“What is that reason?” said one of the women.
Byron turned to her, his expression changing to one of deep solemnity. “I remain here until I can clear my name. I was falsely accused of murder most foul, and now I shall not rest until I find the person who did the deed, for it was not me.”
All of the women in the room sighed, in unison.
Jane sighed, too, but for a different reason.
“You seem,” Byron continued, “like the most observant of ladies. You must know who it was who would have wished Miss Anne Seward dead.”
And then, it was silent.
All of the women exchanged glances, but no one said anything.
Mrs. Ditterswith spoke up. “Everyone liked Anne.”
“Yes, but did they?” said Byron. “For, you see, I’ve heard some rumors about Anne, about the way Anne was in her young womanhood? The word ‘wild’ was employed.”
The women began to whisper to each other.
“Well,” said Mrs. Ditterswith, “shedidown a tavern.”
“So she did,” said Byron. “And there’s been some discussion that she had a lover. But we aren’t sure who it was.”
“Oh, it was Mr. Hardy,” said one of the women.
“We have heard that. He claims that isn’t true,” said Byron. “We’ve also heard it was Mr. Eves.”
“The owner of the inn?” said Mrs. Ditterswith. “But he wanted the tavern shut down, did he not? When the original owner died, Mr. Seward, Mr. Eves was quite clear he wanted it sold and turned into something other than a tavern, and then, just now, when poor Anne died, he returned to his same tune. It doesn’t seem she’d welcome him into her bed if he kept saying those things.”
“I agree,” said Byron. “I have said exactly that. But you’re saying, you don’t know? There were no rumors of any kind regarding this?”
“Well,” said Mrs. Ditterswith. “There were rumors about her and Mr. Beaumont, but that’s been years ago.”
“Yes, we heard about that, too,” said Byron.
“I don’t think you need us,” said Mrs. Ditterswith. “You seem to have rooted out secrets quite fine on your own.”
“Perhaps so,” said Byron. “But I do need you all, ever so very much. Why, you’ve been more than helpful to me today.”
Yes, helpful to your ego,thought Jane at him.
“YOUR JEALOUSY SHOULDN’Tbe such a lark, I must say, but I cannot help myself,” said Byron. “I find it ever such a diversion. Do make that face again, the one you were making during the entire tea.”
Jane was outside Mrs. Ditterswith’s house, and her mother was still inside, chatting with Mrs. Ditterswith, but Jane had known quite certainly that she must have some fresh air, and so, she had come outside and she was now gazing off at the buds ona nearby tree, engaging in a silent reverie, or, at least, she would have been if Byron himself had not followed her out here and begun to tease her mercilessly.
“You’re not making the face,” said Byron. “You’re ignoring me, but I am entirely convinced you can hear me.”
Jane did not look at him. She looked at the buds on the tree. “I am not jealous, my lord. I could not be jealous of those ridiculous women. Why, to say such a thing. ‘Every stanza rhymes,’” she mimicked in a high-pitched voice, utterly disgusted.
Byron burst out into laughter.
“I don’t care if you do give them attention. Certainly, I don’twantyour attention. We exchange one glance yesterday, and you think you’ve turned my head, but let me assure you, that is the furthest thing from the truth. I do not think of you in that manner.”
“Yes, noted,” he said, smirking. “You, indeed, do not.”
She clenched her hands into fists, but otherwise she refused to show any of her perturbation outwardly. She still did not look at him.
“That isn’t what I meant, anyway,” said Byron.
