From the Longhorn Radio Network, Adventure and Mystery, classic series from Radio's Golden Past. Presenting Clive Brooke in the secrets of Scotland Yard. How do you do? This is Clive Brooke. Clarence Darrow, the American lawyer and writer, once said that everybody was a potential murderer. And that although he himself had never killed anyone, he frequently got great satisfaction in reading the obituary notices. Mr. Darrow perhaps goes further than most of us, but the fact remains that we are all intrigued by a murder trial. The reasons may very well be that subconsciously we put ourselves in the position of the accused. And the more normal the accused person is or appears to be, the greater our interests. Now why? Because we consider ourselves to be normal. And as we watch and listen to the murderer, we are saying, there but for the grace of God go I. Nothing so stimulates the imagination of the public as the trial of a man who, to all appearances, has led a respectable normal life. And who suddenly has that life splashed across the front page of every newspaper in the land because he has been accused of murder. The man or the woman. And the case I'm going to tell you about today is that of a woman, Mrs. Florence Elizabeth Maverick. Her trial in Liverpool just 60 years ago was one of the outstanding murder cases of the 19th century, and it remains to this day one of the classics of its kind. But added to the factors which go to make a good murder case, the normality of the prisoner, the respectable family life, the fiendish plot of which she was accused, added to these factors was the element of mystery. And next to a good murder, the world loves best a good mystery. The case of Mrs. Florence Maverick had both. It was March in the year 1889. The days had been unusually sunny for so early in the year, and in Liverpool, England, the inhabitants went about their work smiling, for a sunny March was something to be cheerful about. In Liverpool was the home of Mr. and Mrs. James Maverick. Mr. Maverick was a wealthy cotton merchant. He was a native of Liverpool, and it was natural that he should live in that city, for it was the principal port in England for ships westward bound. And it was in America that Mr. Maverick sold his cotton. It was also in America that Mr. Maverick found his wife. But let us hear him recall that occasion to his wife and his brother on this sunny day in March at his home in Liverpool. It is eight years ago today, Michael. I am surprised that you, my own brother, should forget my wedding anniversary. But you know, the date has never really stuck in my mind. I suppose it is because it all happened out there in America. But you are wrong again, Michael. Oh yes, I know Jimmy met and wooed me out there, and how he wooed. We were married in London, while you were in America. There you are, you see. I knew someone was in America at the time. Oh, you are too tricky for us, Michael. Well, anyway, it is our eighth anniversary today. Eight years of very happy marriage, eh, my love? Very, very happy, Jim. Oh, I'll admit I've had my doubts and fears, but thank the Lord they have come to nothing. What were you afraid of, Jim? Did you think Flory here would want to live in America? Were you ashamed of dear old Liverpool? Oh, it wasn't that so much, but well, you know how old I am, don't you, Michael? You do sound solemn about it, old boy. Well, I know you are over forty-five. How old were you last month? Come now, Jim, that's no very great age. Oh no, my love, but sometimes it worries me that you're so much younger. Well, probably twenty-six. Did it worry you when we met in New York? I was only eighteen then, and you were forty-two. Ah, it was different then. Oh, stop fussing, Jim. I've never known such a worrier. If it's not your health, it's your age. You ought to be very grateful. You've made a lot of money. You can sit back a bit now and tell others what to do in the firm. You've got a lovely young wife. Thank you, Michael. You've got two of the sweetest kids I've ever seen, a grand old house with four servants to run it. What more could a man want? You're right, of course, Michael. We must count our blessings. It's three o'clock, Jim. Time you took your medicine. Quite right, my dear. Thank you for reminding me. Here, thank the gods for giving you good health. Michael, you know, I can't think of anything worse in life than always having to take these infernal tonics and tablets. I really think you enjoy it, Jim. Enjoy it? I wish I could. It's no joking matter, you know, Michael. Some of these drugs I take are very dangerous. I heard all about them when I was last over in the States. This one, for instance, contains a good deal of pygmy. Pygmy? I thought there was something to kill you, not to cure. It's poison, isn't it, Jim? Yes, it's poison, all right. But not when taken in these small quantities. It's used to calm the nerves. My nerves are terrible, you know. Does Dr. Hopper still attend you? What does he say about all this? Hopper isn't much good. I still take the medicine I brought in the States, as well as this one that Hopper's given me. The American one contains arsenic, I believe. So really, you see, I'm just dosing myself with poison. Be careful, there, Jim. Dangerous things to muck about with. Ah, don't worry, Michael. I shan't do away with myself. What a depressing conversation. Come on, you two, cheer up. This is supposed to be a celebration. On the whole, a happy little group. There was nothing to indicate to Michael Maverick that his brother and his sister-in-law were not completely in harmony. But then, Florence Maverick was good at acting the part of the loving and considerate wife. Even Jim, her husband, did not suspect her of this loyalty. But Florence had recently met a Mr. Briarley, a good-looking cotton broker from London who had been most attentive and complimentary to her. She was, after all, young and attractive. Her husband was fifty. Life was rather dull in Liverpool. Perhaps a weekend in London would make life a bit more pleasant. With this in mind, she wrote to the Grand Hotel, Cabin de Square, London, pretending to write for her brother. She was, in fact, booking rooms for herself and the gallant Mr. Briarley. Hey, hello, my dear. Writing letters? Oh, yes, Jim. I'm afraid I have to go out to London for a few days. My aunt's been taking very ill, and I must be with her. I just went to the hotel booking a room for myself. When you'll be all right, my love, I shall be gone for more than three days at the most. Perhaps I could get away from the office and come with you. Yes, that would be splendid. Oh, I don't know, Jim. I'll be spending most of my time with my aunt, and you'd be awfully bored. Maybe you'll write some other time, then. You'll be back for the Grand National. Oh, yes, I'd miss it. Have you ever known me, Mr. Horace, if I could possibly help it? Of course I'll be back. Yes, what is it? Begging your pardon, mum, but the doctor's come to see the master. Dr. Harper? Oh, yes, of course. It's Wednesday, isn't it? I'll see him in the next room. You show him in there, will you? Very good, Mr. Mayberry. Darling, darling, I don't think that doctor's doing you much good, is he? No, I'm going to change. I shall probably consult a specialist if I don't get better soon. You know, I suddenly came over completely numb in the legs and arms. Oh, you poor darling. I hate the idea of leaving you even for three days. Oh, I'll be all right, Flory. Anyway, your aunt needs you more than I do at present. And so Mrs. Maybrick and Mr. Briarley discreetly visited London, and as far as we know, Mr. Maybrick suspected nothing. But after being so discreet, Florence was just the opposite when she accompanied her husband at the Grand National on her return from London. For it was there that she happened to run across Mr. Briarley once more, and her behaviour with him in public was enough to put Mr. Maybrick in a very bad temper indeed. In fact, to make him leave the race course and return home to wait for his erring wife. The housemaid with the curious name of Yap was surprised to see her master home so early. Oh, Mr. Maybrick, you're quite started, Miss. Are you back from the race course already, then? Here you can see I'm back, can't you? I left early. And the mistress, sure, she returned too? No, I don't know where she is, and I don't care. She's probably still enjoying herself at the course. Begging your pardon, sir, it's Mrs. Maybrick coming up the pathway now. She must have come on just behind you. Oh, there you are, Jane. What a fine way to treat your wife, I must say, walking off and leaving me like that. How dare you, how dare you, making a fool of me in front of all those people. It's such a scandal, it'll be all over the town tomorrow. How could you with that briarly man too? What may I ask is wrong with that briarly man, as you call him? What's wrong with him that tell me something that's right about him? Well, he's certainly a great deal more fun than you in your present mood. Why, you little, you, you, you, you, you, you, you deserve to be beaten black and blue for this. It's the end, Jane, do you realise it's the end? I'm leaving this house. I leave it by all means, and remember that once you cross the threshold, you'll never enter it again. Madame, please. Yes, yes, what is it? Oh, Madame. Billy, what of him? Is that ill? Oh, please, you know, Madame, he's just asking for you. That's all. Would you come up and see him? Yes, yes, of course. Jim. Yes, Laurie, what is it? Jim, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry I upset you. Will you forgive me? I'll never do it again, never. All right, Floddy, let's say no more about it. Mmm, six o'clock, time for my tonic. Ah, I'll fetch it for you, dear, I'm going upstairs anyway. Well, thank you, Floddy. It was during the next month, April, that James Maybrick made a journey to London, but not for pleasure. He went to see a specialist about his liver, his nerves. He was given a new prescription that he had made up in London and sent on to him. While he was giving his instructions to the chemist in London, his wife was visiting her chemist in Liverpool. Oh, good morning, Mrs. Maybrick. A lovely day, isn't it? It surely is. When the weather's like this, I don't miss a state one little bit. What can I do for you? Oh, well, I may not listen for you. There are quite a few things, so perhaps you'll send them round the house. May I see the list, please? Oh, yes, just the usual household articles. They're certainly, Mrs. Maybrick. I'll have these sent round this evening. Oh, I forgot to put down fly papers. Do you have some? Yes. Are these the type you wanted? Well, have they got arsenic on them? I want them real strong. Oh, I think you'll find these quite strong enough, madam. All right, send me round a couple of dozen, will you? Very good, madam. I'll add that to the list. Florence Maybrick did not use the fly papers to kill flies. She soaked them in water and thus composed a weak solution of arsenic. She did this quite openly, as openly she had bought the fly papers from the chemist. And when the maid, Yav, asked her what she was doing, she explained that a chemist in America had taught her that an arsenic solution was excellent for the complexion. This idea was held by quite a number of women at the time, and there was nothing odd about Mrs. Maybrick's explanation. Perhaps it was also just a coincidence that on that particular evening, after taking some of his medicines, James Maybrick was violently ill. A new doctor, Dr. Humphreys, was called in. He attributed the sickness to the new medicine from London, which contained strychnine. This was discontinued, but still Mr. Maybrick got worse. What was the cause of the illness? Why was it that everything Mr. Maybrick ate made him sick? Was he being slowly poisoned to death? Why was he being so slowly poisoned to death? It was on the 7th of May 1889 that Mrs. Florence Maybrick called in a second doctor to examine her husband. This new man, Dr. Carter, was perplexed at what the attending Dr. Humphreys told him. These vomiting fits that Maybrick has, they have all the symptoms of arsenic poisoning, but there's only a minute quantity of arsenic in the medicine he's been given. Couldn't that be irresponsible? I don't think so. I've spoken with Maybrick, and he tells me that he's been taking nerve tonics for years, and that they've all contained arsenic or sickening. He hasn't suffered like this before. Then if you're right, then the cause of the vomiting is arsenic. It would appear that the poison has been given him without his knowing it. Yes, but who would do such a thing? Who is there staying at the house at present? Besides Maybrick, there's his wife, his brother Michael. He just arrived this morning, and four servants. And I suppose Mrs. Maybrick is taking care of her husband? Yes. Would you like to see her? I believe she's in the garden. There she is, over by the summer house. Mrs. Maybrick, this is the doctor I've called in for your husband, Dr. Carter. Mrs. Maybrick. How do you do, Dr. Carter? Have you examined my husband? I have, Mrs. Maybrick, and I also have a full report from Dr. Humphreys here. I think he's over the worst, and his recovery should now be speedy. I must admit, however, that I have not found the full cause of his illness. I think it's those medicines, especially the new one from London. It's very doubtful whether the medicine itself would make him sick unless it were added to him. That's what I mean. Didn't I tell you he had me add some white powder to it? The white powder? You never told me that, Mrs. Maybrick. What was it? I really can't say. It's something he got from the states, I don't know. But I don't think he has any more of it. Is it all right for me to go out and see him now? Oh, yes, yes, quite all right. And don't worry about him, Mrs. Maybrick. You may take my word for it that he's well on the way to recovery. Oh, I'm so glad to hear you say so. I'll see you before you go. There you are. White powder. What do you make of that, Carter? The whole thing's getting a bit beyond me. Surely the man isn't dozing himself with poison. What's the position here, Humphreys? Happy family, Aunt Van? Yes, as far as I know. I believe there was a row a few weeks ago about her behavior with someone at the Grand National. But that blew over. You know, what struck me? If anyone's in an ideal position to poison Mr. Maybrick, it's his wife. She is in full charge of the household. She takes his meals to him personally, and she nurses him night and day. I am sure your suspicions are utterly based. Nevertheless, I'm going to have a nurse brought in, and Mrs. Maybrick is going to be kept away from my husband as much as possible. The nurse arrived that afternoon and from then on was in constant attendance. It was also on that afternoon that Mrs. Maybrick gave the maid Yap a letter to post. Now Yap was a suspicious little creature, and when she saw the name Briarley on the envelope, she remembered the scene between her master and mistress over someone of that name and decided to open the letter. First she dropped the envelope in the mud so as to have an excuse for putting the letter in a clean one. What she read was enough to send her straight to Michael Maybrick, the brother who was staying in the house. Yes, who is it? Beg me a pardon, sir. Yes, Yap, what's worrying you? Well, sir, I wonder if you'd read this letter. I'm not really supposed to have opened it. Then why did you? Will you read it, sir, and you'll see for yourself. My dear, since my return I have been nursing Em day and night. She is sick unto death. It would be best for you not to come back here for some time, although he doesn't know about our time in London. She says that Mr. Maybrick is sick unto death, but the doctor told her this morning that he was well on the way to recovery. Yes, Yap, I think you'd better leave this to me. Very good, sir. Thanks. Michael Maybrick's suspicions were now thoroughly aroused. Even though his sister-in-law was not supposed to enter her husband's room, Michael instructed the nurse, a lady with the charming name of Gore, to keep a special watch. On the 9th of May, James Maybrick showed a markedly tie. It was on this day that Mrs. Maybrick had a word with the maid Yap, who had been left in charge of the patient while the nurse had an hour off duty. Yap? Yap, come here a minute, will you? Yes, madam. What is it? You've been behaving rather strangely to me this last day or so, yes. Strangely, madam. Yes. I don't want you getting any funny ideas into your head about me. What's the doctor been telling you? The doctor, madam, why must he not talk? Why should the doctor be talking to me? He suspects me, Yap. He suspects that I'm trying to do away with my poor husband. Oh, I'm sure you're wrong, madam. You're not going in to see Mr. Maybrick now, madam, are you? His resting. I don't think it's your position to tell me when and when not to see my own husband. Can I come in, Jim, dear? Hello, Flory. Have they been keeping you away from me? Mrs. Maybrick, I'm afraid I must not allow you to stay very long. Doctor's orders. Not allow me. Really, Yap, don't forget that I'm the mistress in this house. She's only trying to do her duty, Flory. Are you getting plenty to eat, Jim? What's this bottle got in there? Oh, please don't go touching that, madam. Stop touching it. I'm only taking it over to the light so that I can read the label. Really, madam? I can't... Oh, me too. Hmm. Smells quite nice. Hey, put it down, Flory. Can't you see you're driving poor Yap off her head? Now come and sit down and tell me what you've been doing. Hey, I wish I could come up and balk with you. Hey, how's the gap? Yap was certain that she saw Mrs. Maybrick slip something into the bottle while she was examining it over by the window. Sure enough, the contents of the bottle were anonymized later and they were found to include arsenic. On the 10th of May, Michael the brother came across Flora's Maybrick and the two bottles in her hand. Hello, Flory. What are you doing? Hello, Michael. I was making sure that Jim was getting the right medicine. I'm sure you are. Oh, what a nasty way you're speaking to me, Michael. Is something wrong? I've just had the analysis of that meat juice you handled yesterday. It was found to contain arsenic. Was it examined before I handled it? No, but there's no suspicion attaching to anyone else in the household. Perhaps there should be. Actually, I'll admit I put something in that bottle and Jim asked me to. He said they kept too sharp a watch on him, so he gave me some powder and asked me to slip it into his food when nurse wasn't looking. I suppose there must have been some arsenic in the powder. I certainly didn't know, otherwise I wouldn't have done what he asked. I assure you, you wouldn't. May I see the bottle you have in your hand, please? I suppose you're going to have that analyzed, too. I am. Mr. Michael, Mr. Michael, madam, madam, oh, come quickly, please, or you must come or do completely. What is it, dear? Calm down and tell us quietly. Oh, madam, madam, he's taking very bad. It looks like the anus. Oh, dear. Oh, the lips are too big to the nose. Oh, my little baby, oh, dear. By the time Yap brought Mrs. Maverick round, her husband was dead. The first mortem showed inflammation of the stomach and intestines, and rather less than half a grain of arsenic was found in the body. A search was immediately made of the house. Arsenic was found in many places. A packet of the poison was found in Florence Maverick's trunk. Traces of it were found in her clothes, and traces in bottles and methods, there should have been none. There were some of it among the dead man's belongings as well. The evidence pointed strongly to the wife, and as soon as she was well enough to be charged, she was taken to the police station and committed for trial. Naturally, the case excited wide interest. Here was something for a journalistic field day. The possibility of a wife administering arsenic under the cloak of devotion was this Maverick woman the tender nurse or the fiendish assassin, the loving wife and mother or poisoner, whichever was the true picture. The public at least was out for a hanging when the case opened on the 31st of July, 1889, the Liverpool at Isis. The trial lasted six days. Medical opinions were sought and given on both sides. The specialist who examined the body was positive that death was caused by arsenic poisoning, long drawn out. Mr. Maverick's doctor pointed out that his patient had long been taking nerve tonics containing arsenic, but there was the purchase of the flypapers and the discovery of arsenic in meat juice. What did Mrs. Maverick say to that? Although in those days, prisoners were not allowed to give evidence on their own behalf, they were allowed to make a statement, and Sir Charles Russell, the defending counsel, called on his client on the fifth day. This is what she said. My Lord, it seems that the two things that are most against me are the buying of the flypapers and the addition of the powder to the bottle of meat juice. First of all, the flypapers. I bought these to get the arsenic out of them, but not for poisoning my husband. Many years ago in America, Dr. Grace of Brooklyn prepared a cosmetic for me, which I've been unable to obtain in this country. Its basis was arsenic, and he told me that it was good for the complexion. As for the powder I put in the meat juice, my husband had many times asked me to give him some of his old medicine, which he thought did him more good than the stuff he got from London. He asked me to slip one of these powders into the bottle or into his food so that the nurse and doctor wouldn't notice. He swore to me that it would do him good. Finally, I would like to say that I have been very fortunate to have been able to give my husband the powder that he needed. I have been able to give him the powder that he needed. And finally, I would like to say that for the love of our children and for the sake of their future, a perfect reconciliation had taken place between James and me, and that on the day before his death I made a full and free confession of the fearful wrong I'd done him. Perhaps it was her open association with Briarley that was not overwhelming. Mr. Justice Stephen, who tried the case, gave the jury no definite direction. I don't think he was very sure himself. After going through all the evidence that had been given in court, he admitted that there were still two great difficulties, not simply questions, difficulties. These difficulties, members of the jury, were part from the question of motive. The motive would seem to be that of the infidelity, at least so the prosecution makes up. But the two difficulties that remain are these. One, was the arsenic that was found in the body, less than half a grain, sufficient to cause death? You have heard the medical opinion. You must decide. Two, if it was sufficient, and if you believe that it did cause the death, who administered it? The jury believed that the arsenic in the body was sufficient, and they found Florence Maybrick guilty of administering it. He was sentenced to death. But strangely enough, popular opinion ever fickle had swung round, whereas the prisoner had been hissed as he entered the court if it was a judge who was booed as he left it. And immediately many influential groups went to battle to save Mrs. Maybrick from the gallows. The committees met on the Liverpool poisoning case. Demands for reprieve were signed and sent to the Home Secretary. Numerous letters were written to the Times, and the reprieve was granted. After many years of imprisonment, Mrs. Maybrick went back to America. There, not long afterwards, she died, and with her died the secrets of her husband's death. What do you think? Could that small amount of arsenic be sufficient to kill a man who had been accustomed to the poison through taking it in medicinal form for years? And which was the true Mrs. Maybrick? Now a long time afterwards, a judge who tried the case was sitting at dinner when his neighbor turned to him and said, I've never heard you express an opinion as to the guilt or innocence of Mrs. Maybrick. I never did express an opinion, replied the judge, and he would say no more. And I will say no more, but I shall be back again soon to tell you some more of the secrets of Scotland Yard. Meanwhile, this is Clyde Brooks saying goodbye and pleasant dreams. The Secret of Scotland Yard is distributed by the Center for Telecommunication Services, the University of Texas at Austin.
