“We couldn’t begin without you, Thomas, don’t be ridiculous,” said Byron, who reached over to get the platter of meat and speared himself a large chunk. He deposited it on his plate and passed it to Beaumont.
For several moments, they occupied themselves only with passing around the food and filling their plates.
Jane found she was actually hungrier than she thought and began to tuck in with as much gusto as she thought appropriate in company.
“You probably don’t know why I’m here,” said Byron. “At first, I thought everyone would be abuzz with it, but I think I have miscalculated my celebrity here in the country. People know who I am, but it’s not quite as interesting to everyone as I might have thought it would be.”
“What are you going on about?” said Beaumont. “Of course I knew you were here. I saw you last night.”
Byron set down his fork. “What?”
“You mean to tell me you don’t remember that?” said Beaumont. “Really?”
“My memory of last night is a bit patchy,” said Byron. “I seem to have a number of holes in the sequence of what occurred. When did we see each other? Where? For how long?”
“I found you out in the street, entirely soused, having been thrown out of Annie’s tavern,” said Beaumont, laughing.
“Annie,” said Jane. “You call Miss Seward Annie?”
“Ah, yes, of course,” said Beaumont. “She and I were childhood playmates, you see, and it’s often difficult to shake old habits like that.”
“So, you found me on the street, thrown out of the tavern,” said Byron.
“Yes, we spoke for a bit of time, and I said you must come see me and how long were you staying and that I would be quite happy to have you under my roof if you were to be here for longer than the night, and then we parted ways, and you went off to wherever it was you were sleeping, promising to visit me today.”
“That was all that you saw of me?” said Byron.
“You really don’t remember this? Why have you come here to see me, then?”
“Well, I woke up in bed with ‘Annie’s’ corpse,” said Byron. “And everyone assumed I’d killed her.”
Beaumont dropped his fork with a clatter. “What?”
“Apologies if you didn’t know, Mr. Beaumont,” said Jane. “But Miss Seward has passed on.”
Beaumont put a hand to his chest. “How? What happened?”
“Well, that is what we don’t know entirely,” said Jane. “Lord Byron says that he didn’t do it—”
“And Miss Austen doesn’t believe me,” said Byron, glaring at her.
“You woke up with her?” said Beaumont, turning wide, round eyes on Byron. “So, you were with her last night.”
“Well, no!” said Byron. “I wasn’t. At least, not in that way.”
“Except you have a patchy memory, and you don’t even remember seeing Mr. Beaumont,” said Jane. “So, I don’t see how you can be sure of anything.”
“I am certain of that,” said Byron. “You have a feeling of knowing when something like that has happened. I am positive.”
“Positive?” said Beaumont.
“Yes,” said Byron. “But the way you’re reacting makes me think that the tavern wench we spoke to was right about you when she said that Miss Seward was connected withyouin that way.”
Beaumont picked his fork back up and began to use it to cut carrots. “I’m a married man whose wife has just given birth.”
“And that is not an answer to the question,” said Byron.
Jane had thought he was going to finesse this a bit more when he insisted he be the one to put questions to Mr. Beaumont. However, Byron was simply being blunt about it all.
