CHARLOTTE’S REVENGE

 

Franklin Swartz owned his wife, Charlotte.  From the day of their marriage, he asserted his ownership.  He took over her inheritance, her house, and her life.  Charlotte had expected partnership, as promised, but the law does not uphold promises made in the passion of the moment.

In 1861, a woman was insignificant. Well yes, she was a possession, an ornament, a mother of as many sons and daughters as she could produce, a keeper of the house if not of the purse. She belonged to her husband, no matter what.  There was no escape.  All her life Charlotte had been protected – from education, from experience, from work that paid. But from her husband, there was no protection.  If he beat her, it was because she deserved it. If he found and used another woman, it was not his fault, it was because Charlotte was lacking. And in some ways, Charlotte was lacking.  She had no children.

But Charlotte did not lack courage.  One night, she killed her husband, Franklin, while he lay in a drunken stupor on their bed. It wasn’t difficult.  She just held a pillow over his snoring head – until it stopped snoring.  Then she turned over, and slept soundly, more soundly than she had slept in years.

In the morning, Charlotte realized that the unexpected death of Franklin Swartz might pose a problem. She had two choices.  Report his death – there would be many witnesses who could attest to his state of inebriation, and the fact that he had rolled over and smothered in his semi-unconscious state was not surprising. Or she could conceal his body, and leave it to be found at some stage.  After all, many men were going to the Lindis Pass to gather the gold – why should Franklin not go?

In the end, she did neither.  Fate intervened, and played her part in the life of Charlotte. Whether for good or evil, is not the theme of this story.  Charlotte went into the scullery and made tea.

There was a loud knocking on the front door, and without waiting for a reply – because after all, who would reply but Charlotte, Theo Porter burst in, calling ‘Frankie. Frankie’.  Then though he was a good friend of Franklin Swartz he opened the door of the bedroom, still calling ‘Frankie’. And tucked up in bed – still snoring, as he was to testify later – was his friend. So deeply asleep was Franklin Swartz that he refused to respond to his friend’s call, so Theo Porter went through to the kitchen to find Charlotte.

He accepted the tea, he chatted on about the great night of celebration that the two had had the night before, he boasted about quality of the moonshine they had drunk at Ma Murphy’s house, he himself was feeling the effects of the ‘fire water’, so he understood the unwillingness of Frank to face the day.

But, he confided to Charlotte, who remained silent, that he and Frank had made plans to go to the Gold Fields to make their fortune.  Charlotte still said nothing, but poured more tea.  She thought of her money being squandered on Mrs. Murphy’s moonshine, and any feelings of remorse that she might have had, were drowned in that tea.  The garrulous friend rambled on and on, and Charlotte listened.  After an hour, Theo Porter decided to go again to call Frank.  This time, when he entered the bedroom, there was no snoring – and to his horror, he found that his friend was dead.

There was great consternation.  The constable was called. The doctor was called. Theo Porter, he of impeccable character, he a successful businessman, testified that his friend had died while he, Theo Porter, was supping tea!  Charlotte was suitably devastated, and the doctor confirmed – because of the snoring – that the time of Franklin’s death was certainly within that hour.  What a tragedy!  The undertaker called and removed the body.  Because it was Thursday, the funeral service and burial needed to be performed before the Sabbath, so quick arrangements were made, and Franklin Swartz was buried.

Suspicion fell on Ma Murphy’s moonshine.  But there was nothing to be proved there.  She did not make any moonshine on her premises – she simply shared a drink with her friends. Though Ma Murphy’s was fine and hospitable boarding establishing it was, she did not sell alcohol.  Obviously she was permitted to entertain friends. Franklin Swartz’ death was simply a tragic accident.

 Charlotte Swartz grieved for a week.  She wore a black veil as was fitting for a widow.  She did not have a black dress, so she called on the bank, produced the death certificate, and withdrew all the money to buy a suitable black dress.  Instead, on reflection, she bought one of a different colour.

By the time that her self-imposed period of mourning was over, Charlotte emerged as a new woman.  She bought a large house on the hill, and she scrubbed, cleaned, and painted. In less than a month, she had opened a high class Tea Rooms. High tea was a favourite event on the society calendar. The business flourished

The bedrooms in that large house were often used as temporary accommodation – maybe for an evening, an afternoon, and sometimes all night.  Charlotte was the epitome of discretion.  The little house she had shared with Franklin Swartz was leased out to a deserving couple, who were quite unaware of the tragedy of the death that had occurred.

How do we know all this?  After 20 years of business success, Charlotte herself had a personal tragedy.  She suffered an apoplectic attack, and recovered very briefly to call her solicitor and confess her crime.  Then she died.

This confession made the headlines of the local paper. And the events that followed were even more newsworthy.  In the cottage on Wharfe St, where the murder had occurred, strange snoring noises were reported by the occupants, and even worse, though no blood had been shed at the scene of the crime, bloody finger marks were found on the walls, and pillows were thrown about the room by some unknown and unseen ‘being’.

Charlotte had made a will.  She left all to Theo Porter, he of impeccable character.  However, instead of being of any benefit to him, it was his downfall.  Rumors made him an accomplice, a confidante of Charlotte.  Whether or not this was Charlotte’s final revenge or payment for assistance – we’ll never know.   Whether or not there was any truth in the rumours, we will never know.

The past lies buried.