REBECCA CANT

REBECCA CANT

by Richard Banks                        

Little is known of Rebecca's life, only her leaving of it is remembered. On that, much has been written, it is a mystery second only to the Whitechapel murders. There is, of course, no shortage of theories: murder, suicide, death by misadventure, even sorcery, but without the evidence of a body who can be sure that she did die. The only certainty is that on the morning of the 13^th January 1897 she disappeared from her home in Harbour Lane, Brixham and was never seen again

         The discovery that she was gone was made by the village postman who finding the front door to her small cottage open peered in to find the kitchen range lit and the dining table set for breakfast. Having called out her name several times and received no response he continued on his round intending to call back later that morning with the letter he was carrying. When he did so he found the front door still open and the fire in the range almost out. Fearing that something was amiss but reluctant to go beyond the kitchen he reported his concerns to the village Constable who came to the cottage shortly before mid-day.

         On finding Rebecca still absent the Constable carefully searched each room for some indication as to what had happened. The door had been unlocked from the inside, the key still in the lock, easing concerns that a thief or some other intruder had forced their way in. Apart from her unmade bed, each room was tidy, and several items of value, including fifteen shillings in a purse, were found undisturbed. On a hook by the door was Rebecca's coat and beneath a chair, next to the kitchen range, were her shoes. While there was no evidence that a crime had been committed Rebecca's absence from her home on a cold winter's day without shoes or coat prompted the Constable to extend his search to the harbour and the thirty or so roads and courtyards then comprising Brixham.

         Having failed to find her, or anyone who had seen her that day, he abandoned his search at dusk. Remembering that the door to Rebecca's cottage was shut but not locked he returned there with the intention of securing the cottage and taking charge of the key, only to find a lighted candle on the shelf above the kitchen range. As before he called out Rebecca's name and by the light of the candle again searched the cottage. If Rebecca had returned to the cottage to light the candle she had again ventured forth without coat or shoes. Returning to the kitchen he noticed something else that was new.  Above her shoes, on the seat of the chair, was a red flower later identified as a Begonia Veitchii. Long out of season this was, in its way, as much a mystery as Rebecca's disappearance. How had such a flower survived the winter? Who had put it there?  While these were questions never to be answered the significance of the candle and the flower was not lost on Mr Woodleigh, the Evangelical editor of the South Devon Post, who saw them as metaphors for life, both in this world and the next. His impassioned reportage of Rebecca's disappearance and the investigation that followed created a stir among the 'papers readers unequalled since the serialisation of Little Nell.

         The 'story' was taken up by the Daily Graphic who added the additional information – not to be found in official records – that on the morning of Rebecca's disappearance a warm dish of porridge had been found on her kitchen table. Within days the story had become front-page news in other Fleet Street nationals and their reporters became as common a sight in Brixham as its fishermen. In their quest for new revelations, they found the local population more than willing to supply them in exchange for financial or liquid inducements. The villagers did not lack for imagination and their stories, although often contradictory, filled the reporters' notebooks for weeks to come.

         While fact and fiction were becoming inextricably entwined it soon became evident that speculation concerning Rebecca had been rife well before her disappearance. She had come to Brixham in the autumn of 1896, a young woman, unaccompanied by husband or family, who had taken up residence in a small rented cottage shortly after the demise of the previous tenant. Having arrived with no other possessions than the clothes she wore and a small trunk, she purchased the furniture and fittings of the cottage from the landlord who had assumed ownership of them in default of unpaid rent.

         Although not unfriendly to her new neighbours their curiosity about her was satisfied only to the extent that she was unmarried and had come from Somerset to be housekeeper to Mr Yardley, a local landowner who had recently been widowed. Thinking it improper that a young woman should stay unchaperoned in his large house it was he who insisted that Rebecca seek accommodation in the village. Her daily trips to and from her employer’s house were, at first, keenly observed by the villagers but on finding her back home each evening at half past six their speculation concerning Rebecca turned to matters unconnected to Mr Yardley. According to her neighbours, Rebecca received visitors from outside the village who arrived after dark in a post-chaise and departed shortly after midnight. While their arrivals and departures took place in silence the sound of voices from inside the house gave the impression that they were speaking in unison. Dismissing more mundane explanations the rumour spread that Rebecca was dabbling in the occult, an accusation fuelled by the additional evidence that she had acquired a large black cat.   

         In London the editors of Fleet Street newspapers decided not to use the various rumours sent to them by their reporters. For now all that was needed was the mystery of her disappearance. The story had more legs than a centipede and might well continue to be front-page news for weeks to come. To help matters along the Daily Graphic offered a reward of £1,000 to anyone with information on the present whereabouts of Rebecca, dead or alive.

         Within days the largest manhunt in criminal history was being undertaken by an army of amateur sleuths whose efforts to find Rebecca were undertaken with a zeal worthy of Stanley's quest for Livingstone. For several weeks no young woman remotely corresponding to her description could venture out on her own without being asked, “are you, Rebecca Cant?” Those who managed by fleet of foot or some other subterfuge to avoid their pursuers were seen in a variety of places and situations, often involving the boarding of trains or steamships to destinations where new sightings of Rebecca were sure to follow.

         'But who is she?' asked a letter to The Times. 'How can it be that nothing is known of her past life? Surely someone must know of it?' And although no reward was offered for this information another army of informants searched their memories for young women who for reasons, now rendered mysterious, were no longer where they had once been. Within days a deluge of letters identified over one hundred young women as being Rebecca either prior to her time in Brixham or now living under a variety of names that in only one instance was Rebecca Cant. Although few of these letters were taken seriously their claims were often featured in front-page news coverage and in one instance led to the arrest of a receiver of stolen goods who might well have evaded capture had she not been named Roberta Cant.

         As the number of Rebecca sightings diminished the story sparked back into life when a convicted murderer, Charles Meade, confessed to her abduction and murder. Claiming the one thousand pound reward for his family he led the police to a shallow grave in woodland, north of Brixham, from which a body was removed and examined. The headline news that Rebecca's remains had been discovered was refuted two days later by the findings of an autopsy that established a time of death many months before Rebecca's arrival in Brixham. While the body in the woods was never identified, forensic examination established that the victim had been struck several times to the head by a blunt instrument similar, if not identical, to the weapon used to kill Mead's first victim. Despite all evidence that the exhumed body was not Rebecca his insistence that it was received more newspaper coverage than the two murders he undoubtedly committed. His last words on the scaffold, still claiming responsibility for Rebecca's death, were reported on the front pages of all the national dailies.

         With record sales of the Graphic beginning to falter the Editor decided to make use of one of the rumours confided earlier to his reporters. Knowing that the Daily Mail was about to go to press with the story that Rebecca was a Serbian revolutionary in hiding from the secret police of that country the Graphic decided that more newspapers would be sold if Rebecca 'became' a witch. Expanding on the unexplained meetings at her cottage the newspaper published startling new information that Rebecca was at the centre of a coven of west country witches. While professing scepticism about witchcraft in keeping with the rationalism of the modern age the Graphic surrendered its front pages to anyone claiming knowledge of Rebecca's involvement in satanic ritual. How else, it was argued, could she have disappeared so completely. Was it not common knowledge that a witch could change its shape and become any black creature of its choosing. Had not a large crow been sighted on the roof of Rebecca's cottage. Had not a black lamb been born on a nearby farm? Rebecca was still in the village, had never left. That was the meaning of the candle and the flower. What could be clearer?

         To many readers of the Graphic nothing could be less clear. When letters were received to this effect the newspaper sought to enhance the credibility of its reportage by paying an impoverished academic to write an article questioning the scientific understanding of the supernatural. Having stemmed the tide of criticism the academic was dispatched to Brixham to undertake a study of the supernatural beliefs and activities of its inhabitants. This he may have attempted but was unable to complete on account of his unsuspected partiality for bottled spirits. Seldom straying beyond the taproom of his lodgings in the Ship Inn the study floundered on the learned gentleman's inability to recall anything that was told him. 

         At the instigation of its owner, the Graphic informed its readers that the report would not be published owing to the 'unexplained disappearance of the academic' who was obliged to maintain this fiction by lying low in a Perthshire croft. 'Had he come too close to the truth and become a victim of satanic powers?' asked the Graphic in a front-page editorial. 'Could it be that Rebecca, was not a witch but had suffered the same fate as the academic?' Predictably another crow was seen, this time striding along the ridge tiles of the Ship Inn, cawing loudly at the black clouds of a gathering storm.

         Other reports of birds behaving suspiciously flooded into the newspaper which also received a visit from a talking rook whose repertoire included the phrases “I am Rebecca Cant,” “God Save the Queen” and the first line of a popular song. While unable to account for the random nature of the rook's conversation the bird's owner, an East-end costermonger, claimed the one thousand pound reward on the basis that the rook had always been a very truthful bird and was most unlikely to take on a false identity, which the rook and himself fully understood to be a most heinous crime. The clerk manning the newspaper's public counter was unconvinced and on finding some of the bird's blackness rubbing-off onto his fingers made the discovery that the rook was a parrot.

         As interest in the fate of Rebecca declined along with sales of the newspaper the owner of the Graphic decided to abandon the story and concentrate instead on the Queen's Diamond Jubilee. He was sorry it was over. It had been good while it lasted. He would, of course, have preferred the story to continue with the discovery of Rebecca's murdered body and the prospect of a long trial to follow, but the world was not a perfect place and he was only too aware of what was possible and what was not. Nevertheless, the story had turned a handsome profit and with that, he was more than satisfied. As a measure of his appreciation to those most responsible for this success a celebration was held on his ocean-going yacht, 'The Fidelity', to which myself, the Editor, Mr Woodleigh and Mr Yardley were invited.

         Far from the gaze of the newspaper buying public we were now free to be ourselves and enjoy the pecuniary benefits of deception that must forever remain a mystery. In my subsequent life as an actress I played many roles but none I liked better than Rebecca Cant.

 Copyright Richard Banks