London: 16 August–23 November 1910
They were kept in separate cabins on the ship taking them back to England. Among the passengers on board was Billy Carter, released from his duties on the Montrose and returning home for the birth of his son, who would be born prematurely, six days after he arrived home. (The doctors and nurses thought the young man deranged, but he insisted on being present while his wife gave birth.) Although he had hoped to see Mr Robinson again—or Dr Crippen, as he was gradually learning to call him—Inspector Dew saw to it that his prisoner was not allowed on deck except for exercise periods late at night when the other passengers were asleep. Several of them had raised their concern about his presence at all, pointing out that they did not want to be eaten by London’s most infamous cannibal, but he had to return for trial and there was no way of getting him there other than by sea, so they had little choice but to accept it.
The day before they arrived in Liverpool, Inspector Dew entered Dr Crippen’s cabin and unlocked his handcuffs. He had brought the accused’s lunch with him and had decided to join him today, for there were several things he needed to explain to him about the ordeal that lay ahead.
‘Ah, Inspector,’ Hawley said, pleased to see him, for he had spent most of his time alone in the cabin and was desperately in need of company. ‘How nice to see you. We’re dining together today, I see,’ he added, noticing the two plates on the tray.
‘For the second time,’ Dew said, recalling the afternoon they had lunched together in London.
‘Yes,’ said Hawley, staring at the meagre contents of his plate with some disappointment and sensing the note of reproach in the other man’s voice. ‘I must confess that I was not entirely honest with you on that occasion, was I? I should apologize for that.’
‘Well, you never mentioned that you’d chopped your wife up and buried her in the cellar, if that’s what you mean,’ Dew replied. ‘Although I have to admit, you had me fooled entirely.’
‘Did I? I seem to be rather good at that.’
‘What astonishes me—and disappoints me about myself—is the fact that I caught you in a lie—when you said that your wife had gone to tend a sick relative in America—but that I actually believed your follow-on lie as well. It makes me feel rather foolish.’
‘I wouldn’t worry about it, Inspector,’ he said. ‘After all, from what I’m told, I seem to be something of a criminal mastermind. How could anyone have seen through me?’ Despite being secluded in his cabin for the past week, the gossip of the other passengers and the reports of his activities in the newspapers had been relayed to him via a number of members of the crew, and he had developed a rather bleak sense of humour about it.
‘Really?’ said Dew. ‘Is that how you see yourself?’
Hawley smiled; he wasn’t prepared to incriminate himself any further than he already had.
They ate their food in silence for a while, before the inspector remembered his reason for visiting.
‘When we reach Liverpool,’ he said, ‘I expect there will be something of a crowd gathered. I don’t want you to be nervous of them. I’ve ordered reinforcements to keep the people back and to protect you.’
‘Am I really in that much danger?’ he asked, almost amused by the idea.
‘Not if we protect you. But feelings are running high, you must understand that. What you did seems to have captured the imagination of the public.’
‘And I am a despised man.’
‘Feared. Despised. Misunderstood.’
Hawley nodded; he could tell that the inspector had some sympathy for him; his use of the word ‘misunderstood’ gave that away.
‘Then we’ll take you immediately on a train back to London, where you will be housed at his Majesty’s pleasure, awaiting trial.’
‘And when will that be?’
‘Quite soon, I expect. As early as October.’
‘Good,’ said Hawley. ‘The sooner this business is over, the better.’
Dew stared at him, confused. ‘But Dr Crippen,’ he said. ‘You realize that the outcome is obvious; the evidence against you is overwhelming. Not to mention the fact that you have admitted your guilt. You stand virtually no chance of being acquitted.’
‘Of course I realize that.’
‘And that the hangman’s rope awaits you then?’
‘It will be sweet relief.’
From the moment Inspector Dew had confronted him in Captain Kendall’s cabin, Hawley had grown resigned to the fact of his imminent death. Although innocent of murder, he had to an extent colluded in it. His main priorities now, however, were accepting full responsibility for Cora’s death, maintaining the innocence of Ethel LeNeve and keeping her alive.
‘And what about Ethel?’ he asked, trying not to reveal his concern on this topic. ‘She will be released, of course?’
‘Certainly not,’ Dew snapped irritably. ‘She will stand trial too. Separately, of course.’
‘She will?’ he asked, putting his fork down. ‘But why? She is entirely innocent of any wrongdoing, I’ve told you that several times. She knew nothing about it.’
‘So you both maintain. But that’s for the court to decide.’
‘But, my dear inspector. I have confessed. I admit my guilt. And I assure you that Ethel LeNeve knew nothing of what I did. Her only crime has been falling in love with me.’
Dew shrugged. ‘As I have said, I am not the one who can determine her innocence or guilt. That will be up to a judge and a jury. You may maintain whatever you like, but I am not the one you have to convince.’
For his part, Walter Dew was not quite sure that what he was being told was the simple truth anyway. He had interviewed Ethel LeNeve several times in her own cabin, and he found himself confused by her. She appeared to be telling the truth when she swore how much she loved Hawley—that seemed to be her overriding motivation—but she refused to admit any guilt when it came to the murder of Cora Crippen. Naturally, she was unaware that Hawley himself had taken full responsibility.
‘Miss LeNeve backs up your story,’ said Dew. ‘She says that she is innocent.’
‘Well, there you are,’ he said, relieved.
‘But if that was not the case, well then, there might be a chance for you yet. This could be seen as a crime of passion. If you were goaded into it by another, then—’
‘Inspector, you are wasting your time. There is no way that I will allow Ethel to be led to her death, if that is what you are trying to get me to do. She is the only woman who ever truly loved me, you see. She is the one who saved me, who would have sacrificed all for me. How could I assist in her own death?’
‘Sacrificed what, though, Dr Crippen?’ Dew asked, leaning forward. ‘What sacrifices did she make exactly?’
‘Her home, her life, England. She was willing to leave it all behind and run away with me, bearing the badge of a scarlet woman since she did not know that Cora was actually dead. If you think I will turn against her now, you are quite wrong.’
Dew sighed; he did not know what to believe and he was glad that his responsibilities, with the exception of any evidence he had to offer, would end when he delivered his prisoner into the hands of the crown court. ‘What was she like, anyway?’ he asked finally, standing up. ‘Your late wife, I mean. What kind of woman was she?’
‘She was a demon,’ Hawley replied, after giving it some thought. ‘Regardless of what happens to me now, the world is a better place for her absence from it.’
‘No regrets then?’
‘None.’
That, Walter Dew considered, might all change soon.
Mrs Louise Smythson and Mrs Margaret Nash, along with their husbands Nicholas and Andrew, were seated in the front row of the public gallery on the afternoon of 25 October 1910, when the verdict was announced. The court was filled to capacity with lawyers and barristers, newspaper men, and as many members of the public as could be fitted inside. Outside, the streets were lined with people, all awaiting the news with great excitement. The Smythsons and the Nashes, however, had been given front-row seats because of the roles they had played in capturing the murderers in the first place. Mrs Louise Smythson herself had achieved a certain notoriety and had been interviewed by several newspapers, her photograph appearing prominently on their front pages. There was talk of a commendation by the police commissioner, the first such honour to be given to a member of the public, let alone to a woman.
‘Nicholas, did I read about your brother in the newspaper this week?’ Margaret Nash asked, looking across at Louise’s husband. ‘I’m sure I did.’
Nicholas nodded and broke into a smile. ‘You did indeed, Margaret,’ he replied. ‘And what a headline: “Lord Smythson Scales the Matterhorn!” Never thought I’d see such a thing in print.’
‘Nor did I,’ said Louise bitterly. The health of her brother-in-law Martin had changed from being a cause of constant hope for her to one of disappointment. Martin’s wife Elizabeth had given birth to a son a few days before and, from the moment she had informed him that he was to be a father, the once sickly Lord Smythson had begun an almost miraculous course of recovery which had amazed his physicians. Not only did he appear to have conquered his chest problems but he had begun a new health regime which had seen him try ever more adventurous tasks. His most recent escapade—climbing the famous mountain—would surely have killed him a few years earlier. Now it made him a hero.
‘It’s amazing how his health recovered, isn’t it?’ said Andrew.
‘It was the idea of fatherhood, I believe,’ said Nicholas. ‘He simply refused to be sick any more. Strength of character, if you ask me.’
‘And after all the years when he’s been ill.’
‘Elizabeth says she plans on having a dozen more,’ Nicholas said with a laugh. ‘Just to keep Martin healthy.’
With each new birth, the chance of her becoming Lady Smythson would become ever more remote for Louise; indeed, she had all but given it up now and had transferred her desires from the death of her brother-in-law to the death of her own husband. After all, if Nicholas was to succumb to some unexpected disease, she reasoned, she would be a wealthy society widow and could surely find an unmarried or widowed lord of her own to marry. She watched him constantly for any signs of ill-health but, to her disappointment, he displayed ruddy form. For a time she had taken to sleeping with the bedroom windows open, hoping that he would catch pneumonia, but instead he had declared that it made him sleep all the better, while she herself had come down with a bout of influenza.
‘It’s so thrilling to see justice served, isn’t it?’ said Louise, aware that many of the eyes in the courtroom were fixed on her and enjoying her new-found celebrity. ‘And to have been such an important part of it.’
‘But what a shame that it needs to happen at all,’ Margaret agreed. ‘Our poor, dear Cora. Such a tragic end.’
‘Indeed. Our lives will never be the same without her. Our Music Hall Ladies’ Guild has lost a valued member,’ Louise agreed, repeating the words she had used to a Times reporter on the steps of the courthouse a few days earlier. ‘Nevertheless, we shall always remember her.’
‘A fine friend,’ said Margaret Nash.
‘A wonderful woman,’ said Louise Smythson.
‘Nonsense, none of you could stand her,’ Andrew Nash blustered. ‘Less of the hypocrisy now, ladies.’
‘Andrew, that’s an outrageous lie,’ said his wife. ‘You know perfectly well how close we all were to Cora.’
‘If you insist, my dear,’ he replied with a sigh. ‘Anyway, this whole matter will be over and done with soon, and then we can finally move on with our lives. Although I have to admit, it’s been very good for business. Ever since our names started appearing in the newspapers, there’s been a rush of interest in my mining projects in Mexico. I have hopes that a lot of new investors are going to come on board. Stand to make quite a tidy profit if all goes well. I heard from Alec Heath yesterday, and he’s become something of a local celebrity too.’
‘Oh, hush, Andrew, the jury is returning.’
Three thousand miles away in Canada, Matthieu Zéla and Martha Hayes were at the offices of the Quebec Gazette, where news of the verdict was expected to be reported as soon as it was announced. They had followed the case eagerly since the morning when Dr Crippen had been arrested on board the Montrose, and they had been shocked by it.
‘He seemed like such a pleasant fellow,’ said Martha, controlling her tears but seeking comfort on the shoulder of her new employer and friend. ‘To do such a hideous thing. It just defies humanity.’
‘He may well be a pleasant fellow,’ Matthieu pointed out. ‘After all, just because he committed a brutal crime does not mean that he doesn’t have a good heart.’
‘Oh, Matthieu! How can you say such a thing?’
‘I just mean that circumstances can lead us into actions sometimes, and we cannot necessarily be held accountable for them. Who knows what this Cora woman was like?’
‘She could have been the most awful human being who ever lived, but that does not justify such a cruel end.’
‘Of course not. I simply mean that one malevolent action does not a monster make. We liked Dr Crippen—or Mr Robinson, however you care to describe him—while we were on board the Montrose, and we should not automatically assume that we were wrong, simply because of this.’
‘You are a very forgiving man, Matthieu,’ said Martha, smiling at him warmly.
‘Well, he hasn’t done me any harm,’ he replied with a shrug, ‘so I can’t condemn him.’
‘I can,’ said Tom DuMarqué, listening to their conversation from a distance and recalling the late-night events on board the ship. ‘I’ll be happy when he hangs. After all, I could have been his next victim.’
‘Yes, well, you probably would have deserved it,’ said Matthieu.
‘He tried to push me overboard! He tried to drown me!’
‘Only because you attacked his . . . his . . .’ He searched for the right words. ‘ . . . Edmund. Ethel. His friend,’ he said finally, lost for words.
‘His fiancée,’ said Martha.
‘It’s sick and twisted,’ said Tom, who could not quite get over the fact that he had never managed even to kiss Victoria Drake, while Ethel LeNeve, a woman, had. It did nothing for his self-confidence. ‘I hope they publish pictures of the hanging. I’d stick them on my wall.’
‘Oh really, Tom,’ said Martha. ‘How can you be so callous?’
‘He comes from a callous line,’ said Matthieu, staring at his nephew with barely disguised contempt. ‘I believe I got the honourable genes in our family,’ he said.
‘Oh yes,’ said Tom. ‘You’re wonderful. You would have let me drown. That’s very honourable.’
‘But I didn’t, did I?’
‘You would have,’ he repeated petulantly.
Matthieu shrugged. ‘Well, that’s my point,’ he said. ‘We don’t know what we’re capable of. Come the moment, come the man. Or the woman, pretending to be a man. We can do the strangest things in the name of love.’
In New York, two other people were looking forward to hearing the verdict. Mrs Antoinette Drake and her daughter Victoria were finishing their four-month trip to North America with a two-week sojourn in Manhattan, where Mrs Drake was regaling all who would listen with stories about her intimate knowledge of the evil Dr Crippen.
‘The man was positively obsessed with me,’ she told friends at a dinner party. ‘He followed me around everywhere. I believe he was lining me up to be his next victim. And as for Victoria, well, that evil creature Edmund chased her too. Or Ethel, as she wishes to be called now. It’s infamous, the entire thing.’
Victoria was scarcely listening. Her eye had been taken by one of the guests at the dinner party, and she could hardly stop staring. Naturally, the news that Edmund was in fact a girl had shocked her initially. She was embarrassed by how intently she had been pursuing him on board ship, and when she recalled some of their conversations she could only blush with mortification. And yet, the more she thought about it, the more she had to admit to herself that there was no one she had ever been more attracted to than him/her. The memory of the kiss they had shared behind the lifeboats on that dreadful night of violence remained in her head; no one had ever kissed her quite like that, either before or since. Nothing made her shiver when her skin was touched quite like the fingers of Ethel LeNeve.
‘Really, Victoria,’ said Mrs Drake later that evening when they were returning to their hotel room. ‘You were quite distracted tonight. What was wrong with you?’
‘Nothing,’ she replied in a dreamy voice, her mind elsewhere.
‘And the way you kept staring across at young Miss Hartford. I realize she’s a pretty girl, but why on earth were you looking at her in that way?’
‘I wasn’t staring,’ she protested, ‘I was simply interested in her conversation, that’s all. She seems like a fascinating girl.’
‘I dare say she is,’ said her mother, not caring much one way or the other. ‘But did you see her brother, Luke Hartford? I believe he took quite a shine to you. And he’s very wealthy and handsome, don’t you agree?’
Victoria frowned and considered the prospect. ‘I don’t recall,’ she said. ‘I don’t remember noticing him at all. However, I have arranged to lunch with Miss Hartford tomorrow.’
‘Oh, Victoria!’ said Mrs Drake, frustrated by her daughter’s lack of matrimonial intentions.
‘Here they come,’ said Lousie Smythson at the same moment, leaning forward in her seat, anticipating the verdict with great excitement.
The courtroom went silent as the prisoner stood in the dock.
‘Foreman of the jury,’ intoned the aged judge, whose wig seemed to overshadow his entire face. ‘Have you reached a verdict upon which you are all agreed?’
‘We have, your Honour.’
‘And on the charge of murder, do you find the defendant guilty or not guilty?’
The foreman swallowed and cleared his throat quickly, aware that he had the attention of the entire world. He felt an overwhelming urge to burst into song—which, to his credit, he resisted. The atmosphere was electric and no one breathed while they waited for him to speak.
‘Not guilty,’ he said, to the surprise of all.
Some weeks later, on the morning of 23 November 1910, Ethel LeNeve walked along the corridor of Pentonville prison to the cell where Dr Hawley Harvey Crippen was being held, her hands clasped together inside a muffler, and wearing a black dress and a veil. She had wept all night long and could hardly imagine what the rest of the day would be like. To her surprise, the cells were cleaner than she had expected them to be. When the door to Hawley’s cell was opened, she found him sitting quite relaxed in a corner, reading a book. He rose when he saw her, smiling warmly, and enveloped her in his arms, kissing her gently. He had grown thinner, she could tell, but he did not seem afraid of what was to come.
‘My dearest one,’ she said, sitting down beside him and bursting into tears. ‘They’ve said I can only have a few minutes with you.’
‘Ethel,’ he said, embracing her again. ‘Don’t cry. You’ll make me start. This is a good day.’
‘How can it be?’ she asked desperately. ‘What have I done to you?’
‘You have done nothing,’ he said, and she marvelled at how relaxed he seemed. ‘The happiest moment of my life came when I heard you had been found not guilty.’
‘But I am the guilty one,’ she protested. ‘Not you.’
‘I am just as guilty,’ he replied, shaking his head. ‘I was pleased that Cora had died. I even took pleasure in how she died.’
‘Yes, but you didn’t kill her, did you? I could still admit my guilt, you know. I could tell them—’
‘You cannot,’ he stated firmly. ‘You must promise me that you will not. I will die anyway. For you to admit anything will simply lead to your joining me, and I couldn’t bear that.’
‘But I want to join you.’
‘You’re still a young woman, Ethel. You can live a life yet. And you can remember me. I am happy because I know I die loved. And I don’t remember living loved until I knew you.’
Ethel shook her head, distraught. ‘It just seems so unfair,’ she said. ‘That you should die for my crime.’
‘I’m not afraid of death,’ he said. ‘But if I knew you were meeting the same fate, I would die miserable. As things stand, my conscience is clear. And I am prepared.’
The guard reappeared and indicated to Ethel that her two minutes were up. She could hardly cry any more, and they held each other for a few moments before she was led away, with protestations of love.
When she had gone, Hawley turned around and stared up at the barred window above his head through which the light streamed. Since he had been held here, he had discovered that if he stood on his bed and raised himself on his toes he could see through it, and he did so now and watched as Ethel left the building and walked slowly down the street. She stopped for a moment and turned around, unable to see him watching her, before hailing a hansom cab. Unaware that he could watch her every move, she blew a kiss in his direction and, stepping inside the cab, was driven away.
Later that evening, standing alone at the bow of the Mercurial as she left Liverpool behind and set sail for America, Ethel gripped the railing firmly in her hands and closed her eyes, thinking of her dear, dead love. She planned on avoiding the passengers entirely during the trip and speaking to no one—although she knew this might be difficult since her steerage compartment also housed three other young ladies. It was only a matter of time before they discovered who she was, and she dreaded the commotion that would take place then, but for the moment this was far from her thoughts.
Instead, she remembered the day they had arrived at Antwerp harbour, preparing to board the Montrose. How excited they had been, how filled with love. And how they had nearly got away with it, too. But Hawley had been right: she was young, she could survive. She had a future ahead of her and she owed it to him to make the most of it. After all, he had sacrificed his life so that she might have one. She had loved him dearly, there was no question about that, but then he had been the first man she had ever known. Perhaps, she thought, reflecting on it, it had merely been an obsession, a romance that she could enjoy and get carried away by. And if she had felt like that about Hawley Crippen, then surely she could feel it again towards another?
She smiled and looked out to sea. Ahead lay America.