Beatrice (The Tipton Hollow 2)

The sight that greeted her made her slump with relief. Outside, Fred and Ben were deep in conversation with the stranger. From the wild gesticulation of the stranger’s hands, he was far from happy about something. Still, Beatrice didn’t hesitate to slide the bolts across the front door, and race outside toward help.

“I am warning you here and now that I shall take you down to the station if I hear of any more near-misses in these parts with that carriage of yours. I hear that you nearly ran this lady over yesterday – and this gentleman not more than an hour after that. What do you have to say for yourself?” Fred Dinage, the village constable, demanded.

“It wasn’t me,” the man growled. Although he h

ad heard what the constable had said, his eyes flickered between Beatrice and the open door to the house accusingly.

“A carriage matching the description of yours was seen in this area yesterday being driven recklessly. It nearly killed two innocent people,” Fred accused.

“It wasn’t me.”

“Are you denying that you were in here then?” Fred countered.

“No,” the man shook his head. “I wanted a word with the gentleman here.” Although his words were quiet, the sharpness in them was unmistakeable. He was barely in control of his temper, and shifted his stance to one that almost challenged Fred to do something about his denials. “I still do,” he growled darkly.

Ben glared at the smaller man. “Look, you were told yesterday that you should go and look for your plant somewhere else. We don’t have your package and never have had it, so stop pestering us.”

A frown darkened Fred’s face, and he opened his mouth to speak only to close it again with a snap when movement at the end of the driveway drew his attention.

“Morning all,” Mark drawled as he approached the group. He dropped a quick kiss on Beatrice’s cheek. “How are you?” he asked as he studied her carefully.

“I am alright,” she replied shakily and smiled at Isaac. “Hello, Isaac. How are you?”

“I am better than you,” Isaac replied and nodded to the stranger with his brows lifted. “Trouble?”

“He thinks we have something of his, but we don’t,” she replied quietly.

“He nearly ran Beatrice down in the road yesterday and was responsible for her hurting her ankle. Then, to cap it all, he nearly ran me and Beatrice over half an hour later,” Ben explained briskly. While he spoke he didn’t take his eyes off the smaller man, who glared back belligerently and didn’t seem to know, or care, that he was now in the presence of three police officers.

“Where are you staying?” Mark asked as he studied the man closely for distinguishing features.

“What?” The stranger snapped with a frown.

“What’s your name and address?”

“Why? Who are you?” The stranger demanded arrogantly as he studied Fred, whose job was evident from the uniform he wore.

“Detective Inspector Bosville, Great Tipton Constabulary. This is my colleague, Detective Brown.”

The man swallowed harshly and instinctively took a step back.

“What’s your name?” Isaac demanded as he withdrew a little notebook and pencil from his pocket. The simple action was apparently enough to strike fear into the stranger’s heart, because his gaze began to flicker around them as though he was about to turn tail and run away.

“Sigmund Hargraves,” he gasped. “My name is Sigmund Hargraves.”

“Where do you live?”

“What?”

Isaac sighed, and stared hard at the man. “Where do you live?”

Hargraves had the good grace to look uncomfortable while he clearly struggled to come up with a plausible address. He studied Isaac for a moment then shifted his gaze to Mark, who scowled darkly at him. Eventually, he seemed to realise that he was going nowhere until he told them what they wanted to know.

“24 Southside, Great Tipton.”

Isaac jotted the address down and shared a look with Mark. They both knew that Southside was the most deprived area in the county, where single rooms could be occupied by families of up to 12 to 15 people, and living standards were dire. Crime was rife, and there was nothing some of its residents wouldn’t do to earn a few extra pennies; including murder.

“Who do you work for?” Isaac’s look dared the man to deny that he worked for anyone.