The Parliament House

    'But he still chose the other room. Did he say why?'

    'I didn't ask,' said Bridget. 'When someone wishes to lodge here, I try to give them what they want. It's a small room but I keep it very clean. He said that it would be ideal for him and he paid me there and then.' She bit her lip. 'I hate to think that I was helping him to commit a murder. He seemed such a quiet man.'

    Bridget McCoy had been outraged that her tavern had been used as a vantage point by a ruthless killer. There were occasional scuffles among her customers and pickpockets had been known to drift in from time to time, but the Saracen's Head had never been tainted by a serious crime before. It upset her. She was a short, compact Irishwoman with a surging bosom that made her seem much bigger than she really was, and a tongue sharp enough to cut through timber. Talking to the constable, she had a soft, melodious, Irish lilt. Raised in anger, however, the voice of Bridget McCoy, hardened by years in the trade and seasoned with the ripest language, could quell any affray.

    'Did he tell you his name, Mrs McCoy?'

    'Field. His name was Mr Field.'

    'No Christian name?'

    'He gave none.'

    'How would you describe him?'

    'He was a big man, Mr Bale, with something of your build. Older than you, I'd say, and with a broken nose. But it was a pleasant face,' she added, 'or so I thought. And I spend every day looking into the faces of strangers. Mr Field had a kind smile.'

    'He showed his victim no kindness,' remarked Bale, sharply.

    'How much did you see of him?'

    'Very little. Once I showed him to his room, he stayed there.'

    'Biding his time.'

    'How was I to know that?' she said, defensively. 'If I'd understood what business he was about - God help me - I'd never have let him set foot over the threshold. The Saracen's Head has high standards.'

    'You were not to blame, Mrs McCoy.'

    'I feel that I was.'

    'How?'

    'By letting that devil take a room here.'

    'That's your livelihood. Customers rent accommodation. Once they hire a room, you are not responsible for what they do in it.'

    'I am, if they break the law,' she said with a grimace. 'I should have sensed that something was amiss, Mr Bale. I should have sounded him out a little more. My dear husband would have smelled a rat.'

    'Patrick, alas, is no longer with us.'

    'Mores the pity. He'd have been first to join the hue and cry.'

    'You are still a valuable witness,' Bale told her. 'You met the man face to face. You weighed him up.'

    'Not well enough, it seems.'

    'Did anyone else here set eyes on him?'

    'Only Nan, my cook. He ran past her in the kitchen when he made his escape. It gave her quite a start.'

    'I'm not surprised,' said Bale. 'We may need to call on both of you at a later stage to help to identify him. Do you think that you'd be able to recognise Mr Field again?'

    '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.'

Chapter Three

    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.