As the fog in my brain gradually lifted, I remembered the details of the hideous party: the drunken courtier's insult of Lizzie, the ensuing fight, Lizzie dragging me away. Anxiety hovered in my mind like a menacing hawk. I was worried about Lizzie and needed to know that she was safe. But it was fear of the still unknown whose talons I felt most sharply. I saw myself standing over a man in a blue doublet, his face distorted with pain. In my hand was a dagger dripping with blood. I had to go back to Southwark to find an answer to the question that would not be silenced - was I a murderer?