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convinced of their veracity, then I will accept your word on it.”
    It was Marc’s turn to take a deep breath. “It is an awesome responsibility that you are placing on my shoulders, sir.”
    â€œI’ve been told they are very broad shoulders.”
    At this point there came a discreet tap at the door and Sir George’s batman whisked in with a pot of hot coffee and biscuits.
    Marc sipped gratefully at his coffee, thinking rapidly. “I believe I know how much Lady Durham must love her sister’s son, and how much hope she has allowed herself in regard to the benefits for him of this foreign journey, as well as the possible distractions it might cause for you in your work here. She spoke to me about Handford early last evening and later on confided in Mrs. Edwards.”
    â€œAnd you are wondering if my certainty about Handford’s innocence is simply based on my loyalty to my wife and perhaps some intimate but misguided knowledge of the lad’s character?”
    â€œSomething 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.
    â€œI 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.”
    â€¢Â Â â€¢Â Â â€¢
    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.
    â€œYour 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.
    â€œYour 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.
    â€œYou met my wife at the ball last night.”
    â€œMrs. Edwards?” he responded, showing the first signs of real engagement.
    â€œYes. I saw you dancing with her. You seemed to be enjoying yourself.”
    â€œI d-d-don’t dance.” The head went back to its drooping. “I don’t d-do anything.”
    â€œThat’s not so. You were seen at the whist tables later on. Beth tells me that you are an avid player.”
    â€œShe was k-kind.”
    â€œDo you remember how you got from Spadina House to Madame Renée’s way up north of the city?”
    A shake of the head.
    â€œI’m sure you didn’t walk.”
    â€œRode in a c-coach.”
    â€œWhose coach?”
    â€œMan and a l-lady.”
    â€œDid they tell you their names?”
    â€œM-m-may have. I don’t remember.”
    â€œPerhaps when you’ve had a chance to rest and—”
    â€œI was drunk!” The intended venom of this admission was cut off by a sob.
    â€œBut you must have walked through Irishtown. Did this couple let you off there? Did someone then take you to the brothel?”
    â€œA n-nice gentleman.”
    â€œWhy 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.”
    â€œDon’t know.” The lower jaw shook as if it had become unhinged.
    Marc waited.
    â€œI wanted a w-w-woman.”
    â€œAnd the nice gentleman promised you one?”
    A slow, sad nod.
    â€œWould you recognize him if you saw him again?”
    â€œDon’t remember.”
    â€œDo you recall arriving at Madame Renée’s? Meeting Sarah and going into a room with her?”
    â€œI was confused, thought she was Mrs. Edwards . . . ”
    â€œYou were found