Soon after Florie’s purchase, the housemaid, Bessie, was puzzled to find the washstand covered with a towel and peeping underneath she saw the soaking fly papers. Next morning they were in the wastepaper basket.
Also on April 24th, Maybrick went to Clay and Abraham with Dr Fuller’s prescription. His health continued to deteriorate rapidly. The same day, the much-missed Edwin returned from America.
My dear brother Edwin has returned. I wish I could tell him all.
The next day, four months after he had destroyed his Will, James made a new one. Or did he? The Will that exists in Somerset House, London, poses more questions than it answers. It is on flimsy paper and is written in a strong hand. The witnesses were Maybrick’s book-keeper George Smith and his great friend George Davidson. Neither mentioned the Will during the trial.
We know from Florie’s letter to her mother that in December 1888 Maybrick had torn up his original Will and threatened to write a new one. It seems surprising that he waited four months to do so. So could there have been an intermediate version? The Somerset House Will says:
In case I die before having made a regular proper Will in legal form I wish this to be taken as my last Will and testament.
I leave and bequeath all my wordly possessions of whatever kind or description, including furniture, pictures, wines, linen, plate, Life Insurances, Cash, Shares, property, in fact everything I possess, in trust with my Brothers Michael Maybrick and Thomas Maybrick, for my two children James Chandler Maybrick and Gladys Eveleyn [sic] Maybrick. The furniture I desire to remain intact and to be used in furnishing a home which can be shared by my widow and children but the furniture is to be the children’s. I further desire that all moneys be invested in the names of the above trustees (Michael and Thomas Maybrick) and the income of same used for the children’s benefit and education, such education to be left to the discretion of said trustees.
My widow will have for her portion of my estate the policies on my life, say £500 with the Scottish Widows Fund and £2,000 with the Mutual Reserve Fund Life Association of New York both Policies being made out in her name. The interest on this £2,500 together with the £125 a year which she receives from her New York property will make a provision of about £125 a year, a sum, although small, will yet be the means of keeping her respectably.
It is also my desire that my widow shall live under the same roof with the Children so long as she remains my widow. If it is legally possible, I wish the £2,500 of Life Insurance on my life in my wifes name to be invested in the names of the said Trustees, but that she should have the sole use of the interest thereof during her lifetime, but at her death the principal revert to my said Children James Chandler and Gladys Eveleyn [sic] Maybrick.
Witness my hand and seal this twenty fifth day of April 1889.
signed James Maybrick.
signed by the Testator in the presence of us who at his request in his presence and in the presence of each other have hereunto affixed our names as witnesses George R Davidson and George Smith.
Even at the time the Will became the focus of much speculation. MacDougall, in fighting form, went to see the Will in 1891 and was shocked by what he read. He wrote, in his book:
It is absolutely inconceivable that James Maybrick could have been in his sound senses when he signed that Will…. [which] makes over and for ever every single thing James Maybrick possessed…. to the absolute, unfettered control of Michael Maybrick and Thomas Maybrick. Not only that but it makes over the children… to be treated by them as they like… To be educated and brought up, the boy as a chimney sweep! the girl as a seamstress if they liked… There is no provision in this Will that any of the property should come to either of these children when they come of age, or ever!
Mrs Maybrick is to have neither bed nor blanket but he desires her to live in the ‘home’ which Michael and Thomas are to furnish and ‘under the same roof’ as his two children who are to be brought up and educated by Michael and Thomas Maybrick in any way they please! But this is not all! James Maybrick goes on in this Will to attempt to grab for these trustees even some life policies which belong to Mrs Maybrick herself… It is a Will which no court in any civilised country could have regarded as a Will made in his sound senses by any husband and father.
But the wording of the Will described by MacDougall is not the same as that in Somerset House. For instance, in the Will that is kept at Somerset House, Maybrick’s daughter’s name is incorrectly spelt as ‘Eveleyn’. In the MacDougall version it is not. Paul Feldman has listed ten other variations. MacDougall may have been inaccurate — rather unlikely since he was a lawyer — or he may have been looking at a different version. So what happened?
It is known that on the evening of May 10th, as Maybrick lay dying, Edwin and Michael came to the house with some papers to sign which Nurse Yapp, described as ‘knowing and seeing everything’, said were a Will. Yet he had, apparently, already written a Will on April 25th. Maybrick was heard calling out ‘Oh Lord, if I am to die why am I to be worried like this. Let me die properly.’
On May 12th, Mrs Briggs searched the house for the keys to the safe in which she believed the missing Will was kept. On May 18th Thomas Maybrick prepared the servants for dismissal as ‘the Will had left things very awkward’. The newspapers also referred to a ‘curious Will’. Then, at the inquest before Florie’s trial, Michael said that he would rather James’ Will was not produced in evidence. It wasn’t.
On July 29th, the newspapers reported that an Affidavit of Due Execution had been filed — implying that Maybrick’s Will had been rejected for probate. If MacDougall’s version of the Will is correct this would have been because there was a mistake in the wording of the attestation clause at the end. The words ‘in his presence’ should have been inserted after ‘at his request’.
Clive Dyal, record keeper at Somerset House, offered an explanation to Paul Feldman when he wrote to him on August 17th 1993. He suggested that one Will could have been rejected by probate and the trustees told that another must be found or the testator would die intestate. A second Will was then ‘found’ and with an affidavit of due execution filed at the Liverpool District Probate Office. After 50 years, only the proved Will would have been sent to Somerset House, the others, said Mr Dyall would have been destroyed.
So Paul Feldman argues that there were in fact three Wills. The first, written in December after the row with Florie was ‘in a large and shaky hand’ as seen by MacDougall in 1891. In January Maybrick took out a new insurance policy for £2,000 in favour of his wife. The second Will was drafted on April 25th in order to ‘redress the balance’ of that written in the heat of the moment around Christmas. The brothers, realising that this left everything to Florie, persuaded James, as he lay dying, to sign the one he had drafted at Christmas. But after his death this Will is rejected because there was a mistake in the attestation clause and so the brothers ‘find’ a third version — in which Gladys Evelyn’s name is mis-spelt and James’ main insurance policy for £3,000 is omitted. This, says Paul, is the Will at Somerset House.
When I first heard of Paul’s theories on the Will, I recalled a letter that I had received myself on June 9th 1993 — from Sue Iremonger. She wrote, ‘I cannot, however, get away from the fact that both James and Michael have incredibly similar writing. Even taking into account their parallel schooling, I would not have expected to find such a similar style and weight of strokes.’
But, as with so much of this extraordinary story, that is not the end of the matter. The horns have been locked. Melvin Harris, in many pages of detailed analysis, rejects the fact that MacDougall ever saw the Will, in spite of MacDougall specifically saying he went to Liverpool to see the original. Mr Harris claims that he copied it wrongly from newspaper accounts (which were themselves inaccurate). He sums up any attempt to suggest that there was skulduggery afoot on the night of May 11th and that the Somerset House Will was not written by Maybrick as ‘bluff and bluster’ on the part of Paul Feldman
.
The last word rests with Florie herself. In a petition to the authorities from prison she refers to the Will that ‘I should have contested on the ground that “unlawful pressure had been brought to bear on the testator.”’
11
I DO NOT KNOW IF SHE HAS THE STRENGTH TO KILL ME.
At 8.30 a.m. on April 26th 1889, a parcel from London was delivered to Battlecrease House. Mary Cadwallader accepted it and went straight upstairs to her master. It was the medicine that Maybrick had been expecting.
The following day he was ill. He told Mary that he had vomited and his legs were numb, adding that he must have taken an overdose of the substance that had arrived the day before. Despite his condition and the dismal weather, he was determined to go later that day to the Wirral races, a great social event.
He went to the office at about 10.30 and left at about 1.30 p.m. returning home for his horse. He then rode off in the drizzle.
By the time he had arrived at the racecourse he was wet and shaking. His friend, William Thomson, noticed that he had difficulty remaining in the saddle. Maybrick’s explanation was that he had taken a double dose of ‘medicine’ that morning.
Mrs Morden Rigg, the wife of Maybrick’s old friend from America, also noticed his condition. He gave her the same explanation but this time he added that the ‘medicine’ was strychnine.
Although his clothes were soaked through, Maybrick decided to dine with his friends the Hobsons after the races. By this time he was so ill he could not hold a glass and, after spilling his wine twice, he left, embarrased that his friends would think him drunk.
Next morning, Sunday April 28th, he was even worse. Florie asked the cook to prepare some mustard and water. ‘Master has taken another dose of that horrid medicine,’ she said. Dr Humphreys was summoned. When he arrived at Battlecrease House Florie told him she thought her husband’s illness was probably due to some bad brandy he had drunk at the races. Maybrick himself said his symptoms had worsened after he had had a strong cup of tea but added that he had suffered from a headache for more than a year.
The doctor asked Maybrick about the effects of strychnine and nux vomica on him. In complete contradiction of his previous admission to Mrs Rigg that he had taken strychnine he said, ‘I think I know a great deal of medicine. I cannot stand strychnine and nux vomica at all.’
Dr Humphreys recommended that he eat meat only once a day and that he take some beef tea thickened with Du Barry’s Revalenta. This favourite Victorian remedy was advertised as a cure for ‘indigestion, flatulency, dyspepsia, phlegm, constipation, all nervous bilious and liver complaints, dysentry, diarrhoea, acidity, palpitation, heartburn, haemorrhoids, headaches, debility, despondency, cramps, spasms, nausea, sinking fits, coughs, asthma and bronchitis, consumption and also children’s complaints’! In other words the perfect medicine for a hypochondriac.
About this time, Maybrick also commissioned his portrait in oils from a rising young Liverpudlian artist, J.T. Steadman, on the grounds that he might not live long. The Pall Mall Gazette later claimed that he had requested a ‘Pictorial record of his bodily existence.’ Sadly that picture, like so much else, has vanished without trace.
On Sunday Edwin came for lunch and during the day massaged James’ legs and stayed overnight. On Monday James wrote an astonishing letter to Michael, giving yet another version of events and hinting that Maybrick knew his end was near. Strangely, the letter was not produced at Florie’s trial but a clerk made a copy and this survives. Michael’s name has been crossed out and ‘Blucher’ substituted by the solicitor William Swift, who acted for the prosecution. A margin note in his handwriting explains that Blucher is Maybrick’s pet name for his brother. Blucher was a kind of lace-up boot and was also the name of a Prussian general who fought against Napoleon at Waterloo; Michael was known to be anti-German so this is no doubt another ‘little joke’.
Liverpool April 29th
My Dear Michael [deleted] Blucher
I have been very seedy indeed. On Saturday morning I found my legs getting stiff and useless but by sheer strength of will shook off the feeling and went down on horseback to Wirral Races and dined with the Hobsons. Yesterday morning I felt more like dying than living so much so that Florie called in another Doctor who said it was an acute attack of indigestion and gave me something to relieve the alarming symptoms, so all went on well until about 8 o’clock I went to bed and had lain there an hour by myself and was reading on my back. Many times I felt a twitching but took little notice of it thinking it would pass away but instead of doing so I got worse and worse and in trying to move round to ring the bell I found I could not do so but finally managed it but by the time Florie and Edwin could get upstairs I was stiff and for two mortal hours my legs were like bars of iron stretched out to the fullest extent but as rigid as steel. The Doctor came finally again but could not make it indigestion this time and the conclusion he came to was that the nux vomica I had been taking under Dr Fuller had poisoned me as all the symptoms warranted such a conclusion I know I am today sore from head to foot and played out completely.
What is the matter with me none of the Doctors so far can make out and I suppose never will until I am stretched out and cold and then future generations may profit by it if they hold a post mortem which I am quite willing they should do.
I don’t think I shall come up to London this week as I don’t feel much like travelling and cannot go on with Fuller’s physic yet a while but I shall come up and see him again shortly. Edwin does not join you just yet but he will write you himself. I suppose you go to your country quarters on Wednesday…
With love
Your affectionate brother Jim.
I have not seen Dickinson yet.
Meanwhile Florie wrote to her mother in France as though all was well.
We are asked to a bal masque which, being given in Liverpool and the people provincials, I hardly think likely to be a success. A certain amount of ‘diablerie’, wit and life is always required at an entertainment of this sort: and as it will be quite a novel innovation people will hardly know what is expected of them. However, we are expected to come ‘in dominoes and masks’ and I should like to know how the former is made and if the latter are not procurable in gauze instead of ‘papier mache.’
Naturally Florie wanted to look her best for the ball, however ‘provincial’ her fellow guests! That day, April 29th, she went to Hanson’s the chemist and bought some cosmetic tincture of benzoin and elderflowers. She also made another purchase which she was to regret for the rest of her life: more fly papers.
The next day Maybrick felt a little better and returned to work. The cook prepared some Revalenta and, since Edwin was staying at the house, Florie asked him to take the medicine to the office in Tithebarn Street for her husband’s lunch. Thomas Lowry, the young clerk, left the office to buy a saucepan in which to heat up the mixture.
Edwin escorted Florie to the ball that night, presumably because James did not feel up to it. The following day, May 1st, Captain Irving of the White Star Line met the two brothers at the office. While they were talking he recalled, in a later affidavit, Maybrick pulled out a small packet, the contents of which he emptied into a glass of water. Captain Irving noticed him take two doses in 15 minutes. ‘Everybody knew Jim was always taking some medicine or other’. When the Captain returned with them to Battlecrease House, Maybrick was unable to sit at the table. Captain Irving subsequently met Edwin in town and asked him ‘What on earth is the matter with Jim?’
‘He is killing himself with that damned strychnine,’ said Edwin.
When a newspaper later printed Captain Irving’s account of these events, Edwin categorically denied everything. ‘Statement absolutely and entirely untrue in every respect,’ he said in a telegram to the press. ‘Never saw my brother use any white powder in wine or otherwise in my life.’ And at Florie’s trial, Edwin claimed that he had no knowledge of his brother’s drug habit.
On Thursday May 2nd, Maybrick
again took his lunch to the office but returned home feeling ill. The diary records:
I no longer take the dreaded stuff for fear I will harm my dear Bunny, worse still the children.
If what he wrote was true — if Maybrick had indeed stopped taking drugs — a sudden withdrawal would have been almost unbearable. In 1885, Chambers Journal of Popular Literature, Science and Art reported on a conference that included the topic of arsenic eating.
When a man has once begun to indulge in it he must continue to indulge or, as it is popularly expressed, the last dose kills him.
Indeed, the arsenic eater must not only continue his indulgence, he must also increase the quantity of the drug, so that it is extraordinarily difficult to stop the habit for, as the sudden cessation causes death, the gradual cessation produces such a terrible heart gnawing that it may probably be said that no genuine arsenic eater ever ceased to eat arsenic while life lasted.
From the last entries in the diary, until his death, Maybrick would have been in agony. And indeed, it is in these entries that he expresses remorse and begs for release from the torment of living.
The Diary of Jack the Ripper - The Chilling Confessions of James Maybrick Page 18