Chapter Twenty-three #2
“There, then,” said Byron. “We must keep at it and solve it, Miss Jane. Otherwise, the murderer will feel brazen and free to kill again.”
Jane laughed softly under her breath. “You’re shameless,” she told him.
BYRON DID NOT stay for luncheon. After all, he was still in the clothing he’d been wearing while trapped in the storage room at the tavern all night.
He sent a servant to the Beaumonts’ asking for a horse, and the horse came and Byron rode back there to freshen up.
He promised, however, that he was coming back to collect her tomorrow and that they were going to get to the bottom of all of this.
Jane, however, was not sure there was a bottom to get to. She was not sure that the entire idea of it didn’t simply stretch on and on, turning this way and that, like a windy, unending path.
She told Cassandra that she would not be doing anything else with trying to solve the murder, and Cassandra said she should at least write to the magistrate, and Jane said that now she was convinced that Mr. Hardy hadn’t done it.
But when Jane related the reasoning to Cassandra, her sister was less than convinced, saying that she still thought that Mr. Hardy could have done it.
At dinner, Jane had a thought.
If a person knew that William left the sleeping draught outside Mr. Hardy’s door, the ladder would be a handy way to get up into the upper level of the tavern and drug the draught and then make an escape without anyone being the wiser.
If that was the case, they needed to find the man who had set the ladder up, the gardener’s friend.
But then she scolded herself, because, no, no, she should let this thing be.
At breakfast, Cassandra regaled her with a long theory of how it was that Mr. Hardy could have engineered all of it, even if he hadn’t been there, how he would have known that William would have given it to Miss Seward, and he could have drugged it himself.
Jane didn’t think it made sense.
“Well, I don’t suppose you’ve got any better ideas,’ said Cassandra.
“I thought we were supposed to be leaving this whole business behind us,” said Jane. “You seem just as engaged with it as ever.”
Cassandra narrowed her eyes. “Perhaps you do simply have to get out there and figure out what happened, Jane. Perhaps none of us will have any peace until you do. And crucially, perhaps it’s the very best way to be rid of Lord Byron.”
Jane laughed. “We’d be well shut of him, would we not?”
“Oh, he’s ever such a bother,” said Cassandra.
Byron appeared at their door before they’d yet finished breakfast. When asked, he accepted the invitation to sit down at the breakfast table with them, and he also accepted the invitation to eat a scone.
He cut it open and began buttering it heavily.
“I saw something last night and I don’t know what to make of it. ”
“What did you see?” said Jane.
“The man, the one who climbed the ladder with me—”
“The gardener’s friend?” said Jane. “The one who put the ladder up in the first place?”
“Yes, him,” said Byron. “You’d think I’d have gotten his name, but he behaved very strangely, and so, I did not.”
“You saw him?” said Cassandra.
“Wait,” interrupted Mrs. Austen. “I don’t think I know about this. Do I know about this?”
“Well, perhaps not,” said Jane. “I told Cassandra of it, but I don’t know if you were in the room at the time.
But the basic gist of it is that someone put a ladder up to Miss Seward’s window, and this man supposedly did it because he needed to fix the window, but he seemed to wish to conceal the fact he did it at all, which seems rather suspect. ”
“Indeed,” said Byron. “And wait until you hear this part. So, anyway, there he is, downstairs in the kitchens, with the servants. And I say to him, ‘I know you.’”
“What were you doing in the kitchens?” said Mrs. Austen. “Do you make a habit of going down there?”
“I was looking for something to eat,” said Byron. “I had not eaten luncheon yesterday, and then I ate only vegetables for dinner, and then I was famished, so I went down to the kitchen to inquire if there was anything there I could have.”
“Eating only vegetables?” said Cassandra. “Do you do that often?”
“It’s sort of the Daniel-in-the-Lion’s-Den diet, is it not?” said Byron, grinning at her.
“Oh, just so!” Cassandra nodded. “Yes, when Daniel, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego are in Babylon, they only eat vegetables!”
“It’s a good way to reduce,” said Byron. “Does make one rather hungry, however.”
“Fascinating,” said Cassandra. “How long would you do it for, usually?”
“Look,” said Jane, “can we return to the talk of the all-vegetables diet after we hear whatever it was that this man did?”
“Oh, yes, apologies,” said Byron. “Right. Where was I?”
“In the kitchens,” said Mrs. Austen.
Byron gestured at her with his butter knife.
“Indeed. The kitchens. And he was there. And I say to him, ‘I know you.’ And he looks at me with this expression on his face, totally terrified, and I remind him about the ladder and the joke we were going to play and the fact he left me up there, and he is on his feet and says to me that I must have him confused with someone else. And then, he tells one of the scullery maids that she will know where to seek him when it appears.”
“When what appears?” said Cassandra.
“Well, I didn’t know. I asked. No one answered. He just walked right out. I thought to go after him, but I was hungry.” Byron shrugged.
“So, that’s it,” said Jane. “You abandoned the answers in search of food?”
“No, that is not it, because someone came downstairs with a letter from Mrs. Beaumont, and that same scullery took it and dashed off, and I warrant that friend-of-the-gardener was there to get this letter from Mrs. Beaumont. And by that time, I had been given some bread and cheese, so I went out after the man. He walked all the way back to town and I followed him, in the dark, many paces behind, so that couldn’t see that I was there.
I ate all my bread and cheese in the process as well and I expended so much effort that I was hungry again, but I didn’t dare go back to the kitchen. ”
“No?” said Mrs. Austen.
“No, for they already hate me there,” said Byron. “Every servant in Beaumont’s place has completely turned against me. They all want me to simply go, and I should like to oblige them, but I cannot seem to figure out who killed Miss Seward.”
“Yes, frustrating,” said Mrs. Austen. “But did you get anything else to eat?”
“I didn’t. But I likely didn’t need it.”
“I don’t know,” said Mrs. Austen, pointing at him. “You must know that one can’t simply eat vegetables, not all the time.”
“Well, there are vegetarians,” said Cassandra. “People who eat no meat at all.”
“They likely eat cheese or eggs,” said Mrs. Austen, “not simply vegetables.”
“Oh, I should say,” said Byron, gesturing again with his butter knife, “that something like a potato or peas does not count as a vegetable.”
“It does not,’ said Cassandra, seemingly vexed by this.
“Lord!” cried Jane.
“Jane,” said Mrs. Austen. “At the breakfast table, taking the Lord’s name in vain?”
“Where did he go, this friend-of-the-gardener?” said Jane.
“Oh, right, I got quite off topic there, did I not?” said Byron. “So, this is the most mad part of it all. He went to Mr. Eves.”
“Mr. Eves?” said Jane.
“Mr. Eves?” said Cassandra. “He took a letter from Mrs. Beaumont to Mr. Eves?”
Byron raised his eyebrows. “Indeed he did.”
“Well,” said Cassandra, setting down her fork. “I may have lost my appetite for breakfast. How appalling.”
“Now, it can’t be that sort of letter,” said Jane. “Because if so, she would have concealed it better. She sent someone down the stairs and announced it to everyone—”
“No, it wasn’t quite like that,” said Byron. “The servant with the letter came down, looking all over, and the scullery went over to her and she whispered, but I heard, for I was close, waiting for my bread to be sliced. She whispered, ‘Is that the letter from Mrs. Beaumont? Give it to me if so.’”
“Oh, goodness,” said Jane. “So, then… then… what do we think?”
“I suppose you didn’t tell Mr. Beaumont any of this,” said Cassandra quietly.
“I did not,” said Byron. “I can’t imagine he’d welcome such news, and since I am relying on him to have somewhere to sleep, it seemed unwise.”
“But you are going to have to tell him eventually,” said Cassandra. “If you consider each other friends, he won’t be pleased to know you concealed this.”
“Well,” said Byron, “there must be some other reason to send a clandestine letter through a network of servants than… that.”
No one said anything.
“Well,” said Byron, “there must be.”
“I suppose, yes,” said Jane. “There must be.”
“Oh, dear,” said Cassandra, “that babe of hers. That brand new babe. That boy child, heir to Beaumont’s lands and money and property, that child. Oh, dear.”
“All right,” said Mrs. Austen. “I think that’s quite enough of this for breakfast.”
“Yes, heavens, I am too appalled to consider any more of this,” said Cassandra, getting to her feet.
“It is appalling,” said Jane faintly.
“Mmm,” said Byron taking a very large bite of his buttered scone. He chewed and swallowed, wiping crumbs from his lips. “Absolutely appalling.”