The Pimlico Murder by Kate Clarke (2011)

Ever had a friend or workplace colleague who didn't quite fit? Perhaps they spoke another language or had another culture as their first, or responded coolly when others would be warm? Then imagine how that difference works when they're associated with a murder, particularly how people who know them less well than you do might react to their unexpected reactions. I guess someone who will know well what I'm talking about is Joanne Lees, the cool-minded girlfriend of Peter Falconio, who went missing in the Australian outback. Simply by being a cool-tempered one, and admitting they were possibly going to break up, whole extra oceans of suspicion were cast upon her. I think the subject of this book might well have known the same feeling. The case is a celebrated one, whereby a youngish woman, Adelaide Bartlett, was accused of the chloroform murder of her husband in 1886. There were loads of elements against a clear vision of them from the start: she was partly French and spoke with a strong accent; they were devotees of "unusual practices" seen from the Victorian standpoint, and owned books covering abortion, birth control and advanced (some might say cultish) marital psychology; these advanced ideas had led to advanced practices - she was entertaining another man with her husband's blessing; he was a secretly intense, hypochondriacal and overemotional man with a suave and ordinary outer self; and, critically, she had a very cool manner. Seeing this crux of circumstances, one would have to hope and pray that nothing untoward happened, because all hell could break loose! And of course, that's exactly what happened. This case, though, to do the author of this book justice, has more to it than that. Adelaide was aware to some extent of how things looked, and tried in some ways to cover up some of the more outre aspects of the case. There was definitely cause, at the very least, to investigate her thoroughly, as things looked bad from some angles. But the interesting thing to do is to apply psychology to all the facts, particularly as presented not in this book, which has made its mind up from the start, given the title, but in Sir John Hall's excellent trial edit from 1927, Trial of Adelaide Bartlett. If the reader of that keeps all the facts ticking over in their head, and then figuratively throws them up into the air to see where they naturally land, and has a modicum of what might be called psychological acuity, some very interesting conclusions can be reached. So many things that Adelaide said herself, and admitted to when questioned, she needn't have - they served to further incriminate her. If she was a criminal mastermind, it must have been a very intermittent quality. And, unfortunately, that is exactly what the author of this book contends - and is forced to some quite strange comments by the weight of that contention. A number of times she is puzzled as to why Adelaide would have mentioned such-and-such, and is forced back onto the criminal genius conclusion, or to speculate wildly about her motivations. I am with Clarke in a few of her musings - looking at the case without a preordained conclusion about Adelaide's guilt or innocence, I feel a number of scenarios are possible, including some level of involvement by Adelaide in her husband's 'assisted' suicide, or some accident of administration of the chloroform, either by Adelaide or Edwin himself, her husband. The ramifications and inherent interest of this case had me when I first read Hall's book a few years ago and remain strong with me; this doesn't add a lot to them, and is hampered by its conclusion-in-advance, though I respect Clarke for putting her cards on the table if that's how she sees it. Adelaide was found not guilty, but the jury made a point of saying that grave suspicion attached itself to her. I don't think the suspicion is so much grave, as circumstantial, and, at this distance in time, unsolvable.