Murder at Newstead Abbey by Joan Smith Page B

ungrammatical “ain’ts” and “don’ts”, in an effort to spice up their conversation. He didn’t get that “don’t” from Coffen, because Coffen had been saying it forever. She was amused to see that not even Luten was immune to Byron’s influence.
    “I wonder if Byron often takes that short cut,” Coffen said, as they walked toward the house. “We’ll ask him.”
    Byron and Prance came from the library and joined the others by the grate for tea. It was pleasant to sit by the roaring fire after the cold and damp. When Mrs. Ballard heard her mistress come in, she reluctantly left the morning parlor and went to join the others. Corinne poured and they each helped themselves from the generously laid tea table.
    “You didn’t stay out long,” Byron said, pitching his comment between Luten and Corinne. He was walking a fine line, being polite to the lady without annoying her fiancé.
    “Too cold,” Corinne said. “We did stop in your spinney, however. We were wondering if you often take that shortcut.”
    “It’s my regular route to town.”
    “Would the local people know that?” She asked.
    “Of course they would,” Coffen said. “They know the name of his nags, everything.”
    “Then that was no poacher who shot at you, Byron. Someone was lying in wait for you.” She continued to describe the trampled down grass.
    Coffen asked what was in everyone’s mind. “Any idea who it could be? You mentioned your uncle shot some neighbor. Is there a feud between the families?”
    “The Chawtons? No, it’s not a case of Montagues and Capulets. Our English sangfroid, you know.”
    “Eh?”
    “Shakespeare, Coffen,” Prance explained, to obviate confusion by calling the bard William.
    “Ah, him.”
    “That feud is long forgotten,” Byron continued. “I actually had a romance with Miss Chawton when I was much younger. And she is the one who broke it off -- she had no use for a crippled boy — so there are no hard feelings on the Chawton side. She’s married now.”
    “How about the husband?” Coffen asked. “P’raps he’s jealous, now that you’re back, and so famous. Do you ever see his wife?”
    “Not in any amorous way. I’ve met her in Nottingham once or twice. The esposo is no prize, but he’s a rational fellow. I can’t believe he’s out to kill me.”
    “Well, it looks as if somebody is. Think about it and let us know if you can remember who you’ve turned against you.”
    “According to the vicar, my enemies are the pillars of the parish, who presumably know their Ten Commandments, including the fifth. Their Christian duty is to reform us sinners, not shoot us.”
    “Did you have any luck finding those letters the Richardsons are looking for?” Luten asked Byron.
    “Nothing of account. There’s a scrap of paper indicating that before he went to Jamaica Joshua Redley bought a nag from my grandfather for five guineas. I doubt that’s book-worthy.”
    “Give it to her,” Prance said. “I expect what she really wants is an excuse to sprinkle the work with the name of Byron, to add a little lustre. She’s obviously a climber. She’s been here twice, and we haven’t visited her once.”
    “I disagree,” Corinne said. “If she were socially ambitious, she’d take Sir William to London to make a splash.”
    “What, and let the cows run dry!” Prance joked. “But enough ill nature. What is it about country life that brings out the shrew in one?” It was on the tip of his tongue to quote Sydney Smith’s opinion, "I have no relish for the country; it is a kind of healthy grave," but upon consideration he thought it would be rude to his host, especially as the word “grave” occurred. He said instead, “You were after clues, Coffen. What have you discovered?”
    “I haven’t got anything real,” Coffen admitted, and told them about his visit with Tess. “I have an idea I’d like to try on you, though. What if Vulch is the fellow Nessie fell in with in London? He