The wary step back she took was duly noted, and he watched the furtive way she glanced around the small garden as though searching for a way out. He wanted her to feel unnerved. If he had any hope of bringing the investigation to a resolution, he had to prod her into doing something that would link her to the carriage. He had received a report from Fred that the carriage hadn’t moved all night and Miss Smethwick hadn’t been seen, but was more convinced than ever that she was the owner.
He eyed her basket. “Are you going for more coal? We will walk with you and we can chat while we walk.” Mark felt her glance sideways at him and waited until they were on their way before he broke the silence.
“Tell me something, Miss Smethwick, what do you think about the messages that were given at the séances?”
Miss Smethwick gave an unladylike snort and sighed. “I think that they are nothing but rubbish. Those two charlatans should be arrested, I can tell you.”
“Do you think it is all nonsense?”
“You were there the other night, what do you think?”
“I think that there are a lot of questions that remain unanswered, but that doesn’t mean Madame Humphries or Miss Hepplethwaite are charlatans.” He put in enough of a note of caution to raise the woman’s ire and it worked. He glanced at her and caught sight of the fiery anger in the woman’s black gaze. Up close, it was quite evident that she was about as close to seventy years old as he was, even if he discounted the unlined hands and youthful eyes. Whoever he was walking with was most definitely not the old Miss Smethwick, who had spent many years living in the village. It raised alarm bells within Mark that the original Miss Smethwick had yet to be accounted for. He could only hope that he didn’t have a third murder on his hands already. Right now, he was more convinced than ever that the woman he was walking with was the woman in her thirties who rented the barn from Mr Brewster.
“You have seen them and that ridiculous carpet bag they carry about. Let me ask you one thing; these women claim to talk to spirits, right?”
Mark nodded when the woman looked at him. His ears were tuned into her voice. It wasn’t the trembling, doddering voice he would normally expect from an elderly lady. This woman’s voice was firm, strong and fully of acid-like conviction that rang in each of her clipped words.
“Then why do they need that huge carpet bag that you could fit three of Beatrice’s feral cats in? Have you been to one of their demonstrations?” Her face was contemptuous. She didn’t wait for his answer before she launched into her tirade. “I suggest that you do, officer. I suggest you go to one of those ridiculous pantomimes and take a good look at what they do. There is one tonight over at the Civic Hall in Great Tipton. Go and see their fake hands that glow in the dark for yourself. The silly strange glow they create with the lamp and the green cloth, and that ridiculous muslin that Madame Humphries stuffs in her mouth and pretends is spirit essence is nothing but a joke.”
Mark coughed at the force of the woman’s anger and wondered if she had some sort of personal vendetta. He frowned at her comment about the muslin in the mouth and immediately thought of how Minerva Bobbington had died. Were Madame Humphries and Miss Hepplethwaite the killers? If so, why?
“You have been to one I take it?”
“Only one, thankfully. I went just to see if they were stupid enough to continue with their charade. You need to look into their background a bit more. They hail from Charing Cross in London, and have been stealing money from people for a long time. It is about time you took them off the streets before they defraud anyone else out of their house and home.”
Mark stopped walking and moved to block her path. “You said, ‘anyone else from losing their home’. Do you know one of their victims?” It wasn’t a question, and he had his answer in her eyes. “Tell me now.”
“They use the clairvoyance to steal from people. They are playing a visual trick on their customers. All you need to do to prove that is check that carpet bag they carry. They are no more spiritual than I am. They use trickery, lights and spooky atmospheres to lure people in and then pass around a bucket afterwards so people can ‘donate’, but to what? What are they expected to donate to? There is nothing that they need, no equipment they use, or there shouldn’t be if they were honest about what they do. But I suppose that they have to purchase their false arms from somewhere, don’t they?”
“False arms?” Mark couldn’t help it, he was intrigued. He thought of the carpet bag he and Harriett had studied in Beatrice’s parlour and knew the woman was telling him the truth. He thought about the fraudsters from London who had vanished. “Who has been defrauded around here, apart from the people who go to the demonstrations?”
Miss Smethwick scoffed loudly and cast him a derisive look. “You are the detective, you figure it out. Go and ask the great Madame the questions. They have a lot more to answer than I do. You will not get another word from me until you deal with those two. I wouldn’t be surprised at all if they are not behind the deaths of poor Minerva Bobbington and Mr Montague either. They are thieves; heathens! They are one step away from debasing themselves with murder. You mark my words, Detective; you won’t go far wrong in arresting those two, preferably before you have another body on your hands.”
With that, the surprisingly spritely Miss Smethwick stormed off in the direction of the coal yard. They followed her for several yards and watched her disappear thro
ugh the wooden doors but, when they passed the entrance to the yard moments later, it was empty. Miss Smethwick hadn’t come out, but there was no sign of her or Mr Brewster either.
“Now where on earth could she have disappeared to?”
“The carriage,” Mark sighed. He knew, deep in his gut, that they would see that carriage out and about on the streets at some point throughout the day.
“Do you think she changes in it?”
“I don’t know, but I am damned sure that I am going to find out.”
“God, she was angry. Do you think she really knows something, or do you think that she is trying to provide herself with a smoke screen to cover her own activities?” Isaac whispered despite the fact that they were, temporarily, alone in the street.
“I don’t know, but I do think she is right about Misses Humphries and Hepplethwaite. I am going to go to the demonstration tonight. If there is anything even remotely fraudulent about what they are doing then both ladies are going to feel the long arm of the law.”
“Where to now?”
“I think we need to pay a visit to Helena Cridlingham. I need to find out what is going on with these thefts. There was a message about a fob watch at the first séance, if you remember. I want to know if that message is linked to Helena’s missing watch or something else that is missing that we don’t know about yet.”
Half an hour later, they stood on the front step at Helena’s house waited for the door to be answered. Gothic didn’t even begin to describe the house. The small mansion, built from dark, moss covered stone, was dark and gloomy. The aged air of weary opulence was tinged with a slightly sinister feel that was emphasised by the narrow unlit windows and overgrown gardens at the front of the house. Over the years, large parts of the house had fallen into disrepair. The huge turret situated to one side of the house had long since given up the fight against the persistent wall of ivy that now covered any sign of the solid structure that held up the pointed slate roof. Birds were perched on the barren beams that lay open to the weather. Off in the trees at the far end of the garden, rooks squabbled over prey. The flurry of black feathers broke the still morning air and made both men shift uneasily as they waited.
The faint ring of footsteps could be heard from inside moments before the door swung silently open. The vision that greeted their eyes made them both step back and they stared at the woman who held the door open. Mark coughed and tried to shake off his stupor. The woman, although beautiful, was strange. There was something about the clear, brilliant blue of her eyes that seemed to see straight through him, and he didn’t like it one bit. He felt as though she could see deep into his very soul and knew everything about him, even his darkest secrets.
Mark took a breath and tried to focus on the job at hand. “Helena Cridlingham?” At the woman’s nod he made his introductions and followed her into the house.