The Release

It was Christmas Eve of 1903. I had helped to decorate the chapel with evergreens, which is the only way in which the greatest festival of the church’s year is kept in prison. There is no rejoicing allowed prisoners; no festival meal of roast beef and plum pudding, only the usual prison diet; and the sad memories of happier days are emphasized by our bare cells with their maximum of cleanliness and minimum of comfort. But to me it was the last Christmas in that “house of sorrow,” and my heart felt the dawning of a brighter day. Only four weeks more and I would have passed out of its grim gates forever! How I counted those days, and yet how I shrank from going once more into the world that had been so cruel, so hostile, so unmerciful, in spite of the fact that there was no proof that I was the guilty woman they assumed me to be! But kind friends and loving hearts were waiting to greet me, to give me refuge and comfort.

On Saturday, the 23d of January, my mother visited me at Aylesbury Prison for the last time. How many weary and sad hours we had passed in that visiting-room! Our hearts were too full for much conversation, and it was with broken voices that we discussed the arrangements made for my departure on the following Monday.

The last Sunday I spent in prison I felt like one in a dream. I could not realize that to-morrow, the glad to-morrow, would bring with it freedom and life. In the evening I was sent for to say “Good-by” to the governor. Besides the chief matron and the one who was to be my escort to Truro, no one was aware of the day or hour of my departure from Aylesbury. Not a word had been said to the other prisoners. I should like to have said farewell to them, also to the officers whom I had known for fourteen years (for several had come with us from Woking Prison); but I thought it best to pass into my new life as quietly as possible. At my earnest request the Home Office consented to allow my place of destination to be kept a secret. I felt that I should derive more benefit from the change of my new environment and association with others, if my identity and place of retreat were not known to the public.

RIGHT HON. A. AKERS DOUGLAS, M.P.,
British Home Secretary at time of Mrs. Maybrick’s release.

On Monday, the 25th of January, I was awakened early, and after laying aside, for the last time, the garments of shame and disgrace, I was clothed once more in those that represent civilization and respectability. I descended to the court below, and, accompanied by the chief matron and my escort, passed silently through the great gates and out of the prison. At half-past six a cab drove quietly up, and the matron and I silently stepped in and were driven away to the Aylesbury Station. On our arrival in London we proceeded at once to Paddington Station. The noise and the crowds of people everywhere bewildered me.