The Murdering Wives Club

by Sharon Thompson

  “Get him out and away from the house, before you do anything though,” Lydia said. “That is most important. Getting him away is the first step.”

  In my imagination I could see John’s colleagues finding Tim. The questioning would be terrible.

  “Do you not understand you’ll need this Tim gone or use him in some way?” Alice asked. “Are you thinking at all about this? Strategically? Have you any plans at all?”

  I didn’t know how to answer.

  “And Tim cannot be murdered too,” she said in the next breath. “The likes of you will want to kill more than once. I can feel it in my bones. You’re not right in the head.”

  I couldn’t believe that she was even suggesting such a thing.

  “One dead man in your life is enough,” she said. “It is either Tim or John. You cannot kill them both. You’ll need to think of some other way of getting this lover out and gone from the house – but you cannot kill them both. Do you hear me, Eve?”

  Alice’s eyes sparkled in the greyness of Ravenscairn House.

  I decided then and there that she was probably mad.

  Chapter 13

  Laurie Davenport

  Ravenscairn. The house where I partied with Charlotte. I feel a little stunned as we walk back to the house.

  Giles is by the open door and I smell his hair lacquer as he stands aside to let us enter the house.

  “I’m glad to see you taking the air, sir,” Giles says. “Excellent.”

  “We only went to garden and back,” I say. “I’m totally useless.”

  “Men were here, sir. I was about to go for you, but their manner was most distressing. Looking through everything they were. It was upsetting for Cook. I was glad you and your parents did not see the trampling they did over the whole house. They’re going to examine the garden and the outhouses later.”

  “Are they still here?” Norah asks.

  “Coming back, I believe,” Giles snorts. “Their manner was very uncouth and they took my pistol. I shall want it back no matter what they say. I’ll bring you some afternoon tea and sandwiches, sir.”

  The drawing room is warm even with the cool air from the opened doors. Giles doesn’t like the lack of control, and who could blame the poor old bugger? During all our despair Daveport Manor has been our safe haven.

  “Those murdering bitches better not come here,” I say as Norah sits me down.

  I hear her try to open my briefcase which we use to hold her notepads. The lock sticks a little and she mutters.

  “There, it is open now,” she breathes then. “Giles has a pistol? Did I hear him say that or was I dreaming?”

  “You did. I believe he keeps it under his pillow.”

  “He’s full of surprises.” She giggles. “I cannot see him using one. Is he a good shot?”

  I love to hear her amused and I chuckle along with her. “I’ve no idea.”

  Norah slumps into the soft chair by the bookshelves. She never presumes to sit in my favourite chair and I’m grateful to her for that. She is thoughtful all of the time and is nothing like my wife.

  “So, let’s make a few notes,” she says. “The house is called Ravenscairn. And you have actually been there. Unbelievable.”

  “It really is.”

  “Two women. Both middleclass. In Ravenscairn – early 1930s? One of the women, Lydia, was in prison before this for murdering her own husband. Alice something-or-other was about Eve’s age of twenty-five then, approximately thirty-seven, thirty-eight now then. We know Eve’s address was 5 Newburn Crescent, Whinpark, County Down, and she took the bus to Ravenscairn House beside a church. Even if you can’t remember where it is exactly, it will be easy to locate.”

  “Charlotte and I were there in 1939,” I say. “It was an old building but it was all newly renovated when we visited for the party. I wonder when exactly Lady Dornan acquired it? I can ask her – she might know who the women are.”

  “You will need to be careful how you ask her. We don’t want to alert the Roses that we are doing well. We need to keep them in the dark and us out of danger.”

  “Yes, Watson,” I tease. I want to remain jolly, but there’s a clawing fear grabbing at my gut that I don’t admit to. A man should be fit for the fight but I’m not that man any more.

  Norah breaks me out of my maudlin thoughts by asking, “Do you know this Lady Dornan well?”

  “No, not at all. It was Charlotte who introduced us. But I know they have a house in London too. Her second husband has the title – he attends the House of Lords.”

  “I feel like asking what happened to Lady Dornan’s first husband,” Norah says.

  “I’m not sure what happened. I never knew him.” I gasp. “You mean, you think Lady Dornan is one of these Roses? But she didn’t own the house when Eve was visiting it. And no. Lady Dornan wouldn’t be party to such things.”

  Norah grunts slightly. She thinks that I’m naive. But I cannot imagine Lady Dornan allowing such witches into her home. She’d have no reason to be involved in such murderous meanderings.

  “Do you think these Roses exist or not?” I question. “In the garden you didn’t seem so sure they did.”

  “It’s hard to know,” Norah says. “We only have the word of a murderer to go on. It all seems more and more farfetched.”

  “Could it become known that we’re getting letters from Eve? She seemed sure that they had eyes everywhere, which seems impossible.”

  “Women are more resourceful than men give us credit for,” Norah says.

  “What might they do to us if they think we are still on their trail? The fire and attack on Eve show what they’re capable of.”

  “From listening to her accounts, they should know more about us than we would like. According to Eve, they investigated her before allowing her into Ravenscairn. They may be following our progress – but I doubt it.” Despite her words Norah does sound concerned.

  “It’s hard to tell what is happening around me,” I say. “I cannot see to protect either of us.”

  “Do you think they may be here, keeping watch?” she asks. “Hopefully, the night guards and patrols will put them off. I don’t think the Home Guard are all that pleased with the scant information we’ve given them.”

  “They can be in a tizzy if they like but I’m not telling all and sundry that my wife might be a murdering wives club member!” My blood pressure is rising. It’s frustration. I am brimming over with lots and lots of frustration.

  “There are places to hide in the grounds – but sure Giles and the gardeners and groundsmen would spot people lurking, to say nothing of the night guards?”

  “I imagine so,” I say. “But it seems these women are well trained. They got to Eve and Charlotte – if that’s what happened to her – and ourselves quite easily.”

  “Maybe.”

  “The General didn’t want to talk about Charlotte’s disappearance,” I say. “Did he tell you anything at all, Norah? I’m very worried.”

  “Nothing. He’s tight-lipped. No-one wants to upset her father with rumours and gossip. I don’t think Fredrick knows anything more.”

  “At least everyone might believe me now. Something is amiss.”

  “We believed you.”

  I don’t like to cast doubt on Norah’s word, but I never felt believed until Eve Good said that she considered murdering her husband. It seemed far too unbelievable. Normal, ordinary women don’t admit to planning to murder their husbands. Yet Eve Good is living proof that they do consider it. If the fire was deliberate, then dealing with her has become a very dangerous pursuit. For now, it stands to reason therefore that these Sinful Roses do exist and want to stop all investigations.

  “Eve is our only way into this murky world then?” I say. “But, surely, there must be more women who know about this?”

  Norah breathes in sharply. “A Murdering Wives Club,” she says in a slow, low tone. “A support group for women wishing to kill their husbands. If people do know about it, Eve
Good is the only one brave or stupid enough to talk about it.”

  “Perhaps it is all in her fanciful imagination?” I say. “For I cannot see why a woman would need to kill her husband. Surely she doesn’t want to take such risks?"

  We fall silent for while.

  “It’s hard for a man to understand why women might need to be part of something powerful,” she says then. “None of us like to be vulnerable and alone. This group must help women who feel trapped or scared. But here’s another thing that occurs to me. The way Eve describes John Good, he sounds like a brute, but that is what Eve wants us to think. From my reading of the files, John Good was a good policeman from a nice family. His sister said that Eve was always a bitch and they warned John against marrying her, but Eve manipulated him. It seems that she wished them to live beyond their means in more affluent areas. He had a good record with his job and was well liked by his peers. So what if she’s deceiving us? Painting a false picture of the man to justify her actions? It may be that there was no reason for Eve to want him gone other than for the freedom, the insurance money and his pension.”

  I ponder this. “That’s quite possible,” I say at last. “And Charlotte would have had the same reasons.” I let the truth sink in. “She would have had the estate and no burdensome cripple of a husband. There’s none of the Davenports left and she could have inherited the lot. She hoped I’d die in Italy.”

  “You didn’t oblige. And so she needed help and guidance. She contacted the Roses. Or perhaps they advised her to encourage you to enlist?”

  “Her father made me feel like a downright coward and Charlotte insisted I sit the tests and interviews to become an officer.” My mouth goes dry. “She wanted the war to kill me – for her.”

  “Maybe. But this Lydia and Alice took Eve through each step on the way to murdering John. Who are these women? Eve knew about the Roses before. Her cousin Tilly from Inishowen told her. That means the women or at least Lydia is known in the south of Ireland too. Perhaps the Roses in Ravenscairn came up from the south? We will have to question this cousin. Search out this Lydia.”

  “Why would Charlotte want to be involved in such things?” I ask myself more than Norah. “I would have granted her a divorce and settled some money on her. Surely she knew that?”

  “I could do with that tea now,” she says, rising. “Don’t trouble yourself with the whys – that will all be revealed no doubt as time goes on. No point in fretting.”

  “If someone you loved tried to kill you, would you not fret?” I ask her angrily, getting to my feet. “If you came home wounded, hurt beyond repair and wanted your wife to simply love you and she turned her back on you and tried to murder you in cold blood, would you not worry? If she then went missing when you started asking questions, would you not panic? And if you were almost burned in a stranger’s house for talking to a killer, would you not have questions?”

  There’s a silence. I’ve been angry with her when I shouldn’t have been.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. “This is not your fault. I just wish I knew what I did to deserve this punishment.”

  Her perfume is close, her hands reach mine and she sinks into my embrace. I lean a chin on soft curls and her curves lean into my chest and groin. I kiss the top of her head and smell her hair. She sighs and moves her head. Fingers encircle the back of my neck and draw my head downwards. Full lips meet mine. I take Norah’s face in trembling hands and kiss her properly, taking in an urgent tongue to meet my own. Moaning, we kiss until I hear the door open. It’s too late to move, but we jolt apart.

  Giles booms out, “Tea!” The tray rattles. “Tea for two!” he says and he doesn’t sound surprised or cross.

  “Thank you, Giles,” says Norah, sounding breathless.

  A desperate uncertainty washes over me. How on earth did that happen? Will that blissful union ever occur again? I truly hope that it does.

  Chapter 14

  Norah Walsh

  Finally, we kissed. Sitting with him in the garden and watching him touch off his scars made me pity him but also see the good man underneath. Charlotte Davenport does not realise what she’s abandoned here in this lovely place.

  I can still taste him, feel his hands around my face and it makes me tingle. But I sip my tea and watch the little birds hop about the lawn. Laurie is sitting staring into the distance and I want to face his chair towards this window and point out the sundial I have just found in the distant corner of one of the large flower beds. The gardeners must have cut around the old ornament and I make the promise to Laurie in my heart that I will kiss him again near it someday soon.

  Fredrick wants this to become a liaison. Does Laurie? Do I?

  “Norah?” Laurie asks for my whereabouts in the room. The light is very bright today and he must be having difficulty with it. “I cannot find your pretty silhouette.”

  “I’m here,” I say but I don’t move. I shouldn’t have kissed him. This was not planned. Much as I am aware of Fredrick’s hopes, I wanted this to be a different situation for me. My time in Davenport so far makes me feel worthwhile – it’s where I’m finally doing a real job, finding a good purpose, using my brains and wit, rather than my looks.

  Laurie’s been a good colleague. There have been no expectations, no lurid remarks and no groping of my arse. I’ve felt safe here. I curl my fingers around the cup and really look at the wonderful man in the antique chair.

  From where I’m standing, I raise my voice and say, “If Charlotte contacted the Sinful Roses and became one of them, she is a fool.”

  The doorbell rings.

  “That might be the post,” I say.

  Giles comes in with the silver tray.

  “Second post is here and there is correspondence for Mr Davenport from the General.”

  “More from Eve?” Laurie asks.

  “I’d say so,” I reply and take the envelopes off the tray. “Thank you, Giles.”

  He stays a few seconds, looking between us for signs of what we are thinking and doing now. He sways in the doorframe, holding on to the doorknob and raises an eyebrow, as if questioning me. About what? About Laurie and me? What can I tell him? I have absolutely no idea what is happening between us. What I do know I cannot tell Giles. I’m a bitch. Right this minute my conscience tells me that I’m worse than Eve Good, worse than any of these criminals. Poor Laurie!

  Giles shrugs and leaves, realising he’s not going to get any information or satisfaction.

  I tear open one of the envelopes and scan the pages.

  “Yes, there’s more here from Eve,” I tell the side of Laurie’s face. It is the unmarked side and he is very handsome. I should tell him that I barely notice his scars now, but I don’t want to mention the unmentionable. There are many scars and secrets between us.

  Instead, I settle myself into the warm fabric of the chair next to him and start to read.

  Chapter 15

  Eve Good

  My heart leapt at the thought of life without my husband, but I couldn’t bring myself to plan his murder. I busied myself instead with visiting and befriending Marjorie in Number 4. I was excellent at it. I became a cheery and helpful Christian. There was no sign of Tim, and although I went to the top of the house to try to smell him, there was little comfort in it.

  I moved the mattress back to the far bedroom and sprinkled some dust on any surface that I thought needed it up in the attic. It didn’t look very convincing when I stared at it.

  An accident should have been easy to come up with. But John wasn’t clumsy and I was a good bit smaller than him. My mind froze when I thought of time marching on. I hadn’t a clue of what I was going to do. How would I kill my husband? And better still how would I make it look like an accident? Bugger Lydia and her crew! They had been of little help. All they did was make me nervous.

  Marjorie was enjoying my visits and she found excuses for me to stay longer each time. At least she made me feel useful.

 
; “John’s a great man,” Marjorie said, twirling pearls between her fingers.

  “He is. I’m blessed to have him.”

  “I can see your house from here,” Marjorie told me, touching her grey curls, “but the bushes and trees are growing too large and are starting to block my view of the side door especially. I’ll need a gardener soon enough. Who do you use?”

  “John does it,” I said, thinking of how he perched high on the ladder to branch a tree. Perhaps he might fall from there if I suggested it needed doing?

  Marjorie had set the seed of an idea. It mulled around and I made a pie for her dinner and rinsed out some of her smalls to set on the clothesline.

  “They’ll not dry out there,” Marjorie told me.

  But I wanted to look at the trees and think.

  “I also worry about people stealing them,” she added as I headed for the back door. “There are far too many layabouts sneaking about this cul-de-sac.”

  Afterwards I placed the extra pastry into a bowl and tied my scarf tightly around my head. I strode with confidence through our gate and looked intently at the trees. They stood like high statues in the crisp sun and their leaves were scattered everywhere. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the glint of John’s car. It was pulled in at the side of the house.

  My back door was unlocked. I went in and placed the bowl on the kitchen table.

  “John?” I called out. “John? It’s only after three!”

  I had washed the hallway tiles before I left and they were dry. I hung my coat on the hook near the kitchen, checked my face in the little mirror and went up the hall. It was then that I saw John’s head.