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

be trying to scare those peoplein the room? To what end? Is it to get to some conclusion—to scare someone intosomething?”

Crockett shook his head.“I’ve mentally run through the logistics of it, and there’s no explanation.Everyone has an alibi, and someone had to be in the actual room to start the phonograph.My main suspect is Robert Edward, and that’s mostly due to his gallingugliness.”

Petrarch thoughtfullyrubbed his protruding belly. “In terms of logic, Dexter and I are the mainsuspects; although, the women saw me go toward my bedroom, and Martha foundDexter on the back lawn practicing an American square dance.”

“None of it makeslogical sense.” Crockett rubbed his eyes in frustration. “Brontë said she had aterrible feeling in this house…not fear, but she called it a ‘malignant sadness.’”

Petrarch frowned. “Thatwas the strange thing she said to May and me. She said the house was like a pot,and she thought things were beginning to boil.”

For a moment, they bothcontemplated the strange events of the day. Eerie shadows danced on the walls ofthe small room. In the silence, Crockett shivered, remembering Kordelia’swarnings from the previous day.

“Crockett,” Petrarchfinally said softly, “why don’t you find out more from Brontë. See if you candraw out any reasons Bixby Hawsfeffer may have been dispatched or why anyonewould be trying to frighten Corinthiana. We are getting ahead of ourselves. Ithink this house is deluding us with its dark history and suspicious characters,but we should start to think through this as men of science with sound logic.”He paused for a moment, then said quickly. “And be careful, my boy. I’ve sensedthe growing affection between you and Miss Hawsfeffer. I’m sympathetic to thebudding emotions, but I ask you to be on guard. Despite the state of theirfinances, the Hawsfeffers are of a higher caste than yourself, and I don’t wantyou leaving here heartbroken.”

Crockett’s eyebrowswent up in surprise. “Yes…er…yes, Petrarch. Thank you for saying so…” The youngman tried to conceal his disappointment. “I…I will…er…I will find out what Ican from Brontë. And,” he said sadly, “will be careful in the process.”

Petrarch smiled knowinglyin the half-dark. “It’s for the best, Crockett. We’ll find you a nice girl whenwe return to London and have this mess behind us. You’re nineteen, in the primeof life, with an excellent career ahead of you.” He, again, reached out andgripped his assistant’s shoulder. “On a lighter note, in terms of business, I amvery proud of you. Having been your master for these long years, I should knowwhen to trust your intuition, especially on a case like this where theincoherence is rapidly compounding.” He sighed and shook his head. “Even ifit’s not murder, there is something amiss in this house. It hides some secret,some malice that must be rooted out.”

Chapter 9: A Perfect Night for Murder

            Crockettleft Petrarch’s room flush with pride from the praise of his mentor. Heintended to go directly to interrogate Brontë about her thoughts on the eventsof the day; however, his mission was delayed by dinner.

In the dining room, Corinthianajoined the party for the evening meal, the potatoes growing cold as she marchedfrom the south end of the table to the north. The entrance took longer thanusual due to the old woman’s mix of fear and anxiety.

Rather than dissipate,the tension swelled at dinner. The explanation of the phonograph incident beingcaused by Kordelia was unsatisfactory to everyone but August. Few words wereexchanged during the course of dining—the room was filled with the sounds ofcutlery and the occasional indecorous belch from Robert.

            Thelong-lost cousin did finally speak up, gently wiping his mouth with his napkinbefore proceeding, “Allo' me to apologize again for ze earlier moment vith you,August.”

            “Augüst, yes.”

            “Ivas terribly out of ze line. Corinziana may memorialize her husband however shedesires.”

            “That’svery nice of you to say.” June gave Robert a cold smile before turning her eyesto her plate.

            Augustsaid nothing, but his mustache slightly jostled to the left, which most took asa sign of understanding.

            “Whilewe’re speaking,” Kordelia said softly. “I’d also like to re-assert that I hadnothing to do with the earlier séance incident. I hope whoever is guilty willhave the courage to speak up.”

            Therewas a lengthy silence. Eyes moved around the room, most of them reflectedsympathy for the young girl.

            “Darling,now is not the time,” June said looking empathetically at her daughter. “We candiscuss this later.”

            Brontëthrew a glance at Crockett to convey irritation with her mother’s response.

            “Everyone,a moooment pleeease.” Corinthiana was exhausted. The mammoth earrings thatdecorated her ears pulled her head to the table. In truth, since the séance, agreat deal of energy had gone out of the previously vivacious woman. Beatricematched her mood, sitting stock-still in her bowl, staring into space. “Theee entooombmentwill commence in twooo daaays time. I neeeded a moment of rest. I aaam sorry Ihaaave kept yooou here.” She smiled at Robert. “I haaaven't beeen myself laaately,but with a quiet daaay, yooou caaan beee sure thaaat things will beeegin mooovingbriskly.”

            “Andthe will reading?” May’s dark eyes fixed on her mother. Her mouth twitched.

            “Theeedaaay aaafter.” Corinthiana sighed.

            “Whynot the same day?” May said it lightly, but even Crockett saw the directchallenge it presented.

            “Rest.”August’s neck turned purple. “She needs rest, May. It’s best to let thissleeping dog lie.”

            “Lie,”May said forcefully. “What an interesting choice of word.” The austere womanswiftly rose and left the room, her black heels echoing in the main foyer.

Corinthianaput her head between her hands and groaned, a slight, wavering “Awrk.” Beforelong the table emptied—June took Corinthiana to her room, Kordelia

disappeared like a fine mist, awhite glove left in her place, and Robert left to go enjoy a cigarette on thefront lawn.

            Petrarchgave Crockett a knowing look before quietly asking August if he would take awalk with him on the grounds.

            AsMartha began taking the plates away, Brontë turned to Crockett with a sigh.

            “Well,at least we know what day the whole thing will end,” she said.

            Crockettwatched Martha leave the room before leaning toward Brontë. When he was surethat Martha was gone and couldn’t overhear their conversation, he said quietly,“Petrarch pulled me aside