The Witches of Wandsworth

by Pat Herbert

  Seated in front of the bulky frame that was Inspector Craddock, she felt immediately intimidated. Bernard, seated beside her, cast her a reassuring glance, but it didn’t help. Her insides had turned to water, knowing what she was about to confess.

  “Well, Miss Rowan, we meet again.” Craddock’s steely glint bore right through her. “Hello, Vicar.” There were no handshakes or friendly smiles.

  “Miss Rowan has something to say, Inspector,” Bernard began. “She wishes to – er, amend her earlier statement about the visit of Helen Carstairs to Appleby Cottage on the evening of her murder.”

  “Visit? What visit? According to Miss Rowan…” Craddock glared at her. “We understood there was no visit. Do I take it that there was, after all?”

  Oh God, thought Elvira, this was even worse than she had expected. It looked like she’d be spending the rest of her days behind bars.

  “Well, er, I may have – er – said something that wasn’t – altogether – er – correct,” she stuttered.

  “You mean you lied?” Craddock looked like he was about to spontaneously combust.

  “Well, I didn’t mean to – that is, I didn’t want to ….”

  “Just tell us what you came to tell us, Miss Rowan,” interrupted Rathbone. “The sooner you tell us, the sooner you can leave.”

  “Helen came to see us that evening to – er – to get some advice.”

  “Advice? What sort of advice?” Craddock’s manner wasn’t improving much, but his face had lost the violent beetroot colour of a few moments before.

  “Er, I – er dispense herbal remedies,” she explained. “People often come to me for something to help them when other, more orthodox, methods have failed.”

  “So, you’re some sort of a quack?”

  “I – I wouldn’t put it quite like that,” said Elvira quietly. This man wasn’t making it easy for her. “Herbal remedies often work when patent medicines don’t.”

  “Very well. Let’s leave that aside for the moment. So, Helen wanted you to give her something to help her. In what way?”

  This was the crunch. Bernard looked at Elvira encouragingly.

  “To help her – get rid of the baby,” she said resignedly. Bring on the handcuffs.

  “Miss Rowan, are you aware that unauthorized abortion is a crime in this country?”

  “It’s not abortion, what I do. I hardly ever give anyone this powder. When I do, it’s because people are in severe straits and have no other options open to them.” She was determined to go down fighting.

  Craddock scribbled violently on his pad. “We will need to remove this ‘remedy’ from your house, Miss Rowan. You are never to dispense it again, do you hear?”

  Elvira nodded. She knew she never would, anyway. She had learnt her lesson, well and truly. She closed her eyes as she remembered the awful time she had helped her sister abort her baby. The powder had worked that time only too well. She remembered the blood and Vesna crying in pain all night. And the little blob that ended up down the privy.

  She realized she didn’t care anymore. There was so much more she could tell the irascible inspector, but she knew he wouldn’t believe her, and it would be betraying Vesna’s trust. She had nearly told Bernard but had stopped herself in time. This large, red-faced representative of the ‘long arm’ invited no confidences, and he therefore didn’t get any.

  “I’m fully prepared to take the consequences of my actions,” she told him. “I know it was wrong, even though it was only because I felt so sorry for the girl.”

  Bernard came to her rescue. “I can vouch for that,” he said. “She meant no harm. On the contrary, she has done much good for many people over the years.”

  Craddock sighed and looked up at the unlikely pair. “Oh, go away. I can’t be bothered. We’ll send someone round to your place to make sure you haven’t got any offending stuff on the premises. Don’t do it again!” He shouted at their retreating backs.

  Elvira looked at Bernard as they stood outside the door. “I never want to go through anything like that again,” she said, relief flooding through her.

  Bernard put his arm around her quivering shoulders. “Well, look on the bright side,” he grinned. “You’ve got away with it!”

  “Got away with it? What do you mean?” It didn’t feel like it to her at that moment.

  “By rights, Elvira, they should have arrested you – on two counts, actually.”

  “Two counts?”

  “Well – the abortion thing, of course. But also, you lied to the police. They can be very tough on that, you know. You should get down on your knees and kiss the inspector’s feet whom, I strongly suspect, has a bark much worse than his bite.”

  Elvira smiled for the first time that morning, although she didn’t agree with him about Craddock. His bite, she was convinced, was just as scary as his bark.

  Chapter Forty

  Bernard sat with Elvira outside Court Number One, his stomach churning with nerves. He could only guess how his companion was feeling. It was the first day of Henry Carstairs’ trial, and Elvira was there as a witness for the defence, although, as she pointed out to Bernard, she couldn’t see how her testimony would help the defence, or the prosecution for that matter. As they sat waiting, Inspector Craddock appeared through the door, glanced across at them and nodded briefly.

  “Morning,” he said as he walked past them into the court.

  They watched as various bewigged and black gowned men bustled their way into the various courts. Court officials were also in abundance, carrying important-looking document files. Elvira found the whole place intimidating. She looked up at the high, ornate ceiling and shivered.

  “Don’t worry,” said Bernard. “All you have to do is tell the court the truth.”

  “I don’t see how my evidence will help, though,” said Elvira.

  “Whether it helps or not, is not for you to worry about,” he said.

  Just then, old Colonel Powell strode through the door. “Hello,” he greeted them. “You two here then? Come to give evidence, eh?”

  “That’s right,” said Elvira primly. “Why are you here?”

  The colonel heaved his bulk down beside her. His right foot was heavily bandaged, and he leaned on a stick. “The old gout playing me up as usual,” he grimaced. “I’ve been called to give evidence too. Darned if I know why, though. They all think I’m a sandwich short of a picnic. I don’t suppose anyone’ll believe me.”

  “Why should you think that?” asked Elvira, puzzled. “And if you think that, why would they call you as a witness?”

  “Blowed if I know. Anyway, this chap here,” he said, nodding at Bernard, “persuaded me to tell the police what I knew, so here I am.”

  “What you knew?” Elvira was still puzzled, but also a little worried now. Bernard looked down at his feet.

  “Yes. Or, rather, what I saw. What I saw on the night of the murder.”

  Elvira looked positively scared now. “What did you see?” she managed to ask.

  “Dear lady,” he said in his most ingratiating tone, “it is nothing for you to worry about.” He looked at Bernard as he said this.

  Bernard, knowing full well what the colonel supposedly saw that night, looked quickly away. Then he turned back and cleared his throat.

  “Er, Colonel, could I have a private word with you?”

  Elvira looked from one to the other of them. Just what had the colonel seen and why did Bernard seem to know?

  The two men excused themselves and moved along the corridor out of Elvira’s earshot.

  “Just what exactly did you tell the police?” asked Bernard.

  “Oh, don’t worry,” said the Colonel airily. “Not what I told you. Not the full bit, anyway.”

  “Who’s calling you? The defence or prosecution?”

  “Defence, old boy.”

  “Are you going to drop Miss Rowan in it?”

  The colonel shrugged. “I suppose I am. But I haven’t got any choice. It’s the trut
h and, if it prevents an innocent man being hanged, then I have to tell it.”

  “But don’t you see what it means to Miss Rowan? Suspicion will fall on her when you say what you’re going to say.”

  “Can’t help that. Sorry for the woman and all that. But, if she’s in any way implicated, then she’ll have to take the consequences.”

  The colonel was right, of course. Bernard, however, had grown very fond of Elvira and he was sure she wasn’t capable of murder. Besides, what possible motive could she have?

  Elvira’s mind was racing. What were they saying that they didn’t want her to hear?

  

  As the trial progressed, things began to look very black indeed for Henry Carstairs. As luck would have it, the prosecution barrister turned out to be Sir Malcolm Pym, QC, a man whom Ernest Pickles had clashed with in court on many occasions, and whom he had cause to fear. If anybody had a better reputation than Pickles, it was Pym. In private, the two men got on splendidly, but in court you would think they were deadly enemies.

  But when it all came down to it, it was the fingerprints on the knife that was the most damning. It was obvious to Pickles the jury would find Carstairs guilty on that evidence alone. He couldn’t foresee any other outcome.

  And, as Elvira sat outside the court, waiting to be called, she continued to wonder what good confessing her part in the tragedy would do. It wouldn’t save Carstairs’ neck, that was for sure. And now there was Colonel Powell to contend with. Once he told the court what he saw that night, all would be up with her.

  All this while, Bernard watched over her, fetching her coffee and making sure she was prepared for the ordeal to come. If he hadn’t been there, she didn’t know what she would have done. She would probably have run out of the building by now. She wished they would call her and get it over with.

  Suddenly, Inspector Craddock shot out of the court and stormed past them, muttering under his breath. Things didn’t look as if they were going well for him, which meant, she dared to hope, that Henry Carstairs’ luck was turning at last.

  

  It wasn’t until the second day of the proceedings that she was called, which was earlier than she had expected. But you never knew with trials. The prosecution’s case was open and shut according to Pym, and he had got through his witnesses like a dose of salts. Despite her fears, she did remarkably well under his cross-examination, and told her story to the court, leaving nothing out. There was an audible gasp as she explained about the abortion powder, but somehow, she rode the brief storm her evidence had produced. Pym, himself, didn’t seem that interested in what she had to say, either, obviously certain of Carstairs’ guilt. She even caught him looking at his watch while she was speaking.

  She looked over at Henry Carstairs sitting between two prison warders. She felt sorry for him and almost wanted to catch his eye to convey as much. He had been so helpful that time, carving the joint. Come to think of it, she had looked for that carving knife only the other day because she had treated herself to a piece of beef, but she hadn’t been able to find it.

  Funny that.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Although Elvira was relieved after giving evidence, she couldn’t settle to anything when she got back to Appleby Cottage at six o’clock that evening. Bernard had suggested they go for a drink at the Feathers before returning home, but she had refused, wanting only to be on her own to think. There was something nagging at the back of her mind, and she couldn’t shake it off.

  After she had lit the fire and put on a cardigan, she sat looking at the flames, trying to put her thoughts in order. She was so preoccupied, she didn’t notice it wasn’t nearly as cold as usual. She had been dreading her court appearance, but it hadn’t been nearly as bad as she had feared. Pickles hadn’t asked her more than a couple of minor questions after she had given her evidence, and Malcolm Pym had been almost kind to her.

  At least her part in Henry Carstairs’ trial was over, and she hoped and prayed her evidence wouldn’t adversely affect the verdict. She continued to sit in front of the fire, deep in thought. What was it she was not getting? What was the uneasy feeling she had? What was causing it?

  After a while, she got up and went into the kitchen. Pouring some milk into a saucepan to make her nightly cocoa, her eyes fell upon one of the kitchen drawers. Even though it hadn’t shut properly for years, she now remembered it had been more open that night. Someone had opened it, and it hadn’t been her. Or Vesna. At least, she was pretty sure it wasn’t. But her sister had been prone to do things out of character recently, so she supposed it could have been.

  She went over to it and tried forcing it shut, like she had tried many times before. It was no use. It needed easing somehow. It was difficult to open properly as well, which was annoying because it contained all the cutlery. Then she remembered the missing carving knife. Now where on earth had it got to? She couldn’t remember the last time she had seen it.

  Leaving the milk to nearly boil over, she rummaged among the knives in the drawer in vain. There was no sign of it. She scratched her head and tried to think. Yes, of course! She suddenly remembered. The last time it had been used was when Henry Carstairs had carved the joint for them after Vesna had cut her hand. She searched her mind. Had she used the knife since then? No, she was pretty sure she hadn’t. She hadn’t had a joint of beef for many a day. Oh, except on her last birthday, not long before Vesna died. But the knife had been there then. So where was it now?

  She stood looking in the drawer, not seeing anything. The cutlery was a jumble before her eyes. Why was it so important that she find the knife, or at least know where it had gone?

  As she stood there, trying to puzzle out the conundrum, she heard a man’s voice. It came from behind her back. She leapt round in horror, but no one was there. However, she knew that voice; it was one she would never forget. It belonged to Rodney Purbright.

  “Hello, Elvira,” he said. “I can see you at last. You look a lot older than when I last saw you. You don’t look any prettier though.”

  Elvira glared in the direction of his voice. Suddenly, she didn’t know why, she wasn’t in the least bit afraid. “What do you want, Rodney? Can’t you go and leave me in peace? It wasn’t me who killed you. Vesna did and she’s dead herself now.”

  “I know.”

  “So, you’ve got your revenge,” she said. “Now, please just go to wherever you should be.” Wherever it was, she was pretty sure it wasn’t heaven.

  “You needn’t worry. I intend to go soon. I am being released at last,” he replied.

  Was it her imagination, or could she see a man’s vague shape forming? Please God, she hoped not. She had seen enough of Rodney Purbright to last her a lifetime. His image was seared on her brain. Fortunately, the shape did not develop further, but hovered there, giving out ectoplasm but nothing more.

  “Well, good. I won’t be sorry.”

  “Don’t you want to know everything?”

  “Everything? What else is there to know? You’ve been haunting this place ever since – ever since we – got rid of you. You hounded poor Vesna all through those years. I’m glad she’s dead, so she’s no longer tortured by your presence.”

  “Yes, well. We may meet again soon.” Purbright’s voice dripped pure evil into the room.

  “Please say what you’ve got to say and go,” insisted Elvira.

  “You’re shielding the wrong person, you know,” came his voice steadily.

  “What – what do you mean?”

  “Didn’t Vesna tell you? I heard her with my own two ears.”

  Elvira wondered, somewhat irrelevantly, if ghosts had ears or any other body parts, come to that.

  “She told me, yes. And, yes, I know. I know only too well. I suppose you’re glad I can’t tell anyone.”

  “Well, they would certify you if you did.” His horrible laugh sent a shiver down her spine. “You’ll just have to let justice take its course, won’t you? She was such a pretty girl, too.
Just like Vesna. That’s why she had to die, of course.”

  “It was cruel! How could you involve an innocent human being? Someone with her whole life before her?”

  “It had to be done,” was the only reply.

  “And would you have been so content if the victim had been your own daughter?”

  There was silence. “Did you hear me?” Elvira had hit home with that. Now he knew he had a daughter of his own, maybe there was a shred of decency in him somewhere. For Jeanne, at least. But the silence continued.

  “You know that a man is on trial for the murder, don’t you?” Elvira prompted.

  He spoke at last, but his voice had a quiver in it now. “How would I know that? I’ve been trapped here in limbo all this time.”

  “You know. I know you know.”

  “Maybe I do and maybe I don’t. Even so, there’s nothing you or I can do about it, is there?”

  Elvira sank down on a chair by the kitchen table. The cocoa she had poured had gone cold now. “No, there isn’t.”

  “Right. And why are you so puzzled about the carving knife?”

  “What – what do you mean?”

  “Didn’t you know?”

  Elvira hadn’t known, but suddenly now she did. It all made sense. The knife that killed Helen Carstairs had once been in her kitchen drawer. It was the murder weapon, now labelled ‘Exhibit A’ at the Old Bailey.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Craddock clapped Rathbone on the back. “Hooray! They’ve seen sense at last.”

  He loomed out of court number one to find his sergeant seated outside, awaiting his turn to give evidence.