The Witches of Wandsworth

by Pat Herbert

  “Just a minute,” broke in Rathbone, going over his notes. “Can we backtrack a bit? Didn’t you say your father was engaged to Vesna Rowan?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “So – who was this ‘fiancé’ that was supposed to have pushed him into the canal, then?”

  “Oh, right. I see the confusion. That was it, you see. This fiancé had come back two years after the First World War, after they all thought he was dead. He was a bit of a bully, from what Dad told me, but he was all right, really. Dad always thought anyone was all right if they bought the drinks, and apparently this bloke had bought the drinks all night.”

  “Go on,” said Rathbone, scribbling furiously.

  “Well, that’s it, really. Dad was in the canal in the middle of winter, and he wasn’t a good swimmer. Being drunk as well didn’t help. He developed pneumonia as a result and since then he’s had a weak chest.”

  “So Vesna Rowan’s fiancé pushed your dad into the canal because he was jealous and wanted to marry Vesna himself?”

  “I suppose so. Although the man seemed to disappear shortly after that, and as far as I’m aware Vesna Rowan never married anybody. Which is just as well as she’s completely doolally these days.”

  Craddock grinned. “We paid her a visit just now and I must say she didn’t seem quite the ticket.”

  Percy grinned back. “You could say that. Elvira has her hands full with her, I shouldn’t wonder.”

  “Do you know where these rumours started about them being witches?” asked Rathbone.

  “Oh that,” said Percy dismissively. “It was all because they dispense these herbal remedies, I think. Although I suppose it’s also because they’re two spinsters living together, and people are suspicious of that sort of thing, aren’t they? And then it’s the way they look. I mean, Elvira looks like that witch in Snow White. Vesna’s all right, though. Apparently, she was very pretty when she was young, according to Dad. You know how these rumours can grow out of all proportion. Anyway, I think that’s all I can tell you. As you can imagine, there’s no love lost between me and that Vesna woman after what she did to Dad.”

  “It was hardly her fault her fiancé pushed him in the canal,” Rathbone pointed out.

  Percy shrugged. “Well, if that’s all, gentleman, I’d better see what that lad of mine is up to. He’s probably chopped his hand off by now.”

  

  “Well that was interesting, wasn’t it?” observed Craddock.

  Both men were back at the station comparing notes.

  “Very,” said Rathbone thoughtfully. “What do you make of it?”

  “I think we need to take what that young man says with a pinch of salt. About him seeing Helen going into Appleby Cottage, I mean. He obviously bears them a grudge, so I wouldn’t put it past him to try and add fuel to this witch sacrifice fire.”

  “I don’t think he was trying to do that, guv,” objected Rathbone. “I mean, he seemed like a decent, level-headed young man to me.”

  “Yes, so it would seem. But you must bear in mind that he feels bad about what happened to his father and could see this as an opportunity to get his revenge. When you pointed out that it wasn’t Vesna Rowan’s fault about what happened to his father, he didn’t answer you, did he?”

  “Hmm,” said Rathbone thoughtfully. “That’s true. I suppose you could be right.”

  “Anyway, the sooner we speak to that other Rowan sister, the better. We should get more sense out of her, anyhow. We’ll also need to speak to Harry Banks at some point.”

  “Yes, guv,” said Rathbone. “Do you want a bacon sandwich from the canteen?”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  It was a bright morning in late April when Bernard and Robbie turned into Hallows Mead Crescent. As they approached the gate which bore the name ‘Rosewood Cottage’, they saw the subject of their visit bending over a rose bush, secateurs in hand. Bernard coughed politely to gain his attention.

  Colonel Powell straightened up and turned to his unexpected visitors, wielding the secateurs in a somewhat dangerous manner.

  “Sorry if we startled you, Colonel,” smiled Robbie, reaching out to shake his hand. “I’m Dr MacTavish. And I believe you know our vicar, Reverend Paltoquet.”

  “Ah, yes, of course. Well, this is a surprise. To what do I owe the pleasure?” The colonel looked flustered but otherwise quite pleased. He didn’t get many callers these days, not since his wife died, anyway. “You caught me pruning my roses. It’s a bit late in the year, but we’ve had so much frost lately.”

  “Indeed,” said Bernard. “They look fine rose bushes. I bet you get some excellent blooms in the summer.”

  “Not bad, not bad,” said the Colonel proudly. “Once upon a time the Rowans had better blooms than me, you know. I used to ask them their secret, but they never would tell me. They’ve died off lately, though.”

  Bernard and Robbie had passed Appleby Cottage on their way to see the colonel, almost missing it. They had been a little surprised by its dilapidated condition but supposed the two women weren’t as young as they used to be and were finding it all a bit much these days.

  “Anyway, what can I do for you gentlemen?” he asked. “I’ll get my char to make us some tea, shall I? I usually have a cuppa about this time.”

  “Splendid,” said Robbie. “Shall we go inside?”

  When the order for morning tea had been given to the colonel’s charwoman, he showed them into the parlour which was very tidy and spotlessly clean, no doubt thanks to the obliging char.

  “Do take a seat,” invited Colonel Powell. “I’ll just remove Brumus.” So saying, he lifted a fat white cat off one of the chairs and made an attempt at brushing its fur from the cushion. “She always leaves her calling cards on the furniture, I’m afraid. Hilda – that’s my char – is always complaining about it.”

  Once the tea had been brought, Bernard cleared his throat and began. “Er, it’s about your visit to me the other day, Colonel…”

  “Thought it might be,” grinned the Colonel, stirring three large spoonfuls of sugar into his tea. “You must have thought I’d had a skinful, eh?”

  “Well, what you told me took a lot of swallowing,” Bernard admitted.

  “I know it sounds fantastic, but it’s the gospel truth. That’s what I saw. Have you told the doc about it?”

  Robbie nodded. “Colonel, actually I do believe you. So does Bernard here. We – er, we’ve had experience of these kinds of – er – things before. The reason we’re here is to try and persuade you to tell the police about it.”

  The colonel gave a hollow laugh. “Well they certainly wouldn’t believe me, would they? They’ll just show me to a cell and tell me to sleep it off. I told you, Vicar, because I thought someone should know about what I saw. What you choose to do with that information’s entirely up to you.”

  Bernard looked at Robbie, who tried again. “Now, look,” he said. “We know it won’t be easy to convince the constabulary. They only go on hard facts. But at least you will have informed them and then it will be off your mind. You would have done your civic duty.”

  The colonel looked unconvinced. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “I really don’t know. I’ve already got a reputation as a drunken old fool. If I tell them this, then I’ll be even more ridiculed. I like a drink, same as the next man, but I don’t really deserve my reputation, you know. I’m fond of my port – hence, my gammy foot.” He gave it a vigorous rub. “But I haven’t got the DT’s or anything like that.”

  Robbie smiled. “I’m sure you’re fine, Colonel. But maybe you need to get checked over to make sure.” He had his GP’s hat on now. “Have you got a regular doctor? You’re not one of my patients, are you?”

  “What’s this? Touting for business, eh?” There was a quizzical look on the colonel’s rubicund face.

  “Not at all,” laughed Robbie. “But it won’t do you any harm to have a check-up. We don’t want you keeling over with a heart attack, now, d
o we?”

  The colonel drained his teacup before replying. “You’re right, I know, Doc. But, to be honest, I’ve always been afraid of doctors – or rather, what they’re likely to tell me I’ve got.”

  “Do I frighten you, Colonel?” asked Robbie kindly.

  “Not as an individual, no. But once you get your stethoscope out, that’s a different story.”

  “Well, you know where I am, if you need me, eh? My surgery’s in Marlborough Street.”

  “I’ll think about it. More tea?”

  “No thanks,” said Robbie, rising to go. Bernard shook the colonel by the hand. “Please think about what we’ve said. You should go to the police.”

  The colonel smiled ruefully. “I’ll chew it over, but I’m not making any promises.”

  Once out in the street, Bernard turned to his friend and sighed. “He won’t, you know.”

  “Won’t what? Go to the police or consult me in my professional capacity?” Robbie said with a raised eyebrow.

  “Neither, I shouldn’t think.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “There’s a young lady downstairs wants to see you, Vicar.”

  “Did she say what she wanted?” asked Bernard, already interested. Young lady visitors were few and far between at the vicarage.

  “Nope,” shrugged Mrs Harper. “I asked ’er but she didn’t want to tell me. Skinny as a rake, she is. Like an ironing board.”

  “All right, Mrs Aitch, that will do,” said Bernard. “Just send her up.”

  Bernard greeted his guest at the top of the stairs. “I don’t think we’ve met before, have we?”

  The young girl, who looked very pale, as well as skeletally thin, gave him a wary smile as he ushered her into his study.

  “I hope you don’t mind me coming to see you, as I’m not a churchgoer, and I know you’re a busy man. But I didn’t know who else to turn to. My name’s Minnie, Minnie Knox, by the way.”

  “Hello, Miss Knox,” said Bernard, smiling. “I never mind seeing anyone if they wish to see me, whether they’re a member of my flock or not. It’s what I’m here for.”

  “Thank you,” she said meekly.

  “Now, dear,” said Bernard, showing her to the chair by the fireplace, the one usually occupied by Robbie most evenings. There was no fire, as the weather had turned markedly warmer. He sat down in the chair opposite and steepled his fingers under his chin.

  “I don’t know if you know this, Vicar,” Minnie began, “but I’m – er, was – Helen’s best friend.” She stopped abruptly, and Bernard could see the tears standing in her eyes.

  “You mean Helen Carstairs? The poor lass who was murdered last week?”

  Minnie nodded her head, too choked to speak. Bernard waited patiently for her to regain her composure. “Take your time,” he said quietly. “You must be very upset. I’m so sorry for you.”

  This made Minnie even more upset, and the tears started to flow. Bernard fished in his pocket for his handkerchief which, after a quick inspection, looked reasonably clean. He passed it to her without a word.

  She scrunched it in her hands, as she gained control of herself and managed to speak again. “Sorry, Vicar,” she said. “I can’t help it. You see, we were inseparable most days. We always saw each other for at least a couple of hours every day, if we weren’t going out with boys, that was. We were in the same class at school. I loved her.”

  Bernard felt inadequate to the occasion, as the girl dabbed the tears that had started to flow once more.

  “Anyway,” she continued after a little while, “I came to see you because of what she told me the last time we met.”

  “Before you go on,” said Bernard quickly. “Is this something you should be telling the police?” He began to think his role as father confessor was leading him down alleys he didn’t particularly want to go down.

  Minnie looked at him sadly. “I just thought… You see I didn’t want Helen’s private business spread all over the papers … You’re the one person who will take what I say and not tell anyone else – aren’t you? Like confession?”

  Bernard smiled wryly. “I’m not a Catholic – I don’t take confessions, you know.”

  “I know that,” said Minnie. “But you’re still not supposed to tell anyone’s secrets, are you?”

  “Of course not,” said Bernard, a trifle huffily. “You can be assured I will treat what you say in the strictest confidence.”

  He felt slightly guilty, however, knowing he would probably tell Robbie at the earliest opportunity.

  “It’s such a dreadful thing to say,” Minnie continued. “I don’t know if the police know that Helen was going to have a baby?” She stopped after saying this, watching Bernard’s face for signs of shock. Seeing none, she continued, “So, Vicar, you know about that?”

  Bernard nodded his head sadly. “Don’t worry, dear,” he said kindly. “The police know already. It would have been discovered at the post mortem. I think they’re keeping it out of the papers for as long as possible, though, for the family’s sake.”

  “Family – huh!”

  Bernard looked at her, puzzled. “Why do you say that? In that tone, I mean? Are you saying that Helen’s family knew she was pregnant?”

  “Well, let me put it this way – one of them wouldn’t have been all that surprised,” she said somewhat enigmatically.

  Bernard knew now that what Minnie had come to tell him was something much darker than the mere fact her friend had been pregnant. He fervently hoped it wasn’t what he was now beginning to suspect.

  He had to tread carefully. “When you say one of them wouldn’t have been surprised she was pregnant – was it her mother?”

  “God, no!” said Minnie, shocked. “She’d have had a blue fit.”

  Bernard was having his worst fears confirmed and he really didn’t like to think what he was thinking. “Then,” he started slowly, “was it her father?”

  Minnie nodded.

  

  Inspector Craddock stood up as a thin, dark-haired girl entered his office, escorted by a forbidding-looking policewoman.

  Minnie Knox had, with some reluctance, been persuaded by Bernard to go to the police. The policewoman, who seemed all chest, introduced her and handed her over to Craddock. This done, she promptly left the office, her duty discharged.

  Craddock could see she was nervous. “Take a seat, Miss Knox,” he said gently. “No need to be afraid of me.” He gave her a smile.

  Minnie sat down gingerly and stared around the sparse office with curiosity.

  “Right, dear, what can I do for you? You have something to tell us about poor Helen Carstairs, I understand.”

  Minnie looked down at her hands, which she was twiddling nervously, and then up into Craddock’s kind eyes. “Yes. The vicar said I should come and see you about her.”

  “The vicar?”

  “Yes – er, Reverend Palto – er – he’s got a funny name.”

  “Oh yes, Paltoquet. No business having a name like that, in my opinion. If he’s English, why have a French name?”

  Ignoring this, Minnie continued, “Anyway, I went to see him and that’s why I’m here now.”

  “I see,” said Craddock, scratching away on his pad.

  He was reminding himself in indelible blue-black ink to go and see that confounded interfering vicar of St Stephen’s and tell him to mind his own sodding business. He waited for Minnie to continue.

  “You see,” she said after a moment, “he told me it could be a vital piece of information – about the murder.”

  “Yes, go on.”

  At this point, Brian Rathbone came into the office, having heard about the young girl’s visit.

  “Ah, there you are, Rathbone,” said Craddock. “Miss Knox here is about to tell us something very interesting.” He paused, looking pointedly at Minnie. “I hope.”

  Minnie gulped several times before continuing. “She told me that her father had got her – er – in the family way…” She fl
ushed to the roots of her hair.

  “I see,” said Craddock, riffling through some papers, trying to keep a lid on what he was feeling. “Let me get this straight. Are you telling us that Henry Carstairs got your friend, Helen – his daughter – pregnant?”

  “Yes, sir,” Minnie almost whispered, looking down at her knees.

  Rathbone spoke up while his superior got command of himself. “This is a very serious accusation, Miss Knox,” he said. “Are you sure that is what Helen Carstairs told you?”

  “’Course I am,” said Minnie, impatient now. “Helen was at her wit’s end. Didn’t know where to turn. Couldn’t face telling her mother she was pregnant, let alone telling her who the father was.”

  “It must have been an awful situation for the poor girl,” said Rathbone, coming over to Minnie and patting her shoulder comfortingly. “Thank you for coming to tell us. This information throws new light on our investigations.”

  “Yes,” said Craddock, “thank you for coming to us. You have been most helpful. Is there anything else you think we ought to know?”

  “Well,” Minnie began, then stopped.

  “Yes?” Craddock’s breath was well and truly bated now.

  “I don’t know whether it’s of any importance, but as Helen was desperate to get rid of the baby, she told me she was going to see if the Rowan sisters could give her anything to help. You know, like. To get rid of it.”

  So that, thought Craddock, explains the visit to the Rowans on the evening of her murder. If there was one thing he hated to think about, it was abortion. He’d have a few words to say to those women if they were dispensing anything to cause miscarriages.

  While Rathbone was showing Minnie out, Craddock sat on at his desk, deep in thought. It was all very well dealing with straightforward murder, but when it came to incest and illegal abortions, that was a whole new ball game. He wished, with all his heart, he wasn’t on the case at all.