Femme Fatale

Historical Fiction 

We pick up the story of Francis Williams Mitchell  and his wife Mary in Hobart, Van Diemen’s Land, nowTasmania.  Francis retired from the Hong Kong Post Office in 1875. The couple then moved to Hobart where Francis took work as the Island’s coroner. Early in 1881, Their son, Francis Jr(34), his wife Charlotte(29) and their three children, Francis(5), Amy(2) and Walter(2), pay a visit to the Mitchells in Hobart. The son and his family live in Saigon, Indochina where Francis Jr is a banker. It is 5:00 PM February 1, 1881. Francis, Mary, Francis Jr and Charlotte are sitting round the fire in the drawing room of Vaucluse, the Mitchell’s Hobart home, sipping mulled wine. Francis Jr speaks:

“My dear parents, do you still insist on not joining us at the theatre this evening? I would love to treat. You’ve been so good to us this trip. Please come, won’t you?” I’m sure Mrs. Murphy next door would be happy to look after the children.

“Yes, I’m sure she would but I’m just not feeling up to it. I’ve been doing a lot of travel lately and I’m not a young man any more. There will be lots of other opportunities. But thank you. I appreciate the invitation. Mother, what about you.”

“No thank you Francis. I’m happy to stay home and relax with your father. We’ve got a cozy fire going and I’ve got some knitting to catch up on. You and Charlotte take this time for yourselves. But thank you all the same.”

Charlotte speaks. “Francis, are you sure you’re up to it. Your fainting spells have increased recently and I’m worried about you. We can easily go to the theatre another time when you’re more stable.”

“Charlotte, I’m just fine. Really. I feel top notch today. But if it will make you feel better, take along the smelling ammonia in the off chance I have a spell. Come on then, we’d best get ready.”

Almost the entire who’s who of Hobart are in the theatre’s dress circle foyé at intermission. The women, in expensive gowns and the men in formal evening wear. The air in the lobby is thick with the smoke of pipes, cigars and cigarettes. Patrons cluster with old friends and exchange pleasantries. All is as it should be and then…

There is a gasp in the crowd. Someone yells “MAN DOWN. GET A DOCTOR.” Francis is lying face up on the floor. Charlotte, on edge about her husbands recent bout of fainting spells, cries out and rushes frantically to where the crowd has parted to make room for the unconscious man. Francis is lying face up on the floor. His mouth is hanging open. “Oh dear God,” she cries, “Francis!” Charlotte is visibly agitated, barely able to focus on what she must do next. From her purse she takes a small glass vial and removes the stopper. Her hand is shaking uncontrollably.

Kneeling down, and unthinking, she tucks the vial of ammonia under his nose. In an instant she realizes her mistake. The ammonia pours from the vial and slips into her husband’s mouth and down his throat.
“Oh my God, what have I done? My dear husband, please forgive me.
Please, please, somebody help.”

A doctor is found and attends the stricken man, but there is nothing he can do. The ammonia has done its work. For two days, Francis endures unspeakable pain, then dies.

Post script:

Charlotte never remarried. Perhaps she felt it her penance to live her life alone; perhaps she loved Francis too much to love another. She died in England at fifty-nine. A year after the death of her son, almost to the day, Francis’ mother Mary died. Some say she died of a broken heart.