The Parliament House (7 page)

    'Yes,' he conceded.

    'Then why did it put my father out of countenance?'

    Christopher was in a quandary. Wanting to tell her the truth, he knew how distressed she would be if she heard that someone was stalking Sir Julius Cheever. Susan's immediate reaction would be to tackle her father about it and that would expose her to the kind of brutal rebuff that Christopher had just suffered. For her own sake, she had to be protected from that. He decided, therefore, to leave her in the dark.

    'I asked you a question,' she pressed. 'Why?'

    'Because your father was unhappy about the way the investigation is going,' he said, trying to put her mind at rest.

    'These things take time and Sir Julius is demanding instant results.'

    'And that's all it was?'

    Christopher took a deep breath. 'That's all it was, Susan.'

    It was the last call of the day and, though it involved a long walk to Cripplegate Ward, Jonathan Bale did not mind the exercise. On the trail of a murder suspect, he never complained about sore feet and aching legs. As he strolled up Wood Street, he was interested to see the changes that had been made. Like other wards in the city, Cripplegate had been devastated by the Great Fire of 1666. Robbed of its churches, its livery halls and its houses, it had also lost much of its earlier character. The rebuilding had started immediately and Bale was intrigued to see how many streets, lanes and alleyways had risen from the ashes.

    The man he sought lived in Aldermanbury Street, a thoroughfare in which several fine residences had already been completed. He had come to the home of Erasmus Howlett, a leading brewer in the city, and it was evident from the size and position of the house that Howlett's business was an extremely profitable one. Bale was admitted at once and shown into the parlour. Howlett soon joined him.

    'You've come from Baynard's Castle Ward, I hear,' he said.

    'Yes, sir,' replied Bale.

    'What brought you to the north of the city?'

    'A murder inquiry, Mr Howlett.'

    The other man gulped. 'Murder? Can this be so?'

    Bale told him about the crime in Knightrider Street, and, being a friend of Francis Polegate, the brewer was visibly disturbed. Nearing fifty, Erasmus Howlett was a portly man of medium height with a chubby face and a voluminous paunch only partly concealed by a clever tailor. His podgy hands kept twitching involuntarily.

    'These are sad tidings, Constable,' he said, 'but I don't understand why you felt the need to bring them to me.'

    'I came on another errand, Mr Howlett.'

    'Ah, I see. In that case, perhaps you should sit down.' 'Thank you,' said Bale, taking a chair. 'Yours was the last name on my list. That's why I'm here.'

    'List?' repeated Howlett, sitting down.

    'Of people who might be able to help me.'

    'I'm more than ready to do that.'

    'Thank you. I called on Mr Polegate first thing this morning, before he set off to Cambridge. What perplexed me from the start,' Bale went on, 'was how the killer knew that his victim would be in the house on that particular day. Mr Everett had never stayed in London before. The first time that he does, he is shot dead.'

    'Quite horrifying!'

    'I asked Mr Polegate to give me the name of anybody - anybody at all - to whom he may have mentioned that his brother-in-law would be coming to celebrate the opening of the business. At first, he could think of nobody until he remembered dining with some friends a week ago.'

    'That's right,' said Howlett. 'I was one of them.'

    'I've spoken to the other two gentlemen, sir. They all agree that Mr Everett's visit was mentioned in the course of the meal.'

    'It was, constable. I recall it myself.' He laughed heartily. 'You surely do not think that any of
us
was responsible for the crime, do you?' He extended his trembling palms 'With these wretched hands of mine, I could not even hold a weapon, let alone pull the trigger.'

    'I didn't come here to accuse you, Mr Howlett.'

    'That's a relief.'

    'And I'm sorry about your ailment.'

    'Three physicians have tried to cure it and each one has failed.'

    'It must be an inconvenience.'

    'One learns to live with one's disabilities,' said Howlett, clasping his hands together. 'Most of the time, I hardly notice the problem. On the question of your errand,' he continued, why has it brought you to my door - if you've not come to arrest me, that is?'

    'I wondered if you'd passed on the information to anyone else.'

    'What - about the visit of Mr Everett?' 'Yes, sir.'

    'I don't think so, Constable. To be honest, there's nobody in my circle who would be at all interested to hear about it. Until today, I'd forgotten that the subject had ever been raised. When I dine with friends,' he said with a chuckle, 'I like to drink my fill and that means I remember very little of what was said.' His brow furrowed and he pursed his lips in concentration. 'No,' he decided at length, 'I told nobody - not even my wife.'

    'Then I'm sorry to have taken up your time.'

    'Not at all, Mr Bale. I'm glad that you came. I must call on Francis and offer my condolences. He's off to Cambridge, you say?'

    'Yes, sir. Mr Everett's wife and family have yet to be told.'

    'My heart goes out to them.'

    'I do not envy Mr Polegate's task.'

    Howlett sighed. 'It's never good to be the bearer of sad news.'

    'No, sir.' Bale got to his feet. 'I must be off.'

    'Give me your address before you go, constable.'

    'My address?'

    'Yes,' said Howlett, getting up from his chair. 'I'm fairly certain that I spoke to nobody about Mr Everett, but memory sometimes plays tricks on me. If, perchance, I
do
recall telling someone about his visit to Francis Polegate's house, then I'll send the name to you at once.'

      The unexpected arrival of Lancelot and Brilliana Serle threw the house into a state of mild turmoil. Susan Cheever was taken by surprise.

    'We had no idea that you would be coming today,' she said.

    'Your letter more or less begged us to set out at once,' argued Brilliana. 'You may not have requested our help in so many words but I could read between the lines.'

    'I merely sought to keep you abreast of developments, Brilliana.'

    'A murder is more than a mere development.'

    'I'll not gainsay that.'

    'We are here now so you may count on our support.'

    'Yes,' added Serle, doffing his hat. 'Delighted to see you again, Susan. This whole business must have been very trying for you.'

    'Indeed, it has, Lancelot.'

    Susan had the feeling that their presence would make it even more trying but she did not say so. Instead, she summoned up a smile and made an effort to be hospitable, inquiring about their journey and asking what their immediate needs were. Her brother-in-law, as ever, was polite, attentive and innocuous. Susan was very fond of him. She also pitied Lancelot Serle for taking on the dazzling burden that was Brilliana. Duty obliged her to love her sister but Susan had never been able to bring herself wholeheartedly to like her. Years of being under the thumb of her elder sibling had left their mark upon her.

    Conducting the visitors into the parlour, she did her best to adjust to the fact that the house would be considerably noisier and more crowded from now on. Peace and quiet were alien to Brilliana. She liked to fill each day with inconsequential chatter. She was still complaining about the condition of the road to London when Sir Julius entered.

    'Father!' she trilled, going to him.

    'Good evening, Sir Julius,' said Serle.

    'What the devil are you two doing here?' demanded Sir Julius.

    'That's a poor welcome, to be sure!' protested Brilliana. 'Can you not even rise to a kiss for your daughter?' Her father reluctantly planted his lips on her cheek. 'That's better,' she said, standing back. 'Now, let me look at you properly. Has Susan been taking care of you?'

    'I can take care of myself, Brilliana.'

    'And you do it tolerably well, Sir Julius,' said Serle, hoping that a compliment might endear his father-in-law to him. 'I've never seen you in such fine feather.'

    'Then you need spectacles,' chided his wife. 'Father is not well.'

    'I was perfectly well until
you
appeared,' said Sir Julius.

    Brilliana gave a brittle laugh. 'You always did have a weakness for a jest, Father,' she said. 'But the fact is that you look pale and drawn

    to me. Your diet is patently at fault. I need to take it in hand.'

    'You'll do nothing of the kind.'

    'No,' agreed Susan, smarting at the implied criticism of her. 'Now, why don't we all make ourselves comfortable?'

    Brilliana chose the sofa and patted it to indicate that her husband should sit beside her. Sir Julius sat on the other side of the room. Susan occupied a chair that was midway between her father and her sister. An unlikely silence descended. It was broken, improbably, by Lancelot Serle.

    'We are waiting to hear what happened yesterday, Sir Julius.'

    'Are you?' grunted his father-in-law.

    All that we know is that a friend of yours was murdered,' said Serle. 'May one ask where you were at the time?'

    'Not a foot from where Bernard was standing.'

    'Heavens! Then you could so easily have been killed yourself.'

    'I don't need you to remind me of that, Lancelot,' said Sir Julius with asperity. 'He was not the first man to perish beside me. Those of us who have fought many times in battle know the anguish of losing dear comrades - and that's what Bernard Everett was.'

    'Yet he did not die in battle,' noted Serle.

    'You're being pedantic.'

    'Let father tell the story, Lancelot,' ordered Brilliana. 'He'll be able to be more explicit than Susan's letter.'

    'How explicit do you wish me to be?' asked Sir Julius, sourly. 'One second, he was alive; the next, he was dead. Do you want to know how much blood was shed, Brilliana, or what a man's skull looks like when it's been split open by a musket bullet?'

    'Father!' she protested.

    'I thought not. I'll stick to the bare facts.'

    He gave them a terse account of what had happened and told them what steps had been taken to catch the malefactor. Serle picked up on one of the names that was mentioned.

    'Christopher Redmayne, did you say?'

    'He was a witness to the crime.'

    'Then you have fortune on your side, Sir Julius.'

    'Do I?' 'Yes,' Serle went on. 'Mr Redmayne is a most resourceful young fellow. If he is involved, then it is only a matter of time before the villain is brought to justice.'

    'I beg leave to doubt that,' said Sir Julius.

    'Why?'

    'He and I have contrary opinions as to what exactly happened in Knightrider Street yesterday. I fear that he will be misled into looking in all the wrong directions.'

    'You're being very unkind to Christopher,' said Susan, hotly. 'I have more faith in his abilities. He has never failed before.'

    'I endorse that,' said Serle. 'Have you so soon forgotten that it was Mr Redmayne - with the help of that constable, of course - who solved the murder of your own son, Gabriel?'

    'Lancelot!' snapped his wife.

    'It's true, isn't it?'

    'There's such a thing as tact.'

    Sir Julius blenched. He needed time to compose himself before speaking. A wound had just been reopened and the pain made him gasp. He had suffered so much remorse over the untimely death of his son that he tried to put it out of his mind. He glowered at Serle.

    'Some things are best left in the past,' he said, pointedly, 'but I am saddled with a son-in-law who has a compulsion to haul them into the light of day. Please, Lancelot - spare me any further reminders.'

    'He will,' promised Brilliana, calling her husband to heel with a malevolent glance. She conjured up a bright smile and distributed it among the others. 'Let's talk about something else, shall we?'

    'What did you have in mind?' said Susan.

    'What else but this attachment that Father has made?'

    'This is not the time to bring that up, Brilliana.'

    'I think that it is. Your letters have whetted my appetite.'

    'Letters?' echoed Sir Julius, eyebrows bristling. 'Have you been spreading tittle-tattle about me, Susan?'