Harriett (33 page)

“
Tell me, Fred, what other thefts have there been?”

“
A couple of people have reported missing jewellery and
personal effects from houses.”

“
Do any of them have any links to the funeral directors? I
mean, have the families recently had deaths in the family that Mr
Bentwhistle has dealt with?”

Fred
frowned and nodded. “Well, I am not entirely sure, but now that you
come to mention it, I think most of them have. There has been a
theft from the house of Mr Snodgrass. Some valuable ornaments went
missing just after his funeral, and then there was some jewellery
that went missing from old Mrs Barnathy, but that was a couple of
weeks after her death. I have got the details on my
desk.”

“
Good, get them to me first thing in the morning. Meantime,
keep your eyes and ears open for anything untoward.”

Mark
turned around and studied the sleepy village, nestled in the hills.
Outward appearances made it look tranquil and idyllic, however he
now knew that it held hidden secrets; sinister threats, murder,
thieves and vices, to name but a few.

He had
no idea how to unravel the tightly wound ball of mysterious
confusion, and wondered if he stood a chance of ever finding out
just what on earth was going on.

CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN

The
following morning, when Mark arrived at his desk, he was tired,
grumpy and more than a little fed up. The huge mound of paperwork
that awaited him would take days to get through, but held little
interest. His thoughts were very firmly locked on the events in
Tipton Hollow. In particular, the latest revelation of several
thefts from customers of Bentwhistle Funeral Directors. He couldn’t
help but wonder if other items had been stolen that hadn’t been
reported. But did that make Alan Bentwhistle the thief?

With a
sigh, he pushed away from the table and threw a dark look at the
paperwork before he left his office and called for Isaac, who sat
with his boots propped up on his desk and a pile of papers on his
knees.

“
Come on,” Mark sighed. “Let’s go and pay a visit to Miss
Smethwick.”

“
Smethwick?”

They
left the building and headed toward Tipton Hollow. Mark brought
Isaac up to date on the last night’s revelation, although he didn’t
mention Babette’s evening visit to the solicitor. He wasn’t sure
whether he was a little unprofessional in his belief that it was a
family matter, but wanted to discuss it with Harriett before he
considered it worthy of inclusion in his investigation.

They
arrived at Morningside Cottage in Tipton Hollow half an hour later.
Mark ordered the carriage to pull up at the end of the road and
they walked the last hundred yards. They were a few feet away from
the gate when Miss Smethwick appeared out of her front door with a
large square wicker basket in hand. Mark shared a glance with
Isaac.

“
Ah, good morning to you, Miss Smethwick,” he called. Miss
Smethwick froze and turned to watch them approach with wary eyes.
“I am glad we caught you before you head out. I need to ask you a
question or two.”

“
I was just going out,” Miss Smethwick replied with a pointed
glare. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“
We called around yesterday but you were not at home.” Mark
was fairly certain that if the woman could have gotten away with
curling her lip then she would have done. As it was, she retreated
behind defensive glares. He stood close to her and took the
opportunity to study her facial features.

The wary
step back she took was duly noted, and he watched the furtive way
she glanced around the small garden as though searching for a way
out. He wanted her to feel unnerved. If he had any hope of bringing
the investigation to a resolution, he had to prod her into doing
something that would link her to the carriage. He had received a
report from Fred that the carriage hadn’t moved all night and Miss
Smethwick hadn’t been seen, but was more convinced than ever that
she was the owner.

He eyed
her basket. “Are you going for more coal? We will walk with you and
we can chat while we walk.” Mark felt her glance sideways at him
and waited until they were on their way before he broke the
silence.

“
Tell me something, Miss Smethwick, what do you think about
the messages that were given at the séances?”

Miss
Smethwick gave an unladylike snort and sighed. “I think that they
are nothing but rubbish. Those two charlatans should be arrested, I
can tell you.”

“
Do you think it is all nonsense?”

“
You were there the other night, what do you
think?”

“
I think that there are a lot of questions that remain
unanswered, but that doesn’t mean Madame Humphries or Miss
Hepplethwaite are charlatans.” He put in enough of a note of
caution to raise the woman’s ire and it worked. He glanced at her
and caught sight of the fiery anger in the woman’s black gaze. Up
close, it was quite evident that she was about as close to seventy
years old as he was, even if he discounted the unlined hands and
youthful eyes. Whoever he was walking with was most definitely not
the old Miss Smethwick, who had spent many years living in the
village. It raised alarm bells within Mark that the original Miss
Smethwick had yet to be accounted for. He could only hope that he
didn’t have a third murder on his hands already. Right now, he was
more convinced than ever that the woman he was walking with was the
woman in her thirties who rented the barn from Mr
Brewster.

“
You have seen them and that ridiculous carpet bag they carry
about. Let me ask you one thing; these women claim to talk to
spirits, right?”

Mark
nodded when the woman looked at him. His ears were tuned into her
voice. It wasn’t the trembling, doddering voice he would normally
expect from an elderly lady. This woman’s voice was firm, strong
and fully of acid-like conviction that rang in each of her clipped
words.

“
Then why do they need that huge carpet bag that you could fit
three of Beatrice’s feral cats in? Have you been to one of their
demonstrations?” Her face was contemptuous. She didn’t wait for his
answer before she launched into her tirade. “I suggest that you do,
officer. I suggest you go to one of those ridiculous pantomimes and
take a good look at what they do. There is one tonight over at the
Civic Hall in Great Tipton. Go and see their fake hands that glow
in the dark for yourself. The silly strange glow they create with
the lamp and the green cloth, and that ridiculous muslin that
Madame Humphries stuffs in her mouth and pretends is spirit essence
is nothing but a joke.”

Mark
coughed at the force of the woman’s anger and wondered if she had
some sort of personal vendetta. He frowned at her comment about the
muslin in the mouth and immediately thought of how Minerva
Bobbington had died. Were Madame Humphries and Miss Hepplethwaite
the killers? If so, why?

“
You have been to one I take it?”

“
Only one, thankfully. I went just to see if they were stupid
enough to continue with their charade. You need to look into their
background a bit more. They hail from Charing Cross in London, and
have been stealing money from people for a long time. It is about
time you took them off the streets before they defraud anyone else
out of their house and home.”

Mark
stopped walking and moved to block her path. “You said, ‘anyone
else from losing their home’. Do you know one of their victims?” It
wasn’t a question, and he had his answer in her eyes. “Tell me
now.”

“
They use the clairvoyance to steal from people. They are
playing a visual trick on their customers. All you need to do to
prove that is check that carpet bag they carry. They are no more
spiritual than I am. They use trickery, lights and spooky
atmospheres to lure people in and then pass around a bucket
afterwards so people can ‘donate’, but to what? What are they
expected to donate to? There is nothing that they need, no
equipment they use, or there shouldn’t be if they were honest about
what they do. But I suppose that they have to purchase their false
arms from somewhere, don’t they?”

“
False arms?” Mark couldn’t help it, he was intrigued. He
thought of the carpet bag he and Harriett had studied in Beatrice’s
parlour and knew the woman was telling him the truth. He thought
about the fraudsters from London who had vanished. “Who has been
defrauded around here, apart from the people who go to the
demonstrations?”

Miss
Smethwick scoffed loudly and cast him a derisive look. “You are the
detective, you figure it out. Go and ask the great Madame the
questions. They have a lot more to answer than I do. You will not
get another word from me until you deal with those two. I wouldn’t
be surprised at all if they are not behind the deaths of poor
Minerva Bobbington and Mr Montague either. They are thieves;
heathens! They are one step away from debasing themselves with
murder. You mark my words, Detective; you won’t go far wrong in
arresting those two, preferably before you have another body on
your hands.”

With
that, the surprisingly spritely Miss Smethwick stormed off in the
direction of the coal yard. They followed her for several yards and
watched her disappear through the wooden doors but, when they
passed the entrance to the yard moments later, it was empty. Miss
Smethwick hadn’t come out, but there was no sign of her or Mr
Brewster either.

“
Now where on earth could she have disappeared to?”

“
The carriage,” Mark sighed. He knew, deep in his gut, that
they would see that carriage out and about on the streets at some
point throughout the day.

“
Do you think she changes in it?”

“
I don’t know, but I am damned sure that I am going to find
out.”

“
God, she was angry. Do you think she really knows something,
or do you think that she is trying to provide herself with a smoke
screen to cover her own activities?” Isaac whispered despite the
fact that they were, temporarily, alone in the street.

“
I don’t know, but I do think she is right about Misses
Humphries and Hepplethwaite. I am going to go to the demonstration
tonight. If there is anything even remotely fraudulent about what
they are doing then both ladies are going to feel the long arm of
the law.”

“
Where to now?”

“
I think we need to pay a visit to Helena Cridlingham. I need
to find out what is going on with these thefts. There was a message
about a fob watch at the first séance, if you remember. I want to
know if that message is linked to Helena’s missing watch or
something else that is missing that we don’t know about
yet.”

Half an
hour later, they stood on the front step at Helena’s house waited
for the door to be answered. Gothic didn’t even begin to describe
the house. The small mansion, built from dark, moss covered stone,
was dark and gloomy. The aged air of weary opulence was tinged with
a slightly sinister feel that was emphasised by the narrow unlit
windows and overgrown gardens at the front of the house. Over the
years, large parts of the house had fallen into disrepair. The huge
turret situated to one side of the house had long since given up
the fight against the persistent wall of ivy that now covered any
sign of the solid structure that held up the pointed slate roof.
Birds were perched on the barren beams that lay open to the
weather. Off in the trees at the far end of the garden, rooks
squabbled over prey. The flurry of black feathers broke the still
morning air and made both men shift uneasily as they
waited.

The
faint ring of footsteps could be heard from inside moments before
the door swung silently open. The vision that greeted their eyes
made them both step back and they stared at the woman who held the
door open. Mark coughed and tried to shake off his stupor. The
woman, although beautiful, was strange. There was something about
the clear, brilliant blue of her eyes that seemed to see straight
through him, and he didn’t like it one bit. He felt as though she
could see deep into his very soul and knew everything about him,
even his darkest secrets.

Mark
took a breath and tried to focus on the job at hand. “Helena
Cridlingham?” At the woman’s nod he made his introductions and
followed her into the house.

In stark
contrast to the appearance of the building, inside was warm and
cosy. Dark wooden panelling had been polished to a high shine
inside the grand sitting room. The scattered furniture that was old
and well worn, but still comfortable. A fire roared heartily in the
grate and bathed the room in warmth that immediately removed their
unease about the place. Within seconds of taking a seat, Mark felt
himself begin to relax. His ease was emphasised by the loud rumble
of his stomach as he breathed in the delicious scent of freshly
baked cakes that hung in the air.

“
I am sorry for calling by unannounced but I was talking to
Fred Dinage, the village constable, about your grandfather’s fob
watch. I take it that you think that the watch was stolen from your
grandfather’s body while he was at Bentwhistle’s Funeral
Directors.”

“
Yes, I don’t
think
that it was stolen. I
know
it was stolen, sir,” Helena’s
voice was calm, yet firm. There was something too intuitive in the
gaze she levelled on him so steadily.