Chapter Twenty-three
THE BOY’S NAME was William, something they ascertained right afterwards, because Jane said that she wasn’t going to believe anything that Mr. Hardy forced this poor boy to confess, and Mr. Hardy said he wasn’t forcing him to do anything, and Lord Byron said that hauling him around while he looked as if he’d rather be anywhere else certainly looked like forcing.
“You can’t be coming into my tavern at all hours, you know,” said Mr. Hardy to them both. “You can’t just come in whenever you wish.”
“Oh, it’s your tavern now?” said Byron. “I suppose you killed her for it. Somehow, you would have known that you could take possession of it.”
“I could not have known that!” said Mr. Hardy. “Mr. Seward was dead set against me, and I don’t know what brought him round. Listen to what William has to say, if you please.”
William swallowed. “I make a sleeping draught for Mr. Hardy each night.”
“Do you work here at the tavern?” said Jane.
“Aye, ma’am,” said William, nodding, keeping his head bowed.
“What’s the sleeping draught got to do with anything?” said Byron.
“I always make it in a special cup,” said William.
“The cup you found in my chambers,” said Mr. Hardy to Byron.
“The one you smashed, you mean?” said Byron.
“I was in a temper,” said Mr. Hardy.
“Maybe you were in a temper when you killed Miss Seward!” said Byron.
“I did not kill her,” said Mr. Hardy. “I wasn’t even here.”
“Oh, you say that now,” said Byron.
“Listen to William!” bellowed Mr. Hardy.
But then, it was entirely quiet.
“Go ahead, William,” prompted Jane. “You make the sleeping draught and you always made it in that drinking glass.”
“It’s not much of anything special in it,” said William. “It’s chamomile and a bit of whisky. Some honey. That is all. It’s something my granny taught me ages ago and I do it for Mr. Hardy after he told me had trouble falling asleep. I offered it. He said it helped.”
“Fascinating as this is,” said Byron, “how did it end up full of laudanum?”
“Well, that I don’t know,” said William. “But I do know that night I made it for Mr. Hardy, like I always do. And I brought it to sit right outside his door. There’s actually a little table next to his door where I leave it. Which is what I did that night. I left it right there.”
“This table is outside Mr. Hardy’s door?” said Byron. “Show it to us.”
They all trooped out into the hallway, and William pointed. “Right there. I left it there.”
The table was quite small, but there would be room for a drinking glass on it.
“Well, that doesn’t mean you killed anyone,” said Byron.
“I did, though,” said William. “Because I realized that Mr. Hardy wasn’t here that night. Actually, I had known he wouldn’t be here, but I was in such a habit of making that draught and taking it up there that I just had done it without thinking about it. You know how that goes sometimes?”
“Certainly,” said Jane.
“So, anyway, I came up to get it, and Miss Seward was up here, standing in the hallway, muttering that she’d never be able to sleep with all the racket downstairs, and I said that she could try taking Mr. Hardy’s sleeping draught, and she laughed and said it couldn’t hurt, so I went and fetched it from that table right there.
Now, maybe I should have noticed something was wrong with it, but I swear I didn’t put anything in it but what I always put in it.
And I was sure it was safe, because I made it myself, so sure that I didn’t much investigate it.
I didn’t smell it or look at it. I just handed it over.
She drank it right down, and then…” William’s face twisted.
“So, I never told anyone about it. Which I know was wrong, but—”
“Wait,” said Byron. “What happened after she drank it?”
William’s face turned white. He fidgeted, toying with the edge of his baggy shirt.
“Well, nothing. She said she was off to bed and shut the door. How could I have known she was going to die? She waved me off, and she seemed all right, but then the next morning, she was gone, and I found out it was something she drank.”
“I suppose it would have taken some time to present itself,” said Byron. “She likely just felt tired and went to sleep, and then…”
Never woke up, Jane finished silently.
“I should have told someone I gave it to her,” said William. “I know that. But all I could think was that she drank something and died, and I gave her the last thing she drank, and I knew it was my fault.”
“I don’t think it’s your fault,” said Jane. “If you didn’t poison it, it’s not your fault.”
William lifted both of his shoulders. “But I gave it to her. I’m the last one to see her alive.”
“Wait a moment,” said Byron. “My assumption is that if Miss Seward got herself ready for bed, she would have put on a sleeping gown or something, would she not?”
“She should have,” said Jane.
“But she wasn’t wearing anything when I woke up next to her,” said Byron. “So, what does that mean?”
“What does it all mean?” said Jane. She looked at Mr. Hardy. “Have you told this boy to lie for you, Mr. Hardy?”
“I swear to you, I have not,” said Mr. Hardy.
“But you could have given the poisoned drink to Anne,” said Jane.
“I wasn’t here,” said Mr. Hardy. “And it would be a foolish thing to give it to her in my own special sleeping draught glass. Not if I didn’t wish everyone to know that I did it.”
“Well, you’re the one who hid that glass,” said Byron.
“When I found Anne, I found the drinking glass,” said Mr. Hardy. “I hid it because I knew that it would make it look as if I was guilty in some way.”
“But you weren’t here,” said Jane. “You don’t make the draught for yourself.”
“I just knew.”
“And what did William use to make your sleeping draughts after that?” said Byron.
“I didn’t make them anymore,” said William.
“And I didn’t ask about them,” said Mr. Hardy.
“I kept thinking he would, but he didn’t, and I was just grateful, because I never wanted to think about it ever again,” said William.
“How many people know about Mr. Hardy’s sleeping draughts?” said Jane.
“Well, I don’t know,” said William. “Perhaps a lot. I’ve gone through the tavern before, bellowing for people to get out of my way for I had Mr. Hardy’s sleeping draught here and I had to leave it for him outside his door.”
“Well, then,” said Jane quietly.
“Oh,” said Byron, “I see what you’re saying. Yes, you’re right. We’ve been investigating the wrong murder all along.”
“The target was never Miss Seward,” said Jane. She turned to Mr. Hardy. “The target was you. Whoever poisoned that sleeping draught wanted to kill Mr. Hardy.”
AFTER ASKING MR. Hardy all about who might have wanted to kill him, and Mr. Hardy being less than helpful and giving them no real answers other than casting suspicion on Mr. Eves, they left the tavern and began to walk the streets.
It was growing later, and Jane suggested they go back to her house for luncheon, but Byron waved this away and said that he didn’t need to eat any luncheon, that he could stand to lose a bit of weight anyway, and Jane said he was worse than a woman, and Byron laughed and said that was likely true.
“Well,” said Jane, “anyway, I am hungry. And we must discuss all of this, I think. Walk with me back home?”
“I have to say,” said Byron, “the amount of walking you do is sheer torture. I don’t know how it is that you even manage it.”
She chuckled. “It does make me work up an appetite, I suppose.”
“And all the more reason for walking less,” said Byron. “It makes you eat more and thereby makes you even more rotund.”
“Come now, truly,” said Jane, “you know you are not rotund. And you also enjoy eating. I remember how many biscuits you ate the first time you were at our house.”
“Everyone enjoys eating,” said Byron. “But if one eats too much, one gets large, and if one is large and fat, one is treated differently.”
Jane considered. “That may be true, I suppose, but most people are not very thin, especially not as they age. Anyway, I don’t think it matters nearly as much for men.”
“Are you joking? It’s so much worse for men. Women have the excuse of having borne children, after all, but men who are fat, well, it is entirely down to their lack of self-control.”
“You are, of course, a paragon of self-control,” said Jane said dryly.
“Well, precisely,” said Byron.
“Precisely? You are?” She was laughing.
“No, I am not,” said Byron. “I am not a paragon of self-control, so I have little chance of escaping the scourge of fatness.”
“You’re not even a little fat, my lord.”
He harrumphed. “Let’s talk about the murder.”
“Oh, all right,” said Jane. “It’s an entirely different proposition now, though. Everything we found out is totally useless.”
“Not totally,” said Byron. “Maybe Mr. Seward did it.”
“We’re back to him? He wasn’t even here that night either.”
“He could have been, though,” said Byron. “Anyway, Mr. Hardy knew his secret and was blackmailing him. Getting rid of Mr. Hardy might have been just the thing to ease his mind.”
“I suppose,” said Jane. “And I suppose next you’ll say that Mr. Eves did it to end the tavern in some way, but I don’t see how killing Mr. Hardy ends the tavern.”
“No, I wasn’t going to suggest him,” said Byron.
“What other people have we suspected that we could dredge back up? Perhaps Beaumont?”
“Oh, perhaps, but why would Beaumont wish to poison Mr. Hardy?”
“I wonder if we shouldn’t let it go,” said Jane. “I did tell you that I must stay out of it, after all. I meant it. And now, it seems I’ve been pulled right out into the deep part of the water already and I’m swimming right back into it all, but I must not do that!”
“Yes, yes, but we’re so close now.”
“We are not close at all. As I just said, everything we have done before is useless. We would have to start all over.”
“If the killer meant to kill Mr. Hardy, why have they not tried again?” said Byron.
“I don’t know,” said Jane, “but likely because of us poking our noses into it, I should think. That would make you feel frightened of being caught, would it not?”