by Emily Organ
“She certainly should hang for it!” added Florence Burrell, who had also joined us, spots of rain covering her headscarf and spectacle lenses. “She’s confessed to three murders. Three!”
“She may not have known exactly what she was doing,” I said defensively.
“What are you talking about?” Florence responded angrily. “She’s poisoned four men! And using such a cold method of murder. No argument or anger; instead, she calmly planned it all and stood back to let them die!”
“It is horrible,” I agreed. “And it is certainly not the work of a sane mind.”
“What makes yer say that?” asked William.
“Because she seems to be such a simple, ordinary girl,” I replied. “I just cannot imagine her plotting to do something like this.”
“You don’t even know ’er!” said William. I noticed his right hand had clenched into a fist.
“No, I don’t,” I replied as calmly as I could. “And I’m not saying that she didn’t do it. I’m simply saying that I don’t think she can be fully in control of her actions.”
“She knew what she was doing all right,” said Florence. “My brother was taken from us because of her! At least she’s going to prison now, I’m pleased about that. I shall write my family and tell them. They’ll be happy to hear it.”
“What about Catherine?” I asked her. “Do you think she could have been partially responsible?”
“Catherine can’t have had nothing do with it.”
“Then why has she run away?”
Florence shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe she feared everyone would blame her.”
“Mebbe she’s upset,” suggested William. “Mebbe she weren’t in control of ’er actions neither. She weren’t ’erself when John got taken sick. Wouldn’t even let me in the ’ouse! It must ’ave been too much for her after seein’ the other ones dyin’ an’ all.”
“Sally propositioned my brother,” said Florence “and she’s killed him because he turned her down. She must have propositioned your brother as well,” she said to William.
“’E never mentioned nuffink, but she mighta done,” replied William.
“Well, I think she must have done it. I reckon she must have tried it on with all of Catherine’s husbands and each of them has turned her away. That’s why she’s poisoned them,” said Florence.
“We may never know for sure,” said James. “She has confessed to these crimes, but we shall have to wait and see whether she decides to give us any further information about her motives for committing them.”
“From the sounds of it I reckon it’s gotta be summink ter do wiv Caffrine. She was jealous of ’er,” said William. “She wanted to do summink to hurt ’er. She’s tried ter take ’er ’usbands away, and then she’s poisoned ’em. I was feelin’ angry wiv Caffrine, but now I know what Sally’s done I feels sorry for ’er. Caffrine needs ter be found and brought back ’ere just so she knows as no one blames ’er and so’s she can see justice bein’ done down the Old Bailey.”
“Catherine’s first husband claimed that she had tried to poison him as well,” I said.
My comment was met with a pause as William and Florence considered this new piece of information.
“He must have heard about the other murders and decided to make a tall tale out of it,” said Florence. “If he was telling the truth he’d have said something at the time.”
“He says that he didn’t fully realise it at the time. He joked about it but hadn’t completely accepted the idea until he read the recent reports in the newspapers.”
“There you ’ave it!” said William. “He’s read the papers and they’ve put ideas in ’is ’ead.”
“When was this?” asked Florence.
“A little over six years ago.”
“Long enough ago so as nuffink can be proved now,” added William.
“You have a point,” said James. “We have nothing to prove that the man is telling the truth.”
“And nothing to disprove it either,” I added. “Perhaps it might be worth interviewing his family and friends, James, and finding out what they can remember about the incident. He was in the courtroom this morning.” I glanced around to see if I could spot him among the people still gathered outside the court.
“There he is,” I said, pointing him out to William and Florence. Benjamin Taylor was smoking a clay pipe and speaking to one of the police constables.
“I’ll suggest to M Division that they attempt to verify his claims somehow,” said James. “But they probably won’t make it a priority at the moment. Most pressing of all is ensuring that we have enough evidence to charge Miss Chadwick with the murder of Inspector Martin.” James checked his watch. “I must get down to The Five Bells now. The inquest into John Curran’s death resumes today. Are you coming along, Mr Curran?”
“I surely am.” His dark eyes remained on Benjamin Taylor.
“I need to start writing my article about Sally’s court appearance,” I said. “I shall see you soon, James. Goodbye, Mr Curran. Farewell, Miss Burrell.”
Chapter 27
“Thank you, Miss Green, but there was no need for you to bring me anything. I’m not an invalid.”
Mr Sherman placed the box of Rowntree’s Chocolate Cream Cigars on his writing desk. His face looked thinner than usual and there was a hint of grey at his temples that I had never noticed before. A pipe was lodged in his mouth and he wore a paisley smoking jacket made from velvet. We sat in his study, which was decorated with crimson wallpaper and looked as untidy as his office at the Morning Express.
“Sherry?” he asked, picking up the decanter from his desk.
I nodded. “Thank you.”
“East India, of course,” he said as he filled a glass and passed it to me.
I took a sip and it immediately warmed my throat.
Mr Sherman inhaled deeply on his pipe, sat back in his chair and blew out a cloud of smoke.
“Why are you here?” he asked. “I said I didn’t want any visitors. I thought I’d made that abundantly clear to Fish.”
“I’ve come to ask you something.”
“I don’t know why. I’m no use to anyone at the moment. I hear Conway’s brought Childers in.” Sherman smiled. “That boy is a waste of space.”
“He’s hopeless,” I said, “and we all want you to come back as soon as possible.”
“Is that so? I can’t imagine Fish and Potter are clamouring for my return.”
“Of course they are!”
“You misunderstand the situation, Miss Green. Now that they have learnt something more of my character they will no longer care to have me there.”
“You might be surprised, sir.”
“I doubt it.” Sherman smiled again. “How’s the case of the Bermondsey poisoner progressing? I read that there has been a confession.”
“There has, although I’m not sure the supposed culprit has committed the crimes.”
Sherman laughed. “You are never simply content to report on a story, are you, Miss Green? You must always question every incident and decision. It must take up an enormous amount of your time and energy. How do you manage to fit in anything else?”
“I do very little else, sir,” I replied. “And who will hold the real culprits to account if I don’t investigate these matters properly?”
“It’s a fair point. Not many people have the tenacity to pursue stories in the way that you do. You’re like a bloodhound. You don’t look like one, I should add, but you remind me of one in every other way.”
I smiled. “I’ll take that as a compliment, sir.”
“Please do. Now you should probably be getting back to work. I’ve already told you that I don’t want any visitors.”
I drained my sherry and remained in my chair.
“Sir, I should like to ask you a favour.”
“A favour? From a man with a criminal charge hanging over his head?”
“You’re not a criminal, Mr Sheridan.”
“In the eyes of the law and the church I am.”
“You have not been found guilty of any crime.”
“Not yet I haven’t. What’s the favour?”
“I believe the woman who has confessed to these poisonings—”
“The Bermondsey poisoner, you mean?”
“She hasn’t been found guilty of any crime yet, so I would hesitate to refer to her in that way.”
“But she has confessed.”
“Yes, but I don’t think she is of sound mind. I cannot understand why she has confessed. The suggested motive for her crimes makes little sense to me. Besides, she doesn’t seem the type to commit such a calculating act. She is currently being held at the House of Detention, and you know the sort of criminals they hold there. I cannot imagine how awful it must be for her!”
“She has poisoned three men, and most likely a police inspector as well.”
“But has she really? And even if she has, surely some sympathy should be shown to her on account of her feeble mind.”
“You consider her a lunatic?”
“I believe she may be. And if she’s hanged as a result of her lunacy that would be a terrible injustice.”
“She should be sent to an asylum.”
“That would be a fairer punishment than hanging.”
“Has she been seen by a physician?”
“I don’t think she has so far. There was no physician present at the police court and she has no legal representation whatsoever. I’m quite worried for her.”
“And you would like a physician to visit her... That’s why you’re here?”
“Yes, I wondered if you could—?”
“Ask my brother?”
“Yes please, Mr Sherman. Could you?”
Mr Sherman sighed. “I can try. I should add that my recent arrest has come as quite a shock to my family. I’m not sure how amenable he’ll be.”
“But this isn’t about you; it’s about a young woman with a fragile mind who has been caught up in the legal system.”
“Hasn’t your friend Inspector Blakely shown her any compassion?”
“He realises she’s vulnerable; however, Inspector Martin was a good friend of his and James is extremely upset about his death. I’m certain that he will form a more balanced view of the case in due course.”
“He shouldn’t be investigating his friend’s death.”
“I agree with you, sir, and I plan to tell him that when he is a little more recovered.”
“I’ll speak to Henry. She’s at the House of Detention in Clerkenwell, you say?”
“Yes. Her name is Sally Chadwick.”
“I recall it now from your reports. I can’t promise that he will be able to help, but I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you, sir. I hope to see you back at the office soon.”
“I doubt that very much, Miss Green. Mr Conway’s found me a lawyer, who he assures me is the best in London. He must be costing a pretty penny too, but I don’t think he’s ever had to defend a charge like this before.”
Chapter 28
“I stand by what I’ve said, Miss Green. She was poisonin’ me. I ain’t never felt that bad afore and I ain’t never felt that bad since. I ain’t the sort to get sick, an’ that was the last time!”
“I believe you, Mr Taylor, and that’s why I should like to interview you for the Morning Express newspaper. I think it’s important that people have a chance to hear what has happened to you. It’s possible that she may have poisoned someone else, and if that someone was to read your story he or she might also come forward.”
“That’s what’s made me go ter the police! I saw it in the papers meself. Only no one seems ter believe me.”
We had agreed to meet at The Royal Vauxhall Tavern in Lambeth. It was gloomy inside, with only a few gaslights burning. The smell of stale beer and tobacco smoke lingered in the air. I had last visited the tavern with James while investigating the death of a young maid named Elizabeth Wiggins.
“I’m afraid the timing of all this is most unfortunate, Mr Taylor,” I said. “A Bermondsey police officer has been murdered and the investigation into his death has left little time to look into your case. And because your poisoning occurred six years ago it is rather difficult to collect any evidence that might help to support your words.”
“But it’s the truth, I’m tellin’ yer!”
“You don’t have to convince me, Mr Taylor, I believe you. That’s why I wish to write about what happened. But you must surely agree that it would be rather difficult for the police to find any evidence of poisoning in your case after all this time.”
“Yep, I ’ear yer.” He sighed and took a long slurp from his mug of beer.
“Did you ever find the poison she was using?”
“Nope, I didn’t find nuffink.”
“Apparently, Sally Chadwick extracted arsenic from some fly papers. Were there any fly papers in the home you shared with Catherine?”
“Jane, yer mean.”
“Sorry, Jane.”
“Yeah, there must’ve been. Most ’omes have ’em, don’t they?”
“Did she purchase a large amount of them?”
“I dunno.”
“You didn’t come across fly papers being soaked in water at all?”
He gave a hollow laugh. “Is that ’ow you get the poison out, then? Nope, I never seen that.”
“Did you ever see her pouring what appeared to be water into bottles? Or see bottles stored on a shelf or in a cupboard and wonder what was in them?”
Benjamin gave this some thought. “I remember bottles, but anyfink could ’ave been in ’em. Syrup and medicines an’ that sorta thing.”
“And you believe she put the poison in your food?”
“She must’ve done. Can’t think ’ow else she mighta done it.”
“In your drink perhaps?”
“Yep, I reckon she could’ve put it in me drinks.”
“What do you like to drink?”
“Beer. Whiskey.”
“Sally Chadwick claims to have poisoned the other three men by putting arsenic into their beer.”
“Maybe Jane done that an’ all. You’re tellin’ me the two women done it the same way?”
“I suspect Jane, whom I know as Catherine Curran, had something to do with the murders of her other husbands. Can you think of anyone who might have witnessed Catherine, I mean Jane, doing anything suspicious like this?”
“The neighbours, mebbe. But that were six or seven years ago. We lived in Lollard Street back then, but folk move in an’ out all the time.”
“Do you remember anyone else who lived there at the same time as you?”
“Can’t fink of no one.”
I sighed. It was proving difficult to find any evidence to back up this particular case.
“Did you see a doctor when you were ill?”
“Yep.”
“Can you remember his name?”
Benjamin took another long sip of beer as he gave this some thought. I prayed he would come up with a name so I had someone with whom I could follow up his story.
“Doctor Townley.” A grin spread across his face. “Dunno ’ow I’ve remembered that. I just do!”
“Do you remember his first name?”
“Nope, jus’ Townley. An’ ’e was on Lambeth Walk.”
“And he treated you while you were ill?”
“Yep, ’e come and seen me, ’e did.”
“More than once?”
“A few times, I reckon.”
“You’re asking me about a man I treated six years ago?”
Dr Townley was a grey-haired man with a large nose and a wide, bushy moustache. I had been relieved to discover that he still occupied the rooms on Lambeth Walk.
“I don’t expect you to recall him specifically, but I was hoping you might have kept a record of the treatment you provided.”
Dr Townley sighed. “Miss Woburn!” he called toward the door of his office, whic
h stood ajar.
A silver-haired lady in a dark blouse and skirt peered through the gap.
“Bring in the diary for ’78, would you please?”
The secretary nodded and disappeared for a short while before returning with a large, leather-bound volume. She placed it on his desk.
“Very good. Thank you, Miss Woburn. Now then, Miss Green, what was the chap’s name again?”
“Benjamin Taylor.”
He began to leaf through the diary. “And what month would it have been?”
“Oh, I’m not entirely sure.” I paused to consult my notebook, in which I had recorded all the relevant dates. “Here we are. His wife married again in November 1878, so it must have occurred a little before then.”
“Did I hear you correctly? His wife remarried?”
“He asked her to leave, so she married someone else.”
“Bigamy, eh? Was she prosecuted for that?”
“No.”
“Interesting. So, before November 1878, you say? That gives me ten months to search through.”
“I should think it more likely that he saw you earlier in the year. If his wife was ready to marry someone else by November she must presumably have met him by the summer at least.”
Dr Townley gave me a bemused nod. “Possibly, but what if there was some overlap between the two?”
“I don’t know enough to say either way, I’m afraid.”
Dr Townley sighed again and began to look through the January entries, examining the appointments recorded there in a small, slanting hand. “Benjamin Taylor… Where did he live?”
I consulted my notebook again. “Lollard Street.”
“I know it well. What symptoms did he present with?”
“Vomiting, and most likely diarrhoea as well. His symptoms would have been quite severe, I imagine. You apparently told him he was lucky to be alive.”
“Did I indeed?” The doctor reached the end of January and began to skim through February. “He must have been taken quite unwell in that case.”
I prayed that something would jog the doctor’s memory or that he would come across the notes he had written about Benjamin’s illness.