they may.
Beck found him on a bench inside the crypt.
William stood. “We ride to the abbey.”
Without a word, Beck led him out. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, worn out and ignorant of its sins. Beck unhitched the mare from the brougham and mounted bareback. William followed on his bay. He wasn’t sure why he wanted to go there.
A legacy of riches. Beware the ghosts and witches.
They rode to the patch of trees past the abbey, where a pool of water rippled innocently. William circled the ditch, finding nothing but damp earth. He did not know what he was looking for, only that he could not rest until he found it.
He wandered nearer the abbey. From here he could see the entire cemetery, and to the side, the top spires of the manor. In the old days, children had sometimes played in the old crumbling structure. He had, too, games of gallant knights and evil sorcerers, if he’d managed to sneak outside after his lessons. Bravery. Honor. The domain of children, not men.
The building had been condemned ten years ago, deemed unsafe and barred to entry. The rotting wood slats were easily kicked in. Inside, moonlight barely penetrated the darkness. Following the broken wall, he trailed his fingers along the soft moss. A light glinted from the gatehouse, like a wink of moonlight off glass.
Quickening his pace, he stepped inside the hollow tower. Bottles were piled in a corner, ale tankards and stronger liquor. He knelt and nudged a damp coat that stank of piss. A drunkard had been here. There was only one in the village, at least one dedicated enough to his craft to imbibe all these bottles. A man known for his rampages and, occasionally, violence.
William met Beck at the horses. “Jasper was here.”
Beck’s eyes widened as he passed him his reins. “Are you sure?”
“Let’s ask him and find out.”
They rode in silence, with only the storm to distract them. A curious rage stirred within him, that his mother had been disturbed, his home violated. The anger poured through his veins, burning and flaming until all he could see was red.
He hadn’t known this violence lived within him. He had been an obedient child. Had to be, for sometimes that was the only peace to be found. Rarely disrespectful, never rebellious.
Now anger threatened to consume him, and he was glad of it. Staid, responsible William could only mourn and lament and make the fucking arrangements for repair. This William could fight back.
The small hut came into view, and they both dismounted. William rapped on the knotted door. It opened to reveal a girl with long dark hair that shone streaks of silver in the moonlight. Jasper’s daughter, he recalled. The memory jarred him. He’d forgotten her.
He preferred to forget.
Her doe eyes widened. “My lord. How may I serve you?”
“Your father,” William said.
She glanced back then licked her lips. “I think he’s in the barn, but—”
William strode to the slanted building. Beck followed, a silent observer. He hoped the girl didn’t follow. The barn smelled of manure and moldy hay. He kicked open a stall, empty, and then pushed open the next. A snoring heap of man huddled on the straw.
He hauled Jasper up by his grimy shirtfront.
After a few startled snorts, Jasper peered at him from under sagging eyelids. “What be the meaning of this?”
William’s hands tightened before he pushed Jasper to his feet. He wasn’t sure how he knew Jasper was connected, but he did. Or maybe he just needed Jasper to be connected, because he had nothing else to look for, no one else to blame.
“Were you at the abbey?”
“No,” he said with belligerence. “When?”
“Last night. The one before. Were you there?”
Jasper frowned, seeming confused now. “Mayhap I was. What’s it to you? A man’s got to have some peace.”
“What about the manor? Were you there, as well? Did you pour pig’s blood on our bed?”
Soft gasps of shock came from behind him, punctuated by a long wail. Apparently the girl had brought her mother and younger sister, as well. Mercy, that was the girl’s name. It came to him with a flash of warmth. The women shouldn’t be here, but he couldn’t protect them from this. He couldn’t protect anyone.
Jasper’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. Finally, he said, “I didn’t do nothing, sir. I swear it.”
“My lord,” Beck corrected mildly.
Jasper seemed to rouse from his stupor of sleep and alcohol. “No, no, sir. I didn’t touch the crypt, sir. I wouldn’t have—”
“I said nothing about the crypt.”
“I didn’t… I don’t…” The man’s words slurred. One of his eyes slid to the right, while the other remained centered, like a painting melting in the sun.
How would Jasper know about the crypt unless he’d seen something? From the ridge of the abbey, he would have had the perfect view. Or he might have done it. For the jewelry? Then he would have been disappointed. A few pearls and a handsomely embroidered dress had been all that remained for her at the end. Still a bounty for a commoner like Jasper, but hardly what he would have expected from a noble. It wouldn’t have taken a great deal of cunning, just brute strength to hammer through the granite. And most damning of all, the hint of guilt in Jasper’s slack expression.
“Tell me what you did with her.”
“I’m no grave robber! And it ain’t as if she’s alive to feel it.”
William’s stomach lurched. Jasper didn’t even seem to realize how he betrayed himself. He yanked himself out of reach with more agility than William could credit.
Eyes bulging, Jasper grasped the neck of a broken bottle from the heap. “Stay away! You won’t be pinning this on me!”
Worry streaked through him for the women, his own thoughts ringing in his head: can’t protect them, can’t save them. He stepped forward to disarm him but was dragged back. Jasper’s wife clung to his back, momentarily anchoring him in place. By the time he shook her off and drew his pistol, Jasper had the youngest child in his grip, the spike of glass held to her face.
William froze, unable to fire without risking the girl.
“Tell them,” Jasper spat into her face. “Tell them I couldn’t have done it. I was here, with you.”
The girl whimpered, a little-girl sound of fear and shock.
“I never meant to hurt no one. She couldn’t feel the fire.”
For a moment William thought he was referring to the little girl he held—that she couldn’t feel the pain from his makeshift weapon. But then he realized who he meant. And it ain’t as if
