The Killing of Louisa

by Janet Lee

  44.

  I was with him at the end, and he slipped so ill with his sickness that it became hard to tell if he was still breathing. When he had gone, I closed his eyes, for he had asked me to do this, and I left him lying just as he was.

  Then I brought in the children, for I had sent the little ones out to play in the street so Charles might have his rest, and I took them in to kiss their father goodbye. And then I sent May for Mrs Law as I needed to go see the money people and to fetch Mrs Price to arrange the body. Mrs Price was the one who did such body washing in Botany and so I went to get her and see the bank and then the insurance people.

  One of the neighbours came in and I told them Charles had died, but that I needed to go out, on account of how much there was to be done, and I was in a very great distraction thinking of these things.

  Charles being ill had placed us behind in the rent, and we did not have very much food in the house, plus there were the expenses of the doctors, and so, yes, when he died I did first think of money. But you must remember this, sir, Charles had been telling me he was dying since he first became unwell, so by the time it actually happened I was prepared. In shock, all the same, but I had been sitting there and going over in my mind the list of things which needed to be done.

  I had written out a list of what Charles had told me to do if he died, for early on in his illness he was convinced that he would, and this was a list of the things Charles wanted me to do, but written in my hand.

  That piece of paper is long gone. We had a little book where we would keep a record of our boarders paying their rent and Charles would write in it with a small pencil, and the list was written upon a page of this book, and I know I threw out the book later, after Charles had died.

  It was Charles himself who said the things I must do – go to the insurance people and the like – and so when he died I was in need of doing all these things on the list, according to my husband’s instructions. A visit to the doctor was first on the list, for Charles had said a death certificate would need to be completed before the insurance money would be paid.

  And it was said that I behaved very odd after Charles died and did not act as a mourning widow should and seemed very distracted. But I cannot remember what I did, on account of me thinking how Charles had died and that I needed to do a great many things, as he himself had told me. And even if I did behave strangely, I do not see that this makes a person a murderer. The lawyer was trying to show that I was not grieving enough, but when have they had a husband die and a list of things they needed to do?

  It is only the rich folk who can afford a whole change of clothes when there is a death, and there are not so many deaths among the rich as there are among the poor. I had a plain black bonnet and I bought a simple set of mourning buttons and placed them upon my mauve-grey gown and they sit there still, if they had cared to have a look upon it.

  But when I was on the tram, and doing the jobs written on the list, what I kept thinking, sir, over and over, was that I had married Charles when I was very young and did not really want to, and I had given up my life with the Missus in her pretty home. I had stopped being Louisa and become Mrs Andrews just as my parents had asked me to. I had so long been Mrs Andrews that I had forgotten who Louisa was. And what I was thinking was that there may have been another Mrs Andrews before me, and in any case my husband was dead and now I would not ever know.

  And I had so much grief and confusion, so I hardly knew who I was at all.

  Law Report

  Supreme Court

  In Banco.—(Before their Honors the CHIEF JUSTICE,

  Mr. Justice WINDEYER, and Mr. Justice FOSTER.)

  Regina v. Louisa Collins

  Mr. Rogers, Q.C., and Mr. Lusk, instructed by Messrs. Slattery and Heydon, appeared for the prisoner, and moved for a writ of error to quash the conviction of Louisa Collins, who was found guilty at the last Criminal Assizes of the murder of her husband, and sentenced to death. The grounds submitted were—1. That all the evidence which was admitted relative to the death of Charles Andrews was improperly admitted. 2. That one of the jurymen received and read a telegram, the contents of which were not known to the presiding Judge …

  Application refused and conviction confirmed.

  The Sydney Morning Herald18

  45.

  The court has rejected my appeal.

  Mr Lusk says the court looked at two reasons to excuse my being found guilty of murdering Michael. He says the court decided that neither of these things meant I had been tried unfairly.

  I tell him I do not understand.

  I ask when he might appeal again.

  He looks down at one of his hands, turns it over to see the palm, and then he says the court will not allow another appeal.

  I ask if May’s testimony was discussed.

  He shakes his head.

  I tell him the things they looked at in the appeal were not the right things to consider, but May changing her story might convince them as they had listened so closely to her words.

  He says he will not be able to appeal again. Then he says the judges who heard the appeal were the ones who had already ruled over the trials and so were most familiar with the circumstances.

  I ask him if he is sure he cannot appeal again.

  He does not answer my question but says I should have hopes of a reprieve and that I should appeal to my friends in parliament.

  So I tell him I have none, as I am a woman, and I may not even vote.

  46.

  Today they come to cut my hair.

  They say I must have short hair for them to hang me, although I do not know why. Perhaps so the phrenologist who sat in court can feel my skull properly when I am dead, and tell them what sort of evil I was.

  Maybe he shall make a death mask.

  The barber comes into my cell with two of the warders, Anderson and Bryce. Alice is already in my cell and she stays.

  I think the barber is practised in cutting men’s hair. He gives me an ugly cut. Perhaps I just think this as it is so short.

  I have no mirror, but Warder Anderson says it is quite fetching and some women are opting to have their hair cut in a short style and she is sure one day it will be that many women will choose to have their hair cut this way, for it is very practical. Alice says it is practical but not very pretty.

  Then she says that I should not worry though, for my hair will soon grow and then she pauses and holds a horrified look. I laugh at the look upon her face, and I say I look forward to its being long again.

  Later, Alice pats me on the hand and says they may not hang a woman, for all that they say that they will, for there have been three juries who have not been able to convict me, and only one which has found me guilty.

  But I see the other warders share a look between themselves.

  The barber is collecting locks of my hair from the floor, mementoes, I think, of the Botany Bay Murderess.

  So I bend over and pick up some of the locks myself, and I give some of these to Alice and the other warders.

  For it is my hair and I shall give the locks to whomever I please.

  47.

  May visits me today and I keep my cap on so that she will not see my short hair.

  We try to be happy as this may be our last time together, but she is very distressed at seeing me. It is not good for a child to see their mother in a place such as this, with the warders and May’s guardian in the room staring at us; it is all very crowded and formal.

  May lies with me on the bed and I hold her to my chest and I stroke her hair, for this is something she has always enjoyed. We speak of happier times: when we were dancing together last year, the visits we had made to the beach at Botany, and of our old horse King. Even though May was very young when Charles sold King, and does not have many memories of her own, we have often spoken of him, and speaking of this horse makes her hap
py.

  I try not to talk of her father, so as not to upset her, so I tell her of the lady I used to work for who loved to grow flowers, and of Blackie, and the boy named Harry who gave me a ribbon with bluebirds embroidered on it and she lies very still and clings to me, and listens.

  Then we share a little sleep together and when I wake she is still holding me but she is asleep. And I look upon my child and I cannot believe that the government would kill me and take me from her. They must grant me a reprieve.

  The whole time May and I are together, Alice has turned herself so she is not watching me directly and even the guardian has faced the other way, so that May and I might feel as though it were only us in the room. It is a kindness although it does not help much.

  When May wakes I tell her that I have written a letter in which I said I would let her go and live with another family, for she cannot live with me here in the gaol. I tell her that she must not think I have done this because I do not love her, but that it was because this other family were very sad, and had no children. And that they particularly wanted a little girl called May to come and live with them and make them happy. I say I hope she might still be able to visit me. And I give her a lock of my hair as a remembrance, and I kiss her cheek and say she needs to go now for it will soon be getting dark, and I motion for Alice to call the guard to open the door.

  I tell her I might see her again soon.

  The door to the cell opens and I hold May a little longer and then I tell her that one day a dear friend might come to see her and bring a message from me to her, and this will not happen until my little May is a grown-up lady. Even though this might seem to be a long way in the future, May should always remember that a message from her mother will be coming.

  I say that I love her.

  The guardian nods to me, and she herself has tears on her cheeks and then she takes May by the hand and I watch them leave together and the door shut.

  The Female Governor has the letter which gives the care of my little May over to another family who will have her now, whether I hang or not, and I will not be able to ever get her back.

  48.

  The chaplain comes to my cell tonight. I think he might have been summoned by a warder.

  I roll over to face the wall.

  He sits upon the edge of my bed and he rubs me lightly on my shoulder. He does not speak.

  Neither do I.

  It is most improper, but what is proper in all of this?

  49.

  I may have less than a week to live.

  So when I wake today I determine that I should see Canon Rich this morning, and I ask Warder Bryce to arrange this for me.

  She escorts me over to the Chapel with Warder Armstrong, and when I am seated at the table, Warder Armstrong leaves the room.

  The chaplain comes in and says, Louisa, I am pleased to see you are feeling a little better.

  There is my own name again, I think.

  I say, I am, sir, on account that I would like to write some letters.

  He says he will get me pen and ink and paper and asks that I might be unshackled, just at the wrists, so that I might write my letters freely.

  I am going to write to each of my children, I say. I shall leave these letters for the authorities to give to my children should I not be reprieved.

  The chaplain looks to Warder Bryce, who does not hesitate, and she does not seek the permission of the Female Governor either; she simply undoes the handcuffs and sets my hands free.

  I thank her and when the stationery comes, I begin to write.

  Canon Rich begs his pardon to be excused to go up into the Chapel, and that this will give me some privacy to tend my letters.

  In each letter, I will tell my children of my love for them, and the love their father had for them.

  I try to say one happy story for each of them – a story from our trip to Sydney upon the dray, when Charles set a campfire each night and it was like a holiday; or our times at the bay in Botany or out the back with the boarders. I write a memory of a happy time with their parents for each of them and before long a large stack of envelopes sit beside me. I do not seal any of these, as they will be read by others before the children may have them.

  I check to see if Warder Bryce is looking and she is not; she is dozing, her head tipped forward.

  And so I write one more letter. An extra one, just for May. One which I will give to my friend for safekeeping until May becomes of age. I want to say things to May which you cannot say to a child, and which will need to wait until she is a grown woman. I have thought upon the words carefully and so I am able to write quickly and then I seal this letter and place it inside my sleeve. The letter will only matter if they hang me, and if they do, May must know she was but a child in a world of men who used their power to find me guilty. She must not carry any burden upon herself.

  I tell her she is the innocent in all of this.

  And I explain why.

  Then I lay the pen down and push the ink bottle forward slightly. The stack of letters will be taken to the Prison Governor, and he shall read every one before he permits them to be given out, as is required for prisoners’ letters. I know this because he has done this with all my letters before.

  Then I sit quietly and wait for someone to tend me. For Warder Bryce to wake up, for Warder Anderson to come back, or for Canon Rich to finish in the Chapel.

  In spite of myself, I smile at how well guarded I am.

  50.

  Charles was buried at Rookwood cemetery, sir, and I chose a plot with a view of the bush, which I thought would be peaceful for him to have his rest. I do not like to think upon this now as he has been so disturbed, being dug up for the inquest.

  Many people came to see Charles off from our house, for he was well liked and respected.

  Michael came to the funeral and was a very great comfort to me, as though I may not have shown it to the satisfaction of those around me, I was greatly distressed. Charles had been my husband for over twenty years and now he was no more, and though we had not been happy, I felt his loss just the same.

  I also knew that my life had changed, sir, as I no longer had a man to care for me.

  I had not seen Michael during the time when Charles was sick, because Michael knew Charles had developed a great dislike for him, and he did not want to upset Charles further by visiting.

  I wanted to hold a wake for Charles and at the time I had the coin for this on account of the insurance money coming to me.

  Michael helped me with the arrangements.

  We arranged beer from the hotel and Michael and I visited Mr Sayers, the grocer at the end of the road, as he knew Charles very well and he came to know Michael well also. In fact, I would say they became great friends. We asked Mr Sayers to provide a selection of cakes and treats and some sugar drink. And we asked one of the workers Charles had known when he was working at Geddes, a fellmonger who had a way with music, to come and play upon his tin whistle.

  So we set up the table and some chairs and Mr Sayers came down and laid the table with treats – cakes with coloured icing, sandwiches and sweets – and all the neighbours came and everyone helped themselves to the food and drink, and there was dancing. The party went on until one or two in the morning.

  May came over to me and then, as the tin whistle was played, she and I linked hands and we danced twirling around the room and she was laughing and her hair was swinging back and she looked so happy and pretty.

  I remember thinking to myself at the time that I used to have hair like that, and that I was only a little older than May when young Harry had brought me the hair ribbon and how that girl I had been seemed a world away. And I thought I was glad I had money and I could buy May some hair ribbons and make her hair pretty.

  I do not want to think of my May as she looked upon me when she gave her story in the court, for each
time it was a knife in my heart.

  No sir, I think of her as she was on that day, at the wake we had for Charles, when she held my hands and I spun her around the room and her hair flicked back and then later when she was laughing with a cake in her hand and pink icing upon her cheeks.

  That is how I think of my May.

  51.

  And it was a few days after the wake that Michael came to board.

  Now, there are those who say it was not the right thing to do, but then there will always be those, won’t there, sir, and I was a widow alone with many small children and I was in need of comfort and company.

  Michael had been living back at my house for a few weeks when he went to Sydney upon the tram. This was not unusual for him to do, sir, but on that day, he came home not long after he had left, with a bunch of roses and some nice cheese, and he sent May to the hotel for some beer, for he said I was in need of some cheering.

  I placed the roses on the table, having put them in a jug which we used to hold water, as I had no vase.

  And I said to him that he must have bought them from the market in Sydney, as there was no flower seller in Botany, and how nice it was that he had thought to get me roses. He said he had done this as I had told him of the Missus and her roses and I said that was good of him to remember.

  And Michael and I sat and talked and drank the beer and ate the cheese and he asked me what my plans were, and would I open a boarding house as some widows do, and I said I did not need to as I had money now. He asked me how much money as, he said, he might help me set up a business of some sort, for I would need a man in the front of such a plan even though I were a respectable widow, and did I have a business in mind.

  I said I did not, except that I knew I did not want to have another butcher shop, and we laughed a little at that, for I had told him how unhappy I was when I was working in the shop. I said there would come a time when I would need to think about work, but that time was a long way off yet and that I did not wish to think of such things.