With their pockets weighed down, the men headed off to their next suspect.
Mark sighed despondently and stared down at the large Victoria sponge cake that sat in the middle of the well scrubbed kitchen table. He shared an askance look at Isaac, and felt his stomach churn. He didn’t need to touch his pocket to feel the weight of the heavy slab of cake still nestled there courtesy of Mrs Dalrymple.
As soon as Beatrice turned around, cake knife in her hand, he knew what was coming and shared a horrified look with Isaac.
“Now, let’s have some tea and cake, then we can chat,” Beatrice offered.
Constance was already seated on the other side of the table and was busy pouring tea. After the séance last night neither woman had wanted to spend the rest of the night alone, and so Constance had agreed to stop overnight in Beatrice’s spare room. After a late morning, they had spent the afternoon chatting about the events of last night. Constance had been about to head home when Detective Inspector Bosville and Detective Brown arrived.
Mark studied the huge wedge of sponge cake placed at his elbow as though it was about to leap up and strike him. A quick glance at Isaac revealed that he had similar enthusiasm for the offending foodstuff, but neither man was ill mannered enough to refuse such a generous offering.
“Thank you,” he muttered around an uncomfortable cough. “Now, I would like one of you to go through the events of last night.” He gave each woman a hard look. “Leave nothing out. I want to hear everything.”
“I take it she was murdered then?” Beatrice asked with a sigh.
“What makes you ask that?”
Constance gave him a pointed look that essentially told him that she wasn’t fooled. “I don’t know much about police procedures, but I don’t think that the police usually investigate deaths from natural causes.”
Mark’s lips twisted in wry amusement. “At the moment, she died from unnatural causes,” he sighed. He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to be frank with these ladies. Was it because they were close friends with Harriett, and he hadn’t been evasive with her? Or was it because they were both matter of fact; calm and steady as they sat, side by side, ready to talk to him. Both ladies looked well rested and completely unfazed by last night’s events and were in total contrast to Mr Bentwhistle, whose bizarre behaviour continued to plague Mark with questions.
“What did she die of?” The directness of Beatrice’s gaze assured Mark that they wouldn’t proceed until she knew.
“She choked on something in her drink.”
“It wasn’t Harriett,” Beatrice snapped with a definite shake of her head. “She isn’t like that.”
“I am not for one second suggesting that she would. I am here for facts, ladies, and facts only.
“Right then,” Constance said and cast a questioning glance at Beatrice, who nodded her approval. She took a paper and pen, and sketched out the seating arrangements at the séance table, and began to detail exactly what had happened with the precision and skill of an experienced detective.
By the time she had finished, Mark was shocked and Isaac openly impressed by their thoroughness. “What about the stool upstairs?”
“Oh, that,” Constance sighed. “Well, I have thought about that over and over again. I cannot see any conceivable reason why the stool would fall over as it did, except for the fact that it may have been knocked over by someone who was up there.”
“But the house was checked and nobody else was there,” Isaac argued. After a couple of minutes he jerked and seemed to realise that he was staring at Beatrice a little too intently. He liked the clear, level-headedness and pure honesty in her eyes. Something within him wanted to challenge her high intellect and he almost relished going head to head with her in a battle of wits.
“It was dark in the room though. The heavy curtains were closed and there was only one candle on. I could barely see my hand in front of my face and, if I hadn’t made a mental note of where everyone was sitting, I would not have been able to identify who was where. Who is to say that someone didn’t creep out of the room while the lights were out and go upstairs?”
“Whatever for?” Constance replied with a frown. “The only person who could have snuck away was Miss Hepplethwaite. Everyone else was engaged in conversation.”
“Miss Hepplethwaite barely spoke, so it wasn’t inconceivable that she could disappear for a couple of minutes, go upstairs, look for whatever she was after and then race back downstairs. She is thin and wiry, and wouldn’t make much noise.”
Mark shared a glance with Isaac. He hadn’t thought of the séance being a ruse to actually rob people’s homes but it was a possibility that they had to look into.
“The curtains were open when we got there,” Isaac noted.
“Yes, when there was a bump upstairs, everyone was seated around the table, but it was so dark that someone suggested that the curtains be opened. It didn’t do much to help except cast the room in shadows, but it was a bit better.” Constance took a sip of tea while she thought carefully about last night.
“So someone could have crept back into the room without being noticed.”
“I didn’t recall seeing Miss Hepplethwaite around the table all the time,” Beatrice sighed. “I cannot say for definite that she was there throughout the séance.”
Constance shook her head. “Me either.”
“I will look into it. Was there anything else untoward that you can remember?”
Both ladies shook their heads.
“What do you think about the messages? Do you think that they were real, or do you think that they were a prank of some sort?”
“Almost definitely a prank,” Constance replied crisply. “There was nothing coming through that a good gossip couldn’t have known about beforehand.”
“I agree. The message about Minerva getting a cat points to the fact that someone was playing a joke, or had overheard the wrong piece of gossip,” Beatrice added.
“How so?” Isaac frowned. He really did like the way her mind worked.
“Because if the spirits were getting messages, they would surely have been aware that Minerva was going to die?” Beatrice stated plainly. “After all, if the great beyond is what the good Lord says it is, then they know when to expect the newly departed. They wouldn’t predict someone would have a cat if they were waiting for her to join them.”
“Good point,” Isaac coughed and caught Constance eyeing his still untouched cake with a frown. Duly warned, he shot Mark a look and took a bite of his cake. The buttery moistness positively exploded in his mouth. The taste of the rich sponge was quickly followed by what tasted like strawberry jam and rich, frothy cream. Despite his full stomach, he sighed with pleasure. “Did you make this?” He asked Beatrice and gave her a look of approval when she nodded. “It’s good.”
He made a few notes in his little black book while Mark sampled his own piece of cake, and was surprised by the almost companionable silence that settled over them for several minutes. He had spent many years working with Mark, and was more than comfortable with engaging in an interview rather than merely making notes. While Mark finished his cake, Isaac leaned forward in his seat.
“What made you want to go to the séance? You both seem level headed and practical women. Why would you want to waste an evening on such a questionable activity? Have you read the papers about the fraudulent psychics?”
“Yes, we have, and to be honest with you, I was driven by curiosity more than anything else. We didn’t want to go to Great Tipton to see a demonstration. Tuppence went once and said that it was stuff and nonsense. She could see nothing more than strange lighting and muslin. However, we were curious as to how Madame Humphries could manage to con people with false information given that she doesn’t live in the village and wouldn’t know much of the gossip, so we decided to invite her to a séance to give us a clairvoyant demonstration. She wasn’t very expensive and with so many people attending, it was a small price to pay for an evening’s entert
ainment. Harriett and Tuppence had a conversation with Mr Montague, who suggested that we set up a psychic circle and, well, word went round really. Various people asked if they could join. Eventually there were twelve of us, notwithstanding Miss Hepplethwaite and Madame Humphries. To make it appear that we were genuine believers, not curious villagers, we decided to call ourselves a Psychic Circle.”
“Did you pay her?”
“Yes. A small donation plus travelling expenses Madame Humphries called it,” Constance sighed.
“What about the lights that were surrounding Madame Humphries during the demonstration? What do you think they were?”
Beatrice shrugged. “I have no idea, but they didn’t smell. Tuppence said that she had seen strange lights at the demonstration, so I am sure it is some sort of trick. They had that carpet bag on the floor beside Madame’s chair. Anything could have been in that.”
“Did you see either of them go in it for anything?”
“No, sorry, but as I say, it was rather dark because Madame insisted that the room have only minimal light,” Constance sighed and shook her head. “If Miss Hepplethwaite went upstairs and helped herself to anything, and I am not for one moment suggesting that she did, then it could have been placed into the carpet bag at any point throughout the evening.”
Mark nodded. He had to agree with her logic. Madame Humphries could use mediumship as a diversion to keep everyone’s attention away from Miss Hepplethwaite, while she hid her stolen items in the carpet bag.
Were they thieves though?
A small part of him grew acutely angry at the thought of anyone being so brazen as to burgle Harriett’s house at all, let alone while she was in residence.
“Does Harriett know it was murder?”
“Yes, she does. For the purpose of the investigation, we don’t want this gossiped about and it will be impossible to keep quiet if people get wind of Minerva’s death as being anything less than natural,” Isaac reported. “However, because you may be called in for further questioning and, as witnesses may be required to attend court, we have no choice but to tell those who were present last night the truth about Minerva’s death. We would, however, ask that you don’t discuss what happened with anyone else.”
“Can we discuss it with Harriett? I mean, it was her house,” Constance reasoned.
“I don’t see why not as long as you don’t discuss it in her tea shop, or anywhere else where you may be overheard.”
“Sounds reasonable to me,” Constance replied and looked at Beatrice, who nodded her approval.
Mark knew that the ladies would undoubtedly want to discuss last night with Harriett. They were close friends, and Minerva’s death had been in Harriett’s house. On a personal note, he didn’t want Harriett feeling alone and isolated. She had to cope with the ramifications of having a murder take place in her house. On a more professional level, he felt fairly certain that the ladies before him could be trusted to be circumspect with their deliberations and, between them, were more likely to come up with a more feasible explanation for some of the events of last night.
Feeling slightly sick from too much food, Mark moved toward the door. “I think that is about all for now. If there is anything else, then don’t hesitate to contact either myself or Isaac, here. For now, this is a criminal investigation, so please be careful.”
“Wait!”
Mark froze with his hand on the door knob, and turned to glance enquiringly Beatrice. His stomach dropped as he caught sight of Constance in the kitchen, and knew what was coming.
“Here, take some of this with you. There is far too much here for just us two, and you seemed to enjoy it so much,” Beatrice grinned and handed them both a piece of tightly wrapped sponge cake.
Isaac accepted his with a smile of thanks. The rather impish grin Beatrice had on her face warned him that the residents of the seemingly sleepy Tipton Hollow were up to something, only for the life of him he couldn’t figure out what. Unless they were all involved in the murder of Minerva Bobbington, and were trying to silence the questions through killing the investigating detectives with cake, he had no idea where to start looking for suspects.
Mark stared down at the lump of cake in his hand and swallowed. “Thank you, that is most kind of you,” he offered with a weak smile.
Weighed down with more cake, the men quickly left.
“Good Lord, what it is about this village and cake?” Mark muttered as he walked toward Hilltop Farm. It was half a mile out of the village but, right now, Mark needed fresh air and some exercise if only to walk off the heavy weight in his stomach.
Isaac chuckled and glanced back at the village. For all intents and purposes it was a quaint country village. There was nothing in the picturesque cottages and scenic moors that would suggest anything sinister was possible in such a beautiful location. He only hoped that the murderer was Madame Humphries, because she lived five miles away in Great Tipton, and it would mean that Tipton Hollow would remain untainted by the tawdry business of harbouring a murderer in its midst.
“Going back for more cake?” Mark asked wryly when Isaac continued to look back at the village.
“There is a black carriage outside Beatrice’s house,” Isaac reported. “Nobody has got out yet though, or in for that matter.”
Mark glanced at him and turned to stare back down the lane. It was difficult to see the coachman because he was dressed from head to foot in a large black cloak. Even the horse was black from head to hoof. There was something slightly disturbing and unnatural about the sight given that dusk was falling and it certainly wasn’t cold enough to warrant the coachman being wrapped up in winter woollens.
“Want to go back to take a look?” Isaac offered, not liking the fact that the black coach was so close to Beatrice’s house.
“I think we had better,” Mark muttered.
Together they began to slowly walk back down the lane. They had no sooner gone a few feet than the coach began to move in the opposite direction. Without further ado, the carriage turned down a narrow country lane on the left and disappeared from view. By the time the men reached the end of the lane, there was no sign of the carriage. They couldn’t even hear the clip clop of hooves, which indicated that either the carriage had stopped as soon as it was out of sight, or had left the area entirely.
Isaac didn’t wait to see what Mark was going to do. He stalked back down Beatrice’s front path and knocked briskly on the door.
“Were you expecting any visitors this afternoon?” He demanded when Beatrice opened the door. He ignored her startled look and studied her and Constance closely.
“No, I don’t think so, why?”
Isaac felt somewhat mollified by her calmness but couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was wrong. “Don’t open the door once it gets dark. Make sure that everything is locked tight but, whatever you do, don’t go out unescorted.”
“For heaven’s sake, Isaac, you will scare the women to death,” Mark chastised. “There was a strange black coach parked outside here. Nobody got in or out. It just stood right outside. Just keep an eye out if you would, and don’t approach it if you find it there.” He glanced at Constance. “Were you going home, or are you able to stay here for another night?”
Constance looked a little confused but, after a brief hesitation, confirmed that she could stay, although would need to fetch some things from home.
“I will escort you home to collect whatever you need. I think that for the time being at least, it might be better if neither of you were by yourselves,” Isaac sighed. He hated the frustration of being unable to protect them himself. A small voice warned him that he was being more than a little over protective but his instincts warned him that it was necessary. He wasn’t sure whether it was Mr Bentwhistle’s odd behaviour, or the fact that there had been a murder in the usually sleepy village of Tipton Hollow, or the sight of the sinister looking black carriage, but he felt certain that being extremely cautious was the right action to take.
>
“I will stay here with you, Beatrice, until Constance gets back.” Mark sighed. “If it is acceptable to you, I will just catch up on my notes until they return.”
“Of course it is, come on in.” Beatrice wouldn’t admit it but she was relieved that Constance was going to stay for a little while. After last night she still felt a little spooked by the dark and didn’t relish being alone at all, even in the relative comfort and safety of her own home.
CHAPTER EIGHT
It was dark by the time Mark and Isaac finally did leave Beatrice’s house.
“So, how many more do we have left?” Mark sighed with a yawn. He felt like he had been in Tipton Hollow for at least a year.
“That leaves Tuppence Smethurst, Miss Smethwick, Madame Humphries and Miss Hepplethwaite.”
Mark sighed and stared down at his bulging pockets. “I know we should keep going but I think I would prefer a pint at the pub.”
“It’s been a long day,” Isaac replied fervently.
“Miss Smethwick’s house is on the way to the pub. Let’s call in at hers and then do Tuppence, Madame Humphries and Miss Hepplethwaite in the morning,” Mark sighed. He wondered what to do about the cake. Although he was usually a great fan of Battenberg, he couldn’t eat another morsel. He was stuffed to the gills and wondered if there was some sort of competition going on: who could make the detectives throw up first.
Minutes later, they knocked on Miss Smethwick’s door and waited. Isaac disappeared around the back of the house while Mark studied the windows for any sign of forced entry. The old workman’s cottage was dark and uninviting in the fog, and Mark didn’t relish staying there any longer than was necessary. The rustle of leaves to his left heralded the return of Isaac, who was busily brushed twigs off his coat.
“The place is locked up tight. It’s too dark inside to see if anyone is at home. Do you want me to find a way in?”
Harriett Page 10