Chapter Three #2
“I believe I have,” he said.
“Well, where was Miss Seward?” said Jane.
“She was in her bed,” said Byron.
“You went looking for a way out of the tavern and ended up in Miss Seward’s bedchamber?” said Jane, raising her eyebrows.
“Yes,” said Byron. He cleared his throat. “Dear me, there are only three biscuits left, it seems.”
“Oh, just eat them, my lord, and do stop going on about it,” said Cassandra, sitting down next to Jane. “I shan’t be having any of them, after all, because I am, in fact, trying to reduce.”
“I tell you, you have a lovely figure,” said Byron.
“Why did you go into her bedchamber?” said Jane.
“I don’t know,” said Byron.
“Isn’t it likely on one of the upper floors?” said Jane. “The tavern is downstairs and the family living areas are upstairs, and why were you upstairs?”
“Well, I woke up there,” said Byron.
“Upstairs?”
“Yes. I must have fallen asleep there. I have to say, to be very frank, my memory of last night is sort of… patchy? Bits here and there are missing entirely.” He ate a biscuit.
“So, you have no idea why you went up there, in other words,” said Jane.
“I had an idea when I did it, I’m sure,” said Byron. “I have since forgotten what it was.”
“So,” said Jane, “you went into Miss Seward’s bedchamber, and you found her in her bed. How did you even know she was dead? She must have looked as if she was sleeping.”
“Oh, no indeed, it was very obvious. No one would sleep that way. She would have been very cold. Also, her skin was sort of mottled and gray. Her lips were colorless. It was horrendous, I tell you.”
“Cold,” said Cassandra. “I suppose she was on top of the blankets of the bed.”
“Indeed,” said Byron. “And not dressed, as it happens. Not a stitch on.”
Mrs. Austen covered her mouth with one hand, her eyes very wide.
“Apologies,” said Byron. “I suppose this is why everyone sort of thought I did it. But I do realize it’s probably not the sort of thing I should be recounting in this sort of company. Have I mentioned how sorry I am about… everything?”
“You have,” allowed Mrs. Austen. “But I don’t understand, truly. Where exactly did you wake up?”
He squared his shoulders. “Yes, about that.” He picked up the final biscuit and turned it this way and that. “I may have been a bit less than truthful as I’ve been explaining this.”
Jane suddenly understood entirely. She folded her arms over her chest. “I think I see.”
“Do you?” said Byron.
“I think you woke up in the bed with the corpse,” said Jane.
Byron winced. “Possibly, it was a bit like that, yes.”
“What?” said Mrs. Austen.
“Yes, but you see, I promise, I didn’t do anything with Miss Seward,” said Byron.
“I was wearing clothes, you see.” He gestured at his outfit.
“Because what happened is this: I awoke, saw poor Miss Seward, screeched at the top of my lungs like a barn owl, and kept screeching until people came into the room, and then I scrambled up out of the bed, and everyone saw that, and that was when they all decided I killed her, and then I realized they were going to attempt to carry out some kind of justice, as they saw it, and I realized it would be prudent for me to take my leave, which I did, except they chased me, and then I came to you, because I thought you could tell everyone that I had been… here.”
“When they caught you in her bed?” said Jane.
“Yes, but I didn’t—”
“Even now, you have just said you have no memory of last night,” said Jane.
“Not no memory, just patchy memory,” said Byron.
Cassandra eyed him. “Is it possible that you did kill Miss Seward and you simply don’t remember?”
“No,” said Byron. “No, it is not. I do not kill women.”
Jane, Cassandra, and their mother all regarded him from the opposite couch, arms folded over their chests.
Byron ate the final biscuit. It was quiet except for the sound of his chewing. “One thing I’m not clear on is why he has a different name than you? You’re all Austens, and you two have never been married, and he’s your son, Mrs. Austen, so why is his name Knight?”
“He was adopted by the Knights and inherited from them,” said Jane.
“Adopted, but his mother is obviously alive,” said Byron, furrowing his brow.
“They didn’t have any children,” said Mrs. Austen.
“I had others. He was quite happy. The Knights could do things for Edward that I couldn’t.
It seemed a good decision at the time. The other children all went off to school for long periods.
I did miss him, but, well, I thought of it as a very long session at school, I suppose.
Anyway, if it weren’t for Edward and the Knights and his inheritance, we wouldn’t have this lovely house. ”
“Indeed, I see that,” said Byron, looking about the room.
“Terrible thing, really, being penniless and yet everyone below you is quite envious of you, thinking you have so much, and truly you just have…” He made a face.
“Do you have any idea how much money my publishers are making off Childe Harold?”
“They aren’t paying you?” said Jane.
“I could not take money,” said Byron. “It would be an exceedingly common thing to do. You, however, as the book has made back whatever your brother put up to publish it, are getting paid—”
“I have not ever, not once, admitted to publishing anything at all,” said Jane.
“Yes, well, I see why you haven’t,” he said.
“If you are anonymous, no one knows, you can pocket the money.” He gestured.
“So, truly, if I had money, what I would do is just pay someone, pay many someones to… make this go away.” He brushed crumbs off of his palms. “But I don’t, you see.
I don’t have money. So, I’m afraid I really have to prove my innocence.
Can’t you simply say I was staying here with you? ”
“But you weren’t, and everyone knows that,” said Jane.
“Besides,” said Cassandra, “you probably did kill her and don’t remember it.”
“I did not,” said Byron, sounding sulky.
“How would we prove he hadn’t done it?” said Mrs. Austen. “I suppose, if he wasn’t here when it was done, that would work. Is that why you wish us to say you were here?”
“That would be a lie,” said Jane.
“I suppose,” said Byron. “I wasn’t thinking clearly whilst I was running for my life, really. I was just trying not to be hung. I really wish you wouldn’t have told everyone who I was. When this gets all over London, that I strangled some strumpet—”
“She’s not a strumpet,” said Jane. “She owns the tavern.”
“A female tavern owner,” said Byron, raising his eyebrows.
“Well, there are rumors,” said Cassandra.
“Yes, because she’s a female tavern owner,” said Byron. “Women who own businesses are, you know, usually dabbling in that, in the end.”
“Are they.” Jane glared at him.
“Well, anyway, I don’t need to pay strumpets anymore,” said Byron. “After all, you saw who I had with me when I visited you yesterday. I am really sort of famous at this point, you see. Women are just clamoring for me. There’s positively no reason why I should ever visit someone like Miss Seward.”
“This really is quite an untoward conversation,” said Mrs. Austen.
“It is,” agreed Jane, “and moments ago, you all but admitted it. You said that you had strangled her.”
“I did not say that,” said Byron. “I said that when that gets all over London, that will be disastrous.” He sighed. “Apologies for bringing this down on you, truly. And for eating all of your biscuits.”