by Jan Bondeson
If the reader agrees with my deductions thus far, this will leave us with the same conclusion as Inspector Field – namely, that the Foreigner murdered Eliza Grimwood. But who the Foreigner was, the inspector had no idea. For some time, he entertained suspicions against Mr Skinner the tobacconist, and later briefly against the drunken private George Hill, but the cabman Spicknell resolutely ruled both of them out. The official verdict on the Grimwood murder seems to have been that the culprit was a foreign sailor, who left London very soon after the murder, thus avoiding being caught by the police operation searching all foreign hotels and lodging-houses.
It can of course not be ruled out that the police were right and that the murder of Eliza Grimwood was just a random act of violence, committed by some nondescript ruffian who had the luck to be able to leave London on one of the ships lying on the Thames the very next day. But still, the ‘foreign sailor’ hypothesis has several serious drawbacks. Firstly, we know from the testimony of Mary Glover and some of the Strand Theatre witnesses that Eliza was quite cautious when selecting her customers. Most of her clients were ‘regulars’ with whom she had been acquainted for months, or even years. When some fun-loving gentleman wanted to make her acquaintance, he was introduced to her by some friend who could vouch that he was a respectable man and that he could pay for himself. It seems unlikely that a foreign sailor would have access to such a resource. Secondly, we know that Eliza charged at least half a sovereign for any customer who wanted to accompany her home to Wellington Terrace. This would be an excessive amount for a sailor to pay for one single night of pleasure, since such a considerable sum could have kept him going at the cheap brothels for the entire period of his leave. Thirdly, the Foreigner is multiply recorded to have had elegant dress and suave manners. All the witnesses who saw him thought he looked rather like a gentleman, and not a single one of them even entertained the notion that he might have been some rough seafaring man. Although he spoke French (and possibly also Italian), he could also speak good English. Several witnesses observed that he addressed Eliza Grimwood as ‘Lizzy’ and that they seemed to be on familiar terms, as if they had met under similar circumstances in the past. Bearing in mind what we know about Eliza’s habits, it is likely that they had made an appointment to meet at the theatre. This is supported also by the reporter Sharpe, who heard Eliza say ‘there he is’, as if she had been waiting for someone she knew, followed by some indistinct words that sounded like ‘he is here’.
There are also some important observations indicating that, far from being the random act of a violent sailor, the murder had been carefully planned. Firstly, several witnesses agree that the Foreigner wore a broad-brimmed hat. Did he use this as a disguise, since he was worried about possible witnesses? Importantly, the servant Mary Fisher added that when entering the murder house, he hid his face from her by pulling his hat down and walked quickly into Eliza’s room. This would indicate that already when entering No. 12 Wellington Terrace, he had some fell purpose in mind. And why did he carry a long mackintosh across his arm? After all, it was late May and the weather was warm and fine. This garment would become very useful to protect his other clothing from the blood spatter when he committed the murder. If he was also carrying a cloth bag, into which to put his bloodstained mackintosh, gloves, hat and gaiters, he would present a perfectly normal appearance when leaving the house.
At the time, there was some speculation that some old enemy might have killed Eliza, possibly a jilted lover or some person with an old grudge against her. But several witnesses agree that the Foreigner and Eliza seemed to be on perfectly good terms during the evening, and that they seemed to know each other. Eliza’s comment to the cabman Spicknell, ‘You have a nice horse’, and her perfectly normal behaviour towards the servant Mary Fisher when she came home, also seems to indicate that she was at ease with the Foreigner, and that the murder came as a complete surprise to her.
So, what do we know for certain about the Foreigner? The descriptions given by several reliable witnesses agree that he was between 20 and 30 years old, 5ft 7 or 8in tall, with dark hair and whiskers. He was well groomed and dressed, and certainly not a rough labourer or sailor. The witnesses agree that he looked like a foreigner, probably a native of some French-speaking country. He could speak French and possibly also Italian, but was also quite fluent in English, with some degree of a foreign accent. This is an important point, since the French are notorious for their reluctance to learn foreign languages. How many young Frenchmen in London fulfilled the criteria listed above, and could also speak fluent English? Certainly not very many. The singer Ernest Tondeur, picked up as a suspect by Inspector Shamling’s men, appears to have been one, the unnamed foreign gambler apprehended in Clerkenwell another, but both these men were found to be innocent. When Inspector Field and his men made their extensive search of various foreign hotels and taverns in London, they found not a single suspect worthy of bringing before the magistrates.
Since the Foreigner knew Eliza Grimwood, and since he seemed to know his way about the Strand Theatre, it seems likely that he was a resident of London or its immediate vicinity. As to his trade and situation in life we can deduce even less. One witness thought his coat not unlike those worn by some master mariners and customs officials; another speculated that he looked more like a respectable gentleman’s servant. Another unsolved mystery is where the murderer went after leaving Wellington Terrace. There was not a single observation of a man behaving suspiciously in the vicinity of Waterloo Bridge the morning after the murder, although quite a few people were still out and about in the early hours. Did the Foreigner trust his calmness and cunning, and hope that the drunken London revellers would hardly remember his countenance, or had he access to some vehicle nearby? The latter alternative would also explain why the toll-keepers at Waterloo Bridge did not take any note of his escape across the river.
When the debate about the Cavendish letter was raging in the London newspapers, a novel suggestion was made by a correspondent to The Observer newspaper. Pooh-poohing the idea that the miserable Hubbard had killed the goose that laid the golden eggs, and blasting the Cavendish letter as an elaborate hoax, he brought forward a novel theory of his own. Clearly, the Foreigner must be the guilty man, but what about the extreme brutality of the murder and mutilation of the body, and the absence of a credible motive? The writer knew about the London Monster of 1790, who took such an insane delight in stabbing ladies’ bottoms, and also various other ‘monsters’ of similar proclivities that London and Paris had produced. Might not the murder of Eliza Grimwood be the work of such a perverted creature, a serial killer who delighted in murdering women of the street? From the Causes Célèbres, he quoted the case of a debauched French Baron, a ‘demon of the grossest and most unaccountable sensuality’, who had murdered several young women and drunk their blood, before being apprehended and executed.8
There was no reaction to this challenge, either from the police or from the newspaper journalists, perhaps because the exposure of the Cavendish letter as a falsification rendered part of its reasoning obsolete. This is a pity because the theory proposed has many things speaking in its favour. The cunning with which the murder was committed, the calm demeanour of the killer, the absence of a sound when the murder was committed, and his stealthy escape from the house puzzled Inspector Field very much. It was like it had all been premeditated and carefully planned, and as if the Foreigner had killed before. Was the Waterloo Road Horror the work of a serial killer, and was Eliza Grimwood perhaps not his first victim?
13
THE FREDERICK STREET MURDER, THE WESTWOOD MYSTERY, AND SOME SUSPECTS
In the 1830s, there was no such thing as a serial killer. Murder always had a motive, it was thought, and the concept of some person committing murder for the mere pleasure of it was unheard of. Yet it is inexplicable that no police detective connected the murder of Eliza Grimwood with the Frederick Street murder of 1837, since there are striking parallels with regard to the
lack of an obvious motive, the modus operandi, and the social status of the victim.
The two murder victims even shared the same first name. Early in the morning of 9 May 1837, at the King’s Arms public house in No. 19 Frederick Street, the body of 21-year-old barmaid Eliza Davies was found in the landing outside her bedroom.1 Her throat had been cut with great violence, without any of the people resident at the pub hearing anything. Mr George Wadley, her employer and the proprietor of the King’s Arms, thought the killer was an ‘ill-looking fellow’ who used to come into the pub early in the morning asking for a knife to cut his bread.2 He had once quarrelled with Eliza Davies, after she had refused him a pint of beer on credit, and skulked out saying he would ‘do for her’. This man, who had been a steady customer at the pub for at least three weeks, was described as an ugly, scruffy-looking foreigner, about 40 years old. The pot boys Benjamin Bunn and Alfred Hitchcox had both seen him more than once, as had Frederick Russell, one of the pub regulars. Significantly, he had failed to make his daily visit to the pub on 10 May, something that convinced Mr Wadley of his guilt.
The murder of Eliza Davies. A fanciful drawing from the Illustrated Police News of 22 December 1888.
Several witnesses came forth saying that Eliza Davies had been seen with a foreign-looking man, although their descriptions diverged wildly. One man was certain that he had been French and about 45 years old, answering to the name of M. Entre or André, another that he was a young, well-dressed Frenchman who seemed to be her boyfriend, a third that he was an Italian and possibly named Zucchelli. Inspector William Aggs and Constable Henry Pegler, who were in charge of the case, assumed that all these sightings concerned the same person, and also identical with the scruffy-looking foreigner described by Mr Wadley. The latter individual had been described as wearing a dark coat, Scotch plaid waistcoat and fustian trousers. A butcher named Mr Malpas had seen a man wearing a dark coat and fustian trousers standing at York Square not far from the King’s Arms. He was looking very melancholy, not answering the butcher’s observation that if he wanted a drink, he would be lucky to find a public house open at twenty to six in the morning. Inspector Aggs made up his mind that this was the murderer lurking outside the pub. Still smarting over the slight at not being trusted with credit, this villainous foreigner had sneaked into the pub just after Eliza Davies had unlocked the doors, cut her throat, and disappeared without trace. Through the newspapers, handbills and word-of-mouth, there was a nationwide alert for the murderer: a foreign-looking man between 20 and 40 years old, dressed in a dark coat, fustian trousers, and possibly a Scotch plaid waistcoat.
Since the Frederick Street murder was widely publicised, the result of issuing this vague description can easily be imagined. There were citizens’ arrests of suspicious-looking men all over London. One suspect was taken into custody in Great Marylebone Street, another near Fitzroy Market, a third in Islington and a fourth in Greenwich. Inspector Aggs and Constable Pegler were continually on the move, racing through London in their hansom cabs to confront a series of scruffy-looking individuals who had had the misfortune of wearing dark coats and fustian trousers. When a man arrested in Beckenham, Kent, was taken to the Marylebone Street police office in a hackney coach, the vehicle was pursued by a considerable mob, and the suspect would have been lynched had not some sturdy policemen protected him. He turned out to be a young vagabond who had been loitering about, reluctant to give an account of himself when challenged by an officious amateur detective. As soon as he had been disposed of, another man was brought up: a young street beggar who had been taken in the Rose and Crown public house. He had been unwise enough to boast that he had spent time in both Maidstone and Lewisham jails, and that he would have been transported if he had had his due. When the young jailbird fell asleep after having swigged heartily from his beer glass, the landlord ran outdoors, found a policeman and explained that the murderer of Eliza Davies was sleeping in his pub. But again, there was no evidence against him, and the pot-boy Hitchcox could not identify him as the suspect.
In the meantime, the body of young Eliza Davies had been laid out, in the clubroom of the public house. Two surgeons declared themselves convinced that she had been murdered: there was no possibility she could have committed suicide, due to the extreme force with which her throat had been cut. When a busybody wrote to The Times, suggesting that the ‘medical gentlemen’ should determine whether or not she had been pregnant, the doctors declared themselves confident that was not the case. How they could be so sure is a mystery, since according to the newspapers, there was no autopsy. Although several surgeons offered their own services, and many gentlemen wanted to be spectators, Mr Wadley declined all offers. Probably for religious reasons, he wanted to keep the body intact: it was shrouded, placed in a handsome coffin covered with black cloth, and interred before ‘an immense assemblage of persons’ on 15 May 1837.3
A sketch of Eliza Davies done after her death by some enterprising journalist, from the Weekly Chronicle of 21 May 1837.
We know very little about Eliza Davies, except that she was a native of Glamorgan and orphaned at an early age. A pamphlet approvingly describes her as ‘a fine young woman’, adding that she was much esteemed for her civility. Barmaids were considered sexually ‘easy’ at the time, and not a few of them were part-time prostitutes. She was a pretty young girl, popular among the pub customers, and would have had many chances for illicit affairs. Although Mrs Berry, wife of the former proprietor of the King’s Arms, told a reporter that Eliza Davies had been a quiet, obedient girl who had always behaved with proper decorum, respect for the dead and concern about the pub’s reputation may well have induced her to twist the truth a bit. It is notable that Eliza’s savings bank receipt book was found to contain nearly £23, surely more money than most 21-year-old barmaids possessed at the time.
The murder mania spread further afield. A young Italian was apprehended in Bath, a Dutchman in Hull, and a foreign-looking labouring man in Colnbrook, near Windsor. When Inspector Aggs was interviewed by a reporter from The Times, at his temporary headquarters at the King’s Arms, he said that he and Pegler had travelled nearly 100 miles in the previous twenty-four hours. There had been many anonymous letters, ‘to which much importance is attached’. The interview was concluded in the following dramatic manner:
A messenger has just now arrived in breathless haste at the King’s Arms bringing with him a letter addressed to Inspector Aggs, who immediately got into a cab with Pegler, and ordered the driver to go on with all possible speed. The vehicle proceeded up Tottenham-court-road, and it is understood that a person strongly suspected of being the murderer was to be met with at a public house in the vicinity of Whitechapel church.4
After another couple of weeks dashing around London interviewing dodgy foreigners with dark coats and fustian trousers, Inspector Aggs started using his brain, an organ he seems to have left unconsulted since the start of this dismal wild goose chase. Was it really likely that a foreign tramp or labourer would murder someone just for being refused beer on credit? Instead, the inspector was beginning to suspect the young Frenchman or Italian who had been seen with Eliza Davies at the pub, but this character was never tracked down.
Just like in the Grimwood case, the Frederick Street murder had some dramatic late-stage developments. In late July, there was sensation when the police claimed to have arrested an accomplice to the Frederick Street murderer. It was an old gypsy woman who went under the name Amelia Smith, although she sometimes used the name Taylor; she lived at No. 25 Charles Street, Drury Lane. At an early stage, a mysterious letter had been found in a drawer in the bedroom of Eliza Davies, beginning with the words, ‘Young Woman – You are born under tow plannets, Mars and Venus. The worst of your troubles is past under your first plannet, but the second denots of good fortune in all your undertakings …’ The letter went on to predict, very wrongly as it would turn out, that Eliza would marry a man with a dark complexion, and that she would have six children.5 The lett
er clearly indicated that Eliza had been interested in some variety of fortune telling, and the old crone Amelia Smith had been observed by the pot-boy Hitchcox skulking about the King’s Arms. Eliza had told the cook that she had told her fortune for a shilling. Police Constable Roderick apprehended the gypsy fortune teller in York Square, but when brought before the sitting magistrate at the Marylebone Street police office, the old crone gave nothing away: she was not in the habit of telling fortunes, although she admitted having drunk beer at the pub. Hitchcox said that Eliza had been dissatisfied by the old woman’s soothsaying, since some events she had predicted did not happen, and this, Inspector Aggs speculated, would have given the gypsy fortune teller a motive for murdering her. Aggs seemed quite astonished that the magistrate did not at all share his suspicions, and Amelia Smith was set free.6
In December 1837, when the police were searching for a young Frenchman or Italian rather than some scruffy tramp, a well-dressed young man who called himself Lascerti got off the Bath coach in Devizes. At the principal inn in town, he seemed to have overheard some people at the next table discussing the Frederick Street murder. The Italian promptly walked out, leaving behind a hat in a box, marked ‘Perring, Strand’ and a handkerchief with the initials J.H. When there was a rumour that Lascerti had been arrested and brought back to London, there was much excitement in the Regent’s Park area: a crowd of 700 people gathered near the King’s Arms to find out the latest news. But a messenger brought back the bad news that although the indefatigable Inspector Aggs and Constable Pedler were at that moment racing down to Devizes, Lascerti was still at liberty.7
