Harriett

by King, Rebecca

  Mark made no comment on the fact that Babette didn’t appear to share a bedroom with her husband. They had passed a second bedroom on the way to the small back bedroom. The door had been open and revealed it to be a man’s room with a waistcoat hanging off a hook on the wall, and a worn pair of boots under the high, cast-iron bed. He made a mental note and stood back to watch Babette search her personal belongings for any sign of theft.

  “Nothing’s gone as far as I can tell.”

  One look at the distress evident on Harriett’s face was enough to send Mark’s blood boiling again. Had Mrs Bobbington seen something, and that was why she had been murdered? Or had there been more than one criminal at the séance? Mark mentally groaned at the possibility that they might not be looking for one person, but several.

  “I need you to draw me a picture of the item that is missing,” Mark sighed and took a sip of his water once they were back downstairs. It was clean and crisp but did little to ease the gurgling in his stomach.

  Harriett nodded jerkily and rose to find a paper and pencil. She quickly sketched the broach she had long since committed to memory and handed him the paper with a hand that trembled slightly with fury and distress.

  “I will get to the bottom of this, Harriet,” he promised her when her eyes eventually met his. “I promise you. It just takes time, unfortunately.”

  “I know, it is just a little unnerving to think that someone has been in my bedroom and through my personal belongings, that’s all.”

  “Was anything else disturbed in the house?”

  Babette and Harriett slowly shook their heads. “It would have been better if it hadn’t been so dark in here, but Madame Humphries insisted that the lights had to be out in order for the spirits to come forward. Nobody could see much at all. I suppose it is a perfect cover for someone who wants to burgle, or commit murder.”

  “Right now, we cannot point fingers at anyone. There were fourteen people at that séance, and nobody can be discounted as innocent.” He mentally winced and immediately wanted to snatch his words back. Luckily, neither Harriett nor Babette seemed to have taken offense at his implication that they were suspects too.

  “If there is anything that you find is unusual, or you discover something else that has vanished, let me know as soon as possible. I also meant to ask you if you had any further séances, or meetings of the Psychic Circle planned in the near future?”

  Harriett shared a look with Babette. They had discussed this earlier and agreed that the second meeting scheduled for Friday should be postponed. Unfortunately, they also felt fairly certain that one or two members of the circle, not least Madame Humphries and Miss Hepplethwaite, would object to any postponement or cancellation.

  “On Friday, at Beatrice’s house,” Babette sighed reluctantly after several moments of awkward silence. “Now, I know what you are going to say; there has been a murder and it is too dangerous, but I am just telling you that we had a meeting planned for Friday. Harriett and I discussed this and would prefer to cancel it, but believe that we are going to have to argue the case. Nobody could foresee the events of last night. Unfortunately though, it may only have encouraged some of the circle, rather than put them off?”

  “You mean that some devout believers may want to conduct another séance so that they can contact the dead and see if they can find out what really happened?” Mark sighed. “Who do you think are believers, besides Madame Humphries and Miss Hepplethwaite?”

  Harriett looked at Babette. “Well, now that I come to think about it, not many of us to be honest with you. Most of us only agreed to the circle in the first place out of curiosity but we are more sceptics than firm believers. I do think that some may want to get hold of Minerva though.”

  “Why? To try to prove that spirits do exist?” Mark hoped that he wouldn’t have a group of amateur detectives on his hands. “Or to get to the bottom of what happened to her?”

  “Both,” Babette and Harriett replied in unison.

  Mark mentally winced but couldn’t argue with their logic. Mr Montague would undoubtedly want to do another séance out of curiosity, if nothing else. Mr Bentwhistle? Mark couldn’t even be sure that the man knew what was going on with the living let alone with the dead. Miss Smethwick was by all accounts a firm non-believer, and would probably attend just to be able to tell everyone to shut up. The ladies? Definitely arm chair detectives and that, unfortunately, made the circle a very dangerous group to be in, especially if one of them was a murderer.

  “I am not one to question anyone’s religious beliefs, please don’t get me wrong,” Mark sighed. “I do have to point out, however, that if you had been in contact with spirits, surely you would have been forewarned of the imminent death of one of you?”

  “I completely agree with you. We came away from the séance with more questions than answers,” Harriett replied with a wry smile. “Unfortunately, some of the group won’t be happy until they have those questions answered.”

  “It’s dangerous though, now that one of the group has been killed.” It was the closest Mark could come to issuing them both a warning that they should not conduct any more séances. There wasn’t anything illegal about what they were doing. The meetings were held in their own homes and they weren’t profiteering from it. It just gave him the chills to think that they were sitting in the dark with someone who had sinister intentions.

  “You could always come to the next meeting,” Babette suggested hopefully. She had read the look of warning Mark had given Harriett. The man had clearly wanted to issue her niece with an order not to attend another séance and Babette wanted to applaud the almost proprietary way he looked at her. Unfortunately, Harriett appeared to be completely oblivious to the police officer’s rather personal interest.

  Harriett’s lips quirked at that and she pushed to her feet to follow Mark out.

  “Do you know something? I might just do that,” Mark replied ruefully. He couldn’t help but wonder if that was the solution.

  Harriett’s smile left her face and she studied him, but felt fairly certain that he was joking. Mark was by far the very last person she would expect to attend something as farcical as a séance. She felt strangely abandoned as she followed him through the house and wondered what kind of affect he was having on her senses. He shouldn’t have this much of an impact on her so quickly, especially under such dire circumstances, but she couldn’t ignore the familiarity she felt with him, or the strange, protected feeling she felt when he was around. He always seemed to be calm, thoughtful and in control. Without question, she knew that he would always be counted on in a crisis, and she wasn’t sure what to make of her apparent dependence on him. Was it her wayward imagination that made her see protectiveness that wasn’t there? Was she trying to make him into something she wanted him to be, rather than who he really was: a policeman conducting an investigation into murder? She wasn’t sure.

  She smothered a yawn and suddenly felt so weighed down by the events of the last two days that nothing seemed to make much sense any more. She wanted to lay her head down, if only to allow her mind to rest for a while. Over the course of the day she had scoured her memory for anything untoward that had happened during the night before; well, except for the death of course. Then she had fretted and worried over when she would see Mark again. Now, her worries were heightened by the latest revelation that her prized possession had been stolen by someone she had trusted in; someone who had been in her parlour last night.

  “I will be in touch tomorrow, Harriett. Meantime, make sure that the doors are kept locked and try to get a good night’s sleep.”

  Mark was only vaguely aware of Babette in the kitchen out back. He dipped his head to look down into Harriett’s face and was more concerned than ever to see fear in the depths of her beautiful eyes.

  “I will be glad to go to work tomorrow and at least get back to some semblance of normality,” she sighed with a frown. She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to confide in him. He was certain
ly not interested in her personal issues, but the words simply couldn’t be contained.

  He couldn’t resist it, and slowly lifted a finger that tipped her chin up until her eyes lifted to meet his. Harriett froze and stared up at him. The softness of his fingertip felt like a brand on her skin and she shivered at the intimate touch. Nobody had ever touched her like that before, especially not a man. Should she move away? Should she allow more? She wasn’t sure what to do. Luckily, Mark seemed to take the decision out of her hands and merely smiled gently at her. He tried to put all of the reassurance he wanted to offer her into his eyes, but wasn’t sure if she understood.

  “Try not to worry, Harriett. I will get this sorted out for you, trust me. Get some sleep. I will find you tomorrow if I have further news.” More shaken by the feel of her soft skin than he knew was wise, Mark yanked the door open and left the house.

  He sucked in a huge breath of the crisp night air and caught sight of a black carriage as it disappeared around the last house at the end of the street. He recognised that coachman. He listened to the hooves clip-clop into the distance. It was only when silence settled around him that he slowly eased away from the house. It was a good five mile walk back to Great Tipton, but he didn’t mind. It gave him the chance to think about the investigation, and Harriett, while keeping an eye out for the return of mysterious carriage.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Having spent a dubious night running up and down stairs to the outhouse, Mark was not in the mood to chase after the evasive Miss Smethwick. He was tired, grumpy and really wanted to see Harriett instead.

  “Bloody Dalrymples,” Mark muttered as he climbed into the carriage to join Isaac.

  “Didn’t settle with you either, eh?” Isaac asked wryly as he handed Mark the morning newspaper.

  Mark threw him a dour look. “The next time you go to the village fete and they are having a cake competition, head back to work. It isn’t worth the misery.”

  Isaac looked a little green around the gills and voiced no objection as the carriage lurched into motion with a little too much enthusiasm.

  “What do we do if Smethwick isn’t there?” Isaac asked as he studied the landscape that swept past the window.

  “Kick the door down,” Mark grumbled. He frowned at a small article on the fifth page that referred to the mysterious disappearance of renowned Psychic medium, Olga Hegedus. Having stolen hundreds of pounds from victims in the Charing Cross area, she had mysteriously vanished several weeks ago, along with her associate, Charlotte Fotheringill. Both women were wanted for fraud, theft and were still at large. Anyone with information should inform Scotland Yard. Mark folded the newspaper and showed Isaac, who glanced at it and nodded.

  “See if you can find out what these two look like. I think we need to see if we can tie in the appearance of the mysterious Madame Humphries to the disappearance of these two.” He tapped the newspaper.

  “I have already requested Scotland Yard sends us descriptions and a copy of the case file. As soon as it arrives, we will see if they match.”

  “Good, I have a sneaking suspicion these are one and the same.”

  “More importantly though, would they murder for money?”

  “You mean did Minerva see Miss Hepplethwaite disappear from the table? Would it be enough to ensure that she would be murdered to stop her talking to someone about it?” Mark sighed and tossed the newspaper onto the seat beside him. “I think it is a strong possibility. As soon as we have seen the illusive Miss Smethwick, we will head over to Madame Humphries and co, and get a good description.”

  Isaac’s loud knock on Miss Smethwick’s door was enough to make the window panes rattle. Smoke billowed slowly out of the chimney pot, so they knew that someone was at home. They waited for several minutes before Mark heaved a sigh. He stood back to study the windows and was contemplating kicking the door down when the rattle of bolts inside heralded the arrival of the elusive Miss Smethwick.

  Mark studied the wary eyes of the dishevelled woman who stood just inside the darkened hallway and nodded to her. She clutched her shawl tightly to her neck and looked as though she was about to turn on her heel and run. Mark studied the white knuckles on her hands and wondered what she knew that made her feel so unnerved. He was fairly certain that she as frightened about something. Was it their visit?

  “Can we come in?”

  Miss Smethwick stood back and waved them inside. From all accounts, the woman was parsimonious and quite vocal. The descriptions the others had given of her were in stark contrast to the rather timid woman who stood before them now. So what was it that had made her so worried? Had she got something to hide?

  “Take a seat, gentlemen,” Miss Smethwick offered cautiously. “What can I do for you today?”

  Mark stared at her for a moment but kept his expression blank. Had the woman forgotten the important event of someone’s death the other night?

  “We came yesterday. Unfortunately, you appeared to have been out at the time we called but I do believe that we told you to remain at home until we questioned you about the events at the séance,” Mark replied pointedly and with no small measure of censure in his voice.

  “I wasn’t out at all,” Miss Smethwick argued. Her small straight nose lifted piously and she stared evilly at him with narrowed eyes that were filled with scorn. “I was here all day. I waited for you as per your instruction. However, if you have the ill manners not to turn up then I can hardly be to blame, can I. About eight o’clock in the evening, I was so tired that I fell asleep. It was dark outside when I woke up, so I went to bed.”

  “That’s very odd, I thought I saw movement upstairs in the window when we left about six,” Isaac drawled. There was something about this woman that irked him. Was it the way her beady eyes seemed to accuse them, or the slightly odd way she carried herself? He frowned and continued to study her, even when she turned away with an angry sniff.

  “Cats,” Miss Smethwick snapped. She nodded to a spot behind Isaac, where a large black cat lay curled up on the window sill.

  Isaac immediately thought witch’s cat, but remained silent as he glanced at the huge beast.

  “They like to lie in the windows and watch the gardens for mice.” As if on cue, the cat chose that moment to jump down. His hind quarters brushed against the curtain, which moved against the window.

  Isaac lapsed into silence and studied the woman before him. There was something strange about her only he couldn’t quite put a finger on what it was. She was a little too defensive, a little too wary and, although he had yet to discover her age, there was something odd about her face. He eyed the wild mass of hair that sat like a halo atop her head. It looked as though it belonged to someone else. Liberally streaked with grey, it would be best suited to someone in their eighties. Something about Miss Smethwick’s eyes bespoke of a person who was several years younger than they appeared to be. He mentally shook his head at his wayward imagination and turned his attention back to the interview.

  “I want you to go through the night of the séance,” Mark began. “Please tell us everything that happened and don’t leave anything out. I want you to try and remember as much as you can. I know it was dark at the time, but try to think about the times you looked up and studied the faces of the people around you.”

  Miss Smethwick took a breath and slowly recounted the night with astonishing detail. Every nuance, every lifted brow, all of it came tumbling out until, by the time the old woman lapsed into silence, Mark was a little bit stunned. He couldn’t be sure that she was entirely accurate with all of the details, and was positive that she had embellished a few facts to make herself a credible witness; he just had no idea why. After all, if it was as dark as everyone had reported it to be, she could not have seen Madame Humphries’ brows lift at some of Hugo’s comments or Tuppence share a scowl with Harriett. Nevertheless, he couldn’t actually call the woman a liar.

  “Of course, you know, it is all stuff and nonsense,” Miss Smethwick snorted. U
nlike almost everyone else in the village, she had offered no refreshments and it was far too early in the day for cake and for that, Mark was very grateful.

  “What is?”

  “Communicating with dead people,” Miss Smethwick snapped with a sigh. “I kept telling them to stop but nobody would listen to me.”

  “Why did you go then? I mean, if you don’t believe in it, why waste an entire evening listening to a clairvoyant attempt to talk to dead people?” Mark reasoned and studied the flush in the woman’s cheeks.

  Having her opinions questioned seemed to really irritate the old woman and he couldn’t help but wonder why. She couldn’t be so arrogant as to consider her opinions the be-all and end-all, could she?

  “I went to disprove the woman’s claims that she is able to talk to anyone other than living people. This woman is a fraud and a liar and I intend to prove it.”

  Mark shared a look with Isaac. “How do you intend to do that?”

  “By going to each and every séance, and proving her to be the fraud that she is,” Miss Smethwick sighed. “You must have read the newspapers. Reports are all over them of people being conned out of hundreds of pounds by fraudulent people who purport to be communicating with the dead. Fools that they are, unsuspecting victims have blindly handed over hundreds of pounds and received what in return? Lies! That’s what they have received. Lies and deceit! It’s got to be stopped, I tell you.”

  Mark’s gaze dropped to the woman’s small fist as it thumped the threadbare arm of the chair with surprising force. He made a mental note of the fire in the woman’s gaze that once again belied her age, and he suddenly didn’t relish Madame Humphries’ crossing this woman’s path.

  “So you went to discount her reliability?”

  “Of course I did. I wouldn’t be seen dead at one of those things otherwise,” Miss Smethwick sniffed. “No pun intended.”

  Isaac coughed. He hated to admit it but he was starting to warm to this woman. She might be a little too vocal, but had fire and determination and he could respect her opinions, even if he didn’t agree with her methods.