Harriett (The Tipton Hollow 1)

“How do you know we have been traipsing about?” Mark replied and felt a wave of defeat wash over him.

“Well, it is now mid-afternoon and you have just gotten here. I have no doubt that you have already called on some of the others who were there last night, so you must have worked up an appetite.”

Mark couldn’t fault her powers of deduction and heaved a sigh as he nodded his thanks, and relieved her of the plate. As soon as he put the plate on the table before him, he realised that the ladies were waiting for him to take a bite. He dutifully lifted his fork and took a mouthful of the fruit cake that was more than a little dry, had hard crunchy bits in and felt more like a door stop in his mouth. Nevertheless, he manfully smiled and swallowed several times in an attempt to get the offending foodstuff out of his mouth. He coughed uncomfortably as it scratched his throat, and took a desperate sip of his tea to wash it down. He wanted to warn Isaac not to bother with the doorstop, erm, cake, and watched with a smile of male superiority as his associate took a healthy bite of his own doorstop, erm, cake. The hesitation on Isaac’s face when the over baked cake exploded in his mouth like sawdust was enough to tell Mark that his assistant wouldn’t be able to speak for several minutes.

“Now, if you would, I should like you to recount events as they happened last night. In your own words, if you would.” He watched Isaac carefully put his cake plate down and smile around a mouthful that he clearly didn’t want to swallow. Mark drew out his own notebook and pencil and began to scribble notes.

“We have thought about this. Constance will tell you and I will add in anything that I think we may have forgotten.”

Together, the ladies recounted everything, including the final moments of Minerva Bobbington’s death. It was somewhat reassuring that they were as calm and matter of fact as Mr Montague and the facts they relayed matched everyone else’s account almost to the letter.

“Was Minerva Bobbington well thought of in the village?”

“I don’t know really. She arranged the flowers in the church, you know, and, as far as I am aware, she wasn’t at odds with anyone. Why? Was it murder?”

“Minerva Bobbington’s death is suspicious,” Mark replied carefully. “We are awaiting further tests but, until they come through, I would ask that you don’t discuss this with anyone. This has to remain entirely confidential. Now then, is there anything unusual you can recall about the evening?”

“Well, apart from the stool falling over in Harriett’s room upstairs, I cannot think of anything other than poor Minerva’s death.”

“Are you certain that you didn’t see anyone leave the parlour?”

“Well, it was very dark you see. There wasn’t much light to even see the letters on the table. Miss Haversham called the letters out as the glass landed on them, and Babette wrote them down. Eloisa picked up on the meaning of the messages once the lights had been turned on and she could read what Babette had written a bit more clearly.”

“Was Minerva bothered about anything? Did she seem worried at all?”

“Not as far as I can recall. We were all sceptical, and Miss Smethwick kept objecting to things people were saying and doing but, other than that, there was nothing untoward about Minerva. She had some sort of message about a cat, and she said that she didn’t have a cat, but I cannot remember much else to be frank. It is all a bit of a blur.”

Mark looked at Constance, one brow lifted in query. “Minerva had a message that she was going to get a cat. Oh, and Mr Bentwhistle had a message about a missing watch he had lost in the funeral parlour.”

“Missing watch?” Mark studied Constance and Mrs Dalrymple but couldn’t see anything other than honesty in either face.

“Yes, apparently he has lost a watch belonging to one of his clients. He had searched high and low for it but couldn’t find it. A message came through that it was in the embalming fluid.”

“Was it?”

Constance shrugged. “I have no idea. Nobody had the stomach to go and check and, to be honest with you, Mr Bentwhistle didn’t seem all that bothered. We did briefly discuss whether to carry on with the séance or not because the messages we did get didn’t make much sense, but everyone said that they weren’t going to go outside because it was windy and raining, so we carried on.”

There was a slight undercurrent of tension in the room, but he couldn’t quite put a finger on what it was. He wondered if the ladi

es had fallen out, or were waiting for something from him. He eyed the relatively untouched cake still on his plate and felt Mrs Dalrymple’s avid stare. Was she waiting for him to finish it? He fought the urge to tug at his collar like a school boy and heaved a sigh. There was no way out of it; he just had to finish the wretched stuff before he left. After all, there was no telling whether he would need to return for more information off either lady. He glanced at Isaac, who was doing his best to crumble down some of his portion while he ate the rest, and manfully took a healthy bite of his own slab.

Several moments later, feeling slightly sick and more than a little uncomfortable, Mark pushed to his feet. “I think that’s all for now. If you think of anything else, please don’t hesitate to get in touch.”

“Will you need to question us again?”

Mark sighed and hoped to God he never had to go back to the Dalrymple house again. “Only if I have some more questions for you. We are in the early days of our investigation, so it is feasible that I may need to return if I require any further information. Meantime, don’t discuss this with anyone and if you think of anything, you know where to find us.”

They hurriedly took their leave and closed the door on an atmosphere that was so tense it could have been cut with the cake knife they had used to saw into the door stop, erm, fruit cake they had forced upon Mark and Isaac. Mark secretly wondered if the cake had been offered on purpose as a way to stop them asking questions. Mark was about to close the gate at the end of the garden when the front door opened and Mrs Dalrymple came out clutching a piece of wrapped cloth.

Like a man who sensed danger, Mark groaned at the sight of the small, neatly wrapped parcel. He knew what it was before Mrs Dalrymple handed the heavy weight over the gate.

“You didn’t eat much of your cake,” she remarked more than a little pointedly. “So I thought you might like to take a piece home with you so you can enjoy it later.” She pushed the package at a stupefied Mark, who dumbly took it off her with a mumbled thanks. He heard Isaac snigger, and watched as Constance hurried out of the house with a rueful look on her face.

With their pockets weighed down, the men headed off to their next suspect.

Mark sighed despondently and stared down at the large Victoria sponge cake that sat in the middle of the well scrubbed kitchen table. He shared an askance look at Isaac, and felt his stomach churn. He didn’t need to touch his pocket to feel the weight of the heavy slab of cake still nestled there courtesy of Mrs Dalrymple.

As soon as Beatrice turned around, cake knife in her hand, he knew what was coming and shared a horrified look with Isaac.