Harriett

by King, Rebecca

  Mark knew that it was highly unprofessional of him to offer even such a minor attempt at comfort, but the distress on her face made him angry. Someone had upset her; made her cry in fact, and that made him all the more determined to get to the bottom of what had really gone on in her parlour.

  “How?” Harriett asked in a quivering voice. Her eyes silently pleaded with him to tell her and he simply couldn’t refuse.

  “She choked on something in her drink?”

  “Something in her drink? What?” Her eyes stared in horror at him. The regret on his face was plain, as was the reassurance in her eyes. She could see no accusation or suspicion, merely calm authority that steadied her.

  “There was something in her drink that got lodged in her throat. It looks unlikely that it was an accident but, until we can find out how it got into her drink, we need to treat this as an unexplained death.”

  “Murder,” she whispered.

  Mark nodded solemnly.

  “How awful,” her hands trembled and she felt tears well again. She blinked rapidly to keep them at bay and took comfort from his presence. “I will help in any way I can.”

  “Excellent. Now I want you to slowly recount exactly what happened last night, Harriett. Don’t leave anything out.” He glanced at Isaac, pleased to note that he already had his pencil poised to take notes.

  Harriett slowly went through everything. She seemed to talk for a long time. Babette only interjected occasionally with additional bits of information here and there. Tea was replenished several times, and nothing but crumbs were left of the Victoria sponge cake that Babette had baked only that morning, but nobody seemed to notice as the evening’s activities were recounted in minute detail.

  “Go through the messages again,” Mark asked with a frown and drew out his own notebook. He wrote all of the messages down, before focusing on the ‘H is in danger’.

  “Did it give any indication as to who the ‘H’ was?”

  “I am afraid not. Several people got a bit annoyed with the vagueness of it. I don’t know if any of the messages have any relevance to what happened because Minerva Bobbington doesn’t have an H in her name and couldn’t take the message about the cat.”

  Mark sighed deeply. His instincts warned him that there was something he had overlooked, if only he could figure out what. A strong, protective urge to keep the woman in the chair opposite safe shook him to the core and he briefly wondered if he really was the right person to lead this particular investigation. He was fairly certain that his impartiality, a valuable asset in his line of work, was skewed by his keen interest in Harriett. Unfortunately though, he really needed to have a valid reason to continue to see her, if only to make sure that she was safe.

  “So, let’s go through this. Who at the meeting last night has an H in their name?”

  “Madame Humphries, Gertrude Hepplethwaite, Harriet,” Isaac hesitated and looked at the woman seated next to Mark. “Sorry, Harriett. Hugo Montague and Miss Betty Haversham.”

  “But if someone was trying to give a warning message to someone whom they knew was in danger, would they use their surname, or first name?” Harriett questioned with a frown.

  “I have no idea but, until we can uncover a bit more information, I think it is important that you take extreme caution in everything you do, Harriett.” Mark stared hard across the table and watched her squirm uncomfortably in her seat as though she wanted to protest at his dictatorial manner. He knew that he was being rather heavy handed with her, and ignored Isaac’s discrete cough beside him. He felt compelled to do everything within his power to ensure that Harriett didn’t become the killer’s next victim and if it made him unprofessional so be it. “Don’t go out at night alone, in the dark. When you are at home, make sure that the door is locked and don’t answer it at night, especially if you are alone in the house.” He lifted a hand when Harriett and Babette both took a breath to speak and silenced them with a stern look. “Right now, we have a death that looks suspicious. Someone at that circle may have been the murderer, we just don’t know yet. Until we do, you cannot take any chances. Not even with people that you have known for some time. If there is one thing I have learned in my job, anybody is capable of murder, just not everybody does it.”

  Harriett looked more than a little shaken, to the point that Mark felt a surge of sympathy for the fear he himself had just instilled in her. “I am sorry to be so blunt with you both, but I really do not want any more deaths in Tipton Hollow. Especially yours,” he added gently. He ignored the curious stares Isaac and Babette gave him as he moved around the table and knelt beside her chair. He could see the tears on her lashes and handed her his handkerchief. “I know last night’s events were traumatic for you, Harriett. I am sorry for my heavy handedness just now. Please forgive me. However, I need you to remain safe. Until we can discount the messages that were given last night as stuff and nonsense, I won’t ignore the fact that someone with the letter ‘H’ in their first name or surname was threatened and, as angry as that makes me, unfortunately that includes you. I promise you, Harriett, that Isaac and me will get to the bottom of this. We will try to keep you safe as safe as we can, but can’t be here all the time.” Mark glanced across at Babette and read the silent approval on her face. “It is important that you, and Babette, take every precaution possible. We will leave no stone unturned and will find out exactly what happened to Minerva but, until then, I will keep in regular contact with you. If there is anything at all you remember that you haven’t already told me, please feel free to contact me. If I am out and about, leave a message at the station and I will be here as soon as I can. If I am unavailable for whatever reason, Isaac will deal with it.”

  “Of course I will,” Isaac rumbled. He looked cautiously at Mark and wondered what was behind his odd behaviour. He had worked with Mark for several years now and had never seen him this fervent; this protective with anyone before. A small voice starkly reminded him that they had never been involved in such a murder case like this in either Great Tipton or Tipton Hollow. Whatever reason Mark felt the need to reassure the young woman so fervently, Isaac could see no objection to it. She was clearly upset by what had happened and the implied threat to her own safety and, given Minerva’s murder in her own house, Mark was right to warn Harriett to remain safe.

  “Thank you,” Harriett whispered. His warm palms on her chilled fingers were wonderfully steady and reassured her tremendously. She offered him a brave smile while she blinked the tears away. “I don’t know what has come over me. I am not usually like this.” It took every ounce of her willpower not to cry out when he rose to resume his seat and removed his hand from hers. The urge to lay her head on his shoulder and cry her eyes out was so strong that she physically trembled with the effort it took to remain in her seat.

  “Now, I need to know if we can have the decanters, and the glasses, that were used last night. Doctor Woods needs them for analysis.”

  “Of course,” Babette rose from her chair and glanced at Isaac. “In the kitchen, there is a box next to the cupboard. If you want to take that, it should just about hold everything. The sitting room has remained untouched. Neither Harriett nor I could bring ourselves to go in there and clean up this morning. You are quite welcome to take a look in there if you need to.”

  Glad to have something practical to do rather than think morose thoughts, Harriet pushed out of the chair. She didn’t relish going back into the parlour but drew strength from the presence of the two policemen with her. Once inside though, the blanketed closeness of the heavily curtained room was almost claustrophobic.

  “I know I should leave these closed as a mark of respect to poor Minerva, but I really have to open them,” Harriett gasped and stalked across the room to yank the curtains back and throw open the windows. She stood before the main window and took a moment and took in the wonderfully fresh air before she turned back to face the room. It wasn’t as bad as she had thought it would be. Although glasses were littered around
the room, it was still ostensibly her front parlour; the best room in the house.

  “I don’t know about you, Babette, but I think we need to get rid of this rug.”

  “Quite. Let’s roll it up while the men here collect the glassware, then we can leave the windows and curtains open for a while. I am sure that everyone will understand our break in protocol given the circumstances.”

  “It is awkward if they don’t because right now that window is going to remain open,” Harriett declared firmly and knelt down to roll the heavy woollen rug into a neat roll. She jumped when Mark appeared beside her and hefted it onto his shoulder.

  “Where to?”

  The familiarity in which he jumped in to help out startled her and she felt a thrill of pleasure at his willingness to roll his sleeves up. Harriett offered him a smile and she motioned toward the door. “The back yard, I think, for now. We can arrange for it to be collected tomorrow.”

  “Are you not going to the tea shop this afternoon?” Mark asked as he stood back to watch Harriett lock the back door once the rug was outside.

  “No, I have given myself the day off. Charles will understand. I need to clear up here a bit and get some chores done. Last night was disconcerting to say the least, and that was before poor Minerva, well, you know.” She gave him a pointed look to which he nodded. “Then time seemed to stop and has moved so slowly since that I seem to have been at home doing chores all day yet have achieved nothing.”

  “Is Minerva’s glass where she dropped it?”

  Harriett frowned for a moment, acutely aware of him behind her as they returned to the parlour.

  “It is, but there are no contents.” Isaac motioned to a dark brown stain on the floor that had been the sherry. He carefully picked up the glass with his clean handkerchief, wrapped it and placed it in the box with the rest of the glassware that had been neatly labelled.

  Both men studied the room, the contents of the table and the layout of the room. Isaac drew pictures and made more notes as he asked about who was seated next to whom at the table. Several minutes later, he shook his head at Mark’s look of enquiry.

  “I think that is about it for now, ladies. Thank you for your assistance today. If you think of anything else, please contact me. Either call or send a message and I will come and see you. I don’t care what time of day or night it is.”

  “I will do that, thank you,” Harriett replied softly. Her soft brown eyes were captured by the emerald blaze of his and her breath locked in her throat. Time seemed to freeze. How long they stood locked in silent contemplation she couldn’t be sure. She wasn’t even certain that she had remembered to breathe. It was only the rustle of movement by the parlour door that made their gazes break away and Mark moved to put a little more decorous distance between them.

  He knew that he had just behaved as unprofessionally as it was possible to behave, but he didn’t really care. She had captivating eyes, and the most profound effect on him, both mentally and physically. He knew, in those last few moments, that he would do everything within his power to protect her, far beyond what was required of him as a police officer, even if that meant marriage.

  Mark was no idiot. He was very aware of the fact that by simply being called Mrs Mark Bosville, wife of the Detective Inspector at Great Tipton Constabulary, would ensure that no would-be murderer looking for his – or her – next victim would even briefly consider Harriett to be fair game. Strangely, the idea of going so far to protect her didn’t bother him one bit.

  With plans beginning to form in his mind, and with a niggling question as to where his sanity had gone, Mark took his leave and quietly followed Isaac out of the house.

  CHAPTER SIX

  A brisk walk through Tipton Hollow brought them to the door of Mr Bentwhistle, the local undertaker. Within seconds of Mark’s knock, the door was yanked open by a clearly anxious man who frantically beckoned them into the house. They watched as Mr Bentwhistle stuck his head outside, looked up and down the street then quickly slammed the door closed and turned toward them with a frown.

  Mark shared a curious look with Isaac, who merely shrugged and stood back to allow Mr Bentwhistle through into the sitting room.

  “Well? I take it that you have news?” Mr Bentwhistle wasted no time in frivolities and didn’t bother to offer the men drinks or refreshments, or even a seat for that matter. They had been waved into the room and now stood, rather awkwardly, while Mr Bentwhistle shuffled from one foot to the other, seemingly impatient for news.

  “I am afraid that I have to ask you some questions about what happened last night.” Mark waved to the assorted chairs scattered around the room. “Shall we take a seat?”

  Mr Bentwhistle’s head jerked up and down in a parody of a nod and, with rather too much haste, plonked himself into a chair. Mark studied the darkness beneath the man’s eyes and wondered whether he had slept at all. While the events of last night had unquestionably challenged everyone, the man looked worse than Harriett, and he was an undertaker used to dead bodies. Why was he so shaken by Minerva’s death?

  “How did she die?”

  “Choking,” Mark studied the man carefully as he spoke and watched Mr Bentwhistle suddenly go pale and swallow harshly.

  Whenever anyone mentioned choking, people immediately swallowed themselves, why was that? Mark wondered with a frown and studied the slightly panic stricken eyes of the older man curiously. Was the man a little too worried?

  “On her drink?” Mr Bentwhistle frowned. His gaze flew from Mark, to Isaac and back to Mark as he waited.

  “I think you need tell us exactly what happened last night.”

  “Have you spoken to any of the others?”

  “Just leave the investigation to us, Mr Bentwhistle,” Mark replied in his most officious tone. “Now, about last night; I want you to start at the beginning and leave nothing out.”

  Mr Bentwhistle studied the closed expression on Mark’s face and realised that he would get nothing out of the Detective Inspector other than bare facts. Questions tumbled through him but would have to go unanswered for now. He drew in a deep breath and, as instructed, began to recount the events of the previous evening.

  “I take it that you poured everyone drinks?”

  “I helped Harriett. She poured the brandy and I poured the sherry?”

  “Did you see anything untoward about the drinks?”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, did you notice, say, the colour of some of the drinks being slightly different, or if any of the refreshments had a strange smell perhaps?”

  Mr Bentwhistle frowned as he studied the floor and tried to think over the details. “I remember that everyone had quite a lot to drink. I don’t know if it was boredom or fright, but everyone needed a little fortitude. I replenished several drinks, several times, but cannot remember whose I did top up, in which order. I cannot recall anything untoward about the drinks, or people, I am sorry.”

  “Did Mrs Bobbington mention that she felt poorly to you at any point throughout the evening?”

  “No, but then I talked to Mr Montague during pre-séance drinks and, well, afterwards I was busy pouring drinks while we all had a discussion whether to allow Madame Humphries to conduct the demonstration. I didn’t get the chance to really engage in conversation with anyone in particular. It was a group discussion but at no point did Minerva look ill at all. Well, until -”

  Isaac leaned forward in his seat. “Are you aware of any animosity between anyone who attended the circle last night?”

  “Animosity? You mean arguments and the like? No, not really. There are all sorts of gossip flying around most of the time. Tipton Hollow is a village after all but, as far as I am aware, there has been no falling out between anyone at the circle last night. Mr Montague is the person to ask that question to. He hears all sorts of things in his haberdashery and thrives on running the hub of the gossip mill, if you know what I mean.”

  Mark knew exactly what the man meant. Mr Montague was
at the heart of all of the village gossip. If anyone knew anything about anybody, Mr Montague would be the man. Mark could only hope that he hadn’t already gossiped about Minerva Bobbington’s death last night.

  “How did Minerva die of choking though? I mean, she was drinking sherry just the same as most of the people there and they were alright. It just doesn’t make sense.”

  “Tests are still ongoing, but it looks like she didn’t die from natural causes. That’s all I can say right now.” Mark replied blandly. In an attempt to stop any further questions, he stood and looked down at Mr Bentwhistle with a stern look of caution on his face. “I would advise you that this is now a criminal investigation and I would request that you do not discuss matters with anyone for the time being. If you do think of anything that happened last night that you haven’t told us already, please contact either myself or Detective Brown here. We may need to ask you some more questions but, for now, I think that’s all. Thank you for your time, Mr Bentwhistle.”

  Although Mark knew Alan Bentwhistle by name, he continued to use formalities in an attempt to ensure that the man understood this was a formal investigation and, as such, Mr Bentwhistle should not expect any special treatment or consideration. The message seemed to have been received loud and clear when a closed look settled over Mr Bentwhistle’s face.

  At the door, Mark turned and studied Mr Bentwhistle closely. “One more thing I meant to ask you. What about the message about the fob watch? Did you have one missing and was it found in the jar?”

  Mr Bentwhistle looked blank for a moment. It was clear that his mind was miles away and it took him several moments to reply. “I went over to the parlour last night and checked, but there is no watch. I don’t know what that message was all about.” His voice was clipped and accompanied by a thoughtful frown. Mark wondered if the frown was one of confusion or concern, and couldn’t help but ponder whether Mr Bentwhistle was even thinking about the watch at all. He seemed a little dazed which, given the events of last night, was entirely understandable. Still, this was a murder investigation now and Mark had a job to do.