Mark felt his temper begin to bubble at the realisation that Harriett had gone against his instructions and left the tea shop without him.
“Let’s go and check the church.” His deep scowl remained in place as he stomped down the street toward the main road that ran through the village. The church was located on the opposite side of the road that led to Great Tipton and the short distance was covered in record time. Tension hovered in the air as the men scoured the rather too quiet village. “Where do you think everyone has gone?”
“Most of the village will be at the funeral. Hugo Montague was born and raised here, so was a village stalwart. The children will be at school, but most of the businesses will be closed as a mark of respect. The business owners will attend the funeral and the wake, so I think everyone has gone home for now.”
The village was almost deathly quiet. Their boots rang hollowly on the uneven pavement as they headed toward the old Norman church.
“Now what do you think he is doing?” Isaac whispered. He placed a hand on Mark’s arm and nodded toward the far end of the churchyard toward Alan Bentwhistle, who disappeared around the back of the huge stone building. Mark felt the small hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Had he been dragging something? In the quietness of the afternoon, a loud scraping noise echoed hollowly around the trees. The men crept silently into the graveyard. Isaac took the pathway that led around one side of the church while Mark took the other. At the back of the church Mark stopped, and stared in horror at the trees at the far end of the graveyard. Fresh mounds of soil sat next to two recently dug graves located just beneath the tree line. He watched Alan drag a heavy casket in that direction. Did he intend to bury it? He glanced at Isaac who sidled toward him.
“Go and check inside the church and see if you can see Harriett. Keep quiet though, I don’t want to forewarn him. If you see anyone on the main street, get them to fetch Fred and some men.”
Deep in his gut, Mark knew that the casket Alan was dragging contained a body. Whether that person was still alive or dead had yet to be seen. Had there already been a third murder? Where was Harriett? He quickly closed his mind to the possibility that she might be the one encased in that wooden box. His fists clenched into tight balls of fury at the thought that he might already be too late to save her. He knew that he had to force all thoughts of his personal devastation to one side and blank out the awful realisation that Harriett might already be dead. It was the most difficult thing he had ever had to do in his life, but owed it to her to keep as calm and in control as possible. Mark straightened his shoulders and dug deep for all of his years of professional experience. He watched Bentwhistle slide the coffin ever closer to one of the recently dug holes in the ground.
Did he intend to hide the coffin with plans to return later to bury it somewhere else? Mark had no intention of waiting to find out. If there was someone in that box, and they were still alive, it was imperative that they were released urgently.
The grave look on Isaac’s face when he rejoined him told Mark everything he needed to know. His heart felt like a leaden weight in his chest and he, temporarily, couldn’t breathe. The churchyard swam alarmingly and he struggled to focus his thoughts on anything other than Harriett’s beloved face.
“The door to the ante room beside the altar has been kicked in. Someone inside tried to block the door with a dresser, but it was shoved out of the way. By the looks of it, there has been some kind of struggle. Someone has thrown something out of the window, and there is glass everywhere.” He studied Mark’s profile. He couldn’t tell the man that there was also a liberal splatter of blood over practically all of the surfaces.
Both men watched Bentwhistle for a little while longer. The trees would provide adequate cover for the funeral director, if he chose to run. Mark knew he had to be careful. His eyes remained glued on the coffin Alan had at his feet. Isaac had been his friend, and colleague, for many years now and Mark knew when he wasn’t telling him the full story.
“She is in the coffin, isn’t she?” Mark’s voice was deadly.
“I think she is, yes.”
Mark nodded. “You go left and I will take the right. Don’t let that bastard get away.”
“Someone has gone to fetch Fred and some men from the pub.”
Mark nodded. He couldn’t speak past the white hot rage that was building with such ferocity that Mark wasn’t sure whether it was a good idea if he got his hands on Alan Bentwhistle or not. The man had already murdered two people in cold blood. He had clearly targeted Harriett for some reason only known to himself. If Harriett was his third victim, Mark was going to make his life’s mission to make damned sure that the man never saw daylight again.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
He continued to watch Alan for several moments while he tried to control the need to exact retribution. He motioned to Fred, and the men he had rounded up, to keep quiet and waited only until they had fanned out behind him. As soon as everyone was in place, he stepped forward.
“Well, well, Alan. I think before you have a funeral you need to have a service and allow the family to be involved, don’t you?”
He watched Alan turn to stare at him with wild panic in his eyes. As soon as he saw Mark and the men in the churchyard, he dropped the end of the coffin he held. It hit the ground with a resounding thud but neither man paid any attention to it. Their eyes locked over the wooden lid.
“Why Harriett? What has she ever done to you?” Mark struggled to even say her name. He wanted to pound Bentwhistle out of the way, wrench the lid off and see for himself if she was alright.
“I had to shut her up. She is a gossip you see.” Bentwhistle’s voice was lost and confused, as though even he couldn’t understand what had happened, but Mark wasn’t going to fall for it. The ‘little boy lost’ tone of the man’s voice was contradictory to the ruthlessness in the man’s eyes.
“Harriett isn’t a gossip.”
“She works in the tea shop. That is the biggest gossip house this side of Christendom. Everyone goes there for tea and the latest scandal. I don’t know why they bother with the bloody cakes.” He threw a contemptuous glare at Charles, who had joined the men from the pub there to lend a hand.
“So what do you have to hide, Bentwhistle? The fact that you have killed two people in cold blood or that you are nearly bankrupt and have been stealing from your dead customers to help pay your way?”
Bentwhistle remained quiet. Mark watched a flicker of defeat enter the man’s eyes and his shoulders slump, but it didn’t last. Whatever the man had briefly felt was ruthlessly brushed aside and replaced with arrogant determination. Mark knew that he wasn’t going to surrender easily.
“There is nothing you can prove.”
“I am afraid you are wrong. There is the vase from Hugo Montague’s that you couldn’t help but get your hands on. It was quite an eye catching thing but, unfortunately for you, relatively easy to find in a pawn shop. The owner of the shop who purchased it from you described you perfectly. Then there is Harriett’s brooch. You were very clever, but also rather too greedy.”
Mark was aware of Isaac’s eyes on him, but made no attempt to hide the disgust and contempt that coursed through him. “You see, everyone in the house confirmed that you, Babette and Harriett, were the only ones who went upstairs that evening. Given that it was Harriett’s brooch, it would hardly be her who was the thief. Babette doesn’t need the money, and so that left you. It has been a little confusing to try to understand why you felt the need to kill two innocent people in the village; especially people who have done you no harm.”
“What would you know about it?” Bentwhistle snorted. “You don’t even live in this God forsaken little place. I told father before he died that the village wasn’t large enough to keep us afloat but he would have none of it. He insisted that we stay here because that is where his father founded the business, in spite of the fact that most of our business comes from Great Tipton. The stupid old bugger refused to re
locate and cut down on expenses. By the time he did bloody well die, the business was barely able to function.”
“So you thought you would steal from your customers. After all, the dead can’t speak, can they?” He knew now that Alan Bentwhistle had pushed the glass to warn Harriett, and had undoubtedly used enough of the gossip to convince everyone that the spirits were around and about them in their daily lives, and knew what everyone was up to.
“Do you really think that I believe in that bloody nonsense? The dead talking to us?” Alan shook his head in mock pity. “I have been working with the dead since I was a young boy and none of them have ever spoken to me, I can tell you. Do you really think that I want to spend the evening sitting in the dark with a bunch of people I don’t even like? To do what? Talk to the man who got me into this mess in the first place?”
“It doesn’t excuse you helping yourself to other people’s belongings. Theft is one thing, but why murder?”
“Minerva Bobbington had a gob on her, that’s why. She was always whining about that missing jewellery of her aunts. She came around to the parlour several times as though she expected me to materialise the bloody stuff out of my drawers. When she didn’t get what she wanted, she told everyone about it; as many people as she could, when she could. I had to shut her up.”
“So you killed her. You used a piece of muslin – very inventive by the way – in her drink to scare her?” Mark tipped his head to one side and studied the satisfaction in Bentwhistle’s eyes. Was the man mad? Or was he just backed into a corner and determined to do whatever he had to do to get himself out of the mire? Whatever the case, Mark had to keep him talking. The issue of the thefts was going to be difficult to prove because they could only go on vague descriptions. Getting Bentwhistle to admit to his crimes in front of so many witnesses would mean that a trial was merely a procedure Bentwhistle had to go through on his way to prison.
“Why the séance, though? Why kill Minerva at the séance with so many people around?”
“Because it was dark and everyone was scared. I don’t move in Minerva’s circles. Do you really think I want to sit and share tea with that odious harridan and trade gossip and lies? The circle gave me the perfect opportunity to slip the muslin into her drink. I was going to give a message at the table to warn her to keep her mouth shut, and hoped that the muslin in her drink would scare her. Unfortunately, I didn’t get the opportunity to give a message because of the stupid stool and the other ridiculous messages given by someone else. Luckily, the muslin worked better than I had hoped, and I shut her up once and for all.”
“It’s murder, Bentwhistle. You took the woman’s life.” Mark sighed and shook his head. “Hugo was a gossip, so you went and had tea with him in his shop. Because your parlour is directly across the street, you could choose your moment and get to Hugo’s without too many people seeing you. Even if they did notice, they wouldn’t think anything odd about you being in the street. Was he gossiping too?”
“Hugo and that Harriett have always got their heads together. She is always scurrying over there and having tea with him while she traded the gossip she hears in the tea shop. It’s scandalous the way those two fed on other people’s lives.”
“Do you know what beggars belief, Bentwhistle?” Mark didn’t wait for Bentwhistle to reply. “You have lived in this village nearly all of your life and you don’t know anyone. Hugo Montague was a lonely old man whom Harriett had a cup of tea with occasionally while they talked about their own lives. Nobody else’s lives, you understand. Minerva Bobbington, had every right to ask if you had seen her jewels and, of course, she would be upset about them going missing. Killing Minerva, Hugo and Harriett, to silence them wouldn’t stop the gossip.” It nearly choked him to include Harriett in the trio of deaths, but he had to do it. He was watching Bentwhistle closely, and had seen the man glance down at the coffin when he had mentioned Harriett’s name. Mark felt strangely sick at what he was potentially going to find beneath the lid. “More and more people are gossiping now about the deaths, and looking for links in all sorts of areas, including yours. What did you intend to do? Work your way around the village, killing people off whom you think are talking about you? Did you plan to keep stealing from the dead and hope the relatives were too upset to notice that their heirlooms were going missing? What then? What did you hope to do when this all ended? Do you really think you can dig yourself out of financial debt through thieving from the dead, and build on your business by creating your own customers?”
Mark heaved a sigh. While he knew that he had to get Bentwhistle to admit to his crimes in front of witnesses to be able to ensure he met the full force of justice, he was acutely aware that Harriett was entombed in the box at his feet. If she needed medical assistance, Mark had to get it to her as quickly as possible. He nodded to Isaac and Fred, who moved to stand behind Bentwhistle. Mark watched the funeral director glance warily at the men and shift uncomfortably. He wondered if the killer would have the audacity to try to make a run for it, but the sight of the men from the pub scattered about the church yard seemed to deter him.
“You cannot prove the thefts,” Bentwhistle snorted defiantly. “Having nothing more than a vague description of the items isn’t enough.”
“Oh, I think you will find that I have more than enough evidence against you to stand up in court and make sure that you go away for a very long time. We already have descriptions of you from the pawn brokers, and have already obtained several of the items back. These have been identified by relieves of your customers as stolen. The case is coming together against you. Fred, arrest him and get him out of here.”
Mark didn’t bother to watch Fred, and several of the men from the pub, escort Bentwhistle out of the churchyard. No sooner had Bentwhistle turned away than Mark bent over the coffin. He flicked a worried look at Isaac.
“Help me get this lid off,” he ordered darkly. He tugged and pulled before a curse broke the silence.
“Here, use these,” Charles offered and began to unscrew the shiny silver knobs on the lid. Several hands moved forward to help and, within minutes, the lid was lifted.
“Jesus,” Charles whispered as he stared in horror at Harriett, who was laid out with her arms across her chest as though she was dead. Her head was matted with blood, which had stained the white silken material that covered the inside of the coffin.
Mark couldn’t speak. His heart hammered and a huge lump had formed in his throat that almost threatened to choke him. He gently slid his arms under her shoulders and knees, and lifted her carefully out of the casket. She was still warm. Unable to find the words necessary for even practical things, he simply stood and cradled her. He was only vaguely aware of Isaac ordering someone to fetch the doctor.
“Is she alive?” Isaac demanded.
Mark buried his face in her neck and almost wept with relief at the faint flutter of her breath on his cheek. “She is.”
“Let’s get her home. The doctor can see her there. We have to get her warm and dry.”
It was the most that Mark had ever heard Charles say, but each word was enshrined on his memory. He knew that until the day he died, he would never forget the feelings that battered him as he stalked across the churchyard. He ignored the sea of curious faces that lined the streets of the village as he carried her home.
Once there, he had no sooner placed her on the bed than the heavy thump of boots on the stairs heralded the arrival of David Woods.
“Isaac has already told me,” David announced as he swept through the door. “Let me check her over. I will come downstairs and see you when I have done.”
Mark shook his head. Nothing would persuade him to be parted from her from now on. He glanced at Babette who had appeared in the doorway but, rather than leave, he dragged a chair closer to the bed and took a seat. He couldn’t break contact with her and continued to hold her hand while David carried out his examination. Babette returned at some point with a bowl of water and began to help David bathe and
dress the cut on the back of Harriett’s head. The discomfort they caused was enough to bring her out of her sleep.
“Thank God,” Mark murmured and shoved some strips of cloth to one side to sit beside her. He drew her tenderly into his arms and positioned her head against his shoulder while David finished dressing the wound.
“She will be a little groggy for a while, but there is no sign of any other injuries apart from cuts to her hands. I will leave some powders for the headache. Meantime, I will be back later to check on her.” David gave Mark a rueful look. “I left a surgery full of curious patients who will be banging on the door with impatience. If there is anything else, just send for me again. I am only just down the road.”
“Thank you, David. I am just glad that you were so close and able to get here so quickly.”
Even the sight of her blood on the white pillow case made Mark’s blood boil and he stared blankly at the wall for several long moments while he tried to get his shattered emotions under control.
“I will just be downstairs, Mark. You look like you could do with a cup of tea.”
Mark snorted and shook his head. “We need to get hold of the vicar if he is available.”
Babette froze and turned to stare at him in alarm. “She is alright,” she protested. “The doctor said so. Hugo’s funeral can go ahead without Harriett. I am sure everyone will completely understand.”
“I know. Harriett isn’t fit enough to go anywhere for the time being but I can promise you, Babette, that when she is, the first place we are going back to is that church.”
“Why?”
“Because the only way that I can remain in my job and stay safe is with the knowledge that Harriett is alive and well, at home where she belongs, where I can check on her whenever I need to, provide for her, love her, and give her anything and everything she wants, whenever she wants it. I won’t settle for anything less.”
Harriett Page 30