Foul Deeds in Richmond and Kingston Page 2

  The river which runs by all these districts was another attraction. Boat races along the Thames were popular from the Victorian era onwards. Boating clubs flourished. There was a Kingston Rowing Club and an annual Kingston Rowing Regatta. Steam ferries along the Thames to and from London were another attraction. Anglers could buy cheap tickets at the weekends. Locks were erected on this part of the Thames. A large lock was constructed at Teddington in 1905, marking the furthermost boundary of the authority of the Port of London, seventeen miles from Westminster Bridge and where the Thames ceases to be tidal. This is also the largest in the Thames, measuring 650 feet in length and 25 feet in width. It was the scene of two brutal murders in 1953 (recounted in Chapter 20).

  Visitors certainly saw Richmond and the other Thameside districts as attractive places to spend their leisure time. In 1886, it was noted that it was ‘one of the most favourite excursions of Londoners of all classes’. The views of the river were magnificent:

  Nothing in the neighbourhood is better known or more delightful than the view from Richmond Hill and Terrace, and when Sir Walter Scott described it as an unrivalled landscape, he was hardly saying too much.

  Hotels and boarding houses catered for the tourist. In 1886, Richmond Hill Hotel charged between 10s 6d to £2 2s for a room per week. More hotels appeared in the following decade. There were three hotels in late Victorian Kingston, all located in the Market Place.

  Apart from the Thames, Richmond and Twickenham are also well known for their sporting attractions. Dr Watson is noted as playing rugby at Richmond, and Twickenham, ‘for our governing classes to whom it primarily suggests Rugby Football, college ties and a comfortable feeling of athletic exclusiveness’.

  These towns also witnessed the growth of civil amenities and the arrival of more and diverse places of religion to cater for a more numerous population. Late Victorian Richmond boasted a theatre, a library, a fire station, a police station, a hospital, almshouses, four Anglican churches, a Catholic church and six nonconformist chapels. The parish church of St Mary Magdalen was ‘of the hideous red brick usual hereabouts’, though it did contain a number of interesting memorials to former residents of note, but the other churches were ‘modern erections of no special attractiveness’. Post from London arrived five times daily in 1887 and there were nine daily collections to town at this time.

  Administratively, the government of these growing settlements changed as time went by. Until the nineteenth century, each parish governed itself, with loose supervision by the magistrates at Middlesex and Surrey Quarter Sessions, depending on whether the parish was to the north/west of the Thames or not. Care of the poor and upkeep of local roads and the parish church were the principal concern of parish government. However, as the responsibilities of local government increased, change was thought necessary. Ecclesiastical and civil government split in the nineteenth century. Local authorities became responsible for medical provision, sanitation and education. Voluntarily funded hospitals were built. Parishes were amalgamated with each other. In 1937, the borough of Twickenham incorporated Teddington, and in 1965 it was added to the borough of Richmond; likewise, Surbiton and Norbiton were joined to Kingston in this year to form another London borough.

  These districts include some of London’s most attractive and exclusive ones to this day as they did in the time of Henry VIII or Horace Walpole, though the social mix has became far more diverse as these Thameside villages became towns in the late nineteenth centuries and then suburbs in the twentieth. Yet though a long distance from the East End, they were also the back cloth to a number of hideously shocking crimes and it is with these that the rest of the book deals.

  In the period covered by this book, these districts were policed by the Metropolitan Police. This force had been founded in 1829 by Sir Robert Peel. Initially it had only covered central London. In 1839 it had been extended to cover the whole of Middlesex and parts of Surrey, Essex and Kent. This area was divided into divisions, each under a Chief Superintendent, and each division had a number of stations, each headed by an Inspector.

  Twickenham, Hampton and Teddington, being north of the Thames, were in the county of Middlesex, and were in division T, as were other parts of western Middlesex, including Ealing and Acton. Twickenham Police Station was on London Road and that at Teddington was on Church Road. Incidentally, the Metropolitan and City of London Police Orphanage was at Wellesley Road, Hampton Road. It was founded in 1870 and extended in 1879. It catered for 250 boys and girls. The Police War Memorial Hospital was founded nearby in 1923 and opened by the Prince of Wales (briefly Edward VIII).

  Richmond and Kingston, being in Surrey, were part of division V.

  A police station was erected at Richmond in 1840, on Princes Street, and there it remained for the next fifty years. In 1890, a new one was built in George Street, ironically near to the site of the old watch house. Finally, in 1912, the station relocated to Red Lion Street, where it currently (2010) still stands. It was to this station that Sydney Goulter was conveyed in 1927 (see Chapter 13)

  Once a murder had occurred, and a corpse discovered, there were two principal events which had to take place. Firstly, an inquest was held to determine who had died, and how and who was responsible. A coroner would oversee such proceedings and a jury had to decide the verdict. Then there was the magistrates’ court which would hear evidence, examine clues and witnesses and, if possible, pronounce who was responsible. If someone was named, they could be arrested and gaoled (often in Wandsworth prison), pending trial either at the Old Bailey or the Surrey Assizes, both courts being able to deal with murder. Should guilt be found, then a death sentence could be pronounced or the guilty could face either prison or Broadmoor, depending on whether they were judged to be mentally responsible for their actions.

  Kingston multi-view card. Author’s collection

  Police methods in the period covered by this book were primitive by modern standards, but forensic science was being developed in the first half of the twentieth century. One key figure to appear in murder cases was Sir Bernard Spilsbury (1877-1947), a Home Office pathologist who features in a number of cases here. He became a household name in 1910 when he took part in the Crippen case, but it is now thought that he was far from infallible.

  Having briefly set the scene, we shall now learn about nineteen cases of murder, suicide and suspicious death in Richmond and Kingston, not all of which were solved.

  CHAPTER 2

  Death of the Aristocrats

  1812

  Few now, perhaps, of the teeming multitude, who pass to and fro daily know of this tragic scene.

  The tragic scene referred to above by a writer in 1903 refers to an address in Barnes Terrace, and those passing by unknowingly would have included the present author, when he was investigating the Elizabeth Figg murder of 1959 – her body was found in Duke’s Meadow, on the opposite side of the river to where an earlier tragedy occurred.

  The first French Revolution, which began in 1789, became bloodier as the years progressed, culminating in the Reign of Terror, in 1793–94. Many Frenchmen fled to Britain to escape death. This was not just those who opposed the revolution outright, but also those who favoured reforms, but had fallen out with France’s new masters. Many settled in Twickenham, Richmond and Barnes, including Louis Philippe (1773–1850), who later became King of France in 1830–48. These Thameside districts were indeed delightful tranquil villages in themselves, but were also close to the capital and so to places of entertainment and power.

  The Terrace, Barnes, 2009. The Author

  One such nobleman was the Comte D’Antraigues, or to give him his full name, Emmanuel Louis Henri Alexandre de Launay. He was distantly related to the French royal family, the Bourbons, and was born in 1753. Aged fourteen, he joined the Royal Guards as an officer, but did not see much military service as he left under a cloud of allegations of cowardice. After a spell of foreign travel, he returned to France hostile to both religion and the established mona
rchical order, and entered politics. He married Madame St Huberti, an actress at the Theatre Francoise who had become very wealthy by her professional talents. She was also an accomplished singer and often performed at fashionable parties. She was four years younger than her husband. In 1812, their son, Jules, was studying law in Manchester.

  Although elected to the States General in 1789, the Comte began to oppose the revolutionary changes then sweeping France. He became involved in espionage, in the 1790s, in the employ of the Spanish court and then on behalf of the Germans and Russians, but when they had been temporarily knocked out of the fight against Napoleon, from about 1807, for the British. Apparently he had been present at the negotiations between Napoleon and Tsar Alexander at the Treaty of Tilsit in that year. He had then passed on what he knew to George Canning of the Foreign Office (later Foreign Secretary and then Prime Minister). His services were seen as valuable because he was in receipt of government money.

  From about 1807 or 1808 they were living in a house on the upper part of Barnes Terrace, ‘a line of good houses’, half a mile from the parish church and near to the Thames. This was not in the style to which the Comte had been born, but it was still far above average. They kept a coach, a coachman (William Henditch), footman and a servant out of livery. The latter was also termed a valet. In July 1812, this post was held by an Italian, named Lawrence Stelli, who had been with them for three months. The family also had a town house in Queen Anne Street, in London’s West End.

  One morning, Wednesday 22 July 1812, the coach had been ordered for 8 o’clock, for the Comte and Comtesse desired to go to London. It arrived at just before 9, and the two were ready to depart, the Comte descending the stairs and his wife was just crossing the threshold of their house. It was then that the report of a pistol was heard in the passage. This seems to have had no effect. Then the firer, who was none other than Stelli, threw his gun away, and rushed up the stairs, passing his master as he did so. He immediately returned, knife in hand, and plunged it up to the hilt in the Comte’s shoulder. Ironically, the Comte had bought this knife decades earlier, in Constantinople, and kept it in his bedroom for self defence.

  Quickly pulling his deadly weapon out of his victim, he continued through the house. Finding his mistress on the door step, he attacked her, stabbing her in the left breast. No sooner than he had done so, than the injured Comte appeared before him and evidently stood just outside the house. Stelli ran back into the house and up the stairs, chased by the bleeding man, who was now weak and faint. No one dare follow them. Soon after both were upstairs, a shot rang out and then all was quiet.

  The servants eventually plucked up the courage to investigate. They found their mistress dying on the front door. More resolution was needed for them to venture up the staircase, but they finally did so. To their horror, the Comte was lying across his own bed, groaning heavily and evidently dying. By his side was his murderer, who was dead. Apparently he had placed the barrel of a pistol in his mouth and pulled the trigger. The Comte died about twenty-five minutes after he had been stabbed and did not utter another word. His wife died five minutes before he did, and again, she never spoke again.

  The mystery was how this appalling double murder had happened, and why. The pistols and knife used in the crimes were usually hanging in the Comte’s bedroom, and the pistols were always loaded. A month before the murder, the Comtesse and her female servants heard a pistol being fired in her husband’s room. Upon investigation, once the cloud of smoke had dissipated, they saw Stelli there. For some reason, he had fired into the wainscoat, and did not deny he had fired his master’s pistols.

  Ten minutes before he attacked his master on that fatal day, he had had a glass of gin in The White Hart, the pub opposite his place of work, but he was not drunk. Nor was he motivated by politics and he had not quarrelled with his master. His motive was that he had heard his master and mistress discussing the termination of his employment, with the aim of discharging him in a few days. This may have been because of his eccentric behaviour, as outlined in the paragraph above. The inquest was held at The White Hart on the following day.

  The White Hart, Barnes, 2009. The Author

  Barnes church. Author’s collection

  Stelli was clearly a man who was unsound in mind, and when his employers realised this, they naturally wanted to discharge him for the sake of their peace of mind. Yet their servant reacted violently to their plan and taking them both by surprise, used the Comte’s own weapons on him and his wife, and so a treble tragedy ensued in Barnes.

  Local tradition states that Stelli’s body was buried at the crossroads on Barnes Common, because of the belief that the ghost of this suicide would be unable to roam since it was confused by the four ways leading from its burial place.

  CHAPTER 3

  Did Dr Smethurst Murder his Wife?

  1859

  When a doctor goes wrong he is the first of criminals. He has the nerve and he has the knowledge.

  So spoke Sherlock Holmes in The Adventure of the Speckled Band, one of the most famous stories by Conan Doyle. The Victorian doctor is often seen, at least in fiction, as a sinister figure, able to consign his prey to asylums, to poison his victims or being able to dissect them – the erroneous stereotype of Jack the Ripper being a doctor still exists in the popular mind. But some doctors did poison their victims in reality. Doctors William Palmer (1824–56) and Edward Pritchard (1825–65) are among the most famous examples of their kind. But mystery surrounds Dr Thomas Smethurst’s actions.

  It is presumed that on 10 March 1828, the bells of St Mark’s, Kennington, rang out. This would have been to celebrate the marriage of Thomas Smethurst and Mary Durham. Mr William Otter was the officiating clergyman and the marriage was by special licence from the bishop, not by banns, as usual. The groom was born in Great Budworth, Cheshire, on 2 January 1805, while his bride was a mature woman of forty-two (being born in Hornsey, Middlesex, in about 1786). Smethurst had lived some of his early years in Lancashire, the family moving to Preston when he was very young, and he had at least two brothers, James and William. In 1858, he noted that his father was called William and was a gentleman; this is certainly possible for the younger William was described as being of ‘independent means’ in 1851. His bride had previously gone under the name of Johnson, living with a man of the same surname. It seems she may have been a servant and may have been legally married to Johnson or Laporte as he also called himself. She may have married Smethurst due to his future prospects, but he was briefly in trouble with the law in 1828, for obtaining goods under false pretences, though was never sentenced.

  St Mark’s church, Kennington. Author’s collection

  Little is known of the married life of the Smethursts, but it seemed to go well, although there were no children. His wife stated in 1859, ‘We have lived together in perfect happiness and contentment’ and he had nursed her back to health when ill. Her husband made similar remarks, ‘we have lived together happily a good number of years.’

  Smethurst began a medical career, having undergone an apprenticeship under the Society of Apothecaries from 15 November 1824 and had been with James Hay of Newgate Street for five years. He had attended courses in anatomy and physiology at the Westminster Dispensary. He was examined on 28 March 1833, but failed, so took his examination in the following year, twice, before successfully qualifying on 18 September 1834. However, on 25 March of that year, he had already begun operating as a surgeon, chemist and druggist in Clapham Street, Stockwell, insuring the premises for £500, and this was where he lived, and remained there until at least 1838. In 1841, he lived in Preston by Wingham, Kent. In the following year he spent ‘a residence of some months’ at Grafenberg, in Bavaria. There he observed the hydrotherapeutic establishments and on his return to England, he had a book, Hydrotherepia: Or the Water Cure, Being a Practical View of the Cure in all its Bearings, Exhibiting the Great Utility of Water as a Preservative of Health and Remedy for Disease, published in 1843 and wh
ich was republished in the early twenty-first century. He said it was based on ‘careful study, diligent inquiries and observations’ and claimed that ‘in water we have one of the most powerful therapeutic agents yet discovered’.

  It was also at this time that the initials ‘M.D.’ were first seen after his name, though they are not listed in his entry in The Medical Directory. It is certain that he bought his degree in medicine, which was then quite easy to do. He had two medical practitioners, who had known him for some time sign a certificate that he was competent, then sent a fee to a legitimate university, who would send him his degree. Such initials after his name would increase his repute and standing and thus encourage greater custom. According to the 1851 census he had his degree from St Andrew’s University, Scotland, but other sources mention Erlangen and Giessen, both in Bavaria and not far from Grafenberg and it is probable he bought his degree from one of these two.

  By 1843 the Smethursts lived at Spencer House, Ramsgate, and had founded one of only four hydrotherapic establishments in England. But they did not stay there too long, for in 1847 they were at Harrington Square, north London. Moving on again, in 1851 they were at Moor End Park, Farnham, Surrey. From about 1850–55, he ran a hydropathic establishment there. He seems to have been at least moderately successful, for in 1859 a patient fondly recalled his treating him. Furthermore, they had three domestic servants listed as living with them. In 1855, Smethurst sold his practice to Edward Wickstead Lane. This was the last time he practised medicine. The couple then toured around the Continent, ‘travelling about and living in Paris and also at different places in Germany’. Smethurst was reasonably well off, and, according to his brother James, had an income of about £240 per annum from property, plus fees from occasional private commissions.