Mr. LANE, examined—
I went into the room where the prisoner was before my wife the day after Mr. Blandy's death. She arose from her chair, and met me, and looked hard at me. She said, "Sir, I have not the pleasure of knowing you." Said I, "No, I am a stranger to you." She said, "Sir, you look like a gentleman. What do you think they will do with me?" Said I, "You will be committed to the county gaol, and be tried at the assizes, and if your innocence appears you will be acquitted; if not, you will suffer accordingly." She stamped with her foot, and said, "O! that damned villain! But why do I blame him? I am more to blame." Then Mr. Littleton came in, which took off my attention from her that I did not hear so as to give an account of the whole.
[The letter which Littleton opened, read in Court.] Directed to the hon. William Henry Cranstoun, Esq.—
Dear Willy,—My father is so bad, that I have only time to tell you, that if you do not hear from me soon again, do not be frightened. I am better myself; and lest any accident should happen to your letters take care what you write. My sincere compliments. I am ever, yours.
The Prisoner's Defence[[12]]—
Mary
Blandy
My lords, it is morally impossible for me to lay down the hardships I have received—I have been aspersed in my character. In the first place, it has been said that I have spoken ill of my father, that I have cursed him, and wished him at hell, which is extremely false. Sometimes little family affairs have happened, and he did not speak to me so kind as I could wish. I own I am passionate, my lords, and in those passions some hasty expressions might have dropped; but great care has been taken to recollect every word I have spoken at different times, and to apply them to such particular purposes as my enemies knew would do me the greatest injury. These are hardships, my lords, extreme hardships, such as you yourselves must allow to be so. It is said, too, my lords, that I endeavoured to make my escape. Your lordships will judge from the difficulties I laboured under. I had lost my father—I was accused of being his murderer—I was not permitted to go near him—I was forsaken by my friends—affronted by the mob—insulted by my servants. Although I begged to have the liberty to listen at the door where he died I was not allowed it. My keys were taken from me, my shoe buckles and garters, too—to prevent me from making away with myself, as though I was the most abandoned creature. What could I do, my lords? I verily believe I must have been out of my senses. When I heard my father was dead, and the door open, I ran out of the house and over the bridge, and had nothing on but a half-sack and petticoat without a hoop—my petticoats hanging about me—the mob gathered about me. Was this a condition, my lords, to make my escape in? A good woman beyond the bridge seeing me in this distress desired me to walk in till the mob was dispersed. The town serjeant was there. I begged he would take me under his protection to have me home. The woman said it was not proper; the mob was very great, and that I had better stay a little. When I came home they said I used the constable ill. I was locked up for fifteen hours, with only an odd servant of the family to attend me. I was not allowed a maid for the common decencies of my sex. I was sent to gaol, and was in hopes there, at least, this usage would have ended. But was told it was reported I was frequently drunk; that I attempted to make my escape; that I never attended the chapel. A more abstemious woman, my lords, I believe does not live.