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

smiled. “I couldn’t have done any of itwithout you. You were the one who wouldn’t give up when the key was found and everyoneelse celebrated success.”

            “Well,”her cheeks flushed, “the whole thing was very odd. It was brilliant of you tomake the connections. I don’t know if I would have gotten that far.”

            “Itwas a wonderful twist of fate that I saw Dexter’s scribblings in the detectivenotebook and remembered his illiteracy just as the painting came into my view;then I had the revelation that he could have come up the back staircase to playthe record during the séance. Fate has an interesting way of guiding things.”

            “It’sput a great deal in motion this week, I should say.”

            Bothstayed silent for a moment. An irrepressible smile had rested on Crockett’slips since he saw Brontë on the threshold of the house. He turned now andlooked at her. To his surprise, she looked distressed. She was turned, facingAugust, who was watching the exchange from across the room. When her eyesaverted from her father and rested on the floor, she let out a quiet sigh.Crockett had never seen her so drained of confidence, so listless.

            “Brontë,”his said, his voice thick with emotion, “are you all right?”

            Sheagain looked to her father, who continued to watch them with a look of reproach.Rather than fix her gaze on Crockett, she kept it on the floor and asked, “You’llleave tomorrow?”

            “Isuppose so.” Crockett’s scalp was hot. He felt as if something was quicklyslipping away from him. “The details of the will came out tonight, so we won’tbe needed any longer.”

            “Whattime do you think you will leave?”

            “Thatdepends on Petrarch. If he’s fit to travel, I think we should be on the roadafter breakfast. We’ve been out of the office far longer than we initiallyplanned.”

            “You’llhave a lot of work, then,” Brontë said.

            Crockettfelt anxious about the impersonal tone their conversation had taken. From thecorner of the room, he could feel August’s intense gaze still on them. “Yes,”he said finally. “It will take us a while to catch up. Petrarch was supposed tobe in East Fletchfordtownhampsonvilleshire earlier this week, but we have muchto do in London as well.”

            Brontë’sexpression shifted. She looked at Crockett, her eyes luminous. “It’s ludicrous,I suppose, to think…”

            Butbefore she could finish, August appeared before them, his mustache shivering asif attached to an airplane motor.

            “Welldone, Crockett,” he barked. “We have a great deal to thank you for, not theleast being that all of us are still alive and we can keep our pride in dyingnaturally, naturally.”

            “I’mglad I could help. I suppose it’s not a truly happy ending if everything mustbe sold, but…”

            “Oh!It’s plenty happy enough. I can return home to my family’s estate. My fatherhas an extra house or two we can settle into. We won’t have a lot, but Brontëcan come and begin to focus on finding a proper match. Albeit onewealthier than we were originally looking for. We’ll have to make up for thisloss in some way. Kordelia will, of course, need to finish boarding school.”

            Crockett’sheart tightened in his chest. He’d forgotten one-half of Brontë’s family wasnot full of murderers, still had money, and died naturally, naturally. Therosy-hued dream of him taking her away to London seemed a child’s fantasy.

            “Itwill be exciting for you to return to a new home.” Crockett tried to soundhappy, but his voice came out in an uneven, erratic string of syllables. Tears dribbleddown the side of his face.

            “It’s…”Brontë searched for something to say.

            “I’mvery happy for all of you.” Crockett rose, trying his best to swallow emotion.“I’ll see you at breakfast for, uh, well, for good-bye, I suppose.”

            Hetook off quickly in the direction of his bedroom. The string of gunshots andnear-death experiences paled in comparison to his current heartbreak. He neededto go to bed and forget it all, let sleep overtake and drown the sorrow of thereal.

            Whenhe’d returned to his room, however, he did not immediately go to bed on hislittle couch. He paced anxiously, muttering to himself. The thoughts wereincoherent, a patchwork of personal affirmations mixed with harsh denunciationsof his belief that he ever dreamed he and Brontë could be together.

            “Ahero…old Crockett,” he blathered as he moved across the room’s wooden planks. “Who’dhave thought—and a right idiot to believe…”

            Petrarchinterrupted his muttering.

            “Hullo,old boy.” He walked into the room in an erratic fashion, still under theinfluence of his medications. He attempted to shake Crockett’s hand but toppledsideways and rolled onto the lumpy bed.

            Crocketthelped set him upright. He placed his hand on the old man’s and smiled warmly.“So good to see you up and about, Petrarch. I’m glad you harbor no ill feelingsfor my stupidity.”

            “Ha!”Petrarch snorted. “I know you tend to overreact, especially when a beautifulyoung woman is involved.”

Crockett’s ears turnedred. “I know you warned me away from Brontë…”

“I still do, although,with the chaos of this house and the state of the family’s fortune, it perhapsdoesn’t matter much.” Petrarch gripped Crockett’s shoulder. Crockett’s thoughtsstrayed back to Brontë and the explosive joy he’d felt when he’d pressed hislips to hers.

“Are you all right, myboy?” Petrarch asked. “You seem a bit melancholy.”

“Just tired, I suppose.It’s been a very long night.”

“I should say! I’m veryproud of you. You managed to put it all together and save the day.”

“I had a lot of help.”

“Indeed, but, my boy,how did you do it?”

            “Fate,”Crockett said sadly. He thought of looking into Brontë’s eyes and saying thesame words only moments before. “Fate intervened on my behalf.”

            “She’sa powerful ally.”

            Therewas an emotional moment of silence. Crockett shook his head, his feelings a mixof relief and grief. “I just can’t believe what a mess it’s all been,” he said.“Petrarch, I can’t apologize enough for my rash actions with the gun.”

            “Oh!”Petrarch laughed. “As I said, it all worked out. It was quite good fun in theend. It was more the dropping me that did the damage, but I think my head hasbeen restored to some sort of equilibrium. I’ve stopped seeing peacocks talkingto