“All of what?” said Byron.
“Mr. Hardy and Miss Seward were lovers,” said Cassandra. “At least, it seems they were when they took possession of the tavern together. Probably, whatever it was that Mr. Hardyhad on Mr. Seward—the younger one, the alive one—it was something that Miss Seward provided for him. But then, at some point, she jilted him and left him all on his own, something he could hardly bear. So, he began to plot a way to get rid of her. He didn’t have any intention of killing her. He simply wanted to get the tavern away from her.”
“Why would he do that, though?” interrupted Jane. “Because he does seem very distraught about the inn passing to Mr. Seward.”
“Yes, but Mr. Seward says that Mr. Hardy came to see him,” said Cassandra.
Jane sighed. “I suppose we did say that it makes better sense if it’s Mr. Hardy who’s lying, did we not? Carry on with the theory, Cassandra.”
“Well, then,” said Cassandra, “he went to see Mr. Seward to tell him that he would not stand in the way if the man wished to take possession of the tavern, but when Mr. Hardy got back to town, he saw something that made him too angry not to take action. Perhaps it was Miss Seward with another man, I cannot be sure. But he administered that poison and then took back everything he’d said to Mr. Seward.”
“That’s what you think?” said Jane. “That Mr. Hardy is the murderer?”
“Oh, quite,” said Cassandra. “And I don’t think we’ll find any midwife at all when we arrive in Farnham. I think Mr. Hardy made that up entirely.”
“You could be right, of course,” said Byron. “It does not look good for Mr. Hardy, I must say.”
“You don’t sound convinced,” said Cassandra. “Who do you think did it?”
“I don’t know,” said Byron, tapping his chin. “I’m thinking that perhaps it’s Mr. Seward, after all. But we thought he was killing her for the tavern, but instead, I think he may have beendoing it to keep her from telling his secret, whatever it may have been.”
“Well, how does that work?” said Jane. “Because even after Anne was dead, there is still Mr. Hardy, running here and there, and with full knowledge of the secret.”
“Yes, true,” said Byron. “I think he planned for the laudanum to do away with both of them, expecting them both to be in Anne’s bedchamber.”
“Because, you agree with me that they were lovers,” said Cassandra.
“Oh, likely,” said Byron. “But maybe Anne Seward had a number of lovers.”
“Oh, you would think that,” said Jane witheringly.
“Anyway, this is why he tells us this story about Mr. Hardy coming to him and saying he would not tell his secret, because it removes any motivation that Mr. Seward might have had to do the deed in the first place,” said Byron.
“That does make sense,” said Jane. “What sort of secret would a man kill over, do you think?”
“You think it’s Mr. Seward, also?” said Cassandra.
“I didn’t say that,” said Jane. “I just said that it made sense as a reason Mr. Seward lied, if, in fact, he did lie. We’ll know more about that if this midwife remembers Mr. Hardy.”
“So, then, who do you think did it?” said Byron to Jane.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I really don’t feel as if we have enough information to make an accusation at this point.”
“Oh, fair enough,” said Byron. “Be a coward about it.”
“I’m not being a coward,” said Jane. “I’m just going to wait until I feel I’m right to make a judgment.”
THEY ARRIVED INFarnham and decided they would inquire at the dry goods store about Amelia Blethens, since it was the first store that they came to.
The man at the counter said, “Oh, yes, Mrs. Blethens lives just outside of town.” And proceeded to draw them a map for how to get there.
So, the midwife was not a fiction, at the very least. She was real.
They gave the map to the driver of the carriage, and then they set out for Mrs. Blethens’s house.
Jane was expecting some sort of hovel that sat under a curtain of trees, hidden away from sight. Well, it was spring time, so there weren’t much in the way of leaves yet on the trees, but she thought it would be small, some sort of two-room hut, perhaps with dried herbs hanging from the eves and several cats curled up on the small stoop in front. She didn’t know why she was imagining a witch’s house from a children’s story, but there it was.
At any rate, she was quite surprised, when the house was rather nicely situated, two stories, with a charming garden, and a circular drive where they could pull up their carriage.
