The Parliament House

    'What can he possibly do?'

    'You'll be able to ask him,' said Serle, looking through the window as a horseman approached the house. 'Unless my eyesight deceives me, Christopher is outside.'

    Susan rushed to the window. 'Where?' She saw him dismount. 'Yes, that's him. He must have news.'

    She went into the hall and opened the front door to greet him. Susan was unable to disguise her pleasure in seeing him again.

    When she brought him into the parlour, Christopher was smiling.

    'I don't know what you have to smile about,' said Brilliana, tartly. 'As far as I'm concerned, you are little better than your snake of a brother.'

    'I'm sorry you think that, Mrs Serle,' he said. 'I've just come from Henry. You were too severe on him. He deserves rebuke, of course, and I've administered it in full. At the same time, he has earned praise. But for the information he supplied about the certain political figures, we would have made little progress. Only today, he has performed another valuable service.'

    'Acting as second to the Earl of Stoneleigh.'

    'Discovering that the earl did not write that lampoon of your father at all. It was the work of Maurice Farwell, a Member of Parliament with his own reasons for disparaging Sir Julius. But I run before myself,' he said, indicating that they should all sit. 'I've much to tell you, beginning with the arrest of two men. One helped to devise the plot against your father, the other attempted to murder me.'

    'When?' cried Susan.

    'I'll explain.'

    When they were all seated, Christopher gave them a brisk account of events, taking care to point out that his brother had actually been helpful to them. They were delighted to hear that a warrant had be issued for the arrest of the Earl of Stoneleigh and wondered why Maurice Farwell had not been taken into custody as well. Christopher took out one of the letters found on Crothers's body.

    'I was certain that he had written this,' he said, 'and my brother managed to get hold of an example of his hand this very day.' He looked at Brilliana. 'Another reason to moderate your censure of him, Mrs Serle.'

    'Does the calligraphy match?' said Susan.

    'Unhappily, it does not.'

    'So who did send the information about Father's attendance at the funeral? Somebody must have done so, Christopher.'

    'They did, and I have a vague suspicion of who it might be. In order to secure confirmation, I must ask you a favour.'

    'What can I do?' said Susan.

    'Give me permission to search your father's study. That's where I'll find the evidence we need. May I?'

    'No, you may not,' returned Brilliana. 'It would be a flagrant breach of Father's privacy. He would never allow it.'

    'If he knew that it might save his life, I believe that he would.'

    'So do I,' agreed Susan. 'I'll show you where it is.'

    Brilliana rose to her feet. 'I object strongly.'

    'Then you are overruled, my dear,' said Serle, restraining her with a hand. 'Susan and I are both ready to authorise a search. You may proceed, Mr Redmayne.'

    'Thank you,' said Christopher.

    He went out with Susan, ascending the stairs beside her. Much of her old warmth towards him had returned, and he had been touched by her response to the news that his own life had been threatened. She had been able to see the risks he was prepared to take on her father's behalf. The study was unlocked but she rarely went into it. It was the secret domain of Sir Julius Cheever and she looked at it through Christopher's eyes, as if for the first time. It was scrupulously tidy and lined with books that were neatly stacked on their shelves. On the desk were neat piles of correspondence and notes for various speeches that he had given in parliament.

    Christopher sifted through the letters but found none that caught his eye. A thorough search of the drawers of the desk also failed to yield up the confirmation that he sought. What he did unearth - carefully hidden at the back of one drawer - was a copy of the Observations of the Growth of Popery and Arbitrary Government in England. Flicking through it, he saw that both Maurice Farwell and the Earl of Stoneleigh were mentioned by name several times. Their influence over the Privy Council was deplored.

    'What exactly are you looking for?' said Susan.

    'I'll tell you when I find it.'

    'But we've looked everywhere.' 'Not quite,' he said, scanning the bookshelves carefully. One title aroused his curiosity. 'I'd not have taken Sir Julius as a lover of poetry. I know that he has a great respect for Mr Milton but I've never heard him speak with enthusiasm about any other poet.'

    'Neither have I, Christopher.'

    'Then why does he have a copy of Shakespeare's Sonnets?'

    He reached up to take it from the shelf and felt a thrill of discovery when he saw that something was pressed between the pages. Opening the book, he extracted a short letter, written in a graceful hand on expensive stationery. Holding it one hand, he took out the letter he had brought with him. Every detail matched.

    Susan was wounded. 'Mrs Kitson!'

    'Where else would he hide a letter from her but in book of love poetry? It's as I suspected, Susan. On our way back from Cambridge, your father told me that he had dashed off a note to Mrs Kitson before he left London, so she would have known his movements. I never for a moment had any doubts about her,' admitted Christopher, 'but this evidence is conclusive. She probably sent this note to Maurice Farwell and he passed it on at once to Crothers. It's the only way that it could have happened.'

    'But she adored Father. She told us so.'

    'She was used to win his confidence. Sir Julius would have told her about his visit to Knightrider Street, and that seemed like the ideal opportunity to strike.'

    'He loved her. He even thought of marrying her.'

    'Dorothy Kitson would never have let it reach that stage.'

    'Father will be heartbroken when he finds out.'

    'This letter gave him intense pleasure when he received it,' surmised Christopher. 'That's why he treasured it so.'

    'He will wish it was never sent now,' she said.

    'No, Susan. He will be glad. It was written to deceive him, to let him think that he was loved. When she sent this, Mrs Kitson could not have realised that she was doing him a favour.'

    'That was no favour - it was a piece of cunning.' 'But it's worked to our advantage.'

    'How?'

    'What we have here,' he said, waving the cherished letter in front of her, 'is the key to your father's cell in the Tower.'

    Maurice Farwell poured wine into both Venetian glasses then handed one of them to Dorothy Kitson. Caught up in a mood of celebration, they were alone in the parlour of her house. They clinked their glasses gently before sampling the wine.

    'Excellent!' he said, licking his lips. 'But, then, everything in this house in an example of excellence - beginning with you, my love.'

    'Will you be able to stay the night?'

    'Of course. On such a day as this, I'd never desert you.'

    'What about Adele?'

    'I've told her that I'm staying in London.'

    'Strictly speaking, that's quite true,' she said. 'What she does not know - and must never find out - is that you always spend the night with me when here.'

    'Who would be the more surprised if they learned the truth?' said Farwell, sitting beside her. 'My wife or your brother?'

    'Oh, it would be Orlando without a doubt.'