Arthur mumbled his assent but he was looking upwards, his gaze fixed by the cupola curving over his head far above. Fitzroy noted the look and smiled. ‘Impressive, isn’t it? When the debates start to get tedious, I often find myself stretching back and staring up there. Makes a man forget his surroundings for a moment, which is always a good thing.’ Arthur smiled. He had been in the building before, sometimes to watch his brother William speaking, sometimes because the nature of the debate took his interest. But now he was there as a member, not a guest, and Arthur felt the thrill of exclusivity that all new members of parliament experience. ‘As one of the new boys,’ Fitzroy continued, ‘you’ll find the rules are simple. Keep quiet, unless you’re cheering one of our side on, or shouting down the opposition.’ He paused and looked at Arthur. ‘I’m afraid that doesn’t happen as often as you might think. Most of the debates would do good service in purgatory.
