Murder at the British Museum

by Jim Eldridge

  Superintendent Armstrong stood at the table in front of a gathering of journalists in a room at Scotland Yard specially set aside for such occasions. All of the national newspapers were represented, along with most of the local London ones, like the St Pancras Chronicle and the Bloomsbury Gazette. Sergeant Crews from the uniformed division sat next to the superintendent, not because he’d been involved in the capture of Elsie Bowler but because he cut a fine figure in his sergeant’s uniform, and he was also someone that Armstrong could count on to remain silent during the press conference and not be lulled into answering any questions.

  Armstrong surveyed the assembled reporters, each of whom had a notepad and pencil in front of him, with an air of great confidence. This was his moment. ‘I am pleased to tell you,’ he began, ‘that today we have arrested the person responsible for the two recent terrible murders at the British Museum, those of Professor Lance Pickering and his publisher, Mr Mansfield Whetstone. Their murderer we identified as a young girl called Elsie Bowler. Elsie Bowler bore a deep personal grudge against Professor Pickering, a grudge which we believe was a fantasy of her own making. It was that which drove her to stab Professor Pickering with a knife. She then, for reasons of her own, proceeded to target those close to Professor Pickering. These included the senior publisher of the firm that published the professor’s most recent book, Mr Mansfield Whetstone, and also another close acquaintance of the professor’s. For reasons of discretion, we are keeping the identity of this third victim confidential. Fortunately for him he did not die, although he was stabbed by this Elsie Bowler. The fact that both Mr Whetstone and this other gentleman were very closely connected to Professor Pickering backs up the fact that this girl was the culprit.

  ‘It became obvious after we apprehended this girl that she was deranged and of unsound mind. If you recall, I said after the murder of Professor Pickering that it was my belief we were dealing with a lunatic of some sort, and this opinion has now been borne out. She has been taken to the Bethlem Royal Hospital where she is being kept under close guard.

  ‘This has been a difficult case, not least because it has generated various theories among the public as to the reasons for the murders. But the reality is that this case was solved by dogged determination and applied procedural investigative work by the professionals of the Metropolitan police alone, not by any private enquiry agents or other amateurs.’ He gave a smile of great pride to the assembly and announced, ‘I am now ready to answer questions about this case.’

  A man in the second row stood up. ‘Joe Dalton, the Daily Telegraph, Superintendent,’ he introduced himself.

  Immediately, Armstrong was on his guard. Dalton, the man who’d cut him out of his report on the successful arrest of that Chapman character. The man who’d attacked him in the press over that robbery at the jeweller’s.

  ‘I understand that the actual arrest was made by Inspector Feather, who jumped into the Thames to apprehend the girl. Is that correct?’

  Damn him! Where did Dalton get his information from? The superintendent had been told that Dalton had various constables on his payroll who fed him with information. Well, if he found out who’d passed on this story, that person would be in serious trouble.

  ‘Inspector Feather did what he did acting on my orders,’ retorted Armstrong stiffly. ‘I was on the scene with him and in charge the whole time.’

  ‘But leaping into the Thames in pursuit of a murderess, possibly armed, suggests an act of great courage. Will he be getting an award of some sort for his act?’

  ‘The tide was out when Inspector Feather went after the girl. He was in no danger at all.’

  Eager to move on, he pointed to a small man at the back holding his hand up.

  ‘Thank you, Superintendent. We understand that the girl is too ill to stand trial?’

  ‘That is correct,’ said Armstrong. ‘That is the verdict of the physician at Bethlem Royal Hospital.’

  ‘Which is rather convenient for you,’ said the man. ‘You’ve got an arrest with no way for anyone to check if the arrest is sound. I understand that this girl is seventeen and a vagrant with no living relatives. Are you sure that this isn’t an arrest of convenience, putting the blame on some poor unfortunate—’

  Armstrong exploded with fury. ‘How dare you!’ he roared. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Ned Carson from the People’s Voice.’

  ‘The People’s Voice!’ shouted Armstrong. ‘That’s not even a real newspaper!’ He gestured angrily at the constables standing at the side. ‘Who let this imposter in? Throw him out at once!’

  As Carson was lifted from his chair by two constables and hustled towards the door, the small man called out, ‘What are you hiding, Superintendent?’, before being pushed out of the room.

  Armstrong, struggling to contain his rage, turned to the assembled reporters again, ready to have the lot of them thrown out, but the next to stand was a tall man he recognised as friendly towards him. At least, he’d shown that to be the case so far. But what sort of question did he have ready now?

  ‘Edgar White of the St Pancras Chronicle,’ said the tall man. ‘I’d like to say on behalf of the gentlemen of the press, despite the last comment, that we congratulate you, Superintendent, on bringing this case to a successful conclusion. It is gratifying to know that after the dreadful fear that has hovered over us all, this city is safe once more.’

  With that, White began to applaud, and was joined by others who also clapped. Not by everyone, Armstrong noted. That Dalton character, for one. But most of the others joined in, and Armstrong smiled and made a small bow.

  His triumph was complete.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Daniel and Abigail read the newspaper reports of Superintendent Armstrong’s speech as they journeyed in a hansom cab towards St George’s Field in Southwark.

  ‘According to The Times, he made a point of stressing that this case was solved by the police alone without – and I quote – “assistance from any outside agencies such as private enquiry agents”,’ said Abigail. ‘He’s having a go at us.’

  ‘No, he’s having a go at me,’ said Daniel. ‘He doesn’t know you well enough to want to score points off you. But he will in time, I’m sure.’ He smiled. ‘Joe Dalton doesn’t say anything about that, and he makes the point that it was John Feather who leapt into the Thames to catch the girl. Armstrong won’t like that.’ He looked out of the window as the cab crossed Blackfriars Bridge. ‘We’re nearly there. Have you been to Bethlem Hospital before?’

  ‘No,’ said Abigail, her tone deeply disapproving. ‘But I know its reputation. Bedlam. A place where the poor unfortunates are paraded as entertainment for paying visitors. Those that are lucky enough to have some sort of freedom to move around, while other poor wretches are kept chained and naked, and again, are gawped at by idiots for their so-called fun.’

  ‘That’s how it used to be,’ said Daniel. ‘Sadly, we often had cause to visit the hospital to try and talk to people whose names had been suggested as suspects, especially in some of the more lurid cases we investigated.’

  ‘The Jack the Ripper case?’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Daniel. ‘There were claims that some of the patients had been allowed out and had committed the crimes while they were away; other suggestions were that patients were taken from the hospital specifically to commit the crimes, then returned afterwards.’

  ‘And did you find any evidence to support those allegations?’

  ‘None, but they had to be looked into.’

  ‘So, you experienced Bethlem at close hand.’

  ‘I did,’ said Daniel.

  ‘And was it as bad as people said?’

  Daniel hesitated before answering. ‘Let’s say it wasn’t the happiest of places, but I was told conditions had improved following the Parliamentary enquiry into it. And during our Ripper investigations, a new director was put in charge who I believe has changed the tone of the hospital completely.’

  ‘Who’s th
at?’

  ‘Dr T. B. Hyslop. Unlike many of his predecessors, he’s a fully qualified medical man whose speciality is psychiatric disorders. Certainly, in the six years since he’s taken over there has been a change in the regime. Before, many of the warders – and that’s what they were – were cruel in their treatment of the patients. They treated them badly and made money from them and their relatives. Under Dr Hyslop, the staff are now considered as nurses and expected to act that way.’

  ‘This Dr Hyslop sounds a remarkable man,’ said Abigail.

  ‘He is,’ said Daniel. ‘Although I haven’t seen him for some time. The last time was three years ago, when Abberline and I were both still at Scotland Yard and we received information that a doctor at the hospital was carrying out illegal abortions, and that two women had died at his hands.’

  ‘And had they?’

  ‘No. The women had died, but not at the doctor’s hands. He was innocent of being involved in abortions. It turned out the allegation was a smear against him by a former mistress of his who was angry because the doctor had decided not to marry her. The abortionist who carried out the operations in which the women died was someone not associated with the hospital.’

  ‘But still a doctor?’

  ‘No. It was a woman who was also a midwife. The sad aspect of it was that she was not doing it for profit, she genuinely wanted to help women who found themselves in a distressing situation.’

  As they drew nearer to the hospital, Daniel reflected that the hospital’s history was as chaotic as the conditions which had dominated until the arrival of Dr Hyslop. It had the proud boast of being the oldest psychiatric hospital in Europe, long before the word ‘psychiatry’ had even entered common usage. From its early days as a ‘home for lunatics’ way back in the mists of time – it was said to have been founded in the thirteenth century during the reign of Henry III – its original name of the Bethlehem Royal Hospital had soon been shortened to Bethlem, and then to Bedlam as a tone of derision. It had moved locations in London many times, its last siting before the current one at St Georges Fields in Southwark, south of the river, having been at Moorfields, not far from Moorgate. But until the arrival of Dr Hyslop, the medical regimes had remained much the same: those deemed mad incarcerated and left to rot away from respectable society, although ‘respectable society’ took enjoyment in the entertainments the chained-up unfortunates offered for an outing.

  Abigail sat, stunned at the sight of the hospital as they drove down the driveway towards the main building.

  ‘It’s enormous!’ she said. ‘I hadn’t realised the building was this huge! It’s almost as big as the Houses of Parliament!’

  ‘It wouldn’t surprise me to discover it’s larger,’ said Daniel.

  The cab pulled up at the ornate main entrance, and Daniel led the way in.

  ‘I can assure you, you’ll be safe,’ Daniel told Abigail. ‘The really dangerous patients are kept in secure cells.’

  He went to the main reception desk, where he presented his card. ‘I’d be grateful if you’d tell Dr Hyslop that Daniel Wilson and Miss Abigail Fenton are here, and we’d be grateful if he could spare us a few moments,’ said Daniel. ‘It concerns Elsie Bowler.’

  The receptionist sent a messenger off into the innards of the building. The messenger returned a few moments later.

  ‘Dr Hyslop will see you,’ he told them. ‘Please follow me.’

  Dr Hyslop’s office was in the first corridor near to the main entrance, and he rose from behind his desk as the messenger ushered Daniel and Abigail in.

  ‘Inspector Wilson,’ he said, reaching out to shake Daniel’s hand.

  ‘Just plain Mr Wilson these days, Doctor,’ said Daniel. ‘I left Scotland Yard and work now as a private enquiry agent. Although I do still work in association with some of my old colleagues who are still at the Yard. Like Inspector Feather, who told us that Elsie Bowler was here in your care.’

  ‘Ah yes, the poor girl,’ said Hyslop.

  Daniel gestured towards Abigail. ‘Allow me to introduce you to Miss Abigail Fenton, my partner in the case we are currently working on.’

  ‘If it concerns Elsie, then it must be the murders at the British Museum,’ said Hyslop.

  ‘Indeed,’ said Daniel. ‘I believe that Superintendent Armstrong of Scotland Yard considers her to be the person responsible for both murders.’

  ‘That is his opinion,’ said Hyslop carefully.

  ‘And yours?’ asked Daniel.

  Hyslop thought his answer over, then replied, ‘Unfortunately, as you are not police officers officially engaged in the case, nor relatives of the girl, I’m afraid I can’t really discuss her with you.’

  ‘I understand your situation, Doctor,’ said Daniel. He produced the card of authority that Sir Jasper Stone had given him and passed it to Hyslop. ‘However, you’ll see that we have been officially employed in this matter by the British Museum, and we are here with the knowledge and recommendation of Inspector Feather.’

  Hyslop examined the card, then turned to Abigail. ‘Do you have similar evidence of authority, Miss Fenton?’

  ‘I do,’ said Abigail, and she handed him the card Sir Jasper had given her. He studied it, then returned it to her.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, visibly relaxing. ‘It’s part of the new staff disciplines I am introducing to the hospital to avoid some of the unfortunate events of the past. And if I am to make sure that others obey the rules, then I have to set an example myself.’

  ‘No more free access to patients for all and sundry,’ said Abigail.

  ‘I see you are aware of the hospital’s previous unfortunate reputation,’ said Hyslop.

  ‘Would it be possible for us to talk to Elsie?’ asked Daniel.

  ‘I don’t see why not,’ said Hyslop. ‘Although it may not be productive. She hasn’t said much since she arrived.’

  ‘Her manner?’ asked Daniel.

  ‘I would say docile,’ said Hyslop. ‘If there was any anger in her, it seems to have disappeared. But we have kept her apart from the other patients as a precaution for reasons of safety.’ He rose from his desk. ‘If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to her.’

  He led the way along a corridor, then down another. They passed various people sitting on chairs or benches in the corridors, many of them with vacant expressions on their faces. Others appeared who were in states of agitation, one in particular who scurried to Hyslop in a nervous state. ‘Doctor, you have to get me out of here!’ he whispered urgently. ‘I have something of great importance to tell the Queen. It’s a matter of life or death!’

  ‘Indeed, James, and you will,’ said Hyslop gently. ‘Let me deal with these people first and then I’ll come and talk to you about it and we’ll make the arrangements.’

  As Hyslop walked on, Daniel and Abigail in his wake, Abigail asked, ‘What was that about the Queen? What arrangements need to be made?’

  ‘Sadly, none. By the time I next see James he will have forgotten our conversation, or that he asked to be released to talk to Her Majesty.’

  He arrived at a door, selected a key from a large keyring, and unlocked it.

  A small girl, painfully thin, sat on the floor pressed into the corner of the room, even though there was a bed and a cushioned chair there. The girl wore a simple shift made of a rough material.

  ‘Elsie,’ said Dr Hyslop, crouching down beside the girl. ‘These people have come to talk to you. I promise you they won’t harm you. Would you come and sit on the bed while they talk?’

  Obediently, the girl pushed herself up off the floor, walked to the bed and sat down. Dr Hyslop nodded for Daniel and Abigail to proceed.

  ‘Elsie,’ said Daniel gently, ‘my name is Daniel, and this is Abigail. As Dr Hyslop says, I promise you we mean you no harm. We just want to hear from you about what happened at the British Museum.’

  Elsie mumbled something brief and inaudible, then looked blankly at them. Daniel looked enquiringly at Hyslop.


  ‘She said she’s never been to the British Museum,’ said Hyslop.

  Daniel nodded, then turned back to the girl again. ‘You stabbed a man,’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ they heard her whisper. ‘At the rich man’s house.’ She dropped her head and began to cry.

  ‘There, there, Elsie,’ said Hyslop. ‘It’s alright. We’re here to help you.’

  Elsie lifted her head. ‘They said I stabbed the other men, but I didn’t. I went there to do the woman, the rich man’s wife, because she was protecting him and what he done to my mum.’ Her head dropped again, and she said, ‘I was angry. I shouldn’t have done it to her. It wasn’t her fault.’

  ‘The man you stabbed?’ asked Abigail.

  ‘He got in the way. I didn’t mean to stick him.’

  As they walked along the corridor away from Elsie Bowler’s room, Daniel asked, ‘What do you think, Doctor?’

  Hyslop was silent for a moment, then he said, ‘From what I understand of the two murders, they took a certain amount of planning and calculated intelligence in order to carry them out without detection. All I can say is that Elsie Bowler, in her present state, does not appear capable of organising or carrying out the acts in that way. However, I stress again, in her present state.’

  ‘You think she might have been capable before?’

  Again, Hyslop hesitated, then said, ‘It appears unlikely, but one can never be sure when the state of mind is precarious. For now, I am satisfied that she is in the right place, where she can hopefully gain some respite from the ordeals she has endured. A trial and possible imprisonment would serve no good purpose, either to her or to society.’

  Later, as Daniel and Abigail made the return journey in another hansom cab, Abigail said thoughtfully, ‘He doesn’t think she did it.’

  ‘No,’ said Daniel. ‘Instead, he’s elected to give her protection at Bethlem.’

  ‘I think Dr Hyslop is a wonderful man,’ said Abigail. ‘To have changed a place like Bethlem so radically. To turn it from a place of horrors to a sanctuary. An asylum in the true sense of the word.’