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The valet was proffering two pistols. Pynch met his eyes. He knew damn well how Jasper felt about guns. Still, he held them out. “Don’t go up unarmed.”
Jasper snatched the weapons without a word and whirled to the stairs. Mouse barked and ran up the stairs ahead of him, panting with excitement. They made the first landing and continued to the second story, where the master bedrooms were. Jasper paused on the top step to listen. Mouse stood by his ankle, patiently watching him. Jasper could hear the maid, still sobbing faintly down below, and the murmur of a deeper voice, probably Pynch comforting her. Other than that, all was silent. He refused to think what the silence might mean.
He crept to his door on the balls of his feet, Mouse silently trailing him. The door was partly open, and he crouched so as to make himself less of a target as he pushed it open.
Nothing happened.
Jasper took a breath and looked at the dog. Mouse was watching him, completely uninterested in what might be in the room. Jasper swore under his breath and entered the room. Matthew had obviously been here. Jasper’s clothes were on the floor, his linens ripped from the bed he never used. He crossed and looked in the small dressing room, but although it had been torn apart, no one was there now. When he came back into his bedroom, Mouse was sniffing at one of the pillows on the floor. Jasper looked and nearly fell to his knees.
The pillow had a small streak of blood.
He closed his eyes. No. No, she wasn’t hurt; she wasn’t dead. He couldn’t believe otherwise—and remain sane. He opened his eyes and lifted the pistols to the ready. Then he went through the rest of the rooms on that floor. After fifteen minutes, he was panting and desperate. Mouse had followed him to each room, sniffing under the beds and in the corners, but he’d not seemed that interested in any of them.
Jasper mounted the stairs to the next floor, where the servants’ bedrooms were, under the eaves. There was no reason for Matthew to have taken Melisande up here. Perhaps he’d gone down the back way and escaped past the footmen in the kitchen. But if so, someone should’ve heard him. There should’ve been an outcry. Dammit! Where was Horn? Where had he taken Melisande?
They’d just made the uppermost floor when Mouse suddenly stiffened and barked. He raced to the end of the narrow, uncarpeted hallway and scratched at a door. Jasper followed the dog and carefully opened the door. A flight of wooden stairs led to the roof. There was a narrow parapet up there, but it was mostly ornamental, and Jasper had never been up there himself.
Mouse shouldered past him and raced up the steep stairs, his little muscled body jumping from step to step. He reached the top and stuck his nose to the crack of a small half-door, whining.
Jasper gripped his pistols and mounted the stairs quietly. At the top, he nudged aside the little dog with his boot and stared down at him sternly.
“Stay here.”
Mouse laid back his ears in submission but didn’t sit.
“Stay here,” Jasper commanded. “Or so help me, I’ll lock you in one of the rooms.”
The dog had no way of understanding the words, but he certainly understood the tone. He tucked his rump down and sat. Jasper turned to the door. He opened it and slipped out.
The skies had fulfilled the promise of rain. It dripped down, cold, gray, and dispirited on his roof. The door was only meant to provide access to the roof for repairs and cleaning. In front of it was a small square of level tiles, barely wide enough for a man to stand on, while all around was the slope of the roof. Jasper slowly straightened, feeling the wind blow raindrops against his neck. He faced the back garden. To his left was empty roof, to his right more empty roof. Jasper peered over the spine of the rooftop.
Dear God. Matthew held Melisande bent over the low stone parapet in front of the house. The parapet barely came to knee height and would in no way prevent her from falling. Only Matthew’s arm kept her from smashing her brains against the cobblestones far below. Jasper remembered her fear of heights and knew his darling wife must be completely terrified.
“No farther!” Matthew cried. He wore neither hat nor wig, and the rain had darkened and flattened his short reddish-blond hair to his skull. His blue eyes glittered with desperation. “No farther or I drop her over the edge!”
Jasper met Melisande’s beautiful brown eyes. Her hair had come partially down, and long wet strands clung to her cheeks. Her hands clutched at Matthew’s arm, for she had no other purchase. She looked back at him and a horrible thing happened.
She smiled.
Sweet, brave girl. Jasper averted his eyes and stared at Matthew. He raised the pistol in his right hand and held it steady. “Drop her and I’ll blow your goddamned head off.”
Matthew chuckled softly, and Melisande wobbled in his grasp. “Back away, Vale. Do it now.”
“And then what?”
Matthew stared back stonily. “You’ve destroyed me. I have no life left, no future, no hope. I cannot flee to France without my mother, and if I stay, they’ll hang me for selling secrets to the French. My mother will be disgraced; the crown will take all my assets and throw her into the street.”
“Is this suicide, then?”
“And if it is?”
“Let Melisande go,” Jasper said evenly. “She had nothing to do with what’s happened. I’ll put down my pistol if you let her £if ="0go.”
“No!” Melisande cried, but neither man paid her any heed.
“I’ve lost my life,” Matthew said. “Why shouldn’t I destroy your life as you’ve destroyed mine?”
He twisted a bit, and Jasper threw himself at the ridge of the roof. “Don’t! I’ll give you the letter.”
