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

eyes were averted from the gore and settled on the grievingCorinthiana. May was the most indifferent. In her black nightgown she lookedsmug as the light of pale flames danced across her face.

            “Ithink someone should fetch Dexter and Martha,” June said to Brontë. She flickedher eyes to Crockett. “Perhaps two should go—it’s a bad night to wander alonein the house.” She extended her hand so that Crockett could take her light.

            Brontësighed. She turned to Crockett and signaled toward the stairs.

            Duringtheir ascent to the second floor, the young lawyer leaned close to Brontë.

            “Thisseems entirely—”

            Theyoung woman silenced Crockett with a severe look. “Not tonight, Crockett. Tonight,we just get through this. Poor Grandmother. Losing Grandfather was bad, butBeatrice…She loved that pet more than anything in the world.”

            Theyboth moved cautiously down the hall toward Martha’s quarters. She occupied asmall chamber close to Corinthiana’s own large bedroom. This was a recentarrangement. Prior to Bixby Hawsfeffer’s death, she stayed in the servants’quarters attached to the kitchen. When the patriarch died, Corinthiana askedher to move into the house. The force of grief was evident to everyone, asMartha was the last person she ever wanted close to her while Bixby was alive.It was thought she wanted to make amends or bury hatchets, as the arrangementwas the first white flag Corinthiana had waved in all her years at HawsfefferManor.

            Uponentering Martha’s chamber, they found her snoring loudly. The screams and chaoshad not reached her old ears. Crockett moved close to the old woman and gentlyshook her. Even though he tried to wake her calmly with a soft touch, the oldwoman still sat up in a panic.

            “IMUST PROTECT THEM!” she screamed. A glob of spittle splashed on Crockett, whichhe subtly shook off.

            Brontë,not particularly fond of Martha for a number of reasons, put out a hand to sootheher. The effort was so lackluster it appeared she was swatting a lethargic fly.

            “Martha,”Crockett whispered, “we’re all fine.”

            “Well…”Brontë said playing with a strand of her hair.

            “Allthe people…are fine,” Crockett started again, “but we need you downstairs.”

            “Isit him?” Her voice quavered. Crockett saw a deep terror in her eyes.

            “Who?”he asked leaning closer. “Is it who?”

            Shedid not answer. She jumped up as quickly as her aged years would allow andtottered into the hall.

            Crockettand Brontë exchanged worried glances before following behind.

            Whenthey arrived downstairs, things were mildly less chaotic. More candles were lighted,and most of the party had retreated into the sitting room to regain their calm.Only Corinthiana and June were absent, having gone to the kitchen to fetch tea forthe family and a cup of sherry for Corinthiana.

            Dexterarrived during their absence. The old man was, for the first time, wearingnormal clothes. His bald head shone in the candlelight. It was the first timeCrockett saw him up close—what struck him as most remarkable was howunremarkable the groundskeeper was. Stripped of his normally bizarre costume,he could have been any man, or no man, for that matter. His countenance was ofso little consequence Crockett found when he turned away, he had to look backagain to remember any small detail. The banal housemaster stood close toAugust, receiving orders on what to do with the fish’s corpse.

            “We’llneed to save it—Corinthiana will want to have it put in the family tomb withBixby and herself.”

            “Yessir,”was all Dexter said as he approached the lanced herring.

            Crocketttook the moment to attend to the corpse. It truly was ghastly, the entrails ofBeatrice ripped out and smeared on the wall. Whoever had done the work had aprecise hand. It wasn’t entirely slashed and mutilated but cleanly opened withan expert cut. The sword which did the work was still driven into the animal'seye. To Crockett’s surprise, it wasn’t a hunting knife but looked as if it wasan heirloom, a long rapier, slightly discolored with age.

            “Itlooks as if a madman did this,” Crockett said turning away.

            Dexterwiped his nose with the sleeve of his coat. “Better the fish than someone inthe house, I suppose,” he said in his clanging, American accent. “The house hasgone after bigger prey before.”

            Crockettshuddered thinking of a person gorily suspended as Beatrice was now. For hispart, however, Dexter was correct—Lucinda Hawsfeffer, Baron Von Bunson, andBixby Hawsfeffer were all victims of the house's malice and the river’sterrifying current.

Crockett shook his headand turned away. He made his way to the sitting room to join the rest of theparty in mourning.

Immediately uponentering the room, his eyes met the piercing gaze of Petrarch who was seated atthe card table. The old man tapped his nose and pointed to Robert Edward, whowas speaking with May. With a tiny gesture of his hand, a slight sweep in Mayand Robert’s direction, he inferred Crockett should go listen.

            Aplan presented itself to the junior solicitor as he looked from his master to Robertand May. On his approach to the sofa, he prepared his subterfuge.

Behind the seat was asmall table with a collection of books he could use to feign insouciantinterest. He idly picked up a volume and turned its pages whilst attempting tolean forward and listen to the conversation in front of him. The low voices,however, and Robert’s erratic accent, hurt his progress. This caused him tosubtly inch forward. While he thought he looked very demure, Kordelia and Brontëboth marked his bizarre slouching and watched with amused, rapt attention as heleaned closer and closer to their aunt and (distant) cousin.

            “Butdo you zink it vas intentional? Zis act of violence?” Robert Edward asked, hislarge nose quivering.

            “Surely,even in your backwards country, a pet fish doesn’t accidentally end up lookinglike it’s been sent through a woodchipper,” May grimaced. She slumped, sinkinginto the couch. “But who or what is behind it is a mystery. This house hasalways had a tension within it. It's no secret our family has never been acohesive unit, but it always felt as if there was something deeper and moremalignant involved. I don’t think this act was spirits, but you never know.You’ve heard the stories?”

            “Inmy country no vun has ze fish