Beatrice: An Alarming Tale of British Murder and Woe by Tedd Hawks (the reading list book .TXT) 📕

“Doyou remember what she said when she left it Petrarch? Was there any urgency toit?”

            Petrarchgently patted his belly. “It was so long ago…She was distressed, but I assumedit was simply due to the nature of the letter. Having a homosexual familymember is extremely indecorous and their activities illegal. When I was achild, we had a sheep that was oriented that way, and we had to put it down dueto the stress it was causing the chickens.”

            “Wehad a dandy sheep as well,” Corinthiana said quietly. “They did always give thebest wool.”

            Crockett,never having encountered sheep or chickens predisposed to attachments to theirown sex, stayed silent.

            “Shedid,” Petrarch began after a short pause, “say that I should be careful who Itold about the letter.” He threw a quick apologetic glance at Crockett. “I,however, assumed it was for the same reason. She didn’t want people to knowabout her son’s inclinations.” After some thought, the old lawyer continued,“If we wanted to look into the tomb, could we be let in to do so, Corinthiana?”

            Corinthianalooked pensive. Her red mouth twitched, as if she was going to say something,but then closed tightly.

            “Couldwe, Mrs. Hawsfeffer?” Crockett dipped his neck forward, suddenly veryinterested in the old woman’s response.

            Corinthiana,however, said nothing; she stared toward the corner nervously drumming herfingers on the desk. After a tense minute of quiet, she shook off her torporand spoke slowly, “We must get in the tomb, yes,” she said with finality. “I’vebeen a coward about ending all this. I didn’t want to reveal the truth aboutthe fortune.”

            “Thatis very understandable,” Petrarch said reassuringly.

            Theold woman let out an enormous sigh. “And, to answer your question, I can’t findthe key. Even if we wanted to put the coffin in it, we’d have to crash it throughthe side.”

            Petrarchstroked his beard. “There is no key…” he said softly.

            “Butthere must be another,” Crockett said quickly. “There must be some way in.”

“Weee will find a waaay!”Corinthiana jerked up, toppling the chair as she stood. It appeared as if heropulent manner had returned with full force; the sparkle returned to herjewels.  “Theee truth must beee told! Weeeshaaall find theee keeey!”

Crockett looked toPetrarch for an explanation of Corinthiana’s sudden, dramatic shift in resolve,but the old man was distracted, his gaze fixed out the window. He responded tothe matriarch with idle prattle. “Yes, my dear,” he said. “We’ll find the key…”

             “Tooomorrow I shaaall send June and Maaay toootheee vicaaar, and theee finaaal prepaaaraaations will beeegin,” she saidresolutely.

With her head heldhigh, she slowly and dramatically made her way to the door of the study.

            Outof curiosity, Crockett looked down at his watch to gain a measure of how longthe exit took.

            Itwas roughly two minutes.

            Whenshe had gone, Crockett turned his attention to Petrarch and sighed.

            “Petrarch,this is a very curious affair, but I think you were correct about Brontë. Sheis imagining foul play where there is none.”

            “Perhaps,yes,” Petrarch said with a faint smile. “The key business is interesting…”

            “It’san old key to an old tomb, Petrarch. I’d be surprised if it wasn’tlost.”

            Petrarch’sface brightened. “My boy, when there is a surprise death, any of us can beswept up in crazed ideas!” The gusto returned fully to the old man’s voice ashe continued. “Everything from ghosts and thwarted lovers to angry children andlost keys can take the blame, but in the end it’s always a mundane event. Noone killed Bixby Hawsfeffer.” His voice broke briefly as he said this, hisresolve dipping momentarily before returning. “My guess, from the beginning, wasthat the event was a cardiac issue which landed him in the river. The murdereris simply an irascible current.”

            Crockettnodded. Outside the halo of Brontë’s warm smile, he was thinking more clearly,his logical-thinking facilities restored. “And you did know Bixby very well,Petrarch? I didn't realize you were so close as to share personal confidences.”

            “Ourrelationship grew closer through the years. To be honest, after the first visitfrom him all those years ago, we didn’t see each other for a long period oftime. When he came in to talk about land agreements, I had even forgotten whathe looked like. But, after that, we met at least once a year. Often, we’d justget a pint or have a meal. He had a very large presence, I think something heaged into, probably under the theatrics of Corinthiana.”

            Crockettsmiled. The old woman was truly unique, unlike anyone he had met before. Hesuddenly thought of her anger directed at Martha. “Speaking of Corinthiana, whywas she so upset about Martha? Did she imagine an affair between her andBixby?”

            “Marthahas served here for nearly fifty years, Crockett. She used to be a comely youngwoman. She and Bixby shared an intimacy. Corinthiana was nervous about it, butit was nothing of note. Their history went back to his first wife, so it’s nowonder he wanted someone around who remembered her. But jealous eyes see agreat many things which simply aren’t there.”

Chapter 6: AnIndigent and a Lady

            Itwas still dark when Crockett’s eyes fluttered open. Upon going to sleep, hismind was filled with the hilarity of Corinthiana’s theatricality and herimagined feud with Martha, but in his dreams, the terror-inducing warnings ofthe old maid and Kordelia seeped into his unconscious. There, they caused anumber of distressing nightmares. The one that stirred him awake involved theold carriage master, who drove them to the estate, riding a large canary whilstplaying an out-of-tune harpsichord.[15]

            Restless,Crockett rose and dressed, deciding a stroll around the grounds of the housewould at least calm his nerves. It was nearly five o’clock, so the sun would becoming up shortly; he could watch it rise and, hopefully, forget the terrors ofthe night.

            Ashe dressed, his mind wandered from oversized canaries to murderous humans, piecingtogether the string of bizarre occurrences he and Petrarch had seen in the lasttwenty-four hours—Brontë’s fears about a murder, the odd dressing of both Mayand Robert Edward, and, of course, the note left by Bixby Hawsfeffer’s firstwife decades earlier. There was no clear connection between any of thesethings, and he still felt