“And where do you reside?” said Byron.
“Berkshire. What does this have to do with anything?” said Mr. Seward.
“We understand that you were quite keen on the inn years ago, when your uncled passed.”
“I wasn’t keen on it,” said Mr. Seward. “I don’t want a tavern, not at all. The sooner I can sell it, the better.”
“You want the money from the sale of the tavern, though,” said Byron.
“Chiefly, I want the thing out of my hands. I’d be willing to take a low price for it, lower than it’s worth,” said Mr. Seward. “Don’t go spreading that about, but here, me to you, sir, I tell you, make me an offer. I am quite inclined to take anything at this point.”
“Why is that?” said Byron, ignoring the fact that Mr. Seward hadn’t called him, “my lord,” but then they really hadn’t done much in the way of introductions, so Seward couldn’t be blamed.
“It’s nothing wrong with the tavern, don’t worry,” said Mr. Seward. “It’s all in fine shape, I swear to you. And I am in no need of the money. I have a robust income. I’m in imports. Tea, mostly, but some spices and other things as well. I own ships.”
“You do.” Byron regarded him, brow furrowed.
“I do,” said Mr. Seward. “Yes. So, you see. An offer, any offer at all—”
“We heard rumors,” said Byron, “that Mr. Hardy had done some negotiation to keep you from taking the tavern before. Can you tell us anything about that?”
“I kindly allowed my cousin to remain here and run the tavern,” said Mr. Seward. “She wished it, and I have no desire to run a tavern, clearly, so it was all very tidy.”
“Hmm,” said Byron.
Mr. Seward looked him over. “You’re not even casting one glance at these books. I don’t think you intend to make an offer.”
“Well, no,” said Byron, shrugging. “I don’t really want to own a tavern, truth be told. Sounds like a dreadful headache.”
“It is. That’s why I want to sell it,” said Seward. “But I don’t understand. If you don’t wish to buy it, why are you here speaking to me?”
Byron shifted on his feet.
Mr. Seward turned to Jane. “You. You look familiar. But if you’re one of those spinster sisters who lives up at the cottage in Chawton, then why are you with him?”
“Mr. Seward, I have to say,” said Byron. “Regardless of how much income anyone has, everyone would like more money. Absolutely everyone would, even if one has more than they can spend in a lifetime. I keep the company of very wealthy men often, and I tell you, they are all eager for more. So, I don’t know that I believe you when you say that you don’t care about the money for this tavern due to having an income. But I do think you seem quite motivated to sell it quickly. I simply don’t know why. Is it not for the money but for some other reason?”
Mr. Seward shook his head. “Who are you? I realize we never did discuss that.”
“I’m Lord Byron,” said Byron. “The sixth Baron of Rochdale. This is Miss Jane Austen.”
Mr. Seward sighed, looking back and forth at the two of them. “And what is it you want from me?”
“We think your cousin was murdered,” said Byron with a little shrug.
Jane gave him a look. Was it wise to reveal that? She supposed it would have come out eventually.
“Oh,” said Mr. Seward, making a face. “Well, that’s positively horrid. By whom?”
“We don’t know,” said Jane. “We’re asking questions to try to figure that out.”
“You think it was me?” said Mr. Seward, suddenly putting it all together. “You think I killed poor Anne to get my hands on this grubby tavern?”
“Well, for the money, maybe,” said Byron, “but I have to say, I can’t understand why you’d go to so much trouble and then offer it to us for any offer we might make for it. So, I’m not sure what I think now.”
“Why did you relinquish the inn to Anne before?” said Jane. “The rumor is that Mr. Hardy convinced you somehow.”
At the mention of Mr. Hardy, Seward’s lip curled in disgust. “That man is a devil.”
