The Yorkshire Witch

by Strevens, Summer;

  Mary also ran a long distance dupe on two serving girls whose move to Manchester she had engineered. Having been under Mary’s influence for some time, along with several of their friends who had all been persuaded of her powers of foretelling in matters of the heart, one girl had even resorted to stealing various articles from her mother, including a large family Bible, to satisfy Mary’s demands. However, when these extortions had reached such a point that Mary was concerned she might be discovered, she contrived to send both girls, at different times, to seek a position in service in Manchester. The Cottonopolis was growing at an alarming rate in these years, swallowing up the outlying villages which are now its suburbs. The first cotton mill had been opened there by Richard Arkwright in 1780 and the city’s slums were home to thousands of cellar-dwelling Irish. Keeping up a correspondence with each of them, Mary managed a long distance extortion of clothing and belongings that meant the desperate girls were virtually naked. The likelihood of the pair accidentally meeting in the city with its 70,000 population seemed remote but Mary had nevertheless included a codicil concerning the procurement of a suitable husband. Both were instructed that if they were to happen to meet one another in Manchester they must under no circumstances exchange a word, lest the charm put in place be broken. But one day, by chance, they did meet in the street, and in spite of Mary’s threats regarding fraternisation, the pair broke down in tears and revealed identical tales of woe. Realising they had both been wholly taken in by Mary, they wrote to their friends back in Leeds, who in this instance got back the money and clothing that Mary had coerced from them, though needless to say the promised husbands never materialised.

  In 1807, in view of the continuing exposures of Mary’s increasing frauds, the Batemans were forced to move yet again, this time to Meadow Lane, south of the river Aire in a populous south-western suburb of Leeds called Holbeck. While there, another poisoningrelated incident involving the family of a long unemployed clothdresser named Gosling was brought to the notice of the local surgeon, and while the circumstances and the motive for the attempted poisoning are not clear, in view of Mary’s track record the finger of suspicion was afterwards firmly pointed in her direction.

  Joseph Gosling and his wife and four children, who were living in dire straits, returned to their house one day to find a small cake on the kitchen table. The mother and children immediately tasted the surprising though welcome free gift of food, and though it had a ‘very keen and pungent taste’, nevertheless, they ate several mouthfuls and soon began to feel very ill. Thankfully the local surgeon, a Mr Atkinson, was summoned and by the timely administration of emetics saved the lives of the entire family. As for the fateful cake, on inspection it was found to contain a large quantity of arsenic. While the description of the taste of the cake, and the rapid subsequent ill effects on those who had eaten it were clear indicators of the presence of poison, Mr Atkinson may well have carried out some additional rudimentary toxicological tests – similar tests of a physical nature would later be presented as evidence at Mary Bateman’s trial.

  Chemistry had spectacularly come to the aid of forensic science in 1752 when the first of such tests had secured a conviction in a case of poisoning by arsenic. In that year, Mary Blandy, acting on the instructions of her lover, fed her father arsenic trioxide. The powder Mary stirred into her father’s tea and gruel every day made him so ill that he would stay up all night with vomiting and stomach pains. After a few attempts she eventually killed him, but not before he realised his daughter’s true intent. Her father’s love was such that his main concern during his final days was not that he would die but that Mary should not hang for his murder. The poison she had used was a white powder, and it was a Dr Addington who identified it. Having treated Francis Blandy, Addington suspected arsenic was the substance that had poisoned him and conducted a series of physical tests to prove his point. When he put a sample of the powder Mary had given her father into cold water, for instance, part of it remained on the water’s surface, but most of it stayed on the bottom undissolved – the same results apparent when a known sample of arsenic was similarly tested. Additionally, when Addington tossed the powder onto a red-hot piece of iron, it did not burn, but sublimated (that is transformed directly from a solid to the gaseous state), rising up in garlic-smelling white clouds just as arsenic did. Addington argued at Mary Blandy’s trial that these results proved the powder employed was, in fact, arsenic, and the forensic evidence he provided helped to convince the jury that Mary had poisoned her father. While of course the results of Addington’s early forensic tests were not definitive and would be regarded as rudimentary by today’s standards, and neither were they specific to arsenic alone, the jury nevertheless agreed with Addington’s findings, and this was the first time any court had accepted toxicological evidence in an arsenic-poisoning case. Sentenced to death for her father’s murder she was hanged on 6 April 1752 in the castle yard at Oxford, seemingly more concerned with preserving her modesty than with her imminent death. Mary’s last request was that, for the sake of decency, she should not be hoisted too high, concerned that the young men in the crowd would look up her skirts. As for the fate of the lady’s coercive lover, he escaped before he could stand trial, but died later that year.

  In the case of the Gosling family, if Mary Bateman was indeed responsible, while her motives were unclear, it is testament to her tarnished character that the blame was laid squarely with her.

  It comes as no surprise that by the following year, in 1808, the Batemans had again moved and were now living in Camp Field off Water Lane, an area of high density housing close to the flax mill of Marshall & Benyon, the same mill which had suffered the serious fire back in 1796 and so mercenarily exploited by Mary in her ‘charitable’ endeavours. Here ninety-two pairs of back-to-back houses occupied a field called Bar Croft, measuring 75 yards by 125 yards. Amongst the many occupying this slum, Mary found a new and impressionable neighbour to exploit in the wife of James Snowden. Whether Mrs Snowden already believed in prophecy or the notion was implanted by Mary’s powerful suggestion, her fears centring on a presentiment of the drowning of one of her children were certainly exacerbated by Mary to increase her gains. Whatever the origins of Mrs Snowden’s premonition, Mary assured her that Miss Blythe would be able to help. Miss Blythe, who had now apparently moved to Thirsk, still far enough away to preserve the pretence of her reality, wrote advising that in order to save the child from a watery grave, Mr Snowden’s silver pocket watch must be sewn, by Mary, into the Snowden’s bed, in addition to the sum of twelve guineas stitched into the mattress. The Snowdens could of course later extricate the watch and the money, but only once the charm had worked.

  In view of the monies already laid out, Mary obviously saw an opportunity for further exploitation, and increased Mrs Snowden’s fears by telling her that Miss Blythe had also warned that unless the family moved to Bowling, a village on the outskirts of Bradford then opening up to the iron trade, then the Snowdens’ daughter would end up a prostitute working the streets of Leeds. While the bed containing the preventive monetary charms and silver pocket watch could be taken with them, Mary persuaded husband and wife that it would be expedient to leave a considerable amount of their property in their Leeds house, and leave the key with the Batemans.

  Later, now relocated in Bradford, the Snowdens expressed a wish to tear open the bed and retrieve the watch and money. The request of course posed a decided problem for Mary. She wrote back advising that, in line with Miss Blythe’s instructions, enough time had not yet elapsed, and in the face of her imminent exposure, Mary also told the Snowdens that before the guineas and watch were removed, the entire family would need to take a special ‘dose’ in order to render the magic of the concealed charms powerful enough to prevent their son from drowning and their daughter’s descent into the life of a streetwalker. That Mary had in mind the poisoning of the Snowdens in order to prevent the discovery of her fraud is obvious; it would also have cleared the way for
her to grab all the possessions still remaining in the Snowden’s vacant Leeds home to which she still held the key. The allotted time for the administration of the dose, divined by Miss Blythe, was set for the end of October 1808. Presumably, this would have taken the form of a powder, which Mary assured was currently being prepared by Miss Blythe, that would have been sent to the Snowdens along with specific instructions as to how it should be administered. The plan of course was that effectively, the Snowdens would be responsible for poisoning themselves. However, the threat to the family was averted at the eleventh hour by the exposure of Mary’s part in the poisoning of another held under Miss Blythe’s influence and the timely publicity surrounding her arrest for her part in the death of Rebecca Perigo, brought about by Mary in the May of the previous year. This was the crime for which she would be tried, convicted and hanged.

  Chapter 6

  ‘My dear Friend…’

  On the evening of the 22 October 1808, Mr Snowden had the good fortune to call into a public house in Bradford and overhear a discussion about an article in the Leeds Mercury newspaper. Under the heading ‘Witchcraft, Murder and Credulity’ the report said:

  ‘A plot, accompanied by most unprecedented instances of credulity that ever engaged public attention, was on Monday developed before the Magistrates, at the Rotation-office in Leeds.’

  Detailing the arrest the previous day of Mary Bateman, apprehended by the Chief Constable of Leeds on a charge of fraud, the article elaborated on the details of her exploitation of a married couple named Perigo, who lived at Bramley, an already industrialised area on the outskirts of Leeds. It rang loud alarm bells with Snowden, who hurried home to tell his wife. As the article alluded to the similar recommendations of a ‘Miss Blythe’, namely the stitching of money into the Perigos’ bed, the Snowdens promptly tore open their own bedding only to find that the twelve guineas and the silver pocket watch which had purportedly been stitched in by Mary Bateman had incredibly changed into pieces of coal. On this discovery, Snowden hurried back to Leeds to find that their house, left in Mary’s care, had been stripped bare. It took no great powers of deduction to identify the culprit. Getting a search warrant to enter the Batemans’ premises, some of the Snowdens’ missing effects and household belongings were found to have been removed to the Batemans’ home, the other of the Snowdens’ missing items presumably already disposed of by direct sale or pledged at the pawnbrokers.

  Mary’s luck had finally run out. Her arrest had been brought about by a complaint lodged by William Perigo, a cloth merchant who, before her death, had lived with his wife Rebecca in Bramley, approximately four miles north-west of Leeds city centre. A childless, middle aged couple, the Perigos were comfortably off, though William had become increasingly concerned about Rebecca’s chest palpitations, described as ‘flacking’ or ‘fluttering in the breast’ which occurred whenever she lay down. As well as this physical ailment, she was also having psychological problems, claiming to be haunted by a black dog and other spirits. Though the particular manifestation of a black dog may seem peculiar, the phenomenon is in fact an age old superstition; feared as portents of death, tales of spectral hounds are legion throughout the British Isles, and known by different names in different parts of the country. In Norfolk they are Shucks, Gallytorts in Suffolk, the Trash marauds in Lancashire and Padfoots are seen in Staffordshire, but in Yorkshire they were, and still are, known as ‘Barghests’.

  Though a cure was sought through conventional medicine, Rebecca was told by her physician, a Dr Curzley who was clearly as superstitious as his patient, that she was under some sort of spell, and that he could do nothing to help her. At Whitsun 1806, which that year fell on 25 May, Rebecca Perigo’s niece, Sarah Stead, who lived in Leeds, came to visit her aunt and uncle in Bramley. Rebecca complained to her niece of the ‘fluttering in her side’ which she supposed was the result of an ‘evil wish’ which had been laid upon her. Rebecca was just about to celebrate her forty-sixth birthday, on 29 May and, as William Perigo affirmed at Mary Bateman’s trial, in twenty years of marriage his wife had always enjoyed a very good state of health and ‘was never confined a week to her bed on account of illness since they were married’. It would seem likely that Rebecca was suffering heart palpitations, in all probability brought on by the anxiety and stress caused by the unseen curse to which she attributed the ailment to in the first place. It was a vicious circle of fear.

  In the light of her aunt’s discomforts, Sarah innocently suggested the services of Mary Bateman, whose reputation she knew, and who she thought might be able to rid Rebecca of the troubling spirits that were possessing her, and presumably remedy her physical ailments at the same time. Sarah actually called on Mary then still living at the aptly-named Black Dog Yard the same day after her visit to Bramley, and recounted how she’d found her aunt ‘very low and poorly’ and that while William had already enlisted the services of a country doctor, he had been told that his wife was suffering as a consequence of the evil wish cast upon her. Mary must have been laughing all the way to the bank at the prospect presented by Rebecca Perigo’s ill health. She confidently claimed to have cured many others who’d suffered similar chest pains to those afflicting Rebecca, and she assured Sarah Stead that she knew of a lady who could cure her aunt, although she didn’t mention the name of Miss Blythe at this juncture, and assured the Perigos’ niece that she would write the necessary letter and have an answer within a fortnight. However, she would require a flannel petticoat, or any other under-garment worn next to her aunt’s skin, to send on to her confidant in order to assist with the removal of the spell. From this article of clothing, Miss Blythe would be able to ‘collect a knowledge of her disorder.’

  After some weeks’ delay – perhaps the Perigos were deliberating over the use of Mary’s services, or perhaps Rebecca’s health had temporarily improved – a meeting was arranged between William Perigo and Mary toward the end of July, outside the Black Dog pub. A flannel petticoat of Mrs Perigo’s was duly handed over, to be sent to Miss Blythe in Scarborough by that night’s post and, this being a Saturday, William should call back on the Tuesday or Wednesday following for Miss Blythe’s reply and instructions. We can assume that Mary added a new flannel petticoat to her wardrobe at this point.

  When William returned to Black Dog Yard the following week, Mary showed him the forged reply from Miss Blythe, directing that Mary should go to the Perigos’ house in Bramley, and employing the tried and tested ploy, stitch into their bed four guinea notes enclosed in bags; Miss Blythe had enclosed the notes with her letter. One should go into each corner of the Perigos’ bed, where they must be left untouched for a period of eighteen months in order to lift the curse afflicting Rebecca. To defray Miss Blythe’s cash outlay, William was to give Mary four guinea notes of his own in exchange, to be sent back to Miss Blythe accordingly, with the further instruction that Miss Blythe would only continue with the undertaking on the faithful promise that Mrs Perigo would not discuss the on-going situation with anyone else, lest the charm be broken.

  Obviously at this point Mary was not certain of the worth of her victims, and how much money she could get from them, so she engineered a ruse to be left alone in their house so that she could assess their living standards and make a mental inventory of their belongings. Having arranged with William that she would come to the family home on 4 August to carry out Miss Blythe’s instructions, it was agreed that his wife would meet Mary on the Kirkstall Bridge, a little over a mile from the Perigos’ home in Bramley. However, when Rebecca turned up at the appointed time and place Mary was nowhere to be seen, and for good reason; she had already made her way over to Bramley and upon Mary’s unaccompanied arrival at the Perigos’ door, a surprised and concerned William set off out to look for his wife. As Mary had planned, she was conveniently left alone in the house for a considerable time.

  When the Perigos finally returned together, presumably Mary concocted some plausible nonsense for having missed Rebecca on the Kir
kstall Bridge and she got down to the business of sleight of hand. Producing the four guinea notes sent by Miss Blythe, she had William Perigo examine them before they were switched and stitched into four silk bags, Mary having substituted ordinary pieces of paper for the guinea notes that Miss Blythe had supplied. These were pocketed along with the four guinea notes that Perigo had given her in exchange for Miss Blythe’s supposed outlay. As Mary had the Perigos themselves open their mattress, and place each of the silk bags with their worthless contents into the respective corners of the bed, they had no reason to believe they were being defrauded. The first deceit accomplished, a grateful William accompanied Mary on part of her way home, she leaving him with the instruction that he should call on her occasionally at Black Dog Yard whenever he was in Leeds to see if any further instructions had been received from Miss Blythe.

  Within a fortnight, another letter was indeed ‘received’ from Miss Blythe, and delivered to the Perigos by one of the Bateman sons. It was unsealed, and stated that within a few days, Mary was to visit the Perigos to undertake some more ‘protective’ measures, namely to hammer over their threshold two pieces of iron shaped as horse shoes. It was however essential that William buy the necessary iron, but under no circumstances should the metal be sourced from Bramley. In addition, they were to be nailed into place not with a hammer, but with the back part of a pair of pincers. The self-same pincers were then to be posted by Mary directly to Miss Blythe in Scarborough. Whether this performance was merely designed to keep up the impetus of Miss Blythe’s own special brand of magic, or whether Mary was simply in need of a new pair of pincers we cannot know!