“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” Miss Haversham boomed at them as they approached the walled garden at the front of her small cottage. “I take it that you have news for me then?” She pushed her garden fork into the soft soil at her feet and brushed off her hands as she walked down the path toward the door. “Come in, come in. Don’t stand on ceremony.” She beckoned toward the gate but didn’t wait for the men to enter. Instead, she turned on her heel and headed into the house, and left the front door open behind her in silent invitation. From the depths of the house they could hear the rattle of pots and crockery as she made tea.
Once in her kitchen, Mark almost groaned at the sight of sandwiches and tea things already on the table. He sniffed appreciatively at the fruit cake that sat next to the cups and saucers, and realised that he and Isaac had yet to have any lunch.
“I take it you haven’t had lunch yet? Good’o, take a seat then. I have made enough for everyone, but if you want more, you only need to say,” Miss Haversham gushed and handed out plates before she poured the tea.
“Right then,” she sighed as she helped herself to a sandwich. “Help yourselves. I don’t stand on ceremony here, you know. Just dig in. We can eat while we talk.”
“How did you know we were going to be here in time for lunch?” Isaac asked with a frown as he helped himself to a sandwich.
“Oh, rough guess, that’s all. I made the sandwiches just in case. If you didn’t arrive in time for tea, I was going to take them next door to Mable. I usually share lunch with her but seeing as you are here now, she can make her own.”
Isaac shared a look with Mark, and sent a mental apology to the unknown Mabel as he bit into his sandwich. “It’s very kind of you but we didn’t expect to be fed,” Isaac muttered around a slice of cucumber.
“I was going to make myself some lunch anyway. Now, what do you want to know? I take it there is news about poor Minerva?”
“Yes, I am afraid that it appears she didn’t die of natural causes,” Mark sighed as he helped himself to a cheese sandwich.
“Oh? What from?”
“I am afraid that she choked to death. I would warn you that whatever we discuss today must remain confidential. You need to refrain from discussing it with anyone until we can establish what happened with a bit more clarity.”
“I take it that you want to know from me what I saw?” she asked bluntly. Her eyes were honest and frank, and Mark heaved a sigh of relief at the openness in her gaze. “Fire away then,” the woman offered and helped herself to several more sandwiches.
“Tell us in your own words what happened last night.”
“Absolute nonsense, that’s what happened,” Miss Haversham replied with a disparaging snort. “I got caught up with it as much as everyone else, you understand?” She flicked Mark and Isaac a look that warned them she knew she had been a fool to be there at all, but would make no apology for it. “We were all sitting in the dark at the request of Madame Humphries. Pitch black, it was. I couldn’t see my hand in front of my own eyes so it is difficult to say what everyone else was doing, you understand. I remember Miss Smethwick scolding Constance, or it may have been Tuppence, about lying on the table in order to keep her finger on the glass. A small argument ensued but, other than that and the rather odd messages, there was nothing unusual happening while we were sitting at the table. It took ages to get the glass moving and, when it did, there wasn’t much sense coming off it,” Miss Haversham frowned blankly down at the table-top. “Except,” she seemed to search her memory for something and it was several moments before she looked at Mark. “There was one unusual thing that happened. While we were getting the message about ‘H’ being in danger, a loud bang from upstairs broke the séance. We stopped while Mr Bentwhistle and Babette went upstairs to see what it was. A stool in Harriett’s room had been knocked over. Nobody else was in the house though, and everyone who was there was around the table.”
“Did anyone go to the outhouse at all?”
Miss Haversham frowned and shook her head. “No, we were all involved in what was going on around the table. Miss Smethwick kept saying it was nonsense and we should stop it but nobody paid her the slightest bit of attention.”
“Did you check the table regularly to make sure that everyone was there?”
“You mean, was it possible for someone to sneak away from the table while the messages were being given?” After a few moments Miss Haversham shook her head decisively. “I shouldn’t say so. I am fairly confident that everyone was there throughout the entire evening. We were all actively engaged in what was happening and everyone added their bit to the general conversation at some point. I can’t see that anyone would have had the time to sneak out of the room, run upstairs and knock the stool over.”
“Did you see Madame Humphries and Miss Hepplethwaite at all times?”
“I can’t remember seeing Miss Hepplethwaite there all the time, but Madame Humphries was there. I kept looking at her but couldn’t detect any trickery going on.”
“What kind of trickery would you expect around the séance table?”
“Oh, you know, lights, knocking, that kind of thing. I have seen the newspapers and read about some of the things these spiritual mediums, psychics, clairvoyants, whatever you want to call them, get up to, but there was nothing unusual at all last night apart from the messages.”
“Ah, yes, ‘H is in danger’. Do you have any ideas who the ‘H’ might be?” Mark studied the woman carefully but was positive that she was being honest with him.
“Well, it could mean anyone with H in their name, couldn’t it? I mean, I have H in my name, as does Harriet, Hugo Montague and Madame Humphries herself, Miss Hepplethwaite.”
“Do you think someone could have been pushing the glass on purpose and playing a prank just to scare you?”
“I think it is a damned odd thing to do if that’s the case. I mean, giving warnings at a séance? Why for heavens’ sake? It doesn’t make sense. No, I cannot see anyone of my acquaintance doing anything like that, even for a joke.”
Mark watched her lift the lid on a tin that held a huge cake and groaned at the delicious smell that immediately filled the kitchen. He shared a glance with Isaac and watched Miss Haversham cut three over sized pieces and put them onto cake plates without even asking if they wanted any. Once everyone was furnished with cake she resumed her seat, apparently still lost in thought over last night.
“Why did you agree to go to the circle, if I might ask?” Mark mumbled around a mouthful of cake. It was slightly dry and he took a sip of tea to help its way into his stomach. He watched Isaac take a bite and glance at the cake warily for a moment before he placed it carefully back onto the plate.
“Curiosity, of course. Isn’t that why everyone chose to go? I was hoping I would get a proper message from my mother. Everyone thinks I am still mourning her, but the woman was a lot of hard work. I am not saying I was glad to see the back of her, but I am considerably happier now that she is with the dearly departed, I don’t mind admitting. I have worn mourning clothes because it keeps the gossips from prying, you understand? They carefully skirt the subject if they think it is likely to touch on a sore nerve.”
“I take it that there is a lot of gossip in Tipton Hollow?” Mark asked carefully.
“Isn’t there everywhere? Some people don’t really have anything else to do.”
“As far as you are aware has anyone who attended the meeting last night fallen out?”
“Do you mean was anyone at loggerheads so much that they might want to do the other in at the circle? No, I don’t think that for one second. After all, if I was to murder someone, I would hardly do it with a dozen or more people there. It’s an absolutely ridiculous notion, no.”
Duly put in his place, Mark ignored Isaac’s snort of humour and dug around for anything else.
“Have you heard any gossip about a fob watch being missing from Mr Bentwhistle’s funeral parlour?”
Miss Haversham looked him str
aight in the eye. “I have spent the last twelve months living in wretched black clothes to avoid the gossips. Do you really think that I would spend my days exchanging news with any of them? I don’t gossip,” she declared firmly but without rancour. “I now live alone and have more than enough to do to fill my time, I can assure you. If I do get lonely or bored, I go to Mabel next door and we go out somewhere together. I enjoy my life and don’t get any satisfaction from dragging anyone’s name through the mud.”
“Did Minerva mention to you that she felt ill at all?”
“I haven’t seen Minerva before last night for at least several weeks now but no, she didn’t mention anything last night to me. But then, why would she? We aren’t friends. She kept fretting about whether they would get messages and, if so, what they would be. Other than that, she seemed perfectly fine if you ask me.” Miss Haversham was so forthright and calm in her manner that Mark was relieved his job had been made considerably easier. He knew that there was one person he could cross of the list of suspects, although what was going on with this cake he couldn’t quite decide. He glanced at his empty tea cup but felt it would be rude to ask for a top-up. With a sigh, he picked up a piece of the remaining cake and took a bite.
“I think it would be wise for you not to discuss this with anyone, not even Mabel. We have more investigating to do to get to the bottom of what happened to Minerva Bobbington last night. Until we know for definite, I need you to think carefully if there is anything you have forgotten; anything someone said to you or something strange and mysterious that you had forgotten about. If you do remember something then please don’t hesitate to get in touch with either Detective Isaac, or myself.”
Upon receiving Miss Haversham’s assurance that she would give the matter some careful thought, Mark and Isaac took their leave with their stomachs blessedly full, if a little heavy from the cake.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Who is next?”
“I think we need to go and see Constance Dalrymple and Mrs Dalrymple. At least we can then cross two more names off our list in one go.”
Mark wondered if he would get back to Harriett’s at all today. He had hoped to pay another visit, ostensibly to see if she was alright after last night’s trauma, but it now looked less and less likely that he would manage to get back to his own home any time before midnight.
“Come on in, gentlemen, take a seat.” Mrs Dalrymple waved toward the chairs before the fireplace and smiled her thanks at Constance, who immediately brought in a tray of tea things.
Once again, the ladies seemed to know that Mark and Isaac were about to arrive, or else they had kept the kettle on the fire, and the tea things prepared all day, in preparation for their arrival. Mark silently groaned at the plate of cake that was placed on the table and waved away the huge piece that Constance held out for him with a rueful smile. “I won’t if you don’t mind. Got to watch the waist,” he patted his already full stomach only to instantly feel like an eel at the crestfallen look on Mrs Dalrymple’s face
“Thank you,” Isaac mumbled awkwardly. He studied the cake and carefully placed it down on the small table before him. He wondered if Mark would get any information out of the ladies now that he had just turned down their home-baked cake. One thing he had learned from his Ma was that if a lady spent any time in the kitchen baking, it was the height of good manners to at least taste what she offered.
“Won’t you at least try a small piece?” Mrs Dalrymple cajoled and held out a large slice of cake with a look of hope in her eye. “You must be hungry after all that traipsing about.”
“How do you know we have been traipsing about?” Mark replied and felt a wave of defeat wash over him.
“Well, it is now mid-afternoon and you have just gotten here. I have no doubt that you have already called on some of the others who were there last night, so you must have worked up an appetite.”
Mark couldn’t fault her powers of deduction and heaved a sigh as he nodded his thanks, and relieved her of the plate. As soon as he put the plate on the table before him, he realised that the ladies were waiting for him to take a bite. He dutifully lifted his fork and took a mouthful of the fruit cake that was more than a little dry, had hard crunchy bits in and felt more like a door stop in his mouth. Nevertheless, he manfully smiled and swallowed several times in an attempt to get the offending foodstuff out of his mouth. He coughed uncomfortably as it scratched his throat, and took a desperate sip of his tea to wash it down. He wanted to warn Isaac not to bother with the doorstop, erm, cake, and watched with a smile of male superiority as his associate took a healthy bite of his own doorstop, erm, cake. The hesitation on Isaac’s face when the over baked cake exploded in his mouth like sawdust was enough to tell Mark that his assistant wouldn’t be able to speak for several minutes.
“Now, if you would, I should like you to recount events as they happened last night. In your own words, if you would.” He watched Isaac carefully put his cake plate down and smile around a mouthful that he clearly didn’t want to swallow. Mark drew out his own notebook and pencil and began to scribble notes.
“We have thought about this. Constance will tell you and I will add in anything that I think we may have forgotten.”
Together, the ladies recounted everything, including the final moments of Minerva Bobbington’s death. It was somewhat reassuring that they were as calm and matter of fact as Mr Montague and the facts they relayed matched everyone else’s account almost to the letter.
“Was Minerva Bobbington well thought of in the village?”
“I don’t know really. She arranged the flowers in the church, you know, and, as far as I am aware, she wasn’t at odds with anyone. Why? Was it murder?”
“Minerva Bobbington’s death is suspicious,” Mark replied carefully. “We are awaiting further tests but, until they come through, I would ask that you don’t discuss this with anyone. This has to remain entirely confidential. Now then, is there anything unusual you can recall about the evening?”
“Well, apart from the stool falling over in Harriett’s room upstairs, I cannot think of anything other than poor Minerva’s death.”
“Are you certain that you didn’t see anyone leave the parlour?”
“Well, it was very dark you see. There wasn’t much light to even see the letters on the table. Miss Haversham called the letters out as the glass landed on them, and Babette wrote them down. Eloisa picked up on the meaning of the messages once the lights had been turned on and she could read what Babette had written a bit more clearly.”
“Was Minerva bothered about anything? Did she seem worried at all?”
“Not as far as I can recall. We were all sceptical, and Miss Smethwick kept objecting to things people were saying and doing but, other than that, there was nothing untoward about Minerva. She had some sort of message about a cat, and she said that she didn’t have a cat, but I cannot remember much else to be frank. It is all a bit of a blur.”
Mark looked at Constance, one brow lifted in query. “Minerva had a message that she was going to get a cat. Oh, and Mr Bentwhistle had a message about a missing watch he had lost in the funeral parlour.”
“Missing watch?” Mark studied Constance and Mrs Dalrymple but couldn’t see anything other than honesty in either face.
“Yes, apparently he has lost a watch belonging to one of his clients. He had searched high and low for it but couldn’t find it. A message came through that it was in the embalming fluid.”
“Was it?”
Constance shrugged. “I have no idea. Nobody had the stomach to go and check and, to be honest with you, Mr Bentwhistle didn’t seem all that bothered. We did briefly discuss whether to carry on with the séance or not because the messages we did get didn’t make much sense, but everyone said that they weren’t going to go outside because it was windy and raining, so we carried on.”
There was a slight undercurrent of tension in the room, but he couldn’t quite put a finger on what it was. He wondered if the ladi
es had fallen out, or were waiting for something from him. He eyed the relatively untouched cake still on his plate and felt Mrs Dalrymple’s avid stare. Was she waiting for him to finish it? He fought the urge to tug at his collar like a school boy and heaved a sigh. There was no way out of it; he just had to finish the wretched stuff before he left. After all, there was no telling whether he would need to return for more information off either lady. He glanced at Isaac, who was doing his best to crumble down some of his portion while he ate the rest, and manfully took a healthy bite of his own slab.
Several moments later, feeling slightly sick and more than a little uncomfortable, Mark pushed to his feet. “I think that’s all for now. If you think of anything else, please don’t hesitate to get in touch.”
“Will you need to question us again?”
Mark sighed and hoped to God he never had to go back to the Dalrymple house again. “Only if I have some more questions for you. We are in the early days of our investigation, so it is feasible that I may need to return if I require any further information. Meantime, don’t discuss this with anyone and if you think of anything, you know where to find us.”
They hurriedly took their leave and closed the door on an atmosphere that was so tense it could have been cut with the cake knife they had used to saw into the door stop, erm, fruit cake they had forced upon Mark and Isaac. Mark secretly wondered if the cake had been offered on purpose as a way to stop them asking questions. Mark was about to close the gate at the end of the garden when the front door opened and Mrs Dalrymple came out clutching a piece of wrapped cloth.
Like a man who sensed danger, Mark groaned at the sight of the small, neatly wrapped parcel. He knew what it was before Mrs Dalrymple handed the heavy weight over the gate.
“You didn’t eat much of your cake,” she remarked more than a little pointedly. “So I thought you might like to take a piece home with you so you can enjoy it later.” She pushed the package at a stupefied Mark, who dumbly took it off her with a mumbled thanks. He heard Isaac snigger, and watched as Constance hurried out of the house with a rueful look on her face.
Harriett Page 9
