“Words are inadequate to express the indignation which I feel at this traitorous conduct to an innocent child whose sole dependence for provision in life was upon that letter, and who was now basely deprived of this his only guarantee; to say nothing of his flagrant ingratitude to myself who had saved him and you with all your family from ignominy and utter ruin by secreting his venal correspondence.
“After these few remarks on the character of your insidious father I shall now direct my attention to your own.
“Your impaired sight, which your father believes to be a hereditary infirmity, is due to your incessant nocturnal practice of gambling; inexcusable on your part, as no pecuniary necessity draws you to the gaming table. Apart from this ruling passion of your life what would the world in general think of a man who deliberately seduces the wife of his intimate friend, and by the exertion of corrupt influence causes the husband to be sent to an unhealthy clime in the flattering hope that disease will speedily sweep him into the grave; who then indulges his licentious passion without restraint; and who, when its effects are likely to become apparent, drugs the unconscious victim of his debauchery, that at the risk of her life he may relieve his apprehensions by destroying the innocent witness of his guilt, and spare his avarice the sacrifice of a pittance for its support? It was not long before a stillborn infant, a spectacle so frightful that even a medical pen would recoil with horror from the description, attested the virulence of the fatal potion by which the unhappy mother herself was brought to the brink of the grave.
“You protested that you could not marry a woman so disgraced, even though you yourself were the cause of her dishonor, nor could you debase the blood of the Fitzgeralds by an alliance with one of the daughters of Lord Dillon, because they were bastards, and that the same objection had induced you to decline a similar offer from Marquis Wellesley.
“But where is your birth, or rank, or talents, that authorize you thus to spurn with contempt the children of the noblest families? You who are destitute of all this—you whose grandfather, roguish Billy Fitzgerald of Ennis, was a poor pettifogging attorney; whose father owes his advancement in life not to merit but to the dirty arts of political intrigue; whose aunt is a common streetwalker, and whose cousin was hanged for horse stealing—you whose whole conduct since your first entry into the world has been a tissue of infamy and complicated guilt?
“I shall show by what means you acquired the blushing honors which you now bear so thick upon you, and which according to report are to be swelled with a peerage. You imagine perhaps that the ermine will be a convenient cloak for your moral deformities, and that the possession of a coronet will compensate for the want of every kind of merit, but give me leave to ask whether you will ever be able to look at the animal which forms your appropriate crest without calling to mind your groveling origin?
“I now append the letters from your father and yourself which are still in my possession, and it remains to be seen, Sir, whether the people of Great Britain and Ireland, with the knowledge of your genuine character, will suffer such a profligate upstart to lord it over them with patience. It remains to be seen whether they will applaud the selection of a needy political adventurer to fill some of the highest and most lucrative offices in the State, or whether they will judge that the financial correspondence of an essential portion of the Empire might not have been committed to able and purer hands than those of one whose nights are committed to the gaming table, and who stands convicted as the deliberate destroyer of his own unborn.”
This was the general tone of the published letter, and she added a footnote, promising more to come. Who next for the coconut shy, three shots a penny?
“I here announce my intention of submitting to the public in a very short time two or three volumes, which may be followed by others, as opportunity shall suit, or circumstances require. The Author.”
Certain of His Majesty’s faithful Commons found themselves uneasy at the prospect. One or two of the Lords were chilled. The Cabinet murmured. Lord Liverpool himself was heard to say, “Suppress the woman before she does more harm. We’ll all be out of office if this continues.”
The first victim consulted his legal advisers, and served a writ.
On Monday the seventh of February, 1814, Mrs. Mary Anne Clarke was indicted for publishing libel upon the Chancellor of the Irish Exchequer, the Right Honorable William Fitzgerald, M.P. for Ennis.
She sat for the third and last time in the Court of King’s Bench, watching the sea of faces turned towards her; but Sir Vicary Gibbs was no longer there to defend her. He’d become a Judge exactly two years before.
Lord Chief Justice Ellenborough was absent. His place was taken by Mr. Justice Le Blanc. No parties at piquet before this trial. No chats in Lincoln’s Inn, no Leda’s swan.
“Get hold of Henry Brougham and damn the cost,” the ex-Attorney-General told the author. “I abhor his politics, but he’s the only chap in the world who may get you off. I shall warn him, however, that he won’t have an easy brief.”
On advice of Counsel, defendant pleaded guilty. Mary Anne had overreached herself at last.
5
Proceedings were brief. Witnesses were not summoned. The letter to the Rt. Honorable William Fitzgerald was read aloud in Court and heard in silence.
The defendant gave no evidence whatsoever but put in a sworn affidavit, pleading in extenuation of her offence the treacherous conduct of the Fitzgeralds, in that they had destroyed many valuable papers which she had entrusted to their keeping, among them one from a person in high authority promising to provide for her only son; and throwing herself, in these words, upon the mercy of the Court:
“That this deponent hath two daughters, one of them approaching the age of womanhood; that she hath hitherto under many adverse circumstances and misfortunes given them an education and brought them up in honor and virtue, and that should this honorable Court in its wisdom deprive her said daughters of her protection, they would be left totally destitute; and she humbly hopes that these circumstances and the state of her health, and that in the present case she has been actuated by no views of a political nature but solely by the treatment received from the Prosecutor in his private capacity, will be taken into consideration by this honorable Court.”
The Attorney-General—who had now prosecuted for two years in place of Sir Vicary Gibbs—characterized the libel as the most flagrant that had ever appeared in the Court of Justice.
He said there was no doubt that it was directly meant for the purpose of extorting money—indeed, revenge was stated to be the motive of the pamphlet. He hoped that the sentence of the Court would at least teach the defendant to hold her hand and to refrain from the publication of future libels.
Mr. Henry Brougham (who six years later was to defend Queen Caroline) addressed the Court in mitigation of the defendant’s punishment, but he knew that there was little he could do for Mrs. Clarke.
“This is not the case,” he protested warmly, “of a wanton and unprovoked attack upon the private character of an individual, for the sake of ministering to the public appetite for domestic slander. The publication of that Letter arose out of a long connection between the parties, a connection of fourteen years’ standing.
“My Lords, I do not urge any extenuation of the offence because the person who yielded to these feelings of provocation was a woman, lest it is said that when the sex no longer imposes restraint it ceases to afford protection, but I will entreat your Lordships to reflect on the effects of her punishment on those she has brought up in honor and virtue, by giving them that education and those habits of which she may live to feel the want, if she has not done so already.
“When the Court takes these things into account, I hope and trust your Lordships will mingle the apportionment of justice that the facts may demand with a merciful regard to the interests of the guiltless.”
Mr. Brougham had done his best. But the Court was hostile. Their Lordships felt, and not without cause, that a woma
n who would write such accusations against persons in high places should be muzzled. It certainly would not do to let her loose. A few weeks’ grace, and she would begin again. Only five years earlier a prince of the blood had been broken by her. Women of her type were dangerous.
The defendant had shown her usual lightheartedness, even during proceedings that very day. She had laughed at the aged appearance of Mr. Mitchell, the seventy-year-old printer and codefendant, and had gone so far as to curtsey in mocking fashion at the conclusion of the Attorney-General’s speech. Mr. Justice Le Blanc was determined to be severe.
“There is no doubt,” he said sternly, “of the libelous tendency of the publication, and there can be as little doubt that the motive in which it originated, and which induced the threat of those further three volumes which the defendant has herself stated to have in meditation, was the desire to raise money by the papers, or by their suppression. Let this be a warning to the world how they form hasty and imprudent connections, and for the defendant herself I trust that the solitude and confinement to which it is the duty of the Court to sentence her will induce her to review her past life and repent of those errors which have brought her to her present situation.
“It is always painful to be obliged to visit the sins of the fathers upon the children, but in some cases the separation of the latter from the former may be attended with beneficial results. Whether it may be so in this instance, it is not for the Court to enquire.
“Taking all the circumstances into consideration, the Court does order and adjudge that the defendant Mary Anne Clarke shall be committed to the custody of the King’s Bench prison for the space of nine calendar months, and at the end of that period she shall enter into surety to keep the peace for three years, under a recognizance herself of £200, and two sureties of £100 each, and to be further imprisoned until that surety be given.”
All eyes turned to the defendant Mrs. Clarke as she stood in the box to receive the sentence. Her Counsel, Henry Brougham, had hinted prison but never for one moment had she believed him. Damages, perhaps a few thousand pounds, the Trust stock sold to meet the sums demanded; and then there would be a sequel to The Rival Princes, authentic and trenchant—but vetted for libel first.
But prison for nine months! The children deserted, and George’s sixteenth birthday a week from today? She looked around, unbelieving. No faces smiled. Charley was there with Bill, their eyes on the ground. It was true, then. No escape. No mitigation. Jangling keys, cold walls and a prison cell. She dug her nails into her hand to keep command. The Times reporter jotted his final phrase. “When Mr. Justice Le Blanc came to speak of imprisonment, her gaiety failed her, and she shed a few tears.”
Her friends were allowed to say goodbye to her before she was driven away to King’s Bench prison. She blinked the tears aside and came smiling to them.
“I always intended to diet, and here’s my chance. It’s so good for the face and figure at thirty-eight. The Marshalsea waters are so much better than Bath, and the lodgings at half the expense… Will you please tell Martha to pack necessities for a few days only, until I’ve inspected my quarters? I can’t help feeling I shan’t need evening gowns, but woolens only. Books? Who’ll feed me with books? I rely on you all. Gibbon’s Decline and Fall ought to see me through, and Homer’s Odyssey… Any more suggestions? I shall be at home on Tuesdays and Fridays for certain. All callers welcomed, but bring your own stools and chairs. Coxy, look after the girls and ask them to Loughton, and for heaven’s sake try and find Charley a job. Bill, kiss me, darling, quick, and then disappear. I might make a fool of myself, which would disgrace you. You know what to do about George, and break it gently. Say he’s not to worry at all, and I’m highly amused—can’t wait, in fact, to explore the inside of a prison. Is Mr. Brougham there? I want to thank him.”
Henry Brougham went to her side and took her hand. He saw through the gay façade and guessed the strain. He sent her friends away and she relaxed.
“It’s going to be hard,” he said. “I must prepare you.”
“Yes,” she answered; “tell me the worst at once.”
“How strong are you?”
“I don’t know. I’ve not been tested. I’ve never been ill.”
“You’ll be given a room in time, or the share of a room. I take it your friends will be able to pay for that. But at first there won’t be any question of it. Solitary confinement is the sentence.”
“What does that mean exactly?”
“There are two small cells, or dungeons, in King’s Bench prison. The Court has decreed that you shall be placed in one of them.”
“Will it be quite dark? Shall I be able to read or write?”
“I understand there is a small window high in the wall.”
“Is there anything to lie on in the cell?”
“Nothing at the moment. Only straw. You will be allowed to send for a bed—I’ve given instructions.”
“Any coverings?”
“Tonight you shall have my own carriage rugs. I shall do everything I can to forward a bed and blankets from your home tomorrow.”
“Who governs the prison?”
“The present Marshal is a Mr. Jones, but I understand nobody ever sees him and the prison is run by his clerk, a man called Brooshooft.”
“Brooshit or Brushoff, it’s all the same to me. Do I make myself nice to him?”
“Possibly later on, but not at present. Are you ready? The carriage is waiting.”
“Don’t I go in a tumbril?”
“You’re spared that in England. Counsel is permitted to conduct the prisoner.”
She stepped into his carriage, still clutching his hand.
“We ought to have gone by water—so much more romantic. Is there no Traitor’s Gate at King’s Bench prison?”
“Unfortunately, no. It’s not on the river. It’s the other side of the bridge, not far from Southwark.”
“A quarter I hardly know… Is it much frequented?”
“By ragpickers and beggars, nobody else. Except of course the debtors in the prison.”
“Shall I catch a glimpse of the Thames? I adore the river.”
“I’m afraid you won’t. The prison is rather hemmed in… By the way, have you got a doctor within call?”
“My beloved Doctor Metcalfe’s gone to the Midlands. But I’m sure I could whistle him home in any emergency. Why?”
“There is no medical attendance at King’s Bench prison. None of any kind. Nor is there any infirmary.”
“What happens if a person is suddenly ill?”
“Unless one of the inmates has medical knowledge, I am told precisely nothing. That’s why I warned you.”
“Forewarned is forearmed. Martha must send me my pills… Which reminds me, how exactly is the sanitation?”
“I’m informed there are certain scavengers paid by the Marshal, but they don’t come every day. It depends on the refuse. When the quantity reaches above a certain height the scavengers make a profit, and so it’s removed.”
“There’s logic for you… Aren’t there any drains?”
“Apparently not. The waste is collected in tubs.”
“Which constantly overflow like the Falls of Niagara? Martha will get a list as long as my arm… What about food, Mr. Brougham?”
“There is a dining room in King’s Bench prison, which is generally used by the poorer sort of debtor who can’t afford to send out for what he wants. Butcher’s meat can be bought about twice a week, but from what I’ve heard it’s not to be recommended.”
“Then food can be sent in?”
“Yes, at a price. The turnkeys will arrange it. We’ll have to find out. I believe a lot of drinking goes on inside which is winked at by the Marshal, but that won’t interest you. You’ll have to stop your ears against the racket.”
“Is this it? This great gate?”
“Yes, we drive inside and draw up in the inner court. If anyone shouts or tries to insult you, don’t take any notice;
the poorer debtors always collect in the court. You’d better wait here in the carriage while I make enquiries.”
She folded the carriage rugs upon her arm. “In Bowling Inn Alley,” she thought, “the blankets were thinner, but I did have a bed, and Charley to keep me warm. Besides, it was thirty years back, and I wasn’t so brittle…” She leaned out of the carriage window and called to Brougham.
“Order a large four-poster and dinner for two, and I must have the champagne iced…” He waved his hand.
As soon as he had disappeared into the prison, the debtors came and crowded round the carriage. They thrust their hands in the window with slips of paper.
“Chum tickets for sale. Ten shillings a night. Bed to yourself, only four persons in a room… Eight shillings, lady, I can offer eight shillings, and mattress new three months ago… Four shillings to you, madam, for part share of a bed, occupant very clean young person of twenty-eight… A guinea a night for a room to yourself, madam, best offer in the whole of King’s Bench, you wouldn’t find the like in either the Fleet or the Marshalsea, guinea a night, and slops collected every morning extra.”
A pity she wasn’t a debtor instead of a criminal.
“Very kind of you all,” she said, “to take so much trouble. But the business has been arranged. I’ve a room to myself.”
They stared back at her, faces blank.
“Some mistake, lady. There ain’t no single rooms unoccupied.”
“Ah! But there are. Ones you don’t know about. The Marshal has a beauty up his sleeve.”
Henry Brougham came back. The debtors cleared a path, still talking loudly, arguing the point.
“I’m sorry,” Brougham said, “it’s rather worse than I thought.”
“What’s rather worse? These people have been very kind.”
“Your quarters. They’re very small.”
“But I have them alone?”
“You have them alone.” He looked at her with compassion.
“Do I come with you now?”
“If you please.” He took her arm and led her inside the door. “I’ve paid your commitment fees, which were ten and sixpence. In the ordinary way that would entitle you to what they call, in slang phrase, a chumming ticket.”