'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.'
'Does he think you lead a life of celibacy?'
'My brother thinks that widowhood is a form of virginity,' she said. 'When my first husband died, he could not believe that I should want to take another.'
'And now you have a third husband.'
'Albeit married to another wife. I prefer it that way.'
'Pleasure without responsibility. A love that remains fresh because we spend so much time apart.' He lifted his glass. 'To Sir Julius Cheever for making this evening possible!'
'Sir Julius!'
They clinked their glasses again. The doorbell rang.
'That's not Orlando, I hope?'
'If it is, he'll be sent away,' she said, easily. 'Anyone who calls will be told that I'm not at home. Nothing is going to interrupt this moment, Maurice. We have earned it.'
She leaned forward to kiss him on the lips. They soon sprang apart. Raised voices could be heard in the hall then the door of the parlour was flung open. Christopher Redmayne entered with Jonathan Bale at his heels. Farwell jumped to his feet.
'What's the meaning of this?' he demanded.
'We have a warrant for your arrest, sir,' said Bale, holding it up.
'How dare you burst in here!' exclaimed Dorothy, taking a step towards them. 'Remove yourself at once, do you hear me? Mr Farwell is a guest of mine. I'll not have him insulted under my roof.'
'I'm afraid that we'll have to insult you as well, Mrs Kitson,' said Christopher, 'because there is a second warrant in your name. And before we go any further, you should know that Erasmus Howlett is in custody with a man called Samuel Greene whom he paid to commit murder on your behalf.'
'Those names are unknown to me,' she said.
'And to me,' added Farwell, maintaining his composure.
'I'm surprised that you do not know Mr Howlett, sir,' said Bale. 'He's a brewer and cousin to the Earl of Stoneleigh. I had the honour of arresting the earl as well.'
Farwell shrugged. 'We have no connection with him.'
'Then why did he include a scene that you wrote in his play, The Royal Favourite? Mr Howlett attended the performance. You may well have seen him there.'
Dorothy glowered. 'You must be Christopher Redmayne.'
'The very same,' he said, politely. 'I'm a friend of Sir Julius Cheever and I dislike the way that you have maltreated him. Here is a letter you once sent him, Mrs Kitson,' he went on, taking it from his pocket. 'The handwriting is identical to that in a note that we found on the corpse of Dan Crothers, another hired assassin.'
She clenched her teeth and turned to look at Farwell.
'They are bluffing, Dorothy,' he said. 'They know nothing.'
'You must come with us, sir,' said Bale.
'Of course, officer.' He offered his arm to Dorothy. 'We'll come together gladly. My lawyer
will soon sort out this horrific mistake.'
'The mistakes were all made by you, Mr Farwell.'
'We shall see. Let's go with these gentlemen, Dorothy.'
'If you wish,' she said, visibly unnerved.
He squeezed her arm. 'Do not lose heart. Trust me.'
Walking past the visitors, he took her out of the room. As soon as they entered the hall, however, Farwell released her and rushed across to the suit of armour that stood in an alcove. He grabbed one of the two swords that hung on the wall beside the armour then he turned to confront the two men.
'Do not be foolish, sir,' advised Bale, holding up a hand. 'There's no escape. We have other officers outside.'
'Then we will have to leave by another means - without you.'
Holding the heavy sword in both hands, he swung it at Bale who stepped quickly back out of reach. The hall was large but it suddenly seemed very small to Bale, Dorothy and the watching servant. It was no place for a duel. Christopher had drawn his own sword but his rapier was no match for the other weapon. As soon as the blades clashed, a shudder went up his arm. Farwell swung the sword again and Christopher ducked beneath it.
'Grab what you need and leave by the back door,' Farwell called to Dorothy, circling his opponent. 'Please hurry.'
She moved to the stairs but Bale got there first, seizing her by both arms and keeping her in front of him as a shield. Christopher tried to distract Farwell by thrusting at him but it was no time for the finer points of swordsmanship. Swishing his weapon in the air, Farwell brought it down so hard that it knocked the rapier from Christopher's grasp. Bale acted promptly, shoving Dorothy towards Farwell before he could strike again. It gave Christopher the moment he needed to snatch the other sword from the wall. They were now fighting on equal terms.
Sparks flew as the blades clashed but it was Farwell's arm that now trembled on impact. Time was against him. Christopher was younger, stronger and more agile. Farwell was bound to tire first. He therefore summoned up all of his remaining energy and hurled himself at his opponent, flailing away with his sword as if intending to hack him to pieces. Christopher ducked, dodged, prodded, parried and retreated. The sleeve of his coat was ripped apart but he sustained no injury. He knew that he was winning. As Farwell's attack weakened, Christopher was able to hit back, swinging the heavy sword at his adversary.
He backed him against a wall then feinted cleverly before thrusting his sword point at Farwell's arm. With a yell of pain, Maurice Farwell dropped his weapon to the floor with a clatter. He put his other hand up to the wound. Christopher relaxed. Pouring with sweat and panting from the effort he had made, he stepped away and lowered his sword. Farwell was not finished yet. Seizing the other weapon, he used it like a lance and hurled it hard at Christopher. It missed its target. Christopher stooped low, the sword shot over his head and it was Dorothy Kitson who was struck by its sharp point. Hit in the chest, she staggered back, uttered a cry of disbelief then collapsed on the marble floor with blood streaming down her dress. Maurice Farwell dropped his sword and darted across to hold her.
His resistance was over.
When he was released from the Tower of London, Sir Julius Cheever found that his younger daughter had come to take him home. Christopher Redmayne was with her but he left one piece of information to Susan. They were in the coach before she told her father about Dorothy Kitson's involvement in the conspiracy against him. He was pole-axed by the news and dazed even more when he heard of the accident with the sword.
'Will she live?' he asked.
'Yes,' said Christopher. 'A surgeon was able to save her though she may not thank him for doing so when she faces her trial. Maurice Farwell was inconsolable. He feared that he had killed her.'
'Dorothy and Maurice Farwell,' said Sir Julius, incredulously. 'I would never have linked their names together. I always thought that Farwell was happily married.'
'That was the impression he strove hard to give in public,' said Christopher. 'It acted as a screen for his private life.'
'But what could possibly have brought them together?'
'Religion, Sir Julius.'
'Roman Catholics?'
'Both of them were devout. Their faith was like their friendship - something deep and lasting that had to be kept secret. Though I doubt if any pope would have blessed their union.'
'They were sinners,' said Susan. 'Capable of any crime.'
'All this makes me feel very foolish,' confessed Sir Julius on the verge of tears. 'I was taken in completely. How ridiculous I must look now. Just think. I wanted that woman to be your stepmother, Susan.'
'Try to forget her, Father.'
'I can never do that.'
She gave him more details of the investigation that had finally led to his release, explaining the vital importance of the letter found in his book of sonnets, and stressing the crucial part that Christopher had played throughout.
'God bless you, Christopher,' said Sir Julius, taking his hand between both palms. 'I owe you everything. A thousand thanks.'
'Save some of those for Jonathan Bale,' said the other. 'It was his sensitive nose that led us to the brewery. Oh, and Patrick McCoy must not be forgotten either.'
"Who is he?'
'The landlady's son from the Saracen's Head. He helped to capture Samuel Greene, the man who was sent after me.'
'You should not have gone down that alleyway,' chided Susan.
'I had to tempt him somehow.'
'Not with your life, Christopher.'
She spoke with such love and concern that he knew she had forgiven him his earlier mistakes. Christopher was reminded that someone else deserved a degree of gratitude.
'My brother made his contribution,' he said. 'Henry not only educated me in the black arts of political life, he discovered that it was Maurice Farwell who penned that callous attack on you in the play, and who led the laughter when you entered parliament.'
'Brilliana scourged him unfairly,' observed Susan.
'I would not go that far. Henry did go astray at times. Your sister's harsh words were a sobering experience for him in a number of ways. But I must add one more thing in his favour,' Christopher told them. 'I needed an example of Farwell's hand to compare it with that in the letter sent about your visit to Cambridge. Within the hour, Henry had answered my plea.'
'How?'
'By going to the Navy Office. He reasoned that someone as important as a Privy Councillor must have had correspondence with the Surveyor at some time or another, so he went through the boxes of letters like a whirlwind.' He laughed. 'He not only found what he was after. Henry was so zealous at his task that his superior was very impressed. He actually commended my brother.'
'Then I shall do so as well,' said Sir Julius.
'Look for no commendation from Brilliana,' warned Susan.
'Henry will not seek it,' said Christopher. 'He's content simply to share in the joy of your father's escape, and in the arrest of those who plotted against him.'
'But why? That's what I never understood. Why did they conspire against him like that?'
'I had to be silenced,' said Sir Julius. 'My voice was getting too loud in the Parliament House.'
'That was not the reason, Sir Julius.'
'What else?'
'They thought you were the author of that pamphlet that created such a scandal. It attacked popery and unfettered power. When we discovered that copy in your study, I was convinced that you had actually written it. Is that correct, Sir Julius?'
'Unfortunately, it's not,' replied the other. 'I'd have been proud to claim it as my work because I shared so many of its sentiments. But I've neither the wit nor the scholarship to produce something like that.' He smiled at Christopher. 'Since you have fought so bravely on my behalf, you deserve to know the truth.'
'Lewis Bircroft? Was he the author?'
'No - and neither was Arthur Manville.'
'Then who was, Sir Julius?'
'Bernard Everett.'
Christo
pher gaped. 'Are you sure?'
'He let me read it before it went to the printer.'
'But do you see what this means?'
'I think so,' said Sir Julius.
"Well, I do not,' said Susan. 'What is its significance?'
'A man was sent to shoot your father in Knightrider Street,' said Christopher, 'because it was supposed that he was the author of the pamphlet. It was Mrs Kitson who discovered that Sir Julius would be there that day and Erasmus Howlett who put an assassin in position at the Saracen's Head.'
'Then Mr Everett was killed by mistake.'
'But it was not a mistake,' said Sir Julius.
'We know that now,' Christopher said, 'but they did not. How ironic! In hindsight, all the efforts they took to kill Sir Julius were quite unnecessary. Without realising it, they had already killed the right man.'
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The Parliament House cr-5 Page 25