minnows, such as Newlove and Veck, a handful of telegraph boys and Lord Somerset’s solicitor, Arthur Newton, all being found guilty of somewhat minor infringements of the law and handed miniscule and ridiculous sentences. Then there was, of course, the newspaper editor, Ernest Parke, who received the largest sentence of them all, for his terrible crime of daring to name names. As for the names themselves, as we now know, none were ever brought to trial.
In February the following year, Henry Labouchère, the Radical MP for Northampton, took an interest in the case, and began to investigate Salisbury’s role in helping Somerset escape justice, suggesting that Lord Salisbury and several others should still be prosecuted.
Labouchère made a long speech in the Commons, accusing Salisbury of a criminal conspiracy to defeat the ends of justice. The house settled back in awed silence, as Labouchère continued his devastating and largely accurate account of what had happened, and ended with stating that in his opinion, ‘The government wish to hush this matter up’. Labouchère refused to accept the Attorney General’s defence of Salisbury, saying that he didn’t believe either him or the Prime Minister. The speaker of the house warned Labouchère on two occasions, and finally rose and called Labouchère to order, suspending him from the Commons for a week. Labouchère’s resolution for an inquiry was meanwhile defeated by 206 votes to 66. At the end of the vote, Labouchère rose again and pointed to his fellow Northampton MP, the atheist Charles Bradlaugh. ‘My honourable friend was suspended for disbelieving in God,’ he joked, ‘and I am suspended for disbelieving in Man.’
Lord Salisbury continued his career with complete disregard to Labouchère’s accusations. Somerset, meanwhile, searched for employment in Turkey, Austria and Hungary, and then went off to live quietly in self-imposed and comfortable exile in the south of France with a companion, until his death in 1926.
The other, and certainly the most famous name, to be bandied about with regard to the Cleveland Street scandal was Prince Albert Victor, the Duke of Clarence. He was away in India during the trials, and only returned to Great Britain in May 1890, but that, of course, would not have prevented him from visiting the Cleveland Street brothel during the previous years.
There were plenty of rumours and innuendo, but there was absolutely no conclusive evidence ever found that placed the Prince at the Cleveland Street address. Somerset was said to have hinted on several occasions that he had letters which would place the Prince in a very embarrassing situation, with regard to the Cleveland Street brothel, and that he would make such letters public if ever he was forced to appear in court. In all probability, Somerset was using the threat of exposing such letters, if indeed he did have them to begin with, in the hope that it would keep him out of the dock.
The fact that such letters never came to light did not do much to enhance Somerset’s reputation, and neither did it do any harm to the Prince, as statements made in such circumstances would never be considered by a court, and would be classed as hearsay, which is defined in law as ‘Evidence that does not derive its value solely from the credit of the witness, but rests mainly on the veracity and competency of other persons’.
Needless to say, Abberline was furious and frustrated to say the least. After what he saw as his failure to solve the Jack the Ripper investigations, he had put everything he had into this case, even to the point of ignoring the advice of both his boss, Sir James Monro, and the Prime Minister not to go ahead with the case. He knew he had a watertight case, and he was sure that if he was left unhindered, he could bring all the guilty parties to justice, but it seemed that the odds were stacked against him whichever way he turned.
The book, which he had found at the