Edward Marston - The Parliament House

'I'd pick that face out of a thousand.'

'Good.'

'Recognise him?' she howled, quivering with fury. 'Recognise that broken-nosed rogue? I'll never forget the slimy, stinking, turd-faced, double-dealing son of a diseased whore. May the rotten bastard roast in Hell for all eternity!'

'He will, Mrs McCoy,' said Bale, calmly. 'He will.'

Christopher Redmayne waited until the next day before calling on them. In the interim, he had spoken with a couple of people to whom his brother, Henry, had introduced him, veteran politicians who had sat in the House of Commons long enough to become familiar with its deadly currents and treacherous eddies. Neither of them had spoken kindly of Sir Julius Cheever and Christopher had, of necessity, to conceal the fact that they were talking about the man whom he hoped would one day be his father-in-law. His brief researches into the murky world of politics had been chastening. When he rode towards Westminster in bright sunshine that morning, Christopher was unusually subdued.

His spirits revived as soon as the house came into view. It had been built for Sir Julius so that he could have a base in the city during periods when parliament was sitting, or when he wished to spend time with his other daughter, Brilliana, who lived in Richmond. The property was neither large nor particularly striking but it had a double significance for the architect. It had been the first substantial commission he had gained without the aid of his brother and, as such, marked the beginning of his independence. Previous work had always come his way because Henry had used his influence with various friends. By no stretch of the imagination could Sir Julius be looked upon as a friend – or even a nodding acquaintance – of Henry Redmayne.

But the house had a much more powerful claim to a place in Christopher's heart. It was the catalyst for the meeting between him and Susan Cheever, a relationship that had begun with casual interest before developing into a firm friendship, then gradually evolving into something far deeper. The promise of seeing her again made him sit up in the saddle and straighten his shoulders. He just wished that he could be bringing happier tidings on his visit.

Arriving at the house, he met with disappointment. Sir Julius was not there. It gave him a welcome opportunity to speak alone with Susan but it was her father whom he had really come to see.

'What time will Sir Julius return?' he asked.

'Not until late this afternoon.'

'In that case, I may have to call back.'

'Why?' said Susan. 'Do you have a message for him?'

'Yes, I do.'

'Can you not trust me to pass it on?'

'I'd prefer to speak to him myself,' said Christopher, not wishing to alarm her by confiding what he had discovered. 'Meanwhile, I can have the pleasure of spending a little time with you.'

She gave a wan smile. 'It's hardly an occasion for pleasure.'

'Quite so. What happened yesterday was appalling.'

'I still cannot believe it, Christopher.'

'No more can I. It had been such a joyous occasion for all of us. Then, in a flash, it turned into tragedy. How is Mrs Polegate bearing up?'

'Indifferently well. Mr Everett was very dear to her.'

'It was kind of you to offer some comfort, Susan.'

'I stayed there for hours but I could not ease the pain of her bereavement. Mrs Polegate was inconsolable. The only thing that might take the edge off her grief is the arrest of the man who killed her brother.'

'Jonathan Bale and I will do all we can to find him.'

They were in the parlour of the house, a room that reflected the taste of the client rather than that of the architect. Sir Julius had been the most decisive employer that Christopher had ever had, knowing exactly what he wanted from the start. That brought advantages and disadvantages. The main benefit was that valuable time had been saved because there had been none of the endless prevarication that made other clients so frustrating. On the debit side, however, was the fact that Christopher had to agree to an interior design that was serviceable while also being totally out of fashion. Even when seated beside the woman he loved, he was aware of how much more intrinsically appealing the room could have been had he been given his head.

Gazing fondly into her eyes, he forgot all other problems.

'These past couple of months have been wonderful,' he said.

'Have they?'

'Of course, Susan. I've been able to see so much of you.'

'That's been the saving grace of our visits,' she confessed.

'Don't you enjoy coming to London?'

'Only if I can see you, Christopher. As you know, I'm a country girl at heart. We may have St James's Park on our doorstep, but it's not the same as being surrounded by thousands of acres of land.'

'There are plenty of fine estates on the outskirts of the city.'

'But none that I'd exchange for the one we already own.'

'What about your father?' asked Christopher. 'He used to describe the capital as a veritable cesspool. His exact words, if I recall them aright, were that London is a swamp of crime and corruption.'

'He still holds to that view.'

'Then why has he spent so much time here recently?'

'Commitments of a political nature.'

'But the House of Commons has not been sitting.'

'Father doesn't confine his activities to the Parliament House,' she said. 'He claims that the most fruitful debates take place outside it. He's gathered a small group of like-minded men around him.'

'Men like Bernard Everett, for example?'

'Yes, Christopher. As soon as he was elected, he paid us a visit in Northamptonshire. He and father discussed political affairs all night.'

'That must have been very tiresome for you, Susan.'

'It's worse when we come here.' 'Is it?'

'Far worse,' she complained. 'There are evenings when the whole house seems to echo with political gossip. They talk about who's rising in power, who's likely to fall, how this objective can be best achieved and that one cunningly blocked, how the King exercises too much sway over the House of Commons and how his brother is an even more dangerous threat to civil liberty.'

Christopher laughed. 'Someone has been eavesdropping, I see.'

'What else can I do when the place has been invaded like that?' 'How many people attend these meetings?'

'Five or six, as a rule.'

'And your father is the acknowledged leader?'

'The habit of command is a difficult thing to break. Father, likes to be in charge. Oh, I'm sure that they have worthy aims and pursue them with due sincerity,' she conceded, 'but it makes for some dull evenings from my point of view. I foolishly assumed that you had designed a London home for us.'

'That's precisely what I did do.'

'No, Christopher. This is merely another Parliament House.'

'Then we'll have to devise more ways to get you out of it.'

'I'd be so grateful.'

'I hadn't realised that it was matters of government that had drawn your father back here so much. It crossed my mind that the city held some other attraction for him.'

Susan bridled slightly. 'What can you mean?'

'Nothing, nothing,' he said, seeing her reaction and regretting his comment. 'I was obviously mistaken.'

'You were, I assure you. Father is eager for political advancement. He will not get that by languishing on his estate in Northamptonshire. Friends have to be seen, ideas discussed, plans agreed. There's never a day when he's not engaged in some aspect of parliamentary work.'

'Is that where he is now, Susan?'

'Of course,' she said with an unaccustomed edge to her voice. 'Father is dining with a close political ally.'

'I thank the Lord that you have no interest whatsoever in affairs of state,' said Sir Julius Cheever, beaming at her. 'That would have been disastrous.'