Harriett (35 page)

“
Do you want me to check the pawn brokers around
town?”

“
I think that would be wise. We need to see if it has been
exchanged for cash and, if so, get a description of who traded it.
If the vase cannot be found then we need to think
again.”

“
Do you want to bring him in for questioning?”

Mark
shook his head. “Right now we have nothing to point in his
direction. We need to get some evidence that will prove him guilty
with absolute certainty. All we have is a missing vase. It could
have been broken by that cat prior to Mr Montague’s demise.” Mark
sighed and rubbed a weary hand down his face. “I think that I had
better make tracks. There is a psychic demonstration that I want to
go and see.” He withdrew his fob watch and glanced at the time.
“Keep the key. Let’s see if Alan Bentwhistle asks for it back. He
has no cause to come back here, but we don’t know if he intends to
make free with his ability to help himself given that Hugo isn’t
able to report any thefts himself now.”

“
We don’t know what he has already taken though.”

“
Quite. If we find the pawn broker who purchased that vase,
find out if anything else was traded. We don’t know if anything
else that was traded belonged to Hugo, but it may help us
understand just how much Alan Bentwhistle has stolen.” Mark quickly
closed out all thought of Helena Cridlingham’s strange predictions
with a shudder. He didn’t relish Isaac having to traipse around the
pawn brokers in town, but he would rather have preferred to have
that job than what he was about to do.

Later
that night, Mark escorted Harriett into the Civic Rooms in Great
Tipton. His mother took a seat on one side of him, and he waited
until Harriett had taken her seat before he settled down between
them. He glanced at the doubt on Harriett’s face and wondered if
she felt as nervous as he did. As the minutes ticked by, the crowd
took their seats. Silence eventually settled over the room and
everyone waited patiently for Madame Humphries to
appear.

Marks
attention began to wander and he thought again about the Hugo’s
vase. Isaac hadn’t found anything in the rubbish and, according to
the neighbour, since Hugo Montague had died, nobody had been to the
flat except for Alan Bentwhistle. Sometime between Hugo leaving the
flat on the day of his death and today, something had happened to
the vase, but was it stolen as Helena had predicted, or
broken?

Together
with the missing fob-watch Helena had reported, the light of guilt
was shining down on Alan Bentwhistle. If Helena was actually able
to speak with spirit, and the warning to keep Harriett safe was
indeed genuine, he had to seriously start to reconsider just how he
was going to ensure that she remained as safe as possible while she
was at work, in the tea shop, and at home. He couldn’t lose sight
of the way Hugo Bentwhistle had died; innocuously drinking tea. Was
it the murderer’s oblique way of referring to the very sinister and
very real threat toward Harriett’s life? Or was he reading messages
that weren’t there? If Alan Bentwhistle was a thief, where on earth
did Madame Humphries and Miss Hepplethwaite come in to it all? Were
they thieves too?

Until he
could find either the fob watch or the vase, he had no way of
getting to the bottom of just what the hell was going on and fought
the urge to rest his aching head in his hands. He glanced at
Babette, who sat on the other side of his mother and felt a pang of
guilt. He hadn’t had the chance to speak to Harriett yet to see if
she could tell him a bit more about why Babette was lying to get
out of the house, and sneaking around in the evening.

A flurry
of movement in front of him drew his attention and he faced forward
in time to see Madame Humphries stalk regally into the centre of
the empty floor. The audience were seated in a semi-circle and
faced the chair in which Madame Humphries sat with her back
perfectly straight and her chin tilted almost defiantly. She didn’t
speak to the audience or acknowledge them in any way; merely sat
and stared blankly into space. Mark wondered if she was on some
sort of medication that left her a little out of her
consciousness.

Surprisingly, it was the usually extremely nervous Miss
Hepplethwaite, who moved to take centre stage and stood in front of
the audience with her hands held at her waist while she waited for
everyone’s attention. She didn’t have to wait very long. An air of
expectation hung over the crowd and Mark felt certain he could have
heard a pin drop at the back of the room because it was so quiet.
He glanced at Harriett who, for some reason, looked incredibly sad.
Did the demonstration remind her of the recent spate of murders? In
spite of the fact that they were in full view of everyone, he held
her hand.

Harriett
made no attempt to pull away and gave him a small smile. If she was
honest, she didn’t want to be at the demonstration. She had
accepted Mark’s offer to escort her, partly because she had been
thrilled that he had asked her out, and partly because she had been
curious to know why he had wanted to come. He hadn’t said as much
after the séance at Beatrice’s, but he was sceptical about the
entire business of talking to spirits. She knew that he was there
more out of professional curiosity than personal interest and she
couldn’t really blame him. There were times when she wished that
she hadn’t started the entire spiritual circle business. Maybe then
Minerva Bobbington and Hugo Montague would still be alive, and she
wouldn’t be scared to step out of her own front door.

She
wondered how he had picked up on her anxiety, but couldn’t bring
herself to question it. Mark was a very compassionate and caring
man. He was someone who seemed to have no compunction against
offering someone comfort in their hour of need. He seemed to be
particularly intuitive to those around him and she felt slightly
privileged that she was, for the time being at least, included in
that group of people he considered worthy of his
affectation.

It felt
right to sit by his side and hold his hand, even if it did draw the
attention of several of the audience. Emboldened by his quiet
strength beside her, she lifted her chin, squared her shoulders and
turned her attention to Miss Hepplethwaite, who was apparently
still waiting for the silent crowd to pay attention.

“
Thank you for gathering around us here on this evening my
friends. It is wonderful to have so many of you here. We are
gathered here today to provide you all with the opportunity to
communicate with those dearly departed relations, friends,
colleagues and associates, who have long since passed into the
spirit world. Our intention is to bring you messages and,
hopefully,” she turned around to glance questioningly at the still
silent, still watchful, Miss Humphries, “we can actually persuade
one of the spirits to show themselves to us.” She raised her hands
in a preacher-like gesture when the crowd ooh’d and aah’d, and
shushed those who began to whisper.

“
I would like to open the evening with a prayer.” Once
everyone had their heads bowed, she began to recite the Lord’s
Prayer, which was echoed by the congregation. No sooner had they
finished than Madame Humphries stood and began to speak. Her sermon
was surprisingly nothing to do with spirit. However, it did tell
Mark that the woman felt very strongly about temperance and women’s
suffrage. By the time she drew to a halt almost 20 minutes later,
he was struggling to remain still in his seat and trying valiantly
not to yawn. He was aware of Harriett’s deep sigh and they shared a
rueful look of commiseration while Madame Humphries resumed her
seat, and Miss Hepplethwaite took centre stage again.

“
We will now begin with the readings. Madame Humphries will
give a message. Please tell us if you can accept it. If nobody can
take what Madame tells us, then we will ask for further information
from our spirit friends.” She moved to the far side of the room,
not next to Madame Humphries as Mark expected, but next to the
curtains that sat behind Madame. The main gasoliers in the centre
of the room was turned off and replaced by several large candles
that had been placed sporadically around the room.

“
Good Lord, is this really necessary?” Henrietta whispered
only to be hastily shushed by the avid-looking woman seated behind
her. “Shush yourself, woman,” Henrietta retorted with a
glare.

A
strange tap from somewhere within the room made several of the
audience gasp. Everyone sat silent and watchful. Tension rose and
they watched Madame Humphries suck in a deep breath.

“
I know you are here my spirit friends, please come forward
with your messages.” Her voice echoed around the cavernous hall.
Mark could hear a mixture of sniggers and gasps as a strange glow
began to surround the clairvoyant. Initially white in colour, it
began to turn into a yellowish green haze, which hovered over
Madame’s head in a quite menacing fashion.

“
I have a message for Doreen,” Madame gasped in a voice that
was about as spiritual as Mark’s.

“
Here,” a rather stout woman called. “Tell me your
message.”

Mark bit
his lip to hold the words of caution back. Her belief was clear
from the eagerness on her face.

“
I have a man here. He is your husband.”

The
woman looked hesitant and glanced at the people around her as
though she expected a man to pop up amongst them. “I don’t have a
husband,” she replied hesitantly.

“
He is your father then. I feel a strong fatherly bond with
this man.”

“
I hope not,” the woman replied. “My father was alive and well
when I left him by the fire an hour ago.”

Titters
of laugher swept through everyone but it did little to lighten the
atmosphere. Those who were sceptical merely scoffed a little
louder, while those who were firm believers listened just as
avidly, clearly prepared to continue to believe in the
afterlife.

Madame
Humphries sighed. “Is there another Doreen in the
house?”

Everyone
remained silent.

“
It must be your grandfather then, my dear. He is a fatherly
relation.”

“
My grandfather is alive and kicking too,” the woman scoffed.
“At least, he was when he threw the bedpan at our little Johnny
this afternoon.”

Ribald
laughter swept across the room and even Mark smiled. Luckily,
Madame Humphries’ abject failure seemed to have cured the woman of
her complete belief because she now looked wary, and more than a
little confused.

“
I have a man here who says that you must not take on so about
everything your son, Johnny, does. He is a young man and needs to
learn through his own mistakes.”

“
Johnny isn’t my son,” the woman reported. It was clear that
she had begun to rather enjoy being the centre of attention and
stood challengingly with her hands on her hips. “He is my little
brother and a pain in the proverbial at that.” She looked at those
seated around her and looked pleased with herself when the room
exploded into laughter again. Everyone turned to Madame Humphries
to see what she would come up with next, but the theatrics
continued in another direction.

Completely oblivious to her failure, Madame Humphries leaned
forward in her seat and began to gasp.

“
Here, what’s she doing?” A man called from the back of the
room. People closest to the door stood to get a better view and
watched the medium rock backward and forward in her seat. The haze
that surrounded her turned faintly green. A scream erupted from the
back of the room as a hand slowly appeared from behind Madame
Humphries’ head. There was no body; just a hand. Mark glanced at
Harriett and gave her a wink.

Harriett
rolled her eyes and knew that this was the hand she had seen in the
carpet bag at Beatrice’s house. She felt strangely sad again and
couldn’t quite put her finger on why. She didn’t know whether it
was because she had been culpable in leading the members of the
psychic circle to these fraudsters, or that they had spent two long
evenings sitting around a table, in total darkness, for
nothing.

Not only
that, but there seemed to be absolutely no spirit world around them
whatsoever. No relatives to come forward with their loving
messages, no guides, helpers and inspirers who would impart their
wisdom to the congregation and make everyone feel a little bit
better about their lives. For some reason, it made her acutely
angry that Madame Humphries and Miss Hepplethwaite could consider
that they could try to fool innocent people into believing they
were genuine in the hopes of making themselves some easy
money.

The room
remained silent as the hand slowly disappeared.

“
I have a message here for Hillary. Is there a Hillary in the
house?”

After
several moments of silence, a reluctant Hillary, propelled by the
people she sat with, stood up. She looked as though she would
rather be anywhere else, and blushed mightily at having so many
people stare at her.

“
I have a message from your aunt. She tells you that you
gossip too much and must start to mind your own
business.”

Once
again, laugher rippled over the crowd who were now warming to the
theatrics of the evening.

“
I don’t have an aunt,” Hillary replied with a scowl. “I don’t
gossip either.” She tipped her chin up belligerently and yanked her
hand out of her friends’ when they tried to drag her back down into
her seat.