The aroma of venison stew seduced him into the kitchen.
“How old are you, lass?” he asked Delia, who kept on humming.
Marc fared better at briar cottage. He had sent Beth a brief note from Government House at noon explaining the assignment he had been given, so she was primed and eager to hear what had happened to young Handford Ellice. Since it was she who had encouraged Ellice to come out of his introverted shell to dance and to join the whist players in the card room, she now felt somewhat responsible for the subsequent tragic events. Over supper, Marc gave Beth chapter and verse. He did not have to censor his narrative, for Beth had seen more of this world and suffered for it than most men in the province. Nor would she thank him for any such misguided expurgation.
When Marc had finished, he sat back, paused, and asked, “Well, what do you make of all this?”
“What you mean is, do I think the boy did it.”
Marc smiled. “More or less. Lord Durham is certain he didn’t. And when I talked briefly with Ellice this morning, I found him confused and frightened. I think he was so drunk he can’t remember much, and even when the shock wears off, I doubt he’ll be of any help. His fear may come from the thought that he could have done it. Cobb mentioned that Ellice seemed to mumble ‘I didn’t mean to’ when first questioned, though he was so dazed that Cobb didn’t set much store by it.”
“We can often blot out unpleasant memories,” Beth said. “For weeks after I found Jesse dead in the barn, I had no memory of that dreadful image. I knew he had gone, but I didn’t know how or where. Then it came to me, in bits and pieces, in my dreams. Finally I began to believe my dreams, in the daylight.”
“So you think there’s a chance that young Ellice might eventually recover any images or actions he is now repressing?”
“Possibly.”
“I’ve got to locate Badger. He might hold the answers to all my questions. In the meantime, though, I need to find an explanation for how the knife got into Ellice’s hand.”
“Cobb’ll find Badger if he’s still in the city.”
“God, I hope so. We’ve only got until Thursday night to identify the killer. Lord and Lady Durham leave on a steamer for Kingston at noon on Friday.”
“Will you interview Handford again tonight?”
“If Lord Durham permits it, yes.”
“I’ll wait up for you.”
Charlene then joined them, and the talk turned domestic. Marc had decided to wait until morning to write up the notes he liked to make as an aide-mémoire.
“So, did you two ladies spend the day recuperating after the excitements of yesterday?” Marc said, winking at Charlene.
“Actually,” Beth said, “we walked down to King Street and had a long look at the shops.”
“You’re going to sell them, then?”
Beth had inherited adjoining shops on King near Bay from her former father-in-law, Joshua Smallman, who had run a dry-goods store in one of them. There Beth and Aunt Catherine had launched their millinery and dress shop.
“I’ve been thinking about it. Mr. Ormsby next door came out when he saw us and told me he was pulling out next month and moving to Brantford to live with his daughter.”
“So both shops will be empty?”
“Yes.”
Beth was anticipating a further response, but Marc merely yawned.
“You’d better have a nap before you go up to see His Lordship,” Beth said.
“You’ll wake me up at seven-thirty?”
“I will. Now go.”
At the bedroom door Beth placed a hand on Marc’s shoulder and said quietly, “You don’t suppose Lord Durham wants you to find a scapegoat for this murder, do you?”
“His Lordship is a man of honour,” Marc said, a touch too emphatically. “He’s no Tory, darling.”
“But he is a lord, isn’t he?”
SEVEN
It was nearly eight o’clock in the evening when Marc walked down the tree-lined lane that led to Government House. Just as the chimney pots of the great house came into view, an open carriage drawn by two stout horses clattered past him. He recognized fleetingly the familiar profiles of John Strachan, the rector of St. James; Sir Allan MacNab, hero of the Yonge Street rout and the burning of the Caroline; and Ogle Gowan, grand master of the Loyal Orange Lodge. The Tory contingent had been having their say before the Queen’s envoy, no doubt, pressing for the preservation of their accumulated entitlements. No one waved.
When the orderly showed Marc into the office, Lord Durham was slumped in his chair behind the desk, around which were arrayed half a dozen ladder-backed chairs, now empty. Durham looked ill. For a second Marc was alarmed, but as soon as His Lordship recognized his new visitor, he pulled himself to his full height, smiled, and said with genuine warmth, “Ah, Mr. Edwards. I am happy to see your face. Do sit down.”
Marc wasn’t sure whether it was his arrival or the Family Compact’s departure that prompted the shift in mood, but he welcomed it. Fatigued as they both must be after a long night and a troubling day, they had matters to discuss that transcended personal weariness or private pain.
“Thank you, sir,” Marc said, taking a seat across from the earl.
“Please, tell me everything you’ve discovered, in your own way. I’ll just listen.”
“I will do that, sir. But first I must ask after the health of young Mr. Ellice.”
Durham frowned. “He’s been sedated most of the day. Dosed with laudanum. He’s been more or less in a delirium since you left him, spouting a lot of nonsense. Lady Durham feels he may be going mad.”
“Good God. What sort of nonsense?”
“Well, most of it’s gibberish, but Lady Durham has heard him say several times that he’s stabbed Mrs. Edwards and he’s desperately sorry.”
“Beth?”
“Yes, your wife, who was so kind to him last evening. You do know how pleased and hopeful we were when we saw him dancing and when he left our side later to join the gentlemen in the card room. If some monarchs are said to have the common touch, then surely Mrs. Edwards has the noble version of that talent.”
“She has a way with people.”
“But then this nightmare dashed our hopes. Lady Durham is distraught, and I rely upon her for support and advice. While I don’t profess to be close to Handford-he’s been uncommunicative all his life-my firstborn son, as you may know, died tragically young. And I have since lost two of my daughters. So I know what it is to be a parent or guardian and lose someone precious and irreplaceable.”
“Well, sir, I intend to find the real killer. That will be a start in helping Mr. Ellice recover. Perhaps then he could be sent home to recuperate.”
“You are right, of course. But I was hoping, as you may be, that Handford could provide us with material assistance in the investigation. Yet so far he seems to have confused Mrs. Edwards with this. . ”
“Sarah McConkey, the murdered girl.”
“Yes. I’m afraid he thinks not only that he may have committed murder, but also that he has destroyed a woman who befriended him.”
“Be assured, sir, that I lend no credence to what Mr. Ellice may say in a delirium or as a result of delayed shock.”
“Your discretion is appreciated. Now, please tell me what you’ve discovered at the crime scene.”
For the next twenty minutes Marc talked and Durham listened. Marc recounted what he assumed to be the established facts in the case, avoiding all speculation and theorizing. He told Durham that it appeared Ellice had been deliberately lured away from Spadina about midnight, probably by one of the whist players, driven to Lot Street, escorted to Madame Renée’s, taken to bed by Sarah McConkey, and subsequently discovered asleep beside her bloody corpse with the murder weapon in his hand. Marc then reviewed the interrogation of the four women, the revelation of the escape hatch and the missing key, and the madam’s dismissal of Michael Badger.