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LIVES OF TWELVE BAD WOMEN 
 
FRANCES HOWARD, COUNTESS OF SO.'.iKR-ET. 
 
 IBffljimiHiiuHiHiutinTti 
 
ELIZABETH BROWNRIGG. + ELIZABETH CANNING. + JENNY DIVER. + MARY BATEMAN. + MARY ANNE CLARKE. 
 
 +FRANCES HOWARD, COUNTESS OF SOMERSET.+ 
 
 Lives 
 
 n 
 
 of 
 
 Twelve Bad Women 
 
 Illustrations and Reviews of 
 Feminine Turpitude set 
 forth by Impartial 
 Hands. Edited 
 by Arthur 
 Vincent 
 
 " r 
 
 ILLUSTRATED 
 
 London 
 
 T. FISHER UNWIN 
 
 MDCCCXCVH 
 
 +BARBARA VILLIERS, DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND.+ 
 
 ALICE PERRERS. +ALICE ARDEN. + MOLL CUTPURSE. +ELIZABETH CHUDLEIGH. + TERESIA CONSTANTIA PHILLIPS 
 
SECOND EDITION 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
tfQo.n 
 
 What mighty ills have not been clone by woman ? 
 Who was’t betrayed the Capitol ? A woman ! 
 
 Who lost Mark Antony the world ? A woman! 
 Who was the cause of a long ten years’ war, 
 
 And laid at last old Troy in ashes ? Woman ! 
 Destructive, damnable, deceitful woman. 
 
 Otway. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Preface ...... xi 
 
 I. Alice Perrers, Favourite of King Edward III. 
 
 (d. 1400) ...... 3 
 
 By ARTHUR VINCENT. 
 
 II. Alice Arden, Murderess {Ex. 1551) . . -33 
 
 By ABEL H. COPPINGER. 
 
 III. Moll Cutpurse, Thief and Receiver (? 1584-1659) . 49 
 
 By CHARLES ANDREWS. 
 
 IV. Frances Howard, Countess of Somerset (1593-1632). 63 
 
 By GEOFFREY MARTIN. 
 
 V. Barbara Villiers, Duchess of Cleveland (1640- 
 
 1709).99 
 
 By ALFRED KALISCH. 
 
 VI. Jenny Diver, Pickpocket {Ex. 1741). . . 137 
 
 By CHARLES ANDREWS. 
 
 VII. Teresia Constantia Phillips (1709-1765) . 165 
 
 By GILBERT BURGESS. 
 
 vii 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 VIII. Elizabeth Brownrigg, Cruelty personified (? 1720- 
 
 1767).189 
 
 By EDGAR STUBBS. 
 
 IX. Elizabeth Canning, Impostor (1734-1773) . . 205 
 
 By W. G. WATERS. 
 
 X. Elizabeth Chudleigh, Duchess of Kingston 
 
 (1720-1788) ..... 225 
 
 By W. G. WATERS. 
 
 XI. Mary Bateman, “ The Yorkshire Witch" (1768-1809) 261 
 
 By ARTHUR VINCENT. 
 
 XII. Mary Anne Clarke (1776-1852) 
 By W. G. WATERS. 
 
 . 289 
 
 Index . 
 
 • 3i3 
 
NOTES ON THE ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 The Countess of Somerset . . . Frontispiece 
 
 The engraving from which this picture is copied is one of the best works 
 of Simon de Passe, and is in all probability a faithful likeness. The hair 
 curled into the representation of a wig is ultra-fashionable, and, as Grainger 
 remarks, the Countess appears to have exposed more of the bosom 
 than was seen in any former period. There are several portraits of 
 Lady Frances, one being in the gallery at Windsor. The most curious, 
 perhaps, is that prefixed to “Truth Brought to Light by Time” (1651), 
 where she is depicted in company with Somerset, who is dwarfed and 
 rendered insignificant by the enormous dimensions of his wife’s hooped 
 dress. In another rare print she is holding a feather fan and is with a 
 Dr. Panurgus, who is doubtless supposed to represent her henchman, Dr. 
 Forman. 
 
 Alice Arden .... to face p. 33 
 
 There is no portrait, properly speaking, of the wife and murderess of 
 Arden of Faversham, but it was worth while to reproduce Mr. Ebsworth’s 
 facsimile of an ancient cut provided by him as a frontispiece to Mr. A. 
 
 H. Bullen’s edition of “ Arden of Feversham : A Tragedy ” (London: 
 Jarvis & Son, 1887). The violent interruption by Black Will of the un¬ 
 fortunate Arden’s game of backgammon with his wife’s paramour, Mosby ; 
 the determined demeanour of Alice with the dagger in hand, and the 
 bellicose attitude of her assistants are most faithfully depicted. 
 
 Mary Frith .... to face p. 49 
 
 Of the two portraits mentioned in the text the one reproduced'is that pre¬ 
 fixed to her “Life,” published in 1662. She is represented in man’s 
 attire and wearing a sword, while a lion, an ape, and an eagle bear her 
 company. 
 
 Barbara Villiers ... to face p. 99 
 
 The portraits of this lady are extremely numerous. She loved to be 
 painted in fancy character, but it seemed scarcely appropriate that in the 
 present volume she should figure as a Madonna, or as St. Catherine, or 
 even as a shepherdess, or the chaste Pallas Athene. One of the many 
 portraits painted by the assiduous Lely has been chosen as being probably 
 a more trustworthy likeness than is to be found in some other pictures. 
 
 ix 
 
X 
 
 NOTES ON THE ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Teresia Constantia Phillips 
 
 to face p. 165 
 
 Two portraits of this comely bad woman were engraved by Faber from 
 pictures painted at the expense of her admirers. 
 
 Elizabeth Brownrigg 
 
 to face p. 189 
 
 Many cuts purporting to be likenesses of Mrs. Brownrigg were issued at 
 the time when she gained her notoriety. The portrait given is a copy of 
 that prefixed to the account of her exploits appearing in “Celebrated 
 Trials” (1825). It corresponds fairly well with contemporary accounts 
 of her personal appearance. 
 
 The picture, showing one of Mrs. Brownrigg’s methods of inflicting 
 pain on her apprentices, is an enlargement from a print in the same 
 book .... to face p. 194 
 
 Elizabeth Canning ... to face p. 205 
 
 At the time when the town was divided into Canningites and anti- 
 Canningites portraits of this imaginative servant-maid were plentiful. 
 
 She figured in many satirical prints, and the resemblance of the pictures 
 to her features was often as fanciful as her own adventures. A large folio 
 shows her sitting in the house with Mother Wells ; in another picture she 
 is standing on her trial, and she was also to be had in company with Mary 
 Squires. The portrait in these pages is reduced from a fine folio mezzo¬ 
 tint by McArdell. 
 
 The Duchess of Kingston ... to face p. 225 
 
 The portrait of Elizabeth Chudleigh is a copy of the engraving after 
 Reynolds in Peter Cunningham’s edition of Walpole’s letters. The 
 lady was fond of entrusting the reproduction of her face to artists, but 
 it is possible she underpaid them, for there is striking dissimilarity in 
 many of her portraits. 
 
 Mary Bateman . ... to face p. 261 
 
 There is no worthy likeness ot the “ Yorkshire Witch,” nothing but a 
 rough cut prefixed to the “ Extraordinary Life and Character of Mary 
 Bateman,” which is here reproduced in all its native barrenness. In her 
 right hand she is holding the egg bearing the inscription, “ Crist is 
 Coming” ; on the table is a bottle bearing on the label the words, “ M. 
 Bateman’s Balm of Gilead,” and also a letter addressed to William 
 Perigo. 
 
 Mary Anne Clarke . ... to face p. 289 
 
 The portrait of this extortionate lady bears her signature, and is probably 
 therefore one preferred by herself. She liked posing, particularly in a 
 somewhat Oriental fashion, on a sofa, but these pictures do not give as 
 lively a presentation of the facial features as the bust-portrait. In several 
 of her pictures the complexion given is dark even to swarthiness. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 I T is to be admitted that the idea of a volume containing 
 the lives of twelve bad women owed its inception to the 
 publication of the lives of twelve bad men. The one title 
 suggests the other, and it was fitting that the one book 
 should be followed by the second. Relentless circumstance 
 decreed that Mr. Thomas Seccombe, to whose bright intellect, 
 assisted by his exceptional editorial ability, the emergence of 
 the Bad Men was due, should not only find it impossible to 
 do the like for the Bad Women, but should be reluctantly 
 debarred from collaboration. The completion of the work, 
 so well begun by him, was thus left to one of his assistants in 
 the former book, who has in the present volume pursued, as 
 far as was possible, the lines marked down by him. 
 
 To the natural desire to follow so excellent a model is to 
 be ascribed the limitation of the choice of Bad Women to 
 former inhabitants of these islands. It is hoped that such 
 limitations will be found to be justified, notwithstanding the 
 common assumption that the most familiar types of evil- 
 doing women are furnished by other countries. Whether 
 thanks are really due to Nature for permitting British 
 woman to make a just boast that at any rate she is not so 
 bad as her foreign sister, or whether it be that the national 
 quality of self-abasement teaches the English to look else¬ 
 where than at home for examples of moral obliquity, are 
 questions that need not now be discussed; yet it may scarcely 
 be denied that such names as those of Lucrezia Borgia, 
 Catharine de Medici, the Empress Catharine, or Joan of 
 Naples, are more likely to be instanced as bad women than 
 
 xi 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 xii 
 
 any native specimen. It must be remembered, however, that 
 no claim is made to have enshrined within these pages 
 biographies of the twelve worst women that ever lived, either 
 in the world or in the narrower sphere of Great Britain and 
 Ireland. To have done so would only provoke useless con¬ 
 troversy, and there is the further objection that there have 
 existed many women of criminal importance who, though 
 they must have been very bad women indeed, have left little 
 history beyond the bare record of a crime. Queen Elfritha, 
 whose act won martyrdom for King Edward, Lady Macbeth, 
 the Lady Shrewsbury who held her lover’s horse while he 
 killed her husband, and many another who has equal rights 
 to inclusion in a company of Bad Women, are commemo¬ 
 rated by a single deed of wickedness, while the rest of their 
 lives merely furnishes material for a paragraph. Other 
 women there have been (and the class is not a small one) 
 who so dissembled their badness or goodness that, according 
 to the point of view, they are at once objects of veneration 
 and execration, and the story of their lives is more fitly to 
 be looked for among Twelve Doubtful Women. 
 
 Neither description has its place in this volume, of which 
 the purpose is to give unvarnished accounts of twelve English¬ 
 women of whom enough is known to show that they were 
 consistently bad, whether owing to a vicious temperament, 
 a crooked nature, or a lack of moral perception, resulting in 
 unscrupulousness and crime. Variety in the forms of evil 
 having been decreed by Nature, it has been deemed well to 
 follow her example so far as possible, and the selection of 
 subjects has been made with this end in view. In the cases 
 of Alice Perrers and Barbara Villiers the variety is afforded 
 by the different conditions of different ages, and it is curious 
 to note the parallelism between the characters of these two 
 royal favourites, separated as they were by three centuries of 
 time. Both variety and comprehensiveness demanded that 
 some exponents of what are sometimes called vulgar crimes 
 should be included, and vulgar and brutal as Moll Cutpurse, 
 Jenny Diver, Mrs. Brownrigg, and Mary Bateman undoubt¬ 
 edly were, they were none the less women, and, in their own 
 particular lines, representative women. The murder by Alice 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 xiii 
 
 Arden of her husband, though sordid enough in its details, is 
 as what is nowadays called a crime passionel, redeemed from 
 the reproach of vulgarity, and the dignity of history has done 
 as much for the revolting sins of the vile Countess of Somerset. 
 In the Duchess of Kingston is seen the type of the un-moral 
 woman, innocent enough, no doubt, in a savage community, 
 but particularly unwholesome if the well-being and progress 
 of civilized society be held worthy objects of human endeavour. 
 A form of crime, which is not vulgar because peculiarly femi¬ 
 nine, is that exemplified in the case of Elizabeth Canning, 
 who, although in her own day she almost escaped on a popular 
 prejudice, and would probably have done the same to-day as 
 a hysteric subject, was as wicked a little baggage as ever 
 the devil inspired. 
 
 One class only of Bad Women has been designedly ex¬ 
 cluded, and that is the class to which the name is not 
 uncommonly applied in a special and limited sense. No 
 woman has been admitted simply because she exhibited the 
 infirmity which takes the form of multitudinous and indis¬ 
 criminate lasciviousness. That such weakness not seldom 
 accompanies vices, which in themselves betoken bluntness of 
 the finer feelings, is for the present purpose an accident. It 
 may be that the line which has to be drawn is a narrow one, 
 and that such characters as Con Phillips and Mary Anne 
 Clarke are very near the border, but there is yet a clear dis¬ 
 tinction between these two women and a Messalina or Cora 
 Pearl. 
 
 The twelve biographies have all been carefully compiled 
 from the best available resources, and, inasmuch as no autho¬ 
 rities (save in exceptional instances) are cited, it should be 
 said that no statement of fact, which is not supported by 
 authentic records, has been wilfully admitted. 
 
 January i, 1897. 
 
ALICE FERRERS. 
 
ALICE PERRERS. 
 
 (d. 1400.) 
 
 “Where women reigneor be in authorise, there must nedesvanitie be 
 preferred to vertue, ambition and pride to temperancie and modesty and 
 finallie that avarice, the mother of all mischefe must nedes devour 
 equitie and justice.”— John Knox. 
 
 I T is no uncommon thing for pedigrees to come to an in¬ 
 convenient stop in the ascending direction. Many volumes 
 hardly contain the names and suitable accounts of the English 
 families for whom it is claimed that the blood of Edward III. 
 still trickles in their veins; and, no doubt, if all things might 
 be known, another volume could be added containing the 
 names of those who combine the blood of Edward and that 
 of Alice Perrers. But beyond that on the lady’s side it would 
 in existing circumstances be difficult to go. Her origin is 
 wrapped in mystery, and the lapse of five centuries has done 
 nothing to throw light on it, although so great a span of time 
 has not passed without giving birth to some ingenious specu¬ 
 lation on the question. Archbishop Parker, for instance, 
 thought that she might be identical with Alice Perot, the 
 niece of William of Wykeham, a younger and most respect¬ 
 able lady, whose son was fellow of his college. More than one 
 historian has confidently asserted that she was the child of 
 John de Perrers, of Holt in Norfolk, and his wife, Gunnora 
 Ormesby; but their daughter, named Elizabeth, should have 
 been called Alice to make the theory more readily acceptable. 
 Others again have held that she must have been the daughter 
 or granddaughter of a Sir Richard Perers, who was returned 
 to Parliament from time to time as representative of Hertford- 
 
4 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 shire in the first thirty years of the fourteenth century, and 
 who is thought, but probably not very correctly, to have been 
 the same Sir Richard Perers who, some thirty years later, was 
 branded as a common malefactor and spent many years in 
 Stortford prison. This last Sir Richard had a son of the same 
 name, to whom, in the opinion of others, the paternity of Alice 
 should be ascribed, but the son had to fall back on fraudulent 
 devices in his attempts to recover the confiscated acres of his 
 father. His attempts were unsuccessful, though it is impossible 
 to doubt that had it been his good fortune to own Alice Perrers 
 as a daughter or even as a remote relative, he would have 
 gained all he wanted without recourse to forgery and expensive 
 suits. 
 
 The chroniclers of the fourteenth century and their imme¬ 
 diate successors were in no uncertainty as to the lady’s origin, 
 and perhaps it is not disrespectful to the modern genealogists 
 of Perrers to believe that the earlier information may be the 
 more exact. According to her contemporaries Alice Perrers 
 was of base kindred, being the daughter of either a weaver or 
 a tiler of Hunneye (“ beside Exeter, as some suppose”). The 
 year of her birth is unknown, and it is therefore not possible 
 to determine whether she possessed the usual number of teeth 
 or only the twenty-eight to which persons born after the year 
 of the Great Plague were restricted. 1 The probabilities are 
 in favour of the usual number, for eighteen years after the 
 Plague she was in high favour at King Edward’s Court, and 
 before gaining this eminence she had been a poor servant and 
 had learnt the ways of love from “ a certain fool that used 
 with his hands to carry water from the conduit to men’s houses 
 for necessary use.” The manner of her transition from the 
 fool to the king has not been handed down. She may have 
 found a humble place at Court, from which she succeeded in 
 obtaining notice from the usually discreet eye of the King. 
 After the death of Queen Philippa she was described as having 
 been one ot the ladies of her chamber, but there is no evidence 
 that she was recognized as such in the Queen’s lifetime. 
 Occupying the position she did with regard to the King, the 
 post could not have been a comfortable one, unless, indeed, the 
 1 Vide Baker’s “ History,” p. 131. 
 
ALICE PERRERS. 
 
 5 
 
 Queen was more indulgent to the foibles of her lord than many 
 wives consider necessary. It was certainly some few years 
 before Philippa’s death that Alice was promoted “to the 
 familiarity of the King more than was convenient,” and it was 
 a public scandal that she was preferred in the King’s love. It 
 is idle in this case, as it is in most others of love astray, to 
 speculate on the causes that led up to Edward’s infatuation. 
 His record of constancy was a good one and his strong attach¬ 
 ment to his queen had been notorious. Philippa had been 
 an excellent wife and a prolific mother, and though, to judge 
 from her effigy at Westminster, she was no longer beautiful, her 
 rival had no advantage over her in this respect, being described 
 as neither beautiful nor fair. Popular gossip accounted for 
 Alice’s ascendancy by her flattering tongue, and that she knew 
 how to use that organ to excellent effect for her own ends the 
 whole story of her relations with Edward bears witness. 
 P'urther, it were indiscreet, if not futile, to inquire. 
 
 Her place in the affections of the King once gained, Alice 
 Perrers set about turning it to the best account. She found 
 herself in the position of the beggar on horseback and made 
 the best use of her opportunity. Her dominant quality was 
 avarice, and it had its natural complement in the regal extrava¬ 
 gance of Edward, who was not only by disposition generous, 
 but may, perhaps, have felt, with the modesty of advancing 
 age, that the mere distinction of his protection was hardly 
 sufficient reward for a lady who adapted herself with such ease 
 to his requirements. The first recorded grant to her is an 
 annual allowance of two tuns of wine per annum made in 1366, 
 and this is probably but a token of numerous personal gifts ; 
 but what the acquisitive nature of Alice chiefly loved was 
 landed property. Reversions to the crown were ever falling 
 in, and if a manor thus reverting was lucrative or desirable, it 
 became the property by royal grant of Alice Perrers. In 1367, 
 for instance, the King’s aunt having died, her manor of Arding- 
 ton was granted to Alice, together with other property, which 
 included the open fields in Merton with the enclosure of 
 Mortoscough in the forest of Inglewood, and a piece of land in 
 Northumberland. If it were possible to set forth the names 
 and localities of all the estates thus acquired it would be over- 
 
6 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 tedious to do so, for within ten years Alice became the pro¬ 
 prietor of manors, lands, and tenements in no fewer than 
 seventeen counties. Hers was no nominal ownership. Gain 
 was her object, and no sooner was a grant of land recorded in 
 her favour than she appointed an agent or bailiff whose duty 
 it was to wring the uttermost penny from the luckless occupiers 
 of the soil. Another profitable source of income was to be 
 derived from the custody of minors, heirs of territorial rights, 
 the profits of whose lands during their minority might be 
 appropriated by the persons nominally made responsible for 
 their maintenance. Several young gentlemen owed guardian¬ 
 ship of this sort to the benevolent Alice, and as many others 
 were, by the King’s will, compelled to allow her to pocket a tax 
 on their marrying. 
 
 Far the greater part of these numerous grants were made 
 after a happy death had removed the Queen in August, 1369, 
 when her rival and successor stepped into undisputed posses¬ 
 sion of the first place in the Court and in the realm. The 
 King was then fifty-seven years old, an advanced age in the 
 fourteenth century, and though the issue of the struggle waged 
 within him between virility and senility was beyond a doubt, 
 the momentary mastery of either one or the other was equally 
 in favour of Alice. He was happy in bending to her will, and 
 her will was only to receive or to prevent others from receiving. 
 She is represented as being ever by the King, taking “whatever 
 she could catch or snatch from his hands,” and hindering him 
 from recompensing poor servants that had long served him. If 
 she was in want of money, a commodity which it was not always 
 convenient even for the King to provide, she was allowed to 
 borrow from the Treasury. This was, in fact, a cheap method 
 of generosity for the King, as, when the loans had accumulated, 
 it was only necessary for Alice to remind him of her position, 
 to bring the accustomed influences to bear, and to receive 
 forthwith by royal warrant a pardon of all her debts. In 
 similar fashion she would borrow jewels from the King and 
 afterwards obtain a pardon of their value which had been 
 entered up against her. It is likely indeed that the jewels she 
 borrowed were sometimes re-sold by her to the King and then 
 borrowed again. She disposed of “jewels and things” one 
 
ALICE PERRERS. 
 
 7 
 
 Christmas to the King to the amount of ^397, and was duly paid 
 this sum out of the exchequer. There was, however, one set of 
 jewels which it taxed her persuasive powers to the utmost to 
 obtain. These were those that had belonged to the Queen, on 
 whose death they had been handed over for safe keeping to the 
 hands of Euphemia, wife of Walter de Heselarton, knight. Alice 
 Ferrers must have felt that if she occupied the position of the 
 late queen, and something more, she was fairly entitled to such 
 meaner attributes of royalty as jewellery and other personal 
 belongings of value. The King appears to have differed ; he 
 may even have felt that a line might be drawn somewhere, or 
 the members of his family have brought such influence as they 
 could command to bear on him, but, whatever the reason, four 
 years passed before a grant making over Philippa’s jewels to 
 Alice was formally enrolled. In extenuation of this gift of 
 the King it has been argued by some of his or of her apologists 
 on the strength of the wording of the grant, that not all but 
 only some of the jewels were meant, and it is true that the 
 inelegant Latin may be read thus ambiguously, but the most 
 obvious and straightforward translation indicates the transfer 
 of all the jewels. The point is not worth mention were it not 
 for the strong insistence on it by commentators who, in order 
 to mitigate the offence, have taken the curious means of prov¬ 
 ing (to their own satisfaction) that the bulk of the gift bestowed 
 was less than had been supposed. The same writers have not 
 unnaturally disdained to notice Alice’s smaller depredations, 
 which amounted in sum to a very considerable value. Nothing 
 she could lay her hands upon came amiss to her, and she 
 helped herself from the royal palace to enormous quantities 
 of silver cups and dishes, bed-linen, pillows, mattresses, table¬ 
 cloths, curtains, silks, ribbons, and even remnants of cloth. 
 These things and others of like character were doubtless taken 
 for the embellishment of the home she made for herself as a 
 place of retirement during the King’s absence or as occasion 
 might otherwise serve. This home was a moated mansion in 
 the manor of Pallens-wick, a large estate to the north of and 
 extending almost the whole length of what is now King Street, 
 Hammersmith, and here, no doubt, were brought up the little 
 girls by whose birth her union with the King was blessed from 
 
8 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 time to time. It was unfortunate for Alice, as events after¬ 
 wards proved, that nothing could be taken whether from the 
 wardrobe or any other department of the royal household 
 without an entry being made of the fact, and a woman of less 
 assurance might have shrank from the frequent encounters it 
 was necessary to undergo with the jealous custodians of the 
 royal property. The officers and dependents of the household 
 disliked her cordially, if not openly, but, as Alice Perrers well 
 knew, their hostility was harmless to her so long as her star 
 remained in the ascendant. She could afford to exercise a 
 hateful magnanimity and to scatter smiles and kind words 
 among people who might despise them but who must needs 
 appear grateful. Still, she was mindful of her dignity and 
 was able to assert it when necessary in picturesque manner. 
 Thus in 1375, when her unpopularity was fast becoming a force 
 with which she had to reckon, and the good people of London 
 were murmuring more audibly than decently at her all-embrac¬ 
 ing sway, Alice determined to give to the ignorant mob an 
 object-lesson which should show to it the personage she was 
 and the unassailable nature of the position she had won. 
 Accordingly, a tournament was organized to be held at 
 Smithfield under the direct patronage of the King. On the 
 appointed day there started from the Tower a gorgeous pro¬ 
 cession consisting of a great number of ladies of high rank, 
 each one of whom led by the bridle a knight on horseback, 
 and in the centre a triumphal chariot which contained Alice 
 Perrers in the character of the “ Lady of the Sun,” and the 
 doting King. Her raiment, which was magnificent and was, 
 of course, supplied from the Wardrobe, included “a cap of 
 tanned leather, broidered with gold thread and bound with 
 gold ribbon furred with ermine.” The lists remained open 
 for seven days, and on each of them the inhabitants of the 
 city of London were privileged to behold the exultant progress 
 through their midst of the “ Lady of the Sun ” surrounded by 
 her satellites. The success was so great, or the effect produced 
 was considered so satisfactory, that a similar “hastilude” was 
 planned for the following Whitsuntide, and Alice provided 
 herself—again from the Wardrobe—with “a cloth of gold 
 tissue, lined with red taffeta ” together with “ a russet gown, 
 
ALICE PERRERS. 
 
 9 
 
 lined with white, furred with ermine.” The death of the 
 Black Prince put a stop to the festivities before they were 
 commenced, but it is safe to assume that the garments were 
 not returned. 
 
 Alice Perrers, however, had but little mind for diversions 
 such as those described, except so far as they might be neces¬ 
 sary or useful for the strengthening of her position and the 
 attainment of her ends. Her business was to acquire riches 
 by means fair or foul, and she was not slow to see that there 
 were ways open to her other than the extraction of excessive 
 remuneration for favours bestowed on the King. It is believed 
 that she was the partner of Lord Latimer and Richard Lyons 
 in the creation of a “ corner ” in necessary commodities, which 
 was highly lucrative while it lasted. Lyons, who was the 
 active partner, was a merchant of London and farmer of 
 Customs, and was thus in a favourable situation to secure the 
 first chance of purchasing imported merchandize. The simple 
 plan of the confederates was for him to use this chance, and 
 by buying up, with the capital his friends could provide, all 
 importations of some given article, obtain an easy command 
 of the market. The plan worked admirably well, and under 
 Alice’s protection Lyons was able to extend the sphere of 
 their operations by selling patents to traders for monopolies. 
 Another field for their activity was found among the numerous 
 creditors of the King who had advanced him money, and 
 having experienced difficulty in obtaining repayment were 
 willing to sell their debts at a considerable discount for cash ; 
 the debts were bought up, and it was mere everyday work 
 for Alice to obtain settlements in full from the Treasury. 
 While her accomplices or agents were thus working for the 
 common cause, she herself was busy on her own account. It 
 came to be known that the influence and assistance of the 
 most powerful person in the kingdom were at the service of 
 suitors in the courts of law, and it is the truth that they were 
 so—in return for a consideration. Alice, in fact, indulged in 
 the offence of maintenance or of helping litigants to bring 
 actions on condition of sharing in the winnings in the event of 
 a successful issue. The weaker the cause, the higher was the 
 price to be paid for its support ; and the higher the price, the 
 
10 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 greater was the chance of a favourable judgment. For, if in 
 the early days of the system, before it was perfected, the 
 judges had ventured to disregard the evidence of witnesses 
 suborned by Alice, she soon found a way of teaching them 
 manners if not justice. When a case in which she was 
 interested came on for hearing she appeared in Westminster 
 Hall and took her seat on the bench. From that point of 
 vantage she was able to instruct the judge as to what was 
 true and what was not, and as to the finding it was proper 
 to give on the evidence as interpreted by her. The judges 
 knew the character with which they had to deal, and were too 
 wise to do otherwise than bow to what was for them, as for 
 others, the royal will. Their brothers in the ecclesiastical 
 courts were in a like case ; they too had to bear the presence 
 on their bench and the assistance in their councils of the 
 self-appointed coadjutor, and knew no alternative but to 
 concur with her if the defendant, though guilty of the worst 
 crime known to the Consistory, was only rich enough to pay 
 her fees. One instance only is on record of a miscarriage of 
 Alice’s designs in a court of justice, and in that she was 
 vanquished by brute force. It happened that a great part of 
 England’s naval'forces were congregated in London by order 
 of John of Gaunt, and a unit of these forces was an unfor¬ 
 tunate seaman, against whom, for some reason beyond the 
 scope of conjecture, Alice Perrers bore a grudge. She was 
 able to induce a certain squire, whose name has not come 
 down to us, to kill this sailor ; and there the matter should 
 have ended, but the man’s shipmates thought fit to regard it 
 seriously, and to secure the capture and imprisonment of the 
 murderer. He was brought up for trial in due course, and it 
 was seen that the court was disposed to treat the matter 
 lightly. Moreover, it was rumoured that, whatever the verdict 
 in the case, Alice Perrers had thoughtfully armed herself with 
 the royal warrant for the squire’s pardon. The shipmates of 
 the murdered man did not wait for the verdict: they rushed into 
 court, seized the prisoner, and, taking him outside, “ killed him 
 like a swine, with a knife.” Alice was beaten, and the sailors 
 went scot free ; but the man she wished to be punished was 
 dead, and if the instrument of her wrath had shared a like 
 
ALICE PERRERS. 
 
 n 
 
 fate, he had at any rate served her purpose, and she had done 
 what she could to save him. But though a body of ignorant 
 men might thus venture to thwart her wishes, persons of any 
 position who had anything to gain or lose could only pray 
 that their path might never cross hers, since, if it did, they 
 must submit with resignation to be trampled upon. An 
 amusing illustration of the awe she inspired is found in the 
 story of the manor of Oxhey. This manor was left by a 
 pious lady, named Johanna Whitewell, to the powerful and 
 grasping monastery of St. Albans, the representatives of 
 which promptly entered into possession. But the land was 
 claimed by one Thomas Fitz-John, who alleged that the 
 manor was not Johanna’s to bequeath, inasmuch as it 
 belonged to him, and he therefore turned out the people put 
 in by the Abbot of St. Albans, and formally claimed owner¬ 
 ship. The tenants, however, were one and all in favour of 
 the monastery, and joined with the monks in dislodging 
 Fitz-John, who, finding the odds too strong for him, gave up 
 outward struggle and prepared a mine for the fathers. He 
 went to London, obtained an interview with Alice Perrers, 
 and on terms which were probably not altogether in his 
 favour conveyed the property to her. Then he returned with 
 a small force of friends, dispossessed the abbot’s men again, 
 and announced the transfer of the property to Alice, whose 
 seneschal, Robert of Warwick, then and there named a place 
 and time at which the unwilling tenants were to assemble to 
 attorn to their new mistress. The abbot conferred with his 
 council on the steps to be next taken, and it being agreed 
 that the greatness and power of Alice were such that it was 
 useless to pursue justice against her, they reluctantly decided 
 to desist from pressing their rights, and to leave her in peaceful 
 possession. Her motive here was, as always, cupidity ; and 
 it is not to be imagined that she was actuated in any way by 
 hostility to the Church. On the contrary, she posed as a 
 pious woman, and was ready to advance money to religious 
 bodies, as she did on one occasion to the Abbey of West¬ 
 minster, provided the interest was high enough. Moreover, 
 the Church owes no small debt to her for the assistance she 
 gave to its distinguished servant, William of Wykeham. 
 
12 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 When that good man was in great disfavour, and had been 
 specially exempted from the general pardon granted in the 
 King’s jubilee year, which meant that his temporalities, of 
 which he had been deprived, were not to be restored to him, 
 Alice greatly damaged her own prospects by befriending the 
 bishop, and thus opposing the will of his enemy, the Duke of 
 Lancaster. The bishop hankered after those lost temporalities, 
 and seeing no other means of getting them back, invoked 
 the aid of Alice. What was the price he paid is not known, 
 but it must have been considerable, for, in order to earn her 
 money, she stirred up the bedridden King, who was at the 
 time within three days of his death, and obtained from him 
 the revocation of Wykeham’s sentence. 
 
 This last example of Alice’s power of combining charity 
 and business is, however, in anticipation of the course of 
 events. The Duke of Lancaster, when he took over the 
 reins of government, had had perforce to come to a working 
 arrangement with his father’s favourite. With the one other 
 exception of Isabella de Courcy, his eldest daughter, who on 
 her return from France took up her residence with her father 
 and Alice Perrers, and accompanied them to Havering, 
 Eltham, Sheen, or whatever palace the pair might choose to 
 occupy, Edward’s other children viewed with extreme dis¬ 
 approval his relations with Alice. The Black Prince remained 
 in his retirement at Berkhampstead, and although, no doubt, 
 his continued illness was the principal cause of his leading so 
 private a life, it is possible that he was partly influenced 
 thereto by the hatred of his wife for the lady who guided the 
 nation’s destinies. The princess Joan, whose own polyandrous 
 tastes had been largely and honourably satisfied, could afford 
 to resent with stern indignation the aggrandisement by 
 unchastity of a sister-woman. Alice Perrers, no doubt, 
 preferred her contempt to more active hostility, and was 
 content to have the more leisure for increasing her store. 
 Public affairs, however, demanded a great deal of her atten¬ 
 tion and her time. During the absence of the King’s sons she 
 was to all intents prime minister, and inasmuch as outside the 
 sphere of her own immediate interests she had no particular 
 gift of wisdom, it is little subject for wonder that the adminis- 
 
ALICE PERRERS. 
 
 13 
 
 tration fell into contempt. The people of England, so long 
 as they had no leader, endured her for their love of their king, 
 but they are not to be blamed if they fixed on her the respon¬ 
 sibility for the contempt in which their country was fast falling 
 in the opinion of the world. They had almost the right to 
 believe that that splendid fleet, four hundred ships strong, 
 which had set sail under Edward’s own command for the 
 relief of Thouars, and returned to England without so much 
 as nearing the opposite shore, was blown back not so much 
 by contrary winds as by the hot breath of its leader’s desire 
 unto the witch to whose guidance he had entrusted his own 
 and the nation’s destinies. John of Gaunt can have had no 
 more admiration for the lady’s methods than the rest of the 
 world ; but when, at length, the truce with France left him 
 free to turn his attention to domestic politics, he was quick to 
 see that an active opposition to her could only be an obstacle 
 to the attainment of his own ends. His nature was hardly 
 more generous than her own, but he presented her with a 
 hanap of beryl garnished with silver, which had been a 
 gift to him, and so had cost him nothing; and she in turn, 
 with equal freehandedness, obtained the grant of some 
 manors, which for some reason she did not want for herself, 
 to Catherine Swynford. Under their dual control things 
 went well enough for them. They humoured the King, and 
 did as they pleased ; and since the schemes of the lady, at 
 any rate, did not extend beyond herself and her immediate 
 belongings, they left no permanent stain on the country’s 
 annals. Alice continued to amass wealth and to oppress the 
 tenants who were unlucky enough to owe fealty to her. She 
 knew probably better than any one else that the King’s day 
 on earth were practically numbered, and no sagacity was 
 needed to predict that her own reign would come to an end 
 at the same time as his. It was not the fault of her enemies, 
 who were many, and who were liberally scattered over the 
 country, that it did not come first. At the very time when 
 Alice’s position seemed more firmly established than ever, 
 these enemies, who were led by the Black Prince’s party, the 
 opponents of the existing administration, were working most 
 strenuously to undermine it. The result of their efforts was 
 
*4 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 seen when the Parliament, the assembling of which was 
 necessitated by the lack of supplies, met at Westminster in 
 April, 1376. The government of two had, apparently, given 
 no consideration to the choice of representatives. They 
 counted on a passive meeting of country gentlemen who 
 would formally grant what money was asked for, and return 
 peacefully to their homes. How they reckoned without their 
 host was seen directly the Commons were gathered together. 
 They were almost to a man supporters of the Black Prince 
 and the claims of his son to the succession, as against the 
 presumed ambition of the Duke of Lancaster to fill the throne 
 on his father’s death. They elected Sir Peter Delamare to be 
 their Speaker, in the literal sense of the word, and that virtuous 
 man began the good work by declaiming against the existing 
 system, or want of system, of government, and all the misdeeds 
 of those who directed the affairs of the nation. John of Gaunt 
 was dumbfounded by the unexpected turn of the Parlia¬ 
 mentary wheel. He could not at first believe that the honest 
 fools were serious in applauding Sir Peter’s contumacious 
 speech, and at the close of the first day’s proceedings his 
 impulse was to appear before the Commons in the morning 
 “ so glorious that they would no more dare to provoke him to 
 wrath.” Counsel taken with less fiery friends convinced him 
 that the opposition was too resolute to be silenced by the mere 
 apparition of a prince, however glorious; and so on second 
 thoughts “ he laid aside all vigour and stoutness of stomach 
 and next day appeared very favourable and mild.” The 
 Commons made the most of the free hand given them by the 
 withdrawal of any active opposition. So soon as necessary 
 business was concluded, what must have been a pre-concerted 
 attack on the King’s favourites was commenced. The first 
 victims were Alice Perrers’ friends and coadjutors, Richard 
 Lyons and Lord Latimer. Lyons had scented danger and 
 tried to escape it by sending to the Black Prince a barrel of 
 gold in a barge, “ as if it had been a barrel of sturgeon.” The 
 gift was sent back, and was re-addressed to the King, who 
 was lying ill at Eltham. Alice was with him, and it is need¬ 
 less to say the gold was kept, but it made no difference to the 
 immediate fate of Lyons, who was condemned to imprison- 
 
ALICE PERRERS. 
 
 15 
 
 ment during the King’s will. Lord Latimer and others were 
 likewise sentenced, and then came the turn of Alice Perrers. 
 
 There were present the representatives of the seventeen 
 counties in which her property lay, and every one of them 
 had listened to the groans of those who were forced to sub¬ 
 mit to her extortion. Each good knight was primed with 
 some story of her enormities and turned an eager ear to the 
 tale his neighbour had to tell. Most of these probably pre¬ 
 sented no point of attack, but the readiness displayed to seize 
 upon the smallest chance of crushing her shows the temper 
 of the country. One knight, for instance, had it on good 
 authority that Alice had lured the King to unlawful love by 
 the wicked enchantments of a Dominican friar who professed 
 to be a physician but was really a magician. This friar, 
 it was said, had made pictures of the king and Alice, by the 
 skilful employment of which Alice could obtain whatever she 
 wanted, and he had also made “ rings of memory and forget¬ 
 fulness.” Here was something on which the “ Good ” Parlia¬ 
 ment could act. Its worthy leader commissioned his brother, 
 Sir John Delamare, and Sir John Brentwood, to assume dis¬ 
 guises and to proceed to Pallens-wick, and, if possible, secure 
 the sorcerer. The crafty knights set off on their mission, 
 and on arriving at Alice’s house inquired if there was any 
 one there who could cure diseases. The friar fell innocently 
 into the trap, was seized by the knights and haled before 
 Parliament. A whole day was spent in cross-examining the 
 Dominican, but without effect, and at last the disappointed 
 Commons yielded to the merciful suggestion of the Arch¬ 
 bishop of Canterbury, that justice would be satisfied if the 
 man were handed over to the care of his Order. 
 
 Others of the knights unearthed a scandal touching Alice 
 and a certain William de Windsor. They found out “ by 
 diligent search ” that she was “ greatly in love ” with Windsor, 
 and the astute idea was conceived of working on the jealousy 
 of the King. It is more than likely, almost certain in fact, 
 that there was some sort of foundation for this new charge 
 which the sagacity of Alice’s enemies enabled them to bring 
 against her. William de Windsor was a needy knight of 
 ancient family who for many years had served his king and 
 
i6 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 country with more or less distinction. He had been warden 
 of the western marches, had fought against the French at 
 Poitou, and was retained by Lionel, Duke of Clarence, at two 
 shillings a day, to assist him in the government of Ireland. 
 When that prince threw up his task and declared he would 
 never go to the country again of his own free will, Windsor 
 remained as lieutenant. From time to time he visited 
 London, and on one of these occasions he would appear to 
 have established some sort of intimacy with Alice Perrers. 
 There is presumptive evidence that the advances came from 
 the side of the lady, who, having no agency in Ireland, and 
 yet believing that money might be exacted there as elsewhere 
 if the right means were employed, conjectured that the posi¬ 
 tion and poverty of Windsor would combine to make him the 
 right instrument for her purposes. Her suggestions were well 
 received, and for some years the history of his proceedings in 
 Ireland is merely a record of his extortions and the com¬ 
 plaints aroused thereby. While the King was yet vigorous 
 he interfered with the game as much as was possible; he 
 sent to Windsor to forbid him to levy the sums for which 
 he had extorted grants from the commonalty of Dublin ; 
 he publicly rebuked him for his exactions and exercised 
 his authority to prevent him from proceeding against the 
 towns which resisted his demands; and more than once he 
 sanctioned the appointment of a public inquisition on his 
 rapacious habits. Nevertheless, when Alice Perrers had 
 once grasped the reins of power she caused Windsor to 
 be appointed Governor of Ireland, despite his tremendous 
 unpopularity, and her hand is to be seen in the contract under 
 which, in consideration of ^11,218 6s. 8d., he undertook to 
 find two hundred men and forty archers for a year. Perhaps 
 it is not unfair to trace the same guiding spirit in the refusal 
 of Windsor to pay the men’s wages ; that she, at any rate, 
 was in some way concerned in the bargain seems clear from 
 the fact that she herself openly drew sums of money from the 
 exchequer on account of payments due to Windsor over this 
 transaction. 
 
 How much more the knights of the Good Parliament found 
 out about the relations existing between Alice Perrers and 
 
ALICE PERRERS. 
 
 17 
 
 the Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland is not known, but some of 
 them went and informed the King that they had proved her 
 to be another man’s wife, which was certainly untrue, and that 
 he therefore had been living in adultery. The King denied 
 all knowledge of his sins, and equally disclaimed having 
 been a party to the unlawful acquisition of gain by his mis¬ 
 tress, but he was forced to consent to her removal from his 
 presence and to swear on the cross of the Archbishop of 
 Canterbury that he would never see her again. Well has it 
 been said “ that it was barbarous to dictate in this unfeeling 
 manner to a monarch who had once been the arbiter of 
 Europe and to tear from the aged prince, now in his sixty- 
 fifth year, a companion and confidant whom habit had 
 rendered necessary to him ; . . . a generous mind would have 
 found some expedient less harsh than of forbidding to the 
 venerable king her society and conversation.” But the 
 virtuous knights were in no mood for generosity; they 
 exacted the like solemn oath from Alice, and the Archbishop 
 and the other bishops present in Parliament all swore to ex¬ 
 communicate her if she should break her word. Nor had the 
 worthy Commons yet done with her. They made a formal 
 complaint that women had pursued business and quarrels in 
 the King’s courts by way of maintenance and for pay, and 
 they constrained the King to pass an ordinance forbidding 
 women to do so henceforth, and “ in especial Alice Perrers, on 
 pain of so much as the said Alice may forfeit and of being 
 banished the realm.” Alice had no choice but to retire in 
 disgrace into private life, while her persecutors continued to 
 harry the King and stretch his pliancy to the utmost, but her 
 star, though eclipsed for the moment, was not yet on the 
 wane. Fate willed it that the Black Prince, who was believed 
 to be one of the chief instigators of the proceedings against 
 her, and of the eloquence displayed by Sir Peter Delamare on 
 the grievances of the nation in general, should die while the 
 Good Parliament was still putting things to rights. The 
 practical effect of this unhappy event was to undo the Parlia¬ 
 ment's chief labours, for when its string of petitions to the 
 King was exhausted, and the last concession to its wishes had 
 been made by the enfeebled invalid, the Parliament was 
 
 3 
 
i8 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 necessarily dissolved. It then became apparent that there 
 was no authority able or willing to enforce the excellent 
 measures that had been so lately passed. The persons who 
 had been driven to bow their necks before the storm ventured 
 to raise their heads, looked round them, and seeing all was 
 calm, emerged into the open. John of Gaunt resumed the 
 administration of affairs. Lord Latimer, and others who had 
 been condemned, reappeared at Court, and Alice' Perrers, 
 making light of perjury, returned to the King. There was no 
 one to say her nay ; there might and did arise great murmur- 
 ings of the people at this ineffectiveness of the popular Parlia¬ 
 ment, but even the Archbishop and his suffragans “ were made 
 like dumb dogs not able to bark,” and were restrained by fear 
 from excommunicating her. The King welcomed back his 
 companion ; he had got on ill without her, and though it may 
 not be necessary to believe with one chronicler that the disease 
 he suffered from was inordinate lust of the flesh, yet it is 
 certain that in her absence both his health and spirits were at 
 their lowest ebb. Alice was able so successfully to foster the 
 spark of life that yet remained in the weak old man that he 
 was able to rise from his bed and, leaving his retirement, to 
 eat in public at Westminster his Christmas dinner with his 
 grandson and successor. 
 
 It now only remained for Alice Perrers and her friends to 
 make an example of some one of those who had despitefully 
 used them. Obviously the efficient cause of their troubles 
 was the talkative Sir Peter Delamare, and inasmuch as his 
 long tongue, when let loose at Westminster, had not stopped 
 short of expostulation at the failings of the Duke of Lan¬ 
 caster, he, too, was of their mind in wishing for a handsome 
 revenge. Without any formalities of trial or justice the ex¬ 
 cellent harbinger of free speech in England was sent off to 
 gaol in Newark, or Nottingham—perhaps to both in turn— 
 there to remain without prospect of release till fortune or the 
 course of nature should again place his friends in power. 
 Alice Perrers was in favour of taking him into a wood and 
 cutting off his head without ado, and as there was none of 
 those in power who had any objection, this summary clapper 
 wbuld no doubt have been put in Sir Peter’s eloquence had 
 
ALICE PERRERS. 
 
 19 
 
 not Sir Henry Percy intervened and begged off the first 
 Speaker’s life from John of Gaunt. Alice Perrers yielded the 
 point; for all she knew to the contrary the abode of dead 
 demagogues was a pleasanter place than Newark gaol, and 
 the imprisonment would last as long as she remained where 
 she did. Matters more practical claimed her attention. 
 Richard Lyons, one of the chief instruments of her rapacity, 
 had been really imprisoned as a result of his condemnation 
 by the Good Parliament, and some of his goods and lands 
 which had been forfeited were now in the possession of two 
 of the King’s sons. The man wanted not only his freedom 
 but his property, and Alice, to whose credit it must be stated 
 that she always stood by her useful friends, applied herself to 
 the satisfaction of his wishes. His release was an easy matter, 
 but in view of the opposition to be encountered and the 
 necessity of keeping on as good terms as possible with the 
 princes, the restitution of property presented some difficulties. 
 They were overcome, however, by Alice, who persuaded the 
 King to send a special messenger to his sons with instructions 
 to restore at once under pain of his displeasure what they had 
 so lately gained. If she had any reward herself beyond the 
 pleasing consciousness of seeing justice done it may possibly 
 be traced in connection with the remission to Lyons of an 
 alleged debt of .£300 which he owed to the Treasury, and the 
 gift to him of 1,000 marks. Another of her friends who re¬ 
 quired her good offices was Sir William de Windsor. He had 
 come to London while Parliament was sitting—perhaps on 
 the news that the representatives of the people with cha¬ 
 racteristic impetuosity had already caused to be purchased by 
 the hands of John Buck a coffer to contain the rolls and 
 memoranda of accusations against him. He had been re¬ 
 ceived by the King, and for quarrelling in the King’s presence 
 in the house of the Brethren of St. Mary of Mount Carmel, 
 had been imprisoned, only to be released at once and sent 
 back to his duties in Ireland. His enemies at Court were 
 many, and included John of Gaunt, who had once before 
 caused Sir Nicholas Dagworth, a noted enemy of Windsor, to 
 be sent to Ireland to investigate his conduct, and who was 
 now very unwilling that the Lord-Lieutenant should continue 
 
20 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 in office. He did not oppose his return, but immediately sent 
 Dagworth after him with the same mission as before. Alice 
 Perrers was exasperated at his interference in a matter which 
 seemed to concern herself only, and on her own responsibility 
 had a warrant prepared for Dagworth’s immediate recall. 
 The King, of course, signed it, despite the order of the 
 Council authorizing Dagworth’s errand, and the messenger 
 came back. It was now the turn of John of Gaunt, who 
 liked being thwarted no better than Alice, to assert his 
 power as Regent before his friends on the Council, and he 
 accordingly sought a private interview with the King at 
 Havering. After much argument he obtained a promise that 
 Dagworth and Windsor should both be summoned to the 
 royal presence with the object of proving Dagworth’s impar¬ 
 tiality. As he left the King’s room he found Alice at the 
 door, and in reply to her entreaties that Dagworth should not 
 go back sternly replied that the King’s will must be done. 
 But although Alice might ask a favour of Lancaster as a 
 matter of compliment she relied on more effectual means for 
 securing the accomplishment of her will. The hours of the 
 night belonged to her, and how to turn them to her advantage 
 was her secret. When Lancaster came in the morning to bid 
 good-bye to his father as he lay in bed, the King swore that, 
 ordinance of Council or not, Dagworth should not go to 
 Ireland, and, after all, the son retired worsted by the lady. 
 
 Meanwhile Alice Perrers had not forgotten that she owed 
 something to herself, and must take steps to clear her own 
 character. Inasmuch as it was in Parliament that indignity 
 had been put upon her, she determined that it was the duty 
 of Parliament to see her righted, and she lost no time in 
 doing her utmost to provide an opportunity. In some six 
 months’ time the stingy grants made by the Good Parliament 
 were exhausted, and it became necessary to obtain further 
 supplies. No such mistake as had been made before in the 
 selection of knights of the shire was allowed on this occasion, 
 and when the faithful Commons assembled at Westminster 
 in January, 1377, there were present scarcely more than a 
 dozen of those who had shown such prowess the year before. 
 The others were to a man supporters of the Government, as 
 
ALICE FERRERS. 
 
 21 
 
 were also the Lords, with whom they met in conference. 
 Proceedings were opened by the Chancellor, the Bishop of 
 St. David’s—who, being an ecclesiastic, was ineligible for his 
 office—with a sermon from the text, “Ye suffer fools gladly, 
 seeing that ye yourselves are wise,” the application of which 
 was, as he went on to explain, that he was a fool and the 
 Members of Parliament were wise. Naturally the Commons 
 were flattered, and they were further cheered by the Bishop’s 
 assurance that the King was almost restored to health. They 
 proceeded gaily with business, voted supplies, invented a new 
 tax, refused to listen to prayers on behalf of the languishing 
 Sir Peter Delamare, and, after showing their independence by 
 presenting a few popular petitions to the King, dispersed to 
 their homes. Alice had had a Bill prepared which set forth 
 that she had been shut out of common liberty par meinz vrai 
 suggestion et sans due proces , and demanded that the judg¬ 
 ment against her should be annulled. For some reason— 
 probably because it was thought well to dissolve Parliament 
 as soon as possible after the voting of supplies—the Bill was 
 never presented. The general pardon granted in honour of 
 the King’s Jubilee to all persons except the unfortunate 
 Wykeham, who was reserved as a sacrifice to Alice’s greed, 
 included Alice herself, and made her legally free, but the 
 ordinance of the Good Parliament remained on record 
 against her. 
 
 The King’s restoration to health was, of course, a figment 
 of faith on the part of the Bishop of St. David’s. In 
 January, before the meeting of Parliament, he had been 
 removed from Havering to Sheen, and there he now lay very 
 ill and greatly suffering. Sometimes he found energy, or the 
 task was performed for him, to order costly raiment to be 
 sent to him in his chamber to be presented to Alice Perrers. 
 But Alice was, as always, bent on also acquiring less perish¬ 
 able property than clothing, and knew that in all human 
 probability but little time was left her for increasing her 
 store. For once she was unselfish enough to think of others 
 than herself, and did not forget to obtain handsome settle¬ 
 ments for her daughters Joan. There is no good reason to 
 doubt that these two girls of one name were the children of 
 
22 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 Edward as well as of Alice, but there is some doubt as to the 
 parentage of Isabella, a third illegitimate daughter ascribed 
 to Edward. There is nothing to connect Isabella with Alice 
 Perrers, who in her will only mentions the two Joans, but 
 Isabella had left the country, having married a Spanish 
 nobleman who proudly quartered the English leopards, and 
 may have predeceased her mother. Alice Perrers, having 
 fulfilled her maternal obligations, was at liberty to make 
 further provision for herself. She prudently refrained from 
 interference in the troubles of John of Gaunt, who, while 
 she remained at Sheen, was suffering hard things from 
 the Londoners, and steadfastly ministered to the King and 
 to her own requirements. She forgot nothing, and one of 
 the last of Edward’s grants to her was, like the first of which 
 we have record, two tuns of Gascon wine a year for life. If 
 others thought to benefit themselves by wresting a gift from 
 the feeble invalid before he died disappointment followed the 
 attempt; for throughout the day Alice sat immovable at the 
 head of the King’s bed, as throughout the night she lay in 
 it, and there was no suitor for the royal bounty so foolish as 
 not to recognize the futility of asking for the humblest thing 
 in the presence of the dreadful nurse. If the historians of 
 the time may be trusted to have faithfully recorded even 
 conversation, the nurse continually persuaded her patient that 
 recovery was sure, and encouraged him to talk of hunting 
 and hawking, and of any other trifle rather than of what 
 pertained to his salvation. She herself was under no 
 delusion. When she struck her bargain with Wykeham and 
 obtained for him the restitution of his temporalities, she must 
 have reckoned that the great offence thus given to John of 
 Gaunt would cost her little, since both she and he would very 
 soon have it out of their power to damage either one another 
 or any one else; and her reasoning, although falsified by the 
 turn of events, was justifiable. The end was indeed near at 
 hand. It was only three days later when Alice, recognizing 
 that it was at last useless to hope for even one more gift from 
 Edward III., prepared to part with him. She drew the rings 
 from the fingers of the helpless, dying man and stole unob¬ 
 trusively away. 
 
ALICE PERRERS. 
 
 23 
 
 To slink into the retirement of private life, thus acknow¬ 
 ledging that her day was gone by, was clearly the wisest 
 and safest policy that Alice Ferrers could now pursue. She 
 had taken at the flood the tide which led to fortune, and so 
 long as the tide at its turn left her high and dry in peaceful 
 possession of her ill-won gains she could count herself 
 happy. For practical purposes the potentiality of evil-doing 
 in the familiar way was removed from her, and although the 
 party which the King’s death placed in power was very far 
 from friendly to her, it might well be the wiser course for 
 them to let bygones be bygones rather than to revive past 
 grievances. But if Alice built up for herself any such hopes 
 of oblivion she neglected to take into account the jealous 
 and revengeful hostility which during all the years of her 
 self-aggrandizement had been gathering force among both 
 high and low. There were against her not only the actual 
 victims of her robbery and oppression, but the larger multi¬ 
 tude of disappointed persons who fancied that had it not 
 been for her they might have enriched themselves, including 
 also the officers and dependents of the Court, who had care¬ 
 fully marked and written up against her every one of her 
 depredations. The storm broke on her peaceful retirement 
 at Pallens-wick with surprising quickness. Almost immediately 
 after the accession of Richard II. a Commission, which was 
 evidently aimed against her, was appointed to take an 
 inventory of the Crown jewels and to administer an oath 
 to such persons as were suspected of having them in their 
 possession. Though the report of this Commission has not 
 come down, it is hardly possible that Alice Perrers can have 
 escaped conviction, and this result no doubt led to the next 
 step against her, which took the form of a writ addressed to 
 the Sheriffs of London (November 20, 1377), inviting “all 
 persons having any suit or claim to make against Alice for 
 any extortions, oppressions, injuries, grievances, or excesses 
 by her committed against the King and his people to prefer 
 their petitions to Parliament before the ensuing Saturday, 
 when, by the permission of God, justice should be done 
 them.” As soon as Parliament met she was summoned 
 before the Lords to answer certain charges. There would 
 
24 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 appear to have been some difficulty as to the choice of the 
 charge by which her case could be most effectually dealt 
 with, and it was finally determined to utilize the ordinance 
 passed against her by the Good Parliament. The ordinance 
 was therefore recited to her by Sir Richard le Scrope, the 
 seneschal of the King’s household, who went on to say that 
 it seemed to the Lords that she had brought herself within the 
 terms of the decree in various ways, and especially in pro¬ 
 curing the pardon of Lyons and preventing Dagworth’s 
 mission to Ireland. Alice replied that she was not guilty, 
 as she was ready to prove by the testimony of John de 
 Ypres, the Seneschal of Edward III., William Street, the 
 Comptroller, Alan Buxhull, Nicholas Carew, the Keeper of 
 the Privy Seals, and others about the King. She was 
 instructed to return on the following Wednesday, and a 
 committee, consisting of the Duke of Lancaster, one of his 
 brothers, and three other earls, was nominated to hear the 
 witnesses. On the day appointed Alice did not appear ; she 
 had failed to find any member of the royal household who 
 would give evidence in her favour, and nearly every one of 
 those she had promised to call appeared against her. The 
 principal witness was the chief of her judges, the Duke of 
 Lancaster, who gave a long account of Alice’s interference in 
 the Dagworth matter, and whose evidence was supported by 
 Roger Beauchamp, ex-Chamberlain, and Sir Peter de la 
 Vache. Other witnesses swore to Alice having been sitting 
 by the King’s bed when Lyons was summoned to the royal 
 presence, and to all the directions for his pardon and the 
 restoration of his property having been given by her. John 
 Beverley said that he had never heard either matter mentioned 
 by the King or by Alice, for she always took care to say 
 nothing in his presence, but he believed in his conscience 
 that she was the prime mover, and he thought her guilty. 
 The trial was not, in fact, a very fair one, but it served. The 
 judges, having found her guilty, decreed that the ordinance 
 against her should have the force of statute, and that she 
 should be banished, and all her possessions forfeited to the 
 King, as well as all lands of which she took the profits or 
 made bargain to her own profit by reason of the fraud and 
 
ALICE PERRERS. 
 
 25 
 
 deceit that was to be presumed. It was further resolved that 
 the ordinance was made for restraining and punishing Alice 
 Perrers only, and was not to extend to others nor be taken 
 as an example, her case being especially odious. The 
 Commons, under the guidance of Alice’s old enemy, Sir 
 Peter Delamare, who had been released from gaol to lead 
 their deliberations, actively supported the Lords. They 
 petitioned the King, demanding that judgment might be 
 executed upon Alice according to her deserts and without 
 favour or affection, and that, in consideration of the great 
 damage she had done the kingdom, her forfeited estates 
 might be applied to the relief of the people whom she had 
 in so many ways injured. 
 
 The petition granted, the distribution of Alice’s large 
 possessions proceeded apace. It is to be feared the poor 
 were somewhat overlooked, but John of Gaunt condescended 
 to take for himself the new hostel lately made by her on the 
 banks of the Thames (by Cannon Street), and all the new 
 houses which she built in the Ropery between the alleys 
 called Weston Lane and Wolfy Lane, in the City of London ; 
 and two of the best of her manors fell to the lot of his son- 
 in-law, Sir John de Holand. Special officers were appointed 
 to trace and seize the multifarious objects which Alice had 
 collected, and long lists of her goods were issued to the 
 sheriffs, with orders to deliver the articles named to the 
 keeper of the Wardrobe, or other official whose duty it might 
 be to account for them. Some of these lists are still extant, 
 and although not furnishing interesting reading matter, are 
 very curious as illustrating the watchful care taken in record¬ 
 ing and cataloguing every theft, small and great, committed 
 by the prosperous Alice Perrers. One haul alone, comprising 
 part of her jewellery, included 21,868 pearls, besides 30 ounces 
 of small ones, and another took in such trifles as a pair of 
 gloves and an odd yard of ribbon. 
 
 The lady herself, while the sack of her property went on, 
 withdrew from observation, if not into exile, and took with 
 her, it is said, ,£20,000. She was not yet at the end of her 
 resources, and was determined not to let her possessions, 
 gathered through so many years, pass from her for ever 
 
26 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 without an effort to recover them. She laid her plans, and 
 began by marrying Sir William de Windsor, a step at once 
 necessary and artful. Being under sentence of banishment, 
 she could not herself petition Parliament, but her husband 
 could, and when Parliament met at Gloucester the following 
 year Windsor, who was himself a member of it, applied for 
 a reversal of judgment against Alice, on the ground of certain 
 errors in the record. These alleged errors were that she had 
 had to answer on insufficient notice, that the case ought to 
 have been tried in the King’s Bench, that she was not present 
 when the issue was tried, and, above all, that she was put to 
 answer as a single woman, whereas she was and, had been for 
 a long time, the wife of William de Windsor. This last 
 statement was, of course, untrue and, if true, could have 
 been pleaded at the time; but it was craftily and safely made, 
 for the first Parliament which impeached her had decided 
 for its own ends that she was then, two years ago, already 
 married to Windsor. On the other hand, she herself was 
 charged with continuing within the realm after having been 
 banished, and the two trials dragged on until finally, more 
 than a year later (December, 1379) the sentence of banish¬ 
 ment was revoked, and she was pardoned for her contempt 
 of court. It still remained to Alice to recover her landed 
 property, and here fortune seemed to favour her. Windsor’s 
 services were required for the expedition made into France 
 early in the following year, and men also were wanted. 
 Windsor had neither goods nor money, but at the instigation 
 and expense of his new-made wife he undertook to find a 
 hundred men-at-arms for half a year, in consideration of a 
 grant to him of her forfeited estates. The terms were 
 accepted, to the immense joy of Alice, but the terms of the 
 grant, though she knew it not, were very carefully drawn so 
 as to exclude her from any claim to the ownership after her 
 husband’s death. The grant was, in fact, expressly made to 
 Windsor and his heirs in such a manner as to disinherit Alice 
 and her heirs, and there can be but little doubt of Windsor 
 being a party to the trick thus played upon his covetous wife. 
 He had, however, apparently fulfilled the duties he had been 
 married to perform, and went off to France, where he stayed 
 
ALICE PERRERS. 
 
 27 
 
 as Governor of Cherbourg. His bride, who had no further 
 need of his services, gleefully set about the recovery of her 
 lost possessions, but met with small success. The new 
 owners of her estates were disinclined to part with them, and 
 she could, of course, hope for no support from the tenants, 
 who abhorred her name. Moreover, the times had grown 
 troublous, rebellion was afoot through the land, and it was 
 easier to proclaim legal rights than to enforce them. Even 
 the Abbot of St. Albans, who had formerly yielded possession 
 of his manor of Oxhey to the powerful mistress of the King, 
 and who on her conviction had re-entered, was now indis¬ 
 posed to recognize her title. With something of her old 
 imperious arrogance at resistance, Alice collected a strong 
 body of men, who frightened the monks off the land, wasted 
 their growing crops and destroyed their mill ; but even the 
 Abbot recognized the changed circumstances, and commenced 
 an action at law. The defence of the action was not left to 
 Alice, for it was scarcely begun when William de Windsor 
 died. In his will, which was nuncupative, no mention was 
 made of his wife, his possessions being left in trust for the 
 payment of his debts, and then to his heirs-at-law, who were 
 his three sisters. Alice, who believed that all her former 
 property devolved on her in virtue of the grant of it to 
 Windsor, prepared to resume possession in her own right, but 
 wherever she turned she found herself forestalled by John de 
 Windsor, the nephew and executor of William. William 
 had died heavily in debt, and his creditors took advantage of 
 his widow’s steadfast belief in her rights to obtain from her 
 recognizances for the accounts owing to them, while John, 
 who was really responsible, took the cheaper course of obtain¬ 
 ing, a pardon for all his uncle’s debts. Thus Sir John de 
 Holand, who already held two of Alice’s fairest estates, and 
 who stepped into the governorship of Cherbourg on Windsor’s 
 death, obtained her bond for £ 6 ,ooo and enforced it. Others 
 did likewise, and never was woman more harassed than was 
 Alice Perrers in her futile endeavours to regain possession of 
 the properties she had spent her best years in acquiring, and 
 which ever now eluded her grasp. Yet, growing old as she 
 was, she never abated her activity, and at least succeeded in 
 
28 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 afflicting considerable annoyance on the usurpers of her 
 rights. In 1389 she took proceedings against Wykeham to 
 recover a quantity of jewels of great value, which she asserted 
 she had pawned with him after her indictment. Fortunately 
 for the good bishop, he himself was one of the judges who 
 tried the case, and accepted his affirmation that he had 
 never seen or heard of any such jewels, so once again Alice 
 met with discomfiture. But her arch-enemy was John de 
 Windsor, whose every step she dogged with unwearied energy, 
 but to little or no purpose. She gained a momentary triumph 
 when, in 1393, she procured his committal to Newgate on a 
 charge of detaining her goods to the value of .£3,000 and her 
 daughter’s goods to £4,000, but he was immediately admitted 
 to bail. She had by this time found out the terms of the 
 grant to Windsor, and petitioned the King to restore her 
 lands and tenements on the ground that such was the in¬ 
 tention of the grant, but that by the fraudulent device of 
 some who were no friends of hers the property had been 
 settled on the heirs of Windsor, the proof of her contention 
 being found in the fact that it was she who sustained all 
 the charges of Windsor’s hundred men-at-arms. This 
 petition, like so many others which the pertinacious and 
 exasperated woman constantly made to the King and to 
 Parliament, was referred and remained unheeded. Her last 
 recorded appearance was at Shrewsbury, whither, though 
 close on, or perhaps past, seventy years of age, she followed 
 the Parliament to tell once more her story and to pray relief. 
 The session lasted only three days, but the importunate 
 widow made herself heard, and actually had a promise of 
 redress. But the redress never came. The Parliament made 
 the King omnipotent for a time, but his own troubles exacted 
 all his attention, and very soon the weary Alice Perrers saw 
 another young king on the throne. The struggle of her de¬ 
 clining years was therefore to begin anew, and with less 
 hope than ever of success. She lost heart at the cheerless 
 prospect, and in the summer of 1400 became seriously ill 
 while living at Upminster, where she was allowed to occupy 
 an estate which she called her own. In August she recog¬ 
 nized that she could no longer hope for what she considered 
 
ALICE PERRERS. 
 
 29 
 
 justice on earth, and made her last will. For the disposi¬ 
 tions of this document, which is still extant, she nerved 
 herself to a generosity which in her was almost reckless. 
 After directing that her body should be buried in Upminster 
 Church, she bequeathed to that church one of her best oxen 
 for a mortuary and ten marks for ornaments ; forty shillings 
 for wax to burn about her body, forty shillings for repairing 
 the highways near the town, ten marks to be distributed 
 among the poor of the parish on the day of her burial, to the 
 chaplain six marks, and to John Pelham, the sacrist, three 
 shillings and fourpence. Legacies to a number of servants 
 followed, and then came the disposition of the manors, which 
 the obstinate testatrix claimed in death as in life. To the 
 younger Joan she specially left her manor of Gaynes in 
 Upminster, and proceeded in Latin words to this effect: 
 “ To Joan and Joan my daughters all my other manors and 
 advowsons which John Windsor or others have by his consent 
 usurped, the which I desire my heirs and executors to recover 
 and see them parted between my daughters, for that I say on 
 the pain of my soul he had no right there nor never had ; 
 but if Joan the elder claims the manor of Compton Murdalc, 
 she is to have none of the rents and reversions in London, 
 because I wish that manor to be sold for my soul.” The 
 executors of the will were Joan the younger and the 
 favourite daughter, who was married to Sir Richard North¬ 
 land, and John Kent, merchant. The elder Joan was the 
 wife of Robert Skerne, and a monument in Kingston Church 
 commemorated the virtues of the pair. 
 
 Little enough time was left to Alice Perrers for further 
 consideration as to the means of securing salvation for her 
 guilty soul, for five days later she died. Her daughters did 
 not inherit her taste for pursuing a shadow, and appear to 
 have resigned the intangible benefits conferred on them by 
 their dying mother. Even the younger Joan, as well as her 
 co-executor, declined administration of the will, and left the 
 pleasing task to a priest, whose troubles, if he attempted to 
 execute the trust, are unrecorded. The retribution which 
 overtook Alice Perrers in the later years of her life suggests 
 an agreeable theme for the moralist; but morals are best left 
 
3 ° 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 to be drawn by readers, according to individual taste. It is 
 possible that there are even now persons depraved enough to 
 think that it were worth a man’s or woman’s while to suffer 
 in old age if only he or she, while in the prime of life, could 
 wield the sway and garner the wealth that Alice Perrers did, 
 and of what profit are morals to such? Yet it is likely that 
 if the woman’s whole career could be uncovered further than 
 can now be done with the scanty and scattered materials 
 which remain, there is no one, however depraved, who would 
 not shrink from envy. 
 
 Arthur Vincent. 
 
ALICE ARDEN. 
 


THE MURDER OF ARDEN OF FEVEESHAM. 
 
ALICE ARDEN. 
 
 (EX. 155I.) 
 
 “We can 
 
 Measure the height of any star, point out 
 All the dimensions of the earth, examine 
 The sea’s large womb, and sound its subtle depth ; 
 But art will ne’er be able to find out 
 A demonstration of a woman’s heart.” 
 
 James Shirley. 
 
 HE chronicler Ralph Holinshed, narrating the historical 
 
 1 events of Edward VI.’s reign, turns aside to tell the 
 story of the murder of Thomas Arden, of Feversham (or 
 Faversham). “It may seem,” he apologizes, “to bee but a 
 private matter, and therefore as it were impertinent to thys 
 Hystorie ” ; but on account of its “ horriblenesse ” he deter¬ 
 mined to “ sette it foorth somewhat at large.” He employed 
 all diligence in gathering information from authentic sources ; 
 and modern research has added little to his graphic narrative. 
 The crime was made the subject of a powerful anonymous 
 drama (which may have undergone revision at Shakespeare’s 
 hand) published in 1592, 1 and also supplied material for a 
 dismal ballad. 
 
 Thomas Arden (or Ardern) is traditionally stated to have 
 
 1 The Lamentable and True Tragedie of M. Arden of Feversham in Kent, 
 Who was most wickedlye murdered, by the meanes of his disloyall and 
 wanton wyfe, who for the tone she bare to one Mosbie, hyred two desperat 
 ruffns Blackwill and Shakbag, to kill him. Wherin is shewed the great 
 mallice and discimulation of a wicked woman, the vnsatiable desire of 
 fillhie lust and the shamefull end of all murderers. Imprinted at London 
 for Edward White, dwelling at the lytlle North dore of Paules Church at 
 the signe of the Gun. 1592. 4to. Other editions were published in 1599 
 and 1633. 
 
 4 
 
 33 
 
34 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 been born near Wye in Kent. 1 He became chief comptroller 
 of his Majesty’s Customs at Faversham, was a jurat in 1544 
 and in 1548 served as mayor of the town. His wife Alice 
 was a step-daughter of Sir Edward North, father of the trans¬ 
 lator of Plutarch. Arden is described by Holinshed as a tall, 
 comely man ; and Alice Arden was a tall, well-favoured 
 young gentlewoman. As malignant fate would have it, Alice 
 became enamoured of a certain low-bred fellow, one Richard 
 Mosby, a tailor by trade, and a servant in the North family. 
 An ill-featured, odious rascal, of a swarthy complexion, was 
 this Mosby; the last man in the world likely to find favour 
 in the eyes of a young, handsome, high-born woman. One 
 account 2 says that Alice had been familiar with Mosby 
 before her marriage, and that her friends married her to 
 Arden with a view to putting a stop to the intimacy. 
 Holinshed does not hint at any prenuptial irregularities. 
 He states, however, that Arden was well aware of the guilty 
 relations that existed between Mosby and Alice after her 
 marriage, and that he was “ contented to winke at her filthie 
 disorder ” because he was loth to offend her and lose the 
 benefits that he hoped to derive from her kinsmen’s powerful 
 influence. The dramatist represents Arden’s conduct in a 
 less odious light. At one moment suspecting his wife to be 
 disloyal, at another convinced of her innocence—now harassed 
 by fears, then elate with confidence—Arden, in the dramatist’s 
 conception of him, was weak-minded but not wholly con¬ 
 temptible ; uxorious, a poltroon (though it would have needed 
 a strong hand indeed to curb Alice Arden’s imperious temper), 
 but never a wittol. 
 
 Her infatuation for Mosby drove Alice Arden to plan the 
 murder of her husband. In Faversham lived a painter 
 named Clark, who was reputed to be skilled in the mixing of 
 poisons, and to him Alice repaired. The painter, who was in 
 
 1 The statement occurs among some MS. notes found many years ago 
 in a lumber-room at the Dolphin Inn, Faversham. The writer, a Mr. 
 Burton, says that he gathered his information “ from the auncientest 
 people.” We are told in these notes that Arden was fifty-six years old 
 when he came to Faversham (his wife being twenty-eight); but he was 
 probably younger. 
 
 2 The MS. notes of Mr. Burton. 
 
ALICE ARDEN. 
 
 35 
 
 love with Mosby’s sister Susan, promised—on condition that 
 Mosby should further his suit—to make away Arden by 
 poison. At that time the art of poisoning had been carried 
 to a high pitch of refinement. The painter suggested that he 
 should paint a portrait of Alice and temper poison with the 
 oil, so that her husband might perish by the fumes when he 
 gazed upon the picture. But the Italianate subtlety of this 
 suggestion did not commend itself to Alice and her paramour. 
 They urged that some simpler method would be preferable; 
 accordingly Clark prepared some noxious powder, and 
 instructed Alice to put it in a porringer and pour milk upon 
 it. She forgot the instructions and, instead of pouring the 
 milk on to the powder, put the milk in first and the powder 
 afterwards. Arden, having occasion to ride to Canterbury, 
 rose early and called for his breakfast (which usually con¬ 
 sisted of butter and milk), whereupon Alice set before him 
 the poisoned porringer. After taking a spoonful or two he 
 found the taste unpleasant, and he also complained of the 
 colour of the milk, saying, “ Mistress Alice, what milk have 
 you given me here?” Alice, equal to the critical occasion, 
 seized the bowl and upset the contents, pettishly exclaiming, 
 “ I ween nothing can please you.” Without further question 
 Arden rode off to Canterbury, and on the journey “ fell into 
 extreme purging upwards and downwards.” 
 
 A certain Green, of Faversham, servant to Sir Anthony 
 Ager, was now consulted by Alice. This man cherished a 
 grievance against Arden, conceiving that Arden had unjustly 
 wrested from him a piece of ground at the back of the Abbey 
 of Faversham. Fierce words had passed between them, and 
 they had even come to blows. With many oaths Green had 
 vowed to take vengeance on Arden ; and Alice applied her¬ 
 self to fan the flame, offering Green ten pounds wherewith to 
 hire assassins, and promising to repossess him of the Abbey 
 grounds when the murder had been accomplished. Green, 
 having occasion to go to London, asked his neighbour Brad¬ 
 shaw, a goldsmith, who had no knowledge of the conspiracy 
 directed against Arden, to accompany him as far as Graves¬ 
 end. At Rainham Down they saw three or four serving-men 
 coming from the direction of Leeds, and at the same moment 
 
36 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 Bradshaw espied two desperate ruffians, one known as Black 
 Will and the other as Shakebag, advancing up the hill from 
 Rochester. Bradshaw congratulated his companion on the 
 presence of the serving-men ; for he was well acquainted 
 with the infamous character of Black Will (who was armed 
 with a sword and buckler), having served as a soldier with 
 him some years previously at Boulogne under Sir Richard 
 Cavendish. Many robberies and many heinous murders had 
 been committed in those early days by Black Will, and he 
 was still ready for cut-throat work. Here was the very man 
 for Green’s purpose. The serving-men invited Black Will 
 and Shakebag to accompany them to Gravesend, and held 
 out the bait of a supper. Green and Bradshaw joined the 
 company. Bradshaw was anxious to avoid conversation with 
 Black Will, but the ruffian claimed his acquaintance and 
 reminded him of the days when they were fellows-in-arms. 
 Green took occasion to talk with Black Will on the journey, 
 and promised to regale him with sack and sugar after supper. 
 When Black Will presented himself in the evening at the 
 hostelry where Green and Bradshaw were staying, Green 
 drew him aside and explained the nature of the business on 
 which he proposed to employ him, and named the reward. 
 Needless to say that Black Will undertook the commission 
 with alacrity. After concluding the arrangement Green wrote 
 to Mistress Arden a letter in which occurred the words “we 
 have gote a man to our purpose, we may thanke my brother 
 Bradshaw.” On the following morning Bradshaw started 
 back for Faversham, and—ignorant of its compromising con¬ 
 tents—duly delivered Green’s letter into the hands of Mistress 
 Arden ; and Green, accompanied by Black Will and Shake- 
 bag, proceeded by boat with the tide to London. At this 
 time Arden was on a visit to London, and would certainly be 
 found in or about St. Paul’s Churchyard (then the ordinary 
 resort for business or pleasure). Green and Black Will lay in 
 wait for him, and in due course he appeared, followed by his 
 serving-man Michael. Black Will, with his natural ferocity, 
 was for killing them both ; but Green explained that Michael 
 (who was the painter’s rival for the hand of Susan Mosby) 
 had promised to be an accomplice in the murder. For some 
 
ALICE ARDEN. 
 
 37 
 
 time Black Will hung about St. Paul’s Churchyard in the 
 hope of finding an opportunity of stabbing Arden, but it 
 happened that Arden was joined by several friends, who 
 accompanied him to dinner at the ordinary. Meanwhile 
 Green talked with Michael, and it was agreed that Michael 
 should leave unbolted the doors of the house where his 
 master was staying, so that Black Will might murder Arden 
 in the night. At night, when his master had retired, Michael, 
 as he lay abed expecting the advent of Black Will, became 
 unnerved. From the moment he had set eyes on the 
 desperado he “ever after” (says Holinshed) “stood in doubt 
 of Black Will least he should kill him.” Green’s promise 
 of protection had reassured him in the day-time, but now, in 
 the watches of the night, fear assailed 1 him, and, creeping 
 
 1 The dramatist, in the following agonized soliloquy, has powerfully 
 depicted Michael’s overwhelming terror :— 
 
 “ Conflicting thoughts incamped in my breast 
 Awake me with the echo of their strokes, 
 
 And I, a judge to censure either side, 
 
 Can give to neither wished victory. 
 
 My master’s kindness pleads to me for life 
 With just demand, and I must grant it him : 
 
 My mistress she hath forced me with an oath 
 For Susan’s sake, the which I may not break, 
 
 For that is nearer than a master’s love : 
 
 That grim-faced fellow, pitiless Black Will, 
 
 And Shakebag stern in bloody stratagem, 
 
 Two rougher ruffians never lived in Kent, 
 
 Have sworn my death if I infringe my vow, 
 
 A dreadful thing to be considered of. 
 
 Methinks I see them with their bolstered hair 
 Staring and grinning in thy gentle face, 
 
 And in their ruthless hands their daggers drawn, 
 
 Insulting o’er thee with a peck of oaths, 
 
 Whilst thou submissive, pleading for relief, 
 
 Art mangled by their ireful instruments. 
 
 Methinks I hear them ask where Michael is, 
 
 And pitiless Black Will cries, ‘ Stab the slave ! 
 
 The peasant will detect the tragedy ! ’ 
 
 The wrinkles in his foul death-threat'ning face 
 Gape open wide, like graves to swallow men. 
 
 My death to him is but a merriment 
 And he will murder me to make him sport. 
 
 He comes, he comes ! oh, Master Franklin, help ! 
 
 Call up the neighbours or we are but dead ! ” 
 
 (Franklin was a friend staying in the house with Arden.) 
 
3» 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 from his bed, he bolted the doors. Black Will, foiled of his 
 purpose, sought Green the next morning and swore that he 
 would make it his first business to kill Michael for having 
 played him false. Green went to Michael and inquired how 
 came the doors to be locked, whereupon Michael declared 
 that his master, clean contrary to his wont, had risen in the 
 night to shut the doors, and had soundly rated him in the 
 morning for leaving them open. The explanation pacified 
 Black Will. 
 
 It was now agreed that Black Will should lie in wait on 
 Rainham Down for Arden, who would drop down with the 
 tide to Gravesend, and then ride to Faversham. At Rochester 
 the timorous Michael, still dreading that he would be killed 
 along with his master, “ pricked his horse of purpose and 
 made him to halt.” Arden rode on, and Michael was to 
 follow when the blacksmith had removed the horseshoe and 
 searched the foot. As he approached the spot where Black 
 Will was concealed, it chanced that Arden was overtaken by 
 several gentlemen of his acquaintance, and so once more 
 Black Will was baffled. 1 
 
 1 In the play Arden is accompanied by his friend Franklin. As they 
 approach the place of ambush, Franklin—who is narrating a story of 
 an inconstant wife—suddenly finds himself unable to continue :— 
 
 “ Pardon me, Master Arden, I can no more : 
 
 This fighting at my heart makes short my wind.” 
 
 On the previous night Arden had been troubled with an ominous 
 dream :— 
 
 “ This night I dreamed that, being in a park, 
 
 A toil was pitched to overthrow the deer, 
 
 And I upon a little rising hill 
 
 Stood whistly watching for the herd’s approach. 
 
 Even there, methought, a gentle slumber took me, 
 
 And summoned all my parts to sweet repose; 
 
 But in the pleasure of this golden rest 
 An ill-thew’d foster [forester] had removed the toil 
 And rounded me with that beguiling home 
 Which late, methought, was pitch’d to cast the deer. 
 
 With that he blew an evil-sounding horn, 
 
 And at the noise another herdman came 
 With falchion drawn and bent it at my breast, 
 
 Crying aloud, ‘ Thou art the game we seek ! ’ 
 
ALICE ARDEN. 
 
 39 
 
 After his return home Arden sent Michael with a letter to 
 Sir Thomas Cheiney (Master of the Cinque Ports) in the Isle 
 of Sheppey. The letter that Sir Thomas wrote in reply was 
 taken by Alice from Michael, who at his mistress’s direction 
 told Arden that he had lost Sir Thomas’s letter, and did 
 not know its import, adding that he thought it best for 
 his master to go the next morning to Sheppey. Meanwhile 
 Green had contrived to harbour Black Will and Shakebag in 
 a storehouse belonging to Sir Anthony Ager at Preston, 
 where Alice visited them and supplied them with food and 
 drink. Early the following morning Arden and Michael 
 started for Sheppey, and Black Will made for a certain 
 “ broom-close ” which Arden must needs pass on his way 
 between Faversham and the Ferry. As they drew near the 
 appointed spot Michael pretended that he had dropped his 
 purse, and was sent back by his master to find it. Arden 
 passed in safety, for Black Will had lost his way. 1 In the 
 hope of securing their victim on the homeward journey, the 
 ruffians again lay in wait at nightfall, but again failed to 
 achieve their object. 
 
 St. Valentine’s Fair being now at hand, the impatient Alice 
 
 With this I waked and trembled every joint : 
 
 Like one obscured in a little bush, 
 
 That sees a lion foraging about, 
 
 And when the dreadful forest king is gone 
 He pries about with timorous suspect 
 Throughout the thorny casements of the brake, 
 
 And will not think his person dangerless, 
 
 But quakes and shivers though the cause be gone. 
 
 So trust me, Franklin, when I did awake 
 I stood in doubt whether I waked or no, 
 
 Such great impression took this fond surprise. 
 
 God grant this vision bedeem me any good.” 
 
 1 According to the dramatist it was a very misty morning. Black 
 Will and Shakebag are shown floundering about in the ditches. “ Oh, 
 Will, where art thou?” says Shakebag. “Here, Shakebag,” replies 
 Black Will, “ almost in hell’s mouth, where I cannot see my way for 
 smoke." Presently Shakebag falls into a ditch and calls to Black Will 
 —“ Help, Will, help ! I am almost drowned.” The ferryman then 
 comes up and inquires, “ Who’s that that calls for help ? ” to which 
 Black Will replies, “Twas none here, ’twas thou thyself.” From the 
 ferryman they learn that Arden has ciossed to Sheppey. 
 
40 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 and her paramour were determined to dispatch the business 
 at that time. Mosby, who had occasional visitings of 
 conscience, declared that he would not see a gentleman 
 treacherously murdered ; that he would pick a quarrel with 
 Arden during the fair and kill him in hand-to-hand fight 
 But Mosby’s project failed, for Arden, though frequently pro¬ 
 voked, always refused to cross swords with a tailor. 1 On the 
 day of the fair Green was sent by Alice to fetch Black Will 
 to a tenement (belonging to Arden and close to his house), 
 rented by Mosby’s sister. Thither repaired Alice, accompanied 
 by Michael and one of her maids. Mosby and Shakebag 
 were also of the company. The final arrangements for the 
 murder were then concluded. At first Mosby declined to 
 take part, and, leaving the house in a fury, went up the 
 Abbey Street to the “ Fleur de Lys,” a hostelry (kept by one 
 Adam Fowl), where he frequently lodged. But a messenger 
 from Alice overtook him before he reached the “ Fleur de 
 Lys,” “ desiring him of all love to come backe again to help 
 to accomplish the matter he knew of.” So he turned back 
 and rejoined the company, whereupon Alice fell on her knees 
 before him and implored him to go through with the matter. 
 There would be, she assured him, no danger; for nobody 
 cared for her husband, and any inquiries that might be made 
 would be quickly hushed up. At length he consented. Alice 
 Arden went home and sent out on various errands such of 
 the servants as were not privy to the plot. Then Black Will 
 was brought into Arden’s house and concealed in a closet at 
 the end of the parlour. 2 Mosby took his stand at the door of 
 the house clothed in a silk “ nightgown,” with a girdle at the 
 
 1 In the play, when Mosby on one occasion challenges Arden, the 
 latter coolly draws the challenger’s sword from its scabbard and 
 remarks :— 
 
 " So, sirrha ; you may not wear a sword ; 
 
 The statute makes against artificers ; 
 
 I warrant that I do. Now use your bodkin, 
 
 Your Spanish needle and your pressing iron, 
 
 For this shall go with me.” 
 
 • Arden’s house is still standing; and on the parlour window were 
 formerly to be seen the arms of the Norths. 
 
ALICE ARDEN. 
 
 4 1 
 
 waist. Between six and seven in the evening Arden, who 
 had been at a neighbour’s house settling some accounts, came 
 home, and finding Mosby at the door inquired if it were yet 
 supper-time. “ I think not,” said Mosby, “ it is not yet ready.” 
 “ Then let us go and play a game at the tables ” (back¬ 
 gammon), said Arden ; and so they went into the parlour. 
 As they passed through the hall where Alice was walking, 
 Arden greeted her with the words, “ How nowe, Mistres 
 Arden ? ” but she took little notice of him. Meanwhile the 
 wicket door of the entry was made fast. Mosby now seated 
 himself on a bench facing the closet where Black Will was 
 concealed. Michael stood at Arden’s back, holding a candle 
 to shadow Black Will that his movements might not be per¬ 
 ceived. As they played at the tables Mosby exclaimed, “ Now 
 I may take you, sir, if I will! ”—the signal for Black Will to 
 issue from his hiding-place. While Arden was inquiring, 
 “ Take me, which way ? ” Black Will stepped from the closet 
 and, coming behind the doomed man, drew a towel round his 
 neck with intent to strangle him. Mosby had at his girdle a 
 pressing-iron of fourteen pounds’ weight ; with this he struck 
 Arden on the head, and the hapless victim fell with a groan 
 to the floor. Concluding that he was now dead, they bore 
 him to the counting-house ; but as they were about to lay 
 him down he groaned again, whereupon Black Will 
 dispatched him by giving him a great gash in the face. The 
 ruffian then proceeded to take the money from his purse and 
 the rings from his fingers. Having received the promised 
 reward of ten pounds from Alice, he procured a horse from 
 Green and rode hastily away. When he had gone Alice 
 came into the counting-house and stabbed her dead husband 
 seven or eight times in the breast. Then they cleared up the 
 parlour, wiped away the blood-stains with a towel, and 
 rearranged the tumbled rushes, which in those days served as 
 a carpet. The bloody knife used by Alice and the towel 
 were cast into a tub which stood by the well-side. 
 
 Alice now sent for two guests who had been previously 
 invited to supper—Prune and Coles, grocers from London. 
 When they arrived she expressed some anxiety on account of 
 the absence of her husband. However, they sat down to 
 
42 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 supper, Mosby’s sister joined them, and they made a merry 
 party. After supper Alice’s daughter 1 played on the virginals 
 and the time was beguiled with dancing. Alice continued to 
 express her concern at her husband’s absence, and proposed 
 a game at the tables. The Londoners excused themselves on 
 the score of the lateness of the hour, and went off to their 
 lodgings. After their departure Alice sent away the servants, 
 some to seek for their master, and others on various errands. 
 Alice remained in the house with her daughter, Michael, and 
 Mosby’s sister. Then came the question of the disposal of 
 the body. They carried it out to lay it in a field adjoining the 
 churchyard, near the garden wall. The snow had begun to 
 fall, and they found, when they reached the garden gate, 
 that they had forgotten the key. After some delay the key 
 was found, and the body was deposited about ten paces from 
 the gate. It escaped notice that some of the rushes from the 
 floor were sticking to the slippers. Alice and the others 
 returned to the house through the garden. It was now late in 
 the evening, and the servants who had been sent abroad had 
 returned. Alice dispatched messengers right and left among 
 the townspeople, but no tidings of the missing man could be 
 found. As the suspense grew greater her outcries became 
 more vehement. Several of the leading townsmen, including 
 the mayor, now joined in the search. In former years the 
 fair had been held partly in the town and partly in the Abbey 
 grounds, but this year Arden—for his own private gain and 
 to the great disgust of many of the poorer inhabitants—had 
 caused it to be held wholly in the Abbey grounds, of which 
 he had become the owner. The Abbey grounds were searched 
 and at length the mayor reached the spot where the body lay. 
 Prune, the grocer, was the first to catch sight of it, and it was 
 not long before the tell-tale rushes were observed to be clinging 
 to the slippers. Next were seen, leading to the garden gate, 
 the footmarks in the snow. An examination of the foot¬ 
 marks quickly showed that the body had been brought from 
 the house through the garden to the spot where it was found. 
 
 1 Holinshed does not hint that the daughter had been an accomplice 
 to the crime, and does not mention her age. She is not one of the 
 characters in the play. 
 
ALICE ARDEN. 
 
 43 
 
 Then the mayor and the others entered the house and ques¬ 
 tioned Alice. At first she took a defiant attitude, “ I would you 
 should know that I am no such woman.” The servants were 
 then examined, and search was made in and around the house. 
 Blood-spots and a piece of hair were discovered close to the 
 house. Presently the knife with which Alice had stabbed her 
 husband, and the towel with which she had wiped the stains 
 from the floor, were drawn from the tub. In the face of this 
 evidence there was nothing for it but to confess. At the 
 sight of the blood-stained towel Alice exclaimed, “ Oh, the 
 bloud of God help, for this bloud have I shed ! ” 1 Alice and 
 
 1 In the play Alice continues, in spite of the damning evidence of the 
 knife and the towel, to assert her innocence :— 
 
 Franklin. Know you this handtowel and this knife ? 
 
 Susan. [Aside.] Ah, Michael, through this thy negligence 
 Thou hast betrayed and undone us all. 
 
 Michael. [Aside.] I was so afraid I knew not what I did : 
 
 I thought I had thrown them both into the well. 
 
 Alice. It is the pig’s blood we had to supper. 
 
 But wherefore stay you ? find out the murderers. 
 
 Mayor. I fear me you’ll prove one of them yourself. 
 
 Alice. I one of them ? What mean such questions ? 
 
 Franklin. I fear me he was murdered in this house 
 And carried to the fields, for from that place 
 Backwards and forwards may you see 
 The print of many feet within the snow. 
 
 And look about this chamber where we are, 
 
 And you shall find part of his guiltless blood ; 
 
 For in his slipshoe did I find some rushes, 
 
 Which argueth he was murdered in this room. 
 
 Mayor. Look in the place where he was wont to sit. 
 
 Sec, see ! his blood 1 it is too manifest, i 
 
 Alice. It is a cup of wine which Michael shed. 
 
 Michael. Ay, truly. 
 
 Franklin. It is his blood which, strumpet, thou hast shed. 
 
 But if I live, thou and thy complices 
 
 Which have conspired and wrought his death shall rue it. 
 
 Alice. Ah, Master Franklin, God and heaven can tell 
 I loved him more than all the world beside. 
 
 But bring me to him, let me see his body.” 
 
 It was formerly a popular belief that the wounds in the body of a 
 murdered person would begin to bleed afresh in the murderer’s presence. 
 
44 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 the servants were at once arrested, and the mayor then pro¬ 
 ceeded to the “ Fleur de Lys,” where Mosby was found in bed. 
 In the bedroom were discovered his blood-stained hose and 
 blood-stained purse. Confronted with these tokens of his 
 guilt he at once confessed and was committed to gaol. 
 
 From the Faversham Ward Mote Book it appears that 
 Arden was murdered on the evening of Sunday, February 15, 
 1550-1. The sessions were shortly afterwards held at Faver¬ 
 sham, and the prisoners were arraigned and condemned. 
 Green, Black Will, the painter (who had prepared the poison), 
 and Shakebag had escaped. Questioned at the trial as to 
 whether there had been any other accomplices, Alice named 
 the innocent Bradshaw, whose only part in the business had 
 been that he delivered to her Green’s letter containing the words, 
 “We have gote a man to our purpose, we may thanke my 
 brother Bradshaw.” In spite of his protestations of innocence 
 poor Bradshaw was condemned (“ as a procurer of Black Will 
 to kill Master Arden ”) and suffered with the others. Michael 
 was hanged in chains at Faversham; one of the maid¬ 
 servants was burnt there, bitterly upbraiding her mistress 
 to the end ; Mosby and his sister Susan were hanged at 
 Smithfield; and Alice was burnt at Canterbury on the 14th 
 of March. In the Archives of the City of Canterbury is 
 recorded—“For the charges of brenning Mistres Arden and 
 execution of George Bradshaw . . . xliii 5 .” Some years 
 afterwards Green, venturing to return to the neighbourhood 
 of Faversham, was seized, condemned, and hanged in chains 
 between Ospring and Boughton. Before his execution he 
 declared that Bradshaw had been guiltless of complicity in 
 the plot. Black Will contrived to escape from England, but 
 it is satisfactory to be able to record that he was burned 
 “ on a scaffold ” in Flushing. Adam Fowl, mine host of the 
 “ Fleur de Lys,” who had carried messages between Mosby 
 and Alice, was put to some inconvenience. He was taken to 
 
 When Alice was brought to the spot where her murdered husband lay 
 the blood began to flow and she owned her guilt:— 
 
 “ The more I sound his name the more he bleeds ; 
 
 This blood condemns me, and in gushing forth 
 
 Speaks as it falls and asks me why I did it. ’ 
 
ALICE ARDEN. 
 
 45 
 
 London with his legs bound under the horse’s belly, and was 
 committed to the Marshalsea prison ; but his innocence was 
 established. Holinshed says that the fate of Shakebag was 
 unknown ; but the dramatist states that he took sanctuary 
 and, “ being sent for out,” was murdered in Southwark as he 
 was making his way to Greenwich. The only accomplice who 
 succeeded in making good his escape was the painter. Arden’s 
 manes were amply appeased. 
 
 One point is specially mentioned by Holinshed and the 
 dramatist. The spot where Arden’s body was found belonged 
 to a strip of ground which (it was commonly reported) he had 
 filched from a widow named Cook, who had become the wife 
 of one Richard Read, a mariner. Whether he had become 
 possessed of this ground rightfully or wrongfully, his action 
 had excited the bitterest resentment of the mariner and Mis¬ 
 tress Read. They cursed him to his face, “ wishing many a 
 vengeance to light upon him, and that all the world might 
 wonder at him.” For two years or more after the murder the 
 perfect print of Arden’s body was plainly visible, for no grass 
 grew where any part of the body had touched the ground. 
 From near and far folk came to see the marvel, and all comers 
 distinctly discerned the hand of Providence. 
 
 It is to be feared that Arden was of an avaricious temper. 
 Disregarding wholesome superstition he trafficked in church 
 land and fared ill. But it must be added that he bequeathed 
 to the corporation of Faversham houses and land to the value 
 of forty shillings or thereabouts per annum for the benefit of 
 the poor and for an annual sermon to be preached in com¬ 
 memoration of the town’s benefactors. His daughter’s second 
 husband contested the legacy and had it partly annulled. 
 During Commonwealth times the money was lent to needy 
 persons and was not repaid. Until 1836 the vicar was paid for 
 the annual sermon, and for some time after that date (when 
 by the New Municipal Act payment from the borough fund 
 could no longer be sanctioned) continued to deliver the sermon 
 gratuitously ; but the custom has long been obsolete. Of the 
 property left to the town by Arden one piece still remains— 
 the small plot of ground (at the back of the town hall) where 
 once stood the pillory, and where now stands the market pump. 
 
4 6 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 The tragedy of “ Arden of Feversham ” was reprinted in 1770 
 by a Faversham antiquary, Edward Jacob, who adduced some 
 not very cogent reasons for assigning it to Shakespeare. 
 There are modern editions in Tyrrell’s “Doubtful Plays 
 of Shakespeare” and Dr. Delius’ “ Pseudo-Shakespere’sche 
 Dramen” (1855). Mr. A. H. Bullen edited the play in 1887, 
 and it has been more recently included in the series of “Pseudo- 
 Shakespearian Plays” edited by Dr. Karl Warnke and Dr. 
 Ludwig Proescholdt. The authorship remains a mystery. If 
 we are to look for Shakespearean touches anywhere, it must 
 be in the fine scene of the quarrel and reconciliation between 
 Alice and Mosby (act iii. scene 5). 
 
 Lillo’s “ Arden of Faversham,” posthumously published in 
 1768, is a poor recast of the old play ; yet on one occasion it 
 so powerfully affected the audience that the performance had 
 to be suspended. 
 
 Abel H. Coppinger. 
 
MARY FRITH. 
 

 
 
 
 
MARY FRITH, 
 
 (? 1584-1659.) 
 
 OTHERWISE KNOWN AS MOLL CUTPURSE. 
 
 “ Hence, lewd impudent! 
 
 I know not what to term thee, man or woman, 
 
 For nature, shaming to acknowledge thee 
 For either, hath produc’d thee to the world 
 Without a sex : some say thou art a woman, 
 
 Others a man, but I think rather, neither ; 
 
 Or man and horse, as the old Centaurs were feign’d.” 
 
 Amends for Ladies. 1618. 
 
 M ISTRESS MARY FRITH, in her habit as she 
 lived, might possibly have experienced some difficulty 
 in establishing her claim to admission into any company of 
 women, good, bad, or indifferent; for Field’s lines, quoted 
 above, merely echoed common report, which made her that 
 which the printers of the seventeenth century so often 
 delighted to present to their readers as “ an hermophrodite.” 
 At her death, however, she was, in the language of one of her 
 early biographers, “ found to be otherwise,” and part at least 
 of her title to her present distinction was thus by anticipation 
 admitted. 
 
 The birth of Mary Frith was heralded by no eclipses, 
 tides, whales, or great fires, a circumstance wherein her 
 contemporaries, who looked upon these portents as only 
 proper to such occasions, had every reason to consider them¬ 
 selves unfairly treated, and one which is certainly to be 
 regretted by the accurate biographer, thus deprived of very 
 necessary assistance in fixing the date of this important event. 
 Claims to the honour have been advanced on behalf of two 
 years, 1584 and 1589, supported in both cases by evidence 
 
50 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 which is, to say the least of it, inconclusive. Seeing, 
 however, that Mistress Mary had in the first decade of 
 the seventeenth century already become a personage of 
 considerable notoriety, it seems better, with every allowance 
 for her precocity, to make choice of the earlier date. 
 
 Her father, a shoemaker, “a fair and square-conditioned 
 man, that loved a good fellow next to himself,” practised his 
 trade and all the virtues near the Barbican, at the upper end 
 oCAldersgate Street, and here it was that he was blessed in 
 the birth of his egregious daughter. The little Mary was 
 not slow to give evidence of the fact that there dwelt in her 
 a spirit for which the restricted sphere of feminine activity 
 would prove all too narrow. “ A very Tomrig or Rump- 
 scuttle she was, and delighted and sported in boys’ play and 
 pastime.” She minded not the pleasures of plain sewing, and 
 to her “ a sampler was as grievous as a winding-sheet.” She 
 was constant in her attendance at cudgel-fights and other 
 scenes of disorder, and, last and most serious token of 
 divergence from established feminine standards, she wore her 
 clothes “ as handsomely as a dog would a doublet.” 
 
 Such graceless behaviour could not fail to give rise to the 
 gravest apprehensions in the minds of her parents, who were 
 constrained to console themselves with proverbial reflections, 
 and the hope that “ an unhappy girl might make a good 
 woman.” Faith in proverbs in their case received no shock, 
 for they both died in Moll’s youth, and were thus spared the 
 sight of their own blasted hopes and their daughter’s glory. 
 
 After the death of her parents Moll seems to have fallen 
 under the care of her father’s relatives, one of whom was a 
 minister, who, to his glory be it recorded, refused to take 
 tithes, choosing rather to trust to the spontaneous generosity 
 of his parishioners : “ a jolly fat fellow he was, and would 
 take off his cup merrily.” It was to him probably Moll owed 
 it that she was taught to read and write. Letters, however, 
 wrought no change in her, and she remained to the end of 
 her life a witness to the failure of elementary education. 
 She continued her association with the youth of the opposite 
 sex; she would leap with them and hop with them, and 
 when they fell out with her she was equally ready to fight with 
 
MARY FRITH. 
 
 5i 
 
 them. As she grew up the ordinary occupations of her sex still 
 failed to attract her ; household duties she abhorred, and she 
 could not endure “ the magpye chat of the wenches.” These 
 same wenches, or at least the more modest among them 
 probably regarded her conversation with equal dislike, for 
 she affected dissolute language to such an extent that it grew 
 upon her, and in her old age amounted to downright swear¬ 
 ing, though, her biographer hastens to add, “ in her it was not 
 so much malicious as customary.” 
 
 She was perhaps unfortunate in not being able to take 
 full advantage of the “spacious times” of Queen Elizabeth, 
 though on the whole it seems doubtful if she would have 
 found in any reign but that of her present Majesty a 
 welcome for the developments of her great and independent 
 mind. For Moll was a pioneer, and excited among her 
 contemporaries, by the adoption of masculine garments, an 
 interest nowadays hardly intelligible. The use of such 
 apparel, in spite of protests hereafter to be mentioned, she 
 retained until the end of her life. In addition to this token 
 of a spirit beyond the reach of prejudice, Moll also prided 
 herself upon being the first among English women to smoke 
 tobacco, a practice from which she continued to derive 
 comfort, in spite of the fact that “ an unlucky knave in a 
 grocer’s shop” upon one occasion played on her what was then 
 doubtless regarded as a highly humorous practical joke, by 
 presenting her with a pipe in which gunpowder was concealed 
 by a superficial covering of tobacco. 
 
 Mary had, instead of the lamb of later nursery lyrics, a 
 mastiff, which attended upon her walks abroad, and, if there 
 was in her any vein of cynicism, she must have reflected with 
 bitterness upon the hour when she added a cobbler to the 
 company. “Wildbrat was faithful,” but the cobbler was a 
 cheat. Details of his treachery are wanting, and we know 
 not if it was in the matter of the estate of Frith deceased 
 that he was unfaithful, or if he proved a dishonest partner in 
 the business which Mary, at a very early stage in her career, 
 started on her own account. We have no evidence to enable 
 us to state with any approach to exactness the date at which 
 Mary Frith began to earn her better known designation of 
 
5 2 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 Moll Cutpurse, and, indeed, such evidences, in the case of a 
 person of her disposition and pursuits, is hardly to be 
 expected. Manners of the best are in peril among question¬ 
 able surroundings, and Moll probably found that it was no 
 very steep descent which led from association with the 
 patrons of cudgel-fights to the practice of picking and steal¬ 
 ing. It is likely, however, that her relatives, with far 
 different intentions, were mainly instrumental in throwing 
 her upon her own, or perhaps to speak more correctly, upon 
 other people’s resources. Having but little faith in proverbs, 
 and misliking the apparent tendency of her inclinations, 
 they determined upon taking what they conceived to be 
 a very decided step in her interest. There was nothing novel 
 in the conclusion at which they arrived : it simply amounted 
 to this—Mary would do better with larger opportunities and 
 a wider sphere, and if she were to leave the country it could 
 hardly prove other than advantageous both to the country 
 and herself. 
 
 It is quite evident that the object of all this solicitude was 
 not herself invited to join the family council in deliberating 
 upon her future, for it was only by means of trickery that 
 she was induced to go on board a vessel lying at Gravesend 
 bound for New England, and nothing but the application of 
 ardent spirits induced her to remain there, until her well- 
 meaning but faithless friends had secured their retreat It 
 was only when, seated upon a sea-chest amid the bustle of 
 departure, she was asked by the boatswain what she did in 
 that galley, that she realized her position. Curses and tears 
 were followed by entreaties, and finally Moll succeeded in 
 softening the heart of the captain and was set ashore. Misinter¬ 
 preting the benevolent intentions of her kinsfolk, it is scarcely 
 to be wondered at that she hesitated to trust herself again to 
 their supervision, but preferred to seek shelter among those 
 persons in whose minds the idea of departure from their 
 native land was always associated with a somewhat narrow 
 escape from a violent death. Before, however, she was made 
 free of the community there were questions to be answered 
 and an examination to be passed. Moll found no difficulty in 
 dealing with both branches of the ordeal. Her replies were 
 
MARY FRITH. 
 
 53 
 
 eminently satisfactory, and the examination, which was 
 confined to her hands, only served to reveal her exceptional 
 qualifications for the career she designed to embrace. Not 
 only did she bear no mark of the Sessions’ branding-iron, but 
 she was the possessor of a particularly long middle finger, as 
 much a joy to your thief as a clumsy fat finger is an object of 
 scorn and detestation. These preliminaries having been 
 disposed of, Moll was admitted with the customary forms 
 and ceremonies, and in a short time, by steps of which no 
 record is left, she succeeded in obtaining over her companions 
 that ascendancy which, wherever it is exercised, is the most 
 unmistakeable evidence of superior powers. 
 
 Pockets or purses in the early days of the seventeenth 
 century were frequently attached to the girdle, and thus hung 
 exposed, and it was her singular dexterity in removing these 
 that earned for Moll her distinguishing appellation. 
 
 Though it is scarcely possible that “the picture of Mistress 
 Moll” mentioned in “Twelfth Night” (act i. sc. 3) can 
 have been the counterfeit presentment of our Mary, it is 
 evident that fame came to her quickly, for on August 7, 1610, 
 there was entered in the register of the Stationers’ Company 
 “ A booke called, The madde pranckes of mery Moll op the 
 Banckside , with her walkes in mans apparrell , and to what 
 purpose, written by John Day.” This work, if it was ever 
 published, has unfortunately disappeared, and Middleton’s 
 “ Roaring Girl,” which was printed in tfie following year, 
 whatever its merits as a play, is of little value as a medium of 
 authentic information. The stage Moll is avowedly idealized. 
 “ Worse things,” says the author, “ I must needs confesse the 
 world has taxt her then has been written of her, but it is the 
 excellency of a writer to leave things better than he finds 
 ’em.” Accordingly, she is represented as a piece of virtue, 
 with strength, constancy, and knowledge of arms more than 
 sufficient for her protection upon all occasions of difficulty 
 and danger. 
 
 “ A bold virago stout and tall 
 As Joan of France or English Mall.” 
 
 It is true she keeps “ a book of horners,” otherwise pick- 
 
54 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 pockets, and is so much in their counsels as to be able to 
 charge one of them to make good forthwith a purse which a 
 knight of her acquaintance had lost “ at the last new play i’ 
 the Swan,” but she is evidently to be understood as nothing 
 worse than the manager of a highly respectable Lost Property 
 Office. 
 
 No more convincing proof can be adduced of Moll’s 
 ascendancy over her companions than the fact that, though 
 so skilful in the practise of purse-cutting, she was allowed to 
 abandon the constant exercise of this perilous employment, 
 and to become receiver-general of the fruits of their enter¬ 
 prises, and the unquestioned arbiter in all their disputes. 
 
 Her transactions in stolen property were on a most exten¬ 
 sive scale, rivalling even those of the great Jonathan Wild 
 himself, and more than one writer has borne testimony to her 
 intimate acquaintance with the movements of the “ pilfering 
 trade ” and to the value of her services. “ Sprecious ! ” cries 
 the citizen in Brome’s “ Court Beggar,” “ How now! my fob 
 has been fubd to-day of six pieces and a dozen shillings at 
 least. My watch is gone out of my pocket too o’ th’ right 
 side. I’le go to honest Moll about it presently.” It is said 
 of one of the characters in “ The Feigned Astrologer ” that— 
 
 “now Moll Cutpurse, that oracle of felonie, 
 
 Is dead, there’s not a pocket pickt 
 But hee’s acquainted with it.” 
 
 And Thomas Shipman in his “ Carolina,” published in 
 1683, declares— 
 
 “ ’tis well known 
 
 Moll Cutpurse sought to help folks to their own.” 
 
 Unlike most persons of her profession, Moll rather courted 
 observation, and lived and died in a house in Fleet Street, 
 “within two doors of the Globe Tavern, over against the 
 Conduit.” It is true that at her entry the landlord regarded 
 his tenant with eyes of disfavour, but his objections appear to 
 have arisen rather from doubts as to her solvency than from 
 any scruples as to her moral character; at any rate, gold 
 
MARY FRITH. 
 
 55 
 
 prevailed, and Moll remained. It is probable that she 
 looked to this very audacity and her known eccentricities to 
 disarm suspicion, and she must have felt secure indeed to 
 have ventured to expose stolen goods in one of the windows 
 of her house. This confidence was like to have brought ruin 
 upon her, for there happened to pass by the said window a 
 gentleman who, observing therein a watch of which he had 
 been recently robbed, was so ignorant or neglectful of the 
 rules of the game that he incontinently invoked the aid of a 
 constable, and carried her and his watch before a magistrate. 
 Moll was duly committed for trial, but when the constable, 
 eager to detail the result of the information he had received, 
 was about to go into the witness-box, he discovered that the 
 watch was missing from his pocket. The jury had no alter¬ 
 native but to acquit, and Moll was therefore free to leave the 
 court with her friends, some of whom, it is hardly necessary 
 to state, had accompanied the constable thither. 
 
 Besides being compelled to make this involuntary appearance 
 before the representatives of the civil power, Moll was also called 
 upon to give her attendance in the Court of Arches, to answer 
 a charge of wearing “ undecent and manly apparel,” and her 
 defence, if she made any, being judged to be inadequate, she 
 was sentenced to do penance in a white sheet at Paul’s Cross. 
 A career such as that of Moll Cutpurse is so obviously liable 
 to suffer from the effects of exaggeration and misrepresenta¬ 
 tion, that one gladly seizes the opportunity to quote the 
 testimony of an eye-witness of any of its incidents. John 
 Chamberlain, writing on February n, l 6 ] 4 , to Dudley 
 Carleton, says : “The last Sunday Moll Cutpurse,a notorious 
 baggage that used to go in man’s apparel, and challenged 
 the field of diverse gallants, was brought to the same place 
 (Paul’s Cross), where she wept bitterly, and seemed very 
 penitent, but it is since doubted she was maudlin drunk, being 
 discovered to have tippel’d of three quarts of sack before she 
 came to her penance. She had the daintiest preacher or 
 ghostly father that ever I saw in the pulpit, one Radclifife, of 
 Brazen-Nose College in Oxford, a likelier man to have led the 
 revels in some inn of court than to be where he was. But the 
 best is, he did extreme badly, and so wearied the audience 
 
56 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 that the best part went away, and the rest tarried rather to 
 hear Moll Cutpurse than him.” Seeing that Moll’s friends 
 and companions in the regular exercise of their occupation 
 made use of one of their number, who was known as the 
 “ bulk,” for the special purpose of picking quarrels and so 
 causing crowds to assemble, they did not fail to take full 
 advantage of the opportunity which the misfortune of their 
 mistress had created for them. Many, therefore, who had 
 come out to see the penance of Moll Cutpurse went home 
 themselves to repent, and some who, figuratively speaking, 
 were bent on shearing, returned, almost literally, shorn ; for, 
 having relieved them of such valuables as they had about 
 them, the thieves proceeded to cut off portions of their gar¬ 
 ments as well. 
 
 Moll probably thought that this discipline had purchased 
 her a licence to clothe herself henceforth as she pleased, for 
 she continued to wear her manly apparel, and her consistency 
 in this respect earned for her the approbation of John Taylor, 
 the Water Poet, who, in “The Water-cormorant, his Com¬ 
 plaint against a Brood of Land-cormorants,” after inveighing 
 against the monstrous and fantastic fashions of his day, says— 
 
 “ Mary Frith doth teach them modesty, 
 
 For she doth keepe one fashion constantly, 
 
 And therefore she deserves a matron’s praise, 
 
 In these inconstant, moon-like, changing days.” 
 
 It is quite evident that the Court of Arches had no terrors 
 for Moll, for she actually made a bet of twenty pounds with 
 one Banks, a vintner in Cheapside, to ride astride in breeches 
 and doublet from Charing Cross to Shoreditch. Her pro¬ 
 gress in this guise, heralded by trumpet and banner, not 
 unnaturally excited remark (“ a plaguy orange wench ” at 
 Bishopsgate made herself particularly obnoxious), and, but 
 for a timely diversion created by a wedding party, was like 
 to have been seriously interfered with by the crowd, some of 
 whom cried out, “ Come down, thou shame of women, or we 
 will pull thee down ! ” 
 
 On the whole, Moll seems to have had but few declared 
 enemies, and to have thought she deserved none, for she 
 
MARY FRITH. 
 
 57 
 
 regarded with feelings of the bitterest resentment the act of 
 a constable who presumed to arrest her very late one night as 
 she was returning home by way of Ludgate Hill. She was 
 lodged in the Counter, where she soon made friends with such 
 of the company as did not happen to be already her familiars, 
 and the next morning was haled before the Lord Mayor, 
 charged with the offence of “ unseasonable and suspicious 
 walking.” She pleaded the occasions of a lady, one of her 
 friends, whose condition required her presence at her bedside, 
 and, nothing further being alleged against her, she was 
 released upon payment of a small fine. The constable, who 
 was otherwise a cobbler, one William Wall by name, was one 
 of Moll’s neighbours, and this uncalled for and unneighbourly 
 action of his so rankled in her breast that she put herself to 
 some considerable trouble in order to be revenged upon him. 
 Having discovered that the constable had some relatives at 
 Ludlow, she procured the arrival at his house of a supposed 
 messenger, all dust-stained from the journey, with news of the 
 death of his uncle and his own succession to the estate. The 
 ridiculous airs assumed by the cobbler and his wife upon the 
 receipt of this intelligence, and their ignominious return after 
 a fruitless but costly visit to Ludlow, afforded Moll infinite 
 satisfaction, and her cup was full when she was able to con¬ 
 gratulate her victim and ask how he enjoyed the air of his 
 lands. 
 
 In addition to having, as it were, under her thumb the mob 
 of the “ horners,” “ bulks,” “ whipsters,” and “ rubs ” of the 
 metropolis, Moll had also an extensive circle of acquaintance 
 among the aristocracy of the profession, “ the Hacks and 
 Blades of the road.” Richard Hannam, “ the Great Robber of 
 England,” the celebrated Captain Hind, and Crowder, who 
 exercised his calling in the habit of a bishop, with four or five 
 servants attending upon him, were all frequent visitors at 
 Moll’s house, and were accustomed to deposit their effects with 
 her during their periods of absence upon the country roads. 
 
 It is probable that Moll owed much both of her reputation 
 and the immunity she enjoyed to the unhappy divisions of 
 her time. She had given conspicuous proof of her loyalty by 
 providing wine for the Fleet Street Conduit upon the occa- 
 
58 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 sion of the King’s return from the Scotch war, and as he 
 passed had rushed from the crowd and grasped his hand, 
 crying, “ Welcome home, Charles ! ” After the Civil War 
 broke out she prided herself upon being the only person in 
 her street who was a declared opponent to the Parliament. 
 She contributed parboiled ox-livers and brickbats to feed the 
 Trained Bands, and, not unnaturally, considered she was 
 doing praiseworthy and loyal service in robbing the King’s 
 enemies, from whom she succeeded in obtaining considerable 
 sums by means of forged warrants addressed to their collec¬ 
 tors and receivers. 
 
 She and the famous Captain Hind were the moving spirits 
 in the successful attack made upon a waggon containing pay 
 for the Commonwealth soldiery, in the neighbourhood of 
 Shotover, and she herself was active in the onslaught upon 
 Fairfax on Hounslow Heath, when two of his horses were 
 killed, and he himself was wounded and robbed of two hun¬ 
 dred and fifty Jacobuses. For her part in this last exploit 
 Moll was arrested at Turnham Green, and conveyed to New¬ 
 gate. She had a friend there in the person of Ralph Briscoe, 
 one of the officials, and, though there is mention of the pay¬ 
 ment of a sum of two thousand pounds, the matter of her 
 release is involved in obscurity. 
 
 To the practice of stealing and receiving Moll added the 
 art of fortune-telling, in which she was an adept, and when 
 this comparatively honest trade had been brought into dis¬ 
 repute through the stoning of Dr. .Lamb, she threw her 
 energies into the abominable occupation of a procuress. She 
 exercised her vile office on behalf of both sexes, and in this 
 walk of life became acquainted with the most disreputable of 
 her contemporaries, among whom were “ Aniseed-water 
 Robin,” who wore skirt and petticoats ; “ Mulled Sack,” the 
 chimney-sweeper ; Cottington, the cheat; and Damaris Page, 
 “ the Abbess of the Holland Leaguers on the Bankside.” 
 She herself had a strange reputation for chastity, involved, in 
 all probability, with the doubts that were openly expressed as 
 to her sex. This reputation was not, however, unchallenged, 
 as appears from one of Thomas Freeman’s Epigrams (published 
 in 1614), which is headed, “Of Moll Cutpurse disguised going.” 
 
MARY FRITH. 
 
 59 
 
 They say Mol’s honest, and it may bee so, 
 
 But yet it is a shrewd presumption no ; 
 
 To touch but pitch, ’tis knowne it will defile, 
 
 Moll weares the breech, what may she be the while ? 
 
 Sure shee that doth the shadow so much grace, 
 
 What will shee when the substance comes in place?” 
 
 There are extant two portraits of Moll Cutpurse, one upon 
 the title-page of Middleton’s “ Roaring Girl,” and the other 
 prefixed to the “ Life ” published in 1662. 
 
 In the former she appears as a fine figure of a woman, in 
 man’s apparel, and one can gather from the text of the play 
 that her proportions were considerable. Goshawke, one of 
 the persons of the drama, protests concerning her that he 
 never knew “ so much flesh and so much nimbleness together,” 
 and another addresses her as “ sweet plumpe Mol.” In the 
 later portrait the handiwork of Time, or an artist less disposed 
 to flatter, is plainly to be seen, and one can appreciate the 
 invitation beneath it, “ But if her Features please not, read her 
 Feats.” By the various means which have been mentioned 
 Moll succeeded in making or taking a considerable amount 
 of money, and though in her later years she was afflicted with 
 dropsy, she lived in her house in Fleet Street, surrounded by 
 dogs, parrots, and looking-glasses, in comparative comfort. 
 Death overtook her on July 26, 1659, ar >d she was buried in 
 St. Bridget’s churchyard. Her property she left to a kins¬ 
 man of the same name, the master of a ship, dwelling at 
 Redriffe, with a special provision that twenty pounds were to 
 be set aside that Fleet Street Conduit might once more run 
 with wine at her expense when the King came home again. 
 
 Over her grave was set a fair marble stone, on which was cut 
 the following epitaph, “ compos'd by the ingenious Mr. Milton ,” 
 but destroyed in the great conflagration of London. The 
 words in italics are the words of Captain Smith, belief in them 
 we make no article of faith. 
 
 “ Here lies under this same marble 
 Dust for Time’s last sive to garble ; 
 
 Dust to perplex a Sadducee, 
 
 Whether I rise a He or She, 
 
 Or two in one a single pair, 
 
6o 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 Nature’s sport and now her care ; 
 
 For how she’l cloath it at last day 
 (Unlesse she sigh it all away), 
 
 Or where she’l place it none can tell, 
 
 Some middle place ’twixt Heaven and Hell; 
 
 And well ’tis Purgatory’s found, 
 
 Else she must hide her under ground. 
 
 These Reliques do deserve the doom, 
 
 That cheat of Mahomet’s fine Tomb : 
 
 For no communion she had, 
 
 Nor sorted with the Good or Bad, 
 
 That when the world shall be calcin’d, 
 
 And the mixt masse of humane kind 
 Shall separate by that melting fire, 
 
 She’l stand alone and none come nigh her. 
 
 Reader, here she lies till then, 
 
 When (to say all) you’l see her agen. 
 
 Charles Andrews. 
 
LADY FRANCES HOWARD. 
 
LADY FRANCES HOWARD. 
 
 (1593—1632.) 
 
 “ Blood, though it sleep a time, yet never dies : 
 
 The gods on murderers fix revengeful eyes.” 
 
 George Chapman. 
 
 T HE annals of the Howard family in the sixteenth 
 century are largely written in letters of blood. 
 Violent lives and violent deaths redden almost every page. 
 Not that glorious episodes are lacking. One Howard met 
 his death in the van of Richard III.’s army at Bosworth 
 Field ; a second was the victor of Flodden ; a third led the 
 defeat of the Spanish Armada. But glory only reached the 
 Howards in the train of destroying war. In time of peace 
 their riotous passions found vent in crime. As a rule 
 punishment followed the misdeed swiftly, but the warning 
 fell on heedless ears. In 1542 Oueen Catherine Howard 
 expiated her unchastity on the scaffold. Within half a 
 decade the career of her cousin, Surrey the poet, was 
 brought to a close by the same tragical agency, because 
 his arrogance of spirit was believed to threaten the throne. 
 Thirty-five years later treason involved the poet’s son in his 
 father’s fate. Other chiefs of the house, escaping the heads¬ 
 man’s block, spent the best years of their life in the dungeons 
 of the Tower of London. Women of the family, who were 
 led into comparatively venial sin, became in their own 
 despite heroines of tragedy. Douglas Howard, who yielded 
 too easily to the blandishments of Leicester, Oueen Eliza¬ 
 beth’s favourite, is reported to have narrowly escaped Amy 
 Robsart’s fortune, when her lover tired of her charms. 
 
 63 
 
64 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 The humblQ suitor, who was rejected for a prouder alliance 
 by Lady Frances Howard, an elder cousin of the lady 
 commemorated here, sent his faithless mistress verses penned 
 with his own blood, and then took his exit from the world 
 by running himself upon his sword. 
 
 Such were some of the traditions which distinguished the 
 family history of our heroine. It is not, therefore, surprising 
 that she inherited little respect for conventional morality and 
 the sanctity of human life, or that her nerve did not falter 
 when murder was needed to remove obstacles that stood 
 between her and the goal of her passions. 
 
 Her father, Thomas Howard, was son of that Duke of 
 Norfolk who was executed in 1572, and was grandson of 
 the poet Surrey who was executed in 1547. He held high 
 office under James I., becoming, in the first instance, Lord 
 Chamberlain and Earl of Suffolk, and afterwards Lord High 
 Treasurer of England. Unlike his father and grandfather, 
 he was convicted of no worse crime than embezzlement of 
 public monies to the tune of £50,000. Her mother, who 
 exerted a baneful ascendancy over her husband and her 
 children, openly conducted the sale of State offices. 1 She 
 eagerly accepted a pension from the arch-enemy of her 
 country—the King of Spain. And it was a common say¬ 
 ing that Audley End, built by Lord Suffolk on the estate 
 in Essex that he inherited from his mother, had its founda¬ 
 tion in Spanish gold. Bacon compared Lady Suffolk to 
 an Exchange woman who kept her shop while her creature, 
 Sir J. Bingley, cried, “ What d’ye lack ? ” Until the small¬ 
 pox shed its blight upon her she was reckoned no ordinary 
 beauty, and her portraits show that, despite her avaricious 
 propensity, she was vain of her charms and liberal in her 
 display of them. She was even suspected of being the 
 mistress of Sir Robert Cecil. 
 
 The Earl and Countess of Suffolk had seven sons and 
 three daughters. The eldest son, Theophilus (afterwards 
 second Earl of Suffolk), was the hero of a notable quarrel with 
 
 1 She was daughter and coheiress of Sir Henry Knevet, Kt., of Charl¬ 
 ton, Wilts, and her first husband was Richard, eldest son of Robert, Lord 
 Rich. 
 
LADY FRANCES HOWARD. 
 
 65 
 
 the famous Lord Herbert of Cherbury, when both were 
 serving as volunteers at the siege of Juliers, and Lord Her¬ 
 bert has contrived that this eldest brother of Lady Frances 
 should descend to posterity as an unamiable coward. Claren¬ 
 don reports contemptuously of the character of the next 
 brother Thomas. Sir Robert, the fifth son, owed his fame to 
 his adultery with the great Duke of Buckingham’s sister-in- 
 law, Lady Purbeck, which exposed him and his mistress to 
 many years’ persecution in the Star Chamber. The youngest 
 son, Edward (Lord Howard of Escrick), joined the Parlia¬ 
 ment in its struggle with Charles I., but ruined his reputation 
 by taking bribes when an officer of the Commonwealth, and 
 he enjoys the further ignominy of having begotten a son (the 
 second Lord Howard of Escrick), who turned king’s evidence 
 with fatal effect at the trials of Lord William Russell and 
 Algernon Sidney. 
 
 The eldest daughter, Elizabeth, had scarcely a more reput¬ 
 able record. She married William Knollys, Earl of Banbury, 
 but the paternity of her two sons was called in question, and 
 the right of her sons and their descendants to succeed to the 
 earldom of Banbury occupied the attention of the House 
 of Lords and the Law Courts for a century and a half. 
 Frances was the second daughter. The third, Catherine, 
 who married the heir of the first Earl of Salisbury, was an 
 ancestress of the present Marquess. The anonymous author 
 of a scandalous drama (that has never been published) on 
 the subject of Lady Frances’s early life, represents her engag¬ 
 ing with her sister Catherine in a lascivious dialogue on the 
 morning after Lady Frances’s first marriage. 1 Otherwise the 
 breath of scandal left Catherine—alone of the sisters—un¬ 
 scathed. 
 
 Frances was apparently born at her father’s house at Audley 
 End, near Saffron Walden, in 1593. Her eldest sister was 
 her senior by nine years, her youngest sister was her junior 
 apparently by as many months. The girl’s early years 
 were spent either in Essex or in the London mansion of the 
 family at Charing Cross. 
 
 Captain Field, a retainer in her father’s household pro- 
 1 The play is in Brit. Mus., MS. Addit. 25348. 
 
 6 
 
66 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN 
 
 tested (in the hearing of Sir Simonds D’Ewes) that, having 
 known her from her infancy, he had always observed her 
 to be of a better nature and sweeter disposition than any 
 of her sisters and brothers ; but our knowledge of her sisters’ 
 and brothers’ characters reduces this compliment to narrow 
 dimensions. Forgetful of her wealth in vicious ancestors, 
 Captain Field proceeds to ascribe her subsequent depravity 
 to the malignant influence in childhood of one only of her 
 kinsmen, her father’s uncle, the Earl of Northampton. The 
 facts of heredity will not permit her corrupt temperament to 
 be deduced from early association with any single relative. 
 But Lord Northampton was peculiarly adapted to encourage 
 her predisposition to evil courses ; his sinister figure casts a 
 clear-cut shadow over the chief scenes in her career. 
 
 The younger son of Surrey the poet, Lord Northamp¬ 
 ton, was his grand-niece’s senior by five-and-fifty years. 
 During Queen Elizabeth’s reign he had often suffered im¬ 
 prisonment on account of his complicity in plots against the 
 throne ; but he bore his crosses with cynical complacency. 
 Intrigue was his ruling passion ; and he intrigued with so 
 much craft that the historian cannot unravel all the threads of 
 his mysterious plottings. He was reputed to be at heart a 
 papist, but he bore a hand in bringing to the scaffold many 
 Catholic priests. Greedy of power and money, he won by 
 cunning flattery place and power at James I.’s court, but at 
 the same time he accepted a pension from Spain. He 
 exerted a baleful fascination over many a younger man and 
 woman. The great Francis Bacon’s mother bitterly deplored 
 the spell that he cast upon her sons. There lay, indeed, on 
 the surface of his nature some agreeable traits, which could 
 rarely fail to dazzle acquaintances, whether old or young. 
 He delighted in lavish hospitality, and his many-sided 
 culture made him, when he chose, despite a pre-occupied 
 manner, an amiable host. He had inherited something of 
 his father’s literary sentiment; he read widely, published 
 an exposure of judicial astrology, and wrote for a sister 
 a treatise of philosophy. He loved, too, magnificence in 
 architecture. He built the great mansion in which he lived 
 at Charing Cross (known in later years as Northumberland 
 
LADY FRANCES HOWARD. 
 
 67 
 
 House), and he revised with his own hand the design of his 
 nephew’s palace at Audley End. Without close domestic 
 ties—he never married, and he outlived most of his kinsmen 
 of his own generation—he seems to have developed in later 
 years as benevolent an interest, as his crooked nature would 
 allow, in his nephew’s children. Behind the quick wit and 
 good looks of the child Frances, he soon detected the embryo 
 of an evil character, in some regards, not dissimilar from his 
 own. His ill-omened insight was not at fault, and the bonds 
 of sympathy between the curiously matched couple proved 
 indissoluble. No good lesson could the girl learn from so 
 unpromising a tutor. 
 
 Frances, and her younger sister Catherine, inherited much 
 of their mother’s beauty ; and when Frances was no more than 
 thirteen and Catherine no more than twelve, their parents 
 bargained their hands away in marriage. Child-marriages 
 were then in vogue, and many of the girls’ kindred had 
 become parents before they were twenty. The husbands 
 of the two girls were chosen by the worldly wise parents 
 from families in high place and in high favour with the Crown. 
 Catherine was betrothed to a lad of eighteen, William, Vis¬ 
 count Cranborne, the son and heir of James I.’s astute chief 
 minister, Sir Robert Cecil, first Earl of Salisbury. For 
 Frances a suitor was found in Robert Devereux, third Earl 
 of Essex, a boy of fourteen, on whom the King, regretful of 
 his father’s fate, had lately showered attentions. 
 
 It is not clear why the King or Salisbury was willing for 
 Essex to ally himself at so early an age with the Ford 
 Chamberlain’s daughter ; but the craft of Fady Suffolk was 
 capable of securing most objects that she deemed conducive 
 to the family interest. Afterwards, when trouble came of the 
 experiment, James took care to disclaim responsibility and 
 hotly denounced the practice of “ marrying young couples 
 before they be acquainted with one another.” 
 
 Robert Devereux (born in 1591), was son of that ill-starred 
 Earl of Essex, whose execution in February 1601 stirred 
 popular feeling so poignantly. After being educated at Eton, 
 he had been entered in January 1602 as a Gentleman Com¬ 
 moner at Merton College, Oxford, where he occupied an 
 
68 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 apartment in the lodgings of the distinguished Warden 
 Henry, afterwards Sir Henry, Savile. His father had sought 
 to promote the accession of James VI., of Scotland, to the 
 English throne when Queen Elizabeth should die ; and on the 
 24th of March, 1603, the boy was present in Cheapside when 
 James I. was proclaimed king. Immediately afterwards, 
 young Essex was sent to Essex House, where his mother 1 
 was then residing. And in accordance with an arrangement 
 of the King and Sir Robert Cecil, a bill reversing the 
 attainder of the late Earl of Essex at once passed through 
 Parliament. In the same month (April), the King gave 
 orders that Essex should be brought up with his son 
 Prince Henry ; and the boys became fellow-students and 
 close companions. On one occasion they quarrelled 
 over a game of tennis, and the Prince called Essex “ Son 
 of a traitor,” whereupon the Earl gave him a sharp blow 
 on the head with his racket. The King, hearing of the 
 matter, called them to his presence, found what provocation 
 had been given, and observed to his son “ that he who did 
 strike him then, would be sure with more violent blows to 
 strike his enemy 2 in times to come.” At Oxford the Earl 
 read diligently “ books that afforded most study, not most 
 delight ” ; and his recreations were riding the great horse, 
 running at the ring, and the exercise of arms. When the 
 King was entertained by the University in the autumn of 
 1605, Essex was included among the noblemen who received 
 the degree of M.A. It is sufficiently surprising (to a modern 
 reader) to learn that Essex was made M.A. at the age of 
 fourteen ; but more surprising is the news which ran through 
 London at the same date : “ The Earl of Essex and the 
 young Lord Cranborne shall marry two of my Lord Cham¬ 
 berlain’s daughters at Court very shortly: they only stay for 
 the King’s coming, who is looked for in the next week.” 
 
 1 Daughter of Sir Francis Walsingham ; she was married three times, 
 first, to Sir Philip Sidney, next to the Earl of Essex, and finally to the 
 Earl of Clanricarde. 
 
 2 The prediction might have been verified if Prince Henry’s life had 
 been spared. He died at eighteen, and Essex lived to become a famous 
 Parliamentarian general. 
 
LADY FRANCES HOWARD. 
 
 69 
 
 The marriage between Essex and Lady Frances Howard 
 was celebrated on Sunday, January 5, 1605-6. The bride¬ 
 groom is said to have carried himself with a grave and 
 graceful demeanour befitting his father’s age. The Masque 1 
 (“ Hymenaei”), performed at Court on the same evening by 
 noblemen and ladies of rank, was written by Ben Jonson 
 and mounted by Inigo Jones. It was a brilliant spectacle; 
 “the men were clad in crimson, the women in white; they 
 had every one a white plume of the richest heron’s feathers, 
 and were so rich in jewels upon their heads as who most 
 glorious. I think they hired or borrowed all the principal 
 jewels and sets of pearls both in Court and city. The 
 Spanish ambassador, seemed but poor to the meanest of 
 them.” On the following night the Barriers were performed, 
 sixteen knights appearing on each side ; the one band led 
 by the Duke of Lenox, the other by the Earl of Sussex. 
 
 When the festivities were over the bride returned to her 
 father’s house. It had been arranged that Essex should 
 spend a year or two on the Continent before he joined his 
 wife ; but it was not till the spring of 1608 that he started on 
 his travels. At Paris he was entertained by Henri IV., whom 
 he accompanied on a hunting expedition to P'ontainebleau. 
 
 The date of Essex’s return may be fixed not later than the 
 autumn of 1611. He was now twenty years of age, and his wife 
 was a beauty of eighteen, “ jam matura viro, jam plenis nubilis 
 annis.” After the long delay he was naturally anxious to 
 experience the joys of married life; but, though the pair 
 occupied one bed and one chamber for three years, his hopes of 
 happiness remained unfulfilled. The fact was that the Countess, 
 grown in beauty but not in virtue, had bestowed her affections 
 on another—Robert Carr, the King’s favourite (successively 
 Viscount Rochester and Earl of Somerset). Sir Simonds 
 D’Ewes declares that she had previously intrigued with 
 Henry Prince of Wales, but Cornwallis — who was treasurer 
 of the Prince’s household—stoutly champions his master’s 
 
 1 It was published in 1606 with the names of the masquers and a note 
 that the music was by Ferrabosco and the dances by Thomas Giles. 
 When it was republished in the folio of 1616 Ben Jonson suppressed 
 the names of Essex, Lady Frances, and the masquers. 
 
70 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 chastity. Arthur Wilson, secretary in after years to Essex, 
 relates that on one occasion when she had dropped her 
 glove a courtier handed it to the Prince, who rejected it 
 with the remark, “ He would not have it; it is stretched by 
 another.” To her evil genius and great-uncle Northampton, 
 who was anxious to ingratiate himself with the King’s 
 favourite, is attributed the discredit of having brought about 
 and fostered the guilty intimacy between Rochester and the 
 young Countess. If Weldon’s information was correct, a 
 Mr. Coppinger — who had run through a fair fortune and 
 was now forced to lead the life of a serving - man — was 
 employed by Northampton to act the part of Sir Pandarus. 
 
 In the early days of their life together the Earl had treated 
 his Countess with all courtesy and kindness. He imputed 
 her coldness to maiden bashfulness ; and when this bashful¬ 
 ness (as he regarded it) became insipid, he took counsel with 
 her father, who “ made use of his paternal power to reduce his 
 daughter to the obedience of a wife.” But “ paternal power ” 
 in a case of this kind has its limits. It did not help matters 
 that the young Earl was seized with a virulent attack of 
 small-pox. 
 
 The Countess contrived to keep as much as possible at a 
 distance from her husband, but at length (under compulsion 
 from her father) she joined him at Chartley in Staffordshire. 
 Here she conducted herself in strange fashion. She kept her 
 chamber all day, and would never stir out till the dead of 
 night. To this style of living she adhered for some months, 
 showing not the slightest respect or affection for her husband. 
 “ Cow,” “ Beast,” and “ Coward,” were the terms in which she 
 would address him. 
 
 It was an age of witchcraft and magic. The Countess had 
 been in frequent communication with the notorious wizard, 
 Dr. Simon Forman, and an infamous wise-woman, Mrs. Anne 
 Turner, widow of a doctor of physic. She had two objects in 
 view : one, to hinder her husband from enjoying her society; 
 the other, to inflame Rochester’s passion. Forman com¬ 
 pounded drugs to debilitate Essex and to sharpen Rochester’s 
 inclination ; for the same purpose he framed waxen figures 
 and brazen images. From Chartley she wrote to these 
 
LADY FRANCES HOWARD. 
 
 7 1 
 
 abominable agents, lamenting the slow progress that was 
 being made, and urging them to redouble their efforts. 
 Two letters, both undated (which were produced at Mrs. 
 Turner’s trial) have been preserved. To Mrs. Turner she 
 wrote as follows :— 
 
 “ Burn this Letter. 
 
 “ Sweet Turner,— I am out of all hope of any good in this world. . . . 
 My lord is very well as ever he was, so you may see in what a miser¬ 
 able case I am. You may send the party word of all ; he sent me word 
 all should be well, but I shall not be so happy as the lord to love me. 
 As you have taken pains all this while for me, so now do all you can, for 
 never so unhappy as now ; for I am not able to endure the miseries that 
 are coming on me. But I cannot be happy so long as this man liveth : 
 therefore pray for me, for I have need, but I should be better if I had 
 your company to ease my mind. Let him know this ill news : if I can 
 get this done you shall have as much money as you can demand ; this 
 is fair play.—Your sister, Frances Essex.” 
 
 The other letter was addressed to Dr. Simon Forman, and 
 must have been written before the 24th of May, 1612, on 
 which day the Lord Treasurer (Cecil) died :— 
 
 “Sweet Father, —I must still crave your love, although I hope I 
 have it, and shall deserve it better hereafter : remember the galls, for I 
 fear, though I have yet no cause but to be confident in you, yet I desire 
 to have it remain as it is. You will see it continue still if it be possible, 
 and, if you can, you must send me some good news ; alas !*I have need 
 of it. Keep the Lord still to me, for that I desire. Be careful you 
 name me not to anybody, for we have so many spies that you must use 
 all your wits, and all little enough ; for the world is against me, and the 
 heavens favour me not. I hope you will do me good, and if I be un¬ 
 grateful let all mischief come unto me. My Lord is lusty and merry and 
 drinks with his men, and all the content he gives me is to use me as 
 doggedly as ever before ; I think I shall never be happy in this world, 
 because he hinders my good, and ever will, I think; so remember, I beg, 
 for God’s sake, get me free from this place.—Your affectionate daughter, 
 Frances Essex. 
 
 “ Give Turner warning of all things but not the Lord ; I would not have 
 anything come out, for fear of my Lord Treasurer, for so he may tell my 
 father and mother, and fill their ears full of toys.” 
 
 The letters just quoted have been frequently printed, 
 but the following particulars, from the State Papers, of the 
 Countess’s connection with Mary Woods, a reputed witch, of 
 
72 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 Stratton-Strawlers, near Norwich, have not been noticed. 
 Under date 26th of February, 1613, we find the exami¬ 
 nations of Richard Grimstone, pursuivant, who deposed that 
 he was sent by the Countess to apprehend Mary Woods 
 for detaining a diamond ring and some money, which the 
 Countess—having occasion to go in haste to the Court—had 
 delivered to her safe keeping. One Davison of Norwich 
 testified that Mary Woods deluded silly women by professing 
 skill in palmistry, and, if they attempted to prosecute her, 
 that she threatened to accuse them of trying to poison their 
 husbands. Woods in her defence stated that she had re¬ 
 ceived a goblet and a diamond from Mrs. Clare, and a ring 
 from Lady Essex, with a promise of a thousand pounds if 
 she would procure a poison—for making away the Earl of 
 Essex—that should not act within less space than three or 
 four days. She had promised to gratify the Countess, but 
 afterwards repented, and left London without procuring the 
 poison. The pursuivant, Grimstone, stated that Woods had 
 threatened that, if she were taken before a justice, she would 
 accuse Lady Essex of having suborned her to murder the 
 Earl. On the 15th of May, Isabel, wife of William Peel, was 
 examined on the practices of Mary Woods to procure money 
 from her and others on pretence of getting them husbands 
 or children : she stated that she knew of no attempt of Lady 
 Essex to poison her husband. Woods was again examined 
 on the 14th of June, when she testified that she had given 
 Lady Essex a powder to wear round her neck because she 
 wished to have a child ! What became of Woods is not 
 known. It would seem that the Countess’s friends contrived 
 to hush up the inquiry. 
 
 At the time when she was being accused by Mary Woods 
 of practising to poison the Earl, Lady Essex was engaged in 
 preparing a petition for divorce. On the 16th of May, 1613 
 a Commission was appointed under the Great Seal to 
 examine into the question of the nullity of the marriage. 
 George Abbott, Archbishop of Canterbury, 1 consented—with 
 
 1 The Archbishop’s very interesting narrative of the proceedings of 
 the Commissioners is preserved in Harl. MS. 6854. It is printed in 
 vol. ii. of Howell’s “State Trials.” 
 
LADY FRANCES HOWARD. 
 
 73 
 
 great reluctance—to sit on the Commission, and with him 
 were joined the Bishop of London, the Bishop of Ely, the 
 Bishop of Lichfield and Coventry, Sir Julius Caesar (Chan¬ 
 cellor of the Exchequer), Sir Thomas Parry (Chancellor of 
 the Duchy of Lancaster), Sir Daniel Dun, Sir John Benett, 
 Dr. Francis James, and Dr. Thomas Edwards. 
 
 Lady Essex claimed that the marriage should be nullified 
 on the ground that her husband was impotent. The Earl at 
 his examination created a favourable impression from the fact 
 that he abstained from using bitter language about his wife. 
 He stated that when he returned to England he loved her, 
 but added, “ I cannot so now, neither ever shall I.” He 
 denied emphatically that he was impotent. 
 
 King James took the liveliest interest in the Commissioners’ 
 proceedings, and used all his influence to induce them to 
 annul the marriage. He chafed at the delays that occurred, 
 and attempted to confute by argument the conscientious 
 objections of Archbishop Abbott. Before starting on pro¬ 
 gress from Windsor, his Majesty called the Commissioners 
 together and found that the Bishop of Ely, the Bishop of 
 Coventry and Lichfield, Sir Thomas Parry, Sir Julius Caesar, 
 and Sir Daniel Dun were prepared to pronounce in favour of 
 a nullity, but that the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Bishop 
 of London, Sir John Benett, and Dr. Edwards were stiffly 
 opposed to the majority: whereupon he strengthened the 
 Commission by the addition of new members. For a time it 
 was doubtful whether the Countess would succeed in her suit. 
 On the 29th of August the Rev. Thomas Lorkin wrote to 
 Sir Thomas Puckering that “ unless the Commission be 
 changed, the nullities which His Majesty desireth will never 
 be pronounced.” Archbishop Abbott, falling on his knees 
 before the King at Windsor, implored to be exempted from 
 attending the Commission, declaring that he would esteem 
 such exemption a greater favour than all the preferments that 
 he had received at the King’s hands. On the Wednesday 
 before Lorkin wrote to Puckering, the Commissioners had 
 again assembled, but to little purpose. Rochester stayed in 
 town to hear the result of the proceedings, and then rode in 
 haste to his Majesty. Finally, in September after many 
 
74 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 delays, a nullity was pronounced, and the majority consisted 
 of the Bishops of (i) Winchester, (2) Ely, (3) Lichfield and 
 Coventry, and (4) Rochester, (5) Sir Julius Caesar, (6) Sir 
 Thomas Parry, (7) Sir Daniel Dun ; in the minority were (1) 
 the Archbishop of Canterbury, (2) the Bishop of London, (3) 
 Sir John Benett, (4) Dr. Francis James, (5) Dr. Thomas 
 Edwards. On the morning when the sentence of nullity was 
 pronounced the King had sent a special injunction that the 
 Commissioners were simply to give their assents or dissents, 
 and that no arguments were to be used. The marriage was 
 annulled “ propter latens et incurabile impedimentum ” ; both 
 parties were at liberty to marry again, and the Earl was to 
 refund the dowry that he had received with his wife. 1 
 
 No sooner was the decree of nullity pronounced than pre¬ 
 parations were made for the lady’s marriage with Lord 
 Rochester. On the 4th of November Rochester was created 
 Earl of Somerset, and it was reported that he would be made 
 Marquis of Orkney, “ that his mistress maybe a better woman 
 if it may be than she was before ” (Chamberlain to Carleton, 
 22nd of November, 1613). At first the marriage was 
 announced to take place the last week of November at 
 Audley End, and great preparation was made to receive the 
 King. The Queen had looked askance on the divorce pro¬ 
 ceedings, and it was anticipated that she would not attend 
 the marriage ; but in the end she consented to be present, 
 and it was arranged that the ceremony should be postponed 
 till Christmas and should then be solemnized at Whitehall. 
 
 On St. Stephen’s Day, the 26th of December, 1613, the 
 Lady Frances Howard (assuming her maiden name) was 
 married to the Earl of Somerset. The King had given her 
 away on the occasion of her marriage with Essex, and now 
 her father took the King’s place. The services of the Dean 
 of the Chapel, Dr. James Montague, who had officiated at the 
 
 1 Some thirteen years later Essex married a second wife, Elizabeth, 
 daughter of Sir William Paulet, of Eddington, Wiltshire. She mis¬ 
 conducted herself with one Uvedale, two years after the marriage, and 
 Essex procured a divorce from her. Such a termination of the Earl’s 
 second matrimonial venture may lend some support to the argument 
 adyanced by his first wife in favour of the dissolution of his first 
 marriage. 
 
LADY FRANCES HOWARD. 
 
 75 
 
 former marriage, were again enlisted ; and a fulsome marriage- 
 sermon was preached by the Dean of Westminster, Dr. George 
 Montaigne. With unblushing effrontery the bride went to the 
 altar “ in her hair ”—with her hair hanging loosely down her 
 back, to indicate to beholders that she was a virgin. Many of 
 the most noted poets of the day lauded the unblessed nuptials. 
 Campion wrote the masque that was performed on the 
 marriage-night; Ben Jonson’s “A Challenge at Tilt” was 
 pronounced on the 27th of December, and was followed (two 
 days later) by his “Irish Masque”; George Chapman pub¬ 
 lished an inept poem “Andromeda Liberata” (which is said to 
 have procured him a cudgelling from some of Essex’s friends); 
 and Donne composed a frigidly conceited Epithalamium, 
 over which his most cordial admirers will not care to linger. 
 
 There was a great display of wedding presents, “ more in 
 value and number than ever, I think, were given to any sub¬ 
 ject in this land,” as Chamberlain wrote to Mistress Alice 
 Carleton, on the 30th of December, 1613. Valuable plate 
 was sent by the City, the Merchant Adventurers, the East 
 India Company, and the Farmers of the Customs ; six goodly 
 candlesticks, costing above five hundred marks, came from 
 Sir Thomas Lake; Sir Robert Carr and Sir Robert Mansfield 
 clashed—both sending silver fire-shovels, tongs, and irons, &c.; 
 Sir Fulke Greville gave a gold cup ; Sir Charles Wilmot a 
 gold warming-pan ; the Countess of Shrewsbury’s present was 
 a gold basin and ewer, two gold pots, and “ some vessel, all of 
 gold ” ; and the Earl of Salisbury gave a suit of hangings for 
 which his father had paid ;£ 1,500, and another that had cost 
 .£800. Particularly noticeable was the present of the Lord 
 Admiral, the lady’s aged kinsman—a rich gold basin and ewer 
 (set with stones) that had been given to him by the King 
 of Spain ; but, when brought to the touch, it was proved not 
 to be of pure metal. The Spanish Ambassador sent a jewel 
 valued at £500, “if it hold good.” It appears that the 
 presents were submitted to the goldsmiths, who examined 
 them critically and appraised them cautiously. 
 
 The festivities were prolonged. At the King’s wish the 
 Lord Mayor entertained the royal favourite and his bride, 
 with their friends and followers, at the Mansion House, the 
 
76 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 guests (men on horseback and women in carriages) proceeding 
 in goodly show by torchlight. The bride had a new coach 
 for which she could not find four suitable horses. She begged 
 the loan of the famous team belonging to Sir Ralph Winwood, 
 who made answer that “ it was not for such a lady to use any¬ 
 thing borrowed ; and therefore, the next morning, presented 
 them to the great lord.” At first Somerset declared that he 
 could not accept so valuable a gift, but finally allowed his 
 scruples to be overcome. The solemnities concluded on 
 Twelfth Night with the performance of “ The Masque of 
 Flowers,” provided at the sole expense of Sir Francis Bacon 
 and presented before the Court in the Banqueting House 
 at Whitehall by the gentlemen of Gray’s Inn. 
 
 To turn from these festivities. At five o’clock on the 
 morning of the 15th of September, 1613 — ten days 
 before the decree of the nullity of the marriage between 
 Essex and Lady Frances Howard—died, miserably in the 
 Tower of London, a gentleman of rare accomplish¬ 
 ments, Sir Thomas Overbury; and between three and four 
 in the afternoon of that day, his body, a festering mass 
 of sores, was buried in the choir of the church within the 
 Tower. Sir Thomas Overbury, son of Sir Nicholas Over¬ 
 bury, of Bourton-on-the-Hill, in Gloucestershire, had been 
 Somerset’s old and intimate friend. When he was just past 
 his twentieth year (he was born in 1581) young Overbury 
 went “ upon a voyage of pleasure ” to Edinburgh, where he 
 met Sir William Cornwallis who had been his fellow-student 
 at Queen’s College, Oxford. By Cornwallis he was introduced 
 to Robert Carr, who was then page to the Earl of Dunbar. 
 Carr and Overbury struck up a friendship and travelled south 
 together. When Carr became powerful his friend shared in 
 his prosperity. On the 19th of June, 1608, Overbury was 
 knighted at Greenwich, and in the following year—on his 
 return from a tour in France and the Low Countries—was 
 thought, by well-informed persons, to have a good chance of 
 being appointed to an embassy. But he made many enemies 
 by his overbearing temper. At one time he incurred the Queen’s 
 displeasure, and was temporarily banished from Court. On 
 the 13th of November, 1611, Chamberlain wrote to Carleton 
 
LADY FRANCES HOWARD. 
 
 77 
 
 that “ Sir Thomas Overbury, by much suit, is referred to the 
 Court, and there is hope in time to the Queen’s favour.” 
 Subsequently the King took a deep dislike to him. The 
 gossip ran that Carr ruled the King and that Overbury ruled 
 Carr. Anxious to falsify this report the King proposed to 
 send Overbury abroad on diplomatic business. Overbury 
 refused to go, and was thereupon committed for contempt to 
 the Tower. Sir Henry Wotton, an astute observer, in a letter 
 to Sir Edmund Bacon (April 22, 1613) relates the manner 
 of Overbury’s committal, and ends with a sinister forecast :— 
 
 “ Yesterday, about six o’clock at evening, Sir Thomas Overbury was 
 from the council-chamber conveyed by a clerk of the council and two 
 of the guard of the Tower, and there, by warrant, consigned to the 
 lieutenant as close prisoner : which, both by the suddenness, like a 
 stroke of thunder, and more by the quality and relation of the person, 
 breeding in the beholders (whereof by chance I was one) very much 
 amazement, and being likely in some proportion to breed the like in the 
 hearers, I will adventure, for the satisfying of your thoughts about it, to 
 set down the fore-running and leading causes of this accident, as far in 
 so short a time I have been able to wade in so deep a water. 
 
 “ It is conceived that the king hath a good while been much dis¬ 
 tasted with the said gentleman, even in his own nature, for too stiff a 
 carriage of his fortune ; besides that scandalous offence of the Queen at 
 Greenwich, which was never but a palliated cure. Upon which con¬ 
 siderations His Majesty resolving to sever him from my Lord of 
 Rochester, and to do it not disgracefully nor violently, but in some 
 honourable fashion, commanded not long since the Archbishop by way 
 of familiar discourse to propound unto him the embassage of France, 
 or of the Archduke’s Court, whereof the one was shortly to be changed, 
 and the other at the present vacant. In which proposition it seemeth, 
 though shadowed under the Archbishop’s good will, that the King was 
 also contented some little light should be given him of His Majesty’s 
 inclination unto it, grounded upon his merit. At this the fish did not 
 bite ; whereupon the King took a rounder way, commanding my Lord 
 Chancellor and the Earl of Pembroke to propound jointly the same 
 unto him, which the Archbishop had before named, as immediately 
 from the King; and to sanction it the more, he had, as I hear, an offer 
 made him of assurance, before his going, of the place of treasurer of the 
 chamber, which he expecteth after the death of the Lord Stanhope, whom 
 belike the King would have drawn to some reasonable composition. 
 Notwithstanding all these motives and impulses, Sir Thomas Overbury 
 refused to be sent abroad, with such terms as were by the Council 
 interpreted pregnant of contempt in a case where the King had opened 
 his will; which refusal of his I should for my part esteem an eternal 
 disgrace to our occupation, if withal I did not consider how hard it is to 
 
7 » 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 pull one from the bosom of a favourite. Thus you see the point upon 
 which one hath been committed, standing in the second degree of 
 power in the Court, and conceiving (as himself told me but two hours 
 before) never better than at the present of his own fortunes and ends. 
 
 “ Now in this whole matter there is one main and principal doubt, 
 which doth trouble all understandings ; that is, whether this were done 
 ■without the participation oj my Lord Rochester ; a point necessarily 
 inviting two different consequences. For if it were done without his 
 knowledge, we must expect of himself either a decadence or a ruin ; if 
 not, we must then expect a reparation by some other great public 
 satisfaction whereof the world may take as much notice. These clouds 
 a few days will clear. In the meanwhile I dare pronounce of Sir 
 Thomas Overbury that he shall return no more to this stage, unless Courts 
 be governed every year by a new philosophy, for our old principles will 
 not bear it.” 
 
 Wotton was right in his last conjecture : Overbury did 
 return no more to this stage. 
 
 Ample evidence exists to prove that Overbury was induced by 
 Rochester to adopt a contumacious attitude towards the King. 
 Convinced that the favourite’s influence would be exerted on 
 his behalf, he confidently expected that he would be speedily 
 released from the Tower and receive valuable preferment. 
 But he was mistaken. At least two persons were bent on 
 his destruction—Essex’s divorced wife and her great-uncle 
 the Earl of Northampton—and with devilish cruelty they 
 accomplished their object, not (it is to be feared) without the 
 connivance of Rochester. 
 
 Lady Essex hated Overbury because he used every 
 effort to thwart her projected marriage with Rochester 
 Overbury approved of the arrangement that Lady Essex 
 should be Rochester’s mistress ; in fact he penned love- 
 letters to her in his friend’s name. But the prospect 
 of Rochester uniting himself by marriage with the house 
 of Howard filled him with aversion. He thought that 
 his influence with Rochester would be strong enough 
 to break off the proposed match ; for he was Rochester’s 
 trusted adviser and bosom friend, acquainted not only with 
 the innermost secrets 1 of state policy, but with the personal 
 
 1 “ I will undertake the time was,” said Bacon in his indictment of 
 Somerset, “ when Overbury knew more of the secrets of state than the 
 Council-table did.” 
 
LADY FRANCES HOWARD. 
 
 79 
 
 and private history of the King and his favourite. With the 
 view, it is said, 1 of dissuading his friend from the marriage he 
 wrote his poem “ A Wife,” for which his unhappy fate procured 
 a popularity that would otherwise have been inexplicable. 
 Overbury expatiates in the poem on the excellences that a 
 man should seek in his choice of a wife ; and these excellences, 
 beauty apart, were not to be found in the lady who was 
 petitioning for a divorce from the Earl of Essex, and was 
 intriguing with Rochester. Piety and discreet behaviour are 
 qualities on which the poet specially insists ; and we know 
 that in the matter of religious exercises the Countess was 
 remiss, for her maid Frances Brittain declared “ the Countess 
 never came to prayers.” If Overbury had contented himself 
 with writing “ A Wife” Lady Essex would have had little 
 ground of complaint; for, at least in the form preserved to 
 us, the poem merely describes the qualities that an ideal wife 
 should possess, and contains no reflections on her ladyship. 
 But his opposition took a much more active shape. On one 
 occasion Rochester returned late to his chamber in the privy 
 gallery at Whitehall and there found Overbury. “ How now,” 
 said Rochester, “ are you up yet ? ” “ Nay,” answered Over¬ 
 bury, “ what do you here at this time of night ? Will you never 
 leave the company of that base woman ? And seeing you do 
 so neglect my advice, I desire that to-morrow morning we 
 may part ; and that you will let me have that portion you 
 know is due to me ; and then I will leave you free to yourself 
 to stand on your own legs.” Rochester retorted that “ his legs 
 were strong enough to bear himself” ; and so they parted in 
 
 1 Sir Nicholas Overbury (Sir Thomas’s father), in the notes which he 
 dictated in 1637 to his grandson Nicholas Oldisworth, stated that “ Sir 
 Thomas wrote his poem called 1 A Wife' to induce Viscount Rochester 
 to make a better choice than of the divorced Countess ” (Add. MS. 15476). 
 Benjonson, in his conversations with William Drummond of Hawthorn- 
 den, declared that Overbury had been in love with the Countess of 
 Rutland, and “ caused Ben to read his ‘ Wife ’ to her, which he, with an 
 excellent grace did, and praised the author. That the morn thereafter 
 he discorded with Overbury, who would have him to intend a suit that 
 was unlawful. The lines my Lady kept in remembrance, ‘ He comes too 
 near that comes to be denied.’” About 1610 Jonson wrote an epigram in 
 praise of Overbury. He told Drummond that “Overbury was first his 
 friend and then his mortal enemy.” 
 
8o 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 anger. This conversation was overheard by Henry Peyton, 
 Overbury’s servant, who adds that they were never perfectly 
 reconciled again. 
 
 Overbury being committed to the Tower, Northampton and 
 the Countess commenced their villainous operations without 
 delay. Northampton, anxious to be in favour with Rochester, 
 “ and knowing,” as Bacon put it, “ Overbury’s malice to him¬ 
 self and to his house, thought that man must be removed and 
 cut off, so as certainly it was resolved and decreed that Over¬ 
 bury must die.” Sir William Waad was Lieutenant of the 
 Tower when Overbury was committed. Northampton found 
 a pretext for removing him from his office (on the ground 
 that he had shown too great indulgence to certain prisoners, 
 particularly Lady Arabella Stuart J ), and on the 6th of May 
 substituted in his place Sir Gervase Helwys (or Elwes), who 
 had been recommended by Sir Thomas Monson ; 1 2 3 at the 
 same time making Richard Weston, a protege of Monson, 
 under-keeper in the place of Carey. 
 
 Rochester destroyed many of the letters 3 that passed 
 between himself and Northampton, but in the face of the four 
 following letters of Northampton to Rochester, it is difficult 
 to believe that the younger man was ignorant of the plot 
 against Overbury’s life :— 
 
 1. “ In this business concerning Overbury there must be a main drift 
 and a real charge : You may imagine the meaning.” 
 
 2. “ I yesterday spent two hours in prompting the Lieutenant with as 
 great caution as I could, and find him to be very perfect in his part. 
 And I long exceedingly to hear his report of this adventure.” 
 
 3. “You need not use many instruments, so long as I am intowr with 
 the Lieutenant.” 
 
 4. “ I cannot deliver with what caution and discretion the Lieutenant 
 hath undertaken Overbury. But for his conclusion I do and ever will 
 love him the better ; which was this, That either Overbury shall recover 
 
 1 It was also given out that Waad had embezzled jewellery belonging 
 to this unfortunate lady. 
 
 2 Helwys paid £1,700 to Monson for procuring him the Lieutenancy 
 of the Tower. 
 
 3 One of the letter-writers of the time, Mr. John Castle, declared 
 “it would turn chaste blood into water to hear the unchaste and 
 unclean phrases that were contained” in Northampton’s letters to 
 Rochester. 
 
LADY FRANCES HOWARD. 
 
 81 
 
 and do good offices betwixt my Lord of Suffolk and you, which if he do 
 not you shall have reason to count him a knave ; or else that he shall not 
 recover at all, which he thinks the most sure and happy change of all, for he 
 finds sometimes from Overbury many flashes of a strong affection to 
 some enemies of his.” 
 
 Particularly noticeable is the third letter: “You need not 
 use many instruments, so long as I am in town, with the 
 Lieutenant.” Northampton was clearly under the impression 
 that Rochester’s agents were in communication with Helwys. 
 It was from the Countess that these agents received their in¬ 
 structions, but one cannot dismiss the suspicion that Rochester 
 must have been aware of the nature of those instructions. On 
 the 9th of May the under-keeper Weston mixed rosaker in 
 some broth prepared for Overbury ; on the 1st of July he tried 
 the effect of white arsenic on the prisoner ; and later he mixed 
 corrosive sublimate in tarts and jellies. Overbury had a 
 marvellously strong constitution which he had fortified against 
 poison by the use of antidotes. Dr. Francis Anthony on two 
 occasions sold aurum potabile to a servant of Overbury, while 
 he lay in the Tower, as an antidote against poison. The 
 Countess continually sent poisoned tarts and jellies to the 
 Tower for the prisoner’s use. On one occasion she wrote to 
 Helwys : “ I was bid to bid you say that these tarts came 
 not from me ; and again I was bid to tell you to take heed of 
 the tarts because there be letters in them, and therefore neither 
 give your wife nor children of them, but of the wine you may, 
 for there are no letters in it; Sir T. Monson will come from the 
 Court this day, and then we shall have other news.” Growing 
 impatient of the delay, she sent for Weston, who declared that 
 he had administered to the prisoner as much poison as would 
 kill twenty men. Among other agents she employed the 
 notorious Mrs. Turner, who not only tempered poisons herself 
 but engaged the services of one James Franklin, an apothecary, 
 “ then dwelling at the backside of the Exchange,” who pro¬ 
 cured seven different sorts of poison—aquafortis, white arsenic, 
 mercury, powder of diamonds, lapis costitu * great spiders, and 
 cantharides—which were all at various times given to the 
 unhappy victim. 
 
 Before his spirit was utterly broken by his sufferings 
 
 7 
 
82 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 Overbury addressed letters of threatening remonstrance to 
 Rochester. 
 
 “ Have we not protested friendship of souls ? [he exclaimed] and 
 yet will you sacrifice me for a woman, and will you break this oath ? 
 
 . . . You visit your woman, curl your hair, and perfume your clothes 
 while I languish in prison. . . . But know this : I have all this long 
 vacation written your story, how I found you at the first, how I have 
 lost all the great ones for your sake, what secrets I have partaken, 
 and at the last, when you had won your woman by my letters and 
 working, you juggled with me and thus betrayed me ; how at Hunting¬ 
 don and Newmarket you vowed I should not live at Court nor with my 
 friends ; how treacherously you sent for me thrice that day wherein I 
 was caught in this trap : this I have sealed under seven seals, whereof 
 my friends shall know ; and if you persist to deal thus inhumanely with 
 me, I will leave you to die with shame.” 
 
 Harleian MS. 7002 preserves passages from letters wherein 
 Overbury recorded details of his sufferings. It appears that 
 on certain occasions he was attended by the King’s physician, 
 Dr. Mayerne. One passage runs : “ I was let blood Wednes¬ 
 day ten o’clock ; to this Friday morning my heat slackens 
 not, my water remains as high, my thirstiness the same ; the 
 same loathing of meat, having eat not a bit since Thursday 
 was se’night [seven-night] to this hour ; the same scouring 
 and vomiting. Yesternight about eight o’clock, after Mr. 
 Mayerns [Dr. Mayerne] was gone, I fainted.” Three surgeons, 
 Cragg [or Craig], Nasmyth, and Abraham Allen also attended 
 him. 
 
 Sir Nicholas Overbury petitioned the King to allow him 
 access to his sick son, and the King replied that his own phy¬ 
 sician should be sent. Then Sir Nicholas addressed himself 
 to Rochester, who assured him that his son would be quickly 
 released, and begged him not to prefer any more petitions to 
 the King. Rochester also wrote to Sir Thomas’s mother, 
 urging that her stay in town would be of no advantage to 
 the prisoner, and that he would be a free man by the time she 
 reached home. Sir John Lidcote, Overbury’s brother-in-law, 
 obtained permission (by a warrant from Northampton) to see 
 the prisoner in the Tower, and found him in bed, very feeble, 
 with his head dry and his speech hollow. At parting, Over¬ 
 bury asked him softly “ whether Somerset juggled with him 
 
LADY FRANCES HOWARD. 
 
 33 
 
 or not?” To which Lidcote replied that he thought not. 
 Later, “ Coming to press my Lord of Somerset,” says Lidcote, 
 
 “ about Sir T. Overbury, I perceived he dealt not plainly with 
 him. And once speaking with my Lord about him, he gave 
 a counterfeit sigh (as this deponent conceived) for at that 
 instant he smiled in my face.” 
 
 After many weeks of cruel suffering, Overbury died on the 
 15th of September from the immediate effects of a clyster 
 administered (at the prescription of Dr. Mayerne) on the 
 previous day by Paul de Lobel, an apothecary dwelling in 
 Lime Street. Whether the clyster had been poisoned or 
 Overbury died of sheer exhaustion is doubtful. He died. 
 hard : Weston is said to have smothered him when the end 
 was near. 
 
 On receipt of the news of Overbury’s death Northampton 
 wrote to Hehvys :— 
 
 “ Noble Lieutenant, If the knave's body be foul, bury it presently ; I’ll 
 stand between you and harm : but if it will abide the view, send for 
 Lidcote, and let him see it to satisfy the damned crew. 1 When you 
 come to me, bring me this letter again yourself or else burn it.— North¬ 
 ampton.” 
 
 At twelve o’clock he dispatched a second letter, un¬ 
 signed :— 
 
 “ Worthy Mr. Lieutenant, Let me entreat you to call Lidcote and 
 three or four friends, if so many come to view the body, if they have 
 not already done it ; and so soon as it is viewed, without staying the 
 coming of a messenger from the Court, in any case see him interred in 
 the body of the Chapel within the Tower instantly. If they have viewed, 
 then bury it by and by ; for it is time, considering the humours of that 
 damned crew, that only desire means to move pity and raise scandals. 
 Let no man’s instance cause you to make stay in any case, and bring 
 me these letters when I next see you. Fail not a jot herein, as you love 
 your friends ; nor after Lidcote and his friends have viewed, stay one 
 minute, but let the priest be ready, and if Lidcote be not there send for 
 him speedily, pretending that the body will not tarry.—Yours ever. In 
 post-haste at twelve.” 
 
 Later in the day he sent yet a third letter, after conferring 
 with Rochester:— 
 
 1 /.£., Overbury’s relatives and friends. 
 
8 4 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 “ Worthy Mr. Lieutenant, My Lord of Rochester, desiring to do the 
 last honour to his deceased friend, requires me to desire you to deliver 
 the body of Sir T. Overbury to any friend of his that desires it, to do 
 him honour at his funeral. Herein my Lord declares the constancy of 
 his affection to the dead, and the meaning that he had in my knowledge 
 to have given his strongest strain, at this time of the King’s being at 
 Theobald’s, for his delivery. 1 I fear no impediment to this honourable 
 desire of my Lord’s but the unsweetness of the body, because it was 
 reputed that he had some issues, and in that case the keeping of him 
 above must needs give more offence than it can do honour. My fear 
 is also that the body is already buried upon that cause whereof I write ; 
 which being so, it is too late to set out solemnity. This with my 
 kindest commendations I end, and rest your affectionate and assured 
 friend, H. Northampton. 
 
 “ P.S.—You see my Lord’s earnest desire, with my concurring care, 
 that all respect be had to him that may be for the credit of his memory. 
 But yet I wish withal that you do very discreetly inform yourself 
 whether this grace hath been afforded formerly to close prisoners, or 
 whether you may grant my request in this case, who speak out of the 
 sense of my Lord’s affection, though I be a Councillor, without offence 
 or prejudice. For I would be loth to draw either you or myself into 
 censure now I have well thought of the matter, though it be a work of 
 charity.” 
 
 Helwys hastily summoned a coroner’s jury, six of the jurors 
 being gaolers, and the interment took place between three 
 and four in the afternoon. Northampton, with brutal exulta¬ 
 tion, described to Rochester the sorry state of the corpse at 
 the inquest. Not content with poisoning Overbury’s body, 
 Northampton vilified his memory—giving out that he had 
 died of lues venerea. 
 
 The murder accomplished, all went well for a time with 
 Somerset and Lady Essex. She had procured her divorce, 
 and the pair had been made man and wife amid the plaudits 
 of the Court. New honours soon fell on the bride’s father 
 and husband. Her grand-uncle, Northampton, who had been 
 First Commissioner of the Treasury since the post of Trea¬ 
 surer was put in commission, in 1612, on Salisbury’s death, 
 himself died in June, 1614. Thereupon the great office of 
 Treasurer was revived and bestowed on Lord Suffolk, North¬ 
 ampton’s nephew and Lady Somerset’s father. At the same 
 
 1 It would be charitable to judge that Rochester had repented of his 
 callous conduct, and really had the intention of procuring Overbury’s 
 release. 
 
LADY FRANCES HOWARD. 
 
 85 
 
 time Suffolk yielded his office of Lord Chamberlain to his 
 new son-in-law. The King’s affection for Somerset seemed 
 as strong as ever. When creating him Chamberlain, James 
 declared that “ forasmuch as it was a place of great nearness 
 to his person, he had therefore made choice of him thereto, 
 whom of all men living he most cherished, my Lord of 
 Somerset. To whom addressing himself with the most 
 amiable condescension that might be used, he said these 
 words : ‘ Lo, here, friend Somerset ’; offering therewith the 
 
 staff, which the other, prostrating himself upon his knees, 
 received with some few but effectual words of acknowledg¬ 
 ment ” (Rev. Thomas Lorkin to Sir Thomas Puckering, 
 Bart., July 21, 1614). In March, 1615, Lady Somerset 
 went with her family to Cambridge, where her father had 
 been installed Chancellor in succession to his uncle. Lord 
 Suffolk resided in extravagant state at St. John’s College, 
 Cambridge, awaiting a visit from the King to the University. 
 In all the academic festivities that followed James’s arrival, 
 Lady Suffolk and her daughters took a prominent share, 
 and it was noticed that few other ladies joined the royal party. 
 
 But the triumph of the guilty bride and bridegroom was 
 short-lived. A new favourite was soon to appear in the 
 person of George Villiers (ultimately Duke of Bucking¬ 
 ham) whom the Queen and Archbishop brought in as a 
 rival to the powerful Earl of Somerset. The King, in spite 
 of his recent avowals of regard, was becoming tired of 
 Somerset. On the 24th of November the observant John 
 Chamberlain hinted to Carleton that the world was not 
 going quite so well with Somerset as formerly ; and on the 
 1st of December he wrote that, in spite of the scarcity of 
 money, the King had given ,£1,500 towards the expenses 
 of a masque which was being prepared for the gracing of 
 young Villiers. There is extant in the Lambeth Library a 
 long and violent letter, undated and unsigned, but doubtless 
 written early in 1615, in which the King inveighs bitterly 
 against Somerset’s overbearing conduct and hints not ob¬ 
 scurely at reprisals. One sentence runs: “ Do not all 
 courtesies and places come through your office as Chamber- 
 lain, and rewards through your father-in-law as Treasurer?” 
 
86 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 “If ever I find,” continues the King, “that you think 
 to retain me by one sparkle of fear, all the violence 
 of my love will in that instant be changed into as violent 
 a hatred.” And again: “You have, in many of your mad 
 fits, done what you can to persuade me that you mean not 
 so much to hold me by love as by awe, and that you have 
 me so far in your reverence as that I dare not offend you 
 or resist your appetites.” There is much more in the same 
 strain. 
 
 It was clearly a matter of life and death for Somerset to 
 oppose Villiers’s rapid advancement. But all his efforts were 
 vain. If Somerset had retained the King’s favour, Overbury’s 
 murder would never have been avenged. When it became 
 clear that Villiers’ star was in the ascendant, a way was easily 
 found for humiliating the arrogant favourite who had lorded 
 it over the obsequious Court. 
 
 The manner of the discovery of Overbury’s murder has 
 been variously related. According to Wilson, “the apothe¬ 
 cary’s boy that gave Sir T. Overbury the clyster, falling sick 
 at Flushing, revealed the whole matter which Sir R. Winwood, 
 by his correspondents, had a full relation of.” The same 
 account is given by Weldon, with the addition that the boy 
 was named Reeve, and that “ Thoumbal, the foreign agent ” 
 (*>., William Trumbull, agent to Archduke Albert), unwilling 
 to commit such dangerous matter to paper, obtained special 
 licence to return to England and communicate his informa¬ 
 tion to Secretary Winwood. At the Countess of Somerset’s 
 indictment, the Attorney-General (Bacon) stated that the late 
 Lord Shrewsbury commended Sir Gervase Helwys, the 
 Lieutenant of the Tower, for his good qualities to a certain 
 Councillor; that the Councillor, while expressing himself 
 sensible of the favour, added that he would be glad to 
 see Helwys cleared of the suspicions attached to Overbury’s 
 death : which speech was related by Shrewsbury to Helwys, 
 who thereupon proceeded to confess that to his knowledge 
 some attempts had been made on Overbury’s life, but 
 that those attempts had been checked. The Councillor 
 lost no time in acquainting the King with the matter, and 
 his Majesty presently ordered that Helwys should set down 
 
LADY FRANCES HOWARD. 
 
 87 
 
 all he knew of the affair in writing. D’Ewes and Bishop 
 Goodman give a similar account, adding that the Councillor 
 was Sir Ralph Winwood. It is well known that Winwood 
 cherished a personal grievance. When Somerset declared 
 that he had conferred the Secretaryship of State on Winwood, 
 and bitterly accused him of ingratitude for taking part in the 
 Overbury inquiry, Winwood replied that for his Secretaryship 
 he thanked not Somerset, but the £j,ooo which he had paid 
 Somerset for the office. 
 
 In September, 1615, the investigation into the causes of 
 Overbury’s death began ; Lord Chief Justice Coke showing 
 the utmost zeal in his conduct of the inquiry, and the King 
 closely scanning the depositions of witnesses (ready to restrain 
 Coke’s activity if it were pushed too far). The first witness 
 examined was Sir William Waad, Lieutenant of the Tower 
 when Overbury was committed. Then came the examination 
 of Helwys; Weston; Mrs. Turner; Sir Thomas Monson, 
 who had recommended Helwys and Weston for their posts ; 
 Robert Bright, the coroner at the inquest; Paul de Lobell, 
 the apothecary ; Overbury’s servants, Lawrence Davies and 
 Giles Rawlins; Eleanor Dunne, who laid out the body ; 
 Simon Merston (one of the King’s musicians), who took tarts 
 and jellies for Overbury to Weston from the Countess ; and 
 others. Not wishing to proceed single-handed with so diffi¬ 
 cult and dangerous an inquiry, Coke soon begged the King 
 to appoint a Commission. Accordingly the Lord Chancellor 
 (Ellesmere), the Duke of Lenox, and Lord Zouch, were joined 
 with Coke. As a result of the preliminary investigation, the 
 Earl 1 and Countess were required by the Commissioners on 
 
 1 Shortly before the order was given, the King had parted with 
 Somerset at Royston, with exaggerated protestations of affection, 
 hanging about his neck and slobbering his cheeks, saying, “ For God’s 
 sake, when shall I see thee again ? On my soul I shall neither eat nor 
 sleep until you come again.” Bnt Somerset was no sooner in his coach 
 than the King exclaimed, in the hearing of four servants, “ I shall never 
 see his face more.” So writes Weldon, who professes that he was 
 himself present when the King parted from Somerset. See also Roger 
 Coke’s “Detection of the Court and State of England,” 1696. The 
 author was grandson of the Lord Chief Justice by his fourth son, and 
 his account of the issue of the warrant for the Earl’s arrest (with 
 particulars relating to the arrest), was drawn from one of the Chief 
 Justice's sons. 
 
88 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 the 17th of October to keep their chambers; and on the 
 following day the Earl, for attempting to communicate with 
 Mrs. Turner, and for seizing certain papers in the possession 
 of Weston’s son, was taken, under the custody of Sir Oliver 
 St. John, to the Dean of Westminster’s house, whence after 
 some delay (pending the receipt of instructions from the 
 King) he was removed to the Tower. The Countess, who 
 was heavy with child, was committed to the custody of Sir 
 William and Lady Smithe in the Blackfriars. 
 
 The subsidiary actors in the tragedy were first dealt with. 
 On the 19th of October Richard Weston was arraigned at 
 the Guildhall for the murder of Overbury, and obstinately 
 refused to plead. The terrible penalty for standing mute— 
 the peine forte et dure —was explained to him, but his resolve 
 was unshaken, and he was remanded till the following Monday. 
 Important evidence, to show the violence of the Countess’s 
 enmity against Overbury, was given to the Commissioners 
 on the 21 st of October, by Sir David Wood. He testified 
 that the lady had offered him .£1,000 if he would assassinate 
 Overbury (before his committal to the Tower); that he had 
 replied he would be hangman to nobody nor go to Tyburn 
 at a woman’s word, but if Rochester would guarantee his 
 safety he would be the readier for her sake to come to blows 
 with Overbury (who had thwarted him in a suit): whereupon 
 the Countess said that she could make no promise about 
 Rochester, but that Overbury might easily be killed some 
 night on his way home from Sir Charles Wilmot’s. Mean¬ 
 while strong pressure was brought against Weston to induce 
 him to plead, with the result that when he came up again on 
 the 23rd of October, at the Guildhall, he submitted himself 
 to trial, made a rambling and confused defence, was found 
 Guilty by the jury, and after a brief delay (the authorities 
 having meanwhile got from him all the information that they 
 wanted) was hanged at Tyburn. 
 
 On the 7th of November, Mrs. Turner was tried at the 
 King’s Bench for comforting, aiding, and assisting Weston in 
 the poisoning of Overbury. In the course of the trial curiosity 
 was roused by the production of a MS. list, compiled by the 
 late Dr. Simon Forman, showing “ what ladies were in love 
 
LADY FRANCES HOWARD. 
 
 89 
 
 with what lords.” According to the gossip of the time, the 
 Lord Chief Justice, when the list (which he would not permit 
 to be read in Court) was handed up to him, found his own 
 wife’s name on the first page. Magical charms, inscribed by 
 Forman on parchment, were also produced. In summing up 
 Coke informed the prisoner that she had the seven deadly 
 sins—that she was a whore, a bawd, a sorceress, a witch, a 
 papist, a felon, and a murderess. The jury found her Guilty, 
 and, when asked what she had to say for herself, she only 
 desired favour, and could hardly speak for weeping. After 
 her conviction she was attended by the Rev. Dr. Whiting, to 
 whom she expressed herself profoundly penitent for her 
 wickedness, and exclaimed against the Court, “ where was 
 nothing but malice, pride, whoredom, swearing, and rejoicing 
 in the fall of others.” The tradition goes that by Coke’s 
 orders she was hanged in yellow starched ruffs (she having 
 brought in the fashion of yellow starch), and that the hang¬ 
 man wore yellow ruffs for the occasion. At the scaffold 
 she requested to be allowed to pray for the Countess, “ as 
 she wished to do so while she had breath.” She met her 
 death with exemplary patience. 
 
 Sir Gervase Helwys’ trial, for aiding and abetting Weston, 
 followed on the 16th of November. He defended himself 
 with spirit, admitting that he was an accessory after the fact, 
 but claiming that, since the inquiry began, he had materially 
 helped the authorities to discover the facts. When he had 
 finished pleading, Coke flourished in his face the confession 
 of Franklin made at five o’clock on that very morning. That 
 Helwys was privy to the murder there can be no reasonable 
 doubt; but Coke’s conduct of the trial was severely criticized 
 even by his contemporaries. By royal favour Helwys was 
 hanged on Tower Hill (November 20th), being spared the 
 ignominy of execution at Tyburn. 
 
 Franklin, the apothecary, came up for trial on the 27th of 
 November. His confession was read, he was found Guilty, 
 sentenced to death, and duly hanged at Tyburn. Before his 
 trial he had been frequently examined, and after his con¬ 
 viction the Rev. Dr. Whiting took him in hand. The 
 wretched creature alleged that Lord Suffolk was implicated 
 
yo 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 in the murder, and that “more were to be poisoned and 
 murdered than are yet known.” He hinted at plots against 
 the Queen, and the Palsgrave, and declared “ I can make 
 one discovery that should deserve my life.” 
 
 On the 4th of December, Sir Thomas Monson. (patron of 
 Dr. Thomas Campion, the poet and musician), was arraigned. 
 He had recommended Helwys and Weston for their posts in 
 the Tower, and had been in frequent communication with the 
 Countess of Somerset. At Monson’s trial Coke dropped some 
 insinuations that Overbury’s murder was not unconnected 
 with Prince Henry’s death, “intimating, though not plainly,” 
 in Wilson’s words, “ that Overbury’s untimely remove had 
 something in it of retaliation, as if he had been guilty of the 
 same crime against Prince Henry.” Monson was committed 
 to the Tower, and was liberated on bail in October, 1616, 
 finally receiving his pardon in February, 1616-17. The King 
 was greatly incensed with Coke for his indiscreet observations 
 at Monson’s trial. 
 
 Meanwhile a close watch was kept upon the arch-con¬ 
 triver of the murder, the Countess of Somerset. It was feared 
 that she meditated suicide. On the 17th of November her 
 keeper, Sir William Smithe, reported that, laying her hand 
 on her belly, she had exclaimed, “ If I were rid of this 
 burden it is my death that is looked for, and my death 
 they shall have.” She was brought to bed on the 9th of 
 December, of a daughter, and on the 27th of March, 
 1616, she was parted from her infant and committed to 
 the Tower, where her husband had been imprisoned for more 
 than five months. She passionately entreated the Lieutenant 
 of the Tower, Sir George More, that she might not be 
 placed in the room where Overbury had died ; so he gave 
 up his own chamber for two or three nights until the 
 lodging lately occupied by Sir Walter Raleigh could be 
 made ready. Her trial was first fixed for the 15th of April, 
 and Somerset was to be tried on the following day. But 
 from time to time the trials were deferred, much to the 
 annoyance of peers who had been summoned from the 
 country to attend at Westminster Hall; to the annoyance, 
 too, of people who had paid heavy prices in advance for seats 
 
LADY FRANCES HOWARD. 
 
 9 r 
 
 in court, and, unable to wait in town when the term was over, 
 had been called into the country before the trials began. A 
 lawyer paid ten pounds for a seat for himself and his wife ; 
 and fifty pounds was the price paid for a small corner that 
 would barely contain a dozen persons. In the second week 
 of May the Countess was prostrated by violent sickness, some 
 suspecting that she had taken poison ; but finally, on the 24th 
 of May, she was brought up for trial before the Peers at 
 Westminster Hall. She wore a dress of black tammel, a 
 cypress chaperon, a ruff and cuffs of cobweb lawn. She 
 trembled and shed tears during the reading of the indictment; 
 and concealed her face with her fan when Weston’s name 
 was mentioned. Her sober demeanour at her trial won pity 
 from the beholders, though Chamberlain thought that her 
 manner was more curious and confident than was fitting 
 for the occasion. The Attorney-General, Sir Francis Bacon, 
 bearing well in mind the King’s instructions, treated her with 
 more consideration than was usually shown to prisoners ; he 
 neither aggravated her offence nor indulged in invective. The 
 proceedings were quickly at an end, for the Countess pleaded 
 Guilty. When she was asked what defence she could offer 
 why sentence of death should not be passed upon her, she 
 answered that she could much aggrave but nothing extenuate 
 her fault; she desired mercy, and that the Lords would 
 intercede for her to the King. The Lord Chancellor Elles¬ 
 mere, acting for the time as Lord High Steward, in pronoun¬ 
 cing sentence assured her that he did not doubt the Lords 
 would commend her to the King’s grace. Among the spec¬ 
 tators in Court, but not obtrusively conspicuous, was her 
 former husband, the Earl of Essex. 
 
 Somerset’s trial followed next day. Bacon had employed 
 every mean and cunning device to induce him to con¬ 
 fess. The King had written with his own hand several 
 letters to the Lieutenant of the Tower, and had sent a trusted 
 agent to confer with the prisoner. But Somerset stood firm 
 in his denial of guilt. It was feared that in open court he 
 would speak words derogatory to the King’s dignity, and 
 elaborate precautions were taken with a view to silencing him 
 —instantly and forcibly—if he should attempt to give the 
 
i)2 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 rein to his tongue. The King waited at Greenwich : his un¬ 
 easiness increased as the day of the trial approached, and 
 during the trial he was in an agony of suspense. At ten 
 o’clock the proceedings began, but long before that hour the 
 Hall was thronged. Chamberlain arrived at six o’clock in 
 the morning, and for ten shillings procured a reasonable 
 place. He had never seen so many great personages gathered 
 together before. Bacon’s speech for the prosecution was 
 most skilful and elaborate, but grossly unfair: he relied on 
 tainted evidence, he suppressed facts that might have told 
 in the prisoner’s favour, and exaggerated whatever might tend 
 to his discredit. The Earl’s able and dignified defence did 
 not avail him before the Peers, but was not without its effect 
 on public opinion. All day long the trial continued, and when 
 night fell the proceedings were conducted by torchlight, 
 and the heat grew intolerable. At ten o’clock the prisoner 
 was sentenced to death. 
 
 Outside the court there was a general wish that the King 
 should spare his life (Pallavicino to Carleton, May 29, 1616). 
 Weldon says that, though many believed him to be guilty 
 of Overbury’s death, “ the most thought him guilty only of a 
 breach of friendship (and that in a high point) by suffering 
 his imprisonment, which was the highway to his murder; and 
 this conjecture, I take to be of the soundest opinion.” Sir 
 George More, Lieutenant of the Tower, held the same view, 
 which has also found favour with modern authorities. But 
 Northampton’s letters are a stumbling-block. 
 
 Public feeling, which favoured the Earl, ran high against 
 the Countess. On one occasion, in July, 1616, the populace, 
 in a wild belief that the Countess and her mother were inside, 
 attacked a coach in which the Queen was riding privately 
 with some friends. But in well-informed circles it was soon 
 known that both Somerset and his lady would be pardoned. 
 On the 20th of July Chamberlain saw and actually held in 
 his hand the Countess’s pardon before it went to the Seal. 
 The grounds on which it was granted were four—the public 
 services of her father and family; her penitence, and her 
 confession made before and after her arraignment; the pro¬ 
 mise of the Lord Steward and the Peers to intercede for her; 
 
LADY FRANCES HOWARD. 
 
 93 
 
 the fact that she was not principal but accessory, and had 
 been influenced by base persons. In December it was 
 rumoured that the Earl would receive not only his pardon (he 
 steadfastly refused to acknowledge that he was guilty) but 
 an allowance of ,64,000 per annum and permission to keep his 
 jewellery. Meanwhile the prisoners were comfortably lodged 
 and had the freedom of the Tower, spending much of their 
 time with the Earl of Northumberland, who had been com¬ 
 mitted at the time of the Gunpowder Plot, and was now a 
 privileged prisoner of long standing. Lord Hay, afterwards 
 Viscount Doncaster, renowned for his lavish extravagance, 
 was a frequent visitor. He was paying his addresses to 
 Northumberland’s daughter, Lady Lucy Percy. North¬ 
 umberland strongly objected to the suit, and Lady 
 Somerset encouraged it; a difference of opinion which led 
 Northumberland to indulge in violent language against 
 Lady Somerset. 
 
 Finally, in January, 1621-2, Somerset and his Countess 
 were released from the Tower on the understanding that 
 they were to reside at Grays in Oxfordshire, a seat of 
 William Knollys, Lord Wallingford, afterwards Earl of 
 Banbury. The latter was husband of Lady Somerset’s elder 
 sister Elizabeth, whose two sons were presumably the off¬ 
 spring of Lord Vaux. 1 On several occasions Somerset 
 petitioned James Land Charles I.on the subject of his allow¬ 
 ance, claiming that more generous treatment should be 
 accorded to him ; but his complaints were not regarded, and 
 in Charles I.’s reign pressing requests were made to him that 
 he should give up some valuable jewellery which (it was 
 alleged) belonged to the Crown. Chiswick House became 
 the permanent home of Somerset and the Countess. Of 
 their later life little is known. Wilson declares that they 
 lived to hate the sight of one another, and that they finally 
 ceased to hold any conversation. The Countess died on the 
 23rd of August, 1632, aged about thirty-nine. Wilson gives 
 a description, too loathsome for reproduction, of her illness 
 and death (which resulted from uterine disorder). Somerset 
 
 1 The doubt as to their paternity occasioned the Banbury Peerage 
 Case, finally settled against her in 1813. 
 
94 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 was buried on the 17th of July, 1645, in the Church of St. 
 Paul’s, Covent Garden. 
 
 Their only child Anne, married in 1637, William, Lord 
 Russell, afterwards Duke of Bedford. The latter’s father, 
 Francis Earl of Bedford (one of the Peers who had con¬ 
 demned Somerset), was at first violently opposed to the 
 match. To raise a dowry of £1 2,000 Somerset was com¬ 
 pelled to sell his jewellery and mortgage Chiswick House. 
 Anne had been carefully brought up in ignorance of her 
 parents’ history. The story goes that one day in the library 
 at Chiswick, she chanced to pick up a pamphlet on the Over¬ 
 bury inquiry, and was so affected by the reading of it that 
 she fell on the floor in a swoon. William, Lord Russell, the 
 patriot, was her son, and he owed his tragic death to the 
 evidence of his treacherous ally, his cousin, Lord Howard of 
 Escrick. The latter was nephew of Lady Frances. The son 
 of the “ patriot martyr ” became the second Duke of Bedford 
 in succession to his grandfather : one of Lord Russell’s two 
 daughters (Rachel) married the second Duke of Devonshire, 
 and the other (Catherine) married the second Duke of Rut¬ 
 land. Thus, at the present day, the three dukes, of Bedford, 
 Devonshire, and Rutland respectively, trace their descent in 
 direct line from the infamous Frances Howard. 
 
 Lady Frances escaped a violent death, but disgrace, seclu¬ 
 sion, and disease deprived the last seventeen years of her 
 career of all that makes life valuable. The sordid story has 
 no lack of tragic elements. She set forth on her worldly 
 pilgrimage endowed with beauty, rank, and wealth in rare 
 unison and abundance. To education she owed nothing, and 
 her inherited temperament left her powerless as a girl to 
 control her unlawful passions, and reckless by what modes 
 she gratified them. As she grew to womanhood, her grand¬ 
 uncle’s counsel taught her, too, to long for the sweets of 
 worldly power and predominance. The King’s favourite 
 offered her a lover’s homage. She barely needed a coun¬ 
 sellor to suggest to her that marriage with so potent a 
 suitor would bring her, besides an assured continuance of 
 private happiness, a personal ascendancy over those who 
 helped to rule the realm. To reach her twofold goal, she did 
 
LADY FRANCES HOWARD. 
 
 95 
 
 not flinch from divorcing her first husband by means that a 
 modest woman would have hesitated to adopt, or from 
 murdering her lover’s friend, when he threatened to obstruct 
 her path. But retribution came swiftly. No sooner was 
 her design to all appearance successfully accomplished, than 
 she stood before the world a convicted murderess and 
 adulteress—the guiding spirit of a vulgar crew of heartless 
 criminals. In earlier days her graces had been the frequent 
 theme of courtly song, but as she sank into the grave there 
 only echoed in her ears the harsh-tongued curses of a nation 
 on whose fair fame her sins had cast a slur. 
 
 Geoffrey Martin. 
 
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DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND . 
 
 8 
 

 
 
 
 
BARBARA V1LLIERS. 
 
BARBARA VILLIERS, 
 
 DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. 
 
 (1640—1709.) 
 
 “ You have that perfection of beauty (without thinking it so) which 
 others of your sex but think they have ; that generosity in your actions 
 which others of your quality have only in their promises ; that spirit, 
 wit, and judgment and all other qualifications which fit heroes to 
 command and would make any but your Grace proud.” 
 
 Wycherley to the Duchess of Cleveland. 
 
 B ARBARA VILLIERS was born at the end of the year 
 1640, but her history begins on the 29th of May, 1660. 
 On that day King Charles II., restored to his throne, rode in 
 solemn state through the streets of London to his palace 
 and began his reign with an act of criminal self-indulgence, 
 which was but too fitting a prelude to all that was to follow. 
 One may forgive him for his short and colourless replies to 
 the addresses of the citizens and the legislators, or even for 
 yawning at the eloquence of Sir Harbottle Grimstone, which 
 was in quantity portentous and notably soporific in quality. 
 A king on such a day might wish to be left to his own busy 
 and exalted thoughts, and plead eagerness for rest and 
 meditation as an excuse for such lack of royal courtesy. Nor 
 should we grudge him the sweet and sedate repose to which 
 the Court historian alleges that he retired. But one need not 
 be very prudish to condemn without reserve a monarch who 
 at such a moment had no thoughts save of an immoral 
 assignation. Charles, as he rode and listened to the accla¬ 
 mations of his loyal and jubilant subjects, was scheming only 
 how he could most speedily slink away to the caresses of 
 Barbara Palmer. And no sooner was he free than he went 
 
 99 
 
IOO 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 to where she awaited him. Antiquarians are not at one as 
 to where they met that night, but the question need not 
 detain us. It is more to the point to say that till then the 
 lady had not granted to her royal lover the last favour ; and 
 that the learned annotator to Burnet’s History was wrong in 
 his remarks on her condition at the time. 
 
 Barbara Palmer was then in her twentieth year. She was 
 tall, and her figure was the admiration of all beholders. Her 
 hair was dark, nearly black, and the flash of her blue eyes 
 showed how imperious a spirit lurked beneath. Even then 
 she had nothing to learn in the arts of corruption from the 
 vilest of her sex ; but her address and bearing were worthy 
 of her unblemished descent. 
 
 “ The King might add,” says a contemporary, “to her titles, 
 but very little to her blood.” Her father, William Villiers, 
 Viscount Grandison, had been a man of such rare and con¬ 
 spicuous virtues, that the vices of his daughter are a sore 
 problem to believers in the doctrines of heredity. The 
 eloquent praise lavished on him by the great Clarendon is 
 a more lasting and a worthier memorial to his goodness 
 than the monument which his child—in a fit of tardy remorse, 
 perhaps—caused to be placed over his remains in Christ 
 Church. She might have done him greater honour by paying 
 his debts ; but she preferred the cheaper way. He had died 
 at Oxford, when Barbara was three years old, from wounds 
 received in the service of the King at Bristol; and we learn 
 from the high-flown inscription (of which the Latinity is 
 inferior to the sentiment) that he lost his life by an act of 
 dauntless courage ; for primus, admotis scalis, vallum super• 
 avit. His daughter could admire but not emulate his other 
 good qualities ; but in courage, to do her justice, she was 
 his equal, though she was bold only in evildoing. 
 
 Soon after the death of Viscount Grandison his widow 
 married again, her second husband being Charles Villiers, 
 Earl of Anglesea, a cousin of the first. Barbara, it seems, 
 was now left in the country to be educated, or not educated, 
 after the fashion of girls of that age. One can only judge 
 from the results, which show that her training was thoroughly 
 bad. She came to London, a girl of sixteen, to live in the 
 
DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. 
 
 IOI 
 
 house of her stepfather, and in a trice we find her deep in 
 an intrigue with a notorious rake. “ lncestos amoves de tenero 
 meditatur ungui.” Her amour with the Earl of Chesterfield, 
 who was some five years her senior, showed her to be at 
 least his equal in corruption. Letters have been preserved 
 in which she makes assignations at mercers’ shops in the 
 City and elsewhere, with all the assurance of long practice, 
 and talks with a lack of reserve rare, even in those unre¬ 
 strained days, for one so young. This earl had “ a very 
 agreeable countenance, a fine head of hair, an indifferent 
 figure, and a worse air ; he was not, however, deficient in 
 wit ” ; and of his jealousy—which later became a proverb at 
 Court—there are in his correspondence not a few traces. 
 The liaison was not interrupted by the lady’s marriage, which 
 took place on April 14, 1659, in the church of St. Gregory 
 by St. Paul’s. The man who, in spite of paternal opposition, 
 married Barbara Villiers was Roger Palmer, second son of 
 Sir James Palmer, of Hayes in Middlesex, who was pre¬ 
 paring himself for public life at the Inner Temple. He was, 
 it seems, a gentleman of no inconsiderable parts, and of 
 imperturbable amiability—amiability which exceeded his 
 discretion ; but he found himself thrust into a position where 
 no man could have borne himself with distinction, and 
 perhaps in more favourable circumstances he might have 
 shown some strength of character. 
 
 The married life of the Palmers may be passed over lightly, 
 for it was an unimportant epoch in this history. It was 
 troubled at its outset by the lady’s vagaries and by her illness 
 from small-pox, which, however, had but little effect on her 
 beauty. She continued her correspondence with the Earl 
 of Chesterfield, and “ Mounser ,” as she preferred to call her 
 husband, was jealous. But he was relieved from this cause 
 of anxiety by the Earl himself, who, having killed his man in 
 a duel, had to fly the country. Although Madam Palmer’s 
 affections followed him, and she expressed willingness to go 
 all over the world with him, he soon contracted other ties, 
 and left her to lament his loss. In her intercourse with the 
 Earl Barbara Palmer had been meek and submissive : she 
 was the slave and he the master. He protested and she 
 
102 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 languished. The tone of her letters to him is a surprise to 
 those who know her only as the termagant duchess. But 
 her mildness availed her little, and, as has been said, the 
 Earl soon cooled in his affections, and before long he was 
 married. She relished the experience so little that hence¬ 
 forward she was determined to try far different methods with 
 her lovers. It was plain to her that it was the better way in 
 such cases to assume the command, and to trust to vehemence 
 rather than to gentleness ; and these things she did, to her own 
 great worldly advantage and to the undoing of her country. 
 
 So far all is but prologue. Till the coming of the King 
 her life was but that of many another young woman of the 
 time, nor was there much to show how far she would in time 
 outdo them all in sinning. Her conduct of her only intrigue 
 had given but little promise of the unerring skill, which 
 she was to show in the evil art of ruling the other sex. 
 Like all great artists, she had begun by copying conventional 
 models. But now the first period of her life is closed: her 
 apprenticeship is over, and her individuality fully deve¬ 
 loped. Henceforth her work can be divided into no more 
 periods: her “ manner ” is fully formed, and has reached 
 the highest possible perfection. She was probably herself 
 unconscious of the evolution of her principles ; for she had 
 none of that tendency to self-analysis which in all crafts is 
 the mark of lesser mastery. 
 
 How and when she first met King Charles is not known. 
 The better opinion, however, is that Mrs. Jameson is wrong 
 in saying that it was in Holland ; Madame Palmer may have 
 accompanied her husband abroad, it is true, or she may have 
 been abroad before her marriage ; but of one thing there is no 
 doubt. The King on the day of his return to London sought 
 relaxation from the cares of State in her company, and her 
 first child, a daughter, was born in February, 1661, and acknow¬ 
 ledged by the King, who had her called Ann Fitzroy. 
 
 At first, apparently, her husband was in ignorance ; but 
 not for long. He was at that time representing Windsor in 
 Parliament, and lived in King Street, Westminster, “ in the 
 house which had been Whally’s,” and there the King was 
 a frequent visitor, and most of the Court came with him. 
 
DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. 
 
 103 
 
 Frequently there were “ great doings of musique ” there ; and 
 once we learn how Mr. Pepys, working in the next house, 
 heard and admired. But the scandal grew hourly greater. 
 Shortly after the birth of the first child his Gracious Majesty 
 determined to bestow an unmistakeable sign of his royal 
 favour on the mother. Mr. Roger Palmer was created Earl 
 of Castlemaine and Baron Limerick in Ireland. The patent 
 of nobility was seen by Mr. Pepys at the office of the Privy 
 Seal ; and he remarks that “ the honour is tied up to the 
 males got of the body of his wife the Lady Barbara, the 
 reason whereof,” he slily adds, “everybody knows.” And 
 letters are extant which show how anxious the King was 
 about this patent, and how he repeatedly urged Mr. Secretary 
 Morrice to complete it. It is easy to expend cheap wit on the 
 subject of the new Earl, but it is more charitable to remem¬ 
 ber that he could not have refused the royal favour without 
 risking his head ; moreover, he may have had a real affection 
 for his wife, and hoped to wean her from her evil ways. 
 
 This brings us to the beginning of the year 1662, which 
 was a very eventful one for the newly made Countess. Her 
 influence over the King was growing day by day, and day by 
 day her power over the affairs of the nation was waxing. 
 His Majesty supped with her nearly every night, and hardly 
 ever appeared in public without her. She was beginning to 
 be remarked for that splendour and extravagance in ornament 
 and dress which later became notorious. In the meanwhile 
 events were preparing which, it might seem, would threaten her 
 ascendancy. But her skill or her good fortune, or the zealous 
 advocacy of her partisans, who thought her rule would best serve 
 their own ends—or perhaps all three causes, and the first in 
 the smallest degree—turned them to her lasting advantage. 
 
 On the 14th of May Catherine of Braganza reached Ports¬ 
 mouth, and on the following day the joy-bells of London 
 were rung and bonfires were lighted by the loyal subjects, 
 who felt, it seems, no particular pleasure in their hearts, but 
 hoped that “ My Lady Castlemaine’s nose might be put out 
 of joint.” On that night, however, the King and his mistress 
 were supping together as usual at her house, as though 
 nothing had occurred to interfere with their daily routine. 
 
TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 104 
 
 That house was almost the only one in the street before which 
 no fire was burning—a circumstance which was, not un¬ 
 naturally, “ much observed.” But, in spite of everything, the 
 two lovers could find no better pastime than to send for a pair 
 of scales and be weighed. 
 
 The King and Queen went to Hampton Court on the 29th 
 of May, the King’s birthday, and for a time Lady Castlemaine 
 seemed to be “ a most disconsolate creature.” But she was 
 laughing to herself over the surprise which was in store for 
 the Court and the town. She knew full well that the King 
 would not sacrifice his whims to any consideration of policy 
 or decorum, and waited calmly for the explosion which we 
 may assume—though there is no positive proof—that she had 
 carefully prepared. Moreover, she had just then other things to 
 occupy her mind, for in the next month she was delivered of a 
 son. Her husband, who had become a convert to Rome, caused 
 the child to be baptized by a priest. When the mother heard 
 of it she gave way to the first recorded of those outbursts of 
 rage which later became her habitual weapons of offence and 
 defence. But there was as much policy as nature in her 
 wrath. The shrewd Pepys is not slow to conjecture that it 
 was “a design.” For though she flounced out of the house 
 without further ado, she had forethought enough to have all 
 her goods carefully packed ; and she went to Richmond, to 
 a brother’s house, presumably in order “ that the King might 
 come at her the better.” This was on the 15th of July, and 
 from that day she lived no more with the Earl of Castlemaine. 
 A few days later the child was christened again by a minister, 
 the King, the Earl of Oxford, and the Duchess of Suffolk stand¬ 
 ing sponsors, and it was baptized “ with a proviso that it had 
 not already been christened.” The curious may see in the 
 registers of St. Margaret’s, Westminster, an entry relating to 
 “ Charles Palmer, Lord Limbricke, s. to y e right honor ble 
 Roger, Earl of Castlemaine, by Barbara.” This child was 
 described as a beautiful boy, and was subsequently known as 
 Charles Fitzroy, ultimately becoming Duke of Southampton 
 and Cleveland. 
 
 That there was premeditation in the lady’s apparently 
 sudden flight is made almost certain by the fact that on the 
 
DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. 
 
 105 
 
 day of her departure the Earl of Castlemaine executed a bond 
 in ,£10,000, in consideration whereof certain persons therein 
 named indemnify him against the contracts, bargains, and 
 so forth of Barbara his wife to the extent stated. How far 
 he yielded to pressure from above, or how far he voluntarily 
 retired from the scene we do not know. At any rate, there 
 is nothing to show that Barbara regretted him, or bestowed 
 another thought on him. We shall meet with him but once 
 again, and then “ this transient and embarrassed phantom ” 
 passes out of our ken. 
 
 Though the Countess of Castlemaine had for the moment 
 retired from sight, her name was soon again to be in all 
 men’s mouths. Even those who had hoped least from the 
 presence of a Queen were amazed and shocked to hear that 
 the King was not only trying to force on her the odious 
 company of his concubine, but was even urging his bride to 
 make her rival a Lady of the Bedchamber. The Queen, 
 finding her own entreaties fruitless, pleaded a promise made 
 to her mother, and stubbornly refused even to see the detested 
 Countess. But Charles was equally obstinate. He allowed 
 his wife no rest. The matter of Lady Castlemaine’s appoint¬ 
 ment occupied his mind to the exclusion of all else, and the 
 Court was torn by factions. The Queen’s supporters had 
 but little power against the dissolute advisers of the King, 
 who persuaded him that his honour was engaged to Lady 
 Castlemaine. “ Here was,” they urged, “ a young and 
 beautiful lady, of a noble extraction, whose father had lost 
 his life in the service of the crown ; she had provoked the 
 jealousy and rage of her husband to that degree that he had 
 separated himself from her; and now the disconsolate lady 
 had no place of retreat left from the infamy of the world 
 but his Majesty’s tenderness and protection.” These coun¬ 
 cillors, with the Earl of Bristol at their head, naturally con¬ 
 tinued to pay assiduous court to Lady Castlemaine; for 
 they knew to which side victory would incline. 
 
 On the other side Lord Clarendon, to the best of his 
 power, supported the injured Queen, and pressed on the King 
 considerations of policy, religion, and decency; but he argued 
 in vain. At last, tired of discussion, Charles determined 
 
io6 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 to act, and did so with a shameless brutality which his 
 flatterers, no doubt, eulogized as the true heroism of a kingly 
 nature. One evening he entered the Queen’s presence- 
 chamber, leading by his hand a lady whom he wished to 
 present to her. At first the Queen made as if she would 
 receive her graciously ; but soon she was aware that she saw 
 before her the dreaded Countess. When she realized to how 
 gross an outrage she had been subjected she swooned, and bled 
 profusely from the nose, and the Court broke up in confusion. 
 But even so Charles was not satisfied. He pressed into 
 his service the Queen’s staunchest supporter. He wrote a 
 letter to Lord Clarendon, commanding him to use his in¬ 
 fluence with the Queen on the Countess’s behalf—a letter 
 showing such cynical depravity that one can only let it speak 
 for itself. It runs :— 
 
 “ I wish I may be unhappy in this world and the world to 
 come, if I fail in the least degree of what I have resolved, 
 which is of making my Lady Castlemaine of my wife’s bed¬ 
 chamber ; and whosoever I find use any endeavours to hinder 
 this resolution of mine, except it be only to myself, I will be 
 his enemy to the last moment of my life. You know how 
 true a friend I have been to you. If you will oblige me 
 eternally, make this business as easy to me as you can, what 
 opinion soever you are of; for I am resolved to go through 
 this matter, let what will come on it, which again I swear 
 before Almighty God : therefore if you desire to have the 
 continuance of my friendship, meddle no more with this 
 business, except it be to beat down all false and scandalous 
 reports and to facilitate what I am sure my honour is so 
 much concerned in ; and whosoever I find to be my Lady 
 Castlemaine’s enemy in the matter, I do promise upon my 
 word to be his enemy as long as I live.” 
 
 Clarendon, though protesting against the cruelty of the 
 King, obeyed, and strove to persuade the Queen. He has 
 left a long account of his Machiavellian arguments, which 
 do more credit to his head than his heart. At first the 
 Queen declared she would rather sail for Lisbon at once 
 than submit, and loudly reproached the King ; whereupon the 
 Chancellor prayed to be relieved of his ignoble duties. Then 
 
DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. 
 
 107 
 
 for a time the King left his consort severely alone, and his 
 coldness effected what his insistence had failed to compass. 
 The Queen was wearied into submission, and lost thereby 
 the respect of all the world, getting in return not even the 
 King’s thanks. And so ended the first of the Bedchamber 
 questions which have at various epochs and in widely different 
 ways agitated the English Court. 
 
 All this time the King was paying marked court in public, 
 no less than in private, to his favourite, who had played a 
 passive part, as far as we know, in these disputes. But there 
 can be no doubt that she was the moving spirit of the shame¬ 
 ful intrigue. Probably Lady Castlemaine cared little enough 
 for the post in itself; neither did she set much store by the 
 safeguarding of appearances which it might effect. In that 
 respect she was of hardened recklessness. But what she— 
 and others on her behalf—had determined she should have 
 was a pretext for being always near the King. They knew 
 that she could mould him to her will, and that with her aid 
 they might plunder the nation and ruin their enemies, as 
 Clarendon who was now the chief of them, was soon to know 
 to his cost. Her main object was to secure a share of the 
 spoil for herself, and a very large one. 
 
 In August the King and Queen came with much pageantry 
 from Hampton Court to Whitehall, in a state barge alle¬ 
 gorically adorned, and escorted by an endless throng of boats. 
 Among the brilliant crowd which awaited the coming of the 
 sovereigns were the newly ennobled Earl and Countess of 
 Castlemaine. But they were not together, and the quid¬ 
 nuncs observed how that when they met they exchanged 
 civil salutes, and that the Earl caressed the baby ; which 
 of the two children of the Countess it was, Mr. Pepys, who 
 is the authority for the incident, does not say. After this 
 function the Earl went to France, announcing that he would 
 enter a monastery, but he did not in fact do so, and returned 
 some years later to England. He had the distinction of being 
 accused by Oates ; and in the next reign attained to some 
 honours, being made a member of the Privy Council in 1687. 
 One of the best known passages in Macaulay deals with 
 his abortive mission to Rome, and its ludicrous close by 
 
io8 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 reason of His Holiness’ opportune fits of sneezing. Under 
 the influence of the historian’s scathing satire most men 
 have been content to dismiss the poor Earl as a slight, un¬ 
 deserving creature worthy merely of contempt. But, perhaps, 
 after all, such a verdict is unduly harsh. Roger Palmer’s 
 career had opened not ignobly; he had done some service 
 to the cause of the exiled Stuarts, and had been entrusted 
 with difficult and dangerous missions, in the conduct of which 
 he earned some applause. The causes which blighted his 
 fortunes were not of his own making. That he ever emerged 
 at all after the first storm of ridicule had overwhelmed 
 him shows that he was not wholly weak. Nothing can be 
 argued from his failure at Rome, for failure was inevit¬ 
 able. Such preferment as he gained in later life cannot 
 in any way have been due to his wife, whose sun had then 
 set. That he several times saw the inside of the Tower, and 
 was deemed of sufficient importance to be excepted from 
 the Act of Indemnity, shows at least that he was no mere 
 cypher ; and the use he made of his enforced leisure was at 
 any rate not unworthy. He wrote voluminously, if not remark¬ 
 ably. He died in Ireland in 1705, and left a will which 
 benefited Anne, the eldest daughter of his wife ; though in 
 making his bequests to her he shrank from expressing a 
 definite view on the vexed question of her paternity. 
 
 The results of the Queen’s concessions to the King and 
 Lady Castlemaine were soon scandalously evident. In the 
 course of the following month the Countess had begun her 
 duties as Lady of the Bedchamber, and was seen by Mr. 
 Pepys attending her Majesty in her chapel of St. James’s. 
 She drove in the same coach with the King and the Queen, 
 and she gave balls, at which the King did not scruple to 
 appear. Whenever Lady Castlemaine was in the palace 
 the Queen sat neglected and alone, while the favourite had 
 all the King’s attention. She would linger by herself in 
 corners waiting for his Majesty, and never waited in vain. 
 The courtiers, knowing what was expected, respectfully passed 
 by, and looked the other way. But soon even such facilities 
 failed to satisfy the King and the Countess. The one thing 
 needful was that she should be under the royal roof, and 
 
DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. 
 
 109 
 
 apartments were found for her next to those of the King 
 himself. 
 
 The rewards for which she had been working were now 
 within her grasp. Concealment was no longer necessary, or 
 even useful. The world soon knew that the country was 
 governed by Lady Castlemaine and her chosen friends. 
 They were all worthy of her, though in rapacity she outdid 
 them all. They were not statesmen in any worthy sense, 
 but they ruled the State. She was one degree further re¬ 
 moved from statesmanship than they. They presumably 
 had at least some ambition, though they had resorted to 
 it but as a pastime. She, though her power was even 
 greater than that of the Buckinghams, the Bennets, and 
 the Ashleys—of which, indeed, it was in a sense the foun¬ 
 dation—could not justly be called even a politician. For 
 policy she had none, unless it be a policy to be ravenous 
 of public money. Her influence was incalculable, but exer¬ 
 cised indirectly. She made history almost in spite of her¬ 
 self. She made and unmade secretaries of state, flung 
 Lord Chancellors from power, and elevated drunken repro¬ 
 bates to the Bench ; but she did not work for this party in 
 the State or that. Her party was herself, and herself was 
 her purse. She did not thrust down Clarendon because she 
 inclined rather to Sir Orlando Bridgman’s views of the 
 privilege of Parliament, nor did she “ bring in ” Sir Henry 
 Bennet or Ashley because she applauded their views on 
 toleration. Her only aim was to place in power those who 
 could thwart her least in her traffic in public preferment. 
 From this time forward not an office, spiritual or temporal, 
 was filled up without her cognizance ; and her approval was 
 a marketable commodity. To sell it in the dearest market 
 was her only care. She had ;£ 10,000 a year “rent” from 
 the Lieutenant of Ireland; and in one year there was granted 
 to her the reversion of all the places in the Custom House. 
 It is an academic question whether she chose aspirants 
 according to the length of their purses, or—what is more 
 likely—had them chosen for her by her “Junto,” whose 
 object, in their turn, was to find the most pliable instruments 
 for their schemes of corruption. Be this as it may, through 
 
no 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 Lady Castlemaine’s sinister methods the whole administra¬ 
 tion was tainted root and branch. The most powerful 
 hinderer of these mercantile transactions (for they were 
 nothing else) was Lord Clarendon. He once bitterly re¬ 
 marked that “ that woman would soon sell every place.” The 
 words were reported to her, whereupon she caused him to 
 be told that his lordship might rest easy, for his place was 
 already contracted for, and the bargain was near completion. 
 She could never forgive him his opposition to her schemes, 
 and in her case it is idle to look for other than purely per¬ 
 sonal reasons of spite and rancour to account for the part she 
 took in securing his fall. 
 
 Politics, as such, had no interest for her. Indeed, one 
 hardly looks to a lady of twenty-two or twenty-three for 
 guidance in statecraft. But her mental equipment was too 
 meagre for the task of playing Egeria even on that stage. 
 Only one remark on public affairs is credited to her by 
 the scrupulously minute chroniclers of the day. She 
 said once that the King could not govern save by an 
 army, which showed true feminine logic. The syllogism is 
 simple. She hectored the King and gained all her ends; 
 therefore if the King dragooned the nation he would be no less 
 successful. Had she ever spoken much on such questions we 
 should have heard of it, but money-making and pleasure 
 occupied her energies to the exclusion of all else. The irre¬ 
 sistible influence she wielded, which has misled observers 
 into concluding that she ruled by design, was in her eyes no 
 more than an incidental consequence of her business. In 
 justice she must be acquitted of deep-laid plots for the ruin 
 of the nation. In that respect her rival and successor, the 
 Duchess of Portsmouth, carries off the palm. She really 
 was, and consciously, the embodiment of a policy as odious 
 as she herself was bewitching. There is much shrewd sense 
 in the words of a satire of the time, in which the French lady 
 is made to say to Lady Castlemaine— 
 
 “ In Balls and Masques you revel’d out your nights, 
 
 But, Madam, I did relish State delights : 
 
 Statesmen did know that you were but a fool, 
 
 But they from me took Measures how to Rule.” 
 
DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. 
 
 hi 
 
 And that was probably why Charles at heart always ..pre¬ 
 ferred the English lady. The satirist probably speaks" more 
 truly than historians of her relations with the Junto, who made 
 her their catspaw, knowing that her persuasions were more 
 powerful with the King than their own, and allowed her, 
 as a reward, to filch what she would from the coffers of the 
 nation. 
 
 The sale of public offices was, in its results, the most 
 important of her sources of income. But she thought more 
 of the grants and patents which she extorted from the King, 
 generally by means of real or simulated fits of passion. This, 
 besides being more lucrative, had the advantage of being 
 more private. That was something, even though in those 
 days there were no Estimates and no Opposition to keep 
 a watchful eye on them. It was not difficult to make grants 
 of revenues or profits to A or B on the understanding, of 
 course, that A and B should immediately afterwards declare 
 themselves to hold the moneys in trust for Lady Castlemaine. 
 It is impossible to say precisely how much she extracted from 
 the public purse in this way. But one or two transactions 
 of the kind, exemplifying her methods of finance, have 
 been recorded, and we hear that in one year she obtained 
 from the farmers of the Customs £10,000 more than before 
 —and what she had before is not known—besides £10,000 
 from the country excise of ale and beer. 
 
 There was also an unconsidered trifle of £5,000 a year 
 from the Post Offices, the history of which is worth telling 
 in some detail. It shows on her part, or on the part of 
 her advisers, a real talent for business and a rare pertinacity. 
 In the fifteenth year of his reign Charles II. granted to the 
 Duke of York the revenues of the Post Office, reserving 
 to himself a power to charge such revenues with a sum not 
 exceeding £5,382 10s. Four years later the Crown granted 
 £4,700 out of this sum to Viscount Grandison and Sir 
 Edward Villars, who a few days later declared themselves 
 trustees for the Duchess of Cleveland. In the following year 
 the Duchess found that she could not obtain payment, 
 because the grant was not an annual one. But lawyers soon 
 showed how that obstacle could be removed. Nothing was 
 
112 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 simpler than to get an Act passed reciting that the grant in 
 question was intended to be annual, “ though not so expressed 
 in the Act,” and enacting that it should be annual henceforth, 
 whereby the inquisitive were estopped from discussing the 
 truth of the recital. The Duchess thereupon settled the 
 sums upon herself for life, and after her death in equal 
 portions on her two sons. In the reign of William III. the 
 moneys were still being paid ; but one year payment ceased, 
 and after much correspondence—in which the King himself 
 took part—the matter came before the House of Commons, 
 and in the British Museum one may still read the “ Case of 
 Her Grace the Duchess of Cleaveland, the Dukes of Grafton 
 and Northumberland, touching an Annuity of 4700/. per 
 annum payable out of the Post Office, offered to the Con¬ 
 sideration of the Honourable House of Commons in relation 
 to a Clause in a Bill intituled a Bill for laying several duties 
 on low Wines.” And finally, in August, 1697, a warrant was 
 issued for the payment of the amount claimed in weekly 
 instalments. 
 
 But it must not be thought that the Countess confined 
 her attentions to personalty ; in realty too she made some 
 notable ventures. But this was more difficult, for sometimes 
 Lord Clarendon inconveniently refused his indispensable 
 signature. Her resourceful nature soon discovered, however, 
 that there were in Ireland abundance of land and a Chan¬ 
 cellor who had no scruples about signing anything. More¬ 
 over, she had at one time the reversion of all the King’s 
 leases, but even these things did not satisfy her. She 
 obtained, in addition, presents of jewellery from the King to 
 a fabulous amount. Once she got from him all the gifts 
 the Peers had given at the New Year, and soon afterwards 
 she appeared at Court, far outshining both the Queen and 
 the Duchess of York. One day at a play her jewels were 
 valued at £40,000, and between £40,000 then and now there 
 was a vast difference. Another amiable habit of hers, which 
 cost the nation not a little, was that of going to shops in the 
 City and buying what she had a fancy to, saying to the maid, 
 “ Make a note of this and that for money to the Privy Purse.” 
 It sounds a simple enough method, but it could not be com- 
 
DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. 113 
 
 passed without much thought and trouble. To make it 
 possible there must be a keeper of the Privy Purse wholly 
 devoted to her. And she found a willing tool in the person 
 of one Baptist, or Bab May, who performed his duties con¬ 
 scientiously and held his tongue. His function was a double 
 one—to pay everything asked by Lady Castlemaine, and to 
 tighten the purse-strings to all the world besides. And so it 
 came to pass that while she was squandering thousands, the 
 wages of the King’s household were unpaid for years, there 
 was no bread in the royal kitchen, the King’s linen could 
 neither be repaired nor renewed, and there was no paper for 
 the Privy Council. The unhappy man who supplied it had dis¬ 
 bursed all he possessed, and could get neither credit from the 
 merchants nor cash from Mr. May. This estimable official 
 need not detain us long ; but it may be mentioned that when 
 he went down with great pomp, and the Duke of York’s 
 recommendation, to Winchelsea to be elected its representa¬ 
 tive, he was sent back by the citizens, who protested they 
 would have no Court pimps as their burgesses. And yet Mr. 
 Evelyn professed to find him a worthy man. Even in the 
 lower branches of the King’s household Lady Castlemaine 
 had friends and dependents. The notorious Chiffinch, the 
 body-servant of the King, was in her pay, and was able to 
 render her some services of no small importance. And there 
 must have been others of whom we do not hear, besides 
 Babiani and Goodman, of whom we know enough. 
 
 The reign of “the misses and buffoons” made itself felt 
 through the length and breadth of the land, and no corner of 
 public or private life escaped its blighting influence. How 
 near it came to men’s business and homes a story told 
 by Pepys vividly brings home to us. One day he was 
 walking in the precincts of the palace with a friend, and saw 
 the King coming from Lady Castlemaine’s apartments, which, 
 he thought, was a “very poor” thing for his Majesty to do. 
 And having incautiously said so, he spent the day in fear 
 lest the lady should come to hear of it and bear him a 
 grudge. But he comforts himself with thinking that his 
 friend was a mighty discreet gentleman. His fears were not 
 excessive; for once Lady Castlemaine was told that Lady 
 
 9 
 
TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 114 
 
 Gerard, one of her colleagues of the Bedchamber, had spoken 
 slightingly of her; and straightway the lady was relieved of 
 her functions, though her husband was at the time high in 
 favour with the King. Another instance of her all-pervad¬ 
 ing rule is worth recording. A play gave offence to 
 royal personages, and the King had it prohibited. But it 
 pleased my lady, and it was restored to the bills. Nothing 
 escaped her, and at one of the most critical moments of her 
 history England was governed “ with fool’s play.” 
 
 The whole system rested on the personal influence of a few 
 men and one woman over the King, who was weak, pleasure- 
 loving, and incapable. The men are among the best known 
 in English history, and among those who least deserve 
 remembrance. They pleased the King by their wit—or the 
 unbridled coarseness which passed for wit—and their readi¬ 
 ness to humour him. They met nightly at Lady Castle- 
 maine’s lodgings, where she presided over what was at once 
 a Cabinet Council and a Supreme Court of Appeal, though it 
 had all the outward seeming of a pot-house orgie. The King 
 never failed to seek his diversion in this brilliant circle, and a 
 jest of Buckingham, or a hint that the Chancellor did as he 
 pleased with his Majesty, would decide the gravest issues. 
 Clarendon’s weightiest advice would be forgotten, and the 
 most solemn promises to Parliament would be broken at 
 the bidding of Lady Castlemaine, whose outbursts of rage 
 secured compliance when ridicule had failed in its effect. 
 
 Her power over the King was absolute. Why it should 
 have been so is something of a puzzle. True, she was held mar¬ 
 vellously beautiful ; but, to judge by his other favourites—the 
 Querouailles, the Nell Gwynnes, and the rest—the King pre¬ 
 ferred a childlike and simple prettiness ; and Lady Castle¬ 
 maine had the air of a Bellona. The King liked peace and 
 quiet; and in her society alarums and excursions never 
 ceased. What he dreaded most was ridicule ; and she made 
 him the laughing-stock of the Court and the town. He loved 
 to be flattered ; but she would never stoop to compliments. 
 He delighted in wit—of a kind—and her conversation was 
 noted for nothing but lewdness and profanity. To be strictly 
 just, however, we must recall that Pepys once quotes a saying of 
 
DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. 
 
 n 5 
 
 hers which might have been thought witty, but which is not 
 for reproduction; and once again he tells us that he delighted in 
 her sallies. It was on the occasion when he found her and 
 many other noble ladies seated on the floor, and making 
 epigrams on the model of “ I loved my love with an A.” But 
 that was, at any rate, not a severe test; and, moreover, he 
 had dined well and in the company of the maids of honour, 
 “whom it did him good to look upon,” and he had drunk 
 wine, “ more than he had done for seven years,” and it was 
 “ both excellent and of great variety.” How could he on that 
 day be an exacting critic ? 
 
 It cannot have been Lady Castlemaine’s wisdom that 
 chained the King to her side—for in that, too, she was lacking. 
 Only one wise saying has been laid to her credit. She once 
 called the King a fool. This, as a general proposition, was 
 profoundly true; but at that particular moment he was 
 doing one of the few wise things he ever achieved—he was 
 struggling to free himself from Buckingham. Lastly, apart 
 from her beauty she had no charm. On that point every 
 record is unanimous. Or, if she had, she hid it from all the 
 world save the King. One cannot suppose that there was 
 any real affection on either side ; and the process of exhaus¬ 
 tion leads us to the conclusion that she overbore his weak¬ 
 ness by the sheer strength of her evil character, and held him 
 in a grasp from which he could not escape. He made some 
 attempts to be free, but they were singularly futile, and each 
 time he came back more enslaved than ever. She was not 
 his mistress, “ for she scorned him,” but his “ tyrant to com¬ 
 mand him.” She “ hectored him out of his wits.” She made 
 him ask her forgiveness on his knees. She summoned him 
 from the Council-board whenever the whim seized her, and he 
 dared not disobey. He laughed at the Duke of York for 
 being a “ Tom Otter,” which, in the fashionable speech of 
 the day, meant a henpecked husband ; but Mr. Killigrew 
 told him it was better to be “ Tom Otter ” to a wife than to a 
 mistress ; so low had he fallen, and so notorious was his 
 bondage. 
 
 Other kings have been ruled by termagants, but, strangely 
 enough, they have generally been the strongest and the 
 
n6 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 sternest. The terrible Charles V. cowered before a washer¬ 
 woman ; but he was used to deference, and more, from 
 his Court. Her courage must have appealed to him, and 
 to him it must have been refreshing to hear a few home 
 truths. But Lady Castlemaine’s amenities, though very 
 highly flavoured, can have had little novelty for Charles, 
 who habitually tolerated from his boon companions such 
 familiarities as few ordinary gentlemen would have stomached. 
 The men who helped her to rule must now and again have 
 trembled for themselves and her. Her audacity must have 
 seemed to them more than perilous ; for, after all, the King 
 had the power of life and death over all of them. But she 
 knew best, and though his passion cooled with time, her 
 influence over him never wholly waned whenever she could 
 gain access to him ; nor was her hold over the nation’s purse 
 ever relaxed as long as Charles II. was king. 
 
 At about the time of her removal to Whitehall there came 
 to England young “ Mr. Crofts,” afterwards the Duke of 
 Monmouth, the King’s illegitimate son. His charm of person 
 and of manner won all hearts, especially his father’s, and that 
 of his father’s mistress. She ostentatiously took him under 
 her wing, and she used her irresistible influence in his behalf. 
 One might conclude that this was the only kindly act of her 
 life. But, in truth, she thought only that any honours and 
 benefits he might reap might be quoted as precedents when 
 her own children grew older. She knew well enough that the 
 King’s generosity for such unlawful objects could always be 
 relied upon. The Duke of Monmouth was soon married, and 
 scandal did not fail to hint that the King had hastened on the 
 match “ to preserve his innocence, or at least his fame, uncon¬ 
 taminated.” The situation is one on which only a lady 
 novelist of the newest decadence would dwell with any com¬ 
 placency. Having mentioned it for the sake of historical 
 completeness we pass on to another episode, hardly less 
 unsavoury, but which cannot be omitted. In the next year 
 the Court was disturbed and delighted by the arrival from 
 abroad of Miss Frances Stuart, a very young beauty, who, 
 being remotely related to the King, was soon appointed a 
 maid of honour. She soon became a friend of Lady Castle- 
 
DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. 117 
 
 maine, who had her to share her bed. And every morning 
 and nearly every night the King would visit them. The fact 
 is worth notice, for Miss Stuart had the reputation of a 
 stern, unbending prude, and there are still people who think 
 that the one fault of the Stuart Court was the over-refine¬ 
 ment of decay. Lady Castlemaine soon had reason to repent 
 of her friendship ; for “ with her sweet eye, little Roman nose, 
 and excellent faille” Miss Stuart attracted the attention of 
 every lover of beauty, not excluding the King. Though she 
 was particularly brainless, yet she had wit enough to 
 encourage the King up to a certain point and then keep him 
 at arm’s length, till he was quite distracted. After a time 
 even Lady Castlemaine was neglected, and honoured her 
 rival with cordial detestation. It was the most serious rivalry 
 she ever had to encounter as far as the King’s affections were 
 concerned ; but Miss Stuart did not meddle in intrigue ; and 
 though she too desired to make her fortune, her demands 
 were comparatively modest, and she obtained scarcely half 
 as many hundred of pounds as Lady Castlemaine extorted 
 thousands. When the Queen’s life was despaired of during 
 the illness which attacked her at the end of the year of which 
 we are speaking, Miss Stuart was universally thought of as 
 her successor, though his Majesty never missed supping with 
 Lady Castlemaine. And Lady Castlemaine had not studied 
 the King’s weaknesses so long and so carefully in vain. She 
 knew of a safe way to regain at any rate her influence. As 
 for the King’s affections, she cared very little where they were 
 bestowed. One day he said some “ slighting words to her,” 
 and in half an hour she was on her way to Richmond with 
 her clothes and jewels and plate, which must have been 
 ready packed as once before, for hers was not the modest store 
 which one box will contain. She swore that she had shaken 
 the dust of the Court from her shoes for ever. But in a day 
 or so his Majesty found life stale without her, and insipid 
 without the constant excitement which her tempers provided. 
 So he went to Richmond to hunt. But all the world knew 
 what game he was stalking, and laughed ; and in a few hours 
 Lady Castlemaine and her baggage came back to Whitehall. 
 She was in greater favour than ever, only a few days after 
 
118 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 Mr. Pepys had triumphantly said that “ her nose was out of 
 joint.” 
 
 This little incident happened in July ; about two months 
 later was born her second son, who later became Duke of 
 Grafton. He was the last of her children whose paternity 
 was undisputed ; for after this Lady Castlemaine, a New 
 Woman before her time, determined to be even with the King 
 in the matter of fickleness. And she even bettered his 
 example. 
 
 The King’s perplexities all this time were grotesque. His 
 infatuation for Miss Stuart grew day by day, and yet he 
 could not dispense with Lady Castlemaine even if she had 
 relaxed her grasp on him and his pocket. He did once offer 
 to dismiss her if Miss Stuart would listen to his suit; but she 
 was still obdurate. A ludicrous story is that of the “ calash,” 
 which the Comte de Grammont had presented to the King, 
 and which both the ladies wanted to be seen in on the same 
 day. How the)'’ both raged, and how the younger lady 
 gained the day by agreeing to certain concessions, may be 
 read in Grammont’s Memoirs, which also tell how the poor 
 abject Queen thought the whole episode rather amusing. 
 The struggle for supremacy between the two ladies extended 
 to their servants; and when Lady Castlemaine’s nurses and 
 Miss Stuart’s tirewomen had angry words the Countess 
 would send for his Majesty from the Council-board to com¬ 
 pose their quarrels. He devoted infinite pains to his duties 
 as peacemaker, while the business of the nation was left to 
 take care of itself. And this was probably what the lady 
 wanted. Miss Stuart continued to be a source of annoyance to 
 Lady Castlemaine for some time, and it was not till she married 
 the Duke of Richmond that her star waned. In bringing about 
 this marriage Lady Castlemaine took an active part, and one 
 of the most characteristic incidents of the courtship was due 
 to her suspicious espionage. From the estimable Chiffinch 
 and Babiani, who were in her pay, she learnt one night that 
 as soon as the King had left Miss Stuart the Duke of Rich¬ 
 mond had joined her. Straightway she led the King to Miss 
 Stuart’s apartment, and proved to him the truth of her story. 
 How the King interrupted their protestations has been told 
 
DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. 
 
 1 19 
 
 by Grammont in a passage which again proves how little 
 the Court of Charles deserves its fame for external elegance, 
 and with how little austerity a lady could in those days 
 earn a reputation for virtue. Miss Stuart was full of fears 
 for the future, for the King’s wrath had been terrible. She 
 sought and found a mediator in the person of the Queen, 
 whose complaisance once again proved inexhaustible. Miss 
 Stuart soon afterwards eloped “ from the Bear at the Bridge- 
 foot” with the Duke, who had fled after the untoward dis¬ 
 covery : and after that we hear little of her, though Mr. 
 Pepys takes care to tell us that the King did not desist 
 from her pursuit for some time. And this was “the noblest 
 romance and example of a brave lady the time had to show.” 
 
 Thus once again by a desperate stroke Lady Castlemaine 
 had won a victory which consolidated her power and that of 
 her “ wicked crew,” when it seemed to have tottered to its 
 fall. But the marriage of Miss Stuart had another and more 
 serious effect. It led directly to the fall of Clarendon. Lady 
 Castlemaine was able to persuade the King that the marriage 
 was his doing, in spite of his solemn denial. This his Majesty 
 could not forgive, and thus Miss Stuart unknowingly worked 
 for the fulfilling of Lady Castlemaine’s most cherished hopes. 
 The “ congregation of the witty men for the evening con¬ 
 versation ” triumphed over all the influence of the Duke of 
 York and the soberer parts of the nation. Lady Castlemaine 
 surpassed herself. Even the memory of the fallen Chan¬ 
 cellor’s friendship for her father could not restrain her from 
 indecent exhibitions of delight. She came out in her night¬ 
 clothes to jeer at him from her balcony. But what she said 
 is not recorded—to the lasting regret of all good students of 
 Ciceronian rhetoric. 
 
 These moving events took place at a time when the country 
 was overwhelmed with misfortunes of all kinds. But the 
 Dutch War, the Plague, and the Great Fire, were of no impor¬ 
 tance to the King’s chief advisers, save that they had the more 
 matter for their epigrams “unlimited by the Rules of Modesty 
 and Truth.” Even the King’s genuine distress at the ravages 
 of the fire they turned into ridicule. They knew how to 
 divert to their advantage the unusually large grants which the 
 
120 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 Crown obtained from the patriotic Commons, and they 
 trembled lest too large a share of them should find its way 
 into the rightful channels. Perhaps they feared that the 
 end had come, and nerved themselves to more desperate 
 efforts at extortion. How the grants made to the King dis¬ 
 appeared is history, but whither they went we can but 
 conjecture. He became more and more passive in the 
 hands of his Cabal. Lady Castlemaine’s infidelities be¬ 
 came more and more notorious, and occupied more and 
 more of his attention. But he bought for her Berkshire 
 House, in St. James’s, for £5,000, and that he paid heavily 
 for furnishing it we may be sure. She had left Whitehall after 
 one of her outbursts. When the King doubted who was the 
 father of the child about to be born, she made “ a slighting 
 puh with her mouth,” and retired to the house of Sir D. 
 Harvey, one of her kinsmen. The King had to beg for peace 
 and forgiveness, but she would not grant them save on the 
 hardest terms. She again threatened to publish his letters ; she 
 promised, if he hinted at further suspicions, to bring all the 
 children to Whitehall, and to dash out their brains in face of the 
 whole Court. She abused him roundly for his inconstancy, and 
 on his knees he promised amendment. A few days later she 
 was more in power than ever. Mr. Pepys saw her in the 
 garden of the palace walking with the King. He was sur¬ 
 prised, for he believed they had parted for ever, and grieved 
 that he should be so besotted “ when one would think his 
 mind should be full of some other cares, having but this 
 morning broken up such a Parliament with so much discon¬ 
 tent and so many wants upon him, and but yesterday heard 
 such a sermon against adultery.” The last phrase is parti¬ 
 cularly to the point. Henceforth Lady Castlemaine seems 
 not to have returned to Whitehall, and at the passing of the 
 Test Act she lost her place as Lady of the Bed-chamber, 
 for she had in the meantime become a Roman Catholic. 
 
 The King’s suspicions of her faithfulness were only too well 
 founded. Lady Castlemaine’s lovers outnumbered his mis¬ 
 tresses, though he was said to have devoted himself to seven¬ 
 teen before his accession. A full list of the lady’s peccadilloes 
 would be longer than the famous catalogue of Don Giovanni; 
 
DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. 
 
 121 
 
 moreover, it would be very monotonous, and to give it in 
 strictly chronological order would be laborious. Nor would 
 it be light reading. To pick out the most striking figures 
 from the catalogue is all that can be done; nor can we 
 do more than hint at the other claims to distinction—if any 
 —which they boasted. 
 
 First of all came Henry Jermyn, with his large head, his 
 small legs, and his ridiculous affectations. He was the cause 
 of the last outburst of the Countess’s wrath, which was her 
 only weapon of defence ; for the King was more than once 
 within an ace of surprising Lady Castlemaine and Mr. 
 Jermyn, as he had surprised Miss Stuart and the Duke of 
 Richmond. But “invincible” though Jermyn was called, his 
 conquest in this instance was but short-lived. 
 
 He had many successors. One was Jacob Hall, a rope- 
 dancer of world-wide fame, who was “ a compound of Hercules 
 and Adonis,” but otherwise a worthless fellow. By her affec¬ 
 tion for him Lady Castlemaine showed that at any rate she 
 was above mere caste prejudice, and contemporary scandal 
 hinted at still more plebeian flames. On Mr. Hall she 
 bestowed a pension, out of monies destined for the National 
 Defence. Another artist honoured by her preference was 
 Mr. Cardell Goodman, once a “ page of the back stairs ” to 
 Charles II., and probably one of the lady’s paid spies. Later 
 on he was an actor, and, abandoning the more convenient 
 abbreviation, blossomed out into Cardonell Goodman, for 
 a sesquipedalian name had its market-value even then. 
 He was married, but his wife was neglected, and while 
 he was thriving on a large income derived from the Duchess 
 of Cleveland—for this was in the later days—he enjoyed the 
 society of a third lady in a house not many doors from the 
 Duchess’s mansion, which shows that she did not exact from 
 others virtues greater than her own. Mr. Goodman was not 
 troubled with false modesty about his intrigue; in the 
 presence of royalty he would step on to the stage before the 
 beginning of a play, and ask in a loud voice “ whether his 
 Duchess had come ? ” 
 
 Then there was the famous Wycherley. The lady was in 
 her coach one day in one of the parks (it is immaterial which ; 
 
122 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 but Mr. Steinman, in his elaborate memoir, discusses the point) 
 and she passed by him. She leaned out and called out to him. 
 What she said has been duly chronicled, but cannot be repeated. 
 The gist of it was that she cast imputations on his mother, and 
 then shouted with laughter. The point of the pleasantry is 
 not at first obvious. But on the previous night a play of Mr. 
 Wycherley’s had been produced in which he made some one 
 say that in the pedigree of all true wits there was a flaw. 
 The insult was therefore really a delicate piece of flattery. 
 The acquaintance so strangely begun soon ripened into 
 tenderer feelings, which lasted till Mr. Wycherley married and 
 reformed. The actor Hart must also be added to the list of 
 her pensioners. These were not her only dealings with the 
 fine arts. She once patronized an unsuccessful play of 
 Dryden’s, who thereupon compared her to Cato. This is a 
 far-fetched comparison enough ; but there was a painter who 
 went still further afield, and presented her as a Madonna 
 nursing a child. 
 
 The great Duke of Marlborough owed his fortune in his 
 youth to Lady Castlemaine ; and her protection of him when 
 he came up, young and insignificant, from Devonshire is prob¬ 
 ably the only service she rendered her country. But it was 
 not rendered from patriotic motives. The date of this intrigue 
 is probably about 1671. In the following year was born 
 Barbara Fitzroy, the Duchess’ youngest child, whom the 
 King acknowledged in public. By means of her peculiar 
 powers of persuasion the Duchess could force the King to do 
 so much; but even she could not compel him to admit his 
 responsibility in private. For even he knew that the girl 
 should have borne the name of Churchill if her father’s name 
 could be hers. The young Devonshire gentleman cost the 
 Duchess enormous sums. Not only did she buy him his first 
 step in the army, but she gave him the wherewithal to pur¬ 
 chase an annuity. Mrs. Manley, in the New Atlantis, estimates 
 the gifts he received at 143,000 crowns, and the same lady 
 tells in full detail the story, which Pope has made familiar 
 to every schoolboy, of the game of bassett at which the Duke 
 of Marlborough refused to lend the Duchess twenty pounds 
 —not half a crown. He was keeping the bank, and the 
 
DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. 
 
 123 
 
 Duchess had lost; but in answer to her civil request he 
 answered bluntly that the bank never lent money, although 
 at that moment he had over a thousand pounds lying before 
 him on the table. Every one present, we learn, was un¬ 
 pleasantly surprised and bitterly blamed him ; and, surely, 
 the common amenities of the gaming-table should have 
 prompted compliance, even if there had been no special 
 reasons for generosity. The sum was the veriest trifle, for 
 the Duchess had once lost £25,000 at a sitting and staked 
 £1,500 on one cast. We must not conclude that all Lady 
 Castlemaine’s fancies were such costly luxuries as these. We 
 read of her exacting from the mad Sir Edward Hungerford 
 —who founded the market called after him, and died in a 
 garret at the age of 115—a sum of ,£10,000 for a few hours’ 
 hospitality. And that is more in keeping with her character. 
 
 The list of Barbara’s lovers, though far from complete, need 
 not be extended. As it stands it is long enough to show 
 that the King was not unjustified in the doubts he expressed. 
 His weakness in his dealings with the lady is amazing 
 throughout, but most wonderful in this particular. He had 
 every reason for trying to free himself from her clutches ; his 
 wisest counsellors were pressing him to dismiss Lady Castle- 
 maine. Parliament—whose goodwill was peculiarly necessary 
 just then—was muttering discontent at the rapacity of the 
 “ misses,” and he was happier in the society of his other 
 favourites. Yet for another seven years he lacked the strength 
 to take the decisive step. And she made good use of the 
 intervening time. Her colossal fortune received its chief addi¬ 
 tions now. It was largest at the time when seemingly the 
 fountain of honour and emolument was least accessible, a 
 fact on which most of her biographers lay insufficient stress. 
 It is generally suggested that she was richest when her 
 personal influence was at its height ; but the truth is rather 
 the reverse. Thus the enormous sums she obtained from the 
 Customs, which we have particularized, came to her in 1671, 
 and the scandalous robbery of the Post Office was per¬ 
 petrated for her benefit as late as 1675. One is again driven 
 to infer that she exercised an influence over the King 
 founded on something more enduring than appeals to his 
 
124 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 passion ; and that while his wayward affections were fixed 
 elsewhere, he was still dominated by her. 
 
 In spite of all changes she remained all-powerful at Court. 
 At about this time Buckingham suddenly and mysteriously 
 became her deadly enemy. But his defection shook her 
 position not a whit—not more than his brief disgrace had 
 done formerly. The cause of the feud was unknown even to 
 the all-inquiring Pepys, and no one seems to have discovered 
 it since. Whether it was spi-etce injuria formce on her part, 
 or an analogous feeling on his side, or a mere question of 
 policy, or one of mone)', at any rate he swore to undo her, 
 forgetting that but for her he might never have got out of 
 the Tower. He formed a complex scheme for causing her to 
 be supplanted by Mademoiselle de Querouaille, and so 
 governing England through a lady less likely to have a will 
 of her own. He was bringing her over for the purpose, but, 
 as his habit was, he left his task half-finished. After many 
 months of successful diplomacy he suddenly grew weary, and 
 the honour and glory of introducing the beautiful French 
 lady rested in the end with Sir Henry Bennet, who was not a 
 foe of Lady Castlemaine. 
 
 The people, oddly enough, did not detest the Countess, 
 as might have been expected. On the contrary, she enjoyed 
 a sort of popularity with the noisier classes at any rate, and 
 was usually cheered. But Grub Street showed her scant 
 mercy, in which it was ungrateful, for indirectly she must 
 have been the livelihood of hundreds of poor scribblers, who 
 found in her a wholly congenial topic for their not over 
 dainty pens. A remarkable performance of the sort common 
 at that time has fortunately been preserved. It attracted 
 some attention at the moment, and is mentioned both by 
 Pepys and Evelyn. This “ libertine libel ” purported to be a 
 petition presented by the impoverished women of the town 
 to Lady Castlemaine, whom they honoured as the head of 
 their profession. They complained of the pulling down of 
 the streets they lived in, of the attacks of apprentices, and of 
 men who maltreated them, and lived on their earnings. And 
 they warned Lady Castlemaine that even she might one day 
 suffer thus. It is a curious production, and if one had not 
 
DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. 
 
 the most positive evidence that the broadsheet was published 
 in 1668, one would say it was the work of one who knew Lady 
 Castlemaine’s later misfortunes. The writer goes on to give 
 “ The gracious answer of the most Illustrious Lady of Pleasure, 
 the Countess of Castlemaine, to the Poor Whore's Petition.” 
 In the preamble she is made to say, “ For on Shrove Tuesday 
 last Splendidly did we appear upon the theatre at White 
 Hall, being to amazement wonderfully decked with Jewels 
 and Diamonds which the (abhorred and to be undone) 
 Subjects of this Kingdom have payed for.” Then she 
 promises her aid to the sisterhood, “ either out of our annual 
 Rents which we have begged, or out of the next Moneys 
 which shall come to our Hands by our own Practice, or as 
 soon as our standing Revenue shall be established : for,” she 
 is made to add, “should we part with a hundred thousand 
 Pounds worth of our jewels, since so much English Money 
 hath crossed the Narrow Seas, we fear that our Goldsmiths 
 will not be able to raise it upon them.” And in conclusion 
 the petitioners are advised never to do anything without 
 receiving instant payment. To insist on that, she protests, 
 had been her one rule of life, and thus, and thus alone, had 
 she achieved greatness. Mr. Pepys says the satire is not 
 witty, but “ devilish severe.” For once we venture to disagree. 
 It certainly has more humour than most of its kind, and it is 
 regrettable that for obvious reasons none of the passages 
 which support this view can well be quoted. 
 
 Luckily for Lady Castlemaine Grub Street had but little 
 weight in public affairs ; unluckily for the nation, even 
 Westminster Hall was powerless to oust her. So she went 
 on hectoring and robbing the King, and grossly deceiving 
 him as before. Her tempers became worse and worse, till 
 finally he was driven to despair. A treaty of peace was 
 negotiated by the Comte de Grammont, in virtue of which 
 she of the one part promised to moderate her language in 
 speaking of the King’s other favourites, and was to dismiss 
 Jermyn and the rest, while, of the other part, the King still 
 further enriched and ennobled her. In August, 1670, “in 
 consideration of her noble descent, her father’s death in the 
 service of the Crown, and by reason of her own personal 
 
126 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 virtues,” she was created Baroness of Nonsuch, Countess of 
 Southampton, and Duchess of Cleveland, and the estates of 
 Nonsuch, which were near Cheam, in Surrey, were granted to 
 her—besides other things. One might have thought that at 
 last she would be satisfied ; but she still wanted more, and 
 was at no loss to get it, though she was no longer the King’s 
 mistress, for again be it said that she was most prosperous 
 after the King was believed to have cast her off for good. 
 
 The year 1672 saw the marriage of her son, the Duke of 
 Grafton, to the daughter of her old protege and colleague in 
 iniquity, Sir Henry Bennet, now Lord Arlington, who, 
 perhaps, saw in this match a chance of retrieving his lost 
 position. He was now living in sulky retirement, for by a 
 strange irony of fate, he who had been carried into power 
 on the shoulders of the wits, had himself been laughed out of 
 Court. When witlings made jest of his solemn face the King 
 smiled on him no more. Mr. Evelyn attended the ceremony, 
 or rather ceremonies, for there were two, the second taking 
 place in 1679, and grieved much that so sweet a child 
 should be thrown away on a loutish boy. That they were 
 both mere children did not shock him overmuch, for child- 
 marriages were then common enough. Incidentally one 
 learns from Evelyn, and one is hardly surprised, that the 
 Duchess of Cleveland brought up her children badly. They 
 had, he says, no rule except the caprices of the King. And 
 assuredly their mother’s whims were even less likely to guide 
 them right. 
 
 But though the Duchess neglected their moral welfare, she 
 furthered their material interests well enough. Two years 
 afterwards in 1674, her two girls were married. Char¬ 
 lotte, who was ten years old, became Countess of Litchfield, 
 and Anne, who was four years older, became Countess of 
 Sussex. The younger child inherited all the noble qualities 
 of her grandfather, while the older copied the baser example 
 of her mother. The two weddings took place on August 
 I ith, and we learn that the King was at the wedding banquet, 
 with the Duchess on his right. The two girls had the most 
 luxurious trousseaux, and the mercers’ bills incurred for fitting 
 them out, which are still preserved, are enough to move the 
 
DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. 
 
 127 
 
 envy of the most richly dowered of brides of latter days. 
 The bills amount to ,£2,943 Is - 4<J., and were of course not 
 paid by the Duchess nor by the King. The public purse 
 was drawn on to that extent, for the Secret Service Fund 
 defrayed the expense. Nor was this all : his Majesty—or his 
 Majesty’s faithful subjects—gave to the older of the two 
 £20,000 as a dowry, and to the younger £18,000. 
 
 Shortly afterwards the Duchess retired to France. We do 
 not know whether this last exploit of hers aroused such indig¬ 
 nation that she was forced to disappear, or whether it was 
 previously settled. The only wonder is that she had not 
 been driven forth sooner, for her disappearance had been 
 talked of for nearly ten years. During her sojourn abroad 
 but little is heard of her. It is recorded that she presented 
 £1,000 to the sisterhood with whom she placed her daughter 
 Barbara, a piece of munificence hardly to be expected. Four 
 years later occurred a strange correspondence between her 
 and Ralph Mountague, the ambassador in Paris, which throws 
 a strange light on her real position. There was a great 
 intrigue afoot concerning the Secretaryship of State, in pur¬ 
 suance of which an astrologer was to be suborned to work on 
 the King’s superstitious fears, by prophesying all manner of 
 evil, unless a certain man was appointed. But the plotters 
 feared that supernatural influences alone could not prevail, 
 and, casting about for human help, were anxious to have the 
 Duchess on their side. Obviously those who knew the King 
 best still thought that her influence was unimpaired. Perhaps 
 she might have lent her aid—who knows ? but unfortunately 
 for the scheme Mountague had for a short time been one of 
 the Duchess’s favourites, and had transferred his attentions to 
 her daughter, the Countess of Sussex. The Duchess had no 
 great objections, apparently, to her own maternal example 
 being so faithfully followed, but when such things were done 
 at her expense her just indignation got the better of her. 
 On May 16, 1678, she wrote a lengthy and extremely 
 tedious letter to the King, appealing to his “ genoriste ” 
 to avenge her, and calling high heaven to witness how she 
 has been wronged by her child. And here incidentally we 
 hear of another dear friend she had, one M. de Chatillon. 
 
128 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 She seems, moreover, astonished at her own moderation in 
 this matter, and hurt by Mountague’s imputations of levity. 
 The end of it all was that the Earl of Sussex, persuaded of 
 the solid advantages of a royal father-in-law (even though 
 there was doubt about the relationship) took back his wife; 
 and indirectly the dissolution of the so-called “ Pension ” 
 Parliament followed. But to say that the Duchess still 
 interfered in politics is misleading, for her letters show that 
 her concern with the matter is purely personal. As to 
 parliaments, their continuance or dissolution affected her 
 not a jot. 
 
 When she returned home is not quite certain : probably in 
 the same year. At any rate in 1681 she was again in England, 
 gradually getting poorer, because she spent more, rather than 
 because she filched less. She again came to Court, where she 
 cut a great figure, and some of her amorous adventures, 
 belong to this period. Evelyn tells us that she was one of the 
 group who played cards with the King on the Sunday night 
 before his fatal seizure, but no other contemporary mentions 
 her presence on that particular night. Be that as it may, 
 however, Evelyn’s mistake has given Lord Macaulay occasion 
 for one of his most celebrated word-pictures, which it would 
 be a pity to spoil for the sake of so small a fact; since after 
 all, one mistress more or less would make no difference to 
 the scandal. 
 
 After the King’s death the Duchess naturally had to retire 
 more and more into the background. She lived like a private 
 gentlewoman of means, apparently not with a large circle of 
 friends, but with a succession, more or less unbroken, of lovers. 
 She was very much disliked and hated even by her own family, 
 if we may trust the spiteful writer of the New Atlantis, 
 who condemns her as “ Querilous, Fierce, Loquacious, exces¬ 
 sively fond or infamously rude ; ” and adds that every one 
 who knew her would have laughed to see her in her coffin. 
 And it was small wonder that she was soured. She was 
 forty-five, and, as Paula Tanqueray says, one need wish one’s 
 worst enemy nothing worse than to be forty-five. Her 
 finances were not brilliant compared with her past wealth, 
 and her gambling debts were huge. Her son, the Duke of 
 
DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. 
 
 129 
 
 Northumberland, contracted a mean marriage, and her 
 youngest daughter, Barbara, contracted no marriage at all. 
 But she was like her mother in nature as well as name, and 
 she had a son whose parentage was open to dispute. With 
 that distinction she retired into a convent, and the child lived 
 with his undesirable grandmother. 
 
 Little now remains to be told of the Duchess of Cleveland 
 save the grotesque tragi-comedy of her marriage with Beau 
 Fielding, who was the veriest incarnation of empty swagger 
 that ever cumbered the earth. He combined the pleasing 
 qualities of a meaner Don Juan with an unparalleled impu¬ 
 dence and a total lack of refinement and principle. He was 
 born in 1656 at Solihull, near Birmingham, and educated at 
 Queen’s College, Oxford, and was related to the Earls of 
 Denbigh. The most diverting but least accurate history of 
 his life says, however, that he was born at Reigate. The title- 
 page of the book just mentioned gives an excellent idea of the 
 kind of man he was, and it is sufficiently quaint to be worth 
 transcribing in full. It runs thus : “ An Historical Account 
 of the Life, Birth, Parentage, and Conversation, of that cele¬ 
 brated Beau Handsome Fealding, being a full Character of 
 all his Transactions in the service both of Mars and Venus, 
 from his first being took notice of in London till his divorce 
 
 from the Dutchess of C - d, by reason of his being first 
 
 married to Mary Wadsworth, a Jilt of the Town, before, for 
 which he was Tryd and Convicted at the Old Baly: Also 
 you have here an Account of several sharp Actions com¬ 
 mitted by him since his separation to support him till the 
 time of his Death, with an Elegy and Epitaph, and other 
 matters too tedious to be related. London, printed for T. 
 Palmer in Cornhill, 1707.” The occurrence here of the name 
 Palmer should be interesting to students of coincidence. 
 
 Following our untrustworthy guide, we learn that Fielding’s 
 fine person earned him the nickname of “ Beau ” from Charles 
 II., who bestowed also more solid gratifications on him, making 
 him, among other things, J.P. of Westminster. One cannot 
 help wondering whether, in spite of the difference of age, he 
 had much acquaintance with the Duchess of Cleveland in the 
 days of King Charles ; for we hear that “ finding a greater 
 
 10 
 
no 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 profit accrue to him than by being a J.P., he gave himself 
 wholly up to Love and Wine.” He went over to Rome and 
 protected a Catholic chapel from a mob. For this and other 
 services he was made major-general, and our authority says 
 that in that post “ he behaved himself with so much Conduct 
 that I never heard of any battle that ever he was engaged in 
 except in the Wars of Venus.” Here our facetious guide does 
 him some injustice, however, for he did see some service. 
 Some of his scandalous exploits have lived. He was once 
 kicked off the stage by the actors for his insufferable imper¬ 
 tinences. He was at least twice pilloried by Swift, once as 
 “ Orlando ” in the Tatler , and again as one of the “ meanest 
 figures in history.” This was when, after a duel, he went on 
 to the stage and showed his wound, to obtain the pity of the 
 ladies. But they only laughed, at which Sir Walter Scott, 
 judging by the standards of a milder-mannered age, ex¬ 
 pressed both grief and astonishment. For the wound was 
 real enough. Once walking in the Park he asked his servant 
 whether his dress were properly adjusted, and whether the 
 ladies were looking at him ; and when the man answered yes 
 
 to both, he said, “ Then let them die for love and be d-.” 
 
 He was twice married, and squandered two fortunes, and 
 when he determined to lay siege to the Duchess, who was 
 sixteen years his senior, his fortunes were at a desperately 
 low ebb. How low we learn from the same source as before. 
 “ He hired a coach for his wedding but kept two Footmen, 
 who as they might be known to what Fop they belonged to, 
 were Cloathed in Yellow, and as Foppishly wore black 
 Sashes, which he bought at a cheap Rate, as being only old 
 mourning Hat Bands, bought of such as cry about the Streets 
 ‘ Old Suits of Cloaths.’ ” And this was the wedding finery of 
 the Duchess whose daughters’ trousseaux had cost the country 
 thousands. 
 
 This notable marriage took place in 1706, the united ages 
 of the happy couple amounting to one hundred and sixteen, the 
 bride being sixty-six years old, and the bridegroom a mere 
 stripling of fifty. No wonder that the match was the talk of 
 the town, and the subject of satires more forcible than 
 delicate. Why the Duchess capitulated is hard to say, except 
 
DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. 
 
 J 3 1 
 
 that she had found her master in those very qualities or 
 defects by means of which she had ruled the King Why 
 he married was soon obvious. He desired her fortune, and 
 not finding her quite so generous as he had expected, he 
 proceeded to use such violence that she fell desperately ill, 
 and had to have recourse to the law. He beat her and said 
 he would think as little of killing her as of killing a dog. 
 She was in fear of her life, and so terrified of her husband 
 that she was at first “ shy of laying anything to his charge.” 
 (Barbara Villiers shy!) She would not speak till he was 
 removed from the court. The trial took place at the Old 
 Bailey, and Lord Chief Justice Holt committed him to New¬ 
 gate. But he was released on bail. 
 
 Relief, however, soon came from an unexpected quarter. 
 Two women of the town—Mary Wadsworth and Mrs. Villars 
 —sought out the Duchess’s son, the Duke of Northumberland 
 and the Duke of Grafton, her grandson, and told them a story 
 which was soon unfolded in Westminster Hall. It was one 
 of the strangest and meanest ever heard even in that place. 
 On Wednesday, October 23, 1706, information was laid on 
 behalf of the Duchess against Robert Fielding for committing 
 bigamy, on the ground that Mary Wadsworth, his wife, was 
 alive when he purported to marry the Duchess of Cleveland. 
 On December the 4th the case came on before a full bench. 
 A verbatim report of the hearing is extant, and should be 
 read by all who find pleasure in curiously minute pictures of 
 the seamy side of things in the past. 
 
 From the opening speech of the counsel and the evidence 
 it appeared that a Mrs. Villars promised Fielding that he 
 should meet Mrs. Delean, a rich City widow, and that he did 
 meet a lady whom he took to be the widow in question, and 
 he courted her. He entertained her at supper (at which he 
 hired a girl to sing to her “ Ianthe the Lovely,” a song which he 
 protested he had taken from the original Greek), and very soon 
 a ceremony was performed, some weeks before the Cleveland 
 marriage, by a priest fetched from the Portuguese Embassy. 
 Mr. Fielding gave his bride a ring on which was inscribed 
 the motto, “ Tibi Soli,” and he bought presents for her 
 including “a suit of Knots for a Woman’s night cloaths or 
 
132 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 Night Head Dress,” which was a fact not so trivial as it 
 might seem. He also wrote her letters in which he addressed 
 her as his Countess. If these letters could be reproduced, they 
 would show better than anything else his total vileness. But 
 they are not even quotable. Every one except the Duchess 
 knew him for what he was. His letters to Mrs. Delean were 
 burnt by her servants because of his evil reputation. 
 
 The truth was that the cunning Mr. Fielding, who had 
 tried to cheat the Duchess, had been himself the most foolish 
 of dupes. The lady was a lady of easy virtue, one Mary 
 Wadsworth. He used much“beauish and impertinent lan¬ 
 guage,” and pretended he had known it all along. He tried 
 to say it was a mock marriage, and that she had a husband 
 living—a contention he strove to support by means of a 
 forged register—and finally, he asked, if he had thought her a 
 Lady of Quality, would a man of Fashion have insulted her 
 with such mean gifts? It came out, however, in evidence 
 that he had used threats to Mrs. Villars (the name is another 
 curious coincidence), which she fully described. It is duly 
 set out that he, the said Robert Fielding, did “ lock five locks 
 upon the said Charlotte Henrietta Villars , and did beat and 
 abuse her in a most barbarous and cruel manner, and did hold 
 up to her Head an Instrument or Weapon being a Hatchet 
 on one side and a Hammer on the other, and did say to the 
 said Charlotte Henrietta Villars that he, the said Robert , 
 would slit her Skull and Nose if she should dare ” to say to 
 the Duchess anything of his marriage. But the said Char¬ 
 lotte Henrietta Villars was so terrified that she did go and 
 tell everything to the Dukes of Grafton and Northumberland, 
 with the result that Fielding was finally convicted of felony, 
 though he was not burnt in the hand, having previously 
 obtained a dispensation from Queen Anne. After the trial 
 the Duchess found herself for once an object of popular 
 sympathy. “ And then the Dutchess of Cleaveland leaving the 
 Court, she was led through Westminster Hall by the Duke of 
 Northumberland, having a tipstaff to clear the way for her to 
 her Coach, and respected all through the Hall by the Gentle¬ 
 men, whilst F - g was ignominiously houted out of Palace 
 
 Yard.” And so he passed out into obscurity, to die five years 
 
DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. 
 
 133 
 
 later in a garret which he shared with Mary Wadsworth, to 
 whom he was reconciled. He left a will bequeathing to his 
 relations a shilling apiece—surely one of the first historical 
 instances of such a testamentary disposition. Drunken bully 
 and unscrupulous adventurer that he was, he had his place in 
 the scheme of things. It was fated that the Duchess of 
 Cleveland should be made to suffer in her turn for all the 
 havoc she had caused ; though surely Providence never chose 
 a meaner instrument for a good end. 
 
 There remained one more court to be invoked by the 
 Duchess after Fielding’s conviction before she could be free. 
 A decree of divorce was asked for and granted by the Eccle¬ 
 siastical Court without difficulty on May 23, 1707, and the 
 official who read it out, contrary to his custom, stood up, out 
 of deference to her and her sons, and the other distinguished 
 persons present. 
 
 The story is now nearly ended. After the last catastrophe 
 she lived wholly retired in her house at Chiswick, and on 
 October 9, 1709, she died of dropsy. She was buried there, 
 and the Duke of Grafton, her grandson, was her residuary 
 legatee; but there was not much left of the colossal fortune 
 to the amassing of which she had sacrificed everything a good 
 woman holds dear. 
 
 Barbara Villiers deserves to be placed very near the worst 
 of the bad women of history. That her last misfortunes may 
 move us to pity should not affect our judgment. In no rela¬ 
 tion of life was she other than wholly bad. She was a bad 
 wife, a bad mother, and a worse mistress. She was inordi¬ 
 nately avaricious and madly extravagant. She gambled and 
 she swore, and she had neither wit nor sense, and never did 
 an unselfish thing. She had the temper of a fiend and the 
 manners of a fishwife. Gratitude and tenderness were alike 
 unknown to her, and remorse she could hardly have felt, 
 even had she been conscious of her own badness. She did 
 no murder, it is true, but every other sin in the Decalogue 
 she committed, and more besides. The only comfortable 
 reflection is, that if she had been less foolish she might have 
 done more harm to the State; but in all conscience she did 
 enough. With such a King and such a Queen, a mistress 
 
134 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 of the King was bound to rule the country, and she would 
 have been more than human had she not seized the reins. 
 That is her only defence, and it touches barely one count in 
 the long indictment. As to the rest, judgment must go 
 against her by default. 
 
 Alfred Kalisch. 
 
/ENNY DIVER. 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
“JENNY DIVER.” 
 
 (EX. 1741.) 
 
 “ What! and my pretty Jenny Diver too ! As prim and demure as 
 ever ! There is not any Prude, though ever so high bred, hath a more 
 sanctified look with a more mischievous heart. Ah ! thou art a dear 
 artful hypocrite .”—Macheath in The Beggar's Opera. 
 
 ASHION has much to answer for, and when she 
 
 1 ordained that pockets should no longer be worn inde¬ 
 pendently of the rest of one’s garments, in a situation in 
 which they were particularly liable to be removed bodily by 
 the process of “ cutting,” she became in some sort godmother 
 of the lady whose name was intended to suggest her remark¬ 
 able skill and success in diving after their contents. 
 
 Other godmothers of Jenny Diver, the name or names 
 which they bestowed upon her, and even that to which she 
 was born, are difficult of identification, and her origin is 
 involved in a mist of obscurity, which she herself, when 
 requested thereto, begged most pointedly to be excused from 
 dispelling. National pride, it is true, prevailed with her so 
 far that she repudiated an Irish origin and claimed to be 
 of English parentage, but she declined to be more particular 
 in her information. This reticence may, of course, have been 
 the outcome of a laudable unwillingness to stain the 
 escutcheon of an honourable line, though, on the other hand, 
 there is some reason to suppose that Jenny, cunning as she 
 was in some matters, had not attained to that degree of 
 wisdom which would have enabled her to know her own 
 father. Jones, Murphy, Wills, Webb, and Young were 
 among the respectable patronymics by which at various 
 
133 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 times she was called, and to two, at least, of them it can 
 with confidence be asserted that she answered. On the 
 whole, however, it seems fairer to dismiss all these and to fall 
 back upon the appellation to which, by general consent, her 
 remarkable abilities had given her a title. 
 
 Jenny Diver’s mother is said to have been one Harriot 
 Jones, a lady’s-maid, who, having fallen a victim to the wiles 
 of a noble lord, nameless in the story, and having been 
 abandoned by her seducer and cast out by her relatives, 
 brought forth her daughter under the auspices of the 
 notorious Mother Wisebourne. We have no information as 
 to the date of this event, but an estimate of Jenny’s age in 
 the year 1741 makes it appear probable that it happened 
 near the beginning of the century. The unfortunate mother 
 having died when her child was but five years old, the little 
 waif by some means or other drifted to the north of Ireland, 
 where she fell under the care of an old woman whose only 
 name to her was “ nurse.” 
 
 When she was ten years of age she was sent to school, 
 where, Mr. Guthrie, the indefatigable Ordinary of Newgate 
 tells us, she had a good education, and “ was instructed in the 
 principles of religion and the knowledge of other things 
 which was required in order to fit her for doing business.” 
 The good gentleman omits to mention for what particular 
 description of business Jenny’s schooling was intended to 
 qualify her, but to the exercise of the profession she adopted, 
 which can hardly have been in the contemplation of her 
 pastors and masters, she applied her advantages of education 
 with quite remarkable success. 
 
 To mental training was added instruction in the art of 
 plain work, “ at which she was dextrous, being reckon’d an 
 extraordinary workwoman with her needle.” How must 
 malignant Fate have chuckled over the sampler, knowing full 
 well where trust in this same nimbleness of finger would lead 
 her in the end ! 
 
 Life in the north of Ireland, under the supervision of an 
 antiquated duenna, had but few attractions to offer to a 
 young lady of spirit, already conscious of the magnetic 
 influence of London. When, therefore, she had attained to 
 
JENNY DIVER. 
 
 139 
 
 proficiency in plain sewing and her fifteenth year, Jenny took 
 the determination to see the world, with some vague notion, 
 apparently, of maintaining herself by her needle. She made 
 inquiry for any vessel bound for England, and having 
 discovered one due to sail in three days, she succeeded in 
 coming to an agreement with the captain for her passage. 
 
 The first step in this case cost nothing, but money from 
 some quarter or other had to be provided to pay her charges 
 of the journey and until she was able to find a market for 
 her skill, and there were, besides, her clothes to be conveyed 
 on board without the observation of her “ nurse.” 
 
 In this difficulty she bethought her of a youth, servant to a 
 gentleman of fortune in the neighbourhood, who had for the 
 space of a month “paid his addresses to her in the quality of 
 a suitor.” Representing the old woman, her “ nurse,” as an 
 insurmountable obstacle to their union, she persuaded him 
 that the only way to secure their happiness was to join her in 
 flight to England. Her lover was only too delighted with 
 the proposal, and having been informed of the agreement she 
 had already made with the captain, met her in due course 
 on board the vessel on the morning of her departure, having 
 previously taken the precaution to rob his master of the sum 
 of eighty guineas and a gold watch. Thus provided they set 
 sail and, after a somewhat stormy voyage, duly arrived at 
 Liverpool, where they determined to stay for a few days, in 
 order that Jenny, who had suffered from sea-sickness, might 
 recruit herself before they took the road to London. For 
 they were minded, after despatching their baggage by 
 waggon, to make the journey by easy stages on foot. 
 
 Being anxious to avoid observation, they secured a lodging 
 in a private house, but upon the morning of the day fixed for 
 their departure they were unfortunately tempted to visit an 
 inn for the purpose of fortifying themselves for the initial 
 stage of their journey to the capital. No sooner had the}’ 
 set foot within the house than Jenny’s lover caught sight of 
 one whose face was only too familiar to him, and for whose 
 presence there his guilty conscience felt no difficulty in 
 accounting. Fain would the youth have retreated, but it was 
 too late, and he was straightway seized and hurried before 
 
140 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 the mayor. A crowd beset him and his captor, and Jenny, 
 escaping notice in the confusion of the arrest, was enabled to 
 follow unmolested at a distance. Once before the magistrate 
 she heard him confess his crime, and saw him dragged off to 
 prison to await his unwilling return to Ireland. As he had 
 made no mention of his companion, Jenny was free to go 
 whither she pleased, and her choice fell upon another public- 
 house, where she sat down and wrote a letter to her lover, 
 “ expressing a great concern for this misfortune.” 
 
 Fortunately for her, he had but shortly before his arrest 
 given her ten guineas to put in her own little purse, and to 
 the concern which she expressed in her letter she added a 
 promise to return this sum when it was in her power. His 
 clothes, too, which had been packed for London, she under¬ 
 took to forward to him upon her arrival, and when she had 
 done thus much she made the best of her way to town, 
 “ never,” as she afterwards confessed, “ being the least dis¬ 
 mayed at this accident.” It must be said, however, to her 
 credit that Jenny redeemed both her promises to the un¬ 
 fortunate culprit, who, having been tried and sentenced to 
 death, was afterwards transported, and thus, as far as one 
 knows, passed entirely out of her life. 
 
 Up to this time she had not, as she declared by the mouth 
 of the good Ordinary, “ imbibed any principle to wrong or 
 defraud anybody,” but it must be confessed that the manner 
 in which she treated this “ accident ” betokened, to say the 
 least of it, uncommon fortitude in so young and innocent a 
 creature, and a mind in which virtue and its opposites would 
 probably be divided by no very arbitrary line. 
 
 Arrived in London, Jenny soon fell in with a lady, a native 
 of the country she had just left, Anne Murphy, or Morphew, 
 by name, and by her good offices was installed in a lodging 
 near Long Acre to await the visits of such persons as had 
 plain sewing to be done. 
 
 The picture presented by “ The Song of the Shirt ” differs 
 probably only in detail from one which might have been 
 painted oi a similar subject in the first quarter of the 
 eighteenth century, and it is not surprising that Jenny soon 
 found she had grievously over-estimated the earnings of her 
 
JENNY DIVER. 
 
 i 4 i 
 
 needle. We are not told what calling Mrs. Murphy pur¬ 
 ported to follow, but the sequel makes it seem probable 
 that we are doing her no injustice in supposing that for 
 some time previous to the date of her acquaintance with 
 Jenny she had, under the pretence, possibly, of plain sewing, 
 picked pockets. For when, one day, Jenny was expressing 
 her disappointment at the manner in which business came 
 in, the Irish lady, taking her aside, “ thus expostulates the 
 case with her ” :— 
 
 “Jenny,” says she, “trading being dead, suppose we was 
 to take a new method of life, which, at present, you are a 
 stranger to, but what I am acquainted with ? ” 
 
 And when Jenny was urgent to know what this new 
 method of life might be, “ Why,” replied she, “ if you will go 
 along with me this evening you shall be instructed in this 
 new art; but I must first swear you to secrecy, for fear, if you 
 should not like it, you should discover.” 
 
 Jenny promptly gave her word, and when night came was 
 duly made acquainted with two gentlemen who were at that 
 time the only persons associated with Mrs. Murphy in her 
 “ new method of life.” From this hour she may be said to 
 have commenced pickpocket, though, to be strictly accurate, 
 she played at first the less hazardous part of receiver; she, in 
 the language of her friends, stood Miss Slang all upon the 
 safe —that is to say, whenever a watch, snuffbox, or other 
 article had been secured by any one of the party, it was 
 rapidly passed from the hand of the thief to hers, in the 
 confident hope that her youthful and unsophisticated appear¬ 
 ance would at once disarm suspicion. 
 
 Mrs. Murphy and her friends were in the habit of lying in 
 wait outside the theatres in order that they might make profit 
 of the crowd and confusion at the conclusion of the perform¬ 
 ance, and upon the occasion of Jenny’s first association with 
 them, they succeeded in obtaining two diamond girdle-buckles 
 and a gold watch. These, being disposed of, realized seventy 
 pounds, ten only of which, by reason of her inexperience 
 and the smaller risk she ran, fell to her share. 
 
 Great as were Jenny’s natural abilities, no opportunity was 
 lost of improving them by education, for one of the gentle- 
 
142 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 men with whom she had recently become acquainted made it 
 his business, and doubtless his pleasure too, to attend at her 
 lodging every day for the purpose of giving her instruction 
 in the practice of pocket-picking, and also in the extremely 
 curious language which the initiated of that day employed as 
 their medium of communication. This association as master 
 and pupil led very shortly to one more intimate, which ought 
 to have been that ol husband and wife, grounded, as is 
 quaintly said, upon the respect which the parties had conceived 
 for each other. 
 
 Although Jenny promised “a sincere and faithful narra¬ 
 tive ” of her “ facts,” and that too at a time when, if ever, she 
 might have been expected to utter the language of truth, she 
 altered her purpose and contented herself (but not her 
 biographer) with an account in which there are few traces of 
 the steps by which she rose to eminence in the practice of 
 her profession. She and her companions were diligent and 
 successful, and she was enabled to indulge to her heart’s con¬ 
 tent the passion for handsome clothing which distinguished 
 her down to the day of her death. Her education and 
 natural advantages stood her in good stead in playing the 
 role of a fine lady, and no feelings of jealousy prevented her 
 companions from supporting her in the guise of servants in 
 any enterprise that promised to result to the common advan¬ 
 tage. It was in this character that Jenny performed a feat 
 which compelled the admiration of her companions and con¬ 
 vinced them of her right to an equal share in the proceeds of 
 their adventures. 
 
 There was in the Old Jewry a meeting-house, then the field 
 of the oratory of some popular preacher, which, in common 
 with other crowded resorts, the thieves made a practice of 
 visiting. Here upon one occasion, among the multitude 
 waiting at the entrance for admission, Jenny espied a gentle¬ 
 man whose dress and appearance marked him out as a 
 promising subject. The crush was great, and the beau soon 
 found himself, not without the exertions of Jenny’s friends, 
 wedged tightly in the doorway. In such a situation gallantry 
 would suffer him to do no less than take in his own the 
 hand which a handsome and fashionably dressed lady in 
 
■JENNY DIVER. 
 
 *43 
 
 the crowd held out to him for assistance. “ Politeness costs 
 nothing,” says the copybook, but when the lady’s hand was 
 withdrawn there went with it a valuable diamond ring which 
 she had succeeded in slipping from his finger. Hastily 
 passing the spoil to one of her accomplices and protesting, 
 
 “ It is in vain to get in, I will come another time when there 
 is less crowd,” Jenny made her way out, and, when the 
 gentleman in the doorway, discovering his loss, cried out to 
 stop her, had doubtless placed the distance of several streets 
 between them. 
 
 As she did not scruple to take advantage of the suscepti¬ 
 bilities of the male sex, so likewise was she ever ready to 
 abuse the peculiar sympathies of her own. Her favourite 
 device for this purpose was to simulate, by the assistance of a 
 pillow or two beneath her coats, a condition which could 
 hardly fail to gain her consideration, and at the same time 
 provide opportunity for the exercise of her skill. Upon one 
 occasion, when the King had been to visit the House of Lords, 
 she contrived to fall to the ground in the narrow passage 
 leading through Spring Gardens to St. James’s Park, where 
 she lay groaning with all the appearance of a sufferer from 
 the pains of incipient labour. The stream of people issuing 
 from the Park was stopped, and hands were promptly 
 stretched out to assist her. Begging them, however, to let 
 her lie, she made haste to empty the pockets of the sympa¬ 
 thizers who were bending over her, while her companions all 
 the time were equally busy upon the outskirts of the crowd. 
 Two diamond girdle-buckles, a gold watch, a gold snuffbox, 
 and purses containing upwards of thirty guineas were secured 
 upon this occasion, and when the owners of such of this 
 property as could be identified inserted advertisements in the 
 newspapers offering a reward for its recovery with an assur¬ 
 ance that no questions would be asked, Mrs. Murphy was 
 willing and anxious to be the means of restoring it. 
 
 In this, as may easily be guessed, she was influenced not so 
 much by a feeling of sympathy with the sufferers as by a 
 comparison of the amount of the promised reward with any 
 sum that was likely to be realized by a secret sale of the 
 articles. 
 
144 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 But when the prudent Jenny objected to Mrs. Murphy that 
 she might be “smoked” and followed, and all thus be 
 “blown,” it was resolved to hand the property over to Mr. 
 Roger Johnson to be by him conveyed to Holland for 
 disposal. This gentleman, their usual “ fence ” or receiver, 
 was engaged in the smuggling line, and succeeded in dying 
 before he had received from an outraged country any 
 acknowledgment of his various misdeeds. 
 
 Again, when she was apparently once more upon the eve 
 of her delivery Jenny, attended, as usual by a footman, was 
 walking in Burr Street, Wapping, when she was suddenly 
 overtaken by the most excruciating agonies. Choosing a 
 house of substantial appearance, the pretended footman 
 knocks at the door and begs for his mistress an immediate 
 audience of the lady within. No sooner are they ushered in 
 than the situation is explained, and the good housewife 
 rushes for her smelling-bottle. Jenny takes advantage of her 
 temporary absence to secrete a rich suit of clothes in a 
 place specially constructed in her hoop, and upon her return 
 with the salts contrives during the intervals of her anguish to 
 abstract the contents of her pocket. The footman has 
 meanwhile been busy among the spoons, salt-cellars, and 
 pepper-boxes in the kitchen, and being presently informed of 
 the partial recovery of his mistress, goes in search of a coach, 
 the driver of which is loudly directed to the house of a 
 respectable merchant in Tower Street, and Jenny takes her 
 leave with profuse thanks and an earnest entreaty to her 
 hostess to visit her and her husband at the address which has 
 just been mentioned. The coachman, having driven a short 
 distance, is stopped, paid, and dismissed, and Jenny and her 
 companion make the best of their way home to count up the 
 probable proceeds of their adventure. 
 
 This pretended pregnancy was occasional!)' supple¬ 
 mented by the addition of false hands and arms, the 
 work of “ an ingenious artist.” When these were em¬ 
 ployed, one of the gang would go on in advance, to 
 the meeting-house for instance, the scene of the capture 
 of the diamond ring, for the purpose of marking down 
 any persons next to whom it seemed desirable to secure 
 
JENNY DIVER. 
 
 H5 
 
 a seat for Jenny, while another, in the guise of a footman, 
 attended the chair in which she was conveyed. Arrived 
 at the place, she would contrive to take the seat which the 
 scout indicated, and sitting with her false hands folded in her 
 lap, would busy herself during the service in emptying the 
 pockets of such persons as she could reach, being careful in 
 each instance to convey the property as soon as possible to 
 one of her confederates in an adjoining pew. If, when the 
 property was missed, suspicion for one moment rested upon 
 her, there was sure to be some sympathizer of her own sex 
 ready to answer for the pregnant lady, whose hands, she 
 vowed and protested, had never once been raised from her 
 lap. Untiring in her efforts, Jenny would soon divest herself 
 of her disguise, and return in maiden slimness to continue 
 her depredations upon the congregation issuing from the 
 evening service. In the use of artificial arms and hands for 
 the purpose of covering the movements of her own, Jenny 
 had been anticipated by one Thomas Dun, a noted pickpocket 
 in his day, but neither he nor any one else ever approached 
 the dexterity with which she could dive into a pocket and 
 remove its contents. The name of Jenny Diver was bestowed 
 upon her by her associates in compliment to her skill, but 
 whether they fetched the name from “ The Beggar’s Opera,” 
 or she herself was the prototype from whom Gay drew, one 
 cannot now determine. 
 
 Though one cannot trace the steps by which she rose, it 
 seems certain that within two years from her first association 
 with Mrs. Murphy and her friends, Jenny had established her 
 ascendancy over a considerable gang, into which she intro¬ 
 duced some sort of organization. No one, upon her proposi¬ 
 tion, was henceforth to be admitted to their number except 
 after a month’s trial, and then only with the consent of all ; 
 no private enterprizes were to be undertaken ; should any 
 member be arrested, the others were to stand by him and be 
 prepared with the necessary perjured evidence to secure his 
 acquittal ; and lastly, certain sums were from time to time to 
 be set aside to be employed in contributing to the comfort of 
 any one on whose behalf the said evidence should unfortu¬ 
 nately have been tendered in vain. 
 
146 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 In spite of the increase in the numbers of the gang Jenny 
 herself appears to have carried on her operations with the 
 assistance of her original associates, and particularly of the 
 gentleman whom she had chosen as the partner of her bed 
 and board. There is some reason to believe that the latter 
 was not unwilling that her fidelity to him should be put to 
 the proof, if only the trial promised to bring some addition 
 to the common exchequer. Her reputation for chastity has, 
 not unnaturally, been assailed, but as far as one knows his 
 confidence was justified, and what is said of the Jenny Diver 
 of “ The Beggar’s Opera ” may not be true, in all that it 
 implies, of the Jenny Diver of real life. 
 
 “If any woman,” said Mrs. Coaxer in the opera, “ hath 
 more Art than another, to be sure ’tis Jenny Diver. Though 
 her fellow be never so agreeable, she can pick his pocket as 
 coolly as if money were her only pleasure. Now that is a 
 command of the passions uncommon in a woman.” 
 
 But whether her deviations into the paths of dalliance were 
 few or frequent, it is quite evident that something more than 
 a passing fancy was wanted to divert her from the pursuit of 
 the main chance. 
 
 Having one evening, according to her custom, attended the 
 theatre in her character of a lady of elegant fashion, she was, 
 upon leaving, accosted by a young gentleman of fortune 
 from Yorkshire (not, presumably, from Sheffield) who begged 
 that he might be allowed the honour of attending her to her 
 home. Promptly foreseeing the opportunities to which this 
 adventure might give rise, she at first declined the attention, 
 alleging as a reason the probable suspicion of her husband, to 
 whom she had but recently been married, but, seeming to 
 yield upon pressure, she afterwards suffered the amorous 
 gallant to call a coach and to set her down near her lodging, 
 at that time in the neighbourhood of Covent Garden. The 
 young gentleman, well satisfied with the impression he had 
 made, took his leave after obtaining permission to call upon 
 her in a few days, when, as he was assured, her husband 
 would be out of town. 
 
 The companions, disappointed at first at the meagre results 
 of her raid upon the playhouse, represented by one gold snuff- 
 
JENNY DIVER. 
 
 147 
 
 box, were delighted at the prospect which this promised visit 
 opened, and when the young gentleman arrived, richly attired 
 for the occasion, preparations fully adequate had been already 
 made to receive him. Two members of the gang appeared 
 as servants in livery, while Mrs. Murphy, in the character of 
 a waiting-maid, was ready to conduct him to the bower of 
 expected bliss. It is not perhaps surprising that in such a 
 moment he failed to notice that his lady had removed a 
 diamond ring from his finger in the act of welcoming him, 
 for he had already divested himself of his clothes, when Mrs. 
 Murphy rapped at the door and announced to her mistress 
 in agitated tones the unexpected return of her husband. 
 
 Desiring the gentleman to conceal himself under the bed¬ 
 clothes, Jenny hastily snatched up his garments, together 
 with a gold-headed cane, a sword with a gold hilt, and a 
 valuable watch, in order, as she said, that if her husband 
 should chance to come into the room his suspicions might 
 not be aroused, promising, at the same time, to do her best to 
 induce him to lie apart from her that night, and to return as 
 speedily as possible to the arms of her lover. Having once 
 secured her retreat, she proceeded to lock the door and with¬ 
 draw the key, and then with her pretended retainers and all 
 their effects took her departure from the house with no 
 intention of returning. The unlucky youth beneath the bed¬ 
 clothes, having passed a night of agitated and anxious 
 expectation, in the morning had no alternative but to ring the 
 bell for the people of the house, who, arriving and having 
 forced the door, did not scruple to take advantage of his 
 melancholy situation, and absolutely refused to allow him to 
 send for other garments and to take his departure, until he 
 had discharged the score that Jenny and her companions 
 had left unpaid behind them. 
 
 Thus far Jenny had pursued her course with absolute 
 impunity, but retribution at length overtook her, for being 
 through some mischance, detected in picking a gentleman’s 
 pocket, she was tried, convicted, and sentenced to transporta¬ 
 tion. It is extremely to be regretted that the details of this 
 incident are lacking, but their absence is easily to be 
 accounted for by her own natural reticence on the subject 
 
148 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 and the difficulty of identifying a lady of so many aliases 
 among the scores who were almost daily the recipients of a 
 similar sentence. Of the fact of the sentence, which must 
 have been pronounced at some time prior to the year 1733, 
 there can be no manner of doubt, but whether Jenny actually 
 left the country is open to question. There was no lack of 
 money among her friends, and it seems probable that by 
 some means, difficult in these days of an inquisitive public 
 press to understand, she contrived either to altogether avoid 
 the inconveniences of exile, or at least to obtain the com¬ 
 mutation of her sentence of transportation into one which 
 merely enforced a temporary absence from London. 
 
 This view of the case would go far to explain her presence 
 with her associates at Bristol, where, among other feats, they 
 succeeded in robbing a foolish countryman of a bag contain¬ 
 ing a hundred pounds, mainly by reason of the respectful 
 awe with which Jenny’s grand airs and elegant appearance 
 inspired him. 
 
 Returning to London as soon, it may be presumed, as it 
 was considered safe for her to do so, she continued her old 
 courses, only, for a time, changing the scene of her operations 
 from the neighbourhood of the theatres to the City. Upon 
 London Bridge she succeeded in obtaining thirty guineas, a 
 gold snuffbox, and a silver case containing instruments from 
 a lady, whose attention was distracted by one of the gang, 
 who held her hands, under the pretence of assisting her to 
 pass some vehicles that were in the roadway at the time. 
 The very next day she picked a gentleman’s pocket in 
 Change Alley of two hundred pounds in bank-notes, a feat 
 worthy of record by reason of the fact that the gang profited 
 by it to the extent of one hundred and thirty pounds in cash, 
 which Johnson gave for the notes. 
 
 It was now the turn of Jenny’s matrimonial partner to fall 
 within the meshes of the law, and though we have no details 
 of the crime in which he was detected, he is known to have 
 lain for some considerable time in Newgate, where she was 
 his daily visitor. 
 
 The year 1738 opened inauspiciously, for in the spring 
 Jenny, then residing in Pea-hen Court, Bishopsgate Street, 
 
JENNY DIVER. 
 
 X49 
 
 was sued out of her house by the City authorities as a 
 nuisance, it being particularly alleged against her that she 
 kept and harboured disorderly company therein. This inter¬ 
 ference caused her removal to Wapping, a prelude to the 
 considerably longer journey that immediately awaited her. 
 
 On April 4th was celebrated at St. Paul’s the Festival of 
 the Sons of the Clergy ; a crowd attended upon this occasion 
 for the purpose of hearing the music, while, for purposes of 
 their own, Jenny and some of her associates attended upon 
 the crowd. After the service was over a certain Mrs. Mary 
 Rowley, who had been present with her friend, Miss Mary 
 Reed, bethought her that she would best avoid the multitude 
 by going through Canon Alley into Paternoster Row. She 
 was disappointed in her expectation, for in the Alley she 
 found her progress impeded, and while she was being pushed, 
 distinctly felt her hoop lifted and a hand inserted into her 
 pocket. She cried out at once, “ What ! are you picking 
 pockets here ! ” But in spite of that, all might yet have 
 been well if it had not unfortunately happened that one Mr. 
 Addy had been for some time previously diverting himself by 
 watching the crowd from his window, and had been a witness 
 of this incident which had happened immediately beneath it. 
 Calling out, “ Madam, your pocket is picked! ” he hastily 
 descended into the street, and assuring Mrs. Rowley that he 
 knew the culprit, undertook, if she would prosecute, to arrest 
 her. This she at once consented to do, and Mr. Addy pro¬ 
 ceeded to lay hands upon Jenny, who, answering upon this 
 occasion to the name of Jane Webb, was forthwith taken 
 before the Lord Mayor and committed for trial upon a 
 charge of privately stealing. She was conveyed, in spite of 
 an ineffectual attempt to stab the person who rode in the 
 coach with her, to Newgate, and on the following Tuesday, 
 the 11 th, was brought up to take her trial at the Old Bailey. 
 
 Mrs. Rowley, identifying the prisoner as the person whose 
 hand she had felt in her pocket, gave her version of what 
 has been above related, and Miss Reed, who had, as she said, 
 taken the precaution to empty her pockets before she came 
 out, described a similar attempt upon herself by the same 
 individual. The evidence of these witnesses was sufficiently 
 
TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 150 
 
 awkward, but Mr. Addy, the gentleman who was above and 
 saw all, effectually clenched the matter. He, he declared, 
 knew the prisoner well ; she had been in and about the Alley 
 for the space of two or three hours that morning, and, with 
 the assistance of “ her two fellows,” had been “ hurrying and 
 picking pockets as fast as she could.” Asked very pertinently 
 by Jenny why, if this was so, he had not called out before, 
 he gave the somewhat inadequate reason that the other acts 
 of which he spoke had been done at a distance, whereas the 
 offence upon Mrs. Rowley had been committed under his 
 nose. He further undertook to be positive that the prisoner 
 had taken money—eight shillings and sixpence, by the way, 
 was the exact sum that Mrs. Rowley declared she missed out 
 of eleven shillings and sixpence that she had had—from the 
 pocket of the prosecutrix and conveyed it to her own, and 
 though he might well have been cross-examined with effect 
 upon this point, there would in any case have remained 
 matter, sufficiently serious, for the prisoner to deal with. 
 
 Jenny, unable to profit as the habitual criminal of to-day 
 is, by anything she had heard in court of the devices of a 
 professional “ mouthpiece,” was no advocate. She was in a 
 shop, she said, when “ that man ” came up and accused her ; 
 she had offered to be searched, and had told the people she 
 had seven-and-sixpence and a guinea in her pocket, and if 
 she had any more it was the lady’s. In the latter part of 
 this statement she was confirmed by the prosecutrix, who 
 added, however, that “ My Lord ” (meaning thereby the Lord 
 Mayor) “ imagined she had her Receivers about her, and that 
 it would be to no purpose to search.” 
 
 With reference to her allegation that she was in a shop at 
 the time she was seized, she was flatly contradicted by Mr. 
 Addy, who declared that, so far from this being the case, she 
 was actually upon the point of picking Dr. Best’s lady’s 
 pocket when he called out to her. He added the damaging 
 information that he had known her for a pickpocket these 
 five years, and could, he protested, if he had thought it 
 necessary, have brought a dozen people to prove it, so well 
 known was she. He had seen her pick at least twenty 
 pockets that morning, and since her arrest her friends (her 
 
JENNY DIVER. 
 
 iSi 
 
 “janizaries,” he called them) had been to him and offered him 
 fifty pounds to keep out of the way in order that the matter 
 might be dropped before the Grand Jury. 
 
 After this there came a curious procession of witnesses— 
 Mary Cherry, Ann Carter, Frances Fletcher, Mary Robes, 
 John Taylor, and Thomas Welch—all of whom gave the 
 prisoner the character of an honest woman. It is scarcely 
 possible that these can have been other than members of the 
 gang, present in pursuance of the arrangement which Jenny 
 herself had recommended, and it is extremely curious that 
 no questions are recorded to have been asked of them by 
 the Court, either as to their own callings or their means of 
 knowledge of the prisoner. Their testimony was of no 
 avail, and the jury, who could hardly have done otherwise, 
 immediately pronounced the prisoner guilty. There being 
 no prison-warders with notebooks at hand, no record of 
 any previous conviction was produced against her, and she, 
 together with thirty-seven other persons, was sentenced to 
 transportation. 
 
 The newspapers of the day supply ample evidence of the 
 general opinion as to Jenny’s skill and success, and also of 
 the efforts, the nature of which is only hinted at, that were 
 made by the gang and others to save her from the conse¬ 
 quences of her sentence. The London Evening Post for 
 April 11—13th, after announcing her capture, goes on to 
 say, “She is one of the expertest hands in Town at Picking 
 Pockets ; she used to attend well-dressed at the Opera House, 
 Play Houses, &c., and it’s reckoned made as much annually 
 by her practice as if she had the fingering of the Publick 
 Money.” 
 
 This testimony is repeated in the issue for April 1 5 — 1 Sth 
 of the same paper, where we read: “ Among those that 
 received sentence of transportation was the famous Jane 
 Webb, alias Jenny Diver, reckoned the best hand in Town : 
 she belonged to a very great Gang of pickpockets, and 
 formerly went by the name of Murphey.” 
 
 The Weekly Miscellany of April 21st, says: “ Among the 
 persons convicted last week at the Old Bailey for transporta¬ 
 tion, was the famous Jane Webb, alias Jenny Diver, for 
 
152 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 picking the pocket of a gentlewoman at the Rehearsal of 
 the musick of the Clergymen’s Sons at St. Paul’s. This 
 Webb is reckoned one of the tip-top hands at picking of 
 pockets, and is well known at Newgate by the name of 
 Mrs. Murphey. She belongs to a large gang of pickpockets 
 that attend the Play Houses, &c., who declare if it cost Two 
 Hundred Pounds she shant go abroad.” 
 
 This loyalty on the part of her friends is again referred to 
 in the London Evening Post for May i8-20th : “ Great interest 
 is making to get the famous Jenny Diver off her second 
 sentence of transportation. The Gang spare no pains or 
 cost, well knowing that in six months’ time she’ll pick pockets 
 enough to pay all charges. Such an excellent hand as she, 
 is a sure thousand at the ensuing installation at Windsor.” 
 And it is plain from the issue of the same paper for June 
 8-ioth that the efforts that were made on Jenny’s behalf 
 were not confined to her immediate friends. “ It’s surprizing,” 
 says the writer, “ what interest has been made to get this 
 notorious woman off from her second sentence of transpor¬ 
 tation even by Persons of figure.” 
 
 Meanwhile Jenny had been lying in Newgate, handsomely 
 entertained at the expense of the gang, and occupied in the 
 investment of her savings, which she entrusted to agents for 
 the purchase of stolen property, for which she seemed likely 
 to be able very shortly to find a safe, if distant, market. The 
 efforts of the gang, though seconded by “ persons of figure,” 
 proved all unavailing, and upon June 7, 1738, Jenny Diver 
 was one among a melancholy company of convicts that was 
 put on board a lighter at Blackfriars Stairs, to be transferred 
 later to the Forward galley, then lying at Gravesend, bound 
 for Maryland and Virginia. When it became apparent that 
 there was no longer any hope of a commutation of her 
 sentence, a waggon-load of boxes and trunks containing her 
 effects, among which “a fine side-saddle trimmed with silver” 
 is specially mentioned, was dispatched from London to be 
 embarked with her. 
 
 She was landed at the first port in Virginia at which the 
 vessel touched, and having been put in possession of funds 
 by the disposal of part of the property she carried with her, 
 
JENNY DIVER. 
 
 153 
 
 was soon in a position to arrange for her immediate return to 
 England, where she arrived in less than a year from the date 
 of her departure. 
 
 The details of the short remaining period of the life of 
 Jenny Diver are naturally scanty. For some time after her 
 return she was in hiding in Fountain Court in the Strand, 
 but though she was prevented from following what one had 
 almost called her legitimate occupation, she never seems to 
 have lacked money. Indeed, it was an offer that was made 
 to her of five pounds for the use of twenty guineas for a week 
 that opened her eyes to yet another “new method of life” with 
 which she varied her criminal career. Shortly, this was the 
 diminution of the coin of the realm by means of acids, but 
 no sooner had she by cajolery obtained the secret of the 
 composition of the necessary liquor and started the business, 
 than she was advertised in the newspapers as “ wanted.” 
 Terrified at the prospect of capture as a returned convict, 
 she packed up her property and dispatched it to Chatham, 
 and having followed, disguised in male attire, succeeded in 
 arranging with a sea-captain to pick her up at Ramsgate and 
 convey her to France. 
 
 She was immediately followed in her flight by David 
 Roberts, the man from whom she had obtained the secret, 
 his brother-in-law, and one Carter, Roberts’s partner, all of 
 whom joined her at Ramsgate. The suspicions of the captain 
 were by some means or other aroused, and during the passage 
 of the Channel a general quarrel arose. The brother-in-law 
 was for returning, and pressed the point with such vigour that 
 Jenny was at length moved to knock him backwards into the 
 sea, from which he was with difficulty rescued, and the voyage 
 continued. Once on shore, Mr. Roberts, either to spite all the 
 rest, or possibly only to save himself, promptly proceeded to 
 give information at the Custom House, but Jenny, getting 
 wind of his intention, managed to escape to Dunkirk and to 
 return by way of Flanders to England. 
 
 She is next heard of as the keeper of a house in Marigold 
 Court, wherein were billiard- and hazard-tables, but how or 
 when Fate drove her thence into the streets is absolutely 
 unknown. Those were brave days for adventurous spirits 
 
J 54 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 whose freedom of action was untrammelled by any paltry 
 considerations as to the distinction between meum and tuum. 
 “ There never were known,” says a writer in the London Daily 
 Post of January 21, 1741, “such a number of thieves about 
 Town as at present, not a night passing without something 
 or other being stolen out of the shops in Cheapside and 
 other places in the City.” Mercury was in the ascendant, 
 and Jenny found the attractions of the old life and its 
 associations too powerful to be resisted. But though she 
 is declared, upon the authority of Mr. James Guthrie, the 
 Ordinary of Newgate, to have been “a constant prac¬ 
 titioner ” from the date of her return, after 
 
 “ taking a trip 
 In a Government ship,” 
 
 there is no record of any transaction in which she is alleged 
 to have had a hand, until one reaches the last fatal episode, 
 the details of which are extant in the form of testimony that 
 was given upon oath. 
 
 On the evening of Saturday, January 17, 1741, between 
 the hours of six and seven, Jenny, in a company with a lady, 
 whose name was Elizabeth Davis or Catherine Huggins, or 
 perhaps neither, and a miserable scoundrel for whom there is 
 no name at all, was taking her walks abroad in the neighbour¬ 
 hood of the Mansion House. Both the ladies wore red cloaks, 
 and Jenny, no doubt with a view to the subsequent alteration 
 of her appearance, was bare-headed, but had a hat concealed 
 about her. To them enter one Judith Gardner, with thirteen 
 shillings and a halfpenny in her pocket. As she was coming 
 down Sherbourne Lane, Sherbourne Lane was dirty, and for 
 the convenience of passengers planks had been laid down 
 hard by the Mansion House corner. Just as she was about 
 to place her foot upon the first of these planks, her right 
 hand was seized by the nameless scoundrel, who said to her, 
 “ I will help you over, child, for if you should slip into the 
 water you would be worse off.” Mrs. Gardner, mistrusting 
 this officious politeness, replied that “If she wanted any assist¬ 
 ance she could give the man a halfpenny,” intending him to 
 understand by these somewhat ambiguous words that his ser- 
 
JENNY DIVER. 
 
 155 
 
 vices were not required. He, however, anticipating, no doubt, 
 a handsomer reward for his unwelcome attentions, maintained 
 his hold upon her hand, raising it to such a height above her 
 head and grasping it so tightly, that he numbed her fingers 
 so that she had no use of them. No sooner was her arm thus 
 removed from her side than she was confronted by Jenny, 
 whose clenched fist she found, and secured with her left hand, 
 in the bottom of her pocket, crying out at the same time, 
 “ Hussy, you have got my money! ” Finding herself held, 
 Jenny, with great promptitude, struck her intended victim “ a 
 great blow on the side of the face,” and thus compelling her 
 to relinquish her hold, withdrew her hand with two half- 
 crowns and seven shillings in it. 
 
 The valiant footpad, her companion, at the first note of 
 alarm took to his heels and ran, straight into the arms of 
 Mr. Samuel How, a respectable coalheaver, who chanced to 
 be passing at the time with his sister and her child, and 
 promptly caught him by the collar. If his accomplices had 
 but imitated his example in thinking only of their own safety 
 the life of Jenny Diver would probably have been longer, 
 and its end perhaps less tragic. As it was, they flew upon 
 Samuel “ with both their hands in his face,” and loudly pro¬ 
 testing that the brute he was holding was “ a good house¬ 
 keeper, who lived the other side of Moorfields,” and that they 
 knew him well, did all in their power to rescue him. It is 
 scarcely surprising that, under the circumstances, the coal- 
 heaver failed to maintain his hold, and the cowardly ruffian 
 breaking away made off and left the women to their fate. 
 
 The relationship in which they, or either of them, stood to 
 him is unknown, but their short struggle on his behalf cost 
 both their liberty, and one of them her life. The coalheaver, 
 his sister, the injured Judith, and one Mr. Day, a neighbouring 
 greengrocer, who had been drawn from his back-room by the 
 disturbance, succeeded between them in securing the culprits, 
 who were marched, with a mob at their heels, down Bear- 
 binder Lane in search of an officer, and then, when after an 
 hour’s waiting one was found, to Devonshire Square and 
 other places in order that they might as speedily as possible 
 make their appearance before a magistrate. Magistrates were 
 
TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 156 
 
 apparently as difficult to catch as constables, and finally, as 
 the Sessions were then being held, the whole party adjourned 
 to the Old Bailey, where the Lord Mayor, though it was then 
 eight o’clock, found no difficulty in immediately committing 
 the prisoners for trial. 
 
 Upon the Monday following a true bill was found by the 
 Grand Jury, and on Tuesday, January 20, 1741, Jenny Diver, 
 now answering to the name of Mary Young, and Elizabeth 
 Davis, alias Catherine, the wife of Henry Huggins, were 
 placed upon their trial for assaulting Judith Gardner on the 
 King’s Highway, and putting her in fear, and taking from her 
 twelve shillings in money, the money of the said Judith, in 
 the Parish of St. Mary Woolchurch. 
 
 Mrs. Gardner, Mr. How, his sister, and Mr. Day deposed 
 to the facts above related, and were subjected to cross-exami¬ 
 nation by each of the prisoners in turn. The object of their 
 questions was to show that the prosecutrix had cried out 
 upon a man as the thief, that they were seized at some 
 distance from the place where the offence was alleged to 
 have been committed, and that no money had been seen in 
 the hands of either of them. 
 
 Mrs. Davis brought out nothing to her advantage, while 
 Jenny, demonstrating how dangerous a weapon cross-exami¬ 
 nation may become in the hands of the unskilful, succeeded 
 only in eliciting the additional facts that the prosecutrix, 
 though forced to quit her hold upon her hand, had caught 
 and held her by the cloak till she was secured, and that at 
 the butcher’s shop in Bearbinder Lane she (Jenny) had 
 offered her a guinea and a gold ring “ to put up with this ” 
 and let her go. Neither of them fared any better in 
 attempting to raise a technical point in their defence, for 
 when she was asked, “Was you in fear?” Mrs. Gardner 
 immediately replied, “ Yes, to be sure! She was afraid she 
 should get a mischief by them ; she was in danger of her 
 life.” Witnesses was called on behalf of each of the prisoners, 
 and John Howard, John Michena, Ann Jones, Elizabeth 
 Broadwater, Lydia Walker, and Amelia Harwood came up 
 one after another, some of them to speak to facts, and some, 
 with amazing effrontery, to testify to the industry and 
 
JENNY DIVER. 
 
 157 
 
 respectability of the unfortunate women in the dock. They 
 did not, as the witnesses at Jenny’s trial in 1738 apparently 
 did, leave the box without some exhibition of curiosity on 
 the part of the Court and Jury, and Mr. John Howard, who 
 was the first of them to take the oath, met with a reception 
 which he probably did not anticipate. 
 
 This gentleman kept a hatter’s shop in Lothbury, and his 
 evidence was, that having been upon the evening in question 
 to a wine vault in Bearbinder Lane to fetch a hat to dress, he 
 heard a great noise and cries of “ Stop him ! stop him ! he 
 has picked my pocket,” and at the same time saw two women, 
 “ one nearer , the other farther off” who, when “ they ” (meaning 
 probably the crowd) “ said, ‘ This is one of the women,' ” were 
 both arrested. “ I was surprized,” said Mr. Howard, “ for 
 these women, to my thinking, were going soberly along.” He 
 also favoured the jury with the information that his cough 
 afterwards came on and prevented him from following the 
 crowd as closely as he could have wished, but even this 
 realistic touch failed to make any impression, and one of the 
 twelve gentlemen in the box forthwith proceeded to take him 
 to task. Questioned about the wine vault in Bearbinder 
 Lane to which he had been to fetch the hat, he was quite 
 unable to give any satisfactory account of it : he could not 
 say to whom it belonged, nor whether it was a wholesale or 
 retail cellar, neither did he know the name of the person 
 who had sent for him. “ That gentlewoman,” pointing to 
 Jenny, “he believed he had seen in the crowd, but could not 
 say any one held her, while as for Mrs. Davis, he had seen 
 her before. “ I know her no farther than her passing by my 
 shop two or three times, but if I was to meet her in the street 
 again I don’t know her.” 
 
 The jury’s obvious distrust of this witness can hardly have 
 been lessened by Mrs. Gardner’s interpolated remark that she 
 had not seen him upon the spot, and Mr. Day’s declaration 
 that he knew him well, and could not, if he had been there, 
 have failed to see him. 
 
 John Michena supported the defence to some extent: he 
 was passing at the time, and heard a woman crying out, 
 “ Lord, have mercy on me, the rogue has picked my pocket ! ’ 
 
158 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 and nothing said about women. He saw some women, indeed, 
 but nobody was laid hold of. But then he forestalled cross- 
 examination by adding, “ I did not stop, but went directly 
 home.” 
 
 Ann Jones, who took in clear-starching and plain work, 
 knew Mrs. Davis very well: Mrs. Davis was a mantua-maker, 
 and lived near her, “by Bethlem wall, through Great Moor- 
 gate.” On Saturday she had called on her, and begged her 
 company as far as “ The Black Boy ” in Deadman’s Place. 
 This was between three and four in the afternoon. Mrs. 
 Jones omitted to say how the interval was passed, but 
 declared that as they were returning by Stocks Market there 
 was fighting and noise, and she lost Mrs. Davis in the crowd. 
 She heard a woman say she had lost her money, and “ speak 
 something of a man, but nothing of a woman.” 
 
 Elizabeth Broadwater knew nothing of this affair, but only 
 that Mrs. Davis had lodged with her for about nine months, 
 behaved very well, and paid for everything. The gentlemen 
 of the jury, however, were so little disposed to give weight 
 to this evidence as to the character of the prisoner, that they 
 did not hesitate to make the most serious imputations upon 
 the lady’s own, and she left the box loudly protesting that 
 they were unfounded, and that she “lived with her father and 
 her father lived with her.” 
 
 Lydia Walker rented a house in “the walk which leads 
 from Holywell Mount to Hoxton.” She took in quilting, 
 and had known Mrs. Young “better than a year.” She 
 rented a room in her house at two shillings a week, and took 
 in plain work. She had been present when she had received 
 money (presumably for the said plain work), and “ never saw 
 nothing but what was modest and well-behaved.” 
 
 The evidence of Amelia Harwood is worthy to be given 
 at length. “I have known Mrs. Young,” she said, “about 
 three-quarters of a year. Mrs. Walker desired me to help 
 her to some plain work, and a very good workwoman she is ; 
 she has worked for a great many good housekeepers that I 
 know, and they liked her extraordinarily well. I met her in 
 Whitechapel and desired her to go with me to ‘ The Rose ’ 
 at Holborn Bridge, so just as we came by the china shop, the 
 
JENNY DIVER. 
 
 159 
 
 corner of the market, there was a crowd : it was about six 
 o’clock, and Mrs. Young said, ‘ Somebody is beating his wife,’ 
 and she would go to see what was the matter. We went up 
 a passage, and the woman laid hold of her and said, ‘ You 
 are one of the women that helped to rob me! ’ Presently 
 another woman was taken, and I was afraid they would lay 
 hold of me.” 
 
 Asked by the Court where it was that the woman laid hold 
 of Young, Mrs. Harwood answered, “ I was in so much sur¬ 
 prize that I could not take notice.” 
 
 Then, after Ann Jones, recalled, had sworn that there was 
 no one but Mrs. Davis in her company, and that they had 
 not met Jenny all the way, the judge proceeded to sum up— 
 there is unfortunately no note of what he said—and the 
 jury having found the prisoners guilty, they were both 
 sentenced to death. 
 
 Both of them, as well as two other wretched women in 
 a like condemnation, pleaded the customary reason for the 
 postponement of their execution, but one only of the four 
 succeeded in establishing her plea, and Jenny failed to impose 
 upon a jury of matrons the trick which had, in former years, 
 so often stood her in good stead. 
 
 For the brief remaining period of Jenny’s life we have to 
 rely mainly upon the Ordinary’s account. “ She behaved 
 well,” he says, “ and was very devout to all outward appear¬ 
 ance, often crying at prayers, and singing of psalms. She 
 would (if possible) persuade the world she was not the 
 woman she was represented to be ; but had always lived a 
 sober life (if you believe her).” One is inclined to suspect 
 that the reverend gentleman had his doubts as to the sincerity 
 of the repentance she professed, and her fine clothes and the 
 handsome manner in which she was supported while lying in 
 Newgate very probably seemed to him too glaringly incon¬ 
 sistent with her melancholy situation. 
 
 She admitted the justice of her conviction, but declared 
 that Elizabeth Davis was in no way concerned with her, and, 
 perhaps in consequence, the latter’s sentence was commuted 
 to one of transportation. 
 
 By way of preface to the promised narrative of her “ facts,” 
 
i6o 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 Jenny left behind her a solemn exhortation to her companions 
 to desist from their evil courses, but as she is made to say, 
 “ My last days have been employed upon this work, wherein 
 the reverend gentleman who attends me in this dismal place 
 lends me his assistance,” it would be rash to attach any import¬ 
 ance to it as a genuine expression of her feelings towards her 
 late associates. 
 
 There is no evidence that any efforts were made, by way of 
 petition or otherwise, to save her life : probably it was felt 
 that her record was now too notorious to permit of any hope 
 of success. On March 12th the report of the malefactors 
 condemned at the last three Sessions was made to His 
 Majesty in Council by Sir John Strange, the Recorder, and 
 from that moment her fate was fixed. 
 
 The day before that on which she was appointed to die 
 her little child, then about three years of age, was brought to 
 the prison by the woman in whose charge it was, in order 
 that she might take her leave of it, and the concern she 
 expressed is said to have moved even the turnkey to tears. 
 
 On the morning of Wednesday, March 18, 1741, there 
 started from Newgate, on its way to Tyburn, a melancholy 
 procession of seven carts and a mourning-coach. Twenty 
 unfortunates, in all, were going to their deaths, and as a 
 disturbance and an attempt to rescue Jenny were seriously 
 apprehended, the occasion was marked by the attendance of 
 a considerable force of soldiers. 
 
 The seven carts, each guarded by two of the light horse 
 with their swords drawn, and a file of musketry with fixed 
 bayonets, were followed by the mourning-coach, in which 
 sate the unhappy Jenny, dressed in deep mourning and 
 veiled, and the Rev. Mr. Broughton, who was assisting the 
 Ordinary in the discharge of his duties. Eight more of the 
 light horse and about forty infantry closed up the rear. 
 
 The procession made its way through a vast multitude of 
 people, many of whom, in spite of the presence of the soldiers, 
 jeered, hooted, and threw brickbats and other missiles at the 
 unhappy prisoners. 
 
 If any design to rescue Jenny Diver had in reality been 
 formed, the conspirators, overawed by the display of force, 
 
JENNY DIVER 
 
 161 
 
 must have lost heart at the last moment, for at the place of 
 execution there was no appearance of any wish to interfere 
 with the process of law. 
 
 The number of prisoners being so large, two carts were 
 provided for them at the gallows, and the Ordinary and Mr. 
 Broughton divided their attentions between their occupants. 
 
 The account of the closing scene which the former has left 
 is one over which the amateur of creeds may smile. “ They ” 
 (i.e., the condemned) “ seem’d very devout,” says the reverend 
 gentleman, “ and joined heartily in the prayers and singing 
 of psalms: though we were interrupted on both sides by 
 different persuasions ; on the one side was a Papist praying 
 loudly to the Saints, whom I was obliged to rebuke, by telling 
 him he acted contrary to the laws of our land and might be 
 complained on, upon which he became silent; on the other 
 side was a Methodist, who by his behaviour seemed rather 
 crazy than devout, whom we also silenced and went on with 
 our prayers.” In conclusion, a penitential psalm was sung, 
 the carts were drawn away, and the curtain fell upon the last 
 scene in the life of Jenny Diver. 
 
 Her body was by her express wish buried in the church¬ 
 yard of St. Pancras. 
 
 It were an idle inquiry to attempt to estimate the exact 
 quality of Jenny Diver’s wickedness. For us it is difficult 
 to avoid altogether losing sight of her crimes in the con¬ 
 templation of what appears the utter enormity of her punish¬ 
 ment. On the other hand, she never took aught from us or 
 from our friends, and one has, perhaps, after all, only to miss 
 one’s purse to be provoked to say of any other sin— 
 
 “ At worst ’tis but a venial Evil, 
 
 But to pick pockets, that’s the Devil.” 
 
 Charles Andrews. 
 
 12 
 
TERESIA CONSTANT/A PHILLIPS 
 
TERESIA CONSTANTIA PHILLIPS. 
 
 (1709-1765.) 
 
 “It may be necessary to whisper a word or two to the critics who 
 have, perhaps, begun to express no less astonishment than Mr. Booth, 
 that a lady, in whom we had remarked a most extraordinary power of 
 displaying softness, should, the very next moment after the words were 
 out of her mouth, express sentiments becoming the lips of a Delilah, 
 Jezebel, Medea, Semiramis, Parysatis, Tanaquil, Livilla, Messalina, 
 Agrippina, Brunichilde, Elfrida, Lady Macbeth, Joan of Naples, Christina 
 of Sweden, Katharine Hays, Sarah Malcolm, Con Philips, or any other 
 heroine of the tender sex, which history, sacred or profane, ancient or 
 modern, false or true, has recorded.”—“ The History of Amelia .” 
 
 HE career of this unprincipled woman, who was certainly 
 
 J. one of the most engaging specimens of the professional 
 litigant ever mentioned in history, excited general public 
 interest during the middle of the last century. And although 
 we derive most of our knowledge of her adventures from a 
 series of pamphlets which were published under her personal 
 supervision, there are several other books and papers of the 
 period which, while they prove certain portions of her state¬ 
 ment to be inaccurate, corroborate the main issues of her 
 story. The publication by which Teresia endeavoured to 
 gain public compassion for her woes and worries is stated 
 by Bentham to have been edited by Whitehead who was 
 the poet-laureate at that time. Owing to the difficulty 
 she had in obtaining a publisher Teresia issued the work 
 from her own house in Craig’s Court, Charing Cross, and, 
 in order to prevent imposition, each copy was signed by 
 her own hand. The title-page of the first of the three 
 volumes, which were published in 1748, is as follows: “An 
 Apology for the Conduct of Mrs. Teresia Constantia Phillips, 
 
TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 166 
 
 more particularly that part of it which relates to her Marriage 
 with an eminent Dutch Merchant: the whole authenticated 
 by faithful copies of his letters, and of the Settlement which 
 he made upon her to induce her to suffer (without any real 
 opposition on her part) a sentence to be pronounced against 
 their Marriage, together with such other Original Papers, 
 filed in the Cause as are necessary to illustrate that remark¬ 
 able story.” A six-line quotation from Rowe’s “ Fair Peni¬ 
 tent ” is also appended, for the purpose of pointing a moral. 
 Teresia dearly loved sentiment. Before we come to the 
 “ Apology ” itself there are two dedications—one to the Earl 
 of Scarborough and the other to her husband, the afore¬ 
 mentioned eminent Dutch Merchant; and there are addresses 
 to the “ candid and impartial reader,” in one of which “ Mrs. 
 Phillips begs leave to inform the Publick that as the House 
 she lives in was yesterday surrounded with 13 Constables, in 
 order to seize upon and convey her to Newgate,” she hopes that 
 any gentleman who may call for a copy of her work will ask 
 her servant to hand it to him through the window. 
 
 Teresia was born on the 2nd of January, 1709. She was 
 the daughter of a gentleman of good family, who, at the time 
 he married her mother, was captain of grenadiers in Lord 
 Longford’s regiment. For some reason he lost his appoint¬ 
 ment, and in 1717 came to London with his wife and five 
 children. They appear to have been in very poor circum¬ 
 stances, and the children were adopted by various people ; 
 Teresia went to her godmother, the first (Dowager) Duchess 
 of Bolton, who sent her to Mrs. Filer’s boarding-school. On 
 the death of her mother, in 1721, Teresia, who was then 
 thirteen, was called home to find that her father had speedily 
 married her mother’s former maid. Needless to say, the wicked 
 stepmother acted in accordance with all the best traditions, 
 and the child was driven forth to earn her living as best she 
 could. She applied herself to needlework “ with an assiduity 
 and prudence far surpassing her years.” At this period she 
 made the acquaintance of a widow of a certain General 
 Douglas, and she often went to spend her Sundays at this 
 lady’s house in Killigrew Court, Scotland Yard. In the 
 same house lived the eldest son of the third Earl of Chester- 
 
TERESIA CONSTANTIA PHILLIPS. 
 
 167 
 
 field, who soon became enamoured of her, and directed his 
 servant to find out where she lived. She was then lodging in 
 Hedge Lane with an old servant of the family, to whose 
 house the young nobleman traced her. Assuming the pseu¬ 
 donym of Thomas Grimes, he commenced to woo her by 
 ardent epistles, which were subscribed, “ your most passionate 
 adorer, T. G.” These letters were either delivered by the 
 valet or by “Mr. Grimes” himself, who waylaid Teresia 
 upon Mrs. Douglas’s stairs, and forced the letters down her 
 back or breast, for she was then dressed “ in what the ladies 
 call a strait-boaied Coat.” “ Mr. Grimes ” implored a tete-a- 
 tete, but the virtuous Teresia would have none of it, which, 
 considering the tenderness of her years, is hardly surprising. 
 This staircase flirtation was discovered by Mrs. Douglas, who 
 informed the girl’s father. He was much alarmed, and, under 
 the promise that she should suffer no ill-usage at her step¬ 
 mother’s hands, was able to entice her home again. But the 
 affectionate promises and advances of her lover had made an 
 effect upon the girl, who in an unfortunate moment confided 
 in an old hoop-petticoat maker who worked for her step¬ 
 mother. This harridan was a notorious procuress; she took 
 advantage of Teresia’s inexperience to lure her to a lodging 
 in the house of a bookseller in the Strand, where she was 
 occasionally visited by “ Mr. Grimes,” who, however, could 
 not walk abroad without the risk of being arrested for debt. 
 Teresia herself had to remain in doors lest her father might 
 discover her place of hiding. However, the psychological 
 moment arrived in due course. The king returned from one 
 of his visits to Hanover ; his faithful subjects deemed it an 
 occasion for public rejoicing, and a display of fireworks was 
 promised for the evening. Teresia was invited to witness the 
 fetes from “ Mr. Grimes’s ” window, and she accordingly 
 repaired thither, “ tho’ not without inconceivable reluctance 
 and horror.” The reluctance and horror seem to have 
 subsequently subsided, for after the illuminations and fire¬ 
 works were over Teresia was persuaded to sit down and 
 spend the evening with conversation and refreshments. 
 After much pressing she consented to take a glass or two 
 of wine, whereupon the base betrayer substituted Barbadoes 
 
168 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 water—a potent cordial flavoured with orange or lemon-peel. 
 Needless to say, the inevitable happened, and she became 
 “ Mr. Grimes’s ” mistress ; but after two months his passion 
 waned visibly, and Teresia discovered to her alarm that he 
 had, in fact, made a new conquest, this time of the pretty 
 daughter of a chair-man. Unlike Colonel Phillips, who care¬ 
 fully avoided seeing his daughter, or even thinking of her, 
 the new girl’s friends raised “ such a clamour, that our lover 
 was glad to make it up with them upon their own terms, 
 which was to make a settlement upon her; and, by her 
 independence, she possibly became more dear to him.” 
 Teresia was naturally somewhat distressed by the fact that 
 she had been deposed in favour of a chair-man’s daughter in 
 her lover’s affection. She had a meeting with him, told her 
 grief, upbraided him, and wept copiously, with the result that 
 he sent her a weekly allowance till his departure in a public 
 capacity to Portugal, when supplies stopped. 
 
 The old woman who had brought about the tragedy pro¬ 
 vided her with clothes and other necessaries for a while, but 
 took care to make her give notes of hand for five times the 
 value. In this way Teresia found herself at the end of three 
 months over ^500 in debt, and was threatened with arrest. 
 The resourceful old woman, however, had a scheme for 
 avoiding this. Teresia must have recourse to a Mr. Morell, 
 of Durham Yard, in the Strand—who appears to have been a 
 dealer in sham husbands—and from him she would procure, 
 for ten guineas, a man who would go through the ceremonies 
 of marriage with her, “ and by that means screen her from 
 her debts.” A man called Delafield (whose “ Mother keeps 
 a Pastry-Cook’s Shop in Maiden Lane,” we are told with 
 circumstantial exactitude) was introduced to her, as he had 
 been introduced for similar purposes to other young ladies in 
 similar circumstances. As a matter of fact he was already 
 legally married, and his wife was alive, but he had gone 
 through the ceremony many times. Apparently the law of 
 bigamy, or rather polygamy, was then rather lax in operation. 
 On the appointed day Teresia was taken in a hackney coach 
 to the Rev. Mr. Cook, Rector of St. Bennet’s, in Doctors’ 
 Commons. The bridegroom was two hours late in arriving, 
 
TERESIA CONSTANTIA PHILLIPS. 
 
 169 
 
 and finally appeared supported by two friends, on account of 
 his uproariously drunk condition. After the ceremony the 
 company adjourned to the Half Moon Tavern in the Strand, 
 where the bridegroom, in a state of unconsciousness, was put 
 to bed. Teresia then slipped for a few moments under the 
 coverlet, so that the witnesses could certify that the marriage 
 was really a marriage. 
 
 After this curious experiment in matrimony Teresia 
 retired to Rouen, where she remained about three or four 
 months, though as to why she went to France, or what she 
 did there, the apologist is discreetly silent. On her return 
 from the Continent she took lodgings in Great Pulteney 
 Street with a friend of her father’s. It was here that she 
 made the acquaintance of Muilman, a Dutch merchant. He 
 was extremely assiduous in visiting her, and evidently deeply 
 in love. Teresia, however, did not expect him to marry her ; 
 at the best she only hoped to be his mistress. However, she 
 was agreeably disappointed. He insisted that it was his 
 intention to make her his wife, and thus retrieve her 
 character from any unhappy slip into which she might have 
 fallen during her former life. But Teresia would not let her 
 future happiness stand in the way of her scruples; with 
 much sentiment she insisted upon explaining that she was 
 a woman with a past. Paula Tanqueray could not have 
 been franker, and the guileless Muilman even consented to 
 square the sham husband—this latter must have been a 
 delectable personage—and her other creditors were pacified, 
 if not paid off, with a gift of .£150. That Teresia was some¬ 
 what extravagant is evident from the fact that she was once 
 committed to prison, under King’s Bench ruling, owing to an 
 unpaid wine bill for ^400. To be nearer her fianct she 
 removed to Fleet Street, where he used to come and see her 
 every day. In the meantime Mr. Muilman took a house in 
 Old Street Square, which was furnished, the apologist tells us, 
 as though he were writing a theatre programme, “ as elegantly 
 as possible by Mr. Watson Upholsterer, in Woodstreet, but 
 now of King Street Guildhall , at the Upholsterers Ware¬ 
 house.” To prevent any possible legal difficulty Muilman 
 and Teresia’s father got opinions of counsel on the validity of 
 
TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 170 
 
 her fictitious marriage; but all the authorities consulted 
 agreed in holding that there had been no marriage, and that 
 she was quite free to wed whom she pleased. 
 
 Curiously enough, they were married by the parson who 
 had performed the mock wedding, and “ Mr. Cook recollected 
 our young lady so well, as to make her his compliments.” 
 The newly married couple soon discovered the house in Old 
 Street Square to be too small for the entertainment of their 
 many visitors, and a house was accordingly taken in Red 
 Lion Street, Clerkenwell. “ Here their marriage was made 
 public: everybody came to visit our young bride, and were 
 (sic) extremely taken with her beauty, politeness, and sweet 
 behaviour.” However, a serpent came to break up this Eden 
 in the person of a certain Mr. Bulwark, a Dutch merchant. 
 This man, thinking it desirable, in his own interests, to sap 
 Muilman’s credit and private character, resolved to go over 
 to Holland and make Muilman’s friends and correspondents 
 there “ believe that he had contracted a base marriage with 
 an extravagant abandon’d young creature, who would 
 infallibly ruin him in a year’s time; and to back these, 
 and the like assertions, he was preparing to go over to 
 Holland with the utmost privacy.” However, this wicked 
 scheme came to the Muilmans’ ears, and they at once set 
 out for Holland to anticipate the expected calumnies. 
 
 Bulwark, who had not heard of their departure, was sur¬ 
 prised to find, on arriving at the house of Muilman pere in 
 Amsterdam, a pleasant little gathering of relations and friends 
 who were making Teresia their centre of admiration. He 
 did not deem it expedient to expose Mrs. Muilman at once, 
 seeing that she was such a persona grata in the family, but by 
 insidious suggestions he persuaded the elder Muilman that it 
 was advisable for him to go to England on a visit to his son 
 in order that he might investigate his daughter-in-law’s past. 
 Teresia appeared delighted at the promise of the intended 
 visit, and after affectionate farewells she and her husband 
 embarked for England. Soon after their return the visitors 
 arrived, and Teresia soon found that both her husband and 
 his father treated her with growing coldness. The old gentle¬ 
 man, especially, developed a talent for indecent expressions, 
 
TERESIA CONSTANTIA PHILLIPS 171 
 
 which he applied to her upon every possible occasion. The 
 climax came one day at a little dinner party, when the 
 amiable old gentleman took the opportunity of the presence 
 of strangers to bring about an open estrangement between 
 himself and his daughter. In a moment of sudden passion 
 he blurted out a direct impeachment of Teresia’s honour, 
 whereat the guests were visibly agitated, and, feeling them¬ 
 selves in the way, silently departed. After this incident the 
 breach between husband and wife rapidly broadened; at 
 times Muilman relented and treated Teresia with some show 
 of affection, but more frequently he upbraided her—forcibly, 
 with his fists. To find the reason for all this she took 
 advantage of her husband’s absence one day to ransack his 
 escritoire , in which she found letters from his family saying 
 that if he did not immediately part from Teresia they would 
 disown and disinherit him. She now saw through Muilman’s 
 design of provoking her through harsh treatment to throw 
 herself for consolation into the arms of somebody else, and 
 was accordingly on her guard. One morning she was sur¬ 
 prised by the visit of a stranger, who (doubtless “ to gain 
 some private ends,” like Goldsmith’s mad dog) informed her 
 that her husband was going to attempt to seize her clothes, 
 money, and jewellery that very afternoon. Thus warned, 
 Teresia prepared for approaching events by sending all her 
 valuables to a banker’s. At dinner-time Muilman arrived 
 with three or four ruffians, who sat down to table as invited 
 guests. The meal was eaten to an accompaniment of coarse 
 witticisms and innuendoes, which proved to Teresia that her 
 surmise of their intentions was correct. Directly after dinner 
 all disguise was thrown off and the game began. Muilman 
 demanded the keys of her drawers, and at the suggestion of 
 one of the attendant ruffians searched her person. They 
 then proceeded upstairs, but of course found, to their dis¬ 
 appointment, that everything was gone. Teresia was cross- 
 examined as to the whereabouts of the property, and 
 threatened with pains and penalties—including Newgate— 
 if she would not disclose her secret; but she put on so bold 
 a front that Muilman and his friends ultimately withdrew 
 to concert some new scheme. She immediately took legal 
 
172 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 advice on her position, and discovered for the first time that 
 her husband had persuaded Delafield to commence divorce 
 proceedings against her in Doctors’ Commons, on the plea 
 that she was living in adultery with Muilman. Obviously 
 her best plan was to put in as her answer to the libel a 
 statement of what she alleged to be the facts, and to bring 
 an indictment against Delafield for bigamy. The latter, 
 however, absconded, and the proceedings were consequently 
 dropped. By the advice of her counsel Teresia continued 
 to live in Muilman’s house, and the latter did his best to 
 persuade her to acknowledge the nullity of the marriage, 
 and remain with him as his mistress until he should be, in 
 monetary matters, independent of his father. She was, how¬ 
 ever, inflexible to his entreaties, and he resorted to other 
 means. One day she found a coach at the door. Therein, 
 with her sister and another lady, she was bundled and con¬ 
 veyed to a house in Red Lion Street, which she was informed 
 she would occupy for the present. She was quite satisfied to 
 live apart from her husband, but he, despite the fact that it 
 was his own arrangement, was not. He constantly called, 
 entreating to be received as her husband. When she refused 
 to see him he would leave and return with his private band 
 of ruffians and beat her in the most barbarous manner. He 
 at last told her that he was resolved to give her no more 
 money until she should assent to his terms, and that he had 
 had a peremptory call to Holland from his family. To this 
 she replied that he might go to Holland if he liked, or any¬ 
 where else ; and that as regarded money she had friends who 
 would supply her requirements. To the latter part of her 
 remarks he sneered incredulously; but in the most delightfully 
 dramatic way one of her friends happened to call ; and 
 Muilman at her invitation slipped into the cupboard, where 
 he had the satisfaction of hearing the friend (a Mr. Donavile) 
 offer her ^1,000, with the promise of further supplies when 
 required. 
 
 This incident appeared to touch him, and he parted from 
 her amiably. But the next day he went to the other extreme 
 —with a red-hot poker. Legal negotiations still proceeded, 
 but no agreement was reached, and Muilman resumed more 
 
TERESIA CONSTANTIA PHILLIPS. 
 
 173 
 
 violent measures. At two o’clock one morning she was 
 awakened by loud knocking at the front door. Going to 
 the window she found her husband outside with a select 
 body of his “ ruffian counsellors and assistants.” Pretending 
 not to recognize them, she asked who was there. Muilman, 
 with much embroidery of offensive language, demanded 
 admittance. Teresia replied that if they did not leave her 
 in peace she would fire a brace of pistols at them. The 
 result was that the rogues began to hammer the door with 
 their sticks and throw stones at the windows. One may 
 remark, in passing, that the lives of Teresia’s neighbours 
 must have been liberally flavoured with the pleasures of 
 excitement. Finding that her threat had no effect, Teresia 
 exploded some powder in a tinder-box, whereupon they, 
 believing she had put her menace into execution, heroically 
 betook themselves to their heels. However, this gallant 
 defence was turned against her, for Muilman went next 
 morning to Lord Chief Justice Pratt and declared that he 
 went in danger of his life, for that his wife had fired a pistol 
 at him with a design to murder him, and he so narrowly 
 escaped that he felt the bullet upon his hat. Teresia was 
 summoned to the court, and the Lord Chief Justice, having 
 courteously heard her unfold her story, expressed his belief 
 in it. But, he asked, how could Teresia explain her husband’s 
 statement that he had felt the bullet upon his head ? She 
 replied that that was the probable part of her husband’s 
 story, for, if she had fired at him, his head was thick enough 
 to be completely bullet-proof. 
 
 To escape further annoyances of this sort Teresia took 
 lodgings in the Strand, but at the end of three days the 
 erratic and erotic Muilman visited her, called her his dearest 
 wife, and swore he would not part with her for all the treasures 
 of Peru. In her perplexity she set out for Portsmouth to 
 consult her father. That gallant officer’s advice was that she 
 should stick to her guns, and not give way to Muilman in the 
 least. On her return the latter was furious, and shortly after, 
 while she was on her way to a playhouse in Westminster in 
 a sedan-chair, she was attacked by her husband and his 
 myrmidons. They dragged her into a tavern, in a back room 
 
174 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 of which they robbed her of her jewellery, and stripped off 
 all her clothes; then they put her back into the chair and 
 sent her to her lodgings, “ almost perished with cold ; for the 
 dress it must be confess’d, was a little too airy for the month 
 of December, and in a very hard frost with snow.” 
 
 Her loss was somewhat serious, for she was now without 
 her jewels, upon which, in emergency, she could have raised 
 £1,000 or £1,500, and since her husband refused her any 
 supplies—though he still visited her at night—she found 
 herself in rather a tight place. Worn out with Muilman’s 
 importunities, and by the advice of her lawyer, she at length 
 acceded to a compromise. The terms were in brief as 
 follows: Muilman and she were lawful man and wife ; they 
 had agreed to live apart; Muilman was to pay for her use and 
 benefit £200 a year. On the other hand, Teresia was to 
 make no opposition to Muilman’s obtaining a sentence of 
 nullity of their marriage. The whole obligation was under a 
 penalty of £4,000. Muilman, who, for some legal formality, 
 had to write out the whole affair personally, substituted £400 
 for the £4,000, but the fraud was discovered and he had to 
 do it all over again. It was agreed that she should set out 
 for France so that she need not be called as a witness in the 
 coming divorce case, her defence in which was to be merely 
 formal. Delafield, who appears to have been lying perdu for 
 some time, now made his appearance again, and successfully 
 blackmailed Muilman for a thousand pounds. During 
 Teresia’s stay in Paris (where for six months she was ill with 
 fever) her husband wrote her letters replete with affection ; 
 he gave her injunctions to live economically and virtuously, 
 and signed himself her affectionate husband till death. 
 
 But when, on February 27, 1724, the court pronounced the 
 nullity of the marriage, his tone changed, and in a formal 
 note he advised her not to appeal against the court’s decision. 
 To this letter she disdained to reply. She remained at Paris 
 till May, during which time she received neither letter nor 
 remittance from Muilman. In the beginning of May she 
 returned to London, and paid a surprise visit chez Muilman : 
 “He thought it his best way to dissemble his real sentiments 
 as much as possible, and, pretending to receive her with great 
 
TERESIA CONSTANTIA PHILLIPS. 
 
 175 
 
 marks of tenderness, he begged she would walk in, and repose 
 herself; which she did.” But she was not to be cajoled by his 
 blandishments, and commenced to expostulate with him at 
 the top of her voice, to our poor Muilman’s great disgust. 
 To quiet her, or at least to let her vent her loud indignation 
 out of his own house, he took her off to supper in a Strand 
 tavern, where the storm still raged. “ Nothing however 
 could pretend greater affection and fondness: he begg’d 
 her, upon his knees, to let him go home to her lodgings ; 
 swearing if she refused he would kill himself.” Finding that 
 his entreaties were fruitless, he finally ceased to visit her. 
 Teresia then renewed an acquaintance with a certain “ Mr. 
 B.” who had known her when she was at school at Mrs. 
 Filer’s, and a courtship that had then consisted of an 
 exchange of sentiments and lollipops took a more serious 
 form. Mr. B. was a young man of some wealth ; he had a 
 fortune of about ,£16,000, and excellent expectations, and 
 was consequently eminently adapted, from Teresia’s point of 
 view, to become the object of her affections. The intimacy 
 was soon close enough to warrant them going off together to 
 Paris in the autumn of 1725, and living there till the follow¬ 
 ing spring, when they came back to London. An account is 
 given of the lawless passion of the Comte Charleroi for her, 
 and of his fruitless attempts to procure her as his mistress. 
 It was, indeed, his persecutions which made them return to 
 England. 
 
 They now resided successively in London, Tournay, and 
 Hampshire. “Thus they continued ’till the beginning of the 
 year 1728, everybody believing her to be actually the wife 
 of Mr. B. ; for as such she was visited, and received at Court, 
 and in all other publick assemblies.” But it came to Teresia’s 
 ears that Muilman intended to marry the daughter of a Sir 
 John Darnell. To this man she wrote informing him that 
 neither Muilman nor herself could legally marry any one, and 
 that Mr. B. was not her husband. Receiving no reply, she 
 wrote a letter to Muilman in which she upbraided him for his 
 designs on Miss Darnell. However, the marriage took place, 
 and it is related that Muilman’s two wives met at Court, to 
 his great confusion. About the end of 1728 disagreements 
 
176 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 began between Teresia and Mr. B., the reason apparently- 
 being that he was infatuate enough to play the violin. His 
 skill upon that instrument appears to have been inferior to 
 his passion for it, and Teresia, unable to bear his dulcet 
 strains any longer, retired into a convent in Flanders. There 
 is something delightfully humoursome in the idea, but she 
 had sufficient fortitude to remain immured for fifteen months. 
 On her return to England she finally parted from her musical 
 friend, whom, however, she had completely ruined. “ I do 
 not deny,” said she, plaintively, “ that I am extravagant.” 
 
 She had not been many days parted from him when a 
 certain Sir H. P., who had pursued her for some years, 
 renewed his addresses. He promised her ^500 a year, and 
 on these terms she became his. He also heaped jewels, 
 clothes, lace, opera-boxes, and all manner of luxuries at her 
 feet, and took a handsome house for her. However, she did 
 not receive from him, “ at one time, so large a sum as one 
 hundred pounds; ” and “ having now discovered the im¬ 
 position he had put upon her, she resolved to leave him ”—to 
 the wild despair of Sir H., who on one occasion went so far, 
 that one day after dinner (which is perhaps an explanation) 
 he attempted to run his hanger between his ribs. She still 
 persisted in her intention of leaving him, whereupon he 
 stabbed himself with a table-knife, and Teresia deemed it 
 advisable to retire to her convent. The event brought down 
 upon her head the wrath of the “ starved garretteers of Grub 
 Street,” who accused her of attempting murder. Sir H. 
 wrote to her frequently, and, when he had recovered, implored 
 her to come back to him. She at last consented reluctantly 
 to do so, and, after a most edifying discourse from the Superior 
 of the convent, she set out for England. Sir H. P. met her 
 at Dunkirk, though he was still very weak, and in no way fit 
 to travel. At Calais, where they were detained for ten days, 
 she was greatly hampered by his jealousy, which “ was now 
 arriv’d to such a heighth of extravagance, he would not 
 suffer her to go to a window, for fear any body should see 
 her ; ” and was compelled to decline to see the Duke of 
 Hamilton and other people of quality, who wished to pay 
 their respects to her. He also paid the captain of a vessel 
 
TERESIA CONSTANTIA PHILLIPS. 
 
 177 
 
 forty guineas for a passage to Greenwich, on condition that 
 no other passengers should be taken. 
 
 Soon after they returned to London Sir H. made another 
 attempt on his life, his reason being a refusal on Teresia’s part 
 to accompany him on a visit to his country seat. Teresia 
 naturally grew weary of his transports, so she left him and 
 placed herself under the protection of a certain Lord F. 
 
 In the summer of 1732 she and Lord F. took up their abode 
 in a country house in Hertfordshire, and “ here she may be 
 said, for some time to have led a life of repose ” in household 
 duties, which included the making of pickles, preserves, and 
 distilled liquors. In 1733 her marriage case with Muilman 
 was reopened, owing to Delafield’s coming forward to swear 
 on her behalf. Delafield, however, disappeared (a circum 
 stantial account of his murder by an agent of Muilman’s is 
 given), and Teresia carried on her suit without him, refusing 
 an offer of ^5,000 to withdraw. 
 
 In the meantime she had a visit from a gentlewoman, a 
 relative of some Lady H., who asked her if she would consent 
 to a marriage between Lord F. and the daughter of Lady H., 
 and gave assurance that handsome provision would be made 
 for her. Teresia magnanimously gave her consent, and the 
 marriage took place. Upon which event a contemporary 
 commentator naively remarks : “ If anything could incline 
 one to believe that marriages are made in Heaven, my Lord 
 F.’s may be brought as an instance to support the probability 
 of such an opinion.” Teresia then made the acquaintance of 
 a surgeon who had been called in to bleed her, which he did 
 in more senses than one, seeing that she repeatedly lent him 
 sums of money which he never returned. Him she nick¬ 
 named “ Esquire,” and for a time they shared various 
 vicissitudes. 
 
 During a trip Teresia made to New England she made the 
 acquaintance of a certain Colonel Vassal, who subsequently 
 followed her over to London with a desire to see life, and 
 with a pocket full of money. He was like to lose both, for he 
 visited Teresia, who immediately took him under her charge 
 and introduced him to her friend “ Esquire ” and two other 
 rogues. These gentlemen took him to Tunbridge Wells, 
 
 13 
 
i 7 8 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 and robbed him of all the money he had about him— 
 some ^500. Sadder, but apparently no wiser, he returned 
 to London with his Tunbridge Wells companions, and 
 at a supper party lost sixty-four guineas, which he was 
 unable to pay. Teresia, knowing him to be a man of 
 honour, advanced him the sum, and the gallant colonel 
 gave her notes in exchange and departed for his native 
 country. On his arrival he died, so Teresia never recovered 
 her money, but the episode had its uses, inasmuch as it 
 gave her a glimpse of “ Esquire’s ” true character. She 
 left him, and commenced fresh proceedings against Muilman, 
 suing him for maintenance in the Court of Chancery. How¬ 
 ever, the law would do nothing for her, and the judge sug¬ 
 gested that she should draw up a compromise with Muilman, 
 to which Teresia replied with some spirit that such a com¬ 
 promise would be a difficult thing to effect, seeing that she 
 would insist upon Muilman’s being hanged as the first 
 preliminary article! 
 
 At this juncture a Mr. Worthy appears upon the scene. 
 He came of an honourable and wealthy family who possessed 
 large estates in Jamaica. He had returned to that island 
 from Oxford, but some years later found the West Indian 
 climate too warm for his health, and came over to England, 
 where he made the acquaintance of Teresia. His father 
 having recently married a widow with some children, Worthy 
 deputed a friend, Mr. George Maskwell, to watch over 
 his interests in his absence. But he had not been long 
 in England before he learned for certain that the sup¬ 
 posed friend had played him false, traduced him to his 
 father, and caused the latter to disinherit him. It was 
 evidently essential that he should at once set out for 
 Jamaica, even though this implied a separation from Teresia, 
 whom he loved and by whom he was loved. The latter, 
 however, “ debating with herself whether it was possible for 
 her to live without him, found nothing could reconcile her 
 to the thoughts of life upon that condition ” ; and resolved 
 to follow him in the next boat, which was to sail in three 
 months’ time. She unfolded her scheme to Worthy, who 
 warmly approved of it. In the beginning of January Worthy 
 
TERESIA CONSTANTIA PHILLIPS. 
 
 179 
 
 set sail, but on the fourth of March Teresia was amazed to 
 have a letter from him dated from Portsmouth. Ever since 
 January, it appeared, he had been detained in the Channel 
 by contrary winds—a pleasing commentary upon the delights 
 of travel in the last century. In a few hours Teresia was in 
 a six-horse chaise on her way to Portsmouth, much to the 
 joy of Worthy, who was able to spend an hour or two with 
 her before his ship set sail. In June she herself took her 
 departure from the Thames for Jamaica. The captain of 
 the ship in which she sailed was a most respectable man, 
 with a pleasing habit of reading Tillotson’s sermons to his 
 crew on Sunday mornings. The first vision she had of 
 Jamaica was spoiled by a sight naturally distressing to a 
 lady of her approved modesty, namely, a boat from the shore 
 manned by seven niggers, “ in no other than the very dress 
 in which Nature first presented them to the light.” Teresia 
 having expressed to the captain a hope that the boatmen 
 would put on their clothes before she ventured into the boat, 
 “ The Captain tho’ otherwise a man of a grave character, was 
 very merry with her upon the occasion ; but at last told her, 
 she must of necessity accustom herself to such sights; for 
 the heat of the country was so excessive, that it was im¬ 
 possible for the working negroes to endure any sort of 
 clothing ; assuring her, that, before she had been there one 
 month, she would scarce perceive whether they were naked 
 or clothed.” 
 
 Needless to say that Worthy was delighted to see her once 
 more. Only the next morning he engaged in a duel with a 
 gentleman who refused to allow him to mention his mistress 
 in the same breath with his own. Worthy, however, was the 
 victor, and Teresia afterwards avowed that the three ensuing 
 years were the only part of her life that she would desire to 
 live over again. Only three months after her arrival she fell 
 ill of a fever, which lasted six months, during which time the 
 inestimable Worthy watched assiduously at her bedside ; not 
 even frequently recurring earthquakes could drive him from 
 it. As soon as she recovered the positions were reversed, 
 and she nursed Worthy, who was ill for eleven months. 
 Then she fell ill again, and the doctors told her that if she 
 
i8o 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 valued her life she must quit Jamaica for a colder climate. 
 In these circumstances she set out for England, leaving 
 behind Worthy, whose business affairs compelled him to 
 remain in Jamaica. Setting out was a matter of some diffi¬ 
 culty, for the first time the ship set sail she ran upon a reef of 
 rocks before three hours had passed ; the second time she 
 took fire and had to go back to harbour for repairs ; and 
 the third time she was ordered back to Port Royal with other 
 English ships by the captain of the man-of-war that convoyed 
 them. Even when the ship really did start there was trouble, 
 for the captain took it into his head to fall violently in love 
 with Teresia, although he had a wife and several children in 
 London. To prevent her from seeking protection with the 
 captain of the war-ship, he deliberately left the convoy with¬ 
 out calling at Hieres Bay for water. “ So that the first news 
 she heard in the morning was that they had entirely lost their 
 convoy, were gone past Hieres Bay, had no water on board, 
 and were to sail home a single ship, in the midst of a war, 
 with the seas full of privateers, and what was most intoler¬ 
 able, in the ship with an ill-bred, passionate, ignorant brute ; 
 who pleased with the thoughts of having her in his power, 
 promised himself all the success his heart could wish.” It 
 is scarcely strange that the following seventeen weeks were 
 spent in great discomfort, if we may believe Teresia. Pro¬ 
 visions were scarce and hardly eatable for vermin ; water was 
 somewhat scarcer ; the captain was constantly troubling her, 
 and the crew became mutinous. Teresia, in these dire straits, 
 must have longed for the virtuous captain who brought her 
 to Jamaica, even in spite of his weakness for delivering 
 Tillotson’s sermons ! The officers at length shut the captain 
 in his cabin, and navigated the vessel without him, reaching 
 Dover, April 13, 1741. Teresia resolved to avenge the 
 captain’s persecutions by publishing a book giving an 
 account of the voyage, but the captain, getting wind of her 
 intentions, sent two or three gentlemen to intercede on his 
 behalf. They persuaded her to desist, by pointing out the 
 ruin that would ensue for the captain’s wife and family, and 
 out of consideration for them she complied. 
 
 Teresia remained in London for less than three months; on 
 
TERESIA CONSTANTIA PHILLIPS. 
 
 181 
 
 the last day of June she sailed for Boston, with the intention 
 of settling in New England with Worthy. On arriving at 
 Boston in October she found that he had gone to New 
 York; this gave her some uneasiness, for stories of his 
 amours in Jamaica since her departure had been wafted to 
 her by kind friends. However, his visit to New York was 
 explained. The governor of the colony, “ a low-bred, haughty, 
 ignorant fellow ... a piece of mockery upon Government,” 
 had cast his eye upon Worthy, coveted him as a son-in-law, 
 and, hearing of Teresia’s approaching advent, sent him off on 
 a fool’s errand, knowing that his return journey would be 
 retarded by snow, and that thus he would be unable to see 
 his mistress on her arrival. Upon reaching Boston Teresia 
 gave her name as Mrs. Worthy, upon which the governor 
 sent her a letter, informing her that if she took that name he 
 would prosecute her. Teresia, doubting his power to do so 
 (she must have acquired some knowledge of law by this time), 
 replied that she would continue under the name of Worthy 
 as long as she pleased, and also informed him that, as a 
 matter of fact, she was Worthy’s wife, During her stay in 
 Boston she was treated very kindly, but the wicked governor 
 poisoned the minds of the virtuous Bostonians against her, 
 and as much social annoyance resulted, Teresia took ship for 
 England, where she arrived in a very low state of health. As 
 soon as she had partially recovered she recommenced her 
 interminable law-suit against Muilman. To cut a long story 
 short, she was finally awarded damages of ,£500 and no more ; 
 and in addition she was sued by her attorney for fees and 
 disbursements. She paid him off, but other creditors were 
 buzzing about, and to escape them she departed with her 
 sister to Boulogne, and remained there for eight months. 
 Worn out with her incessant legal worries, she then came to 
 London privately, took obscure lodgings in Hoxton, and 
 wrote a letter to Muilman, imploring him to give her a small 
 allowance, so that she might go into a convent for the rest of 
 her days. This he declined to do unless she should instantly 
 go to Jamaica and remain there for the remainder of her life. 
 “ But to this generosity, it may be supposed, he was piously 
 prompted by the fair chances he had to get more speedily rid 
 
182 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 of her ; viz., either by her being taken by the French or 
 Spaniards, then warmly at war with us ; or, if the sea, with 
 its variety of accidents, should fail to destroy her, the same 
 climate, that had formerly brought her life so low in the 
 socket, would now lend it an extinguisher.” 
 
 She refused the kind offer, and a day or two after bought 
 some laudanum with a view to putting an end to herself. 
 The bottle, however, fell from her pocket and was broken ; 
 and, regarding this as an intervention of Providence, she 
 changed her mind. A few days afterwards came another 
 offer from Muilman : if she would go to some remote part 
 of Scotland or Ireland he would allow her £18 a year. 
 While she was meditating on this proposal she was arrested 
 for debt, and made a prisoner in the King’s Bench. During 
 the time of her incarceration Muilman occasionally sent her 
 small sums of money, and told her she might draw £y ios. 
 quarterly by way of allowance. When her legal troubles 
 with her solicitor were settled she devoted herself to the 
 preparation of her “ Apology,” the publication of which was 
 followed shortly after by a counter-attack upon Teresia. It 
 was called “A Defence of the Character of a Noble Lord 
 from the Scandalous Aspersions contained in a Malicious 
 Apology. In a Letter to the Supposed Authoress.” The 
 anonymous writer reproaches Teresia with having raked up 
 an old scandal so many years afterwards, and adds, with some 
 logic, that as the main object of her book was to set herself 
 right in the eyes of the world with regard to her dealings 
 with Muilman, there was no necessity to relate the details of 
 her previous love affairs. The writer, while admitting that 
 the Earl of Chesterfield had had intimate relations with 
 Teresia, declares that he was not her seducer, and gives, with 
 circumstantial detail, an account of an intrigue she had with 
 a journeyman tailor while at school. Lord Chesterfield’s 
 statement certainly gives one the impression of being the 
 more veracious of the two narratives. The interest aroused 
 by Teresia’s “Apology” brought forth a volume entitled “A 
 Counter Apology or genuine Confession, being a Caution to 
 the Fair Sex in General.” It is, however, an obvious fabrica¬ 
 tion, and merely contains a disjointed string of highly spiced 
 
TERESIA CONST ANTI A PHILLIPS. 
 
 183 
 
 incidents. In 1750 a letter, “ Humbly Addressed to the Earl 
 of Chesterfield. By Mrs. Teresia Constantia Muilman,” was 
 published. In this work Teresia remarks that when she 
 waits upon his lordship with her “ usual Sprightliness and 
 Gaiety, pleased with the Chit-Chat of an hour,” he goes back 
 twenty-five years for her entertainment, and never talks to 
 her of the graver issues of life, though she is willing to do so. 
 She moralizes upon the relations of the sexes, and in some 
 measures anticipates the sex-novel of to-day. She reasserts 
 that Lord Chesterfield was the cause of her ruin, and mentions 
 that she has read “ The Whole Duty of Man,” of which she 
 assumes Lord Chesterfield to be the author, although “ having 
 the honour to be pretty well acquainted with your lordship, 
 I am surprized when I read it, and unless I had it from your 
 own mouth that you were the author of that pious book, 
 could never have believed your lucubrations could have 
 turned upon a system of religion and self-denial, so full 
 of austerity and mortification.” She hopes she will be 
 excused for thus mentioning Chesterfield’s authorship, seeing 
 that she was not enjoined to any secrecy. She mentions it 
 because she wanted a striking instance of the untrustworthi¬ 
 ness of appearances. It bewilders her to turn over the pages 
 of the “ Whole Duty ” and reflect that Chesterfield wrote them. 
 
 This letter was followed by a pamphlet—“ Remarks on 
 Mrs. Muilman’s Letter to the Right Honourable The Earl of 
 Chesterfield. In a Letter to Mrs. Muilman. By a Lady.” 
 The pamphlet is written with considerable skill, and proved 
 to be an unanswerable impeachment of Teresia’s morality, 
 for she made no attempt to reply to it, and we lose sight of 
 her for two or three years. There is an account of her sub¬ 
 sequent adventures, according to which she went once more 
 to Jamaica, and in 1754 or 1755 married, at Kingston, an 
 Irishman called “ M.,” with whom it is believed she lived 
 happily. M., however, by the advice of his friends, made a 
 will by which nothing was left to her. Soon afterwards he 
 got into a bad state of health, and by the advice of his 
 physician went to the mountains for change of air. In 
 bidding him good-bye Teresia, after some remarks on the 
 uncertainty of human life, questioned him about the will, 
 
184 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 and expressed a hope that he had amply provided for her in 
 it, in response to which M. assured her that he had done so. 
 “ By this time the chaise was brought to the door, when she, 
 who the moment before seemed almost drowned in tears, on 
 taking the last farewell of him, now suddenly assumed a very 
 different manner and appearance, and, as he was going down 
 the steps, pulled him back by his collar, at the same time 
 showing him the will, which he had unluckily left in another 
 coat pocket, and which by that accident had fallen into her 
 hands.” As one might expect, there followed a lively piece 
 of recrimination ; Teresia was not the woman to submit to 
 what she considered injustice, and she compelled M. to 
 assign all his possessions to her by deed of gift before he set 
 out for the mountains, where he died soon afterwards. 
 
 In 1757 or 1758 Teresia was appointed Mistress of the 
 Revels in the island, and it became her duty to superintend 
 theatrical and other amusements. This entitled her to a 
 couple of benefits in the year, by which she made about two 
 hundred guineas. M. had not been dead two years before 
 she made another plunge into matrimony, this time with a 
 Scotsman called “ S. C.,” who died in a few years intestate. 
 His property and effects, to the value of about ,£2,000, fell to 
 Teresia of course, and “ upon the strength of this she set up 
 her chariot, and lived at great expense.” 
 
 The next, and final, husband was Monsieur Lantemac, a 
 French officer, a son of Vaudreuil; “ but as a continual 
 dissipation of the money produced by the sale of the last 
 cargo very much lessened her stock, and as it was not 
 recruited by any new consignments, she looked on Monsieur 
 as an incumbrance, for he did nothing but dress, eat, and 
 drink ; she therefore ordered him to decamp.” Which com¬ 
 mand was meekly obeyed. 
 
 In a letter dated from Kingston, February 24, 1765, some 
 particulars are given of Teresia’s death. “ Not one of either 
 sex attended her corpse to the grave ; when dying, she often 
 said, ‘ Alas! what is beauty ? I who was once the pride of 
 England am become an ugly object ’; she had a looking-glass 
 placed at the foot of the bed to view her face to the last; 
 she wished to die on a Saturday night, that her corpse might 
 
TERESIA CONSTANTIA PHILLIPS. 
 
 185 
 
 not be arrested as it was going to the grave the next day. 
 In this particular her wish was fulfilled, and being sensible to 
 her last moments, she expressed great pleasure in the thought, 
 having reason to suspect that an apothecary would not have 
 suffered her body to go to the grave in peace.” 
 
 Poor Teresia dying before a looking-glass must have been 
 a pitiable spectacle; but, despite her love of sentiment, and 
 her desire to appear more sinned against than sinning in the 
 eyes of the world, there can be no possible doubt that her 
 career was that of a cold-blooded and vindictive blackmailer. 
 Walpole coupled her name with that of the Czarina, and the 
 quotation from “ Amelia ” prefixed to this memoir shows 
 in what company Fielding deemed her worthy of inclusion. 
 In truth no other ground for excuse and forgiveness can be 
 found for her than that of quia multum ainavit. 
 
 Gilbert Burgess. 
 
E LIZ ABE TH BROIVNRIGG 
 

 

ELIZABETH BROWN’RIGG. 
 
ELIZABETH BROWNRIGG. 
 
 (? 1720—1767.) 
 
 “ Engag’d with Satan, to his will resign’d, 
 
 She learn’d his great command, ‘ to act unkind.’ ” 
 
 A NON. 
 
 I NDIGNATION may drive a Juvenal or William Watson 
 into verse, but it may also exercise a contrary effect in 
 sealing up, for a time, the springs of inquisitiveness which are 
 the stock-in-trade of the honest biographer. At the time 
 when London, if not England, rang with execrations on 
 the name of Elizabeth Brownrigg, no one seems to have 
 been at any particular pains to collect authentic materials 
 about her origin and early history. The horror of the 
 present may have forbade the unveiling of possible further 
 horrors of the past, but such pious forbearance, if it existed, 
 is to be regretted, inasmuch as it is almost impossible not to 
 believe that the characteristics which gained for Brownrigg 
 enormous notoriety were foreshadowed in youth. But whether 
 Elizabeth in the days of her childhood delighted in torturing 
 flies, in extracting hairs from the tails of cats, or in maltreating 
 her younger brothers and sisters, if she had any, there is now 
 no knowing. History, so far as she is concerned, has concen¬ 
 trated itself on the climax of her career, and has taken no 
 count of either her birth or parentage. Even the name of 
 her own family is uncertain, being variously given as 
 Harkly and Hartley, and the date of her birth can only 
 be approximately stated as about 1720. Her lines were 
 cast in a place which necessitated her making a living for 
 herself, and she became a domestic servant in the household 
 
TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 190 
 
 of a merchant residing in Goodman’s Fields. Here she formed 
 the acquaintance of James Brownrigg, an apprenti.ee to a 
 house-painter and plasterer of the neighbourhood, who, when 
 his term of servitude was over, set up for himself and married 
 Elizabeth. The pair first chose Greenwich as a place of 
 residence, but five years later returned to London, where 
 they ultimately settled in Fleur de Lys Court, Fetter Lane. 
 Trade prospered with the husband, and the wife performed 
 at least some of her duties to admiration, for she became the 
 mother of sixteen children. Less success attended her efforts 
 in bringing them up, and when the difficulty of finding even 
 house-room for so large a family is considered, it is hardly 
 surprising that thirteen of her offspring died in their early 
 years. Her fertility exhausted or in abeyance, Mrs. Brownrigg 
 directed her energies to increasing the earnings of the painter ; 
 and, in accordance with a principle which would qualify the 
 most frequent criminals for the bench, selected the career of a 
 midwife. She is said to have attained considerable proficiency 
 in her profession, and was rewarded by being officially 
 appointed to usher into life such human beings as were 
 destined to be born in the workhouse of the parish of St. 
 Dunstan’s-in-the-West. The performance of her duties was 
 marked by skill and humanity, and her success in assisting 
 others to do what she had done so well herself fully justified 
 her in extending the sphere of her good works by the reception 
 at her home of private patients. These patients were well 
 cared for, and although it was afterwards freely alleged that 
 none of the little creatures which in these circumstances first 
 breathed the air of Fleur de Lys Court ever emerged any 
 further into the world, none of the mothers made accusations 
 of the kind against the accommodating accoucheuse. 
 
 By the year 1765 business was so thriving with Mrs. 
 Brownrigg that she deemed it necessary to have assistance in 
 the house, and determined to keep a servant. Her connexion 
 with the workhouse had taught her that young girls were 
 bound as apprentices from that establishment, and the know¬ 
 ledge that it was the practice of the overseers to give £5 to 
 the mistress of each one led her to decide that an apprentice 
 of this kind would be the most economical sort of servant she 
 
ELIZABETH BROWNRIGG. 191 
 
 could obtain. Mary Mitchell, a child of fourteen years, was 
 thereupon introduced into the Brownriggs’ house “upon liking” 
 as it was called, the meaning being that if, after a month’s 
 experience, both maid and mistress were satisfied the inden¬ 
 tures were signed and the apprenticeship began. In this case 
 the month passed pleasantly, and the workhouse girl was so 
 pleased with the treatment she received, and with the good 
 fare that was served to her at the same table as the family, 
 that she was perfectly content to be bound. That ceremony 
 over, her position at once changed and she became a drudge 
 who was treated as surely never was drudge before. Instead 
 of eating with the Brownriggs and their three sons, she learned 
 to be thankful if scraps were thrown at her, or if she could find 
 an opportunity to steal a crust of bread ; on the pretence of 
 laziness or of work inefficiently done she was flogged almost 
 daily by her mistress ; and no rest was she allowed to know 
 except when she was ordered to her mat for sleep at night¬ 
 time. Mrs. Brownrigg was so delighted with her experiment, 
 or her taste for tyranny was so sharply whetted, that shortly 
 after the engagement of Mitchell she obtained another child, 
 named Mary Jones, on similar terms from the Foundling 
 Hospital. Mary Mitchell must have welcomed a companion 
 in misfortune, and would have been less than human had she 
 not viewed with equanimity the diversion to another of a share 
 of her ill-treatment. Mary Jones, in fact, speedily became the 
 favourite victim of her mistress’s cruelty, and being unable to 
 satisfy the woman’s demands for work was forced to submit 
 to continual punishment. Ordinary whipping no longer 
 appeased Mrs. Brownrigg’s lust for inflicting pain ; it enraged 
 her if the object of her passion could for a moment elude 
 her grasp. Exercising a fiendish ingenuity, she devised an 
 arrangement of two chairs on which Mary Jones, after having 
 by command taken off her clothing, was stretched out and 
 tied down. Then at her leisure Mrs. Brownrigg flogged the 
 girl till exhaustion overtook her. It might be supposed that 
 the poor girl, after a little experience of such torture, would 
 fear no death, but it came to the knowledge of her mistress 
 that she had a horror of drowning, and Mrs. Brownrigg lost 
 no occasion of acting on the information. She would steal 
 
192 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 behind the child while she was engaged in scrubbing a floor, 
 seize her by the heels, and, lifting her up, plunge her forcibly, 
 head downwards, into the pail of water. Mary Jones’s shrieks 
 and terror at the constant repetition of this drowning game 
 caused great amusement, and even Mr. Brownrigg and his 
 eldest son John, who were wont to disregard the apprentices’ 
 sufferings, sometimes joined in the sport. Mrs. Brownrigg 
 improved on it. On the pretence of some fault, real or 
 imaginary, committed by Mary Jones, Mary Mitchell would 
 be ordered to bring a large tub and fill it with cold water, 
 and in this the naked victim was totally immersed until the 
 diminution of her struggles for air and life warned Mrs. 
 Brownrigg that it was well to desist. A short breathing 
 space would be given, and then the bathing recommenced. 
 It was fortunate for the unhappy little slave that she was 
 able to preserve not only the will to live but the determination 
 to carry out the dictates of that will by the only possible 
 means. Her desire to escape had been anticipated by her 
 tormentor, and sleeping accommodation had been allotted 
 her under a dresser which formed part of the furniture of 
 the Brownriggs’ bedroom. This apartment was on the 
 ground floor, and communicated with a front room which 
 led directly on to the street, and one morning Mary Jones, 
 awaking early, noticed that the key of the street-door was in 
 the lock instead of under one of the pillows of the slumbering 
 pair. Clutching at the chance of release, she crept from her 
 kennel and opened the door and sprang into the kindlier air 
 of Fetter Lane. After protracted wanderings in the streets 
 she gained the Foundling Hospital. It was only two months 
 since she had left it, and she now returned nearly blind of one 
 eye and covered with wounds and bruises, her shoulders being 
 deeply scarred by the rim of the pail in which she had so often 
 dived against her will. The surgeon of the hospital describing 
 the girl’s injuries as alarming and dangerous, the governors 
 instructed their solicitor to write to Brownrigg threatening a 
 prosecution unless some reparation were made. The Brown¬ 
 riggs took no notice, and for some reason which, whatever it 
 was, now seems insufficient, the matter was eventually allowed 
 to drop on Brownrigg consenting to cancel the indentures of 
 Jones’s apprenticeship. 
 
ELIZABETH BROWNRIGG. 
 
 193 
 
 Meanwhile, Mary Mitchell was still serving her time and 
 acquiring the art of being handmaid to a gentle midwife. She 
 learned, too, what cruelty may mean when practised by an evil 
 woman without fear of restraint or of consequences. On her 
 alone did Mrs. Brownrigg, for some six months, exercise all 
 the ingenuity in invention of torture with which she found 
 herself endowed. But tiring at last of the limited scope offered 
 by the one miserable object of her ferocity, she undertook to 
 train as a servant a girl from the workhouse of Whitefriars 
 parish. The name of this girl, the third of Mrs. Brownrigg’s 
 Marys, was Mary Clifford, and she in the same way as the 
 others came first “ upon liking.” The contrast presented by 
 this cheerful maiden, well fed and made much of during the 
 month’s probation, would appear to have been more than even 
 Mary Mitchell could bear. An opportunity presenting itself, 
 she escaped from the house, but fortune did not favour her. 
 She had scarcely started when she met young Brownrigg 
 returning to his home, and was haled back to be handed 
 over to punishment by her captor’s mother. Mary Clifford, 
 however, was duly bound apprentice, and thenceforth Mitchell 
 had no cause for jealousy. The character of the newcomer 
 was probably weak and, possibly, her disposition had an 
 irritating effect on Mrs. Brownrigg’s now sensitive tempera¬ 
 ment ; but even if the facts were so they fall far short of 
 explaining or accounting for the savage and ever-increasing 
 brutality with which the girl was treated by the woman. 
 From the first day of her servitude Mary Clifford was no 
 longer allowed to sleep in a bed nor even on the boards 
 of the rooms or passages; she was consigned to the coal¬ 
 hole, which was partly cleared for the purpose, and there, with 
 an old mat to lie on and no other covering than her own clothes, 
 she passed the hours of the night. There, too, either both or 
 one of the girls, when no other occupation was found for them, 
 often passed the day grinding colours for the use of painter 
 Brownrigg, and it was generally the case that they did so 
 altogether unclothed. The Brownriggs were supposed to 
 supply their apprentices with wearing apparel as well as 
 the other necessaries of life, and on the pretext of a rent 
 having been made or a repair being needed, every garment 
 
 14 
 
i 9 4 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 was stripped from the children’s bodies and altogether with¬ 
 held from them for many days together. A boy apprentice 
 of Brownrigg’s later bore witness in a court of justice to his 
 having been sent on one occasion to tie up Mary Clifford for 
 the night when she was totally naked, and on another when 
 she wore only an old waistcoat which he himself had given 
 her. Even on days when clothing was allowed, it had 
 frequently to be taken off in order that the bare flesh might 
 receive the more than daily floggings which Mrs. Brownrigg 
 delighted only to inflict. Food, too, was denied, and the desire 
 to satisfy hunger furnished additional reason for castigation. 
 At an early stage of her stay in Fleur-de-Lys Court the more 
 than half-starved Mary Clifford forced open an empty cup¬ 
 board in search of bread, and broke down some boards which 
 protected the cistern in the hope of procuring water. Mrs. 
 Brownrigg’s ordinary punishments were to her mind quite 
 inadequate for so rebellious a burglary and theft combined, 
 but she rose to the event. On the morning following the 
 detection of her crimes Mary Clifford was ordered to strip 
 to the skin, a command which she was used to, and which 
 betokened nothing extraordinary. The next step, however, 
 was new. A heavy chain was fastened tightly round her neck 
 and the other end of it was fixed to the door of the back-yard ; 
 the door was then swung violently backwards and forwards 
 till the prisoner was nearly strangled and a pause became 
 necessary. The interval was occupied by the executioner 
 with the administration of blows from the heavy end of a 
 whip, laid on with such vigour and such tenacity that the 
 victim’s blood formed a pool upon the ground. For a 
 whole day did Mrs. Brownrigg find heart to continue the 
 torture, till at last the evening came, and Mary Clifford, 
 with her hands tied behind her back and the heavy chain 
 about her neck, was allowed to creep away to the coal-hole. 
 
 For occasions of less importance Mrs. Brownrigg devized a 
 means of inflicting scourging at her ease, which is represented 
 with more or less fidelity in the accompanying print. Across 
 the ceiling of the kitchen ran a waterpipe, and to this Mrs. 
 Brownrigg, having first tied together the hands of the girl 
 whose turn it was for punishment, hauled her up with the 
 
ONE OK MRS. BROWN RIGG’S METHODS OK TORTURING 
 HER APPRENTICES. 
 
ELIZABETH BROWNRIGG. 
 
 195 
 
 surplus cord till her feet were off the ground, and she was 
 thus left free to chastize till overcome by weariness. With 
 frequent use the pipe finally gave way, and then the resourceful 
 woman instructed her husband to screw into a beam a large 
 iron hook, to which in future the cord was attached and the 
 girls were strung up. Their only respite was when the 
 Brownriggs, as their practice was, left their city home to 
 spend Saturday afternoon and Sunday at a house they 
 owned in Islington. The unlovely pair journeyed thither 
 on the back of one horse, and for the better security of 
 his wife, who sat behind him, Brownrigg had had made a 
 broad leathern strap for his waist, to which she could hold 
 on. This strap became a favourite instrument of flagellation 
 with Mrs. Brownrigg, who was wont to complain of the dearth 
 of suitable implements of torture in her establishment. In 
 the week the broad strap drew blood from the backs and 
 shoulders of the two apprentices ; on Saturday it encircled 
 the master’s waist and supported their timid mistress on 
 her jaunt. Good care was taken on these occasions that 
 no opportunity of doing wrong or mischief was given to 
 the sorrowful creatures left behind. Before the start was 
 made they were ordered into the cupboard beneath the 
 stairs, a crust of bread was given to them, but no drop of 
 water or anything to drink ; and there they stayed, more 
 often than not without a garment or rag between them, 
 till the long hours brought round the evening of the 
 following day. 
 
 The demon that possessed Mrs. Brownrigg gave her no 
 rest, and ever inspired her to fresh acts of senseless barbarity. 
 One of her common practices with Mary Clifford was to seize 
 her by the head and, forcing down with her thumbs the upper 
 part of the cheeks, to wait deliberately till the blood rushed 
 from the eyes. She seems, in fact, to have reached such a 
 pass that she was unable to bring herself to believe in the 
 pain she endeavoured to cause unless her eyes too were 
 gratified by the sight of fresh-drawn blood. Possibly the 
 most hideous instance of the utter unrestraint which was 
 typical of her cruelty is to be seen in her action at a time 
 when interference was invoked. Mary Clifford one day 
 
196 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 found an opportunity of bewailing her vile lot to a French 
 lady, who was one of the temporary inmates of the house 
 that Mrs. Brownrigg continued to receive. The lady remon¬ 
 strated with her nurse, and ventured to point out that her 
 conduct towards her apprentices was scarcely kind, a propo¬ 
 sition which Mrs. Brownrigg was inclined to admit; but no 
 sooner did she escape from the lecture than she rushed to 
 find the tale-bearer, and deeply cut her tongue in two places 
 with a pair of scissors. As a general rule the lady-lodgers 
 were kept unaware of the existence of the apprentices, while 
 the other members of the household, the male Brownriggs, 
 were totally devoid of compassion, and, if they did not insti¬ 
 gate, were at least indifferent to the scenes of martyrdom they 
 must have constantly witnessed. The eldest son, indeed, was 
 in some sort a not unworthy disciple of his mother. It is on 
 record that he once ordered Mary Clifford to put up a bed¬ 
 stead, a labour which the girl found beyond her strength, and 
 that he thereupon beat her till she fainted. Another time, 
 when Mrs. Brownrigg had left off beating the same girl from 
 sheer fatigue, the son took up the task, and with youthful zest 
 continued to wield the lash so long as nature allowed his 
 victim to be capable of sensibility. The outer world knew 
 nothing of what went on in the house in Fleur de Lys Court, 
 and no possible chance of communicating with it was afforded 
 to the young prisoners. The neighbours were requested by 
 the jailer to inform any inquisitive persons who might inquire 
 of them about the girls that Mrs. Brownrigg kept no appren¬ 
 tices, and that it was a mistake to suppose she had ever done 
 so. This was the information given to Mary Clifford’s step¬ 
 mother, who had asked at the right door for her relative, and 
 had been told that no such person was known, and who, when 
 she pressed her inquiries, had been threatened by Mr. Brown¬ 
 rigg with the Lord Mayor. She was retiring discomforted 
 when a woman occupying the next house to the Brownriggs, 
 and named Deacon, came out, and, learning her errand, 
 assured her that apprentices were kept by her neighbours, 
 and, from the frequent groans and moans overheard, she 
 suspected they were not too well treated. She promised that 
 she would continue her efforts to find out if the fact was so, 
 
ELIZABETH BROWNRIGG. 
 
 J 97 
 
 and if successful would communicate with Mrs. Clifford, who 
 went away baffled, and little knowing what her intrusion would 
 cost her step-daughter. Mrs. Brownrigg was in no doubt as 
 to the proper object on which to visit her displeasure at this 
 untimely and uncalled-for attempt at interference. On the 
 following morning, the 13th of July, she summoned Mary 
 Clifford to the kitchen, forced her to strip, an operation of 
 some difficulty, as her clothing stuck to her former wounds, 
 and strung her up by her tied hands to the hook in the beam. 
 She flogged her till her body streamed with blood, and then 
 untying her, ordered her to wash in a tub of water brought 
 by Mary Mitchell ; and while the washing went on she con¬ 
 tinued to rain down blows with the butt end of her whip. For 
 several times on the self-same day was this punishment 
 carried out in every detail before the condition of the scape¬ 
 goat satisfied Mrs. Brownrigg that she could not venture on 
 more. Fortunately release, though it came too late to be of 
 much good, was not now far off. A few days later Brownrigg 
 became the unwilling purchaser of a hog at an auction sale at 
 Hampstead, and, having no other accommodation available, 
 lodged it in the back-yard of his house. This yard was 
 covered in with a roof, which effectually screened it from the 
 observation of neighbours, but the near proximity of its new 
 inmate to the house made it desirable to remove part of a 
 skylight from the roof. Thus was the long awaited oppor¬ 
 tunity given to the Deacon family next door of taking note 
 of what might be seen. A servant-maid was set on watch, 
 and presently saw in the yard a shapeless mass, which turned 
 out to be the bare, raw, half-mortified body of Mary Clifford. 
 It seemed impossible to attract her attention, and when, 
 endeavours to do so were made by some men, who descended 
 on to the leads for the purpose, no response other than inar¬ 
 ticulate sounds was given. The Deacons sent word to Mrs. 
 Clifford, who obtained the assistance of the parish overseers, 
 and went with them to the house to demand an interview 
 with the girl. On the first appearance of the officers Mrs. 
 Brownrigg slipped out of the house, where she never more 
 returned, but her husband was prepared to brave the matter 
 out. He produced Mary Mitchell, who was in a sorry plight 
 
TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 198 
 
 enough and was instantly carried off to the workhouse, and 
 on being told that this was not the girl they were seeking, he 
 swore by God there was no other in the house ; there was 
 another apprentice called “ Nan,” he said, but she was at 
 Stansted nursing his youngest son. He tried intimidation of 
 every sort, and on the officers, notwithstanding, sending for a 
 constable to search the house, he sent for his lawyer, who 
 then and there drew up a formal document demanding the 
 authority under which the overseers professed to act. The 
 constable, meanwhile, with willing helpers, searched the house 
 high and low, but could find no trace of Clifford. Brownrigg, 
 triumphant, promised to prosecute the whole of the invading 
 party, but he was informed that as the girl could not be 
 found he would be arrested on a charge of having made away 
 with her, and a coach was called to carry him off to gaol. 
 He then began to recognize the danger of his situation, and 
 undertook to produce the girl in half an hour if the coach was 
 sent away, Necessity compelled him to keep his word, and 
 from a small cupboard underneath the sideboard in the 
 dining-room he reluctantly extracted the ulcerated body of 
 Mary r Clifford. She, too, was taken to the workhouse, where 
 her condition excited consternation in the surgeons who 
 examined her; besides the indescribable injuries of her body 
 and limbs, her head was found to be covered with frightful 
 gashes, while the head and throat were so swollen as to form 
 one continuous line, and the mouth extended in such a 
 manner that she could neither close her lips nor speak. 
 Brownrigg was taken to the Wood Street Compter, and the 
 next day was brought up at the Guildhall before Mr. Aider- 
 man Crosby. Both girls were brought into court, Mitchell 
 delirious, and Clifford, though in possession of her senses, 
 unable to do more than signify “ yes ” or “ no.” Brownrigg 
 was fully committed for trial ; a warrant for the arrest of his 
 wife and son was issued ; and their victims were sent to St 
 Bartholomew’s Hospital, where four days later, on the 9th 
 of August, 1767, Mary Clifford died, less than eighteen 
 months after her first introduction to Mrs. Brownrigg. 
 
 Mrs. Brownrigg had gone into hiding, whither she was 
 followed by her son with money and clothing. For some 
 
ELIZABETH BROWNRIGG. 
 
 199 
 
 days they lodged in a by-street in East Smithfield, living on 
 bread and water, and hardly venturing out. The son stole 
 forth and booked places in the Dover stage, but when the 
 time for departure came courage failed them, and they pre¬ 
 ferred to lose the money they had paid than to run the risk 
 of capture. Finally, after purchasing disguises, they made 
 their way to Wandsworth, where they took a bedroom in the 
 house of one Dunbar, a chandler. Meanwhile the hue and 
 cry was being loudly raised, and was redoubled when, after the 
 inquest on Clifford’s body, the charge against them was wilful 
 murder. Advertisements for them appeared in all the papers 
 of the day, and considerable rewards were offered for their 
 capture. Mrs. Brownrigg was described as “ a middle-sized 
 woman of a swarthy complexion, near 50 years of age, 
 remarkably smooth of speech ”; her dress when she dis¬ 
 appeared being “ a black silk crape or bombazine gown, a 
 black silk whalebone bonnet, and a purple petticoat flounced.” 
 For five days the culprits remained in their one room, till the 
 chandler, who was a reader of newspapers, connected his 
 lodgers with the persons wanted for the murder of Mary 
 Clifford, and lost no time in communicating with the 
 authorities in London. The wretched couple were arrested 
 forthwith, and taken to the Poultry Compter. The following 
 day Mrs. Brownrigg should have appeared at the Mansion 
 House for magisterial examination, but the news of her 
 capture had spread abroad, and a crowd so great and so 
 excited thronged the length of street which separated the 
 prison and the court, that it was deemed impossible to secure 
 her a way through it, and she was therefore committed to 
 Newgate to take her trial on the coroner’s warrant. It was 
 some time before this change of the prisoner’s quarters could 
 be effected, as not only did the unfriendly mob await through¬ 
 out the day, but she herself was thought to be in no fit con¬ 
 dition to be moved, since, owing to her refusal to take food, 
 and a habit she rapidly developed of falling, or affecting to 
 fall, into fits, she became quite ill. An opportunity, however, 
 of transferring her peacefully occurred one night, and there¬ 
 after for nearly a month she awaited her trial in Newgate. 
 She refused the ministrations of the chaplain, and continued 
 
200 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 to simulate ill-health, but hers was not a case in which such 
 devices could soften the heart of the tenderest gaoler. Inter¬ 
 course with her husband and son was naturally refused to her, 
 but they were both in safe keeping, and on Saturday, the 14th 
 of September, 1767, appeared with her in the dock at the Old 
 Bailey, all three being indicted, “ for that being moved by 
 the instigation of the Devil they did on different dates from 
 the 1st of May, 1766, to the 4th of August 1767, so assault 
 Mary Clifford that she did pine and languish till she died.” 
 The trial lasted eleven hours, and consisted chiefly of the 
 evidence of Mary Mitchell, now resuscitated and able to 
 detail at length the many scenes of sickening cruelty which 
 she had witnessed, and in which she had taken part. Prac¬ 
 tically there was no defence ; Elizabeth Brownrigg was found 
 guilty of murder, and sentenced to death, while her com¬ 
 panions, though acquitted, were re-arrested on a charge of 
 misdemeanour. 
 
 During the one whole day of life that remained to her Mrs. 
 Brownrigg became penitent, listened with patience to the 
 chaplain, and acknowledged the righteousness of the judg¬ 
 ment passed on her. On the Monday morning she was 
 placed in the cart and conducted to Tyburn through a crowd 
 which, it was thought, was never equalled for size at any 
 execution. The crowd behaved badly, and deeply pained the 
 Rev. Joseph Moore, ordinary of Newgate, who rode in a coach 
 behind the convict’s cart, and who recorded some of his im¬ 
 pressions in the following words : “ On my way to Tyburn my 
 ears were dinned with the horrid imprecations of the people. 
 One said to me he hoped I should pray for her damnation 
 and not for her salvation. Others exclaimed that they hoped 
 she would go to hell and were sure the Devil would fetch her. 
 This unchristian behaviour greatly shocked me, and I could 
 not help exclaiming, Are these the people called Christians ? 
 This the reformed nation we so much boast of?” Yet even 
 after a hundred and thirty years it is to the noisy crowd 
 rather than the good clergyman that sympathy goes out. 
 Mrs. Brownrigg seems to have been more moved by the 
 execrations of the impious mob than by the prayers of the 
 chaplain, and in order to appease them and leave the world 
 
ELIZABETH BROWNRIGG. 
 
 201 
 
 in peace, she bade him announce that she freely admitted her 
 guilt. The executioner duly performed his duty, and Mrs. 
 Brovvnrigg’s body was carried to Surgeons’ Hall for dissection. 
 Her skeleton was preserved entire, and lodged in a niche 
 facing the front door of the anatomy theatre. 
 
 James and John Brownrigg were tried for the second time 
 on the 30th of October, and it is unpleasant to record that 
 the snivelling and cowardly lies told by the father, who, apart 
 from his paternity of sixteen children, was unworthy of the 
 name of man, were so far successful that both prisoners 
 escaped with a fine of a shilling and six months’ im¬ 
 prisonment. 
 
 The plain facts which led up to the great and lasting 
 notoriety gained by Elizabeth Brownrigg are as disagreeable 
 to set forth as they must be to read, but they are deserving ol 
 commemoration, inasmuch as Mrs. Brownrigg’s name has 
 become typical of feminine cruelty, and it is well that she 
 should be justified of her reputation. As a matter of fact she 
 by no means stands alone, and is not therefore to be regarded 
 as one of Nature’s sports incapable of repetition, and claiming 
 the title of woman only, as it were, by accident. Her con¬ 
 temporaries, the Metyards, mother and daughter, for instance, 
 were at least equally bad, and other examples of similar in¬ 
 humanity are hardly more than rare. Mrs. Brownrigg, how¬ 
 ever, is the more noteworthy, as having owned a distinctly 
 good record for kindliness to her suffering sisters, and though, 
 no doubt, it would be difficult to establish it now, there is no 
 evidence beyond inference from her subsequent actions to 
 bring against it. It may be that from being the constant 
 witness of what is said to be the supremest pain she learned 
 insensibility, or she may have thought it wise to tutor the 
 young bodies of her apprentices so that they might better 
 bear with fortitude the anguish her experience had taught her 
 it might be their lot to undergo when they left her care for a 
 husband’s. But whatever excuse, by inquiring into her 
 motives, be sought for her, it were hard to deny that Mrs. 
 Brownrigg was misguided, and no injustice is done her if she 
 remain for ever a type of a woman detestable for savage cruelty. 
 
 Edgar Stubbs. 
 

ELIZABETH CANNING. 
 
ELIZABETH CANNING. 
 
ELIZABETH CANNING. 
 
 (>734-1773-) 
 
 “ I will be found most cunning in my patience : 
 
 But (dost thou hear ?) most bloody.” 
 
 Othello 
 
 I N dealing with the characters of persons who have made 
 names for themselves in the annals of crime it is by no 
 means a safe process to apportion to them bad eminence in 
 direct ratio to the gravity or abundance of their offences. 
 An estimate of human turpitude ought to be made, not so 
 much by surveying the depravity of the individual instance 
 under notice as by gauging the amount of suffering and 
 wrong wrought by the crooked dealing and villainy of some 
 particular delinquent, and by anticipating how great will be 
 the moral deterioration which, as the result of such example, 
 will almost certainly infect present and future generations. 
 A murderer or a forger may live a long life of the vilest 
 hypocrisy with the conscience stifled and every imagination 
 of the heart corrupted ; a mass of the foulest vice within, but 
 without a reputable and God-fearing citizen. However great 
 may be the intrinsic vileness of a nature like this, growing 
 viler and more vile through a long term of years as the 
 criminal diligently and stealthily weaves the meshes of the 
 net in which the victims are finally to be entangled, the moral 
 mischief produced by the spectacle of such a career may be, 
 and generally is, far less profound than that generated by the 
 after-history of the mean pilfering of a cowardly sneak, or of 
 the cunning lies and inventions of an anaemic, hysterical 
 serving-wench. Nay, if the crime of the first named be far- 
 
 205 
 
206 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 reaching enough in its effects—and those who dabble in build¬ 
 ing society speculations will understand that they can reach 
 very far—if it should lead to genuine suffering and distress, the 
 offence may serve as an example, and tend to foster a growth 
 of genuine hatred for criminal and crime as well. With 
 regard to those belonging to the second category, on the 
 other hand, there will too often spring up a reaction in favour 
 of the accused as soon as the law shall have given its doom. 
 By the working of some strange and misdirected force within 
 the public mind, sympathy for the sufferings of these wretches 
 is too often generated rather than condemnation of their 
 crimes. An interest is created in their very words and 
 actions by the ministration of those mischievous busybodies 
 who never fail to swarm around such cases like flies round 
 a decaying carcase. The air is filled with gossip; and 
 pamphlets, pro and con, fall from the press thick as leaves in 
 Vallombrosa. The pulpit itself barely escapes the contagion. 
 The world of those who care for such things is split into 
 two parties, each one firmly convinced of the truth of its 
 own view, and not to be turned therefrom though an angel 
 from heaven should trumpet forth contradiction. Worst of 
 all is it that the din of this controversy falls as suggestive seed 
 upon those degenerate natures which are most prone to 
 absorb and sympathize, and never fails to produce a plentiful 
 crop of imitations. 
 
 The case of Elizabeth Canning, and the madness which 
 seized the public mind and divided the town for months into 
 the two opposing parties of “ Canningites ” and “ Gipsyites,” 
 furnishes as striking an example as could be produced of 
 the after-consequences of the offences wrought by malefactors 
 of the class last named. It is true that Elizabeth Canning’s 
 crime brought her within the grasp of the law ; but, taken 
 by itself, it would not be classed as one of extraordinary 
 turpitude. Society, by the factitious importance which it 
 gave to her career and personality, and by its mawkish 
 sentimentality for her quasi martyrdom, became particeps 
 criviinis, and must at any rate bear some of the blame for 
 any mischief which may have arisen from her evil example. 
 
 Elizabeth Canning was born on 17 September, 1734, and 
 
ELIZABETH CANNING. 
 
 207 
 
 lived unnoticed and unknown till the year 1753, when there 
 sprang up, anent her worthless personality, one of those 
 storms of popular excitement which from time to time rage 
 around the rights and the wrongs of some question lately 
 deliberated upon and settled by the recognized tribunals of 
 the land. Her father had been a sawyer, but he had been 
 dead some years before 1753, and the widow seems to have 
 carried on his business. 
 
 Elizabeth is said to have been educated at a charity school, 
 and to have borne a good character in the several situations 
 as a domestic servant which she filled up to the time of her 
 notorious escapade. At any rate, malice could find naught 
 against her previous conduct during all the excitement which 
 followed. One sympathetic recorder declares that “ while 
 with Mr. Wintlebury, who keeps a reputable ale-house in 
 Aldermanbury, with whom she continued a servant near two 
 years, she was remarkable for decency, sobriety, and dili¬ 
 gence, and the reason assigned for her leaving him is because, 
 as she advanced towards maturity, she could not avoid some 
 freedoms from the multitude of company who resorted to her 
 master’s house that were offensive to her modesty.” On 
 leaving Mr. Wintlebury she took service with Mr. Edward 
 Lyon, a carpenter in the same neighbourhood, and when she 
 had been living in her new place about ten weeks she went 
 out for that holiday jaunt which was destined to be fraught 
 with such fateful consequences for herself and for others as 
 well. 
 
 To give the story as nearly as possible in the words which 
 she used afterwards at the time of the trial, the astonishing 
 narrative of her adventure opens in the following way: 
 On the 1st of January, 1753, Elizabeth Canning went, by 
 leave of her master and mistress, to spend the day with an 
 uncle of hers, one Thomas Colley, who lived at Saltpetre 
 Bank, a street near Wellclose Square, and now called Dock 
 Street. At his house she took dinner and supper ; and about 
 nine o’clock in the evening she started to return to Mr. 
 Lyon’s, her employer’s, her aunt and uncle escorting her along 
 Houndsditch almost as far as the “ Blue Ball.” There they 
 left her, somewhere about a quarter past nine o’clock, to find 
 
208 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 her way home. Elizabeth did not return that night to Mr. 
 Lyon’s house, and the next day and the next passed without 
 any tidings of her. By this time considerable excitement and 
 alarm had arisen over her disappearance; her mother was 
 informed what had happened ; a large reward was offered for 
 her discovery, and various means were adopted for getting 
 news of her ; the gaols, the hospitals, and other places were 
 searched, but every effort was in vain. On January 6th there 
 appeared in the Daily Advertiser the following notice :— 
 
 “Whereas Elizabeth Cannon, went from her friends be¬ 
 tween Houndsditch and Bishopsgate on Monday last the 1st 
 instant between nine and ten o’clock : Whoever can give any 
 account where she is, shall have two guineas reward : to be 
 paid by Mrs. Cannon, a sawyer in Aldermanbury postern, 
 which will be a great satisfaction to her Mother. She is 
 fresh coloured, pitted with the Small pox, has a high forehead, 
 light Eye brows, about five Foot high, eighteen years of Age, 
 well set, had on a Masquerade purple Stuff Gown, a black 
 petticoat, a white chip Hat, bound round with Green, a white 
 Apron and Handkerchief, blue Stockings, and leather Shoes. 
 
 “ Note .—It is supposed she was forcibly taken away by 
 some evilly disposed Person, as she was heard to shriek out 
 in a Hackney Coach in Bishopsgate-Street. If the Coachman 
 remember anything of the Affair by giving an Account as 
 above he shall be handsomely rewarded for his Trouble.” 
 
 As this advertisement provoked no reply, the disconsolate 
 mother is reported to have caused public prayers to be offered 
 up in the churches, meeting-houses, “ and even at Mr. 
 Westley’s,” that her daughter’s return might be speedy, and 
 that she might not be led into temptation, but delivered from 
 all evil. Lastly, “ for what will not maternal tenderness 
 inspire, a fortune-teller was consulted, who gave the afflicted 
 parent the comforting assurance that she would soon see her 
 Daughter again, though she was then under the keeping of 
 an old Black Woman.” 
 
 Nothing, however, was heard of the missing girl notwith¬ 
 standing all these appeals to the powers visible and in¬ 
 visible ; but on the evening of January 29th, just after 
 Mrs. Canning had summoned her little family to prayers, 
 
ELIZABETH CANNING. 
 
 209 
 
 Elizabeth walked into the room where they were assembled. 
 The mother forthwith fell down in a fit, deeming what 
 she beheld was a ghost. Elizabeth did not, on this 
 occasion, follow suit, though from her mother’s subsequent 
 statement such a thing might well have come to pass. To 
 make a slight digression, it may be remarked here that 
 when she appeared in the witness-box Mrs. Canning— 
 and this fact ought to be kept constantly in mind as the 
 case unfolds itself—declared that her daughter had always 
 been subject to fits, through the falling of some plaster upon 
 her head. Whenever any one might speak sharply to her, 
 or at any sudden shock, she was prone to fall into a fit, and 
 would continue insensible for seven or eight hours, being at 
 such times as unconscious as a new-born babe to aught going 
 on about her. To resume the story, Mrs. Canning, having 
 recollected her wits, realized the fact that her errant child 
 had come back, and perceived, moreover, that she was in 
 piteous case. She was clad in nothing else than a dirty bed¬ 
 gown and an old cap ; and, no longer the plump, rosy, fresh- 
 coloured lass she was when last her mother had seen her, she 
 was now little else but a meagre, pale, half-starved skeleton, 
 bleeding from a wound in the ear, and bearing about her all 
 the marks of ill-treatment. The news of Elizabeth’s return 
 was speedily noised abroad, and several sympathetic neigh¬ 
 bours ran to Mrs. Canning’s house to hear the story of the 
 girl’s mysterious absence. Mr. John Wintlebury, the girl’s 
 former employer, Mr. Lyon, with whom she was at present 
 living, Joseph Adamson, Robert Scarrat, and Edward Rossiter 
 were the first to hear the tale of her adventure. 
 
 The tale she had to tell ran as follows. When she parted 
 from her aunt and uncle near Aldgate, on the evening of New 
 Year’s Day, she passed by Bedlam Wall, near Moorfields. 
 There she met two lusty men, who forthwith seized her and first 
 rifled her pockets, and next took off her gown and apron and 
 hat. Under such outrage she screamed aloud, whereupon the 
 man who had taken off her gown gagged her by thrusting a 
 handkerchief into her mouth. Although the hour was com¬ 
 paratively an early one, there was no one about whom she 
 could summon to her rescue—or at any rate she saw no one— 
 
 15 
 
210 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 and then one of the ruffians, after tying her hands behind her 
 gave her a blow on the head, and said, “ Damn you, you 
 bitch, we’ll do for you by and by! ” She declared she heard 
 these words spoken, though in the same sentence she added 
 that the blow stunned her and threw her into a fit. When 
 she came to herself she was on a large road close by some 
 water, still in the hold of her captors, who dragged her along 
 by her petticoats to a house which stood hard by. Into this 
 she was taken, and when she entered she saw there three 
 women, one old and two young. The old woman took her 
 by the hand and asked her if she would “go their way,” 
 adding that, if she would, she should have fine clothes to 
 wear. She made answer that she would not, though she 
 admitted she did not understand the purport of the harridan’s 
 speech. On receiving this reply the old woman took a 
 carving-knife out of a drawer and cut the lace of her stays, 
 and took them away from her. Her petticoat was left to her; 
 but, after slapping her face and reviling her, the old woman 
 hustled her out of the room up some steps into a chamber 
 above—a sort ol hay loft—and shut the door. But before the 
 old woman withdrew she assured her prisoner with divers 
 threats that, if she should hear her stir or move or utter a 
 word, she would certainly come back and cut her throat out 
 of hand. 
 
 All this happened long before daybreak, but when at last 
 it was light Elizabeth could see what manner of place her 
 prison was. There was in it a fireplace and grate, but 
 nothing in the way of furniture. However, for provision 
 there was upon the floor a black pitcher, not quite full of 
 water, and some twenty-four pieces of bread, amounting in 
 all to about the volume of a quartern loaf. In addition to 
 this she had for sustenance a penny mince-pie, which she 
 had bought that day to carry home to her mother. In this 
 gruesome prison she remained shut up for nearly twenty- 
 eight days, without seeing a single human being, though on 
 the day before her escape she fancied that she saw the eye 
 of some one peeping through a crack in the door. She heard 
 the noise of people moving about below and blowing the fire, 
 and once she tried the door at the foot of the stairs and 
 
ELIZABETH CANNING. 
 
 211 
 
 found it fast. Her bread and water held out till the after¬ 
 noon of the twenty-eighth day, and when these were 
 finished she seems to have set about to find a way of escape. 
 First of all she clothed herself in an old sort of bedgown and 
 a handkerchief that lay in the grate in the hay loft. She 
 then broke down a board which was nailed up to a window 
 and thus made her way out. She had to jump down eight 
 feet, but this did not hurt her, as the ground was soft clay. 
 She scratched her ear indeed in getting out, but this she 
 concealed by tying the handkerchief like a cap over her head. 
 She found herself in a narrow lane, but she soon made her 
 way to the London road and returned as quickly as she 
 could to her mother’s house. 
 
 After listening to this extraordinary story it was only 
 natural that the neighbours should want to know the situa¬ 
 tion of this prison-house. Mr. Wintlebury was the first to 
 question her, and to him she replied that she knew even 
 when she was in confinement that she was somewhere upon 
 the Hertfordshire road. On being interrogated as to how 
 she knew this, she answered that she had peeped out of the 
 window of the loft and had seen a coach go by driven by a 
 man whom she recognized as the coachman who had often 
 driven her late mistress, Mrs. Wintlebury, when she had gone 
 into the country. She knew the coach quite well, because 
 she used to carry goods and parcels to it and fetch them 
 back again. In describing her experiences of the first night 
 of her imprisonment she is reported to have said that while 
 she was in the house where she was taken she heard men¬ 
 tioned the name of Mother Wells, or Mother Wills, but from 
 the evidence afterwards given by Scarrat at her trial it would 
 appear that her first mention of this old woman’s name 
 might well have been suggested by a remark of the witness 
 himself, seeing that he admitted in his evidence that he had 
 cried out, as soon as he had heard her story, “ I would lay a 
 guinea she has been at Mother Wells’.” In like manner the 
 description she gave of the house and of its approaches bears 
 strong signs of having been suggested to her by Mr. Scarrat’s 
 leading questions. 
 
 The house of Mother Wells at Enfield Wash, about which 
 
212 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 much must needs be said as the story unfolds itself, evidently 
 bore in these days a sinister and widespread reputation. In 
 the Connoisseur for July 25, 1753, an entry in the diary of a 
 worthy citizen records a drive in a one-horse chair “to see 
 Mother Wells at Enfield Wash.” She let lodgings to tramps 
 and gipsies, and probably combined with this business that 
 of a brothel-keeper. 
 
 In the ears of her auditors Elizabeth Canning’s story 
 seemed to point to this house as the place where she had 
 been detained, wherefore it was decided by the assembled 
 neighbours that the girl should make an affidavit, giving a 
 full description of all the circumstances of her detention, 
 so as to bring the offenders to justice. A subscription 
 was raised to defray the costs, and on January 31st Eliza¬ 
 beth made oath before Mr. Alderman Chitty, sitting at 
 Guildhall, concerning the outrage in Moorfields and the ill- 
 treatment at Enfield Wash. The warrant was forthwith 
 granted, and Elizabeth, surrounded by a posse of friends, was 
 driven, on February 1st, in a post-chaise down to Enfield 
 Wash to Mother Wells’s house. No sooner did she enter 
 than she declared at once without hesitation that a gipsy 
 woman, a certain Mary Squires, whom she saw there, was 
 the person who had cut off her stays, and that two others 
 there present, named Lucy Squires and Virtue Hall, were 
 the young women who had stood by while this outrage was 
 being committed. A day or two after this expedition the 
 whole party were taken before Mr. Tyshemaker, of Edmon¬ 
 ton, a justice of the peace, but he dismissed the charge 
 against all except Mary Squires, the gipsy woman, and 
 Mother Wells. The first he sent to prison as having been 
 sworn to by the girl as the robber of her stays, and the last 
 he committed as the keeper of a disorderly house. 
 
 But the girl’s friends were not disposed to allow the affair 
 to rest at this stage. On February 7th an information was 
 sworn by Elizabeth Canning before Mr. Henry Fielding, who 
 was then the Middlesex magistrate, recapitulating all the 
 details given above. In the interval which had elapsed since 
 her kidnapping her memory seems to have been enriched, or 
 her imagination stimulated, for now she told Mr. Fielding 
 
ELIZABETH CANNING. 
 
 213 
 
 that the two men who had carried her off “ had brown bob 
 wigs on and drab coloured great-coats.” 
 
 On receiving this information Mr. Fielding at once issued 
 a warrant against all who might be found in the house of 
 Wells, charging them to appear before him forthwith and 
 give security for their good behaviour. Upon this warrant 
 Virtue Hall, whom Elizabeth had seen when taken by her 
 friends down to Enfield, and another woman named Judith 
 Natus, were arrested and brought before the magistrate. 
 Virtue Hall seems to have quailed at once at the terrors of 
 the law, and to have let the justice see that she was ready 
 to tell all, and perhaps more, than she knew. It took some 
 time, however, to get her to patch up a story coherent 
 enough to satisfy even the modest demands of a sworn in¬ 
 formation, but after some amount of cajolery and no small 
 threatening as well, she swore to an information the gist of 
 which was that early on the morning in question Elizabeth 
 Canning, without either gown, hat, or apron, had been 
 brought to Mother Wells’s house. In the details which 
 followed her story corresponded closely with that of Elizabeth, 
 but at the end of the information she declared that, after the 
 day when Elizabeth and her friends had gone as accusers, 
 and the party from Mother Wells’s house as accused, to the 
 house of Mr. Justice Tyshemaker, and Squires and Wells 
 had been committed to prison, Judith Natus and her 
 husband (whose name was Fortune), who had been lodging 
 for some days in Mrs. Wells’s house, and had hitherto slept 
 on a bed of hay in the kitchen, were moved upstairs into 
 the room where Elizabeth had declared she had been 
 imprisoned. By way of explanation Hall added that she 
 understood this change had been made in order that they 
 might be able to feign that they had “ lain in this same 
 workshop for all the time they had lodged in Susannah 
 Wells’s house.” One of the men who had brought Elizabeth 
 to the house was John Squires, the son of Mary Squires the 
 gipsy woman, the other was a stranger to her. 
 
 Mr. Fielding next examined Judith Natus, but she denied 
 having ever seen Elizabeth Canning at Mrs. Wells’s house, 
 and stated positively that she and her husband had indeed 
 
214 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 lain in the same room where Elizabeth had pretended to be 
 confined all the time they were at Enfield Wash. This 
 statement Virtue Hall contradicted orally, whereupon certain 
 persons present demanded that Judith Natus should be com¬ 
 mitted for perjury forthwith—a fact which shows that the 
 public at large had already begun to feel strongly on the 
 subject and had chosen their side—but this was a step 
 which even Justice Fielding declined to take. One bit of 
 judicial procedure sanctioned by him in this case may be 
 noted as an example of the extraordinary laxity of the pre¬ 
 vailing usage. Certain noble lords and persons of quality 
 had expressed a wish to be present at the examination of 
 the gipsy woman, whereupon Fielding ordered Mr. Salt, the 
 solicitor, to bring up Elizabeth Canning and Virtue Hall, so 
 that they might once more swear their informations in the 
 presence of Squires, the gipsy woman, and Mother Wells, at 
 the same time appointing a day for this ceremony and send¬ 
 ing due notice of the business to the “ noble lords.” 
 
 Not the least extraordinary part of this extraordinary 
 business is the conduct of Fielding. At the beginning of 
 the pamphlet which he soon after brought out he lets the 
 public into his confidence, and tells them how he, a police 
 magistrate, received a fee and instructions from Mr. Salt, the 
 prosecuting solicitor ; how he postponed all examination into 
 this charge of felony on the ground that he had been greatly 
 fatigued of late by other long investigations, and wanted a 
 day or two in the country ; how he alternately cajoled and 
 bullied Virtue Hall, a prisoner brought before him on his 
 own warrant, till he got the wretched wench to make the 
 confession he desired to hear—a confession which she re¬ 
 tracted as soon as the least pressure was put upon her from 
 the other side ; and how he allowed this same prisoner to have 
 an interview with the prosecuting solicitor, and to be sworn 
 to an information prepared beforehand by this same solicitor. 
 
 On 2 1st February Mary Squires and Susannah Wells were 
 brought to trial at the Old Bailey sessions—Squires for 
 robbing Elizabeth Canning, and Wells for harbouring and 
 concealing Squires. The evidence for the prosecution was 
 nothing more than a recapitulation of the foregoing narrative. 
 
ELIZABETH CANNING. 
 
 2I 5 
 
 Mother Wells made no defence at all (it seemed her husband 
 had been hanged), and Mary Squires did no more than call 
 several witnesses from Dorsetshire—John Gibbons, William 
 Clarke, and Thomas Greville—all of whom swore that they 
 had seen the prisoner, Mary Squires, and her son in the 
 neighbourhood of Abbotsbury during the first part of January, 
 1753. Gibbons, indeed, swore that she had stopped at his 
 inn at Abbotsbury from the first to the ninth of the month, 
 and all the others were precise in their statements. But 
 another witness, one John Miser, for the Crown, swore that he 
 had met Squires at Waltham Cross and Theobalds on the 
 day when she was apprehended, and had seen her on several 
 other occasions immediately before this date telling fortunes 
 in the neighbourhood. This evidence seems to have destroyed 
 the value of that of the Dorsetshire men in the estimation 
 of the jury, and they found a verdict of guilty against both 
 prisoners. Squires was sentenced to death, and Wells to be 
 imprisoned for six months and to be burned in the hand. 
 The last-named cruel punishment was carried out at once, to 
 the great delight of the assembled crowd. As in the pre¬ 
 liminary proceedings before Mr. Fielding, an attempt was 
 made to indict the Dorsetshire witnesses for perjury, but this 
 the bench would not countenance. 
 
 In the meantime the controversy as to which of the stories 
 was the true one was waxing warm and engaging the atten¬ 
 tion of the busy quidnuncs, who have always leisure for such 
 matters. Fielding seems to have forgotten altogether what 
 was due to his position as an administrator of the law, and 
 espoused the cause of Elizabeth Canning in a very un¬ 
 becoming manner, while the many-sided Doctor John Hill 
 took the part of the condemned women. In the Inspector 
 for March 9th there appeared a statement that Virtue Hall 
 had recanted all the evidence she had given at the trial, and 
 over and beyond this had declared that Elizabeth Canning 
 had never been at the house at Enfield Wash until she was 
 conveyed thither by her friends on February 1st. Certain 
 details in the description of the place wherein she swore 
 she was incarcerated, given by Elizabeth at the late trial, 
 were pointed out and demonstrated to be inaccurate. She had 
 
2l6 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 sworn that she had found the old bedgown she wore when 
 she made her escape lying in the grate in the garret, but 
 when the garret came to be examined no grate of any sort 
 was found therein. Meantime the execution of the sentence 
 upon the two women had been arrested. The story of 
 Virtue Hall’s retractation turned out to be true, and over and 
 beyond recanting the same she declared that she would never 
 have sworn to her information had it not been for the threats 
 and intimidation of Justice Fielding and Salt, the solicitor 
 for the prosecution. Sir Crisp Gascoigne, the Lord Mayor, 
 had sat on the bench at the trial. He had all along been 
 very suspicious as to Elizabeth’s story, and was now highly 
 dissatisfied with the verdict. The affidavit of Virtue Hall’s 
 recantation was placed in his hands, and on March 15th he 
 brought the two women together at the Gate-house, when 
 Hall reiterated her statement in Elizabeth Canning’s presence. 
 The Lord Mayor had likewise caused written inquiries to be 
 sent down into Dorsetshire, and had received from the vicar 
 and parish officers of Abbotsbury replies which fully con¬ 
 firmed the evidence given by the Dorsetshire men at the 
 trial. So strong was the feeling of the party which Fielding’s 
 indiscreet championship had called up, that on May 4th a 
 bill of indictment for perjury was presented by the grand 
 jury at the Old Bailey against Elizabeth Canning. As a 
 counter-check to this her friends proposed a similar bill 
 against Clarke, Gibbons, and Greville for perjury committed 
 during the late trial ; but both of these bills were thrown 
 out. The following session, on June 9th, the bills were again 
 presented and found true. The friends of Elizabeth seem to 
 have been somewhat alarmed at the turn of affairs at this 
 juncture, for they kept her concealed until a writ of outlawry 
 was issued. At the September sessions the Abbotsbury 
 witnesses were brought to trial, and as no evidence was pre¬ 
 sented against them they' were acquitted. Before Sir Crisp 
 Gascoigne laid down his office of Lord Mayor, Canning’s 
 friends waited upon him with a request to have the case 
 tried in the Court of King’s Bench, but this course not being 
 found practicable, the trial came on at the Old Bailey' on 
 29th May', 1754. 
 
ELIZABETH CANNING. 
 
 217 
 
 In the meantime the popular excitement over the varying 
 developments of the case had risen to fever heat. Fielding 
 tried to justify his recent action by the publication of his 
 pamphlet “ A Clear State of the case of Elizabeth Canning ” ; 
 but that he was not altogether happy in his effort is proved 
 by the fact that he failed to win the approval of the writer of 
 “The Genuine and impartial Memoirs,” a thick and thin defence 
 of the girl, in respect to his method of handling the affair. 
 Hill’s attack followed Fielding’s book after a few days, and 
 proved the Doctor to be a more skilful controversialist than 
 the novelist. These were but the heralds of the storm ; a 
 fresh pamphlet came out every week, and the caricaturist was 
 well to the fore to make use of such a promising subject. At 
 the most fashionable coffee-houses subscriptions were made 
 on behalf of the martyr maid-of-all-work. The members 
 of White’s went so far as to send for her to come and receive 
 in person the ^30 they collected for her. As is usual 
 in seasons of such violent excitement, abominable charges 
 were made against the chief actors on either side, and the 
 basest motives were assigned to them as the reason of their 
 activity. Sir Crisp Gascoigne suffered perhaps the most. He 
 was attacked in the streets, his coach windows were broken, 
 and his life was threatened. There was spread abroad a 
 story that one of the gipsy woman’s sons had been for many 
 years in the pay of Sir Crisp Gascoigne, who had been moved 
 to act in the interest of Mary Squires from the fact that 
 young Squires, if he were not kept quiet, might tell a story 
 of some scandalous offence of which his employer had been 
 guilty. It may be remarked that nearly all the caricatures 
 published were of a character to hold up to ridicule the 
 party opposed to Elizabeth Canning, scarcely any being 
 published against her. The air was filled with the wildest 
 fables. One day it was reported that Virtue Hall had re¬ 
 canted her recantation, and the next that a boy at Enfield 
 had declared he knew some one who had seen the girl actually 
 clambering out of the window of Mother Wells’s hay loft. 
 Falsehoods like these found ready believers ; but nothing 
 fresh of any importance came to light. 
 
 On the morning of the trial the accused was taken in a 
 
TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 coach to the Old Bailey, attended by the acclamations of the 
 sympathetic multitude. The charge of perjury was in respect 
 to her evidence in which she swore she had been robbed 
 of her stays by Mary Squires, and the object of the prose¬ 
 cution was to account for the doings of this woman during 
 the whole of the time which the accused declared she had 
 spent in duress at Enfield Wash ; and, if a multitude of 
 witnesses is to be taken as a valuable factor, it must be 
 admitted that the case against Elizabeth was a powerful 
 one. Thirty-eight witnesses were called to prove that Mary 
 Squires had been in Dorsetshire, and to indicate exactly the 
 route which she and her son had taken in their journey from 
 South Parret to Tottenham. On the other hand, a large 
 number of witnesses swore that they had seen Mary Squires 
 (who seemed to be easy of recognition by reason of her 
 exceeding ugliness) on divers occasions at Enfield or in the 
 neighbourhood during the period of her alleged absence in 
 Dorsetshire. Fortune and Judith Natus swore positively that 
 they had slept in the hay loft the whole of the time of Eliza¬ 
 beth’s pretended imprisonment, and one Ezra Whiffin deposed 
 that on the 8th of January he had gone into the hay loft to 
 look at an inn sign which Mrs. Wells had for sale, and had seen 
 Judith Natus in bed, swearing at the same time there was no 
 other woman in the room. Divers witnesses afterwards gave 
 testimony as to the respectability of Whiffin. He seems to 
 have been a thoroughly worthy man, and his evidence probably 
 had great weight with the jury. The trial dragged on for eight 
 days, and by the time it had come to an end the jury were 
 completely befogged, for after consulting for two hours they 
 came into court with the verdict that the defendant had been 
 guilty of perjury, but not wilful or corrupt. The court 
 having informed them that this was no verdict at all, they 
 again retired, and, after another consultation, found her guilty 
 of the offence, but recommended her to the mercy of the 
 court. The verdict itself is no bad illustration of the extra¬ 
 ordinary confusion which must have reigned in the minds of 
 all those who had sat through eight days of contradictory 
 evidence. First the twelve good men and true find she is 
 guilty of perjury, “but not wilful and corrupt,” the next hour 
 
ELIZABETH CANNING. 
 
 2 iy 
 
 they find that her perjury was wilful and corrupt. Then 
 certain of them made an affidavit that they believed her story 
 in the main, but found her guilty because they thought there 
 was some discrepancy as to the day on which she had 
 exhausted her pitcher of water. 
 
 On May 30th she was brought up for judgment and 
 was sentenced to be kept one month in prison, and then 
 transported to North America for seven years. Alderman 
 Sir John Barnard moved that the sentence should simply be 
 the one month’s imprisonment ; but, though this proposition 
 met with some considerable support, it was overruled. At 
 the same time the shorthand reporter who had taken minutes 
 of the trial was severely reprimanded by th& Recorder on 
 account of the partisan aspect (in favour of the accused) 
 which he had given to the published reports of the evidence, 
 —another instance of the tendency to sympathize with the 
 criminal which seldom fails to manifest itself whenever some 
 special case may have aroused an abnormal amount of excite¬ 
 ment in the public mind. But no proceedings for contempt 
 of court seem to have been taken. 
 
 Henceforth Elizabeth Canning disappears from the public 
 gaze. In 1761 the Annual Register contains an entry which 
 states that “ Elizabeth Canning is arrived in England and 
 received a legacy of £500 left her three years ago by an old 
 lady of Newington Green ”; and the Gentleman's Magazine 
 (vol. xliii. p. 413) contains the record of her death at 
 YVeathersfield in Connecticut on July 22, 1773. 
 
 Elizabeth Canning’s story, printed in hundreds of pam¬ 
 phlets and broadsheets, and bandied from mouth to mouth 
 in the Mall and in St. Giles’s, in my lady’s boudoir, and 
 in cellar and garret lodgings, soon produced a number 
 of imitators. One of those on record is the case of a young 
 girl between nine and ten years of age who had been taken 
 from poverty by a benevolent lady and placed at a good 
 school. One day, just about the time of the trial, this girl 
 disappeared from school. Search was made for her every¬ 
 where, but no trace was found of her until at last a message 
 was brought to the schoolmistress asking her to go to 
 Shacklewell. There she found a gentleman who told her the 
 
220 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 following story. He had met this girl in the fields near 
 Shacklewell, almost naked, when she asked him to tell her 
 the way to Ponder’s End. Seeing a child in this strange 
 plight he asked her where she came from and why she was 
 in such distress. She replied that she had been decoyed 
 away from school by a man, who had carried her into the 
 fields and then stripped her, that she was afraid to return 
 to her schoolmistress, and wanted to go to her friends 
 at Ponder’s End. The piteous state of the child, and the 
 apparent truth of her story combined with her innocent 
 manner, induced the gentleman to take her with him to 
 the house of a friend whom he was about to visit. Some¬ 
 thing occurred the next day to arouse the suspicions of the 
 schoolmistress. She made further inquiries, and at last the 
 girl confessed that she had stripped herself of her clothes 
 and thrown them into a pond. 
 
 But Elizabeth Canning was not the first to play at this 
 game. It is by no means improbable that her action may 
 have been suggested and stimulated by listening to some 
 adventure of a nature akin to the one associated with her 
 name. She must almost certainly have heard of the case 
 of Richard Hathaway, a boy who was urged on by that 
 morbid and malignant desire for notoriety, however in¬ 
 famous—one of Nordau’s most evident stigmata of degene¬ 
 racy—which, when once it seizes upon the imagination of 
 the person possessed, renders him quite callous and in¬ 
 different to the evil which may follow his actions. Hath¬ 
 away feigned to have been persecuted by an old woman, 
 and to have been bewitched by her. He declared that he 
 had vomited pins on account of the spells cast upon him, 
 and that he had fasted for days at a time. Like Elizabeth 
 Canning, he found many people who were intelligent and of 
 good repute to believe in him ; and, like her, he had to be 
 exhibited as an impostor by the means of a legal trial. It 
 has perhaps been assumed overmuch by those who have con¬ 
 cerned themselves with Elizabeth Canning and her doings 
 that her innocence or guilt is an open question, and that her 
 case is- to be numbered amongst the insoluble mysteries ; and 
 one of the most acute of these investigators, Mr. Paget, the 
 
ELIZABETH CANNING. 
 
 221 
 
 author of “ Paradoxes and Puzzles,” shows an undoubted bias 
 in her favour. Those who would demonstrate her innocence 
 must find their task from the very outset well nigh hopeless. 
 To begin with the notice in the Daily Advertiser , what 
 can be the meaning of the expression, “ She was heard to 
 shriek out in a hackney coach in Bishopsgate Street ” but 
 that her mother from the very first had taken firmly into her 
 mind the notion that the girl had been forcibly abducted ? 
 Who heard the shriek, or who identified the shrieker? The 
 girl might or might not have concocted her nonsensical story 
 what time she returned, a wan, livid scarecrow, into the family 
 party in Aldermanbury. In any case here was a milieu in 
 which any rudimentary germs of invention as yet dormant in 
 her brain would almost certainly be fertilized and grow 
 rapidly. The main features of her narrative, the subsistence 
 on nothing more than a few scraps of bread and a pitcher of 
 water for four weeks, to say nothing of the “ minced pie ” 
 which her filial piety had reserved for her mother, show that 
 the inclination to tell a lying story was there, and her subse¬ 
 quent action—the persistence with which she adhered to 
 the same, what though the mutilation and death of two 
 women, who were at least innocent of this offence, would 
 ensue on account of her false oath—prove the dogged, stubborn 
 malignity of her nature. Fielding himself, partisan com¬ 
 mitted as he was, writes in his pamphlet that if the alibi 
 advanced on the gipsy’s behalf should prove true, Canning 
 would be guilty of the blackest, the most premeditated, and 
 the most audacious perjury levelled at the lives of several 
 innocent persons. 
 
 Elizabeth Canning was about eighteen years of age at the 
 time of the trial, and, to judge from the way in which she 
 gave her evidence, by no means wanting in intelligence. 
 There are several circumstances in connection with her inter¬ 
 view with Justice Fielding—at the time when Virtue Hall 
 swore to the deposition which she subsequently repudiated— 
 which favour the view that she was very cunning and very 
 far-sighted as well. The terms of Virtue Hall’s deposition 
 resemble those of Elizabeth’s story so minutely that they 
 suggest at once collusion and perhaps combined preparation. 
 
222 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 The partisans of Elizabeth always put forward the argu¬ 
 ment in her favour that Hall’s subsequent evidence was 
 valueless. No doubt it was, and by parity of reasoning her 
 original deposition was just as valuable as her recantation and 
 her evidence, and no more. But, beyond this, the demonstra¬ 
 tion of Hall’s worthlessness makes legitimate and permissible 
 the plea that a woman of her character and antecedents would 
 naturally be quite ready to plot with a kindred spirit like 
 Elizabeth Canning, in order to save herself from the thunder¬ 
 bolts of the law as wielded by Justice Fielding, no matter 
 what cruelty and injustice might be the consequences of her 
 act. 
 
 Elizabeth Canning’s character was without doubt a far 
 stronger one than Virtue Hall’s. There was no sign of vacil¬ 
 lation or yielding in her when once she had chosen her part. 
 What may have been the immediate cause of the momentous 
 freak she played must ever remain a mystery, a mystery as 
 impenetrable as her whereabouts during the month of January, 
 1753. It is easy to believe that the freak itself was not such 
 as a respectable girl would have undertaken. One inquirer 
 is inclined to the belief that she spent her time with a lover, 
 who forsook her when he had had enough of her; another 
 that she had gone into temporary seclusion, rendered neces¬ 
 sary by the result of some amorous intrigue. Whatever may 
 have been the cause, her absence required explanation, and she 
 was shrewd enough to coin a tale which, albeit improbable in 
 parts, was difficult to disprove entirely, and was put forward 
 in the manner most likely to win public sympathy. And in 
 the early stages of the affair fortune certainly favoured her 
 marvellously. Mr. Scarrat’s opportune suggestions and 
 Henry Fielding’s advocacy made her way comparatively easy. 
 Moreover, she never faltered in her courage or recanted her 
 story, but rather made it more complete and emphatic with 
 every telling, heedless that Mother Wells might be burned 
 in the hand and Mrs. Squires hanged by the neck for crimes 
 in which they had had no part. 
 
 W. G. Waters. 
 
DUCHESS OF KINGSTON. 
 
ELIZABETH CIIUDLEIGH, 
 
ELIZABETH CHUDLEIGH. 
 
 DUCHESS OF KINGSTON. 
 
 (1720-1788.) 
 
 “ You see, my lords, what goodly fruit she seems : 
 Yet like those apples travellers report 
 To grow where Sodom and Gomorrah stood 
 I will but touch her and you straight shall see 
 She’ll fall to soot and ashes.” 
 
 VlTTORIA COROMBONA. 
 
 NE result of the old-fashioned method of teaching 
 
 history is that students who have been thereto subjected 
 in their youth, when they look back upon that long and 
 wearisome road which stretches from the coming of William 
 the Bastard to the present year of grace are apt to find that 
 this highway is interrupted here and there with deep dykes 
 which profess to shut off one period from another, and to 
 group the ingens accrvus of facts into handy sections which 
 may be more easily comprehended. The student was further¬ 
 more led to believe that, after passing one of these boundaries, 
 he would have done for ever with all that had gone before, 
 and would emerge in a new world of politics, society, and 
 
 ideas. 
 
 For some reason or other the transition from Stuart to 
 Hanoverian times always seems to mean the leaping of a 
 dyke wider than usual. The graceful and cultured life of the 
 Court of the first Charles, which some of us idealize, may be 
 largely legendary, and the result of feminine sympathy for the 
 woes which the elegantly attired Cavaliers suffered at the 
 
226 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 hands of the ugly Puritans ; the wit and laughter, the rosy 
 days and yet more rosy nights of the Restoration, may have 
 been mere vulgar debauchery, trimmed up for our inspection 
 by the romancer’s art, and mellowed by the passage of the 
 years; but in any case they cannot surely have aught in 
 common with the gross, dull sottish profligacy which in¬ 
 fected society during the rule of the first and the second of 
 our Hanoverian deliverers, or with the domestic virtues which 
 adorned the life of the third. The fear of Popery and wooden 
 shoes was for ever dissipated, and other things had gone as 
 well: to wit, the fine, if somewhat dangerous, spirit of Cavalier 
 loyalty, and the stately tradition and sentiment of High 
 Church rule of life, hallowed and handed on by gentlemen 
 like Falkland and Endymion Porter, and by divines like 
 Herbert, Andrews, and Ken. With the coming of George I. 
 the country gentlemen withdrew to their seats to hunt by day 
 and drink by night, to sulk over politics and talk treason 
 with the parson, and to help produce for the next generation 
 the Lumpkins and Westerns and Trullibers portrayed by the 
 pioneers of English fiction. 
 
 But a very superficial search will show that the gulf fixed 
 between Stuart and Hanoverian times was after all a very 
 narrow one. The characteristics of society were varied some¬ 
 what, but only on the surface. Vice had added largely to its 
 grossness and—if such a process be possible—seemed thereby 
 to have increased its evil as well. At any rate, the leaven of 
 unrighteousness must have been working strongly in a society 
 which could put forth such a growth as Miss Elizabeth 
 Chudleigh. 
 
 Elizabeth Chudleigh was born in 1720, of a good Devonshire 
 family, the Chudleighs of Ashton. Her father was Colonel 
 Thomas Chudleigh, lieutenant-governor of Chelsea Hospital, 
 and her mother a member of the same family, coming from 
 the branch settled at Chalmington, in Dorset. Colonel Chud¬ 
 leigh died in 1726, leaving his wife and child in very poor 
 circumstances. For several years they lived in obscurity, 
 when one day, in 1740, a lucky accident—a chance meeting 
 during a country walk according to rumour—gained them the 
 advantage of Mr. Pulteney’s friendship. He was mightily 
 
DUCHESS OF KINGSTON. 
 
 227 
 
 taken with the beauty and brightness of the young girl, and 
 the story goes that he gave her much good advice, both per¬ 
 sonally and by letters, as to the cultivation of her mind by 
 study, and as to the value of intellectual possessions ; but 
 those who live after the event, and can review the damsel’s 
 career, will be of the opinion that the appointment as maid 
 of honour to the Princess of Wales, which Pulteney was able 
 to procure for her in 1743, was vastly more to Miss Eliza¬ 
 beth’s taste than counsel as to the choice of books. There is 
 no evidence that the widow’s circumstances had in any way 
 improved, nor as to who the person was who generously 
 supplied the funds needed to furnish a suitable outfit for the 
 new maid of honour ; but, whether she were well equipped 
 or no, it is certain that the smart society of the day awoke 
 one morning to discover that a new star of beauty of the first 
 magnitude had risen in the firmament. The craze for fashion¬ 
 able beauty is not altogether a new one, as Miss Chudleigh’s 
 case and the more famous one of the Gunnings later on serves 
 to prove. The town could talk of nothing else but the mar¬ 
 vellous beauty of the fair Elizabeth. The gilded youth 
 flocked round her like flies round a honey-pot, and, before 
 long, rumours were spread abroad that divers of the young 
 bloods of the highest rank were bent on winning and wearing 
 her. The Dukes of Hamilton and Ancaster and Lord Hills¬ 
 borough were the suitors she favoured most, and it was 
 scarcely probable that the first-named of them, the possessor 
 of a princely title and immense wealth, would woo in vain. 
 The Duke and the maid of honour certainly exchanged 
 vows, but no long time was allowed them for their pleasant 
 dalliance, seeing that the lover was already committed to a 
 plan for making the Grand Tour. He was at that time only 
 nineteen years of age and presumably still under tutelage 
 of some sort or other, and there can be little doubt that his 
 guardians did all in their power to keep him from contracting 
 what must have seemed to all the world a most undesirable 
 match for one of such exalted station. At any rate, they 
 carried him off out of the country, but though seas were 
 dividing he was constant enough, at least for a time, to ply 
 Miss Chudleigh with his love-letters. She had gone to spend 
 
228 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 the summer with her aunt, Mrs. Hanmer, in Hampshire, and 
 this lady, from some motive which it is not easy to fathom, 
 intercepted the letters, so that Elizabeth was left without 
 a word from her wandering lover. Balked of winning one 
 beauty, he had his will with another later on. Walpole 
 writes: “ About six weeks ago Duke Hamilton, hot, de¬ 
 bauched, extravagant, and equally damaged in his fortune 
 and his person, fell in love with the youngest [of the Gun¬ 
 nings] at the masquerade, and determined to marry her in the 
 spring.” To judge from these words, it would appear that the 
 Duke as a parti had his drawbacks, but it is scarcely possible 
 that such peccadilloes as those chronicled above would have 
 roused Mrs. Hanmer’s determined opposition to the match. 
 But, if she did her best to rob her niece of such a lover as the 
 match-making aunt in all ages has been most keen to entrap, 
 she set to work to repair the mischief and to supply the void 
 in Miss Chudleigh’s heart by recommending to the utmost in 
 her power the Honourable Augustus John Hervey, grandson 
 of the first Earl of Bristol, and son of the famous John Lord 
 Hervey, at this time a lieutenant on board H.M.S. Cornwall. 
 Perhaps the good aunt may have feared that the Duke, in 
 spite of his love-letters, would prove a difficult bird to lure 
 into the net after the wider experiences of his travels—it must 
 be remembered he was only nineteen when he sailed away— 
 and that an officer in the navy with the chance of succeeding 
 to an earldom was, after all, the game the better worth 
 hunting. 
 
 Whatever Mrs. Hanmer’s plans may have been, it is certain 
 that she did not find much difficulty in bringing her niece 
 round to her way of thinking. Mrs. Hanmer took Elizabeth 
 with her on a visit to her cousin, Mr. John Merrill, of Lainston, 
 a village near Winchester. The family party went for a jaunt 
 to Winchester races, and there was arranged the meeting— 
 pregnant with such dire consequences—between Elizabeth 
 Chudleigh and Augustus John Hervey. The young lieutenant 
 fell a victim at once to the charms of the fashionable beauty, 
 and after a vigorous wooing she, piqued perhaps by the Duke 
 of Hamilton’s apparent neglect, consented to marry him. 
 Miss Chudleigh at this time was only twenty-four years of 
 
DUCHESS OF KINGSTON. 
 
 229 
 
 age ; but, to judge from the incidents of her life at Court, she 
 could scarcely have been rated as an inexperienced girl. 
 Mervey was four years her junior, but he had been about the 
 world, and, if his subsequent carriage be taken into account, 
 he cannot be set down as a man given to act on hasty impulse, 
 or as one overburdened with scruples. For this reason it is 
 somewhat difficult to account for such precipitate action, and for 
 the taking of a step of such astounding folly and heedlessness. 
 It is perhaps safe to assume that they were, for the moment, 
 deeply enamoured of one another, and that for once they 
 gave free course to the passionate impulses of nature without 
 counting the cost. Having determined at all hazard to 
 possess one another, they hit upon a course which had a 
 certain amount of reason to justify it. Lieutenant Hervey, 
 presumably a poor man, dreaded the anger of his father and 
 the possible ruin of his career. Elizabeth, having nothing in 
 the world except her place in the household of the Princess 
 of Wales, hesitated to resign this in exchange for the poor 
 establishment Hervey could offer her as his wife. Things 
 standing thus, they resolved to make a private marriage, 
 which should be kept secret, a freak much more common in 
 those days of happy-go-lucky registration than at the present 
 time; so, on August 4, 1744, they were married late in the 
 evening at Lainston by Mr. Amis, the rector of the place. 
 The church stood at the bottom of Mr. Merrill’s garden. The 
 only witnesses of the ceremony were Mrs. Hanmer and her 
 maid, Mr. Merrill and a friend of his, a certain Mr. Mount- 
 eney, who held in his hat the candle which gave light to 
 Parson Amis as he read the service. The party returned to 
 Mr. Merrill’s house after the marriage, and Hervey and his 
 wife cohabited there for several days. Then the bridegroom 
 sailed away in the Cornwall, and the bride went back to live 
 with her mother in Conduit Street. 
 
 In 1746 Hervey came back from sea, and at once went to 
 live with his wife, using secrecy enough to allow her to con¬ 
 tinue the discharge of her duties as maid of honour without 
 detection or scandal ; and in the summer of 1747 the first 
 child of the marriage was born. In the following November 
 was it baptized in the old church at Chelsea as the son of the 
 
230 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 Honourable Augustus Hervey. A few weeks later it died, 
 and from the date of its birth there is no evidence that the 
 parents ever again lived together. Walpole, in his “Last 
 Journals,” makes mention of a second child of Elizabeth’s by 
 Hervey, but he is almost certainly wrong. He was writing 
 some years after the event, and makes several mistakes in his 
 account of the matter in question. 
 
 During the husband’s absence, and during the time imme¬ 
 diately following his return from sea-going, any feeling of 
 affection which may have hitherto existed between the pair 
 rapidly cooled, or even gave place to positive dislike. When 
 she returned to town from that momentous visit to Hamp¬ 
 shire Elizabeth’s beauty was just as much as ever the 
 cynosure of the Court. The young woman who would con¬ 
 tract a secret marriage with a light heart would naturally 
 drift into the wildest and most dissolute set about the Court ; 
 indeed, she contrived before long to outrage the delicacy 
 (save the mark ! ) even of the Court of George II. In 1749 a 
 subscription masquerade was given, of which Mrs. Montagu 
 writes in the following terms: “ Miss Chudleigh’s dress, or 
 rather undress, was remarkable : she was Iphigenia for the 
 sacrifice, but so naked that the high priest might easily' 
 inspect the entrails of the victim. The maids of honour 
 (not of maids the strictest) were so offended that they would 
 not speak to her.” And Walpole, in describing the same 
 entertainment, writes that “ Miss Chudleigh appeared as 
 Iphigenia, but so naked that she might have been taken for 
 Andromeda.” Elizabeth was by this time in the humour to 
 care little for the scolding of modest maids of honour or the 
 censures of the learned Mrs. Montagu. It is evident that 
 this freak of hers went far to increase her reputation as a 
 femme galante —it may perhaps have been undertaken with 
 such an end in view—and won for her appreciation in the 
 most exalted quarters. Peradventure there may have been 
 at this moment a vacancy in the royal heart and harem ; at 
 any rate, a fortnight later another masquerade was given, 
 “ by the King’s command,” for Miss Chudleigh, the maid of 
 honour, with whom, as the scandalmongers would have it, 
 the old King fancied himself to be in love—so much in love 
 
DUCHESS OF KINGSTON. 
 
 231 
 
 that at one of the booths he gave her a fairing for her watch, 
 which cost him five and thirty guineas—actually disbursed 
 out of his privy purse, and not charged to the Civil List. 
 
 At another masquerade given shortly afterwards King 
 George II. was graciously pleased to be present, bent, no 
 doubt, on conquest ; but the Fates were unpropitious, for the 
 fair Elizabeth was detained at home with an attack of gout— 
 a suggestion that, young as she was, she had already begun 
 to give way to the crapulous humours lurking in her blood. 
 The royal lover went away in high dudgeon when he dis¬ 
 covered that for him the masquerade was shorn of all attrac¬ 
 tion ; but certain events of the following year seem to show 
 either that he could not be angry with such a charming face, 
 or that the owner of the face had made some amends for dis¬ 
 appointing him of her presence. Walpole, in writing of a 
 Drawing-room held in 1750, says: “The King strode up to 
 Miss Chudleigh and told her he was glad to have an oppor¬ 
 tunity of obeying her commands ; that he appointed her 
 mother housekeeper at Windsor, and hoped she would not 
 think a kiss too great a reward—against all precedent he 
 kissed her in the circle. Her life, which is now of thirty 
 years’ standing, has been a little historic. Why should not 
 experience and a charming face on one side and seventy 
 years on his produce a title ? ” 
 
 Elizabeth may now be regarded as fully introduced to the 
 inner circles of a Court as profligate and corrupt as any which 
 had ever disgraced the worst days of the Stuarts. The facts 
 of her marriage with Hervey may not have been the talk of 
 the town, but there are some words on record which suggest 
 the notion that it was known to some few and suspected by 
 more. Walpole, in the passage lately quoted, speaks of her 
 life as having been “ historic ”—a term which would seem to 
 apply more fittingly to her secret marriage than to any other 
 recorded adventure of hers. In the “Last Journals” he 
 writes, in allusion to the first years of the marriage : “ As the 
 wedded pair were both poor, extravagant, and gallant, they 
 were soon weary of their chain, though on confessing their 
 case to the Princess and her son, the bride was retained as 
 a maid of honour.” 
 
232 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN 
 
 But whether Elizabeth was to be regarded as matron or 
 maid made no difference to the crowd of gay admirers who 
 flocked round her. Nearly all the evidence available goes to 
 show that the exceeding beauty of her face was the charm 
 which served her best. No one has a good word to say for 
 her figure. Walpole calls her ill-made, clumsy, and ungrace¬ 
 ful ; and in an account of her trial Hannah More writes: 
 “ She is large and ill-shaped ; there was nothing white but 
 her face, and, had it not been for that she would have looked 
 like a bale of bombazeen.” Neither is there anything to 
 show that she was gifted to any extent with wit or fascination 
 of manner. Her beauty made her a chartered libertine, and 
 she won her way in the world by its power, and by her 
 audacity in overleaping the bounds of convention and out¬ 
 raging the decency—such as it was—of the fashionable 
 world. She had certainly plenty of spirit and courage, and 
 in the great crisis of her life she exhibited all the adroitness 
 and promptitude of a great commander. It is true she met 
 defeat, but she left her adversaries little to boast of in the 
 barren victory they achieved. 
 
 Hervey in the meantime—what though he made no claim 
 to a husband’s privileges—is said to have been grievously tor¬ 
 mented with jealousy on account of the attentions bestowed 
 upon his wife by King and courtier alike ; but there is little 
 evidence of any such feeling to be gathered from his actions 
 and from his treatment of his wife at this time. In the 
 January of 1747, before the birth of the child, he was made 
 post-captain, and appointed to the Pi'incipessa ; and from this 
 time till the peace of 1763 he was almost continually em¬ 
 ployed on active service, either in the West Indies or in the 
 Mediterranean. No doubt, tidings of his wife’s swift descent 
 down the slide of debauchery, and of the various details of 
 her outrageous conduct, were furnished to him in letters from 
 home ; for Miss Chudleigh and her doings seem to have been 
 the favourite subject of gossip ; but he let her go her way 
 while he went on battering or being battered by French and 
 Spaniards in the Antilles or the Balearic Islands. But to 
 any remonstrances of his Elizabeth might well have answered 
 with a Tu Vas voulu. He had left her a wife and no wife, 
 
DUCHESS OF KINGSTON. 
 
 233 
 
 placed in a dangerous position in a dissolute Court—a young 
 woman of strong passions and gifted with a beauty which 
 seemed to act like a spell upon young and old alike. If ever 
 a word is to be spoken in extenuation of Elizabeth Chud- 
 leigh’s career of crime and profligacy it must be advanced 
 with reference to the treatment she received from her husband 
 at this particular time. Through the Fifties the pages of 
 Walpole bristle with poisonous suggestions applying to the 
 “ virgin Chudleigh ”; and in the Connoisseur, published in 
 1755, there is a reference to a certain maid of honour who 
 was suffering from a tumour of the sort which is cured by the 
 lapse of time; and another one alluding to the undress cos¬ 
 tume worn by “ Iphigenia” at the masquerade. In 1754, during 
 a state performance at the Opera, one of the royal guards fell 
 down in an apoplexy, whereupon Miss Chudleigh, who was 
 in attendance upon the Princess of Wales, “went into the 
 most theatrical fit of kicking and shrieking that ever was 
 seen. Several other women who were preparing their fits 
 were so distanced that she had the whole house to herself.” 
 In 1746 her mother died, and this circumstance was made 
 the occasion of a not very brilliant epigram from George 
 Selwyn :— 
 
 “ What filial piety ! what mournful grace, 
 
 For a lost parent sits on Chudleigh’s face ! 
 
 Fair virgin, weep no more, your anguish smother, 
 
 You in this town can never want a mother.” 
 
 In 1759 Hervey’s elder brother, who had succeeded in 1751 
 to the earldom of Bristol on the death of his grandfather, fell 
 into ill health, whereupon Elizabeth, remembering that her 
 husband stood next in order of succession to the title and 
 estates, thought right to review her position as the ciypto 
 Mrs. Augustus John Hervey. The time might be near at 
 hand when it would be expedient for her to claim admission 
 among the peeresses, and whenever this time should come 
 there must be no doubt as to the validity of any claim she 
 might advance. On February 12th, 1759, she went to Win¬ 
 chester, and managed to procure an interview with Mr. Amis, 
 the Lainston clergyman, although he, poor man, was sick to 
 death. Her business with him was to compel him to insert 
 
234 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 in the parish register a record of her marriage with Hervey 
 five years before, a detail which seems to have been omitted 
 at the time when the ceremony was performed, no doubt with 
 the view of better preserving the secrecy of the marriage. 
 Parson Amis, ill as he was, had to do the lady’s bidding, and 
 before she left she had seen the record of her marriage duly 
 entered upon the register and the book sealed up, a promise 
 being given that, at Mr. Amis’s death, it should be handed 
 over to Mr. Merrill, the kinsman with whom Elizabeth had 
 been staying when the marriage took place. 
 
 There is not much light thrown upon the motives for her 
 actions during the time immediately following this expedition 
 by any contemporary record. It is certain that the illness of 
 the Earl of Bristol was not a mortal one, however alarming 
 may have been the accounts which came to the ears of his 
 sister-in-law, for he lingered on till 1775. The fact that her 
 husband’s elevation to the peerage might, after all, be in¬ 
 definitely postponed, no doubt, acted as a sedative to her 
 praiseworthy desire to cover her promiscuous love-making 
 with the conventional mantle of a husband’s name. Hervey 
 as a peer might be tolerable as a mate; but, failing this, she 
 preferred her freedom. She decided, however, that the time 
 had now come when it behoved her to specialize her favours, 
 and to bestow a quasi-official position upon one of her 
 admirers. The one she chose was Evelyn Pierpoint, Duke 
 of Kingston. This noble swain was some nine years the 
 lady’s senior ; better endowed, if the testimony of his friends 
 is to be believed, with personal attractions than with wit. 
 His kinswoman, Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, writing about 
 him in 1751, expresses her surprise that he is still unmarried 
 and her belief that there must be certain people about him 
 who had an interest in keeping him single, ending with a hint 
 that she would like to know the name of his “ present inclina¬ 
 tion.” Again she writes: “ The Duke of Kingston has 
 hitherto had so ill an education, ’tis hard to make any judg¬ 
 ment of him ; he has his spirit, but I fear will never have his 
 father’s sense. As young noblemen go, ’tis possible he may 
 make his figure amongst them.” The Duke raised a regiment 
 of horse in 1745, and marched northwards, and did good 
 
DUCHESS OF KINGSTON. 
 
 235 
 
 service at Culloden ; but, like many another valiant captain, 
 he fell an easy prey to the spells of feminine beauty. At this 
 time Elizabeth was thirty-nine, with a varied and instructive 
 experience of men and cities, and gifted with parts vastly 
 superior to the Duke’s, so there is little wonder that he 
 succumbed. 
 
 In 1759 she became, without any attempt at disguise, his 
 mistress. When the news of this liaison was first published 
 abroad it caused no great stir in the world, possibly because 
 something of the kind had long been anticipated. In these 
 days it seems almost impossible to believe that such an 
 escapade would not have brought to an end Elizabeth’s 
 career as a maid of honour, but it did not; nor does it seem 
 to have deprived her of the friendship and countenance of the 
 fashionable world, or of the Princess of Wales and her family. 
 In the private life of such a circle as this it is easy to imagine 
 Elizabeth as a persona grata. That this circle should tolerate 
 the presence of such a woman, and allow her to hold a quasi¬ 
 official position of honour and trust, is a proof that the satires 
 launched against Leicester House and its denizens were not 
 undeserved. That Elizabeth contrived to please the humours 
 of the Princess of Wales implies no great expenditure of wit. 
 The tastes and sympathies of the two ran on parallel lines ; 
 but that Miss Chudleigh was able to persuade society en bloc 
 to tolerate her as a maid of honour seems to show that she 
 possessed in no mean degree the faculty of playing fast and 
 loose with the seventh commandment without incurring the 
 penalties meted out to sinners of low degree. 
 
 In March, 1760, she gave a concert in honour of Prince 
 Edward’s birthday, and provided a sumptuous supper, at which 
 all the town attended. She had already began to make free 
 with the Duke’s money. She was established in a town house, 
 furnished lavishly and with execrable taste, crowded with the 
 gewgaws and the bric-a-brac monstrosities which were at that 
 time all the rage ; and scandal went so far as to say that every 
 favour she bestowed had to be registered by the gift of a bit 
 of Dresden china. The Duke also gave her a villa at Finchley, 
 and afterwards Percy Lodge, near Colnbrook. The taste for 
 bricks and mortar seems to have seized her, for in 1766 she began 
 
236 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 to build a grand house in Paradise Row, Knightsbridge. This 
 mansion,however, was not finished till after her second marriage, 
 and then, out of gratitude to the Duke for his generosity, she 
 was graciously pleased to bestow upon it the name of Kingston 
 House. The Duke, a weak, vain man, thought no doubt that 
 he had made a great coup in winning “the virgin Chudleigh* 
 for his special use, and all through the period of his infatua¬ 
 tion he kept her in grand style. To give a notion of the state 
 in which she lived, and of the attitude of polite society, one 
 cannot do better than set down Walpole’s description of the 
 ball given by her in honour of the birthday of the Prince of 
 Wales in 1760. “You had heard before you left London of 
 Miss Chudleigh’s intended loyalty on the Prince’s birthday. 
 Poor thing! I fear she has thrown away above a quarter’s 
 salary. It was magnificent and well understood—no crowd— 
 and though a sultry night, one was not a moment incommoded. 
 The court was illuminated on the whole summit of the wall 
 with a battlement of lamps; smaller ones on every step, and 
 a figure of lanterns on the outside of the house. The virgin 
 mistress began the ball with the Duke of York, but nobody 
 did dance much. Miss Chudleigh desired the gamblers would 
 go up into the garrets ; ‘ Nay, they are not garrets ; it is only 
 the roof of the house hollowed, for upper servants—but I have 
 no upper servants.’ Everybody ran up ; there is a low gallery 
 with book cases, and four chambers practised under the pent 
 of the roof, each hung with the finest Indian pictures of diffe¬ 
 rent colours and with Chinese chairs of the same colours. 
 Vases of flowers in each for nosegays, and in one retired nook 
 a most critical couch. The lord of the festival was there, and 
 seemed neither ashamed nor vain of the expense of his 
 pleasures. At supper she offered him Tokay, and told him 
 she believed he would find it good. The supper was in two 
 rooms and very fine, and on all the side-boards, and even on 
 the chairs, were pyramids and triangles of strawberries and 
 cherries. You would have thought she was kept by Ver- 
 tumnus.” 
 
 On 25th October of this same year George II. died suddenly, 
 and the Prince of Wales, whose birthday had been thus 
 honourably and tastefully celebrated, ascended the throne. 
 
DUCHESS OF KINGSTON. 
 
 237 
 
 The household and domestic virtues of George III. have 
 become almost proverbial. Virtuous kings are not over 
 plentiful in the highways of history, and this king’s peculiari¬ 
 ties are all the more striking when it is recollected that he was 
 the son of his mother, and brought up in a circle graced by 
 Miss Chudleigh’s presence as a maid of honour, and poisoned 
 by the example of manner and discourse given by her, and 
 by others in a minor degree. It is little short of a marvel 
 that he should have come to maturity with so modest a record 
 of infractions of the decalogue, and it may be held in a measure 
 complimentary to Miss Chudleigh’s personality to hint—what 
 though the authority for the story is somewhat unstable—that 
 the most serious of all the Prince’s peccadilloes was brought 
 about by her connivance. 
 
 At the corner of St. James’s market, of which a few faint 
 traces yet remain in a court off Jermyn Street, dwelt one Light- 
 foot, a Quaker, who had a fair daughter named Hannah. In 
 his journeyings from Leicester House to St. James’s Palace 
 the Prince often enjoyed the sight of her figure, which was 
 “ full and voluptuous,” and in a brief space of time fell a victim 
 to her charms. In a case of this sort a go-between was of 
 course necessary; this duty Miss Chudleigh is said to have 
 undertaken, and through her kindly intervention the lovers 
 managed to foregather at the house of one Perryn at Knights- 
 bridge. At last a rumour of the affair came to the ears of the 
 Princess of Wales, who thereupon set to work straightway to 
 find some one to marry Hannah. It appeared that the girl 
 was accustomed to frequent the shop of Mr. Barton, in Ludgate 
 Hill, for the purchase of tea and groceries, and in the course 
 of these transactions she got on speaking terms with a young 
 man named Axford, Mr. Barton’s shopman. Miss Chudleigh, 
 who was quite as ready to act as the broker of a cloaking 
 marriage as she had been to play the procuress at the begin¬ 
 ning of the affair, sent a messenger to Axford with the offer 
 of a handsome sum of money as dowry if he would make 
 Hannah his wife—presumably under conditions. The story 
 went that soon after the marriage the bride disappeared from 
 the husband’s home and never returned, having been spirited 
 away by Miss Chudleigh in a carriage and four. 
 
238 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 But the Muse of history averts her eyes from the early 
 “ folly ” of the patriot king and, as far as matters domestic are 
 concerned, knows him only as the virtuous husband of the 
 virtuous Charlotte of Mecklenburg. Scandal had long been 
 busy with the doings of the Princess of Wales, and in an 
 entourage like that of Leicester House a certain toleration of 
 impropriety might be looked for; but it comes as a terrible 
 shock to the believers in the respectability of the Court of 
 George III. to read how in 1763 a grand ball was given by 
 the Duke of Kingston’s mistress in honour of the Queen’s 
 birthday, at which the Queen’s family and the whole Court 
 seem to have been present. The Queen herself was not there, 
 the Court being in mourning, but all the guests put off their 
 black and appeared in gay attire. There were fireworks in 
 Hyde Park with appropriate devices in honour of all the 
 princes and princesses. Some of these bore mottoes in Latin, 
 and one of them, “Non parem habet,” being translated, “I 
 have no peer,” there went round a laugh at the expense of the 
 giver of the feast and of the liquidator of the bill. That the 
 illumination might be seen with better effect the company 
 were assembled in an apartment totally dark, where they 
 remained for two hours. Afterwards a quip went about the 
 town that if this fete should give rise to more birthdays no 
 one need be astonished. 
 
 At this time the Duke of Kingston certainly bore himself 
 as a traditional grand seigneur ; he entertained a mistress on 
 a scale few men have attempted either before or since. The 
 villa at Finchley was found somewhat too near town for 
 requisite seclusion, and this led to the acquisition of Percy 
 Lodge. There he would spend a day or two at a time with 
 his charmer in retirement, the pair of lovers spending most of 
 their time angling in the neighbouring Colne. Elizabeth 
 seems to have been a genuine lover of the sport, for she would 
 stand all day long with her feet in the water, taking care, 
 however, to guard against all consequent trouble by a liberal 
 use of madeira, her favourite cordial; and here perhaps is to 
 be found the explanation of that attack of gout which kept 
 her away from the King’s masquerade in her early days. When 
 the villa at Colnbrook was given up, the Duke still hired for 
 
DUCHESS OF KINGSTON. 
 
 239 
 
 her a stretch of water close to Rickmansworth, whither they 
 would go and taste the rural joys of killing the trout in the 
 Chess, and lunching off chicken stewed in a silver dish—no 
 doubt arrose with madeira—until the time came when Eliza¬ 
 beth had to return to town to take her turn of waiting upon 
 the Princess of Wales. 
 
 We get another curious glimpse of manners in the account 
 which is given of a whim of the Duke’s for the creation of a 
 rural pleasaunce. He bought a country house called Clinton 
 Lodge, standing upon the open heath near Farnham. To this 
 he added a ballroom in which thirty couples could dance, and 
 several parlours and bedrooms, and made a good coach-road 
 over the heath to Farnham. When Christmas came he invited 
 Miss Chudleigh and a party of friends to come and make 
 merry ; a company of musicians was engaged, and a series of 
 balls, which went on every night, Sundays excepted, for a 
 month, was begun on Christmas Eve. There was little else to 
 do, as the snow lay deep that winter, and every night the 
 Duke would lead out each lady to dance at least once, and, 
 having discharged his duty, he bade them come to supper. 
 The hours kept at least were respectable, for all were in bed 
 by eleven. 
 
 Miss Chudleigh’s ambition seems to have been satisfied for 
 a time—at any rate, there is a cessation of scandalous tales at 
 her expense, which is evidence that she was chaster as 
 Kingston’s mistress than as Hervey’s wife. One or two lapses 
 on the Duke’s part are chronicled ; he took a pretty milliner 
 from Cranborn Alley down to Thoresby, whereupon Miss 
 Chudleigh, at the Princess’s birthday party, beat her sides so 
 vehemently that she made herself feel really ill. She afterwards 
 declared she had pleurisy, a distemper which would require 
 her withdrawal to the baths of Carlsbad. Whether or not in¬ 
 disposition had anything to do with her inclination for foreign 
 travel, she went abroad for a prolonged stay in 1765. She 
 had always made a point of maintaining good relations with 
 the members of the diplomatic body, and lately she had 
 especially cultivated the goodwill of the Saxon envoy, and 
 had engaged his interest so far that he procured for her an 
 invitation to go and visit the Electress at Dresden. For her 
 
240 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 journey thither she caused to be built a very elaborate and 
 complicated travelling carriage with cunning arrangements of 
 seats, and ample room for a store of madeira. She set out in 
 the spring of 1765 with a troop of servants and crossed from 
 Harwich. Her first stopping-place was Berlin, and during her 
 visit she succeeded in shocking the proprieties of the not very 
 squeamish Court of the great Frederic by an escapade striking 
 enough to deserve mention in a letter written by the King to 
 the Electress of Saxony. On 22nd July, 1765, he writes, giving 
 an account of the wedding festivities of his nephew : “ D’ailleurs 
 les noces se sont faites comme je crois qu’elles se font partout, 
 et sans qu’evenement singulier ait distingue celle-ci des autres, 
 a moins que je ne vous entretienne de l’apparition dune dame 
 anglaise, nominee Madame Chudleigh qui, apres avoir vide 
 une couple de bouteilles, a danse en chancelant et a effi sur le 
 point de tomber sur le parquet. Cette aventure a beaucoup 
 amuse le public peu accoutume a voir des dames voyager seules 
 et encore moins preferer les fumees du vin aux graces et a la 
 belle humeur qui leur sied si bien.” 
 
 The visit to Berlin was prolonged several weeks. It is 
 probable that Miss Chudleigh succeeded in gaining a certain 
 recognition from the King, for in after-times she was accus¬ 
 tomed to bring out scraps of notes which she affirmed had 
 come from him. That Frederic was not mortally offended by 
 the drunken exhibition made by his visitor at the wedding 
 ball may be inferred from the fact that in his poetical works 
 is to be found a poem, “ A Mademoiselle Schidley qui avait 
 envoye au roi une charrue Anglaise.” All the mythological 
 celebrities whose personalities appeared sympathetic and 
 appropriate to the occasion were invoked in the royal 
 stanzas; and after particularizing Circe, Nebuchadnezzar, 
 Jupiter, Europa, Danae, and Pasiphae, he concludes:— 
 
 “ Quelle qu’ enfin soit la figure 
 
 Oil vous voudrez me transformer 
 Je la prendrais, je vous le jure, 
 
 Si vous promettiez de m’aimer.” 
 
 When her stay at Berlin came to an end Elizabeth went 
 on to pay her visit to the Electress at Dresden. This princess 
 
DUCHESS OF KINGSTON. 
 
 241 
 
 was no more shocked than Frederic II. at the tippling pro¬ 
 pensities of her guest, for a strong liking, if not a friendship, 
 sprang up between the two ladies. Miss Chudleigh must 
 have spent some months on the Continent. On her return 
 she fell naturally into her old ways. She made a trio with 
 Lady Harrington and Miss Ash, two ladies with reputations 
 little better than her own, and there are stories of heavy 
 gambling at Tunbridge Wells, and vulgar practical jokes 
 played upon vulgar city madams. Another admirer appeared 
 in the shape of Lord Howe, who had lately returned from the 
 wars, but nothing came of this intimacy. 
 
 It is probable that since Hervey had given up the sea his 
 wife had heard and seen more of him, from time to time, than 
 was agreeable to her. It was inevitable that they should meet 
 occasionally, and at last her husband approached her with a 
 somewhat strange proposal. At the birth of her child, in 
 1747, she had been attended by Caesar Hawkins, a surgeon of 
 repute. She seems to have kept on friendly terms with him, 
 and, soon after her return from Dresden, this gentleman was 
 employed by Hervey to go to her as a messenger and lay 
 before her certain propositions as to the dissolution of their 
 strange union. But news had already reached her ears that 
 Hervey had been courting a Miss Moysey of Bath, and, with 
 a sentiment of opposition not unnatural in such a case, she 
 swore that nothing should induce her to consent. Hervey is 
 said to have offered her a large sum as the price of her com¬ 
 plaisance, only to be met with a reminder from the lady that 
 if he wanted to get a divorce he must first prove his marriage, 
 and, should he do this, he would be responsible for her debts, 
 which amounted to sixteen thousand pounds. 
 
 We now come to a point at which the conduct of Miss 
 Chudleigh is somewhat hard to explain by the light of recorded 
 facts. Rumours began to fly about the town that she herself 
 was about to take some steps before the courts to free her 
 from all suspicion of being a married woman, and to stop the 
 wagging of Captain Hervey’s tongue, which had, as she 
 affirmed, been busying itself overmuch of late with her and 
 her affairs. The embassy which Hawkins had recently 
 undertaken on Hervey’s behalf did not produce any breach 
 
 1 7 
 
242 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 between the doctor and the lady ; it seemed, on the contrary, 
 to have led to an increase of friendship, for after the first 
 interview Miss Chudleigh became a pretty constant visitor at 
 Mr. Hawkins’s house ; and on one occasion she let drop a hint 
 that she had actually begun a suit for jactitation at Doctors’ 
 Commons, with the view of voiding that marriage which a 
 few months ago she had declared she was determined to 
 maintain at all hazard. The most reasonable explanation of 
 this change of humour seems to be that in the interim the 
 Duke of Kingston had given her an assurance that he would 
 make her his wife, if it could be shown that no obstacle lay 
 in the way of this step. Whether or not the Duke may have 
 had any inkling of that evening ceremony in Lainston Church, 
 there can be no doubt that the same clung pertinaciously in 
 Elizabeth’s memory. Before long Mr. Hawkins was taken 
 more fully into her confidence. One evening, when she was 
 at his house, she desired a private interview, and in the course 
 of it told him she was very unhappy. She had been that 
 day to Doctors’ Commons and the people there had tendered 
 to her an oath, bidding her swear that she had never been 
 married ; but, not being as yet quite worked up to the point 
 of perjury, she left the place unsworn. A few days later she 
 paid Mr. Hawkins another visit, when she informed him that 
 the whole business was settled, that she had got her sentence, 
 that the marriage was in a fair way to be pronounced non¬ 
 existent (on nth February, 1769, the Consistory Court gave 
 judgment to this effect), and that she was as good as a free 
 woman. On hearing this Mr. Hawkins demanded to know 
 how the difficulty as to the oath had been circumvented, and 
 to this she replied that the matter of the marriage was so 
 much blended with such a number of falsities, that she could 
 easily reconcile it to her conscience, particularly as the cere¬ 
 mony was so scrambling and shabby a business that she 
 might as safely swear she was not married as that she was. 
 Hervey had met her action for jactitation with a very half¬ 
 hearted defence, and the cross-action to defend his rights 
 was scarcely supported at all. Considering that the trial 
 formed the nine days’ gossip of the time, it is not wonderful 
 that this behaviour of the defendant should have produced a 
 
DUCHESS OF KINGSTON. 
 
 2 43 
 
 concomitant bit of scandal to the effect that he had been 
 heavily bribed to let the law go as the lady willed. Fourteen 
 thousand pounds was the sum named. Hervey no doubt 
 divined easily enough the reason why his wife was so keenly 
 set on freeing herself from their marriage tie ; it does not 
 seem likely that he was won over to second her efforts to 
 become a free woman by any hope of winning Miss Moysey, 
 for the father of that lady had forbidden the match, and in 
 the absence of this motive the story of the bribe becomes by 
 no means incredible. Other members of his family, notably 
 his younger brother, the Bishop of Derry, who stood next in 
 succession to the title, did not view the prospect of the marriage 
 being declared a real one and the possibility of a string of 
 children with approval. But any effort which might have 
 been made to minimize the effect of the finding of the Court 
 of Doctors’ Commons was vain, and Hervey was duly put to 
 silence. Miss Chudleigh, after the finding that there had been 
 no marriage, was in no humour to wait any longer for the 
 ripe fruit of her ambition, and on the 8th of March she 
 became Duchess of Kingston. 
 
 Thus the grand coup for which she had worked in such 
 tortuous ways was at last accomplished. She had reached 
 the summit of her hopes. When she was presented at Court 
 the King and the Queen wore her favours ; Lord Bristol also 
 wore them, though he declared to a friend that the new 
 Duchess had told him more than once that she was in truth 
 his brother’s wife. 
 
 Marriages like hers are proverbially dangerous, and this 
 one proved no exception to the rule. The last years of the 
 Duke’s life could not have been happy. His wife’s temper 
 was always hasty and capricious, and now, even in her hour 
 of triumph, the ainari aliquid which sprang up made of her a 
 shrew and a termagant. For her the sharpest thorn in the 
 cushion was the discovery that the fashionable world of 
 London, which had been ready enough to flock to her balls 
 and assemblies while she was the chere amie of the Duke, 
 gave her the cold shoulder as soon as her position was 
 “regularized”; and down at Thoresby, in Notts, the leading 
 county people left her severely alone, so that she had to be 
 
244 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 content with the smaller fry of squires and parsons. In dis¬ 
 position the Duke and his wife differed widely. He, according 
 to all accounts, was a shy, retiring man, while she with the 
 lapse of years had let her love of ostentation—always a 
 strong one—grow into sheer vulgarity. In spite of her lavish 
 expenditure she was disposed to be penurious over trifles, and 
 there is a story that once on leaving Bath she haggled over 
 paying the chairmen a fortnight’s wage for twelve days’ work. 
 When the travelling carriage was ready to start she got in, 
 and finding some of the Duke’s belongings bestowed upon 
 the seats, she threw them out into the street to make room 
 for her own. He, poor man, must have found her scolding 
 humours hard to bear, seeing that his health was now begin¬ 
 ning to feel the effects of a stormy youth. Early in 1773, a 
 stroke of paralysis made him a helpless invalid, and on the 
 15th of September he died at Bath, and all his honours became 
 extinct. 
 
 Before the Duke’s death rumour was busy as to the con¬ 
 tents of his will, announcing the exact income the Duchess 
 was to enjoy as a widow, and, beyond this, hinting that she 
 had already offered Thoresby for sale. The will proved to be 
 for her a very generous one, as far as money was concerned, 
 for it gave her all the personal estate unconditionally, and the 
 income of the real estate for life, subject to the condition of 
 her remaining a widow. It is said this condition was a 
 galling one to her, and that in the Duke’s lifetime she had 
 made more than one attempt to get the will altered, and had 
 once gone so far as to prepare a draft more to her taste, and 
 to summon Mr. Field, the Duke’s lawyer, to draw up a fresh 
 will. But when Mr. Field was brought into the Duke’s 
 presence he saw that his client was in no state to attend 
 to testamentary matters, and, much to the disgust of the 
 Duchess, he refused to mix himself up in the affair. Where¬ 
 fore she had to make the best of the existing document, and, 
 as soon as the funeral was over, she set out on her travels. 
 
 She seems to have gone direct to Rome and to have met 
 with a friendly reception from the reigning Pope Clement 
 XIV., who carried the well-known liberality of his opinions 
 far enough to assign her a lodging in the palace of one of the 
 
DUCHESS OF KINGSTON. 
 
 245 
 
 cardinals. She had left behind a handsome pleasure yacht 
 in England, and now her love of theatrical display prompted 
 her to have the vessel brought out from England and navi¬ 
 gated up the Tiber. The yacht arrived safely in Rome, and 
 was for a time the wonder and admiration of the city. Now 
 that she was the favoured guest of the cultivated and liberal- 
 minded Pope and in the enjoyment of a splendid income, the 
 Duchess of Kingston might well seem to be on the crest of 
 the wave of Fortune, but while all this junketting was going 
 on in Rome, events in England were shaping themselves for 
 a catastrophe. 
 
 On September 15, 1773, the Duke of Kingston had died, but 
 previously to this date, to wit, on August 22nd, Hervey had 
 petitioned the King in Council for a commission of review 
 with regard to the suit for jactitation lately brought against 
 him, and praying for a fresh trial. This petition was referred 
 to the Lord Chancellor, and after a lengthy course through 
 the Consistorial Court of London, the Archbishop’s Court at 
 Canterbury, and the Court of Delegates, it was heard before 
 a commission of lords spiritual and temporal at Serjeants’ 
 Inn and the marriage found to be a good one upon the 
 evidence then and there brought forward. This decision was 
 made public at the end of 1774. 
 
 The publication of the Duke’s will had been a cruel blow 
 to his blood relations, notably to two nephews, sons of his 
 sister, Lady Frances Meadows. He had long been on bad 
 terms with Evelyn, the elder of these, who now found himself 
 entirely disinherited, but to Charles, the younger, was left the 
 enjoyment of the real estate after the death of the Duchess. 
 With so vast a sum at stake, and with the air full of rumours 
 about secret marriages which might or might not be valid, 
 and about heavy bribes paid with respect to the same, it was 
 no wonder that the disappointed nephews began to think of 
 going to law. There may or may not have been any under¬ 
 standing with Hervey as to the petition for review just 
 mentioned, which ultimately led to the finding that the 
 marriage was a good one. Be that as it may, it is certain 
 that the nature of the decision and the time of its publication 
 fell in perfectly with the project of the nephews. They might 
 
246 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 impugn the will, or they might—now that the marriage at 
 Lainston had been pronounced valid—indict the Honourable 
 Mrs. Augustus John Hervey for bigamy. They determined 
 to take the last-named course. 
 
 In what they did they were probably influenced by the 
 appearance on the scene of a certain Ann Cradock. She had 
 been a maid in the service of Mrs. Hanmer at the time of the 
 episode of 1744, and had been actually present at Lainston 
 Church when the marriage was performed. Shortly after the 
 Duchess became a widow this woman, representing herself 
 to be in reduced circumstances, called upon Mr. Field and 
 asked for relief. This request Mr. Field refused to grant— 
 a somewhat rash thing to do if he knew as much as a 
 family lawyer ought to have known—and treated her story 
 with incredulity and contempt, whereupon Ann Cradock, 
 bethinking her that she might take her wares to a better 
 market, went to Evelyn Meadows. He naturally was much 
 more inclined to give credit to her story than was Mr. Field. 
 The finding of the Ecclesiastical Court was made known 
 about the same time, whereupon Mr. Meadows at once 
 moved for a Bill of Indictment against Elizabeth, the wife 
 of Augustus John Hervey, for bigamy. 
 
 Intelligence of this step was of course conveyed to Mr. 
 Field, who straightway wrote to the Duchess in Rome full 
 particulars as to the situation of her affairs, and counselled 
 her immediate return, for her failure to appear to answer the 
 indictment would involve outlawry. She realized her position 
 at once and made preparations for her return, but according 
 to one account her adversaries had taken measures to prevent 
 this, and thus to render her liable to the consequences of non- 
 appearance. She had deposited securities with Mr. Jenkins, 
 the English banker in Rome, to be held against advances of 
 cash for her current needs, and the same post which brought 
 Mr. Field’s letter to her brought one from the other side to 
 Mr. Jenkins, written to induce him to refuse any advance she 
 might require for the purposes of her journey. The argu¬ 
 ments used to reconcile Mr. Jenkins to this notion of his 
 duties as a banker seem to have been convincing, for when 
 she called at the bank for cash Mr. Jenkins was not to be 
 
DUCHESS OF KINGSTON. 
 
 247 
 
 seen. She called again, with the same result; and then, 
 suspecting some underhand dealing, she resolved to take 
 decisive action. The next time she waited on Mr. Jenkins 
 she informed the lackey that as his master was not at home 
 she would wait till he returned ; and Mr. Jenkins, seeing that 
 the lady must be faced sooner or later, came forward. Still 
 there was a difficulty about the advance; but the Duchess 
 had brought a pair of pistols with her, and convinced by the 
 production of these and the threat to use them against his 
 person, Mr. Jenkins at last opened his money-bags, and the 
 Duchess set out homewards. 
 
 Her journey was interrupted by an attack of illness, and 
 she did not reach England before the end of 1774. She was 
 not without friends, and Lord Mansfield showed her some 
 kindness. The Dukes of Newcastle, Ancaster, and Portland, 
 and Lord Barrington, all took her part and upheld the 
 belief, suggested no doubt by her own lips, that her perse¬ 
 cutors were moved to action by vindictive greed and not for 
 the righting of a wrong. The lawyers were set to work at 
 once; but before the great case came on the Duchess was 
 fated to play a part in a prologue of a somewhat humorous 
 nature, a part in which she scarcely carried off the honours. 
 
 Foote was at this time in the heyday of his success. For 
 some years past he had assumed the office of castigator of 
 abuses on the stage. The canting religion of fashionable 
 preachers, the frauds practised by villainous marriage brokers, 
 and corruption, by the gift of sinecure places, were the vices 
 of the age which he had attacked with the greatest acrimony 
 and success, and the presentations of Mrs. Fleecem and 
 Doctor Simony were scarcely veiled caricatures of the 
 notorious Mrs. Rudd and Doctor Dodd. The year before, 
 Foote had almost decided to give up his theatre, but now the 
 march of events seemed to offer him a tempting opportunity 
 of pointing a moral by presenting to the playgoing public 
 some faint reflection of Miss Chudleigh’s career. Whatever 
 credit may be given to Foote’s sincerity of purpose in his 
 crusade against vice and folly, it is certain that his common 
 practice was to shoot his darts against the individual sinner 
 rather than against sin in the abstract, and the thinner the 
 
248 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 disguise of his victim the more the public laughed, and the 
 fuller grew his treasury. Sometimes—and notably in Dr. 
 Johnson’s case—he caught a Tartar, and then he would always 
 be ready to consider whether the call of duty need be obeyed 
 this time or not. He now set to work to write a play, “ A 
 trip to Calais,” a broadly humorous comedy in which the 
 character of the Duchess as Lady Kitty Crocodile was most 
 admirably drawn, as even her partisans admitted. But 
 before the play was ready for presentation she heard there 
 was mischief brewing and consulted the Duke of Newcastle 
 as to what she should do. With regard to the first stages of 
 this affair it is hard to come to a judgment as to the propriety 
 of Foote’s conduct ; most people will say that he was guilty 
 of an offence against good taste in caricaturing in public 
 the failings of a woman whose case was yet sub judice ; and, 
 though the charges of blackmailing made against him by the 
 Duchess and her employes cannot be proved, yet the whispers 
 about money proffered and refused are apt to raise a confu¬ 
 sion as to where the boundaries of bribery end and those of 
 blackmailing begin. It is certain that the Duchess on the 
 mere rumour of Foote’s intention brought all her influence 
 to bear upon Lord Hertford, the Lord Chamberlain, to induce 
 him to refuse his licence for the play. 
 
 In due course Foote waited upon the Lord Chamberlain, 
 who suggested a compromise, and Foote offered to strike out 
 anything in the character of Lady Kitty Crocodile which the 
 Duchess might find offensive; but nothing would satisfy her 
 but the entire excision of the character. To this Foote would 
 not agree, and the licence for the play was refused. The 
 Lord Chamberlain afterwards commissioned Lord Mount- 
 stuart to see Foote, and the result of this interview was that 
 Mount-stuart, with Foote’s consent took the MS. to the 
 Duchess for perusal, and soon after Foote, at her request, went 
 to her at Kingston House. Then it was that she offered him 
 a bribe to suppress the play—sixteen hundred pounds ; but 
 Foote was obdurate. Gibbon, in one of his letters, writes: 
 “ The Duchess has stopped Foote’s piece. She sent for him 
 to Kingston House, and threatened, bribed, argued, and wept 
 for about two hours. He assured her that if the Chamberlain 
 
DUCIIESS OF KINGSTON. 
 
 249 
 
 was obstinate he would publish it with a dedication to her 
 Grace.” 
 
 Foote’s enemies declared that he wanted the even two 
 thousand, and his friends that he put aside the bribe with 
 scorn—strong in his determination to uphold true morality 
 by scourging vice. What is certain is that he assured the 
 Duchess that, either in a play or in a book, the town should 
 hear of Lady Kitty Crocodile. 
 
 The Duchess was alarmed, and now for the first time 
 enlisted the services of the notorious Parson Jackson, an Irish 
 adventurer of the worst type. He called upon Foote and, 
 whether he threatened an onslaught or promised a bribe, he 
 failed to move his adversary. Then he began to attack Foote 
 in the gutter news-sheets, and here he had better success, for 
 Foote’s sharp tongue had made for him hosts of enemies. 
 The Duke of Newcastle also went to him with proposals for 
 accommodation, whereupon Foote wrote a letter to the 
 Duchess. He assured her that neither her threats nor her 
 bribes would influence him, but he offered to stop all publi¬ 
 cation, provided the attacks upon him in the newspapers 
 were discontinued. This led to an exchange of letters be¬ 
 tween the principals. The Duchess wrote as follows:— 
 
 “Sir, —I was at dinner when I received your ill-judged letter. As 
 there is little consideration required, I shall sacrifice a moment to 
 answer it. A member of your Privy Council can never hope to be of a 
 lady’s Cabinet. 
 
 “ I know too well what is due to my own dignity to enter into a com¬ 
 promise with an extortionable assassin of private reputation. If I before 
 abhorred you for your slander, I now despise you for your concessions ; 
 it is a proof of the illiberality of your satire, when you can publish or 
 suppress it as best suits the needy convenience of your purse. You 
 first had the cowardly baseness to draw the sword, and if I sheathe it 
 until I make you crouch like the subservient vassal as you are, then is 
 there not spirit in an injured woman, nor meanness in a slanderous 
 buffoon. To a man my sex alone would have screened me from attack, 
 but I am writing to the descendant of a merry Andrew, and prostitute 
 the term of manhood by applying it to Mr. Foote. 
 
 “ Cloathed in my innocence as in a coat of mail, I am proof against 
 a host of foes ; and conscious of never having intentionally offended a 
 single individual, I doubt not but a brave and generous people will 
 protect me from the malevolence of a theatrical assassin. You shall 
 have cause to remember that, though I would have given liberally for 
 
250 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 the relief of your necessities, I scorn to be bullied into a purchase of 
 your silence. There is something however in your pity at which my 
 nature revolts. To make me an offer of pity at once betrays your 
 ignorance and your vanity. I will keep the pity you send until the 
 morning before you are turned off, when I will return it by a Cupid, 
 with a box of lip salve, and a choir of choristers shall chant a stave to 
 your requiem.— E. Kingston. 
 
 “ P.S. You would have received this sooner but the servant has been 
 a long time writing it.” 
 
 This was a dangerous letter to write to such a practised 
 master of the fence of wit as Foote, as the event showed. He 
 replied in the following terms :— 
 
 “ To the Duchess of Kingston. —Madam, though I have neither 
 time nor inclination to answer the illiberal attacks of your agents, yet 
 a public correspondence with your Grace is too great an honour for me 
 to decline. I can’t help thinking but it would have been prudent in 
 your Grace to have answered my letter before dinner, or at least post¬ 
 poned it to the cool hour of the morning ; you would then have found 
 that I had voluntarily granted that request which you had endeavoured, 
 by so many different ways, to obtain. Lord Mount-stuart, for whose 
 amiable qualities I have the highest respect, and whose name your agents 
 first unnecessarily produced to the public, must recollect, when I had 
 the honour to meet him at Kingston House by your Grace’s appoint¬ 
 ment, that instead of begging relief from your charity, I rejected your 
 splendid offers to suppress the ‘Trip to Calais’ with the contempt they 
 deserved. Indeed, Madam, the humanity of my royal and benevolent 
 Master, and the public protection, have placed me much above the 
 reach of your bounty. 
 
 “ But why, Madam, put on your coat of mail against me ? I have no 
 hostile intentions. Folly, not vice, is the game I pursue. In these 
 scenes which you so unaccountably apply to yourself, you must observe, 
 that there is not the slightest hint at the little incidents of your life, 
 which have incited the curiosity of the Grand Inquest for the county 
 of Middlesex. I am happy, Madam, however, to hear that your robe 
 of innocence is in such perfect repair : I was afraid it might have been 
 a little the worse for the wearing : May it hold out to keep you warm 
 the next winter. 
 
 “ The progenitors your Grace has done me the honour to give me, are, 
 I presume, merely metaphorical persons, and to be considered as the 
 authors of my muse, and not of my manhood ; a merry Andrew and 
 a prostitute are no bad poetical parents , 1 especially for a writer of plays; 
 the first to give the humour and mirth, the last to furnish the graces 
 and powers of attraction. Prostitutes and players too must live by 
 
 1 Foote had either misread the Duchess’ letter or could not resist 
 making an unfair point. No reflection had been made on his mother. 
 
DUCHESS OF KINGSTON. 
 
 251 
 
 pleasing the public; not but your Grace may have heard of ladies who, 
 by private practice, have accumulated amazing great fortunes. If you 
 mean that I really owe my birth to that pleasant connection, your 
 Grace is grossly deceived. My father was, in truth, a very useful 
 Magistrate and respectable country gentleman, as the whole county 
 of Cornwall will tell you. My mother, the daughter of Sir Edward 
 Goodere, Bart., who represented the county of Hereford : her fortune 
 was large, and her morals irreproachable, till your Grace condescended 
 to stain them ; she was upwards of fourscore years old when she died, 
 and, what will surprise your Grace, was never married but once in her 
 life. I am obliged to your Grace for your intended present on the day, 
 as you politely express it, when I am to be turned off. But where will 
 your Grace get the Cupid to bring me the lip salve ? That family, I am 
 afraid, has long quitted your service. 
 
 “ Pray, Madam, is not Jackson the name of your female confidential 
 secretary ? and is not she generally clothed in black petticoats made 
 out of your weeds ?— 
 
 “ ‘ So mourned the dame of Ephesus her love.’ 
 
 “ I fancy your Grace took the hint when you last resided at Rome : 
 you heard there, I suppose, of a certain Joan who was once elected a 
 Pope, and in humble imitation have converted a pious Parson into a 
 chambermaid. The scheme is new in this country, and has doubtless 
 its particular pleasures. That you may never want the benefit of the 
 clergy in every emergence, is the sincere wish of your Grace’s most 
 devoted and obliged humble servant,— Samuel Foote.” 
 
 After writing this letter, which won the applause of all the 
 wits and turned the laugh against the Duchess most effectu¬ 
 ally, Foote seems to have harboured the design of distributing 
 a lampoon in the form of a handbill; but his friends dissuaded 
 him, and suggested that he would be doing better service by 
 putting Parson Jackson in the pillory ; so he recast the “Trip 
 to Calais,” called it “ The Capuchin,” and gave a portrait 
 of Jackson in the character of Dr. Viper. The lash seems to 
 have raised a weal even on his tough hide, and to have stung 
 the Duchess as well; for the worthy pair now took action of 
 a different sort in order to ruin Foote. For some weeks past 
 Jackson had used the pages of the libellous press to publish 
 certain reports injurious to Foote’s good name; the Duchess 
 herself wrote a letter in the Evening Post which, as Walpole 
 remarked, “ not the lowest of her class who tramp in pattens 
 would have set her mark to ” ; and now it was openly stated 
 
252 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 that there would be brought against him the most odious 
 charge a man can be called upon to meet. 
 
 On May 20, 1776, Foote opened his theatre. Every seat 
 in the house was taken, and the temper of the audience was, 
 on the whole, friendly to him, though a few of Jackson’s 
 partisans made an uproar in the gallery. But Foote came 
 forward when the curtain rose, and declared that he had 
 taken steps to have his libellers brought to justice, whereupon 
 the whole house was filled with applause. Jackson was not 
 abashed at this threat. He suborned a discharged servant 
 of Foote’s, and, having bribed him to support the charge, a 
 bill was found against Foote; and after the issue of this 
 a malicious attempt was made to prevent him from finding 
 bail and to have him put in prison, a step which was frustrated. 
 While the trial was hanging over him he enjoyed the counte¬ 
 nance and support of Burke and Reynolds, Townsend and 
 Dunning, and many of the highest nobility; and when the 
 trial came on the jury acquitted him without leaving the box. 
 But Foote’s spirit was broken by the strain and vexation. 
 He gave up his theatre, and died in October, 1777. 
 
 In these proceedings against Foote, Jackson took ostensibly 
 the leading part; but all the world knew that he was only 
 a puppet, and that the Duchess of Kingston pulled the 
 strings. It was her malice which breathed the poisonous 
 whispers, and formulated the definite charge; her money 
 which fed the libellous journals, and paid the lawyers’ fees; 
 and amongst her other sins it must be laid to her charge that 
 she hounded to his death that brilliant man to whom the 
 fashion of the day not inappropriately gave the name of the 
 English Aristophanes. 
 
 But before the termination of her quarrel with Foote, the 
 trial of the Duchess of Kingston for bigamy had begun and 
 ended. After a few preliminary skirmishes as to jurisdiction, 
 the accused was brought before the Peers, sitting as a court 
 in Westminster Hall, under the presidency of Lord Chancellor 
 Bathurst, on April 15, 1776. The town, of course, talked of 
 nothing else. There were rumours that her foes had given 
 her a hint that a payment of ten thousand pounds would stop 
 the trial, and how she treated this hint with scorn ; how she 
 
DUCHESS OF KINGSTON. 
 
 253 
 
 tried to spirit away the principal witness against her, and how 
 her leading counsel, Serjeant Davy, offered to lose his right 
 hand as a man and his reputation as a lawyer if she were 
 not acquitted. She was conducted into court by the Duke 
 of Newcastle, Lord Mount-stuart, and Mr. James Laroche, 
 and, having pleaded not guilty, elected to be tried by God 
 and her peers. Hannah More was one of the five thousand 
 spectators present, and records her impressions. “ The fair 
 victim had four virgins in white behind the bar. She imitated 
 her great predecessor, Mrs. Rudd, and affected to write very 
 often, though I plainly perceived she only wrote as they do 
 their love epistles on the stage, without forming a letter. 
 The Duchess has but small remains of that beauty of which 
 kings and princes were once so enamoured. There was a 
 great deal of ceremony, a great deal of splendour, and a 
 great deal of nonsense ; they adjourned upon the most foolish 
 pretences imaginable, and did nothing with such an air of 
 business as was truly ridiculous. I forgot to tell you the 
 Duchess was taken ill, but performed it badly.” 
 
 The arguments of counsel lasted two whole days, and 
 then the prosecution called as a witness Ann Cradock, who, 
 as Mrs. Hanmer’s maid, had been present at the marriage 
 at Lainston, of which she gave a full description, adding 
 some picturesque details as to the subsequent doings of 
 the married pair. An attempt, only partially successful, 
 was made to show that she had been promised a handsome 
 present in case the Duchess should be convicted, and then 
 Mrs. Amis, the parson’s relict, described the emendation 
 of the Lainston register, and how she had heard her husband 
 say he had married Miss Chudleigh to Mr. Hervey; how the 
 accused had told her in 1759 her whole story, and declared 
 that the business of the register would mean the gain of a 
 great fortune to her. Caesar Hawkins deposed that he had 
 heard both parties admit they were married, and gave, be¬ 
 sides, a full account of the birth of the child. 
 
 There was practically no defence. A Mrs. Pritchard swore 
 she had heard Ann Cradock boast of the reward she was 
 to get on the conviction of the accused. Lord Barrington 
 raised many quibbles over the claims of honour and friend- 
 
2 54 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 ship before he would say anything, but his ultimate declara¬ 
 tion, that he had heard both Hervey and the accused say 
 they were married, could not have helped her much. Mr. 
 Laroche said that before the decision in the jactitation suit 
 the Duke of Kingston had hesitated to marry, but the finding 
 of the Consistorial Court took away all his doubts, especially 
 as Dr. Collier had said, “You may safely marry Miss Chud- 
 leigh, my lord, for you neither offend against the laws of God 
 or man.” The accused made a long and elaborate reply, 
 which had manifestly been written for her. She began with 
 a definition of Logic, and with a suggestion as to how her 
 judges ought to employ their reasoning faculties in the 
 matter before them. She eulogized the Chudleigh family, 
 which, according to her testimony, had produced none but 
 brave men and virtuous women. The mainstay of her 
 defence was the finding of the Consistorial Court, which 
 left no doubt in her mind of her ability to marry ; and, 
 having elaborated this point with some skill, she attacked the 
 motives of her adversaries, who, she affirmed, were moved, 
 not by considerations of right and justice, but by greed and 
 malevolence. After the solicitor-general had replied, she 
 was found guilty of the charge without a dissenting voice, 
 the Duke of Newcastle supplementing his vote by the words 
 “ but not intentionally.” Hannah More wrote to her friend : 
 “ I have the great satisfaction of telling you that Elizabeth, 
 calling herself Duchess-Dowager of Kingston, was this 
 very afternoon undignified and unduchessed and very 
 narrowly escaped being burned in the hand. If you have 
 been half as much interested against this unprincipled, 
 wilful, licentious woman as I have you will be rejoiced at 
 it as I am. Lord Camden breakfasted with us. He is 
 very angry that she was not burned in the hand. He says, 
 as he was once a professed lover of hers he thought it 
 would have looked ill-natured and ungallant for him to pro¬ 
 pose it, but that he should have acceded to it most heartily, 
 though he believes he should have recommended a cold iron.” 
 Immediately after the trial Evelyn Meadows moved for a 
 writ of ne exeat against her, and took steps to get possession 
 of her personal estate ; but Elizabeth, though beaten, was 
 
DUCHESS OF KINGSTON. 
 
 255 
 
 not disheartened. She hurried to Dover with all speed, and 
 crossed in an open boat to Calais before the writ could be 
 served on her. 
 
 At this time she had probably some notion of making 
 Calais her pied-a-terre , for she bought a house there ; and, 
 while it was being altered to suit her fancy, she went to 
 Rome to collect those of her possessions, which she had left 
 behind at her hurried departure. On her return to Calais she 
 learned from her friends in England that there was no chance 
 that the Duke of Kingston’s will would be upset, whereupon 
 she ordered her yacht to be got ready for sea, and set sail for 
 St. Petersburg to pay a visit to the Empress Catherine—a 
 step she had long contemplated. To secure the imperial 
 favour she sent off a shipload of pictures and works of art, 
 abstracted from the galleries at Thoresby, as an offering to 
 the Czarina; and, as though she were bent on giving proof 
 of the mingled strains of meanness and profusion in her 
 character, she refused, while squandering these treasures, to 
 pay the meagre salary of the priest engaged to say Mass to 
 her French sailors, and also that of Mr. Foster, the chaplain, 
 who had the care of her own spiritual affairs. By way of 
 further propitiation she sent from the Duke’s collection two 
 pictures to Count Chernichefif; but, learning afterwards that 
 they had been certified by Carlo Maratti to be the work of 
 Raphael and Claude and of considerable value, she tried to 
 get them back in exchange for two others. In her will she 
 left these works to Evelyn Meadows, affirming that they had 
 only been lodged with Count Chernicheff for safe custody, 
 but whether her whilom foe ever reclaimed his own out of 
 the Count’s hands history does not say. 
 
 The friendly reception she got at St. Petersburg may have 
 been due to the shipload of works of art, or to the mutual 
 attraction of sympathetic natures. Elizabeth’s peccadilloes, 
 flagrant as they were, were scarcely of a sort to give a shock 
 to the widow of the ill-starred Peter. The yacht was repaired 
 in the government dockyard, and a mansion was assigned 
 to the intrepid voyager. Flattered by the attention lavished 
 upon her, she bought an estate near the capital in the hope 
 that by becoming a landed proprietor she might be enrolled 
 
TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 - 5 6 
 
 
 in the Russian nobility and be decorated by the Czarina ; 
 but she learned too late that as a foreigner she was ineligible 
 for such honours. By way of utilizing her new possession 
 she set up a spirit distillery, an enterprise over which she 
 lost a vast sum, and which probably gave her a distaste for 
 her newly adopted country. After a year or two she grew 
 weary of it and returned to Calais, but her house there 
 seemed now too modest for one who had been the favoured 
 guest of the Empress. She made a second journey to 
 Russia, by land this time, and on her way she encountered 
 one of the strangest adventures of her extraordinary career. 
 
 During her visit to the Court of Dresden she had met 
 Prince Radzivil, a nobleman of vast wealth, and she suc¬ 
 ceeded in adding him to the number of her admirers. From 
 the time of their meeting a correspondence went on between 
 them, the letters of the Prince being supplemented by 
 numerous and costly presents. As soon as she had deter¬ 
 mined to journey again to St. Petersburg, she wrote to her 
 faithful admirer, saying she would be pleased to visit him at 
 his country-seat en route ; and the Prince, when he heard of 
 her wish, appointed to meet her at Berge, near Riga. The 
 Duchess was welcomed with all the state due to royalty, and 
 the next day the Prince entertained her in a fashion which 
 recalls the splendour of the Field of the Cloth of Gold, with 
 a superadded dash of Monte Cristo. Banqueting halls and 
 theatres were built expressly for the occasion, and even 
 extempore villages and happy peasantry to match were pro¬ 
 vided a la Potemkin. In the village were divers shops set 
 out with costly jewellery, the greater part of which the Prince 
 bought and gave to his guest. As soon as the feasting was 
 over a torch was applied to the buildings, and the whole 
 display was converted into a bonfire in honour of the 
 Duchess. For fourteen days she was Prince Radzivil’s guest, 
 and every day was treated to some fresh entertainment, always 
 followed by a sumptuous feast. At last, amid salvoes of 
 artillery, she took her departure and continued her journey. 
 
 On her return from St. Petersburg she was seized with the 
 desire to make a figure in Paris, so she purchased a house 
 on Montmartre for her residence, but various delays arose 
 
DUCHESS OF KINGSTON. 
 
 2 57 
 
 in completing the purchase, and she became involved in 
 a troublesome law-suit. Ultimately the court decided against 
 her, and in the violent access of rage, which overcame her 
 on the receipt of the news, she broke a blood-vessel. She 
 rallied somewhat the next day, but her constitution, under¬ 
 mined by gluttony and excess of all kinds, had lost its 
 recuperative power, and on August 26, 1788, after swallowing 
 a last generous draught of madeira, she died. 
 
 Her will was a long rambling document wherein she made 
 separate disposition of almost every trinket she possessed, 
 corresponding in no way to Horace Walpole’s conjecture 
 that her three co-heiresses would be the Empress of Russia, 
 Lady Salisbury, and the whore of Babylon. The amount 
 of jewels and plate and other valuable objects, she had 
 accumulated, was enormous, and as these were nearly all 
 presents they bear testimony to the force of the subtle 
 and special charm she exercised over men. To speculate 
 what this charm may have been—apart from mere beauty 
 of face—is a vain task for those who have been born too 
 late to come under its influence. 
 
 Fortune unhappily endows many people with inclinations 
 like Elizabeth Chudleigh’s, but she is kind enough to refrain 
 from placing them frequently in positions where they can 
 compass evil and wrongdoing commensurate with that 
 wrought by her. People as bad as herself have often left 
 behind them some legacy in the shape of caustic, cynical 
 aphorism which gives interest or even a quasi justification 
 for their misdeeds, but no witty speech of hers has ever been 
 chronicled. All her ideals were base and sordid, and in 
 labouring for their fulfilment she was swayed by no other 
 motive than the mere gratification of her whim. No 
 generous action of hers stands on record ; her tastes and 
 habits were gross and even brutal, and she never let any 
 consideration of decency and cleanly living interfere with 
 them. She would be lavish to those who had no need of 
 her bounty, if she foresaw that her spending would procure 
 her something she wanted, and at the same time she would 
 not scruple to cheat a poor devil who had served her in some 
 menial office if she felt she might reckon on impunity. If 
 
 18 
 
TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 258 
 
 at any time she flung her money about without the hope 
 of some return, direct or indirect, it would be over some 
 rascal or charlatan who had been clever enough to overwhelm 
 her greedy suspicion by adroit flattery. She lived in a bad, 
 cold-hearted, mercenary society; but of all her contemporaries 
 there does not seem to have been one so base and unprin¬ 
 cipled, and at the same time so utterly destitute of every 
 right impulse and sentiment as herself. It is true the 
 possession of all the generous qualities in which she was 
 most conspicuously lacking would have availed little to win 
 the approbation of the Castlewoods and Chesters of her day. 
 Perhaps the hypothetical and elusive fascination before 
 hinted at may have resided in her perfect sympathy with 
 the people with whom she lived, her key of vicious carriage 
 being pitched just high enough above the normal to provoke 
 the envy of the women and the admiration of the men, and 
 pitched, moreover, with a degree of impudence consummate 
 enough to defy imitation. 
 
 W. G. Waters. 
 
MARY BATEMAN. 
 

 
 
 
 
MARY BATEMAN, 
 
 “THE YORKSHIRE WITCH.” 
 
 (1768-1809.) 
 
 “ Cupidine humani ingenii libentius obscura creduntur.”— Tacitus. 
 
 I F things were what they seem to be there is no doubt but 
 that the most picturesque and romantic form of feminine 
 badness would be found in witchcraft. But it is useless now 
 to assume that witches were ever what they seemed. It is 
 the fault of an unbelieving age that they have been robbed 
 of their credentials, just as it was the fault of a too credulous 
 age that many a foolish woman was robbed of life for 
 being believed to possess powers which were not accessible 
 to her neighbours. If stupidity be no crime, the chief sin of 
 the poor wretches who were made to pose as witches was 
 vanity ; many of them gloried in the ascription and boasted 
 of their commerce with the Evil One. Often they had no 
 choice but to fit on the mantle which was thrown on them, 
 and they certainly wore it bravely. One can but pity a 
 Mother Sawyer relating the minute particulars of her inter¬ 
 course with Satan to her soul’s minister, and pity, too, is 
 perhaps the most charitable feeling available for a Reverend 
 Henry Goodcole gravely extracting and recording her experi¬ 
 ences. Yet, if Parson Goodcole sinned against the light, he 
 did so in good company, and it were mere presumption to 
 pity such men as Jewell, Bacon, and Selden. But the 
 support of such great names is scarcely to be had in the 
 nineteenth century even for witchcraft. If feminine vanity 
 
 261 
 
262 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 still exists it must choose other shapes for its display. Nowa¬ 
 days no woman may admit that her neighbour possesses 
 any gift denied to herself, and the spirit of equality abroad 
 has thus left no place for the witch, while it has even treated 
 with very scant politeness the enlightened exponents of 
 theosophy. But if we are forced to reject the reality of 
 so-called witches, there still remains the class of woman who, 
 being clever enough or modern enough to rise superior to 
 the easy belief of their fellow-creatures in the supernatural, 
 trade on such innocence by pretending deliberately and 
 for personal gain to be able to influence fate. Fear of the 
 law has exercised a wholesome restraint on this modern 
 witchcraft, but there have been not a few instances where 
 unscrupulousness, coupled with greed, has pushed its owner 
 into crime. No more notable example exists than that of 
 Mary Bateman, “the Yorkshire witch,” and no witch, real 
 or pretended, ever so well deserved to end life on the gallows. 
 The name of witch is indeed dishonoured by its association 
 with Mary Bateman, who might far more fitly have come 
 down to fame as thief, abortionist, or murderess. 
 
 Her early history is as obscure as is natural to and befit¬ 
 ting the daughter of a small farmer, born at Aisenby, near 
 Thirsk, in Yorkshire, in 1768. Her family name was Harker, 
 and at the age of twelve she became a domestic servant, and 
 so continued for some years, though under many mistresses, 
 as none was found willing to keep in service the assiduous 
 thief that Mary Harker speedily became. From one of her 
 employers she picked up the rudiments of the dress-making 
 art, and, when tired at length of service, set up as an exponent 
 of it. It was not long before there came by a customer for 
 her hand, who was promptly supplied with what he wanted, 
 and Mary became Mrs. Bateman. She was then twenty-four 
 years old, and of most respectable, if not prepossessing, ap¬ 
 pearance, but she had not yet learned to respect other people’s 
 property. Her unfortunate husband, a simple artificer, was 
 not long in finding out that a wife so clever as his might 
 prove expensive. The honeymoon was scarcely over when 
 it became necessary for the pair to leave the room in which 
 they lived on account of Mary’s depredations from a fellow- 
 
MARY BATEMAN. 
 
 263 
 
 lodger. Such moves became frequent until the pair were 
 able to set up a house of their own in Leeds, and there even 
 peace was of short duration. It was not Mary’s custom to 
 make her husband a partner of her crimes ; she preferred 
 to work on her own account, and, if possible, to spare him 
 the shame of sharing her ill-success. The wifely pains she 
 was at to secure this end Bateman may well have wished 
 saved for some other object. For example, he was at work 
 one day, when his wife arrived on the scene bearing all the 
 signs of woe and a letter from some of his relations at 
 Thirsk saying his father was at death’s door and wished to 
 see him before the end should come. The worthy Bateman, 
 with means borrowed from his employer, hurried to Thirsk, 
 and straightway met his father, who held the office of town- 
 crier, crying an auction in the street in the very best of 
 health. It appeared that no letter had been sent to Leeds, 
 and, indignant at waste of filial piety, Bateman returned to 
 his home to find it bare of everything except his wife. She 
 explained to him that she had got into trouble, and to buy 
 herself off had sold the furniture and all their possessions. 
 To save the inconvenience of explaining matters before the 
 court and of meeting with possible remonstrance she had 
 thought well to remove her husband. 
 
 It was necessary to set about replacing the household 
 gods, and a means to that end presented itself through a 
 fire at a large manufactory, which caused death and injury 
 to a number of the persons employed there. Universal 
 sympathy was felt in the town for the sufferers, and there 
 appeared none more forward to succour the afflicted than 
 Mary Bateman. She was busy calling on the well-to-do 
 folk, to whom she would tell a harrowing story of some poor 
 child that had been killed and could not be laid decently 
 to its rest for want of linen to lay it out, or of another that 
 was not indeed dead, but had no comfortable bedding in its 
 miserable home on which to repose its mangled limbs—would 
 they of their pity and charity lend to her, not give, a pair of 
 linen sheets? Few could refuse such an appeal, and when 
 by a further happy thought she extended the sphere of her 
 operations and represented herself as a nurse at the General 
 
264 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 Infirmary, who was collecting linen, clothing, and alms for 
 the victims of the accident, the result of her efforts fully 
 repaid her pains. The sheets and other gifts were taken as 
 received to the pawnbroker, and the proceeds were applied, 
 of course, solely to her own personal benefit. Suspicion, 
 however, was aroused, but before inquiries could be brought 
 to a fruitful issue John Bateman had enlisted in the new 
 supplemental militia and decamped, followed by his faithful 
 wife. How John’s comrades fared at the hands of his wife 
 must be left to the imagination, but neither of the pair seems 
 to have cared greatly for the new calling, and after three 
 years they returned to Leeds, where they took up their abode 
 in a different quarter of the town from that which they before 
 inhabited, and John resumed his work as a wheelright. 
 
 Mary Bateman found time hang heavy on her hands in 
 peaceful Leeds, and by way of occupation gave herself out 
 as a fortune-teller. She soon gained a considerable connex¬ 
 ion among servant-girls and other young women, who, as a 
 chronicler has put it, were “ anxious to repair to the altar of 
 Hymen.” Her method of working her charms was mysterious, 
 and calculated to create an impression of their effectiveness. 
 She herself, she was wont to tell those who consulted her, 
 could do nothing, and was a mere handmaid of the unseen ; 
 she could not read the stars nor cast nativities, but there was 
 a certain Mrs. Moore who was deeply skilled in these studies, 
 and who had selected Mary to act as go-between for her and 
 those who would consult the oracle. Mrs. Moore, of course, 
 was an invention of Mary’s cunning, a useful tertiurn quid 
 on whom the responsibility of failure of the charming might 
 be laid, and who might very well refuse to give an answer, 
 notwithstanding Mary’s entreaties, to questions difficult of 
 solution, should such be propounded by the love-sick and 
 superstitious. The fortunes foretold by “ Mrs. Moore ” were 
 generally disastrous, but the unhappy people for whom fate 
 had thus reserved ill-luck were always consoled on learning, 
 immediately after the bad news had been communicated, that 
 there was a means known to Mrs. Moore of so directing the 
 courses of the stars as to avert the evil day. In order thus 
 to influence the heavens it was necessary for the person con- 
 
MARY BATEMAN. 
 
 265 
 
 cerned to wear a charm, which was to be had on payment of 
 a sum of money, together with certain other articles which 
 were required only for purposes of mystification, such as bits 
 of leather and pieces of blotting-paper. It is on record that 
 numbers of poor girls were robbed in this way not only of all 
 their savings but of nearly all their clothing and other poor 
 possessions, and at this heavy cost established the reputation 
 of Mary Bateman as a “ witch.” Even those who were 
 unwilling to part with their money were accommodated. 
 One young woman, who was the victim of an “ evil wish ” 
 on the part of an impolite old beggar-woman, sought the 
 assistance of Bateman, who straightway said it was a serious 
 case. Her principal directed that a pocket-handkerchief must 
 be sent to her, together with five guineas in gold and wearing 
 apparel to the same value, and when the ungrateful object of 
 the beggar’s curse showed a disinclination to part with so 
 much at once, she was instructed that it was only necessary 
 to enclose the money and clothes in bags, which she might 
 keep herself, but that they must not be opened till a distant 
 date, when the effects of the wish would be dissipated. In 
 this case the day of reckoning drew nigh inconveniently soon 
 for Bateman, and when the girl was anticipating the near 
 recovery of her property she received a present of a fruit- 
 tart, which purported to come from her sweetheart. The 
 pie proved to be so nauseous that the recipient, suspecting a 
 trick, innocently took it to Mary Bateman and asked for her 
 opinion. Mary said she knew nothing of such things, and 
 was quite incompetent to give advice, but she could, on pay¬ 
 ment of a fee, send it to Mrs. Moore, who would doubtless 
 divine the secret if there was any. After a due interval the 
 verdict was received to the effect that the tart was full of 
 poison, and Mary had nothing but congratulations for the 
 girl on her fortunate escape. It was evident, however, that 
 the “ evil wish ” was still at work, and the opening of the 
 magical bags must be deferred. It is to be feared that the 
 composition of this tart was Mary’s first essay in the art of 
 murder, her design being to forestall the awkward moment 
 of the opening of the bags, which were afterwards, when 
 Bateman was in safe keeping, found to contain copper coins 
 
266 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 and unclean rags. As a general rule in the frequent cases 
 in which articles of value were thus deposited in bags, to be 
 opened after an interval of eighteen months or two years, 
 there was no necessity for such dangerous steps as that taken 
 in the instance just cited; it was easy enough for Mary to 
 name a date approximately the same for all those for whom 
 this particular form of charming was being exercised, and, 
 when the day drew near, the Bateman family, under the 
 auspices of the mother, changed its quarters. Even a century 
 ago Leeds was a populous town, and as the sphere of Mary’s 
 operations was among the poor and humble it was not diffi¬ 
 cult for her to escape her responsibilities by removing to a 
 different district where her face would not be known and 
 where a fresh clientele would be awaiting her. In such 
 circumstances as these the Batemans changed their residence 
 some six or seven times. When Mary’s dupes discovered 
 how they had been fooled they would seldom have either 
 time, money, or inclination to publish their folly by taking 
 proceedings against the witch, though some there were who 
 were bold enough to track her out and demand restitution. 
 On these rare occasions Mary Bateman bravely faced the 
 trouble by offering a sum down, which was naturally never 
 refused, inasmuch as it was obviously more advantageous for 
 the accuser to recover a part of his or her belongings than to 
 institute proceedings, which, although they might result in 
 the punishment of Bateman, would be of no practical benefit 
 to the individual imposed upon. 
 
 It is not possible to set out a full list of the deceptions 
 practised by Bateman on the more credulous of those who 
 had the misfortune to be her neighbours from time to time, 
 since the great majority of these can never have attained 
 any more than a very local publicity; and even were it 
 possible such a list would scarcely be found entertaining or 
 interesting, as it is clear from those instances of her guile 
 which came to light and have been handed down, that there 
 was a monotonous sameness in the manner of her sorcery. 
 Even as it stands the number is respectable, but two or three 
 of the most noteworthy examples of her method will perhaps 
 be sufficient to justify the claim that has been set up for 
 
MARY BATEMAN. 
 
 267 
 
 Mary Bateman as one pre-eminent for an evil mind and evil 
 deeds. Even the most hardened and cold-blooded criminals 
 have usually in them some spark of human tenderness for at 
 least some one fellow-creature who can enjoy immunity from 
 the shafts directed by wickedness against the rest of the 
 world, but in Mary Bateman’s heart there appears to have 
 existed no such soft spot. The shabby trick she played 
 upon her husband shortly after their marriage has been 
 related ; she was equally unsparing of her own flesh and 
 blood. One of her brothers had been in the navy but 
 deserted, and in company with his wife sought refuge with 
 the Batemans at Leeds. A warm welcome was extended 
 to them; but visitors were inconvenient to Mary, and she 
 planned how she might get rid of them. Their stay had 
 not been long when the sister-in-law received a letter from 
 her home in Newcastle saying that her father was sick unto 
 death and wished to give his daughter a dying blessing (it 
 will be remembered that Mary had played the same game 
 with her husband). The dutiful daughter hurried off, and 
 Mary took advantage of her absence to persuade her brother 
 that he had an unfaithful wife, who would do nothing but run 
 him into debt. She finally induced him to write her a letter 
 forbidding her return to him, and declaring his intention of 
 not receiving her if she came back. The unfortunate young 
 woman, who had been fooled once, refused to believe in this 
 second letter, and made her way to her husband, whom 
 she succeeded in convincing of her innocence despite the 
 endeavours of Mary. The reunited couple then made the 
 discovery that their boxes containing all their earthly posses¬ 
 sions had been rifled of their contents, which, as they soon 
 found out, had been sold. Brother Harker naturally remon¬ 
 strated, and his sister, taking his behaviour in ill-part, promptly 
 went to a magistrate and laid an information against him as 
 a deserter. The brother and his wife had to flee with all 
 possible haste, and sister Mary was at last freed from them, 
 but she had as yet received no compensation for the worry 
 they had caused her. She therefore wrote a piteous letter to 
 her mother, telling her how the brother had been arrested as 
 deserter, but that it was just possible to get him off if ten 
 
268 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 pounds could be raised and paid to a substitute, who was 
 ready to take his place for that sum. The poor old woman 
 sent the money, and Mary was paid for her trouble. 
 
 Not the least extraordinary feature of the impositions 
 practised by Bateman was the continuous influence she was 
 able to bring to bear on her victims. It may almost be said 
 that she possessed a gift of recognizing the kind of persons 
 whom she could dominate, and when once she had marked 
 down her prey it was rare for it to escape until she had bled 
 it to the last drop. Several families rued the day they ad¬ 
 mitted her to their councils, and owed their ruin to their blind 
 faith in her “ witchcraft.” With the exception of one case 
 which remains to be set forth later, none, perhaps, is more 
 exemplary than that of the Steads, a Yorkshire family, the 
 members of which have in more recent days been noted for an 
 easy belief in the supernatural. Barzillai Stead was a trades¬ 
 man who had failed in business, and who was weak enough to 
 seek the counsel of Mary Bateman. She persuaded him that 
 he was in constant danger of arrest for debt and induced him 
 to enlist in the army, a step which put him in possession of a 
 small sum of money as bounty. Mary secured more than half 
 the bounty and then turned her attention to Mrs. Stead. This 
 good woman she informed that Stead was joining the army in 
 order to desert her, and that he intended to take with him to 
 his regiment a neighbour who was expecting to become the 
 mother of his child. Mrs. Stead’s jealousy was aroused, and 
 she listened eagerly to a plan for “ screwing down ” her rival 
 and preventing the elopement. It was necessary to invoke 
 the aid of the omnipotent “ Mrs. Moore,” and in due course a 
 message was received that three half-crowns were to be 
 handed to Mary Bateman and two pieces of coal placed on 
 the threshold of the house, where the woman was supposed 
 to live, on the eve of the departure. The coals were then to 
 be removed and burnt in the fire, and the fire would com¬ 
 municate itself to the woman’s clothes and consume them so 
 that when the time to leave home arrived she could not but, 
 for decency’s sake, stay where she was. The money was paid 
 over and the ceremony with the coal carried out according 
 to directions ; and when the morning came Stead marched 
 
 1 
 
MARY BATEMAN. 
 
 269 
 
 off unattended. Henceforth—for a time—his delighted wife 
 was a staunch believer in Mary Bateman, who now applied 
 herself to the business of getting hold of what property the 
 family possessed while the husband was away. The fact that 
 Mrs. Stead was about this time expecting shortly to give birth 
 to a child proved an excellent instrument in Bateman’s hands 
 for working on her fears ; it seemed that a parlous fate was in 
 store for the unborn infant, and much furniture and clothing 
 had to be sold in order to propitiate the stars, so much so that 
 the mother began to wonder where she should look for the 
 necessaries of life during the time she would be helpless. 
 Her guardian angel bade her be of good courage and assured 
 her that it was in her power “ to screw down ” the local Bene¬ 
 volent Society so that it would be forced to administer relief. 
 The attention of the Society actually was called to the poor 
 woman’s distress, and a guinea was given to her, but out of 
 this sum Bateman, who was now nurse, secured eighteen 
 shillings for herself. If Mrs. Stead’s convalescence was re¬ 
 tarded by want of food and proper care, the like effect must in 
 any case have been produced by the news brought one day 
 by Mary Bateman that her father-in-law had formed the 
 design of murdering her. Happily there was a means of 
 circumventing him : if a guinea and a screw were handed to 
 Bateman for transmission to Mrs. Moore the scheme would 
 fail. By woful sacrifices the money was got together, and, it 
 is only right to say, value was given in exchange, for Mr. 
 Stead, senior, made no attempt to kill his son’s wife. That 
 unhappy woman’s fears on this score were hardly allayed 
 when she was confronted by a new terror. She had still a 
 few sticks of furniture left, and Mary Bateman, having 
 appraised their value, informed her of a horrible misfortune 
 impending over her daughter. This was a child of eight 
 years, but it was written in the heavens that at the age of 
 fourteen she would have an illegitimate child, and, further¬ 
 more, would die either by her own hand or that of her 
 seducer. It was, however, provided in the scheme of things 
 that, if seventeen shillings were placed in the hands of Mrs. 
 Moore, that good spirit would reduce the coin to a “ charm ” 
 which, if worn on the girl’s arm till the critical time was past, 
 
2~/Q 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 would protect her from the astral influences. There was 
 nothing to be done but sell the furniture and with the pro¬ 
 ceeds avert the sinister fate of the maiden, whose arm was 
 duly encircled by a metal band. The mother, although 
 abundantly provided with “ charms ” for her own preserva¬ 
 tion, was now deserted by Mary Bateman, and found herself 
 in so wretched a plight that she attempted suicide. Friends, 
 however, intervened in time to prevent her death and to learn 
 the circumstances that had led up to its being contemplated. 
 With great reluctance was the story told, and still greater 
 difficulty was experienced when it was suggested that the 
 “ charms ” should be submitted to examination ; for Mrs. 
 Stead had been firmly convinced that as the “ charms ” left 
 her her life would ebb away. She was persuaded at last, and 
 it was found that “ charms ” were sewn into all parts of her 
 clothes ; they consisted of pieces of papers tied into a knot 
 and enclosing bits of rag and fragments of leather and had 
 cost no inconsiderable sum. Nothing happened on their 
 removal, and the disenchanted Mrs. Stead was emboldened 
 to go with her friends to Bateman to demand restitution. It 
 was useless for Mary to resort to her usual excuses as to the 
 premature discovery of the “ charms ” and the forestalling of 
 the planets; she produced four guineas and made a faithful 
 promise, which was never kept, to restore in time all the 
 property she had stolen. 
 
 If Mrs. Stead’s folly seems particularly egregious it must 
 be remembered that her faith in Mary Bateman’s charms was 
 supported by the success attending them. The disasters pre¬ 
 dicted never happened, and there was not wanting evidence 
 that the “ charms ” could work actively as well as preventively. 
 Thus it happened that while Mrs. Stead was under Bateman’s 
 sway she was visited by a relation who had been badly treated 
 by a runaway lover. Mary, of course, was made acquainted 
 with the young woman’s condition, and promptly undertook 
 to bring the recalcitrant father to the altar if a guinea were 
 sent to Mrs. Moore. The man did not come and Mrs. Moore 
 required another guinea to make her strength equal to his. 
 Still he came not, and the girl being without further resources 
 went into domestic sendee. Her employer was an unmarried 
 
MARY BATEMAN. 
 
 271 
 
 man, and Bateman promised that he should be made to take 
 the place of the absent lover. She foresaw that he would 
 probably prefer to be the father of his wife’s children 
 and undertook to remove the existing obstacle. The 
 crime of abortion was lightly added by Bateman to her 
 other sins though, as it chanced, without necessity, for within 
 a very short time afterwards Mrs. Moore’s spells began to 
 take effect and the author of the girl’s trouble appeared 
 penitent on the scene and married her. Could Mrs. Stead 
 view such doings with any feelings but awe and respect ? 
 
 It was only natural that, after the awakening of Mrs. Stead, 
 the Batemans should migrate to a different part of the town, 
 and Black Dog Yard was the appropriately named locality 
 selected. While residing there she committed, according to 
 one chronicler, “ many atrocious acts which proved her to be 
 destitute of all feeling and humanity.” It seems likely that 
 at first she gave a rest to her witchcraft and devoted her 
 ingenuity to finding out some other means of underhand 
 robbery. By accident or design she scraped an acquaintance 
 with two old maids named Kitchin, who were Quakers, and 
 kept a small drapery shop. The acquaintance ripened under 
 the bond of religion, for Mary knew well how to simulate 
 sanctity, and she became a constant visitor at the house, 
 ever ready to assist and advise. It was not long before one 
 Miss Kitchin fell seriously ill, and not only did Mary mind 
 the shop, but it was she who went to inform the doctor and 
 hurried back with the medicines he gave her. Neverthe¬ 
 less, the medicines had not been administered for a week 
 before the patient died in agony, and two or three days after¬ 
 wards her sister and mother, who had come to tend them in 
 their sickness, followed them to the grave. A doctor who was 
 called in at the end was content to assert that the deaths 
 were due to cholera, and to go his way, though in light of 
 subsequent events there can be no human doubt that the three 
 unfortunate women were poisoned by Mary Bateman. She 
 gave out to the neighbours that the fatal disease had been the 
 plague, and the house was avoided by all; there was none but 
 Mary, the chosen friend of the family, who would approach it. 
 Afterwards, when fear had subsided, the house was broken 
 
TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 272 
 
 open by some of the creditors of the Kitchins, only to find 
 that the shop and living-rooms had been ransacked of all their 
 portable contents. 
 
 It is probable that the pious influences of the Kitchins 
 combined with the rising notoriety of the famous Joanna 
 Southcott to turn Bateman’s thoughts towards the exploita¬ 
 tion of the religious portion of the community in which she 
 lived. To be in the fashion she sometimes professed herself 
 an adherent of Joanna, in whose claims to inspiration she, of 
 course, had no faith ; she simply believed that the prophetess 
 was playing a similar game to that she played herself, and 
 was wilfully practising deception on persons willing to be 
 deceived. To her mind there was no reason why she should 
 not be able to emulate Joanna in her own sphere, but there 
 were difficulties in the way. She was to outward seeming a 
 respectable married woman and could scarely declare herself, 
 as Joanna did, the mother of the promised Shiloh, for were 
 she to assume the necessary appearance even the most credu¬ 
 lous proselyte would be likely to believe more readily that 
 another Bateman rather than a Shiloh was to be expected in 
 the world. She possessed, however, ingenuity enough to 
 think out a miracle of her own, and conceived, not a Shiloh, 
 but an idea, the full extent of which must be left to the 
 imagination, as it was never entirely developed. The first 
 steps towards its execution were promising enough. Adjoin¬ 
 ing the house in Black Dog Yard was a fowl run, and a 
 rumour shortly spread through the neighbourhood that a hen 
 belonging to Mrs. Bateman had laid an egg bearing inscribed 
 on it the words “ CRIST IS COMING.” Curiosity-seekers came 
 to inquire and were rewarded with a sight of the prophetic 
 egg, which was there sure enough, with the inscription clear as 
 though written with a pen. It was, in fact, suggested that it was 
 a pen and not a hen which was responsible for the letters. 
 Mrs. Bateman scouted the insinuation and declared that there 
 were other similar eggs where that came from and requested 
 her visitors to call again when another egg was due. Before 
 their arrival on the second visit the beastly woman, having 
 written the same words on another egg, forcibly inserted it in 
 the body of the wretched hen, which duly ejected it in the 
 
MARY BATEMAN. 
 
 273 
 
 presence of the spectators. The performance was again 
 repeated, and doubt in the minds of some at least was at an 
 end. The excitement aroused by the portent was immense, 
 and crowds came to see the wonderful egg, cheerfully paying 
 the penny apiece demanded by the holy showwoman as 
 compensation for the inconvenience to which she was put. 
 If scepticism was expressed, as it sometimes was, the religious 
 fervour of the faithful was equal to knocking about with 
 severity the unbeliever, and for a time the desired halo of 
 sanctity hovered round the hen’s owner. Circumstances must 
 have interposed to prevent Bateman from carrying out her 
 scheme in its entirety and compelled her to drop her career 
 as the founder of a sect. That she planned to form a religion 
 seems well established, but no more is heard of it, and the hen, 
 which was sold for a good sum to an earnest disciple, dis¬ 
 gusted its new proprietor by ceasing to lay eggs at all. 
 
 In her next residence Mary Bateman returned to her 
 “ charming.” An old laundress, Judith Cryer by name, 
 had experienced some trouble with her grandson, a boy 
 of eleven, on whom were centred all her hope and pride. 
 She was recommended to consult Bateman by a girl called 
 Winifred Bond who was wholly under the influence of the 
 “ witch,” and who later admitted in court that she felt 
 herself obliged to do anything and go anywhere that Mary 
 suggested to her. Bateman advised that an application 
 should be made to Miss Blythe, a friend of hers, who resided 
 at Scarborough, and was skilled in forecasting the future. 
 Miss Blythe, it may be mentioned, was the successor of Mrs. 
 Moore, and had no bodily existence. A few days later a 
 letter came, adorned with a representation of a gallows, 
 and stating that nothing could save Judith’s boy from 
 hanging as soon as he was fourteen, unless four guineas 
 could be had for such use as should be directed. 
 
 The sum, which represented the proceeds of many weeks’ 
 washing, was eventually raised, and after a tedious delay 
 instructions came that three of the guineas were to be placed 
 in a leather bag, which was to be sewn up in the old woman’s 
 bed and to remain there undisturbed for three years. Mary 
 herself sewed in the bag and left events to ripen, going off 
 
 19 
 
TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 274 
 
 with the money and the satisfaction of having had her family’s 
 washing done gratuitously for three months—to balance the 
 cost of postage to and from Scarborough. A very similar 
 device was that employed at the expense of the Snowden 
 family. Mrs. Snowden was troubled by a vivid dread that 
 one of her children would die by drowning, and it is, perhaps, 
 not uncharitable to suppose that her fear was the result of 
 suggestion by Bateman, who volunteered to consult with her 
 friend, Miss Blythe, as to the possibility of preventing the 
 expected calamity. Miss Blythe was then at Thirsk, and her 
 letter directed that the silver watch of James Snowden, the 
 father, should be sewn up in his bed. This was done, and 
 another letter arrived saying that further investigations 
 showed that twelve guineas were required to avert the 
 disaster. The money was to join the watch, but was to be 
 restored when it had done its work and saved the boy. The 
 belief of the Snowdens in Mary was now so thorough that, 
 when a further letter was received foretelling the ruin of their 
 daughter unless they left Leeds (and got out of Bateman’s 
 way), they meekly obeyed orders and removed to Bradford, 
 leaving the greater part of their possessions locked up in their 
 house under the friendly care of Mrs. Bateman. 
 
 While amusing and enriching herself with the diversions 
 just related Bateman had been very busy with another client. 
 This was the case which received the greatest amount of 
 public attention, inasmuch as it was the direct cause of her 
 undoing, and it is desirable to relate the circumstances at 
 length as affording the completest illustration of her cunning 
 and resource. Her victims were introduced to her by Sarah 
 Stead, a member of the family whose experience of witch¬ 
 craft has been already set forth. Sarah had an aunt, Rebecca, 
 married to William Perigo, and residing at Bramley, a suburb 
 of Leeds. Mrs. Perigo was a woman of middle age, who had 
 been blessed with unusually good health until the spring 
 of 1806, when she began to find that whenever she lay down 
 she was troubled with a “flacking” in her breast. She lost 
 no time in consulting a country doctor, who had no difficulty 
 in diagnosing the case, and informed her that she was the 
 victim of an “ evil wish ” that had been laid upon her. The 
 
MARY BATEMAN. 
 
 275 
 
 doctor, though he knew the disease, was not acquainted with 
 a remedy, and the suggestion of one was left to Sarah Stead, 
 who, on visiting her aunt and hearing of the trouble, men¬ 
 tioned that she knew by repute a woman who could cure 
 such complaints. By request, Sarah then sought out Mary 
 Bateman and, after explaining the situation, was told that 
 although Mary could not effect a cure herself she knew a 
 lady who possessed the necessary powers, and would com¬ 
 municate with her at once. An answer might be looked for 
 in a fortnight, and meanwhile Mrs. Perigo was to send a 
 flannel petticoat or “ any warm garment worn next the skin ” 
 so that it might be forwarded to the lady and assist her in 
 working the necessary charm. Rebecca’s anxious husband 
 himself took the petticoat to Bateman, and was informed 
 that it was going by the morning post to Scarborough to 
 Miss Blythe, who on a day she named would send the neces¬ 
 sary instructions for the cure. On his next visit the expected 
 letter had arrived. It directed that Bateman should go to 
 the Perigos’ house and sew up in each of the corners of the 
 connubial bed a guinea note, four of which had been enclosed 
 in the letter, and was to receive in exchange four notes of 
 equal value, to be returned to the writer. A postscript added 
 that the flannel petticoat charm had not been strong enough, 
 the reason being that the subject had talked to her neigh¬ 
 bours about it, and unless there was an honourable under¬ 
 standing that nothing should be said about the procedure 
 Miss Blythe would abandon the case. It was agreed that 
 the Perigos should meet Miss Blythe’s intermediary at a 
 given place on the 4th of August, in order that the instruc¬ 
 tions given might be carried out. No meeting took place, 
 but when the credulous pair, tired of waiting at the tryst, 
 returned to their house, they there found Mary Bateman, 
 who, as was afterwards supposed, had got them out of the 
 way so that she might peacefully make an inventory of their 
 possessions. The misunderstanding having been explained 
 away, Mary handed to Perigo four guinea notes, which were 
 genuine enough, and, after receiving four from him in ex¬ 
 change, proceeded to sew those she had brought with her in 
 four silk bags. The mattress was then opened and the bags 
 
276 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 placed—two by the husband and two by the wife—in the 
 four corners. If Rebecca Perigo benefited by this operation 
 her cure was not yet complete, and a letter which came 
 shortly afterwards unfolded a further prescription. William 
 Perigo was to procure two pieces of iron made in the shape 
 of a horseshoe, but whatever happened they were not to be 
 so made in his native place, Bramley, and these were to be 
 nailed over the front door of his house, not with a hammer, 
 but with a pair of pincers, which were to be forwarded to 
 Scarborough and remain there for eighteen months. The 
 directions were faithfully observed, and the next letter from 
 the “ witch ” was anxiously awaited. Expectation was not 
 disappointed, for Miss Blythe’s letters continued to arrive 
 with great regularity and frequency. 
 
 Their tenour would have been monotonous to most people, 
 for they always enjoined the purchase of some article of 
 household utility or consumption and the transfer of it, 
 together with a sum of money, to Mary Bateman, who would 
 give in exchange an equivalent sum remitted by Miss Blythe. 
 The trustful Perigo never failed to take the money, and 
 would receive from Bateman what he believed to be the like 
 sum enclosed in a bag, which, with a lack of curiosity scarcely 
 human, he took home unopened and hid away in the bedding. 
 It is true that strict injunctions were given that the opening 
 of the bags would probably lead to the destruction of himself 
 and his family, and that his faith was buoyed up by the 
 promise that he should re-enter into possession of his money 
 eighteen months after the 4th of August, the day on which he 
 and his wife first began to sleep on their hidden treasure. 
 The goods required of him must always be bought personally 
 by himself, and were wanted for a particular purpose—if a 
 set of china was demanded, it was because the “ witch ” could 
 not drink from her own teacup ; if a bed, because she could 
 not sleep on her own, owing to the planets being so very 
 unfavourable for Mrs. Perigo, and so on. It is almost 
 incredible that Bateman’s well-worn and transparent devices 
 should have met with so much success, but she had wisdom 
 enough to know that people who could believe in an evil 
 wish would be still more ready and willing to believe in a 
 
MARY BATEMAN. 
 
 277 
 
 cure, and would be better satisfied as to its genuineness if 
 the means thereto were expensive and not too commonplace. 
 William Perigo was ready to sacrifice everything on behalf of 
 his wife, and it was fortunate for him that his circumstances 
 were fairly easy, for Miss Blythe’s demands on his resources , 
 were not inconsiderable in amount. In a space of five months 
 Perigo furnished £70 in money, and goods in such variety 
 that a list of them is worth setting down as indicative of the 
 practical nature of a witch’s requirements. They included:— 
 
 A cheese. 
 
 One goose. 
 
 A goose-pie. 
 
 A tea-caddy. 
 
 Several shirts. 
 
 A counterpane. 
 
 A piece of woollen cloth. 
 
 A silk handkerchief. 
 
 A silk shawl. 
 
 A pair of worsted stockings. 
 A pair of silk stockings. 
 
 Ten stones of malt. 
 
 Three bottles of spirits. 
 
 Two barrels. 
 
 A dress skirt. 
 
 A cotton gown. 
 
 Two pillow-slips. 
 
 A new waistcoat. 
 
 Sixty pounds of butter. 
 Seven strokes of meal. 
 
 Six strokes of malt. 
 
 Tea and sugar. 
 
 Three hundred eggs. 
 
 A pair of shoes. 
 
 Three yards of linen cloth. 
 A piece of beef. 
 
 Two table-cloths. 
 
 Two napkins. 
 
 The letters conveying the instructions, so carefully carried 
 out, were generally delivered by the hand of Winifred Bond, 
 and had always to be burnt, usually by or in the presence of 
 Mary Bateman, and some silly little variation in the manner 
 of burning—such, for instance, as “ This must be burnt in a 
 candle,” or “Your wife must burn this in straw or it will not 
 do ”—was sufficient to impress with the desired effect of 
 solemnity the intelligence of the recipients. It was not to 
 be expected that even William Perigo would go on indefinitely 
 providing money, food, clothing, and furniture unless he could 
 manage to convince himself of the necessity for so doing. 
 Mary Bateman was, of course, quite alive to this fact 
 Moreover, the days were passing by and, although still at a 
 distance, the time was coming nearer when she had under¬ 
 taken to make restitution of the articles sent to Miss Blythe 
 and to release the money hidden in the bed. Mary had no 
 
2 7 S 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 intention of awaiting the evil day; her plan was to avert it 
 by removing the Perigos, as she had removed the Kitchins, 
 before detection came. By this means, although it amounted 
 to killing one of the geese which laid the golden eggs, she 
 would avoid, not only repayment, but any disagreeable conse¬ 
 quences, as her victims had steadfastly observed their pledge 
 of secrecy. 
 
 Accordingly, in the month of April, 1807, a letter, purport¬ 
 ing to come from Miss Blythe, was received by Perigo, in 
 which he was informed that in the following month either he 
 or his wife, and probably both of them, would be overtaken 
 by an illness, but they would escape the “ chambers of the 
 grave,” and “ though they seemed to be dead, yet would they 
 live.” Instructions followed as to the course they were to 
 pursue in order to hoodwink fate. Rebecca Perigo was to 
 take half a pound of honey to Mary Bateman and leave it 
 with her to be fetched by her husband, when Bateman would 
 in his presence put in it some “stuff” sent for the purpose, 
 and would also give him some “stuff” to be put into a 
 pudding to be eaten on six consecutive days. The further 
 cheering news was communicated that Miss Blythe meant to 
 remit £20 on the 20th of May to help Perigo to pay some 
 debts he had incurred. Perigo, when he went to fetch back 
 the honey, ventured so far into scepticism as to remark to 
 Man- Bateman that it was a “ queerish ” thing that Miss 
 Blythe should be able to predict illness. He was rewarded 
 with the information that the lady in Scarborough, whom he 
 had never seen, knew everything concerning him and was his 
 guardian angel. Fortified by this revelation, he took the 
 honey and six powders and returned home to await a further 
 letter as to the exact use which was to be made of them. 
 On the 5th of May the letter came, and directed that on the 
 1 ith they were to make and eat a pudding mixed with one of 
 the powders, each one of which was marked with the day on 
 which it was to be used ; on each of the five days following a 
 similar pudding must be eaten and not a fragment left over; 
 every day they must both see the powder mixed with the 
 other ingredients or “ it would not do ” ; if at any time they 
 felt ill they must on no account send for a doctor, as that 
 
MARY BATEMAN. 
 
 2 79 
 
 “ would not do,” but must take a spoonful of the honey ; and 
 they were to keep their door fast shut, or they would be 
 overtaken by an enemy. The missive concluded as follows : 
 “ Now think on and take my directions, or else it will kill us all. 
 About the 25th of May I will come to Leeds and send for 
 your wife to Mary Bateman’s ; your wife will take me by the 
 hand and say, ‘ Thank God that I ever found you out.’ It 
 has pleased God to send me into the world that I might 
 destroy the works of darkness ; I call them the works of 
 darkness because they are dark to you—now mind that 
 whatever I say you do.” 
 
 The prescribed programme was faithfully followed, the 
 pudding being duly made with the powder on five successive 
 days, and nothing remarkable happening in consequence. 
 Doubtless the crafty Mary wished to inspire confidence and 
 to lead up successfully to the consumption of the last powder, 
 which, as was noticed by the Perigos, was much larger than 
 the others. The sixth pudding was made in turn, but when 
 it came to eating it the faith of William Perigo was not proof 
 against its nasty taste. He swallowed a spoonful, but he 
 declared he could manage no more, while even his wife was 
 obliged to give in after three or four mouthfuls. She imme¬ 
 diately became, in fact, extremely ill, and recognizing the 
 malady predicted by Miss Blythe, they both had recourse to the 
 contents of the honey pot. Naturally they grew worse, and 
 for a whole week the foolish couple suffered hideous agony. 
 Rebecca Perigo refused absolutely to allow her husband to seek 
 the aid of a doctor, as they had been warned against doing so, 
 and were to expect to seem very near death. William slowly 
 recovered, but at the end of the week, touched by the terrible 
 sufferings of his wife, who grew worse rather than better, he 
 at last made up his mind to summon a surgeon from Leeds. 
 It was, however, too late, for before he could come Rebecca 
 Perigo died, and word was sent to the doctor that his visit 
 would be useless. With her last breath the poor trusting 
 woman exacted a promise from her husband that he would 
 not be “ rash ” with Mrs. Bateman, but would wait the 
 appointed time. Perigo, who was alarmed at the serious 
 turn events had taken, thought well to consult a doctor on 
 
TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 280 
 
 his own account, and on describing the symptoms of his 
 illness learned that he must have received poison into his 
 system. How it was that no inquiry was made as to the 
 eminently unnatural death of Rebecca Perigo is not now 
 clear, and what is even more surprising is that the widower 
 seems to have had no notion of connecting the murderess 
 with her crime. That enterprizing woman’s anxiety at the 
 half failure of her plot must have been considerably relieved 
 when, after a decent interval, Perigo came to visit her and 
 imparted the sad news that his wife was dead. Bateman 
 suggested as the cause of the calamity that all the honey had 
 not been consumed, and offered as a token of her own good 
 faith to finish what remained. Mary’s skill in legerdemain 
 would no doubt have been equal to this feat, but Perigo was 
 too much of a gentleman to accept the proposal, and his 
 suspicions, if they existed, were further allayed by a letter 
 received from Miss Blythe hinting that his wife's death was 
 due to his own fault in sending for a doctor—a mistake which 
 had all but killed the writer at Scarborough, Mary Bateman 
 at Leeds, and Perigo himself, not to mention others ; as it 
 was, nothing worse would happen than the resurrection of his 
 wife, who would stroke his face with her right hand in such 
 a manner that he would lose the use of one side of his body. 
 Perigo’s fears for his personal safety outbalanced his judg¬ 
 ment, and he once more entered into a voluminous corres¬ 
 pondence with the Scarborough sorceress. The old story 
 was retold, and Miss Blythe’s letters invariably asked for gifts. 
 In one she applied for the use of one of the dead woman’s 
 gowns, and Perigo apparently chose one that was the worse 
 for wear, for the next letter expressed the writer’s sorrow 
 that he should have sent such a shabby one, and demanded, 
 “ owing to the planets,” one of the best gowns and, in addi¬ 
 tion, a petticoat and a family Bible. It would appear that 
 Mary Bateman, fearing that Perigo was no longer so sound 
 as she could wish on his superstitious side, conceived the idea 
 of attacking his heart and making him believe that he was an 
 object of amorous interest to the witch. Such at least is the 
 inference from the two letters sent to him by Bateman, the 
 whole of the original text of which is still extant. One of 
 
MARY BATEMAN. 
 
 281 
 
 these may be reproduced as an example of Mary’s literary 
 style and of her method of winning confidence. It runs as 
 follows:— 
 
 “12 August, 1808. 
 
 “ My dear Friend,—I send you these few lines to let you know that 
 I shall get to Wittvvell in Boland on Friday next, so I could wish make 
 yourself happy, thou love of mine, till thou see me tap thy shoulder, for it 
 would not do for thee to know the moment, for it would put thee in 
 such fear, and do not let Mary read this leter of freedoms, for I have not 
 wrote to her of a long time, and for her husband is not likely to get no 
 better, and he says it is long of you and won’t hardly let her stur, you 
 may tell her to make her self easy on me not sending to her, it is for a 
 reason, now mind and bury this near the other. I have sent this by 
 a drover, which he promised me to put into the post. I gave him a 
 shilling, he is going to shear in the low country, and I told him I would 
 see him near Leeds as he came back, now mind what I say and be 
 looking for me, and do not seem fluttered when I hit you the tap. God 
 bless you. Amen and Amen.” 
 
 The other letter, dated a fortnight later, is in a similar 
 strain, and written, apparently, in answer to one showing 
 considerable doubt and mistrust; she promises to come to 
 him in the following week “ with Goy [joy] never to part 
 with ,£1,000 for you.” Notwithstanding this promise, Miss 
 Blythe again failed to appear at the time appointed, and the 
 lonely man, as his reason returned to him, wrote angry letters 
 expressive of his failing faith in both the “ witch ” and her 
 agent in Leeds. In truth the 4th of February, 1808, had long 
 gone by; neither his money nor any of the articles he had 
 been ordered to purchase had come back to him, and in a 
 moment of that honest doubt, in which there is more faith 
 than in half the creeds, he determined to examine the con¬ 
 tents of his mattress. If he wished to find that he had been 
 fooled he must have been satisfied, for in the bags in which 
 there should have been guineas he found only farthings, and 
 where there should have been bank-notes was blank paper : 
 the four silken bags which held the first instalment of the 
 buried treasure were altogether missing. Perigo went sadly 
 to remonstrate with Mary Bateman. She expressed no sur¬ 
 prise, and said he must have opened the bed too soon. “ I 
 think it is too late,” was the sorrowful answer; and the weak¬ 
 ling, now become a man, declared he would visit Bateman 
 
282 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 again on the following day in company with two or three 
 friends, with a view to a settlement. He was persuaded 
 instead to meet the murderess by the canal bank, and no 
 sooner did he appear than he found Bateman seated and 
 vomiting. She immediately began to upbraid him with 
 having attempted to poison her and her husband with the 
 contents of a bottle he had given her the day before ; but 
 this last card, played for the benefit of the bystanders, was of 
 no avail; for, in accordance with an arrangement made by 
 Perigo, a constable came up and arrested her on a charge 
 or fraud. On her person was discovered a large bottle of 
 liquid, which she had indubitably intended to administer to 
 Perigo if the chance had offered itself. Her husband, who 
 was not ill in bed, as she had declared him to be, was also 
 arrested, but was released after a brief detention. When the 
 news of the arrest, which had taken place on 20th of October, 
 1808, spread abroad there was consternation among Mary’s 
 old supporters, and a general examination of her “ charms ” 
 took place. Poor old Judith Cryer unripped her bedding to 
 find that the bag she had seen enclosed in it with three 
 guineas inside was now empty; the Snowdens, who had 
 taken their precious mattress with them to Bradford, and 
 had promised not to open it until they had taken a “ dose ” 
 to be provided for them by Mary, were moved to break 
 faith by an account of her capture in the Leeds Mercury , and 
 they found where there should have been a silver watch and 
 twelve guineas some pieces of coal ; and many others who 
 had trusted in witchcraft met with similar experiences. 
 
 Mary Bateman was kept for a long time in prison while 
 the case against her was being prepared. After William 
 Perigo had unfolded the whole of his foolish story, it was 
 apparent that she was probably guilty of a crime greater than 
 mere fraud, and an investigation as close as possible was made 
 into all the circumstances of the case. She was examined 
 several times at great length before the Leeds magistrates, 
 and always denied any knowledge of Rebecca Perigo’s death, 
 and also the authorship of the letters from Miss Blythe, the 
 writing of which, she declared, disclosed the hand of a certain 
 Hannah Potts. Beyond the statement of William Perigo 
 
MARY BATEMAN. 
 
 283 
 
 there was barely any evidence to connect Bateman with the 
 death of Rebecca, which had taken place some fourteen 
 months earlier ; but fortunately the jar of honey, part of the 
 contents of which the unhappy woman had eaten, had been 
 preserved, and on analysis it was found that there was a 
 considerable admixture of corrosive sublimate. Moreover, 
 the bottle found on the prisoner at the time of her arrest was 
 found to contain not only rum, with which she proposed to 
 tempt Perigo to drink, but arsenic as well. It was not till 
 January, 1809, that she was finally committed to York Castle 
 on suspicion of the wilful murder of Rebecca Perigo. In the 
 interval spent in prison before her trial Mary Bateman con¬ 
 tinued undismayed and unabashed. She even found an 
 opportunity of practising her craft. A fellow-prisoner ex¬ 
 claimed in her hearing how she wished she could only see 
 her lover; Mary informed her privately that if she could 
 manage to secure a certain sum of money it could be made 
 into a charm, and if this charm were sown in the girl’s stays 
 the backward lover would have no choice but to appear. 
 Thanks to the easy prison rules of those days, the money was 
 got, and placed inside a “ charm ” in the stays ; but still the 
 lover came not, and at last the unbelieving wench opened 
 the charm, and found there was no money inside. The 
 governor was informed of what had happened, and com¬ 
 pelled Mary to disgorge such money as she had not spent, 
 but most of it had gone. 
 
 The case excited vast interest, both on account of the large 
 number of Bateman’s dupes, few of whom had the sense to 
 be reticent about their foolishness, and on account of the 
 notoriety she had acquired among a certain number of people 
 as a true prophetess. Her supporters, however, were silenced 
 by the hostile majority, and when the trial came on at the 
 Lent Assizes, on the 19th of March, 1809, before Sir Simon 
 le Blanc and a jury, she was undefended. The prosecution 
 was strong in the services of an able advocate, who set forth 
 his case, which had been most exhaustively got up, in a 
 manner which could hardly fail to convince the jury of the 
 prisoner’s guilt; but the penalties of the law had to be 
 observed, and the wearisome evidence gone through at full 
 
284 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 length, so that it was not until nine o’clock at night that the 
 trial, which had commenced at ten o’clock in the morning, 
 was brought to a close. Throughout the day the court was 
 crowded to suffocation point, and one of the witnesses, an 
 elderly chemist named Clough, who had to testify to an 
 attempt made by Bateman to purchase four-pennyworth of 
 arsenic at his shop, died from the effect of standing throughout 
 the day. The jury wasted no time in returning their verdict 
 of “ guilty,” and Sir Simon le Blanc, having informed the 
 prisoner, after the customary fashion, that for crimes like hers 
 the gates of mercy were closed, sentenced her to be hanged ; 
 her body to be afterwards given to the surgeons for dissection. 
 Mary Bateman appeared unconcerned, but made one desperate 
 effort to re-open the closed gates. She pleaded that for the 
 past twenty-two weeks she had been expecting to be made 
 again a mother. The sheriff was immediately instructed to 
 empanel a jury of matrons, and this order was followed by an 
 attempted exodus on the part of the many married women 
 in court. The necessary twelve, however, were caught, and 
 were not long in coming to the conclusion that the prisoner 
 was in error as to her condition. She was, in fact, nursing 
 a child ten months old, and was allowed to keep it with her 
 in the cell to which she returned. She appeared indifferent 
 to her fate; assumed an air of mystery, and defied all the 
 exhortations of her chaplain to confess her guilt. On the 
 contrary, she protested her innocence ; she swore to it at 
 the sacrament, which was administered to her on the following 
 Monday morning before she was led out to the New Drop to 
 die, and once again she stoutly asserted it as she stood on the 
 gallows with the rope adjusted round her neck. The rope 
 performed its office notwithstanding, and the body of Mary 
 Bateman was sent to the General Infirmary at Leeds for 
 dissection. Leeds had been baulked of the excitement attend¬ 
 ing the witch’s trial and execution ; but it showed its lively in¬ 
 terest when her remains arrived. So great was the throng 
 which awaited their coming, that those in charge of the coffin 
 had the happy thought of relieving the popular curiosity and 
 turning an honest penny for themselves, by a public display 
 of the object of so great concern. Accordingly an exhi- 
 
MARY BATEMAN. 
 
 285 
 
 bition of Mary Bateman’s body was hastily arranged, the 
 sum of threepence a head being charged for admission, and 
 thirty pounds was thus realized. The show necessarily could 
 not last long, but so great was its success that no sooner was 
 the body dissected, in accordance with the sentence, than it 
 was announced that the skin and some of the organs might 
 be purchased. The rush to secure these relics was so satis¬ 
 factory to the promoters of the sale that, even though they 
 divided the skin into minute portions, they disposed easily of 
 it at good prices. No longer than four years ago—in 1892— 
 a dealer in curios at Ilkley was showing in his shop-window 
 a morsel of rough leather, which was described as the tongue 
 of Mary Bateman—price 7s. 6d. It may still be there, and 
 it is not likely that the value has gone up in the interval ; 
 but it is certain that the member, the easy use of which was 
 the prime cause of Mary’s evil-doing and disastrous end, 
 commanded at the time of its excision a much higher figure. 
 
 The narrative of Bateman’s career as a “ witch ” hardly 
 touches on her domestic life. She was said to be a good 
 housewife and a good mother ; but there is every reason to 
 believe that her husband, although he was the object of much 
 misspent pity, connived at her fraudulent proceedings. He 
 could not have persuaded himself that the many objects of 
 household luxury provided by his wife were produced by the 
 sixteen shillings a week he earned as a wheelwright. Mary 
 was undoubtedly the stronger character, and honest John 
 found it more prudent to keep his own counsel. His wife, 
 while she was not found out, was a person of some import¬ 
 ance, and perhaps reflected glory on him. She is not to be 
 imagined as a rough, untidy termagant who cowed her 
 victims. She was soft-mannered and gentle of speech ; her 
 appearance was neat and sanctimonious, nor was she ever at 
 a loss for a pious word wherewith to console the afflicted 
 persons whom she cozened. It has been mentioned that 
 there were those who believed in her in spite of all, who 
 believed that she could do no wrong and was an injured 
 woman ; they were not few in number, and it was by the 
 exhibition of piety that the hypocrite had won over their 
 simple Yorkshire faith. It is related that, some twenty 
 
286 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 years after her well-deserved death, an inquirer interested in 
 her history was seeking information on the subject in the 
 neighbourhood of Leeds. He had the fortune to meet with 
 an old woman who had known Bateman well, and the lapse 
 of years had not dimmed her faith. “ Ah, sir,’' she said; 
 “ she will come agen : she mun come agen, sir, afore all will 
 be right. 
 
 Arthur Vincent. 
 
MARY ANNE CLARKE. 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 

MARY ANNE CLARKE. 
 
 (1776-1852.) 
 
 Non missura cutem nisi plena cruoris hirudo.”— Horace. 
 
 I N presenting in writing the character of such a personage 
 as Mary Anne Clarke it is especially necessary to let her 
 figure reveal itself in due relation to its legendary surround¬ 
 ings—to those social and political episodes which are naturally 
 suggested by her name, and which have made her notorious. 
 No one ever treats of Titus Oates or Brinvilliers apart from 
 Popish plots and poison cups. Mary Anne Clarke was im¬ 
 primis a courtesan—perhaps not of the worst type—but 
 assuredly her life and adventures, qua courtesan, would not 
 be worth writing, even though the work should be on the 
 lines of rehabilitation, and should attempt to exhibit her as 
 a woman thrust over the borders of respectability by the 
 flagitious character and conduct of her husband, and by the 
 wrongs she suffered at his hands ; and as a mother studious 
 only of the welfare of her children on those occasions when 
 she picked up gold and silver with both hands without in¬ 
 quiring too narrowly as to the rights and wrongs of the 
 business. Mary Anne Clarke, as the errant wife of the 
 shadowy son of the rich bricklayer of Angel Court, Snow 
 Hill, and as the quasi reputable old lady of the “’thirties,” 
 sitting in her comfortable Parisian apartment and chattering 
 scandal to English travellers with a taste for the same, is 
 merely ?iominis umbra. History and the world recognize her 
 only with respect to her meteoric career in Gloucester Place, 
 the military scandals, and her relations with the royal person¬ 
 age who discharged the duties of commander-in-chief of the 
 British army, Duke of York, and Prince-bishop of Osnaburgh. 
 
290 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 To give even a cursory sketch of her early life necessitates 
 a liberal use of the chronique scandaleuse of the time, a litera¬ 
 ture at least writ in a manner ridiculous enough to be 
 amusing. There she may be found described by her friends 
 and by her foes as well, and there is, in addition, the diverting 
 picture of herself to be gathered from her evidence given at the 
 bar of the House of Commons, and from her brochure, “ The 
 Rival Princes.” But everywhere here the ground is unstable 
 underfoot, and traces of the scandalmonger and of the un¬ 
 reasoning partisan are met at every turn. The judgment 
 shrinks from the task of reconciling these hopelessly diver¬ 
 gent views and striking a balance until it is allowed to deal 
 with the record of the famous motion which Colonel Gwyllym 
 Lloyd Wardle brought forward in the House of Commons 
 on the 27th of January, 1809, as to the conduct of the Duke 
 of York. 
 
 London and Oxford both advance claims to the honour of 
 ranking as the birthplace of Mrs. Clarke. One version says 
 that her parents—Thompson by name—were living in Oxford 
 at the date of her birth in 1776 ; that her father died shortly 
 after; and that her mother, having migrated to London, married 
 one Farquhar, a compositor. The other account makes no 
 mention of Oxford, and describes her as the daughter of a 
 Mrs. Thompson who lived in Bowling Pin Alley, near White’s 
 Alley, Chancery Lane. It is, at any rate, almost certain that 
 Mrs. Thompson became Farquhar’s wife. The story goes on 
 to tell that she obtained, through his influence, work as a 
 proof-reader in his employer’s service, and that in the course 
 of time a young man named Day, the son of the overseer of 
 the printing office, fell in love with her daughter Mary Anne, 
 and even went so far as to send the damsel to be educated at 
 a good school at Ham, in Essex, with the view of making her 
 his wife. Whether or not this episode be true, it is certain 
 that she was well taught, either at Ham or elsewhere, for all 
 through the period when she monopolized the public attention 
 she created the impression of being a well-educated and in¬ 
 telligent woman. Be this as it may, it is clear that the experi¬ 
 ment of Mr. Day in moulding a wife, like that of his more 
 famous namesake, came to an untoward end. A quarrel arose 
 
MARY ANNE CLARKE. 
 
 291 
 
 between him and his young charge, and after this rupture 
 history knows his name no more. 
 
 Almost before Mary Anne had emerged from girlhood 
 scandal began to be busy with her name. There is a story 
 of an early intrigue with a pawnbroker in Golden Lane, who 
 so far forgot his professional caution under the spell of her 
 beauty that he advanced upon the property she desired to 
 pledge far more than it was worth. Before she was sixteen 
 she met and fascinated a prentice lad who was serving his 
 time with Mr. Burnell, a mason living in Black Raven Pas¬ 
 sage, Cursitor Street. The name of this youth was Clarke, 
 and his father was a well-to-do builder of Angel Court, Snow 
 Hill. (Later on she affirmed that he was the nephew of Mr. 
 Clarke, an alderman in the City of London.) In her sixteenth 
 year she married Clarke at St. Pancras Church, and the youth¬ 
 ful pair began housekeeping first in Charles Square, Hoxton, 
 and then in Golden Lane, St. Luke’s, Clarke’s father having 
 started his son in business as a mason. 
 
 From all accounts Clarke seems to have been a drunken, 
 dissolute fellow. The young wife had to suffer in consequence 
 of the debauched life he led, and soon pecuniary troubles came 
 in aggravated form. Clarke was made a bankrupt, at the suit of 
 Alderman Staines, in 1797, and they left St. Luke’s and went 
 to live at Craven Place, Kensington. Mary Anne is said to 
 have renewed her business relations with the Golden Lane 
 pawnbroker ; but, whether this be true or not, it is certain 
 that she was by this time weary of domestic life with such a 
 husband as Clarke, for she shortly afterwards ran away from 
 him. There is little record as to what became of him, be¬ 
 yond that which tells how he was wont to spend the guinea a 
 week allowed him by his father in tippling at public-houses. 
 It is said that Mary Anne, after her flight, tried to find a 
 home with some quiet family in the country where she might 
 be able to give her children healthy nurture, but she could 
 not, apparently, find any quiet family to her taste. Keeping 
 in view her subsequent career it may now, perhaps, be assumed 
 that she would not put much heart into a quest of this sort, 
 and that, even had the quiet family been discovered, it would 
 not have held her long within its tranquil bounds. As it was, 
 
292 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 fate had other things in store for her, for while she was 
 engaged in her search she chanced to meet a certain gentle¬ 
 man who was both a “ barrister and a baronet.” This person¬ 
 age offered her a shelter, albeit the same was associated with 
 the taint of “ guilty splendour.” The quiet family project was 
 forthwith abandoned, and she lived with her new friend for 
 some months in a Wiltshire town ; but, in spite of the material 
 comfort with which her new protector surrounded her, she did 
 not find her new life altogether to her taste. Wiltshire towns 
 are nothing if not respectable—and perhaps a little dull—and 
 respectability and its concomitant repose, although she had 
 been yearning so ardently for the same a few months ago, 
 began to weary her. Furthermore, according to the elegant 
 language of the “ Authentic Memoirs,” “ it is probable that the 
 uncouth jargon of the law took place of the soft whispers of 
 love, and her paramour was oftener poring over parchment 
 than feasting on the damask cheek of his fair protegee.” The 
 “ barrister and baronet ” seems to have been guilty of a graver 
 lache than that just named. In the early days of his love 
 he had whispered tenderly of settlements, but these necessary 
 and desirable documents he now declined to execute, where¬ 
 upon his “ fair protegee ” took her departure somewhat 
 abruptly, and left him to amuse himself over his parchments 
 as best he could. 
 
 Two more baronets, Sir Charles Milner and Sir James 
 Brudenell, were her next victims. The first was merely a 
 passing fancy, and her relations with the second were very 
 brief, as the gallant took alarm, and not unreasonably, when 
 she presented to him a bill for lace to the amount of two 
 hundred pounds. 
 
 The next liaison proved scarcely a more fortunate one for 
 her. One evening at Vauxhall she met a gallant youth. Both 
 were elegantly dressed, and a reciprocal admiration took 
 possession of them. They ratified their union in the custom¬ 
 ary way ; but, alas, in the morning, one at least of the lovers 
 was disillusioned. Each had taken the other for a person of 
 wealth and consequence, and now it transpired that they were 
 both serving under the banner of adventure. They did not 
 part in anger on account of this discovery; perhaps they were 
 
MARY ANNE CLARKE. 
 
 293 
 
 taken with a genuine fondness for each other ; perhaps they 
 perceived that by serving together, each supplementing the 
 other’s deficiencies when necessary, they might find the world 
 an easier prey. At any rate, they lived together several 
 weeks in a cottage somewhere in Bayswater, but the event 
 showed that the life they had chosen, however delectable, was 
 not one which their existing resources could support. This 
 gentleman, to speak plainly, was a card and billiard sharper, 
 and seems to have fallen in with a run of bad luck just at this 
 time, while the lady’s earnings amounted probably to no more 
 than she needed for her own use. On this account they 
 parted, the alliance of the gambler and the prostitute having 
 proved—as, happily for good manners, is no uncommon event 
 —a disastrous one. 
 
 It must have been soon after this parting that Mary Anne 
 met with a lover more to her taste in the person of Mr. Dowler, 
 one of those young gentlemen who seem to be created and 
 educated expressly to minister to the needs of ladies like 
 herself. His father was rich—a Common Councilman and 
 a wine merchant—and he himself one of the most dashing 
 bloods on the Stock Exchange. Either his business must 
 have been a successful one, or the Common Councilman must 
 have been a liberal parent, for our Mr. Dowler was furnished 
 with cash in sufficient abundance to secure Mrs. Clarke’s 
 goodwill for a considerable time, and indeed to appear as 
 the Dens ex macliina at various crises of her life. It was at 
 Brighton that she first flashed upon the world in all the 
 splendour that she conceived was due to her wit and beauty, 
 liberally tricked out by the silly spendthrift, who thought 
 himself honoured in being allowed to satisfy her harpy 
 appetite for luxury and gewgaws ; but even at this early 
 stage of their liaison the inherent falsity of the harlot showed 
 itself in her ; for she invited her late paramour to join her at 
 Brighton, in order that he might secretly share the golden 
 harvest of Mr. Dowler’s guineas. By this time her beauty 
 and extravagance had won her notoriety of a certain sort 
 amongst the “dashing Cyprians” of the Brighton of the 
 Regency. She took her dip in the sea, too, or, as the 
 chronicle expresses it, “ she distinguished herself as an 
 
294 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 excellent swimmer, and occasionally used to float upon the 
 liquid element, to the astonishment and admiration of the 
 spectators.” 
 
 After treating Mrs. Clarke to a spell of life exactly to her 
 taste, and allowing her to spend what she would, Mr. Dowler 
 began to find his resources unequal to the strain. There is 
 no proof that his inamorata ever regarded him with any 
 warmer feeling than she would have had for any man who 
 would give her all the gold in his purse ; but he, judging 
 from his later action, certainly showed towards her a devotion 
 which would have been better bestowed upon a better woman. 
 His inability to satisfy her extravagance and profligate 
 humours was the signal for her to say farewell. Perhaps she 
 had an eye upon the money-bags of the Common Councilman, 
 and reflected that fathers cannot live for ever, when she 
 elected to let the separation be a friendly one. 
 
 There is a tradition, maintained by one set of annalists and 
 stoutly denied by the other, that Mrs. Clarke, soon after she 
 left her husband, appeared on the Haymarket stage in the 
 character of Portia, and that by this advertisement of her 
 charms she succeeded in captivating Lord Barrymore and a 
 certain army agent described as “ Mr. O.” On her return to 
 London from Brighton she sought out the last-named gentle¬ 
 man, who was still sufficiently infatuated with her to establish 
 her at his charges in a handsome house in Tavistock Place, 
 and she began to realize the delights of life in London with a 
 pocket full of money. 
 
 In this present instance it may be set down to her credit 
 that she did not monopolize the entire stream of “ Mr. O.’s ” 
 bounty, for she took her mother and sister to live with her. 
 The army agent seems to have been of a somewhat com¬ 
 plaisant disposition, for Lord Barrymore frequently visited 
 her at Tavistock Place without any concealment, and it was 
 under this same roof that the meeting took place—pregnant 
 with such momentous issues—between herself and the Duke 
 of York. 
 
 She was now about twenty-eight years of age. All con¬ 
 temporary accounts given of her agree in ascribing to her 
 wit and talent far above the average, and Captain Gronow, 
 
MARY ANNE CLARKE. 
 
 295 
 
 in writing of her later life in Paris, speaks of her as a lady of 
 charming manner and a brilliant talker. Her great failing 
 was a want of care in the government of her tongue, which 
 spared friend no more than foe. Still her sharp sallies seem 
 to have won for her a certain popularity, for in those days of 
 retirement certain members of the English aristocracy—Lord 
 Londonderry amongst them—used to frequent her salon 
 during their visits to Paris. Gronow no doubt went with the 
 rest, and in any case his remarks about her latter life may 
 be held as more trustworthy than his account of her marriage 
 and of her first meeting with the Duke of York. In referring 
 to this he says, without an atom of proof or even probability, 
 that her husband was a captain in a marching regiment; and, 
 sweeping away all other versions of her story, affirms that at 
 the age of sixteen she made the acquaintance of the Duke 
 while taking her daily walk on Blackheath, an acquaintance 
 which soon ripened into something more than friendship. 
 After a short time had passed the young lady accompanied 
 her lover to the theatre one evening, where they occupied a 
 private box. She was somewhat surprised at the honour and 
 ceremony done to her, and at seeing all the glasses in the 
 house levelled at her, but this she set down as homage paid 
 to her beauty. It was not until a subsequent visit, when she 
 was addressed as her Royal Highness, that she realized what 
 honour had been done her, and that the attendants had 
 mistaken her for the Duchess of York. 
 
 This account leaves little room for the luckless husband— 
 who, indeed, as far as this history is concerned, may be 
 deemed a negligible quantity—or for Mr. Dowler, whose 
 personality and relations with Mrs. Clarke rest on data not to 
 be questioned. Seeing that the Duke of York came upon 
 the scene so soon after her establishment in Tavistock Place, 
 it seems highly probable that he may have first seen her 
 during her recent stay in Brighton. The fashionable life of 
 the time was circumscribed by the Old Steyne and a few 
 adjacent streets, and the radiant beauty and magnificence of 
 Mr. Dowler’s mistress would scarcely escape the roving eye 
 of the commander-in-chief, or of any other habitut of the 
 Pavilion. It is also within the bounds of possibility that 
 
296 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 Mr. O., in the capacity of army agent, may have had deal¬ 
 ings with the Duke, and may have let drop a hint as to the 
 charms of his mistress. For a time he was content to play 
 the part of jackal to the royal lion, keeping judiciously out 
 of the way whenever circumstances demanded his absence. 
 In 1803 Mrs. Clarke was living in Park Lane in a house of 
 her own, and keeping her own horses and carriages. She 
 was certainly on friendly terms with the Duke, but she denied 
 afterwards that she was under his protection till the following 
 year, when she became without disguise his mistress, and 
 mistress likewise of a fine house in Gloucester Place, Port- 
 man Square. At this point the record of her doings recalls 
 almost more than any other portion of our national annals 
 the waste and profligacy of the Romans of the decadence. 
 She was served by twenty servants, two of them butlers, 
 and three men cooks. The last named were paid a guinea 
 a day wages, and that their place was not a sinecure is 
 evidenced by the story that sometimes when the dinner was 
 not to Mrs. Clarke’s taste, she would order it to be taken 
 away and a fresh one prepared. More than a thousand a 
 year went in wages and liveries, and the furniture was all of 
 the most sumptuous that could be procured. Her service of 
 plate was formerly the property of the Due de Berri, the pier- 
 glasses in her reception room cost five hundred pounds, and 
 she drank out of wineglasses bought at two guineas a- 
 piece. She had two coaches and ten horses in her stables, 
 and in addition to her town house a villa at Weybridge 
 was provided for her use. There are no details as to the 
 scale of this establishment, save a remark that the permanent 
 staff of servants consisted of a groom, a gardener, and two 
 maids ; and that the oilcloth for the flooring of the hall alone 
 cost fifty pounds, a fact which shows that the place was 
 furnished in no niggard fashion. 
 
 While Mrs. Clarke was living in Tavistock Place her sister 
 married a Mr. Favory, but the match proved a miserable 
 one, and now she made her sister, who had left her husband, 
 a sharer in her good fortune. Miss Taylor also, whose 
 acquaintance she had made when she was living at Bays- 
 water, was for some time her companion. Miss Taylor’s 
 
MARY ANNE CLARKE. 
 
 297 
 
 footing in the house must have been that of a favoured and 
 confidential friend, for Mrs. Clarke subsequently stated that 
 the Duke of York was very fond of Miss Taylor, and did not 
 care what he said in her presence. Another inmate of the 
 house was Samuel Carter, a favourite footman, the illegitimate 
 son of Captain Sandon, who had first made Mrs. Clarke known 
 to her faithful friend, Mr. Dowler. 
 
 The early days of her splendour were not untroubled by 
 the sordid premonitions of more serious money troubles to 
 come. She had not left behind her all her cares in Tavistock 
 Place. Mr. John Few, of Bernard Street, had supplied her 
 with certain articles of furniture, believing her to be a widow. 
 Payment for such common things as tradesmen’s goods was 
 a thing of which Mrs. Clarke took slight heed, so that Mr. 
 Few found it necessary to sue her for the debt, and had 
 the satisfaction of losing the price of his goods, and, in 
 addition, of having an execution put in his house for legal 
 charges, Mrs. Clarke having pleaded coverture and proved 
 herself a married woman. 
 
 There seems to have been a fiction that the Duke should 
 advance his chere amie one thousand pounds a month for 
 current expenses ; it is needless to say that he very soon fell 
 into arrears, and, indeed, after the first quarter’s housekeeping 
 the house was rarely free of tradespeople clamouring for their 
 money. But, even supposing that he had been promptitude 
 itself, Mrs. Clarke would still have found herself speedily in 
 money difficulties ; for she told the Duke, before long time 
 had passed, that what he gave her barely sufficed to pay for 
 servants’ wages and liveries. It is not surprising that a lady 
 with tastes so extravagant as these should go in search of 
 some supplementary fountain of bounty as soon as the pinch 
 came, and tradesmen began to clamour for their money. 
 Although Mr. Dowler no longer occupied a prominent place 
 about her court in the eye of the world, it is clear, from what 
 subsequently came to light, that he was always within call, 
 and presumably now and then a sharer in the royal pro- 
 vender. Before the establishment in Gloucester Place had 
 been started very long there arose difficulties about the 
 supply of even the first necessaries of life, whereupon the 
 
298 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 open-handed Mr. Dowler came forward with seasonable loans, 
 and the tables were abundantly furnished for a time. Once 
 the sheriffs of Middlesex were unmannerly enough to lay 
 hands on one of the lady’s carriages, but Dowler was again 
 to the fore, and begged her to accept the trifling gift of a 
 vis-a-vis to replace the vehicles which had been seized. It 
 transpired afterwards that Mr. Dowler, albeit he was a devout 
 lover, was gifted with all the appreciation of a good thing 
 which even to this day characterizes the members of the 
 Stock Exchange. Gold, no doubt, was to be picked up in 
 Change Alley, but the army commissariat seemed to him to 
 offer a safer and more promising field of operations; so 
 one day, after making her a trifling present of a thousand 
 pounds, he suggested to Mrs. Clarke that there was now 
 vacant just the post he fancied, and that a word spoken by 
 her to her influential friend would certainly procure it for 
 him. It is scarcely necessary to add that the word was duly 
 spoken. In this case, however, the Duke seems to have 
 inquired why Mrs. Clarke wanted the post for this particular 
 gentleman, whereupon she told him quite frankly that it was 
 because Mr. Dowler would pay her more liberally for it than 
 anybody else. The Duke was satisfied and convinced by 
 this reasoning, and a few days afterwards told her that he 
 had spoken to Mr. Long, a Treasury official, about Mr. 
 Dowler, and that the thing was practically arranged. It is 
 certain that Dowler entered the commissariat in 1804, but 
 it is well to add that Mr. Long afterwards denied that the 
 Duke had ever said a word to him about the appointment. 
 It is probable that the ease with which this transaction was 
 brought about convinced Mrs. Clarke that life would run 
 more easily were she to ask the Duke for his good word 
 —of which he seems to have been very generous—rather 
 than for his money, for which, poor man, he had so many 
 other uses. Thus, after the first stroke was played, the 
 game went on apace. In an age when the vast majority of 
 the members of the legislature entered Parliament by gross 
 bribery, purposing to recoup their expenditure, and perhaps a 
 little in addition thereto, by selling their voices to this or that 
 party leader, it is not surprising that certain of those who 
 
MARY ANNE CLARKE. 
 
 299 
 
 wanted commissions in the army, either for themselves or 
 their clients, should have recourse to Mrs. Clarke as soon 
 as the report got abroad that the wares they were anxious 
 to buy were retailed by her at a less expensive rate and 
 more expeditiously delivered than by the constituted 
 authorities. Mrs. Clarke’s prices were ultimately settled as 
 given below. 
 
 Mrs. Clarke’s prices. Regulation prices. 
 
 A Majority 
 
 O 
 
 O 
 
 £ 2,600 
 
 A Captaincy ... 
 
 700 
 
 1,500 
 
 A Lieutenancy 
 
 400 
 
 550 
 
 An Ensigncy ... 
 
 200 
 
 ... 400 
 
 The Duke of York seems to have conducted much of his 
 official correspondence in Gloucester Place, and to have 
 employed Mrs. Clarke as amanuensis. During the Parlia¬ 
 mentary inquiry in 1809 there was called as a witness a Mr. 
 Town, who formerly gave Mrs. Clarke lessons in painting on 
 velvet. In the course of his evidence he deposed that she 
 had on one occasion given him an example of her skill in 
 imitating handwriting, and had shown him the signature of 
 the Duke of York and her own imitation of the same done 
 with such skill that he could not tell one from the other. 
 
 It was not long before the control of her favours fell princi¬ 
 pally into the hands of two men, a Mr. Donovan, and Captain 
 Huxley Sandon, of the Royal Waggon Train. After going 
 to live in Gloucester Place she engaged the services of a man 
 named Corri to teach her singing, and Corri, acting probably 
 under his pupil’s directions, waited one day on Mr. Cockayne, 
 a solicitor, who had amongst his clients Captain Sandon and 
 many other military men, and suggested that Captain Sandon, 
 if he desired advancement, might do worse than seek it in 
 Gloucester Place. It m^y be inferred, from a passage in a 
 letter written by Mrs. Clarke to the captain, that she had 
 become acquainted with him—perhaps professionally—before 
 she had made her dt'but at Brighton. After her return to 
 London, and while she was yet living in Bloomsbury, she 
 wrote to him asking for the address of Colonel French, a 
 friend of his. Her own words are : “ I did not want anything 
 
300 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 of French, but to ask him a question.” From what followed 
 it may be assumed that this question was a momentous one. 
 
 Colonel French, it seems, was anxious to conduct the levy 
 of a regiment for service in 1804, and Mrs. Clarke, knowing 
 that large sums of money in the shape of bounties would be 
 flying about, saw it would be a fine stroke of business to put 
 her hand on the door of this treasure-house. At the meeting 
 between her and Colonel French it was agreed that she should 
 get a certain sum, five hundred pounds down, and a guinea 
 out of the bounty of each recruit, and also have the nomina¬ 
 tion of certain of the officers. The bounty was originally 
 fixed at thirteen guineas a man, but as the recruits did not 
 come forward fast enough for her liking, Mrs. Clarke per¬ 
 suaded the Duke to increase it to nineteen. What portion 
 of this increase went into her pocket is not stated. The Duke 
 heard from her own lips what were the terms she had made 
 for herself in this disgraceful business. At her suggestion 
 Colonel French waited on the Duke at the Horse Guards. 
 The matter was settled ; and, as the levy of the peasants who 
 were to win England’s battles went on, the money began to 
 pour merrily into the exhausted coffers in Gloucester Place. 
 In Colonel French’s case the Duke seems to have taken a leaf 
 out of his mistress’s book, and made an essay in corruption on 
 his own account. Colonel French advanced a claim of three 
 thousand pounds against the Government for preliminary 
 expenses incurred with respect to this same levy, and he now 
 offered to advance the Duke five thousand pounds by way of a 
 loan if he would use his influence to get these arrears refunded. 
 There is no evidence that the Duke ever touched Colonel 
 French’s money, but the bargain was certainly made, and the 
 Duke did his best to get the country to pay Colonel French’s 
 real or fictitious claim ; but in this he was unsuccessful. The 
 whole business seems to have caused him considerable annoy¬ 
 ance, for one day, when on a visit to his mistress, he said, 
 “ French worries me continually about the levy business, and 
 is always wanting something more in his own favour. How 
 does he behave to you, darling? ” On learning from Mrs. 
 Clarke that Colonel French’s conduct was nothing to boast of, 
 he rejoined, “ Master French must mind what he is about, or 
 
MARY ANNE CLARKE. 
 
 301 
 
 I shall cut off him and his levy too.” The faithful Dowler, 
 whose duties as commissary had not yet taken him abroad, 
 was all this time a constant visitor at Gloucester Place, 
 and he warned his whilom flame that she was treading 
 on dangerous ground by meddling with such affairs as the 
 levy. The flagrant venality and baseness of the whole 
 business seem to have affronted the feelings even of a cur 
 like this. Donovan and Huxley Sandon used to bring to 
 Mrs. Clarke long lists of officers on the look-out for promo¬ 
 tion, and willing to pay for the same, and these Venus 
 would pin up on the head of the bed so that Mars might not 
 fail to see them when the time came for attending to the 
 serious affairs of life. This was more than Mr. Dowler could 
 stand. His rebukes provoked an angry reply from the lady, 
 who declared that the Duke was so short of money that it 
 was only by dealings such as these that the establishment 
 could be kept going. The upshot of this remonstrance was 
 a temporary estrangement between the worthy pair. 
 
 It would be idle and unnecessary to recapitulate one tenth 
 part of the details relating to this sordid and nefarious traffic 
 in places of honour and responsibility, but a few of the more 
 noteworthy instances may be cited. Captain Tonyn was an 
 officer of promise and the son of a general, but for some 
 reason or other his promotion was not so rapid as he wished. 
 Chance or design brought him into the hands of Captain 
 Sandon, and in consideration of a douceur of five hundred 
 pounds paid to Mrs. Clarke he got his majority. If Captain 
 Tonyn had bought his step at regulation price eleven hundred 
 pounds would have gone to the half-pay fund for securing the 
 promotion of deserving officers to vacant commissions, a fund 
 under the immediate control of the Duke of York ; but Mrs. 
 Clarke robbed the fund of this amount for the sake of putting 
 five hundred pounds in her pocket. To what extent the half¬ 
 pay fund suffered on account of similar depredations of this 
 rapacious and profligate woman the world will never know. 
 Another case was that of the appointment of Major Shaw to 
 the post of deputy barrack-master at Cape Town. The Duke 
 of York disliked this man, but as soon as his mistress gave 
 him her views of Major Shaw’s merits he put aside his resent- 
 
3°2 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 ment and gave him the post. Now this favour cost Major 
 Shaw a thousand pounds, of which five hundred was paid 
 before the appointment, but, once a barrack-master, Major 
 Shaw seemed disinclined to pay the balance. Mrs. Clarke 
 applied for it again and again without effect. At last, inflamed 
 by malice and anger, and perhaps sore at being outwitted, she 
 laid her grievance before the commander-in-chief, who, by 
 way of bringing Major Shaw to a sense of his duty, at once 
 placed the culprit on half-pay. By this transaction Mrs. 
 Clarke let it be seen that, besides guarding the gates of pro¬ 
 motion, she held in her hand a scourge which would fall pretty 
 smartly on the shoulders of any officer who, after admission, 
 did not show himself amenable to reason. 
 
 There is on record one case of promotion in the army at 
 Mrs. Clarke’s instance for which no money payment seems to 
 have been made. Mention has already been made of a male 
 servant in her employ, Samuel Carter by name. This youth 
 seems to have been fired by martial ardour, and also to have 
 convinced his mistress of his valour and deserts. In any case 
 a commission was given to him. What Samuel Carter pos¬ 
 sessed to offer in exchange for so great a boon history does 
 not tell. It may be assumed that his benefactress found it of 
 sufficient value, for at the age of nineteen he was gazetted 
 ensign, and in a very short time was given an appointment on 
 the staff. 
 
 As time went on the needs of the household in Gloucester 
 Place grew at such a rapid rate that army promotion as a field 
 for robbery and corruption became too narrow for Mrs. 
 Clarke’s operations. By some means or other the word was 
 passed that those who were anxious to -rise in the Church 
 militant might do worse than enlist the support of Mrs. Clarke. 
 The first to try to climb into the fold up this dirty ladder was 
 a certain Doctor O’Meara, who was desirous of a mitre and a 
 seat in the House of Lords. One night, at the end of 1805, 
 the Doctor having watched the Duke out of the house, called 
 in Gloucester Place and laid his petition before the throne of 
 virtue. Doctor O’Meara proposed to open the campaign by 
 preaching before the King, who was at this time at Weymouth, 
 and as the Duke was going there the next day he begged her to 
 
MARY ANNE CLARKE. 
 
 3°3 
 
 write for him a letter of introduction. The boon was granted 
 (the amount of consideration given therefor is not on record), 
 and the Duke did his best for the Doctor, who, according to the 
 bond, preached before King George. Although the Sovereign 
 was very attentive and stood for nearly the whole of the 
 sermon, although the Queen and the princesses and the whole 
 audience were melted into tears, Doctor O’Meara’s attempt was 
 a failure, no promotion came to him ; the reason of this mis¬ 
 carriage being, perhaps, to be discerned in a remark of the King’s 
 that he did not like the “ O ” before his name. But as the 
 sequel will show this was not the first and last essay made by 
 Mrs. Clarke in the matter of ecclesiastical patronage. 
 
 For some years past the Duke of York had employed a Mr. 
 Adam to manage his affairs as agent. Some time in 1805 it 
 came to Mr. Adam’s knowledge that Clarke was threatening 
 an action for Crim. Con. against the Duke. The “ Authentic 
 Memoirs” note a rumour which points in the same direction ; 
 “ It is reported, however, but with what truth we know not, 
 that he (Mr. Clarke) once visited Gloucester Place when Mrs. 
 Clarke was in the zenith of her splendour, and on being refused 
 admission began to demolish the windows and commit other 
 acts of violence to the no small alarm of the illustrious visitor, 
 who, then melting in Love’s ecstasies, was cradled in those arms 
 which in other days had so often encircled the unfortunate 
 wanderer.” 
 
 Mr. Adam proceeded to make further investigations, the 
 result of which proved, as he afterwards said, that Mrs. 
 Clarke’s conduct had a tendency to prejudice his Royal High¬ 
 ness’s interests, not in a military or public point of view, but 
 his interest and his name with regard to money transactions. 
 This speech is somewhat oracular, and the subsequent pro¬ 
 ceedings do not tend to elucidate it. That the Duke could 
 have been ignorant of the dozens of corrupt bargains she had 
 made is incredible to those who can refer to the minutes of 
 evidence in Wardle’s inquiry, and the fresh delinquencies 
 which came to light in the course of Mr Adam’s investigation 
 are not such as would have surprised him or have outraged 
 his sense of propriety. There was, indeed, the story of Mr. 
 Few’s action against her, a gross case of swindling on her 
 
3°4 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 part, but not worse than the many felonious raids made by 
 her upon the half-pay fund. Mr. Adam discovered that 
 she had been married at St. Pancras while she was under age 
 —surely a venial offence—and that she had told falsehoods 
 in saying her mother’s name was Mackenzie and her father’s 
 Farquhar, and that her family came from the neighbourhood 
 of Berkhampstead, and that her husband was a nephew of 
 Mr. Alderman Clarke. What wonder in all this ? Women 
 like Mrs. Clarke lie as naturally as sparks fly upward. The 
 natural inference is that Mr. Adam was set to work to find a 
 pretext for a separation, a valid one if possible, but in any 
 case a pretext. 
 
 In the conduct of this business the Duke kept himself well 
 in the background, a fact which suggests that Mrs. Clarke’s 
 temper was hasty and that he knew it. Several months 
 elapsed before he was able to make up his mind, but at last 
 he authorized Adam to make a personal communication to 
 her that he had determined to break with her. At the same 
 time the Duke offered to give her an annuity of four hundred 
 a year, which would be paid to her as long as she bore herself 
 in such a manner as he approved. He refused to enter into 
 any bond or obligation, the payment of the annuity resting 
 entirely upon his word, in order that he might withdraw the 
 same in case her behaviour should seem to warrant such 
 a step. 
 
 Mrs. Clarke rejected Mr. Adam’s first proposition without 
 hesitation, but, according to a statement made by Colonel 
 M’Mahon during the inquiry, she soon afterwards agreed to 
 accept it and withdrew into Devonshire. But the Duke as 
 usual soon fell into arrears, so she wrote demanding five 
 hundred pounds (the sum then owing) and that a deed should 
 be executed making her income for the future a permanent 
 one. She also accused the Duke of want of humanity, honour, 
 and good feeling. There was some delay in answering 
 this, whereupon she wrote again saying that she had 
 collected all the Duke’s letters to her and made divers 
 memoranda of her own, all of which she proposed to publish 
 unless her terms should be granted. She wrote anony¬ 
 mously to the Prince of Wales (which led to her interview 
 
MARY ANNE CLARKE. 
 
 3°5 
 
 with Colonel M’Mahon), and that illustrious personage is 
 understood to have said that he thought his brother’s conduct 
 very shabby. 
 
 In Colonel M’Mahon’s account of his interview with Mrs. 
 Clarke he was clearly under the impression that she was 
 using all her craft to make mischief between the Prince of 
 Wales and the Duke of York ; but her own contention was 
 that her only reason for writing in a threatening strain was to 
 secure the punctual payment of the pittance doled out to her. 
 Soon after she left Gloucester Place she went to lodge with 
 a baker at Hampstead, Nicholl by name, and here she at 
 once resumed relations with Mr. Dowler, who was just come 
 back from Buenos Ayres. She had represented herself as a 
 widow when she engaged the rooms, but Mr. Nicholl does 
 not seem to have been shocked when a new husband turned 
 up. The news of the rupture between her and the Duke was 
 eagerly discussed by the busybodies of the town, and certain 
 people, when they heard of it and recalled the whispers 
 which had been going about concerning the traffic in 
 promotion carried on in Gloucester Place, bethought them 
 of the proverb, “ When rogues fall out honest men may come 
 by their own.” In spite of the fact that the Duke of York 
 had improved the discipline and efficiency of the army, there 
 had grown up a feeling that military affairs were in a very 
 bad way. Colonel Wardle and Sir Francis Burdett began 
 to cast about in search of some instrument which might do 
 effective service in the attack they had determined to make 
 upon the commander-in-chief. It is not wonderful that they 
 should have turned at once to Mrs. Clarke. Where could 
 they hope to find an agent more fitted for their purpose than 
 this woman, smarting under the indignity of rejection (a new 
 sultana, a Mrs. Carey, had already been selected) and reduced 
 from the lavish profusion of Gloucester Place to sordid lodg¬ 
 ings over a baker’s shop. Their first agent in the business 
 was Sir Richard Phillips, the Radical bookseller and disciple 
 of Paine and one of the leading popular politicians of the 
 metropolis. Phillips was evidently sensible of the importance 
 of the service Mrs. Clarke might render, so he sent a certain 
 M’Callum to open negotiations, but the lady was also aware 
 
 21 
 
3 o6 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 of the value of the goods she had to sell, and was at first 
 very chary in granting an interview to any one. At last she 
 consented to meet M’Callum, and shortly afterwards YVardle 
 himself, who, after adverting to the great wrongs she herself 
 had suffered at the Duke’s hands, went on to denounce the 
 corruption rampant in the army generally, and drew particular 
 attention to the robbery which went on in the supply of 
 clothing. Although Colonel Wardle let it be seen that 
 patriotism and zeal for the public weal were the main texts 
 of his discourse, he—like an astute tactitian—did not fail to 
 impress upon Mrs. Clarke the fact that direct advantages of 
 a substantial sort, and indirect ones in the shape of the favour 
 of the Duke of Kent, who was at this time at feud with the 
 commander-in-chief, would befall her as the reward of her 
 co-operation. Arguments of this sort were not likely to be 
 spoken in vain to the ears of such a woman ; still she dallied 
 with the proposal at first, and refused to say anything 
 about the affairs of the Duke of York without first consult¬ 
 ing her friends, though she went so far as to speak with great 
 bitterness of the treatment she had received from him. 
 Wardle impressed upon her that part of his scheme was the 
 ruin of the Duke and the elevation of the Duke of Kent in 
 his place. M’Callum, indeed, was at that time engaged upon 
 a pamphlet which championed the rights of the latter prince. 
 A provisional bargain was at last made. Colonel Wardle and 
 a Mr. Glennie induced Mrs. Clarke to make an excursion with 
 them into Kent, where they would meet Major Dodds, the 
 Duke of Kent’s secretary, who was going to inspect the 
 Martello towers and the military canal. The party dined 
 afterwards at Hythe, and over the wine the terms which 
 were to secure her assistance in the forthcoming attack were 
 settled. She was to have all her debts paid, five thousand 
 pounds down, an annuity of four hundred a year, and a 
 furnished house. In her own version of the story she says 
 that they went so far as to promise her an allowance liberal 
 enough to let her keep a coach and four. The Duke of 
 Kent was to be security for the fulfilment of these conditions, 
 but there is no evidence that he was ever connected with the 
 business. Indeed, as far as the Duke of Kent was concerned, 
 
MARY ANNE CLARKE. 
 
 3°7 
 
 they might as well have promised thousands or even millions, 
 for it is certain that he, insolvent as he was, could never have 
 paid a farthing. After this expedition Major Dodds frequently 
 visited Mrs. Clarke, and let it be seen plainly that the chief 
 aim of the movers in the affair was the ruin of the Duke of 
 York, and what followed proves that Mrs. Clarke was at this 
 juncture quite ready to back them up. There is no doubt 
 that at the end of 1808 she was on friendly and familiar 
 terms with Colonel Wardle, in spite of the abuse she heaped 
 upon him later on, after the dispute which arose about the 
 purchase of the furniture. A house in Westbourne Place 
 was taken, and, as an earnest of the wages which were to be 
 paid to her, Colonel Wardle went with her to the shop of a 
 furniture dealer named Wright in Rathbone Place and let her 
 select goods to the amount of five hundred pounds. He like¬ 
 wise gave her fifty pounds shortly before the motion was 
 made in the Commons as to the conduct of the Duke of 
 York. 
 
 Before dealing with the part she played in the proceedings 
 before the Commons, there is an episode of the year 1808 
 which deserves notice. In October her friend Donovan 
 wrote to her asking her to use all her influence to secure 
 the vacant deanery of Salisbury for a clergyman called 
 Glasse, and in the same letter says, “ The money will be 
 deposited on Wednesday next for the Landing waiter’s place.” 
 In another letter he advocates the claims of the Rev. T. 
 Baseley, M.A., to the deanery of Salisbury, a divine “ recom¬ 
 mended by many persons of fashion, Bishops of Norwich 
 and Salisbury, &c., about whom the ladies are so very 
 anxious.” It may seem somewhat strange that Donovan, 
 who certainly knew that she had broken with the Duke of 
 York, should still regard her as one holding the keys of 
 patronage, but his evidence at the inquiry explains his action. 
 Mrs. Clarke, he declared, had told him she had influence 
 enough with the Duke of Portland to secure any church pre¬ 
 ferment she might ask for. In creating this false impression 
 she was planning, no doubt, to lay hands at least on the 
 advance fee to be paid in consideration of her services. 
 What truth there was in her pretension the sequel will show. 
 
3°8 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 This wretched Baseley actually called upon the Duke of 
 Portland, and not finding him at home left a letter offering 
 a bribe of three thousand pounds for the vacant deanery. 
 The Duke, naturally indignant, gave orders that Baseley 
 should be denied admission to his house, and wrote an 
 account of the man’s shameless impudence to the Bishop 
 of London. 
 
 Colonel Wardle, having collected all the materials necessary 
 for the support of his charges against the Duke of York, 
 brought forward his motion in January, 1809. These charges 
 were mostly founded on the transactions between Mrs. Clarke 
 and certain aspirants for promotion, episodes which have 
 already been dealt with. The inquiry lasted for nearly seven 
 weeks, and Mrs. Clarke was constantly called to give evidence. 
 People talked of nothing else. The death of Sir John Moore, 
 the victorious progress of Napoleon, the Berlin decrees, all 
 were thrust into the background. No doubt the nation was 
 in death-grips with the most terrible adversary it had ever 
 been called to meet, but the dandies and fine ladies had no 
 time to think of these things, while the House of Commons 
 was privileged to sit week after week feeding upon the most 
 savoury morsels of scandal and listening to the impertinent 
 banter of the most notorious courtesan of the day. Never 
 had she a better chance for the display of her quick wit than 
 in her answers. She never remembered her debts to gentle¬ 
 men. All she knew about her husband was that he was a 
 man ; well, yes, she believed he was living at Kettering in 
 Northamptonshire. “ Under whose protection are you now?” 
 asked an imprudent member, whereupon, with an air of 
 insulted dignity, she turned to the Chair and said, “ I believe, 
 sir, I am now under your protection.” Now and then she was 
 caught tripping, but never upon any matter of prime import¬ 
 ance. She said she had not seen Colonel Wardle on a certain 
 day, when it was proved that they had been seen together 
 more than once ; again, that she had not passed a particular 
 night with Mr. Dowler, when the contrary was proved. Indeed, 
 she was not likely to err in this respect, seeing that she was 
 bent on showing a picture as black as possible with the view 
 of inculpating the Duke of York, so all she had to do was 
 
MARY ANNE CLARKE. 
 
 309 
 
 to describe things as they had happened. Whether she would 
 or not, she could not conceal her animus against him ; and, 
 as long as the trial lasted, she was made much of by Cobbett 
 and Burdett and the other supporters of Wardle, and held a 
 sort of levee every day at Ellis’s coffee-house. 
 
 The Duke was acquitted of “ personal corruption ” by a 
 majority of eighty-two ; but, taking heed of what had been 
 disclosed in the course of the trial, he had good sense enough 
 to resign his post as head of the army. Another step that he 
 took—and one which shows how greatly his nerves were 
 shaken—was to dismiss the lady who had been selected to 
 fill Mrs. Clarke’s place. The inquiry over, the alliance 
 between Mrs. Clarke and her associates soon came to an 
 end. Neither the five thousand pounds, nor the annuity, nor 
 the payment of her debts was forthcoming. On applying to 
 Wardle she received an answer saying that this promise was 
 given on conditions which she had failed to observe. He 
 even refused to pay for the furnishing of the house in West- 
 bourne Place, but Wright, the upholsterer, sued him for the 
 debt, and recovered it with certain small deductions. The 
 trial is chiefly remarkable for the fact that Mrs. Clarke in 
 giving evidence swore that she had been promised a furnished 
 house as part of the price of her service, while, when she was 
 before the House of Commons, she declared she was actuated 
 neither by malice nor by the hope of remuneration. 
 
 No sooner had she quarrelled with Colonel Wardle than 
 she began to soften towards the Duke of York, and to heap 
 unmeasured abuse upon the politicians with whom she had 
 lately been associated. She declared that Wardle was moved 
 to attempt the Duke of York’s overthrow by the hope that 
 he might be made Secretary of War in the event of the Duke 
 of Kent becoming commander-in-chief, and that Cobbett’s 
 hatred of the Duke arose from the fact that once, when she 
 had arranged a meeting between the two at dinner in Glou¬ 
 cester Place, the Duke declined to meet the Radical politician. 
 Though she had seen Wardle worsted in the law-suit brought 
 against him by Wright, she was not likely to sit down 
 satisfied with such modest laurels as these. She held winning 
 cards in her hands in the form of the Duke of York’s letters 
 
3 io 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 and her own comments thereupon. The publication of these 
 meant money and, what was quite as welcome to her as 
 money, vengeance and notoriety. She suggested first that 
 Sir Richard Phillips should take the business in hand, but he 
 declined the venture, and at the same time advised her with 
 much good sense that if she could get the Duke to pay her 
 debts and confirm her annuity it would be wise to throw her 
 MS. on the fire. She seems to have made an attempt to 
 carry out Sir Richard’s advice, but the negotiation mis¬ 
 carried. Then he introduced her to a Mr. Gillet, and before 
 long eighteen thousand copies of the work were printed. 
 
 But in a business of this sort, when it is well known that 
 some one will be glad to hear a whisper, the whisperer is 
 seldom lacking. Some one whispered to royal ears that there 
 was mischief afoot, and before long Sir Herbert Taylor 
 appeared upon the scene, and before he had finished his 
 task and burnt the eighteen thousand volumes, Mrs. Clarke 
 had had handed over to her ten thousand pounds, and had 
 secured for herself an annuity of four hundred a year and 
 two hundred for each of her two daughters. A promise was 
 likewise given that her son should be provided for. There is 
 a tradition that one copy of the book escaped the furnace, 
 and was last heard of as a deposit in Messrs. Drummond’s 
 bank. There is only one more episode in Mrs. Clarke’s 
 career in England which need be chronicled. In 1814 she 
 wrote to Mr. Vesey Fitzgerald a letter which was held to be 
 of a libellous nature, and she was in consequence sentenced 
 to nine months’ imprisonment. After the peace of 1815 she 
 withdrew at once to Paris, where she lived a quiet and reput¬ 
 able life, devoting her undoubted talents to the education 01 
 her children, who, if rumour is to be trusted, amply repaid 
 her in after years for the care she bestowed upon them. She 
 died at Boulogne, on the 21st of June, 1852. 
 
 An apologist of Mrs. Clarke might assert that she was by 
 nature no worse than thousands of others whose names have 
 never been raised to such bad eminence, and that accident, 
 by placing her in a position which gave her such vast power 
 for ill-doing, is chiefly responsible. A very superficial glance 
 at the characters and careers of historic criminals will show 
 
MARY ANNE CLARKE. 
 
 3ii 
 
 that a like justification would be applicable to the cases of 
 them all. That Mrs. Clarke was profligate, untruthful, and 
 dishonest by disposition no one can deny. Fate enabled her 
 to gratify her desires, and she helped herself with both hands. 
 I f the common every-day promptings of conscience ever warned 
 her she heeded them not; yet she seems to have set no light 
 store upon her intellectual acquirements. There is one very 
 characteristic phrase in her pamphlet, “ The Rival Princes,” 
 which is worth quotation. She has been talking glibly of Sallust, 
 and goes on to say, “It may appear somewhat strange to the 
 reader that I should have quoted an author not generally read 
 by my sex ; but that kind of reading generally resorted to by 
 ladies never engaged my attention. I scarcely know a novel 
 but by name, while historical and political writers have long 
 been the chief authors of my contemplation. This may be 
 accounted for from my having mixed much with persons of the 
 first rank and talents in the political world, from whose con¬ 
 versation I acquired a taste for books not common to a lady’s 
 library, and from whom I derived considerable intellectual 
 advantages.” 
 
 Possibly the demands upon her powers made by intellec¬ 
 tual activity may have hindered her ascent to the higher 
 moral plane upon which we could scarcely expect to find her 
 placed by the circumstances of her birth and early associations. 
 At any rate, she affirms that she saw no harm in her dealings 
 in military promotion. She was besought by so many people 
 and in such pressing wise that she thought she was only 
 doing a kind action by assenting. The Duke, moreover, was 
 always ready to oblige her, so it seemed a waste of the gifts 
 of Providence not to ask. “The Duke said, ‘If you were 
 clever you would never need to ask me for money.’ ” This 
 remark made by her during the inquiry may be considered 
 —at its due value—in estimating the value of the finding of 
 the House of Commons as to the freedom of the Duke of 
 York from “personal corruption.” Again, when she went 
 over from the Duke’s side to Colonel Wardle’s she declared 
 that she was acting solely in the interests of her children. In 
 the case of such a woman the analysis of motive becomes 
 labor ineptiarum. The consideration of her career and public 
 
3 12 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 appearances at least allows the contemporary generation to 
 congratulate itself without pharisaism that we have moved on 
 far enough in good manners since the beginning of the century 
 to forbid the recurrence of scandals like those which were 
 revealed in 1809. 
 
 W. G. Waters. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Abbess of the Holland Leaguers, 
 on the Bankside, Damaris Page, 58 
 Abbot, George, Archbishop of Canter¬ 
 bury, 72, 73 
 ,, of St. Albans, 11 
 Acquisitive nature of Alice Perrers, 5 
 Adam, Mr., 303 
 Adamson, Joseph, 209 
 Addy, Mr., 149, 150 
 Advertizer, The, 221 
 Ager, Sir Anthony, 35 
 Aisenby, birthplace of Mary Bateman, 
 262 
 
 Allen, Mr. Abraham, 82 
 Amis, Mr., rector of Lainston, 229, 
 233 , 234 
 Amis, Mrs., 253 
 Ancaster, Duke of, 227, 247 
 Andromeda Liberata, George Chap¬ 
 man’s, 75 
 
 Anglesea, Charles Villiers, Earl of, 100 
 Aniseed-Water Robin, 58 
 Annual Register, 219 
 Antilles Islands, 232 
 Apology of Teresia Phillips, 182 
 Archives of Canterbury, 44 
 Archbishop’s Court, 245 
 Arden, Alice, 33-46 
 Arden of Feversham, a tragedy, 46 
 Arden, Thomas, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 
 39, 40, 4L 42, 45 
 
 Ardington, manor of, granted to Alice 
 Perrers, 5 
 
 Arlington, Sir Henry Benet, Lord, 26 
 
 Arrest of Mrs. Bateman, 282 
 
 Ash, Miss, 241 
 
 Aston, 226 
 
 Audley End, 64, 74 
 
 Aurum potabile, 81 
 
 Axford, a shopman, married to Hannah 
 Lightfoot, 237 
 
 “ B.,” Mr., 175, 176 
 Babiani, accomplice of the Duchess of 
 Cleveland, 113 
 Babylon, Whore of, 257 
 Bacon, Sir Edmund, 77 
 
 ,, Sir Francis, 76 ; see note, 78 
 Balearic Islands, 232 
 “Bale of bombazeen,” Eliz. Chudleigh 
 described as a, 232 
 Ball given by Eliz. Chudleigh, 236 
 Banbury, Earl of, see Knollys, Wm. 
 Banbury Peerage Case, see note, 93 
 Baptist May, keeper of the Privy 
 Purse, 113 
 Barbadoes, 167 
 
 Barbara’s lovers, Abbreviated list of, 
 121-3 
 
 Barnard, Sir John, 219 
 Barrington, Lord, 247, 253 
 Barrymore, Lord, 294 
 Barton, Mr., grocer, 237 
 Bateman, John, 264 
 Bateman, Mary, 261-286 
 Bath, 244 
 
 Bathurst, Henry, Lord Chancellor, 252 
 Baseley, Rev. T., “M.A.,” 307 
 “ Bawd,” Mrs. Turner, described as a, 
 89 
 
 “ Bear at the Bridgefoot,” Frances 
 Stuart, her elopement from the, 
 
 119 
 
 Bearbinder Lane, 155, 156, 157 
 “ Beau,” nickname of Robert Fielding, 
 131 
 
 3>3 
 
i4 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Beauchamp, Roger, 24 
 
 Beauty of Eliz. Chudleigh described, 232 
 
 Bedchamber, Lady of the, 105, 108, 120 
 
 Bedford, Duchy of, 94 
 
 Bedlam Wall, 209 
 
 Beggar’s Opera, 145, 146 
 
 Bennet, Sir Henry, 109, 124, 126 
 
 Berge, near Riga, 256 
 
 Berkhampstead, 12 
 
 Berkshire House, 120 
 
 Berlin, 240 
 
 Best, Dr., 150 
 
 Bethlem Wall, 158 
 
 Bigamy, Duchess of Kingston convicted 
 of, 24 
 
 Bingley, Sir J., 64 
 Bishopsgate, 208 
 “ Black Boy,” The, 15S 
 Black Dog Yard, 271 
 Blackfriars Stair, 152 
 Black, John, 19 
 Black Raven Passage, 291 
 Black Will, a ruffian, 33, 36, 37-39, 40, 
 4i, 44 
 
 Blanc, Sir Simon le, 283 
 Blood-vessel, Duchess of Kingston’s 
 death through breaking a, 257 
 “ Blue Ball,” The, 207 
 Blythe, Miss, 273-277 
 Bolton, Duchess of, 166 
 “ Bombazeen,” Eliz. Chudleigh de¬ 
 scribed as a bale of, 232 
 Bond, Winifred, 273, 277 
 Boston, 181 
 
 Bostonians, the virtuous, 181 
 Boughton, 44 
 Boulogne, 36 
 Bowling-Pin Alley, 290 
 Bradshaw, George, 44 
 Braganza, Catherine of (queen of 
 Charles II.), 103 
 Brentwood, Sir John, 15 
 Brethren of St. Mary of Mount Carmel, 
 19 
 
 Bridgman, Sir Orlando, 109 
 Bright, Robert, 87 
 Brinvilliers, 289 
 Briscoe, Ralph, 5S 
 Bristol, 100, 148 
 
 ,, Earl of, 103, 234 
 ,, Lord, 243 
 
 Brittain, Frances, 79 
 Broadwater, Elizabeth, 156, 158 
 Broughton, Rev. Mr., 160, 161 
 Brownrigg, Elizabeth, 189-201 
 ,, James, 190 
 ,, John, 201 
 Brudnell, Sir James, 292 
 Buckingham, Earl of, 114, 115, 124 
 “ Bulks ” and “ horners ” of the metro¬ 
 polis, 56, 57 
 Bullen, Mr. A. H., 46 
 Bulwark, Mr., Dutch merchant, 170 
 Burdett, Sir Francis, 305 
 Burke, Edmund, supports Foote, 
 252 
 
 Burnell, Mr., 291 
 Burr Street, 144 
 Buxhill, Alan, 24 
 
 “ C. S.,” husband of Teresia Phillips, 
 184 
 
 Caesa*, Sir Julius, 73 
 Calais, 176, 255 
 
 Calash, a bone of contention, 118 
 Camden, Lord, 254 
 Campion, Dr. Thomas, 75, 90 
 Canning, Elizabeth, 205-222 
 ,, Mrs., 208 
 Cannon Alley, 149 
 Cannon, Eliz., see Canning 
 Cannon Street, Alice Perrers’ hostel 
 near, 25 
 
 Canterbury, Archbishop of, see Abbot, 
 George 
 
 Canterbury, Archbishop of, 15, 17 
 Capuchin, The, 251 
 Carew, Nicholas, 24 
 Carey, Mrs., 305 
 Carleton, Dudley, 55, 85 
 
 ,, Mistress Alice, 74, 75, 76 
 Carlsbad, baths of, 239 
 Carolina, Thos. Shipman’s, 54 
 Carr, Annie, afterwards Lady Russell, 
 94 
 
 ,, Robert, 69-95 
 ,, Sir Robert, 75 
 
 Carter, partner of David Roberts, 
 153 
 
 „ Ann, 151 
 ,, Samuel, 297, 302 
 Case of Duchess of Cleveland, &c., 
 
INDEX. 
 
 315 
 
 touching an annuity of ^4,700 
 payable out of Post Office, 112 
 Castlemaine, Barbara Palmer, Countess 
 of, 103-126 
 
 ,, Roger Palmer, Earl of, 
 103, 105, 107, 108 
 Cavendish, Sir Richard, 36 
 Cecil, Sir Robert, 64, 67, 68, 71 
 Challenge at Tilt , 75 
 Chalmington, 226 
 
 Chamberlain, John, his description of 
 Mary Frith’s penance, 
 55 
 
 „ John, 74, 75, 76, 85, 91, 
 92 
 
 Chancery Court, 178 
 Change Alley, 148 
 Chapman, George, 75 
 Charing Cross to Shoreditch, Mary 
 Frith’s ride from, 56 
 Charleroi, Comte, 175 
 Charles II., 99-134 
 Chartley, 70 
 
 Chastity, Mary Frith’s reputation for, 
 50 
 
 Chatham, 153 
 Chatillon, M. de, 127 
 Cheapside, 154 
 Cheiney, Sir Thomas, 39 
 Chelsea Hospital, Thomas Chudleigh 
 governor of, 226 
 Cherbourg, Governor of, 27 
 Chernicheff, Count, 255 
 Cherry, Mary, 151 
 
 Chesterfield, Earl of, 100, 101, 167, 
 182, 183 
 
 Chiffinch, body servant of Charles II., 
 
 117, 118 
 
 Chinese Chairs, 236 
 Chiswick, 94 
 Chitty, Alderman, 212 
 Chudleigh, Colonel Thomas, 226 
 Chudleigh, Elizabeth, Duchess 
 of Kingston, 226-258 
 Churchill, Barbara, 122 
 Cinque Ports, Sir Thomas Cheiney, 
 master of the, 39 
 Clanricarde, Earl of, see note, 68 
 Clare, Mrs., 72 
 
 Clarence, Lionel, Duke of, see Lionel, 
 16 
 
 Clarendon, Lord, 104-106, 109, no, 
 119 
 
 Clark, a painter, 34 ,35 
 Clarke, Mr. Alderman, 304 
 ,, Mr., 291 
 
 Clarke, Mary Anne, 289-312 
 ,, William, 215 
 Claude, the painter, 255 
 Clear State of the Case of Elizabeth 
 Canning , 217 
 
 Cleveland, Barbara Villiers, 
 Duchess of, 99-134 
 Clifford, Mary, victim of Mrs. Brown- 
 rigg. I 93 > 200 
 Clifford, Mrs., 197 
 Clinton Lodge, 239 
 Clyster administered to Overbury, 83 
 Coaxer, Mrs., 146 
 Coke, Lord Chief Justice, 87-89 
 Coles, grocer, 41 
 Colley, Thos., 207 
 Colnbrook, 235, 238 
 Colne, 238 
 
 Compton Murdak, 29 
 Conduit, 54 
 
 ,, Street, 229 
 
 Confinement, Mrs. Stead’s, 269 
 Consistory Court, 242, 245, 254 
 Cook, widow, 45 
 
 ,, Rev. Mr., 168, 170 
 Coppinger, Mr., 70 
 
 Corner in commodities arranged be¬ 
 tween Alice Perrers, Lord Latimer, 
 and Richard Lyons, 9 
 Cornwall, H.M.S., A. T. Hervey, 
 lieutenant on, 228, 229 
 Cornwallis, Sir William, 76 
 Corri, Domenico, singing-master of 
 Mrs. Clarke, 299 
 Cottington, the cheat, 5S 
 Counter, The, 57 
 Courcy, Isabella de, 12 
 Court Beggar, Brome’s, 54 
 Court of Arches, 55 
 ,, of Delegates, 245 
 ,, of Dresden, 256 
 Covent Garden, 146 
 Cradock, Ann, 246, 532 
 Cragg, Mr., 82 
 Craig’s Court, 165 
 Cranborn Alley, 239 
 
316 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Cranborne, Viscount, 67, 68 
 “ Crist is coming,” egg inscribed thus 
 laid by Mrs. Bateman’s hen, 272 
 Crocodile, Lady Kitty, Duchess of 
 Kingston, as, 248, 249 
 “Crofts,” Mr., Duke of Monmouth, 116 
 Crosby, Alderman, 198 
 Crowder, “Bishop,” 57 
 Cryer, Judith, 273, 282 
 Cuffs of Cobweb-lawn, 91 
 Culloden, 235 
 
 Dagworth, Sir Nicholas, 19, 20,24 
 Darnell, John, 175 
 „ Miss, 175 
 Davies, Lawrence, 87 
 Davis, Elizabeth, 154, 156-159 
 Davy, Serjeant, 253 
 Day, John, his description of Mary 
 Frith, 53 
 
 „ Mr., 155, 157 
 
 Deacon, Mr., neighbour of Mrs. Brown- 
 
 rigg. 196-199 
 
 Deadman’s Place, 158 
 Death of Duke of Kingston, 244 
 Death of George II., 236 
 Delafield, husband of Teresia Phillips, 
 168-172, 174, 177 
 Delamare, Sir John, 15 
 
 ,, Sir Peter, 14, 17, 18, 21, 25 
 Delean, Mrs., 131—133 
 Delicacy of the Court of George II., 230 
 Delius, Dr., 46 
 Denbigh, Earls of, 129 
 Derry, Bishop of, 243 
 Devereux, Robert, Earl of Essex, 67, 72, 
 73. 9i 
 
 ,, ,, his second marriage, 
 
 see note, 74 
 
 Devonshire, Duke of, 94 
 Devonshire Square, 155 
 Diver, Jenny, 137-161 
 Divorce between Augustus John Hervey 
 and Duchess of Kingston applied 
 for, 241 
 
 Doctors’ Commons, 242, 243 
 Dodd, Dr., 247 
 ,, Major, 306 
 Dominican friar, 15 
 Donavile, Mr. 172 
 Donne, John, the poet, 75 
 
 Donovan, Mr., 299 
 Doubtful Plays of Shakespere, 46 
 Douglas, General, 166 
 ,, Mrs., 167 
 Dover, 180, 255 
 Dowler, Mr., 293, 295, 301 
 
 ,, Mr. supports Mrs. Clarke at 
 Brighton, 294 
 
 Doyenne of the women of the town, 
 Lady Castlemaine, 124 
 Dresser allotted as a bedroom to Mary 
 Jones, 192 
 
 Drummond’s Bank, 310 
 Dun, Thomas, 145 
 ,, Sir Daniel, 72, 73 
 Dunbar, Earl of, 76 
 
 ,, a chandler, lodges Mrs. Brown- 
 
 rigg, 199 
 
 Dunkirk, 153, 176 
 Dunne, Eleanor, 87 
 Dunning supports Foote, 252 
 Durham Yard, 168 
 Dutch War, The, 119 
 
 Edward III., 3-23 
 Edwards, Dr. Thomas, 73 
 Electress, The, of Saxony, 239 
 Ellesmere, Lord Chancellor, 91 
 Ellis’s Coffee-house, 309 
 Eltham, 12, 14 
 Ely, Bishop of, 73 
 Empress Catharine, 255, 256 
 Enfield Wash, 211 
 
 English Aristophanes, Samuel Foote 
 described as the, 252 
 “Entrails of victim inspected by high 
 priest,” with reference to Elizabeth 
 Chudleigh, 230 
 Epitaph of Moll Cutpurse, 59 
 Eserick, Lord Howard, of, 65, 94 
 “Esquire,” nickname of Lord F., 177, 
 178 
 
 Essex, Earl of, see Devereux 
 
 Evelyn, Mr. John, 113, 124, 126, 128 
 
 Evening Post, 251 
 
 Ewes, Sir Simon D’., 66, 69, 87 
 
 “ F.,” Lord, 177 
 
 Fair Penitent, 166 
 
 Falkland, gentleman, 226 
 
 Farmers of Customs, 75 
 
 Farnham, 239 
 
INDEX. 
 
 31/ 
 
 Faversham, 33, 34, 38, 39, 41, 45 
 
 ,, Thomas Arden of, 33, see 
 Arden, Thomas 
 Favory, Mr., 296 
 Feigned Astrologer, The, 54 
 Fence or receiver, Roger Johnson, 144 
 Feversham, Thomas Arden of, see 
 Arden, Thomas 
 Few, John, 297, 303 
 Field, Mr., 244, 246 
 ,, Capt., 65, 66 
 ,, of the Cloth of Gold, 256 
 Fielding, Henry, 1S5, 212, 221, 222 
 „ Robert, 131, 132, 133 
 ,, Beau, 129 
 
 Figure of Elizabeth Chudleigh de- 
 cribed, 239 
 Filer, Mrs., 166 
 Finchley, 235, 238 
 Fireworks in Hyde Park, 238 
 Fishing, Duchess of Kingston’s love of, 
 238 
 
 Fitz-John, Thomas, 11 
 Fitzgerald, Vesey, receives a libellous 
 letter from Mrs. Clarke, 310 
 Fitzroy, Charles, 104 
 ,, Ann, 102 
 ,, Barbara, 122 
 Flanders, 153, 176 
 Fleecem, Mr., 247 
 Fleet Street, 169 
 Fletcher, Frances, 151 
 “ Fleur de Lys” Inn 44 
 Fleur de Lys Court, 190 
 Flushing, 44 
 
 “ Fool,” Charles II., so called by Lady 
 Castlemaine, 115 
 
 Foote, Samuel, 247, 24S, 250, 252 
 Foote’s Theatre, 252 
 Forman, Doctor Simon, 70, 71, 88 
 Forward, a galley, 152 
 Foster, Mr., 255 
 Fountain Court, 153 
 “ Four virgins in white ” attend trial of 
 Duchess of Kingston, 253 
 Fowl, Adam, 40, 44 
 Franklin, friend of Thomas Arden, 37, 
 38, 39 
 
 Franklin, James, 81 
 
 Freeman, Thomas, his epigrams, 58 
 
 French, Colonel, 299, 300 
 
 Frith, Mary, “Moll Cutpurse,” 49- 
 60 
 
 Gambling at Tunbridge Wells by the 
 Duchess of Kingston, 241 
 Gardner, Judith, 154 
 Garrets in the house of Eliz. Chudleigh, 
 236 
 
 Gascoigne, Sir Crisp, 216, 217 
 Gaunt, John of, 10, 13, 14, 18, 20, 22, 
 25 
 
 Gaynes, Manor of, 29 
 Gentleman's Magazine, The, 219 
 Genuine and Impartial Memoirs, 217 
 George I., 226 
 George II., 230-245 
 George III., Dr. O’Meara preaches 
 before him, 303 
 Gibbon, the historian, 248 
 Gibbons, John, 215, 216 
 Giles, Thomas, 69 
 Gillet, Mr., 310 
 Giovanni, Don, 120 
 Glennie, Mr., 306 
 Globe Tavern, 54 
 “ Goldsmith’s mad dog,” 171 
 Goodcole, Henry, 261 
 Goodere, Sir Edward, 251 
 Goodman, accomplice of Duchess of 
 Cleveland, 113 
 ,, Cardonell, 121 
 Gout, Duchess of Kingston attacked 
 by, 231 
 
 Grafton, Duke of, 118, 126, 131, 133 
 Grammont’s Memoirs, 113 
 
 ,, Comte de, 118, 119 
 Grand ball given by Duchess of 
 Kingston, 238 
 
 Grand Tour of the Duke of Hamilton, 
 127 
 
 Grandison, Viscount William Villiers, 
 100 
 
 Gravesend, 35, 38 
 
 Great Fire, 119 
 
 Great Moorgate, 158 
 
 Great Pulteney Street, 169 
 
 Great robber of England, 57 
 
 Green (a servant), 35-39, 40, 41, 44 
 
 Greenwich, 45 
 
 Greville, Thomas, 215 
 
 Grimes, Thomas, 167 
 
INDEX. 
 
 318 
 
 Grimstone, Richard, 72 
 
 ,, Sir Harbottle, 99 
 Gronow, Captain, 294-5 
 Grub Street, 124-125, 176 
 Gunning, The Misses, 227 
 Guthrie, James, 138 ; ordinary of New¬ 
 gate, 154 
 
 Gutter news-sheets, 249 
 
 “ H,” Lady, 177 
 Hacks and blades of the road, 57 
 Hair worn virgin-fashion by the un¬ 
 blushing Frances Howard, 75 
 Half Moon Tavern, 169 
 Hall, Jacob, 121 
 ,, Virtue, 212-222 
 Hamilton, Duke of, 176, 227-228 
 Hammersmith, 7 
 Hampton Court, 104, 107 
 Hanmer, Mrs., aunt of Duchess of 
 Kingston, 228, 246, 253 
 Hannam, Richard, the great robber of 
 England, 57 
 Hanover, 167 
 
 Harker, maiden name of Mary Bate¬ 
 man, 262 
 
 Harrington, Lady, 241 
 Harvey, Sir D., 120 
 Harwich, 240 
 
 Harwood, Amelia, 156, 159 
 Hathaway, Richard, 220 
 Havering, 12, 21 
 Hawkins, Ctesar, 241, 242, 253 
 Hay, Lord, 93 
 Hayes, 101 
 Hedge Lane, 167 
 Helwys, Sir Gervase, 80-84, 86 
 ,, his examination,87 
 
 ,, his execution, 89 
 
 Henry, Prince, 68 
 Herbert, a divine, 226 
 “ Hermophrodite, An,” 49 
 Hertford, Lord, 248 
 Hervey, Hon. Augustus John, husband 
 of Eliz. Chudleigh, 228, 233-254 
 Heselarton, Walter de, 7 
 
 ,, Dame Euphemia, de, 7 
 Hieres Bay, 180 
 Hill, Dr. John, 215 
 Hillsborough, Lord, 227 
 Hind, Captain, 57, 58 
 
 Holande, Sir John de, 25, 27 
 Holborn Bridge, 158 
 Holinshed, Ralph, 33, 34, 42 note, 45 
 Holland, 170, 172 
 Holt, Perrers of, 3 
 ,, Lord Chief Justice, 131 
 Holywell, Mount, 158 
 Horners, Book of, 53 
 Houndsditch, 208 
 How, Samuel, 155-156 
 Howard, Lady Frances, 63-95 
 ,, Queen Catherine, 63, 67 
 ,, Douglas, 63 
 
 ,, Thomas, 64 
 
 ,, family, sketch of, 63-65 
 „ John, 156, 157 
 Howe, Lord, 241 
 Hounslow Heath, 58 
 Hoxton, 158 
 
 Huggins, Catherine, 154, 156 
 ,, Henry, 156 
 Hungerford, Sir Edward, 123 
 Hunneye, near Exeter, 4 
 Hymeniei, Jonson’s Masque, 69 
 
 IANTHE “ THE LOVELY,” I3I 
 Indian pictures, 236 
 Inglewood, 5 
 Inspector, The, 215 
 
 Iphigenia, Duchess of Kingston as, 230 
 Ireland, Lieutenant, 109 
 Irish Masque, 75 
 Isabella, Princess, 22 
 
 Jackson, Parson, 249, 251, 252 
 Jacob, Edward, 46 
 Jamaica, 178-183 
 James I., 63-95 
 James, Dr. Francis, 73 
 Jameson, Mrs. 102 
 “Janizaries,” 151 
 Jenkins, Mrs., 246 
 
 ,, Mr. (a banker), 247 
 Jermyn Street, 237 
 ,, Henry, 121, 125 
 Jewell, Bishop, 261 
 Joan, Princess, 12, 21, 22, 29 
 Johnson, Roger, 144 
 Jones, Mary, victim of Mrs. Brownrigg, 
 191-192 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Jones, Inigo, 69 
 
 ,, patronymic of Jenny Diver, 137 
 
 ,, Anne, 156, 158, 159 
 ,, Harriet, alleged mother of Jenny 
 Diver, 138 
 
 Jonson, Ben, 69, 75, see note, 79 
 Juan, Don, 129 
 
 Ken, Thomas, Bishop of Bath and 
 Wells, 226 
 
 Kent, John, merchant, 29 
 ,, Duke of, 306 
 Kettering, 30 
 Killigrew, Mr., 115 
 ,, Court, 166 
 Kingston, 183, 1S4 
 
 Kingston, Duchess of (Elizabeth 
 Chudleigh), 226-258 
 Kingston, Evelyn Pierpoint, Duke of, 
 234 , 254 
 
 Kitchen, Miss, 271 
 
 Knevet, Sir Henry, see note, 64 
 
 Knightsbridge, 237 
 
 Knollys, William, Lord Wallingford 
 and Earl of Banbury, 65, 93 
 
 “Lady of the Sun,” Alice Perrers 
 in the character of, 8 
 Lainston, 228, 233 ; the church, 242, 
 246 ; register, 253 
 Lake, Sir Thomas, 75 
 Lamb, Dr., 58 
 
 Lancaster, Duke of, 12, 14, 20, 24 
 Lantemac, M., last husband of Teresia 
 Phillips, 184 
 
 Laroche, James, 253, 254 
 Last Journals of Walpole, 231 
 Latimer, Lord, 9, 14, 15, 18 
 Latin mottoes in fireworks at Hyde 
 Park, 238 
 Leeds, 35 
 
 Leeds Mercury , 282 
 Leicester House, 235, 237, 258 
 Lennox, Duke of, 69, 87 
 Letter from Bateman to Perigo, 281 
 ,, from Northampton to Helwys, 
 83-84 
 
 ,, from Overbury to Somerset, 82 
 ,, from Lady Frances Howard to 
 Mrs. Turner, 71 
 
 319 
 
 Letter from Lady Frances Howard to 
 Dr. Forman, 71 
 
 ,, from Foote to Duchess of 
 Kingston, 230 
 
 ,, from Duchess of Kingston to 
 Foote, 249 
 
 ,, written to the king by the 
 Electress of Saxony, 240 
 Lichfield, Bishop of, 73 
 Lidcote, Sir John, 82 
 Life , newspaper, 59 
 Lightfoot, a quaker, 237 
 ,, Hannah, 237 
 
 Lillo, his play, “ Arden of Faversham,” 
 46 
 
 Limerick, Roger Palmer, Baron of, 103 
 ,, Charles Palmer, Baron of, 104 
 Lionel, Duke of Clarence, 16 
 Lisbon, 106 
 
 List of a witch’s requirements, 277 
 Litchfield, Anne, Countess of, 126 
 Litigant, professional, an engaging 
 specimen of, 165 
 Liverpool, 139 
 Lobel, Paul de, 83, 87 
 London, Bishop of, 73 
 ,, Bridge, 148 
 
 ,, Daily Post, 154 
 
 ,, Evening Post, 152, 157 
 
 ,, Sheriffs of, 23 
 
 Londonderry, Lord, 295 
 Long, Mr., 298 
 ,, Acre, 140 
 Longford, Lord, 166 
 Lords, House of, 143 
 Lorkin, Rev. Thomas, 85, 73 
 Ludgate Hill, 237 
 
 Lues venerea, Overbury alleged to have 
 died of, 34 
 
 Lyon, Mr. Edward, 207, 209 
 Lyons, Richard, 9, 14, 24 
 
 “ M.,” husband of Teresia Phillips, 183 
 MacCallum negotiates with Mrs. Clarke, 
 305 
 
 Macaulay, Lord, 128 
 Madeira, favourite cordial of the 
 Duchess of Kingston, 238 
 Magpye-chat of the wenches, abhorred 
 by Moll Cutpurse, 51 
 
3 2 ° 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Maid of honour to Princess of Wales, 
 Elizabeth Chudleigh, 227-240 
 Manley, Mrs., 122 
 Mansfield, Sir Robert, 75 
 ,, Lord, 247 
 Marigold Court, 153 
 Marlborough, Duke of, 122 
 Marriatti, Carlo, 255 
 Marshalsea Prison, 45 
 Maskwell, George, 178 
 Masque of flowers, 76 
 Masquerade at the Court of George II., 
 230, 231 
 
 May, Bab, or Baptist, keeper of Privy 
 purse, 113 
 
 Mayerne, Dr., 82, 83 
 Meadows, Chas., 245 
 
 „ Evelyn, 245, 246, 254, 255 
 
 ,, Lady Frances, 245 
 
 Mecklenburg, Charlotte of, 238 
 Merchant adventurers, 75 
 Merrill, John, 22S, 234 
 Merston, Simon, 87 
 Merton, 5 
 
 Methodist, a crazy, assists at execution 
 of Jenny Diver, 161 
 Michael, serving - man of Thomas 
 Arden, 36, 37, 38, 39,40, 
 42, 44 
 
 „ John, 156, 157 
 Milliner, a pretty, taken to Thoresby 
 by Duke of Kingston, 239 
 Milner, Sir Charles, 292 
 Milton, the ingenious Mr., 59 
 Miser, John, 215 
 
 Mistresses of Charles II. outnumbered 
 by the lovers of Lady Castlemaine, 
 120 
 
 Mitchell, Mary, apprentice of Mrs. 
 
 Brownrigg, 191-200 
 M’Mahon, Colonel, 305 
 Moll, Cutpurse, see Frith, Mary 
 ,, “ sweet plumpe,” 59 
 
 Monmouth, “ Mr. Crofts,” Duke of, 116 
 Montaigne, Dr. George, Dean of 
 Westminster, 75 
 Montague, Dr. James, 74 
 
 „ Mrs., 230 
 
 ,, Lady Mary Wortley, 234 
 
 ,, Ralph, 127, 128 
 
 Monte Cristo, 256 
 
 | Montmartre, 256 
 Monson, Sir Thomas, 80, 81, 87, 90 
 Moore, Mrs., 264-271 
 ,, Rev. Joseph, 200 
 
 ,, Sir John, 308 
 
 Moorfields, 155 
 More, Hannah, 232, 253, 254 
 ,, Sir George, 90-92 
 Morrell, Mr., 168 
 Morrice, Secretary, 103 
 Morphew, Anne, see Murphy, Anne 
 Mortoscough, 5 
 
 Mosby or Mosbie, Richard, 34, 35, 40, 
 41, 44, 46 
 
 ,, Susan, 36, 39, 40, 44 
 Mote Book, Faversham, 44 
 “ Mounser,” nickname of Roger 
 Palmer, 101 
 
 Mountstuart, Lord, 250, 253 
 Moysey, Miss, 241, 243 
 Muilman (Dutch merchant), 169-182 
 ,, Mrs., 183 
 
 “ Mulled Sacks,” 58 
 Murphy, Anne, 140-145, 147, 152 
 ,, patronymic ofjenny Diver, 157 
 
 Nasmyth, Mr., 82 
 Natus, Fortune, 213 
 „ Judith, 213 
 New Atlantis, 122, 128 
 Newark, 18 
 
 ,, Gaol, 19 
 
 Newcastle, Duke of, 247, 248, 249, 253, 
 254 
 
 Newgate, 28, 148, 149, 152, 161, 171, 
 199, 200 
 
 ,, James Guthrie, Ordinary of, 
 138, 139 . 154 . 159 . 161 
 New Drop, Execution of Mary Bate¬ 
 man at the, 284 
 New England, 177 
 New York, 181 
 
 Nicholl, Mr., lodges Mrs. Clarke, 305 
 Nonsuch, Baroness of, Barbara Villiers, 
 126 
 
 North, Sir Edward, 34 
 Northampton, Earl of, 66, 70, 78, So, 
 83 > 84 
 
 Northland, Sir Richard, 29 
 Northumberland, Duke of, 129, 131 
 Nottingham, 18 
 
INDEX. 
 
 32t 
 
 “ O.,” Mr., an army agent, 295 
 Oates, Titus, 107 
 Old Bailey, 151, 156 
 Oldesworth, Nicholas, 79 
 Old Jewry, 142 
 Old Steyne, 295 
 Old Street Square, 169, 170 
 O’Meara, Dr., 302, 303 
 “ Orlando,” Beau Fielding pilloried 
 as in Tat/er, 130 
 Ormesby, Gunnora, 3 
 Osnaburg, I’rince of, 2S9 
 Ospring, 44 
 
 Outrageous conduct of Elizabeth Chud- 
 leigh, 232 
 
 Overbury, Sir Nicholas, 76, 79, 82 
 „ Sir Thomas, his murder, 
 76-91 
 
 Oxford, 100 
 
 ,, Earl of, 104 
 Oxhey Manor, 11, 27 
 
 “ P.,” Sir PI., 176, 177 
 Page, Damaris, 58 
 Paget, Mrs., 220 
 
 Pallavicino, Letter toCarleton, 92 
 Pallenswick, manor of, 7, 15, 23 
 Palmer, Barbara, 99, 100 
 
 ,, Charles, Lord Limerick, 104 
 „ Roger, 101, 103, 108 
 ,, T., 129 
 
 ,, Sir James, 101 
 Palsgrave, The, 90 
 Paradise Row, Knightsbridge, 236 
 Paradoxes and Puzzles , Paget’s, 221 
 Paris, 175, 256 
 Parker, Archbishop, 3 
 Parret, South, 218 
 Parry, Sir Thos., 73 
 Paternoster Row, 149 
 Paul’s Cross, 55 
 Paulet, Sir William, 74 
 Pea-hen Court, Bishopsgate, haunt of 
 Jenny Diver, 148 
 Peel, Isabel, 72 
 Pelham, John, 29 
 Pembroke, Earl of, 77 
 Pepys, Mr., 102-104, 107, 113, 114, 
 118, 120, 124 
 Fercy, Lady Lucy, 93 
 „ Lodge, 235 
 
 Percy, Sir Henry, 19 
 Perers, Sir Richard, 3, 4 
 Perigo, Rebecca, 274-277 
 ,, William, 274-27 
 Perot, Alice, 3 
 Ferrers, Alice, 3-30 
 ,, John de, 3 
 Perryn, Mr., 237 
 Peru, 173 
 Philippa, Queen, 4 
 Phillips, Colonel, 168 
 
 ,, Sir Richard, 305, 310 
 Phillips, Teresia Constantia, 
 165-185 
 
 Pierpoint, Evelyn, Duke of Kingston, 
 234-245 
 
 Plague, The, 119 
 
 “ Pleasure,” Countess of Castlemaine, 
 “Lady of,” 125 
 Plutarch, translator of, 34 
 Poison, Seven kinds of, 81 
 Poitou, 16 
 
 Polyandrous tastes of Princess Joan, 
 12 
 
 Ponder’s End, 220 
 Pope Clement, 244 
 Porter, Endymion, 226 
 Portland, Duke of, 247, 307 
 Port Royal, 180 
 Portsmouth, 173, 179 
 
 ,, Duchess of, no 
 Potemkin, 256 
 Portugal, 168 
 
 Post Office, Revenues of, ill 
 Potts, Hannah, 282 
 Poultry Compter, Brownrigg taken to. 
 199 
 
 Powder worn round the neck as a fer¬ 
 tilizer, 72 
 
 Powlet, Elizabeth, Earl of Essex 
 marries, 74 n 
 
 j Pratt, Lord Chief Justice, 173 
 Pressing-iron, 41 
 
 Prices, Mrs. Clarke’s, for Commissions, 
 299 
 
 Princepessa , H.M.S., 232 
 ‘ Pritchard, Mrs, 252 
 Procuress on behalf of both sexes - 
 Mary Frith, 58 
 Proescholdt, Dr. Ludwig, 46 
 Prune, grocer, 41-42 
 
 22 
 
322 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Pseudo-Shakespere'sche Dramen, 46 
 Puckering, Sir Thomas, 73 
 Pulteney, Mr., 226 
 Puritans, 226 
 
 Querouailles, The, 114, 124 
 
 Radci.yffe of Brazen-nose Col¬ 
 lege, 55 
 
 Radzivil, Prince, 256 
 Rainham Down, 35, 38 
 Raleigh, Sir Walter, 90 
 Ramsgate, 153 
 Rawlins, Giles, 87 
 Read, Richard, 45 
 Red Lion Street, 170, 172 
 Redriffe, 59 
 Reed, Mary, 149 
 
 Revels, Mistress of, Teresa appointed, 
 184 
 
 Reynolds, Sir Joshua, supports Foote, 
 252 
 
 Rich, Lord Robert, 64 
 Richard II., 23-28 
 Richmond, 104, 117 
 
 ,, Duke of, 118, 121 
 Rickmansw’orth, 239 
 Riga, 256 
 
 Rival Princes, The, Mrs. Clarke’s 
 brochure, 290 
 
 Roaring Girl, Middleton’s, 53, 59 
 Robert of Warwick, 11 
 Roberts, David, 153 
 Robes, Mary, 151 
 Robsart, Amy, 63 
 Rochester, 36, 38 
 
 ,, Viscount, see Carr, Robert 
 Rome, 107, 120, 247, 244, 255 
 Rose, The, tavern, 158 
 Rossiter, Edward, 209 
 Rowley, Mary, 149, 150 
 “Rubs” and “whipsters” of the 
 town, 57 
 
 Rudd, Mrs., 247, 253 
 Rumpscuttle, Mary Frith described as 
 a, 50 
 
 Ruffs, yellow starched, Mrs. Turner 
 hanged in, 89 
 Russell, William, Lord, 94 
 ,, his children, 94 
 Russia, Duchess of Kingston stays in, 
 256 
 
 Saint Albans, Abbot of, 11, 27 
 ,, Bennet’s Church, 168 
 „ Bridget’s, 59 
 ,, David’s, Bishop of, 21 
 ,, Gregory, Church of, 101 
 ,, James’s Market, 237 
 
 ,, „ Palace, 237 
 
 ,, ,, Park, 143 
 
 ,, John, Sir Oliver, 88 
 ,, Margaret’s Church, 104 
 
 ,, Mary Woolchurch, 156 
 
 ,, Pancras Church, 161 
 ,, Paul’s Cathedral, 149, 152 
 ,, Paul’s, Covent Garden, Somer¬ 
 
 set buried there, 94 
 ,, Petersburg, 255, 256 
 Saffron Walden, 65 
 
 Sale of portions of Mary Bateman’s 
 remains, 285 
 
 Salisbury, Earl of, see Cecil 
 ,, Lady, 257 
 Salt, Mr., solicitor, 214 
 Saltpetre Bank, 207 
 Sandon, Captain Iluxley, 297, 299 
 Savile, Sir Henry, 68 
 Sawyer, Mother, 261 
 Saxony, Electress of, 240 
 Scarborough, Earl of, 166 
 Scarrat, Robert, 209, 211, 222 
 Schidley, Mdlle., 240 
 Scolding humours of the Duchess of 
 Kingston, 244 
 Scott, Sir Walter, 130 
 Scrope, Sir Richard le, 24 
 Secret Marriage of the Duchess of 
 Kingston, 229 
 Secret Service Fund, 127 
 Selden, John, 261 
 Seneschal of Edward III., 24 
 Seven deadly sins, Mrs. Turner credited 
 with, 89 
 
 Shakebag, ruffian, 33, 36, 39, 44, 45 
 Shaw, Captain, 201 
 Sheen, 12, 21, 22 
 Sheppey, 39 
 Sherbourne Lane, 154 
 Shipman, Thomas, 54 
 Shrewsbury, Lord, 86 
 ,, 28 
 
 Sidney, Sir Philip, note, p. 6S 
 Simony, Dr., 247 
 
INDEX. 
 
 323 
 
 Slang, Miss, 141 
 Smithe, Sir William, 88, 90 
 ,, Lady, 88, 90 
 Snowden, Mrs., 274 
 Solihull, 129 
 
 Somerset, Earl of, see Carr, Robert 
 Southampton, Duke of, 104 
 Southcott, Joanna, 272 
 Southwark, 45 
 Spring Gardens, 143 
 Squeamish Court of the Great Frederic, 
 240 
 
 Squires, Lucy, 212-222 
 ,, Mary, 212-222 
 ,, John, 212 
 Staines, Alderman, 291 
 Stead, Barzillai, 268-269 
 Stocks Market, 158 
 Strange, Sir John, 160 
 Stratton Strawlers, near Norwich, 72 
 Street, William, 24 
 Stuart, Lady Arabella, 80 
 ,, Frances, 116-121 
 Suffolk, Lord, 89 
 
 ,, Duchess of, 104 
 Sussex, Anne, Countess of, 126, 127 
 ,, Earl of, 69, 128 
 Swynford, Catherine, 13 
 
 Tammel, Dress of black, worn by 
 Lady Somerset at trial, 91 
 Tanqueray, Paula, 128, 169 
 Taylor, John, 56, 151, 296 
 ,, Sir Herbert, 310 
 “ Theatrical fit of kicking and shriek¬ 
 ing,” Eliz. Chudleigh attacked by 
 a > 233 
 
 Thirsk, in Yorkshire, 262, 263 
 Thompson, one of the supposed names 
 of Mrs. Clarke, 290 
 Thoresby, Ralph, 243, 244, 255 
 Thouars, relief of, 13 
 Tiber, River, 245 
 Tillotson, Sermons or, 179, 180 
 “ Tippling,” Duchess of Kingston’s 
 propensities, 24 
 
 “Tom Otter,” James II. so called by 
 his brother, 115 
 
 “Tomrig,” Mary Frith described as a, 
 50 
 
 Tonyn, Captain, 301 
 
 Tournay, 175 
 
 Townsend, Charles, supports Foote, 252 
 Tower Street, 144 
 
 Travelling carriage made for the Duchess 
 of Kingston, 240 
 
 Trial of Duchess of Kingston for bigamy, 
 252 
 
 Trial of Earl and Countess of Somerset, 
 
 87 
 
 Trip to Calais , 230, 248 
 Trullibers, The, 226 
 Trumbull, William, 86 
 Tunbridge Wells, 177, 178, 241 
 Turner, Mrs. Anne, 81, 87 
 Turnham Green, Mary Frith arrested 
 at, 58 
 
 Tyburn, 160 
 
 ,, Execution of Mrs. Brownrigg 
 at, 200 
 
 Tyshemaker, Mr., 212, 213 
 Twelfth Night, 53 
 
 Upminster, 28, 29 
 Uvedale, Lady Essex misconducts her¬ 
 self with, 74 
 
 Uterine disorder, loathsome, of Coun¬ 
 tess of Somerset’s, 93 
 
 Vache, Sir Peter de la, 24 
 Vassal, Colonel, 177 
 Vandreuil, father of Lantemac, 184 
 Vaux, Lord, 93 
 Villars, Mrs., 131 
 
 Villiers, Barbara, Duchess of 
 Cleveland, 99-134 
 ,, Charles, Earl of Anglesea, 
 100 
 
 ,, George, 85, 86 
 ,, William, 100 
 Viper, Dr., Parson Jackson in the 
 character of, 251 
 
 “ Virgin,” Elizabeth Chudleigh de¬ 
 scribed as a, 233, 236 
 Virginia, 152 
 
 Waad, Sir William, 80, S7 
 Wadsworth, Mary, 129, 131, 132 
 Wales, Prince of, Mrs. Clarke tries 
 to make mischief with Duke of 
 York and, 305 
 Walker, Lydia, 156, 158 
 
324 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Wallingford, Lord, see Knollys, Wm. 
 Wall, William, 57 
 
 Walpole Horace, 228, 230, 231, 236, 
 257 
 
 Walsingham, Sir Francis, see note, 68 
 Waltham Cross, 215 
 Wapping, 149 
 
 Wardle, Colonel Gwyllym Lloyd, 290, 
 305, 307-309, 311 
 Warnke, Dr. Karl, 46 
 Wars of Venus, “Beau” Fielding 
 engaged in the, 130 
 Warwick, Robert of, 11 
 Washerwoman, Charles V, cowered 
 before a, 116 
 
 Water Cormorant, The, a complaint 
 against a brood of Land Cormo¬ 
 rants, 56 
 
 Watson, Mr., 169 
 
 Webb, patronymic of Jenny Diver, 137 
 ,, Jane, Jenny Diver as, 149, 151 
 Wedding presents of Lady Frances 
 Howard, 75 
 Weekly Miscellany, 151 
 Welch, Thomas, 151 
 Wellclose Square, 207 
 Wells, Mother Susannah, 211, 222 
 Westerns, The, 226 
 West Indies, 232 
 Westminster, Abbey of, 11 
 ,, Hall, 252 
 Weston Lane, 25 
 Weston, Richard, 80-83, & 7 > S 3 
 Whally’s house, 102 
 Whiffin, Ezra, 218 
 “ Whipsters,” 57 
 White, Edward, 33 
 Whitechapel, 159 
 Whitehall, 107, 120 
 Whitehead, an Editor, 165 
 White’s (Club), 217 
 Whitewell, Johanna, II 
 Whiting, Dr., 89 
 
 Whole Duty of Man (by Dr. Richard 
 Allestree), 183 
 
 Whore, Mrs. Turner, a, 89 
 Wife The , a poem, 79 
 Wildbrat, a dog, 51 
 Wild, Jonathan, 54 
 
 Willis, patronymic of Jenny Diver, 137 
 Will of the Duke of Kingston, The, 245 
 Wilmot, Sir Charles, 88 
 Wilson, Arthur, 70, 86 
 Winchelsea, 113 
 Winchester, 228, 233 
 Windsor, John de, 27 
 
 ,, Sir William de, 15, 16, 19, 26, 
 
 27 
 
 Wintlebury, Mr. John, 207, 209, 211 
 Winwood, Sir Ralph, 76, 86, 87 
 Wisebourne, Mother, 138 
 Wise-woman, Mrs. Annie Turner, a, 70 
 Wolfy Lane, 25 
 Woods, Mary, 71, 72 
 Wood, Sir Daniel, 88 
 Worthy, Mr., 178, 179, 181 
 Wotton, Sir Henry, 77 
 Wright, furniture dealer, 307 
 Wycherley, the dramatist, 121-122 
 Wye, 34 
 
 Wykeham, William of, 3, II, 12, 21, 
 22, 28 
 
 Yacht, brought to Rome by Duchess 
 of Kingston, 245 
 York, Duchess of, 112 
 
 ,, Duke of, hi, 113, 119, 236, 289, 
 295 > 300 , 305 
 
 ,, ,, infatuation for Mrs. 
 
 Clarke, 296 
 
 ,, ,, plotted against by Mrs. 
 
 Clarke, 307 
 
 ,, ,, his examination, 308 
 
 ,, ,, resigns his post, 309 
 
 Yorkshire Witch, The, 261-286 
 Young, Mary, patronymic of Jenny 
 Diver, 137 
 Ypres, John de, 24 
 
 Zouch, Lord, 87 
 
 UNWIN BROTHERS, THE GRESHAM PRESS, WOKING AND LONDON. 
 
A SELECTED LIST 
 
 OF 
 
 MR. T- FISHER UNWIN’S 
 
 publications. 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS. 
 
 A Series of Biographical and Critical Reviews. By 
 American Artists. With 37 Wood Engravings by 
 Timothy Cole and others, and 28 Half-Tone Illus¬ 
 trations. Edited by John C. Van Dyke. Royal 8 vo, 
 elegantly bound in cloth gilt, price £2 2s. 
 
 Twenty biographical and critical monographs of the most famous 
 French Masters, written by their American pupils and admirers—in 
 each case an American artist, chosen because of his knowledge and 
 sympathy with the painter of whom he writes. The book is edited by 
 Prof. John C. Van Dyke, of Rutgers College, author of “ Old Dutch and 
 Flemish Masters.” It is illustrated by 66 full-page pictures (insets) by 
 Timothy Cole, Woolf, Kingsley and others, chosen designedly from 
 both wood-engravings and half-tones, placed side by side, to allow 
 judgment as to the relative merits of the two classes of reproduction. 
 
 THE LIFE OF GENERAL GORDON. 
 
 By Demetrius C. Boulger, author of “ The History 
 of China," &c. Illustrated. 2nd Ed. Demy 8 vo, 
 2 vols., cloth, 2is. 
 
 This is the most important life of “Chinese Gordon” that has yet 
 been written. Mr. Boulger has had a considerable amount of new and 
 highly interesting material relative to the hero’s career placed in his 
 hands. 
 
 I 
 
A SELECTED LIST OF 
 
 ON THE NILE WITH A CAMERA. 
 
 By Anthony Wilkin. With ovet ioo Illustrations 
 from photographs by the Author. Demy 8vo, cloth, 21s. 
 
 The colossal wonders of Egypt are among the things no one wearies 
 in hearing about. Mr. Wilkin has freshly come from the East with a 
 well-stocked travel-scrip, and furnishes in this book much pleasant and 
 unpretentious matter for fireside reading. 
 
 PIONEER WORK IN THE ALPS OF NEW ZEALAND. 
 
 By Arthur P. Harper. 40 Illustrations and Maps. 
 Demy 8 vo, cloth, 21s. net. — Also, an Edition de 
 Luxe printed on Japan paper, limited to 20 copies, 
 price £5 5s. net. 
 
 Mr. Harper did a great deal of useful work in exploration and map 
 making before Mr. Fitzgerald and Zurbriggen had touched the virgin 
 peaks of New Zealand. His pioneering experiences are of much 
 interest and value, involving as they do observations and notes which 
 could not be made by explorers who perform their feats in a brilliant 
 hurry. 
 
 THE GREY MAN. 
 
 By S. R. Crockett. Edition de Luxe. With Portrait 
 and 26 Drawings by Seymour Lucas, R.A. Limited 
 to 250 copies, signed by Author. Crown 4 to, cloth gilt, 
 2is. net. 
 
 ARCHITECTURE IN ITALY. 
 
 From the Sixth to the Eleventh Century. Historical and 
 Critical Researches by Raffaele Cattaneo. Trans¬ 
 lated by the Contessa Isabel Curtis-Cholmeley in 
 Bermani. With Photogravure Frontispiece and over 
 100 Illustrations. Crown qto, parchment, 21 s. net. 
 
 No writer has as yet made this period the special object of his 
 studies ; the few who have written about it have done so superficially 
 and imperfectly, so that Cattaneo had the difficult work of retracing 
 art-history for nearly six centuries. That this work is recognised as a 
 standard volume is proved by there already being French, German, and 
 Italian editions of it. The English edition is a translation from the 
 Italian and contains all the illustrations of the original printed in Venice 
 by the famous house of Ongania. 
 
 2 
 
MR. T. FISHER UNWIN’S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 CLIMBING REMINISCENCES OF THE DOLOMITES. 
 
 By Leone Sinigaglia. Translated by Mary Alice 
 Vialls. With an Introduction by Edmund J. Gar¬ 
 wood, A.C., Member of the Italian Alpine Club. 
 Profusely Illustrated. With Map. by 6A. Cloth, 
 21 s. net.—Also an Edition on Japan paper, limited to 
 20 copies, bound by Zaehnsdorf, £$ 5s. net. 
 
 This work of the well-known Italian climber is published in the hope 
 that it may be of use to the increasing number of English mountaineers 
 who devote themselves to rock-climbing. In the absence of such an 
 English guide to the Dolomite region, it is thought that this book, 
 describing, as it does, the mountain routes followed with great accuracy 
 and detail, may supply a want that has long been felt. 
 
 It may likewise serve to make better known a most picturesque and 
 interesting district to English travellers, and to familiarise them with 
 the beautiful scenery of the Dolomites. 
 
 FORERUNNERS OF MODERN SOCIALISM DURING 
 THE SIXTEENTH AND SEVENTEENTH CEN¬ 
 TURY. 
 
 By Karl Kautsky and Ed. Bernstein. Translated 
 from the revised German edition. Two Vols. Demy 
 8 vo, 2is. 
 
 Mr. Bernstein was of all men most qualified to present a subject of 
 such economic interest as the history of social reformers in England in 
 the seventeenth century. This English translation of the “Geschichte” 
 is better and more compact than the original, since it has been subject 
 to revision, in which that well-known economic authority, Mr. C. H. 
 Firth, has kindly aided. Those who anticipate reading Mr. Bernstein’s 
 “Life of Engels” will certainly add to the pleasure and profit derivable 
 from that work by the perusal of this. 
 
 TWELVE BAD WOMEN. 
 
 A Companion Volume to “ Twelve Bad Men.” Edited 
 by Arthur Vincent. Illustrated. Demy 8vo, cloth, 16s. 
 
 This Volume is made up as follows : —i. Alice Perrers (the rapacious 
 paramour of Edward 111 .)—ii. Alice Arden (Shakespeare’s chosen type 
 of a bad woman)—iii. Mary Frith (“ Moll Cutpurse ”)— iv. The Coun¬ 
 tess of Somerset (Sir Thomas Overbury’s murderess)—v. Barbara, 
 Duchess of Cleveland—vi. Mary Young (“Jenny Diver”)—vii. Teresia 
 Constantia Phillips (Walpole’s “Con Phillips”)—viii. The bigamous 
 Duchess of Kingston—ix. Mrs. Brownrigg (the cruellest of women)— 
 x. Elizabeth Canning (Impostor)—xi. Mary Bateman (“ The Yorkshire 
 
 o 
 
A SELECTED LIST OF 
 
 Witch ”)—xii. Mary Anne Clarke (the baleful genius of “the brave old 
 Duke of York ”). 
 
 It has not been necessary to go further afield than the British Isles to 
 find members of the gentle sex worthy to rank as counterparts to the 
 Twelve Bad Men, and these pages will be found to show that the 
 “badness” of Englishwomen is not so limited in kind as popular 
 ph raseology has elected to make it seem. The characters named have 
 been selected as types of various forms of vice as developed in the 
 feminine heart, and if all the deadly sins are not represented it is 
 believed that material is here afforded for a revised edition (with addi¬ 
 tions) of the accepted list. 
 
 THE EARLY CORRESPONDENCE OF HANS VON 
 BULOW: 
 
 Edited by his Widow. Selected and Translated by Con¬ 
 stance Bache. With Portraits. Demy 8vo, cloth, 16s. 
 
 This volume contains the letters of Biilow’s early years, ranging from 
 the age of eleven to that of twenty-five. It gives the most graphic 
 description of the early difficulties of the young musician, firstly in 
 taking the step which decided his career, and secondly in making his 
 way in that career when finally adopted. His long and close connec¬ 
 tion with Liszt and Wagner also comes prominently forward, to say 
 nothing of other great, though lesser, lights in the musical and literary 
 world, such as Joachim, Cossmann, Rati, Uhlig, Cornelius, Brendel, and 
 many others who at that time centred around Liszt at Weimar, and 
 with all of whom Biilow was on terms of the greatest intimacy. The 
 most interesting feature of the work is perhaps the letters to his parents ; 
 the absolute confidence that existed between himself and his father, 
 and, in a lesser degree and though broken for a while by his choice of 
 a profession, between himself and his mother, gives to these an intimate 
 and particularly naive character all their own. The volume leaves him 
 well launched in his career, but the difficulties he had to contend with, 
 and the rebuffs he met with in many of his first attempts, not only form 
 a most interesting narrative, but should also serve as a lesson and an 
 encouragement to many another aspiring young artist. 
 
 THE INNER LIFE OF THE HOUSE OF COMMONS: 
 
 Selected from the writings of William White, with a 
 Prefatory Note by his son, and an Introduction by 
 Justin McCarthy, M.P. 2 Vols. Demy 8 vo, 16s. 
 
 The late Mr. William White was, for many years, door-keeper ot the 
 House of Commons, and, in this capacity, gained a unique knowledge 
 of the parliamentary life of his day. He witnessed the early skirmishes 
 
 4 
 
MR. T. FISHER UNWIN’S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 between Mr. Disraeli and Mr. Gladstone, and sketched many a word- 
 portrait, none the less vivid for being un-academical, for the Illustrated 
 Times , from whose pages these extracts are mainly derived. From 
 them it will be gathered that Mr. White was the pioneer of the modern 
 “descriptive reporting” which obtains so largely nowadays. 
 
 THE YEAR AFTER THE ARMADA. 
 
 And other Historical Studies. By Major Martin A. S. 
 Hume, Author of u The Courtships of Queeti Eliza¬ 
 beth.” 2nd Ed. Demy 8 vo, cloth gilt. Illustrated. 12s. 
 
 This is a bright collection of studies, as valuable to the historian as 
 they are entertaining to the general reader. The principal study tells, 
 for the first time, from unpublished contemporary diaries the strange 
 story of England’s attempt to take revenge for the Armada by a joint- 
 stock invasion of Portugal ; and each of the other eight chapters lays 
 bare some extraordinary or obscure story of the past—in every case 
 with the aid of absolutely new contemporary material—such as the 
 coming of Philip II. to marry Queen Mary, the almost incredible 
 intrigues which surrounded the deathbed of Charles the Bewitched, 
 and the strange vagaries of the Sumptuary Laws. The author’s repu¬ 
 tation for original research is a guarantee that, extraordinary as some 
 of these studies are, not a fact is stated in them which is not supported 
 by serious contemporary evidence. 
 
 TALKS ABOUT AUTOGRAPHS. 
 
 By George Birkbecic Hill, Editor of “ Boswell’s Life 
 of Johnson.” With Portraits and Facsimiles. Square 
 8 vo, cloth , 12s. 
 
 Mr. Birkbeck Hill, the zealous “Johnsonian,” is in his way a specialist 
 in autographs, and can chat about them very pleasantly. The volume 
 contains, moreover, a number of facsimiles, including letters from 
 Charles Lamb, Southey, Dante Gabriel Rossetti, and documentary sig¬ 
 natures of leaders in French revolutionary movements. 
 
 RANCH LIFE AND THE HUNTING TRAIL. 
 
 By Theodore Roosevelt. Illustrated by Frederick 
 Remington. Royal Sz'o, cloth, 10s. 6 d. 
 
 This is a new edition of Mr. Roosevelt’s work on life in the Far 
 West. Both author and artist are well-known ranchmen and hunters 
 of big game, and some of Mr. Remington’s most famous pictures are to 
 be found in its pages. 
 
 5 
 
MR. T. FISHER UNWIN’S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 TURKEY AND THE ARMENIAN ATROCITIES. 
 
 By Rev. Edwin M. Bliss, Late of Constantinople ; 
 Editor of “ Encyclopedia of MissionsAssistant 
 Editor of “ The Independent.” Assisted by Rev. 
 Cyrus Hamlin, Prof. E. A. Grosvenor, of Amherst 
 College, and other Oriental Scholars ; also several eye¬ 
 witnesses of the Greatest Massacres. With an Introduc¬ 
 tion by Miss Frances E. Willard. Profusely 
 Illustrated. Square 8vo, cloth gilt, ios. 6 d. 
 
 A graphic and thrilling history of Turkey, the Armenians, and the 
 events that have led up to the terrible massacres that have occurred in 
 Armenia, with a full account of the same—so bloody and brutal in 
 character and extent as to shock the entire Christian world. 
 
 NEW EDITION. 
 
 MODERN SCIENTIFIC WHIST. 
 
 By C. D. P. Hamilton, i Vol. Large crown 8 vo. 
 600 pages; over 5,000 Pip Illustrations; 268 Dia¬ 
 grams, and 20 Tables. Beautifully printed in red and 
 black, on paper specially manufactured for this book. 
 Bound in cloth gilt, 8s. 6 d. net. 
 
 A digest, by a practical whist-player, that will be appreciated by the 
 beginner for its simplicity and clearness, and by the expert for its com¬ 
 prehensiveness. The most exhaustive treatise ever written on the 
 subject of Whist. 
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 By Mary Cowden-Clarke. Crown 8 vo, cloth gilt, 
 with 4 Engravings and 4 Collotypes, 7 s. 6d. 
 
 Mrs. Cowden-Clarke is, if the term be admissible, the doyen of 
 women writers. Her concordance to the plays of Shakespeare speaks 
 eloquently for her industry, but she is the author, besides, of many 
 other works, mainly of a retrospective character. Here we have her 
 own autobiography—the autobiography of the oldest descendant of the 
 great Novello family, who were the pioneers of cheap music, the 
 friends and publishers of Mendelssohn, and whose name is indissolubly 
 connected with the production of oratorio in this country. Great 
 interest attaches, therefore, to this voice from the past. Her many 
 anecdotes have, indeed, a special individuality and charm. 
 
 6 
 
MR. T. FISHER UNWIN'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 THE REAL JAPAN: 
 
 Studies of Contemporary Japanese Manners, Morals, 
 Administration, and Politics. By Henry Norman. 
 40 Illustrations. New Edition, with a new Preface. 
 Large Crown 8»o, cloth, js. 6 d. 
 
 A PARTICULAR ACCOUNT OF THE EUROPEAN 
 MILITARY ADVENTURES OF HINDUSTAN (1784- 
 1803). 
 
 Compiled by Henry Compton. New and cheaper 
 edition. Map and Illustrations. (A New Volume of 
 The Adventure Series.) Large crown 8 vo, cloth, 7s. 6 d. 
 
 Siy-SbUItna Wlovele. 
 
 Uniform in style with S. R. Crockett's Works. Large 
 crown 8vo, cloth, gilt top, 6s. each. 
 
 THE GREY MAN. 
 
 By S. R. Crockett. 
 
 No words are necessary in introducing a new “ Crockett.” An 
 exciting historical novel of the first class, with plenty of fighting, is 
 here offered by the indefatigable author of “The Raiders.” 
 
 IN A MAN’S MIND. 
 
 By John Reay Watson. Uniform with “ The 
 Raiders.” 
 
 Have we here the Howells of Australia ? It may be so, for the 
 mingled subtlety and simplicity of the sophisticated colonial have been 
 hit off in this story in quite the approved Bostonian manner. The hero 
 is a Queenslander, and his life’s romance is the subject of minute and 
 dexterous analysis, and whether he will choose his blooming and com¬ 
 monplace cousin or the sensitive Brisbane shop-girl, his social inferior, 
 is a matter of breathless interest till it is finally decided to his and the 
 reader’s satisfaction. 
 
 THE HERB = MOON. 
 
 By John Oliver Hobbes, Author of “Some 
 Emotions and a Moral,” &c. Frontispiece. 
 
 7 
 
A SELECTED LIST OF 
 
 A DAUGHTER OF THE FEN. 
 
 By J. T. Bealby. 
 
 This is an historical novel of the Fen Country in 1764, and is of a rare 
 class. It has two great claims to merit, viz., it is an exceedingly inte¬ 
 resting account of the enclosure of the Fen Country, which measure 
 created great opposition, rioting, and bloodshed on the part of the 
 Fensmen, and it is a very spirited and exact picture of the social life, 
 habits, manners, and customs of the Lincolnshire fen folk. The author 
 tells us in his preface that he has put all the local knowledge he 
 possesses into the book. Rarely is there a novel so ample, so charac¬ 
 teristic, so full and satisfying in detail. The novel is also a very 
 exciting one ; when once well begun the interest never flags. 
 
 IN BOHEMIA WITH DU MAURIER. 
 
 By Felix Moscheles. Illustrated with 63 Original 
 Drawings by G. du Maurier. Large crown 8 vo, 
 cloth, 10s. 6d. 
 
 These two well-known artists—the author and the subject of his 
 reminiscences—were art-students together, and for some time became 
 inseparable companions. The result is in part preserved by the large 
 number of free and humorous sketches reproduced in this volume— 
 artist's disjecta membra. Much light is thrown upon the sources from 
 which du Maurier obtained that hypnotic local colour which he used in 
 “ Peter Ibbetson” and “Trilby.” 
 
 RAMBLES IN GALLOWAY. 
 
 By Malcolm Me L. Harper. New edition, with a 
 Map and upwards of 80 Illustrations. Demy 8 vo, 
 handsomely bound in art linen, blocked gold, gilt top, 
 6 s. net. 
 
 This volume will make a most suitable companion to the works of 
 Mr. S. R. Crockett, treating, as it does, of the country with which his 
 writings are chiefly associated. Indeed a reading of the “Rambles” 
 tend to give a further zest to the writings of that distinguished novelist. 
 The author has travelled every foot of the ground referred to in the 400 
 or thereby closely-printed pages which constitute the book, noting on 
 his way with the eye of an artist the many beauties of the scenery, of 
 loch, hill, and valley, and few places of importance in this picturesque 
 province have been passed unnoticed. The book will be equally 
 welcome to the artist, the antiquary, and the archaeologist, and by the 
 many readers who would like to know more of Crockett's county it will 
 be hailed as a boon. 
 
 8 
 
MR. T. FISHER UNWIN’S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 “QUEER PEOPLE.” 
 
 A Book about Brownies and others. By Palmer Cox. 
 Profusely Illustrated. Large Quarto , cloth gilt, 6s. 
 
 BARDS OF THE GAEL AND GALL. 
 
 Edited by Dr. George Sigerson. Small crown 8 vo, 
 cloth, 6s. net. 
 
 This will be a welcome book for those who have found little comfort 
 in existing anthologies. A good deal of original matter has been 
 included in this charming collection of Irish lyrics. 
 
 A VILLAGE POLITICIAN: 
 
 The Life Story of John Buckley. By J. C. Buckmaster. 
 
 About 350 pp. Crown 8vo, 6s. 
 
 This is a volume containing the interesting reminiscences of a lead¬ 
 ing pioneer of the Free Trade movement. It brings once more to the 
 mind of the reader the thrilling times when the repeal of the Corn Laws 
 was still unaccomplished. 
 
 WITHOUT PREJUDICE. 
 
 By I. Zangwill, Author of “The Master “ Children of 
 the Ghetto,” &c. Crown 8 vo, cloth, 6s. 
 
 Author’s Note. 
 
 This book is a selection—slightly revised—from my miscellaneous 
 work during the last four or five years, and the title is that under which 
 the bulk of it has appeared month by month in the Pall Mall Magazine. 
 In selecting, I have omitted those pieces which hang upon other 
 people’s books, plays, or pictures : a process of exclusion which, while 
 giving unity to a possible collection of my critical writings in another 
 volume, leaves this first selection exclusively egoistic.—I. Z. 
 
 THE SHADOW SHOW. 
 
 By Peter S. Newell, Author of “ Topsys and Turvies,” 
 &c. Paper boards, 5s. 
 
 This is another of Mr. Newell’s unique productions, consisting of a 
 number of pictures (printed in colours) which, when held up to the light 
 and reversed, produce a startling effect upon the observer. Uniform in 
 style with this author’s previous works. 
 
 9 
 
A SELECTED LIST OF 
 
 THE COURTSHIPS OF QUEEN ELIZABETH. 
 
 By Martin A. S. Hume, F.R.H.S., Editor of the 
 “ Calendar of Spanish State Papers of Elizabeth ” 
 (.Public Record Office). Fourth and Cheap Edition. 
 Demy Svo, cloth, with Portraits, 6s. 
 
 “ A clear and very interesting account. ... An excellent book.”— 
 The Times. 
 
 “ A luminous and fascinating narrative. Mr. Hume’s masterly and 
 impartial narrative .”—Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF A KING’S LIFE. 
 
 By J. J. Jusserand. With Photogravure Frontispiece 
 and other Illustrations. Fcap Svo, cloth, 6s. 
 
 This is the pathetic story of the imprisonment of James I. of Scotland. 
 It is here handled by one who has mastered all the documents bearing 
 on the subject, and is acquainted with the unfortunate king's romantic 
 compositions. 
 
 HAIN FRISWELL: 
 
 The Stoty of his Life. Written by his Daughter, Laura 
 Hain Friswell. Crown Svo, cloth, 6s. 
 
 The essays that appeared in the Fatuity Herald, during Mr. Hain 
 Friswell’s editorship, were remarkable both for literary acumen and 
 common sense. They were no mer e-pot-pourris of quotation and anec¬ 
 dote. This posthumous collection is on a par with that which, under 
 the title of “ The Wicked World,” had marked success in 1892 and the 
 more famous “ Gentle Life ” Series. The opinions of the author of 
 “ The Gentle Life ” are well known. He was a prolific writer, a true 
 scholar, and an earnest and kindly man. As a satirist, novelist, and 
 essayist he was popular, “ and deservedly praised for his rare faculty in 
 expressing his thoughts in good sound English.” In the forthcoming 
 book an attempt will be made to give an account of his early life, edu¬ 
 cation, and determination to become an author. It will show his strong 
 religious faith, his indefatigable industry in many things as well as in 
 literature, his love for the working-classes, whose interests he had ever 
 at heart, and of whose education and advancement he never lost sight. 
 
 HIS FIRST YEAR AT SCHOOL. 
 
 By Alfred West. With Frontispiece. Crown 8 w>, 
 cloth, 5 s. 
 
 This book aims at furnishing a vivid representation of every-day life 
 in upper-class preparatory schools. It should therefore prove interest- 
 
 IO 
 
MR. T. FISHER UNWIN’S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 ing to boys, parents, and masters. The author’s long and intimate 
 connection with schools and universities enabled him to describe 
 various types of pupils and pedagogues as they really exist. No 
 deliberate attempt is made to point a moral in the story ; nevertheless, 
 both boys and their parents may glean useful hints from its pages, for 
 the writer believes with Horace that “ a joke often decides weighty 
 matters more vigorously and efficiently than severe treatment.” 
 
 SCHILLER’S SONG OF THE BELL. 
 
 Translated by A. G. Foster-Barham. Twelve Illustra¬ 
 tions by W. A. Phillips. Oblong 8 vo, cloth, 5s. net. 
 
 Schiller’s exquisite Lied, or “ Lay of the Bell,” has a peculiar and 
 appropriate fitness in these days of socialistic theories and tampering 
 with family ties. A pure, tender note pervades the story, and no less 
 is the blessing of honest faithful work and sympathy between men and 
 masters brought prominently forward. No man can rise from reading 
 the Lied without a glow of heart, which is the reflection of the beautiful 
 soul of the poet. Childhood, youth, manhood, love, happiness, grief, 
 are all there, and drawn by a master-hand. Mr. W. Alison Phillips’ 
 illustrations have struck a new and rich vein. He has turned away 
 from the too tempting delineations of Retsch, and in lieu of feathers 
 and curled locks and moustachios, he gives us genuine peasant’s life, 
 with all its simple grace and beauty. While, over all, mingling with 
 all, dominating all, yet “ heartless—without sympathy,” the measured 
 solemn tones of the Bell fall on the ear. 
 
 BRER MORTAL. 
 
 By ]. Hancock. Illustrated. Crown 8 vo, cloth, 5s 
 
 This is a subtle allegory on Mrs. Grundy and the world which takes 
 the apparently simple form of a child’s story. Indeed the double- 
 entendre is so skilfully manipulated that the child may fancy he is 
 listening to a new Uncle Remus right the way through the story, while 
 the grown-up is laughing at the quips and cranks of the Spirit of Satire. 
 
 Zb c £tor\> of tbe IRations. — New Volumes. 
 
 Illustrated, and with Maps and Indexes. Crown 8 vo, 
 cloth, 5 s. each. , 
 
 THE BALKANS. 
 
 By W. Miller, M.A. 
 
 This work traces the history of Roumania, Servia, Bulgaria, and 
 Montenegro. 
 
 11 
 
A SELECTED LIST 
 
 BRITISH INDIA. 
 
 By R. W. Frazer, LL.B. 
 
 Every effort has been made to include in thi^, volume of the “ Story 
 of the Nations ” Series the results of the recent researches in Indian 
 history. The course of ancient commerce between the East and West, 
 the rise and fall of the Portuguese settlements in India^the accounts of 
 the early English travellers and details of the first voyages are plainly 
 set forth. A description is given of the internal state of India towards 
 the close of the seventeenth century, and the causes detailed which 
 made the extension of British dominion inevitable. Throughout the 
 story the main facts which led to the extension of territorial possession 
 are dwelt on and the result of each step forward traced. The history 
 includes the most recent events, and an account is given of the moral 
 and material progress of the people under British rule. 
 
 MODERN FRANCE. 1789-1895. 
 
 By Andre Lebon. 
 
 CANADA. 
 
 By J. G. Bourinot, C.M.G., LL.D., Lit.D., 
 Clerk of the Canadian House of Commons, 
 Honorary Secretary and ex-Prcsident of the 
 Royal Society of Canada , &c. 
 
 In this book, written by an English Canadian whose constitutional 
 and historical works have won him much distinction, we have one of 
 the most interesting volumes that have y£t appeared on the Dominion 
 •of Canada. Like the eminent American historian, Francis Parkman, 
 Dr. Bourinot has given special prominence to the exceedingly pictu¬ 
 resque days of the French regime (1604-1760), and his narrative, from 
 the beginning to the end, reads like a romance, though in no sense has 
 he sacrificed historical truth to mere graphic effect. The history of the 
 years of English dominion is more or less a record of the political and 
 constitutional struggles of communities isolated from each other until 
 1867, but the author has also here invested his narrative with interest 
 by giving most attention to the epoch-making events, and to tracing 
 step by step the development of a Confederation which now extends 
 from the Atlantic to the Pacific Ocean, and has already won a place 
 among the nations. The illustrations have been selected with much 
 care, and add much to the vividness of the story. The portraits of the 
 makers of Canada are of special value to the students of the history of 
 a great English dependency 
 
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