The Parliament House

    'He sounds an enterprising young man.'

    'He is, Mr Howlett.'

    'And a brilliant architect, so Francis Polegate tells me.'

    'Well, you've seen the shop yourself,' Bale reminded him. 'It's opposite the Saracen's Head, the tavern you visited some while ago.' 'Yes, but I only saw the building from outside. I'm told that the interior is a minor work of art. Francis was delighted with it.'

    Howlett's office was on the upper level of the brewery. It was a small, cluttered room with a desk that was covered with letters, bills and documents of all sorts. In an adjoining office, clerks were at work and Bale could see them through the window that separated the two rooms. Through the main window, he could look down at the brewery itself and see the men toiling in a miasma of steam.

    'I helped to design this place myself,' said Howlett, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his waistcoat. 'I made sure that my office overlooked the whole brewing process. Nobody dares to slack when I am up here.'

    'I'm sure that you only employ industrious workers, sir.'

    'There's no place for any other kind here. Howlett's Brewery has a reputation to maintain. We are famed for our quality.'

    'Yet you do not drink the beer yourself, I hear.'

    Howlett chortled. 'I see that Francis has been letting you into my little secret. I used to sample my own product in large quantities,' he said, patting his paunch, 'and I have the stomach to prove it. Wine is kinder to my anatomy in many ways.'

    'But much more expensive.'

    'I allow myself a few luxuries in life. What about you, Mr Bale?'

    'One of my luxuries is a tankard of beer, sir.'

    'Brewed right here, I hope.'

    'No,' said Bale. 'My wife, Sarah, brews it at home and, though there is a smell during the process, it's nothing like as powerful as the one you have to endure. You must use stronger ingredients.'

    'Stronger ingredients and greater volume. I doubt if your wife makes anything like the quantities that we produce. Well, you can see how many men I employ. We have many taverns to supply.'

    'Is there any advice you could give?'

    'About what?'

    'How to brew good beer. I could pass it on to my wife. Sarah does her best but her beer always tastes rather weak. It's too thin.'

    'Often the case with housewife brewers.'

    'I hope that you don't mind me asking, Mr Howlett.'

    'Not at all, not at all.'

    'At the end of a long day, all that I want is a drink of beer to revive me. I just wish that it would have more body to it.'

    'Every brewer has his secrets,' said Howlett, 'and I'd never disclose those to anyone. But I can tell you what the basic ingredients of our beer is and how best to brew it.'

    'I'd be greatly obliged to you, sir,' said Bale, deferentially.

    'Let me write them down for you.' Howlett sat down at his desk and reached for his quill pen with a trembling hand. 'Since you had the courtesy to come from Baynard's Castle ward to give me your news, the least I can do is to help you to enjoy a stronger drink.'

    He began to write. Watching over his shoulder, Bale smiled. He was more than satisfied with his wife's beer and would never dare to suggest that she brewed it a different way. What he really wanted was a sample of Erasmus Howlett's handwriting. To get that, he would gladly endure the pungent reek of the brewery.

    'The Tower of London!'

    Susan Cheever was mortified. She spoke with a mixture of shame and horror. To have her father imprisoned in the Tower was a mark of ultimate disgrace. Even more appalling was the fact that he might pay with his life for his alleged crime. Brilliana Serle burst into tears and her husband had to comfort her. All three of them glared at Christopher Redmayne as if he were solely responsible for the grim predicament of Sir Julius Cheever. Informing the family of what had happened was a daunting task but he had forced himself to do it. As he sat opposite them in the Westminster House, Christopher felt cruel in having to impart so much pain and suffering. Susan's face was a portrait of anguish, Brilliana could barely speak and Lancelot Serle looked as if he were ready to challenge Christopher to a duel.

    'You must take some of the blame for this,' he accused.

    'I acknowledge that, Mr Serle,' replied Christopher.

    'You should have prevented him from going through with it.'

    'Once he has embarked on something, your father-in-law is not an easy man to stop. Had I refused to act as his second, he would simply have found someone else.'

    'Not if you had warned us. It was your duty to do so.'

    'Sir Julius had sworn me to silence. I gave him my word.'

    'I seem to remember that you gave it to me once as well,' said Susan. 'You promised never to conceal from me anything that related to Father's safety. And yet you did this, Christopher.'

    'Against my will.'

    'That's no excuse.'

    'None at all,' said Christopher, lowering his head.

    'You should be in the Tower with Father,' cried Brilliana, pointing at him, 'and so should that brother of yours. He came to this house in possession of information that should have been passed on to us, and he kept it to himself.'

    'No wonder Sir Julius would not let me read the newspaper yesterday,' said Serle. 'It must have contained a report of that play and its attack on him. I agree with my wife. We've been ill-served by the Redmayne family in every way.'

    'That's how it appears to me as well,' said Susan, levelly.

    'Between the two of you,' said Brilliana, you have delivered our father up to complete humiliation. Thanks to you and your brother, he languishes in a cell at the Tower with a possible death sentence hanging over his head. Oh!' she went on as more tears came, 'it's too horrid to contemplate.'

    'Come, my dear,' said Serle, easing her to her feet. 'The shock of it is insupportable. You need to lie down.' He led the sobbing Brilliana to the door then stared at Christopher to make a final comment. 'I hope, when I return, sir, that you have left this house.'

    Christopher was relieved that they had gone and grateful that they did not realise that his brother had, in fact, acted as one of the seconds for the Earl of Stoneleigh. That would have complicated the situation even more and drawn additional bile from them. It was something that Christopher would admit to nobody. Left alone with Susan, all that he could do was to gesture an apology. He could see from the coldness in her eyes that it was not accepted.

    'How could you, Christopher?' she asked, quietly.

    'I did my best to talk him out of it.'

    'That was our duty. We are his daughters. Our task is to look after him. You are not part of the family at all.'

    Her tone was ominous. She was telling Christopher that he would never be more closely linked with her family. The stab of rejection was like the thrust of a knife. He winced.

    'Susan,' he said, 'please listen to me. All is not yet lost.'

    She was sorrowful. 'What else is there to lose?'

    'I'll hire the finest lawyer in the city to defend your father. The Earl of Stoneleigh never intended the duel to continue for long. He simply enticed Sir Julius into a trap. That will count against him in a court of law.'

    'And if father is found guilty at the trial?'