Hampshire Murders E-Book

Nicola Sly

• Herausgeber: The History Press
• Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 313

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2012

Beschreibung

Life in the historic county of Hampshire has not always been peaceful, for over the years it has experienced numerous murders, some of which are little known outside the county borders, others that have shocked the nation. These include the killing of 'Sweet Fanny Adams' in 1867; the horrific murder committed by the postmaster at Grayshott in 1901; the mysterious poisoning of Hubert Chevis in 1943; and the gun battle in the village of Kingsclere in 1944, which resulted in the deaths of three people. Nicola Sly's carefully researched, well-illustrated and enthralling text will appeal to anyone interested in the shady side of Hampshire's history, and should give much food for thought.

Leseprobe

Hampshire

MURDERS

NICOLA SLY

First published in 2009

The History Press

The Mill, Brimscombe Port

Stroud, Gloucestershire, GL5 2QG

www.thehistorypress.co.uk

This ebook edition first published in 2012

All rights reserved

© Nicola Sly, 2009, 2012

The right of Nicola Sly, to be identified as the Author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyrights, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

EPUB ISBN 978 0 7524 8381 8

MOBI ISBN 978 0 7524 8380 1

Original typesetting by The History Press

CONTENTS

Author’s Note & Acknowledgements

Also by the Author

1.      ‘Why did you not raise the alarm?’

Portsea, 1818

2.      ‘I was in hopes it would have been born dead’

Winchester, 1825

3.      ‘Oh, John! John! What have you brought us to?’

Portsmouth, 1829

4.      ‘I am come to give myself up as a murderer’

Portsea, 1847/1849

5.      ‘A compound of hypocrisy and lust’

Southampton, 1855

6.      ‘I did it without a pang’

Stirling Castle, Portsmouth Harbour, 1856

7.      ‘It was a terrible dream’

Fordingbridge, 1862

8.      ‘Killed a young girl. It was fine and hot’

Alton, 1867

9.      ‘I did it. It was an accident’

Aldershot, 1874

10.    ‘I can prove there are some false witnesses here’

Kings Worthy, 1886

11.    ‘Shhh, don’t talk, Joe. I’ve just killed a man’

Grayshott, 1915

12.    ‘Your babies won’t worry you any more. You are a free woman’

Portsea, 1918

13.    ‘My young brother has dropped dead’

Lower Wield, 1920

14.    ‘Let’s play cowboys and Indians’

Aldershot, 1923

15.    ‘I remember doing something, but cannot remember what’

Basingstoke, 1924

16.    ‘I will do it again for the money’

Bordon, 1924

17.    They think they have got me for it, but I am not green!’

Southampton, 1928

18.    ‘Hooray, hooray, hooray’

Blackdown, 1931

19.    ‘Why didn’t you bring her home?’

Portsmouth, 1931

20.    ‘Sometimes I do things, but if I did things, I do not know about it’

Aldershot area, 1935

21.    ‘It’s the trapdoor for me now’

Portsmouth, 1943

22.    ‘All Hell’s let loose’

Kingsclere, 1944

23.    ‘You will find the murder weapon up the chimney’

Ash Vale, 1952

24.    ‘Nothing to say’

Gosport, 1955

25.    ‘The knife goes in like butter. I thought you would have to push in hard’

New Forest, 1956

26.    ‘I think I know who did it’

Basingstoke, 1964

Bibliography & References

AUTHOR’S NOTE & ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Whenever I visit Hampshire, it is always hard to equate the beautiful countryside, the pretty villages with their thatched cottages and the friendly people, with the collection of murders gathered together here. Yet, like every other place, the county of Hampshire has historically had its fair share of inhabitants for whom the taking of a human life is simply a means to an end, whether that end be financial gain, revenge, or just the desire to be rid of a troublesome partner or relative.

At least three of the cases that I have included seem totally without motive. The strangest of these is the macabre case of the Winchester baby in 1825 – was this even a murder? The same question could be asked about the death of Hubert Chevis in 1931 – how did he come to eat poisoned partridge and who was the mysterious man from Ireland who seemed so delighted by his demise? And was the death of Fred Messenger in 1920 wilful murder or just a tragic accident?

These cases gained very little publicity outside the county, yet there were many more, such as the murder of Fanny Adams in 1867 and the ‘bicycle murder’ near Aldershot in 1935, that shocked and horrified the whole nation. (In the former case, the victim was immortalised by the phrase ‘Sweet Fanny Adams’, which is still widely used to this day.)

As always, there are numerous people to be acknowledged and thanked. John Barton, John J. Eddleston, Roger Guttridge and Ian Fox have all previously published books either on murder in Hampshire or more general reference works on British murders and executions. The memoirs of J.D. Casswell QC and Douglas Browne and E.V. Tullett’s book on the life and cases of Sir Bernard Spilsbury proved invaluable sources of information. These books are recorded in more detail in the bibliography, as are the local and national newspapers from which the details of the featured cases were drawn. My thanks must also go to the staff of Hampshire Record Office for their help with my research.

My husband, Richard, was again press-ganged into proofreading every chapter and also acted as chauffeur and occasional photographer. Surprisingly, he has never once complained about being married to someone who spends most of her time reading, studying, researching, writing about or teaching crime, and, for that alone, he deserves my heartfelt thanks. My father, John Higginson, was also very supportive, and my friend, John Van der Kiste, remains a true inspiration.

Last but not least, my thanks must go to Matilda Richards, my editor at The History Press, for her continued help and encouragement.

ALSO BY THE AUTHOR

Bristol Murders

Cornish Murders (with John Van der Kiste)

Dorset Murders

Somerset Murders (with John Van der Kiste)

1

‘WHY DID YOU NOT RAISE THE ALARM?’

Portsea, 1818

Thomas Huntingford and his wife Sarah had lodged with Louisa Jennings at Orange Street, Portsea for five years. Samuel Beatley had lodged there even longer and had known the Huntingford’s for at least twenty years of their forty-year marriage. Like any married couple, Thomas and Sarah had their ups and downs, especially as both had a fondness for alcohol, but, by and large, they were affectionate with each other, their relationship being described by a neighbour as ‘the tenderest imaginable’.

By 1818, Sarah was sixty-one years old. Even though Thomas was ten years older, it was Sarah who seemed to be most affected by approaching old age. Some years previously she had lost an eye, and she frequently complained of pains in her head and lapses in her memory, often setting out to do her shopping and forgetting what she wanted by the time she reached the shops. Yet no one who knew her thought her problems any more serious than a little absent-mindedness.

On 23 October 1818, landlady Louisa Jennings was invited to supper with the Huntingford’s. She left them at about 9 p.m. and went to her bedroom. Soon afterwards she heard Thomas and Sarah going up the stairs to their bedroom, calling out ‘Good night, neighbour’ as they went. Soon the house was peaceful as all four occupants slept. Sadly, the peace didn’t last for long.

At 3 a.m., Samuel Beatley was rudely awakened by the sound of somebody clumping noisily downstairs and leaving the house. Beatley went to his bedroom window to investigate and saw Sarah Huntingford pacing nervously backwards and forwards in the yard.

Beatley quickly dressed and went outside. Sarah was dressed only in her nightclothes and was shaking so much from a combination of fear and cold that she dropped the candle she was carrying. When Beatley asked her what the matter was, all Sarah could say was ‘I am murdered and robbed’.

Beatley called out for Louisa Jennings, who came down with another candle. Sarah, meanwhile, was nervously wringing her hands and kept repeating, ‘What shall I do? What shall I do?’ over and over again. Thinking that Sarah had had a nightmare, Louisa led the distressed woman back upstairs to her bedroom, but, when the door was opened, they immediately spotted Thomas lying in bed, covered with blood. Sarah explained that two men had crept into the house and murdered her husband.

Louisa called downstairs for Samuel Beatley who, as soon as he looked round the bedroom door and saw Thomas, went off to seek help. Surgeon Thomas Seeds was summoned and, while awaiting his arrival, Beatley and two neighbours, Mr Baker and Mrs Turnbull, went up to the bedroom to see if anything could be done for poor Thomas. When the bedclothes were pulled back, it was evident that only one person – Thomas – had slept in the bed that night.

Thomas’s pockets were searched, first by Mrs Turnbull, who found one penny and one halfpenny, then by Sarah, who managed to find a key and a small knife. She pointed out a large chest in the bedroom, the lid of which had been left open revealing a moneybox with a broken lid inside.

Since Sarah was obviously distressed, the neighbours took her out of the bedroom and sat downstairs with her. There she insisted on telling them what had happened, saying that two men dressed as chimney sweeps had murdered her husband.

Her neighbours urged her to be careful about what she said, reminding her that she would be put on oath soon enough. ‘Why did you not raise the alarm?’ asked Mrs Turnbull.

‘Because they said they would knock my brains out,’ responded Sarah.

By this time, the surgeon had arrived and was conducting an examination of Thomas Huntingford’s body. The old man was covered with blood, which had soaked the bedclothes and pooled on the floor by the bed. Such was the quantity of blood that Seeds initially couldn’t see any wounds on Thomas that might have accounted for it. The blood appeared to have flowed from Thomas’s mouth, so Seeds assumed he had ruptured a blood vessel. It was only when Seeds returned to the house some hours later to arrange the coroner’s inquest that he noticed the severe wounds to the old man’s head and face.

There were five wounds on Thomas’s forehead, four of which had corresponding skull fractures. Another wound on the old man’s left temple was large enough for the surgeon to insert his finger into and Seeds considered that this wound alone was sufficient to have caused Thomas’s death. The injuries appeared to have been made with a heavy, sharp implement such as a billhook or an axe.

While Seeds was examining her husband, Sarah was still pacing nervously downstairs, wringing her hands and talking constantly about what had happened. When Louisa Jennings told her that all the doors to the house had been locked, Sarah recalled that Thomas had gone out into the garden before he went to bed and she supposed that he had forgotten to lock the door behind him. She described the two men who had attacked Thomas as being so black in the face that they looked like ‘chimney sweepers’. One was tall, one was small and they had come into her bedroom waving a tomahawk and demanding money. No property seemed to be missing from the couple’s bedroom after the murder.

‘Why didn’t you call for help?’ asked Louisa. Sarah insisted that the men had threatened that if she made a noise, they would murder her.

Louisa remarked that it was strange that she had heard nothing, given that she slept directly beneath the Huntingford’s bedroom. ‘They made no noise,’ Sarah told her, recalling now that the men were not wearing shoes.

Louisa said that if Sarah had noticed that the intruders weren’t wearing shoes, then she would surely have noticed their faces and would be able to describe them. Sarah repeated that the men had looked like chimney sweeps, and then told Louisa, ‘Don’t ask me any more questions. Don’t bother me.’

By the following day, rumours were flying around the neighbourhood and Mrs Turnbull informed Sarah that people suspected her of murdering her husband. Sarah replied that she didn’t care what people thought because she was innocent. However, the two policemen, PCs Way and Carter, who had arrived to conduct a search of the house and question Sarah, were not convinced.

They found several spots of blood on Sarah Huntingford’s petticoat. ‘It’s not blood, it’s dirt,’ protested Sarah, adding ‘even if it is blood, it must have lain on the bed.’ When it was pointed out that there was also blood on one of her pockets, she again insisted, ‘It cannot be blood,’ after which she ripped the pocket off her dress and tried to conceal it behind a sofa. She was swiftly arrested before she could destroy any more evidence and taken to Portsmouth Prison.

When the inquest into the death of Thomas Huntingford was held during the following week, the coroner’s jury returned a verdict of ‘wilful murder against Sarah Huntingford’ and she was committed for trial at the next Hampshire Assizes.

The trial took place on 5 March 1819. Samuel Beatley, Louisa Jennings and Mrs Turnbull all gave evidence, both on the apparently loving and affectionate relationship between Sarah and Thomas and on what had happened on the night of the murder. Several people testified to the fact that Sarah’s clothes had been bloodstained and the gaoler at the prison stated that several bloodstained items had been taken from her when she was first detained. An iron billhook bearing spots of blood had been found in the coalhole at Orange Street and was later determined to be the murder weapon.

The only thing apparently missing from the evidence was a motive for the murder. It was known that, shortly before she apparently killed her husband, Sarah had pawned some items in order to buy drink. These included Thomas’s best coat – was there an argument between them, which drove Sarah to kill? Only one living person knew the answer to that question and she was sticking firmly to her story of being attacked by two chimney sweeps, a story that nobody else believed.

The jury obviously didn’t believe the mysterious intruders existed anywhere beyond Sarah’s imagination, since, after only a short deliberation, they found her ‘Guilty’ of the wilful murder of her husband, Thomas Huntingford. The judge passed the death sentence, stipulating that she should be dragged on a hurdle to a place of execution, hung by the neck until dead and her body then delivered to surgeons for dissection.

The place of execution was Gallows Hill, which is possibly the place now known as Galley Hill, at Winchester. It took place on 8 March 1819, before a crowd of several thousand people. Such was the unruly conduct of the crowd at her execution that it was decided to hold all future hangings inside the gaol, well away from public gaze.

2

‘I WAS IN HOPES IT WOULD HAVE BEEN BORN DEAD’

Winchester, 1825

On 5 July 1825, Mary Ann Massell, a servant from Vincent Street in Westminster, London, answered the front door to find a man carrying a small hand basket, which bore a label addressed to her employer, Mr Fricker. John Watkins, a porter from Hetchetts in Piccadilly, asked for 2s for delivering the package, which Mrs Massell paid him. She then carried the rush basket into the parlour and began to unpack its contents.

First she removed several sheets of paper from the top of the basket, which were interspersed with pages torn from a prayer book. As soon as she disturbed the papers, the basket began to give off the most terrible smell. Beneath the papers she found a layer of rose leaves, a small parcel of musk, and some other perfumes. Once these had been removed, all that remained in the basket was a bundle made from two cambric handkerchiefs that had been roughly stitched together on all four sides.

Curiously Mrs Massell unpicked a little of the stitching and saw that the contents of the cambric bag were further wrapped in what looked like an old apron. She pulled the apron aside then immediately drew back in horror. The cloth-wrapped parcel contained the dead body of a baby boy.

At that time, Mr Fricker, aged thirty-two, was unwell and confined to his bed, so Mary Ann went to Mrs Fricker to report her gruesome discovery. Naturally, Mrs Fricker was equally distraught and went straight to her husband, who was totally at a loss to explain why he had been sent such a parcel. It was decided to take the basket to a nearby surgeon, Mr Frederick Holt, of Holywell Street, Westminster.

A view of Winchester taken from the top of St Giles Hill. (Author’s collection)

Mr Holt was out, but when he returned home at about two o’clock in the afternoon, he agreed to examine the contents of the basket. He found that the dead child was a full-term newborn baby that had never even been washed. There were small bruises on either side of the child’s neck, as if something had been tightly twisted around it and, beneath one ear, a small patch of skin was missing.

Mr Holt was unable to state conclusively whether or not the child had been alive at birth. However, his inclination was that it had, since the boy’s lips were very florid. His opinion was that the child had been ‘unfairly dealt with’, although he was unable to say if this was wilful or simply negligent.

The police were called and began their investigations by examining the address label that had been attached to the basket. It had been sent to Hetchetts for delivery from the Bell and Crown Inn at Holborn and, when Officer John Weale visited the inn, he was told that the parcel had arrived on the mail coach from Southampton on Monday 4 July.

The parcel label was written in two different hands, one appearing female and the other male. According to the landlord of the Bell and Crown, the male handwriting was that of Mr Higgs at the Black Swan in Winchester.

An inquest was opened on 7 July at the Regent’s Arms Tavern in Regent Street, before Mr Thomas Higgs, the coroner for the city of Westminster. The coroner and his jury heard evidence from Mr Holt, John Watkins, Mary Ann Massell and John Weale, who detailed his investigations into the matter thus far. It was agreed that Weale should be sent immediately to Winchester to continue his enquiries and the inquest was adjourned to allow him sufficient time to do so.

Meanwhile, the coroner was told that Mr Fricker had arranged for handbills to be printed, offering a reward of twenty guineas for ‘the discovery of the perpetrators of the horrible deed.’

Weale set off for Winchester straight away, taking with him the basket, apron and cambric handkerchiefs. On his arrival, he began to question the retailers and makers of rush baskets in the area and quickly found Mr Harper, who recognised the basket as one that he had made and sold in his shop on 4 July. Unfortunately for Weale, Mr Harper could not recall to whom he had sold the basket.

The officer then made enquiries to try and establish if anyone in the parish had given birth to a baby in the last few days and was informed that a young woman named Jane Sturgess, who lived with her mother in a cottage adjoining Winchester Cathedral, had given birth to an illegitimate baby on 4 July. The child had been delivered by the surgeon, Mr Lyford, who was also described as an ‘accoucheur’ – someone who is employed to assist a woman in childbirth.

Weale located Mr Lyford, who told him that Miss Sturgess’s baby had been a boy and, from the description that the officer was able to give him of the dead child received by Mr Fricker, he agreed that the two babies sounded very similar in appearance.

According to Mr Lyford, he had been engaged by Jane’s mother to assist in her daughter’s confinement and, having safely delivered the baby, he then left the house. However, Mrs Sturgess called him back two hours later, saying that her daughter was unwell. Lyford had returned and examined Jane, finding nothing much wrong with her. He had been told at the time that the infant had died and the news had surprised him, since, when he had left, the baby had seemed perfectly strong and healthy. He had seen the dead infant, but by then it was tightly swaddled and he was unable to determine its sex.

The police officer went to see Miss Sturgess and her mother. Arriving at the house, he found Jane Sturgess very poorly, but he was determined to question her regardless.

Jane Sturgess assured the police officer that she had given birth to a little girl. She then went on to say that she had died and that her brother had made a small box in which to bury her. She had then given her baby to Mr Heathcote, the gravedigger, for burial in the Cathedral graveyard.

Weale produced the rush basket, which Jane denied ever having seen before. However, when he produced the apron, Jane looked at it curiously, saying that she thought that it looked like the one that she had wrapped her child in, although she couldn’t absolutely swear that it was.

From the Sturgess household, Weale went to see Mr Newbolt, a local magistrate, who agreed to take depositions from several local people. Once the depositions had been taken, Mr Newbolt also presided over the exhumation of the body of a baby, recently buried by Mr Heathcote, allegedly on Miss Sturgess’s instructions. Weale returned to London, taking the body of the exhumed baby with him.

The depositions from Winchester were read out at the resumed inquest for the benefit of the coroner and his jury. The first was that of Mr Henry Lyford, surgeon and accoucheur, who stated that he had been present when the body of the baby had been exhumed from the churchyard of Winchester Cathedral. He was not prepared to swear an oath that the baby that had been interred was the body of the child that he had delivered of Miss Sturgess. The exhumed body was that of a baby girl and Lyford believed that Miss Sturgess’s baby had been a boy.

A view of Winchester Cathedral, taken from the Avenue. Author’s collection)

Mrs Cooke of Winchester stated that she was present shortly after the birth of Jane’s baby and believed that Jane’s mother had said at the time that the baby was a girl. She had not looked too closely at the baby and could not say definitely if it was a boy or a girl, although she had witnessed Mrs Sturgess washing it and trying her best to revive it with brandy.

Louisa Sopp said that she had seen the child soon after it was born and was quite sure that it was a girl. Furthermore, she had heard Mrs Sturgess asking Lyford what sex the baby was as it was actually being born and that the doctor had replied that it was a little girl. Mrs Sturgess had immediately said to Jane, ‘There – I told you it would be a girl.’

Mr Higgs, who had written the label on the basket, believed that the parcel had been handed to him by Edwards, the butcher’s boy, but could not swear to it. Edwards strongly disputed this, maintaining that he knew nothing whatsoever about any basket.

It was then left to Weale to inform the coroner that, while in Winchester, he had visited the chemist’s shop there and established that a man had purchased a large quantity of musk on the morning of Monday 4 July. The man had said that the musk was for a Mrs Barnard at Winchester but when Weale had spoken to the lady concerned, she denied having sent for any musk.

The coroner decided that Mr Lyford should appear before him in person and the inquest was adjourned yet again while a summons was sent. However, when the inquest was reopened, there was no sign of Lyford and the corner was forced to adjourn it once more and send a second summons.

A view of the west front of Winchester Cathedral. (Author’s collection)

The inquest reopened for the fourth time on 22 July 1825, this time with Mr Lyford in attendance. (Apparently, his previous summons had arrived two days after he was due to appear before the coroner.)

Lyford told the inquest that, at the request of her mother, he had attended the confinement of Jane Sturgess and delivered a healthy baby, who had cried loudly at birth. He had handed the baby to its grandmother, who had immediately said, ‘I was in hopes it would have been born dead.’ She had then passed the infant to Louisa Sopp. Lyford said that he had been called back to the Sturgess’ home within two hours because the new mother was supposedly very ill. After examining her and finding her perfectly well, he had been told that the baby had died. He had been very surprised, since the child had seemed so healthy at birth. He had looked at the dead baby and believed that it had not been washed. To the best of his recollection, the child he delivered was a boy, but he could not be absolutely positive.

The coroner informed the jury that since the last investigation he had consulted a magistrate, Mr White, and White in turn had consulted with the secretary of state, who had written to Winchester asking that an immediate investigation into the matter be instigated.

Accordingly, Mr Newbolt, the magistrate at Winchester, had made some more enquiries and had established that Hubert Brown, the father of Jane Sturgess’s illegitimate child, had been informed that he had fathered a son, rather than a daughter. In addition, Mrs Sturgess had been heard telling people that her daughter had given birth to ‘a fine boy’.

The coroner told the jury that they had been unable to positively trace the baby to Jane Sturgess and that he feared they never would be able to do so from London. Any solution to the mystery would, he believed, come from investigations carried out in Winchester and he reassured them that these investigations would happen, as the Secretary of State had ordered the magistracy at Winchester to make every effort possible.

He went on to say that the circumstantial evidence that the baby had been borne by Jane Sturgess was strong. Mr Lyford had stated that the baby he had delivered was very large, as was the baby sent to Mr Fricker, while the baby exhumed at Winchester had been very small.

Lyford was then recalled and stated that he had witnessed the baby being disinterred in Winchester and didn’t consider it to be very small, although he couldn’t say with any certainty whether or not it was as large as the baby he had delivered.

The coroner then went on to point out that Jane Sturgess had acknowledged that the apron in which the boy baby was wrapped was very similar to one that she owned, if not the actual one. He also told the jury that there was no evidence whatsoever that a girl baby had been illegally obtained as a substitute for Jane Sturgess’s baby, if indeed hers had been the infant sent to Mr Fricker. No baby girls had been reported missing and none had been legitimately buried in the graveyard in the days prior to Jane’s confinement.

Finally, Mr Higgs asked the jury to weigh all this in their minds before reaching their verdict since, if they returned a verdict of murder against Jane Sturgess, he did not personally feel that there was enough evidence to convict her. He assured them that, whatever their verdict, the matter would not be dropped.

The jury deliberated for some time before returning with their verdict ‘wilful murder against some person on persons unknown’. The dead child was never conclusively traced back to Jane Sturgess and nobody was ever able to explain why it had been sent to Mr Fricker in London. His reward for information was never claimed.

[Note: John Weale is alternately called John Wall in the contemporary newspaper accounts.]

A view of the south-western side of Winchester Cathedral. (Author’s collection)

3

‘OH, JOHN! JOHN! WHAT HAVE YOU BROUGHT US TO?’

Portsmouth, 1829

Samuel Langtrey was a retired bricklayer who had worked hard all his life and invested his income wisely, buying several properties in the town of Portsmouth. He was financially comfortable and it was widely believed that he kept large sums of money concealed about his home. Now approaching his eightieth birthday, he was becoming increasingly frail, both mentally and physically. He was deaf, almost unable to speak, and was mainly confined to one bedroom in his house because he could no longer manage to walk downstairs. Barely capable of doing more than hobbling around his room with the aid of a walking stick, Langtrey was under the constant care of his housekeeper, Charity Joliffe, herself an elderly woman. The couple had lived together in Prospect Row, Portsmouth for almost twenty years and, in spite of their advancing age, were managing quite well with a little help from their neighbours.

On the evening of 1 March 1829, one of the neighbours went to assist the housekeeper in putting Langtrey to bed. She knocked on the door several times receiving no reply, but was not unduly worried since the couple had a habit of dozing off to sleep in the evenings and had often failed to hear her knocking when she called. However, when Charity Joliffe still didn’t answer the door on the following morning, the neighbour became concerned and raised the alarm. Another neighbour managed to scramble into the back yard and, on looking through the kitchen window, saw Charity lying on her side on the floor in a large pool of blood.

A bird’s-eye view of Portsmouth. (Author’s collection)

The police were immediately summoned and Constable Weeks, a barber and part-time constable, was the first officer to arrive on the scene. Having forced an entry into the house he found the housekeeper dead, beaten with a blunt instrument and stabbed numerous times in the face and hands. Her throat had been cut so ferociously that her head was almost severed from her body. A broom handle, broken into several pieces, lay nearby, as did a blood-covered slater’s hammer.

When the police looked upstairs, they found Mr Langtrey fully-dressed in his bedroom, his walking stick still tightly clutched in one hand. He too had been dreadfully beaten about the head, apparently with the same hammer. One of the blows had been delivered with such force that his skull had been penetrated, spattering brain matter across the room. Like his housekeeper, his throat had also been cut and he had bled profusely, leaving spots and splashes of blood all over the bedroom.

As the news of the carnage spread through the neighbourhood, two churchwardens, Mr Young and Mr Grant, called a public meeting and the sum of 100s was pledged as a reward for information leading to the apprehension of the killer. Mr Langtrey’s surviving relatives immediately pledged a similar amount.

The police believed that just one person had been involved in the killings and that he had entered the house via a side passage. They surmised that the killer had met the housekeeper in the kitchen and that she had put up a spirited fight for her life, using the broomstick as a makeshift weapon. There were bloodstains found on the walls of the back staircase, leading police to the conclusion that the killer had moved upstairs after managing to subdue the housekeeper, leaving traces of her blood on the walls as he did so.

It was thought that the killer had been disturbed, most probably by the neighbour’s knocks at the door as, although the house had been ransacked, several items of plate, a watch and some money were found on the floor as though the murderer had made a hurried exit, leaving them behind in his haste. Mr Langtrey’s pockets had been turned out and a chest in which he was thought to keep his savings had been opened and searched.

Police began to canvas the neighbourhood for sightings of anything unusual that had occurred during the previous evening, particularly at around six o’clock, the time at which the murders were believed to have occurred. They learned that an attempt to break into the house had been made during the previous week, but that neither of the occupants had thought it serious enough to warrant reporting it to the authorities. The police were also told of a man who had been seen in the area by several witnesses on the morning after the murder, trying to change some guineas into sovereigns.

The man was described as being around twenty-five years old and about 5ft 9in tall, with sandy hair and short whiskers. He spoke with a strong Irish accent, was shabbily dressed and carried his money in a rather dirty bag. His description was immediately forwarded to all police stations in the area, but, just two days later, the Irishman came forward and was able to convince magistrates that he was not involved in the killings.

Langtrey’s brother was brought over to Portsmouth from his home on the Isle of Wight but neither he, nor anyone else who had known the deceased, were able to pinpoint any items of property that were missing from the house. It looked as though the killer had concentrated on stealing cash and, when the neighbour interrupted him, had discarded the personal items that might have been of some assistance in tracing him.

An inquest into the deaths was held before coroner Mr T. Howard, at which the jury returned a verdict of wilful murder by person or persons unknown. While the police investigations continued, lawyers busied themselves trying to establish conclusively which of the two deceased had been the first to die. Langtrey had left property worth a small fortune to his housekeeper in his will and establishing the order of death would be crucial in determining whether the sizeable legacy now went to his heirs or to those of Charity Joliffe.

More than a week after the murders took place, the local police admitted to having no idea of the identity of the killer and it was generally felt that whoever was responsible for the double murder could remain undetected for many years to come. An arrest was made of a young man, John Edwards, who was found in possession of some bloodstained clothes. Edwards was quickly cleared of all suspicions of any involvement in the murders, but was found to be a deserter from the Royal Marines, who had been concealed in ‘a house of ill-fame’ by its occupants for some months.

Reinforcements were called in to assist the local police officers in the form of a Bow Street runner, Mr Bishop, and officers from Winchester police station. It was a Winchester officer, Mr Edward Hunt, who received a titbit of information that sent officers rushing to nearby Porchester in pursuit of their first real suspect.

Shortly after the funerals of Mr Langtrey and his housekeeper, a young man, John Stacey, had been seen gallivanting around the countryside in an open chaise in the company of two ‘girls of the town’. Knowing that Stacey – a barber by trade, who was actually apprenticed to Constable Weeks – earned only 2s 6d a week, questions were asked as to how he could possibly afford such extravagant behaviour. Weeks was immediately questioned and was unable to offer any explanation as to how his poorly paid apprentice could run to the expense of hiring a chaise. He did however inform his colleagues that Stacey had complained of an injury to his hand, which had supposedly prevented him from working for the past few days. The fact that Stacey was in the habit of shaving Mr Langtrey twice every week and had last shaved him on the day before the murder had somehow been overlooked

Stacey was soon apprehended at a house in Porchester, still in the company of the two girls, Ann Hawkins and Sarah Harris. All three were taken before the mayor of Portsmouth, Mr Edward Carter, for questioning.

On the day of the murder – a Sunday – Stacey and a colleague from Mr Weeks’ barber’s shop, John Conneymore, had spent the day with Stacey’s father at his home in Charlotte Row, Portsmouth. At about five o’clock in the afternoon, John Stacey had left the house alone, eventually returning at about eight o’clock. He and Conneymore had spent the night at his father’s home, sleeping together in the same bed, then going off to work at the barber’s shop on the following morning. Stacey had continued to work normally until the following Thursday, when he had complained of a swollen hand.

The gruesome murders had naturally been the talk of the barber’s shop all week but Stacey had been unmoved by the conversation, even when one of his customers jokingly suggested that perhaps he was responsible for the killings. The only time he appeared even slightly agitated was when a customer mentioned that an important clue to the identity of the murderer had been found. At this, Stacey began to shake, so much so that he nicked the chin of the man he was shaving at the time with the razor.