Part 22 (1/2)

Many more letters to the same effect I received, before I would give it again; but most fatally, on the 5th August, I gave it to my poor father, innocent of the effects it afterwards produced, G.o.d knows; not so stupid as to believe it would have that desired, to make him kind to us; but in obedience to Mr. Cranstoun, who ever seemed superst.i.tions to the last degree, and had, as I thought, and have declared before, all the just notions of the necessity of my father's life for him, me, and ours. On the Monday the 5th, as has been said, I mixed the powder in his gruel, and at night it was in a half-pint mug, set ready for him to carry to bed with him. It had no taste. The next morning, as he had done at dinner the day before, he complained of a pain in his stomach, and the heart-burn; which he ever did before he had the gravel. I went for Mr. Norton at eleven o'clock in the forenoon, who said, that a little physick would be right for my father to take on Wednesday. At night he ordered some water gruel for his supper, which his footman went for. When it came, my father said, ”Taste it, Molly, has it not an odd taste?” I tasted it, but found no taste different from what is to be found in all good water gruel.

After this he went up to bed, and my father found himself sick, and reached; after which he said he was better, and I went up to bed.

Susan gave him his physick in the morning, and I went into his bed-chamber about eight o'clock; then I found him charming well. Susan says that on my father's wanting gruel on the Wednesday, I said, as they were busy at ironing, they might give him some of the same he had before. I do not remember this; but if I did, it was impossible I should know that the gruel he had on Tuesday was the same he had on Monday; as that he drank on Monday was made on Sat.u.r.day or Sunday, I believe on Sat.u.r.day night; much less imagine that she whoever made it, and managed it as she pleased, would pretend to keep such stale gruel for her master. Thursday and Friday he came down stairs. I often asked Mr. Norton, ”If he thought him in danger; if he did, I would send for Dr. Addington.” On Sat.u.r.day Mr. Norton told me, ”he thought my father in danger.” I said, ”I would send for the doctor;” but he replied, ”I had better ask my father's leave.” I bid him speak to my father about it, which he did; but my father replied, ”Stay till to-morrow, and if I am not better then, send for him.” As soon as I was told this, I said, ”That would not satisfy me; I would send immediately, which I did; and Mr. Norton, the apothecary, attested this in Court.” On the same night, being Sat.u.r.day, the doctor came, I believe it was near twelve o'clock. He saw my father, and wrote for him: he did not then apprehend his case to be desperate. I have been by this gentleman blamed, for not telling then what I had given my father. I was in hopes that he would have lived, and that my folly would never have been known: in order the more effectually to conceal which, the remainder of the powder I had, the Wednesday before, thrown away, and burnt Mr. Cranstoun's letter: so I had nothing to evince the innocence of my intention, and was moreover frightened out of my wits. Let the good-natured part of the world put themselves in my place, and then condemn me if they can for this. On Sunday my father said, ”He was better”; but found himself obliged to keep his bed that day. Mr.

Blandy, of Kingston, a relation of ours, came to visit us, stayed with me to breakfast, and then went to church with Mr. Littleton, my father's clerk. I went, after they had gone to my father, and found him seemingly inclined to sleep; so let him, retired into the parlour, and wrote to Mr. Cranstoun, as I did almost every post. I had, on the Friday before, a letter from him; wherein some secrets of his family were disclosed. As I wrote in a hurry, I only advised him to take care what he wrote; which, as my unhappy affairs turned out, my enemies dressed up greatly to my disadvantage at my trial. I gave this letter, as I did all of them, to Mr. Littleton to direct, who opened it, carried it to a friend of his for advice on the occasion, and conveyed it to a French usher; who, by the help of it, published a pamphlet ent.i.tled, _The Life of Miss Mary Blandy_. On Sunday in the afternoon, Mrs. Mounteney and her sister came to see my father; who told them, ”He hoped he should soon be able to meet them in his parlour; since he thought himself better then.” Susan was to sit up with her master that night. The Rev. Mr. Stockwood, Rector of the parish, came in the evening to visit him; the apothecary was there likewise; and he desired the room might be quite still; so that only Susan, the old maid, was to be with him. After this I went up to my father's bedside; upon which he took me in his arms and kissed me: I went out of the room with Mr. Stockwood and Mr. Norton, the apothecary, almost dead, and begg'd of the latter to tell me if he thought my father still in danger. He said ”he was better, and hoped he would still mend.

To-morrow,” said he, ”we shall judge better, and you will hear what Dr. Addington will say.” While Mr. Stockwood staid, Mr. Littleton and Betty, my father's cook-maid, behaved tolerably well; but as soon as he was gone they altered their conduct; however, upon Mr. Norton's speaking to him, Mr. Littleton became much more civil; and Betty followed his example. I took a candle, and went up into my own room; but in the way I listened at my father's door, and found everything still there; this induced me to hope that he was asleep. On Monday morning, I went to his door, in order to go in: his tenderness would not let me stay up a-nights; but I was seldom from him in the daytime.

I was deprived access to him; which so surprised and frightened me, that I cried out, ”What, not see my father!” Upon which, I heard him reply, ”My dear Polly, you shall presently;” and some time after I did. This scene was inexpressibly moving. The mutual love, sorrow, and grief, that then appeared, are truly described by Susannah Gunnel; tho', poor soul, she is much mistaken in many other respects. I was, as soon as Dr. Addington came, by his orders, confined to my own room; and not suffered to go near my father, or even so much as to listen at his door; all the comfort I then could have had, would have been to know whether he slept or no; but this was likewise refused me. A man was put into my room night and day; no woman suffer'd to attend me. My garters, keys, and letters were taken away from me, by Dr. Addington himself. Dr. Lewis, who it seems was called in, was at this time with him; but he behaved perfectly like a gentleman to me. During this confinement I had hardly any thing to eat or drink: and once I staid from five in the afternoon till the same hour the next day without any sustenance at all, as the man with me can witness, except a single dish of tea; which, I believe, I owed to the humanity of Dr. Lewis. I had frequently very bad fits, and my head was never quite clear; yet I was sensible the person who gave these orders had no right to confine me in such a manner. But I bore it patiently, as my room was very near my father's, and I was fearful of disturbing him. Dr. Addington and Dr. Lewis then came into my room, and told me ”Nothing could save my dear father.” For some time I sat like an image; and then told them, that I had given him some powders, which I received from Cranstoun, and feared they might have hurt him, tho' that villain a.s.sured me they were of a very innocent nature. At my trial, it appeared, that Dr.

Addington had wrote down the questions he put to me, but none of my answers to them. The Judge asked him the reason of this. He said, ”They were not satisfactory to him.” To which his lords.h.i.+p replied, ”They might have been so to the Court.” The questions were these. Why I did not send for him sooner? In answer to which, I told him, that I did send for him as soon as they would let me know that my father was in the least danger. And that even at last I sent for him against my father's consent. This, I added, he could not but know, by what my father said, when he first came on Sat.u.r.day night into his room. The next question was, why I did not take some of the powders myself, if I thought them so innocent? To this I answered, I never was desired by Mr. Cranstoun to take them; and that if they could produce such an effect as was ascribed to them, I was sure I had no need of them, but that had he desired this, I should most certainly have done it. It is impossible to repeat half the miseries I went thro', unknown, I am sure, to my poor father. The man that was set over me as my guard had been an old servant in the family: which I at first thought was done out of kindness; but am now convinced it was not. When Dr. Addington was asked, ”If I express'd a desire to preserve my father's life, and on this account desired him to come again the next day, and do all he could to save him,” he said, ”I did.” He then was asked his sentiments of that matter; to which he replied, ”She seemed to me more concerned for the consequences to herself than to her father.” However, the Doctor owned that my behaviour shewed me to be anxious for my poor father's life. Could I paint the restless nights and days I went through, the prayers I made to G.o.d to take me and spare my father, whose death alone, unattended with other misfortunes, would have greatly shocked me, the heart of every person who has any bowels at all would undoubtedly bleed for me. What is here advanced, the man that attended me knows to be true also, who cannot be suspected of partiality. Susan Gunnel can attest the same. She observed at this juncture several instances between us both of filial duty and paternal affection.

On Wednesday, about two o'clock in the afternoon, by my father's death, I was left one of the most wretched orphans that ever lived.

Not only indifferent and dispa.s.sionate persons, but even some of the most cruel of mine enemies themselves, seem to have had at least some small compa.s.sion for me. Soon after my father's death I had all his keys, except that of his study, which I had before committed to the care of the Rev. Mr. Stevens of Fawley, my dear unhappy uncle, delivered to me. This gentleman and another of my uncles visited me that fatal afternoon. This occasioned such a moving scene, as is impossible for any human pen to describe. After their departure, I walked like a frantic distracted person. Mr. Skinner, a schoolmaster in Henley, who came to see me, as I have been since informed, declared that he did not take me to be in my senses. So that no stress ought to be laid on any part of my conduct at this time. Nor will this at all surprise the candid reader, if he will but dispa.s.sionately consider the whole case, and put himself in my place. I had lost mine only parent, whose untimely death was then imputed to me. Tho' I had no intention to hurt him, and consequently in that respect was innocent; yet there was great reason to fear, that I had been made the fatal instrument of his death--and that by listening to the man I loved above all others, and even better than life itself. I had depended upon his, as I imagined, superior honour; but found myself deceived and deluded by him. The people about me were apprized, that I entertained, and not without just reason, a very bad opinion of them; which could not but inspire them with vindictive sentiments, and a firm resolution to hurt me, if ever they had it in their power. My cook-maid was more inflamed against me than any of the rest; and yet, for very good reasons, I was absolutely obliged to keep her. My mother's maid was disagreeable to me; but yet, on account of money due to her, which I could not pay, it was not then in my power to dismiss her. But this most melancholy subject I shall not now chuse any farther to expatiate upon. I have brought down the preceding narrative to my father's death, where I at first intended it should end.

Besides, I have now not many days to live, and matters of infinitely greater moment to think upon. May G.o.d forgive me my follies, and my enemies theirs! May he likewise take my poor soul into his protection, and receive me to mercy, through the merits of my Mediator and Redeemer, Jesus Christ, who died to save sinners! Amen.

The foregoing narrative, which I most earnestly desire may be published, was partly dictated and partly wrote by me, whilst under sentence of death; and is strictly agreeable to truth in every particular.

MARY BLANDY.

Witness my hand.

Signed by Miss Mary Blandy, in the Castle at Oxford, April 4, 1752, in presence of two Clergymen, members of the University of Oxford.

APPENDIX V.

LETTER FROM MISS BLANDY TO A CLERGYMAN IN HENLEY.

(From No. 8 of Bibliography, Appendix XII.)

The following is an answer to a letter sent Miss Blandy by a worthy clergyman in Henley, upon a very extraordinary subject, and highly deserves a place here:--

Rev. Sir,--I received yours, and at first felt all the horror innocence so belied could do; but now, Sir, I look on it as a blessing from G.o.d, both to wean me from this world, and make the near approach of death less dreadful to me. You desire me, in your letter, if innocent of my poor mother's death and that of Mrs.

Poc.o.c.k, to make a solemn declaration, and have it witnessed; which I here do. I declare before G.o.d, at whose dread Tribunal I must shortly appear, that as I hope for mercy there, I never did buy any poison, knowingly, whatever of Mr. Prince, who did live at Henley, and now lives at Reading, or of Mr. Pottinger, an apothecary and surgeon in Henley; nor did I ever buy any poison in Henley, or anywhere else in all my life; that as for mother's and Mrs. Poc.o.c.k's death, I am as innocent of it as the child unborn, so help me G.o.d in my last moments, and at the great Day of Judgment. If ever I did hurt their lives, may G.o.d condemn me. This, Sir, I hope, will convince you of my innocency. And if the world will not believe what even I dying swear, G.o.d forgive them, and turn their hearts. One day all must appear together at one bar. There no prompting of witnesses, no lies, no little arts of law will do. There, I doubt not, I shall meet my poor father and mother, and my much loved friend (through the mercies of Jesus Christ, who died for sinners) forgiven and in bliss. There the tears that cannot move man's heart shall be by G.o.d dried up. Farewell, Sir, G.o.d bless you, and believe me, while I live, ever Your much obliged humble Servant,

M. BLANDY.

(_N.B._--This letter was attested to be M. Blandy's, &c., Apr. 4th, 1752.)

APPENDIX VI.

CONTEMPORARY ADVERTIs.e.m.e.nT OF A LOVE PHILTRE.[28]

(From No. 17 of Bibliography, Appendix XII.)

(Here follows an exact copy of a most wicked advertis.e.m.e.nt, publickly distributed in the streets of London, and dispersed in the neighbouring Towns and villages; without any notice taken of such an enormity by the Magistrates, or any measures pursued to punish the miscreants who disperse them, according to their desserts. However, the wretches who thus impose on the world, finding their account therein, as they certainly do, is a proof of mult.i.tudes being as credulous in this affair as Miss Blandy, and account for her being imposed on, in the manner she declares she was, by Cranstoun.)