The Rugeley Poisoner Pt. 1

This episode includes discussions of murder and poisoning.

Consider this when deciding how and when you'll listen.

Author Charles Dickens called William Palmer the greatest villain that ever stood in the Old Bailey.

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle referenced him in a Sherlock Holmes story.

Madame Tussauds made the Prince of Poisoners a wax figure.

But officially, Dr.

William Palmer only killed one person.

So how did a man convicted of a single crime become known as an infamous serial killer?

And how many victims did he actually take?

Welcome to Serial Killers, a Spotify podcast.

I'm Janice Morgan.

You might recognize me as the voice behind the investigative docuseries Broken and the true crime podcast Fear Thy Neighbor.

I'll be your host for the next few weeks, and I'm thrilled to be here.

We'd love to hear from you.

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This week, we'll cover Dr.

William Palmer's criminal conviction, then dive into the tragedies that followed him through the 19th century.

Next week, we'll look at some of Palmer's other murder allegations and his criminal trial.

Along the way, we'll examine his potential methods and motives and try to determine if he was, in fact, a serial killer.

Stay with us.

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Today we'll start with the murder we know William Palmer committed.

Then with those details in mind, we'll flash back and compare it to the murders he may have committed.

In 1855, Dr.

William Palmer was deep in the hole.

He had around 11,000 pounds of debt, the equivalent of about $1.7 million today.

We'll cover the exact details of how Palmer got into debt later, but in a word, gambling.

In the past decade, his gambling had snowballed, so it wasn't surprising that on November 13th, Palmer went to the races in Shrewsbury, England.

There, he met up with his friend John Cook.

When it came to the track, Cook always seemed to leave with more money than he brought, unlike Palmer.

It didn't help the situation that Cook had inherited a large sum, so he had money to spare.

I'll add here, much of the information about this case comes from contemporary reporting back in the 1800s.

And as you'll hear, the story took off in the media, which led to some sensationalizing.

The pair arrived at the track early.

They surveyed the conditions, looked at the riders, and observed the horses.

Palmer then went to the board listing all the races.

While scanning, Palmer had a moment of clarity.

There was the afternoon race that would fix his fortunes.

At the window, Palmer placed a bet worth a few hundred pounds on one of his own horses, named the chicken.

If the chicken won, not only would he win his bet, he would also win the prize money of £3,000.

To make things interesting, Cook placed a bet on one of his own horses named Polestar.

That afternoon, the horses lined up at the starting gate.

Then, in a flash, they were off.

The chicken, Palmer's horse, positioned perfectly as the pack thundered around the first curve.

The horse wasn't so near the front where they might burn out by the end, or in the back where they'd get left behind.

But by the end of the race, the horse Palmer bet his last hopes on was nowhere near the front of the pack.

Instead, Cook's horse, Polestar, led the group across the line.

Cook had just won thousands of pounds.

Palmer likely twinged with jealousy.

Cook had all the luck and he'd been left in the dust again.

That evening, the pair retired to a local inn called the Raven.

For Cook, it was a celebration.

He bought the group a round of champagne.

As the night wore on, the pair continued to drink.

When Palmer couldn't stand it anymore, he left their table and retired to his room early.

The next morning, Palmer headed back to home in Rougeley, a town 130 miles northwest of London.

Unfortunately, more bad news awaited him there.

A creditor had left a note.

Palmer needed to pay a designated sum of money immediately, or they'd go after his mother, tell her he hadn't paid, and try to collect his debt from her, which would have been embarrassing.

Already at his lowest and feeling the waters rising, Palmer reached a breaking point.

He grabbed his medicine bag and headed back toward Shrewsbury.

That afternoon, Palmer reunited with Cook.

They attended a handful of other races before returning to the Raven.

There, they ate dinner with a few acquaintances.

Palmer excused himself for a moment.

When he returned to the table, he had a round of brandy for everyone.

According to some some accounts, Palmer carefully handed Cook his glass before distributing the rest.

Palmer toasted Cook's success, and the group drank.

Cook coughed and said his brandy burned as it went down.

Palmer looked at the table in amusement.

He grabbed Cook's glass and slurped down the little bit of liquid left.

Palmer laughed, saying he didn't taste a thing.

The group brushed off the incident and continued eating late into the night.

Eventually, Palmer excused himself and retired to his room.

The rest stayed at the table, but the good nature of their celebration didn't last.

A short while later, Cook fell ill.

His stomach burned and he doubled over in pain.

Back in his room, he vomited uncontrollably.

His two friends looked over him as he closed his eyes and prayed for the pain to pass.

Cook's friends likely wondered what ailed him.

Was it contagious?

Was it in the food they ate too?

At this point, Cook's symptoms weren't specific enough to diagnose, but to Cook himself, the answer seemed obvious.

In between bouts of vomiting, he wheezed out his suspicion.

Palmer poisoned him.

His friends exchanged questioning glances, but didn't think much of it.

To them, these were the words of a man in distress and not to be taken seriously.

Cook finally fell asleep early the next morning.

When he woke up, he still felt unwell, but for the most part, his symptoms had subsided.

That morning, while Cook lay in his bed, Palmer went back to the track.

He wanted one final shot at getting out of debt.

But that day, he left the races empty-handed yet again.

When Palmer returned to Cook's room at the Raven, he found his friend sitting up in bed looking slightly better.

So the pair headed home.

When they got to Rougely, Cook booked a room at the Talbot Arms Inn.

He'd stayed there before.

Cook still felt lousy, so he went to lay down.

On Sunday morning, Palmer contacted his friend Dr.

Bamford and asked for two sedative pills.

He pocketed the drugs and headed back to the inn where he ordered soup for Cook.

Cook happily accepted the food, but minutes later vomited again.

The pain in his gut returned and he lay in bed clutching his stomach.

The chambermaid, Elizabeth Mills, took the half-eaten bowl back down into the kitchen.

Curious, Mills took a sip, but didn't taste anything odd.

However, a moment later, she fell ill.

Mild nausea came over her and she too needed to lay down.

Meanwhile, Cook spent the rest of the day in bed.

He experienced fever, aches, and more vomiting.

All day, Palmer watched over Cook.

He didn't want any intervention.

Early the next morning, Palmer headed to London with John Cook's accounting ledger.

Palmer was about to be several thousand pounds richer.

He walked down the cobblestone streets of London before entering into a small pub.

The doctor met with one of Cook's associates and collected almost £2,000 on Cook's behalf.

With the cash in hand, Palmer quickly left the city and headed home.

There, Palmer paid off his most urgent £800 debt.

He was still at least £10,000 in the hole, but it was a start.

With access to Cook's financial accounts, Palmer hoped to make an even larger dent.

So it was crucial Cook didn't get his ledger back.

That day, Palmer paid a visit to Mr.

Salt's surgery, a sort of pharmacy.

He spoke to Salt's assistant, Mr.

Newton, and purchased three, quote, grains of strychnine on credit.

Better known as rat poison today, strychnine used to be prescribed as a stimulant to treat heart or digestive problems.

In small doses, strychnine causes muscle contractions.

And in the Victorian era, it wasn't uncommon.

According to Smithsonian Magazine, strychnine was even used as a performance enhancer in the 1904 Olympic Marathon.

It was also used the way it is today.

in larger doses to kill vermin.

So, Newton didn't find anything odd about Dr.

Palmer's request.

With Cook's ledger and the strychnine pills in his possession, Palmer headed back to Talbot Arms to check on Cook.

For 28, he looked awful.

When no one else was in the room, Palmer allegedly handed Cook the Strychnine pills, claiming they were sedatives given to him by Dr.

Bamford.

Cook gazed up at his friend, who was there for him now in his lowest moment.

Palmer smiled down at Cook, assuring him it wasn't a problem.

As a doctor, he felt strongly he should be there to help others.

He bid Cook farewell and returned to his home across the street.

But while Palmer had a pleasant evening, Cook did not.

He tossed and turned, unable to get comfortable because of the pain.

Still, Cook survived the night.

The next day, Palmer went to another pharmacy, one belonging to a Mr.

Hawkings.

He started requesting his order, but stopped abruptly when Newton, the assistant from the other pharmacy, came in.

Palmer and Newton didn't know each other well, but Palmer smoothly struck up a conversation and guided Newton out of the shop.

Newton recalled Palmer asking him how long his boss, Mr.

Salt, would be out of town.

Within minutes, they were interrupted by a friend of Newton's passing by.

Palmer took the opportunity to slip back into the shop, where he completed his order.

Prucic acid, opium, and six more grains of strychnine.

It appears Palmer didn't want Newton to see his purchases.

That afternoon, he paid another visit to Cook.

Then, in what was perhaps a bid to cover his tracks, Palmer called on a friend, Mr.

Jones, to stay with Cook.

Jones watched over Cook late into the night.

while his condition further deteriorated.

Sometime that evening, it's believed Cook took the pills Palmer gave him, and Jones didn't intervene.

He appeared to wholeheartedly believe in Dr.

Palmer's medical opinion and let the sinister plot pass right under his nose.

To be fair, beyond testing the pills on himself, Jones wouldn't have been able to see what they contained anyways.

John Cook was completely at Dr.

William Palmer's mercy.

Just past midnight, Cook's muscles spasmed and he howled in pain.

His His heart beat wildly.

Sweat coated his skin.

Cook's back arched backward, slowly, painfully, and completely out of his control.

He looked like he was in an exorcist movie.

Cook called out for Palmer in desperation, but his friend was nestled in his bed across the street.

At 1 a.m.

on Wednesday, November 21st, 1855, John Cook suddenly went still.

Nothing could bring his pulse back.

Dr.

William Palmer had taken his friend's life.

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On the morning of November 21st, 1855, Dr.

William Palmer went to check on his so-called friend, John Cook.

When Palmer entered Cook's room, he found Dr.

Jones standing next to a body frozen in a bowed position.

Cook was twisted like a contortionist, with his back arched and feet flexed.

Intense muscle spasms had caused Cook's body to stiffen, locked into a painful position as he died.

When rigor mortis set in, he became stuck that way.

The sight was horrifying.

And it's a telltale sign of strychnine poisoning.

Still, Palmer acted coy as Dr.

Jones recounted how Cook died in the middle of the night.

No one was accusing him of anything yet.

Cook still needed an autopsy.

So he contacted his old friend Dr.

Bamford again.

Dr.

Bamford created a death certificate certifying that Cook died of apoplexy.

That's the 19th century term for a cerebral hemorrhage or stroke.

Not an unusual cause of death, but odd to put on the certificate since the muscle contortion evident in Cook's body was not a typical symptom of either.

It's not clear if Dr.

Bamford observed Cook's arched body and conveniently ignored it, or Palmer managed to hide it from him.

Either way, Palmer had a death certificate absolving him of any involvement in John Cook's death, and a plan.

Two days later, on November 23rd, Palmer met with Cook's stepfather, a Mr.

Stevens.

Hoping to receive even more money, Palmer claimed Cook owed him £4,000.

Stevens hesitated.

He knew Cook well and had never heard of any such debt.

Upon further investigation, Stevens found his stepson's ledger to be missing and couldn't locate any trace of Cook's recent £3,000 track winnings.

Stevens thought Cook's death was suspicious, and as it turns out, So did many Rugely locals.

Authorities launched an inquiry into Cook's death and planned an autopsy.

That same day, Palmer invited Newton, the pharmacy assistant who'd sold him strychnine, over for brandy.

After serving the drink, he asked two important questions.

One, how much strychnine does it take to kill a dog?

And two,

does strychnine stay in the body after death?

Newton replied that between half a grain and a grain would kill a dog, and no, it would not linger in the tissue or digestive system after death.

According to Newton's later testimony, Palmer, quote, snapped his finger and thumb in a quiet way and exclaimed, as if communing with himself, that's all right.

Then, Palmer dismissed Newton.

Meanwhile, authorities moved forward with the autopsy.

Allegedly, a coroner wasn't present.

Instead, two local doctors performed the examination in a room full of observers.

One of those observers was Dr.

William Palmer himself.

As the procedure got underway, the doctors stated their intention of trying to get samples of Cook's stomach contents.

Those would be sent to the coroner for additional testing to see if there was any poison in Cook's system.

Unfortunately for all involved, Palmer had other plans.

Shortly after the physicians extracted the majority of Cook's stomach contents and put them in a jar, Palmer took it out of the room for what he he said was safekeeping.

According to one version of events, after the procedure was over, the other doctors convinced Palmer to return the jar.

However, when he brought it back, the jar's seal had been cut open.

What little contents remained from Cook's stomach were sent to the coroner for testing.

Unfortunately, with such a small sample, they weren't able to tell if there was any poison in Cook's system when he died.

Palmer thought he could breathe a sigh of relief, but his troubles weren't over.

The local authorities began looking into his history, because this wasn't the first sudden or mysterious death around Dr.

William Palmer.

Other people close to him had died, leaving Palmer cash he gambled away.

And in retrospect, many cases resembled strychnine poisoning.

It couldn't all be coincidence, could it?

Let's Let's go back to the beginning and see how those sudden deaths stack up against Palmer's known M.O.

William Palmer didn't start off broke and desperate, quite the opposite.

He experienced a pampered childhood in Rougeley, England.

His father is said to have worked as a carpenter and used his expertise to build the family's large house.

However, Joseph Palmer reportedly made a much greater fortune buying and selling large quantities of expensive wood.

Neither Joseph nor Sarah Palmer hid the family's wealth from their many children.

Instead, they taught them to appreciate it.

But Palmer took it further.

He seemed to relish in the fact that he came from money.

Nowhere was this more apparent than at school.

Palmer never focused, mostly because he didn't think he had to.

He had the family fortune waiting.

He didn't seem interested in making friends either.

According to the Liverpool Mercury, Palmer's classmates recalled he had, quote, wretched moral conduct.

However, Palmer's carefree childhood came to an end when tragedy struck the family in 1836.

Palmer's father passed away.

Even with the breadwinner gone, the family was still well taken care of.

Joseph Palmer had squirreled away funds for years.

By the time he passed, the family had amassed a great fortune.

But Palmer's mother, Sarah, didn't want her children relying on their inheritance.

She made it clear they would have careers.

So when Palmer was a teen, he went to work for a local doctor.

Palmer reportedly hated the work almost immediately and constantly felt undervalued.

It wasn't long before he decided to remedy that.

Soon after starting, Palmer began stealing small amounts of money from patients.

Palmer may not have needed the funds, but it seems he felt entitled to them.

The modest sums added up, and after three months, his employer caught on and fired Palmer.

For Palmer, the firing didn't matter.

He could easily find another job, and if things got bad, he could lean on the family fortune.

His mother quickly found him a new position, at the Stafford Infirmary.

There, Palmer watched as the medical staff operated and cared for patients.

However, like most rural hospitals at the time, the conditions were horrid.

Locals knew being admitted into the facility was potentially akin to a death sentence.

There weren't nearly enough staff to properly care for all the patients, and without sufficient resources, patients weren't kept clean.

Infections were rampant.

Patients died from minor ailments like colds, cuts, or scrapes.

Death was everywhere.

Perhaps not only from infection.

There's a legend about Palmer's time in Stafford.

Apparently, the wife of a local plumber caught his eye, so Palmer challenged her husband to a drinking contest.

Palmer won, because his opponent couldn't hold his liquor.

The poor plumber suffered intense vomiting.

Then he passed away.

While the death was never prosecuted in retrospect, it's theorized that Palmer poisoned his romantic rival.

Palmer didn't stay in Stafford long.

He quit the infirmary or was asked to leave before he completed a full year.

A few weeks after leaving the infirmary, Palmer set off for London.

He had his eyes set on becoming a physician.

In London, Palmer studied at St.

Bartholomew's Hospital, one of the country's oldest.

However, while Palmer attended all of his lectures, it appears his heart wasn't in his studies.

The rambunctious nature that drew the ire of classmates in Rougeley blossomed in London.

Palmer spent many late nights at local pubs, drinking until he stumbled home sick.

On his days off, he spent countless hours at the nearby horse track.

Win or lose, Palmer didn't mind.

He had his inheritance and a lucrative career as a physician to look forward to.

Once he opened his practice, he'd grow up.

But starting a medical practice was easier said than done.

While Palmer dutifully carried on his education at St.

Bartholomew, he was woefully unprepared to take his medical entrance exams.

It seems Palmer's interest in experiencing everything London had to offer came at the expense of his medical knowledge.

So Palmer's mother paid a local doctor to tutor him.

The physician spent weeks with Palmer, going over the basics and making sure he knew the pitfalls of the test.

To his and Palmer's credit, Palmer passed and was officially licensed as a physician in 1846.

Shortly after, Dr.

William Palmer moved back to Rougeley, where he quickly opened up a practice.

It was a difficult undertaking, but Palmer's practice thrived in its first year.

To everyone in town, it seemed Palmer had rounded a corner and finally grown up.

And in his business, Palmer acted kind and courteous.

Yet, this professional attitude was a façade.

Palmer still had the same wild spirit.

On days he could sneak away, he was at the races.

Apparently, he feigned interest in the sporting aspect of racing to disguise his true interest, gambling.

But he didn't spend all his money at the races.

Some reports claimed that Palmer paid £22 a week for a luxurious home near his practice.

And while this may sound like a small amount, it was more than half the average UK salary at that time, annually.

However, this flashy lifestyle made him an attractive suitor.

Within a few months, Palmer caught the eye of 19-year-old Anne Anne Thornton.

Anne was the illegitimate daughter of a former British colonel.

The colonel had died several years before, leaving both Anne and her mother with what Palmer believed were substantial inheritances.

This immediately drew Palmer's attention, and it didn't take him long to propose.

In 1847, the pair married.

The couple seemed happy as Anne moved into Palmer's home, excited to start the next chapter of their lives.

Sometime around 1849, Anne's mother, Mrs.

Thornton, came to stay at the Palmer residence.

But her stay did not go as planned.

Anne's mother fell seriously ill.

Conveniently, Dr.

Palmer was there to look after his new mother-in-law.

He disappeared into her room for hours each day to perform comprehensive checkups.

Each time he emerged, Anne saw the look of disappointment on his face.

Palmer told her things weren't looking good.

Only a few weeks after her arrival, Mrs.

Thornton died.

The circumstances of her death were said to be oddly similar to John Cook's.

The afternoon that William Palmer's mother-in-law died, another doctor came to the house.

He collected the body to determine Mrs.

Thornton's cause of death.

Allegedly, after the examination, they concluded Mrs.

Thornton died of apoplexy.

You might recall that this was the initial cause of death listed for Palmer's known victim, John Cook.

And to be fair, strychnine poisoning has some similar symptoms to a stroke.

But note that Mrs.

Thornton's health didn't decline until she visited the Palmers, and that William Palmer believed she'd leave his wife Anne a big inheritance.

At the time, people didn't have reason to believe Palmer had a hand in his mother-in-law's death, but most of the residents of Rougely didn't know about William Palmer's emerging financial problems.

He simply didn't have the income to support his lifestyle unless he got another inheritance.

Except, there was no inheritance to be had.

For some reason, Anne Palmer did not inherit her mother's estate.

On top of that, Anne was pregnant.

Perhaps out of stress or thinking he'd win big this time, Palmer started spending even more time at the horse races.

He was drawn to the sound of thundering hooves and the allure of quick cash.

He studied the horses, the jockeys, and the trainers, anything that could give him an advantage while placing bets.

His addiction was only growing.

At some point, Palmer purchased his own racehorses.

If you were ever a kid who asked your parents for a pony, you probably heard one thing.

Horses are expensive, and they are.

Unlike most parents, Palmer spent the money.

And spent and spent.

Now, a prize racehorse can earn money through winnings and stud fees, but not all horses are winners.

So Palmer may have had a contingency for this.

Some say he used strychnine to poison his own horses.

Not to kill them, but to make them sick enough to ensure they lost.

This would have allowed Palmer to win cash by betting against his own horses.

But most often, regardless of his strategy, he'd leave the tracks with far less money in his pockets.

Months ticked by as Palmer tried to quiet his financial stress.

Then in 1850, Anne gave birth to their first child, William Jr.

Only a few months later, Anne got pregnant again.

This could have sent Palmer into a spiral.

He went back to the horse races in earnest, looking to get lucky.

With another baby on the way and his inheritance stretched, Palmer presumably needed cash.

In April 1850, Palmer reached out to an acquaintance he met at the track, Leonard Bladen.

Bladen agreed to give Palmer a sizable loan in the range of several hundred pounds.

A few weeks later, the pair returned to the track.

Bladen had a great day.

He won a large sum of money betting on a single race.

Palmer?

Not so great.

Not only did he lose, Bladen expected repayment.

From the track, Bladen wrote as much to his wife, saying he looked to collect on Palmer's debt.

But first, they had to celebrate Bladen's win.

They headed back to Rougely and had a few drinks.

While they were still at the pub, Bladen complained of abdominal pain.

It grew so bad he doubled over in agony.

Conveniently, Palmer was right there to help his friend back to his feet.

Palmer even took Bladen to his own home to care for him, but things didn't improve.

Allegedly, no one else was in the room as Palmer attempted to treat Bladen, but sounds of excruciating pain reverberated through the house.

Later that evening, William Bladen passed away.

His cause of death was listed as an abscess in his pelvis that led to an infection.

This was attributed to an event a few months earlier when he was hit by a cart, at least according to William Palmer.

See, authorities took the doctor at his word and no autopsy was recorded.

However, after Bladen's widow collected his body, a rumor spread that she noticed there was no cash on him, and his betting ledger was missing.

She never laid eyes on her husband's final winnings or the money he lent to William Palmer.

But just like William's mother-in-law's death, this looks more suspicious in retrospect.

At the time, Leonard Bladen's death didn't warrant investigation.

It would be almost five years and many, many more deaths before anyone caught on to William Palmer.

That's next week.

Thanks for tuning into Serial Killers.

We're here with a new episode every Monday.

Be sure to check us out on Instagram at Serial Killers Podcast, and we'd love to hear from you.

So if you're tuning in on the Spotify app, swipe up and give us your thoughts.

For more information on William Palmer, we found the contemporary publication, The Most Extraordinary Trial of William Palmer for the Rugely Poisonings, which lasted 12 days, the book The Poisoner, a gripping account of the murders committed by Dr.

William Palmer, the Prince of Poisoners, and his dramatic trial by Stephen Bates, and the book Staffordshire Murders by Alan Hayhurst, extremely helpful to our research.

Stay safe out there.

This episode was written by Robert Tyler Walker, edited by Maggie Admire, fact-checked by Bennett Logan, researched by Chelsea Wood, and video edited and sound-designed by Spencer Howard.

I'm your host, Janice Morgan.

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