Harriett (15 page)

“
I think we had better,” Mark muttered.

Together
they began to slowly walk back down the lane. They had no sooner
gone a few feet than the coach began to move in the opposite
direction. Without further ado, the carriage turned down a narrow
country lane on the left and disappeared from view. By the time the
men reached the end of the lane, there was no sign of the carriage.
They couldn’t even hear the clip clop of hooves, which indicated
that either the carriage had stopped as soon as it was out of
sight, or had left the area entirely.

Isaac
didn’t wait to see what Mark was going to do. He stalked back down
Beatrice’s front path and knocked briskly on the door.

“
Were you expecting any visitors this afternoon?” He demanded
when Beatrice opened the door. He ignored her startled look and
studied her and Constance closely.

“
No, I don’t think so, why?”

Isaac
felt somewhat mollified by her calmness but couldn’t shake off the
feeling that something was wrong. “Don’t open the door once it gets
dark. Make sure that everything is locked tight but, whatever you
do, don’t go out unescorted.”

“
For heaven’s sake, Isaac, you will scare the women to death,”
Mark chastised. “There was a strange black coach parked outside
here. Nobody got in or out. It just stood right outside. Just keep
an eye out if you would, and don’t approach it if you find it
there.” He glanced at Constance. “Were you going home, or are you
able to stay here for another night?”

Constance looked a little confused but, after a brief
hesitation, confirmed that she could stay, although would need to
fetch some things from home.

“
I will escort you home to collect whatever you need. I think
that for the time being at least, it might be better if neither of
you were by yourselves,” Isaac sighed. He hated the frustration of
being unable to protect them himself. A small voice warned him that
he was being more than a little over protective but his instincts
warned him that it was necessary. He wasn’t sure whether it was Mr
Bentwhistle’s odd behaviour, or the fact that there had been a
murder in the usually sleepy village of Tipton Hollow, or the sight
of the sinister looking black carriage, but he felt certain that
being extremely cautious was the right action to take.

“
I will stay here with you, Beatrice, until Constance gets
back.” Mark sighed. “If it is acceptable to you, I will just catch
up on my notes until they return.”

“
Of course it is, come on in.” Beatrice wouldn’t admit it but
she was relieved that Constance was going to stay for a little
while. After last night she still felt a little spooked by the dark
and didn’t relish being alone at all, even in the relative comfort
and safety of her own home.

CHAPTER
EIGHT

It was
dark by the time Mark and Isaac finally did leave Beatrice’s
house.

“
So, how many more do we have left?” Mark sighed with a yawn.
He felt like he had been in Tipton Hollow for at least a
year.

“
That leaves Tuppence Smethurst, Miss Smethwick, Madame
Humphries and Miss Hepplethwaite.”

Mark
sighed and stared down at his bulging pockets. “I know we should
keep going but I think I would prefer a pint at the
pub.”

“
It’s been a long day,” Isaac replied fervently.

“
Miss Smethwick’s house is on the way to the pub. Let’s call
in at hers and then do Tuppence, Madame Humphries and Miss
Hepplethwaite in the morning,” Mark sighed. He wondered what to do
about the cake. Although he was usually a great fan of Battenberg,
he couldn’t eat another morsel. He was stuffed to the gills and
wondered if there was some sort of competition going on: who could
make the detectives throw up first.

Minutes
later, they knocked on Miss Smethwick’s door and waited. Isaac
disappeared around the back of the house while Mark studied the
windows for any sign of forced entry. The old workman’s cottage was
dark and uninviting in the fog, and Mark didn’t relish staying
there any longer than was necessary. The rustle of leaves to his
left heralded the return of Isaac, who was busily brushed twigs off
his coat.

“
The place is locked up tight. It’s too dark inside to see if
anyone is at home. Do you want me to find a way in?”

Mark
scowled at the thought that the woman hadn’t seen fit to follow his
orders and remain at home until he had questioned her. He took out
his pocket watch and peered at the handles on the dial. Although it
was gone six o’clock in the evening, it didn’t render the day over
just yet, not in police terms in any case.

He
glowered at the door and thought of the black carriage that had
appeared outside of Beatrice’s house, and wondered if that had been
Miss Smethwick. If it had been, why hadn’t she waited for them to
question her? What had she been doing at Beatrice’s house? Had it
been Miss Smethwick at all? He began to wonder if he was clutching
at straws and knew that they wouldn’t get any answers to anything
while they were standing in the dark, outside of her
house.

“
No, let’s leave it for today. I think we will call by first
thing in the morning, bright and early. If she isn’t at home then,
we will break in. If she is at home in the morning, she has a few
questions to answer.”

They
walked back down the path toward the road that led further into the
village. Isaac closed the squeaky gate behind him and glanced up at
the house. Although he kept his movements calm and unhurried,
everything within him was locked on the furtive movement of the
curtain in the upstairs window. He turned and hurriedly caught up
with Mark. They continued to walk while Isaac told Mark what he had
seen.

“
Why would she avoid us if she didn’t have anything to hide?”
Isaac muttered as he accepted his ale off the barman and dropped
two coins on the bar.

“
It might not be her in the house,” Mark sighed, and dug in
his pockets. He withdrew the two packages of cake and dropped them
onto the table in disgust.

“
You have to hand the cloths back so you can’t leave them
there,” Isaac warned.

“
Do you think that they have some sort of conspiracy going
on?”

“
I don’t know, but there is something deuced odd about this
place. They all seem to know when to put the kettle on, and all
have cake at the ready. With masked coachmen atop black carriages,
missing spinsters and dead people, it is really hard to get to
grips with what is really going on.” Isaac leaned back in his seat
and felt a slight squishing in his pocket. He knew he had just sat
on his Victoria cake, but refused to take the blasted thing out of
his pocket. If he never saw cake again he would be a happy
man.

“
We don’t know yet if Miss Smethwick lives alone. Just because
she is a spinster, it doesn’t mean that there isn’t a relation
tucked away in there. Harriett will know. I need to call back to
her house and see how she has got on. I need her to check to see if
she has anything missing in her bedroom.”

“
Do you think that Madame Humphries could be a
thief?”

Mark
sighed and took a sip of his ale. “Can you remember that spate of
burglaries in London? The medium vanished before the police arrived
to arrest her but, before she left, she managed to steal hundreds
of pounds worth of goods from her client?”

Isaac
nodded. He had read the newspaper accounts of several psychic
mediums who had been caught fraudulently claiming to have been
speaking to dead people while encouraging their unsuspecting
customers to hand over hundreds of pounds in
‘donations’.

“
See if you can get a description of the clairvoyant and her
assistant from Scotland Yard. While you are at it, find out what
Madame Humphries’ real name is, preferably before we go and see her
tomorrow. I am going to take a look at the reports David has left
for us, and see if he has managed to identify if there the muslin
contained any pills or medication.”

“
What if it does?”

Mark
glanced at him. “Then we need to find out what it was, and where
she got it from. David is adamant that she hasn’t had any
medication from him, but it would have to have come from somewhere.
If it was responsible for killing her, and was simple over the
counter medication from a pharmacy, there is no case to investigate
and we have just wasted a day. If there any trace of powders or
pills, just the muslin cloth, then she was almost certainly
murdered by someone in that house last night. All we have to do is
uncover who.”

“
Sounds easy.”

Mark
snorted and looked down at his booted feet. He had learned from all
of his years in the force that nothing was ever easy. Just when you
thought you had something licked, a quirk of fate or a new question
arose and threw everything up into the air again. His best option
was to look at each angle individually, and hopefully find answers
to each question until he got a clear picture of what the hell had
been going on in Harriett’s house. They just had to do it before
the murderer carried out on their threat to the unknown
‘H’.

The
mental image of Harriett’s pretty features fluttered before him and
he had the sudden urge to see her. It took all of his self control
to remain on his stool and continue to steadily drink his beer. As
far as he was concerned it took far too long for them to finish
their drinks and head toward Harriett’s house.

“
Do you need me to come with you?” Isaac asked.
His thoughts turned to
the pile of paperwork that awaited him in the office. He
strongly suspected that Mark’s return visit to Harriett’s house had
nothing to do with the investigation, but more to do with a need of
a more personal nature.

“
No, I will be fine. I will see Harriett, and then check in at
the station before I head home. I will take the files from David
with me and study them later. Meantime, have a good evening and I
will see you in the morning, eight o’clock sharp at Miss
Smethwick’s house.”

“
Don’t you think that is a little early to be
visiting?”

“
I think that if our Miss Smethwick is being a little evasive,
she will be out of the house at the first available opportunity. If
we arrive early, we may shun convention but we will at least be
successful in our attempt to question her.”

Isaac
nodded. He could see the logic, but was certain that the old woman
wouldn’t be impressed. That was just the way that police
investigations went. There was no room for sentiment or respect for
a person’s delicate sensibilities. Someone had lost their life. If
Miss Smethwick went an hour without sleep because of the police’s
need to question her, well that was just the way that things went.
At least she was alive and well, which was more than could be said
for Minerva Bobbington.

By the
time he reached Harriett’s front door, Mark felt as though he had
traipsed around the entire county, while his stomach felt as though
he had eaten his way around the village. He felt slightly sick and
hated the heavy weight of the cake wedges he had nestled in his
pockets. He wondered if he could call upon Harriett’s good nature
to help him dispose of them.

“
What the devil is the matter?” Harriett gasped as she drew
him inside and closed the door. He looked pale and seemed to be
sweating. The silent plea in his eyes made her want to sweep him
into a hug and sit him beside the fire so she could look after him.
“Are you alright? Do you want me to fetch Doctor Woods?”

“
No, I will be fine in a minute. Can I have a glass of water
though please?” He was fairly certain that the God awful fruit cake
he had been subjected to earlier, courtesy of the ladies Dalrymple,
had landed in his stomach with the determination of a terrier, and
refused to relinquish its hold.

Harriett
led him to the sitting room and waved him to one of the chairs
before the fire. Mark almost groaned at the scent of meat pie that
wafted in the air and felt his stomach lurch in alarm.

“
Have you eaten yet?” Harriett handed him a cup of water and
stood back to watch him take a tentative sip.

“
I am fine, thank you. Really,” Mark protested and cast her
rueful glance. “Maybe you could tell me something, Harriett?” He
nodded at Babette, who appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. “Is
there some sort of cake competition going on in the
village?”

Harriett
frowned and shared a look with her aunt. “Not as far as I am aware,
why?”

“
Because at each house that Isaac and I have been to today,
everyone has given us cake; piece after piece of cake.” He sighed
and dug the offending weights out of his pocket. He placed them on
the table beside him and gave Harriett a rueful smile. “It is all
very nice, but impossible to refuse without running the risk of
causing someone offense. Mrs Dalrymple was quite put out when I
didn’t eat all of my cake and insisted on sending me home with a
second piece.” He ignored Babette’s snigger. “On occasions, people
have even had the kettle boiling in readiness to make tea before we
have even knocked on the door.”

Harriett
tried to look sympathetic but failed miserably, and made no attempt
to hide her grin. “Oh dear, too much cake I take it?”