Fifty-one-year-old Sarah Millson was described as a reserved woman who kept to herself, rarely receiving visitors and sharing little about her personal life. Employed as a housekeeper at the Bevington Brothers’ warehouse, she lived a quiet existence in the heart of London’s commercial district. The warehouse, located at 2 Cannon Street, was a hub for leather goods, and Sarah’s duties included maintaining the premises. By all accounts, she was an unassuming figure, a widow for six years, with no known enemies or wealth to attract attention. Yet, beneath her private demeanor, Sarah harbored secrets that may have contributed to her tragic end.
On the evening of April 11th,1866 at around nine p.m., a knock at the warehouse door prompted Sarah to answer, reportedly saying she knew the visitor was for her. This was unusual, given her solitary nature. An hour later, a neighbor discovered her lifeless body at the base of the stairs, her head brutally bludgeoned with a heavy object.
The City of London Police quickly turned their attention to a man named William Smith, also known as William Denton, a former Etonian with a dubious reputation. Smith was linked to Sarah through a man named Terry, who allegedly extorted money from her over an old debt. Smith admitted to writing a letter for Terry to demand money from Sarah and had previously obtained two sovereigns from her. This connection, coupled with testimony from a witness who claimed to have seen Smith leaving the warehouse around the time of the murder, made him the prime suspect.
The police arrested Smith, and he was charged with the willful murder of Sarah Millson. The case seemed promising: a star witness identified Smith as the man leaving the crime scene, and Terry confirmed sending Smith to collect money from Sarah. However, the investigation soon unraveled. The witness’s identification was tainted by police influence, as it emerged she had received “help” in picking Smith out of a lineup. Furthermore, Smith’s defense team, a formidable group of legal experts, presented a rock-solid alibi, with nearly twenty witnesses testifying to his whereabouts on the night of the murder. At the Old Bailey, Smith was acquitted, leaving the case without a viable suspect.
The Cannon Street Murder baffled investigators and the public alike, partly due to the lack of a clear motive. Sarah was not wealthy, and while a letter containing a check was missing from the warehouse’s letterbox, four other letters remained untouched, suggesting robbery was not the primary goal. Dr. Letheby, a forensic expert, also debunked initial claims that bloodstains were found on Smith’s coat, further weakening the case against him.
One compelling theory centered on Sarah’s past. Investigations revealed that Sarah had married bigamously after her first husband deserted her, a secret that left her vulnerable to blackmail. It’s possible that her connection to Terry and Smith was tied to this scandal, and the extortion may have escalated into violence. Another hypothesis, raised by contemporary reports, suggested a thief could have been hiding in the warehouse, committing the murder after Smith’s departure. However, no evidence substantiated this theory.
The murder also sparked speculation about Sarah’s personal life. Her reserved nature and the bigamy revelation hinted at a complex history, possibly involving other individuals with motives to harm her. Yet, without concrete evidence, these remained mere conjectures.
The City of London Police faced heavy criticism for their handling of the case. The tainted witness identification and failure to explore alternative suspects reflected poorly on their competence. Contemporary accounts, including reports in The Spectator and The Times, noted the investigation’s shortcomings, with some blaming the police for rushing to accuse Smith without sufficient evidence.
The Cannon Street Murder became a topic of fascination in Victorian London, rivaling other unsolved cases of the era. It was discussed alongside infamous mysteries like the Great Coram Street and Euston Square murders, contributing to the perception of a “murder neighborhood” in parts of London. The brutality of the crime, committed in a busy commercial area, heightened public unease about safety in the city.
The crime faded from public memory as newer murders, including the Jack the Ripper killings, gripped London’s imagination. Yet, for a few weeks in 1866, Sarah Millson’s death was the talk of the town. Sadly, more than 150 years later, her slaying is still unsolved.
