“Did you know why Mr. Beaumont wanted you to put the ladder there?” said Jane. “And none of this business about a window needing repair. I assume it did not need repair, that this was some ruse you made up, not that it even made any sense. You doing repairs on the tavern with a ladder that did not even belong to anyone involved.”
“I didn’t know, ma’am,” said Felton, his voice very thin. “I had no idea. If I had thought…” He shook his head, back and forth, very fast. “I had no idea, I didn’t.”
“All right,” said Jane.
“All right,” said Byron. “That’s enough.”
“Is it?” said Jane.
“Yes,” said Byron. He took Felton by the arm. “Out you go, then.”
“Sending him out?” called Jane. “That’s what you’re going to do?”
“Yes,” said Byron. “And Mr. Felton, you have been keeping your counsel about this all along, and you must continue to do so.”
“I see,” said Jane, folding her arms over her chest. “Oh, I see indeed, my lord.”
Byron pushed Felton out of the sitting room and slammed the door. He turned to look at her. “Well,” he said, “I see you’ve figured out who the murderer is.”
“I most certainly have,” she said.
“So have I,” said Byron.
“You’re going to protect him, are you not?” said Jane, lifting her chin. “I shouldn’t have expected anything different from you.”
Byron tilted his head to one side. “I haven’t decided exactly what I am going to do. You can see that I am in a difficult situation, do you not? So, if you don’t mind, allow me to escort you home, and don’t do anything at all until I work out what I am going to do. Do you think you could do that for me?”
“Well, I don’t think I should,” said Jane.
“But as a favor, to me, your friend? Will you simply do nothing?”
Jane huffed again. “I think I shall want to ride home after all. But alone. Not with your company.”
“Do I have your promise you will do nothing until we have spoken?”
“What if I say no?”
“Then I shall be sure to escort you home, for I do not dare do anything else.”
She sighed heavily. “Fine, then. I promise.”
“WAIT,” SAID CASSANDRA, furrowing her brow. “I don’t understand at all. How did you know, from that, who the murderer was?”
Jane and Cassandra were alone together that evening, after dinner, in one of the sitting rooms. It was cold that evening, and they were huddled round a fire. Mrs. Austen had gone to bed early with a dollop of whisky in her tea, which was just as well, because Jane would not have trusted her mother with this information.
However, she was bursting with it, and she could not help but tell Cassandra. She always told Cassandra everything.
“It’s not obvious to you?” said Jane.
“No, not at all,” said Cassandra. “ItisMr. Hardy, isn’t it?”
“No, Cassandra! What is your obsession with Mr. Hardy being the murderer? The man was not eventhere.”
“Oh, fine, who is it then?”
“Obviously, it’s Mr. Beaumont,” said Jane.
“Mr. Beaumont,” repeated Cassandra. “What?”
