The word ‘again’ is crucial. Every book on the Maybricks refers to this illness; none suggests Gladys was recurrently unwell. But buried deep among those thrilling Maybrick boxes at Kew was a letter from Margaret Baillie, a friend of the Baroness. It was written in April 1889 and said ‘I am sorry that your little girl has been unwell again.’ The letter is referred to by Levy — but he copies it incorrectly and drops the word ‘again’.
There is no other source for the information that Gladys was repeatedly sick.
While Dr Humphreys was at Battlecrease House he asked Florie about her husband’s health. She told him of her fears about his use of drugs, just as she had told Dr Hopper the previous summer. She said he was now taking a white powder she thought was strychnine and asked what was likely to be the result. The doctor said that it could kill him and then with uncanny foresight added, ‘If he should ever die suddenly, call me and I can say you have had some conversation about it.’
It was as though he knew the danger Florie was in.
For his part, Maybrick paid a visit to Dr Drysdale that month. He said that, although he was never free of headaches, he had been feeling better since his last visit in December. His tongue was furred however and he was still feeling a creeping numbness in his left arm and hand.
Florie wrote to Michael in London telling him of her anxiety about the white powder her husband was taking. She said that he was very irritable and complained of pains in the head. She said that Maybrick did not know she had discovered his drug addiction or that she had written to Michael.
Michael destroyed that letter but not before he questioned his brother about its contents, provoking an angry response, which he recalled at Florie’s trial. His anger is recorded.
The bitch has written all
tonight she Will fall.
During the winter the Maybricks had somehow made new friends — Charles Samuelson, a tobacco factor and his vivacious young wife Christina. The two couples stayed at the Palace Hotel, Birkdale, near Southport for a break. Alfred Brierley was also there!
On the last night of their stay, a game of whist ended in a temperamental flare-up by Christina, who ran off shouting ‘I hate you’ to her husband. There were tears and, to her credit, Florie tried to smooth things over. ‘You must not take any serious note of that’ she reassured Charles. ‘I often say “I hate you” to Jim.’
A few months later at the inquest into Maybrick’s death, she told a different story and a somewhat more incriminating version of the incident. ‘I had a conversation with Mrs Maybrick,’ she said, ‘and she told me she hated her husband.’
Some time in mid-March, Maybrick travelled to London to stay with his brother. According to Bernard Ryan in The Poisoned Life of Mrs Maybrick this was when Florie and Alf Brierley hatched their plot. On her husband’s return Florie announced that she too wished to travel to the capital, to stay with a sick Aunt. Maybrick apparently bought her a new fur wrap for the visit, while confiding his true feelings to the Diary.
I shall buy the whore something for her visit. Will give the bitch the impression I consider it her duty to visit her aunt… what a joke, let the bitch believe I have no knowledge of her whoring affairs.
Storms and floods were buffeting Liverpool when, on March 16th, Florie sent a telegram to the manager of the Flatman Hotel in Henrietta Street, London. She booked a two-room suite for ‘Mr and Mrs Thomas Maybrick of Manchester’ for one week. We don’t know why she used her brother-in-law’s name. It was seemingly stupid. When the hotel failed to confirm the reservation she wrote again, this time with a special request for a menu of soup, sole, duckling and green peas, new potatoes, cheese, celery and dessert, on arrival. The choice of the hotel itself was provocative for it was a meeting place of cotton men from Liverpool. She informed the hotel that she would be arriving first and her husband the following day. The manager accordingly arranged for bedroom nine and the adjoining sitting room sixteen to be at her disposal from Thursday March 21st.
At about the same time Florie wrote to her childhood friend, John Baillie Knight, in Holland Park, London, telling him that she was in a great deal of trouble and would like to meet him for dinner. She gave no explanation.
Florie left Battlecrease House and arrived at Flatman’s at around 1 p.m. At about 6.30 p.m. John Baillie Knight called to see her and they stayed chatting in her sitting room. She explained that she had come to London to arrange a separation from her husband. She could no longer cope with his keeping a woman, she said, adding that he was cruel and hit her.
Baillie Knight agreed that a separation was best and suggested she see the solicitors, Markby, Stewart and Company, and then go to join her mother in Paris. John and Florie went to dine at the Grand Hotel and on to the theatre, returning at about 11.30 p.m.
The next day Brierley arrived. He installed himself in Florie’s suite and stayed there until 1 p.m. on Sunday when they both left, abruptly, settling the bill of £2.13s.
‘He piqued my vanity and resisted my efforts to please him,’ Florie said afterwards. ‘Before we parted he gave me to understand he cared for someone else and could not marry me and that rather than face the disgrace of discovery he would blow his brains out. I then had such a revulsion of feeling I said we must end our intimacy at once.’
Brierley himself told the New York Herald, after her trial, ‘We parted in London as if we were never to meet again… it was distinctly understood we were not to correspond.’
That understanding was soon forgotten — by them both.
Before leaving the capital, Florie did go to see Mr Markby, and with his help wrote a letter to her husband, asking for a separation and suggesting she remain at Battlecrease House with a yearly allowance. There is no record of whether that letter was received or even posted.
From March 24th–28th, Florie stayed with the Misses Baillie and on Wednesday March 27th, she dined with Michael. It had been a busy week for him. On the Monday he had been responsible for organising and performing in a star-studded gala concert, attended by the Prince and Princess of Wales, at the opening of his regiment’s new headquarters in Euston Road. Next day, Thursday, Florie returned to Liverpool, to face the music.
So, ignominiously, ended her sadly inept escapade.
* * *
Florie had been a theatrical child. Friends recalled that she found the boundaries between fantasy and truth sometimes hard to define. She was about to find real life infused with more drama than she could have ever dreamed possible.
Liverpool’s Cotton Exchange was already buzzing with rumours. Its members raised an eyebrow or two and it was suggested that if Maybrick were to learn of Florie’s affair with Brierley he would ‘fill him full of lead’.
The day after her return — March 29th, the day of the Grand National — things came to a head. It was a splendid event, attended by the Prince of Wales, to mark the 50th anniversary of the race. Brierley, of all people, had once again joined the Maybricks’ charabanc party to Aintree. Maybrick was still playing the voyeur.
the bitch gave me the greatest pleasure of all. Did not the whore see her whore master in front of all, true the race was the fastest I have seen, but the thrill of seeing the whore with the bastard thrilled me more so than knowing his Royal Highness was but a few feet away from yours truly ha ha what a laugh, if the greedy bastard would have known he was less than a few feet away from the name all England was talking about he would have died there and then. Regret I could not tell the foolish fool. To hell with sovereignty, to hell with all whores, to hell with the bitch who rules,
That particular National, won by Frigate, was the fastest on record — information that has been confirmed after a great deal of probing in the race archives and local papers. Once again an obscure but accurate detail makes nonsense of the crude modern forgery theory.
Despite their declared intention never to meet again, Florie and Brierley were photographed arm in arm when they went to see the Royal party. These photographs were apparently dis
played in the window of Woollright’s store during Florie’s trial but have since been lost.
Maybrick was outraged and did not hide his anger. Florie was furious at her husband’s outburst and left the races boasting to Christina Samuelson that when they got home she would ‘give it to him hot and heavy’. But that night it was Maybrick the servants heard shouting, ‘Such a scandal will be all over town tomorrow’.
What scandal? Was it Florie’s indiscretion at the races or had the letter arrived from Markby’s regarding the proposed separation?
A terrible scene followed. ‘It began in the bedroom,’ said Mary Cadwallader. ‘Mr Maybrick told the maid, Bessie, to send his wife away. She came downstairs into the hall to go to the cab; he followed her and raved and stamped like a madman — waving his pocket handkerchief over his head. The button holes of Mrs Maybrick’s dress were torn with the way he had pulled her about. She had on a fur cape; he told her to take it off as she was not to go away with that on. He had bought it for her to wear in London.
‘I went up to the master and said: “Oh master, please don’t go on like this, the neighbours will hear you.’” He answered: “Leave me alone, you don’t know anything about it.” I said: “Don’t send the mistress away tonight. Where can she go? Let her stay till morning.” Then he shouted: “By heavens, Florie, if you cross this doorstep you shall never enter it again.” He became so exhausted he fell across an oak settle and went quite stiff. I did not know if he was drunk or in a fit. I sent the cab away and we got Mrs Maybrick upstairs and Mr Maybrick spent all night in the dining room.’
Next morning Florie had a black eye. She went to see Matilda Briggs to ask her advice and help in arranging a separation. They went together to see Dr Hopper. Florie confided to him that she had been up all night, her husband had beaten her and she was on her way to a solicitor. She also told him that she could not bear for her husband to come near her.
Good family doctor that he was, Dr Hopper decided to attempt to mend matters and went up to Battlecrease House later the same day. He saw Maybrick and Florie, who seemed calmer and more ready to resolve their respective differences. Florie repeated that she could not bear sleeping with her husband and did not want any more children. Despite this, it seems that Maybrick agreed to pay his wife’s debts. They appeared to want to forgive and forget, so Dr Hopper left in the sincere, if naive, belief that he had effected a complete reconciliation.
* * *
Matilda Briggs joined the household the following day and there was another almighty row. The servants heard Florie shouting that she never invited anyone to the house without consulting him, so why should he do such a thing to her? There was a great deal of quarrelling and shouting and when, at 6 p.m., Mary Cadwallader took a cup of tea up to Florie, she found her lying on the sofa in a faint.
The maid rushed down to fetch Maybrick and Mrs Briggs and together they ran upstairs. In yet another curious change of mood Maybrick knelt by his wife saying, ‘Bunny, Bunny, here’s your hubby.’
There was no response and for a while the servants thought Florie was dead.
It was another disturbed night. Mrs Briggs, half undressed, and wearing a dressing gown of Florie’s that was far too small for her, kept disappearing into the kitchen for beer. She said she needed something ‘to keep her up’.
This time, Dr Humphreys was sent for to see Florie. Confronted by the unseemly spectacle of the staggering, dishevelled Mrs Briggs, he demanded to know, ‘Who is this woman?’ That night the unfortunate doctor was recalled to Battlecrease House five times.
Florie remained in bed for nearly a week, during which time she confided to Elizabeth Humphreys that she and Maybrick also had money problems. She said that she was in debt and her husband’s income was not enough to support them. But she still did not reveal the full story.
Maybrick also had a word with the servants. He told Mary Cadwallader not to take letters up to Florie until he had seen them. ‘Your mistress sees all my letters,’ he explained, ‘there is no reason why I should not see hers.’ On recovering, Florie contrived yet another meeting with Brierley, this time in Liverpool on April 6th. She told him that Maybrick had beaten her and dragged her around the room.
After that she wrote Brierley two more letters, apparently on the advice of Dr Hopper, telling him that she was reconciled with her husband.
Amazed, he tore the letters up.
On Saturday, April 13th, Maybrick went down to London. According to the Diary this visit was, in part, to settle Florie’s debts. But the memory of that last aborted mutilation haunted him. He felt ready to strike yet again.
Once more the bitch is in debt, my God I will cut her… I will visit the city of whores I will pay her dues and I shall take mine, by God I will. I will rip rip rip…
The other reason for visiting London was to see Michael’s own physician Dr Fuller, who examined him for an hour when he called at Michael’s chambers on the Sunday. Maybrick complained of pains in his head and numbness. He said he was afraid of being paralysed. Dr Fuller decided there was little wrong and prescribed a nerve tonic and liver pills.
The following Saturday, Maybrick was back in London yet again. He went to Dr Fuller for a second consultation and acknowledged that he was much better. His prescription was slightly altered, the liver pills being replaced by lozenges. Whatever Dr Fuller said during those visits had a curious and dramatic effect. The handwriting in the Diary immediately becomes more controlled, the thoughts calmer and there are no further plans for murder. The thoughts now turn inward and begin to dwell on Maybrick’s own death.
Fuller believes there is very little the matter with me. Strange, the thoughts he placed into my mind. I could not strike, I believe I am mad, completely mad. I try to fight my thoughts I walk the streets until dawn. I could not find it in my heart to strike, visions of my dear Bunny overwhelm me. I still love her, but how I hate her. She has destroyed all and yet my heart aches for her, oh how it aches. I do not know which pain is the worse my body or my mind.
At last the idea dawns that he should throw his knife into the river which flowed only a few hundred yards from Battlecrease House.
The killing days were over.
I shall return to Battlecrease with the knowledge that I can no longer continue my campaign. ‘Tis love that spurred me on so, ‘tis love that shall put an end to it.
On that Sunday, Florie wrote to her husband in London. The apparent about-face is typically theatrical.
My own darling hubby!
…I have had a terrible night of it — and try as hard as I will to be brave and courageous because Jim thinks I may yet be of comfort to him and the children my physical weakness overcomes what remains of my mental strength. I have not sufficient self-respect left to lift me above the depth of disgrace to which I have fallen, for now that I am down I can judge better how very far above me others must be morally. I despair of ever reaching that standard again although I may recover some of your confidence by living a life of atonement for yours and the children’s sakes alone. Nothing you can say can make me look at my actions but in the most degrading light and the more you impress the enormity of my crimes upon me the more hopeless I feel of ever regaining my position. I feel as though for the future I must be… a perpetual reminder of… trouble and that nothing can efface the past from your memory.
Please darling put me out of my pain as soon as you can. I have deceived and nearly ruined you but since you wish me to live tell me the worst at once — and let it be over… Darling, try and be as lenient towards me as you can for notwithstanding all your generous and tender loving kindess my burden is almost more than I can bear, my remorse and self-contempt is eating my heart out and if I did not believe my love for you and my dutifulness may prove some slight atonement for the past I should give up the struggle to keep brave! Forgive me if you can dearest and think less poorly of
your loving wifesy
Bunny.
The children are well. I have been nowhere and se
en no one.
This, from a woman who had recently told her doctor she could not bear to sleep with her husband and who ten days later addressed Brierley in a letter as ‘dearest’. Was she truly contrite? Or could it have been, most naturally of all, that she feared she was pregnant after the Flatman escapade and needed to protect her future by once again sharing a bed with her husband?
* * *
Between April 15th and 25th, Florie walked to Wokes the chemist on the corner of Aigburth and Beechwood Roads and bought a dozen fly papers. She said her kitchen was troubled by flies and asked the errand boy to deliver them to the house.
In July 1997, I was contacted by Mrs Gill Wokes, granddaughter-in-law of Arthur Siminson Wokes, who supplied Florie with those fly papers. She was researching the family tree. She told me that old Mr Wokes had two sons — one of whom, Arthur, known as Sam, was living with her when he died in 1993 at the age of 90. Sam Wokes was a prolific writer and hoarder of scraps of paper. A chemist himself, he had given lectures about the family business and its connections with the Maybricks. According to Mrs Wokes, Sam had talked a lot to her about his father’s belief in Florie’s innocence and his own suspicion that the Maybricks — maybe Michael — were linked to the Ripper case! She assured me that these conversations took place before the publication of my book in 1993.
Most importantly, she sent me a copy of a scrap of paper she had found amongst Sam’s possessions. In Sam’s handwriting at the top (and written before publication of my book in 1993) are the words ‘James Maybrick died May 11 1888.’ He has the date wrong but beneath follows an excerpt from a book by Melvin Harris on Jack the Ripper published in 1989. It is a bizarre coincidence that the name of the Ripper should be associated in this way by a man whose family was so closely linked to the Maybricks. Ironic too that the author he has noted is Melvin Harris, the most vociferous critic of the Diary!
The Diary of Jack the Ripper - The Chilling Confessions of James Maybrick Page 17