“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 mendo 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 ITwas 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…”
