I expected him to say “John,” or another common moniker Englishmen gave their servants. He stared at me and answered, “Clement.”
“Clement,” I said. “Again, I thank you.”
I held out my hand. He gazed at it in amazement and fear, as though I were handing him a snake.
I gave him a weak smile, let my hand drop, and made a weak bow. “I am most grateful. I swear to you, I did not kill Colonel Isherwood. You ought to send for a magistrate, no matter what you think of me, becausesomeonemurdered him.”
“Yes, sir,” Clement said, but I could not tell whether he’d obey me.
I left him and moved down the muddy path, which did indeed lead to a cesspit that stank in the damp air.
I looked back before continuing along the tall box hedge that separated the privies from the main house, and saw that Clement had disappeared. Now to discover whether he’d aided me or would betray me.
The wall led to a gate, as Clement had promised, and the gate opened to a walkway. I followed this to Great East Street then turned my steps south, or thought I did, trying to make for the promenade that fronted the town above the sea.
My head had not yet cleared, however, and I easily grew disoriented in the dawn light. I took a wrong turn and stumbled about in the back lanes, until I begged a flower seller to tell me the way out.
With a nosegay pinned to my lapel—the price of the information—I eventually reached Bedford Row and headed west under a misting rain, my body aching with each step.
I passed the artillery battery that faced the sea and turned to the new square which held the house my wife had hired for our summer stay in Brighton.
I found the front door locked. As I leaned heavily on the doorpost, wondering whether the cook had unbolted the back way in, the door was opened with a wrench. I nearly fell inside and into Bartholomew, my valet, who’d come to see who was trying to get into the house.
The belligerent look he’d assumed for an intruder vanished to be replaced by astonishment.
“Sir?” He blinked. “Were you walking all night? We thought you’d put up at Mr. Grenville’s.”
I had no strength to answer. I pushed past him, ill and weary, needing my bed.
Before Bartholomew could close the door, there was a rush of footsteps, and Thomas Brewster charged in from the street.
“Where you been, guv?” Brewster glared at me, out of breath, his clothes mist-spotted and mud-splotched. “I’ve been scouring this town for hours looking for you. You slid off from Mr. Grenville in the park, and I lost ya in the dark. I’ve been running around since searching for ya, getting all wet in this blasted fog. Where the bloody hell did you get to?”
Chapter 2
The Royal Pavilion,” I made myself say as Bartholomew closed the door, shutting out the morning. My voice rasped, and I braced myself blearily on my walking stick. “So it seems.”
“What the devil did you go backtherefor?” Brewster demanded. “Couldn’t get your fill of the place?”
Bartholomew gazed at me as well, waiting for me to explain. My temper began to fray under their scrutiny, because I had no idea what to tell them.
“Where I walk in the middle of the night is my own business,” I said stiffly. “Now I’m off to bed before I drop.”
Bartholomew, though curious, was well-trained enough to clamp his lips closed over more questions and begin to help me from my coat.
Brewster, on the other hand, had never been trained to be anything but rude.
“’Tismybusiness what you get up to. I’m only in this benighted town full of dafties who think swimming in the sea will cure them of all ills so I can keep you from harm. When ye wander off in the middle of the night and come home looking like the devil is after ye, I want you to stand still and tell me what it’s all about.”
If Brewster had worked for me, I could tell him to calm himself and go home, but he answered to another authority. His employer was James Denis, a man who’d decided he had the power of life and death over me. At the moment, Denis was interested in keeping me alive, and so Brewster had been sent along on this jaunt to Brighton to watch over me.
“Very well.” I had to wet my parched mouth before I could continue. “I have no memory of parting from Grenville. I came to myself at the Pavilion, and returned home.” I cleared my throat as Brewster and Bartholomew regarded me in dubious silence. “Also, Colonel Isherwood has been killed. Good night, gentlemen.”
I turned and headed for the stairs. Brewster was beside me before I’d taken two steps, putting himself between me and the newel post.
“Ye don’t get away that easy, Captain. Chap’s been killed? By you, do you mean?”
I tried to shrug. “As to that, I could not say. I found him dead, but I will have to speak to you about it later.”
