by John Boyne
‘We must be getting pretty close to Canada by now, surely,’ she said.
‘A couple of hours and we’ll be there. Best to get on with your packing, I’d say.’
‘But we’ve stopped,’ said Victoria with a snarl.
‘What’s that?’ Mr Robinson asked.
‘We’ve stopped,’ she repeated. ‘The boat’s come to a full stop.’
‘She’s right,’ said Mrs Drake, addressing all her comments to Billy Carter; she had still not forgiven Mr Robinson for his behaviour of a few days before, and it irritated her that he had kept out of her way since then, not even bothering to offer an apology.
‘We’ve just slowed down,’ said Carter, thinking on his feet. ‘Standard practice when you’re getting near the harbour.’
‘We haven’t slowed down,’ Victoria insisted. ‘We’ve come to a full stop. What’s the sense in that?’
They stood and stared at each other for a few moments while he tried to think of a reason; fortunately this was not necessary, for at that moment the engines started up again and the boat shivered into action, cleared to continue now that Inspector Dew was safely on board. ‘See?’ he said, smiling. ‘Just a brief stop, that’s all. On our way again.’
He started to walk on, but Mrs Drake grabbed his arm. ‘And where are you taking Mr Robinson?’ she asked, worried that he might be about to be included in something that she was not.
‘To see the captain.’
‘Why?’
‘I’m afraid it’s a private matter, Mrs Drake,’ he said. ‘Nothing for you to worry about, though.’
Mr Robinson frowned; his mind had been concentrating on the conversation he had just had with Edmund; now he started to wonder why Captain Kendall wanted to see him at all. If he was true to form, the captain probably just wanted him to be nearby when they approached Quebec. He had insisted on spending an increasing amount of time with Hawley during the voyage, and it had begun to grate on him as he found the captain a dull companion, obsessed with only two things: the sea and the health of some former officer about whom he couldn’t stop talking.
‘Well, I dare say I shall see you on deck later, Mr Carter,’ she replied doubtfully, wondering what was going on that she was not being allowed to participate in.
They walked on, and Mr Robinson was aware that both Mrs Drake and Victoria were watching him suspiciously. Climbing the steps towards the deck, he noticed Martha Hayes sitting with Matthieu Zéla and he looked away quickly, not wishing to have to speak to them either. No such luck. The two men passed directly by them, and Martha turned around to speak to them.
‘Isn’t it exciting?’ she said. ‘We’re only a couple of hours away from our new lives. I can’t wait to step ashore in Canada.’
‘Yes,’ said Mr Robinson. ‘We’re all looking forward to it, I think.’
‘Is there a problem, Mr Carter?’ Matthieu asked, looking at him suspiciously. The officer seemed keen to move on and was hopping from one foot to the other as if his bladder was full.
‘No problem,’ he said irritably. ‘Just need to get to the captain’s cabin, that’s all.’
‘Mr Robinson, the most wonderful thing,’ said Martha, taking his hand. ‘Mr Zéla and I—Matthieu, I mean—well, he’s invited me to stay with him and Tom for a couple of weeks in Quebec. He needs an assistant with a business venture and has given me a job. Just until I find my feet, you understand.’
‘Congratulations,’ said Mr Robinson. ‘It seems that you’ve found good fortune on this voyage then, after all.’
‘As have I,’ said Matthieu. ‘It will be pleasant having another adult around as I suspect Tom is only going to grow more and more troublesome as time goes on. I dread to think what the next year or two of his life will bring.’
‘Well, that won’t be anything to do with me, Matthieu,’ Martha said, laughing. ‘I don’t intend to start acting as anyone’s mother.’
‘Mr Robinson, we really should get on,’ Billy Carter said.
‘Yes, of course. I’ll see you both later.’
‘Goodbye, Mr Robinson,’ said Martha, turning back to watch the horizon and wait for the harbour to come into sight.
‘If you ask me,’ Matthieu said quietly as they walked away, ‘he’s been caught out at last.’
‘Caught out?’ she asked. ‘Caught out at what?’
‘Ah,’ he replied. ‘Perhaps now that we’re almost in Quebec, it will do no harm to tell you.’ She leaned forward as he began to reveal what he knew.
‘Are we not going to the wheelhouse?’ Mr Robinson asked, surprised when Billy Carter did not lead them in the direction of the captain’s usual station.
‘Not today, sir, no,’ he replied. ‘The captain is in his cabin.’
‘He wants me to go there?’ he asked, surprised. ‘Look here, Mr Carter, can’t you tell me what this is all about?’
‘I really couldn’t say, sir. But we’re almost there now. If we just make our way down this flight of stairs.’
They stepped down towards the crew’s quarters, but not before Mr Robinson caught sight of Tom DuMarqué skulking in a corner, watching him carefully like a vulture waiting for a body to expire before soaring down and chewing on the still warm flesh. His dark eyes met Mr Robinson’s and the boy’s mouth twisted into a snarl. He could see how much the boy despised him, but it was nothing compared to the anger he had felt when he saw him attacking Edmund. He ignored him and moved on.
Mr Robinson was surprised to see two strong crewmen standing outside the captain’s cabin, but he did not comment on it. They parted as Billy Carter knocked at the door; there was only a brief pause before a voice from inside instructed them to enter. He opened the door and stepped inside, followed by Mr Robinson, who looked around him pleasantly.
‘Captain,’ he said. ‘You wanted to see me.’
Captain Kendall nodded and the door closed behind him. He nodded towards a figure behind Mr Robinson’s shoulder, and he turned around to see who was standing there. For a moment, the face didn’t register. He knew it, of course, but it seemed so unexpected and so out of place that it took him a few seconds to remember who exactly he was looking at. When he did, he felt a sudden mixture of horror and calm, as if the worst had happened and he could finally be at peace.
‘Dr Hawley Crippen,’ said Inspector Dew, stepping forward and extending his hand politely, as if they were old friends. His face wore a look of utter relief that he had found his man. ‘I hope you remember me. I’m Inspector Walter Dew of Scotland Yard.’
‘I remember you,’ he replied calmly. ‘In a way, I’m glad it’s all over.’
Epilogue
London: 16 August–23 November 1910
They were kept in separate cabins on the ship taking them back to England. Among the passengers on board was Billy Carter, released from his duties on the Montrose and returning home for the birth of his son, who would be born prematurely, six days after he arrived home. (The doctors and nurses thought the young man deranged, but he insisted on being present while his wife gave birth.) Although he had hoped to see Mr Robinson again—or Dr Crippen, as he was gradually learning to call him—Inspector Dew saw to it that his prisoner was not allowed on deck except for exercise periods late at night when the other passengers were asleep. Several of them had raised their concern about his presence at all, pointing out that they did not want to be eaten by London’s most infamous cannibal, but he had to return for trial and there was no way of getting him there other than by sea, so they had little choice but to accept it.
The day before they arrived in Liverpool, Inspector Dew entered Dr Crippen’s cabin and unlocked his handcuffs. He had brought the accused’s lunch with him and had decided to join him today, for there were several things he needed to explain to him about the ordeal that lay ahead.
‘Ah, Inspector,’ Hawley said, pleased to see him, for he had spent most of his time alone in the cabin and was desperately in need of company. ‘How nice to see you. We’re dining together to
day, I see,’ he added, noticing the two plates on the tray.
‘For the second time,’ Dew said, recalling the afternoon they had lunched together in London.
‘Yes,’ said Hawley, staring at the meagre contents of his plate with some disappointment and sensing the note of reproach in the other man’s voice. ‘I must confess that I was not entirely honest with you on that occasion, was I? I should apologize for that.’
‘Well, you never mentioned that you’d chopped your wife up and buried her in the cellar, if that’s what you mean,’ Dew replied. ‘Although I have to admit, you had me fooled entirely.’
‘Did I? I seem to be rather good at that.’
‘What astonishes me—and disappoints me about myself—is the fact that I caught you in a lie—when you said that your wife had gone to tend a sick relative in America—but that I actually believed your follow-on lie as well. It makes me feel rather foolish.’
‘I wouldn’t worry about it, Inspector,’ he said. ‘After all, from what I’m told, I seem to be something of a criminal mastermind. How could anyone have seen through me?’ Despite being secluded in his cabin for the past week, the gossip of the other passengers and the reports of his activities in the newspapers had been relayed to him via a number of members of the crew, and he had developed a rather bleak sense of humour about it.
‘Really?’ said Dew. ‘Is that how you see yourself?’
Hawley smiled; he wasn’t prepared to incriminate himself any further than he already had.
They ate their food in silence for a while, before the inspector remembered his reason for visiting.
‘When we reach Liverpool,’ he said, ‘I expect there will be something of a crowd gathered. I don’t want you to be nervous of them. I’ve ordered reinforcements to keep the people back and to protect you.’
‘Am I really in that much danger?’ he asked, almost amused by the idea.
‘Not if we protect you. But feelings are running high, you must understand that. What you did seems to have captured the imagination of the public.’
‘And I am a despised man.’
‘Feared. Despised. Misunderstood.’
Hawley nodded; he could tell that the inspector had some sympathy for him; his use of the word ‘misunderstood’ gave that away.
‘Then we’ll take you immediately on a train back to London, where you will be housed at his Majesty’s pleasure, awaiting trial.’
‘And when will that be?’
‘Quite soon, I expect. As early as October.’
‘Good,’ said Hawley. ‘The sooner this business is over, the better.’
Dew stared at him, confused. ‘But Dr Crippen,’ he said. ‘You realize that the outcome is obvious; the evidence against you is overwhelming. Not to mention the fact that you have admitted your guilt. You stand virtually no chance of being acquitted.’
‘Of course I realize that.’
‘And that the hangman’s rope awaits you then?’
‘It will be sweet relief.’
From the moment Inspector Dew had confronted him in Captain Kendall’s cabin, Hawley had grown resigned to the fact of his imminent death. Although innocent of murder, he had to an extent colluded in it. His main priorities now, however, were accepting full responsibility for Cora’s death, maintaining the innocence of Ethel LeNeve and keeping her alive.
‘And what about Ethel?’ he asked, trying not to reveal his concern on this topic. ‘She will be released, of course?’
‘Certainly not,’ Dew snapped irritably. ‘She will stand trial too. Separately, of course.’
‘She will?’ he asked, putting his fork down. ‘But why? She is entirely innocent of any wrongdoing, I’ve told you that several times. She knew nothing about it.’
‘So you both maintain. But that’s for the court to decide.’
‘But, my dear inspector. I have confessed. I admit my guilt. And I assure you that Ethel LeNeve knew nothing of what I did. Her only crime has been falling in love with me.’
Dew shrugged. ‘As I have said, I am not the one who can determine her innocence or guilt. That will be up to a judge and a jury. You may maintain whatever you like, but I am not the one you have to convince.’
For his part, Walter Dew was not quite sure that what he was being told was the simple truth anyway. He had interviewed Ethel LeNeve several times in her own cabin, and he found himself confused by her. She appeared to be telling the truth when she swore how much she loved Hawley—that seemed to be her overriding motivation—but she refused to admit any guilt when it came to the murder of Cora Crippen. Naturally, she was unaware that Hawley himself had taken full responsibility.
‘Miss LeNeve backs up your story,’ said Dew. ‘She says that she is innocent.’
‘Well, there you are,’ he said, relieved.
‘But if that was not the case, well then, there might be a chance for you yet. This could be seen as a crime of passion. If you were goaded into it by another, then—’
‘Inspector, you are wasting your time. There is no way that I will allow Ethel to be led to her death, if that is what you are trying to get me to do. She is the only woman who ever truly loved me, you see. She is the one who saved me, who would have sacrificed all for me. How could I assist in her own death?’
‘Sacrificed what, though, Dr Crippen?’ Dew asked, leaning forward. ‘What sacrifices did she make exactly?’
‘Her home, her life, England. She was willing to leave it all behind and run away with me, bearing the badge of a scarlet woman since she did not know that Cora was actually dead. If you think I will turn against her now, you are quite wrong.’
Dew sighed; he did not know what to believe and he was glad that his responsibilities, with the exception of any evidence he had to offer, would end when he delivered his prisoner into the hands of the crown court. ‘What was she like, anyway?’ he asked finally, standing up. ‘Your late wife, I mean. What kind of woman was she?’
‘She was a demon,’ Hawley replied, after giving it some thought. ‘Regardless of what happens to me now, the world is a better place for her absence from it.’
‘No regrets then?’
‘None.’
That, Walter Dew considered, might all change soon.
Mrs Louise Smythson and Mrs Margaret Nash, along with their husbands Nicholas and Andrew, were seated in the front row of the public gallery on the afternoon of 25 October 1910, when the verdict was announced. The court was filled to capacity with lawyers and barristers, newspaper men, and as many members of the public as could be fitted inside. Outside, the streets were lined with people, all awaiting the news with great excitement. The Smythsons and the Nashes, however, had been given front-row seats because of the roles they had played in capturing the murderers in the first place. Mrs Louise Smythson herself had achieved a certain notoriety and had been interviewed by several newspapers, her photograph appearing prominently on their front pages. There was talk of a commendation by the police commissioner, the first such honour to be given to a member of the public, let alone to a woman.
‘Nicholas, did I read about your brother in the newspaper this week?’ Margaret Nash asked, looking across at Louise’s husband. ‘I’m sure I did.’
Nicholas nodded and broke into a smile. ‘You did indeed, Margaret,’ he replied. ‘And what a headline: “Lord Smythson Scales the Matterhorn!” Never thought I’d see such a thing in print.’
‘Nor did I,’ said Louise bitterly. The health of her brother-in-law Martin had changed from being a cause of constant hope for her to one of disappointment. Martin’s wife Elizabeth had given birth to a son a few days before and, from the moment she had informed him that he was to be a father, the once sickly Lord Smythson had begun an almost miraculous course of recovery which had amazed his physicians. Not only did he appear to have conquered his chest problems but he had begun a new health regime which had seen him try ever more adventurous tasks. His most recent escapade—climbing the famous mountain—would surely have kill
ed him a few years earlier. Now it made him a hero.
‘It’s amazing how his health recovered, isn’t it?’ said Andrew.
‘It was the idea of fatherhood, I believe,’ said Nicholas. ‘He simply refused to be sick any more. Strength of character, if you ask me.’
‘And after all the years when he’s been ill.’
‘Elizabeth says she plans on having a dozen more,’ Nicholas said with a laugh. ‘Just to keep Martin healthy.’
With each new birth, the chance of her becoming Lady Smythson would become ever more remote for Louise; indeed, she had all but given it up now and had transferred her desires from the death of her brother-in-law to the death of her own husband. After all, if Nicholas was to succumb to some unexpected disease, she reasoned, she would be a wealthy society widow and could surely find an unmarried or widowed lord of her own to marry. She watched him constantly for any signs of ill-health but, to her disappointment, he displayed ruddy form. For a time she had taken to sleeping with the bedroom windows open, hoping that he would catch pneumonia, but instead he had declared that it made him sleep all the better, while she herself had come down with a bout of influenza.
‘It’s so thrilling to see justice served, isn’t it?’ said Louise, aware that many of the eyes in the courtroom were fixed on her and enjoying her new-found celebrity. ‘And to have been such an important part of it.’
‘But what a shame that it needs to happen at all,’ Margaret agreed. ‘Our poor, dear Cora. Such a tragic end.’
‘Indeed. Our lives will never be the same without her. Our Music Hall Ladies’ Guild has lost a valued member,’ Louise agreed, repeating the words she had used to a Times reporter on the steps of the courthouse a few days earlier. ‘Nevertheless, we shall always remember her.’
‘A fine friend,’ said Margaret Nash.
‘A wonderful woman,’ said Louise Smythson.
‘Nonsense, none of you could stand her,’ Andrew Nash blustered. ‘Less of the hypocrisy now, ladies.’