These ballads are not in the books and are supplementary and created by AI based on the book content.
Listen closely, gather 'round, I'll tell you a tale of woe,
Of Albert Edward Lorford and Janet Oven, don't you know?
On that fateful day, Bricket Wood stained with dread,
Janet met her tragic end, by Albert's hands, she bled.
Janet Owen, a milliner's assistant fair,
She walked to the station, the morning's routine to bear.
But Albert Lorford, of the artisan class,
Took her life in an instant, darkness came to pass.
Two bullets pierced her head, a life cut short,
Her body found in a ditch, a scene of deep import.
Search parties scoured, the woods and thickets wide,
But the perpetrator vanished, in shadows, they did hide.
A man was seen, his presence noted near,
By a solicitor and his wife, whispers filled with fear.
Yet the mystery remained, no arrests were made,
A verdict of murder unknown, the inquest forbade.
In Rochester, Albert confessed, his guilt unveiled,
He confessed to taking Janet's life, his dark secret unveiled.
With stolen revolver in hand, desperation in his eyes,
He demanded money, tragedy amidst their cries.
Albert Lorford, fifteen years old, a troubled soul,
His character stained, his past taking its toll.
From institutions he roamed, a troubled path he tread,
And on that fateful day, Janet's life was shed.
Janet's father, a pensioned officer, spoke of her grace,
A quiet, studious girl, a smile upon her face.
She yearned to return home, tired of Hull's embrace,
But alas, her life was stolen, leaving a void in this place.