Byron was buttering his third piece of toast. “No?”
“No!” said Mrs. Austen. “He assaulted you and kept you prisoner, my lord. That demands immediate action.”
“Right, well, if I were the sort of lord who had loyal, erm, anyone, I could maybe snap my fingers and order some vassals or what-have-you to come and take him off my keep and throw him in my dungeons—”
“No, be serious for a moment,” said Cassandra. “He is a murderer. He is dangerous. Something must be done. We need to go to Mr. Eves.”
“It’s only,” said Jane, “that this is exactly what Mr. Eves would want.”
“Yes,” said Byron, pointing at her. “Isn’t it, though?”
“What are you saying?” said Mrs. Austen.
“We know that Mr. Eves dislikes the existence of the tavern in town,” said Jane. “He would like the thing sold and turned into some other sort of establishment entirely.”
“Oh,” said Mrs. Austen, “well, probably so there is less competition for his inn.”
“Well, probably,” said Jane. “The fact remains that he was happy when Mr. Seward was going to sell it. But now that Mr. Hardy and Mr. Seward may be reaching an arrangement between the two of them and the tavern will continue on just as it always has, that must anger Mr. Eves.”
“You think he planted the cup of laudanum in Mr. Hardy’s room?” said Cassandra, horrified.
“Hmm,” said Jane, eyeing Byron.
He continued buttering his toast, eyeing Jane back. “Hmm.”
“No,” said Jane. “That’s ludicrous. He wouldn’t get a man framed for murder simply to stop the tavern from being there. Would he?”
“What bothers me,” said Byron, “is that we still don’t know anything about that ladder.”
“Yes, that bothers me as well,” said Jane. “Who moved that ladder over there and why?”
“Yes, and if it was so secretive,” said Byron, “why leave it there for us to find the next day?”
“It’s a ridiculous way to have a secret lover’s tryst,” said Jane.
“It really is,” said Byron. “It had to have been up there for some other reason.”
“Oh, and why were you climbing it?” said Jane.
“You had to bring that up,” muttered Byron.
“I’m only saying that there are a number of loose ends,” said Jane.
“Even if Mr. Hardy did not commit the murder,” said Mrs. Austen, “he needs to be punished for what he did to you last night, Lord Byron.”
Byron considered. “Perhaps. And, as I was saying, if I were the sort to have vassals or lackeys or—”
“I’m not saying you challenge him to a duel or something—”
“Me? Duel?” Byron gestured at himself with his toast. “I have a clubbed foot.”
Everyone stared at him, blinking.
“And anyway,” said Byron, “dueling is illegal.”
“Yes, obviously,” continued Mrs. Austen, “so that is why I am not suggesting it. But something must be done about the way he treated you.”
Byron sighed.
