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

darkened visages,he clicked his tongue nervously. “I see I’ve walked into a charged conversation.”

            Detective Pimento’s mouth twitched.“We were just discussing young Crockett.”

            “Ah! As indigent as he is, not a badfellow. He has no sense of humor, but you know that’s getting harder and harderto find with this younger generation. He just rushed off after begging me forthe vault key. He was in an awful hurry about it.”

            Pimento threw a knowing glance at Brontë.“How interesting. He seems oddly enticed to the place with so many familyheirlooms.”

“Why don’t you come out with your accusations, Detective?” Brontë’seyes flashed. “I think it’s quite obvious you have an idea that Crockett, astranger, new to this house, unrelated to the family, is somehow fatally woundinto this tragedy unfolding around us.”

“You err only when you say ‘unrelated.’ It seems he’s found veryclose connection with you, Miss Winterbourne.”

August’s mustache jumped. “Now, now, my good fellow, I will nothave you making incriminating statements about my daughter.”

“I’m just stating observations, points of interest.” The detective wasenjoying himself, his eyes sparkling.

The vein on August’s neck bulged. “This is most definitely not amatter to be taken lightly, sir! If you ask me, you’re lucky I haven’t laid mygood wingtips on your buttocks in the general direction of the front door.”

June and Corinthiana, hearing the raised voices, rushed into theroom. Kordelia, who had been present for the entire discussion, lifted herselfhigher on the couch to get a better look at the feud.

“You’re getting awfully heated over a few throwaway remarks, dearboy,” Pimento said. “A detective must look at every possible outcome.”

“Well,” August growled, “when your outcomes are coming out withoutcoming of evidence, you can count me out!”

The gathered party took a moment to parse the meaning of August’sstatement. Robert Edward entered the room during this scene of confusion, hiscape billowing behind him.

“Vat is going on?” he asked. “Augüst, I can hear you from zedining room.”

“We were just politely discussing the facts of the case,” Pimentosaid calmly. “And I can say that after much deliberation and many interviews, Ihave a very good idea of who is to blame.”

A collective gasp came from the family. Pimento took a moment to admirehis effect on the crowd.

“There were several interesting theories put before me. May,” hemotioned toward the woman in black, “suggested Robert Edward, of all people.Her evidence based solely on xenophobia, if I may take a reductive view…”

“Well, most of us do fear xylophones,” Kordelia said from thecouch. “They can be as terrifying as out-of-tune harpsichords if you play thewrong scales.”

Pimento sniffed slightly but ignored the young girl’s assertion. “Brontë,”he continued quickly taking a step behind the youngest Winterbourne daughter,“suggested that it was her own father.”

Brontë blushed.

August’s face grew red; he started to scream. “I told you! Theseungrateful daughters make you want to BRAIN them after they BETRAY you!”

Pimento’s face expressed annoyance. He shushed August and continuedspeaking, “But to me the most interesting of all the theories, the mostfantastic and magical, was from our dear Crockett. He wanted to drive myattention, not just away from the present, to a far and uncertain past, but to adifferent continent. His theory,” Pimento again smiled to himself, relishinghis moment, “was that the murderer was none other than the estranged—”

It was at that moment that a vehement pounding came from the mainhall. All gathered, even Pimento, let out an exasperated breath of air, Corinthianaa staccato “Awrk.”

“Is anyone expecting company?” June asked nervously.

Her question was met by no responses, only more vehement poundingfrom the front door. Time stopped for the confused crowd; everyone took turnslooking to others for an explanation of the evening visitor. Something inPimento’s speech caused all of them to look at the darkest, worst-casescenario. In those moments, the possibility that it was simply the doctor checkingon Petrarch eluded them. They were all sure it could only be some avengingangel. Had the door been thrown open and the devil himself been present on thedoorstep, the clan would not have been fully surprised. In those frozenseconds, any possibility was probable.

The door thundered again, this time interrupted by Martha, whogreeted their visitor. Everyone in the sitting room, Pimento included, listenedto every voice, footstep, and creak of the front door with trepidation.

“Hello,” they heard the old maid say tersely. “I’ll announce you.”

The old woman and her roving eye appeared in the door of the mainsitting room. She licked her lips, and, with no surprise in her gravelly voice,spoke.

“Bixby Hawsfeffer, Jr.—Mr. Pip—is here from France, I suppose.”

She shuffled off and, in her place, Bixby “Pip” Hawsfeffer, Jr.entered the main sitting room.

Had a flamingo wearing Britain’s crown jewels entered the room, itwould have been no more opulent and ostentatious than Pip himself. The middle-agedgentleman was dressed in a suit of bright pink, a powdered wig set on his head.A dusting of white makeup covered his face, while his lips shone a startlingred in the light of the lamps. His clothes had been dampened by the rain, butthis seemed not to bother him in the least.

“Bonjour,” he said grandiosely. “Je suis the son ofBixby Hawsfeffer, returned from his time abroad, called forth…” He paused herefor no particular reason that anyone could assess. Corinthiana was about tospeak, when he loudly continued, “Called forth at the hand of his stepmother,Mrs. Corinthiana Hawsfeffer, via an epistle, to pay tribute to my fallenfather, despite a loathing in his life of my personal, homme-centric,choices.”

Unsure whether he was finished, the rest of the crowd mumbled anuneven number of Hello, Pleasure, and How do you do’s.

Martha returned to the sitting room with a cup of tea and shoved itinto the visitor’s hands. No one else knew what to do.

“Oui,” he responded to no question in particular, “it is painfulfor me to return to this house, knowing that I am estranged, la éloignée,and under the realization that I shall never make amends or say words of warmthto my father, but I have chosen to come on my own free will to pay my respectsto him, braving the sodomy laws of fair Britannia. Even if we did not agree inlife, in