The Effect
The year is 1716 and the mood in England’s capital is tense. The Tower of London, that ancient fortress of kings and prisoners, traitors and queens, holds within its cold stone walls a group of men whose fate has already been sealed. Among them is William Maxwell, the 5th Earl of Nithsdale, a Scottish nobleman who had passionately supported the Jacobite cause, a bid to restore the Stuart dynasty to the British throne. But the Jacobite uprising had failed, and those captured, like Lord Nithsdale, had been found guilty of high treason. The sentence was unequivocal: they were to face a bloody, traitor’s death. Death by hanging, drawing and quartering.
As February 1716 unfolds, the city buzzes with grim anticipation of the executions. The Tower is a formidable prison, its security legendary. Only a handful of people have managed to break out of the fortress during its six and a half centuries of history. Needless to say, escape is unfathomably difficult, lucky at best, at worst – especially for a high-profile prisoner like William Maxwell – utterly impossible. William’s execution is set for the 24th of the month. Guards are vigilant, doors are bolted, and gates are firmly and resolutely drawn.
Yet, despite the enormous odds against William Maxwell surviving the month, one person refuses to accept the inevitable. She is: Winifred Herbert, Countess of Nithsdale, William’s fiercely devoted wife. Upon hearing of her husband’s capture and condemnation, Winifred undertakes a perilous winter journey from Scotland to London, determined to plead for his life. She petitions King George I, she appeals to influential courtiers, she throws herself at the feet of every powerful man in London, begging for mercy. But her efforts are all in vain. The King’s mind is made up. He will make an example of the Jacobite lords and William will die.
As the execution day looms ever closer, a heavy finality descends. On the evening of 23rd February, the night before her husband’s impending death, Winifred Maxwell is granted permission for a final visit. The Tower’s guards, perhaps softened by Winifred’s display of spousal devotion, or simply following protocol, allow her and a couple of female companions to enter William’s chambers.
The hours tick by and the guards continue their watch. The Tower remains secure, its routine undisturbed. Inside his cell, William Maxwell is presumed to be making his peace with the world, preparing for his gruesome execution. And when Winifred eventually departs her husband’s cell, accompanied by the same ladies who went in, she is drawn and anxious, by all appearances broken-hearted, as she leaves her husband to face his grim dawn.
But then, something totally extraordinary takes place. For when the gaolers eventually enter William’s cell to make the final preparations for his execution, they find it… completely empty. William Maxwell, the condemned Earl of Nithsdale, is gone. Vanished. It is as though he has seemingly melted through the mighty stone walls, slipping past the many layers of guards to disappear from one of the world’s most frighteningly secure fortresses.
A sense of panic erupts in the Tower. Just how could this have happened? Was it witchcraft, magic, or something else? The infamous and impregnable Tower of London suddenly has a confounding mystery on its hands. The only people to have entered and exited William’s cell before his disappearance had been his wife and her ladies. And they took nothing into the cell with them except what they were wearing: completely unremarkable-looking cloaks, to guard against the winter chill. Furthermore, they were still wearing these same cloaks when they left. So how could one of those garments have turned out to be the key object in such a high-stakes prison escape? Might one of the cloaks not have been so ordinary as it looked? Might it, in fact, have properties the Tower authorities could never have imagined? Properties of invisibility?
The Method
The seemingly miraculous escape of William Maxwell, 5th Earl of Nithsdale, from the Tower of London in 1716 wasn’t a supernatural event worthy of Harry Potter, but a masterpiece of courage, planning, and audacious achievement, orchestrated entirely by William’s ingenious wife, Winifred. Faced with the unyielding refusal of a royal pardon, Winifred resolved that if mercy would not be granted, she would instead ensure her husband’s freedom herself, whether the King liked it or not.
Winifred’s plan was terrifyingly daring, and relied on the manipulation of the guards who maintained the tight security of the Tower. She knew full well that brute force was out of the question. Instead, she chose to use disguise and deception, plus an exploitation of the era’s social norms regarding women. Winifred’s primary accomplices were three loyal women: Cecilia Evans, her maid, and two friends called Mrs Mills and Mrs Morgan.
On that fateful evening of 23rd February, 1716, Winifred did not go to the Tower merely to bid her husband a final farewell, but to carry out her plan, a plan performed with the exactitude of a magic illusion, aided by an impressive understanding of the power of appearances and visual distraction.
Winifred made the careful choice to bring in her companions one by one. Mrs Mills was admitted first and, critically, Mrs Mills was wearing two riding cloaks. Winifred artfully managed Mrs Mills’s entrance and exit, ensuring the guards saw a distressed woman arriving and, shortly after, a distressed woman leaving. But what the guards didn’t know was, as Winifred herself escorted Mrs Mills out, the woman was now wearing only one cloak.
Next, Cecilia Evans was brought in, and she may also have been wearing extra layers of clothing. Once Cecilia was inside, the critical part of the plan then unfolded within William’s cell, unbeknownst to the guards stationed outside. There, Winifred, with an exceptional sense of focus given the circumstances, set about transforming her husband using a few small objects she’d smuggled in beneath her own clothing. First, she had William shave his beard. Then, using cosmetics like rouge and yellow paint, she altered his complexion to mimic the pallor of a grieving, sickly woman. Finally, Winifred dressed William in the spare women’s clothes smuggled in by her ladies, including the extra cloak left by Mrs Mills, which was critical in helping to conceal his face.
But the true genius of the escape plan lay in how Winifred managed the exits. She timed William’s departure exactly, to coincide with when the guards expected one of her female companions to leave. Dressed as a woman and pretending to weep, William was guided out by Winifred herself, who carefully obscured his face and hurried him along, ensuring the Tower guards never got a clear look. During this part of her scheme, Winifred chattered loudly, expressing sympathy for her “friend,” and distracting the guards with her own apparent distress.
After William was safely out of the Tower and in the care of other loyal friends who spirited him away to a safe house and then to France, Winifred still continued to display an incredible nerve. She returned to her husband’s empty cell, closed the door, and continued to speak loudly, pretending that William was still inside and they were praying together. She even mimicked his voice at times, creating the illusion for the guards that all was normal. This bought Willam the precious time he needed to reach safety. Eventually, Winifred calmly left the Tower herself, informing the guards that her husband did not wish to be disturbed from his prayers.
It wasn’t until the following morning that the escape was discovered. By then, William Maxwell was well on his way to freedom. Winifred later joined him in Rome, where they lived out their lives together. Her bravery, ingenuity, and the effective use of a simple cloak, made the Nithsdale escape one of the most daring and celebrated in history, a testament to both a woman’s love for her husband and the audacious – and, in the 18th century, unimaginable – courage of the so-called ‘fairer sex’.
© 2025, Lora Jones. All rights reserved. Reproduction prohibited without written permission.
