Harriett (20 page)

Mark
stared at her. “You don’t think she was really talking to
spirits?”

Miss
Hepplethwaite shook her head. “Oh, dear me, no.” She sighed and
began to look around the room as though the thought distressed her
greatly. “After séances, Augusta is usually drained because the
spirits draw on her energies. That night, on the way home, she was
as spritely as she was when she arrived. There was no sign of
tiredness or weakness of someone who had been working closely with
the spirit world.”

“
Why do you think she faked it?”

“
I don’t think she faked it all. I think that she may have
been speaking to the spirit world, but I don’t think that their
energies were used to push the glass and give the messages. I think
someone at that table was giving the messages on purpose. That’s
why Augusta wasn’t tired at the end of the evening.”

“
Do you have prior acquaintance with anyone in Tipton Hollow
before you were approached to attend their first Psychic
Circle?”

“
No. Tuppence came to one of our demonstrations in the Village
Hall in town. She dropped us a note to ask us if we would like to
visit the circle and do a séance and demonstration. Augusta agreed.
It is work, you know. We are more than happy to accept any
invitation.”

“
But you hadn’t met anyone from Tipton Hollow
before?”

“
Our work takes us here and there, but I have never been to
Tipton Hollow before the night of the séance.”

“
So tell me, how does Madame Humphries turn green when she is
in a trance? We know that it isn’t spiritual, so don’t even
try.”

Miss
Hepplethwaite studied them and began to flutter nervously again.
Her hands lifted to the curls around her face and she began to tuck
them in randomly with a hand that trembled slightly. “I cannot tell
you.”

Mark
leaned forward in his chair. “Are you doing the séance on Friday,
at Beatrice’s house?”

“
Well, do you know, I am not sure if Augusta accepted the
invitation.”

“
I think she did.”

“
I think we will be going then,” Miss Hepplethwaite whispered
hesitantly. She was clearly unnerved about something else but
didn’t want to confide in them.

Mark
knew that there was more to their clairvoyance than their apparent
ability to speak to dead people. He was more convinced than ever
that she and Madame Humphries were the thieves who used the cover
of mediumship to burgle people in London. Rather than probe deeper
into how they worked, he decided to take the opportunity to study
them closer at the Psychic Circle’s next séance with his own
eyes.

After
asking her several more questions to which he received the same
answers as Augusta Humphries, Mark rose to take his leave. He
followed Isaac to the front door only to suddenly stop and spin on
his heel. Miss Hepplethwaite gasped and staggered back at the speed
of his move. Using his height to his advantage, Mark leaned down to
stare the woman in the eye.

“
You forgot to tell me where you used to live before you moved
here, Miss Hepplethwaite.” He lifted one brow in stern demand and
watched panic light the woman’s eyes. He knew the speed of his move
had unnerved the woman and was rewarded for his inventiveness when
the woman blurted her response.

“
Yorkshire,” she snapped before she snapped her mouth
closed.

“
Address?”

“
I-I-I,” she glanced quickly from Mark to Isaac. “I cannot
remember.”

Alarm
filled her eyes and it was all he could do to keep the triumph off
his face. With a brisk nod, he spun around and left the
house.

“
Do you think that they are both the clairvoyants from Charing
Cross?”

“
I think they are. I just hope that I haven’t just given them
cause to run. She knows something else, I am sure of it. I just
don’t know if it is about Minerva’s death, lies at the séance, or
their backgrounds.” Mark glanced up and down the road, and caught
sight of a carriage parked at the end of the street. He nudged
Isaac and issued his colleague with a look. “At the end of the road
is a black carriage. I am going to walk toward it. You go down the
alleyway there. Walk down to the main street and try to get a good
look at it. See if you can identify the coachman, or anyone
inside.”

He knew
from the pure black horse with the long, shaggy mane and the
heavily garbed coachman, that it was the same carriage that had
been outside of Beatrice’s house in Tipton Hollow. Unfortunately,
the carriage never drew close enough for him to wave the coachman
to a stop. He had to assume that whoever was inside was either
watching him, or the people who were at the scene of Miss
Bobbington’s murder. Was it the murderer in the carriage? As he
drew close to the conveyance, unsurprisingly, the coachman nudged
the horse into a brisk walk. By the time he reached the end of the
road, the carriage was moving at a trot, and flew straight past
Isaac, who appeared at the entrance to the alleyway seconds after
it brushed past. Isaac shook his head. He hadn’t managed to catch
sight of either driver, or occupier.

Mark
mentally cursed and met his colleague.

“
What now?”

“
Well, I read the report from David Woods last night. There
was no trace of powders or pills in that muslin Minerva choked on,
or Minerva herself, so we can be fairly certain that it was the
cloth in her drink that killed her. We know the messages were fake
and given by someone at that table. I think that for now, we need
to put the word out with the local beat bobbies that the mysterious
black carriage is in the area and behaving suspiciously. I want the
owner found as soon as possible. They have more than a few
questions to answer. Meantime, I think I have just had my Friday
evening commandeered, all in the name of psychic research.” He
ignored Isaac’s slightly horrified look.

“
You don’t want me to go, do you?” Isaac asked with a frown.
There were some things even he wouldn’t do for his job.

“
No, I think that is something that I need to do, don’t you?”
He saw Isaac’s reluctance for what it was and didn’t relish the
prospect of having to go either, if he was honest, but at least
Harriett would be there, and it gave him the perfect opportunity to
keep an eye on her.

CHAPTER
TEN

Two days later,
Harriett sauntered through the market at Great Tipton. Thursdays
were always an exceptionally busy day, but she didn’t mind the
hustle and bustle of the busy square today because it made her feel
glad to be alive. A gentle haze hung over the busy thoroughfare
that did little to ward off the chill of autumn, but even the nip
on her cheeks was something she relished.

After
Minerva Bobbington’s funeral yesterday, it was nice to be out and
about for a change. She meandered through the various stalls, happy
to simply absorb the atmosphere of the traders and shoppers when
her gaze was caught by the sight of a constable. Her heart began to
hammer in her throat and her thoughts immediately turned toward the
one man she had spent the last few days trying hard to forget. A
now familiar pang of hurt swept through her and she sighed
despondently as she turned away.

When she
had seen him last, he had promised to check on her and update her
on the investigation, but hadn’t returned. Although a small part of
her warned her that he had no real duty to check on her daily, she
was still hurt at the ease in which he had forgotten
her.

She
straightened her shoulders, threw her head back and turned her
thoughts firmly toward the contents of her basket. Now that her
goods had been purchased, she was free to head home. She spied the
small sign above the door to the tea shop, and headed in that
direction. As she covered her basket with a brightly coloured
cloth, she glanced up and froze at the sight that greeted her eyes.
Her stomach dipped and she was immediately flooded with a ruthless
wave of hurt that made her feel slightly sick.

There,
inside the shop, seated opposite a beautiful blonde woman, was none
other than Detective Inspector Mark Bosville. From the intimate way
in which their heads were tipped toward each other, their
conversation had nothing to do with business. These two were
familiar with one another’s presence. Just how familiar was
emphasised in the companionable way he held her hand in full view
of the other tea shop patrons.

She
swallowed against the lump in her throat, and turned her head away.
Despite the fact that she was now heading in the wrong direction,
she hurried past the shop, all thoughts of a cup of tea forgotten.
She wanted to put as much distance between her and the sight she
knew would stay with her for some considerable time yet. She
physically trembled with the haste in which she walked, but
lengthened her stride until she almost ran. All of her thoughts
were locked firmly on the need to get home before the tears
fell.

Well, what did you expect?
A small
voice reasoned with her. He is handsome, intelligent and of
marriageable age. It was perfectly natural for someone like him to
have a beautiful girlfriend. Besides, her association with him had
been purely professional. There was nothing about her acquaintance
with Mark that had given her any cause to have expectations of him.
He had certainly not done anything that would give her reason to
assume that she could consider herself anything other than a victim
of crime he happened to be investigating through his work. It was
ridiculously foolish of her to be hurt as much as she was. Her
heart wasn’t broken, nor was it battered or bruised in any way. No,
the feelings she had at the moment were purely down to the
emotional turmoil of the very trying week she had just experienced.
He had been the one person who had brought an air of calm to a
situation that had confused and frightened her. She sucked in a
deep breath, and brazenly blanked out the feelings that pulled
apart her logic. With her shoulders thrown back defiantly, she
marched resolutely toward home.

Mark
studied Harriett’s back as she swept past the shop. The immediate
thrill of anticipation at her being there was immediately replaced
with frozen horror at the thought that she had seen him holding
hands with Alice across the table of a tea shop. He realised then
just how foolish he had been, not only to break his association
with Alice in such a public place, but to offer her comfort so
blatantly with so many people in plain view. He cast a dark look
around the shop and caught the quickly averted gazes of a couple of
the patrons, one of whom was a close acquaintance of his mother’s,
and groaned inwardly. Although he tipped his head a little to be
able to get a better view out of the window, he couldn’t see
Harriett, but knew she was around somewhere. She seemed to have
been in a hurry. Was that because she was in a rush, or had she
seen him with Alice and been upset? He secretly hoped it was the
latter, even though it would mean he had to explain the situation
to her.

Determined not to leave her with any misunderstanding a
moment longer than was necessary, Mark glanced across at the woman
he had just broken up with.

“
Please accept my apologies, Alice. I didn’t mean to mislead
you in any way. It is just that with as much work as I have on at
the moment, it is difficult to get any time off at all. Someone
like you deserves to be with a man who is able to take you out to
places.”

“
But I don’t mind waiting, really I don’t,” Alice whined
tearfully. When she was calm and in control, she really was quite
beautiful, however, with anger in her eyes, and a whine in her
voice that he had never heard before, he was profoundly grateful he
had chosen not to take matters further and turn their courtship
into anything more permanent.

“
I simply cannot allow you to have false hope.” He made his
voice firmer than was really necessary and gave her an apologetic
smile as he sat back in his chair. He dug a few coins out of his
pocket and dropped them onto the table. “It really would be best if
you found someone who deserves you.”

He felt
the bite of impatience when Alice began to snivel and wondered how
long she would keep up the dramatics. She had yet to shed a single
tear. Not that he wanted her to cry, but he was annoyed that she
thought she could pull on emotional strings to get her own way. He
shuddered in horror at what he could quite conceivably have been
landed with had he not met Harriett.

Harriett.

The
thought of her hurrying in the opposite direction propelled him to
his feet with more force than was necessary. He mumbled an apology
when the woman seated behind him gasped and began to cough as his
chair rammed into the back of hers, and propelled her forward with
such force that tea splashed into her face.

He
muttered apologies as he handed her a cloth and began to dab her
chin with hurried jabs, only to jump when she squeaked a protest
and snatched the cloth off him with an indignant glare. The lady
seated beside her began to thump her back in earnest, which
rendered Mark useless. With the look of a man who scented freedom,
Mark mumbled another apology and hurried out of the shop. He didn’t
even think to take one last look at Alice, or even stop to say
goodbye.