She fixed him with a penetrating look. “Have you really not read it?”
“Do you really think my poem is dreadful?”
She laughed softly. “Well, you are so very good at rhyming. Every stanza!”
He laughed, too. “All right. I see you’re going to repeat that forever. I’ll have you know, it is much more difficult to rhyme than not. You must own this is true.”
“You think I’ve never written in verse?” she said.
“No, I suppose you would have,” he said. “I suppose you’re quite good at rhyming?”
“I’ve never written anything rhyming as long as yours,” she conceded. “Whatever possessed you to think your little jaunt across the ocean to drink and carouse was the proper subject of an epic poem? How much of an ego do you have?”
“No, it’s not like that.” He was blushing again. “That’s sort of the point, don’t you see? That there isn’t anything, nothing at all, that’s worthy of that sort of thing anymore, not for men like us, and this is all that’s left to us, to cobble meaning together from what we do experience, as banal as it may be?”
“Right,” she said, nodding. “Right, of course. I suppose I do see that.” She was going to say something else, but then she noted that someone was approaching from the house. It was one of the women from the tea, a Mrs. Edgerton.
Jane couldn’t remember if Mrs. Edgerton had said anything to Byron or not. She had been mostly subdued through the tea, watching and listening.
Now, however, she caught Jane’s eye. “Oh, Miss Austen!”
Byron turned in the direction of the woman’s voice. “Hello there.”
“My lord,” said Mrs. Edgerton. “I wish to speak to you both.” She looked around as if she was wondering if anyone was watching her and then, noting she was not being watched, she scurried closer. “It’s about Miss Seward.”
“Oh,” said Byron. “Well, we are quite curious.”
“You were wondering if she had a lover,” said Mrs. Edgerton. “And I don’t know about that. Not for certain, anyway. No, what I’m about to tell you is simply conjecture, and if you were to repeat it to anyone or claim that you heard it from me, I’m afraid I would not confirm it. I do not wish to be involved in any unpleasantness, you see?”
“Of course,” said Byron.
“So, you aren’t certain at all about it?” said Jane.
“I’m certain of this,” said Mrs. Edgerton. “That ladder belonged to the Wellings.”
“The Wellings,” said Jane.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Edgerton, “and I’m certain of it because I saw them, the night after Miss Seward had died, carrying it back to his shed.”
“Well,” said Jane, “the Wellings live only across the back alleyway from the tavern. If someone wanted to steal a ladder, that’s a convenient place to steal it from.”
“Indeed,” said Mrs. Edgerton. “I don’t wish to out and out accuse Mr. Wellings of being the one to have an affair with Miss Seward. It may not have been him. But I think it must have been someone who knew about that ladder being stored there. And I think this is how he would get in and out for the trysts with Miss Seward. He would use the ladder, and then, when he had finished, he would take it back to the Wellings’s shed.”
“That makes sense,” said Jane.
“It could have been one of the Wellings’s servants,” said Mrs. Edgerton.
“Also true,” said Jane.
“I don’t know,” said Mrs. Edgerton. “But I do know this. Mr. Welling was involved in putting the ladder away, and he made sure to do it under the cover of darkness. It was near ten o’clock at night when they were carrying it from the tavern and acrossthe alleyway back to the Wellings’s shed. I saw, because I live close by.”
“Yes, on the other side of the tavern,” said Jane thoughtfully. “But certainly anyone in town would have seen.”
“More people would have seen if he’d done it in broad daylight,” said Mrs. Edgerton. “I’m not saying he had something to hide, but it also looks bad, if you know what I mean.”
“Quite,” said Byron. “Thank you for telling us this, Mrs. Edgerton.”
“I hope it’s helpful,” said Mrs. Edgerton. “I should hate to see you blamed for something you did not do, my lord.”
