Behind the curtain, and rarely appearing as an actor, was one who, to the literary reader versed in the periodical productions of thirty years ago, will be familiar under the name of Janus Weathercock; while to the student of our criminal annals, a name will be recalled which is only to be remembered as an omen of evil. The former will be reminded of the “London Magazine,” when Elia and Barry Cornwall were conspicuous in its pages, and where Hazlitt, with Allan Cunningham, added to its attractions. But with these names it will recall to them also the face and form of one with the craft and beauty of the serpent; of one too who, if he broke not into “the bloody house of life,” has been singularly wronged. The writings of this man in the above periodical were very characteristic of his nature; and under the nom de guerre of Janus Weathercock, Thomas Griffith Wainwright wrote with a fluent pleasant egotistical coxcombry, which was then new to English literature, a series of papers on art and artists. An habitué of the opera and a fastidious critic of the ballet, a mover among the most fashionable crowds into which he could make his way, a lounger in the parks and the foremost among the visitors at our pictorial exhibitions, the fine person and superfine manners of Wainwright were ever prominent. The articles which he penned for the “London,” were lovingly illustrative of self and its enjoyments. He adorned his writings with descriptions of his appearance, and—an artist of no mean ability himself—sketched boldly and graphically “drawings of female beauty, in which the voluptuous trembled on the borders of the indelicate;” and while he idolised his own, he depreciated the productions of others. This self-styled fashionist appears to have created a sensation in the circle where he adventured. His good-natured, though “pretentious” manner; his handsome, though sinister countenance; even his braided surtout, his gay attire, and semi-military aspect, made him a favourite. “Kind, light-hearted Janus Weathercock,” wrote Charles Lamb. No one knew anything of his previous life. He was said to have been in the army—it was whispered that he had spent more than one fortune; and an air of mystery, which he well knew how to assume, magnified him into a hero. About 1825, he ceased to contribute to the magazine; and from this period, the man whose writings were replete with an intense luxurious enjoyment—whose organisation was so exquisite, that his love of the beautiful became a passion, and whose mind was a significant union of the ideal with the voluptuous—was dogged in his footsteps by death. It was death to stand in his path—it was death to be his friend—it was death to occupy the very house with him. Well might his associates join in that portion of our litany which prays to be delivered “from battle, from murder, and from sudden death,” for sudden death was ever by his side.
In 1829, Wainwright went with his wife to visit his uncle, by whose bounty he had been educated, and from whom he had expectancies. His uncle died after a brief illness, and Wainwright inherited his property. Nor was he long in expending it. A further supply was needed; and Helen Frances Phœbe Abercrombie, with her sister Madeline, step-sisters to his wife, came to reside with Wainwright; it being soon after this that those extraordinary visits were made at the various life offices, to which allusion has been made.
On 28th March, 1830, Mrs. Wainwright, with her step-sister, made their first appearance at an insurance office, the Palladium; and by the 20th April a policy was opened on the life of Helen Frances Phœbe Abercrombie, a “buxom handsome girl of one-and-twenty,” for 3000l., for three years only. About the same time a further premium was paid for an insurance with another office, also for 3000l., but for only two years. The Provident, the Pelican, the Hope, the Imperial, were soon similarly favoured; and in six months from granting the first policy, 12,000l. more had been insured on the life of the same person, and still for only two years.[20] But 18,000l. was not enough for “kind light-hearted Janus Weathercock;” 2000l. more was proposed to the Eagle, 5000l. to the Globe, and 5000l. to the Alliance; all of whom, however, had learned wisdom. At the Globe Miss Abercrombie professed scarcely to know why she insured; telling a palpable and foolish falsehood, by saying that she had applied to no other office. At the Alliance, the secretary took her to a private room, asking such pertinent and close questions, that she grew irritated, and said she supposed her health, and not her reasons for insuring, was most important. Mr. Hamilton then gave her the outline of a case in which a young lady had met with a violent death for the sake of the insurance money. “There is no one,” she said in reply, “likely to murder me for the sake of my money.” No more insurances, however, being accepted, the visits which had so often relieved the tedium of official routine ceased to be paid. These applications being unsuccessful, there remained 18,000l. dependent on the life of Helen Abercrombie.
In the mean time Wainwright’s affairs waxed desperate, and the man grew familiar with crime. Some stock had been vested in the names of trustees in the books of the Bank of England, the interest only of which was receivable by himself and his wife; and determined to possess part of the principal, he imitated the names of the trustees to a power of attorney. This was too successful not to be improved on, and five successive similar deeds, forged by Wainwright, proved his utter disregard to moral restraint. But this money was soon spent, till everything which he possessed, to the very furniture of his house, became pledged; and he took furnished apartments in Conduit Street for himself, his wife, and his sisters-in-law. Immediately after this, Miss Abercrombie, on pretence or plea that she was going abroad, made her will in favour of her sister Madeline, appointing Wainwright sole executor, by which, in the event of her death, he would have the entire control of all she might leave.
She then procured a form of assignment from the Palladium, and made over the policy in that office to her brother-in-law. Whether she really meant to travel or not is uncertain; it is possible, however, that this might have been part of the plan, and that Wainwright hoped, with forged papers and documents, to prove her demise while she was still living, for it is difficult to comprehend why she should have voluntarily stated she was going abroad, unless she really meant to do so. In this there is a gleam of light on Wainwright’s character, who, when he first insured the life of Miss Abercrombie, might have meant to treat the offices with a “fraudulent,” and not a positive death. Whatever her rôle in this tragic drama, however, it was soon played. On the night which followed the assignment of her policy, she went with her brother and sister-in-law to the theatre. The evening proved wet; but they walked home together, and partook of lobsters or oysters and porter for supper. That night she was taken ill. In a day or two Dr. Locock attended her. He attributed the indisposition to a mere stomach derangement, and gave some simple remedies, no serious apprehension being entertained by him.
On the 14th December, she had completed her will, and assigned her property. On the 21st she died. On that day she had partaken of a powder, which Dr. Locock did not remember prescribing; and when Mr. and Mrs. Wainwright—who had left her with the intention of taking a long walk—returned, they found that she was dead. The body was examined; but there was no reason to attribute the death to any other cause than pressure on the brain, which obviously produced it.
Mr. Wainwright was now in a position to demand 18,000l. from the various offices, but the claim was resisted; and being called on to prove an insurable interest, he left England. In 1835, he commenced an action against the Imperial. The reason for resisting payment was the alleged ground of deception; but the counsel went further; and so fearful were the allegations on which he rested his defence, that the jury were almost petrified, and the judge shrunk aghast from the implicated crime. The former separated unable to agree; while the latter said, a criminal, and not a civil court should have been the theatre of such a charge. In the following December, the company gained a verdict; and as the forgery on the Bank of England had been discovered, Wainwright, afraid of apprehension, remained in France. Here his adventures are unknown. At Boulogne, he lived with an English officer; and while he resided there, his host’s life was insured by him in the Pelican for 5000l. One premium only was paid, the officer dying in a few months after the insurance was effected. Wainwright then left Boulogne, passed through France under a feigned name, was apprehended by the French police; and that fearful poison known as strychnine being found in his possession, he was confined at Paris for six months.
After his release he ventured to London, intending to remain only forty-eight hours. In an hotel near Covent Garden he drew down the blind and fancied himself safe. But for one fatal moment he forgot his habitual craft. A noise in the streets startled him: incautiously he went to the window and drew back the blind. At the very moment “a person passing by” caught a glimpse of his countenance, and exclaimed, “That’s Wainwright, the Bank forger.” Immediate information was given to Forrester; he was soon apprehended, and his position became fearful enough.
The difficulty which then arose was, whether the insurance offices should prosecute him for attempted fraud, whether the yet more terrible charge in connection with Helen Abercrombie should be opened, or whether advantage should be taken of his forgery on the Bank, to procure his expatriation for life. A consultation was held by those interested, the Home Secretary was apprised of the question, the opinions of the law officers of the crown were taken, and the result was that, under the circumstances, it would be advisable to try him for the forgery only. This plan was carried out, the capital punishment was foregone, and when found guilty he was condemned to transportation for life.
His vanity never forsook him. Even in Newgate he maintained his exquisite assumption, triumphing over his companions by virtue of his crime. “They think I am here for 10,000l., and they respect me,” he wrote to one of his friends, who would not desert him. He pointed the attention of another to the fact, that while the remaining convicts were compelled to sweep the yard, he was exempted from the degrading task. Even here his superfine dandyism stuck to him. Drawing down his dirty wristbands with an ineffable air of coxcombry, he exclaimed, “They are convicts like me, but no one dare offer me the broom.”