An Oxford Tragedy

by Norman Russell

  Joseph Steadman looked around him. He sat on one of a number of uncomfortable chairs, which had been set out to receive those who were to be called to give evidence in the matter of Podmore’s death.

  Stanley Fitzmaurice sat beside him, looking with evident distaste at the chattering throng on the stairs. Next to him was his young friend Gerald Templar, bearded and wild-eyed. Really, what was wrong with him? He looked as though he was suffering from some inner torture. Templar eked out his meagre salary as Junior Dean by undertaking investigative work at Floyd’s Row Mortuary, but Fitzmaurice had told him that he had vehemently refused to do any such work with respect to Podmore.

  Next to Templar was a doctor who had been a guest at the Founder’s Day celebration, and beside him, the college’s head porter, John Reid, wearing his best suit, and looking both shocked and nervous. From the way he sat, it was clear to Steadman that the poor man was acutely embarrassed at having to sit among the Fellows.

  And next to Reid, the Vice-Chancellor. What on earth had he to do with the matter in hand?

  Behind a trestle table placed beneath the open window, sat the coroner, an irascible retired Army officer. Steadman had heard of Major Savage: he’d served with distinction in the West Kents before retiring to a picturesque cottage out at Littlemore. Next to him was his clerk, and beside the clerk Dr Armitage, Chief Anatomist and coroner’s officer. On a chair placed beside the coroner’s table, sat Detective Inspector Antrobus.

  The Major, who had been shuffling through a pile of papers, suddenly pushed them aside, and banged his gavel to bring the assembly to order.

  ‘On this day,’ he said, ‘Monday, 23 July, 1894, we hold an inquest on the body of one William Podmore, now lying dead. I am cognizant of the details of this case, and, as the law allows, will sit without a jury. It’s very hot in here, but we will not be here long, thank goodness, as there are only a few witnesses for me to examine. Let John Reid stand up and approach the table. You are John Reid, head porter at St Michael’s College?’

  ‘I am, sir.’

  ‘Tell me what occurred at, or soon after, six o’clock in the evening of Saturday, 11 July last.’

  ‘Sir, I was on duty in the college chapel, where some of the Fellows and their guests were about to attend what is called the Latin Vespers. The Warden, Dr William Podmore, always comes in last. Well, on that night, he didn’t, and after a while Captain Fitzmaurice told me to go to the Lodgings to fetch him. I did so, and entered the Lodgings to look for him…’

  ‘You say you entered the Lodgings. Did you not knock on the door or ring the bell?’

  ‘No, sir, because I knew that there would be no servants in the house. They were all engaged on various duties around the college in connection with Founder’s Day. Besides, sir, it’s not the custom in the best-regulated households for servants to knock on the door. A gentleman’s house is not a hotel.’

  There was a murmur of laughter, and the Major banged his gavel, but there was the trace of a smile on his own face.

  ‘So you entered the Lodgings. What did you find?’

  ‘I found no sign of the Warden on the ground floor, so I went up the stairs. There was a peculiar smell, like fresh peaches, which seemed to be coming from what I knew to be the Warden’s bedroom. I went in, and found Dr Podmore lying across the bed. He was still wearing day-clothes, but had taken off his jacket. I could see that he was dead. His eyes and mouth were open, and his face was sort of twisted, sir, as though in agony. I ran back to the chapel, and told the gentlemen what I had seen.’

  ‘Hm… . Very good. You gave your testimony very well, Reid. Did you like Dr Podmore?’

  ‘Like him, sir? Well, he was the Warden of the college. I liked him in what you might call his professional capacity. But since you ask, sir, I didn’t like him as a man.’

  ‘Very well. You can go back to your chair. Now, Dr Holmes. You were a guest at the college, and examined the body. It was very fortunate that you were there. These colleges are full of doctors, none of whom knows anything about medicine. What was your conclusion as to the cause of this man’s death?’

  ‘Mr Coroner, I could only make a preliminary examination, but I concluded that Dr Podmore had swallowed a lethal quantity of cyanide. I also detected a strong smell of alcohol, or ardent spirits. I made a note of my conclusions on the spot, and later handed it to Detective Inspector Antrobus.’

  Stanley Fitzmaurice was called, and confirmed the evidence of Reid and Dr Holmes. Dr Armitage described how he had opened the body of the dead man late on Saturday night, and had found his stomach to contain a lethal quantity of cyanide. It had been taken in liquid form, and another witness would speak about that. The blood samples taken from the body showed evidence of the recent imbibition of a large amount of alcohol.

  ‘And did you draw any conclusion from your findings, Dr Armitage?’

  ‘I concluded, sir, that William Podmore had committed suicide.’

  ‘Thank you. I should think… . What is that noise? Has that man fainted? Some of you carry him downstairs, will you, and give him something to drink. It’s this hot weather. Quickly, now.’

  Two members of the public came forward, and between them they carried Gerald Templar from the room.

  ‘Now,’ said Major Savage, ‘let us hear from you, Inspector Antrobus. You look pale, sir, and I gather that you have not been well. Do you feel fit enough to give evidence?’

  ‘Yes, thank you, Mr Coroner. I was taken ill whilst in the country, but returned to Oxford on Saturday, just in time, as it were, to investigate the death of Dr Podmore. On the evening of Saturday, 21 July, I was summoned to St Michael’s College, where I was shown the dead body of Dr William Podmore. I provisionally accepted the opinion of a doctor who was present – Dr Holmes, there – that the man had committed suicide. I dismissed everybody from the room… .’

  ‘Everybody? Could you be more precise, Inspector?’

  ‘Yes, sir. I was taken into the Lodgings by Mr Reid, the head porter, who preceded me up the stairs and so into Dr Podmore’s bedroom. There I found Dr Holmes, and two Fellows of the college, Dr Steadman, the Bursar, and Captain Fitzmaurice, the Senior Tutor. Also present was Haynes, Dr Podmore’s scout, or staircase servant.’

  ‘Thank you. Pray proceed.’

  ‘I asked everybody to leave the room, and then examined it closely. I found an empty gin bottle, capacity one pint, rolled against the skirting board behind the bed. I also found a beer glass, of the ordinary sort that you get in a public house, and beside it an empty half-pint bottle labelled “Stothard’s Premium Hair Wash.”’

  ‘Stothard’s? I use it myself. Surely it isn’t poisonous?’

  ‘No, sir. Dr Armitage, the Chief Anatomist at the mortuary, later confirmed that this bottle had contained a quantity of essential oil of bitter almonds, a form of cyanide. The beer glass also contained traces of this poison. The doctor and I both agreed that Dr Podmore must have obtained the essential oil from an unknown source, and that it had been kept in the empty bottle for possible future use.’

  ‘Were you able to ascertain the source from where Podmore obtained this poison?’

  ‘Not as yet, sir. But he or a possible agent would have had to sign the Poisons Register, pursuant to the Pharmacy Act of 1852. I am still pursuing enquiries about that.’

  The two empty bottles were produced, and placed upon the table.

  ‘Did you find anything else of significance, Inspector?’

  ‘I did, sir. I found half a sheet of notepaper lying on a writing-table placed near the bed. It was a note in Dr Podmore’s handwriting. I transcribed the message on the note, and you have the original as exhibit number 3.’

  There was a stir of renewed interest in the room, and the somnolent reporters on the stairs sprang back to life. The coroner asked Antrobus to read the note aloud.

  ‘ “It is all up with me. Boyd and Steadman have done for me. I cannot face the shame. Blame no one for my death.” ’

  ‘Well,’
said Major Savage, when the inspector had finished his evidence, ‘It’s very sad, and very pathetic. I think there can be no doubt in anyone’s mind that William Podmore committed suicide, and when these proceedings are over, I will give my verdict to that effect.

  ‘But now, we need to ask a few questions about the role played in this tragedy by the people mentioned by name in the dead man’s suicide note. By questioning them, we might be able to arrive at a motive for poor Podmore’s action.’

  The room fell silent as the Reverend Henry Boyd, Vice-Chancellor of the University of Oxford, was bidden to stand before the coroner’s table.

  ‘Now, Vice-Chancellor,’ said Major Savage, ‘we should like to hear in what way you “did for” the unfortunate Podmore. What did you do?’

  ‘I … I did nothing, Mr Coroner. But it came to my notice that Podmore had committed a transgression, and I spoke to him about it during the Founder’s Day celebrations at St Michael’s on Saturday last.’

  ‘And what was the nature of this transgression?’

  ‘It was an offence against academic integrity. It was an act that Dr Podmore should never have permitted himself to perform.’

  ‘And what was that act, Vice-Chancellor? Are you going to tell me?’

  ‘I have already told you, Major Savage. It was something that Dr Podmore should not have done. An offence, as I said, against academic integrity. I don’t suppose for a moment that it was a crime in the accepted sense of that word.’

  Major Savage’s face flushed red with anger.

  ‘So the “transgression” has now become an “offence”. Evidently, Vice-Chancellor, you feel yourself entitled to interpret the Law as to what is criminal and what is not. Tell me what Podmore did, or by God, sir, I’ll attach you for contempt!’

  There was a subdued murmur from the audience. No one had ever heard the Vice-Chancellor so bluntly taken to task. Henry Boyd knew that he had met his match, and submitted to the rebuke with what good grace he could muster.

  ‘Mr Coroner,’ he said, ‘Dr William Podmore plagiarized a book that had been written by an older colleague. As far as I know, the book had not been submitted to the Oxford University Press at the time of that colleague’s death. Podmore got possession of the manuscript, and published it as his own. That was, I believe, in the year 1873. Dr Podmore received his Doctorate in Civil Law on the strength of that book, and his academic reputation rested on it. But it was not his.’

  This time the audience remained silent. What the Vice-Chancellor had revealed left no room for words, only shock. Their pity for the dead man was now tinged with contempt. Nobody likes a cheat.

  ‘And how did you come by this knowledge, Vice-Chancellor?’

  ‘A lady living in the country recently sent me a box of papers which included the diary of the true author of that book, Dr Georg Joachim Bosch. An entry in that diary proved Podmore’s transgression beyond any doubt.’

  The coroner lapsed into gloomy silence for a while. Everybody waited with bated breath to hear what he would say.

  ‘A bit like cheating at cards, would you say?’

  ‘Morally, yes, Mr Coroner. I think your analogy has some merit.’

  ‘Hm… . Well, in the Army, a fellow who cheated at cards was accounted to be a damned scoundrel. And I don’t suppose it’s any different in this case. Thank you, Vice-Chancellor, you may stand down. And now, Dr Joseph Steadman. Come up here, will you? Tell me what you did to make Dr William Podmore take his own life.’

  ‘Sir, like the Vice-Chancellor, I, too was aware of Dr Podmore’s defalcation… .’

  ‘Were you indeed? Why did you not tell anybody about it? It was the work of a scoundrel. By saying nothing, you condoned his scurrility.’

  ‘I found out the truth of the matter only a few weeks ago. I was still revolving in my mind what to do.’

  ‘Did you tell Dr Podmore that you knew? Come, sir, it’s no use blushing like that. We’ll have no secrets here. Did you tell him? You must have done.’

  ‘I did not, sir. It was sufficient for me to know that he had founded his reputation on a despicable plagiarism of another man’s work. Whenever he decided to lord it over me with his loathsome patronizing, I would derive great satisfaction from knowing that I rose above him as a moralist. Whatever I have achieved, I have done so through my own efforts.’

  ‘Have you really? Very well. You men of the press there, on the stairs. Are you listening? I am appalled at the air of secrecy and corruption that has marked these proceedings. I am appalled at the petty jealousies that I have detected in the witnesses, and the beginnings of an attempt to cover up Podmore’s cheating for the sake of so-called academic reputation. I find that the dead man, William Podmore, committed suicide. This court is dismissed.’

  14

  A Burden Lifted

  When Inspector Antrobus left the King’s Arms, he found Sophia Jex-Blake waiting for him. She was sitting in a hansom cab drawn up at the pavement.

  ‘Were you at the inquest?’ he asked.

  ‘I was. I was hidden from sight at the back of the room, where I was sitting with a gaggle of members of the public. As soon as the matter was concluded, I left by a back door. I’d already ordered this cab to wait for me. Would you care to join me? The reporters will be out in a minute.’

  Antrobus climbed into the cab and sat down. His companion told the cabbie to take them to Lady Margaret Hall.

  ‘That man who fainted… .’

  ‘That man, Miss Jex-Blake, was Dr Gerald Templar, Tutor in Chemistry at St Michael’s College. And it was obvious that he regarded himself as being responsible for Dr Podmore’s death. I agree with the coroner that Podmore committed suicide. So why was Templar so upset? Upset enough to faint?’

  The cab was clattering along the High Street, at the beginning of its long drive into North Oxford. It had been a splendid idea of Miss Jex-Blake to cheat the reporters of their prey.

  ‘Why was Templar so upset? Are you asking me to tell you the answer, Inspector, or do you know it already? He was upset because he had done something sufficiently serious to send Podmore frantic. Something that had already unsettled the man’s equilibrium before ever the Vice-Chancellor had confronted him with his charge of plagiarism.’

  ‘The fountainhead of this secret knowledge,’ said Antrobus, ‘seems to have been “a lady in the country”, who had sent a box of papers to the Vice-Chancellor. Somehow, Templar had access to those papers. And do you recall that the Bursar, Dr Steadman, said that he knew all about Podmore’s chicanery? Our immediate task is to confront those two men – Templar and Steadman – and make them tell us all they know. What did Podmore mean when he said, “Boyd and Steadman have done for me”? Not a very elegant expression, but then, his mind was disturbed, poor man.’

  ‘The Boyd reference is clear enough,’ said Sophia. ‘The Vice-Chancellor had confronted Podmore with his misdeed. But Steadman ... I believe him when he avers that he told poor Podmore nothing. So when the wretched man said that Steadman had “done” for him, he must have received a letter, or a note, telling him that all was known, an anonymous letter of some sort, and assumed that Steadman had sent it.’

  ‘Exactly. I think there was such a note, but I don’t think it came from Steadman. It is now quite imperative that we seek out Dr Steadman, and make him tell us how he knew about the plagiarism. And then, Miss Jex-Blake, it will be time to deal with Templar. What did he do, and, more importantly, why did he do it?’

  They had left St Giles, and were making their way into the opulent redbrick suburbs of North Oxford.

  ‘This has been a pleasant morning’s drive,’ said Antrobus. ‘Would you mind telling me why we are going to Lady Margaret Hall? My own inclination would have been to go straight to St Michael’s.’

  ‘The Reverend Timothy Fowler and his sister will be at Lady Margaret Hall when we arrive there,’ said Sophia Jex-Blake. ‘They need to be told about Elm Rise and their father’s secret lover. Oh, don’t blush, man! Can we not speak
the honest truth? From what I can gather, none of the Fowlers are exactly pillars of rectitude. Come, here we are. They will be waiting for us in the Lady Principal’s sitting room.’

  Sophia watched the inspector as he admired some of the pictures hanging on the walls. She herself had provisionally approved of the pink and blue William Morris wallpaper. It had been gracious of Elizabeth Wordsworth to abandon her sanctuary to them for the rest of the morning.

  Mr Antrobus looked much better. They had left Elm Rise early on the Saturday morning, and all the time they were on the train she had prayed that the bleeding from his left lung would not recommence. It had not, and he had been rested and ready when the evening summons from St Michael’s College had brought him to investigate William Podmore’s death.

  The door opened, and the Reverend Timothy Fowler and his sister Frances came into the room.

  Poor fellow, thought Sophia, he looks utterly desperate, and yet he has brought misfortune on himself through his own folly. Frances is standing up well to her family’s ordeal, but then, as far as she knew, Frances had little with which to reproach herself, apart from a certain hardness of heart.

  ‘You have summoned my sister and me here very urgently, madam,’ said the Reverend Timothy Fowler. ‘I take it that you have news for us? It’s becoming more and more scandalous that my poor father’s murder has gone unavenged. Is it not time for Scotland Yard to be called in? We… .’

  Timothy suddenly caught sight of Antrobus. He turned deadly pale, and staggered, as though he were about to faint once more. His sister helped him to a chair.

  ‘Your father, Mr Fowler,’ said Antrobus, ‘was not murdered. He died of natural causes. All this suggestion of murder was either a cruel imposture, or an appalling misjudgement on someone’s part. No, sir,’ he cried peremptorily, ‘you will be quiet and listen to me. On 18 May this year,’ said Antrobus, ‘your father, Sir Montague Fowler, paid a visit to an old friend of his, a lady called Marian Hughes, who lived at a place called Elm Ridge, in Berkshire. While staying with her, he contracted gastroenteritis from eating infected meat. Within the space of four days, Marian Hughes and her servants died of the same infection. Your father was able to return to Oxford, and lingered for near on a fortnight before death supervened. He died of natural causes, and for the reasons stated on his death certificate.’