The Parliament House

    'Contrite?'

    'I'd had some unkind thoughts about her.'

    'Only because you'd never had the advantage of meeting her, Susan. It was natural that should want to shield your father from any inappropriate advances.' He gave a short laugh. 'Though I pity any woman bold enough to make such an approach to Sir Julius.'

    'He loves Mrs Kitson,' she said. 'I ought to accept that.'

    'Only one question remains, then - does Mrs Kitson love him?'

    The Parliament House was part of the Palace of Westminster. It was situated in what had been, before it was secularised, St Stephen's Chapel, a tall, two-storied building with high turrets at the four corners and long stained-glass windows that reflected its earlier sacred function. Irreverent language was now more likely to be heard in the former chapel, and some of the rituals observed would have been regarded as profanities on consecrated ground. Maurice Farwell had been a Member of Parliament for many years and had risen to occupy an important place on the Privy Council. The House of Commons was his second home. As he alighted from his coach, he saw many familiar figures walking towards the chamber. The man who first accosted him, however, was not a politician.

    'You have a lot to answer for, Maurice,' said Orlando Golland.

    'I'm not responsible for all the legislation that comes out of parliament,' replied Farwell, pleasantly. 'Do not call me to account for it, Orlando.'

    'This has nothing to do with the statute book.'

    'Then why do you look so sullen?'

    'Because I am deeply worried about my sister.'

    'There's no novelty in that,' said Farwell. 'You've spent an entire lifetime, worrying about Dorothy. When she was single, you feared that she might never wed. And when she did take a husband - on two separate occasions - you felt that they were palpably unworthy of her.'

    'They were saints compared to her latest suitor.'

    'And who might that be?'

    'Sir Julius Cheever, of course,' said Golland. 'When we met him at the races, you not only acknowledged the rascal, you introduced him to Dorothy and set catastrophe in motion.'

    'What can you mean?'

    'He wishes to marry her.'

    Farwell's jaw dropped. 'Marry her? I'm astounded.'

    'It was you who played Cupid to this bizarre romance.'

    Well into his forties, Maurice Farwell was tall, rangy and passably handsome. There was an air of conspicuous prosperity about him and a natural dignity that came into its own during parliamentary debates. The last person he had expected to waylay him was Orlando Golland.

    'Have you been waiting to ambush me?' he asked.

    'No,' said Golland. 'I had legal business at the Palace today. When I saw your coach arrive, I felt that I had to speak. This development has been more than worrying, Maurice. It's a daily torment.'

    'Put it out of your mind.' 'How can you say that?'

    'Because I cannot believe that someone as refined and well- bred as your sister would let a boor like Sir Julius anywhere near her. He may want to marry Dorothy - London is full of men who would happily fling themselves at her feet - but there's not the slightest danger that she would accept his proposal.'

    'But there is, Maurice.'

    'Surely not.'

    'Dorothy has agreed to meet his children.'

    Farwell's eyebrows shot up. 'Good gracious!'

    'And she has had a number of clandestine meetings with him.'

    'With that grotesque old buffoon? It verges on indecency. What can possibly have attracted her?'

    'Whatever it is,' moaned Golland, 'I fail to see it. He's a roaring bear of a man. The only thing I can say in favour of him is that he's a good judge of horses. Sir Julius picked the winner in almost every race at Newmarket that day - including my own filly.'

    'And is that when this unlikely friendship started?'

    'Apparently.'

    'Then I suppose that I must take the blame,' said Farwell with a shrug. 'Had I known that this would happen, I'd have kept Dorothy well away from him.' He became pensive. 'It's rather curious, though.'

    'What is?'

    'My wife may be more prescient than she knows.'

    'Prescient?'

    'Yes,' said Farwell. 'Adele has never shown any gift for prophecy before. When we got back from the races that day, however, she told me that she had a strong impression that your sister was ready for marriage again. Adele sensed it.'

    'She could not have sensed that Sir Julius would be the husband.'

    'Never in a hundred years!'

    'What am I to do, Maurice?' said Golland, anxiously. 'I can hardly speak to her as a man of the world. Dorothy has been married twice whereas I regard holy matrimony as the grossest intrusion of privacy.' 'Yes, you like to have control of your life.'

    'A wife would insist on rearranging it for me.'

    'But she would bring many compensating virtues,' said Farwell with a fond smile. 'That's what Adele has done for me.- She's a perfect helpmeet, a true partner.' He pondered. 'As to the best course of action with regard to your sister,' he resumed after a while, 'I know exactly what you should do.'

    'What?'

    'Nothing.'

    'Nothing?'

    'Let it runs its course, Orlando.'

    'But what if she gets hopelessly entangled with Sir Julius?'

    'I have more faith in Dorothy than you.'

    'She seems to be genuinely enamoured of him.'

    'It will pass,' said Farwell, smoothly. 'She'll soon see through that blundering fool. Ha! Your sister ought to be here this afternoon so that she could watch the bloated oaf pontificate. That would teach her what an irritating fellow he is. Later on, I'll be jousting with Sir Julius Cheever once more. He'll lead strong opposition to a bill that we mean to introduce.'

    'How do you know?'

    'He's a born rebel. Whatever we propose, he'll raise endless and unnecessary objections. I'll have to do battle with the old curmudgeon yet again. He's a menace, Orlando.'

    'And he may end up as my brother-in-law.'

    'Marry him?' he said with a laugh. 'If Dorothy knew him as well as I do, she'd run a mile from Sir Julius Cheever.'

    'Stay here, Sir Julius,' she pleaded. 'Remain where you are safe.'

    'I'll be out of harm's way at the House of Commons.'

    'How do you know that? That man tried to kill you. He may do so again. I care for you too much to let you put your life at risk again.'

    'Thank you,' he said, enjoying her attention and glad that he had decided to confide in her. 'But I'll not present such an easy target again. Now that I know what to expect, I'll have eyes in the back of my head.'

    Sir Julius Cheever had called at the house in Covent Garden to let Dorothy Kitson know that he had returned, and to test her affection for him by telling her about the ambush he had survived. The news had jolted her and, for the first time, she had reached out to touch him in a spontaneous gesture of concern.

    'Did you receive my letter?' he said.

    'Yes,' she replied, 'and I was pleased to hear that both of your daughters are in London. I'm ready to meet them whenever they wish.' She gave him an inquisitive smile. 'What have you told them about me?'

    'Only that you are the most wonderful woman in the world.'

    'That was very silly of you, Sir Julius.'

    'I was only speaking the truth.'