Harriett

by King, Rebecca

  “Don’t you think it would be better to leave such matters to the police? After all, the newspaper reports state that these fraudsters are being arrested. We are doing our job, but we cannot arrest people without evidence that they have actually committed any crime. Unless you have got proof that these people are fraudulent in their dealings, I really would urge you to be careful, especially after what has happened to Minerva Bobbington.”

  “You cannot seriously think that those messages actually mean something, can you?” Miss Smethwick leaned forward in her chair. Her small beady eyes moved from Mark to Isaac, back to Mark again before she snorted and settled back in her chair. “Lord have mercy on us, you do.” She shook her head as though unable to fathom the logic. “If the spirits were communicating with us, surely they would have known Minerva was about to die. Even they wouldn’t be so stupid as to tell her that she was going to get a cat if she was about to depart this mortal coil?”

  Mark could understand her logic and had echoed that very same opinion only yesterday himself. “But you cannot ignore the death of Minerva Bobbington. That’s what we are here about. We need to know if you saw anything unusual that may give us any indication of who was behaving suspiciously at the séance.”

  “You mean besides Madame Humphries and Miss Hepplethwaite?” Miss Smethwick sighed and stood, clearly impatient for the interview to come to an end.

  Mark shared a look with Isaac and they pushed to their feet. He wondered why Miss Smethwick hadn’t enquired how Minerva had died. Everyone else at the séance had so far. Was it because she knew something about the cause of death already? The woman was clearly impatient to get the men out of the house and didn’t seem to be nervous at all, so why had she been hesitant upon answering the door? What did she have to hide?

  “Everyone at that séance has been a part of this village for a long time. Nothing like this has ever happened before. Don’t you think that it is a little strange that Madame Humphries and Miss Hepplethwaite turn up, give some messages of warning, and then one long-standing member of the community turns up dead? I think, Detective Inspector, that rather than pestering the good, respectable citizens of this parish, you should focus your investigation on the new arrivals. Now, unless there is anything else you wish to discuss, I have nothing further to tell you.” Her voice was clipped and held a hint of anger that was not lost on either man. Mark wondered just what she had against clairvoyants, and couldn’t help but wonder whether she had fallen foul of a fraudulent psychic at some point.

  At the front door, Mark turned back to study the woman. “Tell me Miss Smethwick, how long have you lived in the village?” Mark heard her sudden intake of breath. If he hadn’t been so close, he would have missed the panicked look that lit her eyes before she straightened her shoulders and glared almost defiantly at him.

  “Most of my adult life, but I don’t see what that has got to do with your investigation,” she reported crisply.

  “So, you consider yourself familiar with most, of not everyone, in the village?”

  “As well as can be expected, yes.”

  “Have you heard any gossip of any fallings out?”

  “None that I am aware of, no.” She heaved an impatient sigh to which Mark scowled and shared a knowing look with Isaac.

  “If there is anything you remember then please let us know.” He didn’t wait for her confirmation. He was fairly certain that she wouldn’t come to him with any information, even if she did remember something that could help the investigation. His opinion was confirmed as soon as they had stepped outside and the door slammed behind them with sufficient force that the knocker rattled against the wooden surface.

  “Whew. Nervous or defensive?” Isaac puffed out his cheeks and studied the door for a moment.

  “Defensive, definitely.”

  “She was determined not to answer any questions, wasn’t she?”

  “I think there is more to our Miss Smethwick than meets the eye,” Mark replied with a frown. He wanted to go back inside and make the woman answer his questions but knew it was futile against someone so recalcitrant. She would object, argue and be rudely offensive and, even if they could get information out of her, it would undoubtedly have more to do with Hepplethwaite and Humphries than anyone else at the table.

  Isaac lifted his brows at him and led the way back down the path toward the main street.

  “Humphries or Hepplethwaite next?”

  Mark removed his pocket watch and studied the time. “Humphries next, I think. We will leave Hepplethwaite until last.”

  The slightly vacant expression on Madame Humphries’ face when she opened the door was enough to warn Mark that they would not get anything useful out of this woman either. Whether she had seen them approach, or just had a blank look on her face whenever she answered her front door was anyone’s guess. There was something slightly astute about her eyes thought that was at odds with the fact that she had been ‘meditating’ as she called it.

  “Please come on through and take a seat, although how you feel I can help you is anyone’s guess, I am sure of it,” Madame Humphries sighed as she heaved her ample girth into a chair with a grunt.

  “I want you to recount everything you can remember about the night of the séance,” Mark replied and nodded to Isaac, who began to make notes in his little black book.

  “I don’t remember much, you know. I was in trance most of the time. The outside world just seems to fizzle out and, well, I am busy with my spirit friends.”

  “But you were having a conversation with those around the table, so you must have been aware that something unusual was happening.” Mark left enough scepticism on his face to make it clear to the woman that he didn’t believe her evasive tactics at all and would not be fobbed off. “This is a murder investigation and I would warn you that failing to co-operate with the police will put you before a magistrate.” He felt a surge of satisfaction as the initial flash of annoyance in her eyes was quickly replaced with a cautious look.

  “I am not being evasive but what I do, by nature, takes me out of the earthly realm. Although I am sort of aware of what is being said around the table, the focus of my entire being is on the spirits that gather around us. Contrary to popular belief, they are not all that much different to us here on the earth plain. They turn up in droves, most of the time desperate to get messages across, and can come across as quite unruly you know. They call out this and that and, unless they are put into some semblance of order, can cause chaos and confusion. That is why I have my dear Miss Hepplethwaite with me. She helps with things around the table while my attention is focused on spirit.”

  Mark sighed. The fervency in her voice told him that she truly believed what she was telling him. He had no reason to argue with her reasoning because he had no idea whether she was telling the truth or not. She believed what she was saying, but did that mean that it was the truth, or a figment of her imagination? He decided to stick to the facts, on the earth plain, rather than even start to touch on the spiritual realm, and dug deep for his patience as he settled back in the rather hard arm-chair.

  “I want you to tell me exactly what happened, as far as you can remember, over that evening. Start at the very beginning and don’t stop until you get to the moment you leave. Don’t go into what you did with your spirit friends,” he added wryly. “We just need to know about what the living were doing in the room that night.”

  As Madame began to report what she considered important, Mark took the opportunity to study the room. It was furnished in a rather nondescript, mediocre fashion. The drapes were of a heavy material and, from the thick layer of dust at the top, either hadn’t been closed in some considerable time or the woman was never at home at night and had a need to use them. The room was rather sparsely furnished but, as a working clairvoyant, that was nothing untoward. It just felt strangely odd, but he couldn’t quite figure out why. The walls were whitewashed. The pictures on the wall were of nondescript flowers and fruit baskets; the
re was even a countryside scene or two. A jug of largely wilting flowers sat in the window next to a scarred dining table and two chairs. There was nothing unusual about the room in any way, but something gnawed at him until he began to frown at the rag rug on the floor beneath his feet. It just didn’t feel as though anybody lived there.

  “Tell me, do you do any other work besides spiritual?” Mark studied her carefully.

  “No, I have worked as a clairvoyant all of my life. There have been times when it has been very quiet and finances have been a bit of a struggle, but my friends in the spirit world step in and help me out.”

  “Have you ever worked in a cinema?”

  “A cinema?” Madame Humphries glanced hesitantly at Isaac, and then turned a frown on Mark. “Why, no, I haven’t.”

  Silence settled over the room for several long moments while Mark stared at her. Just when it began to grow uncomfortable, he sighed. “How often do you work? I take it that the current trend in visiting clairvoyants has helped bolster your coffers somewhat?” Mark watched the woman shift uncomfortably and wondered whether he had hit on a nerve.

  “I have a steady stream of people I work with in the area and am out most nights, so I suppose that matters are a bit more comfortable for now, yes.”

  “How long have you been living in Great Tipton?”

  “About a year now.”

  “Have you lived here throughout that year?”

  Madame Humphries sighed impatiently. “Yes, all of that time,” she snapped. She clearly considered the matter irrelevant, or Mark was probing a little too deeply, he wasn’t sure which. “Why? What does my personal circumstance have to do with a death in Tipton Hollow?”

  “We are merely gathering information about everyone, Madame Humphries,” Mark sighed. “It gives us a clear picture of the people who attended the séance. Tell me, where did you live before you came to Great Tipton?”

  A pregnant silence settled between them. The clock on the mantle ticked louder and louder until Mark wondered if she was going to pretend she hadn’t heard him. Eventually, once her internal battle had finished, she tutted and sighed. “Scotland. In a small town just outside of Edinburgh: Macosh, do you know it?”

  “No, but give Isaac your address. I take it that there are people in the area who can vouch that you lived there?”

  “Look, what is this? Why do you need that kind of information?” Madame Humphries snapped, clearly distressed that Mark wanted to look into her background. “I do hope you don’t consider that I had anything to do with that woman’s murder,” she scoffed in a dismissive manner that was in contrast to the slightly panicked look on her face. “Do you?” She gulped weakly when neither man moved to reassure her.

  “I think that you had better tell us your real name, because I am fairly certain that you don’t hail from Scotland, are not Hungarian, and have not done clairvoyance all of your life.” Mark’s tone was wry, but his eyes were hard enough to make the woman’s belligerence vanish in an instant. “This is a criminal investigation and, as such, everyone at the séance is a suspect. That includes yourself and your associate, Miss Hepplethwaite.” Mark leaned forward to study her closely. “Now, how do you think it would look to us if we got back to the station, did some background searches on you, and found that the information you have just given us is false?”

  Mark was fairly certain that she was the clairvoyant Scotland Yard were after, but didn’t want to frighten the woman into going on the run. If she was the fraud from Charing Cross, her description was all he needed for now.

  Madame Humphries’ eyes widened and she visibly gulped at the realisation that Mark hadn’t fallen for her evasiveness at all. She took a moment to consider her options. Her gaze flickered around the room as she decided what to do.

  He wondered if she would give up there and then and tell him what he wanted to know, but mentally cursed when the woman’s self preservation kicked in. Rather than tell him what he wanted to know, she straightened her shoulders and sniffed at him. “My name is Augusta Humphries. I am not a Madame, and never have been. I adopted that because I am a clairvoyant and people relate to foreigners who are clairvoyants. As soon as I adopted the Madame, and a Hungarian accent, my business increased threefold, so I have continued to use the name Madame Humphries. As far as I know, it is not a crime because the rest of my name is my own. You can check it out.”

  “Where do you hail from?”

  “Somerset.”

  Mark knew she was lying. He knew a cockney twang when he heard one. “Village?”

  “Taunton.” The word was clipped and snapped out by someone who was clearly unprepared to provide information without having it prized out of her with a crowbar. Mark heaved a sigh of impatience and wondered whether a threat to conduct the interview at the station would loosen her tongue a little.

  “Tell me a bit about the conversation in the parlour on the evening of the death. Did Minerva Bobbington seem a little odd to you at all?”

  “I cannot remember much about it, you understand. I was in a trance at the time.”

  Now that Mark had switched topics away from her personal details, the woman who called herself Augusta Humphries visibly relaxed. She was obviously relieved to have deflected the questions away from her secrets.

  “You must have been aware of what was going on in the room though,” Mark argued, feeling strangely reluctant to let the matter drop.

  Madame Humphries sighed deeply. “I have already told you that I have Miss Hepplethwaite to deal with earthly matters while I deal with the spiritual world. It is how we work, so I am afraid in that regard I am not in a position to provide you with the information you are looking for.”

  “Overall, how do you feel the evening went? Do you think that everyone was happy, or do you think that there were a few naysayers?”

  “I think that there are people at evenings like that who only attend so that they can pour scorn on my talents. There are those who are sceptical and curious, and there are those who are genuinely scared. The night was no different to any other night I have attended. There was certainly nothing that stood out as strange or unusual in any way, well except for the death, of course.”

  “Nobody seemed overtly upset, or had any contretemps with anyone? You couldn’t feel any hidden animosity between, say, two people at the table?”

  “Nothing I am afraid, but then I don’t know any of them. I wouldn’t pick up any undercurrents even if they were there.”

  “Nobody argued?”

  “Not as far as I am aware, no.”

  “What do you make of the messages you were given?”

  “I cannot remember many of them. I think that someone wrote them down.”

  “Do you usually receive threats towards people at the tables when you get messages?”

  Madame Humphries frowned at him. “I have already said that I cannot remember much because I deal with the spirit world in the first instance. I am not responsible for the messages the spirits put forward.”

  “But how can you be sure that they are from the spirit world? Can you be certain that the messages didn’t come from someone sitting at the table?”

  Mark was aware that Isaac’s head swivelled this way and that as he tried to keep up with the rapid fire questions he threw at the woman, and the quick, almost off-hand way she answered them. He knew that the woman was able to hold firm under pressure, and only started to panic when questions grew a little too personal. It pointed to the fact that she had secrets, but they were more of a personal nature than anything to do with murder.

  “One message at the table was ‘H is in danger’. Although Minerva Bobbington didn’t have an H in her name, we have to consider the warning very real. To that end, I would inform you that under no circumstances are you to discuss the night with anyone, including Miss Hepplethwaite. It is vital that we find out who killed Minerva Bobbington, so if you remember anything about that night that you may have forgotten, please let either myself or Detective Brow
n know. Until then, please take extra precautions with your safety. We don’t know just how real the threat to the unknown ‘H’ is,” Mark warned briskly.

  It was on the tip of his tongue to warn the woman that she would be arrested if she was found to have lied to him, but he wisely kept his mouth shut. When they had the description from Scotland Yard, he could decide what to do about the secretive clairvoyant. He was now fairly certain that she was no more able to speak to the dead than he was, but just couldn’t prove it yet. His eyes were lit with determination as he strode toward the front door, and he was only vaguely aware of Isaac as he hurriedly put his notebook and pencil into his jacket pocket as they swept out of the door.

  Madame Humphries looked a little shaken, and was quiet as she followed them to the door. “Is it going to be safe to go out at night?”

  “I think that it would be better if you don’t go out but if you have to for the sake of your work, just make sure that you come back with someone. Keep your doors locked and don’t answer them at night to anyone.” He paused beside the door. “Are you going to conduct the séance at the next Tipton Hollow Psychic Circle meeting on Friday?”

  He saw hesitation in the woman’s eyes before she nodded. “It’s my job. I have been invited, you know.”

  “As long as there is nobody else joining the spirit world during the evening, then I am sure I would be happy to come along and see what you do,” he replied wryly and blithely ignored her gasp of protest. He hadn’t missed the look of horror on her face, and began to walk away before she could speak.

  In stark contrast to Augusta Humphries, Miss Gertrude Hepplethwaite was a hive of energy. Within seconds of being ushered into her tiny hallway, the small, bird-like woman twittered and fluttered about them, as though she couldn’t quite make her mind up whether to stand or sit. In the end, Mark waved her to a chair but, no sooner had her bottom hit the covers, than she popped up again.