Great Train Crimes: Murder and Robbery on the Railways

by Oates, Jonathan

  It is presumed that this was correct. Certainly Muller had the motive to kill a wealthy man who was alone, vulnerable and much older than he was. Briggs was probably taken by surprise as he was dozing on the train when he was suddenly attacked. Muller did have one of the dead man’s possessions in his hands. And the hat found in the railway compartment was his. Therefore, presumably Lee was mistaken, as was Mrs Jones and her clock which told the wrong time. Yet without the final confession, there would have remained a great deal of doubt over the justness of the verdict and execution.

  After the murder, there were calls for improved safety measures on trains. An Act of Parliament of 1868 made it compulsory for all passenger trains to install a system of alarms. The earliest alarm systems were unreliable, easy to tamper with and often useless, as Rebecca Dickinson discovered in 1875 (see Chapter 4). However, with time they became more efficient. South Western trains went further and installed peepholes, or ‘Muller holes’ in their railway compartments, but these were not universally popular for they reduced the privacy of the travelling public.

  A final comment: in the opening chapter of A Study in Scarlet, Holmes refers to a number of criminals; one being ‘the notorious Muller’. Could this be a reference to the killer here?

  An Officer, But Not a Gentleman? 1875

  ‘One feels so shocked and so shamed as a gentleman

  being capable of such a thing’

  Most of those involved in real crime, whether as victim, perpetrator or investigator are usually of humble status, despite fictional depictions of wrongdoing. This account of a misdeed on board a train in the middle of Victoria’s reign concerns people of a more exalted social status.

  It was Thursday afternoon of 17 June 1875 and a young woman was being seen off from Midhurst station by her two sisters and widowed mother. It was 3 o’clock. She was Miss Rebecca Kate Dickinson, aged 22, and was fortunate to be both good-looking and of comfortable upper middle-class stock. Since September 1874 she had lived with her family at Dunsford, near Midhurst, Sussex. Prior to that they had resided at New Park, Lymington, until her father’s death. The family was well off, with her father William leaving nearly £60,000 in his will. Her brothers included a doctor of Chesterfield Street, a captain in the Royal Engineers and a barrister in Chancery. She was travelling to London to meet her married sister and her brother-in-law, one Bagshawe, prior to the three of them departing to Switzerland for a three-week holiday. Her labelled luggage, consisting of three cases and a portmanteau, were loaded into the same compartment.

  She sat alone in a first class compartment, facing the direction of travel. Nothing happened until the next station stop, which was Petersfield. Here she changed trains to take the Portsmouth to London South Western train. The train had a corridor, so there were two exits from the compartment. At Liphook station, a middle-aged man entered the compartment and sat in the opposite corner to Miss Dickinson. He was a complete stranger to her.

  For most of what happened next, we have only Miss Dickinson’s account. Certainly all began ordinarily enough. The window was down and the man asked her if she minded the draught and she said she did not. There was no more conversation between the two until they passed Hazelmere. Then the man began to expound on the beauty of the countryside through which they were passing. He got up from his seat and sat opposite Miss Dickinson. He then talked about Aldershot and she said that she had a brother there and had been to a steeplechase ball there, too.

  Conversation proceeded on conventional lines. Miss Dickinson later reported:

  He next talked about pictures at the Royal Academy, and the conversation then turned upon Midhurst, from which town I told him I came. He told me he was on the staff at Aldershot, and was then stationed at the North Camp. He looked at the labels on my luggage, and asked me if I was going to Dover that night. I replied that I should be off the following morning.

  The man asked if she was travelling alone and she mentioned her two travelling companions. He told her she would have to wait two hours at Waterloo and suggested she remain in London for a few days. She replied that she had recently spent a fortnight in the capital and the conversation then turned to matters theatrical. They talked about a recent production of Hamlet and then about mesmerism.

  By now the train had reached Woking (11 minutes late), the last station the train was designated to stop at before reaching Clapham. It was then, just before 5pm, that the man began to move onto more personal matters. He asked when she would next be travelling on the same route. The following dialogue ensued.

  ‘No.’

  ‘You won’t?’

  The man pulled the window up.

  ‘Will you give me your name?’

  ‘I shan’t.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I don’t choose; I don’t see any reason why I should.’

  The man asked her what her Christian name was and she refused to answer. He then sat next to her, taking hold of her hand. This prompted the following response.

  ‘Get away, I won’t have you sitting here.’

  She pushed him away, but to no avail. He grabbed her around the waist with one hand and kissed her, declaring: ‘You must kiss me darling.’

  She got up and went to ring the communication cord. He implored her not to, but she ignored him and rang it. It produced no effect for it was not working. He forced her back into the corner and kissed her again. She said: ‘If I tell you my name, will you get off?’

  Then, according to her:

  I don’t think he made any reply, but he sank down close in front of me, and I felt his hand underneath my dress, on my stocking, above my boot. I got up instantly and pushed the window with my elbow to see if I could break the glass. Finding I could not do that, I got the window down, and put my head and elbows out. I screamed and nobody heard.

  She then felt quite strangled by her assailant, who was pulling her back. She screamed and then turned the handle of the door, opening it and stepping out onto the footboard. With one hand she held onto the door handle and he held her by the other. She now faced a new peril and said, ‘If you leave go, I shall fall.’

  ‘Get in dear! Get in dear! You get in and I will get out of the other door.’ But the other door had been locked at Guildford. However, other passengers were now looking out of their windows and were seeing her plight. She saw two men, and asked,

  ‘How long is it before the train stops?’

  ‘I don’t know’.

  George Burnett was one of the men who saw her. He had boarded the train at Guildford and recalled hearing a scream after the train had passed through Weybridge. He was concerned that she might be killed by falling from the train.

  Henry Bailey, the guard, also saw her. The train was now passing Esher, near the old paper mills. The driver also witnessed what was happening and blew the whistle. Bailey applied the brake.

  After about five miles of travel, the train, which was travelling at between 40 and 45 mph, stopped. The train had now reached Esher. Before it had done so, her hat flew off, near Walton station. As it did, her assailant implored her thus: ‘Don’t say anything; you don’t know what trouble you will get me into; say you were frightened.’

  She did not reply. When other passengers arrived to see what the trouble was, she replied: ‘That man would not leave me alone.’

  Miss Dickinson’s dress was disarranged. Bailey asked the man what had happened and he replied: ‘I have been doing nothing. I know her brother at Aldershot.’

  Bailey noticed that only one of the man’s trouser buttons had been fastened – a point which might be of great importance in ascertaining his intentions towards Miss Dickinson. Mr Pike, a businessman, also noticed this, and that the man’s clothing was in a state of disarray. The man, who scribbled down his name and address for the guard, then had to spend the remainder of the journey in the company of some other men (including Burnett), while the young lady travelled with the Revd James Brown, minister of an Independent chapel in Brixton (l
ike Burnett, he had been alarmed by the sight of Miss Dickinson hanging out of the train). Brown recalled ‘she was very much alarmed, but still very much possessed’. The man requested to leave at Vauxhall, but was told he must not.

  On arrival at Waterloo, they went to the superintendent’s office, being escorted by William Atter, a railway policeman. Her assailant was also taken there and was now very contrite:

  ‘I am very sorry if anything I did frightened you. I know your brother very well indeed; give me his address and I will write to him.’

  ‘You may do what you choose.’

  Miss Dickinson gave her name and address to the officials present, but did not give any information to her assailant. Accompanied by the clergyman, she went to her brother’s house in Chesterfield Street.

  Her assailant was detained. It was then that his identity became known. He was Colonel Valentine Baker. He had been born in Enfield in 1827, the son of a wealthy man. Baker bought a commission in the 10th Hussars in 1848. He had had a varied military career, serving in South Africa, the Crimea, Ireland and India, in both the Hussars and the Lancers. By 1865, he was a colonel and was a good officer, interested in both the theory of war and his men’s welfare. In 1865 he married and became a father to two children. He also became a friend of the Prince of Wales and gained an important contact with the Duke of Cambridge, commander in chief of the army. However, with the return of his regiment to England in 1872, he resigned his commission and, after an expedition in Asia, took a staff post at Aldershot in 1874. As assistant quartermaster general, he was told to supervise a great military review, to take place in August 1875. This, then, was the man who travelled up to London to dine with the Duke of Cambridge on 17 June 1875 and met Miss Dickinson en route.

  Baker was very apologetic: ‘I am sorry I did it; I don’t know what possessed me to do it, I being a married man.’

  Baker was arrested by the Surrey police on the following day and on Saturday 19 June he appeared before the County Bench at Guildford. He was charged with indecent assault on Miss Dickinson. In the packed court room were Mr Poland for the prosecution and Mr Lilley for the defence. The latter asked that the hearing be postponed for a week to allow him time to prepare the defence, as he had only just received his brief. Poland said he would be happy for this to occur, or for the hearing to proceed. After some discussion, the magistrates agreed to Lilley’s suggestion and Baker was bailed for £500.

  When the hearing occurred, on 24 June, the witnesses told the court what they had seen. The defence would be reserved, it was announced. Baker then said he wanted to make a statement. This was an unusual request, but it was granted. He said:

  I am placed here in a most delicate and difficult position. If any act of mine on the occasion referred to could have given any annoyance to Miss Dickinson, I beg to express to her my most unqualified regret. At the same time, I solemnly declare, upon my honour, that the case was not as it has been presented today by her under the influence of exaggerated fear and unnecessary alarm. To the evidence of the police constable Atter, I give the most unqualified denial. I may add that I don’t intend in the least to say that she wilfully misrepresented the case, but I say that she has represented it incorrectly, no doubt under the influence of exaggerated fear and unnecessary alarm.

  Baker was bailed for £4,000. There was no shortage of men who were willing to stand sureties for him. His brother Samuel and a fellow officer were happy to do so. He was then committed for trial.

  At Surrey Assizes, held at Croydon on 2 August, Baker was tried for both attempted rape and the lesser charge of indecent assault. The case had shocked the nation. Not only had a terrible act taken place and another, even more heinous one been allegedly attempted, but the victim was a young and innocent woman and the perpetrator an officer and a gentleman. Most people had already decided, in their moral outrage, that Baker was guilty. There was therefore a great deal of excitement about the trial and on the day itself, the court room and the street outside was packed with people of both sexes, long before the trial began. It is unclear whether the crowd were good natured or not.

  Baker pleaded not guilty. The prosecution outlined the case against him; that is, he had talked to Miss Dickinson on the train and then kissed her and had then tried to assault her after Woking. Miss Dickinson told the court her version of events, followed by the other witnesses, giving the same versions that had already been related. The defence could not draw on any witnesses to testify to Baker’s innocence, and the accused himself could not speak on his own behalf (a legal position that changed in 1907). It was stated that Miss Dickinson merely said that she had been insulted and had not accused Baker of the charges that were now laid against him. He also suggested that it would have been an act of madness to attack a woman who was about to meet other people. Fellow officers spoke of Baker’s valour and ability as a soldier.

  However, although Baker was found innocent of attempted rape, he was deemed guilty of indecent assault by the jury after only a short discussion. He was cashiered from the army, fined £500 and was sentenced to imprisonment in Horsemonger gaol for a year, though without hard labour. He had to be secretly removed from the court and over 50 policemen had to be present to control the crowd. Newspapers covered the trial in great detail; the Daily Telegraph devoted nine columns to it and the Evening Standard had the news of the case transmitted by the expensive and unusual method of telegraph. Such was the popularity of evening newspapers covering the case that they doubled in price.

  The Queen herself took an interest in the case, writing to one of her daughters, Louisa, Crown Princess of Prussia, on 11 August:

  that awful trial of Colonel Valentine Baker! Was there ever such a thing and such a position for a poor young girl? And what a disgrace to the Army. No punishment is severe enough … She is a very nice girl – though some officers and people tried to excuse him by abusing the poor unprotected girl. But the country was furious with him and he will be disgraced for life … What is to happen if officers, high in position, behave as none of the lowest would have dared to do unless a severe example is made … Colonel Baker has a very bad moral character.

  Her daughter replied that the case had not made the foreign press, and wrote that it was ‘most distressing and makes one shudder, it is terrible to think what a slur such conduct throws on a whole existence – and one feels so shocked and shamed at a gentleman being capable of such a thing’.

  Yet many people stood by him, including family and friends, the Prince of Wales and fellow officers. In 1876, he served with the Turks and, in the 1880s, with the Egyptian police, where he reorganized their gendarmerie. He also saw active service in the Sudan against the Mahdists, where he was wounded. In 1887, there was a chance that he would be reinstated, but he died that year. However, it seemed that by now he had redeemed himself; being buried with full military honours in Cairo and being praised by senior colleagues. According to The Times, ‘his career … might have been among the most brilliant in our service … [but for] the error which deprived his country of his services’ and referred to ‘the splendid atonement which he sought to make’.

  It is presumed that Baker was guilty of trying to assault Miss Dickinson. Why he did so is unclear. Nothing in his character leads one to suppose he was naturally violent towards women. It can only be concluded that, finding himself alone with an attractive young woman, an overmastering passion consumed him and this led him to assault Miss Dickinson, who was struck with such terror that she risked her life in trying to escape from him by attempting to leave the train whilst it was in transit. He certainly paid the price for his moment of folly.

  Other crimes of this type occurred later in the century; a woman was attacked in 1887 on a train between Shrewsbury and Wellington; two were attacked in 1892, one on the London–Brighton line and another on the Midland one. In all cases, the victims escaped by leaving the compartment whilst the train was in transit, one taking the dangerous expedient of clambering onto the roof.

/>   The Murder on the Brighton Railway,

  1881

  ‘I am glad you found me. I am sick of it.

  I should have given myself up in a day or two.’

  Frederick Isaac Gold was born in about 1818 in London. He had been a corn merchant for most of his life, residing at Wentworth Place, Mile End Road. Gold retired from the profession in 1863. However, he was still involved in business matters and owned a freehold baker’s shop on East Street, Walworth, in south London. The shop was kept for Gold’s nephew. Gold was also a married man, though he and his wife, Lydia Matilda, had no children. The couple had lived at Titchfield Preston, near Brighton, since at least 1871, when they had but one servant. Gold was in very good health, had a robust constitution and was of temperate habits. He usually had with him about two or three sovereigns. He also had an old-fashioned gold watch and chain which were hung about his neck. In 1881 he was worth £1,670 9s 1d, a fair sum.

  As he did every Monday morning, Gold went up to London. He went on other days, too, but on Mondays he was a regular commuter to London. Monday 27 June 1881 was no exception. As his wife later related, ‘He left home at five minutes past eight in the morning, with the intention of going by train to Brighton, in order to catch the up express train leaving Brighton at 8.45.’ Arriving at London Bridge station, he then went to his shop and collected the previous week’s takings from Mrs Cross, amounting to £38 5s 1d, putting it into a small bag. This money was then paid into the eastern branch of the London and Westminster Bank and then Gold went back to the station to catch the train home. He usually took about £10 for housekeeping expenses for the forthcoming week, too. However, it seems that no one was aware that he was carrying any money, except his wife and their servant.