The Parliament House by Edward Marston

the body of Bernard Everett and it gave both of them a start.
        Sir Julius Cheever came waddling out of the house to greet them.
        'Wherever have you been, Susan?' he asked, switching his gaze to Christopher before she could reply. 'And why have you come back again, young man? I need no more lectures from you.'
        'It was Mr Everett who brought me here,' said Christopher, indicating the cart. 'I wish to attend the funeral and, since you are travelling to Cambridge today, I thought that I'd accompany you.'
        'My coach is full enough.'
        'Then I'll ride beside it, Sir Julius.'
        'There's no need for you to come.'
        'Christopher feels that he must,' said Susan, taking over from him. 'After all, he designed the house for Mr Polegate. That's what brought his brother-in-law to London in the first place. Christopher is implicated, Father.'
        'That's true. He was there at the time.'
        'I promise to keep out of your way,' said the architect.
        'Well,' decided Sir Julius, stroking his jaw, 'I suppose that I can hardly stop you. And an extra person will help to deter any villains who might be tempted to rob us.' He took note of the sword and dagger that hung from the other man's belt. 'And you are armed, I see.'
        Christopher patted his saddlebag. 'I carry a pistol as well.'
        'Then you are welcome to travel with us.' His eyes twinkled. 'Now I know why my daughter rode off with such eagerness this morning. Susan went to warn you what was happening.'
        'Christopher had a right to know,' said Susan.
        'I accept that.'
        'I'm also looking forward to seeing a little of Cambridge,' said Christopher. 'I hear that it's a place that every architect should study. But my principle reason for going, of course, is to attend the funeral. I liked Mr Everett. He was entertaining company. Even on such a brief acquaintance, I could see that he was a very able man.'
        'A truly estimable fellow.' Looking towards the cart, Sir Julius heaved a sigh. He became businesslike. 'We are by no means ready to leave yet. Come inside and meet everyone else.'
        Christopher dismounted then helped Susan down from the saddle. He was rewarded with a warm smile of gratitude. A servant took care of the horses and they went into the house, stepping from bright sunshine into a funereal atmosphere. Hester Polegate was seated in the parlour with her twin sons either side of her. All three were dressed in black. Though she was the sister rather than the widow of the deceased, Hester wore a peaked black headdress that helped to obscure her face. She looked up at the newcomers.
        There was a muted flurry of greetings and expressions of sympathy from Christopher and Susan. Hester Polegate was touched to hear that the architect was making the journey with them. Her two sons, only fourteen years of age, were still too shocked by the violent death of their uncle to speak. Also in the room were Brilliana and Lancelot Serle. They were pleased to see Christopher again but, because of the pervading mood of sorrow, they were unable to engage in a proper conversation with him. Christopher was relieved. Warned by Susan, he was glad to escape the threatened ambush from her sister.
        Twenty minutes later, the travellers left the house and climbed into Sir Julius's coach. Mounting his horse, Christopher noted that both a coachman and a footman were making the journey, and that two men were accompanying the coffin in the cart. All would be armed, making the little cortege an uninviting target for any footpads or highwaymen they might meet on their way. Brilliana and her husband came out to wave them off but Christopher's gaze was directed at Susan. After exchanging a private smile with her, he set off behind the coach and the cart. The vehicles rumbled along, their iron-rimmed wheels resounding on the hard road. When they hit open country, Christopher knew, ridges,