by Emily Organ
“And the reason you have given for your concern is detailed in the report I have here in front of me, is it?”
“That’s correct, Your Honour.”
“And what leads you to believe that the prisoner is of unsound mind?”
“She is a woman of twenty-seven years of age, yet her mind is that of a young girl’s,” replied Dr Sherman. “I was able to converse with Miss Chadwick during my visits to the House of Detention, and I discovered that her view of the world is a very simple one. Though there is no denying that she possesses some intelligence, as she is able to both read and write.”
I noticed Maggie giving Sally an encouraging smile.
“However, her nature is extremely trusting,” continued the doctor. “And I would suggest that she lacks the capacity to judge the intentions and motives of others. To that end, I would call her suggestible. She seems keen to please and is easily intimidated by others. She lacks the ability to assert herself. Although she is in possession of some intelligence, I believe she is incapable of planning the poisoning of three men over a four-year period without assistance from someone else.”
James watched Dr Sherman closely as he spoke.
“In addition to this, I don’t believe the prisoner harbours malice toward anyone,” continued the doctor. “In my view she probably poisoned those men because she was told to do so by another individual.”
“Yet she denies that any other individual is involved,” said Mr Parnell.
“I realise that, Your Honour, and I suspect this denial is borne out of two things. Firstly, a fear of the individual she is protecting, and secondly, a strong need to please that individual.”
“You believe the prisoner would rather risk a sentence of death than name the individual who has coerced her?”
“Yes, I believe so. To the ordinary mind it sounds absurd, of course, but I should add that the prisoner is unable to fully comprehend the danger she has placed herself in by confessing to these crimes. I believe she is unable to understand the true implications of her actions. She has merely done what she was instructed to do by this other person.”
The chief magistrate sighed. “You seem extremely convinced that there is another person involved, Dr Sherman. Do you share this hypothesis, Inspector Blakely?”
“While I respect Doctor Sherman’s opinion, and am willing to believe that another person may be involved, I am yet to find any evidence to support the notion, Your Honour.”
My eyes shifted to Sergeant Richards. This was his opportunity to admit that the wrong woman had been arrested in Kent, and that the real Catherine Curran was still at large. My heart pounded as I watched him, and I felt my teeth clench with frustration as I realised that he intended to remain silent.
“This lack of evidence is proving problematic, isn’t it, Inspector Blakely?” said Mr Parnell. “There is no evidence to suggest that the prisoner murdered Inspector Martin, and no evidence to confirm that anyone else was involved in the three murders to which the prisoner has confessed.”
He paused to have another whispered conversation with his fellow magistrates.
James surveyed the courtroom while they spoke, and we caught each other’s eye. I smiled, and he nodded in return. He didn’t look particularly well, and although I was pleased that Dr Sherman had turned up I felt sorry that James had only received news of the report while he was standing in front of the magistrates.
The magistrates finished their conversation and looked up. Then Mr Parnell cleared his throat and prepared to address the court.
“We are agreed that the work of the police on this case has not been particularly thorough,” he said. “Although the prisoner has confessed to her crimes, many unanswered questions remain. I refer to the deaths of Inspector Martin and Mr Benjamin Taylor, both of whom died in circumstances similar to the prisoner’s victims. In the case of the latter, whose death occurred while the prisoner was already being detained, the crime may either have been perpetrated by someone imitating the infamous crimes or by the unnamed individual to whom Dr Sherman refers.”
I looked over at Sergeant Richards again, hoping that he would clarify the situation regarding Catherine Curran. He remained silent and I muttered a curse beneath my breath. James probably had no idea that the wrong woman was being held in Bermondsey.
I wanted to cry out and tell the magistrates what was really happening. Instead, I had to bite my tongue and watch as Mr Parnell issued James and Sergeant Richards with a sharp rebuke.
“It is possible that this case is more complex than we have considered,” said Mr Parnell. “For that reason I shall once again recommend a delay in referring it to the Central Criminal Court. May I urge you, Inspector Blakely, and all your colleagues in the Metropolitan Police, to establish, as a matter of urgency, whether or not a second person may have been involved in the three murders to which the prisoner has confessed. I would also ask you to consider whether this unknown person might have been involved in the two other fatal poisonings, as it seems wholly unlikely to me that they are not connected to this case.”
“Of course, Your Honour,” replied James. “It’s something we have considered, and we—”
“Having to adjourn proceedings due to police incompetence is something which grieves me enormously,” interrupted Mr Parnell. “It is both unnecessary and inconvenient.”
James said nothing further, but I noticed his jaw clench.
Dr Sherman stepped forward again. “Your Honour, I wish to request that the prisoner is not returned to the House of Detention, but that she is housed in an asylum instead.”
“We require the opinion of two physicians to confirm that the prisoner is of unsound mind,” replied Mr Parnell. “The prisoner will return to the House of Detention for the next seven days, during which time I will request that she is visited by another physician who will provide a second opinion. We will reconvene here on Wednesday the seventeenth of September to hear from the second physician. This timeframe will also allow the police to prove whether a second culprit is involved or not. No more time-wasting please, gentlemen.”
Chapter 43
“James!” I caught up with him as soon as he left the police court.
“Penny,” he said with a smile, but his eyes were dark.
“Are you fully recovered?” I asked.
“Almost. It’s been an unpleasant few days but I’m back on my feet, as you can see. I think Charlotte harboured the notion that I would stay in bed until our wedding day, but there was little chance of that!” He took out his handkerchief and wiped his brow. “What an embarrassing scene in that courtroom!” he said. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt so humiliated before. Where did Dr Sherman come from? Are you sure he’s not your editor in another guise?”
“They are twin brothers.”
“That explains it! I’ve just had a brief conversation with him, but he had to dash off back to St George’s. I was trying to tell Mr Parnell we had arrested Catherine Curran when he rudely interrupted me! Some of these magistrates don’t give you a chance. They have no idea how much work is involved in a case like this. He accused us of incompetence, and I suppose I have to agree with him. We looked completely incompetent in there today. I’ve only been absent for a short while and the case has already gone to the dogs. Richards!” he barked.
“Yes, sir?” Sergeant Richards tentatively stepped toward us.
“What’s been happening over the past few days?”
“Erm… I thought Inspector Wallis would be here to help us.”
“He’s not here, though, is he?”
I turned to face Sergeant Richards. “Why didn’t you tell the magistrates you have been holding the wrong woman?” I asked.
“Because we haven’t yet confirmed whether it’s her or not,” he replied.
“What’s this?” asked James.
I told him about the mistaken identity of the woman in the cell.
“Good grief!” he said when I had finished. “Why didn’t you tell m
e this, Richards?”
“You were unwell, sir.”
“Yes, I was,” said James through gritted teeth. “And what an enormous inconvenience it has been.”
“There was no opportunity to tell you before the hearing this morning,” said the sergeant. “In fact, I didn’t realise you would be attending.”
“Neither did I until three hours ago,” said James. “The decision was made at the final moment.”
The thunderous expression on his face made me wonder whether he had argued with Charlotte about his return to work that morning.
“It doesn’t help when physicians compile reports about our prisoners without telling us,” ventured Sergeant Richards.
“But he did tell us, didn’t he? We just hadn’t found the time to read the report. And given that the doctor is the twin brother of the Morning Express’ former editor, I think I know who the concerned member of the public might be.” He gave me a reproachful look.
“Yes, it was me,” I admitted.
James gave me an exasperated smile. “It would have been helpful if you’d told me.”
“I didn’t realise Dr Sherman had visited her until yesterday, and I would have told you, but you were—”
“Unwell. Yes.”
“Did you receive my telegram?”
“Which telegram?”
“The one I sent you yesterday.”
His face clouded. “No, I didn’t see it.”
“Did Charlotte tell you that I called for you on Monday?”
“Yes, she did mention that.”
“I would have liked to have told you everything that was going on, but—”
“Let’s leave all that for now,” interrupted James. “We have plenty to be getting on with. Let’s go back to the station, Richards, and get as many men working on this as possible. We need to find out who that woman in the cells is, and more importantly we need to find Catherine Curran. I’ll get over to L Division and engender their help. This case has been stalled for long enough. We will not be made fools of again!”
Chapter 44
Catherine Curran is wanted in Bermondsey and Lambeth on suspicion of causing the deaths of four men by administering to each a fatal dose of arsenic. She is about thirty years of age and five feet four inches in height. She is slim-built with a fresh complexion, dark eyes and fair hair. She wears rings on her fingers and was last seen on the seventeenth of August dressed in a black dress, shawl and bonnet. She may also be known by the names: Jane Vincent, Jane Taylor, Catherine Peel and Catherine Burrell.
“I thought she had already been arrested,” said Mr Childers.
“It was a case of mistaken identity,” I replied.
“And she has murdered four men?”
“We think so, although there is also believed to be a fifth victim: Inspector Martin. She may not have poisoned him herself, but she might have instructed Sally Chadwick to do so.”
“And Chadwick is the woman who has confessed?”
“That’s right. She has admitted to three of the murders, but we suspect that she was coerced. The physician who examined her is certain of it.”
“I can’t say that I would ever let anyone coerce me into murdering someone,” said Edgar.
“That’s because you are of sound mind,” I replied.
Potter emitted a peal of laughter. “That half-wit has a sound mind, does he?”
“Watch yourself, Potter, or I’ll be tipping arsenic into your tea next,” retorted Edgar.
“I’m sure they’ll catch the woman responsible very soon,” said Mr Childers. “In the meantime, Miss Green, have a read of this and summarise it for tomorrow’s edition.”
He handed me a bound volume which declared itself to be the Annual Report of St Mary Abbot’s, Kensington.
“It’s an interesting read,” he continued. “The population of the Kensington Borough has reached one hundred and sixty-eight thousand, which is about the same as the total population of Bristol.”
“Must this be summarised for tomorrow’s edition?” I asked. “Can it not wait until next week?”
“No, Miss Green, it cannot.”
“But the Bermondsey poisoner case has reached a crucial stage. Everyone is out searching for Catherine Curran, and they may catch her at any moment!”
“You may report on it if and when they do catch her, but other things are going on in this city as well, you know.”
“Such as the publication of annual reports?”
“Exactly.”
He had failed to recognise the note of sarcasm in my voice.
I thought I heard the voice of Mr Conway beyond the newsroom door. Mr Childers glanced over at it, as if he had also heard his uncle speak.
Then he turned back to face me. “Once you’ve completed Kensington I’d like you to précis a similar report on Fulham. It’s the type of work you can do here at the typewriter. You’ll be relieved to hear that there will be no further need for you to go gallivanting about London.”
“But that’s what proper news reporting is,” I retorted.
“What do you mean?”
“Getting out and about. Gallivanting as you so condescendingly put it.”
“I was not being condescending.”
“I beg to differ, sir. The tone of your voice implied an accusation of flippancy about the manner in which I conduct my work. One of the biggest murder cases of the decade is ongoing and you wish me to remain at my desk summarising annual reports?”
“They contain facts and figures that would interest our readers greatly.”
“I think our readers would be more interested to find out whether a prolific murderess has been apprehended or not.”
“I find the public’s appetite for murder stories quite tiresome.”
“This is not just a story, sir. It’s happening in south London. And five men have already lost their lives!”
“Tragic indeed. But there is only so much reporting one can do on these incidents before it becomes overly sensationalised.”
“There’s nothing wrong with a little sensation, sir,” said Edgar. “It’s what sells newspapers.”
“Once again, I beg to differ.”
“I know you do, and that’s why our circulation figures have dropped by fifteen percent since you took the helm,” Edgar continued.
A sneer began to spread across Mr Childers’ face. “How dare you speak to your editor in such a manner, Mr Fish!”
“I’m merely stating a fact,” said Edgar.
“Circulation figures are prone to fluctuation. You know that as well as I do.”
“Fluctuation implies that something goes up as well as down, but in this case our circulation is only going down, sir.”
“Why, you impertinent—”
We were interrupted by the newsroom door opening, and in strode the large frame of Mr Conway.
“Oh, there you are, Childers,” he puffed. “I’ve just been looking for you in your office.”
The proprietor was accompanied by the person he had presumably been speaking to in the corridor.
Entering the room just behind him, the second man allowed the door to slam behind him.
It was Mr Sherman.
Edgar and Frederick stood to their feet and greeted him with grins on their faces.
Mr Childers raised his eyebrows.
“How are you, Mr Sherman?” asked Edgar. “We’ve missed you!”
“I can’t understand why, Fish. It’s only been seventeen days.”
“Is that all, sir? It seems much, much longer.”
I had never seen Edgar so pleased to encounter Mr Sherman.
“The purpose of my visit here today,” puffed Mr Conway, “is to inform you all that this gentleman here,” he pointed at Mr Sherman, “was, this morning at Marlborough Street police court, cleared of all charges levelled against him.”
“That’s wonderful news!” I exclaimed, clapping with excitement.
Edgar and Frederick strode over to Mr Sherman and sho
ok his hand. He nodded, embarrassed by all the attention.
Mr Childers said nothing.
“Now then, let it not be forgotten that whenever mud is thrown it has a tendency to stick,” continued Mr Conway in a loud voice as if he were addressing a large audience. “Some of our detractors will no doubt continue to believe that Mr Sherman is guilty of a serious offence. I care nothing for what they think. In my view this fine gentleman has been cleared of all wrongdoing in a court of law, so I therefore declare that this sorry business is completely behind us.”
Mr Childers’ lower lip began to protrude. “But Uncle…” he said tentatively.
“Thank you for all your help, boy,” wheezed Mr Conway, patting him on the shoulder.
I was unable to suppress a smile at the proprietor’s use of the word boy.
“You stepped in when it was needed, and I’m quite sure the staff at the West London Mercury will be pleased to have you back with them again.”
I felt a warm flood of relief in my chest to hear that the Morning Express offices could finally return to normal.
Mr Childers glanced at each of us in turn. “I see. My return to the Mercury is immediate, is it?”
“Why not, Crispin? Today is as good as any other day.”
“Well, it’s been a pleasure working here,” he said, giving each of us a nod.
“Don’t forget your report,” I said, handing it back to him. “It’s probably quite interesting if you live in west London. I would say that it is of less interest to readers in the rest of the metropolis.”
His lip rose in a sneer and everyone remained silent as he left the room.
“Cheerio, Mr Childers!” called Edgar as the door closed behind him.
Mr Conway sighed. “The boy’s mother will no doubt be calling round this evening to box my ears. I’d better pre-empt the event with a telegram. I’ll leave you in charge here, Sherman. Good to have you back. That lawyer’s a fine chap, isn’t he? Money well spent, I’d say.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Mr Sherman shook his head as Mr Conway left the room. “We’ve lost a lot of readers in just two weeks. We need to get them back again. You all know what to do, so let’s get moving. Miss Green, go and find out what the hapless police are doing about the Bermondsey poisoner. Henry told me about the hotchpotch in court yesterday.”