Harriett (The Tipton Hollow 1)

“You mean by giving messages regarding her safety, she might feel that she has to have a private reading to find out if the threats are real, and get more information from the world of ‘spirit’.”

“Exactly.”

“It’s possible.”

“I bought the carriage as a way of being able to get up and down the country roads without having to hail a carriage or walk. I am just as capable as driving a carriage as the next person and it worked out well. By mounting the kerb and worrying Harriett, it stopped her from entertaining any notion of proceeding to encourage the likes of Hepplethwaite and Humphries that they had an audience in Tipton Hollow. The threats came from someone at that table, but it wasn’t from me. You were with her at the time. She needs to turn to you and stay with you. You are her fiancé, so it is your responsibility to make sure that she stays alive. Harriett has to stay well out of the way of Hepplethwaite and Humphries. They are already wanted by Scotland Yard. They are thieves and fraudsters. Who knows if they would turn to murder to be able to continue their lives of crime?”

“You think that they were involved in Mrs Bobbington and Mr Montague’s deaths?”

“I think that it is a possibility that you cannot ignore. Don’t rule anything out. Get those two off the streets before you end up with a third body on your hands.” It wasn’t a threat, it was a calm statement.

“They are already off the streets. They were arrested last night.” Mark leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees. He could just about forgive her for trying to scare Harriett, especially if it was to try to drive Harriett to turn to him. “Did you push the glass and give any messages at any of the séances?”

“No, I didn’t. I kept telling people to stop and that it was stuff and nonsense, but nobody listened to me. They were all carried along with the madness.” Jane sighed and threw her thick woollen shawl onto the chair beside her. “Unfortunately, gentlemen, my aunt doesn’t have too much longer on this mortal coil. She has a condition in her lungs that is making her very frail. I should like to start to spread the news that my aunt has gone away to the country to recover from an illness. She is going to die while she is away.”

“Sounds reasonable to me. We won’t discuss matters like this with anyone other than yourself. Now tell me, is there anything else you think we should know about either the deaths, or the thefts?”

“Tell me, Jane, did you have any cause to share tea with Hugo in his shop?”

Jane shook her head and gave him and Isaac a rueful look. “Miss Smethwick wouldn’t stoop so low as to sit with Hugo Montague and share tea with that inveterate gossip,” she replied in the waspish tone she had used to convince everyone that she was the original Miss Smethwick. She sighed and, in her normal voice, continued. “I am sorry, but I have wracked my brains and cannot think of anything. I do consider that you should be looking at protecting Harriett, because if those threats didn’t come from me, or you, or Hepplethwaite and Humphries, then someone else at that table means her harm.”

Mark had to agree with that. “Harriett’s safety is of paramount importance to me. If you do hear of anything, or remember something that may be of use to us, it is important that you let us know as soon as possible.”

“Of course.”

“What do you plan to do about this place now?”

Jane sighed and looked around the kitchen. “I am the main beneficiary of my aunt’s estate. When she passes, I will remain here but as myself.” She smiled wryly. “This place needs a lot of work, you know, so I can arrange for the renovations while I am here. I am a keen artist and might try my hand at seeing if I can create something I can sell.”

“Are you going to Hugo Montague’s funeral this afternoon?” Mark glanced at the clock. If he was lucky he should just be able to get back to the station and interview the ladies, and be free in time to escort Harriett to the church at four o’clock.

“I think it would be expected of Miss Smethwick, don’t you?” Jane’s lips twisted wryly. “Although I think Hugo Montague’s funeral has to be her swan song.”

Mark snorted. “It is an ingenious plot.” He glanced at Isaac. “I think you need to take a statement and add it to the file. Jane, I should like you to provide Isaac with drawings of all of the items that you know have been stolen from the house that you are able to prove belonged to your aunt.”

“I have already bought most of them back. They are family heirlooms and I couldn’t risk that they would disappear before I could get back to them, so I bought them as soon as I saw them.” She stood and hurried into the back room. Moments later, she placed a crate on the table between them and lifted the lid. Inside were various items, all of which would have earned a fair amount at a pawn shop.

Mark took his leave with a sigh of relief and left Isaac and Jane carefully cataloguing everything. For the first time in two very frustrating weeks, he now had more answers than questions. Unfortunately though, the biggest questions of them all were proving to be the biggest challenge yet.

Just why was Mr Bentwhistle threatening Harriett? Had he killed Minerva Bobbington and Hugo Montague?

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

Harriett shivered as she opened the front door to the church. The metallic clank of the key as it hit the ironwork echoed around the cavernous entrance. Her breath fogged out before her and she drew her coat tighter around her shoulders in an attempt to ward off the chill. She had taken no more than four or five steps inside the church before she began to shiver, and hurried her strides so she could finish the flowers and get back outside where it was considerably warmer.

The heady scent of the flowers in her basket teased her nostrils, and she scurried toward the room at the side of the altar to fetch the vases. Everyone in the village was doing their bit to prepare for Hugo’s burial. At four o’clock this afternoon, the funeral procession would leave the funeral parlour and everyone would slowly walk through the village to the church for the service. The village already had a sombre atmosphere and that was emphasised by the lack of customers in the tea shop this morning. There were very few who ventured out for tea and cakes with such a morbid occasion before them.

Harriett wished she was at home. She sniffed and sliced open the newspaper wrapped around the chrysanthemums and hollyhocks that had been donated by Mr Bolstridge. The soft sound of footsteps on the flagstones in the aisle made her freeze. She wasn’t ordinarily a nervous person, and had no fear of being alone in the church. After all it was a place of worship where people went to pray but, for some reason, she couldn’t shake off the strange disquiet that had settled over her. Instead of moving to the door to see who it was, she stood perfectly still and waited.

“Ah, there you are,” Mr Bentwhistle smiled as he appeared in the doorway. “I came to check that the church was being prepared. If you want to come and see, I will show you where we intend to place the coffin during the service.”

Harriett frowned at this. Still, manners dictated that she not object, so she remained quiet and dutifully followed Mr Bentwhistle out of the room to the front of the church.

“What on earth?” She frowned at the coffin that sat in the middle of the aisle. “Shouldn’t he be at the parlour, ready for the precession?” A shiver of unease swept through her at the strange way Mr Bentwhistle studied her.

“What is it, what’s wrong?” Her heart began to hammer in her throat. She glanced behind him but couldn’t see any of his staff.

“I am afraid that I have to put a stop to you, my dear,” Mr Bentwhistle murmured in a voice that was low and matter of fact.