by Jan Bondeson
Sergeants Bays and Thomas, who had led the operation searching the Highbury postal service, immediately informed Inspector Field of this important breakthrough. Field went to Highbury to find out more about young Mr M’Millan. It turned out that this individual, who was 25 years old, had led a quiet and unassuming life as assistant to his father the stationer. After consulting the two sergeants, Inspector Field made a cunning plan. Sergeant Bays was to go into the M’Millan stationer’s shop with a letter, purchase an envelope and request young M’Millan, who was behind the counter, to address it to Mr Carter, Coroner for Surrey. They would closely watch his reaction, and compare the writing with that on the Cavendish letter.
As planned, the sergeant stepped into the shop and ordered the letter to be addressed to the coroner. Young Mr M’Millan said, ‘What, another letter to Mr Carter?’ The sergeant replied, ‘Yes; have you sent one?’ M’Millan just said, ‘No, but I know who has,’ and wrote the address as requested. In triumph, the sergeant carried it out to Inspector Field, who felt satisfied it was the same handwriting as that on the Cavendish letter. All three policemen marched into the shop and confronted young M’Millan, gruffly accusing him of having written the Cavendish letter. The startled shopman denied everything: he had not visited Wellington Terrace the night of the murder, and he had certainly not written any letter to the coroner. Leaving young M’Millan with the two sergeants, Inspector Field went to confront his father, Mr Douglas M’Millan the stationer. This gentleman was very much surprised, since his son led a regular life; he had not been out the night of the murder, and although the handwriting on the Cavendish letter did resemble his, he thought there were also some notable differences. The inspector felt sure young M’Millan had written the letter, however. Since the penniless young shopman did not at all fit the description of the Foreigner, this would make him either a hoaxer or an accomplice. The way to find out would be to summon him to appear before the magistrates at Union Hall.12
As the police searched for the writer of the Cavendish letter, the brothers Grimwood made plans to milk the situation for all it was worth. Having disposed of the resentful Hubbard in the cunning manner described earlier, they did so with such alacrity that one must suspect that financial reasons rather than brotherly love had been the reason for their swift occupation of the murder house. Posters were pasted up all over London saying that the murdered Eliza Grimwood’s belongings would be sold by auction. An auction catalogue headed ‘By the Administrators of the late Eliza Grimwood’ was printed and sold for threepence; no person would be admitted to the murder house unless they could produce one of these vouchers. Mr Wooler, the solicitor acting for Hubbard, threatened action since the Grimwoods were likely to make a pretty sum of money from admitting people into the house belonging to his client, but the brothers coolly replied that Hubbard had already received a fee of 30s to make himself scarce. Furthermore, the bricklayer was hardly in a strong position to sue, since he was himself in prison as the suspected murderer of their sister.
On the morning of Wednesday 13 June, a huge crowd assembled outside No. 12 Wellington Terrace, although the sale would not begin until one o’clock in the afternoon. A party of police from the ‘L’ division had to be stationed in and about the house, to protect the property. When the doors were opened, there was a tremendous rush for admission, including a number of well-dressed gentlemen and ladies. Although the sale was held in one of the first floor rooms, many people halted to admire the bloodstained floorboards in the murder room. The bidding was brisk for Eliza’s chairs and sofa, and particularly for her fine mahogany chest of drawers. The deceased’s bed was lot 41, described as a japanned French bedstead with chintz furniture and window-curtains to match, which attracted even fiercer bidding, since it was liberally marked with blood spatter. In total, the furniture sold for £64, a little more than the valuation, Eliza’s watch and jewellery having already been sold for above £80. After the auction, it was impossible for the buyers to leave the house by way of Wellington Terrace, due to the dense crowd outside. At the advice of the auctioneer, they had to be let out through the back, before the angry mob outside, waving their auction catalogues and demanding entry, could be let in to see the murder room. Disappointed that no mementoes of the murdered woman remained, one of these rowdy fellows made a bid for the bloodstained carpet, which he swiftly rolled up and took outside, proposing to cut it up into smaller fragments to sell it to the mob outside. The covetous Thomas Grimwood must have been grinding his teeth that he had not thought of this stratagem himself.
Another ‘gentleman’ wanted to buy the bloodstained floorboards, but although Thomas Grimwood remained keen to do a deal, he had to turn him down at the advice of his solicitor: the floorboards, along with the rest of the house, remained the property of Hubbard and Best. Throughout the day, there were scenes of the utmost confusion outside the house, with frustrated ticket-holders demanding entry, and an angry mob being kept at bay by the police.13 The crowd was such that traffic in Waterloo Road, and across the bridge, was seriously impeded. A Times journalist, who had seen these deplorable scenes first-hand, found this stratagem of turning the murder house into a freak-show to gratify idle curiosity and enhance the price of the articles sold most indecent. He wrote that ‘It reflected alike disgrace upon those who promoted the sale, and those whose vicious and depraved taste drew them to the scene of the recent tragical affair.’14
As Hubbard was languishing in prison, and the brothers Grimwood were counting their money, young M’Millan faced the magistrates Jeremy and Traill at the Union Hall office on 16 June. After Inspector Field had explained how he and his men had tracked M’Millan down, the sub-postmistress Mrs Susan Humphries was the first witness examined. She made it her business to know the people in the neighbourhood, she said, and to identify their handwriting when they handed in letters. When the Cavendish letter was shown, she at once identified it as the one M’Millan had posted in her office. But from this promising beginning, things quickly went downhill. She had actually not seen M’Millan post the letter, but since she had also made it her business to recognise people’s voices with unfailing accuracy, she could swear it was him, although she had been upstairs at the time. The prying postmistress remained convinced that the handwriting on the envelope was that of M’Millan, but she could not say the same about the handwriting on the actual letter. Had he posted it for someone else?
Young M’Millan did not deny visiting the post office the day in question. He was not sending any letter to the coroner for Surrey, however, but to a certain Mr Clark, of Warwick Lane. Since it had been an urgent letter, he was annoyed when being told that the post had gone. He had this letter with him to show the magistrates, but not unreasonably, they merely commented that if he had been so very anxious to get the letter sent off, then why keep it in his pocket for several days. Inspector Field had also found a certain Mr Talbot whom M’Millan had told, a few days previously, that the letter was for a gentleman in Highbury, whereas Mr Clark lived nowhere near those parts. After M’Millan had been sworn and sternly cautioned not to perjure himself, the Cavendish letter was put before him and he was asked if he had seen it before. The shopman denied this vehemently: he had never seen the letter before Inspector Field showed it to him the other morning. He had no idea who had sent it. He did not go out much, and was certain he had been at home the night of the murder, since he could well recall hearing about the Waterloo Road Horror the morning after.
The angry magistrates were not particularly impressed with young M’Millan, and they obviously shared Inspector Field’s suspicion that he was really the writer of the Cavendish letter. They characterised the letter ‘a foul fabrication, and as gross an attempt to warp justice as was ever attempted’, adding that if the writer should be found, he ‘could be indicted and found guilty of the highest misdemeanour committed against public justice’. In spite of these dire threats, M’Millan requested that the magistrates express an opinion that he was not the writer of the l
etter, but this they of course refused to do.15
The veracity of the Cavendish letter being severely undermined, the situation was now that very little hard evidence remained against Hubbard. Although the solicitor Pelham, who watched proceedings on behalf of the brothers Grimwood, pointed out that he did not discredit Owen’s evidence, the magistrates did not agree. Surely this man was deranged in his intellect, and it was a travesty of justice to let him have several attempts to pick out the murderer. Instead, they suggested that all evidence against Hubbard should be reassessed in a few days, when he was re-examined once more. The solicitor Wooler, who acted for Hubbard, had no objection to this.
Knowing that Hubbard would be re-examined at Union Hall on Tuesday 19 June, Inspector Field was desperately clutching at straws to find new leads. All Sunday, he and Sergeant Price personally searched the murder house one more time. In the front attic room, they saw that a knot in one of the floorboards seemed to have been removed. They immediately raised the plank, finding a rusty old penknife underneath. For a moment their hopes were up, but the inspector saw that this knife was far too small to have caused Eliza’s terrible injuries. On Monday morning, the inspector and Mr Pelham the solicitor collected evidence and took down statements of several witnesses. He then went to Highbury to make inquiries about a former lodger ‘in the house of Mr McMillan the supposed writer of the letter signed Cavendish’. At the end of another exhausting day, he received ‘information that a woman who knew the deceased could give particulars about the person the deceased went home with, traced out her residence, stated to me that she saw the deceased the night of the murder in company with a person, saw them at the theatre before, gave a full description of him, found that the description answered to what the others had given’.16
Mr Keane, the governor of the Horsemonger Lane county jail where Hubbard was being kept, was becoming increasingly apprehensive when the date for the re-examination of his notorious prisoner was approaching. He went to warn the magistrates about the risk that Hubbard would be pulled out of the carriage and lynched by the mob before he even reached Union Hall. Having witnessed the uproar when Hubbard was first examined, Mr Jeremy and Mr Traill decided that the safest solution would be to let the bricklayer remain in prison. He would be represented by Charles Hubbard and the solicitor Wooler.17
Not knowing that Hubbard would be absent, a large and unruly mob gathered at Union Hall, baying for his blood. They were disappointed when proceedings began at one in the afternoon without the bricklayer being present. The magistrates examined Eliza’s stays, Hubbard’s trousers, the two razors found in the house, and the little penknife discovered by Inspector Field. The author of the Cavendish letter was formally called to come forward, but no person replied. Mary Fisher’s evidence was looked into in some detail, without any new information being disclosed, except that the bloody napkin under the pillow probably emanated from the careless surgeon leaving it behind after wiping his hands on it. No mystery remained with regard to either the chamber pot in Eliza’s room, or Hubbard’s shirts and other garments. Mr Jeremy said that since Hubbard was only inculpated by the statements in the Cavendish letter, which had proved to be a stupid fabrication, he should be detained no longer. Mr Traill sagely added that, in his opinion, it was clear that the murder had either been committed by Hubbard, or by the Foreigner who had gone home with Eliza. Hubbard had been detained for eight days, but no new evidence had been added against him, and he should be discharged.
Charles Hubbard was called to stand forward, and it was formally proclaimed that in the interest of public safety, his brother would be discharged from the prison, since the mob might tear him to pieces if he was taken to Union Hall. Charles Hubbard objected that no person who knew his brother would entertain the thought that he was the guilty man, and that he was sure that his brother would prefer to be discharged in the proper manner rather than to skulk away from prison. Would it not convince people of his innocence if the magistrates formally discharged him from Union Hall? Mr Jeremy coolly retorted that the reason for all this prejudice against his brother was that Hubbard had led a life ‘which was highly criminal on his part’. Charles Hubbard sadly shook his head and agreed that his brother’s life had been disreputable.18
But the solicitor Wooler remained belligerent. He insisted that Hubbard should be formally discharged from the office and pointed out that since the crowd was now diminishing, it was becoming less likely that public safety would be endangered. Accordingly, Hubbard was brought up in a hackney coach late in the afternoon. But a considerable number of people were still lurking in the street outside; when they saw the hated Hubbard, he was at once ‘assailed with groans and execrations’. The magistrates told him that since the letter incriminating him had been found to be a fabrication, he was now free to go. Until the real perpetrator of the murder was discovered, a certain amount of suspicion would still attach to him, and if he was an innocent man, he ought to do everything in his power to facilitate the detection of the offender. Hubbard declared his innocence, adding that he trusted that the murderer would be discovered.
Due to the size of the angry mob waiting outside in the street, it was not possible to let Hubbard out that way, since they would certainly have attacked him. The magistrates tried the old tactic of having the coach in which he would have taken his departure driven away, but the mob was wise to this trick. In the end, Hubbard had to be let out through the back of the office, where he climbed some palings and other impediments, before safely mixing with the crowd of pedestrians in the Borough.19
One of the most notorious personages in London in the late 1830s was Charles, Duke of Brunswick. Born in 1804, he had been the absolute ruler of Brunswick for some years, before his extravagance, eccentric manner and petty tyranny stirred full-scale revolution in 1830. The ducal castle was burnt down and the duke dethroned and evicted. He was declared insane by his brother Duke Wilhelm and by his cousin, King William IV, in 1833. The Duke of Cambridge was appointed his guardian and took control of his fortune in England. In 1836, the Duke of Brunswick came to London to try to reclaim his money. He also wanted the Royal Navy to mount a naval expedition to recover his landlocked territory, something that gained him a good deal of ridicule, although the duke pointed out that they could land at Bremen and cross through Hanoverian territory to reach Brunswick.20
King William IV and the government considered the Duke of Brunswick a madman and ignored his various appeals. Among Londoners, the extravagant duke soon became quite notorious. Nothing like his elegant carriages, over-large wigs and whiskers, diamond-studded waistcoats, and powdered and rouged face had ever been seen in the metropolis. He spent money lavishly to gain allies against the government, and enlisted various shady radicals for his cause. He partied and revelled to excess and was an inveterate customer of prostitutes. Bow Street Runner Henry Goddard, who was employed as a secret agent to spy on the duke in 1836 and 1837, marvelled at his nightly visits to Drury Lane, Covent Garden and other theatres, and the low company he kept.21
Charles, Duke of Brunswick as a young man, from the anonymous book Le Duc de Brunswick (Paris 1875).
The Duke of Brunswick took great interest in the murder of Eliza Grimwood. When he visited the inquest in person, the other spectators marvelled at his outrageous dress. When Hubbard was at Union Hall, the duke followed the proceedings with much interest. When Hubbard had been discharged, the duke suggested, in his imperfect English, that he ought to cut off his bushy whiskers to disguise himself and facilitate his escape from the office. Hubbard, having no appreciation of the rank of the person who had just addressed him, replied in his usual surly manner, referring to the duke’s moustache: ‘And if I were you, I would cut off those two black patches you wear upon your upper lip; I think it would improve your beauty!’
When the startled duke replied, ‘But it is my fashion’, Hubbard just said, ‘Well, if it is your fashion to wear so much hair over your mouth, it is my fashion to wear the pair of whiskers you
now see, and I shall not cut them off, for I have done nothing of a criminal nature that should make me attempt to disguise myself!’22
Since it was well known among Londoners that the Duke of Brunswick was very partial to female company, rumours soon began to circulate that it was in fact he who was the Foreigner who had accompanied Eliza Grimwood home, only to brutally murder her. People booed the duke in the streets and called him ‘Don Whiskerando’, the name they had given the bewhiskered ‘Foreigner’ who had taken Eliza Grimwood home. But in real life, there is nothing whatsoever to connect the foppish duke with the murder: he was a weak, vacillating character, with no liking for violence or bloodshed. Although he was very partial to the ladies, and quite possibly an established customer to the better class of London prostitute, there is nothing to suggest that he ever had anything to do with the murder of Eliza Grimwood.
10
THE CLUE OF THE LAVENDER-COLOURED GLOVES
After Hubbard had been discharged, the murder investigation was back at square one. Inspector Field tried his best to keep open three parallel lines of inquiry: firstly, to keep an eye on Hubbard’s movements; secondly, to keep looking for the elusive Foreigner; thirdly, to find the owner of the lavender-coloured gloves. Far from showing any signs of wanting to flee London, Hubbard provided the inspector with his address and said he would be pleased to help with any inquiries. The dismal M’Millan was less bonhomous. He applied to the Commissioners of Police, claiming that the inspector had misconstructed his evidence, and demanding to be formally freed of suspicion of having written the Cavendish letter. To get rid of him, Mr Traill the magistrate expressed his opinion that M’Millan was not the author of the letter, and the stationer was satisfied.1
