“I like cake as much as the next man, Harriett, don’t get me wrong, but not morning, luncheon, afternoon, tea-time and,” he paused and glanced at his pocket watch, “evening.”
“The ladies are all part of the church and involved in the village fetes, that kind of thing. I know Miss Haversham was quite put out that Beatrice won the first prize in the cake competition with her Victoria sponge, and Constance Dalrymple nearly put one of the judges in hospital with her fruit cake.”
Mark snorted at that, “I can understand,” he reported with a wry grin. “It hasn’t sat with me too well either.” He rubbed his aching stomach and shook his head in mock despair. “Are they trying to issue us a warning?”
“Sit and rest for a while, you will feel better soon. You need to wash it through with water.”
“I have drunk more tea today than I usually drink in an entire week.”
“Strange that, I could almost certainly detect a whiff of ale about you,” Harriett replied with a smirk as she disappeared into the kitchen to put the kettle on.
Mark smiled, aware of the familiarity of their conversation and the ease in which he was made to feel at home. As he waited for Harriett to reappear, he took the opportunity to study the sitting room in more detail. The whole house was larger than most two up, two down terraces, and was more in keeping with the home of a wealthy but middle-class businessman than a hard-working family such as the Marchingtons. There was the usual aged and heavily used furniture, namely a table and several chairs which took up pride of place in the centre of the room and two large chairs which bracketed the huge stove. Cupboards on either side of the fireplace hid most of the paraphernalia used in houses these days, while a large dresser along the back wall displayed the family china. Everywhere was scrubbed to a high shine and smelled of lemons and soap. It was wonderfully cosy room, and far less ostentatious than the front parlour.
He absorbed the warmth of the fire and had to work to resist the urge to rest his boots on the fender. As he studied the glowing embers, he couldn’t help but wonder how they managed to live in a house the size of this from the profits of running a tea shop in a relatively small village like Tipton Hollow. The cost of the coal needed to keep the stoves heated would cost an arm and a leg. He glanced over at the fairly modest fireplace. From the look of it, it had just been blacked and stood in highly polished splendour. The room glowed with hazy warmth that bathed the room in a homely atmosphere, even without the additional soft light from the gas lamp seated on the dresser.
“How long have you been living here, Harriett?” He asked when she reappeared.
Harriett placed a tray of tea things on the table and frowned for a moment. “I moved in when I was about twelve. My parents died within a year of each other so I moved in with Uncle Charles and Aunt Babette.”
“Your Uncle Charles is your father’s brother, I take it?”
“That’s right. They were the closest family I had.”
“Where were you born? My family come from Great Tipton, and I have lived there all of my life. I have been aware of the tea shop in Tipton Hollow. You have a commendable reputation, even in Great Tipton, but I cannot recall ever seeing you about before.” He wondered how he could have lived to close and never noticed someone as beautiful as Harriett.
“My parents lived in Sodsbury, about twenty miles away.”
“I know it. Nice little market town just outside of Pemberton.”
“That’s right.” Harriett had very little memory of what had been her childhood home and could only vaguely remember her mother, or father for that matter. They were but faint and distant memories to her.
“Do you still live in Great Tipton?” The question was out before Harriett could stop it, and she wondered if she had just crossed some invisible line of politeness, especially given he was a police officer working on investigating a murder in her home. Was it right and proper that she should be asking him personal questions?
“I do. My mother lives on this side of Great Tipton, on the Avenue Road. Do you know of it? The Mill House, next to the Tavern Green?” Mark described the village green on the outskirts of Great Tipton.
Harriett had been there regularly on her way to market. Despite the huge town just beyond it, the small green that had used to be a major part of the old village held a hint of timeless elegance that captivated the imagination and always made her want to explore.
“I know of it. You are very lucky; it is a very pretty part of town.” She didn’t add that it was also the most affluent. The houses that lined the village green were largely huge mansions that were owned by the town’s wealthiest businessmen. Only the richest could afford to live there. She studied Mark with fresh eyes and felt a little deflated, although she couldn’t quite work out why. It wasn’t as though there was anything between them, except a natural friendship that was at odds with the newness of their acquaintance. To Harriett though, his news felt as though some invisible line had just been drawn across the room, with him on one side and her on the other. A gulf opened up between them and left an almost awkward silence in its wake. She struggled to find something to say that would bridge the chasm. Luckily, Babette chose that moment to join them.
“Would you like something to eat?” Babette offered almost hopefully. She was poised, ready to return to the kitchen if he dared say yes.
“I am fine, thank you. I need to ask you a few questions.” He included Harriett in his gaze, but wondered what he had just said that had put her on edge. The way she had suddenly become distant and uncomfortable slightly perturbed him and, for the life of him, couldn’t figure out what he had said that could have upset her. Was it the mention of her childhood? He mentally winced at the thought that he had touched on a raw nerve.
After today, and even yesterday for that matter, he had no doubt they would become better acquainted. A small voice reminded him of Alice, and he resolved to meet with her as soon as possible. He tucked that thought aside for now and turned his attention back to the ladies, who sat at the table expectantly. Reluctant to leave the warmth of the fire, Mark leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees.
“I need you ladies to tell me if you have noticed anything missing in the house since the séance?”
Harriett frowned at him. “Like what?” She shared a look with Babette, who shrugged.
“Anything: jewellery, personal items, anything of even the smallest worth that might have a market value to someone?”
“You mean someone was a thief?” Babette stared at him with large, horrified eyes.
“I think that we need to go and take a close look at your rooms and find out if anything is missing.”
Harriett stared at him and felt unnerved at the thought that someone had rifled through her personal belongings. She pushed away from the table with a glint of determination in her eyes. She had barely reached the door before Babette and Mark joined her.
Together they walked into Harriett’s room directly above the parlour. The fire still glowed and took the chill off the room, but she still took her shawl off the end of the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders. She ignored the neatly made bed and skirted around the cast iron frame to stand before the chest of drawers along the far wall. She stared down at the contents of her top drawer for several moments. Babette moved to stand beside her on the left, and Mark on the right. He caught her hand as she was about to rummage.