Edward Marston - The Parliament House

'Why?'

'Because, dear lady, we would never have agreed.'

'I cannot imagine our disagreeing about anything, Sir Julius,' she said, sweetly, 'for you are the most agreeable man I've ever met.'

He chortled. 'Nobody has ever described me as agreeable before.'

'Nobody else has ever divined your true nature.'

Dorothy Kitson was a handsome woman in her early forties with the kind of sculptured features that only improved with age. Twice widowed, she had inherited considerable wealth on each occasion but it had made her neither extravagant nor overbearing. She had remained the quiet, intelligent, unassuming woman she had always been and, while she had had many suitors, none had been treated as serious contenders for her hand. That, at least, was the situation until Sir Julius had come into her life. He was so unlike anybody she had ever met before that she found him intriguing.

They were dining together at his favourite establishment in Covent Garden, a place that combined excellent food with a degree of privacy not usually found elsewhere. Clearly enchanted with her, Sir Julius wanted Dorothy Kitson entirely to himself. Having started with oysters, they had a hash of rabbits and lamb before moving on to a chine of beef, all of it accompanied by a plentiful supply of wine. Since his guest ate and drank in moderation, Sir Julius reined in his own appetite as well.

'I bless the man who organised the races at Newmarket that day,' he said, raising his glass. 'He made it possible for me to meet you.'

'It was only by accident that I was present, Sir Julius. I had planned to spend the day in the city but my brother insisted that I go with him to Newmarket as he had a horse running there.'

'Then my blessing on your brother as well.'

'As it happened, his filly won the race.'

'It was not the only winner that day,' he said, gallantly.

'Thank you.'

'Once I'd seen you, Dorothy, I lost all interest in horses.'

She smiled. 'I'm not sure that I appreciate the way that you put that,' she said, touching his hand, 'but the thought is a kind one.'

'I meant no offence,' he insisted.

'None was taken.'

'Then you'll agree to come to Newmarket with me again one day?'

'Only if you consent to watch the horses this time.'

They shared a laugh then sipped their wine. The change that had come over Sir Julius was remarkable. In place of his blunt demeanour and combative manner was a tenderness that seemed wholly out of character. He never once raised his voice, never once lost his temper. In the company of Dorothy Kitson, he was restrained and gentlemanly. His battered face was permanently wreathed in smiles. She, too, was plainly relishing every moment of their time together but not without a trace of guilt. Dorothy waited until the plates had been cleared away before leaning in closer to him.

'You've been very considerate, Sir Julius,' she said, quietly, 'but you do not have to hold back on my account.'

'I've not held back, dear lady. I've eaten my fill.'

'I was not talking about the meal. You came here today with a heavy heart, and I know the cause. My brother is a magistrate, remember. Whenever a serious crime is committed, news of it soon reaches Orlando's ears.'

His face clouded. 'He's told you about it, then?'

'Yes. I'm so terribly sorry.'

'Thank you.'

'An innocent man, shot down in broad daylight – it's frightening. It must have been a dreadful shock for you to lose a friend in such hideous circumstances. The wonder is that you did not postpone a meeting with me so that you could mourn him properly.'

'I'd never dream of doing that, Dorothy.'

'I could have waited for a more appropriate time.'

'Every second spent with you is appropriate,' he said with clumsy affection. 'In dining with you, I show no disrespect to Bernard. He will ever be in my thoughts.'

'Did he have a family?'

'A wife and three children.'

'This will be a fearful blow to them.'

'I advised Francis Polegate not to send word by letter. Such bad tidings ought to be delivered in person so that he can soften their impact and offer condolences. He rode off to Cambridge this morning.' 'Where will the funeral be held?' she asked.

'At Bernard's parish church,' he replied. 'I've taken it upon myself to arrange the transfer of the body when the coroner releases it.'

'That's very considerate of you.'

'He was a good friend, Dorothy. He'd have done the same for me.'

'Heaven forbid!'

The arrival of the next course prompted them to change the subject. They talked about their first meeting at Newmarket races and noted how many happy times they had spent together since. Sir Julius was eager to see even more of her but Dorothy was cautious. Feeling that their friendship was moving at a comfortable pace, she was content to leave things as they were. At the same time, however, she did believe that one important step could now be taken.

'When will I be able meet your family, Sir Julius?' she said.

'As soon as you wish,' he told her, delighted at what he perceived as a real advance. 'My younger daughter, Susan, lives with me and is in our London abode even as we speak.'

'She has not yet married, then?'

'No, Dorothy.'

'Does she have prospects?'

'Yes, she is being courted by the young man who designed our house here. The problem is that Susan will not commit herself wholly to him while she has to look after her aged and infirm father.'

'You're neither aged nor infirm, Sir Julius.'

'My daughter treats me as if I were.'

'How will she respond when she is introduced to me?'

'Susan will be unfailingly polite,' he said, 'but you will still need to win her over. She's rather possessive, you see. Though I may be her father, she sometimes treats me like an errant child. I mean that as no criticism,' he added, quickly. 'Susan is very dutiful. When my dear wife died, it was she who took on the task of caring for me.'

'What about your other daughter?' 'Brilliana?'

'Was it not her place to look after you?'

'It never even crossed her mind.'

'Why not?'

'Because she had other imperatives in her life,' he explained. 'My daughters are like chalk and cheese, so unlike every particular. Susan is selfless and tender-hearted – Brilliana has inherited my defects.'

'I refuse to believe that you have any.'

'Oh, I do, alas. I can be headstrong and stubborn at times. Outspoken, too. Above all else, I like to have my own way. In those regards, Brilliana takes after her father.'

'How will she look upon me?'

'With utter amazement.'

She stifled a laugh. 'Am I such a freak, then?'

'No, Dorothy,' he said, taking her hand, 'you are the most remarkable woman in London and, therefore, Brilliana will refuse to accept that her gnarled old oak tree of a father could hold the slightest attraction for you.'

'Then I will have to convince her otherwise,' she resolved. 'I look forward to meeting your daughters, Sir Julius. The younger one sounds like a paragon of virtue, and, in spite of what you say, I'm sure that the elder has many fine qualities. I like them both already.'

'And they are certain to like you – in time.'

Brilliana Serle looked at herself in the mirror as she tied her hat in place, tilting it at a slight angle to give her a more roguish look. Now in her early thirties, she was a woman of startling beauty enhanced by clothing of the very highest price and quality. Her husband, Lancelot, came into the hall and stood behind her.

'Do we really need to go to London today?' he asked.

'We do.'

'But I have business in hand here, Brilliana.'

'Then it can wait,' she said with a peremptory wave of her hand. 'You read that letter from my sister. She and Father had a distressing experience yesterday. They saw a friend murdered before their eyes in the street. They require solace. I'd be failing in my duty if I did not instantly repair to the city to provide it.'