by Carol Baxter
When he took ill, I wanted to send for the priest. In fact, I begged of him to let me send for the priest. He said, ‘No, my love. I will neither see priest nor parson. I only want you. I don’t wish to see anybody.’ I could not in any way persuade him to see the priest while he was alive. So after his death I sent for the priest at Randwick as there are none living in Botany. The priest came in his buggy to my place. He had scarcely alighted when the two Botany police that was stationary on my house all the morning . . .
She interrupted her account to complain that she’d thought the policemen were there as her friends but had later discovered they were acting on information from the doctors. As she continued writing, she tried to hide the depth of her bitterness.
When the priest was about to come to my door, the police detained him for a considerable time, talking to him. I wondered at the delay then sent someone to invite the priest in. He came in and read prayers over the dead body of my husband that was lying on the bed and spoke a few kind words to me and then he left.
She added that she was writing this letter because she wanted to know what the police had said at such length to the priest. Could someone tell her?
The days passed without any response. In a second letter to the sheriff, she asked to see the Sisters of Mercy who visited Catholics in the gaol. ‘I am sure they would only be too glad to take pitty on me and see the priest in Randwick. I am sure it would throw some light on the subject of the death of my late husband Collins, which is schrouded in mystery at the present time.’ She admitted that Governor Read had refused her request to see the sisters. ‘In fact, he most grossly insults me and speaks to me as though I was one void of feeling. I am only waiting trial, as you know,’ she added plaintively.
Finally, she begged the sheriff to permit a prisoner’s woman to attend her. ‘For I have some awful disclosures to make before my trial comes of which will make things look very different to what they do at the present time.’
• • •
While Lusk dealt with Louisa’s legal issues, Senior Constable Sherwood was the recipient of communications directed to those living in the Botany district. He too was ignoring her letters. She started another, repeating her previously unheeded request for the photograph of herself and Collins, the one published in the illustrated newspapers. She provided directions to the photograph’s location, making it clear that she didn’t expect him to make a special trip to the gaol; she just wanted him to bring it to the court when her case came to trial again. Why did she want it? ‘It was not money I wanted from Collins, it was himself,’ she wrote. ‘If Death had come and offered me a Million of Money for Mr Collins, I would not have taken it in place of him.’
She couldn’t help avowing her innocence: ‘I am no Murderess or Drunkard or Liar!’ In the long hours of enforced silence and inactivity, it was hard not to dwell on the dreadful things people were saying about her, both in the courtroom and out of it. She continued by telling Sherwood that she was honest and upright in all her dealings and that, after her trials, she would pay all of her bills, including the cost of feeding her and of the cab fares to the various courts before her incarceration. ‘I shall only be too happy too give the Government a cheque for the full amount no matter what becomes of me if I should get hung or imprisonment for life. I shall not let the Government be at the loss of one halfpenny by me.’ She didn’t want him to think ill of her for saying such a thing, though. ‘You need not think for one moment that this letter is a Bribe or a Sweetener for it is nothing of the kind; it is the truth. I let you, Mr Sherwood, and everyone else see who I am.’ To make such payments, she would need money, of course, and she admitted that she had some stashed away. ‘I am independent, thank God.’
She also penned another letter to one of her creditors, a Botany gentleman, saying, ‘I hope you do not think of me as most people do, as one of the deepest dye, black. As soon as my trials is over, I will call and pay you what I owe you. Hoping that your wife and dear children are quite well, I remain, yours truly, Louisa Collins.’
• • •
A reply from Sherwood and the photograph at last. But no visit from Arthur as she had also requested. According to Sherwood, Arthur was too busy to leave his work. She responded tartly, ‘Sir, I do not blame Arthur for not coming to see me because he would not be let come by you and Jeffes and my son Herby Andrews and Mrs Bartington.’ She suggested that her correspondence had been withheld from Arthur and reminded Sherwood that he was responsible for investigating all crimes. ‘That is what you are paid too do and not stop Arthur from coming too see his Mother in prison.’
She also took issue with Sherwood’s claim that he had acted according to the law when taking her into custody. ‘Sir, you know in your heart and soul that you never read no Warrant to me when you came to my house at candle light and told me too go in the Tram too Sydney too tell me something about the inquest. I went without the slightest resistance, thinking, of course, that all was right.’ And she challenged him to treat her decently. ‘We are all born but not Buried. Mr Sherwood if you don’t want to go headlong too your doom with four others, the best thing I would advise you too do is too be civil with me for I have done you no harm nor anyone else.’
• • •
As the date of the next criminal session drew near, offers of support from sensation-loving barristers reminded her of her obligation to Hugh Lusk. In a note to the Sydney Morning Herald, she asked that the attached letter be published, one that explained her decision to reject these other offers:
Sir, it is out of no ill-feeling or disrespect or injury too any other Barrister for I wish them all well but it is out of pure respect and the deepest gratitude for all he has done for me and my welfare he richly deserves all the respect I can show him and I am only too happy too call him the Champion Barraster of New South Wales and I wish all the other Papers to copy this letter.
The gaoler appended a note saying that Louisa wanted the letter to be sent to the press after her case was finished. Instead, it was sent to the colonial authorities where it was filed and forgotten.
Chapter 23
Eat arsenic? Yes . . .
Consenting, he did speak up;
’Tis better you should eat it, pet,
Than put it in my teacup.
Ambrose Bierce, The Devil’s Dictionary
A different wig graced the bench in the Darlinghurst courtroom on Monday, 5 November. Justice William Windeyer was presiding over Louisa’s second trial, again on charges of killing Michael Peter Collins. Those watching Windeyer as he made himself comfortable saw a handsome face marked by strong features and a brusque, forbidding manner. Some were aware that under this formidable exterior lay a liberal heart. He was an advocate of social reform, particularly of women’s rights. Indeed, as a one-time parliamentarian, he had been responsible for the passage of the Married Women’s Property Act of 1879, which granted married women the legal right to their own income and inheritance. Nevertheless, some of his harsh rulings in the criminal courts had created widespread controversy. He believed that criminal justice demanded retribution and his sympathy lay with the victims, particularly female victims. As the judge presiding over a sensational gang-rape trial two years previously, he had sentenced nine of the perpetrators to the gallows. Such rulings were responsible for his nickname, ‘the hanging judge’.
A different wig also sat in the Crown’s prosecutorial chair. Henry Cohen usually gravitated towards cases involving commercial interests and the civil law, so he seemed a surprising choice for the Crown’s lead prosecutor in a murder trial. Sitting beside him, though, was the previous prosecutor, William Coffey. The Crown hoped they would make a formidable team.
• • •
As the clerk called out the jurors’ names, one was familiar to Louisa: Alexander Geddes. His surname was well known in the Botany district. Many locals were employed by members of the Geddes family in one of their wool-washing or fellmongering establishments. Mick had worked for Thomas
Geddes in the months before his death. Charlie had been employed by Alexander Geddes himself until shortly before his own death. Would anyone challenge Geddes’ presence in the jury box? Would he reveal his own distant connection? No . . .
The new prosecutor began his opening address. Louisa listened intently. Perhaps he’d found new evidence against her. But as he traced her case’s history up to the time of her arrest, he added nothing new. She’d already heard it recited twice before. Her eyes glazed over and she retreated into the same protectively indifferent state as before.
‘Dr George Archibald Marshall?’ the prosecution called. Rumours regarding Marshall’s demise had been wrong, much to the prosecution’s relief. A dead man’s words were never as powerful as those of the living.
For the third time, Marshall stepped into the witness box. Nothing new was elicited from his examination; however, Lusk was more prepared for his cross-examination. He asked the surgeon about his experience with arsenic poisoning cases and wondered if he had considered the possibility that Collins might have been an arsenic-eater.
An arsenic-eater? Now that was a new suggestion. Was it possible?
Lusk knew that it was indeed a possibility. The claims of arsenic-eating as a health benefit had first surfaced in a Viennese medical journal in 1851, with reports that peasants living in the mountainous Styria region regularly consumed doses of arsenic that were well above the lethal level. The peasants began by taking small amounts several times a week then they slowly increased the dose until they were eating four to eight grains at a time, even twenty-three grains in one instance. Men found it increased their energy and endurance, making it easier to work in their tough, mountainous environment. Hangovers were a thing of the past, as were the usual coughs and colds. Longevity increased—not just in life but also in death; the exhumed bodies of long-dead arsenic-eaters often bore recognisable features when others buried around the same time had been reduced to skeletons. Virility increased. And since female arsenic-eaters were transformed from wraiths into voluptuous, libidinous, rose-cheeked beauties, illegitimate children abounded.
After the report was published, the rumours of arsenic’s potency spread around the globe. Men began taking arsenic pills while women added arsenic preparations to their beauty regimes—and the ‘Styrian defence’ became a new tool in murder trials. ‘She died not because I murdered her,’ the husband would proclaim, ‘but because she was an arsenicophagist.’ Or: ‘I have arsenic in my possession because I was trying to make myself more alluring for my husband, not because I intended to murder him.’ Was the young, virile Collins an arsenic-eater?
‘I had no reason to suppose that the man was an arsenic-eater by choice,’ Marshall informed the court.
With no other evidence than Louisa’s mention of a missing packet of powder, Lusk let the ‘Styrian defence’ drop, hoping that it might have introduced an element of reasonable doubt.
Then a juror asked a question.
• • •
It is almost a truism that barristers should only ask questions to which they already know the answer; many a well-prepared case has been undermined by an unexpected and unwelcome response. A single barrister, though, wasn’t the only person steering the course of Louisa’s trial. While the defence, prosecution and judge each held their own reins, another twelve individuals could tug at them at any moment. It was like steering a horse through a minefield.
‘Do you know what occupation the deceased followed?’ the juror asked Marshall.
‘Collins was employed before his illness in carting green skins for a wool-washing establishment,’ the surgeon replied. He had heard enough testimonies and read enough newspaper reports in the previous four months to be aware of Collins’ occupation, even if he hadn’t been privy to that information when he actually treated the man.
‘Don’t you know that, in this country, all squatters and fellmongers treat skins with arsenic?’ the juror asked.
‘That is very important,’ said the startled judge. Looking back at Marshall, he asked, ‘Do you know that as a fact? It ought to be in evidence.’
‘I do not,’ Marshall replied.
Prosecutor Cohen tried to grab back the reins, asking the doctor if arsenic could have been introduced into Collins’ body in such a way.
‘If Collins had suffered from blood-poisoning by following his occupation, I would not expect to find so much arsenic in the body as was found.’
The juror piped up again, asking about hand wounds.
‘Of course, Collins might have cut his finger and, working with arsenic, have placed his finger in his mouth and in this way have introduced the drug into his system,’ Marshall admitted. ‘It would depend very much on the quantity and strength of the arsenic used.’
The prosecutor asked if this was likely in view of what he had seen.
‘Collins’ symptoms were inconsistent with those that should be presented by arsenical poisoning from working with a solution of arsenic.’
The juror interjected, ‘I knew a case in which a man had suffered through working with arsenic.’
‘Such a statement should be made on oath,’ said the judge firmly, ‘in order that true facts might be elicited in cross-examination. There is no evidence to show that the deceased had cut his hands or fingers and thus got arsenic into his system.’
The spectators’ heads were swivelling backwards and forwards as questions flew around the courtroom: from the prosecutor to the witness, from the judge to the witness, from the judge to the juror, from the juror to . . . everyone. What an extraordinary development. How had this faceless adjudicator transformed himself into defence counsel-cum-witness?
Called to the stand, Dr Martin was asked his own opinion about the possibility of arsenic absorption through Collins’ skin. He said that he thought it impossible that such a large amount of arsenic could have been found in Collins’ liver if it had been absorbed by any other means than ingestion. ‘If that quantity had been absorbed through the skin, it would have caused a good deal of irritation on the skin’s surface. I saw nothing of the kind. The skin was clear except for the wound on the bone.’
‘Taking it for granted that Collins had not been at work from the twenty-eighth of June and had handled no skins after that date, and supposing the poison had passed through the skin and that he had vomited as stated, would you expect to find arsenic in the body after death?’ Cohen asked.
‘I would expect to find only a slight trace of arsenic.’
Lusk was delighted to pursue this new trail of evidence and questioned Dr Milford about the possibilities. Milford said, ‘I know of cases in which the external application of arsenic has caused sore hands. I myself suffered from sore fingernails for three years through using arsenic in dealing with bodies. This has also happened in the case of numbers of medical students dealing with dissection.’
Asked if Collins’ body had shown signs that arsenic might have been absorbed through the skin, Milford said that he had seen no such signs on Collins’ hands or around the necrosis on his leg but that there might have been traces that he hadn’t noticed.
Was skin-absorbed arsenic likely to cause vomiting?
‘I have never known a person to vomit after absorbing it through the hands,’ Milford responded, then admitted that he knew of cases in which clothes washed in arsenic had poisoned the wearers and that some cases of externally absorbed arsenic had led to deaths.
As Lusk sat down, the juror remarked, ‘In removing the wool from skins, the tanner might occasionally rub his hand across his mouth and thus in a short time swallow a fatal dose.’
The prosecutor asked Milford if he could comment on this point. Milford replied, ‘Had the poison been taken in the manner suggested and six days had elapsed since the last skin had been handled, I would not expect to find arsenic in the man’s vomit. The poison would be eliminated and would not accumulate.’
• • •
That afternoon and the following morning witnesses continued
to tread the hallowed path to the witness box. The pressmen continued to scribble notes, all the while recognising that their published reports would likely omit most of these testimonies; their subscribers had little interest in reading the same information for a third time.
During these interminable days, Louisa maintained the same composed demeanour. Occasionally, on making eye contact with someone she knew, she would twitch her lips in a slight smile, but otherwise she seemed as indifferent as previously.
Senior Constable Sherwood reminded the court that Louisa had made no verbal response after being officially charged with murder. Nobody could miss his insinuation: that if the woman had not poisoned her husband, surely she would have loudly protested her innocence. Under cross-examination, he conceded that she had spoken openly to the policemen about her husband’s illness and had seemed genuinely surprised that the surgeon had refused to sign a death certificate. He also admitted that, despite exhaustive searches of her house—even with the children’s assistance—he had found nothing that suggested she might have poisoned her husband.
When neighbour Charles Sayers testified, the juror piped up again, asking him about Collins’ poisoned hands. Sayers said, ‘I do not remember Collins having poisoned hands. He had sore hands caused probably by handling wool and skins.’
Justice Windeyer had had enough. He looked towards the jury box and said, ‘If any juror knows anything about such a fact, or about the case, it is your duty to be sworn and examined in the usual way.’
‘I know nothing about the case, sir,’ responded the juror. ‘I don’t know the woman, or ever spoke to her in my life.’
‘Your question implied that you knew something about the case.’
‘I only know that men do suffer from poisoned hands after handling skins, and I think it possible that Collins had been affected in this way.’
