by P. D. James
George Olney next took the stand. He said that he was a watchman belonging to the parish of St George. His evidence entirely corroborated the testimony of the girl. When he got into the house the bodies were dead but not cold. He described how he had seen Mr Marr about twelve o’clock putting up his shutters. He had been present in the backroom when the police officer found the maul. The head of it was on the ground and the handle standing against a chair. The blood was running from it on the ground. He also saw the chisel which was found but there was no blood upon it.
These were the only witnesses examined before the Coroner.
The examinations being closed, the Coroner stated to the jury that having now before them the melancholy statement of the facts unassisted by a particle of testimony calculated to point out the perpetrators of the atrocious and wicked act of murder to which their attention had been so painfully directed, their verdict unfortunately must be given generally on the imperfect evidence before them. He trusted, therefore, that they would not suffer their verdict to be influenced by the passing reports originating from the laudable anxiety of everyone to trace out and detect the wretches, whose future existence must evidently be marked with remorse and conscious guilt, and who perhaps in a little time, by the hand of providence, the prayers of humanity, and the exertions of the police, would be brought to detection and merited punishment.
The jury, after a short deliberation, gave a verdict on each of the bodies of wilful murder against some person or persons unknown.
1 When John Gifford, a magistrate at the Worship Street Office, was asked by a Parliamentary inquiry (in 1816) whether there was any ‘regular correspondence’ between his and the other Offices, he replied firmly: ‘Certainly not…. Different Police Offices keep their information to themselves, and do not wish to communicate it to others, that they may have the credit and advantage of detecting offenders.’ (Gifford’s real name was Green. By the age of twenty-three he had run through a large fortune, fled to France and changed his name. He returned to edit political and literary magazines and was rewarded by the appointment of the Worship Street Office after writing the history of Pitt’s political life in six vols., 1809.)
THREE
The Maul
‘The sensation excited by these most ferocious murders,’ reported The Times on Wednesday, 11 December, ‘has become so general, and the curiosity to see the place where they were committed so intense, that Ratcliffe Highway was rendered almost impassable by the throng of spectators before ten o’clock yesterday morning.’ The account of the inquest occupied a whole column, and the report concluded:
We were ourselves indefatigable in our enquiries; but we could hear nothing save the vague rumours of the crowd which sprung from no authentic source. At one time it was said that Mr Marr had been an evidence at the Old Bailey against a Portuguese who was lately hanged for murder, and that it was some of this man’s friends who from revenge were determined to shed his blood. It is, however, to be hoped that the race of the ruffians will be short, and that justice and humanity will soon be avenged.
There followed an intriguing postscript. It was reported that on the Monday evening a man named Ashburton, who lived in Gravel Lane, Ratcliffe Highway, was discussing the Marrs’ murders with some friends in a public house, when he was overcome ‘with such powerful sensations of horror and guilt’ that he was compelled to confess that he had himself witnessed a murder some eighteen years previously. He had been to Gravesend to see an East Indiaman set sail, and on coming home up the river he was present at a quarrel between a sergeant of marines and a gentleman who was now living in a most respectable way in Prince’s Square. The dispute was about a boy plying the ferry at Gravesend whom the sergeant had attempted to enlist. Ashburton saw the sergeant of marines fall back while the other man leaped on his body three times and stabbed him to death. He saw the sergeant’s sword thrown overboard but did not know what had become of the body. He said he had often mentioned the circumstances before but only when he was thrown off his guard by liquor, and then what he said had always been imputed to drunkenness. Now, however, he spoke soberly and The Times reported that the person accused was taken into custody and was to be brought up on Saturday before the magistrates of the Shadwell Public Office for further examination, thus adding to the congestion in the prison and to the exertions of Messrs Capper, Markland and Story. The unfortunate gentleman, a Portuguese named Fansick, was examined at the Shadwell Office on 14 December and granted bail, the magistrates, perhaps feeling that they had more immediate problems than an alleged eighteen-year-old murder.
It is not surprising that Mr Ashburton of Gravel Lane was so affected by the Marrs’ murders that he was compelled under their strong and remarkable influence to break the silence of eighteen years. The murders from the first exercised a unique power over the hearts and minds of Londoners. The emotion was compounded partly of horror at the cruelty and ruthlessness of the deed, and partly of pity at the helplessness and youth of the victims, all under twenty-five years of age, and one a baby in arms. It was to be expected that the wealthy and powerful should attract envy and be at the risk of robbery or worse. They knew the danger and had the means to combat it. It was equally understandable that prostitutes, informers and thieves should be exposed to violence and vengeance. But Timothy Marr had been poor, hard-working and respectable, living at peace with his neighbours, a good husband and father. Nothing had saved him; neither virtue nor poverty. He and his whole family had been annihilated in a brutal holocaust as if they were of no account, either to heaven or man.
The times were certainly hard, ungentle and sometimes barbarous. Justice was cruelly administered. Yet there was justice, there was public order, however arbitrarily enforced. The people of East London were poor, uneducated and often violent, yet atrocious murder was comparatively uncommon, and England had an enviable reputation in Europe for the lowness of its murder rate. In 1810, for example, the first year for which returns were made to the Home Office, broken down by offences, there were sixty-seven executions, but only nine of these were for murder. Eighteen were for burglary and eighteen for forgery. The figures reflect the low rate of murder detection, but the ratio is significant. Offences against property were far more common and were as ruthlessly punished as offences against the person. Murder, however, was still the unique, the horrifying crime. The wiping out of the whole Marr family seemed to strike at the very foundations, not only of public order but of morality and religion themselves. If this could happen, who could be safe? If decency and humbleness could not protect a man, what could? The fact that the murders were apparently irrational and motiveless added to the terror. The poor and respectable were particularly vulnerable. They worked long hours. Shopkeepers and publicans could not bar their doors against prospective customers if they were to make a living at all. But how could they carry on their business if every face at the door after dusk might be that of a murdering devil, if their wives and families refused to leave their sides once dark had fallen, if customers were afraid to venture out alone?
The three ineffectual magistrates of Shadwell and the indefatigable Harriott were well aware of the unrest, now almost mounting to panic. But so far their exertions, such as they were, had borne little fruit. However, on Wednesday, 11 December, some progress was made. A carpenter who had been engaged in work at Marr’s premises was taken into custody at the Shadwell Office and questioned about the ripping chisel. The Times reported:
Mr Marr’s premises had been undergoing repairs for some time. A Mr Pugh was engaged to superintend the carpenter’s work; he employed a man who altered the shop windows. This man applied for an iron chisel already described as twenty inches in length. Mr Pugh had no such tool but borrowed one from a neighbour. After the man had completed his work he was discharged, but did not return the chisel. Mr Pugh asked the man what he had done with it, as he had borrowed the tool from a neighbour. The man replied that it was on the premises and he could not find it; this happened three wee
ks ago. Mr Pugh called on Mr Marr and begged he would search for the instrument in order that it might be returned. A few days after, Mr Marr informed Mr Pugh that he had examined his house and could not find such an article; and no tidings were had of the chisel until the morning of the fatal massacre when it was found lying by the side of Mr Marr’s body. Mr Pugh gave information of the circumstances and the carpenter was brought up for examination. Mr Pugh and the person who lost the chisel swore to the identical marks being similar to the one delivered to the prisoner, who was committed for further examination in order that the servant girl (whose life was so providentially preserved) might be brought forward to recognise this person as having been employed on the premises.
So by Wednesday one of the weapons found in Marr’s house had been positively identified, and a carpenter who was known to have handled it was in custody. The next person charged was a man, secured by the police in a public house, who was heard to boast on Tuesday night that he knew the parties who had committed the murders. He was questioned and confined on suspicion. However, his story before the magistrates was so incoherent that it was apparent that he had spoken in his cups, and he was discharged with a severe reprimand for uttering such improper and unfounded language. At the same time another subject taken into charge on equally slender and unsubstantiated evidence was examined and subsequently discharged.
It was on the following day, Thursday, five days after the murder, that the Home Secretary yielded to pressure in The Times and elsewhere, and advertised the offer of a reward by the Government. Such a step was virtually unprecedented – at all events for half a century. It was common enough for the Government to offer rewards for information that led to the conviction of an offender against the public good, but requests relating to crimes against individuals, even murder, were invariably refused. The following hand-bill posted up in Ratcliffe Highway and other parts of the town, must therefore be regarded as a sign of the Government’s exceptional concern:
Whitehall, December 12th, 1811. Whereas it has been humbly represented to His Royal Highness the Prince Regent, that the dwelling house of Mr Timothy Marr, No. 29, Ratcliffe Highway, in the parish of St George, Middlesex, man’s mercer, was entered on Sunday morning last between the hours of twelve and two by some person or persons unknown, and that the said Mr Marr, Mrs Celia Marr, his wife, Timothy, their infant child, in the cradle, James Gowen, a servant lad, were all of them most inhumanly and barbarously murdered; His Royal Highness, for the better apprehending and bringing to justice the persons concerned in the atrocious murders is hereby pleased to offer a reward of £100 to any one of them (except the person or persons who actually perpetrated the said murders) who shall discover his or their accomplice or accomplices therein, to be paid on the conviction of any one or more of the offenders by the Right Honourable The Lords Commissioners of His Majesty’s Treasury.
R. Ryder
The reward was substantial, but not excessively generous. As always it had regard to the probabilities. The carpenter was still in custody. He might yet prove to be concerned in the murders and in this case the reward of £100 to his accomplices might well prove sufficient to induce one of them to turn King’s evidence.
But the case against the carpenter also collapsed. The Times of 13 December reported:
Yesterday (Wednesday) morning the carpenter, Mr Pugh’s man, who had been employed about three weeks ago in furnishing Mr Marr’s shop, underwent another examination. Mr Marr’s servant and a bricklayer attended to identify the man. Many respectable housekeepers, his landlord and others appeared in favour of his character, and to the satisfaction of the magistrates, proved an alibi. The chisel was proved to be that which Mr Pugh’s man had borrowed, but a young man swore he found it in the cellar at the time he accompanied the watchman in Mr Marr’s house immediately after the murders were committed. The magistrates discharged the man, there not being sufficient evidence for another hearing.
There are several odd points about this report. The chisel was not found in the basement of Marr’s house. All the magistrates when reporting to the Home Secretary stated that it had been found on the shop counter. Even had it been found in the basement its presence there would hardly exonerate the carpenter. The chisel was positively identified by Pugh and the man from whom he borrowed it. It was undeniably found in the Marrs’ house following the murders. The actual place is in this context immaterial. So either Marr had succeeded in finding the chisel in his shop some time after Margaret Jewell had gone for the oysters, despite his earlier thorough but fruitless search, or it had been brought into the house by one of the murderers, either as a potential weapon or as a means of breaking into or out of the house. It was clearly of the greatest importance to discover what had happened to this chisel from the time it was first missing and who could have gained possession of it. The first and obvious step was surely to question Margaret Jewell on this point. She must have known the chisel was missing and that Marr had been asked by Pugh to return it. She probably helped to look for it. The premises were small and the chisel, unless deliberately and cunningly hidden, must surely have come to light. Margaret Jewell could have testified to the thoroughness of the search and her master’s conviction that the chisel could not have been left on his premises. We can probably safely assume that the chisel was not on the counter when the girl left to buy oysters. Marr would have called out to his wife that he had found it even if Margaret did not notice it lying on the counter before she left the shop. The magistrates would probably have paid more attention to the chisel had it been matted with hair and blood. Yet, if it were not in the shop before Margaret Jewell left, nor discovered by Marr during her absence, then it was almost certainly brought into the house by one of the murderers, and it was as important, if less spectacular, a clue to their identity as was the bloodstained maul.
But the magistrates were apparently unimpressed by the chisel’s significance. They were a great deal more impressed by the excellent testimonies to the carpenter’s character. In the absence of any scientific method of detection, evidence of character was held in particularly high regard, and the carpenter was able to produce gratifying accounts of his industry and good conduct. He was also able to provide an alibi, and without any apparent effort of the magistrates to verify it, he was discharged.
What is also odd, and particularly frustrating, is the careful avoidance by The Times of the carpenter’s name. It was later to transpire that there were two men who worked for Pugh – Cornelius Hart and a joiner, variously referred to in the evidence as Towler or Trotter. A third man, Jeremiah Fitzpatrick, also a joiner, was an associate of Hart, and may have been another of Pugh’s men. It is likely that Hart was the one questioned about the chisel, since it was he who had been mainly concerned with the recent adaptations to Marr’s shop. But we are not specifically told this. The identification of the ripping chisel was a discovery of the first importance, but it was treated as just one more minor incident in the unrewarding routine of the magistrates’ inquiries.
On the same day, Wednesday, a girl named Wilkie, who had been servant to Mrs Marr for six months, and had left her only six months ago, presented herself to the magistrates to clear her name. Immediately after the murders, when the magistrates were interrogating Margaret Jewell, she had described how Mrs Marr had discharged Wilkie because of a suspicion of dishonesty. There was a quarrel and the accused girl threatened her mistress with murder. Margaret Jewell reported that Mrs Marr gently rebuked her for using such intemperate language and requested that she would not alarm her in her advanced state of pregnancy. The threats and enmity could hardly have been serious since Wilkie subsequently visited the Marrs, dressed ‘in a white gown, black velvet spencer, cottage bonnet with a small feather and shoes with Grecian ties’. It is possible of course, that these visits were more to show off her new finery and demonstrate her independence than to inquire after the health of the family, but they seem to have been amicable. Margaret Jewell said that Mrs Marr often remonstr
ated with Wilkie on her loose character and hasty temper, but assured the girl of her friendship and her readiness to serve her if she would reform her prostituted life and return into honest service. Not surprisingly, Wilkie had declined to exchange ‘a white gown and shoes with Grecian ties’, and her freedom, for the drudgery of a general servant and the confines of a small basement kitchen at 29 Ratcliffe Highway. Now, however, she turned up to protest her innocence and to give the magistrates what help she could. She was quickly exonerated. No one thought it likely that a common servant girl, however disenchanted with her late employers, would have had the means, capacity or physical attractions to procure from her male protectors such wholesale and barbaric vengeance, and it was obviously ridiculous to suppose that she had wielded the maul and the knife herself. The magistrates examined her and she was discharged, but not before she had testified to the affection and amity existing between Marr and his wife’s relations, and to the happiness of the Marr ménage. It may all have been true, but one suspects that the young Marrs were already sanctified by the pity and horror of their deaths into paragons of virtue, archetypes of the innocent and good to set against the villainy of their destroyers. We know so little about them beyond the superficialities that they were respectable, hard-working and ambitious. It is only John Murray’s evidence, that he assumed the cry which he heard at midnight to have arisen from the fear of correction, which makes one wonder whether such cries were perhaps not uncommonly heard from 29 Ratcliffe Highway, whether Marr, raised by his own exertions from servitude to the power of being another’s master, may not have been a hard as well as an ambitious man.