Chapter 18

The case is one in which the elements of criminal romance and guilt are strangely blended with those of the commonplace and of the prosaic.

Daily Telegraph

One week, that’s all he had: one week to prepare a defence in a murder trial. The prosecution had had a month. And they’d had the government’s coffers to draw upon and the witnesses’ depositions to peruse. What did he have? A request from Justice Foster that he, Hugh Hart Lusk, should conduct the case pro bono, which meant no fee, no assistance and no money to search for witnesses. He had little else to work with, just Louisa Collins herself and the newspaper reports of the inquest testimonies. The deck was stacked against him—and against Louisa, of course. Still, he had agreed to take on the case. Although he had practised law for two decades in New Zealand, he was only a recent settler in Sydney and a junior barrister at that, so this sensational case might help to drum up future business.

How should he proceed?

Obviously, a criminal trial was different to a coronial inquest. Ideally, its aim was to bring the perpetrator to account so as to gain justice for the victim, for men like Mick Collins—if Collins had indeed been murdered. In practice, by virtue of the adversarial nature of the courtroom, these lofty principles often fell victim to pragmatics. Barristers needed to prove their legal skills or accused criminals—and the Crown itself, for that matter—wouldn’t want to pay them to defend or prosecute cases. Accordingly, the focus was on winning. A trial was a battle of wits as much as evidence, a theatrical spectacle rather than a laboratory investigation. And in these winner-takes-all games, the accused could become piggies-in-the-middle: necessary, yet in a strange way almost invisible. Or, worse, irrelevant. Could he make sure that this didn’t happen?

• • •

A clear sky had seen the overnight temperature drop to near freezing point, but it didn’t deter the crowds bustling along Oxford Street on Monday, 6 August. Most were heading towards the large sandstone building perched atop Darlinghurst Hill. Once, this elegant tribute to classical Greek architecture could be seen for miles around, its imposing pediment and sturdy pillars a declaration of the law’s majesty and authority. The lengthy stone wall behind the courthouse, jutting like wings from either side, served as a testament to its wrath—it fenced the gaol accommodating those who had violated the law. Recent extensions, however, had hidden the intimidating wall. The western wing was not yet completed. The eastern wing housed the courtroom in which Louisa’s case was about to commence.

As the hoi polloi pushed through the courthouse door, they were directed up the stairs to a large gallery overlooking the courtroom, the theatre box of the poor. Journalists, magistrates and potential jurors gathered at the main courtroom door to show their passes to the constable guarding the entrance. Once past the sentry, the journalists made their way to the two comfortable press boxes where they pulled out their pads and pencils. The jurors were ushered towards the adjacent jurors-in-waiting boxes. The magistrates and other respectable citizens—those who held a ticket from the sheriff or could cadge one from the constable himself—sat in the gallery at the back of the courtroom or in spare seats in the jurors-in-waiting box.

As they looked around, they saw a room modelled on the Grecian-Doric style. The judge’s imposing throne—the bench—was positioned in the centre of the wall opposite the gallery. The jury box partly filled the right side of the wall, while the press box was on the left. Bewigged barristers sat at a large table in the open area between the bench and the raised wooden dock. Both the prosecution and defence sat on the same side of the table so they could face the jury, with the Crown sitting near the judge and the defence near the dock.

Soon, Louisa’s head could be seen bobbing up the stairs at the back of the dock. She had been brought through the tunnel from the gaol and locked in one of the underground cells until the court was ready. Reaching the top of the stairs, she walked a further few steps to the front of the dock. She removed her crepe-trimmed hat and dark grey cloak, revealing a blue print dress. Then she sat in the dock chair.

From their prime position, the pressmen saw a countenance that looked less becoming than that of the handsome matron whose face had graced the pages of many an illustrated newspaper. Strangely, though, that was the only sign of the stress she must be feeling. She didn’t look fearful or cowed as might be expected. Rather, she seemed unconcerned, as if she herself were a spectator settling in to watch the drama that was about to unfold.

• • •

Louisa sat facing the dock’s spike-topped bars, positioned there to prevent fearful prisoners from attempting to flee their fate.

‘Innocent until proven guilty’: that was the legal presumption underpinning the charges against her. But were the scales of justice truly weighted in favour of her innocence? Just standing in the dock was intimidating, as if every pound of that weighty faceless authority known as ‘the establishment’ was piled on top of her. It would be easy for the fear spawned by that overwhelming sense of intimidation to be interpreted as guilt. She would not give the gawping faces the satisfaction of seeing anything that could be interpreted in such a damaging way.

Just standing in the dock was also prejudicial. How easily could the jurors slough off the burden of suggestion—‘she must be guilty because the law officers have put her there’—and assess her case as if she were truly innocent?

And what about the witnesses? As soon as they knew she was to stand trial for murder, the prism of their viewpoint must inevitably have changed. The events they were describing would no longer be seen through eyes that automatically presumed innocence, eyes that recognised that unexpected death was simply a part of everyday life. Instead, by virtue of her committal for murder, those eyes would now see the same events through a glaze of suspicion. That difference in perspective could easily influence what they said—a subtle word here, an inflection there. Inference could become implication; suggestion, fact.

Nonetheless, she was so sure of her acquittal that she handed one of the court officials a veil, saying she would wear it when she left the court so the public would not recognise her.

• • •

The judge’s clerk called out for silence. Justice William John Foster entered the courtroom dressed in the magisterial authority of horsehair and bombazine.

Many of his contemporaries would not forget the words of a letter-writer to the Catholic Freeman’s Journal who mocked Foster as ‘the most singularly striking and original specimen of the modern Puritan prig’. Recently appointed to the Supreme Court bench, Foster had been praised by Chief Justice Sir Frederick Darley as a man of upright character and unblemished honour and by the conservative press as a sound lawyer and fair prosecutor. All the same, he had his detractors. Anglo-Irish by birth, he was an evangelist with such rigidly sectarian views that he believed that Orangeism—the Orange Institution was Protestant Ireland’s militant defender of its liberties—had done more for religious freedom in New South Wales than the combined efforts of lawyers, barristers and judges. He was also such an active temperance—nay, abstinence—advocate that his initials, W.J., had spawned the derogatory nickname ‘Water Jug Foster’. From Louisa’s perspective, he was not the ideal judge to be hearing a case involving a drunken adulteress charged with poisoning two husbands.

Twelve men were ushered into the jury box and remained there, unchallenged. The Crown’s case could begin.

Crown Prosecutor William Coffey looked at the jurors from under his own imperious wig. He commenced his case by summarising the facts brought out at the inquest, then he called Dr George Marshall to the witness box and asked for his medical opinion as to the cause of Collins’ death. Marshall replied, ‘The symptoms all together could only as far as I know take place by arsenical poisoning. I don’t know anything else that would cause them—conjunctivitis and all.’

While other medical practitioners might accept such an opinion, it was the jurors who needed convincing. Most had little knowledge of medicine or physiology, let alone of arsenic and its deadly action on the human body. To assist the jury, the prosecutor questioned Marshall about arsenic in general. The doctor explained that it was not a constituent of the human body; it had to be introduced. If the person lived long enough, the arsenic would pass out of the body via the excretory mechanisms, mainly through vomiting and urination. Death from multi-organ failure sometimes occurred as suddenly as a few hours after ingestion or it might not happen until nine or ten days later, irrespective of the quantity. Healthy individuals tended to survive longer and Collins had seemed a healthy man.

Could he provide an opinion as to how much arsenic Collins had ingested and the frequency of the dosages?

‘From the symptoms, I think it is probable that arsenic had been introduced more than once. I think it had been administered from time to time while I was attending. I could not say whether arsenic had been introduced before 28 June. I could not say whether the arsenic had been introduced in large or small doses.’

When asked how easily it could be administered, he explained that arsenic had no perceptible taste in small quantities. He knew because he had tasted it. He didn’t add that arsenic in small doses was used as a medicinal tonic, that even the ‘poison of poisons’ had its beneficial uses. ‘It is generally in a fine white powder. It is like flour but if you look closely it is in small crystals and it is sparkling.’

How easy was it to dissolve?

‘If water is boiled on it, it is made more soluble than when it is dissolved in cold water.’

Coffey then asked the doctor about his encounters with Louisa herself. In his response, Marshall mentioned Louisa’s inattentive, almost indifferent manner when listening to his instructions for her husband’s wellbeing.

Heads twisted to look at her. Reinforcing the surgeon’s remarks, she appeared inattentive and indifferent, showing little interest in the comments being made about her.

When Lusk began his cross-examination, he asked Marshall about the samples he had taken away for testing. Had Mrs Collins known he was collecting them?

‘I spoke first to Collins about taking the vomit away. I don’t know if Mrs Collins was present. I’m not sure if she knew of my taking away the vomit, but she did of the urine.’

Justice Foster was curious to know if she could have worked it out for herself. How much of the vomited matter had he collected?

‘All that would pour out,’ Marshall told him, ‘so she would see that it was gone.’

Lusk enquired about the results of his tests. Marshall conceded that he was unsuccessful in discovering any traces of arsenic. ‘That to a great extent removed my suspicion,’ he added. ‘I then attributed it to natural causes.’

So why did he collect another vomit sample on 6 July?

‘I collected more of the vomit not from the symptoms but from general suspicion.’

That being the case, what had prompted his decision to go to the police and to later send the case to the coroner?

Marshall explained that Collins’ rapid deterioration between Marshall’s visits on the Friday and Saturday had alarmed him as it seemed inconsistent with the natural course of his disease.

Dr Martin was called to the stand. After Martin had corroborated Marshall’s testimony, Lusk quizzed him about the quantity and frequency of the arsenic Collins had ingested. Martin couldn’t provide the necessary clarification although he did report that, in general, arsenic was entirely eliminated from the human body within fourteen days, and mostly eliminated within a week or so, leaving traces only in the liver or spleen. If ingested as a liquid, it was usually expelled within forty-eight hours, so if arsenic was found in vomited matter, it indicated that it had been ingested within the previous two days.

Lusk asked about the normal timeframe for an arsenic death.

‘If not expelled by vomiting or purging, the usual time for the fatal effect is two hours to three days.’

By the time Martin left the stand, the jurors and spectators were scratching their heads. Had one dose been ingested or more? Was it a large dose or a series of small doses or a mix of large and small doses? When had the dose or doses been administered? They were as confused after hearing the testimonies of these ‘experts’ as they had previously been ignorant about the subject of arsenic poisoning altogether. Perhaps the government analyst could enlighten them.

William Hamlet couldn’t help them. It wasn’t his job to speculate, only to communicate the scientific evidence. He described his discovery of arsenic in Collins’ remains and also in the tumbler that was a third full of a milky liquid.

Lusk asked where exactly in Collins’ remains he had found the arsenic.

‘When I received the jar, I separated the liver and stomach from the rest. I washed them and added the washings to the contents of the stomach.’

It was an important clarification. Hamlet had just told the court that the large dose of arsenic found in Collins’ stomach had not necessarily come from his stomach alone, which meant that the arsenic might not in fact have been recently administered.

Dr Milford, the autopsy doctor, was invited to offer his own opinions. He said that the post-mortem examination suggested that death had been prolonged and protracted, and that the cause was probably arsenic irritation. He thought it unlikely that a large dose had been recently ingested and more likely that the arsenic had been ingested in small, frequent doses with deadly effect.

When Milford left the stand, the hour was late and the witness list still long. Foster adjourned the trial and ordered that the jury be locked up for the night. Juries were not usually sequestered during criminal trials for the simple reason that most criminal trials began and ended the same day—in less than an hour, in some instances. Murder cases, though, were different.

• • •

Journalists hurried to their pressrooms to prepare the copy for the next day’s edition. Spectators and court officials headed home for tea. As they sat down with their families, some couldn’t help noticing the sugar bowl on the table and wondering, just for a moment, whether any of those shiny, crystal-like specks might be . . . no! . . . don’t be silly . . . of course not.