This Day in History: 27 January 1688 — Mary Aubry and the Dismembered Murder

On 27 January 1688, in the parish of St Martin-in-the-Fields, London, a French midwife named Mary Aubry acted on a long-expressed threat and murdered her husband, Denis Hobry — a man known locally for his drunkenness and violence.

Mary and Denis had been married for four years. He squandered her earnings, frequently beat her, and subjected her to physical abuse. In her own testimony compiled in contemporary pamphlets, Mary admitted that if her husband did not change his behaviour, she had told him she would kill him.

The murder and the body parts

On the morning of 27 January, Denis returned home inebriated. After assaulting Mary again — beating her and trying to force himself on her — he fell asleep, leaving Mary with a choice between ongoing abuse and desperate action.

Mary strangled him with a garter. Still distraught and determined to hide what she had done, she dismembered his body over several days, disposing of the parts separately:

  • The torso was left near a dunghill on Parker’s Lane.
  • The head and limbs were hidden in privies at the Savoy Palace.

Once the body parts were discovered and reassembled, the identity of the victim became clear, and Mary was arrested.

Old Bailey trial — 22 February 1688

Mary appeared before the Old Bailey on 22 February 1688 on an indictment of murder, though under the early modern legal category of petty treason, since a wife killing her husband was considered an attack on social hierarchy — a “lesser” form of treason.

She pleaded guilty, and the next day received the death sentence:

that she should be drawn from Newgate to the place of execution, and there burnt with fire till she was dead.

This sentence reflected the 17th-century rule that petty treason — particularly the killing of a husband by a wife — warranted execution by burning at the stake.

Execution — 2 March 1688

On Friday, 2 March 1688, Mary Aubry was taken from Newgate Prison to Leicester Fields. Witnesses recorded that she appeared penitent, often lifting her hands and eyes heavenward and showing sincere sorrow for her crime and its consequences on her fate.

At around half past ten in the morning, a stake had been prepared. Mary was hanged slowly by a rope attached to the stake, strangling for some time before wood was piled around and burnt until her body was reduced to ashes.

Burning at the stake was the statutory punishment for petty treason in England at this time, intended to mark the perceived breach of social and sexual order represented by a wife killing her husband.

Why this case matters

The case of Mary Aubry resonated far beyond the Old Bailey:

  • It was the subject of multiple pamphlets, ballads and prints shortly after the events.
  • Contemporary observers used it to debate questions of gender, violence, language and domestic authority in urban London.
  • The brutality of the murder and the sensational nature of the dismemberment etched her into both popular and legal memory.

For historians and legal scholars, the case reveals how early modern England’s legal categories like petty treason worked, and how public sentiment, print culture, and social bias (including anti-Catholic and anti-foreign feeling) could shape reactions long after the trial itself.

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Advice of the Day: Self-Checkout Survival

“When the machine asks for help, stay very still.”

THE SAGE

The Sage has faced many adversaries in his lifetime, but none as passive-aggressive as a self-checkout machine. His advice today is simple, calm, and based on bitter experience: “When the machine asks for help, stay very still.”

According to The Sage, movement is interpreted as guilt. A sudden shift of weight, a glance at the bagging area, or an innocent sigh can escalate the situation instantly. The machine senses weakness. It will repeat itself. Louder. Slowly. Drawing the attention of staff, nearby shoppers, and anyone who has ever doubted your honesty.

The Sage insists that absolute stillness is the correct response. Hands off the screen. Eyes forward. Become furniture. Eventually, a human will arrive and resolve the issue while you maintain plausible innocence. Wisdom, he says, is knowing that the machine doesn’t want solutions — it wants dominance.

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Advice of the Day: Price Comparison

“If something is reduced, buy two so you save twice.”

The Sage

The Sage has always believed that mathematics is flexible, especially when shopping. His advice today reflects this optimistic approach to numbers: “If something is reduced, buy two so you save twice.”

According to The Sage, a discount is not merely an opportunity — it’s a challenge. Buying one reduced item is sensible. Buying two is financial strategy. Buying three, he admits, may require justification, but that justification can usually be found somewhere near the words “stocking up” or “it would’ve been rude not to.”

The Sage also reminds us that reduced items have a magical property: they stop counting as spending altogether. Money saved is practically money earned, and money earned should obviously be celebrated with more shopping. True wisdom, he insists, lies not in restraint, but in confidently explaining your logic to anyone who questions it.

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Advice of the Day: Queue Wisdom

“Always join the longest queue — it must be popular for a reason.”

The Sage

The Sage has spent a lifetime observing queues — in shops, post offices, airports, and places that no longer seem to exist but still require waiting. From this deep study comes today’s advice: “Always join the longest queue — it must be popular for a reason.”

According to The Sage, a short queue is suspicious. It suggests hidden problems, broken systems, or a cashier who has just announced they’re closing. A long queue, however, radiates confidence. It says, “Something is happening here,” even if no one knows what. The Sage trusts the collective judgement of strangers who look mildly annoyed but committed.

He also notes that long queues offer important social benefits. You gain time to sigh loudly, check your phone repeatedly, and bond silently with others through shared disappointment. And if the queue turns out to be slow, inefficient, and entirely pointless — well, at least you chose correctly. Everyone else did too.

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Quote of the Day: Suffering Shared Stops Being Suffering

The beauty of football is not the score, but agreeing to suffer together.
— The Sage

The Sage has often noted that football’s greatest strength is not joy, but companionship in disappointment. Goals are fleeting, victories are brief, and glory rarely stays for long. What endures, however, is the shared experience — the collective groan, the knowing sigh, and the familiar acceptance that today may not be the day, but it is our day all the same.

He observes that football fans enter into an unspoken agreement each season: we will endure this together. The missed chances, the baffling substitutions, the refereeing decisions best forgotten — all of it becomes lighter when carried in company. The Sage believes that suffering shared stops being suffering and starts becoming story.

With gentle humour, he reminds us that football is less about winning than belonging. The scoreline fades quickly, but the memory of standing shoulder to shoulder — united in hope, frustration, and stubborn loyalty — lasts far longer. In that shared endurance, The Sage finds football’s quiet beauty: not triumph, but togetherness.

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This Day in History: 20 January 1690 — Elizabeth Deacon and the Death of Mary Cox

On Monday 20 January 1690, events unfolded inside a household in St Michael Wood Street that would later be exposed as one of the most prolonged and brutal cases of domestic cruelty heard at the Old Bailey.

Elizabeth Deacon, wife of Francis Deacon, a whipmaker, was tried for the wilful murder of her servant maid, Mary Cox, a girl of about seventeen years of age.

The beginnings of suspicion

The chain of violence began when Deacon discovered that Mary Cox had a shilling in her possession. Demanding to know how she came by it, the girl explained that she had received sixpence from Mrs Baker and sixpence from Susannah Middleton.

Her mistress did not believe her.

On that same Monday, Deacon ordered the girl to be tied to the bedpost and whipped severely. Two apprentice witnesses — Edward Newhall and Thomas Albrook — later testified to what followed.

Escalation

When the maid later denied wrongdoing, Deacon’s anger intensified. She struck her servant two or three times with a whip, then commanded that she be tied again and beaten so violently that the girl cried out “Murder.”

To silence her, Deacon covered the girl’s mouth with her hand.

The cruelty did not end there.

On the following Saturday, Deacon bound Mary Cox by the neck and heels, tied her once more to the bedpost, and burned her neck, shoulders, and back with a fire poker. She then struck her on the head with a hammer, forcing her to confess to being involved with thieves who supposedly planned to rob her master’s house during Bristol Fair.

The next Monday — the day before the girl died — Deacon took her servant before a Justice of the Peace, where the same confession was repeated under the shadow of violence already inflicted.

Neglect and death

After this, Deacon showed no pity.

When Mary Cox became seriously ill, she was denied food, comfort, and care. Witnesses heard her mistress say:

“Hang her, hang her.”

She claimed the girl had the pox, and refused to provide assistance, asking, “Who can do any thing for such a wretch?”

A surgeon later testified that the wounds and stripes contributed directly to her death, alongside illness brought on by previous weakness.

Mary Cox died shortly afterwards.

The defence

At trial, Elizabeth Deacon attempted to extenuate her crime, alleging that the maid was dishonest, obstinate, and associated with thieves. She claimed the punishment was for opening her dressing box.

She produced witnesses who spoke favourably of her upbringing, but none could contradict the overwhelming testimony of violence.

One witness suggested the girl had complained of stomach pains and headaches before the beatings, or that she had made herself ill by eating ice cakes and apples, but the jury found these explanations meaningless in light of the evidence.

Verdict and sentence

The jury returned a clear verdict:

Guilty of wilful murder.

Elizabeth Deacon was sentenced to death.

However, the sentence was respited, as she was found to be pregnant — a legal provision that delayed execution but did not overturn the conviction.

Why this case matters

This case exposes the extreme vulnerability of servants in early modern London, particularly young women living under absolute household authority.

It also demonstrates:

  • the weight given to apprentice testimony,
  • the court’s recognition of sustained cruelty, not just fatal blows,
  • and the limits of maternal reprieve within capital punishment.

For Mary Cox, 20 January 1690 marked the beginning of a suffering that would soon end her life.
For Elizabeth Deacon, it marked the moment private brutality became public crime.

Source

  • Elizabeth Deacon, Old Bailey Proceedings, 26 January 1690, offence dated 20 January, case ref t16900226-1.

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Advice of the Day: Trolley Psychology

“Always take the biggest trolley so the shopping feels smaller.”

The Sage

The Sage understands that shopping is not about need, budgeting, or restraint — it’s about perception. His advice today is therefore rooted firmly in visual trickery: “Always take the biggest trolley so the shopping feels smaller.”

According to The Sage, a half-empty trolley is a thing of beauty. It whispers reassurance. It says, “I’m barely buying anything,” even as it quietly absorbs family-sized crisps, emergency biscuits, and something frozen you don’t remember choosing. A small basket, by contrast, judges you immediately and fills up far too quickly, forcing uncomfortable self-reflection by the cheese aisle.

The Sage insists this technique also works psychologically at the checkout. A vast trolley with space left over creates the illusion of control, moderation, and good life choices — regardless of what’s actually inside. Remember: it’s not about what you buy, it’s about how empty the trolley looks while you’re doing it.

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Quote of the Day: Loyalty in Football is Rarely Logical

In football, loyalty survives reason — and that is why it lasts.
— The Sage

The Sage has long suspected that football loyalty cannot be explained without doing it a great disservice. Reason would have supporters change allegiance after a bad season, a poor decision, or a decade of disappointment. And yet they don’t. Scarves are kept, seats are returned to, and hope stubbornly refuses to pack its bags. To The Sage, this is not irrationality — it is devotion.

He observes that loyalty in football is rarely logical. It survives defeats that would end most sensible relationships. But that is precisely why it endures. Loyalty, he says, is not built on outcomes but on identity. A club becomes part of who you are, not because it wins, but because it stays — and so do you.

With quiet admiration, The Sage reminds us that loyalty outlasting reason is not a flaw but a strength. In football, as in life, some of the most meaningful commitments persist precisely because they are not constantly renegotiated. They endure storms, mockery, and disappointment — and in doing so, they become something deeper than choice: they become belonging.

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Advice of the Day: Professional Standards

“A good window cleaner always leaves at least one streak.”

The Sage

The Sage has always distrusted perfection, particularly when it comes to windows. His advice today reassures homeowners everywhere: “A good window cleaner always leaves at least one streak.”

According to The Sage, a completely spotless window is suspicious. It suggests shortcuts, dark arts, or someone who stayed far too long making eye contact with your net curtains. A single streak, however, proves authenticity. It shows a human was present — someone who wiped, stepped back, nodded thoughtfully, and decided it was “near enough.”

The Sage also notes that streaks serve a practical purpose. They help you locate the window later, reassure you that money has changed hands, and give you something to complain about while secretly knowing you’d have done a worse job yourself. True professionalism, he insists, is not about flawless results — it’s about leaving just enough evidence to avoid questions.

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This Day in History: 18 January 1694 — John Edwards and the Broad Cloth Theft

On 18 January 1694, a tradesman named John Edwards, a plasterer of Aldgate Parish, took part in a theft that would ultimately cost him his life.

Alongside others, Edwards was indicted for felony, accused of stealing forty yards of white broad cloth belonging to John Evans. Broad cloth was among the most valuable textiles of the period, used for coats and outer garments, and its theft was treated as a serious crime.

The offence

The indictment stated that the cloth was stolen on 18 January. When brought before the court, Edwards did not deny his involvement. His defence was limited and unconvincing.

He claimed that the cloth had been left in his care by one Henry Oxton, who, he said, was “now in Their Majesties Service.” Crucially, Edwards could not prove this claim, nor produce any witness to support it.

The court was unconvinced.

His co-accused — J– S– and Richard Colehampton — were found not guilty. Edwards alone bore the full weight of the charge.

Verdict

The jury found John Edwards guilty of felony.

In the legal climate of the 1690s, theft of valuable cloth crossed the threshold into capital crime. Edwards was condemned to die.

Awaiting death

Following sentence, Edwards was held in Newgate Prison, where he was visited repeatedly by the Ordinary of Newgate, whose duty was to prepare the condemned for death.

The Ordinary’s published account provides a rare and intimate glimpse into Edwards’ final weeks.

Edwards was 25 years old, and by trade a plasterer. He openly confessed:

“He denied not that he joined with others in stealing broad cloth, and that he had 25 shillings of the money for which it was sold.”

When asked why he wept, Edwards replied:

“For his sins.”

He told the Ordinary that he now hated sin more than he had loved it, and declared that if his life were spared, he would return to his honest trade and never again commit an unlawful act.

Execution at Tyburn

There would be no reprieve.

On Wednesday 28 February 1694, John Edwards was taken from Newgate to Tyburn, along with six other condemned men. Before execution, he prayed, acknowledged God’s justice, and showed visible penitence.

The Ordinary recorded that Edwards:

  • Wept greatly
  • Acknowledged the justice of his punishment
  • Died penitently

After prayers were concluded, the cart drew away, and Edwards was executed.

Why this case matters

John Edwards’ story illustrates the brutal certainty of late-seventeenth-century justice:

  • Theft of valuable goods could still mean death
  • Only one participant needed to be convicted for the sentence to fall
  • Expressions of repentance did not mitigate punishment, only shaped how death was recorded

It also shows how Old Bailey cases did not end at verdict. Through the Ordinary’s Accounts, we can trace the condemned from crime, to confession, to scaffold — a rare continuity in early modern criminal history.

For John Edwards, 18 January 1694 marked the beginning of the end.

Sources

  • John Edwards et al., Old Bailey Proceedings, offence dated 18 January 1694, case ref t16940221-14
  • A True Account of the Behaviour, Confession, and Last Dying Speeches…, Ordinary of Newgate, executions at Tyburn, 28 February 1694 (OA16940228)

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