The Injustice of Trying the Case at Liverpool

My trial was set for the 31st of July in St. George’s Hall, Liverpool. Immediately after nine o’clock on that day, the part of the building which is open to the general public was filled by a well-dressed audience, including many of my one-time friends. During all the days of my trial, I am told, Liverpool society fought for tickets. Ladies were attired as for a matinée, and some brought their luncheons that they might retain their seats. Many of them carried opera-glasses, which they did not hesitate to level at me. The Earl of Sefton occupied a seat on the bench with the judge, and among the audience were many public and city men and judicial[51] officers. The press had for two months supplied nourishment in the form of the most sensational stories about me, to feed the morbid appetite of the public. The excitement ran so high that the Liverpool crowds even hissed me as I was driven through the streets. It was a mockery of justice to hold such a trial in such a place as Liverpool, at such a time, by a common jury; and it was a mockery of common sense to expect that any Liverpool common jury could, when they got into the jury-box, dismiss from their minds all they had heard and seen. In a letter which I wrote to my mother, when in Walton Jail, on the 28th of June, about a month before the trial, I said: “I sincerely hope Messrs. Cleaver will arrange for my trial to take place in London. I shall receive an impartial verdict there, which I can not expect from a jury in Liverpool, whose minds will virtually be made up before any evidence is heard.” Owing, however, to a lack of funds this hope was not realized.

I was at this time alone, utterly forsaken, and the only persons to whom I could look for protection and advice were my lawyers, Messrs. Cleaver.

At half-past eight on the morning of my trial, a black van was driven up to the side door, in the fore part of which were already confined the male prisoners awaiting trial. I was placed in the rear, a female warder stepped in, the door was shut, and I felt as if I were already buried. A crowd witnessed my departure from Walton Jail, and a larger one was assembled outside St. George’s Hall. But I was conducted into the building without attracting attention.

At ten o’clock I heard a blast of trumpets that heralded the judge’s entrance into court. Shortly after my name was called, and, accompanied by a male and a female warder, I ascended slowly the stone staircase from the cells leading to the dock. I was calm and collected in manner, although aware of the gravity of my position. But the consciousness of innocence, and a strong[53] faith in Divine support, made me confident that strength would be given to endure the awful ordeal before me.

ST. GEORGE’S HALL, LIVERPOOL,
Where the trial of Mrs Maybrick was held.

In reply to the Clerk of Arraigns, who read the charge against me of “feloniously and wilfully murdering my husband, James Maybrick,” I answered “Not guilty.” It is customary in criminal courts in England to compel a prisoner to stand in the dock during the whole trial, but I was provided with a seat by recommendation of the prison doctor, as I suffered from attacks of faintness, though against this humane departure a great public outcry was raised.

The counsel engaged in the case were Mr. Addison, Q.C., M.P. (now judge at the Southwark County Court), Mr. McConnell, and Mr. Swift, for the prosecution; Sir Charles Russell, assisted by Mr. Pickford and Messrs. Cleaver, for the defense.
An Unexpected Verdict

When the trial began there was a strong feeling against me, but as it proceeded, and[54] the fact was made clear that Mr. Maybrick had long been addicted to taking large quantities of arsenic, coupled with the evidence, to quote Sir Charles Russell, (1) that there was no proof of arsenical poisoning, (2) that there was no proof that arsenic was administered to him by me, the prejudice against me gradually changed, until, at the close of the trial, there was a complete revulsion of sentiment, and my acquittal was confidently expected.

When the jury retired to consider their verdict I was taken below, and here my solicitor came to speak to me; but the tension of mind was so great I do not recall one word that he said.

After what seemed to me an age, but was in reality only thirty-eight minutes, the jury returned into court and took their places in the jury-box. I was recalled to the dock. When I stood up to hear the verdict I had an intuition that it was unfavorable. Every one looked away from me, and there was a stillness in court that could[55] be felt. Then the Clerk of Arraigns arose and said:

“Have you agreed upon the verdict, gentlemen?”

“We have.”

“And do you find the prisoner guilty of the murder of James Maybrick or not guilty?”

The Foreman: “Guilty.”

A prolonged “Ah!” strangely like the sighing of wind through a forest, sounded through the court. I reeled as if struck a blow and sank upon a chair. The Clerk of Arraigns then turned to me and said: “Florence Elizabeth Maybrick, you have been found guilty of wilful murder. Have you anything to say why the court should not pronounce sentence upon you according to the law?”

I arose, and with a prayer for strength, I clasped the rail of the dock in front of me, and said in a low voice, but with firmness: “My lord, everything has been against me; I am not guilty of this crime.”

The Judge’s Sentence

These were the last words which the law permitted me to speak. Mr. Justice Stephen then assumed the full dress of the criminal judge—the black cap—and pronounced the sentence of the court in these words:

“Prisoner at the bar, I am no longer able to treat you as being innocent of the dreadful crime laid to your charge. You have been convicted by a jury of this city, after a lengthy and most painful investigation, followed by a defense which was in every respect worthy of the man. The jury has convicted you, and the law leaves me no discretion, and I must pass the sentence of the law:

“The court doth order you to be taken from hence to the place from whence you came, and from thence to the place of execution, and that you be hanged by the neck until you are dead, and that your body be afterward buried within the precincts of the prison in which you shall be confined after your conviction. And may the Lord have mercy upon your soul!”

Copyright by Bassano, London.

JUSTICE FITZ-JAMES STEPHEN.
Who presided at the trial of Mrs. Maybrick.

Utterly stunned I was removed from the court to Walton Jail, there to be confined until this sentence of the law should be carried into effect.

The mob, as the Liverpool public was styled by the press, before they had heard or read a word of the defense had hissed me when I entered the court; and now, that they had heard or read the evidence, cheered me as I drove away in the prison-van, and hissed and hooted the judge, who with difficulty gained his carriage.
In the Shadow of Death

In all the larger local English prisons there is one room, swept and ready, the sight of which can not fail to stir unwonted thoughts. The room is large, with barred windows, and contains only a bed and a chair. It is the last shelter of those whom the law declares to have forfeited their lives. Near by is a small brick building in the prison-yard, that has apparently[58] nothing to connect it with the room; yet they are joined by a sinister suggestion.

For nearly three terrible weeks I was confined in this cell of the condemned, to taste the bitterness of death under its most appalling and shameful aspect. I was carefully guarded by two female warders, who would gladly have been spared the task. They might not read nor sleep; at my meals, through my prayers, during every moment of agony, they still watched on and rarely spoke. Many have asked me what my feelings were at that awful time. I remember little in the way of details as to my state of mind. I was too overwhelmed for either analytic or collective thought. Conscious of my innocence, I had no fear of physical death, for the love of my Heavenly Father was so enveloping that death seemed to me a blessed escape from a world in which such an unspeakable travesty of justice could take place; while I petitioned for a reconsideration of the verdict,[59] it was wholly for the sake of my mother and my children.

I knew nothing of any public efforts for my relief. I was held fast on the wheels of a slow-moving machine, hypnotized by the striking hours and the flight of my numbered minutes, with the gallows staring me in the face. The date of my execution was not told me at Walton Jail, but I heard afterward that it was to have taken place on the 26th of August. On the 22d, while I was taking my daily exercise in the yard attached to the condemned cell, the governor, Captain Anderson, accompanied by the chief matron, entered. He called me to him, and, with a voice which—all honor to him—trembled with emotion, said:

“Maybrick, no commutation of sentence has come down to-day, and I consider it my duty to tell you to prepare for death.”

“Thank you, governor,” I replied; “my conscience is clear. God’s will be done.”

Commutation of Sentence

He then walked away and I returned to my cell. The female warder was weeping silently, but I was calm and spent the early part of the night in my usual prayers. About midnight exhausted nature could bear no more, and I fainted. I had barely regained consciousness when I heard the shuffle of feet outside, the click of the key in the lock—that warning catch in the slow machinery of my doom. I sprang up, and with one supreme effort of will braced myself for what I believed was the last act of my life. The governor and a chaplain entered, followed by a warder. They read my expectation in my face, and the governor, hastening forward, exclaimed in an agitated voice: “It is well; it is good news!” When I opened my eyes once more I was lying in bed in the hospital, and I remained there until I was taken to Woking Convict Prison.