The Ripper of Waterloo Road

by Jan Bondeson

  The prisoner was asked to restrict himself to the matter at hand. He admitted that the letter referred to himself as the witness who had seen the murderer: it was he who was the singular cooper with the rebellious children, and yes, he knew who had murdered Eliza Grimwood. But first there was the matter of possible reward he had seen mentioned in the newspapers …

  The garrulous Welshman was again gruffly told to compose himself, and to explain what evidence he possessed.

  Owen said that early in the morning of 27 May, he had been distressed in his mind about the misbehaviour of his wicked children. He could not sleep, and decided to take a walk in Waterloo Road nearby. When passing along Wellington Terrace, he had seen a man standing at one of the doors, wearing a pair of light pantaloons or drawers and a clean shirt with the arms tucked up to the elbows. He had some blood on his hands. Owen saw him raise his hands to the sky and exclaim, ‘Oh! Oh! I have done the deed, how shall I acquit myself of it?!’

  Perceiving Owen nearby, he closed the door. Mystified, Owen went up and put his ear to the door. Although fearful of being knocked down if some person decided to open the door in a hurry, he stood there listening for several minutes, but found it perfectly still inside. After three or four minutes, he continued his walk as far as the bridge; on his way back, he again put his ear to the door, but without hearing the slightest noise.

  Mr Norton asked Owen when he had first heard of the murder of Eliza Grimwood.

  ‘On Sunday or Monday morning,’ he replied.

  But then why did he not take action once he knew what had happened – did he not link the observation of the bloodstained man with this sensational murder?

  No, certainly not, the odd-looking little man assured the magistrate, this had never even crossed his mind. But when he had mentioned what he had seen to his neighbour the day after the murder, this individual had urged him to go before the coroner and jury. Owen’s great reluctance to take the oath meant that he had instead chosen this more contrived stratagem for making his observation known to the authorities. Mr Pelham, the solicitor employed by the brothers Grimwood, said that Owen’s evidence was of considerable importance. Surely, he must have seen the murderer, and if he could identify Hubbard, then there would be a strong case against the bricklayer. But Mr Norton had formed a low opinion of the shifty-looking Welshman. Although there was no longer any suspicion that he was himself the murderer, he seemed far from sane, and his story too good to be true. Could the murderer of Eliza Grimwood, who had otherwise acted with such impressive cunning, really have stood in the doorway waving his bloodstained hands about and confessing his guilt to all and sundry like some demented ham actor? He ordered Constable Leaman to make sure Owen really lived at the address he had indicated; if that was the case, he should be released and bound over to return to give evidence when the inquest continued.2

  Constable Leaman deposited Owen in Mr Clayton’s house at No. 11 Wellington Terrace, next door to the murder house, before going off to find the Welshman’s own house in Cottage Place. The door was opened by some miserable-looking children, who verified that Owen, whom they claimed as their father, really did live there. When the constable returned to Mr Clayton’s house, he was shocked to find that Owen had sneaked out! Where had the prisoner gone? The constable stood on the pavement outside for a while, trying to gather his thoughts. Just at that time, there was a commotion in the doorway of the murder house, and the constable was relieved when he was reunited with his prisoner, who was led out by Inspector Field, gabbling volubly.

  It turned out that the Welshman had entered the murder house clandestinely. His shifty behaviour had attracted the attention of Inspector Field, who had asked him to identify himself. Having been treated to a number of lengthy, incoherent harangues about sensitive nerves, wicked children and teetotalism, the inspector finally understood that Owen claimed to have seen the murderer. He resolutely took Owen with him to the kitchen, where Hubbard was sitting with a number of other people. Having been allowed to look around at those present, twenty people in all, Fields took Owen back into the hallway, where the Welshman said,‘Was that him, smoking a pipe?’

  Owen wanted to go back and have a second look, but the inspector had had enough of his antics and led him out of the house, where he met his police colleague. When Constable Leaman upbraided the dismal Welshman for his audacity in arranging this unsolicited identification parade, Owen retorted that he objected very much to being shouted at, since it would do his sensitive nerves further injury. But when the constable explained who Owen really was and what he had testified at Union Hall, Inspector Field became thoughtful. Surely, it had seemed as if Owen had recognised Hubbard as the man he had seen the morning of the murder. If he could identify him again, before the coroner and jury, the murder of Eliza Grimwood might well be solved.

  7

  THE PROSTITUTE WHO KNEW TOO MUCH

  When the inquest resumed on Monday 4 June, Inspector Field was looking forward to an important day. Catherine Edwin would tell her tale about the mysterious foreigner she had more than once seen with Eliza Grimwood, and face a searching questioning from the jury. Then it would be time for John Owen to perform. The inspector had arranged for Hubbard to be present, and for the Welshman to try to pick him out among the people present in court. Neither of these two potential star witnesses seemed particularly reliable, however, and Inspector Field must have been worried what antics these volatile, histrionic people would be up to when facing the coroner’s jury.

  And things would not start well for the unfortunate inspector. The first witness of the day was the elusive Julia Seymour, allegedly the companion of Eliza Grimwood the evening of the murder. After being tracked down by a police constable and summoned to the inquest, she introduced herself as a widow, living at No. 2 Newcastle Court off the Strand. But when asked, she denied knowing Eliza Grimwood, or being at the Strand Theatre the evening of the murder. Emma Lewis, who had confidently named Julia Seymour as Eliza’s companion, now completely recanted, saying that she had only seen Eliza and her friend from behind and drawn her own conclusions when she heard the name ‘Julia’. The jurymen ‘expressed their astonishment at the prevarications of this witness’; she seemed to treat the proceedings with the greatest levity. Julia Seymour was not much better. When asked to prove that she was not at the theatre the evening of the murder, she first demanded that her word was taken in that respect, and then referred to the theatre doorkeeper, who would certainly have remembered her coming in and out of the theatre. The coroner, who did not share this belief, desired both these witnesses to retire.

  The next witness was known to Inspector Field, although it was a surprise to him that she turned up in court. Harriet Chaplin introduced herself as a married woman living at No. 27 Great Russell Street and the niece of Eliza Grimwood. She had met with Eliza a couple of times each month, and had worked for her as a dressmaker on several occasions. She disliked Hubbard and had nothing good to say about him. About eight or nine months before, she had seen him strike Eliza with his hand after they had quarrelled about the management of the house. Some months later, Hubbard and Eliza had again been quarrelling, this time about her favourite gentleman friend, the Birmingham sword cutler. Hubbard ranted and raved, saying that if she was going out with the sword cutler, he would stab or shoot them both. When Harriet Chaplin said that he would look good in Newgate, Hubbard replied that he would not mind being hanged in Newgate for a just cause. Another time, when Eliza had told Harriet Chaplin that she wanted to leave Hubbard to be with her Birmingham friend, she also said that Hubbard had threatened her with the words that he would not mind shooting her. Harriet Chaplin here became so faint that water was sent for to refresh her.

  When Harriet Chaplin had heard that Eliza was dead, she had exclaimed to her sister, ‘Then she is murdered!’ and the sister had replied, ‘Then it is Hubbard!’ Impressed by this anti-Hubbard farrago, one of the jurors suggested that he might ask the witness what kind of temper Hubbard posse
ssed, but the stern coroner retorted that this would be a very improper question, since different people might entertain different notions about his temper. It was for the jury to judge the murder case, and the possible involvement of Hubbard, from the facts adduced before them.

  There was a short recess, during which the knowledgeable Inspector Field approached the coroner. From the Grimwood brothers or some other source, he had obtained some information about the young lady in question. Ann Chapman, alias Harriet Chaplin, alias Caroline Chaplin, may once have been married to a man named Chaplin, but she was certainly not cohabiting with him any longer. She belonged to the better class of prostitute, operating from lodgings in Red Lion Square, Holborn. Giving a false name and false address is not a good start when you give evidence in court, and the inspector wanted to point out that she had for some time been shunned by her respectable relatives since she had led a very disreputable life. Although it was not unlikely that Eliza Grimwood had been employing her niece in making or altering her dresses, the rest of Harriet Chaplin’s story would have to be treated with caution until it could be corroborated by other witnesses.

  The next witness was none other than Eliza’s old favourite, the Birmingham sword cutler William Osborne. He was no mere artisan, but a gentleman of considerable wealth and a kingpin in the Midlands sword cutlery trade. He had known Eliza for several years, always visiting her at some hotel when he was in London. They regularly wrote love letters to each other, and some of his amatory missives had been found in the murder room. During their last meeting, three weeks before the murder, nothing out of the ordinary had happened except that Eliza had given him a silver snuffbox as a keepsake. Osborne had visited the house in Wellington Terrace a few times, but he had never left a knife or swordstick behind.1

  There was a hush in court when young Catherine Edwin took the stand. She confidently told the coroner and jury that the Wednesday before the murder, she had met her friend Eliza Grimwood in the Strand. As they stood talking, a young gentleman came up to them. He was dapperly dressed in a pair of dark green trousers striped in black, a primrose-coloured waistcoat and a dark frock coat. He wore dark green spectacles and a broad-brimmed hat. On perceiving him, Eliza said, ‘Here comes my tormentor!’ Catherine Edwin had seen Eliza with this man a number of times. He was an Italian but spoke fluent English and French. He was madly in love with Eliza and they had often been in company. Once, the Italian had invited Eliza and Catherine to a confectioner’s shop, where they took their seats in a private room. The bushy-whiskered foreigner generously paid for all the refreshments. As Catherine tucked in, the Italian and Eliza discussed the opera, a subject where they were both knowledgeable. Boldly and unexpectedly, the Foreigner asked Eliza to marry him, but she turned him down. After this rebuff, the Italian angrily tore off his overcoat. As he did so, something metallic dropped to the floor. When Catherine picked it up, she saw that it was a large clasp knife! The Italian showed her how to open and shut the blade by means of two distinct springs. The coroner ordered Inspector Field to bring in Eliza Grimwood’s stays, and to ask the witness if a knife like the one she had seen could produce similar cuts. When she saw the stays, which were completely saturated with blood, she became almost hysterical, before faltering that she thought it would. The coroner ordered that some water should be brought to her before she could face further questioning.

  Inspector Field must have been listening open-mouthed at these amazing tales. Clearly, either Catherine Edwin’s memory had improved greatly since he had first questioned her, or she was simply inventing her story as she went along. But the pert young witness had more sensations in store for him. When asked by the coroner whether she could recall the Italian’s name, she replied that she had forgotten it, although it was very similar to that of one of the men who had shot at the King of France. Eliza Grimwood had always called him ‘my crack-whiskered Antonio’ or ‘my crack-whiskered Don’. Then came the following remarkable exchange:

  ‘Is the Italian a gentleman, or does he follow any profession or business?’

  ‘No, I thought he was a thief!’

  ‘Why did you think so?’

  ‘Because he looked like one.’’

  Again Inspector Field must have groaned, but Catherine Edwin’s fun had not ended by any means. Once, when Catherine Edwin had visited Eliza at Wellington Terrace, the Italian had come in to see her. He then wore a valuable ring given to him by Eliza, on which was engraved ‘Always faithful’ on one side and ‘Semper fidelis’ on the other. Another time, the amorous foreigner had proposed to Eliza on Waterloo Bridge itself; when she gave him no answer, he threatened to throw her into the Thames. Catherine Edwin did not know where the Italian lived, although she thought he could be found near the Spread Eagle in the Regent Circus. He was always walking with his eyes down, wearing a cloak or a mackintosh to disguise himself, but if she saw him again she would recognise him immediately. The coroner sagely commented that Catherine Edwin’s description of the Foreigner certainly corresponded with that given by the other witnesses. Such a remarkable character, striding along the Regent Circus in his green spectacles, broad-brimmed hat and long cloak, would surely not be difficult to pick out.

  At this stage, Mary Glover asked to be recalled. Since she had been Eliza Grimwood’s closest friend, she took strong exception to some of Catherine Edwin’s statements. She had never met Catherine Edwin, nor heard Eliza speak of her. Eliza had often entertained various female friends in her parlour at Wellington Terrace, but Catherine Edwin had not been one of them. Nor had Eliza ever spoken of meeting any strange Italian with green spectacles, or being proposed to by such a person. Inspector Field, who still suspected that Catherine Edwin was lying, took good notice of this evidence.

  Knowing that John Owen would soon be called, the coroner decided to ask Mary Glover some further questions. As staunchly as before, she claimed that Eliza had never complained of any ill usage from Hubbard. If any person had come downstairs and committed the murder, or opened the front door to exclaim, ‘I have done the deed!’ she would certainly have heard it. The inspector must once more have wondered who was lying and who was telling the truth in this extraordinary case.

  After another short recess, it was time to introduce the star witness, John Owen. First, the coroner called the shopman Grant, who repeated his earlier testimony about the strange man coming to Mr Clayton’s shop. Curiously, he added that Owen had first asked what day the murder had been committed; when told it was on the previous Saturday morning, he had sighed and exclaimed, ‘Then I was right!’ But Grant also testified that judging from Owen’s manner and appearance, he was clearly not of sound mind. The vigilant shopman had either been ordered by the police to keep an eye on Owen, or assumed this task on his own accord. The previous day, he had seen Owen enter the murder house at No. 12 Wellington Terrace, where he offered a piece of iron in the shape of an anvil for sale, asking 2s for it. After this damning testimony, suggesting that Owen had once more been clandestinely trying to seek out Hubbard before the inquest, Constable Leaman described how he had arrested Owen in the coffee shop. When the strange letter was read aloud, several of the jurymen commented that if its contents were true, Owen could certainly identify the murderer.

  There was a hush as Owen appeared in person. Described by the journalists as a scruffy, bald-headed man around 60 years old, Owen shuffled up to the coroner, asking to state something in private. When this was denied, he tried to avoid taking the oath, but at length was forced to do so. He made a long, rambling statement, displaying considerable agitation, about wicked children, teetotalism and his Baptist faith. He went on to claim, bending the truth somewhat, that Inspector Field had taken him into the murder house. In the kitchen, where twenty people were seated, he had pointed out the man he had seen the morning of the murder; he had been smoking a pipe at the time. But almost as if he deliberately wanted to devalue his evidence, the Welshman then began ranting again: some people might think him insane, but he was ‘in c
ompetent senses’ and could provide many respectable references. When asked about his second clandestine visit to the murder house, Owen did not deny it, saying that he was in dire financial straits and wanted to raise a little money.

  When Hubbard was finally introduced into the room, the Welshman was told to look around and see if he could identify the man he had seen in Waterloo Road the morning of the murder. A hush went through the courtroom as the bald-headed old fellow had a look round with his watery eyes.

  ‘There he is!’ he finally screamed out.

  But Inspector Field’s heart must have sunk within him as he saw that Owen was pointing at a well-dressed, respectable spectator! According to a newspaper reporter, ‘Hubbard during this proceeding betrayed not the slightest agitation.’ Perceiving that he had made a mistake, Owen tried to recant, saying that the man he had pointed out only resembled the murderer, and that he would like to try again. But Inspector Field made a sign to Constable Leaman and the voluble Welshman was summarily evicted from the inquest.

  This dismal anticlimax virtually put an end to the day’s proceedings. Owen’s alleged daughter, a sluttish-looking young woman who had been expected to back up his statement about his early morning walk, did not do so; in fact, her ‘father’ had been in bed at nine o’clock. Inspector Field, still smarting over the Owen fiasco, testified that the dry vaults under Wellington Terrace, the fields opposite, and the tops of the neighbouring houses, had all now been searched by the police, without anything resembling the murder weapon being found. Somewhat belatedly, he had also strip-searched Hubbard for any scratch or contusion that might indicate that he had been involved in a scuffle, but found none. Finally, the coroner tried to elucidate one of the many puzzling aspects of the murder, namely why Eliza’s chamber pot had been found in the kitchen. The servant Mary Fisher said that there were three chamber utensils in the house. The evening before the murder, she had put these in the bedrooms of Eliza, Hubbard and Mary Glover. The morning after the murder, she had found Eliza’s chamber pot underneath the kitchen sink. After Inspector Field had confirmed that no other witness could remember seeing the chamber pot in the murder room, Hubbard was again introduced into the room. With his usual coolness, he denied seeing any chamber utensil in Eliza’s room, or any vessel contaminated with blood in any part of the house.