Death at the Workhouse

by Emily Organ

  “Surely Inspector Ferguson’s men would have retrieved anything that had been dropped,” I said.

  “Ferguson told me nothing else was found, but I’m not sure how thoroughly they searched,” replied James.

  “I’m quite sure anything left here would either have been picked up or trodden into the dirt by now,” I said.

  “I suppose you may be right, Penny,” he replied with a sigh. He edged forward and gently swept his gloved hand across the stone. “I can’t see anything at all. Is this yard regularly swept, Mr Hale?”

  “It’s swept during the drier months when we don’t want the dust to be blown about, but not usually at this time of year.”

  “So the yard hasn’t been swept since the two men died?”

  “No.”

  James rose to his feet and looked about him. “But it seems rather tidy,” he commented.

  I glanced around the yard and the storeroom caught my eye. It was then that I recalled seeing Horace pick something up from the ground.

  “The windowsill in the storeroom,” I said. “It’s covered in all sorts of odds and ends. Things you might just find lying around.”

  “Is that so?” said James with interest. “Let’s go and take a look.”

  “I wouldn’t count on Horace being of any use,” scoffed Mr Hale.

  Ignoring this comment, James and I began to walk toward the storeroom.

  “Can the inmates resume their work now, Inspector?” he called after us.

  “Of course,” replied James over his shoulder. “And thank you for speaking to me, Mr Price!” Then he turned to face me. “Now you mention it, Penny, I can remember a good deal of clutter on that windowsill. The trouble is, even if Horace picked up something that happened to be connected to these deaths, how can we prove such a thing?”

  “Let’s see what he has and take it from there.”

  The storeroom door was closed. James knocked and we waited until we heard the slide of a bolt. The door opened slightly and the young man’s cross-eyed face appeared in the gap. He looked James up and down, then opened the door wider, as if worried that he would find himself in trouble if he failed to comply with a police officer.

  “Hello again, Horace,” said James. “Do you remember me?”

  Horace nodded.

  “Miss Green and I wondered whether you picked up anything in the yard after Mr Patten and Mr Walker sadly lost their lives there. Do you remember finding anything?”

  Horace shrugged.

  “I can’t help but notice all the things you have on the windowsill here,” said James. “Are these the items you’ve picked up from the yard?”

  “Yeah.” Horace gave a faint smile, as if he were proud of his collection.

  “Is there anything among them that you picked up from the yard after the two men died?”

  Horace shrugged again, and I felt my teeth clench with frustration.

  James managed to maintain his patient demeanour. “Would you mind if Miss Green and I took a look at these items?”

  Horace gave another shrug, which did nothing to indicate whether he objected or not. James and I stepped further into the room and began to look at everything it contained.

  Dust, deceased insects and cobwebs gave an indication of how long some of the items had been sitting there, but others appeared to have been added more recently. A round brass snuff box caught my eye, as it appeared to have been set slightly apart from the other items and was completely free of dust. I picked it up and rested it in the palm of my hand.

  “Where did you find this, Horace?” I asked.

  To my disappointment he shrugged again. I wondered if Mr Patten or Mr Walker had owned it, and whether it had fallen out of a pocket. Or perhaps it had belonged to their assailant. I turned the snuff box over to see whether there were any initials inscribed upon it. There were none, but as I turned it I felt something moving about inside. I opened the box.

  I hadn’t in any way been prepared for what I found inside. There were countless miniature vials, except they weren’t made from glass. Instead, they were soft to the touch.

  “Gelatine capsules?” said James, sounding puzzled. “Do they have anything in them?”

  “Some are a little crushed, so it’s hard to tell,” I replied. “Others have broken, but some have what appears to be a brown powder inside them.”

  Some of the light brown powder had collected at the bottom of the snuff box.

  “Do you know what these are?” James asked Horace.

  “No,” he replied.

  “You don’t know what the powder they contain might be?”

  “I dunno.”

  “A type of medicine maybe?”

  “Don’t touch them, Penny,” instructed James. “We need to find out what that powder is first. Where did you find these, Horace?”

  “All over the place.”

  “In the yard?”

  He nodded.

  “Elsewhere in the workhouse?”

  He nodded again.

  “So not just in the yard, but in other parts of the workhouse too?”

  Horace gave another nod. I closed the snuff box and passed it to James.

  “We’re just going to borrow this for a short while,” said James. “I’ll return the snuff box to you when we’ve finished with it. Is that all right?”

  Horace nodded. Then he reached over to the windowsill and picked up a small button and gave it to me. It looked to be made of black glass and appeared fairly unremarkable.

  “Thank you, Horace,” I said. “From the size of this I would guess it has come from a cuff or a waistcoat. What do you think, James?”

  “It may well have done. It’s interesting because, given that the inmates wear a uniform, I imagine this must have once belonged to a member of staff. Where did you find this, Horace?”

  “In the yard.”

  “Thank you. We’ll look after this as well for now. Is that all right?”

  Horace nodded once again.

  Chapter 40

  “This goes some way to solving the mystery!” proclaimed Dr Kemp as he examined the gelatine capsules inside the snuff box.

  “What mystery?” I asked.

  “We had some medicines stolen from the infirmary about six weeks ago.”

  “What sort of medicines?”

  “A bottle of chloroform, another of morphine and some aconitine capsules.”

  “These are the aconitine, are they?”

  “Yes. Where did you find them?”

  “On the windowsill of the chap who looks after the storeroom in the stone-breaking yard.”

  “So he’s the thief, then!”

  “No, I don’t think he is, Dr Kemp,” I said. “Horace appears to collect things he has picked up from the ground. Some of the capsules in this snuff box are crushed and broken, which suggests that he found them lying around. There was no sign of a jar of capsules in the storeroom; nor did I see a jar of chloroform or morphine.”

  “Neither did I,” added James. “Although they might be hidden in there. We weren’t really looking for them, were we? I think we should search the storeroom properly.”

  “I don’t think Horace can be the thief,” I said. “I should think the only capsules he has are the ones he has found. It seems that not only did someone steal your medicines, Dr Kemp, but that they have also been using them.”

  “What is aconitine used for?” James asked.

  “I put it in a liniment and apply it to the skin,” replied the doctor. “It’s extremely effective in treating neuralgia and rheumatism. A very small amount can also be used to cure a fever.”

  “But why would anyone steal it?” James asked.

  “I have no idea. If the thief had no medicinal knowledge, which is quite likely, I expect they simply saw an opportunity to take it and did so. Though someone with a knowledge of medicines might have had a more specific purpose in mind.”

  “The fact that Horace found the capsules suggests that the medicines have remain
ed within the workhouse,” I said. “But there can’t be many people in the workhouse with medical knowledge, can there?”

  “I suppose there is always the possibility that someone who has worked as a physician and fallen on hard times could have been admitted to the workhouse,” said Dr Kemp, “but that would be uncommon. I should think it more likely that someone has stolen the medicines without understanding their purpose.”

  “But what might they be using them for?” asked James. “Treating neuralgia?” He gave a laugh.

  “There is a more sinister side to aconitine, I’m afraid,” said Dr Kemp. “You may have heard of its other names: monkshood or wolfsbane. It’s a deadly poison.”

  “Oh dear,” replied James. “Then we don’t want it falling into the wrong hands, do we? Though it’s possible the thief hasn’t realised that it can be used as a poison.”

  “But what about the broken capsules?” I said. “Someone could be poisoned by accident.”

  “There has been no word of such a thing as yet,” replied the doctor.

  “What are the symptoms?” asked James.

  “They begin with a burning sensation on the tongue,” replied Dr Kemp, “which is followed by a numbness of the throat and mouth. The victim then becomes dizzy and weak, and struggles to breathe.”

  “How horrible.” I gave a shudder.

  “Does the person ever recover?” asked James.

  “I’m afraid not. Death inevitably occurs within a few hours.”

  “Goodness,” I said. “Then it is fatal every time?”

  “With a dose of a certain size it is, yes. And the dose doesn’t have to be large. I use only a very small amount when treating fever, and I’m extremely careful with the liniment, too.”

  “So when aconitine finds itself in the wrong hands it can be very dangerous indeed,” commented James. “Weren’t you extremely concerned when you discovered that your aconitine was missing?”

  “Yes, very! I alerted all members of staff here at the workhouse, and thorough searches were carried out, but there was no sign of it until you discovered these capsules. We didn’t tell the inmates about the theft as we were concerned that someone with malicious intent might lay ahold of them.”

  “Thankfully no one has been poisoned yet,” I said, “but all the missing medicine must be found as a matter of urgency.”

  James gave a deep sigh. “Along with everything else we have to do.”

  “It is a worry, Inspector,” said Dr Kemp. “The staff and I will keep looking for it. The fact that no one has been poisoned yet suggests that the jar may lie undisturbed somewhere, hidden away.”

  “But what of the capsules Horace found?” I asked.

  “There aren’t too many of them, fortunately. Perhaps the jar was dropped somewhere and some fell out.”

  “Right, well, thank you for your help, Dr Kemp,” said James. “We had better continue with our investigations. I’ll ask Inspector Ferguson and his men to keep an eye out for the stolen medicines as they continue to search the workhouse.”

  We looked through the admissions records for the casual wards in the clerk’s office.

  “I see the entry for you and Eliza here, Penny,” said James with a smile. “So who are we looking for? Bill?”

  “Yes. I’m sure that’s what his friends said his name was.”

  “There’s a William Sawyer recorded as having stayed that evening,” stated Mr Hale. He pointed a bitten fingernail at the record.

  “I suppose that must be him,” I said. “Is there no one named Bill listed for that evening?”

  The master shook his head.

  “No one by the name of Billy? Or another William?”

  Mr Hale shook his head again. “I can’t see one. Mr Sawyer is most probably the man you’re enquiring about.”

  I examined the record. William Sawyer was listed as a single man born in 1860, and his calling was that of a labourer. Under the column for the nearest relation was written the word ‘none’.

  “No known family,” I commented, “just like Joseph Connolly. And Lawrence Patten, too. Do you have Mr Sawyer’s death record, Mr Hale?”

  “That would be written in here,” he replied sullenly, pushing a book across the desk to us. It was the same book Mr Lennox had shown me when I had asked to see the record of Joseph Connolly’s death. The record for William Sawyer stated that he had died of heart failure and was buried in Tower Hamlets Cemetery.

  “Exactly the same as Joseph Connolly’s record,” I said. “But can we be certain that William Sawyer was buried at Tower Hamlets Cemetery? Or might his remains have vanished as well?”

  “You’ll have to enquire with the cemetery,” replied the master.

  “I’d like to enquire with your clerk,” said James. “The man who writes down these records and is currently in Wales.”

  “I’m happy to do all that I can to help, Inspector,” replied Mr Hale. “But if Mr Lennox is otherwise engaged, I’m afraid there isn’t a great deal I can do about it.”

  “You will let me know as soon as you hear from him, won’t you, Mr Hale?”

  “But of course.”

  We were interrupted by a knock at the door, whereupon Inspector Ferguson and two of his men entered.

  “Apologies for the interruption, Inspector Blakely,” Inspector Ferguson said.

  “We’ve just finished making our enquiries here,” replied James.

  I had hoped to examine the workhouse records in more detail but realised the police had urgent work to be getting on with.

  “Good. Then hopefully Mr Hale can answer a few questions for me.”

  The beleaguered-looking workhouse master slumped into the clerk’s chair and gave a weary sigh.

  “The master seems absolutely ready for you,” said James with a smile.

  “Good. You’re more than welcome to remain present, Inspector Blakely, while I speak to Mr Hale. In fact, you might be interested to hear what my men have discovered at Tower Hamlets cemetery.”

  “Which is what?”

  “Ten empty coffins!”

  “Ten?”

  “Not completely empty, I should add.”

  “Sandbags?”

  “Yes. Two in each one. It’s rather an interesting operation you’re running here, Mr Hale.”

  Chapter 41

  Terrible Scandal at Shoreditch Workhouse

  Allegations are circulating that the bodies of paupers who have died at Shoreditch Workhouse are being disposed of for the purpose of dissection. The board of guardians had previously claimed that all bodies, whether unclaimed or not, are buried in Tower Hamlets Cemetery.

  The recent theft of the corpse of Miss Sarah Lloyd, a woman aged twenty-two who died in the workhouse infirmary, prompted the police to investigate the possibility of further wrongdoing.

  It has previously been reported that the family of another deceased inmate, Mr Joseph Connolly, had been unable to find a record of his burial at Tower Hamlets Cemetery. There is a growing suspicion that Mr Connolly’s corpse has also been stolen.

  Shocking scenes were witnessed at Tower Hamlets Cemetery this week as police constables, working under the direction of Inspector Ferguson of Commercial Street station, assisted with the exhumation of a great number of paupers’ coffins. Upon examination, it was discovered that ten of the exhumed coffins contained sandbags in place of bodies. The total number of paupers’ bodies unaccounted for currently stands at twelve.

  Two arrests have been made: the first is undertaker Mr Harry Hicks, who is suspected of conveying the bodies to a school of anatomy instead of to the burial ground. The second is Mr Simon Hale, the master of the workhouse. The clerk of the workhouse, Mr John Lennox, who is believed to have made a sudden departure to Wales, is currently being sought. It is suspected that all three men have received payment in exchange for the supply of corpses for dissection. An inquiry is to be opened by the poor law inspector, Mr Arthur Weyland.

  “It’s all a bit of a shambles, isn’t it?”
commented Mr Sherman as he read through my latest report.

  “Ten empty coffins!” exclaimed Edgar with a grin. “Who’d have thought that? And there must be more, mustn’t there?”

  “I truly hope not,” I said glumly.

  “Ten missing bodies,” said Frederick. “And all sold for dissection, we presume? Someone’s been earning some decent money.”

  “Eleven missing bodies if you include Miss Lloyd,” I added. “And twelve if you include Mr Connolly, who remains unaccounted for. There was no record of him at the cemetery, so he probably wasn’t even honoured with a sandbag-filled coffin.”

  “I don’t understand, though,” said Edgar. “Why fill a coffin with sandbags?”

  “Because the body’s been taken,” replied Frederick, “so the weight of the body is replaced by the sandbags. An empty coffin is likely to arouse suspicion when lifted, isn’t it?”

  “But there’s no record of the Connolly chap being buried, so why wasn’t he gifted a sandbag-filled coffin?” asked Edgar.

  “They presumably didn’t bother because he apparently had no close relatives,” I said. “There was no one to miss him, so they didn’t even perform a common funeral.”

  “Except that his family did miss him.”

  “Yes. In Mr Connolly’s case it just so happened that they did. And despite Shoreditch Union agreeing not to sell unclaimed bodies, I suspect someone at the workhouse has been doing it anyway. In those cases the bodies have most likely been taken directly to the medical school, and a misleading note has been entered into the workhouse records that the individual was buried at the cemetery.”

  “And the sandbags?” asked Edgar.

  “I think they have only been used in instances when the deceased had known relatives. The funeral will have been carried out with the family’s involvement, and no one will have been aware that the body was replaced with sandbags. That’s obviously what has happened with poor Miss Lloyd. I feel terribly sad for the families of those who were supposed to have been buried in the cemetery but have found that the coffins were empty.”