by Carol Baxter
In February 1888, the family returned to Botany—to cottage number one in Pople’s Terrace, not far from their previous residence. There the baby died two months later. It was then, according to Louisa’s own family, that she began to drink heavily and that tension began to develop in the Collins household.
Chapter 27
Louisa Collins, unless the unanimous verdict of the press and the public has done her a grievous wrong, proceeded to do to death her first husband by small doses of arsenic with a serenity, with a profound calmness, comparable only to that of some snake deliberately killing and swallowing a rabbit or a squirrel.
Brisbane Courier
Justice Sir Joseph Innes looked with interest at Louisa, whose face bore its usual expression of stolid indifference. He was presiding over her third trial, although the charge in this instance related to the killing of her first husband, Charles Andrews. Opening his notebook, he wrote ‘Regina v. Louisa Collins’ and the date, 19 November 1888. He added, ‘She is a good looking woman of about 38 or 40, dark hair, about five foot six inches, rather slight, big eyes looking somewhat hollow now.’ He also mentioned the previous unsuccessful attempts to convict her.
Innes himself had a murky heritage. He was a grandson of Australia’s most famous female convict, the English horse-stealer and colonial businesswoman, Mary Reibey. Openly ambitious, he had used politics as a springboard to a seat on the bench, much to the disgust of the Bulletin’s editor, who pointed out that he had never achieved the legal eminence to warrant such an honour. A man of deep emotion and empathy, Innes was once so distressed at pronouncing a death sentence that he told the prisoner’s counsel to find something—anything—that could be used to argue for mercy. Would he need to do so in Louisa’s case as well?
The new prosecutor, Charles Heydon, stood up and began his opening address, indicating to the court that he was taking a broader view of the case than suggested by the indictment. ‘I am entitled,’ he declared as if challenging the judge to stop him, ‘to produce evidence showing that another person, to whom the prisoner had access, died from the effects of arsenical poisoning.’ He cited several cases as precedents.
Justice Innes was wary about this approach, declaring that he would reserve his ruling until the actual evidence was tendered.
There was little sign of Heydon’s proposed strategy when his first witnesses testified. They repeated much of the information elicited at the Andrews inquest four months previously. Dr Martin reported that the death certificate he had signed listed ‘acute gastroenteritis’ as the cause of death but he now had a different opinion. He had thought it an odd case at the time because his medicine usually checked the vomiting caused by gastroenteritis. Moreover, constipation was more common than diarrhoea in cases of gastroenteritis, while the vomiting/ purging combination was more common when an irritant poison like arsenic had been ingested. Since arsenic had been found in Andrews’ remains, he now believed that arsenic poisoning caused the gastroenteritis that led to Andrews’ death.
The government analyst provided another brief but precise description of his tests and discoveries; however, Judge Innes was troubled by the possibility of inaccuracy when dealing with such tiny proportions. ‘Small as this amount appears to be to us, are you sure that you have made no mistake about tracing it?’
‘None whatever, Your Honour,’ Hamlet reassured him. ‘I could detect a five-thousandth part of a grain.’
When the prosecutor asked if more arsenic might have been present at the time of Andrews’ burial—if the coffin’s deteriorated condition, for example, could have had some impact—Hamlet replied that the water that drained from the coffin might have dissolved the arsenic in Andrews’ body and carried it away.
Upon cross-examination, Lusk queried if the opposite might have occurred. Could the arsenic have entered Andrews’ body after death rather than before?
Hamlet admitted that this was feasible. ‘The possibility is present of arsenic being in the soil or in the coffin plate or metal fittings or dyed substances used in the coffin.’
This was not the answer the prosecution wanted the jury to hear. It offered the type of reasonable doubt that could torpedo the Crown’s third attempt at convicting the woman. When Heydon asked if post-death absorption was likely, Hamlet said that he had analysed soil samples from three different areas in the coffin’s vicinity without finding any traces of arsenic. He thought it more likely that the arsenic had been introduced into Andrews’ body during his lifetime.
Lusk raised another possibility: that the arsenic might have been ingested as an impurity in the bismuth prescribed by the doctor.
‘Bismuth is sometimes impure,’ Hamlet conceded, before adding that Inspector Hyem had collected some bismuth from the chemist shop responsible for preparing Andrews’ medicine, and that he himself had tested it without discovering any traces of arsenic. ‘The bismuth sold in Sydney is generally pure,’ he added.
Was Lusk going to point out that ‘generally’ was not a strong enough confirmation when a woman’s life was at stake? Would he ask if the bismuth sample tested in August 1888 was extracted from the same bottle used in January 1887? Given the popularity of bismuth in medical preparations, the answer should have been obvious. Yet he failed to ask this critical question.
Lusk returned to the question of the water-filled coffin when the post-mortem doctor testified, asking Knaggs if he thought it likely that the water had washed away some of the arsenic.
Knaggs said that the water had barely reached the centre of the body. ‘I don’t think it reached the stomach. The water was not washing through the body and any arsenic in the body would not in my opinion have been washed away by the water.’
• • •
As the sun sank towards the horizon, the first of Louisa’s children was called to the witness box. Previously, only the testimony of Louisa’s daughter had been incriminating; however, this trial dealt with the death of the children’s father. Could the older boys have information to support the prosecution’s case?
Arthur talked about the quarrel that had led to Collins’ ejection from the house, adding that the friction between his parents hadn’t ended there. One evening, shortly before his father’s illness, his parents had been in the front room arguing. Then his father said something he would never forget. ‘He said, “You and Collins wish me dead,” ’ Arthur told the jury, adding, ‘He said this at a time prior to his death.’
‘Well, I presume it was,’ was the judge’s dry interjection.
‘My father seemed angry when he made use of the expression,’ Arthur continued. ‘He was talking pretty loud and sharp to Mother. Mother said something in a low tone of voice, but I can’t remember what.’
The prosecution asked about Collins’ return to the house after Arthur’s father’s death. As Arthur mentioned the dance in the neighbouring cottage, heads pivoted towards Louisa—not to see her reaction to her son’s comments, but because she had laughed. It was odd behaviour from a very odd woman.
Their attention was drawn back to the witness box when Lusk questioned Arthur about his parents’ relationship. Arthur said that he had often heard his father say angry and nasty words to his mother. His father’s alcohol intake? Arthur admitted that his father drank a lot of beer; however, he was never drunk.
Everyone in the courtroom knew that alcohol was usually an issue when wives killed their husbands. Seemingly, Andrews was not an inebriate who failed to pull his punches when his wife displeased him—not that wife-beating justified husband-killing. Still, it might have offered the type of mitigating factor that a judge like Innes could use to recommend mercy.
Then the prosecutor called May Andrews.
As Lusk listened to the child telling the jury how she had seen Rough on Rats in her home shortly before her father died and also before Collins died, he realised they had reached the moment that Heydon had alluded to, the moment when the Crown would attempt to try Louisa for the deaths of both husbands rather than Andre
ws alone. He asked the judge, ‘Can the Crown produce evidence of this nature to show that a person who had died subsequently had exhibited similar symptoms and that the prisoner had had access to the person?’
The point was argued at length by both sides with various authorities being quoted. Heydon indicated that it was important from a probative perspective. Lusk expressed his concern that it was too prejudicial. Innes said that the jurors would be intelligent enough to know that it wasn’t their responsibility to determine whether Louisa had poisoned Collins; rather, the question was whether the evidence about Collins’ death was relevant in the Andrews trial because of the similarities between the cases. He felt that the arguments on both sides had merit and that he would be failing in his duty if he rejected the evidence. The prosecutor could continue.
And with that important ruling, Heydon asked the girl to repeat all the devastating details she had provided at the previous two trials. Then he called or recalled other witnesses to do the same. Soon, all the evidence covering ‘means’ and ‘opportunity’ for both cases and ‘motive’ for the Andrews case had been introduced.
Most of the evidence had been brought to light in previous trials, although Louisa’s neighbour Margaret Collis had some new information to share. She told the court that she had been sitting with Louisa late on the Saturday night before Collins’ death when Louisa made a revealing comment. ‘She said she never liked Andrews,’ Margaret told the court. ‘She said, “My mother forced me to marry him because he had money and was comfortable, but I never liked him. I hated him and all belonging to him.” ’ Louisa also said that she didn’t like Andrews’ children either, that the only child she did like was Mick’s baby, the infant who had died.
Lusk asked how they had come to have such a conversation.
‘She was saying how much better she liked Collins,’ Mrs Collis explained. ‘The conversation came up about her disliking all of Andrews’ brothers and the children. She said she liked Collins, though.’
• • •
When Lusk commenced his defence, the Evening News correspondent was startled to recognise his only witness. It wasn’t because the man had testified at a previous trial; rather, he had been one of the jurors. And here he was testifying in Louisa’s defence.
Lusk asked wool merchant Alexander Geddes if arsenic was used in processing the skins. Geddes said that some of the squatters put arsenic over the skins to preserve them from weevils. He added that some of the men experienced sore hands, but that the effects had never been serious.
Soon afterwards, the jurors were locked up for the night with Geddes’ evidence echoing in their minds. Perhaps Andrews had indeed suffered a severe case of gastroenteritis, with the minuscule traces of arsenic in his remains resulting from contact with arsenic while working at the wool yard.
Chapter 28
How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds make deeds ill done!
William Shakespeare, The Life and Death of King John
The morning’s Herald was filled with news from abroad, the agony caused by the silent telegraph cable being an almost-forgotten memory. Among the colonial news was a discussion about an equally important link with the outside world: the individual who represented the Queen’s supreme authority, the Governor of New South Wales.
Those with a particular interest in Louisa’s case were watching out for developments that might have an impact. The identity of the governor—more accurately, the man’s personality and political views—was among them. The current governor, Lord Robert Carrington, had been appointed three years earlier in an experiment of sorts. He was the first of the ‘non-professional’ governors to be given such a posting—the ‘untried and juvenile noblemen,’ a bitter ex-governor would snipe—yet he had fulfilled his political and social duties so admirably that similar appointments had already been made. Some would prove less satisfactory. Accordingly, Sir Henry Parkes was asking the New South Wales Legislative Assembly to vote this day on the subject of governor appointments, namely to implore the English authorities to allow the colonial governments the right to veto their choices.
The community knew that the current governor had a few more years to serve so the impact on New South Wales wouldn’t be felt for some years. Nevertheless, the article was a reminder of the role Lord Carrington might play in Louisa’s life—and prospective death—if the court’s verdict did not go her way.
Elsewhere, the Herald provided a detailed report about her case, adding that Lusk would begin his closing address when court resumed at ten am.
• • •
‘I submit that the evidence given by the prosecution was wholly inadequate to prove that Charles Andrews was poisoned at all,’ declared Lusk as he began summarising the case. He reminded the jury that Andrews’ doctor hadn’t suspected poison at the time of his death and had only remembered the case fifteen months later when another incident led him to question his diagnosis. ‘It makes all the difference in the world through what medium a person looks at bygone events,’ he warned sagely.
He moved on to the subject of the chemical evidence, saying that the minute traces of arsenic could have entered Andrews’ body after death and that there was no evidence to prove that arsenic had been present prior to death. That being the case, there could be no presumption that Andrews had, in fact, been the victim of a deliberate poisoning.
As for the evidence suggesting that Louisa Collins had poisoned Andrews, that too was weak. True, she had evinced a strong liking for another man while her husband was living, but her social and moral character was not on trial. The Crown had argued that she killed her first husband to obtain his money, but the evidence showed that she was not the only person to benefit. ‘I do not wish to say anything disrespectful of the dead, but there was one other person who profited more by Andrews’ death than the accused did, and there has been nothing whatever to show that Collins himself had not easy means for administering the arsenic, if arsenic had been administered at all.’
He finished by urging the jury to dismiss all that had been said regarding Collins’ death. ‘You must deal with the present case upon its own merits and give the accused the benefit of any doubt which might arise in your minds.’
Justice Innes had made only brief notes during Lusk’s one-hundred-minute address; nevertheless, he silently applauded the man’s endeavours by jotting in his notebook, ‘A capital speech.’ Then he signalled that he was ready to hear the Crown’s closing address.
Heydon drew the jury’s attention to the history of Andrews’ illness and to the similarities between his death and that of Collins. He asserted that the Crown had shown that Louisa was the only person who could have administered the arsenic that killed her first husband, and that she had two strong motives for doing so: to obtain Andrews’ money and to marry Collins. ‘The suggestion made by the counsel for the accused—that the deceased might have been poisoned by Collins—will not admit of belief at all,’ he added scornfully. ‘I contend that there is only one conclusion at which you could arrive, which is that the accused is guilty of the crime with which she has been charged.’
‘A conclusive and pitiless reply,’ Justice Innes jotted in his notes.
• • •
The courtroom regulars knew that the judge’s direction to the jury not only heavily influenced the decision-making process, it was, for that reason, a clue to the likely verdict. In Louisa’s first trial, Justice Foster had been impartial and the jury had split almost evenly. In her second trial, Justice Windeyer had made clear his conviction that she was guilty, yet ten of the jurors had voted for an acquittal. If Justice Innes also directed the jury towards a guilty verdict, what chance did she have of dodging this third bullet?
Everyone listened closely as Innes began his summation. He told the jury that they needed to decide if arsenic was the cause of Andrews’ death or if the traces might have come from his coffin or the surrounding soil or even his work. If they were of the opinion that arsenic had killed Andrews, they
had to decide if it had been deliberately administered and, if so, whether his wife was responsible. He drew the jurors’ attention to the fact that the Crown’s case offered opportunity—Louisa was the only person looking after Andrews—and also motive: passion and money. He added dryly that, while she had shown a great want of decency in her haste to possess both of them, the jury would also have to consider the possibility that Collins himself had committed the crime.
Then there was the question of means. He said, ‘Even supposing that the box of Rough on Rats was introduced into the house for the purpose of destroying rats, still the jury would have to consider whether, having it at hand at the time she became seized with her passion for Collins, she was not tempted to use it.’
Finally, he told the jurors that they mustn’t allow themselves to be influenced by any opinions they might have formed regarding Collins’ death as the evidence was admitted only to show that two persons who were attended by the same person had died from arsenical poisoning. With a few additional words about guilt, innocence and reasonable doubt, he ordered the jury to retire and consider their verdict.
At two forty-five pm, the jury filed from the courtroom. At five o’clock, a clerk hurried from the jury room bearing a message for the judge.
Chapter 29
No court presumes to tell a jury that they are to try a capital case with the same indifference and unconcern as . . . a case where the results of their decision would be less important.
Lysander Spooner, The Illegality of the Trial of John W. Webster
It had happened again! Another hung jury. Another unsatisfactory non-verdict.
A few weeks hence, radical parliamentarian David Buchanan would write to the Sydney Morning Herald railing against the law requiring unanimous jury verdicts, and citing Louisa’s trials as evidence of the problems it caused. He argued that, under this law, the opinions of eleven honest, upright men (or perhaps ten or nine) could be set aside by that of one man. He admitted that the resisting juror might also be honest and upright, yet wasn’t the judgement of eleven men more likely to be accurate than that of one? Alternatively, the resister might have reached his opinion from private considerations—there were black sheep in all societies—and by his single voice negate the combined votes of the eleven. ‘As human nature exists, and ever will exist, it is little short of lunacy to demand unanimity from any body of men empowered to decide any given thing under the sun,’ he asserted. He added with wry perspicacity, ‘What chance would there be for legislation if the parliament was required to be unanimous in all it did?’
