“I don’t know that it means anything,” said Byron.
“So, why did we come up here?” she said.
He shut the window. “I suppose if it hadn’t been repaired, we might have questioned the gardener’s story. But since it has been, it seems in order.”
“Why leave the ladder here if the window had already been repaired?” said Jane.
“Hmm. That’s a good question,” said Byron.
Suddenly, Jane spotted movement out of the corner of her eye and she whirled around to see who it was, her heart beating too fast in her chest, likely because of all that had already transpired here, finding Byron in the storeroom, sneaking about, all of that.
Her worst fears were realized when who should appear in the doorway but Mr. Hardy.
She let out a tiny little noise in the back of her throat.
“You’re frightened of me,” said Mr. Hardy.
“No, no,” said Byron, quite sarcastic. “Wouldn’t have any reason at all to fear you, sir, now would I?”
Mr. Hardy came through the doorway, and it was then they both realized he wasn’t alone. He had a youth with him, older than a boy, really, but not quite a man. He was nearly as tall as Mr. Hardy, but gangly, his clothes hanging against his narrow frame. He cringed as Mr. Hardy pushed him forward.
“Well,” said Mr. Hardy, “tell them.”
“It was me,” said the youth. “I’m the one who killed Miss Seward.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
THE BOY’S NAMEwas William, something they ascertained right afterwards, because Jane said that she wasn’t going to believe anything that Mr. Hardy forced this poor boy to confess, and Mr. Hardy said he wasn’t forcing him to do anything, and Lord Byron said that hauling him around while he looked as if he’d rather be anywhere else certainly looked like forcing.
“You can’t be coming into my tavern at all hours, you know,” said Mr. Hardy to them both. “You can’t just come in whenever you wish.”
“Oh, it’s your tavern now?” said Byron. “I suppose you killed her for it. Somehow, you would have known that you could take possession of it.”
“I could not have known that!” said Mr. Hardy. “Mr. Seward was dead set against me, and I don’t know what brought him round. Listen to what William has to say, if you please.”
William swallowed. “I make a sleeping draught for Mr. Hardy each night.”
“Do you work here at the tavern?” said Jane.
“Aye, ma’am,” said William, nodding, keeping his head bowed.
“What’s the sleeping draught got to do with anything?” said Byron.
“I always make it in a special cup,” said William.
“The cup you found in my chambers,” said Mr. Hardy to Byron.
“The one you smashed, you mean?” said Byron.
“I was in a temper,” said Mr. Hardy.
“Maybe you were in a temper when you killed Miss Seward!” said Byron.
“I did not kill her,” said Mr. Hardy. “I wasn’t even here.”
“Oh, you say that now,” said Byron.
“Listen to William!” bellowed Mr. Hardy.
