The Bermondsey Poisoner

by Emily Organ

William took another sip of his beer while he considered this. “S’pose it would be, yeah.”

  “Your brother was about twenty-nine or thirty by then. Had he been married before that?”

  “No, it were the first time fer John.”

  “And Catherine was presumably of a similar age?”

  “I dunno really. I s’pose she is. She ain’t much younger than ’im.”

  “Did you know anything of her life before they met? Perhaps she had been married before.”

  “I fink ’e said as she was, but I can’t be certain of it.”

  “Did she talk much about herself?”

  “Not much, no.”

  “Any family members? Parents? Siblings?”

  “Never met any of ’em.”

  “You didn’t meet anyone from her family at the wedding?”

  “Not as I can recall. Weren’t many of us there.”

  “Catherine Curran strikes me as rather a mysterious lady.”

  “I can’t say as I knows ’er too well. She’s kind and everyfink, always asks ’ow you are an’ that. She’s quiet-spoken and John got no answerin’ back from ’er. I remember finking as she was a good ’un, but I don’t fink it no more!”

  “You mention that you didn’t always see eye to eye with your brother. Had you fallen out at the time of his death?”

  “Not as such. I jus’ wanted ter see ’im and make fings right. When I ’eard ’e was took bad I wanted to tell ’im I was sorry.”

  “What for?”

  “There ain’t no need ter go into all that now.” His dark, stony stare prompted me to change the subject.

  “Are you married, Mr Curran?”

  “Yeah, my missus is called Ellen.”

  “Does Ellen know Catherine well?”

  “No, Caffrine works a lot. She’s a fellmonger down the leather market.”

  “Do you know which tannery she worked at?”

  “I can’t say as I’m sure. One o’ the ones ’round ’ere, though.”

  “You say that your sister-in-law was kind, and a good wife. You must have thought it out of character for her to refuse you entry to your brother’s home.”

  “Yeah, it weren’t like ’er. She tells me as ’e’s taken sick. I sees ’im the once and ’e’s in a bad way. An’ I asks her, ‘’Ave yer ’ad the doctor out?’ An’ she says, ‘Yeah, I’ve ’ad the doctor out and I’ll ’ave ’im out again ’cause John’s real bad.’ She tells me it’s ’is job ’as made ’im sick. She says it’s the filth what’s used in the tannin’ that’s done it. Well, I’ve worked at the tanneries since I were a lad and it ain’t never made me sick. And John’s worked there since ’e were a lad and the first time ’e gets sick is when ’e’s married to ’er!”

  “It’s fortunate that you informed the police of your suspicions. Some people would have simply believed what Catherine had told you.”

  “Yeah, well I didn’t, see. Summink weren’t right. We’re goin’ out lookin’ for ’er this evenin’, all of us. We’re gonna find out where she’s bin ’idin’.”

  “Hopefully she won’t have gone far,” I said optimistically, but I thought of the money she had at her disposal to aid her getaway. “Inspector Martin has asked me to publish an appeal in the newspaper, so we shall soon have as many people as possible on the lookout for her.”

  I left The Five Bells, crossed the road, and made my way along Grange Walk, where the Currans had lived. The street was lined on both sides with small terraced houses and a pall of smoke from the factory chimneys hung overhead.

  Children played in the road and an emaciated dog padded about, sniffing at patches of damp on the walls.

  A large-framed woman of about twenty-five leant up against a wall, watching me. She wore a dirty apron over a dark dress, but there was no sign of a bonnet or shawl. Her unkempt hair was the colour of straw and hung loosely about her shoulders. As I passed her she gave me a lopsided smile. She appeared to me like an overgrown child.

  “Can I help you?” I asked.

  She shook her head in reply and continued to smile.

  A constable stood outside the modest-sized house numbered ninety-six. I stopped and gazed at the upstairs window, thinking of the morbid photograph of the Currans. I recalled Catherine Curran’s pretty features and tried to comprehend her thoughts at the time the photograph had been taken. Presumably she believed she had got away with murder. That explained why she had felt confident enough to arrange a post-mortem photograph of her and her dead husband.

  And if it hadn’t been for William Curran she probably would have got away with it.

  Chapter 6

  I passed by the newspaper reading room at the British Library to check the shipping news. After searching through the small print I felt a pang of sadness when I saw a mention of Francis’ ship:

  LIVERPOOL

  SAILED – 20th August – Tintore to Barcelona; Ericson to San Francisco; Prince Leopold to Quebec; Pampero to Savanilla.

  There it was confirmed, in black and white, in front of me. Two days previously Francis’ ship, the Pampero, had left port bound for Savanilla on the northern coast of Colombia.

  I lifted my spectacles and wiped a tear from my eye, silently scolding myself for my sentimentality.

  Once I had pulled myself together, I worked on my article about the farewell letter New Zealand’s Māori king, Tāwhiao, had written after visiting London over the summer. I kept expecting Francis to appear at my shoulder as I worked. Every now and then I was certain I had caught a glimpse of him walking between the desks, speaking to the head librarian at his rotunda in the centre of the room, or making his way along one of the galleries which circled beneath the great dome. His disappointing replacement, Mr Retchford, bustled about, scolding anyone who dared utter a sound.

  “Penny?” whispered a voice at my shoulder. I shook my head, absent-mindedly assuming I had imagined Francis’ voice. As I turned, my heart performed a flip in my chest.

  It was James.

  I returned his broad smile and was struck by how handsome he looked in his dark blue suit.

  “What are you doing here?” I whispered. “You surprised me!”

  “No talking!” came a high-pitched rebuke from Mr Retchford.

  I gathered up my papers from the desk and shoved them into my carpet bag.

  “We were just leaving,” I said to the dough-faced clerk.

  James and I walked out onto the steps of the British Museum. I had last seen him with Charlotte, and the awkwardness of that meeting still lingered in my mind.

  “How are you, Penny?”

  “I’m all right, thank you.”

  His blue eyes fixed mine as if he didn’t quite believe me.

  “I’m guessing you’ve heard about the poisoning in Bermondsey,” I ventured, keen to keep the conversation moving.

  “Yes, and there is still no sign of the wife.”

  “I’m not sure how they intend to find her. I imagine she’ll have travelled as far away from London as possible by now. She has plenty of money from the life insurance policies to ease her passage.”

  “She took out more than one policy?” asked James. “That should have aroused suspicion even before she attempted to give her husband the poison.”

  “I don’t suppose many people would have known that she had taken out two policies, would they? The insurance salesman who sold her the second one probably had no idea that there was already one in place.”

  “I suspect you’re right, Penny. Let’s hope she hasn’t travelled too far from here. If she gets away with this she might attempt the same crime in another city many miles away. She could easily change her name and no one would be any the wiser.”

  “You don’t really think she would risk doing this sort of thing again, do you?”

  “I should hope not. Perhaps she desperately needed the money to pay off debts or something along those lines. And perhaps the woman will eventually listen to her conscience and hand herself in. I’d like to go down
to Bermondsey and find out how they’re getting on there. I know Inspector Charles Martin well. We were constables together at T Division, and he’s a fine police officer.”

  “I didn’t realise that. He seems a pleasant chap and doesn’t mind me asking questions. The same can’t be said for certain other officers.”

  “Indeed. He’s a good man.”

  “What did you come to see me about?” I asked, pausing on the steps.

  “Oh yes, I came to ask about the journal you consulted when you were carrying out your research into the Forsters’ murder case. What was it called?”

  “The Homeward Mail.”

  “That’s right, I remember now. I should like to look through a few editions.”

  “That means you’ll have to go back inside the British Library and contend with Mr Retchford.”

  “Is he the chap who told us off for talking?”

  “Yes, the man whose voice somehow doesn’t match his appearance. Don’t you find it off-putting when someone speaks differently from the way you might expect?”

  James laughed. “Hopefully Mr Retchford will be more helpful when I ask him about accessing copies of The Homeward Mail.”

  “I wouldn’t be so hopeful. I realise now what an asset Francis was.”

  “He certainly did a lot of research on your behalf, Penny.”

  “And to think that he’s in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean at this moment! His ship is due to call at the coaling station of Terceira in the Azores soon, so I shall look out for that in the shipping news. I’ve already seen confirmation that he has left Liverpool.”

  “You’ve been keeping a close eye on him, I see.”

  “He’s searching for my father! I still can’t fully believe that he has taken on the task. And to think that he has never done this sort of thing before! I think it incredibly brave of him.”

  “It certainly is admirable.”

  “When I was sitting in the reading room just now I kept thinking I had caught a glimpse of him going about his work, just as he always used to.”

  “You’re missing him, then?”

  “I suppose I must be. I’ll get used to it, and I’m looking forward to receiving his next letter. Hopefully he’ll be able to send one from the Azores Islands.”

  “That would be a comfort.” James glanced at his pocket watch as if he were losing interest in the conversation.

  “Would you like me to introduce you to Mr Retchford so you can take a look at some editions of The Homeward Mail?”

  “That would be useful, but there is no great urgency. I just need to look something up for the trial.”

  “I see. Are you all right, James?”

  “Yes, I’m fine. Why do you ask?” His manner had suddenly become formal and distant.

  “I thought you had come down here to look at The Homeward Mail.”

  “Yes, and I will do. I just hadn’t expected to hear you singing the praises of Francis Edwards in this way.”

  “I wasn’t singing his praises; I merely mentioned that he is on a ship out in the Atlantic at this moment. This is a very important venture! It means an enormous amount to me.”

  “Yes, and I suppose he knew that all along. His gallant adventure is a thinly disguised attempt to win the heart of his fair lady.”

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about!” I snapped. “Francis undertook this journey because he knew there was no chance that I would ever marry him. He told me he had no wish to spend the rest of his days stuck in a library hoping that I might one day change my mind. Those were his very words! And I feel terribly guilty about it all.”

  “I shouldn’t feel guilty if I were you, Penny. He’s off on an adventure knowing that the Green daughters now consider him the greatest hero who ever lived.”

  “Now you’re acting like a child.”

  “He’s brave and I’m a child, am I? Well, thank you, Penny. The truth is finally confirmed, isn’t it?”

  “I have work to be getting on with.”

  I turned to walk back toward the library, but James caught my arm.

  “Don’t go, Penny. I’m sorry. I have no desire to argue with you.”

  “Likewise,” I replied, my throat feeling tight. I turned back to face him.

  “And yes, you’re right. I am being a child about this,” he continued. “And I didn’t come here to read the cursed Homeward Mail. That was nothing more than an excuse. I came here to see you.”

  “Oh?”

  “Three weeks from tomorrow I shall be married.”

  “I don’t wish to be reminded of that.”

  “I have known Charlotte’s family for a very long time.”

  “And what difference does that make?”

  “It means that our marriage was first considered long ago; so long ago, in fact, that I have been accustomed to the idea for many years.”

  “Well that should be of great help to you when you come to make your vows.”

  “But then you appeared, Penny.”

  I gave a dry laugh. “I appeared? As if I were a work of magic?”

  “Perhaps it was magic.”

  “If I remember rightly you accosted me at the foot of these very steps.”

  “I did. I remember it well.”

  We both smiled.

  “James, I cannot deny that I enjoy hearing these words from your lips,” I said, “but they are only words. They change nothing.”

  His manner grew more distant again. “My marriage needn’t affect our working relationship.”

  “Even though Charlotte no longer allows us to meet at the Museum Tavern?”

  “There are ways around that.”

  “Everything will be different when you marry, James. You know that as well as I do. And I think that’s why you’re here today. You have suddenly realised it.”

  “It won’t be any different; I shan’t allow it to be.”

  “Your wedding is still going ahead in three weeks’ time, is it not?”

  There was a pause as he looked at me, a guilty expression passing across his face.

  “On the thirteenth of September?” I asked.

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  I shrugged. “Then there is little else for us to discuss, is there? Please excuse me, but I must get back to my work.”

  Chapter 7

  Dearest Penny and Eliza,

  Tuesday 19th August 1884

  I write to you from the Royal Corinthian Hotel in Liverpool! Tomorrow morning I shall embark the SS Pampero at the Prince’s Landing Stage. I had a good look at her through the telescope this afternoon, and I must say that I’m terribly excited about my impending adventure.

  I would like to thank you both for giving me this opportunity of a lifetime. I vow to do my utmost to find out what has happened to your father and will write whenever I find the opportunity. I’m told there aren’t many post boxes in the jungle, but I shall do all I can to get word to you whenever possible!

  Ever your friend,

  Francis Edwards

  I folded up Francis’ letter, which had been left on the hallway table for me, and glanced around for any sign of my landlady, Mrs Garnett. She appeared to be out, so I made my way up to my garret room, where my cat Tiger was meowing at the window to be let in.

  I ate some bread and butter, then made myself a cup of cocoa before loosening my stays and sitting at my writing desk to continue my work on the book about my father. Francis’ journey to Colombia had provided me with the encouragement I needed to spend more of my time transcribing Father’s letters and diaries. I hoped that the outcome of his search would inform the conclusion of my book.

  I tried not to think about James as I worked, but when Tiger clambered onto my lap the brief distraction gave me a moment to reflect on our conversation from earlier that afternoon. James knew he was making a mistake in marrying Charlotte, I felt sure of it. But was his conviction strong enough to make him call off his wedding? I knew that he couldn’t bear the thought of upsetting Charlotte or he
r family, not to mention his own family and friends, or the many guests who had been invited. The boulder had begun to roll down the hill some time ago, and as it gathered speed James had felt increasingly powerless to stop it.

  Sometimes I felt sympathy for him in his predicament and at other times I felt angry. How could he have allowed the situation to descend to this point? He had made it clear that he harboured an affection for me; he had even kissed me on one occasion. Charlotte would have been horrified had she known about it. Perhaps I should tell her, I mused.

  The thought was tempting, but I knew that by doing so I would be held responsible for ruining the betrothal. All the blame would fall upon me, and I risked losing the man I loved at the same time. I maintained a faint hope that James would come to his senses and realise he wasn’t as devoted to his future wife as he should be.

  I tried to distract myself by making another cup of cocoa. As the water was heating up on the little stove in my room my thoughts turned to the poisoning of John Curran. Something James had said about Catherine Curran lingered in my mind: ‘She might attempt the same crime in another city many miles away. She could easily change her name and no one would be any the wiser.’

  My conversation with her brother-in-law had revealed that he knew little about her past or her character. Had Catherine purposefully revealed as little about herself as possible? Had she done this sort of thing before?

  I heard a door slam downstairs, heralding the return of Mrs Garnett. As I finished making my cocoa I heard footsteps on the stairs, and then came a knock at my door.

  “Mrs Garnett!” I said as I opened it. “Have you enjoyed an evening out somewhere?”

  “You could say that.”

  She was breathless with exertion and still wore her bonnet and shawl. Her dark skin glistened with perspiration and her brown eyes left my face, focusing instead on the papers that covered my writing desk.

  “How can you ever get anything done with all that clutter everywhere, Miss Green?”

  “There’s an order to it.”

  She sucked her lip disapprovingly. “I can’t see any order going on over there.”