Harriett (The Tipton Hollow 1)

“They would have to be either very clever or incredibly stupid,” Isaac agreed. He couldn’t see either Harriett, or Babette, being a cold blooded killer. He hadn’t spent much time in Tipton Hollow himself, but he had learned enough about the place to know that the tea shop Harriett ran with her family had an excellent reputation for miles around. The family were held in high regard, and had excellent community relationships with businesses and locals alike. They were the least likely people to be involved in such a sordid event as murder.

“Which house first?”

“I need to go to Harriett’s and see if they have cleaned out the room yet. Hopefully, the decanters will have been left untouched. David wants them so he can run a few tests for poisons and the like.”

“Or more pieces of cloth?” Isaac added ruefully.

“Or more pieces of cloth,” Mark sighed. Now that the cause of death had been identified, he felt driven to get to Harriett’s house as quickly as possible and stop her from drinking any more of that sherry.

It seemed to take an age before the carriage rumbled to a stop outside 29 Daventry Street in Tipton Hollow. Mark left Isaac to pay the driver and stalked toward the front door in hurried strides. He tried to keep his impatience at bay, however knocked on the door with more force than was necessary.

Harriett hurried through the house and wiped her hands on her apron. Her stomach dipped as soon as she saw the outline of the person outside. She knew who it was before she opened the door, and poked at the random curls that had escaped the bun at her nape self-consciously as she took a deep, fortifying breath. With a hand that trembled, she turned the latch and pasted a cautious smile on her face that was at odds with the thrill of excitement that coursed through her.

“Good morning,” Harriett called and stood back to allow the men into the hallway.

“Good morning, Harriet,” Mark replied gently as he studied her.

There were dark smudges beneath her eyes that told him she had slept as little as he had. Her complexion had lost the healthy glow she had had last night, and she now stood before him pale and guarded. He hated to see her thus and searched for something to say to reassure her.

“Do you remember Detective Brown?”

It was just over twelve hours since they had left the house, of course she remembers him, Mark thought and mentally winced at the stupidity of his question.

“Yes, I do, good morning, Detective. Can I get you both some tea?”

“Yes, please. That would be wonderful.”

Harriett hesitated at the parlour door. She couldn’t bring herself to go into the room today any more than she could last night and wondered how she was going to get around her sudden reluctance to even think about tidying the room.

“Why

don’t we go into the sitting room where it is more comfortable?” Mark suggested softly. He had seen the brief flash of fear on her face and read her reluctance for what it was. “Has nobody been in there yet?”

“Not yet. Babette has been baking and I, well -” Harriett hesitated. She was at a loss to explain her aversion to being in the room because she wasn’t normally a squeamish person but for the life of her she couldn’t even open the parlour door, let alone go into the room.

“It’s alright, Harriett, we do understand, and it is quite fortuitous really,” Mark murmured softly. “I will explain why in a moment.” He motioned toward the rear of the house and followed her down the hallway.

What was it about this man that seemed to rob her of her common sense? This was the second time she had met him, and the second time her world felt slightly off kilter, as though nothing was quite the same and wasn’t ever going to be right again. Not in a negative way, but in a way that she knew that something major had happened in her life and it would always colour the way she viewed events and circumstances around her.

The men took a seat in the room next to the kitchen and waited while Harriett fetched a tray of tea things. She poured the fragrant brew while Babette placed a plate of assorted cakes on the table, the scent of which made Mark want to groan. Once everyone was furnished with tea and cake, the ladies took their seats and waited with an air of trepidation for Mark’s news.

“I don’t see any way to soften the news ladies, but I am afraid I have to inform you that it looks like Minerva Bobbington died of unnatural causes last night.”

Harriett stared at Mark as the words rolled around in her head. They tried to seek a place in which to fall into some semblance of order and make sense, but failed miserably.

“Murder?” She whispered as she stared in horror at Mark, then Isaac. She wanted to deny it was possible, but couldn’t because the truth was written in their eyes. She jumped when the warmth of Mark’s hand landed gently on hers as it rested on the table. The calm reassurance in his steady green eyes immediately settled her and she took a breath to quell the shock. In that moment he was her anchor in a storm tossed sea; her steady ray of hope in the storm that had descended upon her and unleashed its fury. Murder? In her house? How? Who? Why? Questions tumbled around in her mind but her mouth was too dry to speak. Tears pooled in her eyes at the thought of poor Minerva Bobbington. Who would want to kill such a poor, defenceless soul as Minerva?

Mark knew that it was highly unprofessional of him to offer even such a minor attempt at comfort, but the distress on her face made him angry. Someone had upset her; made her cry in fact, and that made him all the more determined to get to the bottom of what had really gone on in her parlour.

“How?” Harriett asked in a quivering voice. Her eyes silently pleaded with him to tell her and he simply couldn’t refuse.

“She choked on something in her drink?”

“Something in her drink? What?” Her eyes stared in horror at him. The regret on his face was plain, as was the reassurance in her eyes. She could see no accusation or suspicion, merely calm authority that steadied her.

“There was something in her drink that got lodged in her throat. It looks unlikely that it was an accident but, until we can find out how it got into her drink, we need to treat this as an unexplained death.”

“Murder,” she whispered.