The Parliament House

    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.'