The Wages of Sin [The Mysterious] by Alex Beecroft Read Free Book Online Page A

am.”
A little resurgence of that inward wave of laughter flickered in Jasper’s face for a moment, until Charles said, “I saw you, last night,” and it blew out like a candle.
Jasper turned to the hedge, picked up a cobweb, the dew running down his fingers. “Ah.”
“With George.”
The side of Jasper’s mouth twitched; it could have been a grimace, or a very bitter smile. “Of course.”
“Is that why you’re here? Because George…?”
He wiped the web off, dark glossy leaves snapping and the red berries bounding at the violence of the gesture. The whole hedge trembled, and grey drops of water spattered over Charles’ hot face. “Why don’t you ask him?”
“Because,” Charles thought of his brother’s empty smile, the way the good humour peeled back to reveal something unexpectedly hard, “I don’t trust him.”
Jasper gave a short, harsh bark of laughter. “Half my age and already twice as wise.” Fallen dew trembled like gold dust in the mass of white curls that framed his face, and Charles wondered how you did this. He had watched plays enough—whether on the stage or off—to have some idea of what he might say to a woman. None at all for how this worked with a man.
“I wish you wouldn’t wear that stupid wig.”
    This time the laughter was more natural. Afterwards, Jasper heaved a great sigh and let the amusement linger around the edges of his mouth. “Do I gather you will not be reporting me to the magistrate? I have been pilloried once before.” He picked one of the yew berries, squeezed it until it gave a little pop and the juice oozed out. “It was enough.”
    Charles stepped forward and closed his hand around Jasper’s wrist. A snap of contact, like the shock of rubbed amber, set him tingling. He could feel, from the size of the bones, the weight of muscle in his hand, that Jasper could pull away any time he pleased. But when he looked up it was to find only a patient, quizzical look aimed at him. Time thickened about him as he drank in the sherry coloured gaze, sweet and warming as liquor. Then the shape of Jasper’s eyes changed slightly with understanding.
    Pulling out his handkerchief, Charles wiped the cold yewslime carefully from Jasper’s unresisting hand, earning himself another small, bemused smile. “The juice is poisonous.”
“I was aware of that.”
    Letting go abruptly, Charles stuffed his hands deep into his pockets and waited, shoulders up to his ears, for the burning of his face to subside. A woman would have spared his feelings, refrained from mentioning her own knowledge, allowed him to be chivalrous and protective. Would it have killed the man to do the same?
    But that question led back inexorably to his father’s death. Was he not looking for a poisoner? And were not Jasper and George, together or separately, his prime suspects for the task? He should keep his mind there, not on the shape and pent up strength of that palm. “I do intend to go to the magistrate,” he said at last, poking out his head from between his shoulders, like a tortoise emerging from its shell. “But not until I have a murderer to hang.”
    He began to walk down the narrow corridor of dark trees towards the statue at the further end, and Jasper fell into step beside him. “You still believe it’s murder then?”
“I have no doubt of it. His dinner had been poisoned. There is a dead fox in the ash pit to prove it."
Stopping still, looking down at him, his gaze emptied of that faint hint of amusement, Jasper said, "No. That can't be." In deference to the new tone, Charles took his hands out of his pockets and straightened up. "Why not?"
    Jasper frowned, began to walk again. They paced together to the shadowed, temple-like room of yew bows at the end of the path. There a marble urn commemorating one of the many Mary Lathams of the family stood up on its Doric column like a barren tree. "If I try to explain," Jasper said, "do I have your word you will give me a fair hearing? If you