The Macabre & Mysterious Case of Sarah Malcolm — A Georgian True Crime Story

London in the early 18th century was a city of shadows and secrets, its labyrinthine courts and stone passages hiding tales of ambition, desperation, and crime. Within the district known as the Temple, a self-contained world of barristers, clerks, and laborers, the story of Sarah Malcolm would unfold—a tale that would haunt the city’s memory for generations.

Sarah Malcolm, just twenty-three, was born in Durham but spent part of her childhood in Dublin. Eventually, she came to London, where she found work as a laundress and charwoman in the Inns of Court. Her days were spent climbing staircases, collecting linen, tending fires, and sweeping floors for the legal elite. In the rigid social order of the Temple, she was invisible, moving between chambers, trusted with keys and the private possessions of her employers.

The 1730s were not kind to those at the margins of London society. The population swelled, living costs soared, and opportunities for women like Sarah were scarce. She relied on irregular work and the goodwill of those she served, forming a circle of acquaintances among other domestic workers—Mary Tracy, James and Thomas Alexander—who drifted between jobs and lodging houses near Fleet Street.

As the winter of 1733 settled over London, Sarah’s circumstances began to shift. She had access to several chambers, including those of Mrs. Lydia Duncan in Tanfield Court. During her visits, she studied the layout, noted the locked box where money was kept, and learned the routines of the three women who occupied the apartment. At some point before the night of February 3rd, Sarah acquired the means to enter the dwelling unassisted—perhaps by retaining or duplicating a key entrusted to her during her work.

On the afternoon of February 3rd, Sarah was seen carrying linen through the precinct, her actions placing her near Tanfield Court and familiar with the habits of its residents. By evening, the occupants had retired, and the surrounding chambers were quiet. Sarah, moving through the internal passages she knew well, approached the Duncan apartment after nightfall.

In the early hours of February 4th, she entered the chambers of Mr. John Carroll, though no duty had called her there. She attempted to light the fire, adjusted items on the table, and shifted a linen basket from one corner to another. When questioned about her early arrival, she gave no clear explanation, keeping a bundle of clothing close and moving it behind a chair. Mr. Carroll noticed an unusual mark on the cloth and asked her to account for it; she avoided his question and left without completing any task.

Later, while collecting shirts near Fleet Street, Sarah told William Johnson her circumstances were soon to change. He dismissed her talk, reminding her that labor still awaited. Sarah offered no reply and moved off, soon seen again near the entrance to Tanfield Court, standing at the foot of the staircase that led to the Duncan apartment.

At nine o’clock that morning, Mrs. Mary Love arrived at Tanfield Court to call on Mrs. Duncan. She knocked, waited, knocked again, but received no reply. Listening for movement, she heard nothing and sought a locksmith. As the locksmith worked the lock, Sarah Malcolm appeared in the court below, watching but not approaching the door.

When the locksmith finally opened the apartment, Mrs. Love stepped inside and called to Mrs. Duncan. Silence. She moved forward, then stopped abruptly, signaling the locksmith to bring light. In the first chamber, Mrs. Duncan lay motionless on her bed, her head turned to one side, arms close to her body. Mrs. Love, shaken, directed the locksmith to the next room. There lay Mrs. Elizabeth Harrison, lifeless, near the foot of the bed, her clothing undisturbed.

Before they could proceed further, Sarah Malcolm entered the doorway, standing still and observing the scene with an expression later described as eerily composed. Mrs. Love told her to remain where she was, but Sarah continued to look from room to room. The locksmith was sent to search the small side room. There, beneath the bed and behind a screen, he found Anne Price, her posture unnaturally still.

Neighbors and servants gathered at the entrance as word spread. The rooms were in disarray—drawers pulled out, a chest open, clothing scattered, and the money box empty. Silver plate was missing from the side table. The three women lay dead, and the quiet of Tanfield Court was shattered.

Authorities arrived quickly. Mrs. Love led them through the apartment, showing the disorder and the bodies. The officers noted the missing property and began questioning those present in the precinct. Several servants stated that Sarah Malcolm had remained inside the courts at unusual hours. An officer called her forward and asked about her movements. She claimed to have entered the apartment only after hearing voices, but as she answered, she repeatedly adjusted her hair. When instructed to remove her cap, several guineas fell from the folds—matching the missing sum from Mrs. Duncan’s box.

Sarah was placed under restraint and escorted to her lodging for a search. There, officers found a silver tankard bearing Mrs. Duncan’s mark, hidden in a closed stool, along with linen matching those taken from the apartment. Sarah claimed she had taken what had been given but named no giver. She was conveyed to confinement, and statements were collected from witnesses.

Mrs. Love described the silent apartment and the order in which the bodies were found. The locksmith gave his account of the forced entry and the state of the rooms. Mr. Carroll testified about Sarah’s early presence in his chambers and her handling of the concealed bundle. William Johnson recounted her remarks about the valuables and her claim that her circumstances would soon improve.

An inquest confirmed the deaths and the loss of property as central elements. Sarah Malcolm was committed to stand trial at the Old Bailey on February 23rd, 1733. The courtroom was packed. The prosecutor laid out the case: Sarah’s early presence in Mr. Carroll’s chambers, her remarks about property, her movements at odd hours, her possession of guineas hidden in her hair, and the tankard found in her room. Witnesses corroborated the narrative. Sarah addressed the court herself, admitting to theft but denying violence. She accused Mary Tracy and the Alexander brothers of the murders, but no evidence placed them near Tanfield Court that night.

The jury deliberated only briefly before delivering a guilty verdict. The judge pronounced sentence of death, directing that her body be delivered for dissection after execution.

Sarah was taken to Newgate, where she awaited her fate. She continued to deny involvement in the murders, insisting that others were responsible, but no witnesses came forward. On March 7th, 1733, Sarah Malcolm was executed near Fleet Street. Her body was dissected according to statute.

In the days that followed, printed accounts circulated, amplifying the conflicting statements she had made in confinement. The documents and recollections of those present became the legacy of the case. No new evidence emerged, but the debate over Sarah Malcolm’s guilt continued, casting a long shadow over the history of London’s Temple precinct—a macabre and mysterious true crime story that remains unsettled even in death.