“Even if that’s true,” said Byron, “what does it matter?”
“I think it matters because I don’t think poor Anne deserved it. I think she was used by Beaumont as a young girl, ruined for his perversities, and then she was left to gather all that up. She likely wanted that tavern because she felt she couldn’t marry, not if she’d been so ruined and used up,” said Jane. “And that wasn’t her fault. It was the fault of Beaumont, because men like him think of women like fillies.”
“All right, now, you’re taking one conversation out of context and giving it much more relevance than I think it should have,” said Byron.
“Fillies?” said Cassandra.
“And besides,” said Byron. “It really has no bearing on who killed her.”
Jane sighed heavily. Perhaps it didn’t.
Sometimes, she simply felt angry, though, angry about all manner of things in the world, and she didn’t know what to do with the anger. She knew that there was simply a natural way of things, and that the problem washer—she was unnatural.
Not as unnatural as Byron and Beaumont, nothing quite so disgusting as that.
But unnatural in the way that she was not satisfied with the sorts of things a woman ought to be satisfied with. She should be pleased to have been a filly, an object, a bauble, some man’s prize. That should be as high as she ever reached.
And yet, she had never much seen the draw to such a thing, not in the end.
She wanted to be more than desirable.
She wanted to be… she didn’t know, not exactly, but she wished she could accomplish something in the same way a man could. She did not wish tobea man, not that, never that. She only wished tomatter.
“And it definitely has no bearing on whether or not Farnham would have been using Mrs. Blethens for her supply of wild carrot,” said Byron.
“Is that your theory?” said Cassandra. “Truly?”
“Well, for a man, it would be the easiest way to get it,” said Byron. “If some woman wanted me to procure it, that’s what I’d do. I’d steal it from a different woman.”
“You’re mad,” said Jane. “No, you would not.”
“Yes,” said Byron. “That is exactly what I would do.”
“Well, most men do not have more than one woman that they are… needing to dose with wild carrot seed,” said Jane.
Byron cleared his throat. “I wish that were true, Miss Jane, but I don’t think it is.”
Jane’s lip curled.
“Perhaps amongst a certain class of men,” said Cassandra in a terse voice. “Amongst your lot, my lord, amongst menwho have too much money and too much time and nothing meaningful to do with themselves.”
“Look here, I haven’t got too much money,” said Byron.
“You know what I mean,” said Cassandra. “A man like Mr. Hardy is not out there with a vast array of mistresses.” She made a face. “By mistress, I mean—”
“No, I understand,” said Byron. “You mean mistresses of his pleasure.”
Cassandra made a face. “I really do not wish to eventhinkabout all of this anymore.”
“Apologies,” said Byron. “And you’re right. He doesn’t seem the type. But, consider the following: if I were, let’s say,closeto a woman, and I wished to be close to another woman, I would lie to the second woman about being close to the first.”
“You’re despicable,” said Jane in a tired voice.
“Perhaps,” said Byron. “But let us assume that Mr. Hardy is like me in this regard.”
“You think he and Miss Sewardwerelovers, but he concealed it from Mrs. Blethens,” said Jane. “Just to get wild carrot?”
“Well, to get the wild carrot seed and to, erm, be close, I suppose, because that would have been no hardship for him. If a woman is willing, no man is going to turn that down.”
