Harriett

by King, Rebecca

  Mark scowled at the thought that the woman hadn’t seen fit to follow his orders and remain at home until he had questioned her. He took out his pocket watch and peered at the handles on the dial. Although it was gone six o’clock in the evening, it didn’t render the day over just yet, not in police terms in any case.

  He glowered at the door and thought of the black carriage that had appeared outside of Beatrice’s house, and wondered if that had been Miss Smethwick. If it had been, why hadn’t she waited for them to question her? What had she been doing at Beatrice’s house? Had it been Miss Smethwick at all? He began to wonder if he was clutching at straws and knew that they wouldn’t get any answers to anything while they were standing in the dark, outside of her house.

  “No, let’s leave it for today. I think we will call by first thing in the morning, bright and early. If she isn’t at home then, we will break in. If she is at home in the morning, she has a few questions to answer.”

  They walked back down the path toward the road that led further into the village. Isaac closed the squeaky gate behind him and glanced up at the house. Although he kept his movements calm and unhurried, everything within him was locked on the furtive movement of the curtain in the upstairs window. He turned and hurriedly caught up with Mark. They continued to walk while Isaac told Mark what he had seen.

  “Why would she avoid us if she didn’t have anything to hide?” Isaac muttered as he accepted his ale off the barman and dropped two coins on the bar.

  “It might not be her in the house,” Mark sighed, and dug in his pockets. He withdrew the two packages of cake and dropped them onto the table in disgust.

  “You have to hand the cloths back so you can’t leave them there,” Isaac warned.

  “Do you think that they have some sort of conspiracy going on?”

  “I don’t know, but there is something deuced odd about this place. They all seem to know when to put the kettle on, and all have cake at the ready. With masked coachmen atop black carriages, missing spinsters and dead people, it is really hard to get to grips with what is really going on.” Isaac leaned back in his seat and felt a slight squishing in his pocket. He knew he had just sat on his Victoria cake, but refused to take the blasted thing out of his pocket. If he never saw cake again he would be a happy man.

  “We don’t know yet if Miss Smethwick lives alone. Just because she is a spinster, it doesn’t mean that there isn’t a relation tucked away in there. Harriett will know. I need to call back to her house and see how she has got on. I need her to check to see if she has anything missing in her bedroom.”

  “Do you think that Madame Humphries could be a thief?”

  Mark sighed and took a sip of his ale. “Can you remember that spate of burglaries in London? The medium vanished before the police arrived to arrest her but, before she left, she managed to steal hundreds of pounds worth of goods from her client?”

  Isaac nodded. He had read the newspaper accounts of several psychic mediums who had been caught fraudulently claiming to have been speaking to dead people while encouraging their unsuspecting customers to hand over hundreds of pounds in ‘donations’.

  “See if you can get a description of the clairvoyant and her assistant from Scotland Yard. While you are at it, find out what Madame Humphries’ real name is, preferably before we go and see her tomorrow. I am going to take a look at the reports David has left for us, and see if he has managed to identify if there the muslin contained any pills or medication.”

  “What if it does?”

  Mark glanced at him. “Then we need to find out what it was, and where she got it from. David is adamant that she hasn’t had any medication from him, but it would have to have come from somewhere. If it was responsible for killing her, and was simple over the counter medication from a pharmacy, there is no case to investigate and we have just wasted a day. If there any trace of powders or pills, just the muslin cloth, then she was almost certainly murdered by someone in that house last night. All we have to do is uncover who.”

  “Sounds easy.”

  Mark snorted and looked down at his booted feet. He had learned from all of his years in the force that nothing was ever easy. Just when you thought you had something licked, a quirk of fate or a new question arose and threw everything up into the air again. His best option was to look at each angle individually, and hopefully find answers to each question until he got a clear picture of what the hell had been going on in Harriett’s house. They just had to do it before the murderer carried out on their threat to the unknown ‘H’.

  The mental image of Harriett’s pretty features fluttered before him and he had the sudden urge to see her. It took all of his self control to remain on his stool and continue to steadily drink his beer. As far as he was concerned it took far too long for them to finish their drinks and head toward Harriett’s house.

  “Do you need me to come with you?” Isaac asked. His thoughts turned to the pile of paperwork that awaited him in the office. He strongly suspected that Mark’s return visit to Harriett’s house had nothing to do with the investigation, but more to do with a need of a more personal nature.

  “No, I will be fine. I will see Harriett, and then check in at the station before I head home. I will take the files from David with me and study them later. Meantime, have a good evening and I will see you in the morning, eight o’clock sharp at Miss Smethwick’s house.”

  “Don’t you think that is a little early to be visiting?”

  “I think that if our Miss Smethwick is being a little evasive, she will be out of the house at the first available opportunity. If we arrive early, we may shun convention but we will at least be successful in our attempt to question her.”

  Isaac nodded. He could see the logic, but was certain that the old woman wouldn’t be impressed. That was just the way that police investigations went. There was no room for sentiment or respect for a person’s delicate sensibilities. Someone had lost their life. If Miss Smethwick went an hour without sleep because of the police’s need to question her, well that was just the way that things went. At least she was alive and well, which was more than could be said for Minerva Bobbington.

  By the time he reached Harriett’s front door, Mark felt as though he had traipsed around the entire county, while his stomach felt as though he had eaten his way around the village. He felt slightly sick and hated the heavy weight of the cake wedges he had nestled in his pockets. He wondered if he could call upon Harriett’s good nature to help him dispose of them.

  “What the devil is the matter?” Harriett gasped as she drew him inside and closed the door. He looked pale and seemed to be sweating. The silent plea in his eyes made her want to sweep him into a hug and sit him beside the fire so she could look after him. “Are you alright? Do you want me to fetch Doctor Woods?”

  “No, I will be fine in a minute. Can I have a glass of water though please?” He was fairly certain that the God awful fruit cake he had been subjected to earlier, courtesy of the ladies Dalrymple, had landed in his stomach with the determination of a terrier, and refused to relinquish its hold.

  Harriett led him to the sitting room and waved him to one of the chairs before the fire. Mark almost groaned at the scent of meat pie that wafted in the air and felt his stomach lurch in alarm.

  “Have you eaten yet?” Harriett handed him a cup of water and stood back to watch him take a tentative sip.

  “I am fine, thank you. Really,” Mark protested and cast her rueful glance. “Maybe you could tell me something, Harriett?” He nodded at Babette, who appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. “Is there some sort of cake competition going on in the village?”

  Harriett frowned and shared a look with her aunt. “Not as far as I am aware, why?”

  “Because at each house that Isaac and I have been to today, everyone has given us cake; piece after piece of cake.” He sighed and dug the offending weights out of his pocket. He placed them on the table beside him and gave Harriett a rueful smile. “It is al
l very nice, but impossible to refuse without running the risk of causing someone offense. Mrs Dalrymple was quite put out when I didn’t eat all of my cake and insisted on sending me home with a second piece.” He ignored Babette’s snigger. “On occasions, people have even had the kettle boiling in readiness to make tea before we have even knocked on the door.”

  Harriett tried to look sympathetic but failed miserably, and made no attempt to hide her grin. “Oh dear, too much cake I take it?”

  “I like cake as much as the next man, Harriett, don’t get me wrong, but not morning, luncheon, afternoon, tea-time and,” he paused and glanced at his pocket watch, “evening.”

  “The ladies are all part of the church and involved in the village fetes, that kind of thing. I know Miss Haversham was quite put out that Beatrice won the first prize in the cake competition with her Victoria sponge, and Constance Dalrymple nearly put one of the judges in hospital with her fruit cake.”

  Mark snorted at that, “I can understand,” he reported with a wry grin. “It hasn’t sat with me too well either.” He rubbed his aching stomach and shook his head in mock despair. “Are they trying to issue us a warning?”

  “Sit and rest for a while, you will feel better soon. You need to wash it through with water.”

  “I have drunk more tea today than I usually drink in an entire week.”

  “Strange that, I could almost certainly detect a whiff of ale about you,” Harriett replied with a smirk as she disappeared into the kitchen to put the kettle on.

  Mark smiled, aware of the familiarity of their conversation and the ease in which he was made to feel at home. As he waited for Harriett to reappear, he took the opportunity to study the sitting room in more detail. The whole house was larger than most two up, two down terraces, and was more in keeping with the home of a wealthy but middle-class businessman than a hard-working family such as the Marchingtons. There was the usual aged and heavily used furniture, namely a table and several chairs which took up pride of place in the centre of the room and two large chairs which bracketed the huge stove. Cupboards on either side of the fireplace hid most of the paraphernalia used in houses these days, while a large dresser along the back wall displayed the family china. Everywhere was scrubbed to a high shine and smelled of lemons and soap. It was wonderfully cosy room, and far less ostentatious than the front parlour.

  He absorbed the warmth of the fire and had to work to resist the urge to rest his boots on the fender. As he studied the glowing embers, he couldn’t help but wonder how they managed to live in a house the size of this from the profits of running a tea shop in a relatively small village like Tipton Hollow. The cost of the coal needed to keep the stoves heated would cost an arm and a leg. He glanced over at the fairly modest fireplace. From the look of it, it had just been blacked and stood in highly polished splendour. The room glowed with hazy warmth that bathed the room in a homely atmosphere, even without the additional soft light from the gas lamp seated on the dresser.

  “How long have you been living here, Harriett?” He asked when she reappeared.

  Harriett placed a tray of tea things on the table and frowned for a moment. “I moved in when I was about twelve. My parents died within a year of each other so I moved in with Uncle Charles and Aunt Babette.”

  “Your Uncle Charles is your father’s brother, I take it?”

  “That’s right. They were the closest family I had.”

  “Where were you born? My family come from Great Tipton, and I have lived there all of my life. I have been aware of the tea shop in Tipton Hollow. You have a commendable reputation, even in Great Tipton, but I cannot recall ever seeing you about before.” He wondered how he could have lived to close and never noticed someone as beautiful as Harriett.

  “My parents lived in Sodsbury, about twenty miles away.”

  “I know it. Nice little market town just outside of Pemberton.”

  “That’s right.” Harriett had very little memory of what had been her childhood home and could only vaguely remember her mother, or father for that matter. They were but faint and distant memories to her.

  “Do you still live in Great Tipton?” The question was out before Harriett could stop it, and she wondered if she had just crossed some invisible line of politeness, especially given he was a police officer working on investigating a murder in her home. Was it right and proper that she should be asking him personal questions?

  “I do. My mother lives on this side of Great Tipton, on the Avenue Road. Do you know of it? The Mill House, next to the Tavern Green?” Mark described the village green on the outskirts of Great Tipton.

  Harriett had been there regularly on her way to market. Despite the huge town just beyond it, the small green that had used to be a major part of the old village held a hint of timeless elegance that captivated the imagination and always made her want to explore.

  “I know of it. You are very lucky; it is a very pretty part of town.” She didn’t add that it was also the most affluent. The houses that lined the village green were largely huge mansions that were owned by the town’s wealthiest businessmen. Only the richest could afford to live there. She studied Mark with fresh eyes and felt a little deflated, although she couldn’t quite work out why. It wasn’t as though there was anything between them, except a natural friendship that was at odds with the newness of their acquaintance. To Harriett though, his news felt as though some invisible line had just been drawn across the room, with him on one side and her on the other. A gulf opened up between them and left an almost awkward silence in its wake. She struggled to find something to say that would bridge the chasm. Luckily, Babette chose that moment to join them.

  “Would you like something to eat?” Babette offered almost hopefully. She was poised, ready to return to the kitchen if he dared say yes.

  “I am fine, thank you. I need to ask you a few questions.” He included Harriett in his gaze, but wondered what he had just said that had put her on edge. The way she had suddenly become distant and uncomfortable slightly perturbed him and, for the life of him, couldn’t figure out what he had said that could have upset her. Was it the mention of her childhood? He mentally winced at the thought that he had touched on a raw nerve.

  After today, and even yesterday for that matter, he had no doubt they would become better acquainted. A small voice reminded him of Alice, and he resolved to meet with her as soon as possible. He tucked that thought aside for now and turned his attention back to the ladies, who sat at the table expectantly. Reluctant to leave the warmth of the fire, Mark leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees.

  “I need you ladies to tell me if you have noticed anything missing in the house since the séance?”

  Harriett frowned at him. “Like what?” She shared a look with Babette, who shrugged.

  “Anything: jewellery, personal items, anything of even the smallest worth that might have a market value to someone?”

  “You mean someone was a thief?” Babette stared at him with large, horrified eyes.

  “I think that we need to go and take a close look at your rooms and find out if anything is missing.”

  Harriett stared at him and felt unnerved at the thought that someone had rifled through her personal belongings. She pushed away from the table with a glint of determination in her eyes. She had barely reached the door before Babette and Mark joined her.

  Together they walked into Harriett’s room directly above the parlour. The fire still glowed and took the chill off the room, but she still took her shawl off the end of the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders. She ignored the neatly made bed and skirted around the cast iron frame to stand before the chest of drawers along the far wall. She stared down at the contents of her top drawer for several moments. Babette moved to stand beside her on the left, and Mark on the right. He caught her hand as she was about to rummage.

  “At first glance, does anything look disturbed to you?” He nodded toward the drawer with a frown. He wasn’t lost to the softness
of her fingers beneath his and made no attempt to release his hold. It bothered him a little that there were so very few personal items there. One brooch, a beautiful hair comb, a decorative brush and ladies’ mirror, along with several hand stitched handkerchiefs and a small, well thumbed bible nestled on what looked to be another shawl.

  “I had another decorative brooch. It had some beautiful enamel work on it and was given to me by my mother.” Harriett whispered and pulled her hand away from Mark’s to slide the drawer out further. “It’s gone,” she whispered when she had finished a thorough search of the contents. “It was my mother’s, and it has gone.”

  “There, there, dear, I am sure that Mark will help us find it.”

  “Of course I will, Harriett,” Mark hastened to assure her. He felt his temper surge at the thought that someone would have the audacity to rifle through her things and help themselves. A thief had definitely been in their midst at the séance, he just had to find out who.

  “I can promise you, Harriett, that I will find out who took it,” he declared softly. “Firstly, I need you to tell me if you have worn it recently and, if so, if anyone mentioned it being particularly nice?”

  Harriett frowned at that. “I don’t wear it very often. It is not all that expensive but more of a keep-sake than anything. I think I may have worn it at a church service a couple of weeks back, but I can’t be sure. Certainly nobody commented on it that I can recall.”

  He glanced down at the stool seated beside the dressing table. “Is this where the stool usually sits?”

  “Yes, and it was like this when I found it with Mr Bentwhistle.” Babette turned the four legged, sturdy looking stool onto its side to demonstrate that it would be virtually impossible for the thing to fall over by itself. Someone had knocked it over in their haste to get out of the room.

  Mark pushed the drawer closed and looked at Babette. “Do you have anything missing?”