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<p align="center"><font size=6><img src="gifs/title.gif" width="320" height="184" alt="A Most Curious Murder - The Madeleine Smith Story" hspace="5" align="middle"><br />
</font><font size="1" face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">RESEARCHED
AND WRITTEN BY Jimmy Powdrell Campbell</font><font size=6> </font></p>
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<p align="left"><font color="#000000"> To her family, she was just Grandma Wardle
and if she left the room when the topic of conversation turned to family and
times past, no-one gave it a thought. Her grandfather was one of Scotland's
greatest architects yet, for all the years she had lived in America, she had
never mentioned his name. She had danced at society balls in Edinburgh Castle
yet she never spoke about Scotland. She was just Grandma Wardle and, in the
words of one of her great-grandchildren, "it's hard to imagine her even having
a boyfriend, let alone being accused of murdering one." </font></p>
<p><font color="#000000">On the 9th July 1857, a 22 year old girl left the High
Court in Edinburgh by the side door and a myth was born. The charge had been
murder, the verdict "<i>not proven</i>" and, since that day, the case
of the "enigmatic" Miss <person>Madeleine Smith</person> has provided an easy
storyline for many a writer. Arsenic in the cocoa - the cold, callous girl who
poisoned her French lover - all good stuff for the murder/mystery fans but a
far cry from the truth of a case which some legal experts have argued should
never have gone to trial in the first place. </font>
<p><font color="#000000">After seven years of research into the case, one remarkable
fact is clear to me: crucial evidence was overlooked - evidence which effectively
turns this already fascinating case on its head. This evidence indicates that
a murder was attempted not by the accused but by the deceased <person>Pierre
Emile L'Angelier</person> and that, had everything gone according to plan, Madeleine
would have died just as surely as if she had been poisoned. The murder weapon,
however, would have been nothing less than the machinery of Justice - and the
gallows. </font>
<p><font color="#000000">That successive writers can overlook the same material
facts is, perhaps, understandable but much less so is the distortion of the
personalities of the principle players: Mr Smith - supposedly the stuffy, pompous,
Victorian patriarch; Madeleine Hamilton Smith - the over-sexed, seductive psychopath;
and Emile L'Angelier - the innocent, ill-fated victim of love. Put the real
people into the equation and a very different story emerges... </font>
<p>In each generation, only a handful of men can be said to have earned both the
highest esteem and the warmest affection of their peers. Madeleine's grandfather,
<person>David Hamilton</person>, was one of these <img src="jpgs/DavidH.jpg" hspace=4 vspace=4 height=210 width=135 align=RIGHT>few.
The son of a stonemason, he was born, 11th May 1768, into a Glasgow which gave
little indication of the grandeur of the "Second City" that was to come. The
site of George Square was, in those days, "a large hollow filled with green
water" where, apparently, folk came to drown kittens and where, on its banks,
dead horses were skinned. Only a short distance away in the Trongate, the Tobacco
Barons, with their scarlet cloaks, cocked hats and huge wigs could be seen "pacing
the plain stanes."
<p><a name="children"></a>Hamilton had progressed from stonemason to architect
by the age of 22 and four years later, on the 5th of May 1794, he married 16
year old Magdalene Marshall, the daughter of Glasgow wine merchant, John Marshall.
In the years between 1796 and 1817 they had 12 <a href="Children.htm">children</a>.
During that period, David Hamilton's status as an architect increased steadily.
There was, from the first, a fine sense of stature rather than ostentation in
his work; strength rather than the mere show of power or <a name="works"></a>wealth.
He seemed to give expression to a need which lay deep in the West of Scotland
psyche: the need not only for respect but, firstly, more importantly, self-respect.
A lifelong association with the City of Glasgow began in 1802 with the designs
of <a href="hutchesons.htm">Hutchieson’s Hospital</a> in Ingram Street and the
Theatre Royal in Queen Street. There followed a succession of civic, domestic
and ecclesiastic <a href="Works.htm">works</a> which took him to the top of
the profession in the West of Scotland.
<p>His popularity was, of course, entirely due to his outstanding ability but
on a personal level, he was also an immensely likeable individual. He had the
knack of inspiring admiration without envy and the only criticism that can be
found to have been levelled against him was to the effect that he had a tendency
to forget the passage of time when enjoying good company. His fame, it was asserted,
could have spread so much further had he applied himself more assiduously to
study rather than "social pleasure".
<p>Tragedy struck in 1821 when William, aged 25, and David, 19, Hamilton’s two
eldest sons, who had followed him in his profession, died within two days of
each other. It was reported that William had appeared in perfect health and
was writing to inform relatives of his brother’s death yet, by the next day,
he too was dead. Their sister, Helen, was another who would not survive her
parents: she died, at age 28, two years after her marriage and after the birth
of her daughter, Magdalene McCallum who was then brought up in the Hamilton
household.
<p><a name="Palace"></a>In 1822, the Duke of Hamilton engaged David Hamilton for
the re-building of Hamilton Palace. The work which was undertaken there was
on a scale which almost defies description <a href="Palace.htm"><img src="jpgs/palacesm.JPG" alt="Duke of Hamilton's Palace - CLICK TO VIEW" hspace=4 vspace=4 border=0 height=92 width=212 align=RIGHT></a>
(although in 1835 "The New Statistical Account" was to make a bold stab at quantifying
what had taken place - "<i>there were employed in the building the addition
to the palace: 28,056 tons of stones drawn by 22,528 horses; 5,534 tons of lime,
sand, stucco, wood etc. drawn by 5,196 horses.</i>" Prior to David Hamilton's
engagement, more than one distinguished and eminent European architect seems
to have fallen in and out of favour with the Duke so it is difficult to be clear
on the actual contribution made by each to the design but it seems that each,
in turn, was presented with the plans of his predecessor and, ultimately, as
is the custom, the Duke himself would take the credit for the regal splendour
of the finished work which was, in every detail, of his own choosing.
<p><a name="Royal Exchange"></a>Hamilton Palace, now demolished, was, without
argument, David Hamilton's most magnificent achievement but the familiar, stately
elegance of the <a href="RoyalExchangeHistory.htm">Royal Exchange</a> in Queen
Street will always<a href="RoyalExchangeHistory.htm"><img src="jpgs/frank%27s.JPG" alt="The Royal Exchange - CLICK FOR MORE IMAGES AND INFORMATION" hspace=4 vspace=4 border=0 height=143 width=221 align=LEFT></a>
be commemorative of the man and his time. Work began on the conversion of the
old mansion which stood on the site in 1827. The year previous, work had begun
on the new Royal Bank building (designed by Archibald Elliot Jnr.) which stands
to the west of (i.e. behind) the Exchange, and the builders who won that prestigious
contract were the company of John Smith & Son, from Alloa.
<p><a name="Alloa"></a>The Smiths were, from the outset, well-connected. Alloa
was then an important inland port and noted also, as it is today, for its breweries.
Forty-four year old <person>John Smith</person>, although new to Glasgow, was
a well known mason-builder in his home town but, more relevantly, his wife,
Elizabeth Thomson, was the daughter of Alloa maltster, Thomas Thomson and the
sister of John Thomson - the head of the Royal Bank in Glasgow. It’s also worth
mentioning that, like most mason-builders, John Smith was a Freemason and that
one of the most obvious benefits of the brotherhood, if also the most misinterpreted,
is the ease with which Freemasons can find new friends - anywhere. He had been
in the chair of his Mother Lodge in Alloa, as had David Hamilton in his lodge,
the Incorporation of Masons, in Glasgow (now Lodge 3bis), so his arrival in
Glasgow was not as a stranger from Alloa but as a brother from Alloa.
<p>Smith’s firm was subsequently contracted for the building of the Royal Exchange
and they also worked closely with David Hamilton (partly as building contractors,
partly as property developers) on the modification and execution of Elliot Jnr.'s
design of the Royal Exchange Square, fire having destroyed, in 1829, the Theatre
Royal which stood at the corner of Queen Street, on the north side of the square.
The property which the Smiths built on that side remained on their hands for
some time. Smith's son, James, lived in one of the houses, at one point, and
the rest were let until buyers could be found.
<p><a name="233-5 Buchanan St"></a>James Smith was twenty three years old when,
with due ceremony (and a 500 place dinner), the Royal Exchange was opened on
the 3rd September 1829. A partner in his father's company, a timber merchant
and an aspiring architect, he had an enthusiasm for business which was only
matched by his relish for social occasions. He was very much at home in the
buzz of Glasgow society. He had also been made to feel very much at home at
233 Buchanan Street: the office and residence of David Hamilton.
<p>A brief, priceless glimpse of that residence and its occupants was provided
in an article, the draught of a speech delivered near the end of the century
by an old architect, Thomas Gildard, who had been a pupil of Hamilton's. Gildard
wrote, <font color="#990000">"<i>in December 1838, I was apprenticed for five
years with Messrs David & James Hamilton, whose office was at the head of
Buchanan Street, on the site now occupied by the Langham Hotel. The house was
a self-contained one of three stories, the first a few steps above the street.
On the street floor, the office was to the right of the entrance lobby and Mr
Hamilton's room to the left; and behind were kitchens, servant's quarters etc.
Up one stair was a very handsome room which served the purpose of both dining-room
and drawing-room; and a library of a somewhat unique plan which could be connected
with it. Behind, and in the floor above were bedrooms.</i></font>
<p><font color="#990000">"<i>Mr Hamilton was in about his seventieth year, and
was a man of most impressive presence, frank and kindly in manner, and with
a bearing of easy dignity. He was what is commonly or conventionally called
somewhat "aristocratic" in appearance, and in social intercourse was distinguished
by much grace and courtesy. He was a man eminently to be looked up to. James,
his son, who had not much more than attained his majority, was tall and remarkably
handsome, his fine features somewhat of an Italian cast, and his long, glossy
black hair rolling in ringlets.</i></font>
<p><font color="#990000">"<i>When I entered the office the late Mr Rochead had
been in it six months a draughtsman and my friend, Mr Baird, a year or two.
As the house and office were together, the lads, as we were called, were occasionally
favoured by a visit from Mrs Hamilton and her daughters; indeed, Mrs Hamilton
looked in almost every morning, took a seat, and had a kindly chat with us for
half-an-hour or so. It seemed almost as if we were living "in family" and although
it is a long time since, there remains with me a pleasant impression of the
homely, hearty kindness that I experienced from all the Hamiltons under the
old-fashioned arrangement of house and office together. Occasionally we dined
in state with the family and sometimes we were favoured with a Saturday excursion
to some important work in progress in the country.</i></font>
<p><i><font color="#990000">"Mr Hamilton had formed an excellent library of not
only great books on architecture but of books illustrative of painting and sculpture.
He had also many choice line engravings and other things that might be expected
in the house of a family all of inborn and suave and highly cultivated taste.
He was the recognised head of the profession. His position was unique and as
his fame had gone beyond, he had, I might almost say, frequent visits from men
of eminence in the arts, bearing letters of introduction. I remember seeing
Kemp, the architect of the Scott Monument, and Mr Hamilton bringing him down
stairs to see the office.</font></i>
<p><i><font color="#990000">"Mr James (Hamilton), Mr Rochead and Mr Baird were
alike assiduous in the instructing of the apprentices; if there was a fault
at all, it was in the apprentices being dealt with too much like pupils instead
of being made immediately useful.</font></i>
<p><font color="#990000"><i>"The office hours were from nine till seven, the hour
between four and five being the interval for dinner. On Saturdays the office
closed at four. There was no gas in the office and, in the winter evenings we
wrought by candlelight.</i>"</font>
<p>Long before the work at Exchange Square was completed, James Smith had become
a close friend of the Hamilton family, and, clearly, his admiration was not
restricted to the head of the household. The Glasgow Herald of the 29th March
1833 carried the following announcement: "<i>At Buchanan St, on 26th inst.,
by Rev Mr Henderson of St Enochs, James Smith Esq., wood merchant, Glasgow,
to Janet, daughter of David Hamilton, Esq., architect, Glasgow.</i>"
<p>Two years later, on the 29th of March 1835, their first daughter was born and
on Friday the 3rd April, the small announcement in the Herald read, "<i>At 167
Regent Street, on the 29th March, Mrs James Smith; of a daughter.</i>" She was
given her grandmother's name, Magdalene (later to become Madeleine). Her sister,
Betsy, was born at the same address in 1837 and her brother, John, at Bedford
Place (Renfrew St) in 1839. Another brother, David, was born the following year
but, tragically, he died at only one month old. The youngest members of the
family, James and Janet, were both born at "Birkenshaw Cottage" in Eastwood,
Renfrewshire, in 1842 and 1844 respectively.
<p><a name="1841"></a>John Smith, had been a tenant at "Birkenshaw House" since
1835. He later purchased the property and adjoining estate and began work to
improve upon his investment. Much of the gardens and walks throughout the grounds
survive today in Rouken <a href="Birkenshaw.htm"><img src="jpgs/smlbirk.JPG" alt="Birkenshaw House - click to view" hspace=4 vspace=4 border=0 height=97 width=137 align=RIGHT></a>
Glen Park. James Smith, by now receiving recognition as an architect, was also
involved and, by <a href="Census.htm#1841/Birkenshaw">1841</a>, the families
of both Smith Senior and Junior were residing at Birkenshaw House and Cottage.
<p><a name="1843"></a>An air of unassailable prosperity surrounded Birkenshaw
but the Smiths’ business interests were not confined to property. John Smith
was also a director of several insurance companies - The Glasgow Insurance Company
and Fire and Life, The Scottish Marine Insurance Company and The Glasgow Marine
Insurance Company. In August 1843, The Glasgow Marine reported that it had lost
its entire paid-up capital and the shareholders held the first of several meetings
to decide the propriety of dissolution. A few weeks earlier, firstly James Smith
then his brothers, John Jnr. and Henry, and finally John Smith Snr. had filed
for bankruptcy.
<p>1843 was a black year for the family and, in December, the failing health of
David Hamilton was its Parthian shot. The following excerpt from the Glasgow
Citizen brings to a close this fragment of his story:<font color="#990000">
"Our obituary this day contains the name of Mr Hamilton, the eminent architect.
About two years ago, he had an attack of paralysis, from which he never thoroughly
recovered; and for some time past he had been in a declining state of health.
His death took place at two o'clock, on the morning of Tuesday last (5th Dec).
He was in the seventy-sixth year of his age.</font>
<p><font color="#990000">"Mr Hamilton’s professional abilities were of the first
order; and in private life, he was distinguished for the singular amiability
of his character, the unaffected modesty of his disposition, the vivacity of
his conversation, enlivened as it often was with anecdotes of the olden time,
and for his genuine worth of heart, lack of self-interest, and his sense of
honour.</font>
<p><font color="#990000">"…Few men had more attached friends or were more warm
in their friendships. He was much esteemed by his professional brethren; and
neither jealousy nor unworthy rivalry had any place in their intercourse. He
has bequeathed to all who knew him, the memory of a good example - he survives
in the affections of his friends - and the numerous splendid works he has left
behind, may be regarded as so many monuments commemorative of his genius."</font>
<p>The respect attached to Hamilton's name, in architectural circles, remained
undiminished, but few of his contemporaries would have believed that, in the
years to come, his fame would be surpassed by the notoriety of his grand-daughter.
<table border=0 cellspacing=0 cellpadding=0 >
<tr>
<td><a name="Collegiate"></a>By the end of September 1845, James Smith’s sequestration
had been discharged followed by John Smith’s in April ’46 (seven years before
his death at age 73). Birkenshaw was lost but the Smiths’ many friends had
stood by them and by the 1850’s James Smith was right back on top and at
the hub of Glasgow society. </td>
<td><a href="Collegiate.htm"><img src="jpgs/cllgsmll.JPG" alt="The Collegiate School (architect: James Smith) - click to view" border=0 height=132 width=241></a>
<div align=right><font size=-2> Collegiate School - Lithograph
by the architect, James Smith</font></div>
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<a name="Miss Gorton's"></a>At the age of eighteen, Madeleine returned from her
London finishing school to take up her place as one of the city’s most eligible
daughters. She was described by a contemporary <a href="Family.htm"><img src="jpgs/smadcls.JPG" alt="Madeleine... from the Smith Family Portrait - CLICK TO VIEW" border=0 height=148 width=139 align=LEFT></a>as
being "<i>strikingly attractive, stylish, confident, with dark hair and the most
entrancing grey eyes… Her appearance in any of Glasgow's public promenades or
in its social circles was always marked with an admiring welcome and a flattering
sensation</i>." In preparation for her future, she was given responsibility for
the household management and joined the Smiths’ endless round of social engagements,
often acting as hostess for the family’s frequent dinner parties.
<p><a name="Rainbow"></a>Forty miles away, and in another world entirely, Pierre
Emile L’Angelier was a guest of the Rainbow Tavern in Edinburgh. The owner’s
nephew recounts, "I acted as waiter in the Rainbow <a href="Emile.htm"><img src="jpgs/emile_th.JPG" alt="Emile... click to view full size image" hspace=2 vspace=8 border=0 height=148 width=116 align=RIGHT></a>Tavern
and, when there, I was acquainted with L'Angelier. That was in 1851. He lived
in the Rainbow between six and nine months, as far as I recollect. He was there
till the time he went to Dundee. The tavern was then kept by an uncle of mine,
Mr. George Baker.
<p>"L’Angelier’s circumstances were very bad; he was living on Mr. Baker's bounty
- waiting there till he got a situation. I thought him a quiet sort of person
but he was very easily excited and, at times, subject to low spirits. I have
often seen him crying at night. Latterly, before he went to Dundee, he told
me he was tired of his existence and wished himself out of the world. He said
so on more than one occasion. I remember on one occasion he got out of bed and
went to the window and threw it up. I rose out of bed and went to him, and he
said that if I had not disturbed him he would have thrown himself out. The windows
of the Rainbow are about six stories from the ground - the height of the North
Bridge, indeed. He was very cool, collected, and did not seem at all agitated
when I spoke to him. I thought he was in earnest. He had talked about it so
often before.
<p>"He would often of get up at night and walk up and down the room weeping very
much. I happened to know that he had, at this time, met with a disappointment
in a love matter. It was about some lady in Fife. He was in, distress about
not having a situation in order to enable him to keep to his engagement with
her.
<p>"We sometimes walked together, in the morning, before business began. One morning,
we had walked to Leith Pier and he said he had a great mind to throw himself
over because he was quite tired of his existence. I have seen him reading newspaper
accounts of suicide, and I have heard him say that here was a person who had
the courage that he should have had, that he wished he had the same courage,
or something to that effect."
<p><a name="MacKay"></a><a name="Edinburgh"></a>Another guest of the Rainbow Tavern,
at that time, was Dublin merchant, Edward Vokes MacKay. "I had several meetings
and conversations with L’Angelier," MacKay recalled. "I saw quite enough of
him to enable me to form an opinion of his character and disposition and formed
anything but a good opinion of him. I considered him a vain, lying fellow. He
was very boastful of his personal appearance, and parties admiring him, ladies
particularly. He boasted of his high acquaintances repeatedly, and the high
society he had moved in. That was when he returned from the Continent, when
he became more or less of a man - he was quite a lad when I first saw him. He
mentioned several titled people whom he had known; but not believing anything
he was saying at the time I did not store up in my mind any of their titles.
<p><a href="#" onMouseOver="MM_openBrWindow('Gardens.htm','TheGardens','width=534,height=302')"><img src="jpgs/gardensSm.jpg" width="194" height="113" align="left" border="0"></a>"Shortly
before he went to Dundee I met him one evening in Princes Street Gardens. I
could not say the date, but he went to Dundee the following day. He was sitting
in the garden by himself. I came on him accidentally. He had his head in his
cambric pocket handkerchief. I put my hand on him and said, "L'Angelier." He
held up his head, and I perceived he had been crying. His eyes had the appearance
of much weeping. He mentioned that a lady in Fifeshire had slighted him; but
I made light of the matter. He made a long complaint about her family, and was
much excited.
<p>"He said ladies admired him very often. I remember one occasion particularly,
when he came in when I was reading the papers in the Rainbow. He told me he
had met a lady in Princes Street with another lady, and she had remarked to
her companion what pretty little feet he had. I had said he was rather a pretty
little person, and he had gone out and concocted the story of the lady’s remark.
I never believed anything he said afterwards. It was a common thing for him
to speak of ladies admiring him on the street. To a certain extent I believed
the story about the Fife lady. I believed there was a lady there, and that he
was after her, for I had seen him weep about it. When I saw him weep I believed
there was something."
<p><a name="Laird"></a>For all his immaturity, however, Emile L'Angelier was,
to his employers, a courteous and conscientious worker. He eventually found
work with William Laird, a seed merchant in Dundee, who remembers L’Angelier
as "a very sober young man, and very kind and obliging; rather excitable and
changeable in his temper, sometimes very melancholy and sometimes very lively.
He assisted me in the seed shop chiefly; sometimes he wrought at light work
in the nursery too.
<p>"When he came to me in January he had a kind of cold; he was unwell, and very
dull. He did not tell me at first, but shortly afterwards - a fortnight or a
month after he came - he told me that he had been crossed in love. He told me
it was reported that the girl was to be married to another but that he could
scarcely believe it, because he did not think she could take another. I understood
that that was because she was pledged to him. He told me who she was. I believe
she was in the middle station of life.
<p><a name="Pringle"></a>"After this I saw her marriage in the newspapers. I got
a letter from my brother in Edinburgh, asking if L'Angelier had seen in the
Scotsman newspaper a notice of the marriage. L'Angelier had seen that notice.
<a href="Defence.htm#WilliamPringle">One of the apprentices</a> told me something
L’Angelier had done about that matter, which led me to speak to him. I told
him I was sorry to see him so melancholy and sad, and that I was still more
so to hear that he had taken up a knife to stab himself. He said very little,
and was very dull. I said what I could to soothe him. He said he was truly miserable,
and that he wished he was out of the world, or words to that effect. He was
in a very melancholy state after this. He was gloomy and moody, and never speaking
to anyone."
<p><a name="Anderson"></a>By the time he had become acquainted with William Anderson,
another Dundee nurseryman, L’Angelier’s anguish over the lady in Fife was evidently
gone but not forgotten. Anderson remarked, "when women were a matter of conversation
he spoke much of that. He boasted of his success with ladies. He said he did
not know very well what he would do if he was jilted, and he said something
to the effect that he would have revenge on them in some shape or other if they
did jilt him. I remember on one occasion particularly, in my own house at supper,
he told me he was very intimate with two ladies in Dundee at the time, and that
it seemed to him his attachment for them was returned, and that they were both
very beautiful girls, and worth a considerable sum of money."
<p><a name="Hill"></a>David Hill, a market gardener in Dundee, who was also in
Laird's employment when L'Angelier was there in 1852 provides a first glimpse
of another aspect of Emile L’Angelier’s character. Some time before L’Angelier
started with Laird, Hill had found, in a wood near Dundee, a small parcel which
he believed to be arsenic. He put it in his pocket and a party to whom he later
showed it, confirmed it to be arsenic. Hill said, "I don't recollect how long
this was before L’Angelier came. I spoke to him about it after he came. I told
him of finding it there, and he told me that was nothing strange, and that he
used it regularly. I don't recollect of anything more passing. He did not say
for what purpose he used it regularly. I have been trying to remember, but I
can’t."
<p><a name="Ogilvie"></a>The subject of arsenic came up in conversation with William
Ogilvie, an assistant teller in the Dundee Bank and the secretary, in 1852,
to the Floral and Horticultural Society in Dundee which held some of the meetings
in Laird's back-shop. "We became very intimate, and frequently conversed together,"
Ogilvie recalled. "He once spoke to me about having been in France, and about
travelling there. He said he was travelling, as I understood, with some person
of distinction. He said he had got charge of all their luggage, carriages, and
horses - everything in fact. He seemed to have a general superintendence.
<p>"He said that on one occasion the horses were very much ‘knocked up,’ and that
he had given them arsenic. I was not acquainted with the effects of arsenic,
and when he mentioned the circumstance, I was interested in it and asked him
about it. He said he gave it to them to make them accomplish the journey. I
asked what effect this had, and he said it made them long-winded, and thus made
them able to accomplish a feat. I asked if he was not afraid of poisoning them;
and he said, ‘Oh no,’ so far from doing that, he had taken it himself. I told
him I should not like to try it, and he seemed to say he had not felt any bad
effects from it, that there had been no danger or expressions to that effect.
<p>"He mentioned another effect of arsenic, which was that it improved the complexion.
I inferred from his remarks that he took it for that purpose. He did not exactly
say so, but I understood that was one of the reasons why he took, it. He also
said that he complained of pains in his back, and had a little difficulty in
breathing, and he said it had a good effect in that way. I am not sure he ever
showed me arsenic. I rather think he did on that occasion - that he opened his
desk and showed me a paper containing something white; he either showed it to
me or said he had it. At the same time he showed me a very fine specimen of
copper ore. It was that which led to the conversation about arsenic. He said
he had got it in travelling, and that led to the conversation about the journey
and the arsenic.
<p>"I have seen him on more than one occasion eat poppy-seeds in large quantities
- in handfuls - in the shop. I remarked this the first occasion I saw him. Some
person had come into the shop for it, and when they went away he ate some of
it. I expressed surprise, and he said that, so far from being dangerous, it
was much better than filberts, and that he took it in large quantities. He said
he had taken the poppy-seeds in such quantities that he had got quite giddy
with them. He said he had done that when he was in Dickson & Co.'s."
<p>Whatever Emile L’Angelier wanted from life, he eventually decided it was not
to be found in Dundee. His ambition, his instincts and his destiny drew him
towards the second city of the Empire.
<p><a name="Argyle Street"></a>In the 1850's, the two faces of Glasgow, East and
West, were in sharp contrast. The industrial capital of Scotland would, on his
approach, present a sombre picture. As he entered the outskirts, his ear would
be dinned by the whirring of spindles, the pounding of power looms, or the brattling
of hammers. He would pass along the main thoroughfare of the city, Argyle Street,
at that time, one of the most spacious streets in Europe. Then, to the north
and extending to the westward, he would enter a patrician locality in which
is congregated all that is most refined, elevated and opulent, in a manufacturing
aristocracy. The luxury, the architecture and its accompanying lifestyle could
hardly have been further removed from the rat-infested squalor of Emile's first
lodgings in the slum quarters of the city but, in the fullness of time, one
of these palatial residences would become central to his very existence - number
7 Blythswood Square, the home of <person>Madeleine Hamilton Smith</person>.
<p><a name="Wallace"></a>To all appearances, it was a very stable and upstanding
young man who arrived in Glasgow. His landlady, Mrs Elizabeth Wallace, remembered
him saying "he had come to be in some mercantile office; he had been a lieutenant
in the navy at one time; and that he had been long out of a situation." He mentioned
nothing to her about having been in Dundee, but he said he had been frequently
in Fife, and that he knew some families there.
<p><a name="DeMean"></a>Soon after his arrival, L’Angelier became acquainted with
the chancellor to the French Consul at Glasgow, Auguste De Mean. De Mean <a href="Prosecution.htm#DeMean">recalled</a>
that L’Angelier once spoke to him about arsenic. "I don’t remember how the conversation
arose," he said. "It lasted about half an hour. Its purport was how much arsenic
a person could take without being injured by it. He maintained that it was possible
to do it by taking small quantities."
<p><a name="Roberts"></a>On Christmas Day 1853, Glasgow merchant William D’Esterre
Roberts offered a seasonal hand of friendship to the young man who sat next
to him at St Judes church every Sunday. D’Esterre Roberts remembered that "there
were a few friends at dinner. When the ladies retired L’Angelier became very
ill, and wished to leave the room. I went with him, and came back to the dining-room,
and remained some time. I wondered why he did not come. I opened the dining-room
door, and heard a groan as of some person vomiting. I found him very ill - vomiting
and purging. A good many gentlemen came out of the room and saw him. I sent
for cholera mixture, and gave him a good deal of it. He nearly emptied the bottle.
I got very much frightened, as cholera had been in the town shortly before.
After a time, one of the gentlemen took him in a cab to his lodgings. He called
on me the next, day or day after that, to apologise for his illness. He was
nearly two hours, ill in my house."
<p>An elderly lady who had made his acquaintance in Edinburgh brought Emile an
introduction to Huggins and Co., warehousemen of Bothwell Street, who employed
him as a packing clerk, at a wage of 10 shillings a week but, before long, an
opportunity arose which might relieve him altogether of the need to work. Emile's
first attempt to marry into a family of position may have ended in disaster
but he had by no means given up on the idea. It was just a matter of targeting
the right family.
<p><a name="1854"></a>Another regular attender at St Judes was a rather well-to-do,
thirty-six year old spinster, <a href="who.htm#MissPerry"><img src="jpgs/144c.jpg" width="205" height="142" align="right" border="0" alt="more on 144 Renfrew Street"></a>Miss
Mary Perry. Miss Perry lived in comfortable elegance at 144 Renfrew Street.
She first met Emile around the end of 1853 and by spring 1855, he had become
a frequent visitor at her house, dining with her occasionally. And it was there
that Emile identified his target - not Miss Perry but the daughter of the wealthy
architect of the new McLellan Galleries who, at that time, lived just a few
doors away at <a href="Census.htm#1854">number 164</a>, James Smith.
<p>Fate next dealt Emile another apparently winning hand when a colleague at Huggins
offered that his nephew, Charles Baird knew the Smith family. Emile reasoned
that if he could befriend Baird, then a meeting with the Smiths’ daughter could
be arranged.<a name="Robert"></a>Charles Baird proved to be of little assistance
but his seventeen year old brother, Robert, was easier to manipulate. Robert
recalled, "he several times asked me to introduce him to Miss Smith, and he
seemed very pressing about it. I asked my uncle to introduce them, thinking
it would be better to come from him than from me, but he declined. I think I
then asked my mother to ask Miss Smith some evening, that I might ask L’Angelier,
and introduce him. She declined to do so."
<p> <a href="mclellan.htm" onMouseOver="MM_openBrWindow('mclellan.htm','McLellan','width=573,height=395')"><img src="jpgs/mclellansm.jpg" alt="click to view larger image" border=0 height=217 width=297 align="left" vspace="4" hspace="4"></a>In
the end, L’Angelier persuaded Robert Baird to walk with him on Sauchiehall Street
and, eventually, as Madeleine and her sister, Bessie, emerged from one of the
shops, Emile was introduced to the girls. Etiquette of the day would have
demanded a polite indifference on the part of Madeleine, for such a casual introduction
was, in the first place, inappropriate but if Emile cared little for the Victorian
proprieties, Madeleine cared even less. She found the Frenchman exciting, charming
and altogether different from the slightly boring young men who proliferated
in Scottish society. On that first occasion, nothing was spoken that was not
entirely proper but both Madeleine and Emile knew that, in the next few days,
they would meet again.
<p>There was never any possibility of Emile being accepted by Mr and Mrs Smith
as suitable company for their daughter but the inevitable clandestine nature
of the affair, as it progressed from pleasant conversation to a passionate intimacy,
only served to increase the already uncontrollable attraction and the thrill
of this liaison dangereux.</p>
"<i>My dear Emile,- I do not feel as if I were writing to you for the first time.
Though our intercourse has been very short, yet we have become as familiar friends.
May we long continue so. And ere long, may you be a friend of papa’s is my most
earnest desire."</i>
<p><i>"It's rather dull here in Rhu after the excitement of the city. I often
wish you were near us. We could take such charming walks. One enjoys walking
with a pleasant companion and where could we find one equal to yourself?</i>
<p><i>"I am trying to break myself off all my very bad habits. It is you I have
to thank for this for which I do sincerely.</i>
<p><i>"We'll be in town next week. We are going to the ball on the 20th, so we'll
be several times in Glasgow before that</i>."
<p>Thus, candidly, thoughtlessly, began a correspondence which, in time, was to
acquire a dreadful significance.
<p>"<i>My Dear Emile,- Many thanks for your last kind epistle. We are to be in
town tomorrow (Wednesday). Bessie said I was not to let you know. But I must
tell you why!</i>
<p><i>"Well, some friend was kind enough to tell Papa that you were in the habit
of walking with us. Papa was very angry with me for walking with a gentleman
unknown to him. I told him he had been introduced, and I saw no harm in it.
Bessie joins with Papa and blames me for the whole affair. She does not know
I am writing to you so don't mention it...</i>
<p><i>"… Rest assured that I shall not mention to anyone that you have written
me. I know, from experience, that the world is not lenient in its observations.
But I don't care for the world's remarks so long as my own heart tells me I
am doing nothing wrong. Only if the day is fine, expect us tomorrow. Not a word
of this letter. Adieu till we meet. Believe me, yours most sincerely, Madeleine.</i>"
<p>By December of 1855, Madeleine was signing her letters "Mimi L'Angelier."
<p>"<i>My darling husband,- I am afraid I may be too late to write you this evening
so, as all are out, I shall do it now.</i>
<p><i>"I did not expect the pleasure of seeing you last evening, of being fondled
by you, dear, dear, Emile. I trust, ere long, to have a long, long interview
with you, my sweet love, my own best beloved.</i>
<p><i>"Is it not horrid cold weather? I did, my love, so pity you standing in
the cold last night, but I could not get my sister, Janet, to sleep - little
stupid thing.</i>
<p><i>"My own sweet beloved, I can say nothing as to our marriage, as it is not
certain when I may go to Edinburgh. I fear the Banns in Glasgow, there are so
many people know me. If I had any other name but Madeleine, it might pass, but
it is not a very common one.</i>"
<p>Madeleine was a prolific letter writer. She would write on any scrap of paper
that was to hand, using both sides, writing all the way around the edges and,
occasionally, even across and at right angles to the lines she had already put
down. She would express her every thought, as it occurred, her mind flitting
from the passionate to the trivial and back again, as if each were of equal
importance.
<p>Her naivety in putting pen to paper without once considering the consequences,
should the letters ever fall into the wrong hands, contrasted with Emile's curiously
deliberate approach to the correspondence, making and keeping draft copies some
of his letters to her.
<p><i>"My dearest and beloved wife Mimi,- since I saw you I have been wretchedly
sad. Would to God we had not met last night - I would have been much happier.
I am sad at what we did. I regret it very much.</i>
<p><i>"Why, Mimi, did you give way after your promises? My pet, it is a pity.
Think of the consequences if I were never to marry you. What reproaches I should
have, Mimi. I never shall be happy again. If I ever meet you again, love, it
must be as at first.</i>
<p><i>"Truly, dearest, I am in such a state of mind, I do not care if I were dead.
We did wrong. God forgive us for it. Mimi, we have loved blindly. It is your
parents’ fault if shame is the result. They are to blame for it all.</i>
<p><i>"Mimi, dearest, you must take a bold step to be my wife. I entreat you,
Pet, by the love you have for me, Mimi, do speak to your mother. Tell her it
is the last time you ever shall speak of me to her.</i>
<p><i>"Unless you do something of that sort, Heaven only knows when I shall marry
you. Unless you do, dearest, I shall leave the country. You are right, Mimi.
You cannot be the wife of anyone else than me.</i>
<p><i>"I do not understand, my Pet, your not bleeding, for every woman having
her virginity must bleed. You must have done so some other time. Try to remember
if you never hurt yourself in washing etc. I am sorry you felt pain. I hope,
Pet, you are better.</i>
<p><i>"I trust, dearest, you will not be with child. Be sure and tell me immediately
you are ill next time, and if at your regular period. I was not angry at your
allowing me, Mimi, but I am sad it happened. You had no resolution. I shall
look with regret on that night. No, nothing except our marriage will efface
it from my memory.</i>
<p><i>"For God's sake burn this, Mimi, for fear anything happens to you, do dearest</i>."
<p>It's important to put this ostensibly private correspondence between two "lovers"
in context. The trauma of L'Angelier having been jilted by the "Lady in Fife"
plays a much bigger part in this case than has been previously recognised. She
was a member of one of the oldest and most influential families in Fife and
L'Angelier, in his imagination, had seen himself being more or less co-opted
into the Scottish aristocracy. Her family had managed to put a stop to the relationship
before any harm came of it and all accounts of his behaviour at this time tell
the same story - of a man who has been robbed a dream of promised riches and
position. His many threats of suicide and his almost manic self-pity were succeeded
by a resolve that he would never again suffer the same disappointment. In July
1855, Mr Smith found out that his eldest daughter had been seeing L'Angelier.
Madeleine had to give her word that she would break off with him. L'Angelier's
<a href="letters_L.htm#July1855">reply</a> to her letter was a taste of what
was to come. One line in particular - "<i>think what your father would say if
I sent him your letters for a perusal</i>" - was, even then, little more than
thinly veiled blackmail. From the start of the relationship with Madeleine,
L'Angelier had manipulated the tone of the correspondence, encouraging her to
write in ever more explicit and passionate terms - frequently complaining whenever
her letters were too "cool." The letters were always intended as a proof of
their intimacy. At one point we even see the sudden realisation that the signature
"Mimi" might not be clear enough evidence of the identity of the writer and
we have Madeleine explaining that she never signs her full name, unless to someone
she doesn't know - and her next letter then signed "Madeleine Hamilton Smith."
<p><a name="Rowaleyn"></a>Emile was well aware of the fact that Mr and Mrs Smith
would not readily accept him as a suitable husband for Madeleine. <a href="Rowaleyn.htm" onMouseOver="MM_openBrWindow('Rowaleyn.htm','rhu','scrollbars=yes,width=520,height=390')"><img src="jpgs/smrowlln.jpg" border=0 height=139 width=197 align="right" alt="Rowaleyn - Click to view more images"></a>What
he couldn't understand was - why? But, with or without the consent of Madeleine's
parents, they would be married in September. Mr Smith, given time to become
accustomed to the fact of his daughter's marriage, would surely come round to
seeing Emile in a different light and welcome him into the family. Emile reasoned
that the alternative - of a man of Smith's standing in the community allowing
his daughter to live on 10 shillings a week - would be unthinkable.
<p>To L'Angelier, the marriage represented the fulfilment of a long held and deeply
felt desire for rank and station but, to Madeleine, who's mind seldom strayed
from the very present, the affair itself was foremost. The idea of their marriage,
for her, was no more than a romantic notion, a fantasy in which she was pleased
to indulge, if that was a necessary part of the game. Although she gave every
indication of being distressed that her father was set against the match, Madeleine
had never actually sought or had any wish to discuss Emile with her father.
In reality, Mr Smith believed the book on that peculiar wee man to have been
closed long since.
<p>By the summer of 1856, the affair had passed its zenith. Where, previously,
Emile had felt justified in chastising Madeleine for her tendency to flirt,
there was now an increasing element of real concern that another man might be
competing for her affections and her denials probably caused him more alarm
than any rumours he might have heard.
<p>"<i>My own darling husband,- I am longing to see you, to kiss you and pet you.
Oh! for the day when I could do so at any time.</i>
<p><i>"The thought of those days makes me feel happy. If it were not for these
thoughts I should be sad, and weary of this cold, unfeeling, thoughtless world.
Wealth is the ruling passion. Love is a second consideration, when it should
be the first, the most important.</i>
<p><i>"How is Mary Perry? Love to her, and to your sister when you next write,
sweet one. I love you fondly, dearly, sincerely. I'm thy wife, thy own true
Mimi.</i>
<p><i>"True and constant shall I prove. Don't give ear to any reports you may
hear. There are several I've heard going about regarding me going to get married
- pay no attention to them. A kiss, dear love, from thy devoted and loving,
much attached wife, thine own - Mimi.</i>"
<p>The rumours, however, soon proved to have been founded in fact. The name of
William Minnoch appears, at first casually, in the correspondence. In a letter
written, in July, at Rowaleyn, the Smiths' country house in Rhu, near Helensburgh,
Madeleine writes...
<p>"<i>Dearest and beloved Emile,- I was rather stupid at our last meeting. I
had a cold and did not feel in good spirits, but I shall make it up for it in
our next.</i>
<p><i>"Emile, you made a rash promise to me in your last letter. You say, if I
were to die, you would never marry again. Now, this is wrong of you to say so.
You will promise me that, if I should die, you will marry, and that as soon
as you can. Is not a man more happy with a wife? Is she not a happiness and
a comfort to him - a solace to him in his sad hours - a help to him in his old
age - a blessing to him if he has a family. I think every man, as soon as he
can afford to keep a wife, should take a wife, and it would be more beneficial
to you than to others, as you have no mother nor sister here to take care of
you.</i>
<p><i>"And, darling Emile, never repeat again to me that life is a burden to you.
Remember you have a wife to think of now. When you are sad, think of your Mimi.
How I wish I were with you to comfort, to cheer you, my sweet one. Would I not
fondle and love you.</i>
<p><i>"I asked my brother, Jack, yesterday, if he had seen you. He said, 'yes,
I saw him on Friday, in a cab with a lady and gentleman.' He has got a very
fast look, Jack, of late. He is not improving, and James is just a very bad
little fellow. He swears and goes on at a great rate. Papa thinks it clever.
But he'll be broken in when he goes to school. I think he'll be a little blackguard
if he goes on at the present style.</i>
<p><i>"Minnoch was here today again (Monday). Only left on Saturday and back today
again. He was here for four hours. He brought a fellow, Weems, with him. I think
he might have a little better feeling than come so soon again, knowing that
everyone down here has heard the rumour regarding myself and him.</i>
<p><i>"Mama said it was enough to make people think there was something in the
report. Say nothing to him in passing. It will only make him rude if you speak.</i>"
<p>The letter, signed Mimi L'Angelier, concludes with the usual profuse protestations
of eternal love and affection but, by the following month ....
<p>"<i><a name="SquareThumbnail"></a>I did tell you, at one time that I did not
like William Minnoch, but he was so pleasant that he quite raised himself in
my estimation. I wrote to his sisters to see if they would come and visit us
next week, also him, but they cannot. <a href="#SquareThumbnail" onMouseOver="MM_openBrWindow('blythswood.htm','BlythswoodSquare','width=590,height=397')"><img src="jpgs/blysqgSm.jpg" width="175" height="135" align="right" border="0" vspace="6"></a>I
hope you shall have fine weather while you're away</i>."
<p>Emile's rival was already a close friend of the Smith family and any doubt,
as to whether Mr Smith considered Minnoch to be a suitable candidate for his
eldest daughter's hand, must have been dispelled when it was revealed that he
would be renting the entire top floor over the Smith's new town house at 7 Blythswood
Square.
<p>"<i>My dear Emile,- The day is cold so I shall not go out. I shall spend a
little time in writing you. Our meeting last night was peculiar. Emile, you
are not reasonable. I do not wonder at your not loving me as you once did. Emile
I am not worthy of you. You deserve a better wife than I.</i>
<p><i>"I see misery before me this winter. I would to God we were not to be so
near to Mr M. You shall hear all manner of stories and believe them. You will
say I am indifferent because I shall not be able to see you much. Yes, you must
think me cool but it is my nature. I never did love anyone till I loved you,
and I never shall love another. Love, my sweet darling, causes unhappiness in
more ways than one. I feel sure you will quarrel with me, this winter, but God
knows I have no desire ever to be parted from you, so, Emile, if we should ever
part, it will be on your side, not mine.</i>
<p><i>"I sometimes fancy that you are disappointed with me. I am not what you
once thought I was. I am too much of a child to please you. I am too fond of
amusement to suit your fancy. I am too indifferent, and I do not mind what the
world says, not in the least. I never did.</i>
<p><i>"I promised to marry you knowing I would never have my father's consent.
I would be obliged to marry you in a clandestine way. I knew you were poor.
All these I did not mind. I knew the world would condemn me for it but I didn't
mind. I trust we have days of happiness before us but, God knows, we have days
of misery too.</i>
<p><i>"Emile, I have suffered much on your account from my family. They have laughed
at my love for you. They taunted me regarding you. I was watched all last winter.
I was not allowed out by myself for fear I should meet you - but I will be less
honest this winter. I shall avoid you at first, and that may cause them to allow
me out by myself. I shall write you as often as I can, but it cannot be three
times a week as it has been.</i>"
<p>It was a masterpiece of deception, but this was not solely for selfish reasons.
Emile was an extremely difficult person to be completely honest with. He had
to be handled with great caution and, indeed, humoured almost continually.
<p>While still declaring her love for him, she did her utmost to make him understand
that the things which she knew he desired most from the marriage would never
happen. He could never be accepted into her circle of friends, nor was there
ever any possibility of the marriage being recognised by her parents.
<p>As a partner of the prominent Glasgow firm of cotton spinners, Houldsworth
and Co., Minnoch's salary was in the region of £4000 per year. It is worth
noting that L'Angelier, having recently received a substantial pay rise, was
now pleased to be making £52 per year. Madeleine was beginning to find
William's company increasingly agreeable while, occasionally, her enthusiasm
for the planned marriage to Emile was becoming difficult to sustain. The relationship,
however, had, by no means, run its course and, during the winter of 1856, she
was enjoying the attentions of both William and Emile.
<p>Minnoch's courtship was not so much a new love affair upon which she had embarked.
It was rather an inevitable event in the real life of Madeleine Smith, a life
which she had never stopped living, a life which had, of necessity, always been
entirely separate from Madeleine's secret world of intrigue, lust and imagination.
<p>With William Minnoch, she could be seen at the theatre or at any social event.
They could walk together, dine or dance together while attracting nothing but
admiration. Emile, on the other hand, was accustomed to coming, late at night,
to her bedroom window in order to exchange letters. If the family were asleep,
he would stay to talk with her and sometimes she would make him a cup of cocoa.
Occasionally, when, for instance, her father was away from home, Emile would
be let into the house by the area door, for a more tangible expression of their
affection.
<p>On Sunday 25th January 1857, after one such meeting at the bedroom window,
Madeleine wrote...
<p>"<i>Emile, my beloved, you have just left me. At this moment my heart and soul
burns with love for you. What would I not give to be your fond wife. My night
dress was on when you saw me. Would to God you were in the same attire. We would
be happy. I never felt so unhappy as I have done for sometime past. I would
do anything to keep sad thoughts from my mind, but in whatever place, some things
make me feel sad.</i>
<p><i>"A dark spot is in the future. What can it be? Oh God keep it from us. I
weep now, Emile, to think of our fate. If we could only get married, all would
be well, but alas, I see no chance, no chance of happiness for me. I must speak
with you.</i>"
<p>On the Wednesday, Minnoch proposed and Madeleine accepted. Again, she wrote
to Emile but he immediately returned the letter, so we can never really know
what it contained although, from her next letter, it's obvious that no mention
was made of Minnoch's proposal.
<p>"<i>I felt truly astonished to have my last letter returned to me. But it will
be the last you shall have the opportunity of returning. When you are not pleased
with the letters I send you, then our correspondence shall be at an end, and,
as there is a coolness on both sides, our engagement had better be broken.</i>
<p><i>"This may astonish you, but you have, more than once, returned me my letters,
and my mind was made up that I should not stand the same thing again. Altogether
I think, owing to coolness and indifference (nothing else), that we had better,
for the future, consider ourselves as strangers.</i>
<p><i>"I trust to your honour as a gentleman that you will not reveal anything
that may have passed between us. I shall feel obliged by your bringing me my
letters and likeness on Thursday evening at 7. Be at the area gate, and the
maid, Christina Haggart, will take the parcel from you. On Friday night, I shall
send you all your letters and likeness etc. I trust you may yet be happy, and
get one more worthy of you than I.</i>
<p><i>"You may be astonished at this sudden change, but, for some time back, you
must have noticed a coolness in my notes. My love for you has ceased and that
is why I was cool. I did once love you truly, fondly but, for some time back,
I have lost much of that love.</i>
<p><i>"There is no other reason for my conduct, and I think it but fair to let
you know this. I might have gone on and become your wife but I could not have
loved you as I ought. My conduct, you will condemn but I did, at one time, love
you with heart and soul. It has cost me much to tell you this - sleepless nights
- but it is necessary you should know.</i>
<p><i>"If you remain in Glasgow or go away, I hope you succeed in all your endeavours.
I know you will never injure the character of one you so fondly loved. No, Emile,
I know you have honour and are a gentleman. What has passed, you will not mention.
I know, when I ask you that, you will comply. Adieu. M.</i>"
<p>Thomas Kennedy, Emile’s friend and colleague at Huggins, later recalled, "He
came to me one morning in February, with tears in his eyes, and said that he
had received a letter from Miss Smith, demanding back all her letters and wishing
the correspondence to cease. I advised him strongly to give back the letters,
but he said, ‘<i>No, I won’t. She shall never marry another man as long as I
live</i>.’ I said it was very foolish; he said he knew it was, that it was an
infatuation. He said, ‘<i>Tom, she will be the death of me.</i>’ "
<p>The letter, or something of that sort, was inevitable. It was painfully obvious
that with the impending announcement of her engagement to Minnoch, the relationship
with Emile was no longer tenable. What is most significant. however, is not
the main thrust of the letter but the deceptively casual statements with which
she concludes... "I know you will never injure the character of one you so fondly
loved. No, Emile, I know you have honour and are a gentleman. What has passed,
you will not mention. I know, when I ask you that, you will comply."
<p>She had long postponed this day and with good reason. That Emile was capable
of harming the reputation of someone he loved, was precisely what she feared
and, in the event her fears were well founded. He had no intention of returning
the letters or rather, if the letters were to be returned to Blythswood Square,
it would not be by the back door. He told Miss Perry that he felt duty bound
to show them to her father. Mr Smith should know of his daughter's true nature.
He should also learn of his wife's concealment from him of a matter of such
importance and perhaps Madeleine's friends should know what sort of false and
deceitful creature she was.
<p>The truth was nothing to do with duty or indignation or even spite. This was
a moment that L'Angelier had anticipated and for which he had prepared. He knew
that the letters amply served the purpose for which, from the outset, they were
intended - and then some. He believed he had a hold over Madeleine - and her
family, if necessary, - which would ensure that the Lady in Fife episode would
never be repeated.
<p>[Monday night - the 9th of February] "<i>Emile, I have just had your note.
For the love you once had for me, do nothing till I see you. For God's sake,
do not bring your Mimi to an open shame. Emile, I have deceived you. I have
deceived my mother. I deceived you by telling you she still knew of our engagement.
She did not. She, poor woman, thought I had broken off with you last winter.
This I now confess - and as for wishing for any engagement with another, I do
not fancy she ever thought of it.</i>
<p><i>"Emile, write to no-one, to Papa or any other. If Papa should read my letters
to you, he will put me from him, he will hate me. And my poor mother. It would
break her heart. It would bring shame to them all. Emile, it will kill my mother.
She is not well.</i>
<p><i>"Oh, Emile, be not harsh to me. I am the most guilty, miserable wretch on
the face of the Earth. Do not drive me to death. When I ceased to love you,
believe me, it was not for another. I am free from all engagements at present.</i>
<p><i>"I did love you and wrote to you in my first ardent love, my deepest love.
I put on paper what I should not. I was free because I loved you with my heart.
If Papa or any other saw those letters to you, what would not be said of me.
Emile, will you not spare me this and keep my secret from the world? On my bended
knees, I write to you, and ask you, do not inform on me, do not make me a public
shame. I did truly love you and it was my soul's ambition to be your wife. I
asked you to tell me my faults. You did so and it made me cool towards you gradually.
When you have found fault with me I have cooled. It was not love for another.
For Christ's sake, Emile, do not denounce me. Do nothing till I see you.</i>
<p><i>"All day, I have been ill, very ill. I have had what has given me a false
spirit. I had to resort to what I should not have taken, but my brain is on
fire. I feel as if death would indeed be sweet.</i>
<p><i>"Oh Emile, in God's name, will you hear my prayer. I have prayed that he
might put it in your heart yet to spare me from shame. While I have breath,
I shall ever think of you as my best friend if you will only keep this between
ourselves. Will you not grant me this, my last favour, never to reveal what
has passed. Oh for God's sake, for the love of Heaven hear me.</i>
<p><i>"Please do nothing till I see you on Wednesday night - be at the Hamilton's
at 12, and I shall open my shutter, and then you come to the area gate, and
I shall see you. One word, tomorrow night, at my window, to tell me, or I shall
go mad. Emile, you did love me. I did fondly, truly love you too. Oh, dear Emile,
be not harsh to me.</i>
<p><i>"I cannot ask forgiveness. I am too guilty for that. I have deceived. It
was love for you, at the time, made me say Mama knew of our engagement. I will
tell you that only myself and our maid, Christina Haggart, knew of my engagement
to you. Mama did not know since last winter. Tomorrow - one word, and on Wednesday,
we meet.</i>
<p><i>"I would not again ask you to love me, for I know you could not. But, oh,
Emile do not make me go mad. Hate me, despise me, but please, please do not
expose me. Pray for me, for a guilty wretch, but do nothing. I cannot write
more.</i>
<p><i>"10 o'clock tomorrow night - one line, for the love of God.</i>"
<p>The one thing, however, for which he hadn't planned, was the idea - which Madeleine
believed and had now unwittingly introduced into the equation - that Mr Smith
would disown his daughter. Madeleine's future lay in Emile's hands but such
slender hopes as Emile still possessed for his future he knew were now slipping
from his grasp - a disowned Madeleine was of absolutely no use to him. Each
was plunged in confusion. Each was bordering on despair. To all appearances,
the relationship was actually restored but the matter was far from resolved.
<p>The idea of suicide, so familiar to Emile, was now in Madeleine's mind. She
sent the house boy for Prussic acid. He came back empty handed. Emile, too,
resolved upon a deadly remedy, but one which would be much less kind than the
quick death of Prussic acid. A perfect strategy was evolving in his mind. He
could have his revenge upon Madeleine and make certain that she would never
marry another.
<p>Emile was in the habit of reading Blackwood’s and Chambers’ magazines. Both
journals had recently published articles on the on the merits and dangers of
the use of arsenic. (L'Angelier - an arsenic eater, reading about arsenic eaters
- must have been one of the few people perusing these articles who could have
contributed to the subject of <i>"how much arsenic a person could take
without any ill effect" </i>with some authority). Fatefully, Chambers Journal
of July 1856 included the following caution: "let me urge upon all those who
still feel disposed to try the effects of arsenic to make some written memorandum
that they have done so <i>lest, in case of accident, some of their friends may
be hanged in mistake</i>."
<p>But paper never refuses ink, and while, on the one hand, a memorandum might
protect the innocent from an accusation of poisoning, a "memorandum"
could just as easily incriminate the innocent. L’Angelier had received Madeleine’s
tragic letter on the <a name="10th of February"></a><a href="datefile.htm#Tuesday10thFebruary">10th
of February</a>. The very next day, he made the first entry in a pocket book
(there were no previous entries). Innocuously, it read, [Wednesday 11th February]
" <i>Dined at Mr Mitchell's - Saw Madeleine at 12pm in Christina Haggart's room</i>."
<p>The daily jottings continued more or less in the same vein - brief, casual
and appearing devoid of importance to anyone other than the writer. It is not
until the entries for the following week that the sinister purpose of the notebook
becomes clear when he writes, [Thursday 19th February]- "<i>Saw Mimi a few moments.
<b>Was very ill during the night</b>.</i>"
<p>And then, [Friday 20th] - "<i>Passed two pleasant hours with Mimi in the drawing
room</i>." [Saturday 21st] - "<i><b>don't feel well</b>.</i>" [Sunday 22nd]
- "<i>Saw Mimi in Drawing room, promised me French Bible, <b>taken very ill</b>.</i>"
<p>His landlady, Mrs Jenkins, remembered him asking for the pass key that first
night, as he might be out late. She did not hear him coming in. She knocked
at his door about eight in the morning and got no answer. She knocked again
and he answered, "<i>come in , if you please</i>." She went in and found him
in bed. He said, "<b><i>I have been very unwell. Look what I’ve vomited</i></b>."
She asked , "<i>why did you not call me?</i>" He replied, "<i>on the road coming
home I was seized with a violent pain in my bowels and stomach, and when I was
taking off my clothes, I lay down on the carpet. I thought I would have died,
and no human eye would have seen me. I was not able to ring the bell.</i>"
<p>Several more people were now chosen to be Emile's unwitting allies. Foremost
of these was his close friend and confidante, Miss Mary Perry. On the 2nd of
March he paid Miss Perry a visit. He spoke of having been<b> very, very ill</b>,
to the extent that he had fallen on the floor and been unable to ring the bell.
A week later he, again, visited Miss Perry. On this occasion he told her of
having received, from Madeleine, a cup of chocolate which made him very ill.
He said, "<i><b>I can't think why I was so unwell after getting that coffee
and chocolate from her</b>.</i>"
<p>He spoke also of his great affection for Miss Smith but not without purpose.
The ground having been prepared, the seed could now be planted. He told Miss
Perry, "<i>it is a perfect fascination, my attachment to that girl;<b> if she
were to poison me, I would forgive her</b></i>."
<p>On the 16th of March he visited a Mr and Mrs Towers in Portobello, Mrs Towers
being Miss Perry's sister. He talked almost the whole time about his health.
He spoke of <b>cocoa and coffee which had made him very ill</b>. He remarked
that <b>he thought he had been poisoned</b>.
<p><a name="Christie"></a>During these weeks Emile had established, amongst friends
and colleagues, a well of suspicion, poised to overflow should any misfortune
appear to befall him. In effect, he had laid the foundations for a charge of
attempted murder against Madeleine. To his mind, she clearly had the motive.
Their night-time appointments would provide her with the opportunity and, mysteriously
and, at first, unaccountably, Madeleine appears to have provided herself her
with the means.
<p>To understand why, we have to go back to that first diary entry on the 11th
of February... "Saw Madeleine at 12 p.m. in Christina Haggart's room." The words
which passed between them on that evening will never be known but, if Emile's
plan was to succeed, Madeleine’s possession of arsenic was absolutely crucial.
It would, in the event, be a much simpler task than one might imagine.
<p>While L’Angelier held the letters, she was completely at his mercy but, more
pertinently, one of the most frequent and central themes of the correspondence
was Madeleine’s expected obedience to Emile’s wishes and advice. He now needed
only to remind her of the articles in Blackwood’s magazine, which he had been
good enough to point out to her, regarding the benefit of arsenic to the complexion.
The promise would be easily extracted.
<p><a name="Miller"></a>It is worth noting that Emile’s first "illness" was on
the 19th of February, but he would have done well to remember that Madeleine
had never been handicapped by the need for absolute honesty. It’s obvious that
he believed that she had indeed complied with his wishes and was now in possession
of the poison; on the 19th he wrote, "<i>Saw Mimi a few moments. Was very ill
during the night.</i>" It was quite true, and he was very ill indeed... but
it was <b>two days later</b>, on the 21st when Madeleine went to Murdoch's,
the druggist, in Sauchiehall St and purchased an ounce of arsenic "for the garden
and country house." She signed the poisons register and had the arsenic charged
to her father's account. On the <a href="Analysis.htm#6thMarch">6th of March</a>,
accompanied by her friend, Mary Buchanan, and again on the 18th, "for the purposes
of killing rats," she purchased arsenic, this time from Currie, the druggist.
<p>Now, it must have occurred to Emile that, substantial as the case against Madeleine
would be, there remained to be established one vital piece of evidence. It had
to be beyond doubt, if it were to be believed that Madeleine had tried to poison
him, that a meeting had, in fact, taken place. He knew he was to receive a letter
from Madeleine. Had he remained at home, the arrival of the letter would have
passed without ceremony. If, however, he was to be away from home, the letter
would be passed on to him and his subsequent return would be seen to be in answer
to the letter.
<p>Madeleine's last purchase was made on the 18th of March. On the 19th, Emile
left for Bridge of Allen but not without making a great fuss, enquiring as to
whether the letter from his intended had arrived, giving instructions as to
where it should be forwarded. Once there, he wrote to Mary Perry and to a colleague
at Huggins, William Stevenson. In both letters he makes it clear that he intends
to be home on Wednesday.
<p>On Sunday the 22nd, he came back from Bridge of Allen, satisfied that several
people would now be able to testify that his early return was for the purpose
of a meeting with Madeleine. He arrived at his lodgings at 7.30 p.m.. At 9.00,
he left the house, asking for the pass-key since he might be back late. His
landlady was awakened at 2.30 a.m. by a violent ringing of the doorbell. She
opened the door to find L'Angelier, arms folded across his stomach, seemingly
in the grip of a painful sickness.
<p>His condition worsened. A doctor was called but, since the cause of the illness
was not clear, a remedy was impossible. This patient, who, for some weeks past,
had been hinting that he was being poisoned, elected to leave the doctor, who
might have saved his life, in ignorance. The doctor prescribed some morphia
and a mustard poultice.
<p>Around nine a.m., at Emile's request, his landlady sent for Miss Perry. After
all the hints of the previous month, Miss Perry could be relied upon to suggest
an explanation for his symptoms, thereby lifting the burden of accusation from
Emile's shoulders, but the improbable occurred at the most unfortunate moment.
Miss Perry was detained. She came, but too late.
<p>Shortly before 11.15 on the morning of the 23rd of March 1857, Pierre Emile
L'Angelier died as a result of arsenical poisoning.
<p>On the 31st of March, Madeleine was imprisoned on a charge of murder. She spent
three months in prison awaiting her trial and. to all appearances, she remained
in good spirits and confident throughout of her ultimate exoneration.
<p><a href="WitnessList.htm"><img src="jpgs/trialsm.JPG" alt="The Trial of Madeleine Smith - CLICK TO VIEW (120KB)" border=0 height=180 width=248 align=LEFT></a><a name="trial"></a><a href="WitnessList.htm">The
trial</a>, at the High Court in Edinburgh, lasted nine days. Her defence was
conducted by <person>John Inglis</person>, Dean of Faculty. His address to the
jury has gone down in legal history as one of the finest, most eloquent and
skilful ever made. He had succeeded, however, in having L'Angelier's pocket
book excluded from evidence so Madeleine’s defence effectively rested on the
fact that a meeting could not be proven to have taken place. There can be little
doubt that Inglis believed he was defending a guilty woman.
<p>To his credit, he did point out the main flaws in the crown's case:
<ul>
<li> "<i>…L'Angelier suspected the prisoner of having tried to poison him… A
man whose suspicions are excited against a particular person is not very likely
to take poison at that person's hand.</i>"</li>
<li> "<i>We are asked to believe that he took, from her hand, a poisoned cup
in which there lurked… (half an ounce of arsenic) - and this, with all his
previous suspicion that she was practising on his life... There is not a case
on record in which it has ever been shown that a person administering poison
to another ever succeeded in persuading him to swallow such a quantity. It
is the most difficult thing to conceive a vehicle in which it could be given.
Even supposing he did swallow all this arsenic in a cup of cocoa, as it is
suggested, it is, at least, next to impossible that, with all the gritty powder
passing over his throat, he should not become aware that he had swallowed
something unusual.</i>"</li>
<li> The arsenic which was found in L'Angelier's stomach was white arsenic,
i.e. it was not stained as required by law, yet the arsenic which Madeleine
had purchased from Murdoch's was mixed with soot and, from Currie's, mixed
with indigo.</li>
<li> Inglis also pointed out that the whole focus of Madeleine's anxiety was
the existence of the letters. Far from resolving her situation, to kill L'Angelier
would only increase the chances of the letters being made public.</li>
</ul>
The jury returned that uniquely Scottish verdict of "Not Proven" and Madeleine
was free to leave the court but never, from that day to this, was she free from
suspicion. She made arrangements to leave for London, travelling under the name
of Lena Smith.
<p><a name="Morris"></a>In a long and interesting life, she was to marry twice.
As Lena Wardle, wife of Pre-Raphaelite artist and designer, <person><a href="http://www.burrows.com/mor.html" target="_blank">George
Wardle</a></person>, a friend and colleague of <a href="http://www.morrissociety.org/" target="_blank">William
Morris</a> (Wardle was manager of Morris & Co.), she was welcomed into London's
artistic and politically conscious set. On making her acquaintance, George Bernard
Shaw disappointed earlier students of the case by declaring that he found her
to be an attractive, good humoured woman, with absolutely nothing sinister about
her. <br />
<br />
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<p><a name="grave"></a>She married again, in her seventies, having followed
her son, Tom, to New York, and it was there, as Mrs Sheehy, that she spent
her final years. She died on April 12th 1928, in the care of her grand-daughter,
at the age of ninety three. In Mount Hope Cemetery, outside New York,
there stands a small gravestone. It is inscribed simply, "Lena Sheehy."
</p>
<p><b><font size=-1>Copyright © Jimmy Powdrell Campbell 1997</font></b> </p>
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