Beatrice: An Alarming Tale of British Murder and Woe Tedd Hawks (adult books to read .txt) 📖

By mid-afternoon, astate of normalcy returned. August went to shoot, and May went with Kordelia toattend to Corinthiana rather than going to the vicar. In the main sitting room,Crockett’s eyes grew heavy watching light ripple off the strands of jewels inBeatrice’s bed. His eyelids fluttered open and closed as he heard Petrarch’swarm baritone speaking to Brontë over a hand of gin rummy. The image ofBeatrice above the fireplace, its hues of pink and periwinkle, added to thedreamlike state of the afternoon.

The moment of peace wasbroken with the slamming of the patio door. Robert spoke quickly to himself ashe rushed inside.

“It is getting ridiculous,”he said savagely.

June followed after him,her dress rustling behind her. “Robert, it isgetting ridiculous. We’re all exhausted and want this to end, but mother isn’twell.”

“It is ze child’sfault.” Robert’s eyes were wild. “Kordelia's subterfuge zis morning destroyed Corinziana'snerves.”

“Now, now, old boy…” saidAugust, freshly returned from shooting, as he overheard the conversation. Hisneck bulged like an angry sea bird. “You aren’t close family, and if you feelthe need to leave, you are more than welcome.”

June lookedappreciatively at her husband.

Robert’s teeth grated. Hisuneven eyebrows rustled menacingly.

There was a moment ofhostile silence.

Crockett looked toPetrarch, who sat with an amused expression on his doughy face. It was May whobroke the tension as she entered from the main hall.

            “Motheris feeling better,” she said with her usual coldness. “She says she will decidewhether to move forward with the funeral tomorrow or wait another day. Thestress of the past few weeks has been overwhelming for her.”

            “ZisI understand,” Robert said, attempting to warm his chilled tone, “but I mustreturn to home soon. I have very much appreciated ze varmz of our beneficenthostess, Mrs. Havsfeffer, hovever, my vife vill be missing me, and I have ze vorkto do.”

            Augustgrew red. “Sir, you are not wanted or needed here, so if this family affair isupsetting you, you are free to leave this house.”

            “August,I do not like ze tone –”

            “Itis Augüst.”

            “Regardless,I do not mean to offend.” Robert raised his hands as if surrendering. “I onlyzink zat for all parties it is best to end zis affair qvickly.”

            “I,for one,” Petrarch said lightly, “will also be happy to return to my own bed.”

            Crockettwas grateful for his master’s candor at that moment. The bubbling of angerlightened to a simmer. Robert left the room, and everyone else resumed idletasks—reading, card playing, or talking. When the sleepy malaise returned,Petrarch lightly tapped Crockett’s shoulder and motioned toward the main hall.

            Brontë,who had been reading, watched them leave with keen interest. Smiling, shemouthed, “Are you being scolded?” before she disappeared from Crockett’s lineof sight.

            “Wemust be ready for Corinthiana when she asks us to read the will, my dear boy,”Petrarch said loudly as they left the room. “We can at least try to abbreviate theduration of this family tragedy.”

            Crockettfollowed closely behind his master down the wooden hall, toward the folly,making idle conversation. It was a relief to get to the cooler stone structure,even if it was drafty and allegedly haunted.

            ToCrockett’s surprise, Petrarch did not stop at his chambers or Crockett’s; hekept moving until they came to small, wooden door. He looked back and then slidinside. Crockett went after nervously.

He had led them into asmall servants’ quarters which was unfinished. There was a rug on the floor anda small, wooden stool, but, otherwise, it was spartan. The walls were all stone;there were no windows to offer any light. Petrarch handed Crockett a book ofmatches and pointed to a lamp on the stool.

As Crockett lit thelamp, Petrarch gently closed the door. When he turned to face his apprentice,his normally calm demeanor was absent, replaced with an uncharacteristicanxiousness.

            “Crockett,”he said softly, “sorry to act so conspiratorially, but I am beginning to thinkyou and Brontë may have been correct in your assumption of some sort of plot beingafoot.”

            “Youthink there is something going on?” Crockett's thick eyebrows rose. “There is aswelling, ominous atmosphere of suspicion…I’ve felt it growing since theséance.”

            “Indeed.I feel something as well.”

            “Whatcould it be?”

            “Everythinggoing on is very odd.”

            “Everyonehere is very odd; the things may simply be symptoms.”

            Petrarchallowed a small smile. “Perhaps.”

            “Perhapssymptoms or perhaps conspiracy?”

“Maybe both.” Petrarchtook a deep breath. “Did you notice anything strange during the séance?”

“Everything wasstrange. The fish was wearing a hat.”[19]

“I mean, anythingcompounding off the general strangeness.”

Crockett thought for amoment. “Some of the persons present were odd. Why was August—Aaghoost?—there?He seems very logical. He wouldn’t support contacting the dead.”

“Unless his wife madehim.”

“That’s true. But whatabout Martha and Robert Edward? Martha won’t even get someone a cup of tea, whywould she sit through a séance?”

Petrarch nodded. “Whenyou were in the actual séance, before I left their company, May and Brontë bothsaid very interesting things.”

“You don’t say.”

“Brontë asked May aboutRobert. She wanted to know if they had ever met before. May responded that shehad never heard of him until his arrival at the manor, but she said they alldeserved each other. Then she said something ominous, quite like ‘Soon everyonewill get what they deserve.’”

Crockett frowned. “Whywould she say that?”

“I don’t know. Then,when the séance occurred with that odd trick, it seemed, well, interesting.”Petrarch paused. His eyes sparkled as he looked to Crockett. “Speaking of, Iwas very proud of your candor during the aftermath. A year ago, you would havefainted like a goat or screamed like a laundress[20]and run to the lavatory.” Petrarch gripped Crockett’s shoulder with warmth.“You’ve grown up a lot, my boy.”

Crockett was sooverwhelmed with emotion that he felt tears form at the edge of his eyes.Quickly, he wiped them away. He nodded at Petrarch, acknowledging thecompliment, but then charged forward, returning to the subject at hand.

“In terms of theséance, you don’t think Kordelia did it, do you?” he asked, still trying tosuppress a smile.

“No.” Petrarch tappedhis forehead with his index finger. “But I don’t see any real, concrete motivesfor anyone else. Kordelia has been convicted of arson, but that wasn’tintentional.” He scratched his beard as he attempted to pull the threads ofdisparate thought together. “Why would someone