“I never said he hated me,” said Byron. “In fact, I said that everyone loves me.”
“What did you do to injure this man?” said Jane.
“I shan’t repeat that. It’s not fit for a lady like yourself’s ears, and you’d be astounded and ever so offended.”
Jane glared at him. “Well, don’t go into detail, then, but tell me roundabout what it is that you did.”
Byron shrugged. “I can’t figure a way to do that, I’m afraid. Even the roundabout way of explaining it would shock you.”
She folded her arms over her chest. “You know, it seems to me that we should get a bit better at putting questions to people. We should prepare a bit, the two of us, get some sort of pattern down.”
“Pattern?”
“Yes, perhaps play to our strengths in various ways?” said Jane.
“Oh, you think I have strengths?” Byron was looking up at a large painting of the view of the gardens at Cannar Hall. In the painting, it was summer and there were flowers and greenery and all manner of growing things.
Jane let out an exasperated breath.
“It’s only that I don’t think you’ve forgiven me, really,” said Byron. “I don’t know why we’re still at this, when you said to me very plainly that you wanted nothing more to do with me.”
“I don’t think that’s what I said,” she said, shaking her head at him. “And don’t pretend you aren’t grateful that I am here.”
“Oh, slavishly,” said Byron. “In all truth, I am stupidly grateful for the fact you have deigned to spend time with me again. But that doesn’t mean that I’m not wary, because I feel you might run off from me at any time, and I can tell you that telling you stories about my past is not going to ingratiate you to me in that way.”
“I had moved on from that,” she said.
“Had you?”
“Yes, I quite changed the subject,” she said. “I was speaking about how we should put questions to Mr. Crampton.”
Byron looked away from the painting. He opened his mouth to speak.
And the door opened and a servant was there, announcing Mr. Crampton, who swept into the room looking neat as a pin, smiling widely, his blond hair combed away from his face. “What a surprise!” he said.
Jane got to her feet.
Byron walked over to her, leaving the painting behind. “Mr. Crampton, it’s been too long.”
“Lord Byron,” said Mr. Crampton. “With Miss Austen. When they told me so, I couldn’t believe it. I had to come out here to see it with my own eyes. And here we are. It is, in fact, the both of you, together. I did not think there was a building that could hold such intense opposites, I must say. How do the two of you even know each other?”
Jane looked at Byron pointedly.
“Well,” said Byron. “After I was accused of murder, I was chased by a mob who wanted to string me up, and her house was the one I took shelter in.”
“That sounds entirely like you,” said Mr. Crampton. He sat down on a couch opposite the one where Jane was sitting.
Jane sat down.
Byron sat down next to her.
Crampton was still smiling, but he didn’t seem amused. There was something about the smile that seemed artificial to Jane. “At any rate, tell me, to what do I owe this pleasure?”
And here it was. Jane had been trying to get Byron to agree to some way to conduct this interview, but they’d been interrupted. So, now, she was not sure how to proceed. One did not simply say,Tell us about how many times Mr. Hardy has threatened to expose your prurient interest in men.
“Well, you see, that murder I was accused of,” said Byron.
“Yes,” cut in Mr. Crampton smoothly, “of the tavern owner, Miss Seward.”
