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Chapter Thirty

CHAPTER THIRTY

Tuesday, 19 October, 1869

“Madhouse Murder trial starts today!”

“Read All About It.”

“Murderess Faces Judge and Jury.”

The whey-faced paper sellers ran to and fro doing a brisk trade.

Johnson Nottidge stepped down from his carriage into the bustling Hertford Street as the downpour started. The coachman hurried forward and held an umbrella over him. Using the end of his walking stick, Nottidge prodded a ragamuffin out of his path and made his way into the courthouse. Behind him others followed suit, seeking shelter and, even better, a few hours’ entertainment in the warm. He removed his doeskin gloves and looked around the main courtroom. The public gallery and reporters’ box were already fit to burst—standing room only—and now the jumble of rainproof trappings, discarded willy-nilly, added to the chaotic atmosphere. In the enclosed surroundings, the air was pungent with the mix of sodden clothes and unwashed bodies.

He breathed in deeply and relished his anticipat
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