At about seven o’clock in the morning, Mrs Lloyd called upon her cousin, Mrs Lowen. She was then entirely unaware that the day would end in her husband’s death. Richard Lloyd arrived approximately an hour later, on his way to Acton upon business. Roger Lowen received him with civility and invited him to dinner. Lloyd was first obliged to ride to Acton, return home to stable his horse, and then retrace his steps on foot. During his absence, Lowen manifested marked anxiety lest his guest should fail to keep his word. Mrs Lloyd reassured him: barring heavy rain, her husband would certainly return.
He returned shortly after midday. Lowen received them in the parlour. Dinner not being ready, he proposed a stroll in the garden to show them his plants. They walked there for about half an hour. Having returned to the house, Lowen spoke of the meal to his wife, and all three repaired again to the parlour. Lloyd had set down his sword and cane in a corner. Lowen took up the sword, drew it slightly from its scabbard, praised its quality, and enquired who had fashioned it. Mrs Lloyd fancied he wished to purchase one of a similar make. Nothing, she declared, presaged any quarrel. She knew of no dispute between the two men.
Lloyd stood by the window, his hands behind his back, looking out into the street. Lowen suddenly drew the sword entirely, stamped his foot, and plunged it into his breast, near the right pap. Mrs Lloyd cried out that murder was being done and seized the blade to draw it out. Lowen wrenched it through her hands, severing one of her fingers to the bone, and struck Lloyd a second blow in the arm. Wounded, the latter raised his eyes and moved toward the door to lean against the banister. His wife followed him, imploring him to speak to her. He merely raised his hands. With assistance, she brought him back inside; after two groans, he expired.
Mr Justice Hawley chanced to be passing by. Mrs Lloyd informed him that a man had just slain her husband. Lowen was questioned. He admitted having struck him, adding that he had intended to do so before. According to these witnesses, his chief fear was that he had not killed him. The deed was thus not presented as an impromptu reaction to the scene in the garden or to any exchange of words: the accused maintained that he had already formed the design.
Interrogated as to his motive, he spoke of excessive familiarity between Lloyd and his wife, of repeated raillery or slights, and specifically that Lloyd had trodden upon his corns. At his trial, Lowen asserted that Lloyd had insulted him, yet could not specify the epithets alleged to have been used. He also explained that he had quit England some nine years earlier, had asked his wife to accompany him, and that she had refused; he claimed to have returned to fetch her. The narrative does not allow the exact nature of their relations during this separation to be established.
Lowen added that he had heard report that his wife had lived in luxury during his absence, maintaining a coach, an equipage, and a footman. Witnesses testified that these rumours were utterly false. The contrast is significant: the suspicions that fed his jealousy found no corroboration in the evidence tendered at trial. In the speech he composed prior to his execution, he was explicitly to confess his error and declare his wife blameless.
The prisoner was a German of about forty years of age, born in Hanover. According to the chronicle, he had been a gentleman of the stables to the Duke of Zell, having been sent to France to learn the exercises of the court at the prince’s charge. His father had served the Duke as a huntsman. The account depicts him as a man of breeding and station, which rendered the act all the more startling to witnesses; it affords, however, no independent biography whereby these particulars might be verified.
At his trial, Lowen was granted a jury composed in part of his own countrymen and the assistance of an interpreter, by reason of his foreign birth. Witnesses sought to extenuate his guilt by alleging instances of mental derangement in his family and his own melancholy discontent. The jury rejected these explanations and returned a verdict of wilful murder.
Following his condemnation, Lowen devoted himself to religious devotions, attended by two clergymen. At first, he had appeared to doubt whether Lloyd were truly dead. Even after the trial, he repeated that he could not believe the wounds had proved fatal. Once convinced of the decease, the chronicle relates that he expressed profound grief and acknowledged the enormity of his crime. This hesitation must not be confounded with a denial of the act: he had confessed to dealing the blows, but could scarcely credit that they had caused death.
At the place of execution, Lowen delivered to a friend a speech in German, translated in the chronicle. He acknowledged having shed innocent blood and accepted his sentence. He imputed his jealousy to a rumour that his wife had married Lloyd during his absence; this notion he attributed to a man named in the transcript under the uncertain form of “Mr Crusras,” whose identity cannot here be determined. He declared himself to have been hurried away by passion, revenge, and jealousy, and begged the pardon of the Queen, the widow, and his wife. He had left an unsealed letter for Mrs Lloyd in the hands of Mr Rup, minister of the Savoy, that he might convey it to her. His plea was thus obliged to pass through an intermediary before reaching the woman who had seized the bare blade with her naked hands.
Above all, he declared that he held his wife blameless. He affirmed that he loved her, had never wedded another, and knew now that he had been jealous without cause. He wished her happiness and prosperity. Following the composition of this speech, and prior to the execution, the widow sent him a letter of forgiveness, praying that God might likewise have mercy upon his soul. The chronicle reveals no reconciliation between the two households, but it conveys what the verdict alone could not utter: having destroyed the life of his guest and maimed the woman who strove to save him, Lowen confessed the falsehood of the very suspicions he had advanced in his own justification.