Ethel sighed. ‘And when you don’t have it,’ she said, ‘what’s he going to think then?’
‘That I’ve lost it.’
‘No, Hawley. He will think you lied in the first place. He will think that you lied when you said that Cora had gone to America, you lied when you said she had died there, and you lied when you said she’d run off with another man. He will start to believe that everything you’ve told him is a lie and that anything that awful Smythson woman tells him about us is the truth. Before you know it, he’ll be poking around in our business until he traps us.’
‘Traps us?’ he asked. ‘Traps us in what?’
She hesitated; she could not tell him the truth. ‘I just don’t like it,’ she said. ‘I’ve come around to your way of thinking, in fact. About our living situation. The only reason those stupid women are all talking about us is because we clearly attended that play as a couple. They’re outraged by it, the hypocritical old tarts.’
‘Ethel!’
‘Well, it’s true. And if we allow them to, they will make our lives even more miserable in London than Cora ever did. They may well have despised her towards the end, but she was still one of them. They’ll do whatever they have to in order to destroy our happiness. And presumably this inspector will have to report back to them on his findings here.’
‘Ethel, I really think you’re exaggerating.’
She reached across and took him by the arm. ‘Will you do something for me, my love?’ she asked.
‘Anything.’
‘You must try not to see Inspector Dew again. It’s perfectly possible that he won’t bother to return and collect that name. Particularly if you both got on as well as you claim. He may just let the matter drop. However, if he does show up here, you must let me deal with him.’
‘You?’ he asked, surprised. ‘Why ever would you want to do that?’
‘Because I can handle people like him. Interfering people. You must let me speak to him and stay out of it yourself.’
He stared at her, surprised by her ardour and yet moved by her insistence.
‘Trust me on this, Hawley, please. I know what I’m doing.’
‘Well, if it means that much to you, my dear,’ he said doubtfully.
‘It does. More than you know.’
He waited a few moments before shrugging and nodding his head.
Several nights later, he had the opportunity to see his promise through as, walking back towards Hilldrop Crescent from work, he caught sight of Inspector Dew standing in his living room speaking to Ethel. His first thought was to go inside and welcome his new friend back to his home, perhaps invite him to stay for dinner and a leisurely drink afterwards; but then he recalled what Ethel had said and he held back, standing under a tree in the rain while he watched them talking. He stayed there for some time before leaving, looking a little disappointed with himself. When the inspector turned the corner and left the street, Hawley ran across the road and entered his house, shivering.
‘Did you see him?’ Ethel asked when he was inside. Hawley nodded. ‘He did seem like a pleasant enough fellow,’ she admitted, ‘but it’s hard to know for sure. He could be trying to catch us out.’
‘And what if he is?’ Hawley said. ‘Let’s just tell him the truth. We have nothing to hide. We’ll be out of here soon anyway. It won’t be much longer before we have to leave Hilldrop Crescent. Let’s just move away and put this whole business behind us.’
‘I was thinking the very same thing,’ said Ethel.
‘Really?’
‘Yes.’
‘Perhaps we could move to Chiswick or to Kent. Or further south if you prefer.’
Ethel smiled. ‘I was thinking of somewhere a little more exotic,’ she said.
‘Such as?’
‘Canada.’
Hawley stared at her in surprise. ‘Canada?’ he asked. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Perfectly.’
‘But why? Why on earth would you want to go there?’
‘Because I’ve lived in London all my life, Hawley, and I’m tired of it. We both have bad memories of this city, you know. It’s not just you. We’re starting a new life together. Why not go somewhere far away, where no one knows us? And if it comes to it, we can simply pretend to be married over there. Remember, there is no guarantee that you will find Cora, and if you don’t then you can forget about a divorce.’
‘Well, that’s true, but to travel to the other side of the world—’
‘Will be an adventure. Listen, I’ve done some investigating and we could go to Antwerp first. There’s a fleet of ships that travel to Canada from there, the Canadian Pacific Line. We could take one of those and leave all our troubles behind.’
He considered it; it was not such a terrible idea. In fact the idea of leaving England, although one he had not thought of himself, rather appealed to him. ‘But why Antwerp?’ he asked. ‘Why not just travel from Liverpool?’
‘Because it will be more of an adventure,’ she lied, not wanting to be on a British ship in case the inspector tracked them down. ‘And we can holiday there first. We had such a wonderful time in Paris and I’ve always wanted to see a little more of Europe. We could sail to Paris again and this time travel slowly from there up to Belgium, before leaving for Canada. A new world. A new life for us. Oh, please say we can, Hawley. We have to leave Hilldrop Crescent anyway.’
He thought about it. She was holding on to both his hands and staring up at him pleadingly. He knew now that he could never refuse her anything; he was far too much in love for that.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘Let’s do it.’
19 July
They travelled through Europe for a week, before finally reaching Antwerp. They spent a night on a converted ship, called a ‘botel,’ on the River Vltava in Prague and it was in that city that they first felt truly alone, without interference from others. The air was crisp and they took a long walk across the Charles Bridge, over towards the Old Town, arms linked, cheeks red and noses pink from the summer sun. In the afternoon, they sat in a café window, looking out at the Old Town Square. Ethel gazed at the Astronomical Clock with its dramatic changing of the hours; Death consults his hourglass and slowly pulls on the bell cord as Christ appears from behind; the cock crows, the hour changes, the crowds disperse into the Hall and the streets behind.
After that they moved on to Antwerp, where they waited for the Montrose to set sail. On the afternoon of the seventeenth Ethel was walking through the streets on her own and she stopped at a small café for a cup of tea and a sandwich. She had purchased a copy of the London Times before entering and it lay on the table beside her while she ate her food. Like Hawley, she was not a person who typically kept up with the news, but she had found that a single woman in Europe was easily harassed if she did not make it clear that she was not interested in being seduced. A book or a newspaper was a convenient way to achieve this.
Finally she poured herself another cup of tea and opened the paper, glancing through the headlines briefly before turning to page three, where her breath was almost taken away in surprise. Across the top of the page was a picture of Hawley and another of Inspector Walter Dew. She could feel the blood drain from her face, and she set her cup down carefully, almost dropping it on the ground in shock. The headline under the photograph stated ‘Body Found in London Cellar’; it was over, she realized. She had been found out. Dreading what would come next, she read the article from start to finish.
Murder most foul has been discovered in the home of a respected London doctor. On the afternoon of July 13th, Inspector Walter Dew of Scotland Yard entered 39 Hilldrop Crescent, Camden, the home of one Dr Hawley Harvey Crippen, intending to question said fellow regarding the disappearance of his wife, Cora, known to some as the popular stage entertainer Bella Elmore. Mrs Crippen had been missing for some months but it was believed she was in America, tending to a sick relative. However, suspicious of her continued absence, Mrs Louise Smythson, a close friend of Mrs
Crippen, alerted Scotland Yard, who immediately launched an investigation.
Upon entering the home of Dr Crippen, Inspector Dew quickly deduced that neither he, nor his living companion, one Ethel LeNeve, were present. A brief search of the premises led him to the cellar, where the most gruesome discovery awaited him. Buried beneath the stone panels of the floor were the carved-up remains of a body, believed to be that of Mrs Crippen. The Times has learned that the only body part missing was her head.
‘Neither Dr Crippen nor Miss LeNeve have returned to Camden and it is believed they have gone on the run,’ Inspector Dew told our reporter today. ‘At present we have no confirmed details as to their whereabouts but we ask all people to be on the lookout for them both. Dr Crippen is a middle-aged man of average height, with a moustache and a forlorn expression. Miss LeNeve is in her mid-twenties and is five feet and five inches in height, with a scar above her lip.’
She read on to the end of the story, but it contained only a sensational description regarding the manner of Cora Crippen’s death. The only bright spot was that no one knew where she and Hawley were and it was unlikely that they would ever be looked for in Antwerp. For the moment, she thought to herself, we’re safe. All we have to do is get to Canada.
She persuaded Hawley to shave off his moustache and grow a beard in its place.
‘It’s the latest look,’ she told him. ‘Surely you’ve seen the European gentlemen wearing them like that.’
‘No,’ he admitted, ‘I haven’t.’
‘Well, you should keep your eyes open then. Because they do.’
He relented and took out his razor.
It was Hawley’s idea, however, that they behave as father and son once aboard the Montrose, and again this came about thanks to his puritan beliefs. She protested at first, thinking this was something of a perversion on his part, but she finally relented, realizing that it would be a useful ruse if anyone on board the ship had been reading the papers recently. He bought new outfits for them, and a wig for Ethel, and on the morning of 20 July they left their hotel for the last time and walked the short distance to the port.
‘Well, there she is,’ he said, staring up at the ship. ‘Last chance to change your mind.’
‘I don’t want to change it,’ said Ethel. ‘This is the start of our future. We will be happy, won’t we?’
‘Of course we will,’ he replied with a wide smile. ‘What could possibly prevent it? We have our whole lives to look forward to now. New lives. Two people together who love each other. What more could either of us want?’
Ethel looked at him and she felt safe and happy. Her old life was behind her. They had escaped. Their suitcases were in their cabin already, one of which contained the hat box, the contents of which Ethel was keeping for disposal later in the trip. ‘I love you,’ she whispered, wanting to reach up and kiss him but aware that in their current disguises that was impossible.
Hawley opened his mouth to reply, but he was prevented by a car horn sounding suddenly behind him, that of Bernard Leejik, the Dutch taxi driver who had brought Mrs Antoinette Drake and her daughter Victoria to the ship. ‘These new motor cars will be the death of everyone,’ he said, recovering his balance and directing his attention towards his youthful companion. ‘I think someone should do something about them before we all get knocked over and killed. Don’t you agree?’
‘I’ve never driven in one. Father,’ Edmund replied.
19.
The Capture
Near Quebec: Sunday, 31 July 1910
Inspector Walter Dew awoke early on Sunday morning in the small guest house where Inspector Caroux had arranged for him to stay. He had been kept up late the night before while the landlady had put clean sheets on his bed, something of a ruse, he felt, since she had known all day that he would be staying there. During the interminable length of time it took for her to finish, he was forced to sit in the living room with the other guests, each of whom stared at him with a mixture of awe and terror, peppering him with questions about Dr Crippen. Unlike the passengers on the Laurentic, however, most of whom had seemed to be concerned with the method he had used to do away with his wife and the gruesome discovery in the cellar, the Canadians appeared to be obsessed with what would happen to Crippen upon his return to London.
‘He’ll be hanged, of course,’ suggested one.
‘Almost immediately,’ said another.
‘No need for a trial, I shouldn’t think.’
‘There is always need for a trial, madam,’ said Dew, who did not much like the idea of Hawley Crippen swinging from the end of a rope, regardless of what he might have done. ‘We live in a country where one is innocent until proven guilty. As, I believe, do you.’
‘But Inspector, surely, when someone has committed such a hideous crime, there’s no point waiting around? When you think about it, taking someone’s life in such a—’
‘All the more reason for us to be slow to judgement,’ he replied. ‘After all, murder is a capital offence which holds with it the mandatory punishment of death. If we are not sure that what we are doing is correct, then we merely reduce ourselves to the murderer’s level.’
They seemed disappointed with his answer, hoping for something a little more graphic. ‘Will he be shot or hanged?’ asked an ancient hag with the most wrinkled skin Dew had ever observed on a human being.
‘Hanged, I expect. If he’s found guilty. But I cannot stress too much how—’
‘Have you witnessed a hanging before, Inspector?’
‘Several.’
‘Are they very exciting?’
He shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Not at all. They are tragic. They take place because someone has already lost his or her life, and they end with another death. They are nothing to take either pleasure or satisfaction in.’ He was becoming convinced that his fellow guests had clubbed together and paid the landlady to take a long time preparing his room in order for them to quiz him some more.
‘What time will you be going down to the harbour in the morning?’ asked the human wrinkle again. ‘No one has seen such excitement in Quebec in the longest time. We can’t wait to see what happens.’
‘I will not be arresting Dr Crippen on Canadian soil,’ he stated firmly. ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you. So the time of my departure is of little or no relevance.’
‘Not arresting him here? Well, where then?’
He considered it, realizing there was nothing to be lost by telling them; after all, the Montrose had received her instructions and was effectively cut off from the rest of the world until she docked. ‘I will be taking a boat out to Dr Crippen’s ship and arresting him on board,’ he said.
‘Oh no! Surely not,’ they cried together, disappointed.
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘But you’re ruining it for everyone.’
‘Madam, this is not a theatrical production to be played out for the amusement of all. This is the arrest of a man on a charge of murder. I apologize if I cannot make it more entertaining, but there we are.’
‘Well, it’s a shame for us,’ said the landlady, bustling in now, having obviously been listening from the hallway. ‘Your room’s ready,’ she added irritably, as if the whole thing had been too much trouble for her.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Then I will wish you all a good night.’
Despite the earliness of the hour when he arose, the same group of people was gathered in the parlour when he made his way through, the following morning. He stared at them in surprise; they appeared not to have moved since the night before, but on this occasion they did not question him but merely followed him with their eyes while he left for the police station, staring after him as if he was no better than Dr Crippen himself.
Inspector Caroux had also risen early and was dressed in his finest uniform, aware that later in the day photographs would be taken. He had used a little wax on his moustache and tonic on his hair. The scent he gave off was overpowering and made Walter Dew take a st
ep back in dismay, the aftershave catching in his throat and making him cough.
‘Such a day we have ahead of us, Inspector,’ he said. ‘Can I call you Walter?’
‘If you like.’
‘I have arranged for a boat to take us out there at ten o’clock. The Montrose has already been in touch to confirm that they will be coming to a full stop.’
‘To take us out there?’ asked Dew. ‘Us who?’
‘Why, you and I, Walter. As the senior representatives of Scotland Yard and of the Canadian police force in Quebec, I naturally assumed that you would want—’
‘No,’ he said firmly, shaking his head. ‘That won’t be necessary. I’ll go alone. Just give me a man to sail the boat and that’s all I’ll need.’
‘But Walter!’ he cried, disappointed. ‘The man is a crazed killer. You don’t know what you’re walking into.’
‘He is not a crazed killer,’ Dew said sternly. ‘And he’s not a cannibal either before you suggest it.’
‘Mon Dieu! I never knew that he was one.’
‘Well, he isn’t.’
‘So why did you suggest he was?’
‘He’s a perfectly reasonable fellow who has perhaps made one mistake in life, that’s all. I assure you, I am in no danger whatsoever over there. After all, Captain Kendall will be present together with any number of his officers that I may require. But from what little I know of Dr Crippen, I do not believe he will be any trouble.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ said Caroux in a petulant voice, like a child who has not been given his treat. ‘But if he chops you up and eats you too, you will have no one to blame but yourself.’
‘I’ll bear it in mind.’
Crowds saw him off as he stepped into a small twin-engined boat and was driven away from Quebec by an old sailor who seemed to be the only person with no interest whatsoever in what was taking place. If anything, he seemed irritated by the vast number of people shouting and cheering as they left the harbour, and he barely spoke to Inspector Dew as they made their way out to sea. For his part, Dew was perfectly happy to maintain a silence. He sat against the side of the boat, his arms stretched out on either side of him, enjoying the sensation of the wind blowing in his face and the smell of the sea air. A little over an hour later, the Montrose appeared in the distance and he sat bolt upright, his stomach starting to betray his nerves a little as the final chapter in his pursuit of Dr Hawley Harvey Crippen approached.