The Big Book of Victorian Mysteries

by The Big Book of Victorian Mysteries (retail) (epub)

  “You were sorely tried,” I remarked, after a pause.

  “I got sick of life altogether. What had I to live for?” he wearily returned. “I wished many a time, when the wind rose of a night, that it would blow me to the bottom of the sea, and often went aloft, or crossed the deck in a storm as careless as could be, hoping I’d be swept away, but death wouldn’t have anything to do with me. Then I got desperate, and one night took a pan of charcoal into my bunk, saying it was horrible cold; but before I was half suffocated, our captain, who’s a schoolmate of mine and likes me uncommon, came down and hunted me out, and then fines me smartly, just to hide the fact that I’d been trying to choke myself. Says he when we got into harbour, ‘Mat, there’s the money that’ll be stopped out of your pay; but before I give it you, or let you go ashore, you’ll have to promise me not to try suicide again.’ ‘Who said it was suicide?’ I said, sort of bold like; but he only shook his head sad like, and gripped me by the hand, and then said, ‘I’m sorry for you, Mat; but don’t fret about her, nor try to rob the world of such a good honest man. She’s not worth it. Just have patience, and she’ll drink herself to death some day, and then you’ll get rid of your troubles.’ I couldn’t say much—I was so took round the heart by his kind way of putting it and of screening me from the men, and I made the promise right off; but somehow, when I came to think his words over, they began to stir me with a curious feeling. The devil—or somethink as bad as the devil—put the thought into my head, and then gave me no peace till I’d followed it out. ‘She’ll drink herself to death’ was his words—the prompting of the other one was, ‘Help her to do it now. Give her as much drink as she can swallow, and the thing will soon be over. She will kill herself, and no one else be to blame.’ I thought it capital, and got a keg of brandy—the strongest I could buy—and had it took to the house. I found she was lying ill, having had a bad attack of the delirium tremens, and there was a stupid old woman looking after her in the way of nursing, as she couldn’t afford a proper nurse. When I went into her room, and showed her the present I’d brought her, her eyes near jumped out of her head with joyfulness, and I could see she was fair dying to get me and the old woman out of the way, so’s she might do a burster with the brandy. I left the place all of a tremble, and couldn’t get that look of hers outen my head. I knew I’d done a horrible thing, yet I hadn’t strength of mind to go back and prevent it. I went back again in a day or two after and found she was dead, and the keg empty.”

  I did not know what rejoinder to make, and remained silent. Put before me as he had put it, it certainly looked a horrible plan; and its complete success in a manner took the breath away. Yet even while stupidly staring at him, there came to me the curious thought—Could he be held responsible for a death that was purely the act of the woman herself? That would depend entirely upon whether the woman, at the time of receiving the present, was a responsible being, and whether her medical attendant had forbidden or allowed her to use spirits at discretion.

  “Of course, in a sense, you were responsible for her death,” I at length observed. “You are quite sure that you did not force her to swallow the drink?”

  “Quite sure of that; she needed no forcing,” was the despairing reply. “I did not even see her drink it. She was so changed and wasted that I couldn’t bear to look at her. When she was dead I didn’t feel relieved, or happy, or free, as I had expected I would. I couldn’t get her face away from me. I saw it night and day, and it wasn’t the bloated face she had when she died, but sweet and fair as it was when we was sweethearts. And it wasn’t reproachful or angry—I could have stood that better—it was always kind and gentle as if she was saying, ‘You killed me, but I’ll watch over you and see that you come to no harm.’ ”

  “All imagination,” I suggested.

  “Not imagination—conscience,” he wearily responded. “I’m a murderer in thought and deed—the mark of Cain is on me, and I’m done with the world, and only wanting to die and be at rest.”

  By this time my idea that the man was insane had vanished. He was too circumstantial and minute in his particulars, some of which I had recognised as actual facts, to be crazed. He did not wander in his statements, or say anything monstrous or absurd.

  The whole told like a burning and truthful page from the book of every-day life. But, with this conviction, which was speedily confirmed by the medical inspector, came a second curious suspicion. I thought it just possible that Harris had helped his wife away in some way that he did not care to mention. I had no reason for thinking so, I admit, and what roused the thought I cannot tell, but there it was, and there it remained.

  To deal with the case as it stood was not an easy task; but as soon as Harris was pronounced sane he was locked up, while we went to search out the medical man who had attended Mrs. Harris in her last illness. With some difficulty we found the doctor, and recalled to his memory the drunken wife of the sailor. The first question of importance was—

  “At the time that Mrs. Harris was last visited by her husband, had she perfectly recovered her reason—was she a responsible person, who could be trusted to take much or little spirits as she might think she required it?”

  “Certainly; she was perfectly able to take care of herself in that respect; but I had warned her to be cautious in future, or I would not be responsible for the consequences.”

  “She was nearly well, then, at that time?”

  “She was so well that I expected to find her out of bed when next I called, and did not look in for two or three days. When I did call she was dead—had died that very morning, the old woman said, though she admitted that she could not tell the hour, as she had been asleep at the time.”

  “Were you not astonished?”

  “I was indeed, and not at the death alone, but at the appearance of the deceased. I know that she was in the habit of drinking laudanum, and would have felt certain that she had died of an overdose of that drug, but the appearance of the body belied that. The face was distorted, and the hands clenched as in agony—quite unlike the peaceful repose of laudanum poisoning.”

  “Did you not make any examination or inquiry?”

  “I wished to do so, but the husband objected when he was sent for.”

  “Then how did you report the death?”

  “I reported it as ‘Of uncertain seat—Intemperance.’ ”

  “And yet you thought she had been poisoned?”

  “At first I thought that possible, but then changed my mind. The appearances were more like those of convulsions, or the agony of an irritant poison, than those of laudanum. There was an empty laudanum phial lying in front of the bed—a two-ounce bottle, if I remember rightly. It may have been that which suggested the idea of poisoning to my mind.”

  “Did it not strike you as being a case of simple asphyxia? Such cases are common with persons addicted to heavy drinking.”

  “It was not that—I made sure of that when I learned that she was dead. I believe the woman had had little or no drink for nearly a month before her death, except the prescribed quantity ordered by me.”

  This answer did not tally with our own information, but we did not correct the statement. We simply had several consultations, and then got power to exhume the body of the deceased. Before this was done, however, I had a visit from the captain of Harris’s vessel, accompanied by his sister, and both pleaded warmly and eloquently that Harris was a little upset by his troubles, and only blamed himself for his wife’s death because he was a soft, good-hearted fellow, brimful of affection. It appeared that in his trouble Harris had always found shelter and sympathy with these friends, and so an affection almost deeper than friendship had been created between them. From the flashing glance and indignant tones of the captain’s sister, Miss Philip, when speaking of the doings of the deceased, I could see that all her sympathies lay with the unfortunate seaman. This was no doubt very pleasing to witness, but it ma
nifestly weakened their testimony in favour of Harris; and, singularly enough, while these two friends were busy accumulating evidence that Harris was in a manner temporarily insane and not to be listened to, the case was assuming a darker phase in another direction.

  The body of Mary Harris, on being examined, showed unmistakable evidence that she had died from the effects of a powerful irritant poison. The coat of the stomach, indeed, was almost burned through by the corrosive mixture, and it was clear that death could have been brought about by but one dose of such a poison. It also seemed evident that the deceased could not have committed suicide, as she had always expressed the most lively horror of death, and had not been able to leave her bed, far less the house, to procure or swallow such a poison; the house, moreover, on being searched, revealed no trace of such a poison; and the inference was naturally that the poisoner had removed everything likely to criminate after the deed was done.

  I now thought that I understood more clearly Harris’s remorse and despair; and I anticipated no difficulty in drawing from him the full confession of his guilt. Imagine my surprise, then, on hinting at these facts, when he first opened his eyes in lively horror and surprise, and then declared, with the utmost solemnity, that he at least was free from all knowledge of the crime, or complicity in the deed.

  Questioned in every way, he adhered to his statement; and while admitting frankly that he had wished his wife dead, and presented her with the keg of brandy in hope of bringing about that, swore that he had never dreamed of administering an irritant poison, or of even putting such a poison within her reach. This declaration by itself would have gone for little in the face of the medical evidence; but another curious fact came out in the post-mortem examination, which seemed to undermine the most important statement in Harris’s confession. This was that there were no indications of the deceased having recently indulged inordinately in brandy; indeed, all the medical testimony went to prove most emphatically that brandy was not the cause of the death. Here was a mystery; and as usual I was turned to with the words—

  “Well, Mr. M’Govan, there’s some work for you. See what you can make of it.”

  At this stage I was absolutely without a theory of any kind, though still inclined to think that Harris knew more than he would admit. But there was one point in the case which, it seemed to me, I ought to be able to clear up, though the main feature should for ever remain unsolved—that was, whither and how the brandy had so mysteriously vanished in the short space of three days. The medical evidence seemed to show that little or none of it had gone into the mouth of the deceased, yet on her death Harris had found the keg empty. Brandy is not generally allowed to evaporate—to waste its sweetness on the desert air—until part of its fire has been imparted to some dry throat or eager palate. Who, then, had swallowed this? I had already discovered that Mrs. Harris’s friends had in a manner taken charge of her, so far as to interdict all her neighbours from entering the house, as they were under the impression that some articles of value had in that way been stolen. They also provided a kind of attendant in the shape of an old woman, who was glad of a few shillings a week and her food to keep her out of the poor-house.

  “I’ll have a hunt for her,” was my first reflection. “I shouldn’t wonder but she’ll be a drouthy body.”

  Janet Petrie had a house of her own, that is, a little garret which was sublet to her by the real tenant of the house; but I found her room empty, and the landlady somewhat concerned about the few sticks of furniture being in the way of her letting the room. Janet was “away,” she said; but on inquiring more sharply what that meant, I received the mysterious but significant reply—

  “Oh—Number Ten.”

  I understood at once—the Ward in the Infirmary allotted to patients suffering from delirium tremens.

  “She has been drinking, then?” I said, with apparent indifference.

  “Oh, ay; she had her box there filled wi’ bottles o’ brandy; and when she cam’ hame she jist set to and drank and drank till she drank hersel’ daft and the bottles toom, and then we had to pack her aff to Number Ten.”

  I had a suspicion that the woman who tendered this information had herself taken an active part in the “tooming” of the bottles, but said nothing, and went out to Number Ten, where I found old Janet Petrie in her right mind, but very weak. Indeed, her first words in answer to me gave me hope of finding her both pliable and truthful in her answers.

  “I’m near deid, that’s a fact. I dinna ken if I’ll ever get better,” she said. “Ser’d me richt for takin’ what wasna my ain.”

  “What did ye tak’, wuman?” I asked, with a smile.

  “A wee drap brandy. I was nursing a puir body that had nae need for it—it wad jist have dune her herm—so I filled a bottle oot o’ the keg and took it hame.”

  “Only ae bottle?” I banteringly inquired.

  “Weel, weel—maybe twa.”

  “Hout, wuman, ye may as weel tell the truth,” I lightly returned. “Did ye tak’ a’ the brandy, or only a part o’t?”

  “Oh, weel, I didna leave muckle o’t,” was the slow answer. “I wad have been better withoot it. ’Od, it set me fair daft; I dinna mind o’ them bringing me in here.”

  “Ay, Janet, my wuman, that’s a geyan common experience,” said I, with a laugh at her solemnly puckered face and lips. “But they’re saying that Mrs. Harris didna come to her death by fair means, and her man will hae to stand his trial sune for that very crime.”

  The face of the old woman, as I gave her this news, underwent some remarkable changes, and in her surprise and excitement she actually had strength enough to rise and sit up in bed.

  “Then the puir man is innocent; I can prove that!” she exclaimed, with great eagerness.

  “But he says he’s guilty,” said I in return. “He says he gied her the brandy in the hope that she would drink herself deid, and she did it.”

  “The brandy?” retorted the old woman, with a pucker of the lips. “There was never a drap o’t gaed doon her throat—I wish there had—I wad maybe no been here the noo.”

  “Ay, but there’s mair than that,” I continued; “for Mrs. Harris’s body has been lifted, and it’s quite certain that she was poisoned.”

  A scared and blanched look crept over the old woman’s face, and for a moment she could not speak.

  “And will he—will he be hanged for that?” she at length faintly stammered.

  “Yes, if he is found guilty.”

  “But he couldna have poisoned her—he was never near her but ance, and that was when he brought her the brandy,” tremulously continued the old woman. “I ken he didna dae’t; surely my word sud gang for something?”

  “Then how did the poison get into her stomach?” I curiously inquired, pretty sure that something was behind all the excitement and flutter.

  “Wad the body be hanged that put it in her road?” cautiously inquired the old woman after a long pause.

  “Certainly, if it was done with the intention of taking her life,” I decidedly answered.

  “But if it was an accident?” persisted the trembling woman. “There’s mony an accident happens, and naebody to blame.”

  “True, but how could an accident happen? You had charge of the woman, and surely you took care that she should get nothing in the shape of poison?”

  “It wasna my faut,” tremulously answered the old woman, wringing her hands and getting unnerved. “I tell’t her what was in the bottle, and she said she wud mind, and what mair could I dae?”

  “Tell us about that, Janet, and I’m sure if it was an accident naebody will blame you.”

  “Weel, the plain truth is that Mrs. Harris, wi’ lying whiles on the cauld grund, or daidling aboot on weet nichts half-fou, had got her body filled wi’ rheumatic pains, and she got me to get her a bottle o’ liniment that had dune me guid withoot letting on to the doct
or. It was marked ‘Poison—for external use only,’ and a very guid liniment it was. I used to pit it on for her, and we had used near the hale bottle, when ae day I wanted a biggish bottle to bring her some lime-water in. There was just a wee drappie in it, but I didna like to waste it, so I put it in an empty laudanum bottle that stood on the chair at her bedside. She was looking at me daein’ it, and I said to her, ‘Mind an’ no drink this by mistake,’ and she said, ‘I’ll mind.’ I took the liniment bottle and got it filled wi’ lime-water, after I had washed it oot very particularly; but she never needed the lime-water after a’. I slept raither sound that nicht, and in the morning wondered at her lying sae quiet; and then, when I lookit closer, I saw she was deid, an’ a’ crunkled up as if she had dee’d in pain. The laudanum bottle that the liniment had been in was lying on the bed pane empty, and she was stiff. I think she had waukened in the nicht in a half-donnert state, and forgotten aboot the laudanum bein’ dune and the liniment being in its place, and tooken a pu’ at the bottle, as she often did when she wanted to sleep. I was awful feared, and I washed oot the bottle very carefully afore I sent for the doctor.”

  “And where were you at the time that she died?”

  “Sleeping at the fireside in a chair.”

  “Were you drunk the night before?”

  “No me; I had had a guid drappie, but I was jist fair worn oot wi’ want o’ sleep.”

  “And you heard no cry nor noise during the night?”

  “No a cheep.”

  I began to see through the strange case now, but did not accept at once the statement of Janet Petrie. I sifted it to its core, and found it confirmed in its curious details by various facts and witnesses, until I was prepared to put the whole case as she had stated it before my superiors. Mrs. Petrie was soon sufficiently recovered to bear removal to the police cells, and she then gave other facts and evidence confirmatory of her first statement; and from these it was made all but certain that the miserable woman had been poisoned by accidentally swallowing a poisonous liniment. Poor Harris, when the matter was explained to him, could hardly believe his senses, and seemed like a man suddenly pulled back from death to life. His wife was dead, but he had not caused that death—that was where the joyous relief came in; and shortly after, when his captain came to conduct him from prison to his own home, I heard him say as their hands met—