Harriett

by King, Rebecca

  “Oh Gertie, don’t be such a ninny,” Madame snapped. “The spirits won’t hurt you. We are getting somewhere at last. Now pipe down and let me continue.”

  Harriett shared a grin with Constance, whose white teach flashed in the gloom. The reputedly Hungarian psychic suddenly sounded rather cockney; East End, if Harriett was any judge. In the ensuing silence, Harriett, took the opportunity to gather her usual pragmatic self around her and consider the events that had unfolded with a more jaded eye. She couldn’t explain what had happened with the stool, but the glass could have flown off the table because Mrs Dalrymple, who was seated opposite, had inadvertently pushed it. Beatrice and Tuppence, who were sitting on either side of her, would never do something so underhand as to deliberately mislead everyone by pushing the glass to give false messages.

  “Can you come forward for us again, my friends? We need you to bring us your messages,” Madame Humphries continued to breathe deeply and loudly.

  Once again, the glass began to move slowly around the table in a small circle. The speed it moved was considerably slower than before but nobody sought to question it. Silence descended as they waited to see what it would do.

  “Bring us your message,” Madame urged, her voice laced with impatience and glee. She was clearly revelling in the success of the evening, while everyone else was filled with nervous dread. “Go on, tell us,” she demanded.

  The glass began to move slowly.

  H-I-S-H-I-S-H-I-S-H-I-S-H

  “Well, that’s clear,” Babette announced dryly and peered down at the notepaper on the table before her. Even through the gloom she could tell it was nothing but jibberish.

  “What does it say?” Beatrice demanded, too far away to read what Babette had written.

  “His, over and over again apparently,” Babette replied, peering down at her hastily scribbled words with a frown.

  “It could say H-is again,” Mr Bentwhistle suggested.

  “Who is H though? I mean, it could be any one of us,” Harriett replied in disbelief. Not for the first time that evening, she began to wonder if someone was playing pranks and the messages were from one of the ladies who had a penchant for gossip. If it was, it didn’t explain how the glass could have flown off the table so rapidly, or why.

  The glass started to move again.

  H-I-S-I-N-D-A-N-G-E-R.

  “Who is ‘H’, my friends?”

  T-H-E-R-E-W-I-L-L-B-E-A-D-E-A-T-H.

  Everyone froze and stared down at the table.

  Nobody spoke. Nobody moved.

  M-U-R-D-E-R-D-E-A-T-H.

  “Oh, good Lord.” Miss Haversham’s voice shook with fear.

  “If this is someone’s idea of a joke, I don’t think it is either appropriate or wise,” Miss Smethwick snapped. She snatched her hand away from the glass and glared at everyone as she pushed away from the table and moved to stand beside the fire. “I think we need to stop this nonsense now and all have a drink. Maybe then we can get some sense out of this evening.”

  “Here, here,” Mr Montague replied fervently and left the table to warm his backside by the fire.

  Constance gasped and they all turned back to the glass which had started to move under the remaining fingers.

  T-H-E-R-E-I-S-A-L-I-A-R-A-M-O-N-G-S-T-Y-O-U.

  “Who?” Harriett snapped. The small hairs on the back of her neck began to rise again and she scowled down at the glass in frustration. “Why won’t you tell us actual details?”

  D-E-A-T-H.

  A dull thud drew all of their attention and Mrs Bobbington screamed as she caught sight of Miss Hepplethwaite lying in a heap on the floor.

  “Get her a glass of water,” Madame Humphries cried. She lunged out of her chair, knelt down beside her friend and began to fan her with the end of her scarf.

  “Is she alright?” Mr Bentwhistle demanded.

  “I don’t know. It is too dark to see in here. Can someone light the gas lamps again please?”

  “I’ll do it,” Mr Montague’s rotund little frame scurried across the room with a fist full of spills only to pause and return to the fire to light one of them.

  “It’s probably the excitement of the evening,” Miss Haversham snorted derisively. She appeared to be completely unconcerned by the rather dramatic turn of events and cast the woman on the floor a disparaging glance before she moved to a seat near to the windows.

  “I’ll get some water,” Harriett offered. She made it to the kitchen with unerring accuracy and poured a cup of water from the jug on the dresser. With a shudder, and with no small measure of relief, she returned to the parlour. She was just in time to watch Miss Hepplethwaite take a seat beside the fireplace, assisted by Babette and Madame Humphries. Harriett hurried forward and held out the glass of water only for Babette to shake her head.

  “I think she needs something stronger, don’t you?” Her calm gaze held Harriett’s for a moment. “I think we should stop now. Harriett, would you sort refreshments out please?”

  Harriett hurriedly poured sherry and brandy from the decanters before she headed back to the kitchen in search of the cakes she had brought home from the tea shop. On the way, she took several moments to light the lamps and candles around the house, only slightly relieved to have each room cast in a more amiable light. Feeling considerably more settled, she handed out cake and plates to their guests and helped herself to a liberal dose of brandy.

  “What do we do now?” Mr Montague demanded when he had sufficiently fortified himself with the alcohol. “I mean, I think we should call it a night now. This has gone far enough.”

  “We cannot stop now,” Madame Humphries objected, clearly outraged at the notion. “There is the demonstration to perform yet.”

  “I don’t think it is really a good idea -”

  “Nonsense,” Madame Humphries snapped. “We have started now. The spirits have given us several messages. We have asked them to come forward. It would be rude to just cut them off now, especially now they have started to give us messages. We cannot just leave it now, there may be more.”

  “But we don’t understand what we have already got,” Harriett argued. “How can we ask them for more?”

  “I want to know if my mother is able to get in touch with a message,” Mrs Bobbington declared mutinously. “That’s what I came here for.”

  “I don’t mind either way,” Tuppence declared and deliberately ignored her shaking hand as she took a sip of her sherry. “I mean, we have come this far. What is there to lose?”

  Our sanity, Harriett almost snapped but wisely kept quiet. She had experienced more than enough of the charade for one night and didn’t relish it going any further. She glanced at each person in turn and heaved a sigh when nobody made their excuses to leave. They knew she couldn’t ask them all to go, it would be the height of bad manners. The weight of expectancy that hung over the room made it perfectly clear to everyone that the circle was going to go ahead.

  “But Miss Hepplethwaite is not well. She needs to go home and rest,” Harriett argued lamely, although it was apparent from the rosy cheeks and the steady composure of the bird-like woman that she had quickly recovered from her sporadic ailment.

  “Oh, I feel quite well now dear,” Miss Hepplethwaite replied calmly. Her eyes met and held Harriett’s. The calm, matter-of-factness in the woman’s gaze made Harriett wonder if it had all been carefully orchestrated to bring the séance to an end. She couldn’t blame the woman if she had had enough of the shenanigans of the evening. However, Harriett couldn’t help but wonder why the woman had feigned fainting in order to stop the messages. Was she the one who had given them but had been unable to provide any more information when pressed, so had decided to stop everything?

  “I am relieved you have managed to recover so swiftly,” Harriett replied and gave the older woman a pointed look.

  “Yes, strange that,” Miss Haversham commented with a frown. “If you have more in that decanter Hugo, top up my glass too would you?” she suggested wryly
and held her sherry glass aloft.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “I have it!” Eloisa glanced apologetically at Mrs Bobbington, who yelped at her sudden outburst.

  “Oh, heavens above Eloisa, don’t do that!” The woman gasped and clutched a hand to her chest in alarm. She took a hefty gulp from her brandy and rose to pour herself seconds, or was that thirds?

  “Good Lord, Eloisa, have mercy,” Miss Haversham pleaded as she brushed sherry off her skirts. “My dress is ruined now.”

  “Have what?” Babette demanded. She moved to the table to study the notepaper Eloisa held aloft. “What is it?”

  “The message; I think I understand the message.” The hesitancy in Eloisa’s eyes as she looked at the group was enough to make the tension within the room rise several notches again.

  “H is in danger. It doesn’t say HIS, it says H-IS-IN-DANGER.”

  “Well, really,” Miss Smethwick snapped. “Of all the ridiculous things. If anyone has any issues to report to us, I suggest they do so now rather than engaging in this ridiculous pretence.” Her small black beady eyes swept scornfully over each person in the room before they turned accusingly on Madame Humphries. “I should indeed be relieved to learn that you don’t have anything to do with this nonsense.” When Madame Humphries took a breath to respond, Miss Smethwick continued. “I suggest that we all get a hold of ourselves. There has been nothing coming through that glass that any one of us couldn’t have known about beforehand. While I am not prepared to engage in such silly ridiculousness as to push the glass purposefully, I would strongly recommend that none of you should be prepared to stoop so low either.”

  “The spirits have told us,” Madame Humphries argued. Her eyes were fierce as they met and held Miss Smethwick’s.

  “What spirits? Who were they? They didn’t give us any pertinent facts. All they have tried to do is scare us. Very good for theatrics, but hardly practical or wise, now is it?”

  Sensing a heated argument brewing, Harriett began to replenish glasses, and took the opportunity to stand before Madame Humphries and break Miss Smethwick’s angry glare.

  “I agree with Miss Smethwick,” Harriett replied. She ignored Babette’s warning look and glanced at each person in the room. She shared knowing looks with Beatrice, Tuppence and Constance, and was bolstered by the silent support in their eyes. “I think that we have really had nothing to go on that we should take seriously. I mean, if someone is playing a joke then it has worked because everyone, including myself, are a little unnerved. However, there has been nothing we can accept with any degree of confidence. H is in danger could mean anyone, not least myself.”

  “Well, it doesn’t mean that it has to be you who is the one in danger. I mean, there is Mrs Hepplethwaite,” Beatrice replied reasonably.

  “Why would Gertrude be in danger?” Madame snapped and glared flicked a dismissive glance at Beatrice.

  “My first name is Hugo,” Mr Montague added reasonably. “It could mean me,” his voice held no hint of fear, merely mild amusement.

  “There is also Miss Haversham, Harriett, Madame Humphries, Eloisa Harris,” Mr Bentwhistle added softly. His soft brown eyes were almost sad as he glanced at Miss Haversham and Hugo Bentwhistle.

  “Who is to say that ‘H’ is anybody here? There are many people with H in either their first name or surname in the village,” Mrs Bobbington snapped. “I say that we carry on with the demonstration and see what else we get. They could give us a name so we understand who they mean.” She sighed impatiently and took a seat, wriggling a little as though she was a mother hen settling on her nest. She placed her small carpet bag on her lap and held on to the handle, clearly prepared to wait for as long as need be for the circle to begin.

  Everybody turned to stare at Harriett, as though seeking her approval, although it wasn’t entirely her decision. While house actually belonged to Harriett; she shared it with her Aunt Babette and Uncle Charles, who had taken over the family business and moved in to raise Harriett when her parents had died.

  “Let’s carry on for a little while, if you feel strong enough to continue Miss Hepplethwaite?” Babette sighed. She moved a chair away from the table and placed it beside the hearth near to Mrs Bobbington. “If we don’t get anything sensible within half an hour then I think that we shall stop and call it a night.”

  “Excellent,” Mr Bentwhistle announced and drew a chair for Miss Haversham,

  With varying degrees of enthusiasm, the assembled group arranged chairs in a circle around the parlour and took their seats in the same order in which they had sat at the table. The large table was pushed back against the wall to allow them more room. Eventually they were all arranged in a way that Madame Humphries was happy with and silence settled around them.

  “Does anyone want their glasses replenishing before we start?” Mr Bentwhistle asked in the process of topping up his own sherry.

  A chorus of replies saw the decanter emptied. Harriett shared a rueful look with Babette, who smiled and shook her head.

  When we had arranged a meeting to get in touch with the spirits, I hadn’t for one moment considered that it would be the bottled variety, Harriett mused wryly and watched the last quart of the brandy disappear too. Her smile vanished at Madame Humphries’ next words. Dread settled over her and she fought to quell the surge of nerves that the woman’s demand created.

  “Turn the lamps off,” Madame instructed briskly. She smoothed her skirts and tugged her sleeves down almost officiously as she readied herself for the psychic demonstration.

  “But I cannot see you then,” Harriett protested. She hated to admit that she was scared.

  Madame flicked an arrogant gesture at Miss Hepplethwaite, who nervously fluttered off to retrieve several candles out of a large carpet bag, which she then placed at Madame’s feet.

  The candles were placed on the mantle and lit before the gas lamps were extinguished. Harriett began to wish that she had never started this in the first place, and took a tiny sip of her sherry in an attempt to steady herself. The warmth of the amber liquid as it hit her stomach did little to soothe her frayed nerves and a heavy sense of trepidation swept through her at the thought of what might lie ahead.

  At least you are sitting with your back to the wall, Harriett mused. She gave the darkened doorway behind Madame Humphries a longing glance. At any other time she would have relished the possibility of being able to sidle off to bed and leave them all to it but, after the strange episode of the stool that had topped all by itself, she wasn’t all that sure she wanted to go to bed tonight at all.

  “Now then, I demand absolute silence for this part of the proceedings. Please now all link hands and close your eyes. We will get the energy flowing again and I will ask spirit to step forward. Don’t be alarmed if you feel someone move to stand behind you. It is perfectly normal and only your loved ones coming forward to be amongst us. Now, before we begin, does anyone have any questions?”

  “Loved ones?” Mr Bentwhistle queried. He looked a little concerned. “You mean my wife may come forward?”

  “Your wife, your mother, anyone who was close to you, yes, why, is that a problem?”

  “Erm, I am not sure, my dear,” he replied hesitantly. “What do I say to them if they appear?” He glanced uncomfortably around the room for a moment as though he expected someone to pop out from behind the curtains.

  “People in the spirit world are essentially the same as they are on the earth. If people were grumpy on the earth plain, or didn’t like specific things, they are exactly the same on the other side. If your wife comes forward, I am sure she will be just the same as she was when she was with us.”

  “Oh dear,” Mr Bentwhistle whispered.

  “Is that a problem?” Harriett frowned at the man seated to her left, and wondered if she had missed some essential piece of gossip. Something that would indicate why Mr Bentwhistle did not relish a message from his dearly departed wife.

  “Well, it is just that my wife, God bl
ess her,” he glanced reverently at the ceiling, “was quite critical of, well, everything really. She liked to nag. Relentlessly and, well, I am afraid that I had more than enough while she was here.”

  Harriett smothered a laugh and wondered how he would cope if his wife suddenly manifested behind him and started to chastise him. Mr Bentwhistle looked a little guilty at his confession and dropped his eyes to the carpet a little like a naughty school boy waiting to be told off by the headmaster.

  Much to everyone’s astonishment, Madame Humphries, for the first time that night, softened her demeanour a little as she studied him from her seat directly opposite.

  “My dear, it takes a lot of energy for the spirits to come forward to talk to us. I am sure that anything your wife has to say to you will be pertinent and to the point. However, should she come forward with relish, I am sure that we can persuade her to move on a little. Now,” she glanced around the room almost challengingly, “if everyone is ready?”

  Nobody moved or spoke. After several moments of silence, Madame sucked in a noisy breath through her teeth with such suddenness that everyone jumped in alarm. In true theatrical fashion she threw her head back and glared at the ceiling.

  “Come forward, my friends,” she called in a voice that was heavily laced with a foreign accent that was anything but Hungarian. If anyone knew what a Hungarian accent sounded like, it was a far cry from that which Madame Humphries was managing to achieve. Unless Harriett was much mistaken, it still held a hint of cockney twang hidden in the husky depths and it still made her smile. She slide a sideways glance at Mr Montague who was squeezing her hand just a little too tightly for comfort but made no attempt to break contact. That would earn her the condescension of the redoubtable Madame Humphries, and in turn would only delay the closure of the evening. For some reason she felt driven to call a halt to everything and see her guests out.