Foul Deeds and Suspicious Deaths in London's West End

by Geoffrey Howse

  … wearing a long black camlet cloak, with a broad cape fastened up close to his chin. With this he wore a big, broad-brimmed slouch hat, and often green spectacles or a green shade. Sometimes his mouth was covered up with red flannel, or his corpulent legs and gouty feet were swathed in flannel.

  His schemes to swindle unsuspecting victims were ingenious to say the least. On one occasion he devised a plan in which he was to ‘expose a swindler’. In one of his disguises, he discussed the plan with a respectable city merchant, with whom he had become acquainted and had gained his trust. The swindler, none other than Price himself in yet another disguise, was by the design of his other persona, inveigled into the merchant’s house in order that he could be ‘given up to the police’. The swindler proposed that he should buy himself off for £500. The merchant, seeing the opportunity to make some easy money accepted his proposal and the money was paid with a thousand pound note, for which the swindler was given change. Naturally, the £1,000 note was one of Price’s own forgeries.

  Charles Price, disguised as ‘Old Patch.’ Author’s collection

  In another scam, in one of his disguises, Price engaged a boy. He dressed him in livery and sent him round the town to buy lottery tickets, always with large (forged) notes, for which change would always be required. This way he amassed considerable sums by passing off the counterfeits.

  Price operated successfully over many years. The officials at Bow Street believed that the countless scams and swindles executed by Price were the work of a well organized gang headed by ‘Old Patch’, Price’s most famous disguise. It was only after considerable time had been expended that any real leads put them on the right track. One of many endorsements upon a forged note was traced to a pawnbroker, who remembered the note had been given to him by a man named Powel, who sometimes transacted business there. A watch was placed on the pawnbrokers and when next Price turned up as Powel, on 14 January 1786, he was arrested. He was found to have on his person a large number of bank notes. He was held in Tothill Fields, until investigations could be made into his background. His natural appearance was described as:

  … a compact middle-aged man, inclined to stoutness, erect, active, and not bad-looking, with a beaky nose, keen grey eyes, and a nutcracker chin.

  At first, Price denied any knowledge of wrong-doing but as investigations into his background progressed and he realized all was up, when it became apparent that there was an overwhelming amount of evidence against him. He was found to be the man who in 1775 had advertised for a partner to provide capital for a planned brewery. He had been joined in this enterprise by the unsuspecting actor Samuel Foote, who was defrauded out of the profits and left to pay liabilities of £500. This very same man had started an illicit still, and had been arrested and sent to Newgate, until he had paid a fine of £1,600. He had, however, been fortunate on that occasion, as owing to the intervention of Foote and Lord Littleton, he had been released. This time however, it was clear there could be no such intercession. Rather than standing trial knowing at the end of it he would have to face the ultimate penalty, he decided to take matters into his own hands. He was found hanging behind the door of his cell, suspended from two hat screws, strengthened by gimlets.

  During his vainglorious career as a forger and swindler, Price is believed to have defrauded individuals and banks out of as much as £200,000 but how he disposed of his ill-gotten gains remained his secret. Despite his three homes, he did not live an ostentatious lifestyle in any of them, nor was he a drinker or gambler.

  Murder of Lord William Russell 1840

  … rather ill-looking, a baddish countenance; but his manner was calm though dejected and he was civil and respectful, not sulky.

  What is today’s Dunraven Street, running parallel with Park Lane and lying between North Row and Wood Mews, Mayfair, was, in 1840, when this premeditated murder took place, Norfolk Street. It was there, at No. 14, a small but elegant three-storied house, that Lord William Russell a seventy-three-year-old widower, lived with his staff of three servants; a cook, maid and valet, François Benjamin Courvoisier, who was Swiss. Lord William was by all accounts, an irascible, tetchy, somewhat peevish old gentleman, a younger son of the Duke of Bedford and uncle of the then Secretary of State for the Colonies.

  On the morning of 6 May 1840, the housemaid, on coming downstairs from her quarters on the top floor, found the principal rooms in disarray. In the dining room, furniture had been turned upside down, the drawers of the escritoire were open and had been rifled, there was a bundle lying on the floor, as though thieves had been interrupted. It appeared that a burglary had taken place. She summoned the cook and they then called Courvoisier, who, much to their surprise came from his room already dressed. This was unusual in itself, because he was habitually late in the morning. Together they went upstairs to their master’s bedroom. While Courvoisier opened the shutters, the housemaid on approaching the bed saw that Lord William was lying dead on his bloodstained bed. The quick-witted maid quickly took charge of the situation, and was given little assistance, if any, by either the cook, or Courvoisier. She rushed downstairs and out into the street and rang the bell of a house opposite. A footman eventually answered and she sent him to Hanover Square for the police. She sent another neighbouring servant to St James’s, to summon Lord William’s physician at 22 Cleveland Row.

  Help soon arrived and despite the general mayhem elsewhere in the house, it was first assumed that Lord William had committed suicide. His throat had been cut from ear to ear, a towel had been placed over his face and this was soaked with blood, which also covered the pillows and bedding. There were no bloodstains anywhere else in the room, nor for that matter, were there any elsewhere in the house. However, it soon became apparent that this was no suicide, when it was discovered that some silver and other valuable items were missing and after further examining the evidence at the scene it was declared that suicide was impossible. It was clearly proved that no forcible entry had been made into the house. There were marks upon the door which had apparently been made from the inside, supposedly by a poker and chisel, later found in the butler’s pantry, used by Courvoisier. The valet had attracted the suspicions of the police by his strange behaviour. He had hung over the body in an agitated manner, had not answered any questions or taken part in any of the proceedings. The police formed the opinion that the valet was more concerned about his own position than the tragic events. He kept repeating:

  What shall I do? I shall never get another position.

  Further suspicion was aroused by the bundle in the dining room, which contained small items of plate and jewels that a thief would normally have put into his pocket, leading those investigating the crime that the scene had been staged, but fortunately for them, not with any degree of expertise. In this the police were not wrong.

  Investigations soon revealed the true extent of the situation. In his Lordship’s bedroom a rouleaux box for sovereigns had been broken open. Likewise the jewel box and note case from which a ten pound note, known to have been in Lord William’s possession, had been taken. His Lordship’s watch was also missing. Further suspicion was aroused by the position of a book and a candle by the bedside. The candle was placed so that it could throw no light on the book, which happened to be a copy of the Life of Sir Samuel Romilly. The futile efforts of the real murderer to throw suspicion on burglars had been amply proved to the satisfaction of the police, who were convinced the culprit was from within the household. Courvoisier was taken into custody and the cook and maid placed under surveillance. Three days later a search of the butler’s pantry provided further circumstantial evidence against the valet. Behind the skirting board there were several rings belonging to Lord William, also his Waterloo medal and the ten pound note. Elsewhere in the pantry was a split gold ring that his Lordship used for carrying his keys, a chased gold key and his Lordship’s watch. With sufficient evidence against him Courvoisier was committed for trial. Courvoisier was first held in Tothill Fields prison,
where he was visited by the diarist Charles Greville, who gave the following description:

  … rather ill-looking, a baddish countenance; but his manner was calm though dejected and he was civil and respectful, not sulky.

  François Benjamin Courvoisier. Author’s collection

  A subscription was raised from foreign servants in London, to provide funds for his defence. The trial opened at the Old Bailey on 18 June. Courvoisier pleaded not guilty. The first day’s proceedings were spent mainly listening to the evidence given by the maid, the cook and the police. It was on the second day of the trial, that a prosecution witness gave evidence that placed Courvoisier firmly in the frame, as far as the jury was concerned. Madame Piolaine, a Frenchwoman, gave her evidence. She had, unbeknown to Courvoisier, already been taken to Tothill Fields, where he had been incarcerated and identified him. Louis Piolaine and his wife’s cousin, Joseph Vincent, ran a small hotel, the Dieppe, situated in Leicester Place, a small turning which runs between Lisle Street and Leicester Square. Several years before the murder Courvoisier had worked there for about a month. Six weeks before the murder Courvoisier had called on Madame Piolaine and a few days later returned with a brown paper parcel which he asked her to look after for him. He told her he would collect it but had not returned. When her husband read about the murder case the parcel was opened and it was found to contain items of silver belonging to Lord William Russell. The jury had no difficulty in deciding upon a guilty verdict and Courvoisier was sentenced to death. After he had been taken to Newgate following sentencing, he admitted that he had been justly convicted.

  He later made three written confessions, which vary considerably in content and are somewhat confusing. He admitted that he had killed Lord William on the night of 5 May. He said:

  His lordship was very cross with me and told me I must quit his service. As I was coming upstairs from the kitchen I thought it was all up with me; my character was gone, and I thought it was the only way I could cover my faults by murdering him. This was the first moment of any idea of the sort entering my head. I went into the dining room and took a knife from the sideboard. I do not remember whether it was a carving knife or not. I then went upstairs. I opened his bedroom door and heard him snoring in his sleep; there was a rushlight in his room burning at the time. I went near the bed by the side of the window, and then I murdered him. He just moved his arm a little; he never spoke a word.

  The Condemned Cell, Newgate Gaol, where Courvoisier languished during his last days. Author’s collection

  Courvoisier was only prevented from suicide by the vigilance of his captors and he said he intended to open a vein with a bit of sharpened stick, which had been taken away from him when his mattress was changed. The execution took place outside Newgate on 6 July 1840. The executioner was William Calcraft. As well as an enormous crowd which had gathered outside the gaol, there was a gathering of distinguished guests inside. First came the sheriffs, the sheriffs, aldermen and city officials, Lord Powerscourt and other peers and Mr Charles Kean, the famous tragedian, who was following in the footsteps of his father, the celebrated Edmund Kean, who had similarly witnessed the execution of Thistlewood (see Cato Street chapter 10), with a view to his professional studies.

  It was reported that:

  As early as six a.m. the number assembled already exceeded that seen on ordinary occasions; by seven a.m. the whole space was so thronged that it was impossible to move one way or the other.

  There is one final note to add to this particular case. Shortly before he was executed, Courvoisier admitted that he had committed the murder while stripped naked. This confession was corroborated by a gentleman, who said he had seen the figure of a naked man, carrying a lighted candle, through the landing window of the house opposite, at No. 14 Norfolk Street, on the night of 5 May. He had, however, kept his peace, as he had not wished to compromise the reputation of a lady, in whose company he found himself. The celebrated criminologist and theatrical producer H B Irving, son of the actor manager Sir Henry Irving, presented a play at the Queen’s Theatre, Shaftesbury Avenue in November 1909. The play was based on these very events and was written by the dramatist Percival Landon and entitled The House Opposite.

  The Debtors’ Doorway, Newgate Gaol, outside which Courvoisier was executed. Author’s collection

  A Cat Defends Its Mistress 1867

  … such was the ferocity of the attack by her loyal pet, that her husband was obliged to implore her to take the cat away from him to save his life …

  An unusual case was heard before Mr Knox at Marlborough Police Court, during the first week of July 1867, when George Amey of 12 Fitzroy Place was charged with assaulting his wife, Isabella, in her residence at 36 Tottenham Street. The married couple were estranged, the husband cohabiting with another woman in Fitzroy Place.

  On Saturday 29th June, George Amey called at his wife’s residence and after a few moments began to verbally abuse her. At the court hearing, Isabella Amey appeared to have been brutally knocked about. She told the warrant officer that her husband knocked her down, jumped on her, and then throwing himself on her, seized her by the throat, and attempted to strangle her. Meanwhile, while she lay on the ground, screaming and in terror of her very life, aid came from an unexpected source. A favourite cat, named Topay, sprang at Amey and fastened her claws in his eyes and her teeth in his cheek. Mrs Amey added that such was the ferocity of the attack by her loyal pet, that her husband was obliged to implore her to take the cat away from him to save his life, as he was unable to do so himself. Mrs Amey, having removed the cat from her husband’s face, was rescued from any further ill treatment, as her husband fled the scene.

  George Amey attacks his estranged wife Isabella at her home at 36, Tottenham Street. Topay, her cat, springs to her aid. The Illustrated Police News

  Having ascertained from several witnesses to his satisfaction, that George Amey had been in the habit of ill-treating his wife, Mr Knox sent Amey to prison for one month. Comments were later made at the magistrate’s leniency for what was a particularly brutal attack.

  Butchered in Charlotte Street 1917

  … a large number of wounds had been inflicted by a far weaker hand than the powerful brute of a man Voisin.

  On 2 November 1917, a road-sweeper was at work in Regent Square, Bloomsbury. As he busied himself with his brush and shovel, he noticed that just behind the iron railings in the shrubbery of the central gardens, was a large parcel covered in sackcloth. He went into the gardens to investigate. He removed the parcel from the shrubbery and opened it. Inside he discovered to his horror, wrapped in a bloodstained sheet, and dressed in delicate lace underwear, the headless torso of a woman. On a paper wrapper was scribbled the misspelt message ‘Blodie Belgiam’. Nearby, wrapped in brown paper, was a second parcel and this contained the woman’s legs. There was one clue that was to prove crucial in the identification of the remains. On the bloodstained sheet in which the torso had been wrapped, was an embroidered laundry mark ‘II H’. It was established that the remains had been dismembered by someone who had some knowledge of anatomy, and the time of death was established as being within the previous two days.

  Chief Inspector Frederick Wensley was placed in charge of the case. The usual rounds of launderers were instigated and eventually the laundry mark was tracked down to a house in Munster Square, situated off Albany Street, Regents Park. At No. 50 a young Frenchwoman lodged. Thirty-two-year-old Emilienne Gerard had been missing from her rooms since 31 October. A search revealed an IOU for the sum of £50, signed by Louis Voisin. There was also a framed photograph, which later proved to be of Louis Voisin, who was discovered to be her lover.

  Voisin was traced to the basement flat at 101 Charlotte Street, Fitzroy Square. When the police called there, Voisin was in the company of Berthe Roche, who apparently lived with him. They also discovered that his trade was a butcher. As Voisin spoke hardly any English, it was decided to conduct the interview through an interpreter and Chief Inspector We
nsley had them brought to Bow Street for questioning. There it was established that Voisin had known Emilienne Gerard for about eighteen months and an intimate relationship had developed between them. On 31 October they had met to say their goodbyes, on the eve of Madame Gerard’s departure for France. She was going to see her husband who was a cook in the French army. For the moment all that had been established was the fact that Voisin and Madame Gerard were lovers. It had not at that point been established that the dismembered remains were actually those of Madame Gerard. Nevertheless Voisin was detained at Bow Street overnight.

  The following morning, through an interpreter, Chief Inspector Wensley asked Voisin if he would mind writing out the words ‘Bloody Belgium’. Louis Voisin was a hulking brute of a man, who had great strength but little intelligence. He laboriously wrote down the words five times. The last effort was strikingly similar to that written on the parcel. On seeing this, Chief Inspector Wensley was confident that he was on the right track.

  After a further visit to Charlotte Street there was no doubt at all as to whose remains had been discovered in the parcels found in Regent Square. The kitchen contained the tools of Voisin’s trade. As well as saws and knives hanging on the walls, there was also a big knife-sharpening wheel. The walls of the kitchen were spattered with blood. This proved to be human. An earring was found caught in a towel. It was later established this belonged to Madame Gerard. Further searching revealed even more damning evidence. In a little arched recess in the coal cellar the police found a cask of alum which also contained Madame Gerard’s head and hands. Voisin owned a pony and trap. The trap was covered with blood. When questioned about the discoveries, Voisin said: