“Be quiet when Madame is working,” Miss Hepplethwaite chided. Mark merely looked blithely back at her and lifted his brows questioningly.
The glass started to move again.
H-I-S-I-N-D-A-N-G-E-R.
At first, the words came through hesitantly but, by the end of the statement the small round goblet moved with convincing force. Mark considered the circle and the lettering on the board. From his position it was impossible to tell if anyone was pushing the glass on purpose. He studied the fingertips around his carefully.
“Who is H? Tell us?” Babette snapped impatiently.
“Not this again,” Tuppence sighed. “I tell you right now that if this doesn’t start to come up with proper answers that make sense to us all, and then I am going to stop. We want no more vague warnings, hints or nonsense because it is wasting everyone’s time.”
“Quite right,” Mr Bentwhistle’s fervent response was accompanied by firm nods and murmurs of agreement from practically everyone presence; all except for Madame Humphries and Miss Hepplethwaite.
H-I-S-I-N-D-A-N-G-E-R.
“This is ridiculous. I vote that we stop now,” Beatrice sighed but didn’t remove her finger from the glass.
“Does anyone have some paper?”
Beatrice left the table for a moment and returned with some pink notepaper and a pencil, which she gave to Babette. “I don’t mind writing the letters if you want me to, I just thought that as you did it last time -”
“No, that’s fine, I don’t mind at all,” Babette replied. “Although I won’t bother writing this nonsense down.”
“I will not have threats issued through the pretext of this meeting. Threatening someone so vaguely is a random act of cowardice that is completely unacceptable, and I am speaking on behalf of the constabulary now,” Mark warned. He stared at each person in turn and was aware that the only people who turned their gazes away from the pointed warning in his eyes were Madame Humphries and Miss Hepplethwaite.
The glass began to move again.
H-A-R-R-I-E-T-T.
“What about Harriett?” Mark snapped.
Harriett felt vaguely sick at the sight of her name written so boldly on the pale pink notepaper. She wondered now whether Minerva’s drink had been meant for her, and the tea Mr Montague had drunk had been meant to be shared with her too. But how did the killer know that Harriett had intended to visit Hugo today? It had been a spur of the moment visit that had been prompted by the sight of Mark in Great Tipton with the mystery woman.
“Stop this right now,” she demanded, her cheeks flushed with a mixture of temper and fear.
“It’s alright, Harriett,” Mark soothed. “Everything will be alright. It would be a foolhardy person indeed who is prepared to threaten the future wife of a Detective Inspector.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Mark ignored the chorus of startled gasps from everyone around the table, and carefully held her hand. He gave it a squeeze that was hidden by the tender gesture of possessiveness. With his head so close to hers, he tried to convey his silent plea for her to keep quiet and go along with him. She seemed to pick up on his intentions because she merely stared back at him with a strange smile on her face and didn’t utter a word.
“It would be a very stupid killer indeed who dared actually go so far as to harm you, Harriett, of all people. They would have the might of the Great Tipton Constabulary down on their heads so quickly that they wouldn’t know which way was up.”
“You are getting married?” Henrietta gasped and stared at Mark, firstly with suspicion, then with surprised awe. “Oh, merciful heavens, you are!” She gasped and launched herself out of the chair toward Harriett, who found herself enveloped in a fragrant cloud of green organza and a strong scent of lily of the valley.
“Welcome to the family, Harriett,” she gushed. “We have all been waiting for the day that Mark would come to his senses and settle down. Goodness gracious me, I have disturbed the proceedings, haven’t I?” Completely unrepentant, she sat back down with a wide smile.
“Harriett, you never said,” Constance accused, with a look of mock sternness on her face.
Slightly stunned, Harriett could only smile weakly at her friends and felt the worst kind of fraudster for not putting a stop to Mark’s scheme right there and then. She knew that he only wanted to protect her. The clear warning he had given to whoever was moving the glass was plain to see, but should she go along with it? She couldn’t deny the tiny thrill of delight that had swept through her at his declaration that they were to wed.
Her thoughts immediately turned to the woman at the tea shop he had been with. She wondered how he planned to get himself out of the mess he had just created. She could explain to Babette, and most probably her friends too, that Mark had been trying to protect her from being the murderer’s third victim. However, she could only hope that she could stem the tide of good wishes before the gossips ran rife with the news. She glanced across the table at the avid stares of Misses Haversham and Smethwick, and inwardly groaned - too late. The gossips already had their juicy news and, from the looks on their faces, were just itching to get out into the village to spread it far and wide.
She glanced hesitantly at Mark. Their eyes met and held for several long moments, but she could see nothing in his steady regard other than calm reassurance. He had no doubts about what he had just done; no qualms about encouraging such falsehood, and no hesitation in appointing himself as her protector. She didn’t know whether to be shocked, horrified, or thrilled to pieces.
“Well, let me be the first to congratulate you both,” Mr Bentwhistle offered and held his hand out to Mark, who took it with alacrity.
“Thank you.”
“When? What happened?”
“Shall we postpone this and do it another time?”
The flurry of suggestions and questions was abruptly cut off by the loud objection from Madame Humphries.
“The spirits are here. They are anxious to pass their messages on. Once they have done it, they will leave us for a while so we can pass on our congratulations to the happy couple, but they ask if they can first put forward their messages. They have worked hard to come to us tonight. There is a lot of tension in the air that has made things difficult for them.”
“We did ask them here,” Constance sighed hesitantly after several moments of uncomfortable silence. She would rather discuss the forthcoming nuptials with the happy couple but, given that she was now in Beatrice’s sitting room with a medium she had, well, sort of invited, she couldn’t actually change her mind. Still, she was glad that she had agreed to take part so soon after poor Hugo’s death though. If she hadn’t been in attendance tonight, she would have missed the best news the village had received in a long time.
Amid much grumbled reluctance, everyone dutifully placed their fingers on the glass and waited. Within seconds it began to move again.
T-H-E-B-L-A-C-K-S-H-O-E-S-W-E-R-E-T-H-E- B-E-S-T-B-E-T-T-Y.
“Oh, dear me, no,” Betty Haversham gasped and stared at the glass as though it were a cobra about to reach up and strike her. “How did you know that?” She demanded from nobody in particular.
“What? Have you purchased a new pair of shoes?”
Miss Haversham shook her head slowly and snapped out of her stunned disbelief with a heavy shake. “I changed my shoes three times before I left the house tonight. I had a brown pair and a black pair. Before I left the house, I changed into my black pair at the last moment because I couldn’t make my mind up which ones matched my dress the best.” Her voice tailed off to a whisper as, like everyone else there, she tried to make sense of what happened and couldn’t.
“What relevance does that have to anything?” Mr Bentwhistle was the only one present who seemed unperturbed by the personal nature of the message. “It’s all very well and good, but how does that affect the rest of us?”
“They are giving us proof that they have been around us this evening and know things about us that nobod
y else could possibly know,” Madame Humphries replied patiently. “Please, spirit friends, bring us your messages.”
T-H-E-R-E-W-I-L-L-B-E-A-C-H-R-I-S-T-M-A-S-W-E-D-D-I-N-G.
“Well, we know that,” Babette scoffed and shot a knowing look at Harriett and Mark.
Mark smothered a smile and slid a glance at Harriett, who looked as shocked as she was amazed. He knew what he needed to know now, and could quite happily have called a halt to the evening and walked Harriett home. As it was, he knew with absolute certainty that it was possible for anyone to push the glass and give a warning, a threat, or, as he had done, a promise, and nobody was any the wiser. He would be a week’s salary that the only spirits present at the séances were the ones in the drinks they consumed throughout the evening.
“Can I ask them a question?” Mark took the opportunity to speak when there appeared to be a small pause in the messages.
“Of course. What do you want to ask them?” Madame Humphries asked kindly.
“I want to know what kind of danger Harriett is in? Is she going to be poisoned, run over, what? Can they be a bit more specific?”
The glass hovered in the centre of the table. “Well, let’s ask them,” Madame sighed and threw her head back to stare at the ceiling. “Please my friends,” she bellowed, as though shouting would get their questions more clarity. “Answer our calling. Tell us what we wish to know dear departed ones.”
Mark smothered a smirk and wondered what she would do if spirit began to shout back. Sure enough, someone at the table clearly thought the same.
D-O-N-T-S-H-O-U-T-D-E-A-R-W-E-A-R-E-N-O-T-D-E-A-F.
Titters of laughter rippled around the table but did little to lighten the atmosphere, which continued to remain nervous. After a slight pause, the glass began to move in slow circles that grew larger and larger until it drew to a stop in front of the letter ‘L’ momentarily before it moved on.
L-O-O-K-L-E-F-T-A-N-D-R-I-G-H-T-T-H-E-T-R-U-T-H-W-I-L-L-C-O-M-E-A-B-O-U-T.
“Here we go again,” Alan Bentwhistle sighed. “More nonsense.”
“I think that may mean that you have to look both ways when you cross the road,” Tuppence sighed with a shake of her head. “I think this is utter nonsense.” She glanced at the clairvoyant with no apology in her eyes. “No offense intended Madame Humphries, but I do think that this is stuff and nonsense. If they really wanted to warn us of anything then they should give us something that we can used to ensure Harriett is safe. As it is, none of this makes sense to me and I, for one, am not prepared to continue.” With a mulish look on her face, she crossed her arms and sat back in her seat with her arms folded.
As if in agreement, Beatrice did the same.
“Stick with it children. There are more and more spirits stepping forward now. I am sure that the messages will be coming thick and fast soon,” Madame Humphries argued.
Harriett glanced sideways at Mark. He looked as bored as she felt; although there was a slight glint of cautious watchfulness on his face that made her wonder if he had seen something that she had missed. She glanced at the sea of faces around them. Miss Haversham and Eloisa looked enthralled; Beatrice was just as defiant as Tuppence, while Babette and Henrietta were clearly amused by the entire evening. Everyone else looked either bored or sceptical.
If she was honest, she was shaken by Mark’s announcement of their engagement. It was the last thing she had expected, especially given what she had seen in Great Tipton. Had she misread what he had been doing with the beautiful woman in the shop? Was she a relative he had merely been trying to comfort?
She wanted to convince herself that he was only trying to protect her, but police officers didn’t usually offer people they were investigating personal protection in such a way. So why had Mark done it? Did he really believe that her life was in danger? Or was he playing some sort of trick to try to lure the murderer into revealing themselves so that he could arrest them? She immediately blocked that thought out and a shiver of foreboding swept down her spine. She hoped to heaven that she would never find that particular truth out. The last thing she wanted was to be used as bait to goad the murderer into striking again.
Feeling strangely uncomfortable, she glanced up and caught the beady eyes of Miss Smethwick on her. Another shiver of unease swept up her spine and she felt goose bumps ripple down her arms. She shifted in her seat and offered the woman a weak smile as she turned her gaze away. She was acutely aware that the woman didn’t return the smile and merely continued to stare far too directly at her for far too long. Had she done something to offend Miss Smethwick? Did the old woman object to Mark’s announcement?
Harriett jumped when a sudden icy chill swept down her back. She turned her head to glance around her but couldn’t see any reason for the draught.
“Is there a window open in here, Beatrice?” she whispered when a second blast of air swept over her arm.
Beatrice shook her head, all trace of defiance gone from her features. She too was staring at Harriett far too intently and it made Harriett’s increasingly nervous. What were they looking at? Aware of movement beneath her finger, she looked down and gasped when she realised that the glass was slowly creeping steadily toward her. Her heart began to hammer in her throat. Her thoughts turned to the last séance when the glass had flown off the table. She would prefer it to do the same again now; anything but the slow, almost sinister glide across the table. She pushed her finger on the glass in a desperate attempt to stop it but watched in horror as it continued to glide unhindered; straight through the letters, right up to the edge of the table in front of her.
She quickly snatched her finger off the glass. Should she shove it back onto the table and laugh it off as a prank, or allow it to fall on to her lap? She glanced up at Mark. He had long since taken his finger off. The only people who remained in contact with the glass were Miss Haversham, Eloisa, Miss Smethwick and Madame Humphries. But did that mean that one of them was responsible for the threats? Harriett tentatively placed the glass carefully back into the centre of the table. Nobody spoke as they all put their fingers back on it and waited. Within seconds, the glass began to move around the letters.
“I am cold, is the fire on?” Henrietta asked nobody in particular as she peered around the end of the table toward the hearty glow in the fireplace. “I keep feeling a cold draught.”
Harriett almost slumped with relief. “So do I,” she sighed. “I thought it was my imagination, but several times now I distinctly feel a cool breeze across my hand and arm.”
“The windows are all closed and the curtains drawn.”
“Shall we ask them why they gave Harriett the glass?” Miss Smethwick asked around a smothered yawn. “Is there any particular reason why they would shove it at her like that?”
Madame Humphries didn’t appear to be listening though. She was staring off into the distance as though she was miles away from the small house in Tipton Hollow.
“Is she alright, dear?” Miss Haversham asked as she quite rudely pushed her hand in front of Madame Humphries’ face and clicked her fingers.
“She is in a trance at the moment. The spirits must be close,” Miss Hepplethwaite whispered dramatically. “We won’t interrupt her right now. Just ask your question and we will see what we get.”
Miss Smethwick frowned at her. “Well, I just did ask my question,” she replied with a disgruntled sigh. “I just asked why they pushed the glass at Harriett.”
The glass remained motionless.
“It doesn’t look as though they want to answer you,” Babette replied after several moments of silent watchfulness. Tension began to build within the room. Everyone glanced at each other and began to flick random glances around the room, searching the shadows for hidden spectres that weren’t there.
Wedged between Harriett and the broad shoulders of Mr Bentwhistle, Mark shifted uncomfortably. Harriett felt his long, muscular thigh push against hers but had no room to move. As the glass remained still, and those gathered around th
e table remained silent, her mind began to wander and inevitably turned toward the gossips in the village, and what they would make of Mark’s announcement tonight of the fictitious engagement.
What would the latest turn of events mean to her reputation? She had no suitors on the horizon, well none that she had considered of any merit. Brian Hildrew had asked for her hand a year or so ago, but the butcher’s son, as nice as he was, had about as much appeal as the rabbit carcasses that hung in the shop window. Given the size of Tipton Hollow, her marriageable prospects were not all that great and, until now, it had never bothered her. That is, until Mark appeared on her doorstep. Now she was starting to consider things that simply weren’t possible for someone like her. She worked in her uncle’s tea shop and quietly went about her fairly humdrum life. Seated at the séance table tonight though, with sinister threats hanging over her and two of her acquaintances dead, she rather wished her life was still nondescript and boring.
If only she could stop the gossips from ruining her reputation, she would have a fairly decent chance of being able to hold her head up when she went about her business after this was all over. Now, once the investigation was over and Mark returned to Great Tipton, their fictitious engagement would be over. She would forever be known as the woman who was jilted by the Detective Inspector at Great Tipton. The gossips would have a field day when Christmas came, and went, and there was no wedding they could attend and talk about for months to come.
Unfortunately though, even when she took into account the problems she would encounter as a result of his announcement, she couldn’t bring herself to find any true and strong objection to his deceit, and she was fairly certain that it had nothing to do with her need for him to protect her.
Her thoughts were snapped back to the table when the glass suddenly lurched into action, and began to slide firmly around the table with more force and precision than they had ever had before.
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