Harriett (The Tipton Hollow 1)

“No, thank you. I am going to get some supper on before Charles comes back. Then I have to go to the church to sort out the flowers for the Sunday service,” Babette replied as she stomped up the stairs.

“Would you care to stay for supper with us, Mark?” Harriett felt a tiny thrill of anticipation sweep through her at the thought of sharing a meal with him, and felt more than a little deflated when he shook his head.

“I am sorry, but I have to get back to the station before I can call it a day,” he replied gently, although made no attempt to leave the table. “I take it that you are not going out tonight?”

Harriett shook her head. “I have some embroidery to do, then I am going to get an early night. With everything that has happened over the last few days, I need to see if I can get a good night’s sleep.”

“You are worried about the carriage nearly running into you?”

“I cannot see what I could have done to anybody to make anyone want to kill me. I mean, I go about my business. I don’t engage in gossip much at all and am either here, or at work at the tea shop.”

“I don’t think it is you, Harriett,” Mark replied. He couldn’t resist some kind of contact with her and pushed away from the table to draw her out of her seat. Once she was settled comfortably in his arms, he rested his chin on her head and savoured the feel of her feminine curves against him. He could hear the soft thud of Babette’s feet on the floor boards above and mentally thanked the woman for her discretion.

“I promise you here and now Harriett, that as long as you do as I suggest and don’t take any risks, you will remain safe. However, it is imperative that you stay away from Miss Smethwick until I can check her out. I will go and see her because I need to see for myself that everyone’s suspicions are accurate. I just need to catch her at home.” He leaned back to look down at her face. He didn’t raise the question as to what Miss Smethwick could be up to that took her out of the house so early in the morning and kept her away for practically most of the day, especially if most of the villagers kept a wary distance and she had no relatives in the area to visit.

Harriett had to tip her head back to look him in the eye. He was so close, and she couldn’t move away from the temptation he placed before h

er. She felt slightly brazen in allowing him to hold her so tightly but the warmth of his hold felt wonderful.

“The sight of that carriage last night is enough to put paid to any untoward outings. The house would have to be on fire for me to go out at night,” she murmured softly.

Her thoughts turned toward Babette’s mysterious journey in the early hours of the morning. It was on the tip of her tongue to confide in him: he was a police officer after all, but the tug of family loyalty kept her silent. She knew that she had to raise the issue with Babette, she just didn’t know how yet. It bothered her that her aunt was being so secretive, but she couldn’t conceive of any way that Babette might be linked to either of the murders, or the black carriage. It just wasn’t like her aunt.

Mark knew she was worried about what had happened and tried to find a way to reassure her but couldn’t without giving her promises that he wasn’t sure he could keep. It was going to take some time before she started to feel secure again. He could only hope that those doubts and insecurities would be eradicated once she moved into their marital home.

When Babette was on the stairs, Mark slowly eased his arms from around Harriett but not before he dropped a very thorough kiss on her lips. His mouth captured her soft gasp and he almost groaned with the need to plunder. Instead, he was forced to loosen his hold and only just managed to put some respectable distance between them before Babette appeared in the doorway.

“Oh, are you off already?”

“I am afraid so, I have a few calls to make before I go back to the station,” Mark sighed.

Although 29 Daventry Street was a far cry from the huge house he had grown up in, he liked Harriett’s home. It was of an average size for a middle class house, but was warm and inviting. He would much prefer to stay and laze in front of the fire than traipse out into the dark to think about death and theft. With a sigh, he captured Harriett’s hand and drew her after him as he walked toward the front door.

“I will be back in the morning, same time, to escort you to work again,” Mark warned her and took the opportunity of being alone with her again to drop a kiss on her lips. “Lock the door behind me.”

He disappeared into the night and drew his jacket closer around him while he waited for Harriett to slide the bolts home. As soon as the metallic clunk resounded through the night air, he left the front step and headed off down the street toward the pub.

The heady atmosphere of the busy pub was in contrast to the relative quiet of the street outside. All of the shops were now shut, leaving the streets practically deserted. Only a few stray people hurried this way and that before night fell upon them completely. The pub was full of miners and various tradesmen: most of the women were at home cooking tea or getting children in bed. The air was heavy with tobacco smoke and the heady scent of ale, but Mark paid no attention to any of it as he made his way toward the bar. He had already walked past the coal merchants and noted the gates closed to trade.

“Ale please, barman,” Mark dropped a couple of coins on the table and waited until the barman returned. “Can you tell me if Brewster from the Coal Merchants is here?”

“Down there.” The barman nodded to the far end of the room. “The one with the hair like a foggy day.”

Mark immediately knew which man he meant. Not only was the coal man still covered in black dust, and had a wild mass of tangled white hair that stood out like a beacon on his head. Mark headed in his direction and, moments later, placed his glass next to the man’s on the bar. When the merchant glanced sideways at him, Mark nodded.

“You’re that Detective who is working on the murders, ain’t ya?” Brewster muttered with a frown.

“Afraid so.” Mark took a sip of his ale. “I need to ask you a few questions.” He felt, rather than saw, the man’s hackles raise.

“I ain’t got nothing to do with it.”

“I know. I just need to ask you a few questions.” He nodded to an empty table in the corner of the room and waited for the man to sit with him. As soon as they were seated, Mark leaned his elbows on the rickety wooden table.

“Is the black carriage in the yard yours?” He knew that it was not likely to be but had to ask.

“Do I really look like the kind of man who would use a bloody contraption like that?” Brewster snorted.

“Whose is it?”