Don Gutteridge - Bloody Relations

“Something like that, sir.” Marc decided he wouldn’t want to be a Tory facing Lord Durham across the floor of the upper chamber at Westminster.

“I tell you what. Why don’t you go back to his room and see him for yourself. Then come back and tell me what you think.”

Handford Ellice was sitting up in bed, propped up by pillows twice his size. A full breakfast, untouched, rested on a table beside him. He seemed more like a consumptive Keats than a lusting Byron. But then Marc knew from his previous investigations that murderers rarely looked the part. Marc introduced himself but got no response.

“Your uncle has asked me to take charge of the inquiry into the death of Sarah McConkey earlier this morning. Would you be willing to answer a few brief questions?”

Ellice was listening, but he kept his gaze glued to the hands in his lap.

“Your uncle is convinced of your innocence and wants me to help prove it.”

Ellice nodded and peered up. His eyes were red and swollen. Blue veins throbbed at his temples. His lips were gray, his expression lifeless.

“You met my wife at the ball last night.”

“Mrs. Edwards?” he responded, showing the first signs of real engagement.

“Yes. I saw you dancing with her. You seemed to be enjoying yourself.”

“I d-d-don’t dance.” The head went back to its drooping. “I don’t d-do anything.”

“That’s not so. You were seen at the whist tables later on. Beth tells me that you are an avid player.”

“She was k-kind.”

“Do you remember how you got from Spadina House to Madame Renée’s way up north of the city?”

A shake of the head.

“I’m sure you didn’t walk.”

“Rode in a c-coach.”

“Whose coach?”

“Man and a l-lady.”

“Did they tell you their names?”

“M-m-may have. I don’t remember.”

“Perhaps when you’ve had a chance to rest and-”

“I was drunk!” The intended venom of this admission was cut off by a sob.

“But you must have walked through Irishtown. Did this couple let you off there? Did someone then take you to the brothel?”

“A n-nice gentleman.”

“Why would you leave your aunt and uncle and go to a strange house in town after midnight? Especially when I’m told you are too shy even to dance.”

“Don’t know.” The lower jaw shook as if it had become unhinged.

Marc waited.

“I wanted a w-w-woman.”

“And the nice gentleman promised you one?”

A slow, sad nod.

“Would you recognize him if you saw him again?”

“Don’t remember.”

“Do you recall arriving at Madame Renée’s? Meeting Sarah and going into a room with her?”

“I was confused, thought she was Mrs. Edwards. . ”

“You were found naked beside Sarah McConkey with her dagger in your hand. Surely you remember getting into bed with a young woman?”

Ellice kept his head down and brought his hands up over his eyes as if to blot out the horror of some image there. Marc realized what a horror it must have been to awake in that room in those circumstances.

“Do you remember making love to her?”

The head came up and the face with it, anguished and shamed. “I don’t know. I c-can’t remember!”

“Well?” Durham asked when Marc had returned to the office.

“I find it difficult to believe that your nephew could have committed the murder. I think it more plausible that he was so far intoxicated as to be barely mobile and far too disoriented to have rummaged around for a knife said to be under the girl’s pillow and then driven it with deadly force and unerring accuracy through her throat and spine. I can see no motive nor any latent hostility or repressed rage in the young man. He appears abnormally passive.”

“Then how do you intend to proceed? The resources of the government are at your disposal.”

Marc had already been thinking about that. “The only way we can exculpate your nephew is to find the guilty party. I shall go out and interview the women at Madame Renée’s-without revealing your nephew’s name, of course. There has to be something Cobb has missed. If so, I’ll find it.”

“You believe, then, that this could well be the result of a dispute among the inmates of that brothel?”

“That’s the most obvious place to begin. Four of them were in the house when the stabbing occurred.”

Durham looked thoughtful. “That’s true. But if one or more was responsible, we may never be able to prove it-if they stick together, as they well might, having a fortuitous scapegoat handy.”

“Yes. I don’t suppose I could appeal to their patriotism.”

“And the rack went out with the Inquisition.”

“I think we should try to track down the couple who gave Mr. Ellice a lift into town. Where they dropped him off could be important. They may also have seen who collared him and led him off to Irishtown. In the least they’ll be able to vouch for the state of his insobriety. Surely someone at the gala, one of the whist players or a valet or coachman, must have seen your nephew leave and with whom.”

“There’s no need for you or Cobb to go out to Spadina. I’ll put Wakefield onto it. He’ll know by this evening every move that Handford made up to the point of his leaving, whom he talked to, and what was said. The walls, and servants, have ears at such functions.”

“That would be very helpful, sir. But even if we find out who took him to Madame Renée’s-and it appears to have been one of her regulars-we’re still left with the business of explaining subsequent events inside the house. Madame Renée told Cobb that she saw the man leave right after dumping the young man on her doorstep.”

“True, but I am thinking now of something related to motive.” Durham drummed his fingers on the desk and glanced across at Marc as if making up his mind whether or not to continue. At last he said, “There are many people in this city who would like nothing more than to see my mission here fail.”

“Almost every Tory, I should imagine, sir, and a few of the less temperate Reformers.”

“To that end, a major personal distraction would be a heaven-sent gift, don’t you think?”

“You suspect that one of your opponents here might have taken advantage of Handford’s near-comatose state and naiveté and deliberately lured him to that brothel?”

“It is a possibility you must keep in mind.”

“But no one could foresee the death of the girl in his bed.”

“I agree. But the mere scandal of my wife’s favourite nephew being found in a squalid house of ill repute would have been enough. I’m sure you’re aware that my mission here was almost aborted because I chose to bring along two trusted associates, Thomas Turton and Edward Wakefield.”

Marc nodded. “Yes, I see. Both were embroiled in scandals when they were younger men. And Prime Minister Melbourne has enemies within his own caucus waiting to pounce.”

“Who are also my enemies, who would stoop to anything to have me brought to heel and disgraced.”

“In that case, the damage may already have been done.”

“Possibly. That is why Handford must not only be cleared but, if true, be seen as the victim of a heinous plot.”

“How long have I got to do all this?”

“Three days at the most. I must be back in Quebec City by the beginning of next week, which means leaving here by Friday noon. As you can see, I’ve already had to reschedule my planned meetings this morning to free up time for this conference. I am prepared to deal with any personal consequences from a perceived scandal when I get back to London, even if it means resigning my ministry. But these provinces are not yet wholly free of military conflict and they have no future unless I can provide one for them. Few men in the Whig government care a fig for what happens in British North America. And the Radicals, who would like to have me lead a political coup, will pay lip service to my recommendations only as long as it suits their immediate purpose.”