Harriett (The Tipton Hollow 1)

“Do you want to bring him in for questioning?”

Mark shook his head. “Right now we have nothing to point in his direction. We need to get some evidence that will prove him guilty with absolute certainty. All we have is a missing vase. It could have been broken by that cat prior to Mr Montague’s demise.” Mark sighed and rubbed a weary hand down his face. “I think that I had better make tracks. There is a psychic demonstration that I want to go and see.” He withdrew his fob watch and glanced at the time. “Keep the key. Let’s see if Alan Bentwhistle asks for it back. He has no cause to come back here, but we don’t know if he intends to make free with his ability to help himself given that Hugo isn’t able to report any thefts himself now.”

“We don’t know what he has already taken though.”

“Quite. If we find the pawn broker who purchased that vase, find out if anything else was traded. We don’t know if anything else that was traded belonged to Hugo, but it may help us understand just how much Alan Bentwhistle has stolen.” Mark quickly closed out all thought of Helena Cridlingham’s strange predictions with a shudder. He didn’t relish Isaac having to traipse around the pawn brokers in town, but he would rather have preferred to have that job than what he was about to do.

Later that night, Mark escorted Harriett into the Civic Rooms in Great Tipton. His mother took a seat on one side of him, and he waited until Harriett had taken her seat before he settled down between them. He glanced at the doubt on Harriett’s face and wondered if she felt as nervous as he did. As the minutes ticked by, the crowd took their seats. Silence eventually settled over the room and everyone waited patiently f

or Madame Humphries to appear.

Marks attention began to wander and he thought again about the Hugo’s vase. Isaac hadn’t found anything in the rubbish and, according to the neighbour, since Hugo Montague had died, nobody had been to the flat except for Alan Bentwhistle. Sometime between Hugo leaving the flat on the day of his death and today, something had happened to the vase, but was it stolen as Helena had predicted, or broken?

Together with the missing fob-watch Helena had reported, the light of guilt was shining down on Alan Bentwhistle. If Helena was actually able to speak with spirit, and the warning to keep Harriett safe was indeed genuine, he had to seriously start to reconsider just how he was going to ensure that she remained as safe as possible while she was at work, in the tea shop, and at home. He couldn’t lose sight of the way Hugo Bentwhistle had died; innocuously drinking tea. Was it the murderer’s oblique way of referring to the very sinister and very real threat toward Harriett’s life? Or was he reading messages that weren’t there? If Alan Bentwhistle was a thief, where on earth did Madame Humphries and Miss Hepplethwaite come in to it all? Were they thieves too?

Until he could find either the fob watch or the vase, he had no way of getting to the bottom of just what the hell was going on and fought the urge to rest his aching head in his hands. He glanced at Babette, who sat on the other side of his mother and felt a pang of guilt. He hadn’t had the chance to speak to Harriett yet to see if she could tell him a bit more about why Babette was lying to get out of the house, and sneaking around in the evening.

A flurry of movement in front of him drew his attention and he faced forward in time to see Madame Humphries stalk regally into the centre of the empty floor. The audience were seated in a semi-circle and faced the chair in which Madame Humphries sat with her back perfectly straight and her chin tilted almost defiantly. She didn’t speak to the audience or acknowledge them in any way; merely sat and stared blankly into space. Mark wondered if she was on some sort of medication that left her a little out of her consciousness.

Surprisingly, it was the usually extremely nervous Miss Hepplethwaite, who moved to take centre stage and stood in front of the audience with her hands held at her waist while she waited for everyone’s attention. She didn’t have to wait very long. An air of expectation hung over the crowd and Mark felt certain he could have heard a pin drop at the back of the room because it was so quiet. He glanced at Harriett who, for some reason, looked incredibly sad. Did the demonstration remind her of the recent spate of murders? In spite of the fact that they were in full view of everyone, he held her hand.

Harriett made no attempt to pull away and gave him a small smile. If she was honest, she didn’t want to be at the demonstration. She had accepted Mark’s offer to escort her, partly because she had been thrilled that he had asked her out, and partly because she had been curious to know why he had wanted to come. He hadn’t said as much after the séance at Beatrice’s, but he was sceptical about the entire business of talking to spirits. She knew that he was there more out of professional curiosity than personal interest and she couldn’t really blame him. There were times when she wished that she hadn’t started the entire spiritual circle business. Maybe then Minerva Bobbington and Hugo Montague would still be alive, and she wouldn’t be scared to step out of her own front door.

She wondered how he had picked up on her anxiety, but couldn’t bring herself to question it. Mark was a very compassionate and caring man. He was someone who seemed to have no compunction against offering someone comfort in their hour of need. He seemed to be particularly intuitive to those around him and she felt slightly privileged that she was, for the time being at least, included in that group of people he considered worthy of his affectation.

It felt right to sit by his side and hold his hand, even if it did draw the attention of several of the audience. Emboldened by his quiet strength beside her, she lifted her chin, squared her shoulders and turned her attention to Miss Hepplethwaite, who was apparently still waiting for the silent crowd to pay attention.

“Thank you for gathering around us here on this evening my friends. It is wonderful to have so many of you here. We are gathered here today to provide you all with the opportunity to communicate with those dearly departed relations, friends, colleagues and associates, who have long since passed into the spirit world. Our intention is to bring you messages and, hopefully,” she turned around to glance questioningly at the still silent, still watchful, Miss Humphries, “we can actually persuade one of the spirits to show themselves to us.” She raised her hands in a preacher-like gesture when the crowd ooh’d and aah’d, and shushed those who began to whisper.

“I would like to open the evening with a prayer.” Once everyone had their heads bowed, she began to recite the Lord’s Prayer, which was echoed by the congregation. No sooner had they finished than Madame Humphries stood and began to speak. Her sermon was surprisingly nothing to do with spirit. However, it did tell Mark that the woman felt very strongly about temperance and women’s suffrage. By the time she drew to a halt almost 20 minutes later, he was struggling to remain still in his seat and trying valiantly not to yawn. He was aware of Harriett’s deep sigh and they shared a rueful look of commiseration while Madame Humphries resumed her seat, and Miss Hepplethwaite took centre stage again.

“We will now begin with the readings. Madame Humphries will give a message. Please tell us if you can accept it. If nobody can take what Madame tells us, then we will ask for further information from our spirit friends.” She moved to the far side of the room, not next to Madame Humphries as Mark expected, but next to the curtains that sat behind Madame. The main gasoliers in the centre of the room was turned off and replaced by several large candles that had been placed sporadically around the room.

“Good Lord, is this really necessary?” Henrietta whispered only to be hastily shushed by the avid-looking woman seated behind her. “Shush yourself, woman,” Henrietta retorted with a glare.

A strange tap from somewhere within the room made several of the audience gasp. Everyone sat silent and watchful. Tension rose and they watched Madame Humphries suck in a deep breath.

“I know you are here my spirit friends, please come forward with your messages.” Her voice echoed around the cavernous hall. Mark could hear a mixture of sniggers and gasps as a strange glow began to surround the clairvoyant. Initially white in colour, it began to turn into a yellowish green haze, which hovered over Madame’s head in a quite menacing fashion.

“I have a message for Doreen,” Madame gasped in a voice that was about as spiritual as Mark’s.

“Here,” a rather stout woman called. “Tell me your message.”

Mark bit his lip to hold the words of caution back. Her belief was clear from the eagerness on her face.

“I have a man here. He is your husband.”

The woman looked hesitant and glanced at the people around her as though she expected a man to pop up amongst them. “I don’t have a husband,” she replied hesitantly.

“He is your father then. I feel a strong fatherly bond with this man.”

“I hope not,” the woman replied. “My father was alive and well when I left him by the fire an hour ago.”

Titters of laugher swept through everyone but it did little to lighten the atmosphere. Those who were sceptical merely scoffed a little louder, while those who were firm believers listened just as avidly, clearly prepared to continue to believe in the afterlife.

Madame Humphries sighed. “Is there another Doreen in the house?”

Everyone remained silent.