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

seemed happy, although a fewisolated times Crockett looked over at her and noticed the same expression ofpain and conflict from dinner had reappeared on her face. The expression,however, always passed quickly. Crockett assumed that it appeared whenever theold woman looked across the room and saw Beatrice’s grand bed, its emptiness areminder of the family’s loss.

            Immediatelyafter the jovial affair that was dinner, Crockett pulled Petrarch aside to findout his thoughts. The old solicitor was confident in his conclusions.

            “Mydear boy, as I looked around the room, as I added up the facts, there was only simpleaddition to be done.”

            “Butearlier we said it may have been two together.”

            “Youdid. You and Brontë were getting quite carried away, but you heard me reason itthrough in the room. Robert Edward is the most suspicious, and he has a verysecure alibi. May is spiteful, but who would work with her? She has no allieshere. And, as I mentioned before, Augüst is a bit too dense to plansomething on his own.”

            “Youcan’t give up!”

            Petrarchgently reached out and gripped Crockett’s shoulder. The young man’s head hadfallen in frustration, but his old master lifted his chin with his finger andlooked into his multi-colored eyes.

            “Ilove your tenacity, Crockett, but we’ve both let our imaginations get thebetter of us. Brontë seduced us both into a game of chasing a phantom murderer.To be sure, she was aided by a number of artifacts—Lucinda’s note, the tombkey, the disappearance of Bixby Hawsfeffer, and, of course, the death of littleBeatrice.” Petrarch sighed. He turned away and looked out the front windows ofthe house into the twilight. “I apologize for fueling your fire, my boy, withour clandestine conference and my own musings on some secret history. When youassess the facts, there is only a mundane puzzle which hinges on the familyfortune. Someone wants money and is playing on Corinthiana’s love of thespiritual world to scare her into ending this affair.”

            “But…Beatrice…”Crockett felt betrayed. He knew in his heart that Petrarch was most likelycorrect, but…Brontë had lit his soul with a wonderful fantasy, part of whichwas solving this mystery and taking her as his wife. It was asinine,impossible, but in the moments before dinner, it seemed to Crockett the onlyway the mad journey at Hawsfeffer Manor could end.

The young man shook hishead sadly—he made one last attempt to convince his master that they shouldcontinue forward. “Don’t you want a resolution, Petrarch? Can you rest notknowing what happened?”

            Petrarch’seyebrows knitted together. A note of melancholy came into his voice. “Crockett,I have seen a great deal in my years as a solicitor, and I can say thatsometimes it’s best to let sleeping dogs lie.”

            “Youthink…”

            “Ithink that someone wanted to expedite the end of this, and most of thosereasons are actually quite logical. Many have bills to pay—May is in love.There is no reason to think of this as a murder of Master Hawsfeffer; it seemsto me that it was simply a fortunate event for members of a family who are allin financial troubles. Even if there is no money, they all fanatically believein it.”

            Crockettwas crestfallen. “But…”

            “AndLucinda’s note and key were simply a mother’s last attempt to reconcile withher son. I’m sorry to disappoint you, my boy.” Petrarch turned from the windowand gently patted Crockett’s shoulder. “I did do some of my own investigating.I asked Corinthiana what woke her up the night of Beatrice’s murder, and shesaid she wasn’t sure. She thought she may have heard something and that pulledher out of bed—she believed it to be a fish-mother's intuition.”

            “Oh,Petrarch…” Crockett felt a sad resolve creep over him, a resignation that thetruth could never be known. The fantasy of his and Brontë’s triumph over theGhost of Hawsfeffer Manor faded into a dense fog. “Perhaps some mysteriessimply aren’t meant to be solved. It doesn't help that neither you nor I aredetectives. I can't even conduct an interview without bleating an accusation.”Crockett winced remembering his conversation with Dexter.

            “Iagree, Crockett.” Petrarch gently gripped his apprentice’s arm, “I think it’sbest for us to leave this place. The atmosphere…and,” he looked knowingly throughthe doorway at Brontë who sat in his eyeline in the sitting room, “the companyare quite going to your head.”

            Crockettfelt his face grow hot. “I didn’t…I’m sorry.”

            “There is no need for anapology, my dear boy. Warm affection can make us all follow pursuits to illends. You learned that lesson the day you told Mrs. Brettwick I was dead toavoid disappointing her about her will.”

            Crockettfeigned a smile, but as he watched Petrarch enter the sitting room, he felt hischest ache. He could not argue with the logic, but it did not make the momentany less painful. Why did the location, the place, the amount of money held atthe state of one’s birth dictate where a heart could find connection?

            Thesethoughts distracted the young man as the evening progressed. He tried tomaintain an interest in the conversations of those around him, but he haddescended into a state of melancholy. Only Brontë shared his mirthless attitude.She sat quietly at the side of the room immersed in a book. Crockett tried tospeak to her, but he was met with iciness.

            “Howdo you feel? I think for now the matter is all buttoned up,” he said sadly.

            “Isit?” She answered, her eyes never leaving the page in her book.

            “Well,there is a resolution.”

            “Forsome.”

            Hespent the rest of the evening watching the card game and occasionally bendingan ear to the ongoing discussion about the German navy between August andRobert Edward. When Petrarch grew tired of the card game, he let Crockett sitin for several hands as he reclined on the sofa and started to gently snore.

            Neareleven, the entire party had grown sleepy, the events of the past several days leavingthem all exhausted. After everyone retired, Crockett turned his attention tohis sleeping master.

            “Isupposed I should help you to bed, Petrarch.”

            Butjust as he moved forward, his hand in position to shake Petrarch awake, he felta pair of eyes on him. Nervously, he looked