by James Tully
Dr Rogers certified the cause of death as ‘Phthisis’ – shades of Charlotte!
He was to say later that he was influenced by Mrs Spink’s emaciated state, but he had made no attempt to ascertain what had caused the wasting.
The second victim was Elizabeth Taylor, who also purported to be Chapman’s wife. An enthusiastic cyclist, she was in good health but, after a time, she too became thinner and began to waste away. Although she was attended by several doctors, none could understand her symptoms. In the main she was under the care of a Dr Stoker, who was so pleased when his patient became a little better that he discharged the nurse. Only two days later he was surprised to find that Elizabeth was dying.
She expired on 13 February 1901, aged thirty-six. Dr Stoker stated that her death had resulted from ‘exhaustion from vomiting and diarrhoea’, but he did not know what had caused the symptoms. As with Mrs Spink, no postmortem examination was made.
This case, also, has similarities with Charlotte’s. Nicholls told Ellen Nussey that ‘Charlotte died last night from exhaustion’, and it will be remembered that she strained ‘until what I vomit is mixed with blood’.
Chapman’s third victim was Maud Marsh. By then he was the lessee of the Monument Tavern, Union Street, Borough, and Maud answered his advertisement for a barmaid. Soon they too were living as man and wife.
It was not long after that she began to suffer excessively from sickness, vomiting, diarrhoea, abdominal pains and general distress. She became so ill that she was admitted to the nearby Guy’s Hospital, where she was seen by several doctors. However, all were puzzled by her illness, and all diagnosed differently. Incipient cancer, internal rheumatism, and acute dyspepsia (the last reminiscent of Mr Brontë) were all thought to be possible causes. Nevertheless, whatever treatment she received appeared to have been efficacious, and she was sent home. Only later was it realized that the improvement was due solely to her having been out of Chapman’s clutches.
The symptoms recurred shortly after her return to the Monument Tavern, but Chapman did not want her to go back to Guy’s and so our old friend Dr Stoker was called in. He seems to have shown no surprise that Chapman had acquired another ‘wife’ so soon, nor that she was displaying the same symptoms as the one who had died the year before.
Chapman then left the Monument and took the lease of the Crown, also in Union Street. Dr Stoker continued to visit, but his treatment was ineffective and the patient failed rapidly until she was able to swallow only liquids.
On one occasion Chapman prepared a brandy and soda for Maud, but she was very weak and left most of it. Both her mother and the nurse drank a little, and soon they too were stricken with vomiting and diarrhoea – but still nobody, not even the doctor, suspected foul play.
Only later did the victim’s parents become suspicious, and they consulted their own general practitioner, a Dr Grapel. At first he thought that Maud was suffering from ptomaine poisoning. However, on his way home, he decided that arsenic was involved, but only after he had learned of the patient’s death did he telegraph Dr Stoker and urge him to look for that poison. What had happened was that Chapman had taken fright after the visit of Dr Grapel, who seemed to be on the right lines about the mysterious illness. He had therefore administered a much stronger dose, which caused Maud’s sudden demise on 22 October 1902.
Had it not been for Dr Grapel’s telegram, I am sure that the good Dr Stoker would have certified ‘Phthisis’, or ‘Marasmus’, or ‘Exhaustion’ – or perhaps even ‘Spots before the Eyes’ – as the cause of death. As it was, even he was placed on enquiry. He refused to sign a death certificate, and held an unofficial postmortem examination. Initially nothing was revealed to account for the unexplained death, but analysis of some of the internal organs disclosed the presence of arsenic.
Then an official postmortem was carried out. Once again some organs were analysed, but this time large quantities of antimony were found. Arsenic was present, but only as an impurity in the antimony.
As a result, the bodies of Spink and Taylor were exhumed. Spink’s body – coincidentally considering the other suspicions about Chapman – was exhumed from a grave in the Roman Catholic cemetery at Leytonstone where, under the name ‘Mary Chapman’, she had been buried near the remains of one of ‘Jack the Ripper’s’ victims, Mary Kelly.
Large quantities of antimony were discovered in the corpses of both of Chapman’s ‘wives’, but what surprised everybody was the remarkable state of preservation of the bodies which the poison had induced.
Had it not been for Maud Marsh’s parents, Chapman would have escaped detection just as Nicholls did. Certainly none of the many doctors who attended Chapman’s three victims was of any help to them. What chance, therefore, did the Brontës have?
Chapman was executed on 7 April 1903. Nicholls did not die until more than three years later, and I like to think that he read the reports of Chapman’s trial. If he did, he no doubt felt a great deal of sympathy for him: ‘There, but for the Grace of God . . .’!
Antimony was a poison employed by many other murderers, including William Palmer, the infamous Rugeley poisoner who was hanged in 1856. That was only a year after Charlotte died, and no doubt gave Nicholls a few nervous twitches!
It was also much favoured by homicidal doctors. In 1865, and only four years after Mr Brontë had gone to meet his Maker, Dr Edward William Pritchard was hanged for the murder of his wife, his mother-in-law, and possibly a maidservant, with the use of antimony. His victims displayed the same symptoms as had Chapman’s, and the Brontë children had some symptoms in common with all of them.
I was particularly interested to read that Maud Marsh had complained that her mouth and throat ‘burned’. The nurse said that the doctor examined Maud’s throat ‘and said it was raw’. That put me in mind of the time, in 1852, when Charlotte had complained about her mouth and tongue, and when Dr Ruddock said, of the pills which he had prescribed, that ‘he never in his whole practice knew the same effect produced by the same dose on man – woman – or child’. He never bothered to ascertain the reason either.
Another physician, Dr Targett, who had Maud Marsh under observation at Guy’s Hospital for over a fortnight, had various ideas about what ailed her. In the reports on his evidence, he is quoted as saying that he ‘thought she was suffering from peritonitis. Before she left the hospital he thought she might be suffering from tuberculosis. (My italics.) The possibility of any irritant poison never presented itself to his mind.’ In fact, he had no idea what the trouble was, nor did any of the doctors involved in all the Brontë deaths.
Antimony was a very popular poison in Victorian times, for a variety of reasons. It is colourless, odourless, practically tasteless and easily soluble in water. Also it was cheap, costing only twopence an ounce in the late nineteenth century [about 33p in today’s values], and it should be borne in mind that a mere two grains might be a fatal dose. Even Nicholls could afford it! The main symptoms of antimonic poisoning are also those of gastroenteritis, and it was frequently diagnosed as such in those days.
One of the symptoms is that the victim has a great thirst, and I am reminded that that was something of which Emily often complained. Antimony is an irritant, and a depressant. The irritant nature is such that if a little is applied to the skin a pustular rash will appear, just as was visible in Charlotte’s mouth and, almost certainly, in Maud Marsh’s throat. Certainly antimony is known to irritate the throat, resulting in the same persistent coughing which affected Branwell and Emily.
All in all, therefore, it would seem that antimony was the principal poison which Nicholls used. It is possible, though, that on occasion, and especially in Branwell’s case, he employed a cocktail of poisons which included antimony – as did Palmer.
Almost certainly, we shall never know the precise causes of the Brontë deaths. All that I can hope is that Martha Brown and I have established sufficient reason to doubt those given on the death certificates. Only exhumation of the bodies, a
nd analysis of the internal organs, offer any possibility of accurate diagnoses. I am not, of course, suggesting that anybody should rush out and dig up the Brontës! However, churches and cemeteries are often disturbed for building, road-widening and other reasons. Should anything of the sort occur at Haworth or Scarborough, I would hope that the opportunity would be seized to try to establish, once and for all, how the Brontës really died.
Such a disturbance would not be without good precedent. So many changes have taken place at the Parsonage, the church and Haworth village since the time of the Brontës.
Mr Brontë’s successor, the Rev. John Wade, did not have a very high opinion of the Brontës and deplored the literary pilgrims who kept appearing at the Parsonage. He had the house cleaned up, decorated and enlarged, after stating flatly that he refused to live in ‘a pigsty’. Later additions were the lawn and trees, in place of the sparse clumps of grass and the few blackcurrant and lilac bushes which the Brontë children knew. The gate through which the family coffins passed is no longer in use, and the Parsonage itself is now a museum, run by the Brontë Society.
Mr Wade also had the church, or more properly the chapel, demolished, with the exception of the tower – to which a storey was added to accommodate a clock. The new chapel was built in 1879 and, at Mr Wade’s behest, trees were planted in the churchyard.
The Black Bull has been altered somewhat, but Branwell would still recognize it. He might, however, have a little more difficulty with the village. Generally speaking, the centre of Haworth retains its original outline, but it has become a literary shrine to the memories of the Brontës, with the usual souvenir shops and the like.
So there have been many changes, but they are not so apparent at night. Only then is it that one feels fully the atmosphere of the place. Branwell complained to Francis Grundy about ‘having nothing to listen to except the wind moaning among the old chimneys and older ash trees . . .’, and Mrs Gaskell observed: ‘The wind goes piping and wailing and sobbing round the square unsheltered house in a very strange unearthly way.’
Go to Haworth in the winter, on one of those dark nights when the black clouds seem to touch the hills, and the wind comes screeching off the moors. Stand in the graveyard, amongst those close-packed headstones, and watch the trees being bent and twisted in all directions. Then look at the darkened Parsonage, and imagine what could be happening there.
Do the spirits of the Brontës still linger in their old home, I wonder? Do those of Anne and Nicholls return from their distant graves? Does Branwell still tap, vainly, at the windows to be allowed in? Are all those long-gone characters now reconciled in death, or do the recriminations which were hurled back and forth well over a century ago still continue? Perhaps the publication of the secret truths revealed in this book will allow them all, and especially Martha Brown, to rest in peace.
Appendix A
To those already familiar with the story of the early life of the Brontë family this appendix will add little to their sum knowledge – although I shall make some comments which are pertinent to Martha’s story.
For readers who come fresh to the tale it will prove sufficient for the purposes of this book. If they then wish to explore the subject in greater detail there are innumerable sources to which they can refer, the most important of which are listed in Appendix B.
The father of the family, Patrick, was born on 17 March 1777, at Emdale, in the parish of Drumbally Roney, County Down, Northern Ireland. His parents, Hugh and Eleanor, were poor peasant farmers whose surname was Brunty, Prunty or Bruntee.
Patrick was apprenticed first to a blacksmith, then to a weaver. However, he must have acquired some education along the way because he was teaching in a local school by the time he was sixteen. Later he became the tutor of the children of the Reverend Thomas Tighe, who was the vicar of a nearby village.
Mr Tighe encouraged young Patrick to go to university in England, and it is possible that the vicar, or one of his friends, lent him enough money to do so or provided an annuity.
In 1802, at the age of twenty-five, Patrick became an undergraduate at St John’s College, Cambridge, where he was enrolled as Patrick Branty. He received financial help from his college, and from some wealthy fellow students, but he also earned a little by coaching others.
It was at that time that he affected the name of Bronte, or Bronté, and it is perhaps worth noting that Lord Nelson had been created Duke of Brontë only a few years earlier. However, it was not until much later in life that Patrick went a step further and adopted the diaeresis which was to make the name Brontë.
He graduated in 1806, and was ordained as a minister of the Church of England. After holding several curacies, in Essex, Shropshire and Yorkshire, he became the minister at Harts-head-cum-Clifton, near Bradford, Yorkshire, and it was while he was there that, in 1812, he met Maria Branwell. She was from Penzance in Cornwall, but was staying locally with her uncle and cousins. On 29 December 1812, they were married in Guiseley Church, Maria being twenty-nine years of age and Patrick thirty-five.
Their two eldest children, Maria and Elizabeth, were born at Hartshead, but then Patrick was appointed perpetual curate at Thornton, in the West Riding of Yorkshire, and it was there that the now famous children appeared on the scene. (‘Perpetual curates’ enjoyed much the same status as vicars.)
Charlotte arrived on 21 April 1816; Patrick Branwell – known always as ‘Branwell’ – on 26 June 1817; Emily Jane on 30 July 1818, and Anne on 17 January 1820.
Within only a few weeks of Anne’s birth, Mr Brontë was appointed to the perpetual curacy of Haworth, roughly fifteen miles away, and the family moved into the Parsonage there.
Mrs Brontë died on 15 September 1821, of an internal cancer. During her illness she had been nursed by her sister, Miss Elizabeth Branwell, who also cared for the children to whom she was known as ‘Aunt Branwell’.
With six young children on his hands, Mr Brontë made strenuous efforts to remarry, but with no success. Therefore, in 1823, Aunt Branwell returned from Penzance to manage the house.
Maria, Elizabeth, Charlotte and Emily were later sent away to the Clergy Daughters’ School at Cowan Bridge, some twenty miles from Haworth. By all accounts, it was a very austere place, with few comforts.
In February 1825, Maria was sent home because she was ill. She died on 6 May from what was diagnosed as tuberculosis. Elizabeth died on 15 June, supposedly from the same disease.
Not surprisingly, Mr Brontë removed the other two girls, Charlotte and Emily, from the school and brought them back to the Parsonage.
A middle-aged widow from the village, Tabitha Aykroyd, was engaged as cook and general servant, and was to stay with the family for thirty years. She was also something of a nurse to the children, who called her ‘Tabby’, and it has been whispered that, in addition, she enjoyed a more than friendly relationship with their hot-blooded father!
For the next six years they all lived at Haworth Parsonage. Mr Bronté gave Branwell some tuition, and Aunt Branwell taught the girls. They also received drawing and music lessons from outside tutors.
It was during that period that the children invented dream worlds about which they wrote miniature books. Branwell and Charlotte created the imaginary kingdom of ‘Angria’, while Emily and Anne conceived ‘Gondal’.
In 1831, Mr Brontë decided that the girls needed more advanced tuition and Charlotte, who was then nearly fifteen, was despatched to a school which had recently been started by a Miss Wooler. It was in a large house named ‘Roe Head’, at Mirfield, about fifteen miles from Haworth, and it was there that Charlotte made her two lifelong friends, Ellen Nussey and Mary Taylor. Much of what we know about Charlotte comes from the letters which she wrote to Ellen, who kept them all.
Charlotte left ‘Roe Head’ after eighteen months, and for the next three years the children were all at home together again, with Charlotte giving her sisters lessons.
In 1835, Charlotte became a teacher at ‘Roe Head’, and to
ok Emily with her as a free pupil. Within three months Emily was back at the Parsonage. She had lost both weight and colour, and was said to be homesick. Anne took Emily’s place at the school.
Until that time, Branwell had been receiving painting lessons from William Robinson of Leeds, but early in 1836 he set off for London and the Royal Academy School. However, he was back in Haworth in only a couple of weeks. The story was put about that he had been robbed on his journey, but the truth was that he had indulged in riotous living at an inn in Holborn – for he was already drinking and gambling. In that particular instance, though, there is reason to believe that the explanation for his conduct was that he became unsure of himself and his talent after seeing the famous paintings in the London galleries.
Upon his return to Haworth, Branwell was persuaded to become a Freemason, and was initiated into the Lodge of the Three Graces in Haworth. The Worshipful Master of the Lodge was Branwell’s friend John Brown. Brown, a stone mason, was also Mr Brontë’s sexton, and the father of Martha Brown. Branwell was secretary of the Lodge for a year, and it is amusing to note that he was also the secretary of the local temperance society.
In 1837 Miss Wooler moved her school from ‘Roe Head’ to Dentsbury Moor. Anne left in December of that year, and Charlotte twelve months later.
As for Emily, in September 1838, she took a teaching job at a girls’ boarding school, Miss Patchett’s, at Law Hill, near Halifax. She stayed for only six months.
Meanwhile, Branwell, financed by Aunt Branwell, had, in June 1838, rented a studio at 3, Fountain Street, Bradford, and had set up as a portrait painter. The venture was not a success, and Mr Brontë called him home in May 1839 – probably because he had heard of his son’s excesses. Certainly Branwell was heavily in debt.
In April 1839, Anne was engaged as a governess by a Mrs Ingham, of Blake Hall, Mirfield – a position she was to hold until December of the same year. Charlotte secured a similar situation a month after her sister – with a Mrs Sidgwick of Stonegappe, Lothersdale, about eight miles from Haworth – but she was back home within two months.
