The Witches of Wandsworth

by Pat Herbert

  Elvira gave a startled half laugh. “Dr MacTavish!” she remonstrated.

  “Please call me Robbie, dear,” he grinned. “Sorry. Just my way.”

  “I suggest you moderate your language in front of a lady,” said Bernard primly.

  He felt very protective of Elvira at the moment. What Colonel Powell had told him and what he had told the police and the court didn’t tally, but he needed to be sure. She was a respectable citizen, just like Henry Carstairs, of that he was certain, but there only needed to be a hint of controversy about her and the locals would be baying for her blood. And no doubt the general population too, if the news ever got out.

  “Anyway, as I said, I don’t believe Carstairs molested his daughter and I certainly don’t believe he killed her,” Robbie was saying.

  “But how do you explain the fingerprints?” Bernard sipped his fourth sherry of the evening. He was beginning to feel a little tipsy.

  “I can’t,” sighed Robbie. “But there must be an explanation.”

  Elvira was sure she knew what that explanation was, but she was enjoying her port and lemon and the company too much to even hint at it. She would never tell a living soul, unless Carstairs was convicted. Then, she supposed, she would have to say something.

  Her thoughts returned to Colonel Powell, while the two men entered into a discussion about the fingerprints. When the old boy had entered the witness box that morning, she had wondered why he had been called. But it had soon become clear. Completely sober for a change, he told the court he had seen two people carry a roll of what looked like carpet past his home in Hallows Mead Crescent towards the Common. It had been, he had estimated, about a quarter past midnight on the night (or morning, rather) of Helen Carstairs’ murder. A ripple of excitement had spread around the court as he told his tale.

  As she listened to it, her stomach had plummeted. She’d had no idea he had seen them that night. He must have been nosing out of the window as usual. And there was no chance he could have been mistaken because there was a lamp post directly outside his cottage and he would have seen them both clearly.

  She had noticed Bernard look at her while Powell was giving his evidence. He had known! Colonel Powell had told him what he had seen, and Bernard had advised him to go to the police. Just like he had tried to persuade her to tell the police when she had confided in him about Helen’s visit and the abortion powder. She knew how persuasive he could be. As she sat there, listening to Powell’s words, she waited for her name to be mentioned. But what came next was both a surprise and a blessed relief.

  He hadn’t seen who they were! He had gone so far as to say he thought they were women, but it was too dark to be sure. But then the prosecuting counsel had pointed out the street lamp. He had done his homework, all right. How could the colonel, he had suggested, be mistaken when the light would have been shining directly on them? The colonel had a ready answer, however. That street lamp was notorious for going on the blink every so often. He had written to the council about it on more than one occasion. He blithely told the prosecution barrister that it had been out at the crucial time he had looked out of his bedroom window and seen the vague shapes below in the street. You could ask anyone in the Crescent, he had challenged. Elvira smiled to herself. That lamp post had been blazing away as she and Vesna passed under it that night.

  Pym had persisted, despite the colonel’s evidence, suggesting that one of the people the colonel had seen could have been Henry Carstairs. Possibly his wife could have been the other person. Powell had laughed at this. There was no possibility, he said, that one of them was Carstairs. Carstairs was a big man, over six feet. The two people he saw were well under that, that’s why he thought they were women.

  Bernard was looking at her now just as he had looked at her in the court. Robbie, swigging down his whiskey, looked bemused. He had wanted to come to the court himself, but his list of patients, now that the colder weather was upon them, was too long to allow him time off for such pleasures.

  “You know, don’t you? Colonel Powell told you it was me and Vesna, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, dear, he did. I was surprised he didn’t tell the police the whole truth. He must have a soft spot for you.”

  A smile played around his lips as he said this. Robbie still looked bemused.

  “For Vesna, more like,” she sniffed, but she was secretly pleased. “I will have to thank the colonel, I suppose, even though he’s a nosey old so-and-so.”

  “But you do realize that you have to come clean, Elvira,” said Bernard, looking sideways at Robbie.

  At this point, his friend intervened. “I don’t think so, Bernie,” he said, giving him a meaningful look. “Whatever happened, I’m certain no blame can be attributed to either you, Elvira, or your sister.”

  Elvira felt like crying now. He understood. But no policeman on earth, no matter how enlightened in psychic matters, would wear it. Certainly not that awful Inspector Craddock.

  “Thank you, Robbie,” she said. A look passed between them.

  Now it was Bernard’s turn to look bemused.

  

  Elvira was feeling an unaccustomed elation, not entirely due to the four port and lemons she had drunk earlier that evening with Bernard and Robbie. For the first time in years she felt positive about life and decided to push the boat out by holding a little dinner party. She would get a nice leg of lamb from Percy Banks and some decent wine. And candles, too. She grew excited at the prospect.

  When Vesna was alive, they had led a very quiet life, used to the suspicion they aroused wherever they went, and only interacted with those people who needed one of their herbal remedies. But all that was behind her now. She would give up the trade altogether. The police were onto her, anyway, so she would have to be careful who she supplied and, more especially, what she supplied. She didn’t think she had anything more dangerous than the abortion stuff, but there were certain substances she used in her remedies that could be regarded as suspicious by the police.

  Jeanne Dupont’s visit had opened her eyes to new possibilities. Elvira had been sure, if not a little surprised, that the woman had taken a liking to her. Then there was the evening in the pub she had spent with Bernard and Robbie. They seemed to like her too. She was beginning to realize she wasn’t as alone as she had believed. She had expected her life to be one long, lonely path to the grave now that Vesna had gone, but it seemed she had been wrong. Even Colonel Powell hadn’t given her away in court.

  Yes, she thought, she would give a little dinner party. She would invite Bernard, Robbie, Jeanne and Colonel Powell. Her eyes strayed to the Spanish doll on the mantelpiece as she made a list. And Mrs Harper as well. She added Nancy’s name at the bottom. Elvira didn’t know how to take her, but there was no doubt about the gift. So, she was yet another person who seemed to like her. Things were definitely looking up.

  She thought about Jeanne, Rodney Purbright’s natural daughter. She had wanted to know more about him, but Elvira hadn’t had the heart to tell her just what sort of a man he really was. The woman had persisted for a while but had finally realized Elvira wasn’t prepared to tell her. But she hadn’t quite given up. She had left the phone number of her B&B with her, saying she would be in London for a while, seeing the sights. Well, thought Elvira, maybe she would tell her a bit more when she came to the dinner party. Wrongs needed to be righted, and telling Rodney Purbright’s daughter what had really happened to him would be a good place to start.

  While she was thinking these thoughts, she hadn’t been aware that the habitual below-zero temperature in the cottage had given way to a more normal one. In fact, she suddenly realized she was actually sweating, and she removed several layers of clothing. Had Rodney Purbright finally gone? Was he satisfied now? He had made Vesna pay for his murder, so there wasn’t any need for him to remain. She wondered what he really thought about his daughter. He couldn’t be anything but proud of her: a beautiful woman in her mid-thirties, with none of the arrogance or ot
her negative characteristics of her father.

  Then her thoughts turned to Henry Carstairs and her heart sank. It seemed he was some sort of vile pervert. But she couldn’t believe it of him. That Minnie Knox was a sly little piece, in her opinion, not above lying her head off if it suited her book. But why had she lied? Especially about something so awful. She supposed it must be true. Perhaps he deserved to die, even though he wasn’t guilty of murder. She sighed as she put the milk on for her bedtime cocoa.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Sylvia Knox stood on the Carstairs’ doorstep, reluctantly accompanied by her daughter. Following Minnie’s confession the previous evening, it was Sylvia’s first resolve to go straight to the police station. However, she realized it would come as very much of a shock to Ivy when she learned the reason why Minnie had lied in the first place. And heaven only knew what the poor woman was thinking about her husband now. There was no help for it. It would all have to come out. She had been sleeping with Ivy’s husband. She hoped it wouldn’t be one shock too many for the poor woman.

  From her own point of view, it would be a relief to tell her, even if it meant that Ivy would never speak to her again. Still, they were hardly bosom friends, so she wasn’t so bothered about that. The most important person was Henry and, once the police and the prosecution knew the truth, he would be a free man. She could provide him with a cast-iron alibi and no court in the land could convict him once they knew that. Henry might be angry with her for telling Ivy, but it couldn’t be helped. There was no point in hoping for a not guilty verdict without her testimony. She had to save his stupid neck at all costs.

  As for Minnie, she would have to come clean and risk the consequences. Sylvia hoped she could persuade the police not to prosecute, but that was the least of her worries. Now she had to face Ivy.

  Ivy opened the door to them, wiping her wet hands on a tea towel. She brushed a stray lock of hair back under her turban as she eyed her two visitors.

  “Oh, hello,” she said. “I – I’m rather busy at the moment. Get down, Charlie!”

  The little dog was running excitedly around Minnie’s feet, yapping furiously. Sylvia remembered her promise to Henry about looking after it, but she had broken that promise. Getting him his headache powders from that Rowan woman had been one thing but taking on a yapping canine was quite another. She was a cat person herself, but she felt a little guilty all the same.

  “It’s okay,” said Minnie, giving Ivy a nervous smile. “He’s sweet.”

  “Can we come in for a minute?” asked Sylvia, as Ivy made no move to invite them in. “You see, I need to tell you something. That is, we both do.”

  “I don’t think I need to hear anything from young madam here,” she said coldly, staring at Minnie. “I heard all I wanted to hear in court yesterday.”

  “Look, we can’t talk on the doorstep,” insisted Sylvia. “Please, it’s important.”

  Ivy sighed and turned on her heel, leaving Sylvia and Minnie to follow in her wake. The dog continued to yap around Minnie’s feet as they entered.

  “You’d better come through to the kitchen,” said Ivy, “I’m still doing the washing up. Well, what is it you have to tell me?” She didn’t ask them to sit down.

  Sylvia began her story, clearing her throat several times and stopping frequently to gauge Ivy’s reaction. Throughout her speech, Ivy stood by the sink rigid, her face expressionless, her eyes watery with grief.

  Sylvia took out a lace handkerchief from her handbag to wipe her mouth as she finished. “Please…,” she said, looking appealingly at her, “say something. I know what we did was wrong, but at least Henry has an alibi for the night of your poor daughter’s murder. And you know, too, that he’s not capable of molesting her. You should take some comfort from that, at least.”

  “Do you think I didn’t know?” asked Ivy finally.

  “Well, I’d assumed you’d thought him innocent of both charges – but it’s good to have it confirmed, isn’t it?”

  “I didn’t mean that,” said Ivy, almost spitting the words out at her. “Although I knew he was innocent, of course I did. You don’t live with someone for as long as I have without knowing that much about them.”

  “Then – er – what did you mean?”

  “I’m not a fool, you know,” she said. She carried on with the washing up, as if they weren’t there.

  “I – I never thought you were,” said Sylvia, not knowing what was coming, but having a good idea. She looked at her daughter for moral support, but Minnie’s eyes were firmly on the dog.

  “Then you shouldn’t assume that I didn’t know what you and Henry were up to,” said Ivy, scrubbing away at a plate that was already thoroughly clean.

  “You mean you knew all this time and you never said anything?”

  “What could I say? It was best left. Let sleeping dogs lie, that’s my motto.” Ivy turned round from the sink and looked Sylvia Knox straight in the eyes. Suddenly she sighed, sagged and sat down. It was as if all the stuffing had gone out of her.

  “Minnie,” said Ivy, “would you mind taking Charlie for a walk? He hasn’t had any exercise today.”

  Minnie was only too glad to leave the two women alone. She grabbed Charlie’s lead and the dog jumped up and down in ecstasy. It was probably his first proper walk for weeks.

  When they were alone, Ivy offered her visitor a cup of tea. Sylvia accepted gratefully, taking it as a sign that things could somehow be mended between them. She had never been very fond of Ivy, whom she thought of as a ‘dry old stick’, but at least they could be civilized together.

  “I turned a blind eye,” said Ivy, filling the kettle. “I sent Minnie away because I didn’t think this conversation was suitable for her young ears.”

  “I quite understand,” said Sylvia. “Thank you. I’m really sorry for what she said about Henry. She was upset – you see, she came home early from school and – well, she caught us…”

  “At it, like?”

  Sylvia blushed. “Well, y-yes. Of course, we didn’t see her. She must have just looked into the bedroom and seen us and then run off. I wish she’d said something at the time, then all this might have been avoided.”

  “Well, I didn’t mind Henry coming to see you – when your Ted died. You needed help to sort everything out after. And Henry’s always been good at little jobs around the house, but I suppose I knew, deep down, they included sleeping with you. I mean, there’s only so many shelves one house needs, isn’t there?”

  She poured out the tea and passed a cup to Sylvia. “I wasn’t all that keen on the bed department, myself. Lie back and think of England, that’s my motto.”

  Sylvia sipped her tea, thinking Ivy was fond of mottos.

  “But I knew Henry had needs. So, I suppose I couldn’t really blame him. He was always discreet, though. Never one to wash his dirty linen in public, that’s my Henry.”

  “I wish we’d been better friends – like our daughters,” said Sylvia. “I always thought you were a bit – well, stuck up. And I suppose sleeping with your husband wasn’t the best way to treat a friend.” She smiled nervously, and Ivy laughed.

  “I think we understand each other,” she said.

  They drank their tea in silence for several moments before Ivy spoke again. “I wonder, though, how Henry’s fingerprints ended up on the knife.”

  “It’s very strange,” Sylvia replied. “I don’t know what to make of it, I really don’t. There must be an explanation.”

  Ivy shrugged. “I wish I knew what it was.”

  “Whatever it turns out to be,” said Sylvia, “he won’t be found guilty now. Not with the alibi I’m about to give him. I’m so glad you understand, Ivy.”

  She didn’t reply, but the look in her eyes was softer now.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  On the morning of her dinner party, Elvira received an official-looking letter in the post. She was looking forward to that evening, although she was a little nervous. Everyone had accepted
her invitation, including Jeanne Dupont, who was due to return to France the following Monday.

  Before the post arrived, she was sitting at the kitchen table with her toast and marmalade, the newspaper open in front of her. The headline jumped out at her. “WITNESS LIES IN COURT. THE CARSTAIRS MURDER TRIAL COLLAPSES”. She read, with growing anger, that Minnie Knox had purposely deceived the court. How could she have done such a thing? And to her best friend’s father, of all people. She must really hate him, she thought. But it was a blessed relief that poor Henry was now a free man. That was all that really mattered.

  As she finished her breakfast, she heard the clatter of the letter box and saw the envelope lying on the mat. She got few letters unless they were bills, but this one didn’t look like a bill. Curious, she picked it up, wondering who it could be from. Turning over the envelope, she saw it was from a firm of solicitors based in Liverpool. She recognised it at once. It was the firm her father had always used.

  She opened the letter warily, fearing anything legal these days. As she read the contents, however, a smile slowly played around her lips. She folded it up and put it back in the envelope. Well, she thought, that’s a turn up for the books and no mistake. She put it behind the clock on the mantelpiece, next to the Spanish doll.

  

  Her guests all arrived in good time. She was relieved that the cottage was now warm enough and, although there was no real need, she had lit a fire in the parlour where she had set out the dining table. With the glow of the fire and the candles, the room looked very inviting, and everyone commented on this with pleasure. Even Nancy Harper permitted herself a nod of approval.

  The meal couldn’t have gone down better. The lamb was succulent and tender, the fruit fool to follow equally delicious. Elvira eyed Nancy across the table several times and saw, with satisfaction, that she was obviously enjoying the food as much as everyone else.