Trial of Mary Blandy by William Roughead

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Gentlemen, in the afternoon of the Wednesday, notwithstanding the
poor man, her father, had suffered so much for two days together,
yet she again endeavours to give him more of the same gruel. "No,"
says the maid, "it has an odd taste; it is grown stale, I will make
fresh." "It is not worth while to make fresh now, it will take you
from your ironing; this will do," was the prisoner's answer.
However, Susan made fresh, after which wanting the pan to put it in,
she went to throw away what was before in it. Upon tilting the pan,
she perceived a white powder at the bottom, which she knew could not
be oatmeal. She showed it her fellow-servant, when, feeling it, they
found it gritty. They then too plainly perceived what it was had
made their poor master ill. What was to be done? Susan immediately
carried the pan with the gruel and powder in it to Mrs. Mounteney, a
neighbour and friend of the deceased. Mrs. Mounteney kept it till it
was delivered to the apothecary, the apothecary delivered it to the
physician, and he will tell you that upon trying it he found it to
be white arsenic. Mr. Blandy continued from day to day to grow
worse. At last, upon the Saturday morning, Susan Gunnell, an old
honest, maidservant, uneasy to see how her poor master had been
treated, went to his bedside, and, in the most prudent and gentlest
manner, broke to him what had been the cause of his illness, and the
strong ground there was to suspect that his daughter was the
occasion of it. The father, with a fondness greater than ever a
father felt before, cried out, "Poor love-sick girl! What will not a
woman do for the man she loves? But who do you think gave her the
powder?" She answered, "She could not tell, unless it was sent by
Mr. Cranstoun." "I believe so too," says the master, "for I remember
he has talked learnedly of poisons. I always thought there was
mischief in those cursed Scotch pebbles."

Soon afterwards he got up and came to breakfast in his parlour,
where his daughter and Mr. Littleton, his clerk, then were. A dish
of tea, in the usual manner, was ready poured out for him. He just
tasted it and said, "This tea has a bad taste," looked at the cup,
then looked hard at his daughter. She was, for the first time,
shocked, burst into tears, and ran out of the room. The poor father,
more shocked than the daughter, poured the tea into the cat's basin,
and went to the window to recover himself. She soon came again into
the room. Mr. Littleton said, "Madam, I fear your father is very
ill, for he has flung away his tea." Upon this news she trembled,
and the tears again stood in her eyes. She again withdraws. Soon
afterwards the father came into the kitchen, and, addressing himself
to her, said, "Molly, I had like to have been poisoned twenty years
ago, and now I find I shall die by poison at last." This was warning
sufficient. She immediately went upstairs, brought down Mr.
Cranstoun's letters, together with the remainder of the poison, and
threw them (as she thought unobserved) into the fire. Thinking she
had now cleared herself from the suspicious appearances of poison,
her spirits mend, "she thanked God that she was much better, and
said her mind was more at ease than it had been." Alas! how often
does that which we fondly imagine will save us become our
destruction? So it was in the present instance. For providentially,
though the letters were destroyed, the paper with the poison in it
was not burnt. One of the maids having immediately flung some fresh
coals upon the fire, Miss Blandy went well satisfied out of the
room. Upon her going out, Susan Gunnell said to her fellow-servants,
"I saw Miss Blandy throw some papers in the fire, let us see whether
we can discover what they were." They removed the coals, and found a
paper with white powder in it, wrote upon, in Mr. Cranstoun's hands,
"Powder to clean the pebbles."[3] This powder they preserved, and
the doctor will tell you that it was white arsenic, the same which
had been found in the pan of gruel.

Having now (as she imagined) concealed her own being concerned, you
will find her the next day endeavouring to prevent her lover from
being discovered. Mr. Blandy of Kingston having come the night
before to see her father, on Sunday morning she sent Mr. Littleton
with him to church; while they were there she sat down and wrote
this letter to her beloved Cranstoun--

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.

"My father is so bad." Who had made him so? Yet does she say she was
sorry for it? No; she knew her father was then dying by that powder
that he had sent her, yet could acquaint him she was herself better.
Under those circumstances could caution him to take care what he
wrote, lest his letters should be discovered! What can speak more
strongly their mutual guilt? This letter she sealed with no less than
five wafers. When Mr. Littleton came from church she privately gave it
to him, desiring it might be directed as usual, and put into the post.
Mr. Littleton was at that time too well apprised of this black
transaction to obey her commands. He opened the letter, took a copy of
it. Upon further recollection, carried the original to the father, who
bid him open and read it. He did so. What do you think, gentlemen, was
all the poor old man said upon this discovery? He only again dropped
these words, "Poor love-sick girl! What will not a woman do for the
man she loves?"

Upon the Monday morning, after having been kept for two days without
seeing her father, by the order of the physicians, her conscience, or
rather fear, began to trouble her; she told the maid she should go
distracted if she did not see her father, and sent a message to beg to
see him. Accordingly she was admitted. The conversation between them
was this--"Papa, how do you do?" "My dear, I am very ill." She
immediately fell upon her knees and said, "Dear sir, banish me where
you will; do with me what you please, so you do but pardon and forgive
me. And as to Mr. Cranstoun, I never will see, write, or speak to him
again." He answered, "I do forgive you, but you should, my dear, have
considered that I was your own father." Upon this the prisoner said,
"Sir, as to your illness I am innocent." Susan Gunnell, who was
present, interrupted her at this expression, and told her she was
astonished to hear her say she was innocent, when they had the poison
to produce against her that she had put into her father's water gruel,
and had preserved the paper she had thrown into the fire. The father,
whose love and tenderness for his daughter exceeded expression, could
not bear to hear her thus accused; therefore, turning himself in his
bed, cried out, "Oh that villain! that hath eat of the best, and drank
of the best my house could afford, to take away my life and ruin my
daughter!" Upon hearing this the daughter ran to the other side of the
bed to him; upon which he added, "My dear, you must hate that man, you
must hate the very ground he treads on." Struck with this, the
prisoner said, "Dear sir, your kindness towards me is worse than
swords to my heart. I must down upon my knees and beg you not to curse
me." Hear the father's answer, a father then dying by poison given by
her hand--"I curse thee, my dear! No, I bless you, and will pray to
God to bless you, and to amend your life"; then added, "So do, my
dear, go out of the room lest you should say anything to accuse
yourself." Was ever such tenderness from a parent to a child! She was
prudent enough to follow his advice, and went out of the room without
speaking. His kindness was swords to her heart for near half an hour.
Going downstairs she met Betty Binfield, and, whilst she was thus
affected, owned to her she had put some powder into her father's
gruel, and that Susan and she, for their honesty to their master,
deserved half her fortune.

Gentlemen, not to tire you with the particulars of every day, upon
Wednesday, in the afternoon, the father died. Upon his death the
prisoner, finding herself discovered, endeavoured to persuade the
manservant to go off with her; but he was too honest to be tempted by
a reward to assist her in going off, though she told him it would be
L500 in his way. That night she refused to go to bed. Not out of grief
for her father's death, for you will be told by the maid who sat up
with her that she never during the whole night showed the least
sorrow, compassion, or remorse upon his account. But in the middle of
the night she proposed to get a post-chaise in order to go to London,
and offered the maid twenty-five guineas to go with her. "A
post-chaise! and go to London! God forbid, madam, I should do such a
thing." The prisoner, finding the maid not proper for her purpose,
immediately put a smile upon her face--"I was only joking." Only
joking! Good God! would she now have it thought she was only joking?

Her father just dead by poison: she suspected of having poisoned him;
accused of being a parricide; and would she have it thought she was
capable of joking?

When I see the assistance she now has (and I am glad to see she has
the assistance of three as able gentlemen as any in the profession) I
am sure she will not be now advised to say she was then joking. But it
will appear very plainly to you, gentlemen, that she was not joking,
for the next morning she dressed herself in a proper habit for a
journey, and, while the people put to take care of her were absent,
stole out of the house and went over Henley Bridge. But the mob, who
had heard of what she had done, followed her so close that she was
forced to take shelter in a little alehouse, the Angel. Mr. Fisher, a
gentleman who was afterwards one of the jury upon the coroner's
inquisition, came there, and prevailed with her (or in other words
forced her) to return home. Upon her return, the inquest sitting, she
sends for Mr. Fisher into another room and said, "Dear Mr. Fisher,
what do you think they will do with me? Will they send me to Oxford
gaol?" "Madam," said he, "I am afraid it will go hard with you. But if
you have any of Mr. Cranstoun's letters, and produce them, they may be
of some service to you." Upon hearing this she cried out, "Dear Mr.
Fisher, what have I done? I had letters that would have hanged that
villain, but I have burnt them. My honour to that villain has brought
me to my destruction." And she spoke the truth.

This, gentlemen, is in substance the history of this black affair.
But, my lords, though this is the history in order of time, yet it is
not the order in which we shall lay the evidence before your lordships
and the jury. It will be proper for us to begin by establishing the
fact that Mr. Francis Blandy did die of poison. When the physicians
have proved that, we will then proceed to show that he died of the
poison put into the water gruel on the 5th of August. After this we
will call witnesses who from a number of circumstances, as well as
from her own confession, will prove she put it into her father's water
gruel, knowing it was for her father, and knowing it to be poison.

Having done this, we will conclude with a piece of evidence which I
forgot to mention before, and that is the conversation between her and
Mr. Lane at the Angel. Mr. Lane and his wife happening to be walking
at that time, finding a mob about the door, stepped into the alehouse
to see the prisoner. The moment she saw a gentleman, though it was one
she did not know, she accosted him, "Sir, you appear to be a
gentleman; for heaven's sake, what will become of me?" "Madam!" said
he, "you will be sent to Oxford gaol; you will there be tried for your
life. If you are innocent, you will be acquitted; if you are guilty,
you will suffer death."

The prisoner upon hearing this stamped with her foot, and said, "Oh!
that damned villain!" Then pausing, "But why do I blame him? I am most
blame myself, for I gave it, and I knew the consequence." If she knew
the consequence, I am sure there are none of you gentlemen but who
will think she deserves to suffer the consequence.

And let me here observe how evidently the hand of Providence has
interposed to bring her to this day's trial that she may suffer the
consequence. For what but the hand of Providence could have preserved
the paper thrown by her into the fire, and have snatched it unburnt
from the devouring flame! Good God! how wonderful are all Thy ways,
and how miraculously hast Thou preserved this paper to be this day
produced in evidence against the prisoner in order that she may suffer
the punishment due to her crime, and be a dreadful example to all
others who may be tempted in like manner to offend Thy divine majesty!

Let me add that, next to Providence, the public are obliged to the two
noble lords[4] whose indefatigable diligence in inquiring into this
hidden work of darkness has enabled us to lay before you upon this
occasion the clearest and strongest proof that such a dark transaction
will admit of. For poisoning is done in secret and alone. It is not
like other murders, neither can it be proved with equal perspicuity.
However, the evidence we have in this case is as clear and direct as
possible, and if it comes up to what I have opened to you I make no
doubt but you will do that justice to your country which the oath you
have taken requires of you.

[Sidenote: Mr. Serjeant Hayward]

Mr. SERJEANT HAYWARD--May it please your lordships and you gentlemen
of the jury, I likewise am appointed to assist the Crown on this
occasion, but His Majesty's learned counsel having laid before you so
faithful a narrative of this dismal transaction, it seems almost
unnecessary for me to take up any more of your time in repeating
anything that has been before said; and, indeed, my own inclinations
would lead me to cast a veil over the guilty scene--a scene so black
and so horrid that if my duty did not call me to it I could rather
wish it might be for ever concealed from human eyes. But as we are now
making inquisition for blood it is absolutely necessary for me to make
some observations upon that chain of circumstances that attended this
bloody contrivance and detested murder.

[Illustration: Captain Cranstoun and Miss Blandy
(_From an Engraving in the British Museum_.)]

Experience has taught us that in many cases a single fact may be
supported by false testimony, but where it is attended with a train
of circumstances that cannot be invented (had they never happened),
such a fact will always be made out to the satisfaction of a jury
by the concurring assistance of circumstantial evidence. Because
circumstances that tally one with another are above human contrivance.
And especially such as naturally arise in their order from the first
contrivance of a scheme to the fatal execution of it.

Having suggested this much, I shall now proceed to lay before you
those sort of circumstances that seem to me to arise through this
whole affair, and leave it to your judgment whether they do not amount
to too convincing a proof that the prisoner at the bar has knowingly
been the cause of her own father's death, for upon the prisoner's
knowledge of what she did will depend her fate.

Of all kinds of murders that by poison is the most dreadful, as it
takes a man unguarded, and gives him no opportunity to defend himself,
much more so when administered by the hand of a child, whom one could
least suspect, and from whom one might naturally look for assistance
and comfort. Could a father entertain any suspicion of a child to
whom, under God, he had been the second cause of life? No, sure, and
yet this is the case now before you. The unfortunate deceased has
received his death by poison, and that undoubtedly administered by the
hand of his own--his only--his beloved child. Spare me, gentlemen, to
pay the tribute of one tear to the memory of a person with whom I was
most intimately acquainted, and to the excellency of whose disposition
and integrity of heart I can safely bear faithful testimony. Oh! were
he now living, and to see his daughter there, the severest tortures
that poison could give would be nothing to what he would suffer from
such a sight.

And since the bitterest agonies must at this time surround the heart
of the prisoner if she does but think of what a father she has lost, I
can readily join with her in her severest afflictions upon this
occasion, and shall never blame myself for weeping with those that
weep, nor can I make the least question but my learned assistants in
this prosecution will with me rejoice likewise, if the prisoner, by
making her innocence appear, shall upon the conclusion of this inquiry
find occasion to rejoice. But, alas! too strong I fear will the charge
against her be proved, too convincing are the circumstances that
attend it. What those are, and what may be collected from them, is my
next business to offer to your consideration.

But before I enter thereupon I must beg leave to address myself to
this numerous and crowded assembly, whom curiosity hath led hither to
hear the event of this solemn trial, hoping that whatever may be the
consequence of it to the prisoner her present melancholy situation may
turn to our advantage, and reduce our minds to seriousness and
attention. Solemn, indeed, I may well call it as being a tribunal
truly awful, for this method of trial before two of His Majesty's
learned judges has scarce ever been known upon a circuit; judges of
undoubted virtue, integrity, and learning, who undergo this laborious
and important work, not only for the sake of bringing guilt to
punishment, but to guard and protect innocence whenever it appears.

But you, young gentleman of this University, I particularly beg your
attention, earnestly beseeching you to guard against the first
approaches of and temptations to vice. See here the dreadful
consequences of disobedience to a parent. Who could have thought that
Miss Blandy, a young lady virtuously brought up, distinguished for her
good behaviour and prudent conduct in life, till her unfortunate
acquaintance with the wicked Cranstoun, should ever be brought to a
trial for her life, and that for the most desperate and bloodiest kind
of murder, committed by her own hand, upon her own father? Had she
listened to his admonitions this calamity never had befallen her.
Learn hence the dreadful consequences of disobedience to parents; and
know also that the same mischief in all probability may happen to such
who obstinately disregard, neglect, and despise the advice of those
persons who have the charge and care of their education; of governors
likewise, and of magistrates, and of all others who are put in
authority over them. Let this fix in your mind the excellent maxim of
the good physician, "Venienti occurrite morbo." Let us defend
ourselves against the first temptations to sin, and guard our
innocence as we would our lives; for if once we yield, though but a
little, in whose power is it to say, hitherto will I go, and no
further?

And now, gentlemen of the jury, those observations I had before
mentioned, I shall attempt to lay before you in order to assist you in
making a true judgment of the matter committed to your charge. The
author and contriver of this bloody affair is not at present here. I
sincerely wish that he was, because we should be able to convince him
that such crimes as his cannot escape unpunished. The unhappy
prisoner, ruined and undone by the treacherous flattery and pernicious
advice of that abandoned, insidious, and execrable wretch, who had
found means of introducing himself into her father's family, and
whilst there, by false pretences of love, gained the affection of his
only daughter and child. Love! did I call it? It deserves not the
name; if it was love of anything it was of the L10,000 supposed to be
the young lady's fortune. Could a man that had a wife of his own, and
children, be really in love with another woman? Such a thing cannot be
supposed, and therefore I beg leave to call it avarice and lust only;
but be it what it will, the life of the father becomes an obstacle to
the criminal proceedings that were intended and designed to be carried
on between them, and therefore he must be removed before that
imaginary state of felicity could be obtained according to their
projected scheme. Mark how the destruction of this poor man is ushered
into the world--apparitions, noises, voices, music, reported to be
heard from time to time in the deceased's house. Even his days are
numbered out, and his own child limits the space of his life but till
the following month of October. What could be the meaning of this, but
to prepare the world for a death that was predetermined? Who could
limit the days of a man's life but a person who knew what was intended
to be done towards the shortening of it?

In order to bring this about Cranstoun sends presents of pebbles, as
also a powder to clean them, and this powder, gentlemen, you will find
is the dreadful poison that accomplished this abominable scheme.

From time to time mention is made of the pebbles, but not a syllable
of the powder. Why not of the one as well as of the other, if there
had not been a mystery concealed in it? Preparation is made for an
experiment of its power before Cranstoun's departure. He mixes the
deadly draught, but the prisoner's conscience, not yet hardened,
forced her to turn away her eyes, and she durst not venture to behold
the cup prepared that was to send the father into another world.

Soon after this Cranstoun quits the family (having, no question, left
instructions how to proceed further in completing the scheme he had
laid for taking off the old man), and this you'll find by letters
under his own hand, that the powder, whatever it was, must not be
mixed in too thin a liquid, because it might be discovered, and
therefore water gruel is thought fitter for the purpose. By the
frequent mixtures that were made upon these occasions the unfortunate
servant and charwoman accidentally drank part of the deadly
composition. When complaint is made of their sickness, how does the
prisoner behave? Does she not administer to them with as much art and
skill as a physician could? Does she not prescribe proper liquids and
draughts to absorb and take off the edge of the corroding poison? If
she knew not what it was how could she administer so successfully to
prevent the fatal consequences of it both in the maid and the
charwoman? During this transaction the unhappy father finds himself
afflicted with torturing pains immediately after receiving the
composition from his daughter. Is there any care taken of him? Any
physician sent for to attend him? Any healing draughts prepared to
quiet the racks and tortures that he inwardly felt? None at all that I
can find. He is left to take care of himself, and undergo those
miseries that his own child had brought upon him, and yet had not the
heart to give him any assistance. What could this proceed from, but
guilty only? Would not an innocent child have made the strictest
inquiry how her own father came to be out of order? Would she not have
sought the world over for advice and assistance? But instead of that
you hear the bitterest expressions proceed from her, expressions
sufficient to shock human nature. They have been all mentioned already
by my learned leader, and I will not again repeat them.

Observe, as things come nearer the crisis, whether her behaviour
towards her father carries any better appearance. When it began to be
suspected that Mr. Blandy's disorder was owing to poison, and
strongly, from circumstances, that the prisoner was privy to it, the
poor man, now too far gone, being informed that there was great reason
to suspect his own child, what expressions does he make use of? No
harsher than in the gentlest method saying, "Poor love-sick girl! I
always thought there was mischief in those Scotch pebbles. Oh, that
damned villain Cranstoun, that has ate of the best and drank of the
best my house afforded, to serve me thus and ruin my poor love-sick
girl!" An incontestable proof that he knew the cause of his disorder
and the authors of it.

The report spread about the house of the father's suspicions soon
alarmed the prisoner; what does she do upon this occasion? Can any
other interpretation be put upon her actions than that they proceeded
from a manifest intention to conceal her guilt? Why is the paper of
powder thrown into the fire? From whence, as my learned leader most
elegantly observes, it is miraculously preserved. What occasion for
concealment had she not been conscious of something that was wrong? If
she had not known what had been in the paper, for what purpose was it
committed to the flames? And what really was contained in that paper
will appear to you to be deadly poison.

The long-wished-for and fatal hour at last arrives, and but a little
before a letter is sent by the prisoner to Cranstoun that her father
was extremely ill, begging him to be cautious what he writes, lest any
accident should happen to his letters. Do the circumstances, the
language, or the time of writing this letter leave any room to suppose
the prisoner could be innocent? They seem to me rather to be the
fullest proof of her knowing what she had done. What accidents could
befall Cranstoun's letters? Why is he to take care what he writes, if
nothing but the effects of innocency were to be contained in those
letters? In a very short time after this the strength of the poison
carries the father out of the world. Do but hear how the prisoner
behaved thereupon. The father's corpse was not yet cold when she makes
application to the footman, with a temptation of large sums of money
as a reward, if he would go off with her; but the fidelity and virtue
of the servant was proof against the temptation even of four or five
hundred pounds. The next proposal is to the maid to procure a chaise,
with the offer of a reward for so doing, and to go along with her to
London; but this project likewise failed, through the honesty of the
servant. The next morning, in the absence of Edward Herne (the guard
that was set over her), she makes her escape from her father's house,
and, dressed as if going to take a journey, walked down the street;
but the mob was soon aware of her, and forced her to take shelter in a
public-house over the bridge. Do these proceedings look as if they
were the effects of innocence? Far otherwise, I am afraid. Would an
innocent person have quitted a deceased parent's house at a time when
she was most wanting to make proper and decent preparations for his
funeral? Would an innocent person, at such a time as this, offer money
for assistance to make an escape? I think not; and I wish she may find
a satisfactory cause to assign for such amazing behaviour.

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