The Cretingham Murder

by Sheila Hardy

  Annie Wightman, the maid, was now up and dressed and was either sent or volunteered to fetch help from a neighbour. Mrs Smith was often in attendance at deaths and was well practised in the procedure of laying-out a body. Accompanied by her friend, Mrs Coates, the women came first to the vicarage kitchen where they found Mrs Farley in a dazed, fainting condition, quite unable to tell them what had occurred. When Mrs Smith viewed the body it was lying on its left side.

  When Dr Jones arrived at a quarter to two he found the corpse lying on its back. The doctor, who was Farley’s regular medical attendant, had not been prepared to find that his patient’s throat had been cut. An incision some 7½in long had wounded but not penetrated the windpipe. The external jugular vein and the muscles surrounding it had been cut accounting for the severe haemorrhage. Death was due to the resultant loss of blood. As was to be expected in such a case, Dr Jones ordered that the police be informed, though whether the doctor suspected suicide or foul play was never made clear.

  Without waiting for the police to examine the scene, Mrs Smith, who had now been joined by her husband John, and Mrs Coates began their business. A board was found and placed across three or four (accounts vary) chairs and with some difficulty, the exceedingly heavy corpse was raised and laid out upon the makeshift trestle.

  While all this activity was going on, Arthur dressed in his outdoor clothes and left the house. No attempt was made to stop him or perhaps in all the bustle, no one noticed his going. Had Harriet Louisa not mentioned his part in the dreadful business at this stage? If she had, it is surely strange that the doctor or Frank had not taken the precaution to lock him in his room until the police came. Instead, Arthur was able to slip away out into the countryside in the dark hours before dawn. But far from running away, at around half past four, he was seen walking back towards Cretingham. Fred Read, a farm labourer from Framsden, was on his way to start his day’s work at Jeaffreson’s farm when he met Arthur on the Otley road. Read, struck by the strangeness of such an early encounter, noted that the curate was leaning heavily upon a stick and walking very slowly.

  In the meantime, PC Robert Moore of the Suffolk Constabulary, based at Brandeston, had arrived and carried out an initial examination of the premises. It was now that Harriet Louisa told her story implicating Arthur – and his supposed flight from the scene must have made him the prime suspect. Yet Moore found no indication of anything untoward in Arthur’s room; no sign of a blood trail between that and the adjoining scene of the crime and no evidence from the bowl on the washstand of Arthur having washed blood from his hands.

  When Moore was later joined by PC Edward Clarke of Framsden, a more thorough search of the room revealed stains, believed to be blood, on the left sleeve of Arthur’s dressing gown. His shaving cloth, however, showed no marks of any sort but there was a small bloodstain on the towel. Most incriminating, yet missed in the original search, was the discovery of Arthur’s razor with fresh blood on it, lying beneath the looking glass on the dressing table.

  This appears to have been sufficient evidence that Arthur had murdered the vicar and his absence confirmed that belief. Therefore, it must have come as a shock to PC Moore when at 5 a.m. he answered a knock at the front door of the vicarage and found Arthur standing there. As if there was nothing amiss, the curate stepped into the hall and removed his coat and hat. Taken aback, the constable observed that what had happened to Mr Farley was a bad job. A simple reply of ‘yes’ from Arthur, nonplussed Moore even further. Arthur then moved towards the stairs and on being asked where he was going, he announced calmly that he was going to his room. This he was allowed to do with a police escort. And there he sat, in silence, except to ask for a cup of tea which the constable obligingly ordered for him.

  It was in his room that William Emmerson found him at six o’clock. Although still early, and living at the farther end of the village, Emmerson had already heard the news of the vicar’s death from Annie Wightman’s father. He had, in any case, as was mentioned before, told Mrs Farley that he would come early on Sunday morning to fetch the Communion plate and find out exactly who was taking the service that morning. Emmerson had also heard the gossip surrounding the circumstances of Farley’s death yet he still asked if he might speak with the curate. Whatever wariness he might have felt about the interview was immediately dispelled when, after exchanging greetings, Arthur showed only concern for Emmerson himself and how his family were bearing up under the grief of their bereavement.

  Emmerson had held Arthur in high regard and the curate’s kindness softened any feeling of revulsion he might have had, so gently he tried to persuade Arthur to talk about what he had done. There must, he suggested, have been a cause for such action, something that had been said or done to drive him to it. If he was hoping for a confession, he was disappointed for Arthur had no reason to offer. The parish clerk pressed him again for a reason; maybe the man had grounds for thinking that he knew what the cause might be. But again Arthur responded in the negative. Trying a different line, Emmerson wondered if Arthur had ever thought about doing it before. This time the questioner was more successful. After some delay, Arthur volunteered that he had thought about it the previous day.

  Emmerson remained with the curate until Supt Balls from Framlingham arrived to formally arrest him. When the time came, Emmerson helped Arthur on with his coat, the curate then shook his hand warmly, wished him goodbye and was led off to the waiting transport which would take him to spend the next few days at the lock-up in Framlingham.

  3

  THE AFTERMATH

  Even in 1887 the media was quick to take up a ‘good story’. Although without the sophistication of twenty-first century communication methods, the telegraph service and the telephone were in operation, though the latter was rare in country areas. Thus, by Sunday afternoon, at least two reporters for the East Anglian Daily Times were in the village to cover the murder. One of them chose to concentrate on providing local colour by describing the atmosphere of the place:

  Upon driving into Cretingham on Sunday afternoon, there were but few indications that the parish had been the scene of a tragedy which is almost unique in the annals of crime. At the Vicarage the blinds were drawn, and at the back of the house two or three policemen were standing about; here and there, down the long street (if such the scattered houses may be called), groups of villagers were discussing such details of the occurrence as they had been able to gather; and it is hardly necessary to say that there was no service in the parish church. That this latter circumstance was due to the facts that the vicar had been murdered and that his curate was in custody were considerations which might have occasioned a good deal of excitement. But, truth to tell; the whole affair was apparently regarded with phlegmatic indifference. The only perceptible effect of the tragedy upon the ordinary routine of parochial life was that, after the dinner hour, there was a larger gathering than usual at the Bell Inn.

  Cretingham is a small parish, containing barely 350 inhabitants, lying about 4 miles WSW of Framlingham and ENE of Debenham. The nearest route from Ipswich runs through Tuddenham, thence for some distance in the direction of Debach Post, turning off sharp to the left near Clopton Crown. Almost the first house to be seen, upon entering the parish from this direction is the square, red bricked vicarage, standing somewhat back from the main road, and partially hidden by shrubs and trees. It is an unpretending edifice, the porch over the front entrance facing south and even at this time of the year bright with roses and clustered over with foliage. The red brick, of which the house is built, and the tiled roof have weathered into a warm red, and the whole place has a pleasing and picturesque appearance not at all suggestive of the horrible associations with which in future it will be invested....

  . . . although it is at some distance from the centre of the street, the situation is by no means lonely. Two or three houses, one of them used as the Post office, stand close by, and there are several cottages, at short intervals, all the way down to the church. Mos
t of these tenements are old fashioned, with thatched roofs and although the gardens were gay with autumn flowers, Cretingham does not have the appearance of being a very flourishing place. On Sunday afternoon, however, the weather was wretchedly dull, and everything was seen at a disadvantage. The church, which stands on an eminence halfway down the village, has a lofty tower, built of flint, with nave, chancel and south porch... Just at this time the interior, which is yet furnished with the ancient square pews, is decorated for harvest thanksgiving. Upon all the window sills there are flowers, fruit and vegetables but the doors were locked and no opportunity was afforded of making any inspection except through the windows.

  These paragraphs, setting the scenes, as it were, are not to be taken as mere space fillers until further information could be obtained. On the contrary, by breakfast time on Monday morning, the story of the murder filled two and a half columns of the broadsheet. Under the triple headlines of:

  HORRIBLE TRAGEDY IN SUFFOLK

  THE VICAR OF CRETINGHAM MURDERED BY HIS CURATE

  ARREST OF THE MURDERER

  appeared details of the case which had been revealed to the police. Describing the events already mentioned in preceding pages, we are now presented with the first version of what actually took place between the household going to bed and Bilney being called; that is, Harriet Louisa’s statement. The report stated:

  Mr Farley called out, ‘What is that?’ This awakened Mrs Farley and she then heard what she describes as a ‘rattling noise’ outside the bedroom door. She at first thought it was the maid rattling with a candlestick and got up and went to the door, which was locked on the inside as usual. She unlocked it, and upon opening the door, saw the curate standing in his dressing gown, with an earthenware candlestick, holding a lighted candle, in his right hand. He was perfectly quiet but deathly pale, and she cried out, ‘Good gracious, what do you want?’ He replied, ‘I want to come in,’ and tried to force his way into the bedroom. With some difficulty she prevented him, and having succeeded in closing the door, turned the key, exclaiming to her husband as she did so, ‘Why, he is mad.’ Mr Cooper called out, ‘I want to come in and see the Vicar.’ Mr Farley replied, ‘Oh, poor fellow, open the door and see what he wants.’ Mrs Farley accordingly opened the door again, and Mr Cooper walked into the room. He made no remark, but walked right into the room round by the foot of the bed, past the crib on which Mrs Farley had been sleeping, and then to the side of the Vicar’s bed. All this time he had the candlestick in his right hand. Nothing was observed in his left, but that he had a razor there can be no possible doubt. He approached the bedside and quietly put out his left hand in the direction of the Vicar’s throat. ‘Mr Farley exclaimed, ‘What do you mean? What do you mean?’ The curate laughed, turned round and walked quietly out of the room. Before he reached the door, Mr Farley exclaimed in a feeble voice, ‘He’s cut my throat.’ Mrs Farley at first believed her husband was in a delirium, and as she could see no blood she replied, ‘Oh, nonsense.’ She, however, followed the curate to his room, and while going thither she heard Mr Farley call ‘Frank,’ the coachman, by name twice. She went up to Cooper, and in as firm a voice as she could command, said to him, ‘What have you in your hand? Give it to me.’ He replied, ‘I have nothing,’ and even then she could not see that he had any weapon. She then went back to her husband’s room, and found Mr Farley lying on the floor with blood rushing from his throat. Stricken with horror, she ran back to the curate’s room, and said to Cooper, ‘Come and help me; you don’t know what you have done.’ Cooper made no reply, and she ran back to her husband and tried to staunch the blood. Meanwhile she despatched the groom for Dr Jones, of Framlingham, but long before he arrived Mr Farley had expired.

  Presumably this account was based on statements made by the police but the reporter also managed to obtain an interview with William Emmerson who gave the information, mentioned earlier, of his conversation with Mrs Farley as to Arthur’s state of mind and the likelihood of her getting Mr Allen to take the service.

  However, the second reporter, in his piece, makes a conflicting reference as to who should take the Sunday service:

  On Saturday there was nothing in his [Cooper’s] conduct to excite alarm, although it is understood that Mrs Farley felt some concern about him. He complained of want of sleep; he was anxious that some other clergyman should be called in to take the Sunday service; and he added, somewhat ominously, that while he should be bad on the coming Sunday, he should be worse still on the Sunday after that. No arrangement, however, seems to have been made to relieve him of his duties.

  Unfortunately, the journalist does not name his source for this overheard conversation. If it was not Emmerson, then it must have been either Bilney or Annie Wightman, they being the only others in the house, but strangely, this information that Arthur himself wished to be relieved of his duties was not to appear again.

  This same representative of the press mentions in passing that Arthur frequently accompanied Mrs Farley to Framlingham and elsewhere and then goes on to make some pertinent comments on the case:

  Although in all the main particulars, the tragedy seems to be as simple as it was horrible, there are two or three mysterious circumstances which have yet to be explained. Mrs Farley was under the impression that the curate, after he committed the murder, took his own candlestick with him to light the way back to his room. Afterwards, however, both candlesticks were found in the room of the murdered man. How that came about is still a mystery.

  So it was, that by the time the inquest was held on that Monday afternoon, most, if not all of those who were called to take part, would have been fully acquainted with what had been written in the East Anglian Daily Times.

  That this was no run-of-the-mill case is borne out by the fact that after Supt Balls of Framlingham had visited the scene on Sunday morning, he immediately sent a telegram to the Deputy Chief Constable, Mr F. Fisher. He, accompanied by Inspector Shipp and several more constables, arrived later in the day and having been fully informed as to what had occurred, took the preliminary measures for setting up the inquest at the Bell Inn at 2 o’clock on Monday.

  Arthur, meanwhile, had been placed in an ordinary cell in Framlingham police station, but under the close supervision of a constable. He was reported as saying nothing either during the journey or thereafter but presented ‘a quiet but sullen demeanour’. Both reporters commented that he dozed fitfully most of the time, the more ‘atmospheric’ writer ascribing this to weariness following his wandering around the countryside during the night.

  As Sunday drew to a close, telegrams must have been sent and delivered all over the country. Farley’s sons and daughters had to be informed of the awful fate that had overtaken their father, while in Kent, the Revd and Mrs Gilbert-Cooper must have been distraught to learn that their son, whose last letter had suggested he was depressed, now stood accused of murder.

  4

  MONDAY 3 OCTOBER 1887

  Early Monday morning, Sgt Bragg and PC Codd, who had been detailed to guard Arthur throughout the night, were able to announce that the prisoner had slept soundly from 10 p.m. the night before right through to 8 a.m. that morning. After washing and dressing he had eaten a hearty breakfast. The two police officers described his behaviour at times as eccentric, though without any elaboration as to what that involved, but what struck them most was that he did not seem to appreciate the gravity of the situation in which he found himself.

  Promptly at 11 o’clock he was brought up from the cells to the courtroom. Since this was only a remand session, there was only one magistrate present, the Revd R.G. Gorton. The only others in attendance were John Martin, the magistrates’ clerk and two members of the press.

  Before the prisoner was taken into the court, Supt Balls made his sworn statement that he had ‘just cause to believe and suspect, and did believe and suspect that on the second day of October at the parish of Cretingham, one Arthur Edward Gilbert-Cooper did feloniously, wilfully and with malice a
forethought, kill and murder one William Meymott Farley, against the peace of our Lady the Queen, her crown and dignity.’

  When Arthur was led in he appeared bewildered as he looked about him. He flatly refused to stand on the raised platform used as a dock and when Supt Balls tried to force him forward, he resisted, throwing his arms back and shaking himself free. The magistrate decided that he should be allowed to stay in the body of the court while the formal charge was read.

  On hearing the words ‘wilful murder’, Arthur, much surprised, turned to the clerk and said, ‘Isn’t he alive?’

  After the formalities regarding the superintendent’s need for time to complete his enquiries, a remand in custody was requested. The clerk then asked Arthur if he had any cause to show why he should not be remanded on the charge. To this Arthur responded with ‘I don’t think there is any charge made out. I am not aware that Mr Farley is dead.’

  Granting a remand for three days, the magistrate cautioned Arthur to say nothing until the proper examination took place. He then enquired of Supt Balls if the prisoner’s friends had been informed. On learning that this had been done, the magistrate, who, as a member of the local clergy may well have met Arthur on social occasions, then asked him if there was any particular friend he wished to be informed. Arthur said there was no one, adding, ‘I don’t know anything about it at all. I am not aware, as I said before, that Mr Farley is dead; I don’t think he is.’