Mourning practices were an art form in the 19th and early 20th centuries. When I did research on mourning for my Gilded Age family saga, the Waxwood Series, back in 2022, I found no shortage of information. People during these eras had a fascination with death that is almost the antithesis of how we approach death in the 21st century.
However, when I started doing research on the more technical and scientific aspects of dealing with the dead for my Grave Sisters Mysteries series, the information was surprisingly lacking or difficult to find. As Deborah Blum emphasized in this TED-ED video, in our CSI-friendly era, crime investigation relies heavily on picking apart the corpse (both physically and emotionally). But 19th and early 20th century crime investigation focused much more on clues, witnesses, and suspects, and less on the victim’s body.
In the 19th and early 20th century, you couldn’t even say American forensic pathology was in its infancy. More like it was in the womb. The role of medical examiner was pretty ad hoc and didn’t officially exist in many places until the 1930s. In addition, many medical examiners were not trained specifically in pathology, consisting mostly of local doctors who were good at treating the living but had little experience with examining the dead. Both my Adele Gossling Mysteries and Grave Sisters Mysteries feature this type of medical examiner, though both doctors have enough experience to know what they’re doing. In contrast, in the latter series, Helena Wright (the middle Grave sister), is the mortician of the family funeral home, and her training provides her with more in-depth knowledge of pathology (something the medical examiner resents!)
Medical examiners and pathologists were, like policemen and mayors, government-appointed, and as such, subject to the kind of corruption that ran rampant in the 19th and early 20th centuries (until the Progressive movement called for reforms). They could be bribed to cover up evidence for various reasons. Maybe the victim was a well-respected citizen, and the pathology brought up something that pointed toward a less-than-stellar life the influential family didn’t want made public (like certain diseases). Or maybe the examination of the victim showed foul play that would require important people to be involved in the case, who didn’t want to be involved. The examination might even implicate someone important to the town in a dastardly crime, so evidence needed to be covered up or distorted. I’m reading a true crime book right now about the death of a woman in the early 20th century, where the writers surmise this is exactly what happened.
Photo credit: Leather doctor’s bag and its contents dated between 1890 and 1930, Wellcome Collection Gallery: Fae/Wikimedia Commons/CC BY 4.0
Thankfully, things started to change in the 1920s. Law enforcement began to take forensic experts and medical examiners more seriously and saw them as a vital part of the investigation rather than just part of their standard procedure. One example that changed the way the New York police thought about forensic pathology happened in 1923. A housewife living in one of the tenement buildings in the city was found dead in her apartment. At first, the case seemed cut and dried – accidental death by poisoning from a gas oven (not an uncommon thing in the early 20th century, as gas was the main source of power in tenements). However, because of reforms going on in the city at the time, the coroner was also a trained medical man and was able to determine that death had not occurred due to carbon monoxide poisoning (interestingly, based on the color of the dead woman’s skin) and in fact had been strangled (as there were marks on her neck). Later, it was discovered her husband had indeed strangled her (for the insurance money) and had tried to stage the murder to look like an accident, which the authorities almost bought.
Pathology plays a role not only in my Grave Sisters Mysteries (as I discussed above), but in Book 3 of my Adele Gossling Mysteries. A doctor is asked to write out a new death certificate because what looked like an accident proves to be anything but. It was possible to retract the death certificate if further examination suggested otherwise. This is what starts off the investigation into Thea Marsh’s death in the book.
Death At Will has been chosen by Barnes & Noble as a favorite reading year pick! To celebrate, I’ve discounted the book to $2.99. You can grab it here. And did you know Book 1 of the series, The Carnation Murder, is free? If you haven’t yet gotten into this series, you can start now by getting your copy of the first book for free here.
And if you want to see some more fascinating early 20th century pathology at work (without the gore!), check out my Grave Sisters Mysteries! Book 2 of the series was just released last November and is on Barnes & Noble’s Top Indie Favorites list for this month. The book is still at a nice discount of $3.99, so you can get The Missing Witness now.
If you love fun, engaging mysteries set in the past, you’ll enjoy The Missing Ruby Necklace! It’s available exclusively to newsletter subscribers here. By signing up, you’ll also get news about upcoming releases, fun facts about women’s history, classic true-crime tidbits, and more!
