by Carol Baxter
Some farmers purchased a brand-name product while others made up their own solution. Until the laws restricting its sale took effect, arsenic was easy to purchase by the hundredweight over the counter of many a grocery or huckster’s store. It wasn’t rare for a sheep to die an agonising death because a manufacturer or pastoralist was careless in his calculations or because the animal was exposed to the poison for too long.
The sheep-dippers dreaded the exercise. They knew that their struggles with recalcitrant sheep would expose their own skin to the dip’s arsenic-laced contents. Some complained of a burning feeling in their bowels as if they were being consumed by fire—a sign of skin absorption. Most wore a protective waterproof apron or washed themselves thoroughly after completing their day’s work. Nobody appreciated a raw, bleeding scrotum or one covered with blisters and boils.
Thus, no one with a sound knowledge of such practices would automatically assume that a man working in the industry who died of arsenic poisoning had been wilfully murdered. At the very least, the fact that a fleece-worker had been killed by the poison used to protect fleeces should offer some grounds for reasonable doubt, particularly if the other evidence was not altogether convincing.
No doubt, this brought to mind other stories of arsenic’s deadly intrusion into the lives of the unwitting public. Arsenic not only filled the sheep-dip vats on pastoralists’ properties and the basements of rat-infested tenements, it had a tendency to find itself on the dinner table because of its resemblance to foodstuffs like flour, sugar and baking powder. Other sources of dinner-table ingestion included crops sprayed with arsenic-laced pesticides and meat from animals that had ingested these pesticides. It could be found in wells in areas where arsenic was used as a rat poison and in the groundwater in districts where it was used in manufacturing. It could also be found in green paper, green yarn, green artificial flowers, green paint and green wallpaper. Those who worked with these products were the ones most likely to suffer symptoms of arsenic poisoning. Others might show the tiniest of traces in their systems—if tests were ever undertaken.
• • •
Even before receiving Cohen’s letter, the attorney-general had been unsure if the Crown should try Louisa for a third time on the Collins charge. In mid-November, he advised the press of his indecision, yet also of his determination to pursue her for her first husband’s murder. When he read Cohen’s letter soon afterwards, he recognised that the barrister was not the best choice to lead the Andrews trial, let alone a third attempt at trying the Collins case if they decided to bring it to trial again.
The inquest depositions, recently collected witness statements and other pieces of investigative paperwork were passed to Charles Heydon, who had been authorised to prosecute the Andrews case. As Heydon and his team sifted through all the documents, they realised that the Andrews case was in many ways stronger than the Collins case. The Crown’s inability to offer a solid motive was one of the main reasons for the prosecution’s failure to convict Louisa in the first two trials. In the Andrews case, however, there were motives aplenty.
Some of this information would be critical as trial evidence. Most, though, wouldn’t be needed for the purposes of a conviction so it wouldn’t be brought out at trial. Still, it helped paint a picture of the troubled world of Pople’s Terrace in the summer of 1886–87, in the period leading up to and after Charles Andrews’ painful death.
Chapter 26
Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.
Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina
Senior Constable Sherwood knew that he was bringing unwelcome news when he arrived on the doorstep of 10 Pople’s Terrace on Anniversary Day, 26 January 1887. Being informed that two of your boys had been getting up to mischief and were now in the lock-up wasn’t the sort of information that parents enjoyed hearing, particularly when they were suffering financially.
Andrews had just lost his job. It wasn’t his fault. He was reputed to be one of the hardest-working men in the district, even though at fifty-three he was, in the eyes of most, elderly. Since settling in Botany, he had worked for wool merchant Alexander Geddes; however, Geddes’ nineteen-year-old business had shut its doors at the beginning of the month, forcing Andrews and his fellow workers into living off their savings. While jobs might be hard to find in these economically trying times, boarders weren’t. George Osborne, James Wilkie and Augustus Nordgren were lodging in the back room of the Andrews house and their payments were helping to cover the family bills.
After Sherwood had explained to Louisa why he was visiting, he learnt that he wasn’t just doubling the family’s problems, but trebling them. She told him that Andrews was sick in bed, having been ill for the past few days. She didn’t offer to take him to see her husband, so he was surprised to encounter the man later that afternoon in the Sir Joseph Banks Gardens. He asked Andrews about his health. Andrews complained of retching and vomiting but said that he was more concerned about his boys’ plight. They discussed the situation, with Andrews praising the policeman for his efforts on the boys’ behalf. Unbeknown to Sherwood, it would be the last time he saw the ailing man.
The following day, Sherwood spotted Louisa at the Redfern police court where the boys were facing a magistrate who’d decided they needed to be taught a salutary lesson. When Sherwood had a moment to speak to her, he asked how Andrews was feeling.
‘Very bad,’ she said. ‘He’s very ill and I think he is dying.’
• • •
John Rail, the secretary of the Mutual Life Assurance Company, heard a similar prognosis from Louisa the following Monday when she called at his company’s city office. She told him her husband was ill and was not expected to recover. Could he provide details about her husband’s life insurance policy?
‘Is there a will?’ Rail asked. ‘If he has not prepared one, there will be a difficulty in getting the insurance money.’
Louisa said that her husband didn’t have a will so she would need assistance in preparing one. Perhaps he could direct her to the right person. ‘My husband will be leaving everything to me,’ she assured him.
Rail felt sorry for her. ‘If you get me a form,’ he offered, ‘I will write out the will for you.’ He explained where the form could be obtained.
Louisa returned a short time later with the requisite form. He asked what she wanted the will to say. She said that it needed to make everything over to her: all her husband’s money and insurance and other possessions. He filled in the details then told her how to get it witnessed, adding that, in the event of her husband’s death, she should take it to Mr Dowling’s office for probate.
Louisa wasted no time getting the necessary signatures. Neighbour Mary Law received a visit from her later that afternoon requesting that her husband witness the signing of the will. When Mary replied that James was out but would be available later, Louisa said she was in a hurry and would need to find someone else to help her.
Margaret Collis was standing near her back gate when Louisa called out to her, ‘Is Mr Collis or any of the other men in?’
‘No,’ Margaret replied, ‘but my brothers will be at dinnertime.’
‘That won’t do. I’ve been to Sydney and got the will drawn up and I want the witnesses to see him sign his name. I want it soon as Charlie is dying.’
‘He is not that bad, is he?’ asked her concerned neighbour.
‘Yes, he’s very bad. He’ll never get out of his bed again. It will save me trouble to get the will signed before he dies.’
Mrs Stephen was standing nearby. She said that her husband would come over and sign the will. With William Farrar as the second signatory, the will was signed a short time later.
When Louisa called at the Botany police station that afternoon, Sherwood asked about Andrews and again received the answer that he was extremely ill. ‘He might die any moment,’ she added.
‘If he’s too bad for you to come to the court in the morning, you needn’t mind,’ sa
id the concerned officer. ‘You can send any person to take the boys home. They will be discharged by the magistrates.’
Even so, it was Louisa who fronted up the following day to collect her boys. To Sherwood’s query about her husband’s health, she said, ‘He’s very bad and will probably be dead when I get home.’
Sherwood thought that Louisa seemed surprisingly untroubled by her husband’s condition, which was in marked contrast to her concern for the wellbeing of one of her sons. Yet she showed as little interest in the other miscreant as she had shown for her sick husband.
‘You needn’t have come,’ Sherwood told her. ‘I said I would send the boys.’
She shrugged it off.
‘I’ll get the case called as soon as possible so you can return home,’ he assured her.
• • •
Having heard that Louisa was desperate to have her husband’s will signed, James Law was surprised at her dismissive attitude when he dropped by on the Tuesday to enquire about Andrews’ health.
‘There’s not much wrong with him,’ she said unsympathetically, and headed into the back room, leaving Law to talk to Andrews alone.
Andrews was lying on a stretcher in the front room, clearly exhausted and anxious. Still, his voice remained strong when he complained of persistent vomiting and retching and of pains in his neck and shoulder. Either he was one of those usually healthy men who lost all stoicism at the onset of ill-health or his ailment was more serious than his wife was willing to admit.
When Dr Martin visited at four pm that same Tuesday, he thought that Andrews’ condition was serious indeed, although not necessarily fatal. The news soon spread. Neighbours and friends dropped by to pass on their best wishes.
Charles Sayers visited around seven-thirty the following morning. Louisa was shifting Andrews’ pillows to make him more comfortable. When Sayers asked how he was feeling, Andrews complained of constant vomiting, a burning sensation in his throat, and of pains in his bowels. ‘If I don’t get relief,’ he said, his face etched with fear, ‘I think I will die.’
The grocer had worked with Andrews prior to opening his store and knew he had a hardy constitution. The contrast was disturbing—even more so because the fellow was in such low spirits. Sayers tried to cheer him up, saying with kindness more than tact, ‘You are worth half-a-dozen dead men.’
Another one-time co-worker, Henry Kneller, called in late the same morning. He too found Andrews in the front room with Louisa in attendance. Andrews politely asked after his wife and family, and they talked together for a while. About one pm Andrews gave two or three pronounced gasps. ‘He is dying,’ Kneller said gravely, looking at Louisa. Tears began to run down her cheeks. He left soon afterwards, saying that he would come back later in the afternoon. He was leaving them to say their private goodbyes.
• • •
Mary Law was the first to hear that Andrews was dead. Shortly after three pm, nine-year-old May Andrews came to her house saying that her father had just died and that her mother wanted Mary to come over. Mary accompanied the child back to the house and saw Andrews’ body lying on the stretcher. No attempt had been made to straighten him out, let alone to tend him in any other way. She found Louisa dressing, showing no signs of distress. Was she going out? So soon?
‘I am going to Sydney by the next tram to let the insurance people know and to go to the Savings Bank,’ Louisa said. Then she asked her daughter to purchase some tram tickets while she finished getting ready.
John Rail confirmed the precipitateness of Louisa’s visit. He was at work at the Mutual Life Assurance Company that afternoon when she returned to the office.
‘My husband has just died,’ she informed him.
He offered his condolences and asked when the man had died.
‘About half an hour ago.’
• • •
Ellen Price, the midwife and body-washer, entered the picture much later than normal. Around eight o’clock that night, she received a message saying that Mrs Andrews required her services. She caught the next tram and found Louisa on board. She asked why Louisa wanted her.
‘Mr Andrews is dead,’ Louisa said.
‘What did he die of?’
‘He was only sick about a week and was suffering from diarrhoea.’
‘It is very sad,’ Ellen said. She was surprised when Louisa didn’t answer.
Reaching the Andrews house, Ellen found the body on the stretcher near the window, straightened and suitably positioned. When she touched the body, she discovered it was stiff and cold. Obviously, he had been dead for hours.
‘It is a pity you did not send for me sooner,’ she admonished Louisa, knowing that rigor mortis would make it difficult to tend to the body.
Henry Kneller was standing nearby. He said, ‘Poor fellow. I straightened him. She went away in the tram when he died.’
‘I had business I had to attend to,’ Louisa said. Yet Ellen noticed that, even with her husband’s body in the same room, she seemed untroubled by his death. Instead, she scolded her boys, saying, ‘Why did you let the fire go out? You knew your mother would want a cup of tea.’
‘When are you going to send word to Herby?’ asked her second eldest son, Reuben, knowing that his brother in Newcastle would want to be informed.
Reuben’s return home that day had been unexpected. He too had lost his job when Alexander Geddes’ business closed, although he had managed to find work at Rookwood. Journeying home after a week’s employment, he had encountered his weeping mother in the same tram. She told him of his father’s death.
‘I will be in no hurry to let Herby know,’ Louisa told him. ‘I don’t want him and won’t have him.’
• • •
Neighbours trooped to the house the following day to farewell Andrews. After Margaret Collis had expressed her condolences, she mentioned seeing Louisa catch the tram the previous afternoon and wondered where she had been going. Louisa said that she had gone to see the insurance doctor before Charlie was washed and laid out because the insurance doctor hadn’t attended him. She had been fearful there might be trouble over his death for that reason and was concerned because of the will.
Friday was the day of the funeral. Her observant neighbours noticed that Louisa was suitably dressed and veiled when she rode off in the funeral coach—with her old boarder, Mick Collins, accompanying her. Afterwards, instead of adhering to the mourning tradition of wearing black clothes and accessories for a year, her only concession was to wear a black hat.
Two days later, Margaret Collis and Mary Law saw the pair walking arm in arm. Mary sniffed, ‘That looks nice, the poor man hardly cold yet.’
The following morning, Ellen Price saw them near her own home waiting for a Sydney tram. She noticed that Louisa had discarded her mourning attire altogether and wondered where they were heading.
William Scott was able to answer that question. An employer of the Haymarket branch of the Government Savings Bank, he attended Louisa that day. When he asked how he could help her, she reported that her husband had just died and that she needed to have his money released straight away. She had already been to the office of solicitor James Dowling with a note of introduction from the secretary of her husband’s insurance company and had signed the necessary paperwork. Dowling had told her to take the paperwork to the bank to close Andrews’ account.
Scott explained that such money was not released for a month after a death was reported so the paperwork could be thoroughly examined.
Louisa begged him to help her, saying that she greatly needed the money. Her financial predicament was easy enough to describe: deceased husband who had been unemployed for a few weeks; children to feed; medical bills.
Scott took pity on her and said he would make an exception to the usual rule. He told her to come back the following day to collect her money—the sum of £10 5s 4d. It was equivalent to a month of her husband’s wages.
That night, Collins moved back into Louisa’s cottage.
> Naturally, the neighbours gossiped about it, wondering if the couple had already tied the knot. A week later, Mary Law saw the pair waiting for the tram, dressed in normal attire. Later that day, she spotted them returning home. ‘Well, have you done it?’ she asked. ‘Am I to wish you joy?’
‘Oh, it’s all over long ago,’ Collins said. Then he laughed and Louisa joined in.
Obviously, the neighbours were not aware that the joyous day wouldn’t transpire for another two months. In fact, the date of their nuptials fell two days after probate was completed and Louisa received the insurance payout of £178.
The neighbours did notice that Collins chose not to seek work after moving in with Louisa and that, a couple of months later, the pair went on a spending spree. The once-impoverished Collins began strutting around in a new suit and sporting a watch and chain. He also took a trip to Melbourne to visit his family. Louisa treated herself to new clothes and furniture. No doubt, the photograph of the well-dressed couple that had been published in the illustrated newspapers, the photograph that Louisa had begged Senior Constable Sherwood to send her, was taken around the same time.
Eventually, according to neighbours, Collins was forced to find work, although his efforts were sporadic. When the employment situation in Botany worsened, the family moved to Waterloo, where their baby John was born on 28 November.5 Louisa dealt with the social niceties by declaring on his birth certificate that she and Mick had been married on 13 February 1887, around the time of the Pople’s Terrace dance.