As luck would have it, a somewhat remarkable person, who happened to be acquainted with Colonel Hope, was now staying at Keswick. This was George Hardinge, senior justice of Brecon, the late Horace Walpole’s friend and neighbour, the ‘waggish Welsh judge’ of whom Lord Byron has sung. Having heard of the romantic marriage, and being anxious to meet Colonel Hope, he sent a letter to Buttermere requesting a visit. Early on Wednesday morning the newly married man drove over to Keswick in a carriage and four, accompanied by his factotum, the Rev. John Nicholson, to answer the summons in person. The meeting, which took place at the ‘Queen’s Head’ Hotel, was an embarrassing one. Pertinacious Nathaniel Moore, who no doubt had kindled in Justice Hardinge’s mind the suspicions which had caused him to solicit the interview, was present at the encounter. The Welsh judge found that Colonel Hope of Buttermere renown was an entire stranger to him!
However, the other was in no way abashed, but pointed out pleasantly that the mistake had arisen through the coincidence of names. Mr Hardinge persisted that it was remarkable that he should be Alexander Augustus Hope, M.P. for Linlithgowshire, when the name of the representative of that county was Alexander Hope. The reply was a flat denial that these names and titles had been assumed, and we are told that the credulous clergyman bore witness to the truth of this statement. Nevertheless, other testimony against the accused man had more weight with the astute George Hardinge. Not only was there Colonel Moore’s declaration that the stranger had always passed as Lord Hopetoun’s brother, but the Keswick postmaster was able to prove that he had franked letters as a member of Parliament. The result was an appeal for a warrant of arrest to a neighbouring magistrate, and the suspected Mr Hope was placed in charge of a constable.
Still, he did not appear disconcerted, but treated the whole matter as a joke. Others, too, were of the same opinion, for during the course of the day he presented a bill of exchange for twenty pounds, drawn once more on John Crump, to the landlord of the ‘Queen’s Head’ which that individual cashed without hesitation. The stranger at once sent £10 to Colonel Moore to cancel the gratuitous loan received before his departure to Scotland. Faithful Nicholson, too, retained full confidence in his genial friend, who ordered dinner to be prepared for both at the hotel, and continued to bear him company.
Presently, the prisoner, chafing at the thought of being kept in durance, asked permission to sail on the lake. As this appeared a reasonable request, the wise constable gave his consent. The clergyman accompanied his companion to the water’s edge, while he made fervent protests of innocence.
“If he were conscious of any crime,” he told his trusting friend, “a hair would hold him.”
Since, however, he declared that he was guiltless, as a natural corollary he had no intention of being held by the whole force of the Keswick constabulary, and Nicholson must have been aware of his design. For not only did he give his friend a guinea to pay for the dinner at the ‘Queen’s Head’ which was a plain hint that he did not mean to return, but he told him that, as his carriage had been seized by his accusers, his only chance of rejoining his wife at Buttermere was by rowing down the lake.
Luck favoured him. A fisherman named Burkett, who had been his companion on many previous expeditions, had a boat ready for him, and soon he was far across Derwentwater. A crowd of sympathisers, full of wrath against his enemies, for they were sure he was a great man (as an impostor would have had no motive in marrying poor Mary), stood on the shore with Nicholson and the intelligent constable to watch his departure. Soon the short October day drew to a close, and darkness fell upon the waters, but ‘Colonel Hope’ did not return. Keswick never saw his face again.
The conduct of the Rev. John Nicholson has been the subject of keen censure. Although the province of a parson is not that of the detective, it is unfortunate that he did not suggest to the parents of Mary of Buttermere that it would be wise to verify the statements of their daughter’s suitor. On the other hand, it must be admitted that everyone was infatuated by the splendid impostor, and it is evident that the clergyman was not aware of the flirtation with the Irish heiress. It is more difficult to defend Nicholson’s conduct at the interview between Judge Hardinge and the swindler; for although we have no precise details of the conversation, it is plain that the chaplain of Loweswater was guilty of a strange reticence. Naturally, he knew that his mysterious friend had passed under the name of Colonel Hope, and had franked letters as a member of Parliament. Still, not only did he refrain from exposing, but even continued to trust him, though he must have perceived him to be a liar. However, charity may suggest the conclusion that the clergyman was full of compassion for Mary Robinson; and since he believed that her husband would join her at the little Char Inn, he was determined, whether felon or not, that he should have the chance of escape.
The first announcement of the marriage of the celebrated Buttermere Beauty with the brother of the Earl of Hopetoun was printed in the Morning Post on the 11th of October. Yet, three days later—the morning after the remarkable escape at Derwentwater—a letter, written on the highest authority, appeared in the same journal, denying the previous report and stating that the real Colonel Alexander Hope was travelling on the Continent. Thus, by chance, London and Keswick became aware almost simultaneously that Mary Robinson had been the victim of a cruel fraud.
Although his flight had made it evident that the pretended member of Parliament was an impostor, it was not until the last day of October that his identity was discovered. Meanwhile, the most strange rumours had been aroused. The fact that all his plate and linen were found packed in his travelling carriage, which was retained by the landlord in pledge for his twenty pounds, gave rise to the suspicion that he had meant to desert his poor young bride. On the other hand, his admirers persisted that he was an Irish gentleman, hiding from the authorities because of his share in the recent rebellion. A costly dressing-case, which he had left behind, was examined under warrant from a magistrate, but nothing turned up to reveal his true name. In the end this discovery was made by Mary herself. While looking over the dressing-box more carefully, she disclosed a secret hiding-place containing a number of letters addressed to him who had forsaken her. Alas for the Beauty of Buttermere! No anticipation could have exceeded the cruel reality. The handsome bridegroom was a married man, and these letters had been written by the heart-broken wife whom he had deserted. ‘Colonel Hope’ her supposed rich and noble husband, was a notorious swindler—guilty of a capital felony—whose real name was John Hadfield!