Who Wants To Live Forever?

Once more, I tried not to be judgemental, but I found myself thinking that I didn’t like Mike at all. He seemed to exert an unhealthy influence over Emma, who might, given the chance, find this course extremely beneficial, even though the class was full of old people. Perhaps others felt the same, for Louise looked at her watch and said, “Normally we’d have a break around eight o’clock, but, as this is the first night, why don’t we have our tea now? The machines are in the hallway — you’ll have passed them when we came in — and we’ll meet back here in fifteen minutes. Okay?”

We all mumbled our agreement and stood to leave. It was noticeable that Mike and Emma remained behind — Emma half rose, but then looked at Mike and sat down again — while Louise dashed off, doubtless wondering just what she’d let herself in for.

“I’m just going to phone my husband,” said Gail, taking out an outdated mobile. I was a little surprised, as, from the way she had described her circumstances, I would have expected her to have the latest model, complete with all the apps; perhaps she struggled with new technology as much as I did, and a simple ‘call and text’ phone suited her best. I couldn’t even manage that.

“That just leaves the three of us, then,” said Trish. “Come on, let’s get a coffee.”

Debbie picked up her battered old satchel, and I said, “I’m sure we can leave our things here. They’ll be safe enough.”

“It isn’t that, E…Ethan? No, I take this everywhere with me. You see, I’m writing a novel, but I’m a bit embarrassed about anybody seeing it just yet.”

“A novel! Wow, I wish I had the ability to do something like that. You should be proud of it and want to show it off to everybody.”

“Perhaps when it’s finished. It’s all a bit of a jumble at the moment. I’m aiming to complete it before the year ends, so…but until then, I feel at bit…you know.”

“We understand,” said Trish, “and I agree with Ethan. Good on you.” They left the room and I followed along behind them while they chatted like old friends, even though I doubted that they’d ever met before the course began.

I thought about the other class members, and I felt a little bit like an outsider looking in. True, Debbie and Trish had been pleasant enough, but perhaps that was just out of politeness. If they were getting along as well as it appeared they were, would there be any room for me as a third wheel? Nerves began to get the better of me, and I wondered if coming here was the right thing or not. If it hadn’t been for the promise I made Julie, I might have left there and then. As I sipped the hot liquid masquerading as coffee I hoped that I hadn’t made a big mistake.

***

The rest of the evening went much better and I was glad I had decided to persevere. Louise was waiting for us all when we returned, and I noticed she had moved to the front teacher’s desk rather than try and join us at the table as one of the group.

“Tonight I’m just going to give you a bit of background,” she began. “I’ll leave the specifics for the remainder of the programme — nine specific events over nine weeks. What I want to cover this evening, then, is a little about Lancashire in the early part of the twentieth century, when in many towns of the county cotton was king, as the Confederates used to say.”

I scribbled notes while Louise talked; this was what I had signed up for, and I was glad I had decided not to leave during the coffee break. Louise continued with her background on the Lancashire of the last century, and before I knew it it was nine o’clock and time for the class to end.

“So tonight I’ve given you a basic overview of the county, rather than starting the course itself,” she concluded. “As I said before, that is partly because I want to talk about nine specific events in the remaining nine weeks, but I was originally going to do a different sort of introduction today, as a precursor to the first of the nine.”

“Why didn’t you, then,” asked Mike, “instead of making us sit through all that boring rubbish?”

“It wasn’t boring. I enjoyed it,” said Trish, and I could see Gail and Debbie nodding in agreement while Emma sank lower into her chair as if to distance herself from Mike’s attitudinal words.

“I’m sorry you found it boring,” said Louise slowly. “I hope you’ll find the rest of the course more interesting. If there is any more, that is.”

“Why? Won’t you be running any further classes?” I asked. “If it’s something any of us have said, I’m sure it wasn’t meant.” I cast a pointed look to my left as I spoke.

“No, Ethan, it’s nothing like that at all. In fact, I welcome controversy. There’s nothing like a good discussion to get the adrenalin flowing. No, it’s something entirely different. You see, in order for a course to run, a minimum of ten students are required. That’s a rule of the department. Although we only had four of you enrolling last Wednesday, and the other two enrolled by post, I expected that we’d have a few more dropping in tonight to increase the numbers, but that hasn’t happened. That was why I changed tonight’s introduction, as I didn’t want to make a start on the real content of the course if I couldn’t take it to its natural end.”

“So it’s all been for nothing,” I said, realising how disappointed I was that the course was not going to continue; it was quite a turnaround from my feelings an hour and a half earlier.

“Not necessarily,” said Louise. “I’ll submit my report, and I’ll include a recommendation that the course does continue, as we have a good group of different ages and opinions and I think it will be very valuable. Besides, I really do want to tell the nine separate tales, as I think there is something important about them. In fact, I’d go as far as to say that what I intend to cover could be, as they say, a matter of life and death.”

I wanted to ask what she meant by that, but before I had the chance to speak Gail was asking a question. “But if you said it was a department rule…” she began.

“Yes, it is. But rules are flexible at times. At break, I saw that there were many more people on the photography and life-drawing courses—” Mike snorted and muttered, “Perverts,” as she said this “—and,” said Louise, in a slightly louder voice, almost as if she were regretting what she had just said about the group, “I hope that our shortfall won’t be as important when taken into consideration with the extra numbers on those programmes. But, if any of you do know of anyone else who might like to come, please give them the details and get them to phone the department and perhaps that will make a difference as well.”

“How will we know if it’s been cancelled?” asked Debbie.

“Yeah, and if it is, I want me money back,” said an angry-sounding Mike.

“Don’t worry,” said Louise. “If the course doesn’t continue, you’ll be repaid in full. Every last penny,” she added, pointedly avoiding looking at Mike. “You may get a letter through the post before Tuesday telling you it’s cancelled, but if you don’t just turn up as usual and assume the class is going ahead. Hopefully, I’ll see you all next week.”

I walked out of the college in somewhat of a daze, barely aware of anybody else until I heard Trish saying, “Well, that was different.” I turned and saw she was talking to Debbie.

“Yes, it was. What do you think, Ethan?”

“Oh, I suppose I’m a little disappointed now. I wasn’t sure about it all at first, but once the class got going after coffee I was really beginning to enjoy it. I was looking forward to the discussions over the next few weeks, but now that’s all been put in doubt.”

“Do you know anybody else who could come?” asked Trish to both of us, but we both shook our heads. “No, me neither,” she added. “I don’t know about the other three, so let’s hope Louise can come up with someone else.”

“Yes, let’s,” I added. “It might be good if a few younger ones came — perhaps then Mike and Emma might not feel out on a limb. Or even somebody in their thirties, so we’ve a variety of ages and experiences.”

“I know what you mean,” said Debbie. “I suppose it must be quite difficult for them when everybody else is a little bit older.” A little bit? I thought, but I didn’t say anything. “I quite like Emma, but I’m not too sure about Mike. But it’s the first night, so I’m trying not to be too critical. The point is, we need everybody we can get if the course is going to run, and it’s important that it does, so we’ll have to just cross our fingers and hope for the best.”

I nodded, knowing she was right. It was nice to know that Debbie was as keen as I was to keep the group going. We said our goodnights and I walked slowly back home, pondering on an interesting first night.

***

I had barely stepped through the front door when the phone rang. As I answered I heard Julie’s babbling tones coming down the line.

“Well, did you go to class?”

“Yes, I went.”

“And?”

“And it was good. But this might be the only time.”

“Dad! You mustn’t give up that easily.”

“Hold on a second. The course might not run next week as only a few enrolled on it. If they don’t get the numbers, it’ll probably be cancelled.”

“I told you to go for a more popular one.”

“This was the one that interested me. Anyway, there’s a chance it’ll still run.”

“And what about the other students? Are they nice?”

“Oh, a couple seem all right.”

“And would those couple perhaps be women around your age?”

“I suppose they are. I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“Dad! Look, I’ve got to go now, but let me know how it goes. And how you get on with your classmates. Remember, play nicely with them. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Jules,” I said with a smile, and I put the phone down.

Chapter Two

Week 2 — Manchester — Poisoning

Tuesday 27^th September 2011

The next week passed remarkably slowly. Every morning, I’d wait for the post to arrive, breathing a sigh of relief when there was nothing about cancelling the course in the mail. I pottered around my small room, willing the days to pass. Ever since the divorce, I had been living in a small rented flat in Fairhaven. It was quite a nice area, but I only had my own bedsit and a kitchen in the sprawling Victorian building, sharing the bathroom with the other tenants, and I never felt that I could call it my home. Sad, really, that this was all I had to show after a lifetime at work.

The two other tenants were both males in their thirties. They were out at work all day and weren’t ones for socialising, even if I had wanted to spend my evenings with people from a different generation with different sets of values. Consequently, the course took on an even greater importance, and when Tuesday came and there was still no word from the Education Department I began to hope that all would work out after all.

In truth, it was the company that was the attraction rather than the course itself. The latter seemed as if it was going to be interesting enough, so it was fair to say that I was looking forward to the subject matter, but I had thought a lot about the other class members, particularly Debbie and Trish, over the last week. I hadn’t mentioned them to Julie, of course; I didn’t confide everything during the conversations with my daughter.

Trish had introduced herself as ‘happily divorced’. Debbie had told us she had ‘left her husband’. That didn’t mean, of course, that they weren’t in settled relationships now, but at least there was the possibility that they were in a similar position to me. Were they to be involved with somebody else, then that would be a different matter. After what my wife had put me through, I could never even contemplate splitting up anybody else’s relationship.

I found myself attracted to the two women in completely different ways. Trish appeared, I suppose, to be the ‘safe’ choice. She dressed attractively yet sensibly, exuding the air of a smart, successful businesswoman who was happy with her lot in life. I had thought at first that her persona didn’t fully equate with her position as a sandwich maker, but that was being condescending on my part. Even if it was ‘only’ sandwiches, it was her own business, and she had set it up and made a success of it. She had also initiated the conversations at break time, and seemed prepared to take charge and make decisions. She showed no lack of confidence or sense of unease. I also figured that her self-confidence would make her the stronger of the two. It might be good for me to have somebody like her in my life.

I smiled wryly at my arrogance. I had met her once, for a couple of hours, and I was already thinking of her as being ‘in my life’. I was glad I wasn’t discussing this with Julie, for she would really have told me off for being presumptuous.

In contrast to Trish, Debbie came across as both dangerous and vulnerable. She dressed as if she was trying to defy the calendar that told her she was a woman in her mid-fifties. On many people, her dress would have come across as a shade too tight and a tad too short, but she managed to carry it off effortlessly. She certainly didn’t look her age, and there was a sensuality, rather than sexuality, about her that I found enticing. I could envisage life with her as being one long round of parties and excitement. There was nothing whatsoever ‘safe’ about her. And yet, at the same time, she came across as vulnerable. Her job might not be the most exciting, but anybody who was writing a novel should surely have something to enthuse about, yet she was almost apologetic for inflicting her words upon the world. Her self-effacing attitude added to her attraction as far as I was concerned. She could help me and I could help her. Much as Trish might be good for me, Debbie might be what I needed out of life.

I shook my head and told myself not to be so stupid. Yes, I might be interested in both of them, but whatever made me think that either of them would take the slightest interest in me? What did I have to offer them? Just enjoy their company, Ethan, I said to myself as I checked my appearance in the mirror before leaving the flat, and leave it at that. Then you’ll not be disappointed. But I knew that I’d take no notice of my own advice.

***

I arrived early at the college that evening, fully expecting that there would be new faces in the class, but I was to be disappointed; Gail was the only other person there when I arrived, and by seven o’clock there were just the six of us who had been present a week earlier. It was noticeable that Mike and Emma chose not to sit with us, but took seats at the other circular table. But there was no sign of Louise, and as the clock ticked on to ten past I began to think that the cancellation letters had been sent out but hadn’t arrived in time.

It was a surprise, then, when Louise walked in a couple of minutes later. “Sorry I’m late,” she said, “but I’ve been on the phone to the Education Department to see if anybody else has enrolled.”

“And have they?” I asked, unable to keep the fear out of my voice.

“No, I’m afraid not,” she answered in a sad voice. “But not to worry,” she added, her tone now much more upbeat. “I’ve managed to persuade them to let us continue. Now, let’s get started, shall we? We’ve a lot to cover tonight. Mike, Emma, as there’s only going to be us seven here, come and join us at this one table, please.”

Reluctantly, the couple moved over to join us, and I noticed a smile of what looked like satisfaction on Louise’s face. Perhaps she couldn’t say so officially, but I guessed she had felt challenged by last week’s attitudes and was determined not to allow them to cause any disruption to her class.

“Right, let’s begin. As I said last week, I want to concentrate over the next nine weeks on nine specific events that took place across the county over the last century. At first, you might think that there is nothing about these cases that warrants them being given more attention than any other occurrences, but I hope that by the time we reach the end of the course you will be able to see the connection between them all.

“Before I start, though, I want to set the general scene, and I intend to do that by talking about crime in Lancashire. If we look at the decade from the mid-thirties through to the end of the Second World War, it’s probably fair to say that the crime rate in Lancashire was fairly low, at least in comparison with the type and severity of crimes that we see today. Take youth crime, for example. Children at that time were still mischievous, but not malicious. One of their favourite pastimes was to tie adjacent doorknockers together, knock on the two doors, then run off to watch and laugh as the two householders tried in vain to open their front doors to see who was calling. It was mischievous rather than malicious, and nobody was hurt by it. In general, people could walk through town at night in perfect safety, and it’s become almost legendary now how people would go to the shops without bothering to lock their front doors, yet nothing would ever be stolen.”

“Yeah, but that’s because they had nowt to steal.”

“Perhaps that’s so, Mike, but nowadays, their home would be vandalised whether there was anything worth stealing or not. Women, especially, could feel safe when they were out. There were areas where police had to walk in pairs, because they were considered fair game for a beating when the pubs emptied at closing time, but they also gave as good as they got, without having to listen to claims of police brutality.”

“You’ll be telling us Gene Hunt was a good cop next,” sneered Mike.

“I’m neither condoning nor condemning anybody. I’m just telling it as it was,” said Louise, a little exasperated. “Nowadays, smacking is not allowed, but in the thirties police and family members dispensed a good old-fashioned clip round the ear to straighten out wayward children. And it used to work, because nobody wanted to be on the receiving end twice. The police would often use their cape as a weapon, swirling it round and clouting people on the shoulders. With the thick collar and fastening clasp, it was a very quick, effective and painful means of dispensing justice.

“So, and now we come to the point of all this. With major crime a rarity, when there was a murder, it grabbed the headlines; far more so than would happen today, when suspicious deaths are unfortunately all too common. So what I want to talk about next is one of the stranger deaths that occurred in the county. It happened just over a hundred years ago, in Manchester. I know that isn’t in Lancashire now,” she added before anybody could interrupt, “but Manchester and Liverpool used to be as much a part of Lancashire as Lytham St Annes is. This course will look at events that occurred across the old historic county.”

I could see that Mike was itching to contradict Louise, despite Emma’s attempts to quieten him. For the next twenty minutes, I sat and listened to what I considered to be a rather unnecessary argument about whether or not a variety of locations were suitable subjects for a course about Lancashire.

Louise looked at her watch. “We’ve spent quite a bit of time on this discussion. I suggest we go for our break now, then we can start on the real content of tonight’s session when we return in twenty minutes.” And without another word, she stood and walked out of the room.

***

As I sipped my coffee Trish came over to join me. “That was a little unexpected. I’m glad she suggested a break. I was dropping off to sleep. Who really cares whether Todmorden is in Lancashire or Yorkshire? Unless you’re from there, I suppose.”

I nodded my assent. “I thought I was the only one. I hope that the rest of the sessions don’t get hijacked, as I was quite intrigued when she said we were going to look at a strange death. I know,” I added quickly, “it sounds a bit morbid, but I thought it would be interesting. I get the impression, though, that whatever content was included in the course, he wouldn’t be happy. Even his girlfriend — I’m assuming that’s what she is — was trying to calm him down, but he seems intent on confrontation. I don’t think he likes the fact that he’s in a group with so many oldies as I’m sure he refers to us, but that isn’t going to change. They could have helped change the dynamic if they’d encouraged some of their friends to enrol, but they were no more successful than the rest of us in getting new people to come along tonight. So this is the group, like it or not. I just hope that Louise hasn’t had second thoughts about twisting the arms of those at the department and letting the course continue. Half of me dreads going back in case she’s had a change of heart as a result of his aggressive negativity, and she’s used the break to cancel the remainder of the course.”

“Me too,” added Trish. “And it would be such a shame, for I’m with you on this. It isn’t being morbid at all. In fact, I was hoping the strange death would be a puzzling murder. Now that would be fascinating. Don’t you agree, Debbie?”

Debbie walked across, having obviously heard the tail-end of our discussion. “I’m not too sure. Perhaps I haven’t got the same kind of gory interests as you pair,” she added with a semi-laugh, “but I was hoping perhaps for more, well, shall we say historical facts to be discussed.”

As she spoke Debbie looked directly at me. Her blue eyes, sparkling as the light reflected in them, seemed to bore deep into my soul, and I found myself floundering beneath her gaze.

“He seems to have gone into a trance. What did you do to him?” Trish laughed, enjoying my obvious discomfort when I realised I had missed part of the conversation.

Mumbling something about it being an age thing, I led the three of us back to the classroom, hoping that there would still be a class to attend.

***

When we returned, Louise was finishing off putting some stapled sheets on our tables. “I’ve given you all some background information details about what we’ll be discussing. So, let’s begin with the bare facts about this murder.” I looked at Trish and she smiled. “It happened, as I said, in Manchester, on Friday, January sixth, 1911. Just over a century ago, and this is the farthest back I intend to go on the course. The victim was a woman called Enid Rodgers, and she died of arsenic poisoning.”

“A woman did it, then,” said Gail, but Louise shook her head.

“I know poison is traditionally associated with the fairer sex, but in this case…well, that’s what I want to talk about. Let me just say that a woman wasn’t found guilty of the murder; in fact, it was Enid Rodgers’ husband who was convicted. As far as the notion of poison being associated with female murderers goes, there are some notable precedents of men being involved in poisonings, such as Dr Crippen, who was hanged in 1910 for the murder by toxic drug of his second wife, Cora. You may have heard about his capture, which came after a telegraph message was sent by the ship’s captain as he spotted Crippen on board during a voyage to Canada. However, the murder of Enid Rodgers is nothing like that.”

“So what is so unusual about this one that warrants this discussion?” I asked, puzzled.

“Ah, I’m coming to that. Let me give you the facts of the case first. Enid Rodgers lived with her husband, Alfred, in central Manchester, close to the junction of the rivers Irwell and Irk. Enid was forty-eight years old and she was a cotton worker at one of the county’s many mills. The couple had no children, and seem to have kept themselves to themselves as much as possible. Enid first became ill towards the end of 1910, and was bed-ridden over Christmas and the New Year. At first, her husband didn’t think there was anything to it, as ill health amongst mill workers was a daily occurrence in those times, but when the headaches showed no sign of improving he turned to one of Enid’s friends from work, a woman called Eve Rhodes. Eve had been a visitor off and on over the preceding few weeks — she seems to have been the only person other than Alfred and Enid to have frequented the tiny one-bedroomed house in Arnside Street.

“Eve almost took up residence in the house over the festive period — it seems that she had no family over here, as she came over to England from Canada some time during 1910.”

“Perhaps she did a swap with Crippen, then,” joked Emma. “She did it, I’ll bet.”

“I knew I shouldn’t have mentioned Crippen yet,” said Louise, but she had a slight smile on her face. “But you could be right nevertheless,” she added, mischievously. “Anyway, Eve’s presence didn’t seem to make any difference. On the contrary, for Enid’s condition continued to deteriorate. The constant vomiting left her increasingly weak, and in desperation Alfred sent for the doctor, Patrick Woolley.”

“Sure it wasn’t Crippen?” sneered Mike.

Louise pointedly ignored the interruption. “The doctor came but it was too late. Enid fell into a coma on the morning of January sixth and never regained consciousness. She died later that afternoon. The doctor, her husband and Eve were all by her bedside when she passed. And that would have been it — just one more death in a city where early death was a fact of life as a result of the prevailing conditions of the time — had it not been for a keen-eyed clerk who read the doctor’s report of the death. Unfortunately, history doesn’t name this clerk, but without him this entire course might not exist.”

I looked over at Trish as Louise said this and mouthed, “Why?”, but Trish only shrugged her shoulders in response. I turned my attention back to Louise.

“…read that Dr Woolley reported seeing a ‘strange puff of dust’ at the exact time that Enid died, but he had no idea what it was. This intrigued the clerk, who decided to dig a little further, and he ascertained that there were some unusual aspects to the case. To begin with, Enid’s fingernails were discoloured with a white pigmentation called leukonychia, or — more commonly — white nail. The doctor hadn’t taken much notice of this, as it was relatively common, with any injury to the base of the nail a likely cause. But there was something else in this case — the whitening was in bands, called leukonychia striata, and the clerk knew that this was a symptom of poisoning, with lead or arsenic often the cause.

“As Enid had also suffered hair loss prior to her death, the clerk was convinced that something untoward had happened and an investigation was launched once Dr Woolley confirmed that there was no arsenic present in any of the tonics he had prescribed. It was common at the time for some women to whiten their skin by using a mixture of vinegar, chalk and arsenic, but Alfred Rodgers was vehement that his wife never paid any attention to those ‘ridiculous desires of fashion’ as he called them.”

“I take it,” said Debbie, “that her husband was putting a noose round his neck when he said that. Why on earth are some men so stupid? All he had to do was say his wife was fashion conscious and quite possibly he’d have walked away scot-free.”

“Yes, Debbie, you’re correct. But then, if he had, we wouldn’t have anything to talk about tonight, would we?”

“Stupid man,” muttered Mike. “Now we’re suffering a hundred years later because of him.”

Again, Louise refused to rise to the bait, continuing instead with her tale. “After this, the investigation increased in intensity, and the police concentrated entirely on Alfred. Nobody even thought to question Eve Rhodes, even though she, too, was present at Enid’s death. Even Alfred failed to think of involving her, probably because he never thought he’d be found guilty. By the time it was evident that he was going to be charged, several months had passed, Eve had left the mill and nobody knew where she had gone to.

“The case went to trial eventually, with the prosecution claiming that Alfred had been adding small amounts of arsenic to Enid’s meals over a period of several weeks until the concentrated levels in her bloodstream reached the fatal level. The jury seemed to be influenced in this by the fact that Enid had changed her diet in recent weeks, adding rice to most meals — rice was known to contain higher levels of arsenic than other foodstuffs. The prosecutor claimed that made it easy for Alfred to add small levels of arsenic and just hope it would be assumed to be the natural level in the rice if anybody analysed the cause of death.

“In his defence, Alfred denied initiating the change to her diet, but was unable to offer a suggestion as to why she had so suddenly altered her eating habits. When pressed on the matter, Alfred said it must have been something to do with somebody at work, but neither the mill-owner nor Enid’s colleagues had any knowledge of this. The prosecution claimed that this was proof that Alfred was trying to deflect suspicion onto somebody else, and this proved to be the final nail in Alfred’s metaphorical coffin.

“Alfred was found guilty of murder and was hanged at Strangeways on March twenty-fifth 1912 — and as we were talking about Crippen before, the hangman, Rochdale’s John Ellis, was the same man who executed Crippen in 1910, and he was also an assistant to Henry Pierrepoint, first of the dynasty of executioners.”

Louise stopped and waited for a response. I picked up the detailed sheets and began skimming through them, more to avoid eye contact with Louise and a possibly difficult question than to glean any more facts. Then a thought struck me.

“So this Eve Rhodes,” I began, “I mean, how come they couldn’t trace her? If she was the only other person present when Enid died, surely it would have been important to find her.”

“So you’d think,” replied Louise, “but remember, this was 1911, and initially there wasn’t any thought of foul play. But, even so, once it became a murder investigation, you would think that they would have made greater efforts to find her. And that is the real point of all of this.” She looked at me and smiled, and I suddenly felt glad that I had been the one to ask the question.