Gillespie and I

by Jane Harris

  ‘If not this stone, then—just to be clear—could the child’s injuries have been caused if her head were dashed, deliberately, against a hard surface—a wall, perhaps, a table, a hearth—even a floor?’

  ‘That’s also possible.’

  Under cross-examination by Pringle, and then MacDonald, the doctor confirmed that there was no recognisable pattern or indentation to suggest that the wound had been made by repeated blows with a stone or other blunt instrument. Only a single blow was indicated.

  ‘Hmm,’ mused Pringle. ‘Is it not the case, sir, that the child’s head could have sustained such an impact in some other way—if she was being carried by a tall adult, who was then—perhaps—struck down by something moving at speed—a tram horse, say. The adult is knocked to the ground. The child is propelled into the air and lands a short distance away, hitting the back of her head on the hard surface of the road. In short—an accidental fall.’

  ‘I couldn’t rule out that possibility.’

  ‘In other words, Dr Thomson, just to be clear, you—hmm—you agree that the injury could have been sustained by accident—yes or no.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Moving on, Aitchison attempted to illustrate that Hans was relatively inoffensive when sober, but to be avoided when drunk. Various local residents had often heard him fighting with his wife. In fact, on the very night that Rose had disappeared, a young apprentice who lived next door to the couple had heard an argument coming from the apartment where they resided. Although no individual words could be distinguished, Belle was heard railing at her husband, then he bellowed at her until, in due course, only the sound of weeping could be heard.

  Aitchison ignored this mention of weeping, but it was revisited, later, by Pringle: ‘Might I ask, was it male or—hmm—female weeping?’

  ‘Both, sir,’ replied the apprentice.

  ‘Both parties were crying? Both Mrs Schlutterhose and her husband?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Pringle gave the jury a significant look before returning to his seat.

  The proprietor of McGuire’s public house on the Gallowgate testified that she had served Hans and Belle on the evening in question, and that later, they had begged her for writing materials, before spending some time, in a corner, composing a letter. We heard from a handwriting expert who had compared various samples of Hans’s writing with the letter found in the close on the morning after Rose went missing and, having analysed the writing style and the German’s characteristic errors in spelling and grammar, the expert had concluded that Schlutterhose was, in all probability, the author of the ransom note. George Graham, a Gallowgate pawnshop keeper, identified the button boots on the evidence table, and testified that Belle, a regular customer, had pawned them, according to his ledger, on the 7th of May 1889, three days after Rose had gone astray.

  ‘And how did Belle Schlutterhose act upon giving you these boots?’ Aitchison asked. ‘Was there anything strange in her behaviour?’

  ‘She seemed fine,’ replied Graham. ‘We even had a laugh about something.’

  At this, there were a few gasps of disapproval from the crowd.

  And so it went on. Witness after witness gave statements that were undeniably damning for Schlutterhose and his wife. We were encouraged to form a picture of them as not only feckless, dishonest, unreliable, and tempestuous, but also cold-hearted and immoral. Despite Pringle’s efforts in cross-examination, Aitchison prosecuted with formidable skill. It seemed an indisputable fact that Hans Schlutterhose had snatched Rose and run away with her, and that his wife had colluded with him. The most ambiguous evidence concerned the tram accident. In pursuit of his murder conviction, the Advocate Depute had done his best to cast doubt on the identity of the man and child who had collided with the tram horses. He had also managed to raise questions about the person witnessed with Hans at, or near, Queen’s Crescent gardens, on the 4th of May, and he had left all those present with just one question in mind: which woman was it—Belle, or the English one?

  Towards the end of the afternoon, Aitchison asked for the declarations of Belle and Schlutterhose to be read to the court. Belle had done little more than confirm her identity, and had nothing to say to the charges. Hans, by contrast, had spoken at length. The judge advised the jury that the statements put forward in the declaration would all have been made in answer to questions asked by the Procurator Fiscal or Sheriff-Substitute, and that all oaths and imprecations would have been deleted from the text. In order to elucidate some of what is to follow, I must here include a transcription. Of course, I could easily preface this preposterous document with a thousand caveats and denials. However, let it be noted that I set it here, without comment. No doubt, the reader will be able to judge for himself how silly it is, at a glance.

  The Prisoner’s Declaration

  At Glasgow, the 18th day of November 1889, in presence of Walter Spence, Sheriff-Substitute of Lanarkshire. Compeared a prisoner, who being duly cautioned and examined, declares—

  My name is Hans Schlutterhose. I took the child but it was no murder. It was an accident. It was not my idea to take her. We would have looked after her. Dear God, it was only supposed to be for one night.

  I am aged thirty-six years. I reside with my wife, Belle, at number 8, Coalhill Street, Glasgow. My wife has nothing to do with this, nothing.

  I was born in Bremen, Germany, and have been in Glasgow for seven years. I came first to London in 1879, when I was aged twenty-three years. I came to Glasgow in 1883. Presently, I am not in work. My last employment was about six months ago. I worked at the Loch Katrine Distillery in Camlachie. I did odd jobs, mainly moving barrels. It was horrible work. I was there two or three months but exactly how long I cannot recall. It did not pay well and my health was not so good.

  I took the child, in May, the first week, a Saturday. I cannot recall the date. I am now shown a calendar and I can confirm that it was on the 4th of May. To begin with I only went to Queen’s Crescent to take a sight. By take a sight I mean get the lay of the land. I was to get the lay of the land first and not take the child until a week or two later when all was ready.

  It was about half past two o’clock when I arrive at Woodside. The two Gillespie girls were in the gardens playing. The roads all around the gardens were quiet, there was no man in the street. I saw that it was already a good opportunity not to be missed. The child could be taken and no man would see. We could take her easily, right away. We could carry her as far as the Grand Hotel and take a cab from there.

  What I mean is, I could take her. I was alone. My wife was not there. She was at home. She knew nothing of all this. I refuse to continue.

  I went to the gate of the gardens and gave money to the sister. I told her to go and buy something for me in the shop. I gave her a shilling. I don’t remember what I told her to buy. It was tea perhaps. She ran off. Then I told to Rose her mother is waiting for her at Skinner’s and we will buy hokey-pokey to eat. She took my hand and came quite willing. But she walked very slow. In the end, I picked her up and carried her down the street, West Princes Street.

  All was good until the main road, St George’s. One minute I was crossing the street; the next I was on the ground, knocked down. Some tram horses ran into me. The driver was going too fast. The horses came out of nowhere. It was not my fault. The girl, I could not hold her, she flew out of my arms and landed at a short distance. How far away, ten feet perhaps. I meant her no harm, it was the driver’s fault. He jumped down and people came running to see if we were hurt. So I grab the child and ran away with her, up a street.

  I am now shown a map and I can confirm that the street I ran up was Shamrock Street. At this point I am still carrying the child. When we are away from the people, I look at her and see some blood on her head at the back. Not much blood. She must have banged her head when she land on the ground. The place where she fell is cobblestones as far as I can remember. I wrap my jacket around her head to stop the blood and carry her until I see a cab
at Cambridge Street. She fell to sleep in the cab.

  We went to my home in Coalhill Street. When I came home the child is still asleep. Belle was not returned yet so I put the child on a mattress. I have put my jacket under her head for a pillow. There was still some blood, not much. I sat down and I fell to sleep also because I was tired. My wife came home about an hour later. I cannot say where she had been. She goes her own way. When she came in she took one look at Rose, and she tells me the child is dead. At first, I cannot believe her and I try to wake the girl. But she is gone, poor little thing. Oh dear God, I meant her no harm. Excuse me, please, I cannot say further at this time.

  I am ready to continue. When we know for sure the child is dead my wife became very upset. I covered the body with a newspaper to hide it but I cannot make Belle calm down. In the end I have put the child in a trunk to get her out of sight. My wife did not want to be in the room with the body so we went out. First we go to the Coffin in Whitevale Street but it’s so small there you cannot speak in private and so we went to McGuire’s on the Gallowgate. McGuire’s is a large house, and we are not so well known there, so we can talk.

  Of course my wife was very confused because she knew nothing about the girl, why, because she was not involved. What is she saying? What has she said? She would do better to keep her mouth shut. (Prisoner lapsed into German.)

  I am ready to continue. We had just a few drinks at McGuire’s to calm our nerves. We were very sad. The child must have split her head when she hit the ground but I could not have stopped it. I was most shocked. I told my wife I would go to the police and tell the truth but she does not want to be left alone. In the end we decide to go to America to make escape. I knew we would need much money if we want a nice life and so because the child was gone I decided to take a ransom from her father the artist. I wrote him a note and paid a boy to deliver it to Woodside. He was just a boy on the street. I paid him one shilling to deliver the note and two shillings for to keep quiet. I never saw that boy since.

  I am now shown a letter, it is marked number 1, and I recognise my handwriting and it was written and sent by me to Mr Gillespie.

  On the morning after the child died, my wife went out about ten o’clock. She did not want to be there with the body. She will go somewhere else until the body is gone but I must wait until night to hide it somewhere. Soon after my wife is gone I hear a knock at the door. When I open it, I see the lady who paid me to take the child. She knew where I lived because—I cannot remember how she knew. I must have told her. Nobody else told her.

  She stood on the landing. She refuse to come in because she thought the child was there and she spoke in a whisper. She tells me Rose is missing and wants to know did I take her, did I write a ransom note. I explain, we had gone ahead because the street was quiet and it was a good opportunity. Then the lady is unhappy. She tells me I should not keep the child there. She wants to know why I had not done as she asked and rented a nice room. She told me I had done wrong. I was to take Rose back to Woodside, at once, and put her at the corner, where she can find her way home.

  That was when I have to tell her the child is dead. I explain about the accident and the child hitting her head on the ground. At first the lady did not believe me. So I took her inside and showed her what was in the trunk. When she saw the child dead, the lady is turned very white in the face and she sat down on the ground. She is holding her head like this (prisoner demonstrates). I think she may faint. After some minutes when she stood up, I thought she might attack me. She said some terrible things, not very ladylike, and then she left but twenty minutes later she came back. She was cold to me even though I tell her it was an accident. She tells me to get rid of the body, bury it somewhere deep, outside town. She tells me to say no word to any man. I told her not to worry, Belle and I are going to America. She said, ‘I suppose you will want more money’, and so I tell her we will take the ransom. Then she is angry again because she never said we should get a ransom. It was not in her plan. She told me absolutely I must not write any more notes to Mr Gillespie. She said she would give me what money I need. We make arrangement to meet a few days later when she will give me more money. Then she left.

  That night, I buried the body. I hired a cart and waited until it was dark and then I put the child in the cart and took her out of town along the Carntyne Road. I buried her in the woods, out of sight of the road. May God forgive me!

  The lady that paid me, her name is Harriet Baxter. I cannot recall how I know her. I met her somewhere. I remember now, it was at the Exhibition, two years ago. We have had some conversation there. That was how I knew her. I only saw her again, by chance, a few times here and there in the town. One time, last April, I saw her and she told me she want me to do something for her. She says she will play a trick on her friend. She wants this friend to believe that her child is gone missing. Because the child knows her, Miss Baxter needs a stranger to take her. That is why she asks me. She says the child is to be taken for one night only after which I am to return her to her street unharmed. It is for one night only because she did not want her friend to worry too much. The child is to be well looked after. We are to give her nice food and toys, whatever she wants. Miss Baxter will pay for all. We are to rent a nice rooms to keep her in and we are to hire a closed carriage so that we can take her, quick and easy and return her, the same. Miss Baxter said we should get a nice quiet rooms so the child would not be frightened and so she would not be seen by our neighbours.

  When I say ‘we’ I mean Miss Baxter and myself. Not my wife. She is innocent.

  When Miss Baxter ask me at first to help I said no, because it was breaking the law I think. But she tells me I would not break the law, it was only a little trick on a friend. So I agree to help. After that, I met her three or four times, on Saturdays, when I have a half-day. We met at Lockhart’s Cocoa Rooms in Argyle Street. It’s busy there always and we won’t be noticed. Miss Baxter would not write anything down, and so, many times, she will go over the plan, what had to be done. She had prepared all, she had thought of everything. She said I must recognise the children and so, one Saturday, I had to wait at Charing Cross so she could show me the girls as she walk past with them. Another day she showed me the gardens where they play and the street corner where I must return the child. She would not walk beside me. She walk in front and if she wanted to point to something so I see it, she bend down to tie her shoelace and speak to me quiet as I go past. She told me to take a sight of the area two or three times on Saturday afternoons and work out the best streets to get away with the child. I should also watch the police, how often they walk the street, what times, and so forth. I can’t remember dates but it was always a Saturday we met.

  I am now shown a calendar for 1889 and I can confirm that the days we met at Lockhart’s were the 13th, 20th and 27th of April. On the 20th she also took me to Woodside to show me the area. The 27th was when she took the children for a walk past Charing Cross so I can recognise them. She wants me to take the child in the middle of May or later, when the weather will be warmer. She was sure they would be in the gardens most Saturdays. It was just a coincidence that when I went to take a sight that day it was already warm enough and they were playing in the gardens.

  The last time I saw Miss Baxter at the Cocoa Rooms was a few days after the child was buried. She gave me another £25. We had in total £100 from her. But that was six months ago. Now the money is not so much. I was going to ask her for more money.

  I cannot say why Miss Baxter wanted this done. I never ask her why. There was not much harm in it, since we were to look after Rose well and return her the next day. If my health were not so bad I would never have done it. It is Miss Baxter who is to blame. As for what happened to the child, it was an accident. It was the horses. They were going too fast. So far as that is concerned that is the driver’s fault.

  The jacket I buried along with the child was brown. I had worn it for years. There is about £20 pounds left of the money, what was fo
und by the police in the cupboard in my home. We did not go to America because how would we get more money from Miss Baxter? It was always three o’clock when I met her at Lockhart’s and always on a Saturday. None of this would have happened if it were not for that woman. I wish I had never laid eyes on her. It was her idea, her fault. I was just a prawn. I was just a prawn in this matter. Since then not a day is gone by but I think of handing myself in to the police. For the record, she gave me £25 on the 13th of April, and £50 on the 20th of April. And on the 11th of May after the child died she gave me another £25.

  I deny that I was drunk when I took the child or when I stepped in front of the tram. Before I took her, I was in a public house on St George’s Road for a time, but I only had a few. I can’t remember the name of the bar. I was not long in there, perhaps a few hours. I was not drunk. Is Belle saying I was drunk? She was the one who was drunk. If she had not gone off and left me to do it I might not have been knocked down. I suppose she is saying she tried to stop me from take the child? Well, she was there. She was with me. She is as guilty as I am. You can tell her to (series of words deleted). (Prisoner lapsed into German and refused to continue the interview.)

  During the recitation of this extraordinary declaration, it was only by gritting my teeth, and pressing my back against the rear panel of the dock that I was able to prevent myself from jumping off the bench and causing a scene. Every false accusation, every invention, went through my body like a sting. I wanted to cry out: ‘Don’t believe him; it’s all lies, every word a lie!’ All the while, as the clerk read on, I was aware of the jurymen. Every so often, one or other of them would turn his head, to look at me. I kept my eyes lowered, too mortified to glance up, in case I should find myself the subject of suspicious or reproachful scrutiny. Schlutterhose sat there, just a few feet away from me, his expression as mild as milk. How did he dare?