He sighed and knew from the furtive looks that were being exchanged that word had gotten out about Mr Montague’s murder, in spite of his best efforts. Although he had been busy with David Woods and both murder cases, he was acutely aware of just how quickly gossip spread and inwardly groaned at the thought of the questions that would be raised.
Mark coughed loudly and flicked his glass several times. Everyone turned to stare at him.
“Madame Humphries? Miss Hepplethwaite? If you would care to join us?” He watched the ladies look at each other before they nervously moved to stand behind Mr Bentwhistle’s chair.
“I am afraid that I have some rather sad news. I don’t know how many of you may have already heard the gossip, but I think you should know that earlier today Hugo Montague passed away unexpectedly in his store.”
Various gasps and cries of protest broke the silence.
“Was it murder?” Miss Smethwick demanded. Her small eyes were locked on Mark.
Mark couldn’t lie. “The death is being treated as suspicious, yes.” He lifted his hands to quieten the group when they began to fire a rapid succession of questions at him.
“I think you need to decide if the séance should continue. Because of the warnings that were given at the last meeting, you should all consider the wisdom of conducting the séances on today, the saddest of all days.” He glanced around the room and met a sea of shocked and horrified faces.
“Well, I think that we should carry on and see what we get,” Miss Haversham suggested. “I mean, I knew Hugo well. He would want us to carry on regardless. If it was any of us who had passed away, he would have been the first one to suggest the meeting go ahead as planned.”
“I agree,” Mrs Dalrymple sighed. “It just feels more than a little disrespectful to have another meeting so soon.”
“What does everybody want to do?” Beatrice queried in a voice that was as solemn as the look on her face.
“I think that we need to have a show of hands to vote on whether to carry on or not,” Constance sighed. She glanced at Mark. “Why did you want everyone to gather here before you told us? I mean, why not leave us at home and tell us there?”
“I don’t want any of you to talk about this to all and sundry in the village. This is a police investigation and, although I accept that the news will break at some point, especially when Hugo’s shop doesn’t open in the morning, I would prefer to get a bit of a head start on the gossips. Out of respect for Hugo, I think that you all needed to decide together whether it is wise, or appropriate, to continue with the Psychic Circle at all. I mean, there have been two deaths, both under suspicious circumstances. There has been a threat to a person, or persons, with the letter ‘H’ in their first or surname. Any one of you could still be under threat. I would ask you all to consider the additional steps you could put into place to keep yourselves safe until we catch the person, or persons, responsible.”
“You mean that there may be more than one person who is the killer?”
Mark nodded. “The killer could be anyone.” He glanced at each person in turn. “I cannot remove anyone from the list of suspects.” His gaze landed pointedly on the clairvoyant and her assistant. “I am sure that Madame Humphries, and her spirit friends, will understand if you decide to call the evening off.”
“Of course, Detective. Under the circumstances, the spirits would more than understand,” the woman soothed.
“Alright, I think those who want to carry on with tonight’s meeting should put their hands up,” Babette suggested and lifted her hand.
Silence reigned for a moment before Harriett, Henrietta and Mark all put their hands up. These were joined by Tuppence, Constance, Beatrice and Eloisa. She watched Miss Smethwick study everyone for a moment before she crossed her arms in a defiant pose. Miss Haversham merely sniffed at her and put her hand up to join the others. Mrs Dalrymple sighed and lifted her hand hesitantly into the air.
“That takes it then.” She glanced at Mr Bentwhistle, who merely stared down into the carpet. “Those who don’t wish to stay are welcome to remain and can watch if they don’t feel comfortable taking part, or they can, of course, go home. Either way, I am sure that I speak for everyone when I say that I understand their sentiments exactly and harbour no ill feeling toward them for their reluctance.”
“I think that we owe it to Hugo to see if we get anything else. Whoever those messages came from may want to give us something else.”
“Before we begin, I propose a toast to our good friends Hugo and Minerva,” Mr Bentwhistle offered quietly. He lifted his gaze to the ceiling and raised his glass in a silent toast. The soft murmur of ‘Minerva and Hugo’ was echoed around the room as the group sat for a few moments in quiet contemplation.
“Right, I think that we should carry on with the evening then,” Mark suggested. He glanced at Harriett and offered her a smile. The low murmur of voices grew steadily louder as people struck up conversations with those around them.
“Do you know what killed him yet?” Harriett whispered. Mark could smell the faint scent of lavender that teased his nose as he dipped his head closer to whisper in her ear.
“It was definitely cyanide. Someone put it into his tea. We don’t know how yet. A further search of the store has revealed nothing, so we can only assume that someone slipped it into his tea when it was in his cup and he wasn’t looking.” Mark gave her a warning look. “You will be fine tonight but, from now on, sniff your drinks. If it smells like almonds, don’t touch it. Don’t throw it away, give it to me.”
“Almonds?” Harriett frowned at him and studied her drink dubiously. She had already taken a sip and not fallen into a heap on the floor so she was fairly certain she was safe for now, especially given that they were in Beatrice’s house and she was by far the most pernickety housekeeper in Tipton Hollow.
“The distinctive scent of cyanide,” Mark whispered. He wasn’t comfortable discussing the case in the presence of so many people. Although others were chatting, which added to the noise of the room, Hugo’s death was still a murder investigation and it was never wise for those who were involved to know too much. Still, this was Harriett. She was in as much danger as everyone else. If she was forewarned what had happened to the others, she may be a little bit more vigilant in keeping herself out of harm’s way.
Harriett felt faintly sick as she glanced around at the sea of familiar faces. Just the thought that someone here could be so heartlessly cold blooded gave her the chills. She considered each and every person a friend to varying degrees. Well, not everyone, but all of those in the Psychic Circle were of an acquaintance; people whom she shared a village with, whom she spoke to on a daily basis, and had often served in her tea shop.
“What are you two whispering about?” Henrietta demanded with a smile. The room drew quiet and Harriett felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment as she realised that she was almost cheek to cheek with the only eligible bachelor present.
“Work,” Mark sighed. “I was updating Harriett on something, that’s all.” He gave his mother a stern look that warned her that she wasn’t to push for more information.
Although Henrietta didn’t know the finer details of the work Mark did, she knew enough about the murders in Tipton Hollow to attribute the pale cheeks and dark shadows beneath the eyes of the beautiful young lady seated beside her son to know that they were indeed talking about work, not pleasure. Henrietta heaved a despondent sigh and studied the couple as they sat together. They made the most handsome pairing, it was a shame that he was still sniffing around that awful Alice Mainwaring.
“Right, I am ready now if everyone would like to move to the table?” Madame Humphries called.
Mark dutifully pushed to his feet and escorted Harriett to a chair at the table. Most of the other occupants of the room had to bring their chairs with them. It was a squeeze to fit thirteen people around the small rectangle meant for no more than six diners but, with a little bit of shuffling, everyone was soon able to sit
reasonably comfortably and rest their fingers on the glass that sat in the middle of the circle of squares that had letters of the alphabet written on them.
While everyone got themselves comfortable, Mark studied the table. Madame Humphries was seated at the head, while Miss Hepplethwaite remained on her feet behind her. Next to her was Mr Bentwhistle, who was seated next to Mark. Determined to sit and guard Harriett throughout the entire evening, Mark had manoeuvred himself into the chair directly beside her, with Henrietta, his mother, on her other side. Babette sat between Henrietta and Tuppence. Constance, Beatrice, Eloisa, Miss Haversham, Miss Smethwick and Mrs Dalrymple made up the rest of the table.
His eyes flew to Harriett when he felt her shiver and he watched her pull her shawl tighter around her shoulders. Her eyes were locked on the glass and she had a look of fear in her eyes that made him very angry.
“You will be alright, you know,” Mark murmured gently. He tucked her shawl higher on her shoulder and tipped his head down until her eyes met and held his. He offered her a smile of reassurance. “It’s not going to be like last time.”
“I know. It is silly of me really.”
“Perfectly understandable after the last farce we attended,” Miss Smethwick retorted darkly and threw a dirty look at Madame Humphries that completely sailed past her. In stark contrast to the glower she threw at the clairvoyant, she smiled kindly at Harriett.
Harriett smiled back, strangely emboldened by the moral support of everyone around the table.
“Heaven’s, Harriett, I don’t mind admitting that I think I would prefer a bout of influenza rather than attending this séance here tonight, but I think we owe it to Minerva and Hugo to have this meeting and find out what we can about those silly threats,” Constance sighed.
“Exactly,” Mrs Dalrymple added with a firm nod of her head. “We shall be having no silly threats tonight, so let’s get on with it.”
Harriett offered her a smile that wavered ever such a little bit, and felt the familiar sting of tears that she hurriedly blinked away.
Henrietta looked at her son’s face and saw clear adoration in the steady gaze that seemed to watch Harriett’s every move. He studied her with far too much familiarity than was normal, or wise, if one didn’t want to be on the receiving end of gossip, but didn’t seem to care very much. However, Henrietta knew her son and, unless she was very much mistaken, he was besotted with the woman seated by his side. It wasn’t lost on her that he had manoeuvred everyone around so that he could place himself firmly at the young lady’s side. Like a dog with a bone, he simply refused to be parted from her, even if it was only to sit a couple of seats away. It reminded her of her own dear husband’s attentiveness when they first got together. She glanced at Babette, who was also studying the young couple with more curiosity than concern. They shared a conspiratorial smile and turned their attention back to the table.
“Now, everyone put your fingers on the glass please. We shall all say the Lord’s Prayer and then I shall ask for the protection to be put into place for us all. Now, let’s begin.”
Silence descended and they watched Madame Humphries suck in a huge gulp of breath through her teeth. Harriett thought back to her mirth on that first night but couldn’t find anything funny about the theatrics tonight. It felt strangely sad, or was that the atmosphere around the room? She had no idea. What she was certain of was that she felt very safe next to someone as calm as Mark.
Everyone placed their fingers on the glass and waited.
“Come to me, my great spirit friends. Draw closer around us and bring us your energies.”
“Oh, dear me, no,” Miss Hepplethwaite twittered nervously at the head of the table, and placed one hand on Augusta Humphries’ shoulder. Madame Humphries immediately snapped forward in her chair and stared at the far end of the room.
“Good Lord above,” she whispered.
Harriett frowned and turned to stare at the blackness that encased the end of the room. Her heart began to pound in her throat and her hand trembled. For some reason, her thoughts turned toward Hugo Montague and Minerva Bobbington. If either of them stepped out of the shadows, she would be the first one out of the door. Everyone else could do what they liked. As it was, after several minutes of unsuccessfully trying to look into the blackness, she sighed and turned back toward the table.
Mark stared at the space where Miss Hepplethwaite had been standing. He glanced around the room and caught a flurry of movement behind Tuppence.
“I suggest you come and sit down, Miss Hepplethwaite, we can see you, you know,” Mark drawled into the darkness. He didn’t care what they had intended to do, but he was not going to tolerate any of their shenanigans while he was in the house. He pushed away from the table, leaned toward the hearth behind him and pick up a candelabra. He took a moment to light the candles and lift it high enough to cast the room in a rosy glow.
There, at the far end of the room, facing the closed curtains stood Miss Hepplethwaite. Mark considered the distance between where she stood and the door that led to the hallway, and wondered whether she had been after something in the room or had intended to dash upstairs. Nevertheless, plans thwarted, the small woman appeared to give herself a mental shake before she turned to face them.
“Who was it, Gertrude?” Madame Humphries demanded when Miss Hepplethwaite had returned to her side.
“I don’t know. I didn’t get a chance to see them very clearly,” she replied with a frown.
Mark was far from convinced and placed the candelabra, still lit, on the mantle behind him.
“Right, if we extinguish that light then –”
“The light stays on,” Mark interjected in a voice as cold as a winter’s day.
“But-”
“I think that given what happened last time, it would ease everyone’s nerves if we could at least see the people we are sitting with. There is no reason why the spirits won’t work with us if we need a bit of light for reassurance, now is there? I am sure they understand how shaken people are feeling after the recent spate of deaths.” Mark’s voice was reason personified and gave neither woman any opportunity to argue. “Now, I think we need to carry on.” With that, he placed his finger on the glass and watched everyone follow suit.
He took a moment to wink at Harriett, who quirked her lips wryly. He knew from the look on her face that she suspected that Mark had just interrupted their attempt to steal something. After what had just happened, he was more convinced than ever that he had the fraudsters Scotland Yard were after. If only he could confirm that they were the two clairvoyants who vanished from London over a year ago. If they weren’t, he was fairly certain that these two had their own similar scam working, and it was up to him to bring them to justice. Until then, he just had to get through the rest of the evening without Harriett being frightened, or his mother fixated on matrimony any more than she already was.
He paused and considered that thought as he stared blankly at the stationary glass for several moments. Until now, he had always kept his romantic relationships firmly away from his mother’s beady glare. The last thing he wanted, or needed, was his mother getting herself involved in his romantic entanglements. However, Harriett was different. Judging from the looks his mother had shared with Babette, the ladies strongly considered Mark and Harriett a potential couple. Would it do any harm to enlist their help a little to persuade the hitherto unsuspecting Harriett down the aisle?
That was enough to slam his thoughts to a halt. When had he considered Harriett as his future wife? He had known her for a week now. A week! That was all. Even then, he hadn’t spoken to her every day. He had spent no more than five or six hours with her at the most, and even then he had been at work most of the time. He had very little personal knowledge of her to even begin to consider whether they were compatible.
Through his investigation he had learned that her Uncle Charles ran the tea shop in the village, and Harriett helped behind the counter to serve the customers. It was a thrivin
g family business that had a good reputation for miles around. The family had an excellent reputation. Although Babette helped clean the church, nobody knew much about anything else she did, except run the family home at 29 Daventry Street. Charles was a work and pub kind of man. When he wasn’t at work, he was at home having his supper or down the pub. There was nothing more complicated about him than that.
Unfortunately, he knew very little about Harriett. He had no idea what kind of things she liked. Did she like flowers and long walks in the country, or the hustle and bustle of town-life? Would she prefer to live in the country or the town? Did she like beef pie or chicken?
If he enlisted the help of his mother and Babette, his life would be a little easier. Unfortunately, he didn’t want to give anyone any hint of his real intentions toward the woman beside him until he knew for certain what those intentions were. After all, he had no idea if she liked to keep a tidy house, or just threw everything anywhere as soon as the front door closed behind her. There were so many little nuances to consider; nuances that could make life either very smooth or exceedingly difficult, that he was left with no doubt that he had to proceed with caution: very much like his investigation. Decision made, he turned his attention back to the motionless glass.
“Is this going to get moving tonight, or do we have to sit here like lemons staring at the table top all evening?” Miss Haversham snapped with a sigh. “I have my cats waiting at home for their evening saucer of milk.”
“It took a long time to start to work last time,” Babette replied. Her arm ached fiercely and she had to use her free hand to hold her arm off the table to alleviate the discomfort. It was only good manners that kept her from taking her leave of everyone and heading home.
As if on cue, the glass started to move. It trembled and bumped across the table until it drew to a stop before the YES square.
“Yes what?” Mark studied Madame closely and frowned at the spot on the ceiling that seemed to have captured her interest.
Harriett Page 17