Harriett (21 page)

Once
outside, he quickly glanced left and right and groaned at the sheer
volume of people in the busy market square. It would be impossible
to find her, even if she was still in town. He wondered if she had
called by the station but then decided that rather than waste time
going to check, he had to go and find her. She had a ten minute
head start on him, but his legs were longer than hers and, with any
luck, he would be able to catch her up before she reached Tipton
Hollow.

He had
learned over the past couple of days that Harriet was the woman he
wanted to be with. His need to spend time with her went bone deep.
From the moment he woke up to the second he fell asleep she
continued to plague his every thought, his every movement, until he
had started to feel lost and lonely without her. Was it love at
first sight? He knew it was. Even if he ignored the slightly
off-balance, punch in the stomach feeling he had experienced when
he had first laid eyes on her, each and every day since, she had
been in his thoughts. Throughout the day, even when he hadn’t been
working on the investigation, he had wondered where she was, who
she was with, how she was coping.

Given
the strength of the feelings he had felt on the night they had met,
and the relief that had almost overwhelmed him the following day
when he had seen her again, he had forced himself through a
self-imposed exile of sorts. He had made himself stay away while he
had tried to get to grips with the way she had made him reconsider
his future. Each day since, having considered every possible nuance
of feeling, every ounce of affection, every thought process and
scenario, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that what he felt for
Harriett Marchington was love. There was no other reason for his
almost obsessive need to see her again.

It was
one of the reasons why he had made arrangements to meet with Alice,
and break off his relationship with her. After the dramatics in the
tea shop, he knew with certainty that he had made the right choice.
Harriett would never have behaved so manipulatively, even if he was
ever so stupid as to break off his relationship with
her.

Harriett
dropped her basket on the table and swiped at the tears on her
face. It was ridiculous to feel this upset over something so banal.
After all, he meant nothing to her; he was just the detective who
was investigating a murder in her house. She had to get on with her
life and forget about him. Unfortunately, her heart seemed to have
other ideas because every time she closed her eyes, his handsome
face swept into her vision to the point that she felt as though he
was haunting her.

She took
a few moments to calm herself, and glanced at the clock. It was too
late to go back to the shop, even though the afternoon service
would be in full swing. It was already two o’clock, and the shop
would almost inevitably be full of the usual gossips. The latest
subject for speculation was the demise of Minerva Bobbington, whom
they had been slandering only a couple of weeks ago for having
brought the wrong type of roses for the church flowers. It was the
last thing Harriett wanted to be involved in, or even listen
to.

Right
now though, she didn’t want to be alone, but Babette had gone out
and wouldn’t be back for several hours yet, and Beatrice and
Constance were still at Great Tipton market. She sucked in a deep
breath, patted down her skirts, straightened her hair in the mirror
above the fireplace and hurried out of the front door. Mr Montague
was always someone she liked to chat and share a cup of tea with.
He always seemed to have a pot of tea on the go in case any of his
customers wanted to stop and chat and today would be no
different.

Within
minutes, she spied the green sigh of the haberdashery half way down
the row of shops which lined the main street. She nodded hello to a
few people but didn’t stop to chat and carefully kept her gaze
averted from the tea shop as she passed. She had seen enough of tea
shops for the time being. Instead, she hurried through the doorway
of the haberdashery and immediately her ears were filled with the
merry tinkle of the bell above the door.

“
Mr Montague? Hello?” Harriett called as she closed the door
carefully behind her.

She
frowned at the silence that greeted her. Usually she could at least
hear Mr Montague shuffling around out back. She frowned and walked
around the various bolts of cloth.

“
Hugo? Are you here?”

It was
highly unlikely for Hugo to leave the place unmanned. She glanced
at the sign on the door and read the Closed for business that faced
her. That meant that the Open sign was visible to the
public.

“
Hugo? Are you out back?” She wondered if he had popped to the
outhouse at the rear of the store and waited for several moments.
She took the opportunity to study several rolls of cloth and some
off-cuts of lace. When Hugo failed to materialise, she made her way
to the rear of the shop.

“
Hugo? Hello? Is anyone there?” Harriett sighed despondently.
Wherever he had gone, he had forgotten to close up before he left.
She briefly contemplated whether she should lock the front doors
and leave the key with the man next door. With a sigh, she made her
way around the back of the counter.

“
Oh, Lord,” she whispered and stared in horror at the highly
polished shoes that pointed skyward. Her gaze reluctantly travelled
higher, up the short legs, to the bright red waist coat. Her
swallow was harsh in the silence of the room. Her heart hammered in
her throat as her eyes swept over the four brass buttons that led
up to the pristine white collar of Hugo’s shirt. She edged closer,
and cried aloud at the sight of Hugo’s blank stare in his far too
pale face.

Hugo
Montague was dead.

Harriett’s stomach churned. A blessedly numb sensation
coursed through her that dampened the immediate grief. She felt a
cold breeze drift gently over her chin but couldn’t bring herself
to tear her gaze away from the body of her friend.

How long
she stood there, she had no idea. She was only vaguely aware of the
faint tinkle of the shop doorway but couldn’t turn around; couldn’t
absorb the impact of the death of someone she knew so well and had
considered a dear friend.

“
Harriett?” The familiar rumble of Mark’s voice drifted over
her and snapped her out of her fog of grief.

“
Oh, God, Mark,” she whispered and turned toward him with
horror-filled eyes.

All of
Mark’s senses snapped to attention. A quick glance around the small
shop assured him that there was nobody else there.

“
What’s wrong?” He watched Harriett step aside and point
vaguely to something behind the counter. The small hairs on the
back of his neck stood on end. He knew, even without moving behind
the wooden counter, that he would find Hugo Montague
dead.

“
How long have you been here?” Mark demanded. He studied her
for a moment before he hurried to the front door to flick the latch
and turn the ‘closed’ sign around. The last thing he wanted was for
some hysterical female to turn up and announce the latest death to
the gossips. Right now, he had other things to concern himself
with. He caught sight of a flurry of movement outside of the large
front window and quickly yanked the door open. The young boy looked
curious, but didn’t ask any questions as he was handed a couple of
pennies and ordered to fetch the constable.

“
Be quick about it,” he called to the lad as he raced to earn
his reward.

Once
inside, he secured the door again and hurried across the shop.
Harriett hadn’t moved and seemed to be in a daze. He moved to stand
in front of her and tipped her chin up until her eyes met
his.

“
Are you alright?” He knew she wasn’t, despite the fact that
she nodded jerkily. It was there in her eyes: the deep rooted fear
and grief that had yet to surface. He carefully lifted a stool over
the body and moved her around to the opposite side of the counter
where she wouldn’t be able to see the corpse, and gently sat her
down.

“
How long have you been here, Harriett?”

Harriett
felt each word as though it was being spoken through a tunnel. It
resounded through her head over and over in an endless echo. “I
don’t know. A few minutes, maybe? I came in and called Hugo, but
there was no response. It’s odd for him because even if he is out
in the back yard, you can hear him moving around, but I couldn’t
hear anyone. I thought he might have gone to the outhouse, so I
waited for a few minutes and studied the bolts of cloth over
there.” She pointed to the far wall with a hand that shook so badly
that he captured it and held in the warmth of his palms. He
mentally cursed as her cold fingers trembled beneath the weight of
his. He could only hope his warmth and reassurance would ease her
out of her terror. Right now, he was relieved that she hadn’t
succumbed to a fit of the vapours, or hysteria. As it was, she
looked as though she wasn’t sure where she was, let alone what had
happened.

“
Did you see anyone else here?”

Harriett
shook her head slowly.

“
Did you hear anyone out back?”

“
No, I already told you, it was quiet in the shop. I couldn’t
hear anyone out back at all. I waited for a few minutes but he
didn’t appear. It’s unusual for him to leave his shop unattended
and unlocked. I contemplated whether to lock up for him and leave
the key next door, and went around the counter, then found –” she
hiccupped a sob, “I found him lying there like that.” She pointed
to Hugo’s body and sucked in a deep breath. “God, Mark, what
happened to him?”

Mark
shook his head and studied the unusual way Hugo lay all bent and
twisted out of shape. From the strange trickle of fluid that had
run out of the side of his mouth it looked as though he had choked
too. He kept that thought to himself and leaned down to sniff
Hugo’s mouth. The slight smell of almonds told him that he needed
to know: cyanide. With a mental curse, he eased back on his heels
and studied the area around the body. The remnants of a tea cup lay
in pieces to one side of his body; its contents had long since
soaked into the dusty floor boards. At first glance there was
nothing else untoward in the area that was as neat and tidy as the
man himself.

He took
a moment to lower the man’s eye lids and lifted a bolt of cloth off
the counter. He carefully draped several yards of material over the
body in order to protect him from prying eyes. Luckily, if there
was any such luck in this kind of situation, Hugo had collapsed
behind the counter and this afforded him some privacy in his hour
of death. Mark knew that he had only recently been poisoned because
he was still relatively warm, but who killed him? Why?

He
pushed to his feet and returned to Harriett, who remained still and
silent. He picked her hands up in his and chafed her fingers in an
attempt to put some warmth back into them but after several moments
gave up.

“
God, come here,” he whispered and hauled her off the stool
and into his arms.

Harriett
hiccupped around a sob and settled into his chest. A steady trickle
of tears meandered down her pale cheeks as she stood wrapped in his
warm embrace. She felt comforted and reassured to have his solid
strength to lean on. It was a wonderful haven of reassurance in a
world of turmoil and confusion. She had no idea what was going on
in the usually sleepy village of Tipton Hollow, or how he intended
to make sense of it all. Her senses struggled to absorb the events
of the day, from seeing him holding hands with the beautiful woman
in Great Tipton, to finding Hugo’s body behind the counter, to now
being held by the man who was so clearly involved with someone
else. That thought alone was enough to make her ease slowly out of
his arms.

“
I am sorry, I didn’t mean to cry all over you,” she whispered
and brushed at the damp patch on the shoulder of his
jacket.

“
It’s alright, I don’t mind,” he smiled, strangely reluctant
to release his hold on her. Whatever he was about to say next was
interrupted by a rapid knock on the door. He turned and sighed with
relief at the sight of Fred, the village constable, on the front
doorstep together with a florid faced young boy who stood at his
elbow.

CHAPTER
ELEVEN

Mark
moved to let them in and flicked the halfpenny at the boy, who
beamed proudly and doffed his cap before he raced off to tell his
friends about his good fortune. Mark stared pointedly at Fred,
whose face turned sombre as he entered the room.

“
I need you to send for my colleague at the
station.”

“
I will get on to it right away, sir,” Fred replied and
disappeared out of the shop. Within minutes the young boy had
returned and stood to await further instructions so he could earn
himself a second reward.

Relieved
that the beat bobby was so efficient, Mark clapped him on the
shoulder. “Let’s drop the blinds so we aren’t watched. I am afraid
that there has been another death, constable.”

“
Oh, dear,” Fred sighed moments later when he spied the prone
body of Mr Montague behind the counter. “Did you find him,
Harriett?”

Harriett
nodded jerkily and accepted the sympathy on Fred’s face with a half
smile. “I came for tea with him.”