revenge?' He sat close to him. 'Yes, I am only a parish constable but I can draw on immense resources. I've arrested members of the peerage before, Mr Bircroft. Nobody is above the law.'

    'But there are those who can twist it to their advantage.'

    'As a lawyer, you should want to stop them doing that.'

    'I tried, Mr Bale - and look what happened to me.'

    He stretched out both arms. Even in the flickering candlelight, Bale could see how frail he was. All the life seemed to have been knocked out of Lewis Bircroft. He was a hollow shell of a man.

    'Are you afraid of the earl?' asked Bale.

    Bircoft indicated the door. 'You will have to see yourself out.'

    'Who are his friends? What company does he keep?'

    'Only he can tell you that, Mr Bale.'

    'What will it cost you to give me the truth?'