Saint or Scoundrel 4

Now that I have included Mr. Wakefield’s version of the episode, I feel that I have to put in a few of the items from the newspaper, just to perhaps give the reader a bit more perspective on what really
happened.

Mr. Wakefield said that he and his accomplices wrote a letter to the school. Here is a copy of that letter.

“Shrigley, Monday night, half-past twelve, March 6th

Madam
- I write to you by the desire of Mrs. Turner, of Shrigley, who has been seized with a sudden and dangerous attack of paralysis. Mr. Turner is unfortunately from home, but has been sent for, and Mrs. Turner wishes to see her daughter immediately.

A steady servant will take this letter, and my carriage to you, to fetch Miss T and I beg that no time may be lost in her departure, although I do not think Mrs. T is in immediate danger, it is probable
she may very soon become incapable of recognising anyone.

Mrs. Turner particularly wishes that her daughter should not be informed of the extent of her danger, as without this precaution, Miss Turner might be very anxious on the journey: and this house is so crowded, and in such confusion and alarm, that Mrs. Turner does not wish any one to accompany her daughter. The servant is instructed not to let the boys drive too fast, as Miss T. is rather fearful in a carriage.

I am, your obedient servt.
JNO AINSWORTH, M.D.”

This note was then added by the Head of the school.

“The best thing to be said to Miss T is that Mr. Turner wishes to have her at home rather sooner,
for the approaching removal to the new house, and his servant is instructed to give no other reason in case Miss T. should ask him any questions. Mrs. T is very anxious that her daughter should not be frightened, and trusts to your judgement to prevent it. She also desires me to add, that her sister, or niece or myself, should she continue unable, will not fail to write to you by the post.

Mrs. Daulby, Liverpool.”

I must say that I can understand that the school mistresses would be without blame in following the
tenets of that letter. It certainly had a ring of authenticity about it.

Then further on in the testimony of the mistress of the Bush Inn at Carlisle where the fugitives
stopped to change horses, overheard the following conversation to Miss Turner by Mr. Wakefield.

“I have seen Mr. Turner (her father) and his attorney Mr. Grimsditch; they are concealed in a back
room of the inn: and the persons you saw about the door are sheriff’s officers, waiting to take him into custody. It is impossible that you can see him now, as it would inevitably lead to his being discovered; and he begs you will cross the border with all possible speed: and when you return with the certificate of the marriage he will be liberated from all his embarrassments. Mr. Grimsditch also requests you will lose no time, and he hopes that under these painful circumstances, you will imitate the fortitude which has been displayed by your excellent parents.”

From the waiter at the Inn at Penrith, “They only stopped to change horses as they went to the
north. The lady seemed very composed. They returned the same night, about eleven o'clock. They went into the same sitting room together. There did not seem to be any restraint or uneasiness about the lady at that time. They stayed there that night. I saw the lady next morning. She was reading a book. I asked her if she would take breakfast. She told me to enquire of the gentlemen. They slept in separate rooms.”

When Ellen Turner was called to give her evidence, this is some of what she said.

“I am the daughter of Mr. Turner, of Shrigley. I left home and went to school at the latter end
of February. On the seventh of March I went away from school in a carriage. Miss Daulby told me she had got a letter containing instructions that I should immediately go home. I was told I was to
go to Manchester, where I should meet my papa; and thence home to Shrigley. I had known a Miss Greenway, who left the same school on account of her father’s difficulties. I got to Manchester and was taken to the Albion Inn. When I got there I went into the house.

“When I was sitting in the room in that house, a gentleman came in. I afterwards learnt his name was Edward Gibbon Wakefield. I had never seen him before. I was rising to leave the room, but he requested I should not go. He said he was commissioned by papa to take me to him. I might be sure it was no slight circumstance that prevented my papa coming for me himself. It was the state of my papa’s affairs that had induced him to send for me by him. He said he would afterwards explain to me what my papa’s affairs were. I remarked I understand it was on account of my mama’s illness that I was sent home. He said the facts stated in the letter to Miss Daulby were not true; but that letter was written because he did not wish Miss Daulby to know why I was sent for.

“I do not distinctly recollect what he said about where my papa was at that time. Shortly afterwards
a gentlemen came in and was introduced as his younger brother. I stepped into a carriage, as I imagined I was going to meet my papa. I was taken as far as Halifax. Both the Wakefields accompanied me, the man servant also. Mr. Wakefield said if we did not find my papa at Halifax, we must proceed to Kendal where we should be sure to see him. We went to Kendal. I had no other object but to met my papa. We stopped awhile at Kendal and then proceeded to Carlisle. At Kendal,
Mr. Wakefield read a letter at the window, and his brother looked over him, he said my papa was not in Kendal, but had gone forward.

“We proceeded. Mr. Wakefield said on the way, he had received a letter from my papa wishing him to communicate to me the state of his affairs; that a bank had failed at Macclesfield (Ryle and Dinatry’s) and that my papa had been almost ruined; but that an uncle of his, a banker of Kendal, had lent papa a sum of £60,000 which had relieved him for the present, but that afterwards a Blackburn bank had failed and then his affairs were worse than before, that then his uncle demanded security for the sum lent to my papa; the security was to be the estate at Shrigley, and that my papa might be turned out of doors any day. Then it had been suggested by Mr. Grimsditch that he,
Mr. Wakefield, should be my husband and then that the property would be mine, and then it would be in my power to turn my papa out of doors if I liked; but, of course, I should not do it. I did not make any reply to it at that time.

“He reverted to the subject again before we got to Carlisle. He frequently said he was desirous to know what my determination was. He had said I should see my papa at Carlisle and I said I would give an answer to him. I was still in hopes of seeing my father. Mr. Wakefield said my father was
attempting to cross the border, as sheriff’s officers were in search of him. We arrived at the Bush Inn at Carlisle and the carriage stopped at the door. Both of the Mr. Wakefields left the carriage, they were near an hour away. I have been travelling from the time I left school till I arrived at Carlisle and I had been up all night.

“They came back, and the carriage proceeded. Just as we were leaving Carlisle he said that he
had seen my papa in Carlisle and that Mr. Grimsditch was with him. That he was then concealed in a back room.”

*****

I haven't time to write more but perhaps that is sufficient to give the impression that Ellen's
abduction was not an unpleasant experience.

October 15, 1862

Back to my book, again. I must admit that I am very much enjoying the experience of putting all
these items in an orderly fashion. Mr. Wakefield wrote at such great length and with such compelling detail in his letters to Pa, that he has written most of the story for me.

I am sure Pa continued to write to Mr. Wakefield. Although I have no doubt he would have heard it from his friends who visited him at prison, the next bit of intelligence about Ellen that Pa may have
sent to him, was that her marriage to him was annulled on the 15th of May, the day after the Wakefields were sentenced. As the marriage had never been consummated, there was no problem and the House of Lords granted a Bill to annul it. Having said that, there is no doubt that their wealth expedited the situation. I have heard that her uncle, Mr Turner's brother Robert, who owned mills in Helmshore, and Rossendale, paid more than £5,000 and pursued an Act of Parliament to have the marriage annulled.

I am speculating that Pa’s next contribution to the correspondence would have asked Mr. Wakefield for details about his earlier life. Perhaps he was curious as to how someone could stoop to such a low act, when in the face of things, he was relatively well off already.

November 5, 1827 - Newgate Prison

My dear friend Daniel

I do so enjoy getting your letters. I am not without correspondents and visitors, but somehow your fresh ideas and common sense make your letters very special to me.

Thank you for informing me that I am no longer a married man. I did hear it from others, and in fact was called to put evidence to the hearing which granted the annulment, but I hadn’t realised how expensive a business it is getting one’s marriage annulled.

You asked whether I have family other than those I have mentioned, and specifically if I have children. I will give you a quick listing of my life, and you shall then know all there is to know about me.

I came from Quaker stock, and it is just possible that you have read or heard of books which were written by my grandmother, and my father. They both have done much to improve the prospects of prisoners, and so it is quite an irony, that I am now benefiting from their previousefforts.

To go back to the very beginning, I was born in London on 20 March, 1796, the eldest son of Edward Wakefield, a London land agent and surveyor, and his wife Susanna, née Crash, an Essex farmer's daughter. My father, though not a practising Quaker, was an active philanthropic reformer, best known for his book, Account of Ireland, Statistical and Political.

I was sent to Westminster School in 1808, but in 1810 refused to return. I was then sent to Edinburgh High School, but left in January, 1812. My first employment, at the age of 18, was as a King’s messenger, carrying diplomatic mail about Europe around the time of the Battle of Waterloo.

On 9th August, 1816. I eloped with a young fifteen year old heiress and ward of chancery (does this surprise you considering my recent history?). Her name was Eliza Susan Pattle and we were subsequently married in Edinburgh. I managed to persuade the Lord Chancellor to consent to
the union, placated my mother-in-law, and achieved one of the most generous chancery settlements ever made to a ward’s husband. I got a marriage settlement of seventy thousand pounds with the prospect of more when Eliza turned 21. We then, accompanied by her mother and various servants, moved to Genoa where I was employed in a diplomatic capacity.

In Genoa, our first child, Nina, was born in 1817. We returned to London in 1820, where our second child, Edward Jerningham, was born. Four days later, on 5 July, Eliza died. Subsequently the two children have been brought up by their aunt, my older sister, Catherine. After recovering somewhat from my grief, I became an attaché at the British Embassy in Paris.

I then attempted to overturn my father-in-law's will and get my hands on the rest of my dead wife's money. This didn't work, and my reputation was tarnished as they were suspicions that I resorted to
forgery and perjury to establish my case although no charges were laid. So I was somewhat desperate to try anything when my story came to your attention.

So, enough for now about my background. If you wish, I will go into greater detail at another time about my Grandmother and her good works. However, I said I would say a bit more about my confinement here. I regard it not a house of correction or penitentiary, but merely a prison of detention - a sort of metropolitan watch-house for the secure custody of persons about to be tried or executed. The great mass of prisoners here are persons awaiting trial.

The prisoners, like me who are here for punishment, are not subject to a regime to make them "penitent". Being a gentleman, I have quite a commodious cell with a maid-of-all-work to look after me. My sister brings my two children (Nina is now ten years old, and Edward
Jerningham, whom we call Teddy, is seven.) to visit me regularly in my cell where I give them their lessons.

I have become very interested in the treatment of those who are here but are less fortunate prisoners. They are locked, two or even three together, in cells eight foot by six. Men and women are in different parts of the prison and boys under fourteen are kept in a part of the prison known as the school - unless they are considered to be hardened offenders.

Prisoners sentenced to death are kept in solitary confinement. On average, there are twenty prisoners waiting death at any one time. On one occasion there were fifty-nine. Some of these were reprieved. The average stay between sentence and reprieve or execution is six weeks.

I wish to learn more about the other prisoners, and have asked if I can carry out social investigations, including interviewing other prisoners.

But more about this in my next letter. As I always seem to do, I have run on with my story to vast numbers of pages.

As always, thanking you for your continued interest in me

I am your faithful friend,

Edward Gibbon