Free Murder in Grosvenor Square by Ashley Gardner

and truth to tell, I couldn’t remember exactly where she’d gone. I only knew that Grenville, once found, would put things together in a rapid and efficient manner.
    I made my way back to the two men and sank down beside Leland. His blood was black on his face, and I lifted his head to my lap. I patted his cheek, but didn’t have much hope of waking him. His breath grated, but at least he still breathed.
    Travers lay a foot beyond us, his eyes staring at nothing. The lad I’d admonished so harshly in the tavern earlier today, who’d grinned at me in the end and sprang up with such exuberance, was dead.
    I knew I ought to have sent Mackay running to Bow Street, or shouted for the Watch myself—though I doubted any night watchman would be brave enough to venture down here.
    But the two lads found like this would raise too many questions. I did not want Pomeroy, or even worse, Spendlove, to see them like this, to reveal to the world that the two had been lovers. I might not be able to save the lad’s lives, but I could spare them that.
    A strong voice came out of the darkness behind me, making me jump. “Captain.”
    The word was followed by a man who strode toward me with the confidence that nothing in this place was more frightening than he was. I’d have been alarmed by his size and the fact that he carried a cudgel, if I hadn’t recognized him as Denis’s man Brewster.
    “Do you have a conveyance?” I snapped at him without greeting.
    Brewster took in the two young men, their clothes open and missing, and me sitting next to them, my legs sprawled. He gave me his usual stoic look from his great height and said, “I’ll take care of it, Captain,” then turned away and walked firmly back down the passage.
    I had no need to wonder how Brewster had happened to turn up here. He’d been following me. Denis always kept watch on me, and Brewster had no doubt been haunting my steps since I’d made for Covent Garden this evening.
    Once Brewster was gone, I came to myself, shaking off my stupor. Leland was too cold. I slid off my greatcoat and wrapped it around him.
    I groped about in the dark and flashed the lantern around, but I could not find what had become of Leland’s coat and waistcoat. He wore a lawn shirt, so light it was almost silken to the touch, but the shirt gaped open, Leland’s collar and cravat gone.
    The killer might have taken the clothes, or perhaps a person who’d come upon them had decided to steal a good coat rather than help the two young men. Leland’s coat and waistcoat could fetch a good price with a secondhand clothier who didn’t ask questions.
    I gently buttoned Leland’s trousers, hiding the pale patch of skin and his flaccid member. I didn’t like to move him too much, but I laid him on his back then rose and made my way to Travers, restoring his clothing the best I could.
    I sat down again, returning Leland’s head to my lap, the lantern a dim beacon next to us. I brushed Leland’s hair back from his face, examining his wounds, but I had not much doubt how he’d come by them. Someone had beaten the back and side of his head, but it was too dark to tell more than that.
    Travers had been beaten even more severely.
    I passed one of the longest hours I’d ever passed, alone in the dark passage with the two young men. I felt helpless and limp, aching.
    After a time, I heard rattling at the end of the alley and the sound of a horse’s hooves on cobbles—a large draft horse, not the light stepping of a dandy’s carriage horses.
    A flat-bedded dray wagon came to a halt at the passage’s mouth. The driver didn’t dismount, but Brewster dropped off the back. “You stay there,” he said in his rough voice.
    The driver glanced about nervously, but he kept the reins slack in his hands and made no move to pull away.
    Brewster came to me with his lumbering gait. “Where do you want ’em shifted to, Captain?”
    “What do you make of the wounds?” I asked him instead of answering.