The eldest daughter of a Glasgow architect, Madeleine Smith was a girl of great beauty, bright, attractive, and much courted. But from all her suitors she singled out a certain Jersey man, Pierre Émile l’Angelier, an employé in the firm of Huggins, in Glasgow—a small, insignificant creature, altogether unworthy of her in looks or position. The acquaintance ripened, and Madeleine seems to have become devotedly attached to her lover, whom she often addressed as her “own darling husband.” They kept up a clandestine correspondence, and had many stolen interviews at a friend’s house. In the spring of 1856 Madeleine’s parents discovered the intimacy, and peremptorily insisted that it should end forthwith. But the lovers continued to meet secretly, and Madeleine threw off all restraint, and was ready to elope with her lover. The time was indeed fixed, but she suddenly changed her mind.
Then a rich Glasgow merchant, Mr. Minnock, saw Madeleine, and was greatly enamoured of her. Early in January, 1857, he offered her marriage, and she became engaged to him. It was necessary, now, to break with l’Angelier, and, mindful of the old adage to be off with the old love before she took on with the new, she wrote to him, begging him to return her letters and her portrait. L’Angelier positively refused to give them or her up. He had told many friends of his connection with Madeleine Smith, and some of them had now advised him to let her go. “No; I will never surrender the letters, nor, so long as I live, shall she marry another man.” On the 9th of February he wrote her a letter, which must have been full of upbraiding, and probably of threats, but it has not been preserved. Madeleine must have been greatly terrified by it, too, for her reply was a frantic appeal for mercy, for a chivalrous silence as to their past relations which he was evidently incapable of preserving. She was in despair, entirely in the hands of this mean ruffian, who was determined not to spare her; she saw all hope of a good marriage fading away, and nothing but ignominious exposure before her.
As the result of the trial, when by-and-by she was arraigned for the murder of l’Angelier, was a verdict of “Not Proven,” it is hardly right to say that she now resolved to rid herself of the man who possessed her guilty secret. But that was the case for the prosecution, the basis of the charge brought against her. She had made up her mind, as it seemed, to extreme measures. She appeared to be reconciled with l’Angelier, and had several interviews with him. What passed at these meetings of the 11th and 12th of February was never positively known, but on the 19th he was seized with a mysterious and terrible illness, being found lying on the floor of his bedroom writhing in pain, and likely to die. He did, in fact, recover, but those who knew him said he was never the same man again. He seems to have had some suspicion of Madeleine, for he told a friend that a cup of chocolate had made him sick, but said he was so much fascinated by her that he would forgive her even if she poisoned him, and that he would never willingly give her up.
Rumours of the engagement and approaching marriage now reached his ears, and called forth fresh protests and remonstrances. Madeleine replied, denying the rumours, and declaring that she loved him alone. About this time the Smith family went on a visit to Bridge of Allan, where Mr. Minnock followed them, and, at his urgent request, the day of marriage was fixed. Then they all returned to Glasgow, and missed l’Angelier, who also had followed Madeleine to Bridge of Allan. He remained at Stirling, but, on receiving a letter from her, he went on to Glasgow, being in good health at the time. This was the 22nd of February, a Sunday, on which night, about eight p.m., he reached his lodgings, had tea, and went out. As he left, he asked for a latchkey, saying he “might be late.” He expressed his intention of going back to Stirling the following day.
That same night, or rather in the small hours of the morning, the landlady was roused by a violent ringing of the bell; and, going down to the front door, found l’Angelier there, half doubled up with pain. He described himself as exceedingly ill. A doctor was sent for, who put him to bed and prescribed remedies, but did not anticipate immediate danger. The patient, however, persisted in repeating that he was “worse than the doctor thought”; but he hoped if the curtains were drawn round his bed, and he were left in peace for five minutes, he would be better. These were his last words. When the doctor presently reappeared; l’Angelier was dead. He had passed away without giving a sign; without uttering one word to explain how he had spent his time during the evening.
A search was made in his pockets, but nothing of importance was found; but a letter addressed to him signed “M’eine,” couched in passionate language, imploring him “to return.” “Are you ill, my beloved? Adieu! with tender embraces.” The handwriting of this letter was not identified, but a friend of l’Angelier’s, M. de Mean, hearing of his sudden death, went at once to warn Madeleine Smith’s father that l’Angelier had letters in his possession which should not be allowed to fall into strange hands. It was too late: the friends of the deceased had sealed up his effects and they refused to surrender the letters.
Later M. de Mean plainly told Madeleine Smith, whom he saw in her mother’s presence, that grave suspicion began to overshadow her. It was known that l’Angelier had come up from Bridge of Allan at her request, and he implored her to say whether or not he had been in her company that night. Her answer was a decided negative, and she stated positively that she had seen nothing of him for three weeks. She went farther and asserted that she had neither seen nor wanted to see him on the Sunday evening; she had given him an appointment for Saturday, but he had not
appeared, although she had waited for him some time. This appointment had been made that she might recover her letters. All through this painful interview with de Mean, Madeleine appeared in the greatest distress. Next morning she took to flight.