Free Bloody Relations by Don Gutteridge

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.”
    â€œWho are also my enemies, who would stoop to anything to have me brought to heel and disgraced.”
    â€œIn that case, the damage may already have been done.”
    â€œPossibly. That is why Handford must not only be cleared but, if true, be seen as the victim of a heinous plot.”
    â€œHow long have I got to do all this?”
    â€œThree 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.”
    â€œBut what will you do if I fail?”
    â€œThat’s just it, Mr. Edwards. I find myself on the horns of a terrible dilemma. How can I leave Handford here in a jail cell toawait trial and certain conviction in the fall assizes, while I go off to Quebec to broker a just peace? And how could I ask my wife to leave her nephew in a strange country to hang alone for a crime he most assuredly did not commit? Even if I were cruel and heartless and felt no affection for Lady Durham, I could not work fruitfully in such stressful circumstances.”
    â€œBut you are supreme governor of all the provinces with absolute authority.”
    Durham smiled grimly. “Believe me, my power has been well hedged by the cabinet, for which I am, despite much chaffing, very grateful. Moreover, if I did use my executive authority to unduly influence the legitimate efforts of the police and the independent courts, my enemies would have a free-for-all with my reputation and vaunted probity. Besides, is it not just that sort of arbitrary action I am here to bring an end to?”
    Marc got up. “What you’re saying, Your Lordship, is that I must not fail.”
    â€œSomething like that.”
    The fact that the future of the Canadas might be at stake was, mercifully, not revisited.

FIVE

    T hat afternoon, with a sense of urgency that they had only three days to absolve Handford Ellice of Sarah McConkey’s murder, Marc and Cobb walked briskly to Lot Street and peered across at the ramshackle suburb of Irishtown. The shanties themselves did not begin for thirty or forty yards beyond the northern edge of the street, where a ragged copse of alder and hawthorn provided an inadequate screen for them and their unfortunate inhabitants. It was certainly less intimidating in the daytime, Cobb thought, than in the dead of night. In a year or two the severed lots on the north side of Lot Street would be cleared, and legitimate houses or businesses built on them. What would happen then to the squatters on the bleak acres behind was a question no one in authority was willing to discuss in public.
    â€œHow do we get in?” Marc wondered aloud. He could see nothing resembling a road.
    â€œAt night the sailors, low-lifes, and men of proberty slink along here until a tracker or scout hails ’em.”
    â€œAnd then?”
    â€œThey get led by the baton to some house of