Chapter Five
“SO, YOU REMEMBER me, then?” Byron waggled his eyebrows at Betsy, who was one of the tavern girls.
Jane and Byron were in the lower level of the tavern now. They had tried to speak with other members of the staff but no one was there except Betsy.
“Everyone remembers you, milord,” said Betsy, who seemed less than impressed with him. “You came in, ordered a round of drinks for everyone, and then didn’t pay or tip the lot of us.”
“Oh, didn’t I? I’m sorry about that.” Byron reached into his jacket pocket and got out his coin purse. He gave her a sixpence.
She looked at it and shook her head.
“More?” Byron handed her a shilling.
Betsy left her hand out.
“All right,” said Jane. “He’s a scoundrel. We’ve established this.”
“Is it true he’s the one who wrote that poem?
” said Betsy. “I don’t really read, or leastwise, not poetry, not so much.
I can read, and write, and all of that. Mostly.
I get the spellings of things confused, I suppose.
Anyway, I have heard about that poem. Mr. Jewels?
At the Gibbons household? He said he had got his hands on a copy and was going to be reading from it. ”
“Oh, truly?” said Byron. “I’ve never heard it read aloud. What a thing! I must be there, I think. When is this happening? Where?”
“Oh, well, it has already happened, I think,” said Betsy. “I did not go, but I heard others who did, and they all thought it was a very nice poem, I think, though I could not say—”
“Could we not bring our focus away from Lord Byron’s dreadful poetry and back to the matter at hand?” said Jane.
“Dreadful?” said Byron. “You know, I have been nothing but complimentary about your novel, madam, and that is saying something, for everyone knows novels are a bit of frippery, but you have been nothing but insulting when it comes to—”
“First of all,” said Jane, “if I had ever written a novel, and I am not admitting that I have, for I should not speak of such a thing, I certainly should never have lowered myself to publish it. And second of all, you haven’t even read my novel.”
“The one you didn’t write,” said Byron.
She sighed. “Betsy, if you please, can you tell me why there might be a ladder going up to the window of Miss Seward’s bedchamber?”
“What?” said Betsy. “Absolutely not. That seems very odd.”
“Doesn’t it, though?” said Jane.
“About me,” said Byron.
Jane scoffed.
“No, did you see me with Miss Seward last night? How did I end up in her bedchamber?”
“That is rather strange, sir,” said Betsy. “Because, you see, the last I saw of you, you were entirely soused, and Mr. Hardy threw you out into the street and cut you off from anymore to drink.”
“Mr. Hardy?” said Jane sharply.
“Oh, no, he wasn’t here. It’s usually Mr. Hardy that handles such things, you see,” said Betsy. “Last night, it would have been Todd, however. He would have done it. Erm, that’s Todd Buckley. Mr. Buckley. He works under Mr. Hardy.”
Jane eyed her. “You’re certain of this?”
“Quite,” said Betsy.
“It’s not possible that Mr. Hardy was here and he’s instructed you to say otherwise?” said Jane.
“No,” said Betsy, looking quite surprised at that suggestion.
Jane waved it away. “Right, then. Never mind that.”
“I was thrown out?” said Byron. “Well, how did I get in here and fall asleep, then?”
“Oh, yes,” said Jane. “You specifically told me that you remember wandering about the place and being unable to figure out how to get out.”
“Yes, well, that was upstairs,” said Byron.
“He likely climbed that ladder,” said Betsy. “Why’d you strangle her, milord?”
“She may not have been strangled, actually,” said Byron. “She might have been poisoned. We’re waiting on a surgeon to come and examine her. Anyway, I didn’t do it.”
“Except you don’t remember,” said Jane.
Byron shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers and fixed her with a glare. “I’m getting a bit of an impression that you don’t much like me, Miss Jane.”
“Miss Austen,” she said wearily.
“And it’s a pity, really, because I like you quite a great deal. You’re ever so fascinating, and so shrewd, and quite smart, and I don’t know if I’ve ever met a woman with such a keenness to her. Do you know what I mean by keenness?”
She sighed. “My lord. I do like you. Heaven only knows why, but I do.”
He laughed. “Well. That’s something, then.”
“If that’s all?” said Betsy to Jane.
“Well, I am sorry to keep you if you’re busy,” said Jane, “but I did want to inquire a bit about Mr. Hardy himself. How did he and Miss Seward get on?”
Betsy raised her eyebrows, looking surprised. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, I don’t rightly know, I suppose,” said Jane. “There are rumors about Miss Seward, of course—”
“Everyone keeps mentioning these rumors,” said Lord Byron, “but no one seems to ever express what the rumors are.”
“Well, we all know that Mr. Hardy was instrumental in helping Miss Seward establish herself as the owner of the tavern,” said Jane. “What no one really understands is why he did it.”
“Ah,” said Byron, “I’m beginning to understand the general idea of these rumors.”
“Did they get on?” said Jane. “Were they close?”
“They did,” said Betsy. “They were.” A pause. “Now, if you’re asking me if I think they were involved in that way, then I would say I don’t think so. I think Miss Anne was much less of the sort of woman everyone seems to think she was.”
“But she was at least somewhat that sort of woman?” said Byron, chuckling. “What sort of woman did everyone think she was, anyway?”
“There was someone,” said Betsy. “A man. But only one.”
“And it wasn’t Mr. Hardy,” said Jane.
“No,” said Betsy. “It was Mr. Beaumont.”
“MONSTROUS!” EXCLAIMED JANE as they emerged from the tavern and onto the street outside. “Mr. Beaumont is married and his wife just recently gave birth.”
“If his wife was heavy with child as of late, then all the more reason to seek out other company,” said Byron.
Jane gave him a disgusted look.
Byron shrugged. “I am only saying this is how men behave.”
“Which you know from personal experience.”
“Personally, I do not have a wife,” said Byron.
Jane sighed.
“But I do know Beaumont,” said Byron. “I know him rather well, in fact. Is he here? In Hampshire? At this time of the year?”
“Well, his wife just gave birth, so yes, he is here,” said Jane.
Many of the landed gentry followed a similar schedule to the higher echelon of the peerage, going to London for the Season in the late winter through the spring and then coming back to the country in the summer and autumn.
She herself did not keep any kind of schedule like that, of course, but then, keeping such a schedule rather required one to have a town house and a country house.
“Let’s go and see him,” said Byron. “But you’d best let me handle asking the questions. I know we are both thinking he killed that poor woman, but let’s not say that to him.”
“Is that what we’re thinking?” said Jane.
“Obviously,” said Byron. “Aren’t we? Or possibly that Hardy man. Something seems off about him, does it not?”
“Well, I have to say that I did find Mr. Hardy rather suspicious in numerous ways, but I hardly wish to accuse him of murder. And anyway, he does say that he wasn’t here when it all happened, though I suppose I found the fact that he could not stop saying that to be rather suspicious also.”
“Just so,” agreed Byron. He looked up and down the street. “Where does Beaumont live?”
“Outside of town,” said Jane. “Three or four miles to the west, I should say.”
“We should go on horseback,” said Byron.
“I haven’t brought a horse,” said Jane.
“No, you wouldn’t have,” said Byron. “Do you have use of a horse? I didn’t see a stable near your house.”
“My brother has stables,” said Jane. “I suppose I could make use of one of those horses, but I ought to ask first, and anyway, I did tell Cassandra that I was only taking a turn about the grounds and that I would be back in but twenty minutes.”
“I see,” said Byron. “Do you not wish to come along, then?”
“Well…” Jane stood up rather straight. “I find my curiosity is a bit piqued by all of this, I have to say.”
“Mine as well,” said Byron. “What are all the dirty little secrets of your little town here? Shall we uncover each and every one of them?”
“I’m sure there aren’t any dirty little secrets,” said Jane.
Byron snorted. “As it happens, I have another horse. Caro and I came by carriage, and I sent her back in it, but I changed the horses out and I kept the original horses here, and you can ride the other one.”
“Were you just going to leave it here?”
“No, it’s got all my luggage on it,” said Byron. “We may have some issues getting a side saddle around it. Let’s go and see.”
JANE WOULD HAVE thought the most prudent solution would have been to remove Lord Byron’s luggage from the horse, but Byron was insistent that all the saddle bags he had filled must remain where they were.
It did take a bit of time, but they managed it, and they rode off for Beaumont’s house together.
Upon arrival, Jane saw why Byron had insisted on keeping his luggage and why he said they must not accuse Beaumont of murder. He was angling to stay with Beaumont.
Byron instructed the servants at Beaumont’s house to take everything off of the horses and to bring it inside, and so, as they were standing in the entryway, the servants were taking Byron’s luggage up the stairs as Beaumont was coming down them.
“George!” cried Beaumont.
“Thomas!” cried Byron, practically running for the other man.
They embraced in the middle of the entryway there, pounding each other on the backs and laughing rather loudly, and Jane didn’t know where to look or what to do, because, well, that wasn’t done.
One did not embrace someone, not like that, not in front of people. Maybe if the someone was a small child and you were its mother, maybe then, but only a very small child, really, and the child must be taught not to have such outbursts and—
Jane cleared her throat, folded her hands in front of herself and studied the floor.
Byron broke the embrace first, brushing at the lapels on his jacket, uttering a string of apologies—for appearing out of nowhere, for appearing unannounced, for not having known about Beaumont’s wife and the new babe, for not having been in touch for too long.
And then, breaking off, grinning at Beaumont with that infectious smile of his, so sunny, so untouched, so full of some kind of undimmed joy, he said, “It’s just ever so good to see you again, though, I must say. ”
“You as well,” said Beaumont. “You must stay, of course. We have ever so much to catch up on.”
“Yes,” said Byron. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. Oh, this is Miss Austen—”
“Yes, we’ve met, of course,” said Beaumont to Jane.
Jane lifted her face to gaze at him, but she was too alarmed by the embrace to smile.
Beaumont’s own smile sort of froze in place in embarrassment. “You must stay for dinner, Miss Austen.”
“Oh, I couldn’t do that,” said Jane. “We are simply here to…” Why were they here? “My mother and my sister will be worried about me.”
“Send them off a note, telling them you’ll be back after dinner, then,” said Beaumont.
“I don’t have anything to wear,” said Jane. She had not come prepared for dinner. She was not dressed for such a thing.
“No worries on that score,” said Beaumont. “We shan’t be bothering to dress here at all. Indeed, my wife is still recovering. She will take her meal in her rooms. We’ll just have something entirely informal together, in the breakfast parlor.”
Jane wasn’t sure this was better. This seemed highly improper, suddenly, her gallivanting all over on Lord Byron’s horse, having intimate dinners with men who embraced each other and who—either one—could have strangled Miss Anne Seward.
“I don’t know, sir, truly, I am only here to ask if you…
” Have been unfaithful to your wife with another woman.
“I shan’t take no for an answer,” said Beaumont. “Say you’ll stay.”
Jane finally found a smile, but it was a nervous one. “Well, if you really do insist, I suppose I haven’t a choice, then.”
“You do not,” said Beaumont with a grin.