“You found something in Mr. Hardy’s bedchamber,” said Jane.
“It was hidden-like,” said Betsy. “If it had been sitting out, I would have thought nothing of it. I don’t know why he didn’t just bring it down to the kitchens and have it washed, truly. He shouldn’t have hidden it away in his folded clothes. It was real deliberate, you know. He wanted to hide it. I know it.”
“What is it?”
“A drinking glass,” said Betsy. “It smells of laudanum.”
Jane let out a noisy breath. “Oh, dear.”
“Yes,” said Betsy. “Yes, I have been bursting to tell someone, and I’m afraid to tell. I don’t know what to do. But I thought that since you and that Lord Byron were looking into things, you’d know what to do with that information. Only…” She shook her head back and forth, quite quickly. “I don’t want Mr. Hardy to hang. I know he must have done it to her, but I… oh, I hate the idea that I…” She sucked in a breath through her nose. “But I had to tell. I had to.”
“Do you have the drinking glass?” said Jane.
“Well, no, I left it there,” said Betsy. “If I’d’ve taken it, he’d’ve known it was me. I’m the only one who goes in there. I couldn’t disturb it, could I?”
“I see,” said Jane. “Well, that’s good, then. If we can get Mr. Hardy to let us into his bedchamber, we can find it ourselves and then we—”
“No, there is no way to do that that doesn’t result in him figuring out it was me who told you!” Betsy exclaimed. “Why would you want to go in there? Why would you know just where to find it?”
“If Lord Byron were here, it might be easier,” said Jane. “It would be less irregular for him to go into another man’s bedchamber, and anyway, people don’t say no to him easily.”
“Where is his lordship?” said Betsy.
Jane shook her head. “Not important.”
“Oh,” said Betsy. “So, he jilted you.”
“He did not jilt me,” said Jane. “We are not involved in any such way. He is twelve years my junior, you know.”
“Is he, then?” Betsy smiled at her in a way that Jane did not like.
“Betsy, my sister would not be in some sort of untoward relationship with a man like that,” spoke up Cassandra.
“Oh, of course not. My apologies to you both,” said Betsy. “Anyway, that’s good, then, because he does seem like the type, after all.”
“What type?” said Cassandra.
“The type to jilt,” said Betsy.
“Oh, well, that is without question,” said Cassandra. “But also, he doesn’t seem the type to commit in any way. You would never be sure of a man like that.”
“Oh, indeed, I know the sort,” said Betsy.
“I don’t even know why we are talking about him,” said Jane. “We don’t need him. We can do this without him.”
“All right,” said Betsy, “but you can’t go in there. Can’t you simply use this information to pressure Mr. Hardy into confessing to everything?”
“Perhaps,” said Jane.
“No, you can’t!” Betsy clutched her forehead. “For if you tell him you know it’s in his bedchamber, it’s the same as if you go and seek it out. He will know I am the one who told you!”
“Well, if I cannot ever mention it to him,” said Jane, “then perhaps you should not have told me.”
Betsy let out a strangled sound. “Oh, you are right. Perhaps I should have kept it all to myself. Perhaps I should have simply let it go.”
“Look here,” said Cassandra, “after he’s been caught, he’ll be taken away, by the magistrate I should imagine. And so, it won’t matter if he knows, because he’ll be punished.”
“Who’s going to tell the magistrate?” said Jane.
