The Coroner’s Inquest
On the 28th of May the Coroner’s inquest was held, but I was not well enough to attend. I was represented by my legal advisers. On the 3d of June I was still too ill to appear before the court. Mr. W. S. Barrett, as magistrate, accompanied by Mr. Swift, the clerk, held a Magisterial Court at Walton Jail. Mr. R. S. Cleaver did not attend, having consented to the police obtaining another remand for a week. Only one newspaper reporter was allowed to be present. I was accompanied to the visitors’ room by a female warder, and silently took a seat at the foot of a long table. I was quite composed. Superintendent Bryning rose from his seat at the end of the room and said:
“This person, sir, is Mrs. Maybrick, who is charged with the murder of her husband, at Aigburth, on the 11th of last month. I have to ask that you remand her until Wednesday next.”
Mr. Swift: “Mr. Cleaver, her solicitor, has sent me a note in which he consents to a remand until Wednesday.”
Mr. Barrett: “If there is no objection she will be remanded until Wednesday morning.”
A Plank for a Bed
The magistrate then signed the document authorizing the remand, and I withdrew. On the 5th of June the adjourned inquest was held, and I was taken from jail at half-past eight in the morning to the Coroner’s Court in a cab, accompanied by Dr. O’Hagan, a female attendant, and a policeman. I was taken into the ante-room for the purpose of being identified by the witnesses for the prosecution. I was not taken into court, but at three o’clock Mr. Holbrook Gaskell, a magistrate, attended for the purpose of granting another remand, pending the result of the inquest, and again no evidence was given in my presence. I was taken to the county police station, Lark Lane. I passed the night in a cell which contained only a plank board as a bed. It was dark, damp, dirty, and horrible. A policeman, taking pity on me, brought me a blanket to lie on. In the adjoining cell, in a state of intoxication, two men were raving and cursing throughout the night. I had no light—there was no one to speak to. I was kept there three days, until the coroner’s jury had returned their verdict. A greengrocer near by, named Mrs. Pretty, to whom I had occasionally given orders for fruit, sent me in a daily gift of her best with a note of sympathy—a deed all the more striking in its generosity and nobleness, since the charity of none other of my own sex had reached to that degree of justice to regard me as innocent until proven guilty.
The Verdict of the Coroner’s Jury
On the 6th of June I was again driven to Garston to hear the coroner’s verdict. There was an elaborate array of lawyers, reporters, and witnesses, as well as many spectators.
I waited in the ante-room until the coroner’s jury had summed up. The jury consisted mostly of gentlemen who at one time had been guests in my own house. Of all former friends present, there was only one who had the moral courage to approach me and shake my hand. Throughout the time I sat awaiting the call to appear before the coroner he remained beside me, speaking words of encouragement. But the others, who, without a word of evidence in my defense, had already judged and condemned me, passed by on the other side, for had they not already judged and condemned me?