SARAH MALCOLM.
The portrait of this sanguinary wretch Mr. Hogarth painted in Newgate; and to Sir James Thornhill, who accompanied him, he made the following observation: "I see by this woman's features that she is capable of any wickedness."
Of his skill in physiognomy I entertain a very high opinion; but as Sarah sat for her picture after condemnation, I suspect his observation to resemble those prophecies which were made after the completion of events they professed to foretell. She has a locked-up mouth, wide nostrils, and a penetrating eye, with a general air that indicates close observation and masculine courage; but I do not discover either depravity or cruelty; though her conduct in this, as well as some other horrible transactions,[196] evinced an uncommon portion of both, and proved her a Lady Macbeth in low life.
Her infatuation in lurking about the Temple after perpetration of the crime for which she suffered, it is difficult to account for upon any other principle than that general remorse and horror which tortures the minds of those who shed a brother's blood; and that overruling Providence, which by means most strange brings their guilt to light and their crimes to punishment;
"For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak
With most miraculous organ."
The circumstances which attended her commitment and execution were briefly as follows:—
At noon, on Sunday the fourth of February 1733, Mrs. Duncombe, a widow lady, upwards of eighty years old (who lived up four pair of stairs, next staircase to the Inner Temple library); Elizabeth Harrison, another elderly person who was her companion; and Anne Price, her servant, about seventeen years of age, were found murdered in their beds. The maid-servant, who was supposed to be murdered first, had her throat cut from ear to ear; but by her cap being off, and her hair much entangled, it was thought she had struggled. The companion, it was supposed, was strangled; though there were two or three wounds in her throat that appeared as if they had been given by a nail. Mrs. Duncombe was probably smothered, and killed last, as she was found lying across the bed with a gown on; though the others were in bed. A trunk in the room was broke open and rifled.
About one o'clock at night, a Mr. Kerrell, who had chambers on the same staircase, came home, and to his great surprise found Sarah Malcolm, who was his laundress, in his room: he asked her how she came to be there at so unseasonable an hour, and if she had heard of any one being taken up for the murder? She replied, "that no person had yet been taken up; but a gentleman who had chambers beneath, and had been absent two or three days, was violently suspected." "Be that as it may," said Mr. Kerrell, "you were Mrs. Duncombe's laundress, and no one who knew her shall ever come into these chambers until her murderer is discovered: pack up your things and go away." While she was thus employed, Kerrell observing a bundle upon the floor, and thinking her behaviour suspicious, called a watchman to whom he gave her in charge. When she was taken away, and he searched his rooms with more care, he found several bundles of linen, and a silver pint tankard, with the handle bloodied. This confirmed his suspicions, and, accompanied by a friend, he went down stairs, and asked the watchman where he had taken Malcolm? This faithful guardian of the night very coolly replied, "that she had promised to come again next day, and he had let her go." Mr. Kerrell declaring that if she was not immediately produced he would commit him to Newgate in her stead, the fellow went in search of her; and though her lodging was in Shoreditch, he found this infatuated woman sitting between two other watchman at the Temple gate. She was then committed to Newgate; and there was found concealed in her hair, eighteen guineas, twenty moidores, five broad pieces, five crown pieces, and a few shillings.[197]