‘Well, don’t forget to tell him that,’ Caroux said, laughing. ‘He’ll die laughing, the poor fool. How did you find him anyway?’
‘Find him?’
‘His character. What did you think of him when you met him?’
Inspector Dew thought about this. Despite all the questions he had answered about Dr Crippen since discovering the messy remains of Cora Crippen, no one had ever asked him for his own personal opinion concerning the man’s character. Not his superiors at Scotland Yard, not the news reporters, and not the inquisitive passengers on board the Laurentic. All any of them wanted was the gruesome details, the stuff of nightmares. ‘I found him a very pleasant, mild-mannered man,’ he said. ‘Educated, friendly and polite. In all honesty, I would have said that he couldn’t hurt a fly.’
18.
Life After Cora
London—Paris—Antwerp: 1 February–20 July 1910
1 February
Hawley slept late the morning after the disastrous card evening with Mr and Mrs Smythson, but he did not wake up in his own bed.
After Cora’s attack of hysterics when she had thrown him out of the house, he had wandered the streets for an hour, not knowing what to do or where to go, afraid to go home in case there was more violence to follow. A light drizzle was falling in the streets but he did not seem to notice it, despite the fact that she had evicted him from their home without a coat, hat or an umbrella to keep him dry. He walked the streets and lanes of west London, ignoring the tramps, the prostitutes and the flower girls packing up their wares for the night. He avoided the public houses as he did not trust himself with alcohol. Eventually, without planning it as such, his feet brought him to the home of Ethel LeNeve and he found himself ringing her doorbell at one o’clock in the morning. It took a few minutes before a light came on in the hallway, but finally she opened the door a little way, wearing her dressing gown and clutching it tightly to her neck as she peered out to see who could be calling this late at night.
‘Hawley,’ she said, astonished to see him there and opening the door a little wider. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’
‘I’m sorry,’ he replied in a low voice, only now realizing what the time was and considering what he was doing. ‘I shouldn’t have come at this hour. I’ve woken you up.’
‘It’s fine, I wasn’t asleep yet. But what’s happened? You’re soaked through. Come in, come in.’ She opened the door fully now and stepped out of the way as he trooped in slowly, his head bowed, his entire body weakened by embarrassment and humiliation. ‘Look at you,’ she muttered, shaking her head. ‘Come upstairs. Quickly, before we wake up any of the neighbours.’
He followed her up the stairs to the top floor of the house, which she had inherited upon the deaths of her parents, barely noticing anything there, but collapsing into an armchair and covering his face with his hand. He could feel tears of self-pity getting ready to pour from his eyes and did not want her to see them.
Her home consisted of four small rooms and a hallway, each one neatly arranged with not an object out of place, a bedroom, a kitchen, a bathroom and a cosy living room in which they sat now.
‘I’m very sorry,’ he repeated. ‘Waking you up at this hour. It’s unforgivable. But I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go. You’re about the only friend I have left in the world.’
‘Hawley, I told you that you could come here at any time. And I meant it. We are friends, so stop apologizing and tell me what’s happened. But let me get you a towel first and put some water on for tea. You’ll catch your death, walking around the city at this time of night without any coat on.’
He nodded, happy to let her mother him, and she disappeared into the bedroom for a few moments while he began to take a little more notice of his surroundings. She must have had a fire lit earlier in the evening, for the coals were still glowing and giving off some heat and she had placed the fireguard in front of it before retiring. Above the mantelpiece was a picture of a bearded man with dark eyes standing beside a terrified woman with piled-up hair; they looked as if each was preparing to kill the other. He assumed these were Ethel’s late parents, of whom she had few good things to say. Indeed, the only compliment he had ever heard her pay them was her suggestion that they had both had the decency to die while she was still young enough to enjoy a life of her own. On the shelves some porcelain teapots and decorative plates were scattered, family heirlooms that had been passed down to her following their deaths. Feeling the chill now, shivering in his chair, he rubbed his hands together and held them in front of the smouldering fire. When Ethel returned, she brought with her a tray with a teapot and two cups, as well as a towel which he used to dry his hair.
‘It’s ridiculous, really,’ he began, sipping his tea. ‘I don’t know why I put up with it. The woman must be demented to behave the way she does.’
‘What did she do this time?’
He sighed. ‘She invited some of her friends around for the evening. Two people whom I don’t very much care for myself and who I know care little for me either. The woman is part of Cora’s Music Hall Ladies’ Guild.’
‘Her what?’
‘A society she attends which she believes offers her an extra social standing. A group of ladies who gather together and attend concerts and afterwards organize evenings where they sit and discuss the music, drinking tea together.’
‘Sounds frightfully boring,’ Ethel commented.
‘I’m sure it is,’ he said. ‘But she’s always believed that she was meant for better things than I can offer her, and somehow these people make her feel important. They’re rich, for one thing. And some of them are titled, which she assumes means they’re better than her. Anyway, things haven’t been going well there recently. I think there might have been some sort of scene when she had too much to drink, and the implication tonight was that she might not be a member for very much longer.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Ethel, delighted to hear that. ‘That must have annoyed her.’
‘If she had any dignity,’ said Hawley, clenching his fist in anger, ‘she would simply have turned the other cheek and let the matter drop. She shouldn’t let these people know they can get to her. I mean, who are they anyway? Just a bunch of ill-educated harpies who’ve managed to snare idiot husbands with an inheritance and a house in the country. But she doesn’t see them like that, of course. Instead, she just grew angrier and angrier, and then a full-scale altercation took place. Before any of us knew what was happening, she was insulting Louise Smythson and her husband, and they were storming out of the house. A few minutes later, she threw me out too.’
‘And what had you done?’ she asked.
‘Nothing in particular,’ he explained, almost laughing at the absurdity of it. ‘I’m just the easy target for whenever she flies into one of her tempers. She grabbed me by the ear, opened the door and flung me out.’
‘As if you were a child.’
‘My back feels quite sore, actually,’ he said. ‘I fell down the steps. There’s a twinge.’
Ethel shook her head and felt the anger building inside her. She had never met a more gentle, thoughtful human being than Hawley Harvey Crippen. Or a more hideous hound from hell than his wife Cora. She could not understand how anyone could treat their spouse with such inhumanity.
‘I’m sorry, Hawley,’ she said, unable to contain her feelings any longer. ‘I hate to say it, but that woman is a demon. You have no business staying with her.’
‘I know, I know,’ he sighed, close to tears. ‘But . . .’ He struggled to find the words, knowing what he wanted to say but ashamed to admit it. ‘The truth is, Ethel, that she scares me.’
‘She what?’ she asked incredulously.
‘She scares me. I know it sounds ridiculous but it’s the truth. Her tempers, her anger, everything about her. I don’t believe I am naturally a weak human being, but there is something about Cora Crippen that reduces me to nothing. I simply do not have any strength around her. And I can’t
help but feel that one day her violence will get entirely out of control.’
Ethel nodded. It was too bad. What he predicted she had often foreseen herself. She had witnessed her friend arriving at work, bruised and battered, one time too many; on the rare occasions when he arrived late, she always feared the worst. Tears were streaming down Hawley’s face now and she reached out and put an arm around him. ‘Hawley,’ she whispered, kissing his cheek, ‘you don’t have to stay with her, you know.’
‘I can’t leave her though. She would never allow it,’ he said with a hollow laugh. ‘If only she’d leave,’ he added, between sobs.
Ethel reached out and dried his cheeks with her hand. He turned to face her and they kissed.
‘I can’t go back to her,’ he muttered. ‘And yet I have to. I have no choice.’
‘But not tonight,’ she said quietly, kissing him again. ‘You don’t have to go back tonight.’
‘I’d be risking my life if I went back tonight,’ he admitted, smiling wanly at the absurdity of the situation.
‘Then you must stay here,’ she said determinedly. He pulled away from her and looked at her nervously. ‘You must stay with me.’
‘I can’t,’ he said. ‘It’s wrong to impose upon you.’
‘Hawley,’ she said, holding his hand tightly and making her meaning clear, ‘I want you to stay. With me.’
He swallowed nervously and nodded. ‘Are you sure?’ he asked.
‘More sure than I’ve ever been about anything,’ she said truthfully. ‘You should never go back to her. You deserve better than her. I would never treat you the way she does. You know that. I would value you. Take care of you.’
Hawley grimaced. ‘Why couldn’t I have met you years ago?’ he asked bitterly. ‘Why did I ever have to get involved with Cora in the first place?’
Ethel reached across and took the cup from his hand and placed it on the table. Standing up, she held out her hand for him and he took it, following her into the bedroom, where slowly and quietly, they made love for the first time. Hawley was surprised by her body, which was quite the opposite of Cora’s. Ethel was small and slim-hipped, with tiny breasts and an almost boyish figure; Cora, on the other hand, had developed into an overweight, heavy-set woman whose physical allure had all but died for him long ago. Big-breasted and tartily attractive, she could still turn heads in the street, but not his. Lying in bed beside Ethel, he was moved to reach across and run his hand along her smooth body time and time again. Finally, exhausted by the fighting with his wife, his wandering around the streets of London and his romantic evening with Ethel, he rolled over and fell into a deep sleep, breathing heavily, his dreams filled with images of what life would be like if Cora Crippen was no longer a part of it.
Ethel had never made love to a man before that night, nor had she ever slept beside one, and she was intrigued by the sounds of breathing he made as he slept. She was wide awake now and with only one thing on her mind. From the moment he had arrived at her home in tears, she had decided that it was time to see her plan through and she was simply waiting for this moment to arrive, when he was asleep and she could escape without his noticing.
She crept out of bed and dressed quickly, opening the wardrobe to retrieve the man’s overcoat and hat she had purchased before visiting Lewis & Burrow’s Pharmacy in Oxford Street to buy the bottle of hydro bromide of hyoscine, a prescription she had written for herself on a pad which was kept locked in a drawer at the pharmacy. No one should be allowed to treat another human being like this, she thought to herself as justification for her actions. That woman stands between Hawley and my happiness; it’s as simple as that.
She closed the door of the bedroom gently and went to the bathroom, where she had been storing the bottle in a medicine chest. Placing it in her pocket, she retrieved the fake moustache and attached it to her upper lip, covering up the scar she had received when her mother had beaten her when she was only a child, her ring splitting the lip open, a wound which had never properly healed. She looked at her reflection in the mirror and couldn’t help but smile; she really did make quite a convincing man.
It didn’t take her long to reach Hilldrop Crescent and she tried to remove herself mentally from the proceedings as she climbed the steps to Cora’s room, worried that if she thought about it at all she would lose confidence and change her mind. Her only moment of panic occurred when her victim sat up in bed, waking slowly, and squinted at her, calling out Hawley’s name. That had been the moment of no return, but fortunately the woman had immediately drunk the poisoned water and death had come quickly. After that, Ethel had carried her downstairs and begun her dismemberment in the cellar. She wrapped the head in sheets of newspaper and put it in a box which she found in Cora’s bedroom.
Before leaving, she reached into the inner pocket of her coat and took out the letter she had written a week before for just such an occasion as this, propping it up against a salt cellar in the middle of the living-room table. Checking that she had not forgotten anything, she left the house and returned home, hiding her disguise in a hallway cupboard and placing the hat box on top of her wardrobe before removing her clothes and climbing back into bed with Hawley as the sun rose. To her surprise, the sheets were far from warm and, when she reached out to touch Hawley’s shoulder, it was cold too.
When he awoke, it was past nine o’clock in the morning, and for a moment he didn’t know where he was. Slowly, the memories of the previous night came flooding back to him and he closed his eyes again, wondering what the future held for him now. He dressed quickly and stepped into the living room, where Ethel was finishing preparing breakfast.
‘Good morning,’ she said in a light, breezy voice, coming over and kissing him on the cheek, delighted that their new life together was about to begin. ‘Sleep well?’
‘Like the dead.’
‘I love you,’ she said suddenly, unexpectedly, and he felt his heart skip within his chest. He could not remember when he had last heard an expression of such sentiment that he had truly believed.
‘I love you too,’ he replied.
They parted an hour later and Ethel agreed to open Munyon’s while he went home to change. Walking towards 39 Hilldrop Crescent, there was a skip in his step. He felt like a new man, a re-energized one. The closer he got to home, however, the more his heart began to sink again. He had no idea what was awaiting him there.
He turned the key in the lock with a heavy heart but, stepping inside, he had the sudden feeling that she was not at home. Somehow, the air in the house seemed lighter to him without her presence. ‘Cora?’ he called out to make sure, but there was no reply. This pleased him and he stepped into the living room to check that she was not simply asleep on the couch; but she was not there either, and he decided to go upstairs for a bath. Once inside, however, his attention was drawn to the letter addressed to him on the living-room table, and he stared at it blankly for a moment before picking it up and opening it.
My dear Hawley,
I have decided to leave you. I do not believe that you and I can live together any longer. I have met another man. I am sorry to tell you this way, but we are in love and he has asked me to go to America with him. We leave today. Please do not try to contact me, it would be best if we said goodbye like this. We will never speak again. I am sorry for all I have put you through. You are a kind and decent man and deserve more happiness than I could ever provide you with. Do not hesitate to seize it if it presents itself.
Yours,
Cora.
Hawley gasped and sat down, dropping the letter to the floor. ‘I don’t believe it,’ he said out loud, staring at it in surprise and reading it again as he tried to piece together the many thoughts running through his head. At the forefront of them, however, was a feeling of utter happiness.
3 February
‘Nicholas!’ Mrs Louise Smythson cried, calling up the stairs to her husband, who was getting dressed in preparation for a busy morning’s idleness. ‘Come down h
ere quickly! The most amusing thing has happened!’
She returned to the sofa where she had been sitting, enjoying her morning tea, and re-read the letter from start to finish in a state of increasing delight and surprise. Ever since the terrible evening at the Crippens’ a few nights before she had been torn between her desire to visit her one-time friend and tear out every hair in her head for the things she had said, and her need to remain ladylike in the face of great provocation, for if the other Smythsons ever heard about her disgracing them in public there would doubtless be trouble. However, she no longer needed to make this decision, since Cora had taken matters into her own hands.
Nicholas appeared, fumbling with his cravat, and sat down opposite his wife. ‘What is it?’ he asked. ‘Bloody thing,’ he added in a mutter, referring to the cravat. ‘I don’t see why I need to wear one anyway.’
‘A letter,’ she said, ignoring her husband’s present difficulties. ‘A letter from Cora Crippen.’
‘An apology, I hope. I’ve never witnessed such rude behaviour in all my life. And I’ve sat in the public gallery at parliament.’
‘Of sorts,’ she replied. ‘Listen. Let me read it to you.
‘Dear Louise,
Firstly let me apologize for my abominable behaviour on the evening you and your husband came to visit us at Hilldrop Crescent. I am clearly a sick woman and unable to control myself in public. There are those who suggest I am mad, a deranged harridan, but I reject this as too strong. Perhaps I am simply a bad human being who finds it impossible to maintain any semblance of pleasantry towards anyone, even the most worthy. Regardless of this, I do apologize to you both. I would also like to make it clear that my husband Hawley is an innocent in this affair as the poor man has suffered under my whims and moods for longer than anyone should ever have to. It’s disgraceful the way I’ve treated him. Really, I should be taken out and horsewhipped. But anyway, this is all going to change. My main reason for writing to you is to offer my resignation from the Music Hall Ladies’ Guild, effective immediately. I have heard from a relative of mine in America, a dear old uncle who has fallen ill and has not long to live. Terribly sad. He has asked me to visit him in California and tend him in his last days. I see this as a way to make up for my terrible behaviour of recent times and I intend to go. By the time you receive this letter I will have already left for America and so will not see you again. However, rest assured that when I return to London I will make things right with you and Nicholas and behave towards my kind, thoughtful and beautifully sensitive husband Hawley in the way that I always should have. With respect and love. I hope you remain well and look forward to seeing you and Nicholas again soon.