“Possibly.” It had been dark, and I had been ill and disoriented.
“Let us pretend this is the correct door.” Grenville stepped out and followed the passage to the gate at the end.
“This is very like it,” I said. We walked through the gate and emerged onto a street. “I found myself in the maze of the market and bought a bud for my lapel from a flower seller there.” I pointed my walking stick down a street, now humming with the day’s activities, though no flower sellers were apparent at the moment.
“You saw no one else?” Grenville asked. “None but the footman?”
“No one,” I said with certainty. I had been alone—that much I knew.
“Nor heard anyone running away, that sort of thing?”
I returned my walking stick to the pavement. “You want me to say I heard the murderer or saw another who might have been the culprit. I’m sorry, but no, I did not.”
“The killer might have been long gone before you arrived,” Grenville said. “Or might have been your lad, Clement.”
“I recall looking him over for signs of blood or violence. I saw none. He was terrified—he obviously believedIwas the killer.”
“Well, either both of you are innocent, or one of you is guilty.”
“Very helpful.” I gave him a frown.
“I am attempting to be efficient, my friend. As you can be when you are not distraught. Your involvement in this is clouding your judgement.”
“As is my lack of memory,” I said grimly.
“Oi!”
I heard a familiar shout and swung around to see Brewster bolting out through another gate. He pointed a thick arm down the lane and charged after a retreating figure.
It was a tall lad with black hair and skin, his footman’s livery awry, running as fast as he could. Clement, my conspirator from the night of Isherwood’s murder, fled into the lanes, Brewster hard on his heels.
Chapter 7
Grenville, after a startled look at the running Clement, sprinted down the road behind Brewster, never mind his pristine suit and polished boots. I had to let those more fleet of foot than I pursue the lad, while I hobbled in their wake as swiftly as I could.
Brewster, who could move rapidly for all his bulk, caught Clement in a lane that branched off North Street. When I reached them, Brewster had Clement against a wall with his arm across his throat, Clement struggling hard. The tall youth had fear in his eyes, but also resolve.
Grenville seemed none the worse for the chase, but I leaned against the wall to catch my breath. “Let him go, Brewster.”
Brewster did not obey. “I introduced meself to him, so to speak, below stairs, and said you wanted a word. And off he went.”
“Yes,” I reasoned. “But he cannot answer me with you cutting off his air.”
“He can. I know how to go about it.”
I dragged in another breath and hauled myself upright. “Please don’t be afraid, lad. In spite of appearances, I have no intention of hurting you. I wanted to talk, and you know what about.”
Brewster did ease his hold, though he kept Clement trapped. “Why didn’t he say so?” the young man asked angrily.
“Why’d ye run?” Brewster returned.
“I was off to see me mum.” Clement scowled at him. “And this lout starts chasing me.”
“In the Regent’s livery?” I gestured to his satin knee breeches and coat, his silk stockings and well-made shoes. He’d left off the turban, his short hair glistening in the strong sunshine. “Why not change before you go?”
“I ain’t a dandy with a dozen suits, am I? Not a different one for every hour, like Mr. Grenville.”
“Touché,” Grenville said, brows rising. “It is an apt question, lad. You’d have at least clothes to go home in. I doubt the majordomo will be pleased if you tear your finery.”
