“Indeed,” said Byron. “And not dressed, as it happens. Not a stitch on.”
Mrs. Austen covered her mouth with one hand, her eyes very wide.
“Apologies,” said Byron. “I suppose this is why everyone sort of thought I did it. But I do realize it’s probably not the sort of thing I should be recounting in this sort of company. Have I mentioned how sorry I am about… everything?”
“You have,” allowed Mrs. Austen. “But I don’t understand, truly. Where exactlydidyou wake up?”
He squared his shoulders. “Yes, about that.” He picked up the final biscuit and turned it this way and that. “I may have been a bit less than truthful as I’ve been explaining this.”
Jane suddenly understood entirely. She folded her arms over her chest. “I think I see.”
“Do you?” said Byron.
“I think you woke up in the bed with the corpse,” said Jane.
Byron winced. “Possibly, it was a bit like that, yes.”
“What?” said Mrs. Austen.
“Yes, but you see, I promise, I didn’tdoanything with Miss Seward,” said Byron. “Iwas wearing clothes, you see.” He gestured at his outfit. “Because what happened is this: I awoke, saw poor Miss Seward, screeched at the top of my lungs like a barn owl, and kept screeching until people came into the room, and then I scrambled up out of the bed, and everyone saw that, and that was when they all decided I killed her, and then I realized they were going to attempt to carry out some kind of justice, as they saw it, and I realized it would be prudent for me to take my leave, which I did, except they chased me, and then I came to you, because I thought you could tell everyone that I had been… here.”
“When they caught you in her bed?” said Jane.
“Yes, but I didn’t—”
“Even now, you have just said you have no memory of last night,” said Jane.
“Notnomemory, justpatchymemory,” said Byron.
Cassandra eyed him. “Is it possible that you did kill Miss Seward and you simply don’t remember?”
“No,” said Byron. “No, it is not. I do not kill women.”
Jane, Cassandra, and their mother all regarded him from the opposite couch, arms folded over their chests.
Byron ate the final biscuit. It was quiet except for the sound of his chewing. “One thing I’m not clear on is why he has a different name than you? You’re all Austens, and you two have never been married, and he’s your son, Mrs. Austen, so why is his name Knight?”
“He was adopted by the Knights and inherited from them,” said Jane.
“Adopted, but his mother is obviously alive,” said Byron, furrowing his brow.
“They didn’t have any children,” said Mrs. Austen. “I had others. He was quite happy. The Knights could do things for Edward that I couldn’t. It seemed a good decision at the time. The other children all went off to school for long periods. I did miss him, but, well, I thought of it as a very long session at school, I suppose. Anyway, if it weren’t for Edward and the Knights and his inheritance, we wouldn’t have this lovely house.”
“Indeed, I see that,” said Byron, looking about the room. “Terrible thing, really, being penniless and yet everyone below you is quite envious of you, thinking you have so much, and truly you just have…” He made a face. “Do you have any idea how much money my publishers are making offChilde Harold?”
“They aren’t paying you?” said Jane.
“I could not takemoney,” said Byron. “It would be an exceedingly common thing to do. You, however, as the book has made back whatever your brother put up to publish it, are getting paid—”
“I have not ever, not once, admitted to publishing anything at all,” said Jane.
“Yes, well, I see why you haven’t,” he said. “If you are anonymous, no one knows, you can pocket the money.” He gestured. “So, truly, if I had money, what I would do is just pay someone, paymanysomeones to… make this go away.” He brushed crumbs off of his palms. “But I don’t, you see. I don’t have money. So, I’m afraid I really have to prove my innocence. Can’t you simply say I was staying here with you?”
“But you weren’t, and everyone knows that,” said Jane.
“Besides,” said Cassandra, “you probably did kill her and don’t remember it.”
“I did not,” said Byron, sounding sulky.
