Harriett (The Tipton Hollow 1)

Harriett smiled at him, her heart bursting with happiness. “You most definitely will.”

Mark’s grin was still there when he sauntered casually over to Isaac. Nothing was going to spoil his happiness today, not even the investigation. He clapped his colleague companionably on the shoulder and steered him out of the small yard.

“What do you have for me then?”

“The file has come in on the missing clairvoyants Scotland Yard have been after.”

“And?” Mark’s voice suddenly turned cold and hard.

“One and the same.”

“Both of them?”

Isaac nodded. “Madame Humphries is really Charlotte Fotheringill. Humphries was her mother’s maiden name. Gertrude Hepplethwaite is really Gertrude Hegedus. Now, she is Hungarian, although, her father was when he was alive. Both of them hail from London and both are wanted for fraud for claiming to be spiritual mediums, clairvoyants, whatever. In London, it was Hegedus who took the driving seat with Fotheringill, aka Humphries, acting as assistant. The descriptions and drawings match the women in the cells. They are wanted on two counts of fraudulently obtaining money by deception, theft and attempted blackmail. One of the cases involved a city banker who started to get ransom notes about his secret affair after a séance that went wrong. It was eventually linked to the two clairvoyants. Needless to say, both women are wanted criminals. Scotland Yard have asked for them to be sent to them for trial.”

“They can have them.” Mark sighed with relief. Although he had a lot of paperwork to do now, the urgency to identify the fraudsters was removed. All he had to do now was identify which thefts they were responsible for, and what Alan Bentwhistle was involved in. For the time being at least, it meant that he didn’t need to rush back to Great Tipton to interview them.

“Any sign of either of them having any dead bodies linked to their séances?” He was only half joking.

Isaac sighed. “Nope. I am afraid not. They are fraudsters and thieves. In London, Hegedus was caught in an upstairs room of a customer’s house with her hand in the jewellery box. She escaped out of the window and, while everyone was giving chase, Fotheringill, aka Humphries, slipped away.”

“Thieves. That ties in with Harriett’s brooch. Why Tipton Hollow though?”

“Who knows? It may be somewhere quiet where they can hide for a while until the heat is off.”

Both men were quiet as they joined the busy main street.

“Are you going back to the station?” Isaac glanced up and down the road. He really wanted to go back into the tea shop and sample some of the delicious cakes that had been on the kitchen table. His stomach rumbled loudly but, from the far too intent way that Mark stared at the doors to the coal merchant’s yard, Isaac knew that it would be some time yet before he got the opportunity to eat.

“Let’s go and see if we can find our mysterious Miss Smethwick. We need to find out what she has done with the original Miss Smethwick everyone in the village has come to know and avoid.”

Minutes later, they walked steadily down the narrow country lane toward the solitary house that sat a little back from the road. Miss Smethwick was busy pruning roses and had her back to them. She didn’t notice their arrival until they stood on the neatly tended lawn behind her and Isaac’s discrete cough broke the silence.

Mark watched her for several moments. For a seventy year old woman there was strength in her movements that hinted at an age that was considerably younger than seventy. Mark studied the freshly dug garden next to the lawn and wondered if it contained hidden secrets.

“Miss Smethwick, good morning to you.”

He watched the woman spin around; her eyes wide with shock. The shears fell to the ground but she made no attempt to pick them up. There was a look of dismay followed by acceptance in her eyes. It was as though she had half expected them to appear and, now that they had, knew that her life was about to change. One smooth, unlined hand lifted to poke at the mop of grey curls on her head.

“I wouldn’t bother if I were you. We both know that it needs to come off.”

Mark watched her lips twist in a rueful grimace and was grateful that she didn’t deny it. Instead, with a sigh, she waved them toward the kitchen door at the back of the house. “Let’s go in, shall we? I am sure you have questions to ask.”

They were seated at the large, rectangular kitchen tab

le with steaming cups of tea at their elbow before Miss Smethwick took a seat. Several moments of silence settled over them before Miss Smethwick finally looked up. “Go on then, what do you want to know?” There was a hint of challenge in her gaze.

“Firstly, what’s your real name?”

“Jane Thompson.”

“Are you related to the original Miss Smethwick?”

“She is my aunt. The family resemblance is there.” She waved a hand carelessly to her face. To prove her point, she collected a small framed drawing of her aunt from the dresser and handed it to Mark. As soon as he saw it, he knew that it was the truth. He watched her remove the grey mop of curls and drop the wig onto the table.

“Where is your aunt, Miss Smethwick?” He nodded toward the window. “I take it that you are not digging anything other than your winter vegetables?”

“The last time I checked, Detective, my aunt was alive, if not all that well.”