Harriett (The Tipton Hollow 1)

T-H-E-R-E-W-I-L-L-B-E-A-D-E-A-T-H.

Everyone froze and stared down at the table.

Nobody spoke. Nobody moved.

M-U-R-D-E-R-D-E-A-T-H.

“Oh, good Lord.” Miss Haversham’s voice shook with fear.

“If this is someone’s idea of a joke, I don’t think it is either appropriate or wise,” Miss Smethwick snapped. She snatched her hand away from the glass and glared at everyone as she pushed away from the table and moved to stand beside the fire. “I think we need to stop this nonsense now and all have a drink. Maybe then we can get some sense out of this evening.”

“Here, here,” Mr Montague replied fervently and left the table to warm his backside by the fire.

Constance gasped and they all turned back to the glass which had started to move under the remaining fingers.

T-H-E-R-E-I-S-A-L-I-A-R-A-M-O-N-G-S-T-Y-O-U.

“Who?” Harriett snapped. The small hairs on the back of her neck began to rise again and she scowled down at the glass in frustration. “Why won’t you tell us actual details?”

D-E-A-T-H.

A dull thud drew all of their attention and Mrs Bobbington screamed as she caught sight of Miss Hepplethwaite lying in a heap on the floor.

“Get her a glass of water,” Madame Humphries cried. She lunged out of her chair, knelt down beside her friend and began to fan her with the end of her scarf.

“Is she alright?” Mr Bentwhistle demanded.

“I don’t know. It is too dark to see in here. Can someone light the gas lamps again please?”

“I’ll do it,” Mr Montague’s rotund little frame scurried across the room with a fist full of spills only to pause and return to the fire to light one of them.

“It’s probably the excitement of the evening,” Miss Haversham snorted derisively. She appeared to be completely unconcerned by the rather dramatic turn of events and cast the woman on the floor a disparaging glance before she moved to a seat near to the windows.

“I’ll get some water,” Harriett offered. She made it to the kitchen with unerring accuracy and poured a cup of water from the jug on the dresser. With a shudder, and with no small measure of relief, she returned to the parlour. She was just in time to watch Miss Hepplethwaite take a seat beside the fireplace, assisted by Babette and Madame Humphries. Harriett hurried forward and held out the glass of water only for Babette to shake her head.

“I think she needs something stronger, don’t you?” Her calm gaze held Harriett’s for a moment. “I think we should stop now. Harriett, would you sort refreshments out please?”

Harriett hurriedly poured sherry and brandy from the decanters before she headed back to the kitchen in search of the cakes she had brought home from the tea shop. On the way, she took several moments to light the lamps and candles around the house, only slightly relieved to have each room cast in a more amiable light. Feeling considerably more settled, she handed out cake and plates to their guests and helped herself to a liberal dose of brandy.

“What do we do now?” Mr Montague demanded when he had sufficiently fortified himself with the alcohol. “I mean, I think we should call it a night now. This has gone far enough.”

“We cannot stop now,” Madame Humphries objected, clearly outraged at the notion. “There is the demonstration to perform yet.”

“I don’t think it is really a good idea -”

“Nonsense,” Madame Humphries snapped. “We have started now. The spirits have given us several messages. We have asked them to come forward. It would be rude to just cut them off now, especially now they have started to give us messages. We cannot just leave it now, there may be more.”

“But we don’t understand what we have already got,” Harriett argued. “How can we ask them for more?”

“I want to know if my mother is able to get in touch with a message,” Mrs Bobbington declared mutinously. “That’s what I came here for.”

“I don’t mind either way,” Tuppence declared and deliberately ignored her shaking hand as she took a sip of her sherry. “I mean, we have come this far. What is there to lose?”

Our sanity, Harriett almost snapped but wisely kept quiet. She had experienced more than enough of the charade for one night and didn’t relish it going any further. She glanced at each person in turn and heaved a sigh when nobody made their excuses to leave. They knew she couldn’t ask them all to go, it would be the height of bad manners. The weight of expectancy that hung over the room made it perfectly clear to everyone that the circle was going to go ahead.

“But Miss Hepplethwaite is not well. She needs to go home and rest,” Harriett argued lamely, although it was apparent from the rosy cheeks and the steady composure of the bird-like woman that she had quickly recovered from her sporadic ailment.

“Oh, I feel quite well now dear,” Miss Hepplethwaite replied calmly. Her eyes met and held Harriett’s. The calm, matter-of-factness in the woman’s gaze made Harriett wonder if it had all been carefully orchestrated to bring the séance to an end. She couldn’t blame the woman if she had had enough of the shenanigans of the evening. However, Harriett couldn’t help but wonder why the woman had feigned fainting in order to stop the messages. Was she the one who had given them but had been unable to provide any more information when pressed, so had decided to stop everything?