Ive had enough. Im not coming home with you. I might see you sometime tomorrow, though. So said Bridget Lynch, 24, to her husband John while they were having an evening drink in a pub near their home in Islington, north London. They had been married for only five years, but lately Lynch had turned to beating her. Bridget had already taken out a summons against him for common assault, but it hadnt seemed to make any difference.
They finished their drinks, got up, and Bridget called a cab. As she was getting into it in Rotherfield Street, her husband suddenly whipped out a razor and cut her throat. Bridget staggered a few yards, and then collapsed and died on the pavement.
Now Im satisfied, Lynch was heard to say. He was found guilty at the Old Bailey and hanged on Monday, October 15th, 1877, at Newgate.