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

distress on her beautiful face. Kordelia sat dreamily in theseat opposite Pip (whom she had developed an instant, consuming admiration fornow that she knew he had written The Viscount’s Ram).

            Petrarchstood by the fireplace, a moony, half smile on his face. Crockett hadn’trealized how dazed his mentor remained from the medication and head injuries ofthe previous night. He sincerely hoped his forgiving heart wasn’t due to valiumrather than true reconciliatory feeling.

            Itwas after much hmming and harrring that Martha and Crockett werefinally seated on the sofa. The family gathered around anxiously staring atthem. It was August who spoke first, his mustache jauntily leaping, as though itwas also uncertain of what emotion it needed to portray.

            “Well…”he said softly. “What’s the news, then?”

            Crockettdeferred to Martha, however the older woman returned to her grizzled housepersonality. She sat with her arms crossed, eye rotating slowly, and saidnothing as she stared disdainfully in the direction of the drunken Corinthiana.

            Crockettthen proceeded to tell the house the story of what transpired at the Hawsfeffertomb. There was much initial confusion about the sequence of murders and fakeddeaths (at a certain point Pip took a page from his precious notebook to helpillustrate what had occurred). May had the hardest time understanding that herfather was not really a Hawsfeffer, but rather a Von Bunson who murdered aHawsfeffer to take back his family fortune and sired her under the stolenHawsfeffer name. Pip’s picture of a stick figure drowning in a river helpedfinally hammer the point home.

After initialconfusion, however, the family proved to be such a rapt audience that Crockett becamefully invested, leaping about atop the sofa, making loud gunshot noises withhis mouth and basking in the collected gasps of the family when he revealedDexter Fletcher had not fled the grounds due to the succession of maiming,ghosts, and murders, but stayed as an auxiliary to the crimes as DetectivePimento.

            Hisonly regret was he wished he could have outlined the structure of the storybetter before telling it to the gathered crowd. He put the revelations aboutLucinda near the middle when, really, they would have been more effectivelyplaced at the end.

            Whenhe finished, he handed the handwritten note to Pip to read. The family clamoredbehind the invalid to glance at the text over his shoulder. A tortured silencesettled when it was all out. Pip, reading the final lines, allowed someemotion, a large dramatic tear squeezing from his eye and plopping on theparchment.

            "Thisplace is so dusty," he said quickly. "It gets in the eyes."

Corinthiana, althoughdrunk, was the most concerned, her entire well-being having been wiped out withone ancient letter.

            “Sooo…"she said, a hiccup escaping. “Whaaat then?”

            Augustcleared his throat dramatically but then said nothing. Petrarch sighed,shuffling to the center of the room.

            “Well,”he said, looking nervously at Corinthiana, “as the handwriting in this lettermatches the other epistle from my records, it would appear that the inheritanceof all of the estate would pass to Pip Hawsfeffer. But,” he looked atCorinthiana, “if…you want to tell everyone…”

            Corinthianahiccupped again. Huge, sherry-tainted tears ran down the side of her face. “Thereis nothing aaanywaaay,” she said between sobs, her vowels, in her anxiety andinebriated state, becoming like the ululations of a feline preparing to mate. “Bixby,my husbaaand, whomever thaaat is now, tooo beee honest I no longer know, lost everything.”

            “Ibelieve you married Bixby Von Bunson,” Petrarch said conciliatorily, “whichmeans that Pip,” he said pointing to the seated homosexual, “is the sole heirof the estate and all its debts, him being the true heir of Bixby Hawsfeffer,who legally took the estate from the Baron.”

            Atthis moment, Petrarch staggered, still exhausted, but Crockett was able to grabhim and gently drag him to the couch where he was given a seat. June set apillow behind his back and lovingly patted his bald head.

            DuringPetrarch’s spell, the rest of the house slowly turned their eyes on Pip, wholooked absurdly nonplussed, as if the events of the house, his owndefenestration at the hands of his cousin, and the revelatory letter of hismother hadn't phased him at all.

            “Pip,”Kordelia said softly, “we all very much want to know if you will make usabandon the house in exile and shame.”

            “Ha!”Pip said quickly. “You all can keep this disgusting pile of rocks and boards.”He shook his head slowly. “I am cheered to know my attempted murder was aresult of greed and pride rather than simply an assault on mon amoureuxmasculins. I do think that’s rather progressive, if it must be known.”

            Allnodded. In the chaos of the night, Pip's inclination for male company hadlargely been forgotten, and, in truth, amorous pursuits of one’s own sex now seemedlargely innocuous amidst the fish eviscerations, murders, gunshots, and plotsthat had apparently been staples of the family for generations.

            “Well,”Petrarch smiled, “in that case, we can draw up paperwork so that Pip can signover the estate to Corinthiana. At which time,” Petrarch sobered, “everythingwill most likely need to be sold to pay off the debts.”

            “Perhapswe could stay with Pip in Paris.” Kordelia smiled warmly at her cousin.

            “Iwould rather die,” Pip said dusting off his trousers. “You, mon petitincendiaire, would be welcomed, but the rest of your clan is not Parisienne,if we’re being honest.”

            Noone was hurt at this revelation as the Hawsfeffers (now Von Bunsons?) andWinterbournes were proud of their irascible Britishness and would also rathersuffer a fate like Beatrice’s than spend more than a long weekend in Paris.

            Bynight’s end, the house was in a general state of good spirits. Even Corinthianahad sobered up, ceasing her brooding and joining a game of whist with Petrarch,August, and Kordelia.

            Brontëtook a seat next to Crockett. Gently, she squeezed his hand before drawing itaway. The deed crossed some boundaries, but she was uncertain of the coursetheir budding romance would take and desired that he know he was valued.

            “Weowe you a great deal,” she said. “You and Martha ended the vicious cycle thatbegan all those years ago.”

            Crockettrubbed his hand where Brontë’s fingers touched him. “I’m glad we came to thecrux of it. I couldn’t—" He