Sometimes, my eye is caught as I scroll through endless Victorian newsprint. I may be looking for one specific inquest, hidden somewhere among talk of Board of Guardians and cattle markets and religious speakers, but my eye roves across the whole page.
This is where the juice is, you see. This is how you get a feel for an era, for a place in a certain time. And this is where I find the stories that end up here. Not in the pages of true crime, or in the lists of executions, but as passing phrases in old newspapers. This is one such story.
Timothy Baum married Jane Shelton in Syston at Christmas 1859. He was twenty-three and Jane was a little older, at twenty-eight. They lived with Jane’s widowed mother, Ann, in a house at Syston and Timothy worked as a wheelwright. A young apprentice, James Toon, joined the household in May 1864.
The household seemed happy enough, and the Baums were said to dote on their childen. A little girl, Elizabeth, was born in June 1861, and another girl, Emma, followed in January 1864.
In November 1864, Timothy became unwell, feeling depressed, giddy and lightheaded. The doctor thought he might have meningitis. He took to his bed for more than a week, and seemed quite in despair. On Friday 25th November, he tried to get up and go back to normal, but came over strangely in the evening. The doctor scolded him for overdoing it, and prescribed a sleeping draught - opium. His mother-in-law, Ann Shelton, administered this and went to bed.
She was awoken within an hour by the baby crying out, and went to Timothy and Jane’s bedroom. She was faced with absolute carnage. Timothy in his shirt and stockings stood over his bleeding wife, threatening to cut his throat. With remarkable presence of mind, Ann took the clasp knife he was wielding away from him.
Timothy left the room, and struggling with Ann on the stairs. This woke the apprentice, James, who broke the struggle up. Timothy looked at him, strangely, said he would ‘do for’ himself, and went downstairs alone. James saw him looking in drawers for something, and then followed him back up the stairs. Once upstairs, James and Ann forced Timothy into a chair. He became more docile after this, and young James went for help. When he’d gone, Timothy again went downstairs to find a knife. James quickly came back with a neighbour, Mr Adcock, who coaxed Timothy back upstairs. Another neighbour, roused by the disturbance, came to help.
Ann and Mrs Adcock then went to tend to Ann’s daughter. Jane was already dead, holding her baby. But Mrs Adcock discovered that the blood was not just coming from Jane… Emma was also wounded. She was still clinging to life. A surgeon stitched her tiny throat back together, but she died a few hours later.
The neighbours tried to explain to Timothy what he had done, but he did not register it.
Oh good dear Tim, what have you been doing? You have killed your wife and child!
When he realised what they were telling him, he became deranged. He tried to stab Mrs Adcock with a fork, and then jabbed it uselessly into his throat. The doctor examined him after taking care of Emma, and told him to go to bed. Mrs Adcock helped him get to bed. He slept for hours, watched vigilantly.
The doctor believed that Jane and Emma’s throats were cut in one motion. The pair were lying side by side, asleep in bed, when Timothy stabbed them. The knife appeared to have pierced Emma’s throat as it left Jane’s. Jane’s wound was quite small, but directly into the carotid artery. Emma’s wound was longer, but shallower. Both of them died from bloodloss.
Timothy did not attend the inquest, which was held on Monday 28th November, at the Bulls Head. The coroner believed that Timothy had acted under a fit of insanity, but acknowledged that - as Timothy was still living - his sanity was not for the coroner to judge. Instead, a verdict of wilfully murdered by Timothy Baum was returned for both victims.
Timothy was then called to the dock of the magistrates court, held specially at Leicester gaol on the 30th November. Timothy was weak, and permitted to sit through the hearing. He did not seem to recognise what he had done. His brother, perhaps tiring of Timothy’s inability to grasp the situation, told him that he’d killed Jane and Emma, and Timothy was shocked.
They are not dead? They are dead? Dead! Dead!
Timothy was committed for trial, despite his obvious mental distress. He did not have to wait long - the assize was held on 4th December at Leicester. Timothy appeared, still very weak and shaking. When asked how he pleaded, he said
Not guilty. I remember nothing of it.
The prison surgeon testified that Timothy was competent to stand trial, so a trial proceeded, not into his guilt, which was undeniable, but into his sanity. Timothy seemed sane, but had no memory of the murder. When admitted to the prison, Timothy had been delirious and feverish, which suggested he had been insane at the time of the murder. Everyone present at the murder scene agreed that he seemed without reason at the time.
The jury found him not guilty of the murder of Jane, by reason of insanity. He was not tried for Emma’s murder. Instead, he was moved to Broadmoor on 30th December 1864.
But he did not stay there forever.
He was released on 5th October 1878.
It’s unclear where he initially went, but by 1881, he was lodging with a widow called Mary Ann Christian in Syston. Mary Ann originated in Barrowden in Rutland, and had been widowed in 1879. She had a large number of children. Timothy married her later in 1881.
After their marriage, they moved to Loughborough. They had two children, although one died aged ten, and Timothy resumed his work as a wheelwright. He died in 1909, and does not appear to have been troubled with mental illness again. However, one wonders whether Mary ever worried about his illness coming back, and whether they avoided sleeping draughts…
Ann Shelton, Jane’s poor mother, died in 1867. After her death, Timothy’s eldest daughter was raised by his parents. She later married, and lived in Reading.
Jane Baum
(1831-1864)
Emma Baum
(1864-1864)