Harriett (3 page)

As soon as
everyone had settled down again, Madame Humphries called for
another message.

The
glass began to move.

P-E-T-E-Y-S-A-Y-S-E-L-L-O.

Babette
spelled the words out. “Shouldn’t there be an ‘H’ in
there?”

“
Does it really matter?” Madame Humphries snapped impatiently.
“They are giving us messages. I don’t think they are all that
bothered about spelling and punctuation.”

Harriett
shared an amused look with Mr Montague. Although the dapper little
man was sometimes officious and tended to bumble around a lot, he
really was a sweet gentleman who had a wicked sense of humour. At
times, when he was in full flow, he was apt to come out with quips
and innuendo that had Harriett clutching her sides with laughter.
She smiled at Mr Montague’s rueful wink.

“
Anybody understand a Petey?” He glanced around the table but
everyone shook their heads and looked at each other blankly.
“Nobody understands Petey. Is there another message for me?” Mr
Montague whispered theatrically.

The
glass hovered for a moment and began to move toward him. All trace
of humour vanished from his rotund face, and was replaced with
nervous expectation as the glass slowly made its way across the
table before it circled around and moved toward the
‘No’.

Mr
Montague heaved a sigh of relief, and Harriett smothered a nervous
laugh, unsure if the sigh was really one of annoyance, relief or
consternation.

H-I-S-I-N-D-A-N-G-E-R.

Babette
read the message hesitantly, a dark frown on her face. “You would
think they would be able to spell better than this,” she grumbled.
“Who is HIS? Can you ask them for clarification?”

H-I-S-I-N-D-A-N-G-E-R.

The
glass stopped, then began to move slowly around in a
circle.

“
What is it doing?” Tuppence cried. She had to stand up to be
able to keep her finger on the glass as it spun around faster and
faster.

“
It’s spelling out the letters for us,” Miss Haversham gasped.
“Keep a note of it, Babette, I will spell the letters to you.” She
clearly relished the fact that they were getting somewhere after
what seemed an indeterminable wait, and practically wriggled in her
seat in eagerness.

“
What does it say?”

“
Keep it going!” Madame Humphries’ face was lit with
excitement. Her assistant, Miss Hepplethwaite, didn’t look too
convinced, but remained silent and merely stood up so she could
keep her finger on the glass as it moved rapidly around the table.
“Keep the energy flowing.”

“
H!” Miss Haversham cried. “The first letter is H.”

“
Who is H?” Miss Hepplethwaite demanded with an air of
desperation.

Harriett
glanced at the horror on the woman’s face and began to grow worried
herself.

“
Tell us, my friends, who is H?” Madame Humphries cried
loudly. “Who is he?”

H-I-S-D-

The
glass immediately shot toward Harriett and Mr Montague. Everyone
watched as it flew past both of them and smashed into the wall
behind.

The
ladies screamed while the men uncharacteristically
swore.

Silence
settled over the room for several long moments. Everyone was
stunned speechless, and more than a little shaken by what had just
happened.

Harriett’s blank gaze met and held Mr Montague’s horrified
stare. Nobody seemed to know what to do.

“
Well, I –”

Whatever
Madame Humphries was going to say next was interrupted by a loud
thump from the floor above.

“
Oh, my stars!” Miss Smethwick screamed, and cowered back into
her seat with large, terror-filled round eyes. For once, she seemed
to be as caught up in the evening’s events as much as everyone else
was.

“
What on earth?” Mr Bentwhistle scowled at Madame Humphries as
though it was all her fault.

“
There is nobody here but us,” Babette announced.

“
What’s up there?” Miss Haversham asked. She looked somewhat
deflated that her excitement had been dashed. She stared at the
ceiling as though she wanted to stomp upstairs and capture the
miscreant responsible for interrupting them.

“
It’s my room,” Harriett replied quietly. A ripple of unease
shimmered down her spine.

They had
all taken cursory glances at the ceiling over the course of the
evening while communicating with the ‘spirits’, however Harriett
had never once put any thought to the fact that the room directly
above them was actually hers. She shared a worried glance with her
aunt and, together, they pushed away from the table.

Harriett
glanced down as her feet crunched the shattered glass on the
floor.

“
Oh, dear,” she whispered, feeling slightly overwhelmed at the
speed in which events had taken an unusual turn. She wasn’t sure
what to think of any of it: the messages, the glass or the noise
upstairs.

“
Somebody light the gas lamps,” Babette ordered and handed
Constance the pot of spills that were beside the
fireplace.

“
I will come with you,” Mr Bentwhistle manfully offered and
muttered an apology when he turned around and bumped into Mrs
Bobbington in the gloom. “Please excuse me. I cannot see a blasted
thing in this darkness.”

“
Language!” Miss Haversham tutted at his blasphemy.

“
Language yourself,” Mr Bentwhistle snapped and stomped toward
the door.

“
Shall I open the curtains?” Harriett offered. With the
dexterity of someone who was comfortably familiar with the layout
of her own home, Harriett skirted around those she could see in the
gloom and moved toward the front room windows. The lamplighters had
already been around and lit the street lights outside. It didn’t do
much to ward off the darkness, but the eerie glow was enough to
eradicate the worst of the inky night to allow the gas lamps inside
the front parlour to be lit safely. Within minutes, the room was
bathed in a warm, comforting glow.

Harriett
stood with her back to the window and studied the room before her.
The wide eyes and pale faces of the occupants who remained around
the table bespoke of a night that they would talk about for weeks
to come: at least until the next psychic circle.

An
uncomfortable and somewhat expectant silence settled over the room
and they all watched the door while they waited for Babette and Mr
Bentwhistle to return with news. With each second that ticked by
the tension rose until Harriett positively bristled with impatience
by the time the knob turned on the door and Babette re-appeared,
followed by Mr Bentwhistle. The rather worried eyes she turned on
Harriett did little to ease her fears.

“
Your dressing table stool had fallen over, that’s all,” she
replied cheerfully in a voice that was at odds with the nervousness
that had fallen over everyone.

“
How did that happen though? We are all down here,” the ever
practical Beatrice piped up. As soon as the words were out she
seemed to realise that she was not helping matters and mumbled an
apology before she lapsed into silence.

“
Quite,” Mr Bentwhistle replied crisply as he resumed his
seat. “The doors are locked. We have searched the house from top to
bottom, even in the cupboards, but nobody else is here.”

“
Oh, dear Lord,” Mrs Bobbington muttered and crossed herself.
“Do you think the spirits are angry with us?”

“
Don’t be ridiculous,” Miss Smethwick snapped. “How could they
be angry with us? We haven’t done anything wrong.”

Nobody
raised question with the fact that none of them had discounted the
presence, or feasibility of ‘spirits’.

“
How can a stool fall over though?”

“
Is it three legged?”

“
Where was it in your bedroom?”

“
Do you have cats?”

Harriett’s head began to whirl and she glanced at Babette,
who looked more than a little confused. Babette wasn’t able to
offer any reasonable explanation either. Harriett raised her hands
to stem the steady flow of seemingly relentless questions and moved
toward the hallway. She didn’t want to leave the room and go
anywhere by herself right now, even though this was her own home,
but someone had to clean up the glass from the floor.

“
I am sure that it is just one of those things, that’s all,”
she hastened to reassure them but, from the looks on their faces,
they were far from convinced.

“
Where are you going?” Mr Montague demanded.

“
I think that we all need to take a deep breath to compose
ourselves and have a little break. I suggest we all have a drink
and then we can do the circle, demonstration thing,” she replied
smoothly and made circling motions with her hands.

“
I think we should carry on while we are getting messages.”
Madame Humphries adopted an almost mulish look that warned everyone
she was not about to be deterred without a fight.

“
Quite,” Miss Haversham added. “We have waited long enough for
things to get started. It seems silly to stop now, especially when
it is only just starting to get interesting.” She ignored Madame’s
offended huff and glared around the table in search of anyone who
dared argue with her.

Mr
Montague glanced at Mr Bentwhistle for masculine support. “I agree
with Madame Humphries. I think we should carry on while the glass
is moving. It took us long enough to get this thing going, it seems
silly to give up now.”

Harriett
sighed and fought to keep a hold of her impatience. She stared at
Babette and silently willed her aunt to object, but Babette merely
shrugged and turned her attention back to the glass.

“
If everyone is happy to continue then I think we should carry
on, for the time being at least,” Babette replied smoothly,
completely unaffected by the last few minutes. “I don’t know about
everyone else, but I think we should find out a bit more about this
last message.”

“
Well, if everyone else is happy,” Harriett sighed, “I will
sweep up the mess. Babette, if you would like to get another
glass?” She didn’t wait for Babette’s reply and hurried out of the
room in search of a broom. The small hairs on the back of her neck
prickled as she stalked through the sitting room at the back of the
house toward the kitchen. Keeping her eyes firmly facing forward,
she hurried to the cupboard, removed a dustpan and brush and
stomped back to the parlour.

She had
not realised just how palpable the tension in the house had become
until she returned to the now darkened parlour. Every instinct she
possessed screamed at her to call a halt to the evening and insist
that everyone have drinks and then leave, but she knew that would
be incredibly rude, even if she could get Miss Haversham and Madame
Humphries to comply. She was somewhat relieved to be able to close
the door behind her and quickly resumed her seat between the
reassuring solidity of Messrs Montague and Bentwhistle. Nervous
expectation settled over everyone as they each placed their
forefingers tentatively on the glass in the centre of the
table.

Harriett
jumped when Madame Humphries sucked in a huge, very loud breath
through her teeth.

Nobody
had sought fit to close the parlour curtains. The room was now cast
in a rather eerie glow that did little to offer anyone reassurance,
let alone comfort.

Mr
Montague’s face, once so gentle and familiar to her, was now
shadows and hard edges that defined the almost inset eyes and over
plump lips. It gave him a rather hideous look of macabre intent
that made her glance away quickly. She turned her gaze firmly to
the glass and silently willed it to remain where it was. If the
wretched thing didn’t move again then maybe everyone would be
willing to call it a night. She briefly contemplated exerting a
little pressure on the glass to stop its flow around the table, but
couldn’t discount the notion that the messages they had received
this evening might really have been from the spirit world. The last
thing she wanted - needed - to do was upset any spirit who may have
a thirst to give her a sound ticking off.

“
Dear friends, please accept our apologies for our anxieties
earlier.” Madame Humphries glared at Tuppence’s disparaging
snort.

“
Do you really think we should carry on Augusta?” Miss
Hepplethwaite twittered. She ignored Madame’s instructions and
removed her finger from the glass long enough to wipe a hand across
her brow.

Harriett
frowned at the woman. She could see that the psychic’s assistant
was scared, even if she discounted the fine tremors in her hands
that even she could see through the darkness. If Miss
Hepplethwaite, who dealt with these matters on a daily basis, was
frightened, surely they all had a reason to be concerned, didn’t
they?

“
Oh Gertie, don’t be such a ninny,” Madame snapped. “The
spirits won’t hurt you. We are getting somewhere at last. Now pipe
down and let me continue.”

Harriett
shared a grin with Constance, whose white teach flashed in the
gloom. The reputedly Hungarian psychic suddenly sounded rather
cockney; East End, if Harriett was any judge. In the ensuing
silence, Harriett, took the opportunity to gather her usual
pragmatic self around her and consider the events that had unfolded
with a more jaded eye. She couldn’t explain what had happened with
the stool, but the glass could have flown off the table because Mrs
Dalrymple, who was seated opposite, had inadvertently pushed it.
Beatrice and Tuppence, who were sitting on either side of her,
would never do something so underhand as to deliberately mislead
everyone by pushing the glass to give false messages.