The Real Sherlock Holmes
Page 1
First published in Great Britain in 2014 by
Pen & Sword History
an imprint of
Pen & Sword Books Ltd
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Copyright © Angela Buckley 2014
HARDBACK ISBN: 978 1 78159 269 4
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For Warren
‘Cant as we may,’ said the immortal Dickens, ‘we shall to the end of all things find it very much harder for the poor to be virtuous than it is for the rich, and the good that is in them shines the brighter for it.’
(Jerome Caminada, Twenty-Five Years of Detective Life, 1895)
Contents
Preface
Prologue
Chapter 1 ‘A very hot-bed of social iniquity and vice’ (1844–1868)
Chapter 2 ‘A “Lively” Beat’ (1868–1871)
Chapter 3 ‘Detective Jerome’: Racecourse Duty and Street Brawls (1871–1876)
Chapter 4 Quack Doctors: ‘Rascality, rapacity and roguery’ (1876–1877)
Chapter 5 Sophisticated Swindles and Cunning Confidence Tricks (1878–1884)
Chapter 6 ‘Even my own fireside’: Trouble at Home (1884)
Chapter 7 Gin Palaces, Gambling Dens and a Cross-Dressing Ball (1885)
Chapter 8 The Birmingham Forger (1886–1887)
Chapter 9 ‘The Professor Moriarty of the Slums’ (1887)
Chapter 10 ‘City of Martyrs’: Caminada and the Irish Nationalists (January 1889)
Chapter 11 The Manchester Cab Mystery (February 1889)
Chapter 12 The Beautiful Crook (1890–1891)
Chapter 13 Scuttlers and the Art of Gang Warfare (1892)
Chapter 14 False Lovers and Wily Seducers (1892–1893)
Chapter 15 The Anarchists of Ardwick Green (September 1893)
Chapter 16 The Blackley Mystery and other Suspicious Deaths (November 1893)
Chapter 17 ‘A Chronicle of Crime’ (1895–1899)
Chapter 18 State Secrets and Undercover Missions (1901)
Chapter 19 ‘The Garibaldi of Detectives’ (1902–1914)
Bibliography
Acknowledgements
Preface
My journey into Victorian Manchester’s criminal underworld began with my own family. During a break from my full-time teaching career, I needed a project to keep my brain active, so I began researching my family history. All families have skeletons in their genealogical cupboard and it wasn’t long before mine started rattling loudly. Even though they committed mostly petty crimes – theft, drunkenness and criminal damage – I was fascinated by my dubious ancestors and soon the wider nineteenth century tempted me in.
After considerable research into Victorian crime and several published articles on the subject, I never expected to find myself writing my first book from the perspective of a law enforcer, but Caminada came also from the pages of my family’s history. In the mid-1880s, my great-great-grandparents, Michele and Maria Coppola, made the long and arduous journey from the sun-drenched fields of Italy to the grey, sodden slums of Ancoats, Manchester. One of the most prominent members of the city’s lively expatriate Italian community was Detective Inspector Jerome Caminada.
My curiosity aroused, I undertook my own investigation into Detective Caminada’s career. Following him into the dark streets of Manchester during the 1870s and 1880s, I encountered nefarious criminals of all kinds – desperate thieves, convincing charlatans and clever con artists. I learned about forgery, street fighting, poisoning and the heinous crime of infanticide. Furthermore, I joined social commentators such as Friedrich Engels, in gambling dens, gin palaces and brothels in the dingy alleyways of my home city’s past.
My research into the nineteenth century reached full circle with a remarkable discovery in my own family’s past. I was tracing my three times great-grandfather, John Dawson, and when I located him in Manchester on the 1861 census I couldn’t believe my eyes. In tiny spidery handwriting over John’s entry, the enumerator had added, ‘Keeps a house of infamous notoriety’. Further study revealed that my ancestor had been convicted several times for ‘keeping a disorderly house’ and even spent time in Strangeways Prison. In a startling coincidence, John Dawson’s house of ill repute was on the beat of young Police Constable Jerome Caminada, when he joined the force in 1868. I have yet to find evidence of them meeting, but they must have known each other, and I like to think they did.
When Jerome Caminada died in 1914, his colleague and friend Judge Parry said, during his eulogy, that ‘someone will no doubt, in due course edit some proper record’ of the detective’s adventures. A century later, using Caminada’s own memoirs, supplemented by contemporary records and newspaper accounts, I have attempted to reconstruct his unique story. He was a man of strong opinions and resolute intentions and I hope that, after decades of silence, the voice of this extraordinary Victorian super-sleuth will be heard once again.
Angela Buckley, 2013
Prologue
Monday 6 December 1886
At 11pm on a cold winter’s evening, the doors of the Queen’s Theatre on Bridge Street, Manchester, swung open and the buzzing throng spilled out into the dank, smoky streets. Well-heeled gentlemen jostled through the crowds, holding on to their hats as the wind blew in icy squalls. Women muffled in coats and scarves clutched the arms of their companions, their heady perfume masking the tang of detritus and human waste flowing in the gutters of the filthy streets nearby.
Amongst this teeming mass was 33-year-old Arthur Foster, a smartly dressed and clean-shaven man with the air of an actor. Some said that he resembled the celebrated star of the stage, Henry Irving. Standing proud, this attractive man had a beautiful woman on his arm. She was bedecked in jewels, with a magnificent cat’s diamond bracelet adorning her wrist. Foster breathed in the freezing air and with a satisfied sigh, cast a glance over the road at the private brougham waiting for them as planned. Leaving the shelter of the theatre’s stone canopy, the handsome couple pushed their way through the crowd. All around them theatre-goers with red cheeks scanned the street for a vacant cab to take them safely back to their elegant townhouses and sub
urban villas.
The shops were closed, but hawkers and street-sellers hung around in the shadows, offering passersby a last chance to buy cheap household wares; matches, twine and corset laces. Food stalls were being packed away, leaving a few shrivelled hot potatoes and penny pies for those who had not been tempted by the ham sandwiches sold at the theatre door. At the end of the street coffee sellers were setting up their stalls for the midnight trade, accompanied by the lugubrious tune of a lone organ grinder. The seedy public houses and gin palaces tucked away in the nearby labyrinth of alleys and dirty streets had yet to relinquish their customers, but the shouts of tipsy men spoiling for a fight rumbled beneath the chatter of the crowds.
Like everyone around them, Foster and his lady friend ignored the pinched, pale faces of the shabby women hanging about on the grubby kerb stones, hoping to earn a few pence by entertaining a gentleman before he went home. The couple had enjoyed a pleasant evening at a performance of The World, a Drury Lane drama in which the police hunt a jewellery thief after he steals some valuable diamonds. The woman was no stranger to the theatre. Known as the ‘Vanishing Lady’, she was currently appearing at the Free Trade Hall, but this evening a disappointed audience had been informed that she was ‘indisposed’.
Now their hired brougham pulled up alongside the pavement, the horses flicking their tails and snorting warm steam into the frosty night. Foster stepped back to guide his companion into the cab, before climbing in beside her. As they settled down on the upholstered bench, the coachman gently cracked his whip. The carriage lurched forward and then stopped abruptly, jolting the passengers on their seat. Before Foster could call out, the door opened and a shadowy figure slipped inside. The yellow light of a gas lamp revealed him as an older man, dark-haired, with a full beard and moustache. Removing his hat, he apologised for the intrusion and asked politely if he could join them. At first bewildered and then indignant, Foster opened his mouth to protest, but fell silent as he recognised the stranger. Catching his breath, he made a dash for one door whilst his companion dived towards the other. The intruder blocked his exit and another man was waiting outside, ready to prevent their escape. Foster was trapped; there was no way out. He sank back into the bench as the Vanishing Lady sobbed hysterically beside him.
Arthur Foster, also known as the Birmingham Forger, was wanted by the police for theft and a serious fraud amounting to £5,200. The intruder sitting in his cab was Detective Chief Inspector Jerome Caminada, who had once again caught his man.
Unbeknown to Foster, Detective Chief Inspector Caminada had been shadowing him since noon. The thief had led the detective a merry dance through the streets and main squares of the bustling city, without Foster once realising that he was being tracked. The chase had begun at the Bank of England on the fashionable boulevard of King Street, right in the centre of Manchester. Surrounded by glittering shop windows and exclusive boutiques, the police officer had been standing near the bank when he spotted a suspicious-looking man loitering by the imposing red brick building. Recognising him from a picture circulated by the Birmingham force, Caminada knew instantly that he was looking at the wanted forger, Arthur Foster.
Foster, who used a number of aliases, had already served 10 years in prison for a similar theft. Now he was back in circulation and doing rather well. The detective slipped into the bank behind his quarry and followed him to the bullion office, where Foster changed a large amount of gold into notes. After leaving the bank, he trailed the suspect into another bank further along the street, where he repeated the transaction.
Together they criss-crossed the commercial centre, with Foster visiting a number of money-changers and Caminada following carefully in his wake. After passing through several streets, they reached St Ann’s Square, where Foster hailed a cab from the rank and took off again in the direction of Deansgate, the main thoroughfare behind the square. Jumping into the next cab behind Foster, the chief inspector tailed him to Bridge Street and watched while the suspect entered the Queen’s Theatre, where he reserved a private box for that evening. On the road again and his errands completed, Foster drove out to Greenheys, a less salubrious suburb just two miles from the city centre, where gloomy textile mills overshadowed grimy, smoke-blackened terrace houses. The hansom dropped him off at his lodgings, at 53 Carter Street, while Caminada watched him in the dark.
At 6pm that evening Foster was on the move again, travelling by cab back towards the city with Caminada in pursuit at a discreet distance. Stopping briefly en route at a lodging house for theatrical ladies, he collected his female companion for the evening performance at the Queen’s Theatre, blissfully unaware that the detective was lying in wait.
Arthur Foster had become over-confident after recently evading capture in London and Birmingham, but he could not defy the determination of Chief Inspector Caminada. The arrest would result in a heist of gold and jewellery worth almost three quarters of a million pounds today, being recovered single-handedly by the indefatigable investigator.
When he arrested the Birmingham Forger, Jerome Caminada had been policing the crime-ridden rookeries of inner city Manchester for almost two decades and he knew all about criminals and their nefarious ways. Dubbed by the Evening Telegraph a ‘terror to evil doers’, he was reputed to be able to spot a thief by the way he walked and sniff out a swindle from a considerable distance. An expert at deduction, he was a force to be reckoned with. In 1886, a year before his fictional counterpart, Sherlock Holmes, made his debut in A Study in Scarlet, 42-year-old Caminada was at the top of his game. In the months leading up to Foster’s arrest, he had exposed a number of major frauds, including bogus heir hunters, quack doctors and a sophisticated emigration scam.
During the next few years, Caminada would become renowned throughout the country, as he captured an escaped political prisoner, confronted a deadly career criminal and played a pivotal role in the nationwide hunt for the Fenian dynamite conspirators. Using methods worthy of the iconic consulting detective himself, Caminada would tackle his most baffling case yet: ‘The Manchester Cab Mystery’.
Despite a personal life beset with tragedy, this legendary detective would remain resolute in his fight against crime and earn his place in the city’s history as one of its finest detectives. Jerome Caminada was a true Victorian super-sleuth and a real-life Sherlock Holmes.
Chapter One
‘A very hot-bed of social iniquity and vice’
(1844–1868)
One Sunday the Bishop of Salford, Herbert Vaughan, was leaving St Augustine’s Church in Manchester after Mass, when a swell mobsman (a well-dressed, highly skilled pickpocket) made a daring attempt to snatch his magnificent pectoral cross, while his hands were raised in the act of blessing his flock. The thief would have succeeded – had Jerome Caminada not been in the congregation. In an instant, before the bishop had realised what was happening, the detective had retrieved the cross. Despite having chosen the police force over the priesthood, Caminada’s religious faith and childhood experiences had a significant impact on his future and would influence his remarkable crime-fighting career for more than three decades.
Caminada’s early life could not have been more different to the history of his literary peer, Sherlock Holmes. When Dr Watson questioned the provenance of the consulting detective’s faculties of observation and deduction in ‘The Adventure of the Greek Interpreter’, Holmes admitted that some of his skills may have come from his family history:
My ancestors were country squires, who appear to have led much the same life as is natural to their class. But, none the less, my turn that way is in my veins, and may have come with my grandmother, who was the sister of Vernet, the French artist. Art in the blood is liable to take the strangest forms.
By comparison, Jerome Caminada did not come from the landed gentry or have a university education, but his ability to solve complicated cases bore an uncanny similarity to the exceptional skills of the famous ‘sleuth-hound’, and was also rooted in his past.
During the first half of the nineteenth century, the number of inhabitants of Manchester had tripled, reaching 242,000 in 1841, as migrant workers poured into the city to try their luck in the factories and mills. Inadequate housing stock forced them to live in cramped accommodation, without clean water and basic amenities. It was in these filthy streets, and with the odds stacked against him, that Caminada fought to survive a precarious childhood. In his memoirs he described the contrast that characterised Victorian Manchester: ‘In this great city, we have, side by side with enormous wealth and luxury, an inconceivable amount of squalor, misery, degradation, and filthiness of life’.
The families of both Jerome’s parents were among the mass of immigrants who flocked to Manchester for work at the turn of the nineteenth century. In the early 1800s, skilled craftsmen migrated to England from northern Italy, settling in towns and cities throughout the country. Manchester was now home to a number of Italian businesses, which made precision instruments such as thermometers, telescopes and magnifying glasses. Jerome’s paternal grandfather, Lewis Caminada, was a barometer-maker. Originally from Lombardy in northern Italy, he arrived in Manchester in the late 1700s. His son, Francis, (Jerome’s father) was born in the city around 1811. Francis followed his father into a skilled trade and became a cabinetmaker.