Harriett (26 page)

“
Can I ask them a question?” Mark took the opportunity to
speak when there appeared to be a small pause in the
messages.

“
Of course. What do you want to ask them?” Madame Humphries
asked kindly.

“
I want to know what kind of danger Harriett is in? Is she
going to be poisoned, run over, what? Can they be a bit more
specific?”

The
glass hovered in the centre of the table. “Well, let’s ask them,”
Madame sighed and threw her head back to stare at the ceiling.
“Please my friends,” she bellowed, as though shouting would get
their questions more clarity. “Answer our calling. Tell us what we
wish to know dear departed ones.”

Mark
smothered a smirk and wondered what she would do if spirit began to
shout back. Sure enough, someone at the table clearly thought the
same.

D-O-N-T-S-H-O-U-T-D-E-A-R-W-E-A-R-E-N-O-T-D-E-A-F.

Titters
of laughter rippled around the table but did little to lighten the
atmosphere, which continued to remain nervous. After a slight
pause, the glass began to move in slow circles that grew larger and
larger until it drew to a stop in front of the letter ‘L’
momentarily before it moved on.

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

“
Here we go again,” Alan Bentwhistle sighed. “More
nonsense.”

“
I think that may mean that you have to look both ways when
you cross the road,” Tuppence sighed with a shake of her head. “I
think this is utter nonsense.” She glanced at the clairvoyant with
no apology in her eyes. “No offense intended Madame Humphries, but
I do think that this is stuff and nonsense. If they really wanted
to warn us of anything then they should give us something that we
can used to ensure Harriett is safe. As it is, none of this makes
sense to me and I, for one, am not prepared to continue.” With a
mulish look on her face, she crossed her arms and sat back in her
seat with her arms folded.

As if in
agreement, Beatrice did the same.

“
Stick with it children. There are more and more spirits
stepping forward now. I am sure that the messages will be coming
thick and fast soon,” Madame Humphries argued.

Harriett
glanced sideways at Mark. He looked as bored as she felt; although
there was a slight glint of cautious watchfulness on his face that
made her wonder if he had seen something that she had missed. She
glanced at the sea of faces around them. Miss Haversham and Eloisa
looked enthralled; Beatrice was just as defiant as Tuppence, while
Babette and Henrietta were clearly amused by the entire evening.
Everyone else looked either bored or sceptical.

If she
was honest, she was shaken by Mark’s announcement of their
engagement. It was the last thing she had expected, especially
given what she had seen in Great Tipton. Had she misread what he
had been doing with the beautiful woman in the shop? Was she a
relative he had merely been trying to comfort?

She wanted to convince herself that he was only trying to
protect her, but police officers didn’t usually offer people they
were investigating personal protection in such a way. So why had
Mark done it? Did he really believe that her life was in danger? Or
was he playing some sort of trick to try to lure the murderer into
revealing themselves so that he could arrest them? She immediately
blocked that thought out and a shiver of foreboding swept down her
spine. She hoped to heaven that she would never find
that
particular truth
out. The last thing she wanted was to be used as bait to goad the
murderer into striking again.

Feeling
strangely uncomfortable, she glanced up and caught the beady eyes
of Miss Smethwick on her. Another shiver of unease swept up her
spine and she felt goose bumps ripple down her arms. She shifted in
her seat and offered the woman a weak smile as she turned her gaze
away. She was acutely aware that the woman didn’t return the smile
and merely continued to stare far too directly at her for far too
long. Had she done something to offend Miss Smethwick? Did the old
woman object to Mark’s announcement?

Harriett
jumped when a sudden icy chill swept down her back. She turned her
head to glance around her but couldn’t see any reason for the
draught.

“
Is there a window open in here, Beatrice?” she whispered when
a second blast of air swept over her arm.

Beatrice
shook her head, all trace of defiance gone from her features. She
too was staring at Harriett far too intently and it made Harriett’s
increasingly nervous. What were they looking at? Aware of movement
beneath her finger, she looked down and gasped when she realised
that the glass was slowly creeping steadily toward her. Her heart
began to hammer in her throat. Her thoughts turned to the last
séance when the glass had flown off the table. She would prefer it
to do the same again now; anything but the slow, almost sinister
glide across the table. She pushed her finger on the glass in a
desperate attempt to stop it but watched in horror as it continued
to glide unhindered; straight through the letters, right up to the
edge of the table in front of her.

She
quickly snatched her finger off the glass. Should she shove it back
onto the table and laugh it off as a prank, or allow it to fall on
to her lap? She glanced up at Mark. He had long since taken his
finger off. The only people who remained in contact with the glass
were Miss Haversham, Eloisa, Miss Smethwick and Madame Humphries.
But did that mean that one of them was responsible for the threats?
Harriett tentatively placed the glass carefully back into the
centre of the table. Nobody spoke as they all put their fingers
back on it and waited. Within seconds, the glass began to move
around the letters.

“
I am cold, is the fire on?” Henrietta asked nobody in
particular as she peered around the end of the table toward the
hearty glow in the fireplace. “I keep feeling a cold
draught.”

Harriett
almost slumped with relief. “So do I,” she sighed. “I thought it
was my imagination, but several times now I distinctly feel a cool
breeze across my hand and arm.”

“
The windows are all closed and the curtains
drawn.”

“
Shall we ask them why they gave Harriett the glass?” Miss
Smethwick asked around a smothered yawn. “Is there any particular
reason why they would shove it at her like that?”

Madame
Humphries didn’t appear to be listening though. She was staring off
into the distance as though she was miles away from the small house
in Tipton Hollow.

“
Is she alright, dear?” Miss Haversham asked as she quite
rudely pushed her hand in front of Madame Humphries’ face and
clicked her fingers.

“
She is in a trance at the moment. The spirits must be close,”
Miss Hepplethwaite whispered dramatically. “We won’t interrupt her
right now. Just ask your question and we will see what we
get.”

Miss
Smethwick frowned at her. “Well, I just did ask my question,” she
replied with a disgruntled sigh. “I just asked why they pushed the
glass at Harriett.”

The
glass remained motionless.

“
It doesn’t look as though they want to answer you,” Babette
replied after several moments of silent watchfulness. Tension began
to build within the room. Everyone glanced at each other and began
to flick random glances around the room, searching the shadows for
hidden spectres that weren’t there.

Wedged
between Harriett and the broad shoulders of Mr Bentwhistle, Mark
shifted uncomfortably. Harriett felt his long, muscular thigh push
against hers but had no room to move. As the glass remained still,
and those gathered around the table remained silent, her mind began
to wander and inevitably turned toward the gossips in the village,
and what they would make of Mark’s announcement tonight of the
fictitious engagement.

What
would the latest turn of events mean to her reputation? She had no
suitors on the horizon, well none that she had considered of any
merit. Brian Hildrew had asked for her hand a year or so ago, but
the butcher’s son, as nice as he was, had about as much appeal as
the rabbit carcasses that hung in the shop window. Given the size
of Tipton Hollow, her marriageable prospects were not all that
great and, until now, it had never bothered her. That is, until
Mark appeared on her doorstep. Now she was starting to consider
things that simply weren’t possible for someone like her. She
worked in her uncle’s tea shop and quietly went about her fairly
humdrum life. Seated at the séance table tonight though, with
sinister threats hanging over her and two of her acquaintances
dead, she rather wished her life was still nondescript and
boring.

If only
she could stop the gossips from ruining her reputation, she would
have a fairly decent chance of being able to hold her head up when
she went about her business after this was all over. Now, once the
investigation was over and Mark returned to Great Tipton, their
fictitious engagement would be over. She would forever be known as
the woman who was jilted by the Detective Inspector at Great
Tipton. The gossips would have a field day when Christmas came, and
went, and there was no wedding they could attend and talk about for
months to come.

Unfortunately though, even when she took into account the
problems she would encounter as a result of his announcement, she
couldn’t bring herself to find any true and strong objection to his
deceit, and she was fairly certain that it had nothing to do with
her need for him to protect her.

Her
thoughts were snapped back to the table when the glass suddenly
lurched into action, and began to slide firmly around the table
with more force and precision than they had ever had
before.

W-E-W-A-N-T-T-H-E-G-O-S-S-I-P-S-T-O-S-T-O-P-W-O-R-K-I-N-G-T-H-E-T-R-U-T-H-W-I-L-L-C-O-M-E-O-U-T-T-H-E-D-E-A-T-H-S-M-U-S-T-S-T-O-P.

At the
final letter the glass stopped. Madame Humphries sucked in a huge
gulp of air and jerked upright. Her head tipped back and she stared
blankly at the ceiling again. Harriett waited for her to speak in
her theatrical tone but was slightly perturbed when the clairvoyant
remained perfectly still and silent.

“
What did it say?” Tuppence whispered. All evidence of her
previous reluctance had vanished with the speed, and length, of the
latest message.

“
I can’t read it all in the darkness,” Babette replied as she
squinted down at the paper in her hand. She tipped the paper toward
the light and read the message aloud.

“
Good God,” Mr Bentwhistle muttered.

“
Who –”

“
Oh, Jesus,” Mark snapped when a large furry bundle suddenly
landed in his lap. Red hot shards of pain immediately lanced his
thighs and he pushed himself roughly away from the table in a
desperate attempt to get away from the pain. Epithets hovered on
his lips and, despite his best efforts blasphemy got the better of
him.

He
glanced down to see the round, feral eyes glaring hatefully up at
him. A loud hiss broke the silence and was accompanied with a yowl
of protest when Harriett grabbed the furry beast and tried to yank
it off Mark’s legs. The resultant pain exploded ever higher as the
spiteful claws dug in.

“
Will someone get this God damned beast off me,” he snarled.
Desperate fingers plucked at the paws that seemed to come from
nowhere, over and over, until sweat began to bead his
brow.

“
Mark Bosville, using the Lord’s name in vain is a sacrilege.
You should be ashamed,” Miss Smethwick snapped and wagged her
finger across the table at him.

Mark
gritted his teach against the pain in his knees and watched
Harriett tug the rotund stomach of the growling fur ball and hold
it firmly against her chest. Mr Bentwhistle lunged forward and
pulled the back legs away which left Mark free to stagger backward,
blessedly relieved to be free.

“
Muffin, you naughty boy, what do you think you are doing?”
Beatrice crooned as she pushed her way around the table and
relieved Harriett of her precious pet. She blithely ignored the
yowls and growls that came from the feline predator and left Mark
to brush the blood stains off his trousers as she scurried out of
the room.

“
I don’t know about you lot, but I certainly need a drink,”
Alan Bentwhistle growled with a fervency that matched his
determined strides toward the brandy decanter.

“
Are you alright?” Harriett felt her cheeks blush when she
realised that she was staring down at his trousers.

“
Good, Lord, that thing has drawn blood,” Henrietta gasped in
a voice that was somewhere between mirth and horror.

“
It’s not funny, mother, that damned thing is dangerous,” Mark
grumbled. He shot Miss Smethwick a filthy glare when she chided him
for his epithet. Her objections were the last thing he was
interested in.

“
Did it scratch you?” He demanded and lifted Harriett’s hands
so that he could study them more closely. He cursed at the large
red welts on the back of her smooth skin, and turned to glare at
Beatrice when she re-entered the room minus her precious
Muffin.

“
Do you have a cloth and some water? There are wounds here,”
he demanded.