The Parliament House (23 page)

    'Welcome home, Father,' said Susan, guessing the reason for his irritability. 'Did you come off worse in the debate?'

    'We had a moral victory,' he replied," 'but it was not reflected in the voting. Those lily-livered cowards were too frightened to stand up against the government.'

    'What were you talking about?' asked Brilliana.

    'Naval procurements.'

    'What a dreary subject!'

    'Far from it, Brilliana. It's a topic of national importance. It's not all that many years ago that we had Dutch vessels, sailing up the Medway and destroying part of our fleet. We need to make sure that it never happens again. One way to do that is to root out incompetence from the Navy Office.'

    'Oh,' she said. 'That's where Henry Redmayne works.'

    'He was partly responsible for my defeat this afternoon.'

    'But he's not a Member of Parliament.'

    'No, he isn't,' said Sir Julius, sourly, 'but he supplied privileged information to Maurice Farwell. Had I been in possession of those details, my case would have been strengthened. As it was, Farwell used them so skilfully me against me that I was tied in knots.'

    'You cannot expect to win every debate,' said Susan.

    'I had right on my side in this one.' 'Why did you not get Henry to help
you
?' said Brilliana.

    'That popinjay would never assist me. He's in the pocket of men like Maurice Farwell, cunning politicians who surround themselves with flatterers. Redmayne is a sycophant.'

    'I don't agree at all, Father. Henry struck me as his own man.'

    'This is not the time to argue,' said Susan, conscious that their visitors would be arriving within the hour. 'Everything is ready. We had your note to say that Dorothy's brother would be coming as well.'

    'I was not my idea to invite that dry old stick,' said her father.

    'I believe that he's a chief magistrate.'

    'Orlando Golland has no call to barge in.'

    'I take is as a promising sign,' said Brilliana. 'It's an indication of how involved Mrs Kitson really is. Mr Golland is coming so that he can take a closer look at his future brother-in-law.'

    'Arrant nonsense! I've told you a dozen times. Mrs Kitson is a friend and nothing more than a friend.'

    'At the moment.'

    'Brilliana!'

    'You can't hide your feelings from me, Father,' she said, depositing a kiss on his cheek. 'I'll go and see if Lancelot is ready. He must look at his best if he's to impress Mr Golland.' She tripped up the staircase. 'My husband would sit upon the bench with real authority.'

    'Authority!' said Sir Julius, turning to Susan. 'He lost all touch with that concept the moment he married your sister. Lancelot has to ask her for permission to breathe. However,' he continued, leading her into the parlour so that they could speak in private, 'let's forget them for a moment. I had some cheering news earlier.'

    'From whom?'

    'Christopher. While one member of the Redmayne family is trying to thwart me, another has actually tried to help. He intercepted me as I was about to leave the House of Commons.'

    'What did he tell you?'

    'They found the man who tried to kill me.'

    'That's wonderful,' said Susan, taking his arms to squeeze them. 'Who was he? How did they catch him? Where is the man now?'

    'With the coroner. He was dead when they got to him.'

    Her excitement disappeared. 'Dead?'

    'Someone had slit his throat, Susan.'

    'Heavens!'

    'So the news is not entirely good,' he admitted. 'We still do not know who hired this man to come after me. In other words, they are free to set someone else on me. Say nothing of this to Brilliana and Lancelot,' he urged. 'I find their concern for my safety so irritating. Most of all, Susan, do not breathe a word of this to Mrs Kitson or her brother. It will only spoil the evening and I'm determined that it will be a success.'

        Jonathan Bale had a good understanding of Bridget McCoy's character. His prediction was borne out. When he told her about their visit to Smithfield, and the discovery they had subsequently made, she felt cheated that Dan Crothers had escaped her retribution.

    'Slit his throat?' she cried. 'I'd have taken his whole head off.'

    'Show some respect for the dead, Mrs McCoy.'

    'I save my respect for the living and that's more than he did. You saw what he did to Patrick. He knocked him down then kicked him in the head. A man like that deserves no mercy.'

    'He got none,' said Bale.

    'I want to see him.'

    'No, Mrs McCoy.'

    'I can help to identify the broken-nosed bastard.'

    'Your drawing of him did that. Besides, now that we have his real name, we can call on several people from Smithfield to identify him. Dan Crothers was well-known there.'

    'I'd still like to see him, Mr Bale. I'm entitled to gloat.'

    'Do it in private. The coroner will not let you near the body.'

    'But I was a victim of deceit.'

    'That's the very reason you should be kept away from him,' said Bale, gently. 'It would only arouse you to evil thoughts. The man is dead, Mrs McCoy. Take comfort from the fact that you and Patrick helped us to find him. If you had not gone to Leadenhall Street today, we might still be searching for Dan Crothers.'

    'That's right.'

    'Your son behaved like a true constable.'

    'No, Mr Bale,' she said. 'He rushed in too fast. You'd never have done that. Patrick has learned his lesson. He'll not be so rash again - I'll make sure of that.'

    'How is he?'

    'Still fast asleep in bed.'

    They were in the taproom of the Saracen's Head. It was only half-full so Bridget was not kept busy serving beer. Angry that she had not been involved in the capture, she was grateful to Bale for bringing the news in person, and for showing a genuine interest in her son.

    'Why do we never see you drinking in here, Mr Bale?' she said, giving him a nudge. 'Don't you like beer?'

    'I like it very much, Mrs McCoy.'

    'But you prefer another tavern to this one - is that it?'

    'No,' he explained. 'I'd rather drink it at home in the company of my wife. And I never touch it when I'm on duty. What use would a drunken constable be?'

    'None at all. But you'll have a tankard now, won't you?'

    'No, Mrs McCoy.'

    'It would be my way of thanking you.'

    'That's very kind of you but I'll have to refuse. I've still got lots of work to do today. I must keep my head clear.'

    'One drink won't hurt you,' she said, slapping the barrel on the counter. 'Howlett's beer is the best in London.'

    Bale was suddenly alert. 'Howlett's beer?'

    'We've always used his brewery.'

    'Would that be Erasmus Howlett?'

    'Yes, Mr Bale. He supplies good quality at fair prices, and you can't say that of some brewers. Do you know Mr Howlett?'

    'I met him some days ago.'

    'Then you know what a decent man he is.'

    'Yes, I do.'

    'He visits all the taverns that buy his beer,' she said.

    'Does he?'

    'Yes. In fact, he was here a week or so ago. A man in his position doesn't need to bother with the likes of us. He could send someone in his place. But Erasmus Howlett cares enough to come here himself. He's a real gentleman in every way. Well, you've met him.'

    'I have,' said Bale.

    But he was not thinking about the man's prowess as a brewer or of his courteous treatment of his customers. What occupied his mind was a memory of a scrawled letter that had been found in the pocket of a murder victim. When the constable had questioned him earlier, Erasmus Howlett had been friendly and gracious.

    But his hands had never stopped shaking.

Chapter Ten

    Christopher Redmayne was pleased to have made some progress but he was keenly aware of the fact that the most difficult part of the investigation might yet be to come. On his way back from the House of Commons, he had to ride along the Strand so he decided to call in on his brother, less out of any real desire to see Henry than in order to apprise him of the latest development. He hoped that by now his brother's infatuation with Brilliana Serle had either burned itself out or been replaced by another of Henry's temporary obsessions. In the past, prompted by a distant sense of shame, he had always tried to conceal Henry from the Cheever family. To have him pursue a female member of it with all the zest of a rampant satyr would be a calamity. First and foremost, it would jeopardise Christopher's precious friendship with Susan. At all costs, that had to be avoided.

    Crossing the threshold of the house in Bedford Street, Christopher saw that his hopes were futile. Henry came bounding along the hall to greet him, embracing him warmly before standing back to look at him.

    'Well, Christopher,' he said. 'When am I to see her?'

    'I did not come here to talk about Brilliana.'

    'What other subject is worthy of a moment's consideration?'

    'The death of her father.'

    Henry tensed. 'Sir Julius has been killed?'

    'No,' said Christopher, 'but his life is in great danger and that means his daughters - both of them - can think of nothing else.'

    'Oh, poor Brilliana! I long to comfort her.'

    'You can do that best by helping to remove the threat to her father. Until that goes, then her heart is elsewhere.'

    'How can I help?' said Henry. 'I've already done what I can.'

    'First, let me tell you the news.'

    'At least, impart it with some comfort. Follow me.'

    As Henry led him towards the parlour, his brother glanced at the painting on the wall of the Roman orgy. Large, colourful and gloriously explicit, it belonged in the home of someone with an unashamed passion for sensuality. The thought that Brilliana

    Serle had found it stimulating made Christopher revise his opinion of her completely. It would be wholly out of place in her house in Richmond and was liable to provoke censure among the most open-minded of people. He followed Henry into the room and they sat down.

    'Now,' said his brother, 'what tidings have you brought?'

    "We tracked down the man who killed Bernard Everett.'

    'Bravo!'

    'His name was Dan Crothers.'

    'I thought it was Field.'

    'That was an alias he used to confuse the landlady at the Saracen's Head. He worked as a porter at Smithfield. Separate them out. Smith. Field. He chose the second half of the market as a disguise.'

    'Did he resist arrest?'

    'No,' said Christopher. 'He was dead when we found him. Someone had cut his throat to stop him from giving anything away.'

    'Why employ a meat porter as a killer?'

    'Because he was desperate for the money and because he had learned to use firearms as a soldier. Someone knew and trusted him.'

    'Then disposed of him when his work was done.'

    'But it was
not
done, Henry,' his brother pointed out. 'Sir Julius survived. I think that Crothers was murdered as a punishment.'

    'By whom?'

    'That's what we have to find out.'

    Henry became pensive. Taking off his wig, he laid it aside so that he could scratch his head. Years were suddenly added to his age. A deep chevron of concentration was branded between his eyebrows. His eyes took on a watery look. After a while, he snapped his fingers.

    'Were there any clues on the dead body?' he asked.

    'Only these,' replied Christopher, taking out the two letters to pass to him. 'These were hidden inside his coat. They are both instructions to kill but, as you see, the calligraphy differs.'

    Henry held up one letter. 'This is the work of an educated hand,' he said, 'while the other could have been written by a child that had just mastered his letters. Neither is known to me.'

    'The one is on expensive stationery, the other on cheap paper.'

    'Was Crothers employed by two separate people?'

    'Yes,' said Christopher, 'but to the same end. Both wanted him to shoot Sir Julius Cheever. Luckily, his two attempts were failures.'

    'A third ambush might be more successful.'

    'That's my fear.' Taking the letters back, he slipped them into his pocket. 'What do you know about a pamphlet called
Observations on the Growth of Popery and Arbitrary Government in England?'