The Witches of Wandsworth

by Pat Herbert

  Rathbone wanted to punch him in the face, while what Craddock wanted to do to him was beyond description.

  “Have you got any news for us?” he asked, giving them the briefest of smiles. His wife hovered eagerly in the background.

  “Would you like some tea? I was just making some for Henry,” she said.

  “No, thank you,” said Craddock quickly. “We won’t be here that long, and I wouldn’t bother about your husband’s tea. He won’t be here that long either,” he added, rather brutally.

  Rathbone gave his boss a disapproving look. Craddock would never win any prizes for tact.

  “What do you mean?” Ivy Carstairs was taken aback at Craddock’s rudeness.

  “Henry Carstairs, I’m arresting you for the rape of your under-age daughter and for incest. You do not have to say anything, but anything you do say will be taken down and may be given in evidence.”

  Ivy screamed and fell to the floor in a dead faint. Henry Carstairs, who had stood up on the policemen’s arrival, remained upright, his jaw practically hitting the floor with her. His Jack Russell began to yap piteously, and even Craddock felt a bit sorry for it.

  “What’s all this?” Henry Carstairs managed to say after a moment. His cold eyes blinked at them uncomprehendingly, and two red spots appeared on his sallow cheeks. Rathbone noticed that he didn’t seem to have any eyelashes.

  “I think you understand perfectly, Mr Carstairs,” said Craddock. “Rathbone, can you attend to Mrs Carstairs?”

  Ivy was now recovering consciousness and looking very disoriented as Rathbone helped her to the sofa and fetched her a glass of water from the kitchen.

  “Just what cock and bull story have you been told?” demanded Carstairs.

  “You needn’t concern yourself with that. I must ask you to accompany us to the station. You may call your solicitor from there.”

  Craddock could see the man was about to argue, so he brought out the big guns. “If you wish to be handcuffed, I can certainly oblige,” he said. That did the trick.

  “No need for that, Inspector. I’m sure this can all be cleared up at the station.”

  

  Craddock was feeling decidedly uncomfortable looking at Henry Carstairs as he sat on the opposite side of the table in the interview room. Beside him sat a sleazy solicitor who had, on more than one occasion, cramped his style. Rathbone was sitting beside Craddock, looking green.

  Knowing what Henry Carstairs had done, Rathbone had never felt such revulsion for a human being in the whole of his life. In his line of business, he had met many criminals, rapists and perverts among them, but this man’s crime beat everything. The rape of his own under-aged daughter, for God’s sake! His eyes met Carstairs’ and he quickly looked away.

  He was also secretly worried about their witness, Minnie Knox. He feared she wouldn’t be able to stand up well under cross examination in court. Even if she was telling the truth, which Rathbone had no doubt she was, a wily defence lawyer would run rings around her in five minutes.

  The solicitor was already demanding they release their prisoner, as they had no proof of the charges. Carstairs remained silent throughout, his only words, on his solicitor’s instructions, being ‘no comment’.

  Suddenly the door opened, and young PC Jenkins entered, a flushed look on his excited face.

  “I hope you’ve got a good reason for this interruption, Jenkins,” grumbled Craddock, not nearly as cross as he sounded. He was getting bored with hearing ‘no comment’ and could see he was getting nowhere with the interrogation of his prisoner.

  “Sorry, sir, but I think you’ll like to hear this.”

  Outside the interview room, Craddock folded his arms and stared up into the face of young Jenkins, who stood almost eight inches taller. Craddock only just managed to scrape into the police force at all, being only five foot seven and a half inches, although what he lacked in height he certainly made up for in width and bombast.

  “Well, what is it?” he demanded.

  “We checked Carstairs’ finger prints against those that were on the knife,” he said, smiling broadly, “and – guess what – it looks like we have a match!”

  The knife! Of course! It had soon been discovered close to the body, hidden in undergrowth. Craddock had almost forgotten about it. It was all he could do to stop himself from jumping up and down on the spot and kissing the young constable on both cheeks.

  “Are you sure?” he demanded.

  “Definitely,” smiled Jenkins. “There was enough detail on the knife to get a positive match. We’ve got him!”

  “We’ve got him!” echoed the ecstatic Craddock. “And we’ll make sure he swings!”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Mrs Harper was very excited, a state she hardly ever allowed herself to get into. But this was an exception because, the following week, she and her friend Gladys were going on a Mediterranean cruise together. They would be gone for a fortnight, a point of information she had been taking great delight in reminding poor Bernard at regular intervals as the time for her departure drew ever nearer. Now, with only a week to go, the frequency with which she reminded him had increased proportionately until he was sick and tired of hearing it.

  “A whole fortnight!” she cried, as she set down the vicar’s breakfast. “Just one week to go and then a whole fortnight without ’aving to do a hand’s turn. Just lie on the deck and bask in the sun. Gladys says I won’t know myself.”

  Bernard tried to raise some enthusiasm on her behalf. “That’s jolly nice, Mrs Aitch, I’m sure you’ll have a lovely time.”

  He took the top off his egg with uncharacteristic vehemence as he listened to his housekeeper singing in the kitchen. “See the pyramids along the Nile, See the sunrise on a tropic isle, Just remember darling all the while…. You belong to me.” He thought that, if she started singing Faraway Places, he would strangle her. Because, while she was happily singing her untuneful head off, what was he supposed to do without her for ‘a whole fortnight’?

  She still hadn’t found anybody to take her place, and there wasn’t much time left. It looked as if he would have to rely on some part-time help from Lucy Carter, which he didn’t really think a good idea. Apart from the fact that she would be overworked, looking after both Robbie and himself, her cooking wasn’t a patch on Mrs Harper’s.

  “Did you hear the news, by the way, Vicar?” Mrs Harper was standing by his side again, pouring out his morning tea.

  “News?” Bernard wasn’t in the least interested in any ‘news’. The only news he wanted to hear was that Mrs Harper had hired a Cordon Bleu chef to cook his meals in her absence. Nothing short of that would cheer him up today.

  “Vesna Rowan’s dead.”

  “Vesna Rowan? Oh, really?” Bernard was interested, despite himself. In fact, he was quite shocked.

  “Yes, Vicar, I ’eard it from Gladys yesterday. She told me that the woman had been found dead in bed in the morning. ’Er sister’s beside ’erself, she said.”

  “Then I must go and see Miss Rowan at once,” said Bernard, finishing his boiled egg with undue haste.

  “I don’t think you should go and see ’er just yet, Vicar,” said Mrs Harper knowingly.

  “Why ever not? Remember, she came to see me and confided in me about her sister. She would welcome a visit from me. She would expect a visit from me.”

  “Well, I see it like this,” said Mrs Harper, undeterred. She sat down at the table and poured herself a cup of tea. “If you leave it to me, you might just ’ave – might, I say – a replacement ’ousekeeper next week.”

  “What on earth are you talking about, Mrs Aitch?” he said, beginning to feel the faintest stirrings of hope.

  “You see, the poor woman’s on ’er own now, and I bet she could do with some company. Also, I bet she’s the kind of woman who needs to be useful. After all, she’s looked after Vesna all ’er life, did all the cooking and ’ousework. That silly sister of ’ers wasn’t one to get ’er ’ands
dirty with ’ard work, you know. A bit of a flibbertigibbet, if you ask me.”

  Bernard was one step ahead of her now. “You mean you think Miss Rowan could be persuaded to come and work here at the vicarage while you’re away? Don’t you think it would be an imposition, given the circumstances?”

  “Nuh,” said Mrs Harper dismissively. “It’d be just what the doctor ordered. Take ’er mind off it. I bet she’d jump at the chance. Anyway, between you and me and the gatepost, I bet she’s relieved. ’Er sister was twopence short of a shilling and she must ’ave ’ad ’er ’ands full. Never ’ad a moment to ’erself.”

  “Well, if you think so,” said Bernard, still unsure. “Will you go and see her, then?”

  “I will,” said Nancy. “Believe me, she’ll be only too pleased. Especially if she’s seen to be working for a vicar, any rumours of ’er being a witch will be knocked on the ’ead once and for all.”

  Bernard smiled for the first time that morning. It did seem an ideal solution to both his and Elvira’s predicaments. He tried not to think about the last time she had visited him and what she had told him. He assumed she hadn’t gone to the police as there had been nothing on the news or in the papers about the abortion attempt. Perhaps it was better to let sleeping dogs lie, after all.

  “By the way, do you know what Vesna Rowan died of?” he asked.

  “No idea. Probably ’eart failure. Dr MacTavish was called in so I’m sure ’e’ll put you in the picture. Now, I must get on if I’m to go and see this woman today. I’ve got to go shopping for some clothes for the cruise later, and I’ve still got all my packing to do. And you’ll want a meal on the table at one o’clock, I take it?”

  “Yes, please, Mrs Aitch,” said Bernard meekly, anxious not to upset his housekeeper now that she was on a mission to save him from two weeks of Lucy Carter’s cooking.

  

  So, shortly before eleven o’clock that fine, sunny June morning, Mrs Harper could be seen waddling up the path to Appleby Cottage. Having promised Bernard she would ask Elvira to stand in for her, she was now feeling slightly nervous of her reception. Maybe Bernard was right. It probably was an imposition.

  She rang the bell and waited, but no one came to the door. She rang again, but still no response. She wandered over to the front window and peered through, but the curtains were, not unnaturally, closed. As she stood pondering, she saw a tall, gaunt figure turn into the crescent. Elvira Rowan was approaching the cottage, armed with a wicker basket of groceries.

  Elvira eyed her suspiciously as she came to the front gate. “What do you want?” she asked bluntly. “Did the vicar send you?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” replied Mrs Harper. “Can I come in for a minute? I won’t stay long. I was sorry to ’ear about your sister. I ’ope she never suffered.”

  Elvira ignored Mrs Harper’s attempt at commiseration as she inserted the key in the lock and stalked down the passage, leaving her visitor to follow or not, as she pleased.

  “Rude cow,” said Mrs Harper to herself. “Serve her right if I just go. She won’t know what she’s missing then.” She sniffed. But curiosity and a latent sense of pride forced her to follow Elvira into the cottage.

  Nancy stood in the kitchen doorway, watching the remaining Rowan sister putting food away in the larder. “You’re still here, then?” observed Elvira unnecessarily.

  It was a warm day, but it could have been January instead of June in the cottage kitchen. The sun’s rays were streaming in through the kitchen French windows, but they had no effect whatsoever on the chill in the air.

  Mrs Harper shivered. “Why is it so cold in ’ere?”

  “Is it? I hadn’t noticed,” was all Elvira said.

  “Look, I’ve not got all day, and I don’t want to catch pneumonia before I go on my ’oliday.” Mrs Harper paused, pulling her cardigan tightly across her ample bosom, causing one of the buttons to pop off in the process. “I’ve come to do you a favour, actually.”

  Elvira finished emptying her groceries into the larder and turned to face her. “You must forgive my rudeness,” she said. “I’m all over the place at the moment. As you can imagine …” Tears were standing in her eyes, threatening to burst like a dam.

  “’Course, ducks,” said Mrs Harper, looking away. “I’ve got a clean hanky in ’ere somewhere.” She rummaged in her capacious handbag.

  “It’s all right,” said Elvira, pulling a handkerchief from her sleeve. “I’ve got one here.” She dabbed at her eyes and managed to regain her composure after a few moments.

  “Don’t you go upsetting yourself,” said Mrs Harper, kindlier now. “Let me put the kettle on. A nice cup of tea will set you right. It’ll warm us up a bit too.”

  Elvira gave a hollow laugh. “Will a ‘nice cup of tea’ bring Vessie back then?”

  “Well if you’re going to take that attitude…” Mrs Harper stopped filling the kettle and glared at her. You can’t help some people, she thought crossly.

  “Sorry,” said Elvira. “I’m being rude and ungrateful. I’m no company for anyone at the moment.”

  Mrs Harper softened once more. “Sorry, love, I can see you’re up against it. I’ll make the tea. But don’t you notice how cold it is in ’ere?”

  Elvira smiled sadly. “Of course, but I’m used to it. This place is always cold – winter or summer.”

  “You should get your pipes lagged,” advised Nancy, spooning three heaped spoonfuls of tea leaves into a big china teapot that was standing conveniently on the shelf beside the gas stove.

  “Wouldn’t do any good,” replied Elvira, shrugging.

  When the tea was poured, Mrs Harper asked Elvira if she had had a chance to think about her future now her sister was gone. “I know it’s early days, but you should think about yourself now. For a change.”

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” said Elvira, sipping the hot tea gratefully. “I don’t fancy living here on my own though. Not with …”

  “Not with …?”

  “Oh, no one, nothing. I just don’t like being here on my own. I’m not used to it. Even though Vessie wasn’t much company lately, what with her funny turns and all that, she was another person to have around. I don’t even think she recognised me most of the time. I suppose it was a blessed relief for her when she died.”

  “Must have been for you too,” observed Mrs Harper. “You can look after number one now.”

  “I don’t know how to do that. I need to be useful. That’s all I know is how to look after someone. Feed them, clothe them, even wash them. Vessie was like a child at the end.”

  “Well,” said Mrs Harper, smiling, “I wonder how you’d feel about coming to look after the vicar for a couple of weeks? You won’t have to dress and wash ’im, of course, just feed ’im and do the ’ousework.”

  Elvira’s gloomy visage seemed to lighten slightly. “Why? Where will you be?”

  “I’ll be in the Mediterranean with my friend Gladys. I told you I was going on ’oliday, didn’t I? We’re going on a sea cruise.”

  “Lucky you,” said Elvira, not without a hint of envy in her tone.

  “Yes, it’s exciting,” grinned Mrs Harper. “The sunny Mediterranean! I’ve never been abroad before. Got my own passport and everything. Only fly in the ointment’s the vicar. I need someone to look after ’im while I’m gone. Would you like to do that?”

  “Well, I’d have to think about it,” said Elvira slowly.

  Mrs Harper stood up. “Well, don’t be too long about it, otherwise I’ll ’ave to make other arrangements.”

  “No, I won’t. Thanks for thinking of me.”

  “You’ll get paid for it, by the way. Not much, mind.”

  “I’m not bothered about the money. I can manage. Especially now there’s only me.”

  “Not even the cat, eh?” Mrs Harper gave her a wink.

  Elvira permitted herself a half smile at this. “All right,” she said suddenly. “I’ll do it.”

  Chapter T
hirty

  Robbie MacTavish was standing at the bar of the Feathers, ordering a whisky for himself and a sherry for Bernard, when his friend arrived. He was also giving Babs, the pretty barmaid, the benefit of his best chat up lines. Curtailing their conversation somewhat reluctantly, Robbie made his way over to him.

  “So, old boy, how’s the Mrs Aitch replacement situation?” he asked, setting down the drinks.

  Bernard raised his glass to Robbie and smiled. “It’s sorted, I think,” he said.

  “Yes, I heard on the grapevine that Elvira Rowan is doing the honours. Although you know that Lucy would have been only too happy to help out…”

  “That’s all right,” said Bernard quickly. “Don’t think I’m not grateful to her, but Elvira can live in while Mrs Aitch is away so it’d be better all round. Anyway, I think she’ll welcome the change now that her sister’s gone…”

  Robbie’s face clouded over. “Yes, I’m sure she will. Poor thing,” he said. “She was beside herself when I was called in that morning. I’ll never forget that visit. I couldn’t get over how cold it was in the cottage despite the heat outside. I could see straightaway that there was nothing I could do for Vesna. She’d been dead for several hours, by my reckoning. I’m glad that Elvira’s coming to you. That will give her something to take her mind off the tragedy. I really don’t know what she’ll do without her.”

  Bernard sighed. “Yes, it is a shame. But I think Vesna hadn’t really been herself lately.”

  “Oh, the senile dementia, you mean? Yes, she was certainly suffering from that, even though she wasn’t that old. Elvira must have had her work cut out looking after her. I don’t suppose she’d ever admit it, though.”

  “No, I don’t suppose she will,” agreed Bernard, draining his sherry glass and looking at the clock behind the bar. It was showing five minutes to one and Mrs Harper’s steak and kidney pie was calling to him. “Better get back, Robbie,” he said, standing up.