Sarah Malcolm arrived in London in the early 1730s as a young woman from a respectable but ruined family. She had been born in Durham in 1711, educated in reading, writing, and the social graces expected of a lady, but her father’s poor management of money had driven the family first to Dublin and then back to England. By the time she was in her early twenties, she was alone in the capital, working as a domestic servant. Her mother had died shortly after their arrival, and her father had returned to Ireland, leaving her to fend for herself in a city of roughly 650,000 people, most of whom lived in desperate poverty.

Sarah found work where she could, first at a public house called the Black Horse near Temple Bar, and later as a laundress for gentlemen occupying apartments in the Inns of Court. Among those whose rooms she serviced were two Irish barristers, Mr. Carroll and Mr. Guilligan, and an elderly widow named Lydia Duncan, who lived in Tanfield Court with her companion, Elizabeth Harrison, and a young maidservant named Anne Price.

Mrs. Duncan was believed to be in her eighties and kept her money and jewellery in a strong box in her apartment. Sarah cleaned for her and did her laundry, but the elderly lady eventually dismissed her, preferring to employ the seventeen-year-old Anne Price as a living-in maid instead. Sarah did not sever her connection with Tanfield Court entirely.

She had made acquaintances at the Black Horse, including a woman named Martha Tracy and two brothers, James and Thomas Alexander, who lived by dishonest means. They knew Sarah had access to the apartments of people with money, and they pressed her to steal for them. On the third of February 1733, Sarah paid an unexpected visit to Mrs. Duncan, claiming she had heard the old lady had been in poor spirits and wanted to make sure everything was in order.

Anne Price was suspicious of her motives, but said nothing at the time. Two days later, on the fifth of February, an elderly friend of Mrs. Duncan’s named Mrs. Love climbed the three flights of stairs to the widow’s apartment, intending to join her for lunch.

She found the outer door closed, which was unusual, since it was normally left open when the occupants were home. There was no response to her knocking, and no sound from within. She fetched another friend, Mrs. Rimer, who was equally alarmed.

They looked down into the courtyard and spotted Sarah Malcolm below, calling out for her to fetch a locksmith. Sarah returned with a younger woman named Mrs. Oliphant, who had a key to the vacant apartment next door. Mrs.

Oliphant climbed through the back window, broke a pane of glass, and entered Mrs. Duncan’s rooms. When she appeared at the front door, she delivered the news plainly: they were all murdered. Inside, the women found Anne Price lying in her bed with a deep knife wound to her throat, her hair matted with blood.

Elizabeth Harrison had been strangled with her own apron strings. Mrs. Duncan lay on her bed, also strangled, with no marks of violence beyond the ligature around her neck. The strong box was open and empty.

Mrs. Rimer knew it had held the old lady’s money and jewellery. The news spread quickly, and a crowd gathered outside Tanfield Court. That evening, Mr.

Carroll and Mr. Guilligan returned from their evening out to find the passage blocked with onlookers. They diverted to a coffee house in Covent Garden, where talk of the murders centred on the likelihood that the killer had known the courts well, since no sign of a break-in had been found. They lingered at a tavern in Essex Street until one in the morning.

When they finally reached their apartments, they found Mr. Carroll’s door open, a fire burning, and Sarah Malcolm sitting by it. She said she was making the fire and collecting her things. When he asked whether anyone had been arrested, she replied that a gentleman named Mr.

Knight, who had not been seen for days, was suspected. Carroll told her to stay out of his rooms until the business was settled and ordered her to leave. Before she went, he noticed that some of his waistcoats were missing. Sarah said she had pawned them.

After she left, Carroll searched further and found bloodstained linen and a silver tankard with blood on the handle. Under the bed he discovered a blood-stained apron. He summoned the watchman, who brought Sarah back. She claimed the tankard was hers, a gift from her mother, and that the blood on it came from a cut finger.

The watchman took her to the constable, where she repeated the statement under oath, and she was committed to Newgate Prison. At Newgate, a search of her person turned up a green silk purse containing twenty-one guineas. Sarah claimed she had found it in the street. The bundles of linen she was carrying were stained with blood.

Mrs. Rimer was shown the purse but could not swear it had come from Mrs. Duncan’s box. The tankard, however, was engraved with the initials C.

D. , and Mrs. Rimer confirmed it belonged to the widow. The linen was likewise identified as hers.

The warder who searched Sarah, a man named Roger Johnson, was an honest officer. She offered him the guineas if he would keep silent about the money, but he refused. She then told him she had not committed the murders. She claimed her role had been limited to arranging a robbery, and that she had remained outside on the stairs, keeping watch, while Martha Tracy and the Alexander brothers entered the apartment.

She said she had no knowledge they intended to kill anyone. The coroner’s inquest nevertheless determined that Sarah Malcolm was responsible for the deaths of Lydia Duncan, Elizabeth Harrison, and Anne Price, and she was committed for trial. The trial opened at the Old Bailey on the twenty-third of February 1733. It was a sensational affair, with crowds pressing outside the courtroom, receiving news of the proceedings as it was relayed from within.

Although the case involved three murders and a robbery, all capital offences, it was decided that Sarah would be tried only for the murder of Anne Price. She had no legal counsel, but her education served her well. She conducted her defence with considerable skill, repeating that she had only helped plan the robbery and had not killed anyone. She claimed she had not even known the three women were dead until Mrs.

Oliphant discovered the bodies. She explained the blood on her linen as her own menstrual blood, a statement that caused a stir in court, as such matters were not discussed openly in mixed company, especially in the presence of ladies. The prosecution called Mr. Guilligan, Mr.

Carroll, the watchmen, and Mrs. Rimer. The evidence was damning: the blood on the tankard handle, the bloodstained clothing and sheets, and her suspicious visit to Mrs. Duncan’s apartment only days before the murders, when she had claimed concern for the old lady’s health but had more likely been confirming where the money and jewellery were kept.

The jury deliberated for fifteen minutes and returned a verdict of guilty. The judge sentenced her to death. While awaiting execution at Newgate, Sarah was visited by the artist William Hogarth, who painted her portrait. The image was widely printed, and her infamy grew.

The execution was set for the seventh of March. In keeping with custom, the gallows were erected as close to the scene of the crime as possible, in the square opposite Mitre Court near Fleet Lane. Sarah was taken by cart from Newgate to Fleet Street, accompanied by soldiers and the undersheriff. She was deeply distressed at the prospect of being hanged so close to where she lived, where friends and neighbours would witness her death.

She wept during the journey and was said to have fainted at the gallows. After prayers, she turned to face the large, noisy crowd. She called out that her employer Mr. Carroll had known nothing of her intentions, and she insisted that she had only acted as lookout and had not committed the murders.

She mentioned a letter she had given to the Reverend Pennington, in which she said she had written everything she had to say about the crime. The cart moved forward, and Sarah Malcolm was hanged. She was buried three days later in the churchyard of St. Sepulchre.

No charges were ever brought against Martha Tracy or the Alexander brothers, as the authorities had no evidence against them.