The James Maybrick of young Florence’s memory was stern and formidable, but with flashes of tenderness for his children.
After breakfast Mr Maybrick would take his little boy and myself on each knee and talk to us. He would tease me to see what kind of pert answer I would give…
One day Mr Maybrick instructed Nurse Yapp to have the little boy and myself dressed unusually well, as he wished to have us in the parlour a while before dinner was announced… I don’t think I ever looked better in my life… we were taken down the beautiful stairway in the front hall by the upstairs housemaid. Mr Maybrick met us at the door of the hall leading to the front parlour. Taking me by the hand and walking me to the arch between the parlours he said: ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I want to introduce you to this charming little miss from the USA.’
While you would not term him a handsome man… he had a fine forehead, very pleasant intellectual face and an open, honest countenance. He had light, sandy coloured hair, grey eyes and a florid complexion. He had none of that blunt, abrupt manner, so characteristic of the English but was exceedingly cultured, polished and refined in his manners and was a superb host.
But there were two unfortunate features in his make-up. That was his morose, gloomy disposition and extremely high temper. He also imagined he was afflicated with every ailment to which ‘the flesh was heir.’
Yes, Mr Maybrick was an arsenic addict. He craved it like a narcotic fiend. He used it right in our home. He was always after the doctor to prescribe it and the druggist to make him up a tonic with arsenic in it. He said once to my mother, ‘They only give me enough to aggravate and worry me and make me always craving for more.’
He was always taking strychnine tablets and was great on beef broth and arsenic. My father once said, ‘Maybrick has got a dozen drug stores in his stomach.’
I have seen him angered on several occasions, and twice he was furious. I was the cause of his second outburst… His baby [Gladys] had a little bed with high railings all round… One morning the baby cried and I ran to the bed to try and get her out. I was tugging to get her over the railings but I became so exhausted I could not hang on to her any longer and let her go… If I had gotten her outside and she had fallen on the floor it might have broken her back…
The nurse came in and was mad. She seized me by the back of the neck, jerked me round and said: ‘If you do it again I will slap your jaws black and blue.’
As this scene was being enacted Mr Maybrick passed by the door… Mr Maybrick was furious… he said: ‘I saw you grab that child by the back of the neck — you might have broken her neck. This child is far from her father and mother, in my house under my protection and if I ever hear you talking to her in that way again I will kick you down the stairs and break every God damn bone in you.’
Though only a girl, Florence sensed something was amiss at Battlecrease House. ‘A current of mystery seemed to circulate all round which gave you an uncanny feeling, a feeling that something was going on that you could not understand. In the yard you would see the servants conversing in low suppressed tones. If anyone came up they would stop abruptly and disperse.’
The cast of characters at Battlecrease House included Mrs Briggs, who Florence recalled ‘was a woman near Mr Maybrick’s age, and my father was told she had been madly in love with him and had made a desperate effort to marry him. It is very evident he did not reciprocate.’ Florence also described Nurse Yapp as ‘a very efficient capable woman’ but also ‘a most deceitful and treacherous one’:
Both Mrs Briggs and Nurse Yapp despised and hated Mrs Maybrick and the most pathetic part about it was that Mrs Maybrick did not have the brain to realise their attitude towards her…
Mrs Briggs took all kind of authority around the place and with the servants. She would address Mr Maybrick as ‘James’. At the table I have heard her say things like this: ‘James, don’t you think a roof on the porch by the side of your den would be much better… James, I suggest you wear your heavy coat… James, a pork roast would be nice for dinner today.’ Not one time did she ever address Mrs Maybrick.
When Mr and Mrs Maybrick were gone she would go into every room in the house. Mr Maybrick’s bedroom and Mrs Maybrick’s bedroom. Only one room escaped her — that was Mr Maybrick’s den. He had a Yale lock on the door and it was never opened, only when he was there. It was never cleaned up. Only when he was there.
* * *
Among the regular callers and overnight visitors to Battlecrease House were Maybrick’s brothers Thomas and Edwin and, much less frequently, Michael. William, the eldest brother, although resident in Liverpool, apparently never came.
Michael was thought to be the brains of the family. According to Florence Aunspaugh, ‘he had a very pretentious estate which surpassed James’s in every way.’ He was unmarried in 1888 and was looked after by a housekeeper.
For a man who had already achieved something of star status, both as a singer and a composer, Michael is an enigma. Surprisingly little seems to be known about his professional or personal life; he is hardly ever mentioned in the diaries, and reminiscences of his many celebrated contemporaries are rare. Apart from his appearances at the London Ballad Concerts and on the concert stage, he was a member of the Constitutional Club and could be seen sporting the uniform of the Artists Rifles Volunteers, where his training would have included bayonet practice. He had enrolled in 1886 at the age of 45. According to the muster roll, the rest of the recruits that year were in their twenties. Was this why 45 year old Michael gave his age as 40 when he signed on?
He had also by this time achieved considerable status as a Freemason, where he was a member of the Athenaeum and St Andrew’s Lodges and founder and first Principal of the Orpheus Lodge for Musicians. He rose to the coveted level of 30 degrees rite. By 1889 he had reached the even greater position of organist to the Grand Lodge.
Musical historian Tony Miall says of Michael Maybrick: ‘He is one of the less attractive musical figures of the period. His endless pursuit of respectability and money is at variance with the image of an artist concerned with his art. One seeks in vain for any sympathetic bone in his body. His relations with his family and friends were more formal than warm. One suspects deeply that his relationship later with his wife was similar — all in all, a cold fish.’
Over the years since the Diary emerged, a number of people have pointed a finger at Michael Maybrick — there are even those who have felt that with his masonic connections and high society, even Royal, contacts, it was he and not James who stalked the streets of Whitechapel; that it was he who framed his brother and sister-in-law. There is no real evidence to support this intriguing idea but there can be no doubt that brother Michael’s role in the whole miserable Maybrick saga is murky and there is much still to learn.
The youngest brother, Edwin, was, according to the impressionable Florence, ‘one of the handsomest men I have ever seen.’ He was of medium height, fair, with a well-proportioned and finely formed figure. He had a beautiful singing voice, ‘even better than Michael’s’, but no opportunity to make the most of it. At 37 he too was unmarried.
The Diary refers repeatedly to Maybrick’s jealousy of Michael, whom he called ‘the sensible brother’.
Edwin’s daughter Amy acknowledged many years later that her father ‘would not do up his shoes without consulting Michael.’ But James was close to Edwin, with whom he worked and missed him greatly when he was away. It would not have been surprising if Florie had sought solace from her brother-in-law. Rumours about Florie’s feelings had been circulating for some time at the Cotton Exchange. There was even suspicion of an affair. The chit-chat among the servants after Maybrick’s death was that many love letters had been found from Edwin to Florie. John Aunspaugh told his daughter Florence that Michael had destroyed those letters. However, she recalled an incident told by her father that justified that suspicion.
The first indication my father had of anything amiss was the night of the formal dining. There were
twenty couples, which, of course, made a long table. The conversation was in groups. Mr Edwin was near Mrs James Maybrick and they were laughing and talking. My father glanced at Mr James and as he did he heard Mrs Maybrick say to Edwin, with a laugh, ‘if I had met you first things might have been different.’
It could have been a harmless joke. But Mr Maybrick took it at face value. He dropped his knife, clenched his fist and his face flushed the colour of fire. In a second he had recovered, picked up his knife and everything went off smoothly.
As Florence Aunspaugh and Bobo played by the pool and raced around the flowerbeds, a storm was about to break which would overwhelm them all.
* * *
Thus far is fact. What happened to the Maybricks next is also fact. But from now on those facts can be seen from a new perspective — that of the Diary. The Diary’s puzzling role in the story remains unsolved but our understanding of its significance has been increasing as new material comes to light. Perceptions are constantly changing. Some earlier beliefs have been discarded, others proved correct. In telling the story, I have looked at the historical events in Whitechapel, preceding James’ death and Florie’s trial, through the writings of the Diarist. This is, after all, the first time in over 100 years that there has been such a document. My aim has been to see how convincingly it explains the mystery of Jack the Ripper. There are still unanswered questions but for me the weight of evidence points to only one conclusion. The Diary was written by James Maybrick. Acceptance of this possibility clears away much of the confusion around the Whitechapel murders and makes possible a fresh interpretation of the tragic events of 1888/1889.
THERE ARE TIMES WHEN I FEEL AN OVERWHELMING COMPULSION TO PLACE MY THOUGHTS TO PAPER.
The Poste House in Cumberland Street near Liverpool Docks has hardly changed since 1888 when its lunchtime hot-pot was famous far and wide. Customers still crowd into the tiny, dimly lit bar, with a green ceiling and deep red walls closed in by a heavy drape of curtains. Prince Louis Napoleon drank here. So too, we understood at first from the Diary, did James Maybrick:
I took refreshment at the Poste House it was there I finally decided London it shall be. And why not, is it not an ideal location? Indeed do I not frequently visit the Capital and indeed do I not have legitimate reason for doing so. All who sell their dirty wares shall pay, of that I have no doubt. But shall I pay? I think not. I am too clever for that… The bitch and her whoring master will rue the day I saw them together.
Not far from the Poste House is the once-fashionable shopping centre of Whitechapel. In those days it was a far cry from its namesake in London. It was in this street in 1888 that the Diary records Maybrick sighting Florie with the man he believed to be her lover. Florie’s lover is never mentioned by name in the Diary — he becomes ‘the whoremaster’, and Florie is no longer ‘my darling Bunny’ but ‘the bitch’ or ‘the whore’.
It was not until some time after my first visit to the Poste House in June 1992 that I became fully aware of the conflicts and contradictions with which this Diary would present me. For here, in one short paragraph, were two statements — one, referring to the Poste House, was eventually to cast doubt on the authenticity of the Diary and the second, referring to Maybrick’s London connections, to support it dramatically!
During our visit to Liverpool we met Roger Wilkes, a BBC scriptwriter at the time, who had presented a programme on Michael Maybrick and generously gave us access to his research material. It was Roger who first threw a spanner in the works. ‘The Poste House was not called the Poste House in 1888,’ he said!
It is certainly correct that in 1888 the building now called the Poste House was affectionately known then as ‘The Muck Midden’. In 1882 it had been called ‘The Wrexham House’ but in brewery records of 1888/9 no name is mentioned; the names of A. H. Castrell and Walter Corlett are given as licensees.
We learned from the owners of The Poste House — Paramount in Chester — that they had bought the pub from Boddingtons, who had in turn bought it from Higsons. Higsons had acquired it from the Gartside and Gibson families. Tantalisingly in the 1848 Deed of Annuity between Richard and Betty Gibson and Abraham Gartside reference is made to ‘premises in Cumberland Street, formerly a ware-room and now a public house under the sign of……..’ Again the name is missing!
It was not until the 1960s that the decision was made to smarten up what had become a seedy establishment and to re-name it The Poste House.
In the first few weeks it seemed we may have hit a problem. We went on to explore the history of the Post Office, pubs and post houses to see if there was another solution. Was the Poste House somewhere else? We turned for help to a number of local historians, such as Gordon Wright of the Inn Sign Society and Dick Daglish who has specialised in the history of Liverpool pubs. I learned that post houses were simply places where mail was collected or delivered and were seldom signposted as such. The term could be applied to any number of pubs or coffee houses such as the George, the Red Lion or the White Hart. They were not, necessarily main coaching inns.
We learned too that the main Liverpool Post Office, probably opened first in Water Street in 1753, seemed to have frequently changed its location. In 1839, the year after Maybrick’s birth, ‘The Old Post Office’ was situated off Church Street round the corner from the family home.
“It is now quite an exhilarating game of hide and seek… to find its whereabouts’, wrote J. James Hewson in an article on the Liverpool post in 1899 — the year that the fifth main Post Office was opened finally. By 1904 the building known as the Muck Midden had become ‘The New Post Office Restaurant’.
There is a pub at the Church Alley/School Lane crossing which is today called the Old Post Office. Licensee George Duxbury told my publisher Robert Smith that the pub was part of the old Post Office buildings and goes back to at least 1840 when it was a busy coaching inn. The stables, of which some cobbles remain, open on to Hanover Street, the main thoroughfare down to the main Post Office. Behind the pub was a second Post Office — from which it took its name. The Old Post Office Inn is close to Central Station where Maybrick would have caught the train for Aigburth; it is also near Church Street and Whitechapel and could be a strong contender to be the Diary’s Poste House.
However, another idea was growing in my mind. Perhaps the Poste House was not in Liverpool at all — the Diary does not place it there. Amongst the papers which Roger had handed over to us was a list of the Maybrick files at the Public Record Office in Kew. These had recently been opened for general research after 100 years. A little time later Sally Evemy and I made our first visit to this vast building which houses many of the nation’s historical records — war records, shipping records, army careers, government papers, maps, time tables. We had ordered the ‘Maybrick boxes’, unsure what to expect, and these were eventually delivered on the ‘paternoster’ — a kind of escalator carrying documents from the vaults. Gingerly we looked inside at bundle after bundle of crisp, fragile papers and letters all tied in red tape and numbered. Very few people indeed had looked at this material before us. Who knew what we would find?
We were to return many, many times, always coming across new snippets of helpful information. On one of these occasions much later on, we spotted lurking among those papers a letter which had not seemed important in our original searches. It was sent by Gustavus A. Witt who was Maybrick’s colleague. This long letter, addressed to the Home Secretary, Sir Henry Matthews, in 1889 and which was never published makes an interesting statement:
4, Cullum Street
London E.C, August 29th 1889
Sir, Though you are no doubt more than tired of the unfortunate Maybrick affair permit me as one of the late Mr James Maybrick’s most intimate friends (he was my partner in Liverpool up to 1875 and continued to do my London firm’s business up to the time of his death)…
Another enigma! Did Witt mean that Maybrick did his business in Liverpool — or in London? Maybrick was still working for Witt at the
time of the Whitechapel murders. So our attentions turned to London. But despite hours of trawling through Post Office archives and street directories, looking for refreshment places and coffee houses that could have borne the name, we found nothing.
There is a spelling later in the Diary which intrigues me; the expression ‘post haste’ is mis-spelt ‘poste- haste’. ‘Haste post, haste’ was a well known instruction to the Victorian post boy and was written on any envelopes when urgency was required. The word ‘post’ did not have an e. Could that spelling ‘Poste House’ simply reflect Maybrick’s ignorance?
The Post(e) House file in my cabinet remains open — an unresolved puzzle at the heart of a now rapidly growing paper mountain of evidence. I have returned to my original idea that the Diary could possibly be right since there is no record of the Muck Midden’s official name.
Wherever the Poste House is located, the Diary is clear on what happened next. Undermined by his own failing health, his drug addiction and banishment from Florie’s bed, Maybrick was insanely jealous. It was without doubt the developing friendship with Brierley that sowed the seed for murder. Maybrick had the motive. He now needed the location.
I said Whitechapel it will be and Whitechapel it shall. Whitechapel Liverpool Whitechapel London, Ha Ha. No one could possibly place it together. And indeed for there is no reason for anyone to do so.
The Diary of Jack the Ripper - The Chilling Confessions of James Maybrick Page 9