The appearance of respectability seemed very important to Bastendorff. He cultivated a thick beard. Unlike many craftsmen (and according to later illustrations taken from photographs) he sported a collar and tie and frock coat.
Nor did Severin or his brothers confine themselves to England in the mid-1870s; they made journeys back to Luxembourg, and across that border to Germany.
And at some point in the mid-1870s, Severin’s younger brother, Peter made the voyage to England to join his brothers. Peter was said to resemble Severin quite strongly, except that his hair was more blond than red and when he first arrived in the capital, he scarcely had any facial hair at all. Peter was also very shy in those first few weeks; he had no English. Among his brothers, he could quite happily speak either in German or the local Luxembourgian dialect, but it was said that when faced with female company, he became blushingly tongue-tied.
This was not to remain the case for long; indeed, as the courts would soon hear, there was one young woman that Peter would call, in a joke cockney accent, ‘his missus’. And there were none who could have foreseen just how toxic young Peter Bastendorff’s first serious sexual relationship would be.
As with the tenants at number 4, Euston Square, who came and went with some regularity, so too was there a changing roster of servants. In 1876, Mary Bastendorff placed an advertisement in a local St Pancras newspaper for a maid-of-all-work. There was a reply from a 22-year-old, who had been in a situation in a Bloomsbury house just a few streets away in Torrington Square. She seemed efficient and intelligent; it was clear that Mary wanted to delegate as much of the running of 4, Euston Square as possible.
And three years later, it was this maid, Hannah Dobbs who was sitting in Tothill Fields House of Correction awaiting her arraignment on a charge of wilful murder. No-one – not even Hannah herself – could have anticipated the shocks that were to come.
13
He Kept Company with Her
The press and police were freely referring to it as murder; but even as the trial of Hannah Dobbs was being prepared, the members of the inquest jury in St Pancras were still deliberating the horrifying discovery. They convened for the final time at the beginning of June, 1879, with the coroner Dr Hardwicke. By now, the jurists had heard a number of local rumours concerning relationships within 4, Euston Square. For this hearing, Hannah Dobbs was recalled from Tothill Fields; strikingly, her mother Susan was also present. She had travelled from Bideford with Hannah’s sister and her son-in-law. Mrs Dobbs clearly understood that there was now a danger to her daughter.
Also in that coroner’s court were solicitors representing Hannah Dobbs and, indeed, the Bastendorff family. There was a general awareness that all now had to proceed carefully.
This was at a point when a greater regularity was being brought to a previously chaotic system of inquests and trials; in earlier years, jurors at such inquiries had inadvertently galloped ahead of police, speculating wildly on motives and means in murder cases, as well as the identities of the yet-to-be accused, before the police had even finished questioning all concerned. Not too long afterwards, specific legislation was brought before Parliament concerning this very question.
In the event, the first witness called to Dr Hardwicke’s stand was Edward Hacker, the brother of Matilda. Mr Hacker explained how his sister supported herself. ‘She had some independent property,’ he said, ‘a freehold in Canterbury. She received rents on this property and lived on the money so derived.’1
And how much was she receiving? ‘Her property realised about £1 30 a year,’ he said. (This would be about £9,000 a year now, though such a sum would have gone very much further in the 1870s than it would now.)
When was he aware that she was missing? Mr Hacker’s answer was somehow both cold and piercingly sad. ‘I first came to know of her disappearance,’ he told the court, ‘when Inspector Hagen came to see me.’
Now Mary Bastendorff was called; and a chair was requested. The strain she was under seemed to be the cause of her fatigue. Might she also have been anxious about the course that the questioning was shortly to take? The coroner began by asking her how Matilda Hacker came to take her room? ‘[S]he gave the name of Miss Uish,’ said Mrs Bastendorff, ‘and came in the end of 1877.’ Did she pay a deposit? ‘I can’t remember,’ she said. ‘But I see in a book the entry, ‘three weeks rent, 36 shillings – 12 shillings a week.’
Dr Hardwicke asked if she knew why Hannah Dobbs was currently being held in Tothill Fields prison.
‘I was told for having robbed furnished apartments,’ said Mrs Bastendorff.
When did Hannah Dobbs leave her employment at 4, Euston Square? ‘About last September,’ she said. That is, September, 1878.
Did Mrs Bastendorff know ‘of any person’ that Hannah Dobbs robbed ‘who lodged with’ the Bastendorffs? ‘Yes,’ said Mrs Bastendorff. ‘I was told that she had taken things which belonged to Mr Riggenbach.’
And had Mr Riggenbach now recovered the items which had been purloined? At this juncture, Inspector Hagen – always sharp on matters of finance and property – arose to declare: ‘The things stolen from Mr Riggenbach have been found pledged.’ In other words, they had been taken to a pawnbroker. The coroner turned back to Mary Bastendorff. Was she aware that Hannah Dobbs had had a gold watch and chain? ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘She wore one.’ And did Mary Bastendorff remember when she first had it? ‘No,’ she said.
Was she aware that it had been pawned in her name? ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘one of my family.’
This was the gold watch and chain that had belonged to Matilda Hacker. Now the court focused on Mrs Bastendorff’s relationship with her servant girl. Did Hannah Dobbs go home to Devon during her time at 4, Euston Square? ‘Yes,’ said Mrs Bastendorff, ‘several times.’
Now came the moment when it became clear how far Inspector Hagen’s inquiries had reached.
Was Mrs Bastendorff aware, the coroner asked, that Hannah Dobbs was ‘keeping company’ with Peter, the young brother of her husband, Severin?
‘Yes,’ replied Mrs Bastendorff.
And did Mrs Bastendorff know that Hannah Dobbs had had a child by this brother, Peter?
‘No,’ she said, ‘I did not.’
The revelations would have been shocking and extraordinary enough – but, in fact, as later emerged, the inquest had been a little misled on this point: the child had apparently not survived pregnancy.
None the less, the fact was established of a sexual relationship between servant and brother of the master of the house, outside of marriage: precisely the sort of seamy connection that respectable boarding houses tried furiously to avoid.
And more: why was the coroner seeking to establish some kind of link between this affair and the corpse in the coal cellar? He pressed on with the questioning of Mrs Bastendorff. Did she suppose that Peter Bastendorff had perhaps become engaged to Hannah Dobbs? ‘Yes,’ said Mrs Bastendorff.
And did Peter Bastendorff pay visits to 4, Euston Square to see Hannah Dobbs? ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘he came to see her.’ But he did not live with them? ‘No.’ What business was Peter Bastendorff in? ‘A carpenter.’ And, the coroner repeated, did she believe that Peter Bastendorff and Hannah Dobbs were engaged? ‘Yes.’ And when she returned to her home in the country, in Devon, did Peter Bastendorff go and see her? ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I believe he went, but I do not know.’
And how long was Hannah Dobbs away for? ‘Once for a month,’ said Mrs Bastendorff, ‘and then two or three days.’ And so when she was away from 4, Euston Square, who carried out all the work? ‘I did it myself,’ said Mrs Bastendorff. ‘I had no charwoman until after she left.’
And was she in the habit of going into the coal cellar? ‘Not while Hannah was there,’ she said. But when Hannah was not there, pressed the coroner – did she then go into that cellar? ‘Yes,’ she replied.
And did she see anything? ‘No,’ she said, ‘nothing but what I thought was rubbish. She used to throw a great deal of dus
t there instead of putting it into the dust hole.’ The ‘dust-hole’ was the area into which the household’s spent ashes and cinders from the fires were dumped; the ‘dust’ would be collected frequently, and could be recycled into the manufacture of bricks.
Mr Poland stepped in to ask some questions. He wanted to be quite clear on the dates. ‘Hannah Dobbs was in your service from the summer of 1876 up till the September of last year?’ ‘Yes,’ confirmed Mrs Bastendorff. ‘Do you not find from the entries in your rent-book,’ said Mr Poland, ‘that Miss Uish must have been lodging in your house from the 24th of September to the 15th of October – that these were the three weeks she was a lodger of yours?’ ‘Yes,’ said Mrs Bastendorff, ‘that was about the time.’
‘I believe,’ continued Mr Poland, ‘that it was a Monday that Miss Uish left your house?’ ‘I think so,’ said Mrs Bastendorff.
‘She left £5 after her,’ Mr Poland said. ‘Did Hannah Dobbs give you this £5 to take the three weeks rent out of it? ‘Yes,’ said Mrs Bastendorff. ‘I saw the £5 with Hannah Dobbs but what she did with it I do not know. All I know is that she gave me out of it the £1 16s that Miss Uish owed me.’ And about what time of day was this? ‘Some time about 12 o’clock,’ she said. ‘About the dinner hour.’
‘You say you never saw Miss Uish’s face?’ asked Mr Poland. ‘I never did,’ she said. ‘Did you ever see her at all?’ he persisted. ‘Yes, on two occasions, when she was going out to church.’ And how was she dressed on those occasions? ‘All that I noticed,’ said Mrs Bastendorff, ‘was that she wore a blue silk dress.’
Mr Poland ran through several items that had once belonged to Matilda Hacker – an eyeglass and a bunch of keys among them. Could Mrs Bastendorff confirm that the eyeglass had been seen ‘in the possession of Hannah Dobbs’? ‘Yes,’ she said. Did Mrs Bastendorff ever see ‘Miss Uish’s’ luggage? ‘I never did,’ she said. And after Hannah Dobbs had left her employment, did she thereafter ‘come to see’ Mrs Bastendorff? ‘Yes, she called at my house afterwards.’
And while ‘Miss Uish’ was resident, asked Mr Poland, was Mr Riggenbach the only other lodger at that particular time? ‘Yes,’ she said.
One juror asked Mrs Bastendorff if she had seen ‘Miss Uish’ after Hannah Dobbs had presented her with the £5? ‘I did not see her after that time,’ replied the lady. How could the elderly resident leave 4, Euston Square without the mistress of the house knowing? ‘I was otherwise engaged,’ was her response.
The coroner was bemused at how unperturbed the witness seemed by the old lady’s dramatically abrupt departure. ‘You felt no surprise at her going?’ he asked. ‘No,’ said Mrs Bastendorff. ‘I did not expect her to stay long.’
Another juror interjected, and this time clearly armed with local gossip that had clearly been circulated for some time, long before the discovery of the body. ‘Do you know of anyone at your house,’ the juror asked Mrs Bastendorff, ‘being given to intemperance and making a disturbance?’
‘No – never,’ said Mrs Bastendorff, with some feeling. ‘There was never any disturbance and the police were never called in.’ Once more, the good reputation of her house and business was being challenged. That insinuating juror was not finished. ‘I can produce a constable in the Metropolitan Police,’ he said, ‘who can speak to having been called in at number 4. I can also produce an ex-constable, who has retired after 23 years’ service on a pension, who will state that he was repeatedly called in to a foreigner at 3 or 4 (Euston Square), he cannot say which, but he could identify the foreigner if he could see him.’
Another juror interjected, probing further what seemed ill-defined domestic borders. Did Mrs Bastendorff make ‘a confidant’ of her servant Hannah Dobbs? ‘Not at all’. And when new prospective lodgers came, did she personally take them to view the rooms on offer? ‘I never did.’ How many children did Mr and Mrs Bastendorff have? ‘’Four,’ she said. ‘The youngest is a year-and-a-half old.’
The juror questions were becoming more quickfire. Did Hannah Dobbs ever wear a gold watch when she was in service to the Bastendorffs? ‘Not all the time,’ said Mrs Bastendorff. ‘When she began to wear it, she said she bought it with some money left her.’ Did she believe this story? ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I was always told her relations were well off.’
The foreman of the jury stepped in. When was Hannah Dobbs ‘most flush of money?’ ‘After she came back from the country,’ said Mrs Bastendorff. ‘After that, she wore better clothing.’ And did Hannah Dobbs ‘sit at the same table’ as the family sometimes? ‘No.’ Did she wear a watch and chain before she went to the country? ‘No.’ And she was ‘not so finely dressed before that?’ ‘No.’ And how long was Hannah Dobbs kept on after her mistress had discovered ‘her pilfering’? ‘I gave her a month’s notice.’2
At last, Mary Bastendorff was allowed to retire from the dock.
With the next witness came a resumption of the focus upon the victim. John Sandilands Ward of Lincoln’s Inn was a lawyer who had been engaged by Matilda Hacker in 1877 during the course of her singular legal disputes. Did he observe her ‘particularly’? ‘Yes, she was dressed in an eccentric way,’ said Mr Ward. ‘Her dress was usually of a light colour. She wore a light sash and a fashionable hat and feather. And she generally had a light lace shawl thrown over her shoulders.
‘When consulting me,’ he added, ‘she generally held up her eyeglass.’
And when was the final time that he met with her? ‘She last called at my office on the 5th of October 1877,’ he said. ‘On the occasion of our last interview, I told her that I would have considerable difficulty in effecting the transfer of the mortgage which she required. And I recommended her to go to another solicitor, whom she might know.’
Mr Poland wanted some clarification about that final meeting. ‘The 5th of October 1877 was a Friday,’ said Mr Ward. ‘Miss Hacker wanted an advance of £250.’
Then there was the matter of her supposed ‘curvature of the spine’. Mr Poland asked Mr Ward if Matilda Hacker had been ‘at all lame’? ‘I think she had a slight limp,’ he said, ‘which I attributed to her fashionable shoes.’ This remark drew a burst of laughter from jurors and onlookers.
The next witness had the effect of subduing the court once more.
Peter Bastendorff was called to the stand. The jurors and spectators would have taken in the blond hair, the flushed cheeks and the respectable clothes: this still young man would certainly have worn a collar, with a tie for this occasion.
The jurors may also have been aware that he had only recently acquired his fluency in English.
Yet the jurors would also have been intrigued beyond measure at the apparent smiling confidence of this young man, and at the glance that he threw to Hannah Dobbs at the start of the proceedings. ‘As he entered the witness box,’ reported the Illustrated Police News, ‘he looked at the prisoner, who quickly turned her eyes away and a broad grin stole over his face.’
Peter Bastendorff swore the oath and confirmed to the inquest who he was: ‘I am 22-years old. I live at 32, Francis Street. I am a bamboo worker, and used to work at my brother’s, no 4, Euston Square. I have been about four years in this country.’
The coroner asked how he first heard of ‘the discovery’ at Euston Square? ‘I heard of it through the newspapers,’ said Mr Bastendorff.
Was he ‘acquainted’ with Hannah Dobbs? ‘Yes.’ Did he ‘keep company with her’? ‘Yes’. For ‘how long’? ‘About two years.’
How did he first meet Miss Dobbs? ‘I became acquainted with her when she was in the service of my brother,’ he said. Was he ‘engaged to her?’ ‘No’.
‘You had not gone so far as that?’ asked Dr Hardwicke, at which there was another loud outbreak of laughter from among the onlookers. He went on: ‘You only kept company with her?’ Peter Bastendorff replied: ‘That is all.’
The next question was lethal. ‘You do not know then,’ the coroner asked him, ‘that a child had been born?’
Nothin
g is recorded of Peter Bastendorff’s facial reaction to this; but his answer was: ‘I know nothing of that.’
‘You do not know then,’ persisted Dr Hardwicke, ‘that you are the parent of one?’
‘I do not,’ said Peter Bastendorff. ‘I did not know that she ever had a child.’
Did he ever go to see Hannah Dobbs ‘in the country’? ‘Yes,’ he told the court. ‘On one occasion I went to Bideford to see her and her father and mother. I remained there a day and a night. I went there in consequence of a telegram I received.’
This was left hanging in the air. A juror wanted to know if ‘mention had been made of a lamp that was broken’; this was a reference to a lamp in the room in Euston Square that had been occupied by Matilda Hacker. ‘On one occasion,’ Peter Bastendorff said, Hannah Dobbs ‘said that she had broken a lamp and that it had cut her hand and caused it to bleed.’
A juror asked if he had heard why she had left Euston Square. ‘I was given to understand that she was accused of taking something belonging to one of the lodgers,’ he said. So what then ‘became of her’ afterwards? ‘She went to live in lodgings.’ And did Peter Bastendorff continue to visit her after she left her situation at Euston Square? ‘I went to see her at her lodgings once afterwards,’ he said, ‘and another time when I was sent for in consequence of her illness.’
So when did he ‘come to know’ that Hannah Dobbs was in prison? ‘I did not know what had become of her,’ said Peter Bastendorff, ‘and I did not hear of her being in prison till I saw it in the newspapers.’ And when he did so, did he go to visit her in Tothill Fields? ‘No,’ he said.
‘Have letters passed’ between them both? ‘Some,’ he said, ‘but not many.’
He must have seen her wearing a watch and a chain, said Dr Hardwicke; did he ask ‘what became of them?’ ‘I never asked what became of them,’ he replied.
The Lady in the Cellar Page 11
