“Come on, lass, let me get you home. I am sure the Detective Inspector can find you there when he needs to ask you some more questions,” Fred muttered.
She made no protest when he took hold of her elbow and escorted her firmly toward the door. She was glad to be out of the haberdashery and didn’t think about how the villagers would perceive her being escorted from the property by the local bobby.
The journey home was something she struggled to remember. Even when Fred had left her inside the house with instructions to lock the door, she sat at the table in the back room and merely stared at the wall as she tried to absorb the events of the last few hours. She had no idea how long she sat motionless before Babette arrived in a flurry.
“What happened? Harriett, are you alright?”
“I am fine, Babette, honestly.” Harriett offered her a smile that wavered before it broke under the weight of the uncontrollable sobs that swept through her. Strangely, while she cried, her thoughts weren’t only on the demise of her erstwhile friend, Hugo, but turned again and again to the image of Mark, seated in the tea shop window, holding the hand of the beautiful mystery woman. Harriett was fairly certain that her tears were for Hugo, even though a small voice of doubt warned her that she wasn’t looking deep enough into her emotions to be honest with herself.
“Now, there then. Tell me what happened,” Babette sighed once a fortifying cup of tea had been placed on the table.
Harriett took a breath to reply when there was a knock on the door. Babette moved to answer it only to be stopped by Harriett who clutched at her arm. “If it is someone we know, tell them that we are not receiving visitors right now. I really don’t want to face gossips. Not after that.”
“What?”
“Mr Montague –” Harriett lifted fear-filled eyes to Babette. “He was murdered this afternoon.”
Babette gasped and slumped down into the chair beside Harriett’s with a heavy thump. They both ignored the heavy knocks on the front door and stared blankly at each other. “Are you sure?”
Harriett snorted and explained quickly what she had found at the shop.
“Heavens above. He has an ‘H’ in his name.”
“We had better answer that,” Harriett grumbled as she shoved away from the table. The persistent bangs on the door were getting louder and louder until it sounded as though the door was about to break under the determination of their visitor. She spied the silhouette through the twin rectangles on the door and knew instinctively who it was.
“What the hell took so long?” Mark thundered as he gave her a hard stare. “I was about to kick the blasted door down.”
Harriett sighed and stood back to wave him in. “I was just telling Babette what has happened.” Before she closed the door behind Isaac, she caught sight of two of the village’s most notorious gossips beside the wall next door. She wondered how long it would be before word got out that Hugo was dead, and knew that it wouldn’t be long before everywhere she went, people would be talking about the latest death in the village. By the time she reached the sitting room, the men were seated at the table watching Babette pour their tea.
“How has the investigation been going? Have you got any further yet?” It could be just an ordinary afternoon chat for all the normality of the situation. Babette plonked the tea pot down on the table and looked expectantly at the men.
“Do you know how he died?” She locked eyes with Mark and she silently pleaded with him to be honest with her.
“We think he was poisoned. There was something in his tea. Doctor Woods is going to examine him and then get back to me with an exact cause and an exact poison, but I think it looks like cyanide.” Mark leaned forward in his chair and studied her closely. “Now tell me, Harriett, do you go and have tea at the same time each day?” He hated to scare her but desperately needed to know if she was the intended recipient of the poison.
“I go most afternoons but certainly not every day. Time doesn’t permit it some days, especially if it is busy at the tea shop. I just pop in as and when I get the time to. There is always someone there. Hugo, bless him, loved to chat about everything and anything.”
“He loved to gossip,” Mark replied with no hint of censure in his voice. The man was elderly and lived alone with only his cats for company. It was only expected that he should use the shop as a way to socialise with those who ordinarily wouldn’t give him the time of day.
“Tell me, Harriett, did he tell you of any new gossip?”
Harriett shook her head solemnly. “I haven’t seen him much at all since the séance. A couple of days ago, I passed him in the street and asked him if he was going to the séance tonight. He looked a little frightened to be honest with you.” She paused and thought about that strange meeting when Hugo had looked more than a little unsettled. “He said that he wasn’t going to go. He had remembered something about the séance that he needed to talk to me about. He kept glancing around us as though he expected someone to pop up and scare him away, and seemed really uneasy. I asked him if he was alright, but he just mumbled something I couldn’t catch and walked off. I haven’t seen him since, well, not until this afternoon.” Her voice trailed off to a whisper and she lapsed into silence.
“When did you meet him in the street?”
“About two or three days after the séance.”
Mark looked at Babette.
“I haven’t seen him. I have been out and about on my travels and am not one of Hugo’s clientele.” She didn’t expand on her explanation as to where she had actually been. Mark studied her and knew from the guarded look in her eye that she didn’t want to tell him where she had been.
Mark looked at Isaac. “Has he been to the station to report anything?”
Isaac shook his head. “Not as far as I am aware. He certainly hasn’t seen me if he has and I haven’t had any messages.”
“You don’t go to Hugo’s shop?” Mark turned toward Babette with a frown.
Babette shook her head. “I prefer the haberdashery in Great Tipton. There is a much wider range of materials there and it is a bit cheaper.”
“Have you seen him out and about – on your travels?”
“No, sorry. I haven’t seen Hugo since the séance.”
Isaac coughed and leaned forward in his chair. “That broach you had stolen on the night of the séance, Harriett.”
“Yes, what about it?”
Isaac opened the picture Harriett had drawn. “Is this it?”
Harriett nodded at the roughly drawn sketch she had made of her treasured possession. She gasped as the real item was placed on top of the drawing. “Where did you find it?” She gasped and reached out to touch it only for Mark to grab a hold of her hand before she could pick it up.
“It was in a pawn brokers shop in Brampton.”
“A pawn broker?” Babette gasped and stared aghast at Harriett.
“I didn’t take it there,” she protested at the accusation in Babette’s face. “It was given to me by my mother. I wouldn’t pawn something so valuable.”
“That’s alright then,” Babette grumbled.
“The woman who pawned it was a middle aged lady with grey hair. I got a description, but it is fairly nondescript. There were no distinguishable features. Nothing to indicate that there was anything memorable about her. She simply appeared, did the transaction and disappeared again.”
“Records show that the person who sold it got two shillings and six pence for it,” Mark added quietly
“Good Lord, that’s not much,” Babette murmured.
“It isn’t what it is worth that is important,” Harriett protested. “It is the memories it holds that makes it priceless to me.”
“So it was stolen on the night of the séance by someone we accepted into our home, and pawned several miles away for two shillings and six pence?” Babette’s voice trembled with anger. “How despicable.”
“I agree. I think it was taken when the stool was knocked over upstairs. I need you both to t
hink carefully about that night, especially about whose faces you saw in the darkness. Was anyone missing?” He turned toward Harriett. “Do you think that Hugo could have remembered that someone had been missing from the table at some point during the evening?”
“I am not sure. He may have done, but hadn’t wanted to discuss it in the street.”
“Is he likely to have discussed it with anyone else?”
Harriett blew out her cheeks. “Hugo liked to talk but when I saw him, he was distinctly uncomfortable about something and was cagey, as though raising it was something he was not happy about. If he did talk to anyone about it, they would have been someone he trusted enough to feel he could confide in.”
“Someone local and someone he considered a friend?” Mark suspected it was that same person who had poisoned him.
Silence settled over them for a minute.
“Do you think that the ‘H’ in the reading referred to Hugo?”
Mark mentally winced at Babette’s question. He knew it was inevitable that someone would ask the question but hated to answer it. He didn’t want to frighten Harriett unduly but, right now, couldn’t be sure if the murderer was done selecting victims. He had to do everything within his power to make sure that she was safe from harm. If that meant making her a little bit unnerved so that she took extra precautions while she went about her business, then so be it.
“I cannot be certain. Because of that, we have to warn everyone who was at that séance who has an ‘H’ in their first name or surname that they need to be extra vigilant.” He turned hard eyes on Harriett. “Under no circumstances must you go to that séance tonight. You are not to go out alone in the dark, and don’t answer the door unless you know who is on the other side.”
Harriett gasped at the force behind his words. His gaze was so fierce that it unnerved her a little. Why was he being so forceful? It was as though he didn’t like her very much, and that thought made her want to cry again. She lifted her chin she merely stared back at him.
“I am going to the séance tonight. If only to try to prompt my memory into remembering anything I may have forgotten. I am also going to be watching everyone there like a hawk. Nobody is going to leave that room without me knowing about it. If I do remember anything then I shall of course send word for you at the earliest opportunity, but I am definitely going.”
Mark groaned at the determination in her gaze and knew that any further objection would be met with stubborn resistance he was in no position to challenge. He wasn’t sure whether to curse with frustration or applaud her defiance. She was clearly determined not to allow even a murderer to hinder her, even with the possibility that she may be the next victim hanging over her head.
“What are you going to tell everyone about Hugo?” Isaac asked and glanced from Mark to Harriett. He knew that Mark planned to attend the séance tonight, but that was before Hugo’s unexpected demise. Did he still plan to go?
“I think that the meeting needs to go ahead but, before everyone starts, I will make an announcement to the group and let everyone decide if they wish to continue. For now, it would help if the death wasn’t broadcast. People will obviously become aware over the course of time, especially when the haberdashery remains shut, but it will at least buy us a day or so.”
“I understand that your mother is going to join us, Mark,” Babette announced as she placed her tea-cup back into its saucer.
Mark choked on this tea at that and turned his horrified gaze toward the woman seated opposite. “You what?”
“Your mother is coming apparently. I spoke to Miss Haversham this afternoon and she said that she had seen your mother in Great Tipton. Your mother was quite interested in our séance and asked about what had happened. She invited herself along.”
Mark stared blankly at her for several moments and flicked a dark look at Harriett. “Good heavens above.”
Despite her difficult day, Harriett felt her lips quirk at the disgust on Mark’s face. He was clearly shocked and struggling to find something suitable to say. She decided to spare him a few moments to rein his temper in and turned to Isaac.
“Do you know when I can have my brooch back?”
“We need it for evidence at the moment. As soon as this investigation is concluded, we will hand it back to you. Until then, we will keep it safe, I promise.”
Harriett nodded. Leaving it with the police was about the safest place in the county. She wondered if she could move into the station too because despite the fact that she was still hale and hearty, she was deeply shaken at the thought that the murderer may intend to target everyone at the séance with an ‘H’ in their name. She knew that Mark hadn’t mentioned it to spare her worries, but the hard glare he had given her when he had instructed her to be extra careful spoke volumes. She had no intention of taking ridiculous risks with her life, but she was adamant that she would not sit at home like some frightened rabbit and wait for the murderer to appear at her door one day. Life had to continue. After all, who was to say that Hugo hadn’t been the intended victim and, now that he had died, there would be no further deaths other than those of natural causes?
Mark rubbed a weary hand down his face. He still needed to explain to Harriett about Alice and the tea shop at Great Tipton. Now though, it looked like he not only had to find the right time to discuss the matter with Harriett, but had to contend with his mother’s curiosity about séances at the same time. The last thing he wanted was for his mother to be embroiled in the sinister goings on at the Tipton Hollow Psychic Circle, but he knew that if he stomped over to her house and demanded that she not get involved in his investigation, he would be blatantly ignored.
He could only hope that she wouldn’t get wind of his rather personal interest in Harriett.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The second meeting of the Tipton Hollow Psychic Circle was held that same evening. Harriett sat in Beatrice’s sitting room and listened to the new arrivals in the hallway. Her heart lurched at the sound of Mark’s husky rumble along with the unfamiliar voice of someone new. It appeared that Mark’s mother had arrived.
“Good Lord, it is like a wake in here,” Miss Haversham muttered as she stalked into the room.
Mr Bentwhistle, Harriett, Babette, Tuppence, Constance and Mrs Dalrymple were already in attendance, along with Madame Humphries and Miss Hepplethwaite, who were already seated at the table, ostensibly to prepare for their communication.
“Good evening, Miss Haversham, I take it that you are well?”
“Very well, Harriett, thank you for asking,” Miss Haversham replied as she perched on the edge of a dining chair and placed her bag primly in her lap.
“Good evening, everyone,” a rather splendidly dressed lady called as she appeared in the doorway in a flurry of frills and ruffles. “I am Henrietta Bosville,” she smiled widely at nobody in particular and waited for Mark to join her.
“Glad you can join us,” Mr Bentwhistle murmured quietly as he rose and waved to a seat beside Babette. Harriett wasn’t aware of Henrietta taking the pro-offered seat. Her entire being was locked on the latest arrival: Mark. Just the sight of him in the doorway had a visible effect on the people within the room, and the previously tense and nervous atmosphere eased as soon as he crossed the threshold.
“Please take a seat, Inspector, it is a pleasure to have you here,” Madame called from the head of the table. “I am just preparing and shall be ready by the time everyone gets here.”
Mark nodded to her and quickly took a seat beside Harriett. It was somewhat of a relief to sit down. The sitting room was rather on the small side. Everyone was crammed into the chairs that were shoved into every nook and cranny to such an extent that when he sat, he felt as though he was on Harriett’s knee. He was acutely aware of the soft material of her skirts against his thigh and shifted uncomfortably at the surge of awareness that swept through him.
“How are you tonight, Harriett?” Mark murmured as he eyed the dark shadows beneath her eyes. There were
so many things he wanted to discuss with her, to say to her, and explain to her, that he suddenly didn’t know where to begin, other than to wish that they were somewhere else, far away from Tipton Hollow, and especially the ridiculous Psychic Circle.
“I am fine, thank you,” Harriett breathed. She was strangely stunned that he had only sat beside her yet she had already started to tremble. A warm flutter deep inside began to build and warmed her entire being with molten awareness. She hated it. The mental image of him in the coffee shop, holding the hand of the beautiful woman swam into her vision and it was enough for her to slam the lid back down on the feelings that started to grow within her. It was foolish to think that someone like Mark would be interested in her; a tea shop worker, when he had such a beautiful woman whom he clearly adored.
“No ill effects?”
Harriett shook her head but couldn’t bring herself to think too closely about what had happened that very same afternoon. “I am fine,” she replied softly, acutely aware of just how closely he studied her, and just how unnerved he made her feel.
Mark studied her with a frown. She was so very pale and didn’t look as though she had rested at all since he had last seen her. He cast a questioning glance at Babette, only for her to offer him nothing more than a small smile. He inwardly groaned at the keen interest in his mother’s gaze as it flew from him to Harriett, then back to him again. It made him wish he had remained at home. Still, he was here for the sake of the investigation. He wanted to see if the presence of the police at the séance would put a stop to any further threats. He smiled his thanks at Beatrice and took the pro-offered drink off her. After he had studied the glass carefully, he took a tentative sip, relieved when nothing more salubrious than brandy settled warmly in his stomach.
Eloisa and Miss Smethwick arrived minutes later and completed the circle. They had no sooner taken a seat than silence settled over the group. Mark could only call it an expectant silence. There was a strange undercurrent of tension which, if he was honest, was unsurprising given that there had been a murder at the last meeting and one of the members of the circle had been murdered since.
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