‘10. I have no doubt myself that the paper came from the waste basket. The Baron said so. I did not actually see him take it out, but I saw him stoop to do so. There was nothing physically impossible in his having taken the paper from his own pocket, but I cannot see the slightest reason for such a supposition. The only object he could possibly have had in such an act would have been that of throwing suspicion on Mr. Anderton, and his whole desire evidently was to conceal the suspicions in his own mind as far as possible.
‘11. The Baron gave me no other grounds for supposing that he suspected anything. On the contrary, he was continually pointing out to me the affection of Mr. Anderton for his wife, and especially the assiduity of his attendance in permitting no one else to administer either food or medicine.
‘12. The practical effect of all this was certainly, I admit, to impress upon my own mind the suspicious circumstances of the case more strongly perhaps than if they had been pointed out in a directly hostile manner. It is impossible, however, that the Baron could have reckoned upon this, and I feel bound to add that it seems to me exceeding the limits of legitimate enquiry to suggest anything of the kind.’
3. Statement of Mrs. Edwards.
‘I am a sick nurse. I was in attendance on poor Mrs. Anderton all through her sickness. The poor lady was greatly cast down. She was expecting her death for weeks before it came. She seemed to think there was a doom on her. I do not think she had any suspicion that she was being poisoned. I am sure, poor dear lady, no one would ever think of poisoning her; everybody loved her too much. Mr. Anderton was dotingly fond of her. I never saw so good a husband in my life. I could have done anything for him, he was so good to his poor wife. I don’t think he hardly ever left her. I used to be vexed sometimes, because, I said, he would not let me do anything for her. I mean he would not let me give her her slops or her physic. She took nothing but slops the best part of the time. She couldn’t feel to relish anything at all, and meat made her sick. For the last two months or better I don’t think she took anything from anybody, excepting it was from Mr. Anderton himself. He used to bring her her physic as regular as the clock struck, and everything from the kitchen was took first into his room, if he wasn’t with the mistress, and he would carry it to her himself. He used to have rare work sometimes to get her to take anything. I am sure she wouldn’t have done it, poor lady, for anyone but him. Not the last few weeks. She was so very sick and ill, and everything seemed to turn upon her stomach. Mr. Anderton always slept on a mattress in the mistress’s room, so as to be within call. The mattress was put on the floor by the side of the bed, and nobody could have got to the bed without waking him. He was a very light sleeper. The least little sound used to wake him, and I often told him he was going the way to kill himself, and then what would our poor lady do? Once or twice I persuaded him to go out for a bit, and then he always insisted on my not leaving the room while he was away. Even when he was in his study he always made me stay with the lady; and if I wanted to go out for anything, I was to ring for him. Mrs. Anderton was never left without one or other of us for an hour, until the last six weeks; when she grew so bad, another nurse had to be got. Then we three did the same way between us. We were obliged to take her, because I was getting quite knocked up. However Mr. Anderton kept up the way he did, I cannot think or say; but he broke down altogether when the mistress died. I don’t think after that the poor gentleman was ever quite right in his head. I remember the doctor asking him one day whether he had any tartar emetic in the house. He said, No; but he would get some, if it was wanted. Nothing more passed at the time, so far as I know. It was brought to my mind again by something which happened after the poor lady’s death. It was nothing very particular; only I found in her room a piece of paper, with “Tartar Emetic” printed on it. That was all that was printed, but the word “Poison” was written under it. I kept the paper and showed it to the Baron. I don’t know why I did so; I suppose because he was in the house at the time. Afterwards I showed it to the lawyer, and he took charge of it. I had no particular suspicion; none at all. I can’t tell why I took it up. I did it without thinking, quite promiscuous like. I didn’t show it to master, because he was too ill to be worried. That was the only reason.
‘The above is the evidence I gave at the inquest. I have nothing more to add. I am quite sure that Mr. and Mrs. Anderton were very fond of each other. I never saw two people so affectionate like. The Baron was very fond of both of them. I don’t think Mrs. Anderton liked him much. She seemed to have a sort of dread of him. I don’t know why; she never said so. The Baron used often to call on Mr. Anderton, to see the doctor, but, so far as I know, he only saw the mistress once. I think he knew she did not like him, and kept away on purpose. He was a very kind-hearted gentleman. He was always particularly polite and civil-spoken to me. He used often to talk to me about master doting so on mistress. He used to speak about his always giving her her physic and things. I remember one day his saying it wouldn’t be very easy to give her anything unwholesome without his knowing of it, or something of that sort. He seemed as if he never could say enough in praise of master, and I am sure he deserved it. I took him the paper I found just like I might have taken it to master if he had been well enough. He was in the house at the time. He had been in the poor lady’s room with Dr. Dodsworth just before, and had stayed in the parlour to write something. He sent me into the room to see if he had left his glove there. It was in looking for it that I saw the paper. It was lying just under the bed when I stooped down to look for the glove. I took it up at first, thinking how careless it was to have left it there when the room was put straight after the poor lady died, and then I saw what was written upon it. The glove was lying on the floor close to it. There was no vallance to the bed; it had been taken off for the sake of sweetness. I forget exactly what the Baron said when I showed him the paper. It was something that made me think I might get into trouble about it. That was why I showed it to the lawyer. My brother had been to him once before about some money that ought to have come to us. He took the paper to the magistrates, and that was how the inquest came about. I was very angry about it, and so was the Baron. He asked me how I could have been so foolish? I don’t know what made me think of taking it to him. I think it was something the Baron said. He did not advise me to do it. He did not advise me anything, but I think he wanted me to burn it. I offered it to him, but he said he was afraid, or something of that kind; and I think that was what put it into my head to ask the lawyer about it.’
4. Memorandum by Mr. Henderson.
The statement of the other nurse, herewith enclosed, merely corroborates that of Mrs. Edwards, with respect to such matters as came within her cognisance. I have, therefore, not thought it necessary to insert it here.
Mr. Prendergast’s report, also enclosed, is somewhat lengthy, and of a purely technical character. It is to the following effect:—
‘1. That, on examination, the body of the late Mrs. Anderton presented in all respects the precise appearance which would be exhibited in a case of poisoning by antimony.
‘2. It was, nevertheless, possible to account for these appearances as the result of chronic “gastritis,” or “gastro-enteritis,” though in some respects not such as either of those diseases would be expected to present.
‘3. The strictest and most thorough examination entirely failed in showing the very slightest trace of either antimony or arsenic; either in the contents of the various organs, or in the tissues.
‘4. A portion of the medicine last taken by the deceased was also examined, but equally without result.
‘5. From the lengthened period over which the poisoning, if any, must have extended, and the small doses in which it must have been administered, it is scarcely possibly but that, had such really been the case, some traces of it must have been found in the tissues, though not perhaps in the contents of the stomach, &c.
‘6. In a case of poisoning, also, the symptoms wo
uld have recurred in their severest form within a short period of taking the food or medicine in which it had been administered. In this case, however, they appear to have uniformly shown themselves at a late period of the night, and several hours after either food or medicine had been taken.
‘7. It is therefore concluded that, notwithstanding the suspicious appearance of the body on dissection, death is to be attributed not to poison, but to an abnormal form of chronic “gastro-enteritis,” for the peculiar symptoms of which the exceptional constitution of the deceased may in some degree account.’
5. Statement of Police-Sergeant, Edward Reading.
‘I am a sergeant on the detective-staff of the Metropolitan Police. In October 1856, I was on duty at Notting Hill. I was employed to watch a gentleman by the name of Anderton. He was in custody on a coroner’s warrant for the murder of his lady, but couldn’t be removed on account of being ill. I was put in the house to prevent his escape. I did not stay in his room. I did at first, but it seemed of no use; so I spoke to our superintendent, and got leave from him to stop in the outer-room. I did this to make things pleasant. I always try to make things as pleasant as I can, compatible with duty, especially when it’s a gentleman. It comes harder on them than on the regular hands, because they are not so much used to it. In this case prisoner seemed to take on terribly. He was very weak and ill—too ill seemingly to get out of bed. He used to lie with his eyes fixed upon one corner of the room, muttering sometimes to himself, but I couldn’t tell what. He never spoke to anyone. The only time he spoke was once, to ask me to let him see the body. I hadn’t the heart to say no; but I went with him and kept at the door. He could hardly totter along, he was so weakly. After about half-an-hour, I thought it was all very quiet, and looked in. He was lying on the floor in a dead faint, and I carried him back. He never spoke again, but lay just as I have said. Of course I took every precaution. Prisoner’s room had two doors, one opening on the landing, and the other into the room where I stopped. I locked up the outer-door, and put three or four screws into it from the outside. The window was too high to break out at, but our men used to keep an eye upon it from the street. At night I used to lock the door of my room and stick open the door between the two. I was relieved occasionally by Sergeant Walsh,27 but I mostly preferred seeing to it myself. I like to keep my own work in my own hands, and this was a very interesting case. When I first took charge I made a careful examination of the premises and of all papers, and the like. I found nothing to criminate the prisoner. I found a journal of the lady who was murdered, with a note at the end in his handwriting; but so far as it went they seemed to be on very good terms. I found also a lot of prescriptions and notes referring to her illness, but no papers like that found by the nurse, nor any traces of powders or drugs of any kind. I went with the nurse into the bed-room of the murdered party, and made her point out the exact spot where the paper was found. According to what she said it was lying just under the bed on the right-hand side. The glove was lying close to it, but not under the bed. Somehow I didn’t quite feel as if it was all on the square. I thought the business of the paper looked rather queer. It didn’t seem quite feasible like. I have known a thing of that sort by way of a plant before now, so I thought I’d just go on asking questions. That’s always my way. I ask all kinds of questions about everything, feeling my way like. I generally find something turn up that way before I have done. Something turned up this time. I don’t know that it was much—perhaps not. I have my own opinion about that. This is how it was. After more questions of one kind and another, I got to something that led me to ask the nurse which side of the bed Mr. Anderton usually went to give the lady food and physic. She and the other servants all agreed that, being naturally left-handed like, he always went to the left-hand side of the bed, so as he could get to feed her with a spoon. He was very bad with his right hand. Couldn’t handle a spoon with it no more than some of us could with the left. Nurse said she had seen him try once or twice, which he always spilled everything. I mean of course with his right hand. He was handy enough with his left. When I heard this, I began to suspect we might be on a false scent. This is the way I looked at it. The glove, as I told you, was lying on the floor by the right side of the bed, so as anybody who dropped it must have been standing on that side which it’s the natural side to go to as being nearest the door. The paper was close to it, just under the same side of the bed. Now, I took it as pretty clear prisoner hadn’t put that paper there for the purpose, but if he’d done it at all, he had dropped it by accident in giving the stuff. I fancy, too, he’d naturally be particularly careful in giving that sort of stuff not to spill it about the place, so he’d be pretty well sure to take his best hand to it. In that case he’d have dropped it on the left-hand side of the bed—not the right. Still, of course it might have got blown across, or, for the matter of that, kicked, though that was not very likely, as the bed was a wide one, and put in a sort of recess like, quite out of any sort of draught. So I thought I’d have another look at the place, and, poking about under the bed, I found a long narrow box, which the servants told me was full of bows and arrows, and hadn’t been moved out of its place since they first came to the house. It took up the whole length of the bed within a foot or so, and lay right along the middle, on the floor. There was a mark along the floor that showed how long it had been there. A bit of paper like that never could have got blown right over that without touching it, if there had been ever such a draught. When I’d got so far, I fancied things began to look very queer; so I got the bed shifted out of its place altogether. The coffin was in the way, and I got that moved to one side of the room, and pulled the bed right clear of the box. As we shifted the coffin, I thought I saw something like a piece of paper under the flannel shroud. I said nothing at the time, but waited until the undertaker’s men were out of the room and I was alone. I then opened the shroud and found a small folded paper: it was put just under the hands, which were crossed over the bosom of the corpse. I opened it and found a lock of hair, which I saw directly was Mr. Anderton’s, and there were a few words in writing, which I copied down, in my note-book; and then I put the hair and the paper and all back where I found them. The writing was, “Pray for me, darling, pray for me.” I knew the hand at once for Mr. Anderton’s. His writing is very remarkable, by reason, I suppose, of being so left-handed. Of course that wasn’t evidence, but somehow I got an idea out of it that a man wouldn’t go on in that way with his wife just after he’d been and murdered her. It struck me that that would be against nature, leastways if he was in his right mind. After I had finished with the coffin, I took a look at the box. As I expected, the top was covered ever so thick with dust, and it was pretty clear that, at all events, the bit of paper had never lain a-top of it. I put a piece just like it on to try, and blew it off again; and it made a great mark and got all dirty. The paper picked up by the nurse was quite clean, or very nearly so. Putting all this together I came pretty nigh a conclusion that, at all events, it wasn’t Mr. Anderton as had dropped the paper there. The sides of the box were also dusty, but there were marks on them like as if a brush or a broom had brushed against them. I put the box and the bed back into their places, and went down to question the housemaid.28 I found that she had put the room tidy the day Mrs. Anderton died, and had passed a short hair-broom under the bed, as there were several things lying about. She said she was quite sure there was no bit of paper there then, as she had stooped down and looked under. I tried with the same broom, and you couldn’t reach the box without stooping, as she said. I then enquired who had been in the room between the time of the death and the finding of the paper. No one had been there but the nurse, the doctor, the housemaid, and Baron R**. I was determined to hunt it out if possible. I questioned the nurse and the housemaid—on the quiet, not to excite suspicion—but felt pretty clear they knew nothing more about it; and when next Baron R** came I sounded him about different points. He did not seem to know that Mr. Anderton was so left-handed,
nor could I get any information from him on the subject. He didn’t seem at first to see what I was driving at, and, of course, I didn’t mean he should; but after a while I saw he had struck out the same idea as I had about the place where the paper was found, though I had not meant to let him into that. He seemed quite struck of a heap by it. I fancied at the moment that he turned regularly pale, but he was just blowing his nose with a large yellow silk handkerchief, and I could not be sure. He said nothing to me of what he had guessed, nor did I to him. I like to keep those things as quiet as I can, particularly from parties’ friends. I have not been able to get any further clue, but I am convinced that something is to be made out of that paper business yet. I generally know a scent when I get on one, and my notion is that I am on one now. I did not see the Baron again until the evening before Mr. Anderton made away with himself. He came then in a great hurry, and insisted on seeing the prisoner. I said I would ask, but did not expect he could, as Mr. Anderton would see or speak to no one. He seemed to be in a sad state, partly with exhaustion after waiting on his wife so long, and partly with the worry of having this hanging over him. He was a very sensitive gentleman, and seemed to take it more to heart than anyone I ever saw. He wouldn’t see anyone, not even his lawyer. When I told him about the Baron, however, he said he might come in, and they were together half-an-hour or more. I did not hear anything that passed. When the Baron came out, he took me on one side and told me everything was all right, and his friend was sure to get off. He said he was quite overpowered with the good news, and particularly begged that he might not be disturbed by anyone, as he thought he could sleep now. He had hardly slept a wink all the time. I promised not to disturb him, and he lay quite quiet all night. I peeped in once or twice to make sure he was there, but did not speak. I noticed a faint smell like peaches once, but did not think anything of it. In the morning I went in to take him his breakfast, and found him dead and quite cold. In his hand was a little bottle which had contained prussic acid, and which had evidently come out of a pocket medicine-chest that lay on the bed. I gave the alarm, and the divisional surgeon was sent for; but he was stone dead. At about nine o’clock the Baron’s servant came round to know whether he had left a pocket medicine-chest the night before. I questioned the servant, and found the Baron had given him a list of the places where he had been, and that he had asked at several already. The medicine-chest wanted proved to be the one found in Mr. Anderton’s room. On the pillow I found also a piece of paper in Mr. Anderton’s handwriting, of which I enclose a copy.’
The Notting Hill Mystery Page 11
