Chapter Twenty-eight
“I WISH TO hold babes,” said Jane to Cassandra. “I wish to cuddle tiny sweet smelling bundles with smooth skin and very tiny fingers and chubby little toes. I wish it now. Let us go to see Mrs. Spotts.”
“You are angling to find Mrs. Beaumont,” said Cassandra.
“So what if I am,” said Jane with a sigh. “She must come to visit often and likely stays for hours. I think it’s likely she’ll be there. Will you walk with me, however, for it will be ever so awkward to turn up on the doorstep all alone.”
Cassandra agreed, and they walked together.
As was her way, Cassandra was silent for some time before she finally could not stop herself and burst out with what she was thinking. “Tell me what your plan is, Jane.”
“I don’t have one,” said Jane. “But I know that I do not wish Beaumont to get away with this without any consequence, and I also know I don’t wish to punish poor Mrs. Beaumont.”
“Well, it occurs to me that very recently, we thought she had been unfaithful to her husband.”
“And perhaps she has been,” said Jane. “Byron said they don’t know who the father of the babe is.”
“Appalling!” cried Cassandra.
“Yes, but none of this has been of her choosing, do you see? It has all been decided for her by men, because this is what men do to women. They use women for their bodies, for pleasure, for making their heirs, for all of that, and women simply have to bear it all up. I’m sure Mrs. Beaumont wishes that she did not have a husband who was attracted to men! ”
“Well, that’s likely true,” said Cassandra.
“Anyway, I need to speak to her. It occurs to me that I have not spoken to her much at all,” said Jane. “Before I do anything, I need to know what it is she wants.”
BUT THEN IT was frightfully awkward.
Mrs. Beaumont was indeed there, with her new babe, on a walk with him, holding him tight against her chest and cooing to him. And she acknowledged Jane, remembering that Jane had been there when she’d been lost in the woods.
“So embarrassing,” said Mrs. Beaumont faintly.
“We need not speak of it,” Jane said, and this was when she realized the problem.
How could she broach all of the subjects she needed to broach with the woman? It would be mortifying to Mrs. Beaumont for her to realize all the intimacies that Jane knew of the woman’s marriage.
She walked behind Mrs. Beaumont, about twenty paces back, thinking of ideas and discarding them, while Cassandra all the while kept prompting her in a whisper, asking when she was going to speak to Mrs. Beaumont.
Eventually, Jane snapped at her—too loudly—that she did not know, to allow her to think.
And then Mrs. Beaumont turned round and marched straight up to them, leaving her maid, Mrs. Attleby, behind with the babe.
“You and Lord Byron are thick as thieves,” said Mrs. Beaumont when she was close.
“I don’t know about that,” said Jane.
“But he has told you what he thinks my husband did,” said Mrs. Beaumont. “I would have been kept in the dark about it, I think, but I overheard them. Thomas has assured me it is all fancy on Byron’s part, but I see you believe it.”
“I know about Mr. Eves,” said Jane.
Mrs. Beaumont sighed.
“You were trying to see him that day you were out in the forest.”
“I thought we weren’t going to speak about that,” said Mrs. Beaumont.
“Are you in love with Mr. Eves?” said Jane. “Would you rather be with him than your husband?”
Mrs. Beaumont drew back. “What a thing to say! What a question to ask. It’s entirely improper, and to even think such a thought—”
“Did you know your husband intended to get rid of Mr. Hardy so that your child would not be stained by blackmail?” said Jane.
“My husband did not do that,” snapped Mrs. Beaumont.
“But he did have trouble giving you a child,” said Jane. “He insisted on the path there being rather convoluted.”
“What do you know?”
“I know what it was your husband did with Miss Seward,” said Jane. “This is why Mr. Hardy held him ill will.”
“What are you talking about?” Mrs. Beaumont drew herself up.
“They had some sort of association as adolescents, but in order to be… fully engaged, your husband needed there to be some man involved, watching or participating or…”
Mrs. Beaumont’s face twisted.
“And Mr. Hardy was part of this, but he was interested in Miss Seward, not in your husband, which was not the way your husband would have wished it. Anyway, Mr. Hardy used this information about your husband against him—”
“You know that Lord Byron is—”
“I do,” said Jane.
“Well,” said Mrs. Beaumont, “so, at least it is true what he said, it is nothing to do with me, simply some flaw within him.”
“Do you love your husband, Mrs. Beaumont?” said Jane.
Mrs. Beaumont let out a funny little laugh and looked away, shaking her head. “Such a question,” she said faintly.
“Well,” said Jane, “let me put it this way. I could report your husband for what he did, and it would drag his name and yours through the mud, and the damage would be visited upon your child, whose parentage might be scrutinized. All of that is very bad. Or… I could, I suppose, insist on something else. Perhaps your husband leaves England. Perhaps he goes elsewhere and leaves you here with your little son and that lovely house where you live, and he doesn’t return to plague you. ”
“How would you do that?” said Mrs. Beaumont.
“Is this what you would wish?” said Jane.
“You can’t make something like that happen,” said Mrs. Beaumont.
Jane shrugged. “Say the word, Mrs. Beaumont, and we shall see if I can or not.”
Mrs. Beaumont clasped her hands together.
“It’s not that I don’t love him, you understand?
It’s that he does not love me. He never has, not in that way.
He sees me as… I don’t know… he cares about me, he would protect me, he likes to have me around, and he likes it when other people see me on his arm, but he does not desire me.
Do you see? There is some element of it, some element of what love should be between a husband and a wife that is missing.
And I don’t know why it is so frustrating.
If you had told me, going into it all, that I would be loved but not desired, I would have said it was absolutely acceptable, that I didn’t need desire.
Perhaps it is, you know, perhaps I don’t mind.
I like it, I suppose, being desired. When Mr. Eves looked at me…
oh, but that was so long ago, and everything is different now, and after a woman grows a babe in her body, it all…
all of that… it’s so different. It’s only…
” There was a long pause. “For my husband, it matters. He wants to love that way. He wants to love someone and to desire them, and whatever he feels for me, it’s not enough.
I think eventually, he will go mad from the feeling of it, that feeling of it not being enough. I think…”
Another long pause.
Eventually, Jane said, “That was not quite an answer, I’m afraid.”
“For his own sake,” said Mrs. Beaumont, “perhaps he would be better off away from me.”
Jane gave her a nod. “I understand perfectly.”
Cassandra, however, did not, so Jane had to explain it to her.
The two left Mrs. Spotts’s home behind, left Mrs. Beaumont to her babe, and began walking to town.
Jane explained her scheme to Cassandra as they walked.
Cassandra listened without interrupting, only now and again breaking in to ask questions when she found she didn’t quite understand one thing or another.
They walked under the boughs of the trees, heavy with blossoms, and the air was warm, even though it had been quite cold enough for the fire the night before.
They walked and eventually Jane finished, and then she waited.
Cassandra nodded to herself, looking down at the ground, saying nothing.
“Well, let me have it,” said Jane. “Tell me how I should not meddle in such things and that we must rather tell the magistrate and that it is not my place and that I ought to mind my own business.”
“No, no,” said Cassandra. “I think it’s clever, actually. Apt. And, well, a bit poetic.” She put her arm around her sister and gave her a brief squeeze. “If I didn’t know better, I should think you a popular novelist.”
Jane snorted.
“I WOULDN’T HAVE thought it of that valet,” Mr. Hardy was saying to Jane, “but I always did get a bit of a feeling from him, like something about him was off. I don’t know if you know what I’m talking about, if you ever get that kind of feeling from someone.
Certain people, they like to take charge of others, you know. ”
“Certain people?” said Jane with a laugh.
They were in the storage room at the tavern that also had a desk set up in it. Mr. Hardy stood in front of the desk, facing Jane as she spoke.
“No, you’re right, madam, I suppose everyone enjoys that to a degree. Taking charge of others can be quite gratifying. But most people’s enjoyment of it is dampened when they see they are hurting others. And then there are those like that Mr. Lovell.”
“True enough,” said Jane. “And yourself, sir?”
“Me? What of me?” Mr. Hardy looked thoroughly confused.
“Do you enjoy taking charge of others?” she said.
“I am never in charge, Miss Austen,” he said with an ironic smile.
“Well, that simply isn’t true,” said Jane. “You are seemingly now in charge of this entire tavern, and you have always had a position here of some importance. And then there is the matter of the fact you weaponize secrets against other men to get them to do your bidding when it pleases you.”
Mr. Hardy went entirely still.
“Do not deny it, for I already know it is true, and it is, in fact, a service I need rendered from you today, which is the reason for my visit,” said Jane.
Mr. Hardy tilted his head down, his expression changing. “Pardon me, madam?”
“Well, I suppose I shall come around to it eventually regardless,” said Jane, “but I must say, you cannot go about terrorizing people in this manner, Mr. Hardy. You did not die this time, but you will get yourself killed if you continue thinking that blackmail is the way forward. You are running this tavern now for Mr. Seward and the two of you seem to have found a way to work together despite whatever you have threatened him with in the past, so I hope that you will continue in that manner after all of this.” Jane flinched.
“Well, after you carry out one more blackmail request for me, I suppose.” She sighed.
“What are you speaking of?”
“It’s all very well and good to scold you out of one side of my mouth when I am asking you to perform the selfsame action out of the other side.” Jane shook her head. “Nothing for it, though, I suppose. Here it is. The valet didn’t do it.”
Mr. Hardy drew himself up in shock. “No?”
“No,” said Jane.
“Then who?” said Mr. Hardy.
Jane swallowed. “Now, before I tell you, I want you to understand that this cannot be done out of vengeance, you see. We shall do this, you and I, well, really only you, but I am bringing it about, so, yes, we shall do this for justice. Because Lord Byron protects friends, no matter what they have done, because Lord Byron has no scruples, and I am not Lord Byron, and I shall not stand by and allow a murderer to live a free and happy life without any consequence whatsoever!”
“It’s Beaumont,” said Mr. Hardy.
Jane nodded.
Mr. Hardy clenched his hands into fists. He moved past Jane and went to the door of the storage room. He opened it. “You had best go. I am feeling out of sorts, and when I get into a temper—”
“Yes, I know about your tempers,” cut in Jane dryly. “Did I not even now finish with a speech about justice versus vengeance?”
Mr. Hardy paused, back to her, muscles moving in his back beneath his clothes.
A long moment passed, and then, very deliberately, he shut the door again.
He turned back around to her. “Beaumont never cared a fig about her. He destroyed her, and he didn’t even care.
He just used and discarded her like… like a rag he’d soiled.
And then, I was left to try to gather up the pieces of her, but she never wanted me.
And then, he just kills her. Just like that.
Snuffs her out.” Mr. Hardy’s face twisted.
“Yes,” said Jane. “We are of one mind about this. And it bodes well that your anger is directed at him for his hand in Anne’s murder, not because his attempt was against you.”
“Right,” said Mr. Hardy. “He meant it for me. But why? Why did he want to kill me?”
“I suppose you don’t know, then,” said Jane. “But you will now have to pretend you have always known.”
“Known what?”
“Well, I don’t know all the details, and I don’t wish to know, for it is squalid. But Beaumont arranged for Mr. Eves to… assist somehow in the making of his heir. He seems to need a man there in some capacity, I suppose—”
“Oh, yes,” said Mr. Hardy in a dark voice. “Oh, yes, indeed.”
“I want him to go into exile,” said Jane.
“I want him to leave England, to go elsewhere, and to leave enough of his fortune for his wife and child to live comfortably on for the rest of their lives. I don’t want him ever to return.
It is less about punishing him and more about removing him from our lives.
All of it starts with him, don’t you see?
Every bit of this twisted saga begins with Beaumont and the way he used Anne.
And then he finished it, and I want us to finish him. ”
“Exile,” said Mr. Hardy.
“Yes,” said Jane. “That is what you will demand of him. Not money. Nothing for your own personal gain, do you understand me?”
Mr. Hardy simply eyed her. “But if that babe is not his own, and I have that to hold over his head—”
“If I find out that you are using this information for your own purposes, I shall turn the tables on you, sir, and tell everyone in town what sort of man you are, a man who resorts to blackmail. I shall go directly to Mrs. Dittleswith and I shall spin it in such a way that the devil himself will look as if his soul is less black than yours. You know what the proper application of feminine rage can do, do you not, Mr. Hardy? If I make it the mission of every woman in this town to keep people out of your sphere of influence and your practically Satanic tavern, I can end your entire business.”
He blinked at her. “You’re a bit devious, are you not, Miss Austen?”
“Well, I hope my deviousness will not be necessary,” she said. “Are we in agreement, sir?”
“It shall be done, madam,” he said, nodding at her.