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

in his thick, bushyeyebrows, so that his vision was slightly blurred. Dabbing his forehead, hecalled to his young assistant, Crockett Cook, who was assessing the wheelburied in mud.

            “Crockett,how is it looking, my boy?”

            Crockettpushed back his bowler and scratched his head. “Petrarch,[3]it doesn’t look good. Any more pressure and it could break all together.”

            “Oi!”The carriage owner hobbled around the back of the vehicle to get a better lookat Petrarch. He shook his fist up at the old man. “Think it was yer fat arsethat buried it in the mud. Ther’s not even a lot of muck, but it’s stuck likeI’m haulin’ ‘round a whale.”

            Petrarchlaughed. “You and my late wife would likely have a thorough conversation aboutthat. She liked to call me ‘King Arser, the Knight of the Round.’”

            Thecarriage owner was not amused. “Well, it’s too late for you to be unwhalin’ yerself,so I suggist you walk on from ‘ere or wait with me for the nixt passing cartfor some hilp.”

            Crockettlooked up at his master, his gaze full of concern. “Petrarch, it’s a mile. Doyou think you can walk with all your luggage?”

            Petrarchsteeled himself. “Of course! If I can still work, then I can still walk!” Hequickly reached out to grab the door of the carriage.

What followed was achaotic moment, the rotund solicitor pitching forward and falling out of thecarriage into the mud. Crockett and the carriage owner looked at each other uncomfortablyas the old man rolled back and forth trying to fetch his balance.

            “I’mall right! Fine here! Be up in a moment,” Petrarch gasped. “This actually is abit of my morning calisthenics routine.”

            Crocketthesitated a few moments before gingerly stepping forward and extending a hand.Petrarch’s great girth, however, was too much for the young law clerk. He endedup hurtling forward, sliding headfirst through the mud, his bowler launchingunder the carriage. The carriage owner sighed and crossed his arms as the twoadult men embraced and flailed in the muck.

            Ittook Crockett sitting on his knees, placing his hands firmly on Petrarch’sbuttocks, and pushing with all his might, to get the old lawyer back onto hisfeet. Once he was stable, Crockett nimbly raised himself up and tried his bestto wipe off the grime from the roadside and relocate his hat.

            “Thiswhole routine part o’ yer service?” the old carriage master asked. “I’d laughif yer girth’ness hadn’t broken my means of livin’.”

            Crockettand Petrarch, rivulets of mud running down their faces, shrugged politely.

            “We’llgive you a touch more compensation to make amends,” Petrarch said. “We’re onthe way to Hawsfeffer Manor, and it should prove to be a lucrative job for myassistant and me. It’s a will reading, marking the death of the familypatriarch.”

            “Oi!”The carriage master’s mood immediately altered. “Old Hawsfeffer is dead?” He ran a hand through his slickedback, gray hair. “You think the mistress, Lady Hawsfeffer, is lookin’ for a newman o’ the house? I once cleaned out the horse stables for ‘em when therhouseman, Dexter, was under th’ weather. While I was shovelin’ shit into therubbish, she said I looked rather ‘gratesquen.’ She was always makin’ eyes atme, she was.”

            “Ithink she may have said ‘grotesque,’” Crockett posited, eyeing the growth onthe carriage master’s neck.

            “Haha!” Petrarch interjected. “Well, we can put in a good word for you, my man.Corinthiana and I have long been friends. Mark my words, I’ll find out herinterests toward you and your unpalatable societal position.” As he finishedthe insult, he winked at the carriage master and slipped a bank note into hishand.

            “Ah!”The carriage master grew docile. “No need to lie about me being unpa’tatoed socialistically,sir. I have plenty o' compleyments on me ‘tatoes.”

            Crockettlost all direction in the conversation and feigned looking at a bird flying inthe distance. Petrarch continued using words easily mistaken for complimentsuntil the carriage master unloaded their things and waved an enthusiasticgood-bye.

            Asthey moved away from the carriage on the muddy path toward the manor, Crockettgrew inquisitive.

            “Whatare tatoes, Petrarch? I was lost immediately after it was brought up.”

            “I’mprone to guess he was talking about his potatoes, but to be honest, your guessis as good as mine. In general, as you’ve just witnessed, a very importantskill in human relationships is being able to level insults with great gusto.If you keep a smile and use a clever word, most people assume it’s somethingcomplimentary. I’ve had numerous clients in my office who I have insultedegregiously, but they have left paying me my full bill and a handsome tip.Directness with some panache feels honest and satisfying. There is nothingwrong with a little candor.”

            “Candor,yes…”

            Petrarchpatted his great belly in approval.

            Theroad was long and unpleasant; between the mud and the rolling hills, bothPetrarch and Crockett were winded halfway to the mansion. Crockett wassurprised that, in spite of his great spherical appearance, Petrarch was quitenimble in his old age, the heaviness of his physique giving him increasedmomentum on their journeys down hills. It was he who resumed conversationbetween them.

            “Now,Crockett, let’s go over the details again, at the very least, names. It’salways very flattering to know everyone’s name.”

            “Candorand names.”

            “Myboy!” Petrarch glowed. “Now, the matriarch, what do we know?”

            “CorinthianaHawsfeffer, second wife to the late Bixby Hawsfeffer. She is known to always bedressed as if ready for conference with King George, and she absolutely adoreshanging onto her vowels.[4]Her beloved pet herring, Beatrice, is her pride and joy.”

            “Mostexcellent.”

            “Petrarch…”Crockett faltered.

            “Yes,my boy.”

            “Couldwe…discuss again why she has a pet fish? I don’t see how it could drive thegrandiose emotional attachment which you said it brings her.”

            “Well,Crockett, you have to remember she was raised as a shy, country girl. It mayremind her of her childhood paddling in ponds or,” Petrarch stroked his beard,“it could be the general eccentricities of the wealthy. Once you get intocertain circles, inbreeding does complex things. Even though Corinthiana isn’tfrom the upper classes herself, it could be a kind of aspirational incoherence.”

            “PerhapsI should be grateful for my own austere upbringing.”

“Indeed.” Petrarchnearly tripped over a deep rut in the road. “Regardless,