‘How can I?’ she cried, snatching up the letter. ‘The Prince Regent is the most important person in the whole country. I can’t just ignore it.’

Opening the letter, she read its contents and blenched.

‘What does it say?’ asked Paul.

‘It’s an invitation to … Brighton Pavilion.’

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Peter Skillen spent a comfortable night at the Black Horse, free from the guilt that had assailed him when he stayed with Seth Hooper and his wife. Since it was a Sunday, he decided to attend a service at the village church where David Mellanby was the vicar. Having hired a horse, he rode into open countryside, marvelling at the beauty of the landscape and relishing the rural serenity that life in the heart of London could never offer. The parish church of All Saints stood just outside the village. Dating from the sixteenth century, it had a strangely daunting appearance with battlemented walls that looked like castle ramparts and a formidable tower that might have been constructed as a keep. The interior could not have been more different: welcoming, uncluttered and a positive haven of peace. The only signs of architectural flamboyance were in the two side chapels.

Given the circumstances, Peter feared the vicar might have chosen to spend the day with his family, but the Reverend David Mellanby was there to preach to a full church. It was evident that he had the respect of the congregation and – since word of his father’s death was now common knowledge – its profound sympathy. Barrington Oxley was present but neither of David’s siblings had turned up. Peter was pleased to see how grateful the vicar was that he had made the effort to get there. After collecting a smile from him, however, he had to settle for a scowl from Oxley, sitting near the front with his wife. Every pew was filled and Peter had to squeeze into one at the rear of the nave.

Understandably, it was a muted service with the air of a funeral. David’s sermon was tailored to the occasion. It had a marked effect on those who’d known and admired his father and Peter noticed how many handkerchiefs were pressed into use. He took his turn kneeling at the altar rail during Holy Communion and felt the vicar’s hand touch him lightly on the shoulder, an indication that they should speak at the end of the service. Before that, David had to stand outside in the porch and shake hands with each of the departing parishioners. It would be a long wait for Peter, but he was not left alone. Oxley strolled down the aisle to him.

‘I didn’t expect to see you here this morning,’ he said, reproachfully.

‘Do you object, Mr Oxley?’