The Witches of Wandsworth

by Pat Herbert

  Elvira almost felt like crying, she was so grateful. She hugged her sister warmly. She had never expected Vesna to agree and certainly did not expect her to cough up the money. Sometimes, but only sometimes, her sister gave her a pleasant surprise.

  Chapter Three

  It was a chill December afternoon a few months later, when Rodney Purbright wandered down Hallows Mead Crescent, Wandsworth for the first time, searching for a cottage called ‘Appleby’. He studied the hastily scrawled piece of paper that Mr Rowan had given him. Yes, definitely ‘Appleby’. He glanced up and down the pretty row of cottages, all with individual names like ‘Rose’, ‘Michaelmas’, ‘Honeysuckle’; but he couldn’t see ‘Appleby’ anywhere.

  Then he finally noticed a rather squashed-looking little building in between two smarter properties and went up to it to get a better view of the name plate on the front door. He hoped this dump wasn’t what he was looking for. One of the bigger cottages would have suited him much better. But, no, he was to be disappointed, yet again. Life had kicked him in the teeth so many times, he could hardly expect his luck to change now. And he was right. Appleby Cottage looked like it had been added to the street very much as an afterthought. At least it was a roof over his head, he supposed.

  

  Elvira’s little enterprise, with her sister’s financial backing, had taken off surprisingly well. They had easily found a little shop in which to start selling their grandmother’s herbal remedies and, in the space of a couple of months, the people of Wandsworth were swearing by their healing powers. Whether it was a headache, earache, backache or any other ache, you name it, Elvira Rowan, the proprietress, had a solution for them all. Some even said that she had given them cures for more serious illnesses, like measles, mumps and whooping cough. One old lady even declared that her cancer had receded through taking a special concoction made up especially for her by that forbidding-looking Rowan woman. Word spread fast after that, and Elvira was kept very busy dispensing her ‘miracle’ cures.

  Meanwhile, Vesna was happy to be a ‘sleeping partner’ in the business. She was still content with her job at the grocery store which had even diversified into selling items of clothing and some ironmongery, which made it even more interesting. Added to which, her life outside her work was one long whirl of parties and dances, being taken hither and thither by this boy and that. Recently, however, she had settled on one special young man: Harry Banks, the darkly handsome son of the local butcher. She had succumbed to his charms one evening as he knelt before her, declaring his entirely honourable intentions, and they became engaged on the spot.

  Private Rodney Purbright, ignorant of how life had moved on for Vesna Rowan, stood outside Appleby Cottage savouring the moment. Even if he had known, it would have made no difference to him. As far as he was concerned, their engagement still held good. He had come back from the dead to claim her.

  His handsome face betrayed no vestige of his past indiscretions as he stood there. He was still as prepossessing as he had always looked, maybe even more so. His war experiences (those he hadn’t been able to duck out of) had left no visible scar. He was tall and straight as an arrow, blond and athletic, a young man most women would fall for on the spot. Vesna would be no different. She would run into his arms when she saw him again, of that he had no doubt.

  He opened the gate and walked up the garden path. On the threshold of Appleby Cottage, he stood poised with his finger over the doorbell. He was about to meet his lovely Vesna again after an absence of nearly three years, but what if that sour-faced sister of hers answered the door? So what, he thought. His plans didn’t include that bitch, so she could say what she liked. He knew his Vesna. She loved him, had always loved him. That was all that mattered.

  He wasn’t getting any warmer standing on the doorstep, the sun having already set even though it was only four o’clock. He hesitated no longer and pressed the bell. He heard a hollow clanging sound echo through the little cottage. It seemed much too loud for the size of the place, almost threatening to relieve it of some of its brickwork.

  After a few moments, Elvira Rowan opened the door. He watched with detached amusement as she collapsed against the wall, holding her chest. Serve the silly cow right, he thought. Must have come as a bit of a shock, seeing him large as life when she obviously assumed he was dead.

  “Who is it?” came a voice from down the passage. “Are we expecting anybody? Harry’s not coming till six.”

  Rodney gave Elvira his most devastating smile, the one that usually melted the hardest of hearts at twenty paces. But it had no effect on Elvira. She remained propped against the passage wall, with one hand on the front door knob, trying to get her breath.

  “Hello, Miss Rowan,” he said snidely, with an emphasis on the ‘miss’. “Long time no see, eh? How are you?”

  “Elvie! Who is it?” came the persistent voice from inside. “Invite whoever it is in or send them packing. You’re letting in all the cold air.”

  Finally, Elvira found her voice. “Rodney!” she breathed. “What – who – what…”

  “I know,” he said cheerfully. “I’ve been gone a long time, haven’t I? War does that to people. But you knew I’d always turn up again, didn’t you? Like a bad penny.”

  “But – but … You’re supposed to be dead…”

  Rodney Purbright continued to smirk. “Not exactly a corpse, am I? Look, can I come in? As your lovely sister said, you’re letting all the cold air in.”

  She stood to one side and cringed as he brushed past her into the narrow passage. “Wait,” she said, grabbing him by the arm. “Let me break the news to Vessie first. It might come as a bit of a shock.”

  “Very well, of course,” acquiesced Rodney Purbright. After all, he had all the time in the world now, hadn’t he?

  

  “But how on Earth?” Vesna stared at her sister in astonishment.

  “Don’t ask me, love,” said Elvira, sitting down beside her on the sofa. “He’s out there in the hall, or it’s his double.”

  “But he’s supposed to be dead!”

  “I know that, and you know that, but someone’s not told him that, it would seem.”

  Vesna sighed. “I suppose I’d better see him?” she said, trying to remember what he looked like.

  She was about to marry ‘Handsome Harry’ Banks; he was the one she loved now. Why did Rodney have to come back from the dead? Now, of all times. How long had she been searching for him, praying he was still alive? Now she wished with all her heart that he was dead.

  “I think you’d better see him, Vessie.” Elvira broke her train of thought. “Even if it’s only to find out from his own lips what happened and why he’s alive after the War Office told us he wasn’t.”

  Rodney Purbright presented himself to Vesna with a grin all over his arrogant, film star face. She shrank before his hard blue gaze. Whatever had she seen in him? she wondered. He was still as handsome as she remembered him, but there was something cold and calculating about his very Aryan looks, something she had never noticed before. Maybe that’s what being dead does for you, she thought wryly. Whatever would Harry say?

  “Haven’t you got a kiss for your long-lost fiancé?” he asked, holding out his arms.

  Vesna avoided his embrace and gave him a chaste peck on the cheek.

  “Just that? After all this time? Me doing my bit for King and country?” He looked hurt, but there was mockery lurking in his eyes.

  “It’s – it’s been a long time, Rodney,” she said quietly. “Things have changed quite a bit since you’ve been gone. Besides, the War Office told me you were dead.”

  “Dead? I’m not dead. Why would they say that?” His feigned shock and surprise were very convincing.

  “It must have been a case of mistaken identity,” interrupted Elvira practically. “I suppose these things can happen in wartime. So much mayhem … it’s a wonder anyone knew what happened to anyone during those years.”

  Rodney smiled. �
�Exactly. I’m sure I’m not the only one who was thought dead in all that. But, as you can see, I’m definitely not.”

  He searched their faces anxiously. He could see something akin to mistrust in their eyes, something he hadn’t bargained for.

  Vesna turned to her sister. “So, Elvie, he’s not such a coward after all.” She said this with some relish, enjoying her sister’s discomfort.

  “Me? A coward? I should say not,” said Rodney with feeling. “I’ve killed a few Hun in my time, I can tell you. Risked the bayonet and the shelling. It was hell, but I got through it. Others weren’t so lucky.”

  Elvira sniffed and looked askance at him. “So, someone, whom the War Office thought was you, was shot for cowardice in the face of the enemy. Have you got any idea how they would have made such a mistake?”

  “God knows,” said Rodney airily. “As you yourself said, just a case of mistaken identity, I suppose. Anyway, now I’m back, do you think you could put me up till Vessie and I are married?”

  He looked around him, taking in what he obviously thought was to be his ‘billet’ for the time being, too full of himself to notice the look that passed between the sisters.

  Chapter Four

  Rodney Purbright stretched out his long, elegant legs in front of the parlour fire. Vesna sat in the chair opposite and stared morosely at him. They could hear Elvira clattering about in the kitchen, making tea.

  Tea! thought Vesna. What was the point of tea, unless you could cause someone to disappear by drinking it? What was she going to do with this man, now slumped in the chair before her, with that smug leer on his face? It had once been a face she had loved, along with the rest of him. Why did he have to turn up now, now that she had Harry Banks where she wanted him?

  But Rodney Purbright wasn’t going to prevent her from marrying Harry. He could drag her through every court in the land, his accusation of breach of promise wouldn’t make any difference. Vesna had been told officially by the War Office that her former fiancé was dead and, as far as she was concerned, he could stay that way. No judge would determine otherwise, of that she was sure.

  She glared at him as he basked in the warmth of the hearth fire, seemingly a permanent fixture. What was she going to do? No matter how many times she asked herself that question, answer came there none. She wasn’t strong enough to physically turn him out, and Elvira wasn’t either. Even between the pair of them, they would be no match for this burly young man, the epitome of physical fitness as he obviously was.

  

  While Vesna was thinking these thoughts, her tapestry neglected on her knee, Rodney had thoughts of his own. Naturally, they were in direct opposition to hers. Looking around the cosy room, he was revising his opinion of the place which, at first, he had dismissed as much too small. Its smallness, he now saw, had its advantages. The December cold was well and truly shut out in this little fortress. Larger rooms were a bugger to heat, he remembered from his childhood. He had been brought up in a mansion, more or less, but the inadequate heating had meant he was always cold from November through to March each year, a martyr to one illness after another. Vesna’s little home was, in fact, a splendid billet. He approved of the way the sisters had obviously made the most of the place, its homely atmosphere seducing him like a sensuous woman.

  There was, of course, one slight snag in all this. Elvira. He suspected she would take some shifting. He knew she despised him, and the feeling was entirely mutual. She had seen right through him from the start and now that he was back, she was likely to put obstacles in the way of his marriage to her sister. The sooner she was sent packing the better.

  “So Vessie, darling,” he said, breaking the silence between them at last. “Where do I sleep?”

  Elvira was bringing in the tea tray as he said these words. She nearly dropped the lot. Vesna abruptly stood up.

  “Where do you sleep? What do you mean?” she demanded querulously.

  “Yes, what do you mean?” echoed Elvira, carefully putting the tray down on the occasional table next to him. Her hands were shaking as she did so, and the cups rattled noisily.

  “Thought it was plain enough,” he said with a shrug. “I presume you have a spare room? After all, it wouldn’t be right to put me in with Vessie – not until we’re married, now would it?” He said this with an unpleasant leer.

  Elvira stared in horror at him and then at her sister, who was staring back at her in equal horror. Rodney Purbright, seemingly impervious to their reaction, held out a languid arm to accept the tea from Elvira.

  “Would you like a piece of cherry cake?” she asked him through gritted teeth.

  “Very nice,” he said, smacking his lips. “Homemade?”

  “Yes, fresh this morning.”

  “Who’s the cook?” he asked, as he realised the cake was the most delicious thing he had tasted in ages.

  “I am,” said Elvira. “Does it meet with your approval?”

  “It certainly does,” he declared. “Can I have another slice?”

  He began to think that Elvira should stick around after all. She could do all the cooking and cleaning for them, as long as she wiped that disgusting scowl off her face.

  Vesna gave her sister a secret sign, nodding her head in the direction of the kitchen. Their unwelcome guest was too busy demolishing his second slice of cake to notice them scurrying out of the room.

  

  “What on Earth are we going to do with him?” asked Vesna, almost in tears.

  “Search me,” said her sister. “He’s your problem, not mine.”

  “He’s both our problem, Elvie, don’t you see that? I mean, if he plans to stay here. You don’t want him around any more than I do.”

  “No. I never liked him from the beginning, as you know.” She gave her sister a stern look, then seemed to soften. She sat down at the kitchen table, wiping her hands on her apron. “But it looks like we’re stuck with him.”

  “Please, Elvie, help me. We must be able to get rid of him somehow. We can’t have him living here with us. The whole thing’s unseemly.”

  “That’s putting it mildly,” grinned Elvira mirthlessly. “But he does have a claim on you. We can’t just chuck him out.”

  “No. I was thinking that myself. Not even the two of us could manage that. He looks very strong. His time in the army must have added the muscle,” observed Vesna, sitting down at the table opposite her sister. “But surely we can persuade him to leave? If I make out that I intend to marry him still, but that I don’t want any gossip going around. He must see that his living here compromises my position.”

  “I don’t think that’d wash,” Elvira pointed out calmly. “Not while I’m living here as well.”

  Vesna’s face fell. “I suppose not. Oh dear, then we’re stuck.”

  As she said this, the subject of their discussion loomed through the kitchen door. “What’s going on girls? Having a mothers’ meeting?” he asked with a sardonic grin. “Forgot you had a guest, did you?”

  But that was the one thing they couldn’t forget, no matter how much they would have liked to.

  Chapter Five

  Rodney Purbright had absolutely no intention of leaving Appleby Cottage and the Rowan sisters were powerless to turn him out. They followed him as he leisurely climbed the stairs after demolishing the rest of the cherry cake and four cups of tea.

  “I think I’ll take this room, ladies,” he said, opening the door of Elvira’s bedroom. “This will suit me nicely – for the time being, anyway.”

  “But this is my room,” protested Elvira. “You can’t sleep in here.”

  He turned and stared at her. “Don’t worry, I don’t expect you to stay in here with me.” He screwed up his fine, aquiline nose and looked down its length at her. “I hardly think you would make me a suitable sleeping companion. You’re not my type.”

  Vesna butted in. “How dare you! Get out of my sister’s room!”

  He remained immovable. “No, I don’t think so. I lik
e it. The bed looks very comfortable too.” He tested his theory by bouncing up and down on it.

  The two women stood by helplessly as he walked across Elvira’s room to the lace-curtained window. “These things will have to go, for a start,” he said, fingering them in disgust. “No self-respecting man would put up with these. Haven’t you got any plain ones? Or, better still, a blind?”

  Vesna took her sister by the arm. “No, sorry,” she told him. “You’ll have to put up with them. Anyway, make yourself at home. Elvie and I have to prepare the supper.”

  Elvira looked at her, stunned. Vesna put a finger to her mouth. “Shhh!” she hissed. “Come downstairs.”

  She gently pushed her sister down the stairs and into the kitchen. Closing the door, she took her by the hand and sat her down at the table. “We’ve got to get rid of him, Elvie. I hate him.”

  Elvira glared at her. “How do you think I feel? He’s taken over my bedroom. Where am I supposed to sleep?”

  “Oh, don’t fuss, love. You can bunk in with me for now. We have to form a plan of campaign.”

  “Oh, right,” said her sister, somewhat placated. “Maybe we should get Harry round here to sort him out.”

  “That’s exactly what I was thinking. You go and tell him what’s happening. I’ll stay here and clatter about so that he won’t suspect anything.”

  Elvira immediately made her way up the hall and pulled on her thick coat. The snow was falling in large flakes now, and she didn’t relish the thought of ploughing her way through it to the butcher’s shop in the High Street where Harry worked with his father. But there was no help for it.

  “Be careful, Vessie,” she whispered, as she opened the front door. “I think he could be very dangerous if you get on the wrong side of him. Keep buttering him up.”