Anne Clark seemed determined, at least in her own words, to prevent the foul murder from taking place. First she waylaid Andrew Stewart and told him outright of the young woman's plans. Naturally, the man was shocked by the news but he also knew of Anne's reputation and, as he had already handed the laudanum and salts to Katharine, ignored the warning. Anne next turned to Lady Eastmiln, Thomas's mother, but she remained unimpressed by her dire warnings. Finally, she spoke to Eastmiln himself but he, knowing her too well, also took her words with a pinch of salt. Or, as we shall see, more than a pinch of salts.
Andrew Stewart, however, soon had his eyes opened. After a dinner at Kirkton of Glen Isla, he found himself in Katharine's company as they made their way home and was stunned to hear her say how unhappy she was and that she wished her husband, or herself, dead. Later that night he suggested to Lady Eastmiln and Anne Clark that they break open the chest in which Katharine had stored the articles he had delivered but neither woman agreed. Thomas's mother later declared that she had already listened at the door of her son's bedroom and heard him talking with his young wife. She had noted there ‘was more kindness between them than usual’, which means that either they were talking pleasantly or it was a euphemism for sex. Whatever was going on in that room that night, it would be the last time Thomas Ogilvy would do it.
During the night, the Laird took ill and so was unable to come down for breakfast the following morning. Katharine, being a dutiful wife, poured him some tea, complete with milk and sugar, and took it upstairs to him. Anne, on hearing this, began to worry that the young woman had decided to follow through her murderous plans – with some justification, it seems, for, later that morning, Ogilvy turned very ill indeed. Andrew Stewart, who witnessed some of the vomiting, wanted to call a doctor but Katharine resisted, saying her husband would recover soon. Eventually she gave in but her husband did indeed rally enough to attend to some business. However, within a few hours, he was struck down again. Carried to his bed, he was unable to hold down anything he ate or drank, and complained of serious heartburn, diarrhoea, desperate thirst and pains in his legs. The symptoms only eased when Anne Clark gave him a glass of wine with some sugar in it, although she later said that the wine had come from Katharine. When offered a drink of water from the same bowl in which Katharine had given him tea that morning, he refused, saying, ‘Damn that bowl – for I have got my death in it already.’ Servants said he was convinced his wife had poisoned him and one recalled seeing Mrs Ogilvy stirring something into the brew that morning. However, she did not see her actually put anything into the bowl so it was possible all the young woman was doing was stirring the milk and sugar she had placed in it downstairs. It appears many of the servants had swallowed Anne Clark's stories for they were ready to claim that Mrs Ogilvy prevented anyone from seeing her husband even though this was patently untrue. Five people visited the Laird as he lay ill, including neighbours and a local minister.
Before that day – Thursday 6 June – had ended, Thomas Ogilvy of Eastmiln was dead. He died in pain. He died vomiting. He died convinced his wife had done for him.
The doctor finally arrived but hazarded no opinion as to what had killed the man. He did, however, talk with the new, already grieving, widow who asked him to ‘conceal from the world’ what he might think had been the cause of death. Patrick, meanwhile, had rushed to the house on hearing of his brother's illness and, on being challenged by Anne Clark over supplying the poison, said he did not think Katharine ‘had so barbarous a heart that she would use it.’
Despite her suspicions, Anne claimed she kept her own counsel, possibly out of familial loyalty but more likely because Katharine gave her some cash. Someone did, however, tell Alexander Ogilvy that his brother's death was far from natural. During the funeral, a week later on 11 June, he staged a dramatic entrance and brought the proceedings to a halt, demanding that investigations be made. This naturally upset Katharine, either because she was being prevented from laying her husband to rest or because, in fact, she had murdered him. Meanwhile a friend, knowing the rumours, advised Patrick to flee. Patrick, insisting he was innocent, opted to stay.
A post-mortem was organised for the following day but it never took place because, amazingly, none of the assigned doctors were present at the same time. Two doctors viewed the body together but they refused to open it without the third being present. The latter arrived late and then also refused to do any cutting because he feared that this might somehow endanger his own life! All three medical men, therefore, contented themselves with an external examination of the corpse.
Alexander, though, was not letting the grass grow under his feet. He lodged an official complaint, accusing Katharine and Patrick of murder. Then, after they were arrested and locked up in Forfar Gaol, he and his dear cousin, Anne, looted the estate. This was carried out by fraudulent means because, although he was locked up on charges of murder, Patrick was still the legal heir.
Alexander, being as honest as an Arctic winter day is long, forged a letter of authority and promptly sold all the estate's sheep and cattle at auction.
This mattered little to Patrick, though. Breaching the commandment ‘Thou shalt not kill’ was viewed seriously enough – unless it was broken in the name of religion or the state. But, in a society dominated by the Kirk, the commandment ‘Thou shalt not commit adultery’ was much more powerful – and he had committed more than that mortal sin with the comely Katharine. As she was his sister-in-law, he was also guilty of incest. Blood kin they were not but the law prohibited them from having any kind of relations with members of the wider family and the term ‘wider’ at the time was very wide indeed. In 1569, a man was hanged because he had had an affair with his uncle's girlfriend. While, in 1626, another was beheaded after he married the widow of his stepmother's brother. Clearly, then, the courts would take a dim view of any indiscretions committed by Katharine and Patrick.
They were moved from Forfar to Edinburgh's Tolbooth, the infamous Heart of Midlothian near St Giles’ Cathedral. Word of their alleged crimes preceded them and Katharine was met by an angry mob as she stepped ashore at Leith. They had expected to see a frightened young woman but, instead, they got a confident, vivacious young beauty, laughing with the sailors who ferried her across the Forth. This only inflamed the crowd's passions even more and they would probably have lynched her there and then had the authorities not managed to force her through the throng and on to Edinburgh.
In Scotland, until 1898, an accused person was prevented from giving evidence in court so pre-trial judicial examinations were viewed as all-important. In these declarations, the accused was able to present his or her side of the story – but heaven help them if what they claimed proved to be false in any way. Katharine's examination was simple: she didn't do it; the laudanum and salts were for her own use; she did not put anything untoward in her dead husband's tea; that, in fact, he did not finish it and the remainder was given to a servant, who was also feeling poorly that morning. There was some evidence to back up her story. Servants, suspicious of greasiness at the bottom of the bowl in question, had ‘tested’ it by feeding a dog some broth from it. The dog survived. The sickly servant admitted receiving tea from Katharine on the morning in question but did not believe it to be in the same bowl. As for Katharine's claim that she took the salts for medicinal purposes only, it was true she was in delicate health at the time, a fact that would become very important in the weeks to come.
But poor Patrick made the mistake of lying in his examination, claiming he did not obtain any substances for Katharine. Unfortunately for him, the doctor from whom he had bought them told a different story. The medical man confirmed he had given Patrick a quantity of laudanum and what may have been arsenic, although he could not swear to the exact nature of the latter substance. All he could say was that he had sold it to others and that it had been singularly effective in disposing of rats. But the damage had been done to Patrick's case. He tried to amend his examination but these things
were binding.
The trial began on Monday 5 August 1765 although evidence was not heard until the following Monday 12 August. Beginning at 7 a.m., the case would continue unchecked until a verdict was heard. Anne Clark, as the principal prosecution witness, had proved somewhat slippery so had been kept under lock and key in Edinburgh Castle. It seems she was happy to repeat everything to anyone but was backward in coming forward to tell the court under oath. Unfortunately, as Roughead tells us, she was kept in the same room as three of the servants, also prosecution witnesses. The temptation for the four women to discuss their evidence would have been too much and memories would no doubt have been embellished with the telling. Katharine had even dismissed one of these servants from the family's service for theft but this was not seen as a hurdle to giving evidence against the accused. Scottish prosecutors were willing to overlook any crime as long as the witness was saying what they wanted.
There were no scientific methods of detecting poison in those days so the opinion of doctors was all the courts had to go by regarding cause of death. The fact that there had not even been a post-mortem was not seen as a major problem. One doctor found that the deceased's nails were discoloured and his tongue was swollen and stuck to the roof of his mouth. The doctor admitted he had no experience of poisons but said that the victim's brother, Alexander, had suggested that it was death by poisoning and that seemed good enough for him. Another doctor also remarked on the discolouration of the lips but both men admitted they had also seen similar symptoms in natural deaths. The third medico spoke about blotches on the arms and legs but this was more likely to have been due to the body lying unburied for a number of days. The medical evidence, therefore, was inconclusive.
Although Anne and the servants were willing to swear Thomas Ogilvy had been a hale and hearty man, this was not the case. He had never been a strong man, it seems, and, prior to his death, he had been exhibiting signs of sickness – even before Katharine had received the laudanum and salts from Patrick. However, for some reason the court did not hear evidence concerning the dead man's ongoing state of health from his mother who could easily have clarified this particular point.
Most of the evidence was circumstantial. There was no scientific proof, no real eyewitness evidence. The Crown's star witness was a lady whose repute was not so much ill but dead and mouldering in the grave. Another, the sacked servant, had an axe to grind against Katharine. But Katharine herself had admitted asking Patrick to obtain the laudanum and salts – and it had been proved that Patrick had not only bought them but had lied about it in his judicial examination.
The trial itself was, by modern standards, little more than a farce. In total, thirty-three hours were spent hearing the prosecution's side but only three hearing the defence – the gentlemen of the jury were simply not interested in hearing this. Roughead stated it was common, during this case, for the jury to wander about the room and discuss matters with the prosecution witnesses and counsel. And food and drink were brought into the courtroom at will. This is not surprising considering that the hearing carried on from the Monday until Wednesday without any breaks – apart from those for calls of nature. The case began with three judges listening on the bench but, at some point during the middle of the proceedings, there was only one – his two colleagues were off discussing matters with some jury members and opposing counsel.
According to Roughead, the case also marked the first time that a judge in Scotland indulged in a spot of summing up. Until then it was customary for the final word on the matter to come from the accused's advocate but, in this case, one of the judges, Lord Kames, spoke to the jury, providing a summary of what had gone before. This was already done as a matter of course in sheriff courts but it would not be enshrined in law until 1783 for more serious cases. Courts kept few records and, by and large, the only official outline of the evidence was contained in the judges’ notes so a run-down of the evidence for and against was vital to the bleary-eyed jury. The problem was that Scottish justice could be notoriously onesided and the danger arose that a judge could favour the prosecution in his closing speech.
With all of this going on, it was not surprising that, at 4 p.m. on the Wednesday, the jury returned verdicts of guilty on both accused. The death sentence was duly announced, with Patrick consigned to go to the gallows on 25 September. But Katharine won herself a respite from dancing the hangman's jig – that delicate health for which she had needed the salts was in fact an advanced pregnancy. It is open to question who the father was but, by ‘pleading her belly’, she was able to put off her date with the rope until after the birth. But, as we shall see, other forces were at work to postpone that date indefinitely.
Despite attempts to show that the trial was far from fair, Patrick failed to have his sentence quashed or commuted. Three separate dates were set for his execution and each one was put off while friends and supporters tried new ways to expose the shambles of the Scottish court. During that time, he remained in his cell in the Tolbooth, honing his skills as a fiddler to pass the time. However, Scottish courts – even now – are loath to admit they were wrong and he was finally taken from the Tolbooth to the Grassmarket where the gallows stood. He spoke to the crowd, declaring in a clear voice that he was innocent of the crimes of which he had been convicted and that ‘no persuasion could ever have made me condescend to them’.
But his trials were not yet over. As he was turned from the gallows, the noose gave way and he fell to the ground. Justice, though, would not be denied. He was grabbed roughly by the hangman and others and forced back up on to the platform. This time the noose held and he dangled there until he was slowly throttled to death. A member of the Society of Tron-men, or chimney sweeps, was banished from the organisation for assisting in this incident and was sent to Leith for five years. It's unrecorded which of the punishments the Edinburgh man thought worse.
Meanwhile, Katharine reclined in her own cell, supping twice a day on ale, double rum, white wine and tea until her pregnancy ran to term. She was visited regularly by midwives, in particular a Mrs Shiells or Shields who, for some of the time, was apparently suffering severe toothache and had her head wrapped in a scarf. On 27 January 1766, the prisoner gave birth to a daughter. Two months later, in the strange way the law looks at things, the court debated whether the condemned woman was strong enough to have her death sentence completed. It was decided to put off the final judgement for a further seven days.
As it turned out, the decision was taken out of their hands. On Saturday 15 March, Katharine walked out of her Tolbooth cell and disappeared into the night. She was either dressed as a man or as Mrs Sheills, the toothache-suffering midwife with the scarf covering her face. Whatever the truth, it is almost certain that money changed hands. Katharine's uncle was the lawyer William Nairn, then Commissary Clerk of Edinburgh but later made Lord Dunsinnan and promoted to judge. It is believed he used his good offices – and part of his fortune – to oil the hinges of the escape by greasing the palms of the turnkeys.
Once free of the Tolbooth, Katharine hid in the cellar of her uncle's house until the coast was sufficiently clear for her to be spirited out of the city in the company of her uncle's loyal clerk. She was taken by carriage to Dover – this time, they say, disguised as an army officer, complete with cocked and plumed hat. The authorities offered two rewards of £100 each for her capture but these went unclaimed.
She left her infant daughter behind in the Tolbooth but the child did not remain there for long. She died in that foul place at two months old, apparently having been smothered – how or by whom is unknown. With Patrick hanged and Katharine a fugitive from justice, the way was now clear for the remaining brother, Alexander, to take possession of what was left of the Eastmiln estate. But things were not to work out as he had planned. He was arrested in March for bigamy and subsequently banished for seven years. However, before he was due to leave the country, he leaned too far out of an Edinburgh window and fell to his death. Of his erstwhile partner in
crime, Anne Clark, nothing much is known.
But what of the beautiful Katharine Nairn? After her escape from the Tolbooth, she slips into legend. They say she went to France and managed to survive the revolution of 1789 before travelling to America and giving birth to a large family. Another version has her continuing to kill in France although this does seem unlikely. Yet another holds that she married a Dutchman and lived a long and happy life. She may also have taken herself to a nunnery but eventually made her way to England where she died.
Did she murder Thomas Ogilvy? Given the paucity of evidence, it is difficult to say. Anne Clark's claims that Katharine told her of her unhappiness and her murderous plans must be taken with a full handful of snuff. Yet Katharine did ask Patrick to obtain the poisons, which he duly did, although it is probable he did not know to what purpose they might be put. The authorities would also point to her escape as an admission of guilt, as an attempt to flee justice. An attempt to flee it most certainly was but it could just as easily have been from an unjust conviction as a flight from guilt. At the time of her flight, she was still a young woman and to have had her life ended for a murder she did not commit – if there was a murder – would have been a crime. She left her newly born daughter in the Tolbooth but history does not record whether she did so with a cold or a heavy heart. It would certainly have been difficult to smuggle the child out – although, if the guards had been paid off as has been suggested, surely they would have turned a blind eye to the infant too. If the woman was a murderer, then the child was her youngest victim.
Deadlier Than the Male Page 7