The two men were then conducted to Mrs Berry’s cell, where she stood waiting. All three were much moved at the reunion, it was said, in particular Mrs Berry, who wept ‘scalding tears’. She wore a brown dress and chequered apron, and looked somewhat paler and thinner than when the men had last seen her. Also, she had lost the ‘frizette’ which had been a characteristic of her appearance, her hair now being combed straight out in front, and made into two long plaits behind, unfastened and hanging loose.
The men were somewhat pleasantly surprised, however, at the cell in which she was housed, it being far more comfortable than they had anticipated. Furnished with a single bed with a coloured counterpane, it had a small table to one side, and in the centre of the room a larger table on which were tracts and papers and a number of books, among them a Bible and prayer book.
When the three had taken seats – Mrs Berry in an armchair on the other side of the bed – she told them that the prison officials had been very kind to her, and that she was feeling considerably better than she had been at the beginning of her incarceration. Indicating a number of letters that lay on the bed, she said she had received a great many, both from friends and from people she didn’t know, ‘all of them,’ she said, ‘sympathising with me in my great distress and sore calamity, and from which I have received great comfort. In fact I don’t deserve the sympathy that has been shown to me; it has been so great, so real, and so true.’
She went on then to speak of her trial, expressing herself satisfied with all the witnesses with one exception – though not naming the particular person. She also voiced satisfaction with her solicitor’s work, saying that no one could have had done more or served her better than Mr Whitaker and his clerk, Mr Robinson. Asked by Mr Fletcher if she had expected the verdict that was returned at the trial, she said not until the Thursday morning, when, on scanning the faces of the jury, she read her fate in their looks. To the surprise of her two visitors, she then brought up the subject of her dead child and, referring to the claims that she had killed her for the small insurance pay-out, said, ‘How can people invent such a paltry motive for so great a crime?’
Mr Minahan then asked her whether she held any hope of a reprieve being granted, and she replied, ‘Very little. I’m preparing for the worst, and getting ready for the end. I don’t say I’m ready at the present moment to go with the executioner to the scaffold, but I can say I have no fear of it.’ She added, ‘The things of this world are rapidly passing from me, and each friend’s face I see for the last time is one more ordeal gone through. I look upon the transition from this world as stepping into a train from which I shall alight very shortly in a far more beautiful place.’ As she finished speaking, the prison clock struck two, and she said, ‘I listen to the striking of that clock and almost count the hours upon it, and I know, one morning, very shortly, that I shall hear it strike seven for the last time. But I’m not dismayed, and I hope to have sufficient strength to bear it.’
Rising from her chair, she moved to the table and, taking up one of the books, said, ‘I feel as Longfellow describes resignation in his beautiful poem of that name.’ Opening the book she then commenced to read aloud Longfellow’s poem, ‘Resignation’.
There is no flock, however watched and tended,
But one dead lamb is there!
There is no fireside, howsoe’er defended,
But has one vacant chair!
She went on to read to the men the complete poem.
For those unfamiliar with the work I quote it here in full, as I think it is pertinent to her situation in relation to her dead child. Those familiar with it, however, might care to skip to the end.
The poem continues:
The air is full of farewells to the dying,
And mournings for the dead;
The heart of Rachel, for her children crying,
Will not be comforted!
Let us be patient! These severe afflictions
Not from the ground arise,
But oftentimes celestial benedictions
Assume this dark disguise.
We see but dimly through the mists and vapours,
Amid the earthly damps
What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers
May be heaven’s distant lamps.
There is no death! What seems so is transition;
This life of mortal breath
Is but a suburb of the life elysian,
Whose portal we call Death.
She is not dead, – the child of our affection, –
But gone unto that school
Where she no longer needs our poor protection,
And Christ himself doth rule.
In that great cloister’s stillness and seclusion,
By guardian angels led,
Safe from temptation, safe from sin’s pollution,
She lives, whom we call dead.
Day after day we think what she is doing
In those bright realms of air;
Year after year, her tender steps pursuing,
Behold her grown more fair.
Thus do we walk with her, and keep unbroken
The bond which nature gives,
Thinking that our remembrance, though unspoken,
May reach her where she lives.
Not as a child shall we again behold her;
For when with raptures wild
In our embraces we again enfold her,
She will not be a child;
But a fair maiden, in her Father’s mansion,
Clothed with celestial grace;
And beautiful with all the soul’s expansion
Shall we behold her face.
And though at times impetuous with emotion
And anguish long suppressed,
The swelling heart heaves moaning like the ocean,
That cannot be at rest, –
We will be patient, and assuage the feeling
We may not wholly stay;
By silence sanctifying, not concealing,
The grief that must have way.
There was complete silence as she read, and even the two warders, it was said, were moved by her reading. Putting the book aside she then read extracts from some of the letters she had received, saying afterwards: ‘I have much sweet thoughts in these letters, and I remember last Easter Sunday the pleasant day I spent with my friends – and now I know that I shall spend next Easter Sunday in a far better place.’
Speaking briefly of her time at the workhouse, she said, ‘I was very proud of my position, proud of my ability, but how great the fall.’
She then said that she had given a few close friends each a small present, and that if her visitors would like something of hers she would be pleased to give it to them. The men then were offered a choice among some of her possessions, at which each named a small article that he would like, after which she said she would instruct her solicitor to hand it over to them when he had obtained possession of her belongings.
Mr Fletcher, when he could get a word in, asked her if she had heard of the verdict with regard to the inquest on her mother’s death. This caused the warder to raise his hand warningly, however, and the man fell silent. Even so, Mrs Berry replied to his question, saying that she knew of nothing beyond the exhumation of her mother’s body, and, clearly blaming the authorities for the proceedings and presenting herself as one wronged, said, ‘They weren’t even content to let her remains lie in peace, but must needs bring that charge against me.’
Conscious of the warden’s warning, Mr Fletcher forbore to tell her the inquest’s verdict but said, making it clear what the verdict was, ‘Mrs Berry, I must tell you candidly, there is no possible hope of a reprieve for you.’
For a moment she was silent, then she said, ‘I suppose there are all sorts of rumours current about me, but I am perfectly indifferent to them.’
Said Mr Fletcher, ‘I am not at liberty to tell you anything concerning what is said about you.’
From then on th
e conversation stayed on safer ground. She spoke of the food she ate – ‘a strengthening diet, mostly jellies’ – and then of the previous visitors she had received, adding that she didn’t expect to receive many more in the time left to her, but rather wished to spend her time alone.
At last the two men rose to leave. She shook hands with them, saying, ‘Goodbye, and God bless you,’ and they left her.
On their way out of the prison they met her solicitor, Mr Whitaker, who had come to pay her a visit.
Joseph Whitaker was later to speak to a journalist from the Manchester Evening News of his meeting with Mrs Berry that day. His visit had not been arranged, he said, but he had called in the hope of seeing her, and after receiving word that she would like to see him was conducted to her cell. There she rose from her seat and shook hands warmly with him, ‘at first so overcome with emotion’, he said, ‘that she seemed almost unable to speak’.
She soon regained her composure, however, and as they talked she spoke of the many letters she had received, and read some of them aloud to him ‘in a most affecting way’. Afterwards she spoke of her child, Edith, and said, ‘Oh, Mr Whitaker, do you know that beautiful poem by Longfellow, “Resignation”? That expresses my feelings as regards poor Edith.’ With that, just as she had done an hour before, she took the book of Longfellow’s poems from the table, and read aloud the poem from beginning to end. She read it, Mr Whitaker said, ‘with an amount of feeling that was awe-inspiring’. Afterwards she drew his attention to the line: ‘There is no death; what seems so is transition,’ saying that she wished to have those words engraved on Edith’s gravestone. She appeared, he said, quite resigned to her fate. ‘I have little to live for,’ she said to him. ‘Those whom I loved have already gone. I look upon death now as a five minutes’ journey by train, and when I get out of the train at the other station the first one to meet me on the platform will be my daughter Edith.’
We do not know, but it is very likely that during Mr Whitaker’s meeting with her that day he spoke on the subject of her debt to him. It would not have been an easy matter to broach, but time was running out. The visit was, by his own decision, the last he would make, so he did not foresee another such face-to-face opportunity. It is possible that she initiated the subject. Only hours earlier she had offered to Mr Fletcher and Mr Minahan each a keepsake, which, she said, they might receive as soon as Mr Whitaker could obtain possession of her belongings – so it is not unlikely that she should have brought up the subject with Mr Whitaker while she had the opportunity. And, of course, he would not have been pleased to hear that she had already embarked on the business of giving her possessions away. What might have passed between them on the matter, however, we do not know.
It was probably a rather difficult two hours for the solicitor, but at last came the time for his departure. Mrs Berry thanked him for his endeavours on her behalf, and they said their last goodbyes. They were never to meet again.
Following Mr Whitaker’s leaving, Mrs Berry was visited by her brother-in-law John Sanderson, who had been waiting for the solicitor to leave. What transpired during his meeting with her is not recorded. Perhaps she regaled him also with a moving reading of ‘Resignation’. If so, it would be the third time that day that the warders who were present in her cell were so entertained.
So very conscious of the little time left before her, Mrs Berry had requested to be allowed to petition the Home Secretary for clemency. Her request was granted, and on 7 March she took up pen and ink to complete the official petition form. Beneath the penned entries inserted of her Name, Sentence, Date appointed for Execution, etc., is the printed text:
To the Right Honourable Her Majesty’s Principal Secretary of State for the Home Department.
The Petition of the above named prisoner
HUMBLY SHEWETH –
[after which she wrote, her grammatical errors here intact]:
– that the allegations by the prosecution that my child Edith Annie Berry died by poison is in my opinion insufficient.
Other relatives of mine have died from tuberculosis and their illnesses have generally commenced very suddenly. My boy Harold died of tuberculosis and his illness commenced very suddenly.
That no poison was administered to my knowledge. The circumstantial evidence of the prosecution even if the child did die of poison is contradictory. That Beatrice Hall one of the witnesses was in the sitting room on the Saturday morning from 9.30 until the child was taken to bed in the afternoon. Therefore the evidence of Ann Dillon is incorrect as to seeing me in the surgery at 10.30. I done all I could for my child that would lead to her recovery. The medicines I gave her was those prescribed by Dr Patterson. I had only just recovered myself from a severe illness and Dr Patterson can testify that during that illness, that is from the 13th to the 18th of December 1886, I was insane. The anxiety of my child’s illness on the 2nd of January 1887 again affected my head. And I was very ill during that night.
I humbly beg you will take these points into consideration and as it is Her Majesty’s Jubilee Year I earnestly pray that she will graciously look upon me in my distress.
I am your humble servant,
Elizabeth Berry
The first page of Elizabeth Berry’s petition to the Home Secretary.
On the same day, the prison matron wrote to inform the governor: ‘Sir, I beg to report that Elizabeth Berry states she is not pregnant.’
There had been a rumour going round that Mrs Berry was pregnant. This, if true, would have delayed her execution until after the infant’s birth, just as pregnancy had delayed the trial of poisoner Mary Ann Cotton in 1873. In the case of Elizabeth Berry, however, the rumours were soon scotched, the matron being informed by one of Mrs Berry’s warders: ‘Madam, I beg to state that Elizabeth Berry’s monthly courses were on while down at the Assize Court.’
Notwithstanding any words that Mr Whitaker and Mrs Berry might have exchanged on the subject of his fees, it was soon to be made known that she had become dead set against him selling off her goods and keeping the proceeds – this in spite of her earlier expressions of appreciation of his work on her behalf. On 7 March, shortly after writing her petition to the Home Secretary, she wrote to Mr J. Mellor, Clerk to the Board of Guardians of the workhouse, making clear her wishes. She wrote:
Dear Sir,
I presume you are aware of the terrible doom that awaits me, and in the short time that is left to me there are several matters I wish to arrange. You will know that my clothing, together with other articles, are still at the workhouse. These things Mr Whitaker wishes me to give to him, on the plea that he has not been sufficiently paid for my defence. Mr Whitaker has received from me £64; in addition to this sum he has my watch and chain, which are valued at £14. I mention this that you may understand what I shall speak of presently – that is, the disposal of the articles which are at the workhouse. I have left every article that belongs to me to Mr George H. Robinson, to dispose of according to my instructions. He has promised to erect a stone over the grave of my darling. And for which I feel exceedingly grateful; and I appeal to you, as a guardian, to put a request before the board, and that is, that no one be allowed to remove a single article belonging to me from the workhouse except Mr G.H. Robinson.
And a word with regard to myself. I am very sad, but at peace and in full submission to God. None but He knows what I have suffered through death. None but He could still my agony under this crushing blow. I think I must have loved my dear ones amiss, since God, either in His mercy or His jealously, has removed them.
Believing that this request will receive your kind consideration, I am,
Yours sincerely,
E. Berry.
Two days later Mrs Berry wrote also to the prison governor stating that she wanted Mr George Robinson, ‘who has promised to erect a stone over my child’s grave’, to be the administrator of her property, and ‘not Joseph Whitaker’. Of Mr Whitaker she wrote:
…I have not had a bill of costs fr
om him. Mr Whitaker speaks of the sale of my clothing &c as bringing a large sum at present on account of the public interest in this case, which is to my mind to say the least of the matter very revolting.
I have no creditors.
The matter, which was classed as ‘pressing’, proceeded swiftly. Mr Robinson received a series of telegrams from the Home Office asking him to take on the office of administrator of the convict’s effects, and he wrote back at once, accepting, with a request for directions as to ‘the mode’ in which he should carry out the administration. He believed the property was small, he said. He ended his letter saying: ‘I believe there are no debts, unless Mrs Berry’s solicitor has a claim for costs.’
There, for the time being, the matter rested.
As we have seen, in her letter to the Oldham Board of Guardians, Elizabeth Berry made reference in her closing words to the deaths of those nearest and dearest to her, writing of those deaths: ‘None but He knows what I have suffered through death. None but He could still my agony under this crushing blow. I think I must have loved my dear ones amiss, since God, either in His mercy or His jealousy, has removed them.’
Her articulate letter was published in the papers for all the world to see, and there must undoubtedly have been many who, on reading it, were moved by her seductive words, her allusions to God having taken from her those ‘dear ones’ whom, she, said, she ‘must have loved amiss’. And among those readers perhaps there were some who were moved to pity, accepting her presentation of herself as a devoted and loving mother, wife and daughter. And while that may have been so, it is certain that there were many more who regarded her plaintive words as just another bogus display of innocence and grief.
There Must Be Evil Page 22
