she received from her lover a letter informing her that he had seen
his old friend Mrs. Morgan, who was to oblige him with a fresh
supply of her proprietary article, which he would send along with
some "Scotch pebbles" for his betrothed's acceptance. "Ornaments of
Scotch pebbles," says Lady Russell, "were the extreme of fashion in
the year 1750." According to the opening speech for the Crown, both
powder and pebbles arrived at Henley in April; Mary says they did
not reach her hands till June. Susan Gunnell, one of the
maidservants, stated at the trial that there were two consignments
of pebbles from Scotland; one "in a large box of table linen," which
came "early in the spring," and another in "a small box," some three
months before her master's death. Cranstoun's instructions were "to
mix the powder in tea." While professing to doubt "such efficacy
could be lodged in any powder whatsoever," and expressing the fear
"lest it should impair her father's health," Mary consented to give
the love philtre a fair trial. "This some mornings after I did," she
says in her _Own Account_.
Of the earlier phases of Francis Blandy's fatal illness, which began
in this month of June, the evidence tells us nothing more definite
than that he suffered much internal pain and frequently was sick; but
two incidents occurring at that time throw some light upon the cause
of his complaint. It was the habit of the old man to have his tea
served "in a different dish from the rest of the family." One morning
Susan Gunnell, finding that her master had left his tea untasted,
drank it; for three days she was violently sick and continued unwell
for a week. On another occasion Mr. Blandy's tea being again untouched
by him, it was given to an old charwoman named Ann Emmet, often
employed about the house. She shortly was seized with sickness so
severe as to endanger her life. That Mary knew of both these
mysterious attacks is proved; she was much concerned at the illness
of the charwoman, who was a favourite of hers, and she sent white
wine, whey, and broth for the invalid's use.
It is singular that such experiences failed to shake Miss Blandy's
faith in the harmless nature of Mrs. Morgan's nostrum, but they at
least made her realise that tea was an unsuitable vehicle for its
exhibition, and she communicated the fact to Cranstoun. Her
bloodthirsty adviser, however, was able to meet the difficulty. On
18th July he wrote to her, "in an allegorical manner," as
follows:--"I am sorry there are such occasions to clean your
pebbles; you must make use of the powder to them by putting it in
anything of substance wherein it will not swim a-top of the water,
of which I wrote to you in one of my last. I am afraid it will be
too weak to take off their rust, or at least it will take too long a
time." As a further inducement to her to hasten the work in hand, he
described the beauties of Scotland, and mentioned that his mother,
Lady Cranstoun, was having an apartment specially fitted up at
Lennel House for Mary's use. The text of this letter was quoted by
Bathurst in his opening speech for the Crown, but the report of the
trial does not bear that the document itself was produced, or that
it was proved to be in Cranstoun's handwriting. The letter is quoted
in the _Secret History_ and referred to in other contemporary
tracts, and the fact of its existence appears to have been well
known at the time. Further, Miss Blandy in her _Own Account_
distinctly alludes to its receipt, and no objection was taken by her
or her counsel to the reading of it at the trial. The point is of
importance for two reasons. Firstly, this letter, if written by
Cranstoun and received by Mary affords the strongest presumptive
proof of their mutual guilt. Had their design been, as she asserted,
innocent, what need to adopt in a private letter this "allegorical"
and guarded language? Secondly, Mary, as we shall see, found means
before her arrest to destroy the half of the Cranstoun correspondence
in her keeping, and it would have been more satisfactory if the
prosecution had shown how this particular letter escaped to fall into
their hands. That she herself fabricated it in order to inculpate her
accomplice is highly improbable; had she done so, as Mr. Bleackley has
pointed out, its contents would have been more consistent with her
defence.
On the evening of Sunday, 4th August, Susan Gunnell, by order of her
mistress, made in a pan a quantity of water gruel for her master's
use. On Monday, the 5th, Miss Blandy was seen by the maids at
mid-day stirring the gruel with a spoon in the pantry. She remarked
that she had been eating the oatmeal from the bottom of the pan,
"and taking some up in the spoon, put it between her fingers and
rubbed it." That night some of the gruel was sent up in a half-pint
mug by Mary for her father's supper. When doing so, she repeated her
curious action of the morning, taking a little in a spoon and
rubbing it. On Tuesday, the 6th, the whole house was in confusion:
Mr. Blandy had become seriously ill in the night, with symptoms of
violent pain, vomiting, and purging. Mr. Norton, the Henley
apothecary who attended the family, was summoned--at whose instance
does not appear--and on arriving at the house he found the patient
suffering, as he thought, from "a fit of colic." He asked him if he
had eaten anything that could have disagreed with him; and Mary, who
was in the bedroom, replied "that her papa had had nothing that she
knew of, except some peas on the Saturday night before." Not a word
was said about the gruel; and Mr. Norton had no reason to suspect
poison. He prescribed, and himself brought certain remedies,
promising to call next day. In the afternoon Miss Blandy, in the
kitchen, asked Elizabeth Binfield, the cook, this strange question:
"Betty, if one thing should happen, will you go with me to
Scotland?" to which Betty cautiously replied, "If I should go there
and not like it, it would be expensive travelling back again." That
evening Susan was told to warm some of the gruel for her master's
supper; she did so, and Mary herself carried it to him in the
parlour. On going upstairs to bed, he was repeatedly sick, and
called to Susan to bring him a basin.
Next morning, Wednesday, the 7th, Betty Binfield brought down from
the bedroom the remains of Mr. Blandy's supper. Old Ann Emmet, the
charwoman, chanced, unhappily for herself, to be in the kitchen.
Susan told her she might eat what had been left, which she did, with
the result that she too became violently ill, with symptoms similar
to those of Mr. Blandy, and even by the following spring had not
sufficiently recovered to be able to attend the trial of her
benefactress. When Susan, at nine o'clock, went up to dress her
mistress and informed her of her protegee's seizure, Miss Blandy
feelingly remarked that she was glad she had not been downstairs, as
it would have shocked her to see "her poor dame" so ill. The doctor
called in the forenoon and found his patient easier. Later in the
day Mary said to Susan that as her master had taken physic, he would
require more gruel, but as there was still some left, she need not
make it fresh "as she was ironing." Susan replied that the gruel was
stale, being then four days old, and, further, that having herself
tasted it, she felt very ill, upon which facts Mary made no comment.
She thoughtfully warned the cook, however, that if Susan ate more of
the gruel "she might do for herself--a person of her age," from
which we must infer that Susan was much her master's senior; how,
otherwise, was the old man to take it daily with impunity?
The strange circumstances attending this gruel aroused the maids'
suspicions. They examined the remanent contents of the pan--the aged
but adventurous Susan again tasting the fatal mixture was sick for
many days--and found a white, gritty "settlement" at the bottom.
They prudently put the pan in a locked closet overnight. Next day,
Thursday, the 8th, Susan carried it to their neighbour, Mrs.
Mounteney, who sent for Mr. Norton, the apothecary, by whom the
contents were removed for subsequent examination, the result of
which will in due course appear.
Meanwhile, Mary's uncle, the Rev. Mr. Stevens, of Fawley, having
heard of his brother-in-law's illness, arrived on Friday, the 9th.
To him Susan communicated the suspicious circumstances already
mentioned, and he advised her to tell her master what she knew.
Accordingly, at seven o'clock the following morning (Saturday, the
10th), Susan entered her master's bedroom, and broke to him the
fearful news that his illness was suspected to be due to poison,
administered to him by his own daughter. So soon as he had recovered
from the first shock of this terrible intelligence, the old attorney
asked her where Mary could have obtained the poison--he does not
seem to have questioned the fact of its administration--and Susan
could suggest no other source than Cranstoun. "Oh, that villain!"
cried the sick man, realising in a flash the horrid plot of which he
was the victim, "that ever he came to my house! I remember he
mentioned a particular poison that they had in their country." Susan
told him that Mr. Norton advised that Miss Blandy's papers be seized
forthwith, but to this Mr. Blandy would not agree. "I never in all
my life read a letter that came to my daughter," said the scrupulous
old man; but he asked Susan to secure any of the powder she could
find.
Determined at once to satisfy himself of the truth, Mr. Blandy rose
and went downstairs to breakfast. There was present at that meal,
besides himself and Mary, one Robert Littleton, his clerk, who had
returned the night before from a holiday in Warwickshire. The old
man appeared to him "in great agony, and complained very much." Mary
handed her father his tea in his "particular dish." He tasted it,
and, fixing his eyes upon her, remarked that it had a bad, gritty
taste, and asked if she had put anything into it. The girl trembled
and changed countenance, muttering that it was made as usual; to
hide her confusion she hurried from the room. Mr. Blandy poured his
tea into "the cat's basin" and sent for a fresh supply. After
breakfast, Mary asked Littleton what had become of the tea, and,
being told, seemed to him much upset by the occurrence. When the old
man had finished his meal, he went into the kitchen to shave. While
there he observed to his daughter, in presence of Betty Binfield, "I
had like to have been poisoned once," referring to an occasion when
he and two friends drank something hurtful at the coffee house. "One
of these gentlemen died immediately, the other is dead now," said
he; "I have survived them both, and it is my fortune to be poisoned
at last," and, looking "very hard" at her, he turned away.
Miss Blandy must have been blind indeed had she failed to see the
significance of these incidents. Anything but obtuse, she at once
decided to take instant measures for her own protection. She went up
to her room, and collecting Cranstoun's correspondence and what
remained of the fatal powder, she returned to the kitchen; standing
before the fire on pretence of drying the superscription of a
letter, she threw the whole bundle into the grate and "stirred it
down with a stick." The cook at the moment, whether by chance or
design, put on some coals, which preserved the papers from flaming
up, and as soon as their mistress had left the kitchen, the maids,
now thoroughly on the alert, took off the coal. The letters were
consumed, but they drew out almost uninjured a folded paper packet,
bearing in Cranstoun's hand the suggestive words, "The powder to
clean the pebbles with," and still containing a small quantity of
white powder, which they delivered to Mr. Norton when he called
later in the day. The apothecary found his patient worse, and stated
his opinion to Mary, who asked him to bring from Reading the great
Dr. Anthony Addington (father of Lord Sidmouth). Did she at the
eleventh hour, pausing upon her dreadful path, seek yet to save her
father's life, or was this merely a move to show her "innocence," as
Dr. Pritchard, in similar circumstances, invited an eminent
colleague to visit his dying victims? Both in her _Narrative_ and
her _Own Account_ Mary takes full credit for calling in Dr.
Addington, but she is unable to allude to the episodes of the
parlour and the kitchen.
Dr. Addington arrived at midnight. From the condition of the
patient, coupled with what he learned from him and Mr. Norton, the
doctor had no doubt Mr. Blandy was suffering from the effects of
poison. He at once informed the daughter, and inquired if her father
had any enemies. "It is impossible!" she replied. "He is at peace
with all the world and all the world is at peace with him." She
added that her father had long suffered from colic and heartburn, to
which his present indisposition was doubtless due. Dr. Addington
remained in the sick-room until Sunday morning (the 11th), when he
left, promising to return next day. He took with him the sediment
from the pan and the packet rescued from the fire, both of which
were delivered to him by Mr. Norton. At this time neither physician
nor apothecary knew the precise nature of the powder. Before he
quitted the house, Dr. Addington warned Mary that if her father died
she would inevitably be ruined.
Her position was now, one would think, sufficiently precarious; but
the infatuated woman took a further fatal step. Her "love" for her
murderous little gallant moved her to warn him of their common
danger. She wrote to him at Lennel House, Coldstream, and asked
Littleton, who had been in the habit of directing her letters to
Cranstoun, to seal, address, and post the missive as usual. But
Littleton, aware of the dark cloud of suspicion that had settled
upon his master's daughter, opened it and read as follows:--"Dear
Willy,--My father is so bad that I have only time to tell you that
if you do not hear from me soon again, don't be frightened. I am
better myself. Lest any accident should happen to your letters, take
care what you write. My sincere compliments. I am ever yours."
Littleton at once showed the letter to Mr. Norton, and afterwards
read it to Mr. Blandy: "He said very little. He smiled and said,
'Poor love-sick girl! What won't a girl do for a man she loves?'"
There was then in the house Mary's uncle, Mr. Blandy, of Kingston,
who had come to see his brother, and it was prudently decided, in
view of all the circumstances, to refuse her access to the
sick-room. But on the following morning (Monday, the 12th) Mr.
Blandy sent by Susan Gunnell a message to his daughter "that he was
ready to forgive her if she would but endeavour to bring that
villain to justice." In accordance with the dying man's request,
Mary was admitted to his room in presence of Susan and Mr. Norton.
Unaware of the recovery of the powder and the interception of her
letter, "she thanked God that she was much better, and said her mind
was more at ease than it had been"; but, being informed of these
damning discoveries, she fell on her knees by her father's bed and
implored his forgiveness, vowing that she would never see or write
to Cranstoun again. "I forgive thee, my dear," said the old man,
"and I hope God will forgive thee; but thou shouldst have considered
better than to have attempted anything against thy father." To which
she answered, "Sir, as for your illness, I am entirely innocent."
She admitted having put the powder into the gruel, "but," said she,
"it was given me with another intent." Her father, "turning himself
in his bed," exclaimed, "Oh, such a villain! To come to my house,
eat and drink of the best my house could afford, and then to take
away my life and ruin my daughter! Oh, my dear, thou must hate that
man, must hate the ground he treads on, thou canst not help it!"
"Sir," said Mary, "your tenderness towards me is like a sword
piercing my heart--much worse than if you were ever so angry. I must
down on my knees and beg you will not curse me." "I curse thee, my
daughter," he rejoined, "how canst thou think I could curse thee?
Nay, I bless thee, and hope God will bless thee also and amend thy
life. Do, my dear, go out of my room and say no more, lest thou
shouldst say anything to thine own prejudice"; whereupon, says
Susan, who reports what passed, "she went directly out." Thus Mary
and her father parted for the last time. It appears from this
pathetic interview that the old man purposely treated her as
Cranstoun's innocent dupe, to shield her, if possible, from the
consequences of her guilt, of which, in the circumstances, he could
have entertained no doubt.
[Illustration: Facsimile of the Intercepted Letter to Cranstoun
written by Mary Blandy
(_From the original MS. in the Public Record Office_.)]
Meanwhile Dr. Addington had applied to the mysterious powder the
tests prescribed by the scientific knowledge of the time, which, if
less delicate and reliable than the processes of Reinsch and
Marsh--a red-hot poker was the principal agent--yielded results then
deemed sufficiently conclusive. Judged by these experiments, Mrs.
Morgan's mystic philtre was composed of nothing more recondite than
white arsenic. When Dr. Addington called on Monday he found the
patient much worse, and sent for Dr. Lewis, of Oxford, as he
"apprehended Mr. Blandy to be in the utmost danger, and that this
affair might come before a Court of judicature." He asked the dying
man whether he himself knew if he had "taken poison often." Mr.
Blandy said he believed he had, and in reply to the further
question, whom he suspected to be the giver of the poison? "the
tears stood in his eyes, yet he forced a smile, and said, 'A poor
love-sick girl--I forgive her. I always thought there was mischief
in those cursed Scotch pebbles.'" Dr. Lewis came, and confirmed Dr.
Addington's diagnosis; by their orders Mary was that evening
confined to her chamber, a guard was placed over her, and her keys,
papers, "and all instruments wherewith she could hurt either herself
or any other person" were taken from her. Dr. Addington graphically
describes the scene when the guilty woman realised that all was
lost. She protested that from the first she had been basely deceived
by Cranstoun, that she had never put powder in anything her father
swallowed, excepting the gruel drunk by him on the Monday and
Tuesday nights, that she believed it "would make him kind to him
[Cranstoun] and her," and that she did not know it to be poison
"_till she had seen its effects_." She declined to assist in
bringing her lover to justice--she considered him as her husband,
"though the ceremony had not passed between them." In reply to
further pertinent questions, e.g., whether she really pretended to
believe in the childish business of the "love philtre"? why
Cranstoun described it, if innoxious, as "powder to clean the
pebbles with"? why, in view of her father's grave condition, she
failed sooner to call in medical aid? and why she had concealed from
him (Addington) what she knew to be the true cause of the illness?
her answers were not such, says Dr. Addington, as gave him any
satisfaction. She made, however, the highly damaging admission that,
about six weeks before, she had put some of the powder into her
father's tea, which Susan Gunnell drank and was ill for a week
after. This was said in presence of Betty Binfield. Thus, it will be
observed, Mary Blandy, on her own showing knew, long before she
operated upon, the gruel at all, the baneful effects of the powder.
Her statement that the motive for administering it was to make her
father "kind" both to _herself_ and Cranstoun should also be, in
view of her subsequent defence, remembered.
On Tuesday, the 13th, the doctors found their patient delirious and
"excessively weak." He grew worse throughout the day; but next
morning he regained consciousness for an hour, and spoke of making
his will in a day or two--a characteristic touch. He soon relapsed,
however, and rapidly sinking, died at two o'clock in the afternoon
of Wednesday, 14th August, 1751. So the end for which, trampling
upon the common instincts of her kind and hardening her heart
against the cry of Nature, she had so persistently and horribly
striven, was at last attained--with what contentment to "The Fair
Parricide," in her guarded chamber, may be left to the speculation
of the curious. The servants had access to their mistress's room.
That afternoon Miss Blandy asked Robert Harman, the footman, to go
away with her immediately--to France, says one account--and offered
him £500 if he would do so. He refused. At night, by her request,
the cook, Betty Binfield, sat up with her. "Betty, will you go away
with me?" she cried, so soon as they were alone. "If you will go to
the Lion or the Bell and hire a post-chaise, I will give you fifteen
guineas when you get into it, and ten guineas more when we come to
London!" "Where will you go--into the North?" inquired the cautious
cook; "Shall you go by sea?" and learning that the proposed
excursion would include a voyage, Betty, being, as appears, a bad
sailor, declined the offer. Her mistress then "burst into laughter,"
and said she was only joking! In the _Narrative_, written after her
condemnation, Mary boldly denies that these significant incidents
occurred; in her more elaborate _Account_ she makes no reference to
the subject. Those who saw her at this time testify to her extreme
anxiety regarding her own situation, but say she showed no sign of
sorrow, compassion, or remorse for her father's death.
The person charged with the duty of warding Mary in her chamber was
Edward Herne, parish clerk of Henley, who some twelve years before
had been employed in Mr. Blandy's office, and had since remained on
intimate terms with the family. It would appear, from an allusion in
a contemporary tract, that Herne was that "Mr. H----" whose
pretensions to the hand of the attorney's daughter had once been
politely rejected. If so, probably he still preserved sufficient of
his former feeling to sympathise with her position and wink at her
escape. Be the fact as it may, at ten o'clock next morning,
Thursday, 15th August, Ned Herne, as Mary names him, leaving his
fair charge unguarded, went off to dig a grave for his old master.
So soon as the coast was clear, Mary, with "nothing on but a
half-sack and petticoat without a hoop," ran out of the house into
the street and over Henley bridge, in a last wild attempt to cheat
her fate. Her distraught air and strange array attracted instant
notice. She was quickly recognised and surrounded by an angry
crowd--for the circumstances of Mr. Blandy's death were now common
knowledge, and the Coroner's jury was to sit that day. Alarmed by
her hostile reception, she sought refuge at the sign of the Angel,
on the other side of the bridge, and Mrs. Davis, the landlady, shut
the door upon the mob. There chanced then to be in the alehouse one
Mr. Lane, who, with his wife, were interested spectators of these
unwonted proceedings. Miss Blandy, having "called for a pint of wine
and a toast," thus addressed the stranger--"Sir, you look like a
gentleman; what do you think they will do to me?" Mr. Lane told her
that she would be committed to the county gaol for trial at the
Assizes, when, if her innocence appeared, she would be acquitted; if
not, she would suffer accordingly. On receiving this cold comfort
Mary "stamped her foot upon the ground," and cried, "Oh, that damned
villain! But why should I blame him? I am more to blame than he, for
I gave it him [her father] and knew the consequence." On
cross-examination at a later stage, the witnesses were unable to
swear whether the word she used was "knew" or "know." The
distinction is obvious; but looking to the other evidence on the
point, it is not of much importance. Mr. Alderman Fisher, a friend
of Mr. Blandy and one of the jury summoned upon the inquest, came to
the Angel and persuaded the fugitive to return. Though the distance
was inconsiderable, Mr. Fisher had to convey her in a "close"
post-chaise "to preserve her from the resentment of the populace."
Welcomed home by the sergeant and mace-bearer sent by the
Corporation of Henley to take her in charge, Mary asked Mr. Fisher
how it would go with her. He told her, "very hard," unless she could
support her story by the production of Cranstoun's letters. "Dear
Mr. Fisher," said she, "I am afraid I have burnt some that would
have brought him to justice. My honour to him will prove my ruin."
If the letters afforded sufficient proof of Cranstoun's criminous
intent, it hardly appears how the fact rhymes to Mary's innocence.