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 13th 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