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“Heaven’s, Harriett, I don’t mind admitting that I think I would prefer a bout of influenza rather than attending this séance here tonight, but I think we owe it to Minerva and Hugo to have this meeting and find out what we can about those silly threats,” Constance sighed.
“Exactly,” Mrs Dalrymple added with a firm nod of her head. “We shall be having no silly threats tonight, so let’s get on with it.”
Harriett offered her a smile that wavered ever such a little bit, and felt the familiar sting of tears that she hurriedly blinked away.
Henrietta looked at her son’s face and saw clear adoration in the steady gaze that seemed to watch Harriett’s every move. He studied her with far too much familiarity than was normal, or wise, if one didn’t want to be on the receiving end of gossip, but didn’t seem to care very much. However, Henrietta knew her son and, unless she was very much mistaken, he was besotted with the woman seated by his side. It wasn’t lost on her that he had manoeuvred everyone around so that he could place himself firmly at the young lady’s side. Like a dog with a bone, he simply refused to be parted from her, even if it was only to sit a couple of seats away. It reminded her of her own dear husband’s attentiveness when they first got together. She glanced at Babette, who was also studying the young couple with more curiosity than concern. They shared a conspiratorial smile and turned their attention back to the table.
“Now, everyone put your fingers on the glass please. We shall all say the Lord’s Prayer and then I shall ask for the protection to be put into place for us all. Now, let’s begin.”
Silence descended and they watched Madame Humphries suck in a huge gulp of breath through her teeth. Harriett thought back to her mirth on that first night but couldn’t find anything funny about the theatrics tonight. It felt strangely sad, or was that the atmosphere around the room? She had no idea. What she was certain of was that she felt very safe next to someone as calm as Mark.
Everyone placed their fingers on the glass and waited.
“Come to me, my great spirit friends. Draw closer around us and bring us your energies.”
“Oh, dear me, no,” Miss Hepplethwaite twittered nervously at the head of the table, and placed one hand on Augusta Humphries’ shoulder. Madame Humphries immediately snapped forward in her chair and stared at the far end of the room.
“Good Lord above,” she whispered.
Harriett frowned and turned to stare at the blackness that encased the end of the room. Her heart began to pound in her throat and her hand trembled. For some reason, her thoughts turned toward Hugo Montague and Minerva Bobbington. If either of them stepped out of the shadows, she would be the first one out of the door. Everyone else could do what they liked. As it was, after several minutes of unsuccessfully trying to look into the blackness, she sighed and turned back toward the table.
Mark stared at the space where Miss Hepplethwaite had been standing. He glanced around the room and caught a flurry of movement behind Tuppence.
“I suggest you come and sit down, Miss Hepplethwaite, we can see you, you know,” Mark drawled into the darkness. He didn’t care what they had intended to do, but he was not going to tolerate any of their shenanigans while he was in the house. He pushed away from the table, leaned toward the hearth behind him and pick up a candelabra. He took a moment to light the candles and lift it high enough to cast the room in a rosy glow.
There, at the far end of the room, facing the closed curtains stood Miss Hepplethwaite. Mark considered the distance between where she stood and the door that led to the hallway, and wondered whether she had been after something in the room or had intended to dash upstairs. Nevertheless, plans thwarted, the small woman appeared to give herself a mental shake before she turned to face them.
“Who was it, Gertrude?” Madame Humphries demanded when Miss Hepplethwaite had returned to her side.
“I don’t know. I didn’t get a chance to see them very clearly,” she replied with a frown.
Mark was far from convinced and placed the candelabra, still lit, on the mantle behind him.
“Right, if we extinguish that light then –”
“The light stays on,” Mark interjected in a voice as cold as a winter’s day.
“But-”
“I think that given what happened last time, it would ease everyone’s nerves if we could at least see the people we are sitting with. There is no reason why the spirits won’t work with us if we need a bit of light for reassurance, now is there? I am sure they understand how shaken people are feeling after the recent spate of deaths.” Mark’s voice was reason personified and gave neither woman any opportunity to argue. “Now, I think we need to carry on.” With that, he placed his finger on the glass and watched everyone follow suit.
He took a moment to wink at Harriett, who quirked her lips wryly. He knew from the look on her face that she suspected that Mark had just interrupted their attempt to steal something. After what had just happened, he was more convinced than ever that he had the fraudsters Scotland Yard were after. If only he could confirm that they were the two clairvoyants who vanished from London over a year ago. If they weren’t, he was fairly certain that these two had their own similar scam working, and it was up to him to bring them to justice. Until then, he just had to get through the rest of the evening without Harriett being frightened, or his mother fixated on matrimony any more than she already was.
He paused and considered that thought as he stared blankly at the stationary glass for several moments. Until now, he had always kept his romantic relationships firmly away from his mother’s beady glare. The last thing he wanted, or needed, was his mother getting herself involved in his romantic entanglements. However, Harriett was different. Judging from the looks his mother had shared with Babette, the ladies strongly considered Mark and Harriett a potential couple. Would it do any harm to enlist their help a little to persuade the hitherto unsuspecting Harriett down the aisle?
That was enough to slam his thoughts to a halt. When had he considered Harriett as his future wife? He had known her for a week now. A week! That was all. Even then, he hadn’t spoken to her every day. He had spent no more than five or six hours with her at the most, and even then he had been at work most of the time. He had very little personal knowledge of her to even begin to consider whether they were compatible.
Through his investigation he had learned that her Uncle Charles ran the tea shop in the village, and Harriett helped behind the counter to serve the customers. It was a thrivin
g family business that had a good reputation for miles around. The family had an excellent reputation. Although Babette helped clean the church, nobody knew much about anything else she did, except run the family home at 29 Daventry Street. Charles was a work and pub kind of man. When he wasn’t at work, he was at home having his supper or down the pub. There was nothing more complicated about him than that.
Unfortunately, he knew very little about Harriett. He had no idea what kind of things she liked. Did she like flowers and long walks in the country, or the hustle and bustle of town-life? Would she prefer to live in the country or the town? Did she like beef pie or chicken?
If he enlisted the help of his mother and Babette, his life would be a little easier. Unfortunately, he didn’t want to give anyone any hint of his real intentions toward the woman beside him until he knew for certain what those intentions were. After all, he had no idea if she liked to keep a tidy house, or just threw everything anywhere as soon as the front door closed behind her. There were so many little nuances to consider; nuances that could make life either very smooth or exceedingly difficult, that he was left with no doubt that he had to proceed with caution: very much like his investigation. Decision made, he turned his attention back to the motionless glass.
“Is this going to get moving tonight, or do we have to sit here like lemons staring at the table top all evening?” Miss Haversham snapped with a sigh. “I have my cats waiting at home for their evening saucer of milk.”
“It took a long time to start to work last time,” Babette replied. Her arm ached fiercely and she had to use her free hand to hold her arm off the table to alleviate the discomfort. It was only good manners that kept her from taking her leave of everyone and heading home.
