Another witness, Robinson Donaldson, said that the prisoner had employed him to drive a vehicle comprising of boxes, china, a hamper and other various items, between Penrith and Langwathby, where he left the objects with the owner of the Griffin Inn, Mr Jameson.
Mr Jameson himself was called as a witness. He confirmed that Mrs Kirkbride had told him at the beginning of June that she had three boxes that needed to be taken care of until she found a home in Liverpool. His wife Grace stored them in the lumber room where they lay undisturbed until 25 January when the festering remains were discovered by domestic servant Isabella Carruthers.
Several more witnesses gave evidence, including a pointsman and a warehouseman, who each recalled seeing the tin box in question. One witness, Mary Forsyth, related that approximately eleven or twelve years previously, she had worked for Mrs Hayton, the prisoner’s mother, as a maid at her home in Helston. At the time Mrs Kirkbride ran a school in the village.
‘I was twelve-years-old and in service there for about a year. One Sunday evening the prisoner was in bed and she had a child with her. I can’t say the age but she could walk. The prisoner was not well and stayed in bed all day. I heard something like the cry of a newborn baby and I told my mother.’
‘Do you mean it was the voice of a child other than the one able to walk?’ enquired the Chairman.
‘I think so,’ replied Mary, ‘It was a long time ago.’
The Court mused over the facts before the chairman reiterated the charges and asked whether Mrs Kirkbride had anything to say or wished to call a witness. She did not.
The bench were of the opinion that there was sufficient evidence to commit her for trial at the assizes and Mrs Kirkbride was led, weeping copiously, from the dock.
21 February saw Mrs Kirkbride placed before Baron Huddleston at the Appleby Spring Assizes. The charges of concealment were again put to her and she apathetically pleaded her guilt. It was his view that the prisoner should be charged before Mr Justice Manisty and his jury found a true bill in the case.
The following afternoon Elizabeth’s long legal torment came to an end. His Lordship addressed her in most severe terms, saying that she had pleaded guilty to the three collective indictments knowing that there was not a shadow of doubt as to the course which she had pursued, and he feared she knew a great deal more.
‘Your conduct is almost incredible, the most inhuman that any human being could be guilty of,’ Justice Manisty felt moved to add.
Both he and Baron Huddleston had serious doubts whether she ought not to have been tried for murder. It was a case in which he felt the need to pass more than an ordinary sentence. The extreme punishment for concealment was that of two years hard labour, but he sentenced Mrs Kirkbride to nine months for each charge to which she had pleaded guilty, bringing her aggregated sentence to two years and three months hard labour. The prisoner, who showed no emotion, was then removed.
A HEATED ARGUMENT
On 21 March 1893, the Crown Court of the Liverpool Assizes was the scene of the trial of Peter Brannigan. Mr Justice Willis sat at the head of the courtroom while the accused stood ashamedly in the dock. It was on this Tuesday morning that the painful details of Mrs Brannigan’s demise would finally be told. On Christmas Eve the previous year, Mary Jane Usher was in her room at No. 2 Court, Brown Street. She was a single woman who made her living by working as a machinist. Miss Usher rented the parlour of the house which she shared with the Brannigans who lived upstairs. She could often hear the couple bickering and arguing; their union was not the best example of marital bliss. Nevertheless, Mary was good friends with Margaret Brannigan and that evening, she was talking with her in the parlour along with another friend, Miss O’Brien. The three ladies had all been drinking and were a little worse for wear. This was certainly the case with Margaret who had to be helped up the stairs to her room.
The vicinity of Brown Street as shown on a map from 1891.
The remnants of modern-day Brown Street.
Later, at about 8.30 p.m., Mrs Brannigan came back downstairs. She was feeling much better but was still very inebriated. It was at this time that forty-year-old Peter Brannigan, her husband, entered the house. He had been drinking as well, but not so freely as Margaret. On seeing the state of his wife his blood began to boil. He rushed towards her, ripped her pocket open and took the few coins she had left. The enraged spouse then lifted his wife up and carried her to their room.
Two hours later, at about 10 p.m., Thomas Quinn, a tenant who resided in the room below the Brannigans’, heard the couple bickering through the floorboards.
‘Are you not able to stand on your feet?’ Boomed a deep and spiteful voice. Then followed the sounds of something being dragged.
‘Stand on your feet!’ It appeared to Mr Quinn that Peter was trying to get his drunken wife to stand up straight, but with limited success. More discordant noises emanated from the Brannigans’ room: ‘Light the fire or I will throw you downstairs!’ Then it sounded as if Mary had been pushed over with considerable force.
Thomas was most worried. He sent his wife Ann out to find a policeman, while he remained to listen. A few moments later Mrs Quinn returned. She could not find a policeman in the vicinity and did not wish to go out any further to search for one alone.
Suddenly the one-sided row ended with the sound of footsteps calmly descending the staircase. From his room, Mr Quinn listened closely as he heard Peter Brannigan send out for some whisky. Brannigan then returned to the top of the house and closed the door.
‘Get up and light the fire, we are not short yet!’ he growled. ‘I have a bottle of whiskey and two bottles of ale. I have bought a hundredweight of coal; I gave you money to buy a lamp but you did not buy one!’
A thud was heard, giving neighbour Thomas Quinn the impression that yet again Mrs Brannigan had been thrown down.
There was silence for about five minutes. It seemed as if the pair had settled down and were quietly drinking, but then all at once there was an exclamation: ‘We will have a light on the subject!’ Peter announced, before going out into the street and returning a few minutes afterwards clutching a candle. He struck a match and said, ‘There’s a sixpenny candle. Get up and light the fire!’ He also demanded that Margaret come to midnight mass with him.
Directly below, the Quinns were still eavesdropping. They heard rapid footsteps, then an unmistakable and pitiful choking. Peter was throttling his wife. ‘Light the fire!’ he roared.
Margaret broke free from his grip and gasped for air. ‘Oh Peter I cannot!’ He called her a foul name before again knocking her to the floor. Until about 4 a.m. the sounds continued as if someone or something was being trailed across the room, at which time Mr and Mrs Quinn went to sleep. However, Thomas’ snooze didn’t last long. At about 6.30 a.m. he was awoken by yet more noise coming from the room.
‘Put on a fire,’ Peter grumbled. Margaret only moaned some drunk and unintelligible expression. Her husband complained that he was cold and asked Margaret to cover him. All was quiet. At nine, Thomas was awoken again when Mr Brannigan went downstairs and asked Miss Usher for a cup of tea. He did this a second time shortly afterwards, except in this instance saying, ‘I wish there was a fire upstairs. If that poor bitch is not dead she is very near it.’
Shocked, Mary went upstairs with Peter and saw the dreadful state of her friend.
‘Oh dear, oh, dear, Margaret, Margaret. I have done it,’ sobbed Mr Brannigan, before kneeling down to kiss is wife. ‘There is life in her yet!’ Dr Kellet Smith was called to the property and made his way up the stairs to the room the Brannigans shared. He found it to be in a most filthy condition and almost devoid of any furniture whatsoever. The floor was littered with coal, old straw and dirty rags. Blood and all manner of unidentifiable liquids seemed to stretch across the whole floor space. The doctor had never seen a more wretched placed in his life.
Amongst this scene of misery lay the naked, dead body of Margaret Brannigan. She was covered by only
a small black petticoat, which was wet and covered in grime. On carefully rolling the body over, Dr Smith found only a few strands of soiled straw and clothing, which he could have held in his two hands, to make up what was her mattress. Mrs Brannigan herself seemed well-nourished, yet her body bore numerous marks of abuse: plentiful old scars, various fresh bruises, and two black eyes. The doctor noticed a severe cut above her right eyebrow, from which had evidently drained a great deal of blood. The night had also been extremely cold; this, along with the terrible injuries bestowed upon her by her callous spouse, were no doubt the cause of her death. Syncope, a loss of consciousness, had been brought on and the tremendous shock to her system also played a part in Margaret’s passing.
It was heard, however, that the deceased herself was a very drunken woman and when in drink was very violent and was often heard to call her husband awful names which could not be repeated. She would often spend the prisoner’s Saturday wages on drink despite the appalling disorder of their rented room.
The jury listened to the facts of the case and after a short consultation found Peter Brannigan guilty of manslaughter. Mr Justice Willis felt it necessary to defer sentencing him until the following day, when he was again brought to court.
‘I am satisfied that this misery in which you lived was partly her fault, but I am quite satisfied also that it was partly your fault,’ declared the judge. ‘The deceased and yourself had the opportunity of living apparently in great comfort for a working man. You were earning good wages as a joiner and you brought part of it home. I am quite satisfied that it was from your own doing that you were reduced to this state of misery and all through your terrible appetite for drink. Yesterday you were in very serious danger of being committed for murder. I certainly think that you had in the jury a favourable tribunal.’
Mr Brannigan was then sentenced to fourteen long years of penal servitude.
REVENGE OF A PIMP
In the year 1862, Thomas Edwards, a butcher, was living at a house in Liverpool’s Norman Street. He cohabitated with a woman named Isabella Tonge, and had done so for a number of years. Prior to moving in with Edwards, Miss Tonge had resided with a man called Thomas Sullivan. He had been transported away from Liverpool – and Isabella – for about ten years, but had recently returned to the city after serving out his sentence. He soon tracked down Miss Tonge and took up a room in the same house, No. 11 Court, in Norman Street. The intimacy which had previously existed between the two was quietly rekindled, and for several days after Sullivan had arrived back at the house the pair would often disappear together. This caused her current partner, who was left alone at the house, to experience immense rage. It was common knowledge that his girlfriend was a prostitute, but to Thomas Edwards the fact that Isabella had real feelings for this other man proved even harder to swallow.
The vicinity of Norman Street, c. 1840.
On 26 November, Sullivan and Tonge left the house at about midday. Consumed with jealousy, the thirty-year-old butcher also left the property to escape the loneliness of Norman Court. He returned at about eight o’clock, when he spoke with Jane Wilson, a fellow tenant at the house. She informed him that Isabella had not yet come back and was still out with Sullivan.
Thomas became most irate and stormed out again to fetch some ale and rum. These he duly mixed together and drank abundantly, drowning his emotional troubles in a sea of cheap alcohol. He eventually fell asleep on the downstairs sofa, only to be awoken at about two o’clock by the sound of the creaky front door. It was them, Thomas Sullivan and Isabella.
‘Where have you been the whole day?’ Edwards snarled as he began to interrogate the woman who had been his all. Isabella stared blankly and made no reply. ‘It does not matter to you where she has been,’ said Sullivan, ‘she has been out with me.’
Thomas Edwards did not respond but slumped back into the sofa. Sullivan, Isabella and Jane Wilson then took up seats in the room and the group of four sat around the fireplace apparently on friendly terms. After half an hour sitting and chatting, the disheartened tradesman yawned and said that it was time for bed. Miss Tonge declined; she was somewhat apprehensive as Edwards was lazily playing with a knife. Isabella suggested that he and Sullivan should go upstairs and that she and Jane would spend the night downstairs.
Accordingly, Sullivan and Edwards made their way up the staircase, but after a lapse of a few minutes, Edwards returned, in only his shirt and drawers and still carrying the blade. He was now obviously seething and demanded that Jane go to the cellar for some water. ‘Now!’ he ordered.
Before Miss Wilson had a chance to leave, Thomas began arguing with Isabella and aggressively requested money from her. She refused. ‘I shan’t prostitute my person anymore for you!’ she hissed.
‘May God strike me dead. I’ll be hung for you yet. You shan’t live a week!’ fumed Thomas. ‘Murder!’ cried Isabella. He raised his hand high into the air and brought the knife down, stabbing her repeatedly in her neck and chest. The screaming woman reached for a pair of tongs from the flickering fireplace and tried desperately to defend herself. The butcher treated her like a piece of meat and continued to slice his way through the raw flesh that was Isabella’s body. The woman fell screaming to the floor in a pool of blood. Miss Wilson hurried over to tackle the crazed attacker, only to receive a cut to her hand for her troubles. She fled from the room in search of help and attracted the attention of some passing policemen.
Norman Street, the scene of the murder of Isabell Tonge.
Thomas Sullivan rushed down the stairs and was himself attacked by the madman. He also received several wounds, but of far less severity than those sustained by their common love interest.
More cries filled the house attracting the attention of other residents sleeping within. Catherine Jones, a domestic servant, ran to the bleeding victim and tried to stem the flow. ‘You have killed her!’ she screamed.
Edwards made no reply but went out into the street half-dressed and covered in gore. He soon returned and went straight up to his room. He dressed himself in normal daywear and headed calmly for the door, seemingly oblivious to the carnage he had just created.
By this time, PCs Micklethwaite and Bell were on the doorstep – just as Thomas was about to make his exit. The officers questioned him about the commotion and told him that they wished to come and investigate.
Thomas grinned; a knife was in his grasp. ‘I have been doing my work. If you would like to come inside you will see what I have been doing.’ They immediately took the weapon from Mr Edwards’ hand. ‘That’s not the knife I used,’ he remarked cheerfully, as the policemen looked on bemused. The two law enforcers cautiously entered the house where they discovered a scene of bloody mayhem. On the sofa sat an awfully dishevelled and anaemic–looking Isabella Tonge. Amazingly, she was still alive, but only just. ‘I have had my revenge,’ Thomas laughed. ‘I wish she would die as I want to be hanged for her.’
Miss Tonge was taken to the Royal Infirmary and was treated by house surgeon Henry Greenwood Rawdon. He did not hold out much hope that his latest patient would recover from her wounds – and indeed, she did not.
The constables arrested Mr Edwards and walked him outside. They escorted him up London Road where they whistled for help in taking the prisoner to the Bridewell. ‘Oh you need not whistle for assistance for I’ll go quietly with you,’ Thomas sniggered. ‘You go back to the house and see how she is. See if she is dead. If she is not, I hope she will die, and the man Sullivan also, and I can die with them.’
Later, on being taken from the Prescot Street Bridewell to the Main Bridewell, a fellow officer asked the two men what their prisoner was charged with.
‘Stabbing his wife,’ replied PC Micklethwaite.
‘She is not my wife!’ Edwards retorted. ‘She ought to have been. We have been asked at church three times, but she got drunk every time and made a fool of me!’
Thomas Crowe, an assistant at Bridewell, asked the accused to pick out which knife he
had used from a number taken from the house by the two officers as evidence. ‘This is the one with which I did it,’ the butcher answered, as he pointed towards a small dressing knife. ‘And I hope I did it well as if not I shall finish them.’ He was then locked up to await his trial. The following month saw Mr Edwards appear before Mr Justice Blackburn on a charge of wilful murder.
In going through the evidence and summing up, His Lordship directed the jury to question whether the acts of the prisoner which resulted in the death of Isabella Tonge were the consequence of premeditated revenge or the result of her provocation. The number of stab wounds inflicted proved that there was a true intention to occasion some grievous bodily harm and the jury would have to consider that, if there was indeed provocation on behalf of the deceased, whether these injuries could be justified. The judge remarked that due to the quantity of wounds, two of which were mortal, it certainly did appear that the prisoner intended to kill. This, along with the prisoner’s repeated comments that he hoped she would die, further suggested to the judge that Thomas was guilty of the charge. The jury retired to consider their verdict and were absent for what seemed an eternity, but was in fact just ninety minutes or thereabouts. Upon their return, a breathless silence prevailed while the clerk of the court asked the jury if they had agreed upon a verdict.
‘We have,’ answered the foreman, ‘we have found the prisoner guilty, but we recommend him mercy.’
‘On what grounds?’ enquired His Lordship.
After some hesitation the foreman referred to the provocation the deceased had caused with her intimacy with Thomas Sullivan.
Criminal Liverpool Page 3