“Well, perhaps we should,” said Cassandra. “Who is the magistrate of Hampshire?”
“I don’t know,” said Jane. “He probably lives in Winchester, do you not think, and—”
“We could send a letter,” said Cassandra.
“Oh, yes,” said Jane.
“Odd that you and Lord Byron have been running amok doing all this, and you haven’t given one thought to what might happen after you uncover the murderer,” said Cassandra.
“I suppose I rather thought…” Jane bit down on her lip. “Yes, I suppose I didn’t think about that at all. I was far too caught up in the other aspects of it.”
“Well, here’s what we’ll do. We shall find out who the magistrate is, send him a letter telling him that Mr. Hardy is a murderer, and he’ll dispatch someone to start an inquest or something, I should think. Perhaps there will be a trial,” said Cassandra. “We needn’t bother ourselves any more with it.”
Jane furrowed her brow. “Well, I suppose not.”
“And you, Betsy,” said Cassandra, “he will not know that you have said anything until the magistrate sends someone to collect him. You will be quite safe.”
“It’s only that I don’t know that I believe that Mr. Hardy did it,” said Jane. “It doesn’t make sense. He wouldn’t have, because that would mean that he would no longer have the tavern, which was his livelihood and his home. Byron and I are both in agreement about this.”
“No, true,” said Betsy. “I can’t understand it myself. But he had that cup, and he must have done it.”
“And it still doesn’t explain the ladder,” said Jane, sighing.
“That ladderiscurious,” said Betsy, shaking her head.
“This is simply the way of things,” said Cassandra. “Not everything has an explanation. Some things simply are never known.”
“I suppose,” said Jane quietly.
“I suppose,” said Betsy, tapping her lower lip.
“Come, Jane,” said Cassandra, “let us away. We shall walk back home and move on from all of this.”
Jane smiled at Betsy. “I do thank you for coming to me with this. You did the right thing, and we shall be sure that something is done about it.”
Betsy nodded. “All right, good.”
And then Jane allowed herself to be led back out of town and to walk with Cassandra on the road to their cottage.
Cassandra didn’t say anything for the first mile, simply kept glancing over at Jane and then sighing.
Jane knew her sister well enough to know that Cassandra was not going to keep her counsel forever, however. She waited.
Sure enough, eventually Cassandra spoke. “I fear I have gone about this all wrong, and you are now only thinking of me as some kind of awful scold. I don’t mean to be that way, you know, Jane. I am thinking about your happiness. I have your best interests at heart. I don’t think anyone cares as much about you as I do.”
“I know,” said Jane. “I well know that. You are…” She glanced sidelong at her sister, the person she had loved best for her whole life. She was no longer Cassandra’s shadow, following the other woman around and imitating her, but she would say this was the closest relationship she had with anyone. They were not only sisters, they were the best of friends, they were closeconfidantes, they shared each other’s triumphs and miseries, all of that. “I care about you too.”
“Oh, this isn’t about me,” said Cassandra. “This is about you, caught up in all of this, when you should be at home, minding your business and letting all of this take care of itself. None of this is our affair, Jane!”
“I know,” said Jane.
“I wonder if you have any care for our good name?”
“You know that I do.”
“It only seems you’re being very reckless. We went to visit a courtesan, Jane!”
Jane sighed. “You were quite scandalized by that.”
