Harriett (The Tipton Hollow 1)

“Now, let’s have some tea and cake, then we can chat,” Beatrice offered.

Constance was already seated on the other side of the table and was busy pouring tea. After the séance last night neither woman had wanted to spend the rest of the night alone, and so Constance had agreed to stop overnight in Beatrice’s spare room. After a late morning, they had spent the afternoon chatting about the events of last night. Constance had been about to head home when Detective Inspector Bosville and Detective Brown arrived.

Mark studied the huge wedge of sponge cake placed at his elbow as though it was about to leap up and strike him. A quick glance at Isaac revealed that he had similar enthusiasm for the offending foodstuff, but neither man was ill mannered enough to refuse such a generous offering.

“Thank you,” he muttered around an uncomfortable cough. “Now, I would like one of you to go through the events of last night.” He gave each woman a hard look. “Leave nothing out. I want to hear everything.”

“I take it she was murdered then?” Beatrice asked with a sigh.

“What makes you ask that?”

Constance gave him a pointed look that essentially told him that she wasn’t fooled. “I don’t know much about police procedures, but I don’t think that the police usually investigate deaths from natural causes.”

Mark’s lips twisted in wry amusement. “At the moment, she died from unnatural causes,” he sighed. He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to be frank with these ladies. Was it because they were close friends with Harriett, and he hadn’t been evasive with her? Or was it because they were both matter of fact; calm and steady as they sat, side by side, ready to talk to him. Both ladies looked well rested and completely unfazed by last night’s events and were in total contrast to Mr Bentwhistle, whose bizarre behaviour continued to plague Mark with questions.

“What did she die of?” The directness of Beatrice’s gaze assured Mark that they wouldn’t proceed until she knew.

“She choked on something in her drink.”

“It wasn’t Harriett,” Beatrice snapped with a definite shake of her head. “She isn’t like that.”

“I am not for one second suggesting that she would. I am here for facts, ladies, and facts only.

“Right then,” Constance said and cast a questioning glance at Beatrice, who nodded her approval. She took a paper and pen, and sketched out the seating arrangements at the séance table, and began to detail exactly what had happened with the precision and skill of an experienced detective.

By the time she had finished, Mark was shocked and Isaac openly impressed by their thoroughness. “What about the stool upstairs?”

“Oh, that,” Constance sighed. “Well, I have thought about that over and over again. I cannot see any conceivable reason why the stool would fall over as it did, except for the fact that it may have been knocked over by someone who was up there.”

“But the house was checked and nobody else was there,” Isaac argued. After a couple of minutes he jerked and seemed to realise that he was staring at Beatrice a little too intently. He liked the clear, level-headedness and pure honesty in her eyes. Something within him wanted to challenge her high intellect and he almost relished going head to head with her in a battle of wits.

“It was dark in the room though. The heavy curtains were closed and there was only one candle on. I could barely see my hand in front of my face and, if I hadn’t made a mental note of where everyone was sitting, I would not have been able to identify who was where. Who is to say that someone didn’t creep out of the room while the lights were out and go upstairs?”

“Whatever for?” Constance replied with a frown. “The only person who could have snuck away was Miss Hepplethwaite. Everyone else was engaged in conversation.”

“Miss Hepplethwaite barely spoke, so it wasn’t inconceivable that she could disappear for a couple of minutes, go upstairs, look for whatever she was after and then race back downstairs. She is thin and wiry, and wouldn’t make much noise.”

Mark shared a glance with Isaac. He hadn’t thought of the séance being a ruse to actually rob people’s homes but it was a possibility that they had to look into.

“The curtains were open when we got there,” Isaac noted.

“Yes, when there was a bump upstairs, everyone was seated around the table, but it was so dark that someone suggested that the curtains be opened. It didn’t do much to help except cast the room in shadows, but it was a bit better.” Constance took a sip of tea while she thought carefully about last night.

“So someone could have crept back into the room without being noticed.”

“I didn’t recall seeing Miss Hepplethwaite around the table all the time,” Beatrice sighed. “I cannot say for definite that she was there throughout the séance.”

Constance shook her head. “Me either.”

“I will look into it. Was there anything else untoward that you can remember?”

Both ladies shook their heads.

“What do you think about the messages? Do you think that they were real, or do you think that they were a prank of some sort?”

“Almost definitely a prank,” Constance replied crisply. “There was nothing coming through that a good gossip couldn’t have known about beforehand.”

“I agree. The message about Minerva getting a cat points to the fact that someone was playing a joke, or had overheard the wrong piece of gossip,” Beatrice added.