Harriett (2 page)

H.

The
glass stopped.

Harriett
sighed and took advantage of the gloom to puff out a long, slow
breath as she fought to keep hold of her impatience. At this rate
they would be lucky if they got to bed before midnight.

“
Constance, do you have to lie so inelegantly on the table
like that?” Miss Smethwick scolded.

“
Sshh,”

“
Oh, shush yourself,” Miss Smethwick snapped and threw a glare
in Madame Humphries’ general direction. “Constance, I demand that
you get off this table at once. Get a hold of yourself. Such
hoydenish behaviour isn’t appropriate, no matter how dark it
is.”

“
I am just doing as I am told,” Constance protested. “How else
am I supposed to keep my finger on the glass?” She made no attempt
to hide the humour in her voice, nor did she try to get off the
table. Instead, she lay still and turned her attention back to the
glass, which had started to move again.

“
Thank you my friends,” Madame intoned. “Please excuse our
rudeness. We won’t interrupt you again.”

“
Will this take much longer?” Mr Montague asked in a hushed
whisper. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I really must go and feed my
cat.”

Harriett
had no idea why he was whispering given that there was nothing
remotely reverent about the evening. She bit back a chuckle and
coughed in an attempt to wipe the smile off her face. It didn’t
work.

“
Spirits take their own time. Now hush and don’t interrupt
again.”

Duly
reprimanded, Mr Montague heaved a put-upon sigh and lapsed into
worried silence.

“
We have your ‘H’ my friends. What else do you have for
us?”

E-L-L-O.

The
glass stopped.

“
Is that it?” Babette sighed. Everyone stared down at the
glass. A wary sense of disbelief swept over the table as everyone
glared either at the glass or Madame Humphries.

“
No, there must be more.” Even Madame Humphries had started to
sound desperate and, not for the first time during the evening,
Harriett wondered whether she should just draw a halt to the
proceedings and declare the evening a disappointing
flop.

Constance began to shimmy off the table when the glass began
to move again.

“
Hello, my dearly departed friends. Please pass us your
messages,” Madame’s voice held a hint of plea in it that made
Harriett want to offer the woman a brandy and a seat beside the
fire to steady herself.

The
glass began to move across the table toward the ‘Yes’
square.

The
smooth way in which the glass moved across the surface of the table
was something they had all been waiting for. Nobody made a sound
when the glass began to move from letter to letter. Babette began
to scribble furiously as Harriett called out the letters the glass
stopped at.

T-H-E-D-O-G-I-S-F-I-N-E-H-U-G-O.

Hugo
Montague looked a little puzzled and shook his head at the
expectant faces that were now staring at him.

“
I don’t have a dog,” he protested and glared almost
accusingly at Madame Humphries.

“
I can take that message,” Minerva Bobbington piped up. “I
used to have a dog named Hugo. He was a small grey lurcher that
used to follow me everywhere as a child.” Against instructions, she
removed her finger from the glass and sat back in her chair to
stare at the table for a moment while memories resurfaced. “Heavens
above, I forgot all about him,” she whispered.

“
Let’s see what else we get,” Beatrice suggested eagerly and
nodded at Mrs Bobbington, to put her finger back onto the glass.
With a shiver, the woman did as she was told and they all waited
patiently for more messages. They didn’t have to wait for long. No
sooner had Mrs Bobbington’s finger landed on the top of the goblet
than it began to move again.

“
Oh, dear Lord,” Mr Montague whispered as the glass moved
firmly from letter to letter. This time there was no hesitation, no
juddering and the words were spelled out in rapid
succession.

Y-O-U-F-O-R-G-O-T-T-O-L-O-C-K-T-H-E-D-O-O-R-A-G-A-I-N-L-O-V-E-M-O-T-H-E-R.

Mrs
Dalrymple emitted a small cry. Her hands flew to her throat and she
stared at the glass with a mixture of horror and delight on her
face.

“
Mother?” she whispered in a tumultuous voice. Hope and
desperation flooded her gaze and she stared avidly down into the
middle of the table.

“
Can you take the message?” Madame Humphries’
demanded.

“
Y-yes,” Mrs Dalrymple replied in a quivering voice. After
several moments of silence she seemed to snap out of her daze and
became aware that people were waiting for her to explain the
message. “Oh, well, I have always been a bit forgetful. Even as a
small child I was always putting things down and losing things.
Anyway, that hasn’t changed as I have grown older and, well,
unfortunately I always seemed to be in such a fuddle that I
regularly forget to lock my back door. Mother always used to scold
me for it, but I am still the same, even now. No matter how much I
try, as soon as I leave the house I hurry off. I have obviously
forgotten to lock the back door behind me again.”

Sensing
that the woman was apt to ramble on for hours, Harriett eased back
in her seat and gently interrupted her monologue. “Let’s see if she
has anything else for us, shall we?”

P-U-T-A-K-E-Y-A-R-O-U-N-D-Y-O-U-R-N-E-C-K.

Harriett
smothered a laugh and even Mrs Dalrymple smiled.

“
Seems a reasonable suggestion,” Mr Bentwhistle remarked
wryly.

“
I will do that, mother, thank you,” Mrs Dalrymple replied
reverently, although whether she would remember was anyone’s
guess.

Y-O-U-H-A-V-E-S-O-M-E-N-E-W-S-C-O-M-I-N-G.

“
Is that for me?” Mrs Dalrymple asked with a frown. “Oh, I
wonder what it could be.”

The
glass shot to ‘No’.

“
Oh, dear. I had hoped -” the woman sighed and looked
despondent. “Well, never mind.”

The
glass began to move again.

U-N-C-L-E-B-E-N-I-S-F-I-N-E.

Tuppence
gasped and stared at the glass. “It’s for me,” she whispered in an
awestruck voice. Harriett knew that Uncle Benjamin was someone
Tuppence was still in mourning for and, from the look on her face,
she was relieved more than upset to have a message about
him.

“
Thank you,” Tuppence replied, and flicked a hesitant glance
at the ceiling.

U-N-C-L-E-B-E-N-I-S-W-I-T-H-M-E-H-E-M-A-D-E-I-T-S-A-F-E-L-Y.

Tuppence
gasped and stared at the glass. Tears pooled in her eyes and
Harriett watched her blink rapidly in a valiant attempt to keep
them at bay. “I am so glad,” she murmured, and smiled her thanks at
the neatly pressed handkerchief Mr Bentwhistle held out for
her.

Y-O-U-H-A-V-E-S-H-E-D-M-A-N-Y-T-E-A-R-S-T-I-M-E-T-O-S-T-O-P-N-O-W-M-A-N-Y-C-H-A-L-L-E-N-G-E-S-A-H-E-A-D-Y-O-U-W-I-L-L-B-E-F-I-N-E.

“
Many
challenges? What are those
going to be?” But her question remained unanswered. The glass
remained still. Clearly Aunt Mavis wasn’t prepared to divulge
pertinent facts, and a pregnant pause fell over the group as they
waited to see what would happen next.

“
Well, I never,” Babette whispered. “It is right. You have
mourned greatly for your uncle, Tuppence.” There was no censure in
her voice, it was merely a statement.

“
I know,” Tuppence replied. She straightened her shoulders and
sucked in a deep breath as she dabbed gently at the corner of her
eyes. She would shed her tears another time, of that she had no
doubt. For now, there were far too many eyes on her for comfort and
she offered a brave smile that quivered at the corners a little.
“Let’s see if there is anything for anyone else, shall
we?”

“
Good idea,” Harriett replied, offering a supportive smile to
her friend. She had spent many hours with Tuppence while she had
wept, wailed and raged against the deaths of firstly her parents,
then her Aunt Mavis before a wasting disease had befallen her Uncle
Ben. Their deaths had rendered Tuppence the only member of her
family left at Hilltop Farm alive, apart from her elder brother,
Peter. Together, they had taken over the family homestead with a
drive and determination that had been humbling to
witness.

Harriett’s musing was interrupted by the movement of the
glass as it began to move across the table again.

“
Are there any messages for me?” Minerva Bobbington asked
hesitantly. She too glanced at the ceiling as though expecting a
dearly departed relative to poke their head through and shout
‘boo’.

T-H-E-C-H-I-L-D-R-E-N-A-R-E-F-I-N-E.

Harriett
frowned up at the ceiling again and turned quizzical eyes on Mrs
Bobbington. During the pre-meeting tea, Minerva had fussed and
fluttered about how nervous she was, and how relieved she was to be
able to get away from the house for a while. She had declared again
and again, to anyone who would listen, that she would dearly love
to receive a message from her aunt.

“
Can you take the message, Minerva?” Harriett asked
softly.

The
message hadn’t said who it was from, but Mrs Bobbington began to
cry. “Thank you. Thank you so much,” she whispered, and smiled her
thanks at Mr Montague as he handed her a handkerchief.

“
What children?” Tuppence burst out, staring curiously at Mrs
Bobbington. Although she hadn’t had much time to engage in gossip
lately, she was fairly certain that Mrs Bobbington had been at home
prior to the séance, and would be perfectly capable of knowing if
her children were alright or not.

“
Several years ago, I lost two children to polio when they
were just babies.”

The
table lapsed into sympathetic silence. “Would you like to stop for
a break for a while?” Harriett offered. She ignored the impatient
sight from Madame Humphries, and watched Minerva continue to dab at
her yes with a hand that visibly shook.

“
No, thank you. I am fine, really. I would prefer it if we
could carry on and get the messages while they are coming
through.”

“
Thank you, my friends. Can you tell us anything else?” Madame
Humphries cried. Everyone watched the glass begin to slide
again.

Yes.

Harriett
wondered why the spirits were being so particular and answering
every question Madame Humphries put forward, especially if they
needed so much energy to move the glass.

T-H-E-W-A-T-C-H-I-S-I-N-T-H-E-E-M-B-A-L-M-I-N-G-F-L-U-I-D.

Mr
Bentwhistle sat back in his chair and stared in disbelief down at
the glass. “It’s for me. That message is for me,” he
whispered.

“
Do you understand it?” Harriett demanded. From the look on
his face, it was indeed for him and it had shaken him
greatly.

“
Yes, I do, my dear. A few days ago, I lost a watch that
belonged to one of my clients. I have searched the parlour from top
to bottom but could not find the blasted – apologies ladies –
thing, anywhere. It must be in the embalming fluid,” he whispered,
clearly nonplussed.

“
How would it get in there?” Babette shushed Madame Humphries,
who had taken a breath to speak.

“
This is preposterous. How would a spirit know that?” Miss
Smethwick scoffed and earned herself a glare from Madame
Humphries.

“
I have no idea, but I am certainly going to take a look when
I get back to the parlour.”

“
Why don’t we go now?” Beatrice asked with an ebullient
enthusiasm that made everyone stare at her in horror.

“
No!” The reply was chorused by at least eight of those
present, and the room lapsed into awkward silence while a range of
excuses were considered and dismissed.

Harriett
shivered as a particularly strong gust of wind rattled the window
panes. There was no earthly possibility that she was going to go
outside at all tonight, least of all to visit a funeral
parlour.

She
turned to Beatrice with a shiver, and shook her head. “I am not
going, and that is a fact,” she replied firmly and mutinously sat
back in her seat with her arms folded.

“
You must tell us if it is there,” Constance declared firmly.
She made no attempt to gather her cloak for a trip down the street
to the parlour either. The thought of going anywhere near the
ominous looking building in the daytime was bad enough; there was
no possibility of her going there at night, even with half of the
psychic circle in attendance. She wasn’t that enamoured of getting
in contact with the spirits to want to sit amongst their bodies at
their temporary place of rest.

“
Oh, I will my dear. I most certainly will tell you if I find
it,” Mr Bentwhistle replied fervently.

“
Can we get on with this please?” Madame Humphries snapped
impatiently. “The spirits are waiting.”

With a
collective sigh of relief and nervousness, everyone turned their
attention back to the table.

CHAPTER TWO