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

            PipHawsfeffer was even in high spirits when he came down to eat (assisted byKordelia due to his sprained ankle, bruised leg, and dislocated shoulder).While manic, clearly, from his night of writing, he gave Martha a compliment,noting that the scones she had prepared, “Weren’t très mauvais.”

            Petrarchwas feeling his old self as well, leveling one of his usual well-dressedinsults at Pip as he took his seat. “Sir,” he said to him, passing the toast,“we never met properly, but you have the regal air of Shakespeare and all thetalent of his index finger.”

            Bythe end of breakfast, Crockett felt slightly better. The blood from his morningforehead wound had ceased; after eating, Martha took time to dress his woundwith warm water and a bandage. Crockett returned the favor after, redressingher shoulder injury from the previous night. Brontë didn’t appear at all in themorning, which only helped Crockett feel that he could move on freely with hislife after the affair at Hawsfeffer Manor. He had done a great service for thefamily, proven himself to Petrarch, received his first kiss, and, most likely,would have a character based on him in a French play—overall, it was a verysuccessful outing for the young solicitor.

            Petrarchseconded this as they made final preparations to leave. He was buoyant due tohis mix of high spirits and the last of his medication.

            “Myboy, it’s easy to fall in love. You meet a beautiful young woman with new ideasin a new place, and your heart makes decisions before your head. Trust me,we’ll go back to London, and we’ll find a better match for you.”

            “You’revery wise, Petrarch. I think I got caught up in the events of the week, andmany of my emotions ran too freely.”

            “Aboy as clever as you will find someone perfect soon enough. With my connections,it may even be someone with more money than the Winterbournes. You could beliving with a beautiful woman in the middle class very soon.”

            Crockettsmiled. He extended his hand and grabbed Petrarch’s, squeezing it warmly.“Petrarch, thank you for everything. I mean it. You have taken a number ofchances on me and never given up on me, even when the family was ready to throwme into prison. And,” his face flushed, “when I accidentally almost killedyou.”

            “Well,I trust you!” Petrarch thumped his belly once, dramatically. “Your heart was inthe right place when you fired that gun, and,” he paused with slight drama, “thatis why I’m sending you ahead to the Mayweathers in EastFletchfordtownhampsonvilleshire. I am going to Winterbourne House to helpAugust and June with a few legal issues there, then I also have to stop inDunstead village to get a signature from Mrs. Chambers.”

            “Oh,”Crockett blushed with pleasure. “You want me to go ahead and start the finalwill reading with the Mayweathers?”

            “Ofcourse! I’ll follow along a day behind, but consider this a promotion. You maynow call yourself a junior solicitor.”

            Crockettcouldn’t suppress his joy. “Petrarch, you…thank you!”

            “Ifrisking life and limb for a client doesn’t prove your worth, I don’t know whatwill.”

            Crockett'sjoy was dampened by the thought of his bag full of muddy and bloodstainedclothing. "Petrarch," he said, "could I perhaps get an advanceon my salary. I'll need a fresh suit before arriving at the Mayweathers."

            Petrarchwinked and handed him a small fist of bills.

            “SOLICITOR!”They heard Martha’s shriek come from down the hallway. “CARRIAGE IS HERE!”

            Petrarchpatted Crockett on the shoulder. “That will be my ride with August, June, and Brontëto Winterbourne House. Your coach will be here shortly to go on to theMayweathers’ estate.”

            Thetwo men, again, shook hands.

            OncePetrarch was gone, Crockett took his bag to the main hall and then went for awalk around the grounds. To his surprise, Petrarch had forgotten to reportDexter’s situation the night before, and the man had expired outside the tomb.While Crockett was not exactly overjoyed by the corpse, it perhaps was the bestoutcome, as no one would have been really been safe had the old man survived.Martha helped him drag the body to the Tiddlymouth and throw it in after hismaster.

            “Seemsa fitting end,” Martha said, her eye slowly spinning. “Glad you found himbefore the flies and maggots settled in.”

            WhenCrockett’s carriage arrived, the remaining family, excepting Pip, who was stilltoo injured to move far, all waved good-bye from the front lawn. Martha helpedhim with his luggage, even going so far as to stiffly hug the young man andslip him a parcel containing a few ghost biscuits. Tears were in her eyes, an uncomfortablesituation when one of them spins, sending a light spray of sadness onto thosein close proximity.

The carriage driver’sassistant was clumsy and spoke in a shrill, bleating voice that made Crockettextremely uncomfortable. He had to help the young lad get the bag onto thecarriage before watching him fall onto the ground trying to get back into thedriver’s bench with his master. Crockett would have normally helped, but he hadno desire to be of assistance to someone who, at a base level, couldn’t do themost perfunctory parts of his trade.

It was while he wasdouble-checking his bag was secured to the carriage that the last piece of thepuzzle fell into place. He realized the reason the doctor who arrived withDexter looked so familiar was because it was the old carriage master from theday of their arrival. He had worn the scarf to cover the growth on his neck andbrought the potato to woo Corinthiana. This revelation somehow struck him asthe most absurd, so he was laughing merrily as he gave a final wave to Martha andyelled for the carriage to proceed.

The sound of the horses’hooves signaled their movement forward with great gusto. The manor receded intothe distance, the ill-kept bushes and trees passing by Crockett’s window.Slowly, as more distance was put between himself and the house, he felt hismerriment turn to a profound sadness. It wasn’t merely the loss of Brontë but afeeling of letting go and growing up. When he’d arrived at Hawsfeffer Manorhe’d simply been a solicitor’s assistant, a young man on the