by Sam Gafford
“Have you any reasonable doubt that this is your daughter?”
The man’s lips quivered. “No, I have not. I know nothing about her acquaintances, or what she had been doing for a living. I had no idea she was over here in this part of the town.”
He paused briefly. “She has had five children, the eldest being twenty-one years old and the youngest eight or nine years. One of them lives with me, and the other four are with their father.”
“Has she ever lived with anybody since she left her husband?” asked the coroner.
“I believe she was once stopping with a man in York Street, Walworth. His name was Drew, and he was a smith by trade. He is living there now, I believe. The parish of Lambeth summoned her husband for the upkeep of the children, but the summons was dismissed, as it was proved that she was then living with another man. I don’t know who that man was.”
The coroner looked confused but pushed on. “Was she ever in the workhouse?”
“Yes, sir; Lambeth Workhouse, in April last. She went from there to a situation at Wandsworth.” That must have been the place whence she had written the letter to her father.
A member of the jury asked where Polly’s husband lived. I did not realise that the jury was allowed to ask questions.
Polly’s father turned and answered, “The husband resides at Coburg Road, Old Kent Road. I don’t know if he knows of her death.”
Mr. Baxter seemed to have lost interest in Polly’s father and finished with: “Is there anything you know of likely to throw any light upon this affair?”
The man looked amazed that anyone would ask him such a question. “No; I don’t think she had any enemies, she was too good for that.” A surprising answer. He appeared to feel genuinely sorry for his daughter despite what she might have done.
The coroner instructed Polly’s father to step down and moved to another chair at the side of the room. I could hear the nervous scratching of the reporter’s pencils as they tried to write everything down.
“Arthur,” I whispered, “are there usually this many people at these things?”
“No,” he responded, “this is very unusual. This case is already getting an inordinate amount of attention from several quarters.” I knew he was referring to the events at the morgue and the appearance of Dr. Gull. Had Polly been mixed up in something evil beyond mere prostitution?
Next up was policeman John Neil, whose testimony I was very interested to hear. The coroner had him state his name and rank and give a brief summary of what he had witnessed.
“Yesterday morning I was proceeding down Buck’s Row, Whitechapel, going towards Brady Street. There was not a soul about. I had been round there half an hour previously, and I saw no one then. I was on the right-hand side of the street when I noticed a figure lying in the street. It was dark at the time, though there was a street lamp shining at the end of the row. I went across and found the deceased lying outside a gateway, her head towards the east. The gateway was closed. It was about nine or ten feet high and led to some stables. There were houses from the gateway eastward, and the School Board school occupies the westward. On the opposite side of the road is Essex Wharf.
“Deceased was lying lengthways along the street, her left hand touching the gate. I examined the body by the aid of my lamp and noticed blood oozing from a wound in the throat. She was lying on her back, with her clothes disarranged. I felt her arm, which was quite warm from the joints upwards. Her eyes were wide open. Her bonnet was off and lying at her side, close to the left hand. I heard a constable passing Brady Street, so I called him. I did not whistle. I said to him, ‘Run at once for Dr. Llewellyn,’ and, seeing another constable in Baker’s Row, I sent him for the ambulance.
“The doctor arrived in a very short time. I had, in the meantime, rung the bell at Essex Wharf and asked if any disturbance had been heard. The reply was ‘No.’ Sergeant Kirby came after. The doctor looked at the woman and then said, ‘Move her to the mortuary. She is dead, and I will make a further examination of her.’ We placed her on the ambulance and moved her there. Inspector Spratley came to the mortuary and, while taking a description of the deceased, turned up her clothes and found that she was disemboweled.”
A number of the spectators gasped at this.
“This had not been noticed by any of them before. On the body was found a piece of comb and a bit of looking-glass. No money was found, but an unmarked white handkerchief was found in her pocket.”
The coroner took a moment to absorb the information. “Did you notice any blood where she was found?”
P.C. Neil straightened himself. “There was a pool of blood just where her neck was lying. It was running from the wound in her neck.”
“Did you hear any noise that night?”
“No; I heard nothing. The farthest I had been that night was just through the Whitechapel Road and up Baker’s Row. I was never far away from the spot.”
Mr. Baxter looked confused. “Whitechapel Road is busy in the early morning, I believe. Could anybody have escaped that way?”
“Oh, yes, sir. I saw a number of women in the main road going home. At that time anyone could have got away.”
There was some grumbling from the gallery. Clearly, the coroner was trying to find out how the murderer had escaped without being seen.
The coroner had another thought. “Someone searched the ground, I believe?”
“Yes; I examined it while the doctor was being sent for.”
Another policeman spoke up. “If I may, Mr. Baxter?”
“Yes, Inspector Spratley?”
“I examined the road, sir, in daylight. There was no evidence that any cart had passed through.”
A juryman asked P.C. Neil, “Did you see a trap in the road at all?”
P.C. Neil looked insulted, as if he had already answered that question. “No.”
Another juryman spoke up. “Knowing that the body was warm, did it not strike you that it might just have been placed there, and that the woman was killed elsewhere?”
Exasperated, P.C. Neil answered, “I examined the road, but did not see the mark of any wheels. The first to arrive on the scene after I had discovered the body were two men who work at a slaughterhouse opposite. They said they knew nothing of the affair, and that they had not heard any screams.”
“Very well, Officer Neil, thank you for your testimony. You may stand down now,” the coroner said.
When the coroner called Dr. Llewellyn, Arthur and I both looked at each other. I wondered what he was going to say.
Llewellyn took the stand and began to read from a small notebook. He didn’t stop until he was done and never took his eyes off the book.
“On Friday morning, I was called to Buck’s Row about four o’clock. The constable told me what I was wanted for. On reaching Buck’s Row I found the deceased woman lying flat on her back in the pathway, her legs extended. I found she was dead, and that she had severe injuries to her throat. Her hands and wrists were cold, but the body and lower extremities were warm. I examined her chest and felt the heart. It was dark at the time. I believe she had not been dead more than half an hour. I am quite certain that the injuries to her neck were not self-inflicted.
“There was very little blood round the neck. There were no marks of any struggle or of blood, as if the body had been dragged. I told the police to take her to the mortuary, and I would make another examination. About an hour later I was sent for by the Inspector to see the injuries he had discovered on the body. I went, and saw that the abdomen was cut very extensively. I have this morning made a post-mortem examination of the body. I found it to be that of a female about forty or forty-five years old. Five of the teeth are missing, and there is a slight laceration of the tongue. On the right side of the face there is a bruise running along the lower part of the jaw. It might have been caused by a blow with the fist or pressure by the thumb. On the left side of the face there was a circular bruise, which also might have been done by the pressure of the fingers. On
the left side of the neck, about an inch below the jaw, there was an incision about four inches long and running from a point immediately below the ear. An inch below on the same side, and commencing about an inch in front of it, was a circular incision terminating at a point about three inches below the right jaw. This incision completely severed all the tissues down to the vertebrae. The large vessels of the neck on both sides were severed. The incision is about eight inches long.
“These cuts must have been caused with a long-bladed knife, moderately sharp, and used with great violence. No blood at all was found on the breast either of the body or clothes. There were no injuries about the body till just about the lower part of the abdomen. Two or three inches from the left side was a wound running in a jagged manner. It was a very deep wound, and the tissues were cut through. There were several incisions running across the abdomen. On the right side there were also three or four similar cuts running downwards. All these had been caused by a knife, which had been used violently and been used downwards. All the injuries had been done by the same instrument.”
Just as quickly as he had begun, Dr. Llewellyn was finished. He closed his notebook and was already getting up from the chair when Mr. Baxter said, “Thank you, Dr. Llewellyn. At this time I am adjourning the inquest until September third. We will reconvene at that time. That is all.”
I stared at Arthur. I couldn’t believe that it was over already and that the coroner had not asked Llewellyn one single question. It seemed that Baxter was more interested in blackening the character of the victim rather than in determining how and who killed her.
“Arthur,” I whispered, “is this normal?”
“Yes and no,” he replied. “Inquests are sometimes adjourned until further evidence is found or other witnesses are located. But it is not normal for Baxter to rush Llewellyn through his testimony and not bother to ask any questions. Come along, I need to talk to someone.”
I followed Arthur as he made his way forward through the thinning crowds. I noticed that Llewellyn had already left the building. As we struggled through the mob, I was jostled rather harshly by another man intent upon leaving. I turned to mumble my apologies and saw that my assailant was none other than the man I had seen with Sir William Gull the previous morning in the mortuary. “My pardon,” I said, “I did not mean to bump into you.”
He glared at me and simply said, “You should try harder to keep your feet, and your wits, about you, sir, for your own safety.” Then he walked away.
I turned to point the scoundrel out to Arthur, but he was already walking up to a small group of three men talking in the corner. They were smartly dressed, if not expensively. The one who seemed to be doing most of the talking was a bit shorter than the others and was wearing a bowler hat.
“Freddy!” Arthur cried, and the man with the hat turned towards him. At first his face broke into a half-smile; but then, remembering where he was, he became stern and stoic.
“Upon my soul,” he said, shaking Arthur’s hand, “Arthur Machen! What the devil are you doing here?”
“Oh, you know me, Fred, always looking for new experiences to write about.”
“I’m surprised you’re not one of those newspaper johnnies by now.”
Arthur grimaced. “I can think of no worse fate than to be condemned to a life of slavery to a newspaper. Fred, might I have a moment of your time?”
“Personal or professional?”
“Professional.”
“I see. Hang on a moment.” He turned to his two companions. “Thick, I want you to go back to the station and finish writing up the witness statements. I want to go over all of them again tonight.” One of the men nodded and left. The other one waited for his orders. He was a good-looking fellow with a serious air about him. “George,” the man in the bowler said, “go and grab Llewellyn, will you? Tell him I’ll be by in a moment for a talk with ‘His Majesty.’”
“Very good, Inspector, I’ll get my hands on him.”
“Better hurry, he’s probably halfway down his hole by now.”
He turned back to us and let his smile break out a bit. “Now then, Arthur, what can I do for you?”
“First, let me introduce my good friend here, Mr. Albert Besame. Albert, this is Inspector Frederick Abberline of Scotland Yard.”
We shook hands, but I could see that Abberline was getting impatient.
“A pleasure to meet you, sir,” Abberline said, “but Arthur, I am somewhat busy at the moment.”
“Then perhaps you can tell me why an inspector from Scotland Yard’s C.O. Division is investigating the murder of a poor, forgotten prostitute.”
Abberline grinned. “I am serving yet another penance, my dear boy.”
“Ah,” Arthur replied, “and who have your angered this time?”
Abberline laughed. “Better to ask who haven’t I angered. I may have told Anderson that he was a hideous toad who couldn’t solve the theft of his own pencil. That might have something to do with it.”
Both of them laughed, and I could not help but feel amused myself even though I had no idea who or what they were talking about.
“But,” Abberline continued, “it was given to me that I was to take this case because of my familiarity with Whitechapel and my outstanding abilities as an inspector.”
“There are some good detectives still in Whitechapel, Fred. Why bring you back here after you worked so hard to leave the East End?”
“No one ever really leaves the East End, Arthur; you carry it with you. And you cut me to the quick! Surely you don’t think this case is beyond me?”
“Beyond? No. Below perhaps. What makes this poor woman’s death more important than the hundreds that occur here every year?”
Abberline shook his head. “You don’t need to preach to me, Arthur, I’ve lived here. What I can tell you is that there are some who worry about the East End exploding and want to make sure that it doesn’t happen.”
“So they send you down here to make a show of it?”
Abberline’s face grew serious. “You know me, Arthur, as well as I know you. So you know that I will give this case as much attention and work as if Nichols had been murdered in Hyde Park. I will tell you this, though: let us hope that this is the last murder in Whitechapel for some time to come. Otherwise, things may get out of control very quickly. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to have a talk with your old friend, Llewellyn.”
“Why? He’s already given his testimony, such as it was.”
Straightening his bowler hat, Abberline likewise straightened his demeanour. “Because my inspector’s intuition tells me that the good Dr. Llewellyn never laid a hand on that body and I want to know who did. Someone told him what to say here today, so that same someone might have also told him what not to say.”
He stopped at the door as if a thought had suddenly occurred to him. “Would you like to come along? Seeing you might rattle him a bit, and I want him rattled.”
Arthur smiled. “I can think of nothing I’d like more than to watch Llewellyn squirm like a worm on a hook. We’d be delighted.”
As we walked back out into the afternoon sunlight, I kept thinking about how Edwards would be waiting for my return and, given his nature, might not wait very long. I hoped that this would be a quick trip, as I was already feeling torn between my loyalty to Arthur and my duty to The Brothers. It was a dilemma that would soon come to a head—and violently so.
Chapter 14
A mighty mass of brick, and smoke, and shipping,
Dirty and dusty, but as wide as eye
Could reach, with her and there a sail just skipping
In sight, then lost amidst the forestry
Of Masts; a wilderness of steeples peeping
On tiptoe through their sea-coal campy;
A huge, dun cupola, like a foolscap crown
On a fool’s head—and here is London Town.
—Lord Byron
The morgue was nearby, so it was a walk of mere minutes to get th
ere. When we entered, I saw that the corpse of Polly Nichols was still lying on the slab, but she was covered and only her face was exposed. Dr. Llewellyn stood nearby, rifling through papers on a desk, and the policeman whom Abberline had sent after him was standing near him.
“I’m sure I have it somewhere over here,” Llewellyn was saying.
“What is he talking about, Sergeant Godley?” Abberline asked.
Godley gave a half-grin. “I merely asked the good doctor if I could see his autopsy report.”
“Oh, yes? And what does it say?”
“Unfortunately, Dr. Llewellyn does not seem to be able to find it.”
“Is that so, Doctor? I should have thought you had that with you at the inquest.”
Llewellyn kept shuffling his papers about. “I did! I had it right with me and now I can’t find it.”
Arthur took a step forward. “Dr. Llewellyn is famous for not being able to find things.”
I have never seen a man’s head snap forward so quickly. Llewellyn’s eyes narrowed to slits. “What is he doing here?”
Abberline nodded towards Arthur. “Mr. Machen is here at my request. He believes that he has some important information about the case, but I asked him to wait until I talked to you first.”
Llewellyn’s eyes widened, and I could see him wondering what Arthur might have to tell Abberline. “I can’t see what Machen could possibly have to say that is of any importance.”
“Well, we shall certainly see, won’t we? But first, I have some questions for you, Dr. Llewellyn. Primarily, I would like to know why you didn’t perform the autopsy yourself.”
If a man could have been struck dead by a question, it would have happened to Llewellyn. He looked away and fumbled through some papers again.
“What the devil are you talking about, Inspector? Of course I performed the autopsy, just as I perform all the autopsies here.”