Harriett

by King, Rebecca

  Surprisingly, it was the usually extremely nervous Miss Hepplethwaite, who moved to take centre stage and stood in front of the audience with her hands held at her waist while she waited for everyone’s attention. She didn’t have to wait very long. An air of expectation hung over the crowd and Mark felt certain he could have heard a pin drop at the back of the room because it was so quiet. He glanced at Harriett who, for some reason, looked incredibly sad. Did the demonstration remind her of the recent spate of murders? In spite of the fact that they were in full view of everyone, he held her hand.

  Harriett made no attempt to pull away and gave him a small smile. If she was honest, she didn’t want to be at the demonstration. She had accepted Mark’s offer to escort her, partly because she had been thrilled that he had asked her out, and partly because she had been curious to know why he had wanted to come. He hadn’t said as much after the séance at Beatrice’s, but he was sceptical about the entire business of talking to spirits. She knew that he was there more out of professional curiosity than personal interest and she couldn’t really blame him. There were times when she wished that she hadn’t started the entire spiritual circle business. Maybe then Minerva Bobbington and Hugo Montague would still be alive, and she wouldn’t be scared to step out of her own front door.

  She wondered how he had picked up on her anxiety, but couldn’t bring herself to question it. Mark was a very compassionate and caring man. He was someone who seemed to have no compunction against offering someone comfort in their hour of need. He seemed to be particularly intuitive to those around him and she felt slightly privileged that she was, for the time being at least, included in that group of people he considered worthy of his affectation.

  It felt right to sit by his side and hold his hand, even if it did draw the attention of several of the audience. Emboldened by his quiet strength beside her, she lifted her chin, squared her shoulders and turned her attention to Miss Hepplethwaite, who was apparently still waiting for the silent crowd to pay attention.

  “Thank you for gathering around us here on this evening my friends. It is wonderful to have so many of you here. We are gathered here today to provide you all with the opportunity to communicate with those dearly departed relations, friends, colleagues and associates, who have long since passed into the spirit world. Our intention is to bring you messages and, hopefully,” she turned around to glance questioningly at the still silent, still watchful, Miss Humphries, “we can actually persuade one of the spirits to show themselves to us.” She raised her hands in a preacher-like gesture when the crowd ooh’d and aah’d, and shushed those who began to whisper.

  “I would like to open the evening with a prayer.” Once everyone had their heads bowed, she began to recite the Lord’s Prayer, which was echoed by the congregation. No sooner had they finished than Madame Humphries stood and began to speak. Her sermon was surprisingly nothing to do with spirit. However, it did tell Mark that the woman felt very strongly about temperance and women’s suffrage. By the time she drew to a halt almost 20 minutes later, he was struggling to remain still in his seat and trying valiantly not to yawn. He was aware of Harriett’s deep sigh and they shared a rueful look of commiseration while Madame Humphries resumed her seat, and Miss Hepplethwaite took centre stage again.

  “We will now begin with the readings. Madame Humphries will give a message. Please tell us if you can accept it. If nobody can take what Madame tells us, then we will ask for further information from our spirit friends.” She moved to the far side of the room, not next to Madame Humphries as Mark expected, but next to the curtains that sat behind Madame. The main gasoliers in the centre of the room was turned off and replaced by several large candles that had been placed sporadically around the room.

  “Good Lord, is this really necessary?” Henrietta whispered only to be hastily shushed by the avid-looking woman seated behind her. “Shush yourself, woman,” Henrietta retorted with a glare.

  A strange tap from somewhere within the room made several of the audience gasp. Everyone sat silent and watchful. Tension rose and they watched Madame Humphries suck in a deep breath.

  “I know you are here my spirit friends, please come forward with your messages.” Her voice echoed around the cavernous hall. Mark could hear a mixture of sniggers and gasps as a strange glow began to surround the clairvoyant. Initially white in colour, it began to turn into a yellowish green haze, which hovered over Madame’s head in a quite menacing fashion.

  “I have a message for Doreen,” Madame gasped in a voice that was about as spiritual as Mark’s.

  “Here,” a rather stout woman called. “Tell me your message.”

  Mark bit his lip to hold the words of caution back. Her belief was clear from the eagerness on her face.

  “I have a man here. He is your husband.”

  The woman looked hesitant and glanced at the people around her as though she expected a man to pop up amongst them. “I don’t have a husband,” she replied hesitantly.

  “He is your father then. I feel a strong fatherly bond with this man.”

  “I hope not,” the woman replied. “My father was alive and well when I left him by the fire an hour ago.”

  Titters of laugher swept through everyone but it did little to lighten the atmosphere. Those who were sceptical merely scoffed a little louder, while those who were firm believers listened just as avidly, clearly prepared to continue to believe in the afterlife.

  Madame Humphries sighed. “Is there another Doreen in the house?”

  Everyone remained silent.

  “It must be your grandfather then, my dear. He is a fatherly relation.”

  “My grandfather is alive and kicking too,” the woman scoffed. “At least, he was when he threw the bedpan at our little Johnny this afternoon.”

  Ribald laughter swept across the room and even Mark smiled. Luckily, Madame Humphries’ abject failure seemed to have cured the woman of her complete belief because she now looked wary, and more than a little confused.

  “I have a man here who says that you must not take on so about everything your son, Johnny, does. He is a young man and needs to learn through his own mistakes.”

  “Johnny isn’t my son,” the woman reported. It was clear that she had begun to rather enjoy being the centre of attention and stood challengingly with her hands on her hips. “He is my little brother and a pain in the proverbial at that.” She looked at those seated around her and looked pleased with herself when the room exploded into laughter again. Everyone turned to Madame Humphries to see what she would come up with next, but the theatrics continued in another direction.

  Completely oblivious to her failure, Madame Humphries leaned forward in her seat and began to gasp.

  “Here, what’s she doing?” A man called from the back of the room. People closest to the door stood to get a better view and watched the medium rock backward and forward in her seat. The haze that surrounded her turned faintly green. A scream erupted from the back of the room as a hand slowly appeared from behind Madame Humphries’ head. There was no body; just a hand. Mark glanced at Harriett and gave her a wink.

  Harriett rolled her eyes and knew that this was the hand she had seen in the carpet bag at Beatrice’s house. She felt strangely sad again and couldn’t quite put her finger on why. She didn’t know whether it was because she had been culpable in leading the members of the psychic circle to these fraudsters, or that they had spent two long evenings sitting around a table, in total darkness, for nothing.

  Not only that, but there seemed to be absolutely no spirit world around them whatsoever. No relatives to come forward with their loving messages, no guides, helpers and inspirers who would impart their wisdom to the congregation and make everyone feel a little bit better about their lives. For some reason, it made her acutely angry that Madame Humphries and Miss Hepplethwaite could consider that they could try to fool innocent people into believing they were genuine in the hopes of making themselves some easy money.

  The
room remained silent as the hand slowly disappeared.

  “I have a message here for Hillary. Is there a Hillary in the house?”

  After several moments of silence, a reluctant Hillary, propelled by the people she sat with, stood up. She looked as though she would rather be anywhere else, and blushed mightily at having so many people stare at her.

  “I have a message from your aunt. She tells you that you gossip too much and must start to mind your own business.”

  Once again, laugher rippled over the crowd who were now warming to the theatrics of the evening.

  “I don’t have an aunt,” Hillary replied with a scowl. “I don’t gossip either.” She tipped her chin up belligerently and yanked her hand out of her friends’ when they tried to drag her back down into her seat.

  “I have a lady called Charlotte here. Can anyone take a Charlotte?”

  “I can,” Hillary replied, “but she is about as dead as that woman’s Johnny.” She pointed to the woman behind her.

  “I didn’t say she was dead,” Madame Humphries snapped and gave the woman a baleful glare. “Do you know a Charlotte?”

  “Yes I do.”

  “Good, then it is you the message is for then.”

  “Fine.”

  “A lady in the spirit world has come forward and issues you a warning about Charlotte. She is leading you toward too much gossip.”

  “No, I do not,” the woman beside Hillary piped up.

  “Well, you do gossip a bit,” Hillary argued.

  “So do you.”

  Mark sniggered. He could sense an argument brewing and he was no clairvoyant. He wondered just who he was going to have to arrest; the women who were on the verge of having a fight with their carpet bags or the fraudulent clairvoyant who had started the debacle.

  Hillary began to snivel and glared at her friend who merely looked undeterred. “I don’t gossip. I don’t, and Charlotte isn’t dead, she is here. I didn’t want to come to this stupid thing tonight. I really didn’t, but you all thought it was a good idea.” She glared at Madame Humphries. “It is all your fault. You and your stupid messages.”

  Madame Humphries ignored her and began to rock backward and forward in her seat again. She gasped, threw her head back and glared at the ceiling moments before she slumped forward.

  “Is she dead?” Someone whispered from the back of the room after several moments when nothing happened.

  “No, she is faking,” Mark whispered. “Just watch.”

  Nobody made any attempt to correct him and they watched Madame Humphries eventually sit upright again. She had some sort of white froth coming out of her mouth, or was that cloth?

  Despite the fact that Harriett knew the woman was pretending, and undoubtedly had props tucked away somewhere in her skirt, she couldn’t help but be caught by the atmosphere within the room. The tension was so thick that she struggled to breathe.

  “I have a message for Bob. Bob. Bob. I have a message for Bob.”

  “Can anyone take a Bob?” Miss Hepplethwaite called when the room remained silent.

  Madame Humphries’ words were low and deep in timbre but, unsurprisingly, when she began to speak, the frothy cloth dropped onto her lap. She clearly couldn’t speak with a mouthful of muslin. Mark studied the cloth and wanted to study it a bit more closely. His thoughts turned to Minerva Bobbington’s death, and the small square piece of cloth that had choked her. Had it been one of Madame Humphries’ props that had inadvertently dropped into Minerva’s drink? He scowled and leaned sideways in his seat to talk to Harriett.

  “Are you alright?”

  “I am fine, Mark,” she hastened to reassure him.

  “This is nothing but fraud.”

  “It has to stop before they cause somebody some real harm.” She glanced at Hillary and her friend, who now glared at each other in the darkness.

  “I agree. Will you be alright if I have to draw this to a halt?”

  “Of course I will,” Harriett replied and smiled at him through the shadows.

  The gentleness of her smile and the calm acceptance in her eyes made him want to kiss her. He hated to bring the evening to a halt because it meant that he would have to take her home. It was still relatively early, but he couldn’t allow such shenanigans to continue and people to get so upset, not while there was still a murderer at large and the supposed clairvoyants were under suspicion of fraud.

  As a member of the Great Tipton Constabulary, he couldn’t exactly sit in the congregation and allow the collection box to be handed around while he suspected that these women were obtaining money by deception. Fraud was fraud at the end of the day, and he couldn’t turn a blind eye to it, even for one evening. The props they were using were enough to prove that they were trying to fool the audience. He glanced at his mother who nodded her acceptance.

  “Do what you need to Mark.”

  Despite his words, Mark sat in his chair for several moments and continued to watch. A strange haze appeared above Madame’s head, which he was convinced was nothing more than thin muslin wafted in front of mirrors. Whatever it was, it was certainly nothing spiritual.

  “I have a message from Edward. Can anyone take an Edward?”

  One person stood up. “I can.”

  “You work down the mines.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “You have to be more careful. There is going to be a fall. A big fall and it will result in many deaths.”

  Someone from the back of the room gasped.

  “I am married to Edward. Is this message for me?” A rather timid looking woman stood nervously and glanced around her, clearly worried sick.

  “It is for the man who is having an affair. He is a traitor to your marriage. You should not trust him.”

  The woman gasped and began to cry.

  “That’s enough,” the elderly woman beside her demanded. “We know you are charlatans. You have heard the ridiculous gossip. You were talking to Esmeralda Morris yesterday. She was the one who started this nefarious gossip that is based on absolute rubbish. I insist that you stop this nonsense now.” Her voice rang loudly in the room.

  “I am only telling you what the spirits are telling me. I am merely a channel for their voice.”

  “You are no more spiritual than I am,” the woman scoffed. “If you think for one second that I am going to sit here listening to any more of this nonsense you can think again.”

  A chorus of cries heralded her outburst, and the room began to grow restless. Mark sensed the anger in the air and knew that if he didn’t do something now the entire room would be thrown into chaos.

  He stood and moved to the front of the room. “Someone light the gasoliers, now please.” He pointed to a tall, energetic looking man at the back of the room. “Go and fetch several constables from the Station, and be quick about it.”

  “We don’t need bobbies,” Miss Hepplethwaite replied in a voice that was panic stricken.

  Mark turned to glare at both women. Strangely, Madame Humphries seemed to have come out of her trance and now stared at him with something akin to horror in her eyes. “I strongly recommend that both of you sit still. If either of you make any attempt to leave this room, I shall set this lot on you.” He nodded toward the restless crowd behind him.

  “Arrest them. They are nothing but frauds,” someone called from the back of the room.

  The gasoliers were lit. It cast the room in considerably more light, and was enough to reveal the extent of the fraud the women had intended to carry out. There, in plain view on Madame Humphries’ lap, was the large rectangular piece of muslin that she had put into her mouth as the first stage of a supposed spirit ‘manifestation’.

  He glared at Miss Hepplethwaite, and shoved a chair at her. “Sit.” He stalked toward the carpet bag.

  “Wait! That’s ours.”

  “It belongs to the constabulary now,” Mark replied and opened the bag. He didn’t draw the contents out in case it enraged the crowd further, but he had witnessed en
ough to be able to confidently assign all of the supposed ‘clairvoyant’s’ props to their specific schemes.

  He moved to stand beside Miss Hepplethwaite and Madame Humphries, and raised his hands to quieten the crowd.

  “I am Detective Inspector Mark Bosville, from Great Tipton Constabulary. I am here to arrest both ladies for their deception. I would ask that all of you leave your name and address with the lady there. “He pointed to his mother and issued her with an apologetic look. From the surprise on her face, she had been caught off guard but offered no protest. He dug around in his jacket pocket and took out his small black notebook and a pencil. He caught Harriett’s eye and was relieved when she didn’t hesitate to collect it from him. He was impressed and delighted when she started to take down the details of the audience while Henrietta and Babette arranged everyone into an orderly queue.

  Within minutes, several constables, along with Isaac, appeared in the doorway.

  “Arrest them for fraud,” Mark ordered and moved to Harriett’s side. “We could do with you in the constabulary,” he whispered ruefully.

  She glanced at him and gave him a smile. “It’s a little like taking orders for tea,” she replied with a wry grin. “I hope you can read my writing.”

  Mark took the opportunity to edge a little closer and peer over her shoulder. Whatever he was about to say next was interrupted by several members of the audience who were evidently reluctant to leave without finding out just what was going on.

  “Are they going to jail?”

  “What is going to happen to them?”

  Mark gave them a stern look. “If you have given your name to my colleague here, then I think you should head home. There won’t be any further psychic demonstrations of this kind in Great Tipton, of that I can promise you.”