Harriett (The Tipton Hollow 1)

She swallowed loudly and moved quietly toward the door. As she stood at the end of Babette’s empty bed her mind raced with the unanswered questions that stole her last chance of getting any sleep at all that night.

Harriett paused beside the back door of the tea shop and watched Mark close the gate to the small yard. Sometime during the night she must have fallen asleep because she had woken up just after dawn feeling tired and groggy. She had no idea what time Babette had returned home, but had been surprised to find her aunt already at the breakfast table with a hot cup of tea at her elbow seemingly unaffected by her nocturnal journey.

“Are you alright to stay here until I come back for you later this afternoon?” Mark asked as he moved to stand before her in a quiet corner of the yard. He could hear the clatter of pots and pans from inside the busy kitchen as Charles prepared the cakes for the day, but his attention was ensnared by the woman before him. From the look of the dark shadows beneath her eyes she had managed to get as much sleep as he had. His night had been plagued with dreams of a wonderfully warm and vibrant Harriett in his arms, intermingled with a deep fear that someone would come along and snatch her away from him.

This morning, although exhausted, he was driven by a desperate need that clawed at him with talons that refused to relinquish their hold. Ideally, he would have liked to have done nothing more than spend the day beside her in her parlour, and share tea and anecdotes with her. As it was, he had a murderer to unmask and fraudsters to gather evidence on. The weight of his workload preyed on him, yet he tipped his head down to hers and took advantage of being alone with her.

Harriett made no objection to his possessive behaviour, and merely melted against him when he slid his arms around her waist and drew her tighter against him. She copied what she did last night and tipped her head back while she clung on to his jacket. With a groan, he immediately deepened the kiss. It wasn’t a long possession, merely a swift claim of ownership that left her slightly off balance and gasping for breath when he finally did lift his head.

“Please be safe today, Harriett, and don’t leave the tea shop unless you have one of the constabulary with you. My men will bring their identity badges with them to confirm they are part of my team if I am unable to get back to you in time.” He couldn’t help it, and dipped his head down for one final kiss before he slowly eased his arms from around her. Stepping back from her tempting warmth was far harder than he had realised it would be and he sighed with reluctance as he took several steps away from her. “Now go inside before you get cold.”

Harriett nodded absently. She wished she could be as unaffected by the kisses as he was. She gently touched her lips as she entered the kitchen and glanced out of the window in time to see the gate close behind Mark.

“Get a hold of yourself,” Harriett muttered as she tugged off her jacket and hung it on the hook beside the door.

“What was that?” Charles called as he bent to put another tray of tea cakes in the oven.

“Nothing. I am going to check we are ready for opening,” she replied with a glance at the clock. She hurried into the tea shop but her mind was stubbornly locked on the tall, wonderfully gentle Detective who had so easily stolen her heart.

Later that afternoon, Harriett stifled a yawn and hurried across the room to deposit the tray of afternoon tea before Miss Haversham. Despite the coolness of the autumn afternoon, the sun was out and cast the room in cosy warmth that left Harriett’s cheeks rosy.

“Take a seat, Harriett, dear, I wanted to have a quiet word with you,” Miss Haversham ordered when Harriett turned to leave.

Glad for the brief respite, Harriett glanced around the busy room and was satisfied that everyone was accommodated for now and didn’t require anything urgent. With a sigh, she dropped into the seat opposite Miss Haversham and she shook her head at the tea the woman held out to her.

“Firstly I want to congratulate you on your engagement.”

Harriett paused and looked the older woman in the eye. The forthrightness in the direct gaze left Harriett in no doubt that Miss Haversham had seen through the ruse, but was fully supportive of it.

“Thank you,” she replied quietly and leaned forward to brace her elbows on the table. “Now what did you want to talk to me about?”

Silence settled between them and Harriett watched as Miss Haversham slowly poured her tea and dropped two spoons of sugar into her cup. When she continued to slowly stir her tea in a mesmerising circle, Harriett took a deep breath and lifted her gaze. Miss Haversham was staring at her in a rather too probing way that was more than a little unnerving.

“What have you noticed about Miss Smethwick?”

“Miss Smethwick?” Harriett frowned and glanced down at the spoon as she thought carefully. “Nothing, she is just as parsimonious as ever,” she replied and closed her mouth with a snap. Miss Haversham’s laugh drew several interested gazes.

“Don’t worry dear, my sentiments exactly.” Miss Haversham leaned forward conspiratorially. “I mean that there is something deuced odd about that woman and I don’t mind admitting it.”

“Odd in what way?” Harriett asked, intrigued as well as suspicious. If Miss Haversham was going to start to gossip, Harriett would prefer to get some work done. As much as she wanted to walk away, she was stuck to her seat and leaned forward when Miss Haversham glanced furtively around the room and lowered her voice.

“Unless I am mistaken, our Miss Smethwick has grown by several inches and put on a bit of weight.” She pointed to a spot on her chin. “The mole that used to be there has gone.”

Harriett studied her with a frown. She hadn’t thought about it before but she knew that Miss Haversham was right. Miss Smethwick; the Miss Smethwick whose gate she had always run past as a child because the sight of the house, and the old woman, scared her so, had indeed had a mole on her chin the size of a small pea. The Miss Smethwick who had been at the séance last night had had no facial blemishes whatsoever.

“Unless the woman is drinking some sort of water that the rest of us don’t have access to, she has also got to answer to why someone in her seventies has hardly any lines on her face whatsoever.” Miss Haversham tipped her head forward knowingly and gave Harriett a pious look as she took a sip of her tea.

Harriett was stunned. Now that she came to think of it, last night Miss Smethwick certainly hadn’t had many lines on her face. She hadn’t seen Miss Smethwick out and about much at all during the daytime of late. On the odd occasion when the supposedly old woman had stopped to pass the time of day, she had been snippety and rude, to the point that Harriett had felt decidedly uncomfortable and almost compelled to be on her way.

“Who do you think it is then?” Harriett gasped. “Where do you think the real Miss Smethwick is?”

Miss Haversham gave her a look that warned her to keep her voice down. She took longer than was necessary to put her tea cup down and eventually looked up at Harriett with a sigh. “I don’t know, but the next time you meet the Miss Smethwick who is moving around and about this village, take a closer look and ask yourself if she looks the same as the woman you grew up being afraid of. I know for certain that the woman who is in Miss Smethwick’s house is not over seventy years old. When I have spoken to the person who lives in Miss Smethwick’s house, I have reminisced about several incidents that I have shared with the old Miss Smethwick, but have been met with blank evasiveness that just isn’t right, I tell you.”

Now that Miss Haversham had raised the issue, there were a few odd things about Miss Smethwick’s behaviour. At the first meeting of the Psychic Circle, the devout church goer, who eschewed all vices known to man, including the demon drink, had imbibed several liberal doses of sherry rather than water. When she had interrupted the messages, her voice had rung loudly with a firmness that was at odds with a woman in her seventies. Harriett felt her skin crawl at the thought that she had been in the company of someone who had fooled them in such a way. She had not only sat with the fraudster, but had sat in the dark with her and hadn’t suspected a thing.

Her thoughts immediately turned to the mysterious black carriage last night and she couldn’t help but wonder if the two were linked. After all, if someone had moved into the village to live in Miss Smethwick’s house, what on earth had happened to the old Miss Smethwick?