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Chapter Twenty-Seven
Jasper arrived home, breathing heavily. His mind was a frantic storm. He knew that he wasn’t thinking clearly.
Is there anything that I saw that would give them away?
“My Lord? Is something wrong?” Sotheby asked. Jasper blinked, surprised to find himself at the door to his own home.
“Send word to the Constable in Bridesdale, as well as Colonel Fitz,” he said. “I’ve just been stopped by the individuals who murdered Lady Langley.”
“What’s happened?” Stephen asked, coming inside. He was dressed in a dark jacket. It looked like he’d come from the stables. “I saw you riding like the Devil himself was after you.”
“I was stopped out on the road,” Jasper explained, as he made a beeline straight for the parlor, where he always kept a decanter of bourbon. Stephen followed after him, a look of concern on his face.
Jasper poured himself a drink. He paced, thinking back to the attack. “They said that they wanted to kill me.”
Stephen sat down in an armchair, watching him.
“You saw them both in broad daylight?” Stephen murmured, leaning forward in his seat. “Did you notice any defining characteristics?”
“They were masked.”
“Perhaps if you go through what happened, exactly, you’ll remember something important,” Stephen suggested.
“They were both on horses, blocking the road,” Jasper said, closing his eyes and picturing the scene. “One pointed a pistol at me. The other urged me to get down off of my horse, or they were going to kill me. I got down. As I did, I was able to pull my pistol. I used it to spook the horses. Then, I got back up onto Pilot and rode off.”
“What did they look like?” Stephen asked.
Jasper thought back to what had only just occurred. “Their faces were covered, except for their jaws, which were cleanly shaven. I—I didn’t recognize them.”
“What about what they wore?”
“It was fine clothing,” Jasper mused, taking a sip of his drink. “But given what they’ve stolen, they could have easily afforded nice clothing. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Did only one of them speak?” Stephen asked.
“Yes. He didn’t sound genteel. There was a definite roughness to his voice,” he explained. “I immediately thought that he wasn’t a gentleman.”
“Wait, Jasper—the other one never spoke? Tell me more about the one that didn’t speak,” Stephen said. He was drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair.
“He was seated on a horse, but I suppose he was about my height,” Jasper said. “That certainly doesn’t narrow down the search.”
“They’ve become quite bold, haven’t they?” Stephen remarked, leaning back in his seat. He was frowning thoughtfully.
“They have,” Jasper agreed. “The thing is, Stephen, the one, he said, ‘We want you dead, Your Grace,’ like they were looking for me, in particular. From what the others said, they weren’t specifically targeted. They were never referred to by name during their attacks.”
“They’re going after you,” Stephen said. “Why now, though? What’s changed?”
“Did they have a list, and now I’m next?” Jasper suggested.
“Or are you the one that they’ve always been after?” Stephen added.
“Good Lord,” Jasper uttered, his eyes widening. “What if you’re right?”
The horror dawned upon him. All of the victims, so far, were aristocratic. But with each robbery, murder, they got closer and closer to Jasper—his mother, his best friend, had both been targeted. What if they were trying to get him—trying to get him to make a mistake?
“Maybe nothing’s changed,” he remarked. “Maybe they were always trying to get to me.”
“Is there anyone who would want to get revenge on you?” Stephen asked.
