Suddenly the snoring softened and stopped. Seddon came forward. ‘She’s stopped breathing!’ he said, rousing his wife. He felt Miss Barrow’s pulse, lifted an eyelid and exclaimed: ‘Good God, she’s dead!’ It was just after a quarter-past six, on Thursday, 14 September 1911.
About seven o’clock, Seddon went to Dr Sworn’s house and told him his patient had died. Then and there the doctor made out a death certificate, giving the cause of death as ‘epidemic diarrhoea’. ‘I did not expect it then,’ said Seddon.
He returned home, to find that all the blinds had now been drawn down in respect for Miss Barrow’s death. His wife and the charwoman, Mrs Rutt, were laying out the body. In the presence of both women he unlocked Miss Barrow’s trunk with her keys. Inside was the cash box. He put it on the bed beside the corpse. But no fortune lay within it. In the cash box was only £4 10s. Three sovereigns were later found in a drawer, according to the Seddons, and £2 10s in a handbag. The trunk was ransacked, and apart from clothes, two watches, some brooches and a bracelet were unearthed.
About half-past nine the youngest children, including Ernie, who knew nothing of his foster mother’s death, were packed off to Southend. Later in the morning, Seddon visited Mr Nodes, an undertaker, and a cheap and instant funeral was arranged as a favour for £4, which was further reduced to £3 17s 6d when Seddon complained that all the cash he had for the funeral costs and the doctor’s fees was the £4 10s found in the cash box. The saving of 2s 6d was regarded by Seddon and Nodes as the former’s commission. The cost of the funeral included ‘a coffin, polished and ornamented with handles and inside lining, a composite carriage (for the mourners and the coffin), the necessary bearers, and the fees at Islington cemetery’. Miss Barrow was to be buried in a public grave, despite the fact that there was room for her – later denied by Seddon – in a family vault.
Nodes came and measured the body, removing it that night to a mortuary after Seddon had decided the funeral should be the following afternoon – ‘It being a slack business day for me.’ He later claimed he had typed a letter on black-edged paper to Frank Vonderahe, informing him succinctly of his cousin’s death, of the funeral times and of the terms of the will. The letter was addressed to 31 Evershot Road and, he said, it was posted before 5 pm. As it happened, the Vonderahes had moved two months before this to an address in Corbyn Street. Nonetheless, although other letters addressed to Evershot Road eventually reached them at Corbyn Street, they never received Seddon’s letter – probably because it was never sent. Nor were any mourning cards, although he had some printed. They were inscribed: ‘In ever loving memory of Eliza Mary Barrow’ and contained this verse:
A dear one is missing and with us no more;
That voice so much loved we hear not again;
Yet we think of you now the same as of yore,
And know you are free of trouble and pain.
Most of Thursday afternoon was spent by Seddon in his basement office with his two assistant managers, Taylor and Smith, apart from an hour or so when he went to bed complaining of feeling very tired. Meanwhile, the insurance collectors called with their weekly takings, which amounted that day to £63 14s 3d. Smith and Taylor worked from noon to midnight on the accounts. At about 9 pm they observed a large amount of loose gold on Seddon’s desk. He was counting it and putting it in four cloth bags, which the assistants later surmised must have held about £400 worth of gold.
In a very good humour, Seddon picked up one of the bags and plonked in on Smith’s desk. ‘Here’s your wages,’ he joked. ‘I wish you meant it, Mr Seddon,’ replied Smith. Seddon then locked all four bags away in a safe. He later denied all this and said he was merely counting the gold and silver brought in by the collectors.
On Friday, 15 September, he was very busy. He made two payments into his bank account that amounted to £96 0s 8d, paid mainly in gold. A sum of £30 was also put into his post-office savings bank, again mainly in gold coin. Mrs Seddon went with him to a jeweller in Holloway Road, where they left a diamond ring and a gold watch for alterations – the ring’s band was to be widened; ‘EJ Barrow 1860’ was to be erased from the back of the watch, and the enamel dial was to be replaced with a gold one. When Mrs Seddon returned home, she was vexed to find that the blinds had been raised by Mrs Longley. ‘Let us show a little respect!’ exclaimed Mrs Seddon and lowered the blinds once more.
She had already been out with her sister-in-law and father-in-law and had ordered a cross of flowers for the deceased. After lunch, about two o’clock, the same trio took the cross to the undertaker’s mortuary in Stroud Green Road, where it was placed on the coffin – but not before the lid had been removed and Mrs Seddon had kissed the corpse.
Later that day, Mrs Longley and her daughter returned to Wolverhampton, and the Seddons to their own beds. The top floor was empty once more.
On Saturday afternoon, Miss Barrow was buried, the two Seddons and Grandfather William travelling with the coffin in the composite carriage from the undertaker’s to Islington Cemetery. Less than a year before this, the few remains of Mrs Crippen had also been buried there.
Sunday was a day of rest for all concerned. But on Monday, 18 September, Seddon was active again, buying three shares totalling £90 3s in a building society; he paid in gold coin. The following day he wrote to the society asking about the exact amount required to pay off the mortgage on 63 Tollington Park.
Meanwhile, the Vonderahes happened to hear that their cousin, whom they had not seen in the district for six weeks or so, was ill. Mr Vonderahe called at Number 63 on Wednesday, 20 September and was amazed to be told by the eccentric servant, Mary Chater: ‘Don’t you know she’s dead and buried?’ ‘No,’ he replied, ‘when did she die?’ ‘Last Saturday,’ replied the maid. ‘But if you call about nine o’clock you will be able to see Mr Seddon and he’ll tell you all about it.’ When Vonderahe returned with his wife that night, he was told by Maggie that both her parents were out.
The following morning, at about 10 am, Mrs Frank Vonderahe called with her sister-in-law, Mrs Albert Vonderahe, and the two were shown by Maggie into the sitting room. After a long wait, both the Seddons appeared. ‘Why didn’t you answer my letter and come to the funeral?’ demanded Mr Seddon. Mrs Frank Vonderahe replied, ‘We never got no letter’, whereupon he produced a carbon copy of the letter allegedly sent on the day Miss Barrow died. He also gave Mrs Frank Vonderahe a statement about the terms of the will and the annuity, which died with her, as well as a copy of the will and three mourning cards. Mrs Seddon remarked that they had had a very nice funeral. ‘Everything was done very nicely,’ she said. Seddon told Mrs Frank Vonderahe that their cousin had been buried in a public grave. ‘Fancy!’ came the reply. ‘And she had a family vault.’ ‘It’s full up,’ said Seddon. ‘No, it isn’t,’ she retorted. ‘Oh well,’ replied Seddon, ‘it will be an easy matter for the relatives to remove the body.’ Mrs Frank Vonderahe said a public grave was good enough for Eliza Barrow, who had been a wicked woman all her life; she also spoke about unseemly scenes and quarrels that Miss Barrow had caused. ‘Really,’ she concluded, ‘it’s a good job for the boy that she passed away … She even spat at us before we left.’ ‘She was a woman that wanted humouring,’ Seddon opined. ‘You ought to take into consideration her infirmities. She was to be pitied.’ The Vonderahes then asked about Ernie. Seddon said he was quite prepared to look after the boy, unless any of his relatives could give him a better home. They enquired about the Buck’s Head and the India stock. Seddon told them Miss Barrow had been anxious to buy an annuity and had parted with all her investments to this end. ‘Well,’ said Mrs Albert Vonderahe, ‘Whoever persuaded Miss Barrow to do that was a very clever person.’
Neither wife was surprised that nothing had been left to their husbands, the actual cousins of the deceased. They asked if Seddon would see their husbands that evening, but he said it was out of the question – enough time had been wasted and he was going away the next day and he could not possibly see them
until his return.
All the Seddons went to Southend on 22 September, where Ernie was informed about his benefactress’s death. They returned on 2 October, and several days later Ernie was sent to call on Frank Vonderahe with the message that Seddon was back.
On 9 October, Frank Vonderahe called with a friend, Mr Walker. His brother, he said, was not well. ‘What did you want to bring a stranger for?’ demanded Seddon, ‘This only concerns the next-of-kin.’ He said all the information Mr Vonderahe need have or know had already been given to his wife. ‘Can I see the will, the original will?’ asked Vonderahe. ‘No,’ said Seddon. ‘You already have a copy … I don’t know why I should give you any information. You’re not the eldest of the family. You have another brother, Percy.’ This brother had, in fact, disappeared some time ago. ‘He might be dead for aught I know,’ retorted Vonderahe. ‘I don’t think so,’ Seddon returned. ‘You’ve been making enquiries and talked about consulting a solicitor.’ (He had been told this by Nodes, the undertaker.) Vonderahe persisted: ‘Who is the owner of the Buck’s Head now?’ ‘I am,’ came the reply, ‘likewise the shop next door … I am always open to buy property at a price.’ ‘How did you come by it?’ ‘I’ve already told you that.’ ‘Who bought the India stock?’ Seddon answered: ‘You’ll have to write to the Governor of the Bank of England and ask him. Everything has been done in a perfectly legal manner.’
According to Seddon, the interview ended amicably, with enquiries about the well-being of Ernie and Hilda Grant. But the Vonderahes were very dissatisfied and deeply suspicious about the circumstances of their cousin’s death – and the total disappearance of her fortune. They communicated their anxieties to the police.
On 15 November, Miss Barrow’s body was exhumed and examined by Dr Bernard Spilsbury and Dr Willcox. The body was remarkedly well preserved, a fact attributed to some preserving agent – such as arsenic. And sufficient traces of arsenic (2.01 grains) were found in the body to suggest that the cause of death was not epidemic diarrhoea and heart failure caused by gastroenteritis, but ‘acute arsenical poisoning’, although the symptoms were the same. It was thought that a large dose of arsenic had been administered about three days before death, most of it having been purged by the body. It was calculated that one flypaper, if boiled, could produce as much as 5 grains of arsenic (2 grains were said to be fatal) and one flypaper soaked in cold water would produce nearly 1 grain.
While the body was being dissected in St Mary’s Hospital, Paddington, Seddon was coincidentally being shown around the hospital in connection with a business deal.
An inquest began on 23 November and was adjourned until the 29th.
At 7 pm on 4 December, Seddon was arrested outside his home. On hearing the charge he said: ‘Absurd. What a terrible charge – wilful murder! It is the first of our family that has ever been accused of such a crime … Poisoning by arsenic? What a charge! … Murder … Murder.’ Mrs Seddon was arrested on 15 January 1912. On 2 February, both the Seddons were committed for trial.
The arrests had attracted little attention, but the trial was avidly followed and the court was crowded every day. The trial began on Monday, 4 March 1912, at the Old Bailey and occupied ten days. The Attorney-General, Sir Rufus Isaacs, KC, was the prosecutor, assisted by Mr Richard Muir and Mr Travers Humphreys. Mr Edward Marshall Hall, KC, led Seddon’s defence and Gervais Rentoul his wife’s. The judge was Mr Justice Bucknill.
Both the Seddons gave evidence, Frederick Seddon over a record three days. He was fully in command of himself and his defence, and was never at a loss for an answer. His self-confidence was overweening. His responses were meticulous, his manner sometimes jaunty, but more often cold and arrogant. His whole demeanour, too clever by half, seemed to confirm every prejudice already felt against him and antagonised everyone in the court, even the Attorney-General who, as if from deep personal dislike, concentrated almost entirely on the case against the male accused – as did the judge in his summing-up. If Seddon had not given evidence, revealing himself as a man who certainly seemed capable of the crime as charged, the Crown would have had a harder task and the all-male jury might have given him the benefit of the doubt. For the evidence was entirely circumstantial, concerned mainly with motive and opportunity. There was no evidence that Seddon had ever bought or used any arsenic or knew anything about it. There were also serious doubts about the way the police had conducted the investigation, and the Marsh test, which was applied to the arsenic in the body, was improperly applied to the quantity of arsenic therein, not just to the quality. As Seddon himself wrote after the trial: ‘There was no motive for me to commit such a crime. I would have to be a greedy inhuman monster, or be suffering from a degenerate or deranged mind, as I was in good financial circumstances. 21 years in one employ, a good position, a good home with every comfort, a wife, five children and aged father depending on me, my income just on £15 per week.’
Despite the fact that the evidence offered against Seddon was the same as that offered against his wife – and, if anything, there was more to incriminate her – it was he alone who was found guilty by the jury after an absence of exactly an hour. Mrs Seddon was acquitted.
When she was pronounced ‘Not guilty’ Seddon leaned across and gave her a resounding kiss. She became hysterical and was taken below in tears. When asked if he had anything to say for himself before sentence of death was passed, he stepped forward in the dock, and made a very long, lucid speech, quoting facts and figures from his notes, explaining this, justifying that, leading to a powerful protestation of his innocence.
The judge, like Seddon, was a freemason. The condemned man concluded his speech by raising a hand as if taking a freemason’s oath. He said: ‘The prosecution has not traced anything to me in the shape of money, which is the great motive suggested by the prosecution in this case for my committing the diabolical crime, of which I declare before the Great Architect of the Universe I am not guilty, my lord. Anything more I might have to say I do not suppose will be of any account. But still, if it is the last words that I speak, I am not guilty of the crime for which I stand committed!’
The judge’s secretary arranged the black cap on his wig; a chaplain appeared; the usher, crying ‘Oyez, oyez, oyez!’ called on all to be silent as sentence of death was passed. The doors of the court were locked.
The judge replied in a low, faltering voice to the points raised in Seddon’s final speech. Seddon nodded twice in grave agreement when the judge said he believed the jury’s verdict on Mrs Seddon was the right one and that the trial had been a fair one. Seddon spoke three times, quietly interrupting the judge’s words, saying: ‘I have a clear conscience … I am at peace … She done nothing wrong, sir.’ Towards the end the judge said: ‘You and I know we belong to one brotherhood … But our brotherhood does not encourage crime. On the contrary, it condemns it. I pray you again to make your peace with the Great Architect of the Universe. Mercy – pray for it, ask for it.’ He was in tears as he said: ‘The sentence of the court is that you be taken from hence to a lawful prison, and from thence to a place of execution, and that you be there hanged by the neck until you are dead … And may the Lord have mercy on your soul.’
An appeal was heard on 1 April and dismissed the following day. Meetings were held and a petition organised. It was signed by more than 250,000 people, but to no avail. Seddon was hanged at Pentonville Prison on 18 April 1912, not long after hearing the news that his house had been sold for next to nothing. ‘That’s finished it!’ he exclaimed.
A large crowd of 7,000 people gathered outside the prison as the hour of execution approached. The newspapers were still full of the sinking of the Titanic, which had struck an iceberg and sunk with a huge loss of life two days beforehand. The hangmen were John Ellis and Tom Pierrepoint, a quarryman, who had first assisted his younger brother, Harry, at an execution in April 1906. Seddon approached the noose reluctantly and, with his eyes closed, had to be directed towards it by Tom Pierrepoint. The execution was carr
ied out in a record time of 25 seconds.
Frederick Seddon made no confession. But Mrs Seddon did. A few months after the execution, she remarried and moved to Liverpool, eventually emigrating to America. On 17 November the Weekly Dispatch published a signed confession in which she said that she had seen her former husband give poison to Miss Barrow on the night she died and that he had compelled her to say nothing by threatening her with a gun. But a fortnight later, John Bull published another statement. Mrs Seddon swore on oath that the confession was a lie, that she had made it to stop people saying she was a murderess – and to gain the large sum of money she was offered by the Dispatch.
16
GEORGE SMITH
THE MURDER OF BESSIE MUNDY, 1912
Men who murder women generally do so under the stress of extreme provocation. What varies in each case is the cause of this stress. Some men have found their wives’ lack of respect unbearable; others have been incensed by submissiveness. An excess of compliance often encourages a man already vain, unfeeling and bent on gain to believe that he can get away with murder.
Murder of the Black Museum 1875-1975: The Dark Secrets Behind a Hundred Years of the Most Notorious Crimes in England Page 19