Thecarriage wheels creaked happily, pulling them away. Crockett sighed and turnedin his seat to take one last look at the tall, pillared front, the stalwart, darkgreen tomb, and the scattered dead trees, marking Dexter’s poor gardeningskills. The sky behind the scene was the purest, June blue, a hopefulpremonition for the house and its inhabitants.
WhenCrockett turned forward once again, he was startled to see another carriageapproaching. The two men in the front of it waved as they drew near, signalingfor Crockett’s carriage to halt.
Oncethey were close enough to speak, a gentleman in the front, wearing a bowler andfull black suit, saluted and spoke in a thick Viennese accent.
“Hullo,”he said. “You’re coming from the Hawsfeffer house?”
“Yes,sir,” Crockett said deferentially. The man’s jacket lifted exposing a firearm.
“Verypleasant to meet you,” he continued. “We’re the Danube Mob; we've come to dothe last of the fixing up.”
Crockettblanched. “The…Dan…Mob?”
“Yes,sir, we’ve been tasked to go tidy up the ending a bit.” The man cleared histhroat and looked at a neat list written in precise lettering. “We’ve got MayHawsfeffer’s farmer lover in the back.”
Atthis, a gentleman peeped from the back curtain and waved. “Hullo!”
“Hell-o…”
“Forthe maid, Martha, we got this secret document that states she’s the heiress tosome fortune, left by a…” the Austrian gangster squinted at the text, “a…MissHavisham.”
Crockett'sheart swelled imaging both Martha and Corinthiana sharing tea, covered injewels.
“Andwe got some books for Kordelia’s new French school and this…outfit for the Pipfellow.” The man withdrew a bright blue suit; it was accompanied by a slingcovered in jewels to aid Pip, stylishly, in his recovery.
"Lastly," theman signaled to his assistant in the front of the cart who withdrew a small, fishbowlfrom under his seat, “we have this for the old woman of the house, of course.”
Crockettsmiled broadly at the sight of a wriggling baby herring. “Yes, I think theywill very much like all of this. The house is just a bit farther down the road.You’re almost there.” Crockett felt the compunction to add, “I hadn’t heard ofyou until a few days ago, but you really do great work.”
Theman nodded. “We do what we can.” He consulted his list, stroking his chin. “Andare you Mr. Cook?”
Crockettanswered apprehensively, “I am.”
“Well,I have two things for you then.” The man pulled a parcel out first. Crockettsnuck a glance into the package and was relieved to see a brand-new shirt andsuit tailored to his size.
The second object was asquare black case. The mobster passed it to Crockett, after which he salutedand then grabbed the reins and pushed his horses onward. “Cheerio!” he called. Dirtswept backward as his steeds picked up speed and disappeared toward the horizon.[49]
Crockettlooked down at the case in his hand. He was about to open it when there was aclatter from outside his compartment. To his surprise, the carriage driver’sassistant left the driving stand and leapt by his side.
“Hello!”he said emphatically.
Crockettstared at the young man for a moment. He did look familiar but not fully. The hazeleyes were magnetic, something very memorable in their earnest gaze, but the faceand the bristling mustache were not.
“I’msorry,” Crockett said. “I don’t—”
“Crockett!”The boy slapped his shoulder. “Don’t be daft.”
Witha quick flick of his wrist, the boy tore off his mustache. Another deftmovement removed his cap. In its absence, long, brown hair fell to hisshoulders.
“Brontë!”Crockett’s face lit up with joy. His eyes grew as large as tea saucers.
“Yes!”She pulled him close, kissing his cheek. “I had to be dramatic and tell yougood-bye so that father would believe it. I couldn’t have him chasing afterme.”
“Butyou were supposed to have left this morning!”
“Mother,Father, and Petrarch went ahead in one carriage. Petrarch made an excuse for me—hetold them I wanted to spend more time with Kordelia before she left for school.He was in on the plot.”
“Andhe gave his blessing to it?” Crockett’s heart fluttered.
“Ofcourse. He said he told you a made-up story about finding someone better, buthe didn’t believe it himself.”
Crockettfelt a sudden stab of betrayal, but it quickly healed under the warm gaze of theyoung woman before him.
“Youare a remarkable actress,” Crockett said, gently touching her cheek. “I reallybelieved it. I convinced myself you were in pursuit of something better.”
“Whatcould be better?” she asked matter-of-factly. “And don’t think Kordelia and mygrandfather were the only ones who can put on a show. I learned from the best…andworst, I suppose, but don’t worry, I won’t kill you for money.”
“Sinceneither of us have any, I think we’re safe on that account.”
Brontëpulled him close and they kissed, fully on the lips.
“Oh!”Brontë said reaching into her trouser pocket. “Petrarch said this came for himthis morning. It’s from the Mayweathers, but he didn’t have time to read it. Itcould be about your arrival.”
Crocketttook the note and unfolded it. His eyes grew wide as he scanned the lines.
“Whatis it?” asked Brontë.
Crockettcouldn’t suppress his smile as he handed over the epistle to Brontë.
DearMr. Bluster,
Thankyou very much for notifying us of your delay. We are grateful you and yourassistant will be joining us in the next week to handle the dealings of Grandfather’sestate.
Itstruck me as important to notify you prior to your arrival that all is not wellin the house. Our sister Candace has vanished. Right before Grandfather diedthe two had a terrible row, and she disappeared from the town completely. Ontop of that, our neighbor Mr. Babcock was, well, to put it as pleasantly aspossible, found decapitated in our cow shed earlier this week.
Wehope you don’t think these kinds of occurrences are common or reflect upon ourfamily’s normal state.
