Harriett (The Tipton Hollow 1)

“Take a seat, gentlemen,” Miss Smethwick offered cautiously. “What can I do for you today?”

Mark stared at her for a moment but kept his expression blank. Had the woman forgotten the important event of someone’s death the other night?

“We came yesterday. Unfortunately, you appeared to have been out at the time we called but I do believe that we told you to remain at home until we questioned you about the events at the séance,” Mark replied pointedly and with no small measure of censure in his voice.

“I wasn’t out at all,” Miss Smethwick argued. Her small straight nose lifted piously and she stared evilly at him with narrowed eyes that were filled with scorn. “I was here all day. I waited for you as per your instruction. However, if you have the ill manners not to turn up then I can hardly be to blame, can I. About eight o’clock in the evening, I was so tired that I fell asleep. It was dark outside when I woke up, so I went to bed.”

“That’s very odd, I thought I saw movement upstairs in the window when we left about six,” Isaac drawled. There was something about this woman that irked him. Was it the way her beady eyes seemed to accuse them, or the slightly odd way she carried herself? He frowned and continued to study her, even when she turned away with an angry sniff.

“Cats,” Miss Smethwick snapped. She nodded to a spot behind Isaac, where a large black cat lay curled up on the window sill.

Isaac immediately thought witch’s cat, but remained silent as he glanced at the huge beast.

“They like to lie in the windows and watch the gardens for mice.” As if on cue, the cat chose that moment to jump down. His hind quarters brushed against the curtain, which moved against the window.

Isaac lapsed into silence and studied the woman before him. There was something strange about her only he couldn’t quite put a finger on what it was. She was a little too defensive, a little too wary and, although he had yet to discover her age, there was something odd about her face. He eyed the wild mass of hair that sat like a halo atop her head. It looked as though it belonged to someone else. Liberally streaked with grey, it would be best suited to someone in their eighties. Something about Miss Smethwick’s eyes bespoke of a person who was several years younger than they appeared to be. He mentally shook his head at his wayward imagination and turned his attention back to the interview.

“I want you to go through the night of the séance,” Mark began. “Please tell us everything that happened and don’t leave anything out. I want you to try and remember as much as you can. I know it was dark at the time, but try to think about the times you looked up and studied the faces of the people around you.”

Miss Smethwick took a breath and slowly recounted the night with astonishing detail. Every nuance, every lifted brow, all of it came tumbling out until, by the time the old woman lapsed into silence, Mark was a little bit stunned. He couldn’t be sure that she was entirely accurate with all of the details, and was positive that she had embellished a few facts to make herself a credible witness; he just had no idea why. After all, if it was as dark as everyone had reported it to be, she could not have seen Madame Humphries’ brows lift at some of Hugo’s comments or Tuppence share a scowl with Harriett. Nevertheless, he couldn’t actually call the woman a liar.

“Of course, you know, it is all stuff and nonsense,” Miss Smethwick snorted. U

nlike almost everyone else in the village, she had offered no refreshments and it was far too early in the day for cake and for that, Mark was very grateful.

“What is?”

“Communicating with dead people,” Miss Smethwick snapped with a sigh. “I kept telling them to stop but nobody would listen to me.”

“Why did you go then? I mean, if you don’t believe in it, why waste an entire evening listening to a clairvoyant attempt to talk to dead people?” Mark reasoned and studied the flush in the woman’s cheeks.

Having her opinions questioned seemed to really irritate the old woman and he couldn’t help but wonder why. She couldn’t be so arrogant as to consider her opinions the be-all and end-all, could she?

“I went to disprove the woman’s claims that she is able to talk to anyone other than living people. This woman is a fraud and a liar and I intend to prove it.”

Mark shared a look with Isaac. “How do you intend to do that?”

“By going to each and every séance, and proving her to be the fraud that she is,” Miss Smethwick sighed. “You must have read the newspapers. Reports are all over them of people being conned out of hundreds of pounds by fraudulent people who purport to be communicating with the dead. Fools that they are, unsuspecting victims have blindly handed over hundreds of pounds and received what in return? Lies! That’s what they have received. Lies and deceit! It’s got to be stopped, I tell you.”

Mark’s gaze dropped to the woman’s small fist as it thumped the threadbare arm of the chair with surprising force. He made a mental note of the fire in the woman’s gaze that once again belied her age, and he suddenly didn’t relish Madame Humphries’ crossing this woman’s path.

“So you went to discount her reliability?”

“Of course I did. I wouldn’t be seen dead at one of those things otherwise,” Miss Smethwick sniffed. “No pun intended.”

Isaac coughed. He hated to admit it but he was starting to warm to this woman. She might be a little too vocal, but had fire and determination and he could respect her opinions, even if he didn’t agree with her methods.

“Don’t you think it would be better to leave such matters to the police? After all, the newspaper reports state that these fraudsters are being arrested. We are doing our job, but we cannot arrest people without evidence that they have actually committed any crime. Unless you have got proof that these people are fraudulent in their dealings, I really would urge you to be careful, especially after what has happened to Minerva Bobbington.”

“You cannot seriously think that those messages actually mean something, can you?” Miss Smethwick leaned forward in her chair. Her small beady eyes moved from Mark to Isaac, back to Mark again before she snorted and settled back in her chair. “Lord have mercy on us, you do.” She shook her head as though unable to fathom the logic. “If the spirits were communicating with us, surely they would have known Minerva was about to die. Even they wouldn’t be so stupid as to tell her that she was going to get a cat if she was about to depart this mortal coil?”

Mark could understand her logic and had echoed that very same opinion only yesterday himself. “But you cannot ignore the death of Minerva Bobbington. That’s what we are here about. We need to know if you saw anything unusual that may give us any indication of who was behaving suspiciously at the séance.”

“You mean besides Madame Humphries and Miss Hepplethwaite?” Miss Smethwick sighed and stood, clearly impatient for the interview to come to an end.

Mark shared a look with Isaac and they pushed to their feet. He wondered why Miss Smethwick hadn’t enquired how Minerva had died. Everyone else at the séance had so far. Was it because she knew something about the cause of death already? The woman was clearly impatient to get the men out of the house and didn’t seem to be nervous at all, so why had she been hesitant upon answering the door? What did she have to hide?

“Everyone at that séance has been a part of this village for a long time. Nothing like this has ever happened before. Don’t you think that it is a little strange that Madame Humphries and Miss Hepplethwaite turn up, give some messages of warning, and then one long-standing member of the community turns up dead? I think, Detective Inspector, that rather than pestering the good, respectable citizens of this parish, you should focus your investigation on the new arrivals. Now, unless there is anything else you wish to discuss, I have nothing further to tell you.” Her voice was clipped and held a hint of anger that was not lost on either man. Mark wondered just what she had against clairvoyants, and couldn’t help but wonder whether she had fallen foul of a fraudulent psychic at some point.