Trial of Mary Blandy by William Roughead
W >>
William Roughead >> Trial of Mary Blandy
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 |
12 |
13 |
14 |
15 |
16 | 17 |
18 |
19 |
20 |
21
Soon after Mr. Stevens of Fawley came, and I conducted him into my
mother's chamber. At his approach to her, he was so overwhelmed with
grief, that he could not speak a word. She took him by the hand, and
said, "I am glad to see you, my dear brother. You must help to comfort
your poor niece, who will stand in need of your assistance. Never
forsake her, my dear brother. All that gives me pain in death is the
leaving of her behind me." Then turning to me, "Your uncle Jack, my
dear, will take care of you, and look on you as his own," At which Mr.
Stevens took hold of his sister's and niece's hands, and, with tears,
told 'em both he would. Then turning about, he asked me if the
physician was not yet come? My mother said, "They would send for him,
but he could be of no service to her"; giving her brother at the same
time such reasons for her despondency as convinced him, that there
were little or no hopes of her recovery. He found himself so moved at
this, that he was obliged to go down stairs, and retire to my father
and Mr. Henry Stevens, who were at that time both in the parlour. The
physician, Dr. Addington, of Reading, soon arrived, and went directly
to my mother's room. When he came in, she showed him the inflammation
and swelling on her bowels. He prescribed her some physic, to be taken
once in every two hours, and ordered her to be blooded immediately.
Her bowels also, according to his direction, were to be fomented and
poulticed once in every four hours. This operation I took upon myself,
and punctually performed it. I also gave her every medicine she took
till she was at the point of death, and I myself was forced to be
carried out of the room in a fit. Dr. Addington, before he prescribed
anything, went with me out of the room, and told me he was afraid he
could do nothing for her; repeating the same afterwards both to my
father and my two uncles. Notwithstanding which, he thought fit to
order the above mentioned poultices and fomentations; which, according
to his direction, were applied, tho' without producing any good
effect. In fine, my dear mother died Sept. 30, 1749, about nine
o'clock at night.
For six months preceding her sickness, or thereabouts, being the
interval between her last departure from London and the time her
indisposition seized her, my mother never saw Mr. Cranstoun; tho' I
constantly, and even almost every post, corresponded with him. It must
here be observed, that Lady Cranstoun had wrote to my mother some time
before, to return her thanks for the civilities her son had received
from her. It must also be remembered, that a little before my mother
went last to town, I and my father both received letters from Miss
Murray, signed "N. Cranstoun," to inform us, that she was his lawful
wife. The decree of the Court of Scotland in her favour was sent with
these letters. When I received them, I carried them to my father.
After he had read them, I asked him "what I was to do." His answer
was, "I do not trouble my head about it." On which I went to my
mother, and consulted with her about what was to be done; and, by her
advice, wrote to Mr. Cranstoun, begging him, as he was a man of
honour, to let me know the truth. At the same time, I sent him the
letters that came from Scotland, and occasioned this epistle. In
answer to this, he said, "It was certainly her hand; but that she
never was his wife, nor has any right to the name": And, in order to
gain credit to his assertion, he made the strongest protestations.
Before my mother wrote last to him, and that a considerable time, he
had sent me a solemn Contract of Marriage, wherein he declared he
never had been married before, and stiled me therein "Mrs. Cranstoun."
But to put an end to this digression, and proceed to what happened
after my mother's death.
On the day following her decease, which was Sunday, Mr. Stevens of
Fawley was desired to write Mr. Cranstoun word of this sorrowful
event; which he did, I being incapable of either knowing or doing any
thing. Mrs. Stevens, the Rev. Mr. Stevens's wife, staid with me from
Saturday night, when my mother died, till the Sunday night following.
Then Mrs. Mounteney, a friend of my late mother's, came to me, and
staid with me some time. My mother, on her deathbed, had begged me not
to oppose the match between my father and this Mrs. Mounteney, if,
after her death, he discovered an inclination to marry her; as she was
a woman of honour, and would use me well for her sake. On the Tuesday
following my mother's death Mr. Cranstoun sent his footman express to
Henley, with letters to me and my father. When my father opened his
letter and read it, the tears ran down his checks, and he cried out,
"How tenderly does he write!" Then he gave Mrs. Mounteney the letter
to read, who, after having read it, said it was as pretty a letter as
could have been wrote on such an occasion; "He has lost a friend
indeed," said she, "but I don't doubt," speaking to my father, "but
you will make up her loss to them both." Then, my father said to me,
"Pray read your letter to us." This I did, and the letter contained an
earnest desire, that if I could not write myself, I would let his
footman see me, that he might know how I really was; since he was
almost distracted for fear of my being ill after so great a shock. He
also begged me to remember, "That there was one left still, who loved
me as tenderly as my mother could do, and whose whole happiness in
this world depended upon my life." My father told me, tho' my mother
was to be buried that night, "I must write a line to him, in order to
ease the poor soul as much as I could; and let him know that he was as
welcome to my father's house, whenever he would please to come, as he
was before." On this I wrote to him, and shewed the letter to my
father. The footman set out with it for London the same night, or very
early the next morning. Mr. Cranstoun not coming down so soon as was
expected, my father one day, being alone with me, seemed to express
himself as if he thought it wrong; upon which I wrote a very pressing
letter to him, to come immediately to Henley. To this he in a letter
replied, that he was not able to go out at that time for debt, and was
fearful if he should come, the Bailiffs might follow him; his fortune
being seized in Scotland, for the maintenance of Miss Murray and her
child. The debt that occasioned this perplexity, he said, was near
fifteen guineas. I having borrowed forty pounds of Mrs. Mounteney, to
pay off part of my mother's debts, sent him up fifteen guineas out of
this sum; on which he came down to Henley, and staid some weeks with
my father, who received him with great marks of affection and esteem.
During this interval, he acquainted me with the great skill of the
famous Mrs. Morgan, who had described me and my father, tho' she had
never seen us, in the most perfect and surprising manner possible. He
further acquainted me, that she had given him some powders to take,
which she called Love-powders. Some time after this conversation, my
father seemed much out of humour, and said several unkind things, both
to Mr. Cranstoun and me. This induced Mr. Cranstoun, when alone with
me not long after, to say, "I wish I could give your father some of
the love-powders." "For what?" said I. "Because," replied he, "they
would make him love me." "Are you weak enough," said I, "to think that
there is such a power in any powders?" "Yes, I really do," replied he,
"for I took them myself, and forgave a friend soon after; tho' I never
intended to have spoke to him again." This subject dropped for some
days, and no more said of it: but on my father's being very much out
of humour one night, Mr. Cranstoun said, "If I had any of these
powders, I would put them into something that Mr. Blandy should
drink." To which I answered, "I am glad you have not, for I have no
faith in such things." "But I have," replied he. Just before he
returned to London, he received a dunning letter. This was on a
Sunday, when my father was at church. I perceiving him to look dull,
begged to know the reason. He said he must leave me the next day. On
which I asked him what could occasion such a sudden departure? He then
told me he had received a letter, concerning a debt he owed, that he
had no money to pay; and that if he staid in Henley, the bailiffs
might come down in quest of him thither; and you know your father's
temper, said he, if that should happen. This induced me to desire a
sight of the letter; which having perused, I immediately gave him the
money he wanted on this occasion, winch amounted to fifteen pounds,
and was part of the sum I had before borrowed of Mrs. Mounteney. This,
with the other fifteen pounds sent him from Henley, made up thirty of
the forty pounds he had formerly lent my mother. As soon as he had
received this money, he wrote a letter to his creditor in London,
informing him, that he would pay him on a day therein mentioned. A few
days after this, he set out for London, and kept up his correspondence
with me for several months, not returning to Henley till August 1750.
The morning he left Henley, my father parted with him with the
greatest tenderness; yet the moment he was gone, he used me very
cruelly on his account. This had such an effect upon me, that it threw
me into hysteric fits. His conduct for some time was very uncertain;
sometimes extremely tender, and at other times the reverse; he on
certain occasions saying very bitter and cruel things to me.
During this interval, my father received a present of some dried
salmon from Lady Cranstoun in Scotland, and a very civil letter, which
he did not answer, tho' he seemed pleased with the contents of it. The
first of August 1750, as I apprehend, Mr. Cranstoun wrote to my
father, that he would wait upon him, and I carried the letter up to
him, he then being in his bed-chamber. After he had opened and read
it, he made no manner of answer. I then asked him what answer I should
write. To which he replied, "He must come, I suppose." On this I wrote
to him, giving him to understand, that I should be glad to see him.
This produced an answer from him, wherein he told me, he would be with
me on the Monday following; but he came on Sunday, whilst we were at
dinner. My father received him with great tenderness seemingly, and
said, "He was sorry he had not seen him half an hour sooner, for he
was afraid the dinner was quite cold." My father after dinner went to
church, and left Mr. Cranstoun and me together: after church was over,
my father returned, drank tea with us, and seemed to be in perfect
good humour; and so he remained for several weeks; but afterwards
changed so much in his temper, that I seldom arose from table without
tears. This gave Mr. Cranstoun great pain; so that he one time said to
me, "Why will you not permit me to give your father some of the
powders which I formerly mentioned? If I was to give him them,"
continued he, "they are quite innocent, and will do him no harm, if
they did not produce the desired effect." He had no sooner spoke those
words than my father came in; upon which a profound silence ensued.
Next morning I went into my father's study, and found him very much
out of humour: he had spent the evening at the coffee-house, as he
frequently did, and generally came home in a bad humour from thence. I
went from him into the parlour where I found Mr. Cranstoun: he
insisted upon knowing what was the matter, I appearing to him to have
been lately in tears: I told him the whole affair. He replied, "I hate
he should go to that house, he always comes home from thence in a very
ill humour." I had made the tea, and got up to fetch some sugar, which
was in a glass scrutore at the farther end of the room; and when I
rose up, Mr. Cranstoun said to me, "I will now put in some of the
powder--upon my soul it will not hurt him." My father was in his study
at the time these words were spoken. I made answer, "Don't do it,
Cranstoun; it will make me uneasy, and can do you no good." To this he
replied, "It can do no hurt, and therefore I will mix it." After I had
got the sugar, I returned to the tea-table, and was going to throw
away the tea, in which Mr. Cranstoun had put some of the powder; but
my father came in that moment, and prevented me from executing my
design. My father seemed very much out of humour all breakfast-time;
and, soon after breakfast was over, retired to his study. Mr.
Cranstoun and I then took a walk. At dinner my father appeared in the
best of humours, and continued so all the time Mr. Cranstoun stayed
with him. Mr. Cranstoun and I used to walk out every day. On one of
those days, Mr. Cranstoun told me he had a secret to impart to me, and
begg'd me not to be angry with him for it; adding, he knew I had too
much good sense to be so. The secret in short was this: he had had a
daughter by one Miss Capel, a year before he knew me; and, as he
pretended, all his friends had insisted upon his telling me of it. To
this I replied, "Your follies, Cranstoun, have been very great; but I
hope you see them." "That I do," said he, "with penitence and shame."
"Then, sir," replied I, "I freely forgive you; but never shall, if you
repeat these follies now after our acquaintance." "If I do," said he,
"I must be a villain; you alone can make me happy in this world; and,
by following your example, I hope I shall be happy in the next." Mr.
Cranstoun gave my father the powder in August 1750, and stayed with
him in Henley, as I believe, till some day in the beginning of
November, the same year. A day or two after the preceding dialogue,
one morning I got, up, and asked my maid, "How Mr. Cranstoun did?" Who
answered, "He is gone out a walking, Madam." Upon this, I, as soon as
I was drest, went up into Mr. Cranstoun's room, to look out his linnen
for my maid to mend. I could not find it on the table, where it used
to lie; and seeing a key in his trunk, I opened it. The first thing I
found there was a letter from a hand I knew not, tho' he used always
to give me his letters to open, and that unasked by me. This I opened
to read, and found it to come from a woman he kept. Having read it, I
shut the trunk, locked it fast, and put the key in my pocket. The
letter I left in the same place where I found it. I then went down to
my father in his study, and asked him to come to breakfast. He said,
"No, not till Cranstoun returns home;" on which I retired into the
parlour. A few minutes after, Mr. Cranstoun and Mr. Littleton, my
father's clerk, both came in together. We all of us then went to
breakfast. My father said to me, soon after we sat down, "You look
very pale, Molly; what is the matter with you?" "I am not very well,
sir," replied I. After we had breakfasted, my father and his clerk
went out of the room. I then gave Mr. Cranstoun the keys of his trunk,
and bade him be more careful for the future, and not leave his letters
so much exposed. At these words he almost fainted away. He got up, and
retired to his room immediately. I was going to my own room, when he
called to me, and begged me, for God's sake, to come to him: which I
instantly did. He then fell down on his knees before me, and begged
me, for God's sake, to forgive him; if I was resolved to see him no
more. On this I told him I forgave him, but intreated him to make some
excuse to leave Henley the next day: "For I will not," said I, "expose
you, if I can help it; and our affair may scorn to go off by degrees."
The last words, seemingly so confounded him, that he made me no
answer, but threw himself on the bed, crying out, "I am ruined, I am
ruined. Oh Molly, you never loved me!" I then was upon the point of
going out of the room, without giving him any answer. Upon which he
got hold of my gown, and swore, "He would not live till night, if I
did not forgive him." He bad me, "Remember my mother's last dying
commands, and reflect upon the pain it would give his mother." He
protested "that he could never forgive himself, if I did; and that he
never would repeat the same provocations." He kept me then two hours,
before he could prevail upon me to declare, that I would not break off
my acquaintance with him. Mr. Cranstoun pretended to be sick two or
three days upon this unlucky event; but I cannot help thinking this
now to have been only a delusion. Some time after this Mr. Cranstoun
had a letter from his brother, the Lord Cranstoun, to desire him to
come immediately to Scotland, in order to settle some of his own
affairs there, and to see his mother, the Lady Cranstoun, who was then
extremely ill. Upon the arrival of this letter Mr. Cranstoun said to
me, "Good God, what shall I do! I have no money to carry me thither
and all my fortune is seized on, but my half-pay!" This made me very
uneasy. He then said, "He would part with his watch, in order to
enable him to raise a sum sufficient to defray the expence of his
journey to Scotland." I told him, "I had no money to give him, but
would freely make him a present of my own watch; as I could not bear
to see him without one." Then I took a picture of himself, which he
had some time before given me, off my watch, and freely made him a
present of it. Two days after this he departed for Scotland, and I
never afterwards saw him. He set out about six o'clock in the morning.
My father got up early that morning to take leave of him before his
departure, at which he seemed vastly uneasy. He took him in his arms,
and said, "God bless you, my dear Cranstoun, when you come next, I
hope your unhappy affair will be decided to our mutual satisfaction."
To this Mr. Cranstoun replied, "Yes, sir, I hope in my favour; or if
this should fail that you should hear of my death. Be tender to,"
continued he, "and comfort this poor thing," turning towards me, "whom
I love better than myself." Then my father look Mr. Cranstoun and
myself in his arms, and we all three shed tears. This was a very
moving scene. My father afterwards went out of the room, and fetched a
silver dram-bottle, holding near half a pint, filled it with rum, and
made a present of both to Mr. Cranstoun; bidding him keep the
dram-bottle for his sake, and drink the liquor on the road; assuring
him, that if he found himself sick or cold, the latter would prove a
cordial to him. Mr. Cranstoun then got into the post-chaise, and took
his leave of Henley.
It will be proper to take notice in this place, by way of digression,
of a very remarkable event, or rather series of events, that happened
before Mr. Cranstoun's last departure for Scotland. One day whilst my
mother and I were last in London, we were talking of the immortality
of the soul; and the subject we were then upon led us insensibly to a
discourse of apparitions; and that again to a promise we made each
other, that the first of us who died should appear to the survivor,
after death, if permitted so to do. My mother dying first, in the
manner already related, I sometimes retired into the room where she
died, in hopes of seeing her. Here I lay near half a year, earnestly
desiring to see my mother, without being able either to see or hear
any thing. After this, my father lay in that room; but for some time
neither saw nor heard any thing. Afterwards, one night, he taxed me
with being at his chamber door, rapping at it, rushing with my
silk-gown, and refusing to answer him when he called to me. My chamber
was at a small distance from his, and into it he came the next
morning: demanding for what reason I had so frighted him. To this I
replied, "I had never been at his door, nor out of my bed the whole
night." He then inquired of all the maids, who only lay in the house,
whether any of them disturbed him; to which they all answered in the
negative. Soon after this, Mr. Cranstoun came to Henley, as has been
already observed, and was put into a room, called the hall-chamber,
over the great parlour; which was reckoned the best in the house. Here
he was shut out from the rest of the family. Till October 1750, above
a year after my mother's death, no noise at all was heard, excepting
that at Mr. Blandy's chamber-door above mentioned. But one morning in
the beginning of that month, Mr. Cranstoun being in the parlour, I
asked him, "What made him look so pale, and to seem so uneasy?" "I
have met," said he, "with the oddest accident this night that ever
befel me: the moment I got into bed, I heard the finest music that can
possibly be imagined. I sat up in my bed upon this, to hear from
whence it came; and it seemed to me to come from the middle of the
stairs. It continued, as I believe, at least above two hours." At this
I laughed, and said, "O Cranstoun, how can you be so whimsical?" "Tis
no whim," replied he, "for I really heard it; nor had I been asleep;
for it began soon after I got into bed." I then said, "Don't make
yourself uneasy, if it was so; since nothing ill, sure, can be
presaged by music." When my father came into the parlour, this topic
of conversation was instantly dropped. The next night, I, who lay
quite at the other end of the house, being awake, heard music, that
seemed to me to be in the yard, exceeding plainly. Upon this, I got up
and looked out of the window that faced the yard, but saw nothing. The
music, however, continued till near morning, when I fell asleep, and
heard no more of it. My mother's maid coming into my chamber, as
usual, to call me, I told her what I heard. This drew from her the
following saucy answer: "You see and hear, Madam, with Mr. Cranstoun's
eyes and ears." To which I made no other reply than, "Go, and send me
my own maid". As soon as I was dressed, I went into Mr. Cranstoun's
room, whom I found sitting therein by the fire. I asked him, at first
coming into the room, "How he had spent the night, and whether he had
heard the music?" To which he replied, "Yes, all night long; I could
not sleep a wink for it; nay, I got out of my bed, and followed it
into the great parlour, where it left me. I then returned into my own
room, and heard such odd noises in the parlour under me, as greatly
discomposed me." "I wish," added he, "you would send me up a bason of
tea." To which I replied, "Pray come down, as you are now up; for you
know my papa is better tempered when you are by, than when I am with
him alone." We then both went down to breakfast, but said nothing to
my father of what had happened.
A little while after this, Susannah Gunnel, my mother's maid, who had
before given me the impertinent answer, came into my bedchamber before
I was up, and told me she had heard the music. She also begged my
pardon for not believing me, when I had formerly averted the same
thing. Mr. Cranstoun, myself, and this maid then talked all together
about this surprising event. Mr. Cranstoun declared he had heard
noises, as well as music, which the other two at that time never
heard. The music generally began about twelve o'clock at night. My
father obliging the family to be in bed about eleven, I told the
aforesaid maid, who was an old servant in the family, "That she and I
would go together up into Mr. Cranstoun's room at twelve o'clock, and
try if we could find out what these noises were." According to
agreement, therefore, we went up into that room at the hour proposed;
and heard very clearly and most distinctly the music. The maid fell
asleep about three o'clock in the morning; but was soon waked with an
uncommon noise, heard both by Mr. Cranstoun and myself. This noise
resembled thumping or knocking at a door, which greatly terrified Mr.
Cranstoun, and the maid. In less than a minute after this, we all
three heard plainly the footsteps of my mother, as I then apprehended,
by which she seemed to be going down stairs towards the kitchen door,
which soon after seemed to be opened. We all three sat silent, and
heard the same invisible being come up stairs again. Upon this, I took
the candle, they still sitting by the fire, and was going to open the
chamber door, saying, "Surely it must be one of the maids." Mr.
Cranstoun observing this, cried out, "Perhaps it may be your father,
don't let him see you here." Then he took the candle, opened the door,
and looked down the stairs himself; but could perceive nothing at all.
In less than three minutes after this I said, "I will now go into my
room to bed, being fatigued and frightened almost to death." "I
believe," continued I, "it is near four." These words were no sooner
uttered than we all heard the former footsteps, as tho' some person
had been coming directly to the room where we were, but stopped short
at the door. Upon this I immediately catched up the candle, went to
the door and open'd it; but saw nothing, tho' I heard something
plainly go down the stairs. Then I went to the maid, who was half
asleep, and did not perfectly hear the last footsteps. But Mr.
Cranstoun heard them, and seemed greatly surprised. Then I bad the
maid go with me instantly to bed, not being able to keep up my spirits
any longer. Soon after this, Mr. Cranstoun and I went up to Fawley, to
pay a visit to the Rev. Mr. Stevens; and whilst we were there, I gave
my uncle an account of this surprising affair. But he laughed at me,
and called me little fool, for my pains. Then Mr. Cranstoun said,
"Sir, I myself heard it." To which Mr. Stevens made no other reply
than, "Sir, I don't doubt you think you heard it; but don't you
believe there is a great deal in fancy? May it not be some trick of
the servants?" To which I made answer, "No, Sir, that is impossible;
since if they could make the noise, they could not the music." Mr.
Stevens not giving much credit to what we affirmed, we immediately
changed the subject of discourse. By this time all the servants that
lay in the house had heard both the music and noise; and one morning
at breakfast, Mr. Cranstoun ventured to tell my father of the music.
At such a strange report, my father stared at him, and cried, "Are yon
light-headed?" In answer to which Mr. Cranstoun reply'd, "Your
daughter, sir, has heard the same, and so have all your servants." To
this my father, smiling, returned, "It was Scotch music, I suppose;"
and said some other things that shewed he was not in good humour. Upon
which it was thought fit immediately to drop the discourse.
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 |
12 |
13 |
14 |
15 |
16 | 17 |
18 |
19 |
20 |
21