Charles Hammond, meanwhile, still lounged somewhere, either on the continent, or in America. Abberline was still eager to bring him back to face trial, but the Prime Minister, Lord Salisbury, made it absolutely clear that no extradition proceedings should be instigated against him, and the case against Charles Hammond was quietly dropped.
After the trial had ended, and presumably thinking that he was now safe, Somerset returned to Britain on 30 September, apparently to attend horse sales at Newmarket. As soon as Abberline got wind of this, he had him followed night and day, wherever he went. Abberline ordered the surveillance to be purposefully open; he wanted Somerset to be fully aware at all times that he was being watched. Why Abberline used this method of surveillance, no one seems to know. One theory was that Abberline thought by doing it this way, he would break Somerset down, and hopefully induce him to confess to his role in the scandal. Others alleged that, by this time, Abberline personally hated Somerset so much for escaping justice in this case that he simply decided to harass him in every way he could.
On 18 October, Lord Salisbury, whilst on his way back from France, received a telegram from Sir Dighton Probyn VC, the Prince of Wales’ comptroller and treasurer, asking him to meet him urgently. Lord Salisbury said later that, thinking the meeting to be about Foreign Office business connected with the Prince of Wales, he agreed to meet Probyn for a few minutes in a private waiting room at the Great Northern Railway station, where he would be waiting for his 7 p.m. connection home.
It was at this meeting that Probyn warned Lord Salisbury that Lord Arthur Somerset, extra equerry to the Prince of Wales’ eldest son, Prince Albert Victor, Duke of Clarence, was about to be arrested for gross indecency at a male brothel at 19 Cleveland Street, London. The day following this meeting, Somerset fled the country to France. Did Newton warn Somerset that his arrest was imminent? This was denied by Lord Salisbury and the Attorney General, Sir Richard Webster. The Prince of Wales wrote to Lord Salisbury expressing satisfaction that Somerset had been allowed to leave the country, and asked that if Somerset should ever show his face in England again, he would remain unmolested by the authorities; however, Lord Salisbury was also being pressured by the police to prosecute Somerset. On 12 November, a warrant for Somerset’s arrest was finally issued. By this time, Somerset was already safely abroad and the warrant caught little public attention.
This now left the question open as to Arthur Newton’s relationship with Lord Salisbury. Had the Prime Minister himself passed this privileged information on to Newton, for the express purpose of it then being relayed to Lord Somerset? After all, it was Newton who had supplied the money that Charles Hammond used to escape to Belgium and America, and it was Lord Salisbury who had said that he did not consider it appropriate for an official application to be made for Hammond’s extradition.
Arthur Newton was subsequently tried for conspiracy to pervert the course of justice, after he was caught attempting to pay off the telegraph boys to go abroad before they could testify. He was found guilty and sentenced to just six weeks’ imprisonment; another ridiculously lenient sentence!
As more names and rumours started to emerge, the young editor of the North London Press, Ernest Parke, decided to publish the names of Somerset and Henry FitzRoy, Earl of Euston, hinting that ‘They had been allowed to leave the country and thus defeat the course of justice, because their prosecution would disclose the fact that a far more distinguished and higher placed personage than themselves was involved in these “disgusting crimes”.
Parke wasn’t any different to most newspaper editors: he saw a good story and decided to cash in on it. These names and the rumours surrounding them were being widely spread in Britain, whilst on the continent they went even further and printed allegations in their newspapers that Prince Albert Victor, the heir to the throne, had been a regular visitor to the Cleveland Street brothel.
The Earl of Euston, however, wasted no time in taking legal action against Parke, suing him for libel. He admitted that he had been to the premises, but not for the purpose that Parke had alleged. He claimed that his reason for visiting the Cleveland Street house was because he had been misinformed that the house was a sort of ‘theatre’, where one could see naked women posing motionless – all very arty and not at all against any law. As the case continued, both sides tried their best to implicate the other, calling long lists of witnesses. At the same time, the rumours about Prince Albert Victor’s involvement intensified. Whether this actually worried the prince or not is difficult to judge accurately, for he left the country just about the same time as the trial started, for a royal wedding in Greece and an extended tour of India, which would last the best part of seven months.
Parke called every witness he could muster to try to prove his allegations against the Earl of Euston, but found the odds stacked against him with hardly a word he was saying being believed. He constantly mentioned other evidence which would prove his allegations without a doubt, but when pressed he said he could not divulge this without betraying his source. As everybody knows, rumours and unfounded allegations are not enough to convict anyone in a courtroom it was now a case of ‘put up or shut up’. The name that was then being bandied about was none other than Inspector Abberline. Could it have possibly been him? Whoever it was, it certainly didn’t help Parke, for he was found guilty and sentenced to a year in prison for libel.
The Cleveland Street scandal, as it had come to be known, ended with minnows, such as Newlove and Veck, a handful of telegraph boys and Lord Somerset’s solicitor, Arthur Newton, all being found guilty of somewhat minor infringements of the law and handed miniscule and ridiculous sentences. Then there was, of course, the newspaper editor, Ernest Parke, who received the largest sentence of them all, for his terrible crime of daring to name names. As for the names themselves, as we now know, none were ever brought to trial.
In February the following year, Henry Labouchère, the Radical MP for Northampton, took an interest in the case, and began to investigate Salisbury’s role in helping Somerset escape justice, suggesting that Lord Salisbury and several others should still be prosecuted.
Labouchère made a long speech in the Commons, accusing Salisbury of a criminal conspiracy to defeat the ends of justice. The house settled back in awed silence, as Labouchère continued his devastating and largely accurate account of what had happened, and ended with stating that in his opinion, ‘The government wish to hush this matter up’. Labouchère refused to accept the Attorney General’s defence of Salisbury, saying that he didn’t believe either him or the Prime Minister. The speaker of the house warned Labouchère on two occasions, and finally rose and called Labouchère to order, suspending him from the Commons for a week. Labouchère’s resolution for an inquiry was meanwhile defeated by 206 votes to 66. At the end of the vote, Labouchère rose again and pointed to his fellow Northampton MP, the atheist Charles Bradlaugh. ‘My honourable friend was suspended for disbelieving in God,’ he joked, ‘and I am suspended for disbelieving in Man.’
Lord Salisbury continued his career with complete disregard to Labouchère’s accusations. Somerset, meanwhile, searched for employment in Turkey, Austria and Hungary, and then went off to live quietly in self-imposed and comfortable exile in the south of France with a companion, until his death in 1926.
The other, and certainly the most famous name, to be bandied about with regard to the Cleveland Street scandal was Prince Albert Victor, the Duke of Clarence. He was away in India during the trials, and only returned to Great Britain in May 1890, but that, of course, would not have prevented him from visiting the Cleveland Street brothel during the previous years.
There were plenty of rumours and innuendo, but there was absolutely no conclusive evidence ever found that placed the Prince at the Cleveland Street address. Somerset was said to have hinted on several occasions that he had letters which would place the Prince in a very embarrassing situation, with regard to the Cleveland Street brothel, and that he would make such letters pu
blic if ever he was forced to appear in court. In all probability, Somerset was using the threat of exposing such letters, if indeed he did have them to begin with, in the hope that it would keep him out of the dock.
The fact that such letters never came to light did not do much to enhance Somerset’s reputation, and neither did it do any harm to the Prince, as statements made in such circumstances would never be considered by a court, and would be classed as hearsay, which is defined in law as ‘Evidence that does not derive its value solely from the credit of the witness, but rests mainly on the veracity and competency of other persons’.
Needless to say, Abberline was furious and frustrated to say the least. After what he saw as his failure to solve the Jack the Ripper investigations, he had put everything he had into this case, even to the point of ignoring the advice of both his boss, Sir James Monro, and the Prime Minister not to go ahead with the case. He knew he had a watertight case, and he was sure that if he was left unhindered, he could bring all the guilty parties to justice, but it seemed that the odds were stacked against him whichever way he turned.
The book, which he had found at the Cleveland Street house, was to be his pièce de résistance. It was a sort of guest book that Charles Hammond had kept as a record, listing every visitor to the house during the last eighteen months. Abberline knew that when this book was produced in court, it would bolster his case up and bring not just a few minnows to justice but the real predators along with them. No name in the book was safe from justice.
About a week before the trial was about to begin, Abberline received a message from the Prime Minister, requesting to see all the evidence that was going to be produced in court. This was a very unusual request, and one which Abberline was not too sure of its legality. He consulted Sir James Monro, and was told in no uncertain terms that if the Prime Minister had requested such documents, then he had no option other than to supply them to him.
Inspector Abberline knew how important the book was to his case, and had kept it under lock and key, in the safe of his office at Scotland Yard, since he had first found it. He took the book out of the safe and placed it in a box, along with other written evidence referring to the case. The box was then tied and secured with sealing wax, and sent by special courier to the Prime Minister at 10 Downing Street. After waiting several days, Abberline started to become impatient and sent a message, asking what the Prime Minister thought of the documents. He was told that in the Prime Minister’s opinion, the documents, without any form of back up, were inconclusive, and that the case should be dropped. Abberline could not believe his ears; what on earth was the Prime Minister talking about, hadn’t he even bothered to look at the book? He reported the Prime Minister’s findings to his boss, Sir James Monro, who was, firstly, very angry with Abberline for contacting the Prime Minister without his approval, and secondly, for not mentioning this book to him in the first place.
Sir James Monro, nevertheless, did contact the Prime Minister, and reported back to Abberline exactly what he had been told. He reported that there was absolutely no record anywhere of a book ever having been received by the Prime Minister. All he had received, he said, were a number of different documents pertaining to the case, which he had now sent back to Scotland Yard, along with the recommendation to drop the case. The book, Abberline’s main piece of evidence, had somehow managed to disappear en route from Scotland Yard to 10 Downing Street.
Was it any wonder then, why the case floundered, why no further names were brought to book and why those tried received such minor sentences? It seems an obvious conclusion, therefore, that there was indeed a cover-up of the scandal, but proving such action is another matter. There was certainly intervention by the government, much to the chagrin of Abberline, Monro and the Metropolitan Police in general. Did the authorities try to delay action and thwart justice, just because the prince might possibly have been involved?
Sir James Monro was reported to be so angry at the way he perceived himself to have been treated that he resigned from the force in June 1890, and went to live in India. The official explanation for his resignation was given that he was not happy with the new police pensions scheme. When Inspector Abberline heard of his boss’ intention to resign, he told fellow officers that if Monro went, then he would follow. One of Abberline’s great misgivings was his inability not to speak his mind, which certainly seemed to have upset his superiors, and was probably why Abberline was deciding to leave before he was pushed.
It was whispered that behind Monro’s tough exterior, he had a great respect for Abberline, and that just before leaving he took Abberline to one side and told him to stick it out a little longer, as promotion was most definitely on the cards for him. Abberline took the advice of his superior and settled back into his job, with the hope that another case might possibly come his way which would help him to finally redeem himself.
Several months elapsed with no significant cases arising and no sign either of the promotion that Monro had assured him of. Despondency, once again, started to set in, and he was just about to offer his resignation when, on 22 December 1890, he was promoted to chief inspector. He was elated when he told his wife, Emma, about the promotion, claiming it was the best Christmas present he could have wished for.
The elation he felt, however, quickly changed to one of deflation, when he learned that his new position as chief inspector had a serious setback: he had been taken off the street and re-assigned to desk duties at the yard. This wasn’t why he had become a policeman; his sole mission in life was to solve crime, and he did not consider being stuck behind a desk an ideal place from which to do this. He held the job down, at the insistence of his wife, for nearly two years, but eventually couldn’t take it any longer and retired on a full pension in 1892. He had served twenty-nine years in the force and was just 49 years old.
2
Early Life – Undercover Work
and Marriage
T wenty years is not exactly a long time in the career of a policeman; some would argue that it is incredibly short for someone such as Abberline, who became a prominent name in two of England’s most famous criminal cases. Those who study British criminal history will undoubtedly know of the Cleveland Street scandal, but one doesn’t need to be a historian to know of his other famous case; in fact, there cannot be hardly a person alive in the world who hasn’t heard of the Jack the Ripper murders. There have been hundreds of books and articles written about this case over the past 123 years (at the time of writing). There have also been films, television plays and documentaries, nearly all of which feature the character of Inspector Abberline.
So where and how did it all start? Frederick George Abberline was born on 8 January 1843 in Blandford, a pretty little village on the River Stour, in Dorset. His father, Edward Abberline, was a saddlemaker and minor local government official, who unfortunately died in 1859, leaving Frederick’s mother, Hannah, to raise Frederick and his three slightly older siblings, Emily, Harriet and Edward.
Frederick George Abberline was just 16 when he took up work as an apprentice clockmaker, in order to help support his mother. He had to get up at 5 a.m. every day and walk nearly 3 miles to the clockmaker’s shop. Walking home by the same route every evening meant that he sometimes didn’t get home until almost 10 p.m. He worked at the shop for four years, with the intention of opening a clock shop of his own one day. However, the apprenticeship wage was so poor that by the time he had payed his mother for food, he hardly had anything left for personal items, let alone saving to open his own shop.
Having little or no money left, Abberline didn’t get to attend dances or meet girls, like other boys of his age did. Instead he spent most evenings, when he wasn’t too tired, reading ‘Penny Dreadfuls’, which a neighbour would supply him with. It was probably these magazines that gave Abberline his first insight into the world of police work and detection, which he obviously took to with great relish. By 1863, aged 20, he decided to leave home, move to London, and join the Metrop
olitan Police. With a meagre £2 in his pocket, he found himself at the Metropolitan Police Recruiting Office at Scotland Yard, where after a short test he was accepted immediately, as constable number 43519. He was appointed to N Division, Islington, and given a uniform and living accommodation above the station.
Investigating crime, however, did not seem to be a part of Abberline’s duties. ‘Just make yourself visible on the streets,’ he was told by his sergeant. Crime figures at that time were shown to be falling in the Metropolitan area, but, as Abberline soon discovered, this was due to statistics being manipulated to show favourable figures for the police force.
During his second week on the force, Abberline was sent out with another officer to investigate an alleged theft of several items of jewellery from a house near Upper Street, Islington. There was no doubt in Abberline’s mind that this was a straight forward case of burglary, as a back door had been forced open from the outside and the thieves had left two sets of muddy footprints coming into the house from the backyard. Abberline couldn’t believe his eyes, however, when he later saw his fellow officer’s report on the case, which made no mention of a burglary, but instead noted that they had been called to a disturbance at the house. The stolen jewellery was listed as lost property. In other words, no crime had been reported.
Abberline soon discovered that this wasn’t just an isolated incident: the more reports he saw, the more cover-ups of crimes he discovered. He also found that local residents had such little faith in or respect for the police that a large percentage of them did not bother to report offences such as theft or pickpocketing anyway.
Abberline: The Man Who Hunted Jack the Ripper Page 3
