Today, we dive into the fascinating tale of Deacon William Brodie, whose trial began on this day, the 27th of August, in 1788. Brodie was a man who led a double life that was as intriguing as it was perilous. On the surface, he was a respected cabinetmaker and city councillor in Edinburgh. But beneath that veneer of respectability, he was a cunning and audacious criminal.

Born in Edinburgh on the 28th of September, 1741, Brodie was the son of a prosperous businessman who held the esteemed title of Convenor of Trades in Edinburgh. William inherited his father's trade and quickly made a name for himself as a master craftsman. By 1781, he had risen to the prestigious position of Deacon of the Incorporation of Wrights, a role that not only affirmed his expertise but also placed him on the city’s town council. He was well-liked and moved in the highest circles of Edinburgh society, even rubbing shoulders with the likes of poet Robert Burns and painter Henry Raeburn.

However, this reputable public persona was a mere façade. Brodie's position as a cabinetmaker provided him with unfettered access to the homes of Edinburgh’s elite. He used this access to make wax impressions of the keys to the very locks he was hired to install or repair. By night, he would return to these homes, using the copied keys to gain entry and steal valuables. His criminal endeavors began as early as 1768, when he successfully burgled a bank, making off with £800—a fortune at the time. His illicit gains supported his lavish lifestyle, which included a voracious gambling habit and the maintenance of two mistresses, who were unaware of each other's existence.

Brodie’s downfall began on the night of March 5th, 1788, during a botched robbery at the excise office in Chessels Court, on the Canongate. Along with his accomplices—John Brown, George Smith, and Andrew Ainslie—Brodie had planned to make off with a significant haul. However, the plan was foiled when an excise officer unexpectedly returned to the office. The gang managed to escape, but with only £16—far less than they had hoped for. Realizing the net was closing in on him, Brown, one of Brodie’s accomplices, sought to save his own skin by turning King's Evidence, naming his fellow gang members in exchange for a pardon.

With Brown’s testimony and a cache of duplicate keys found hidden beneath a stone near Salisbury Crags, the authorities quickly rounded up Smith and Ainslie. Brodie, realizing the gravity of his situation, fled Edinburgh. He first made his way to Dover and then to London, where he boarded a ship bound for the Netherlands. However, his attempts to evade capture were in vain. A King’s Messenger, George Williamson, tracked him to Amsterdam, where he was apprehended and brought back to Edinburgh to stand trial.

On the 27th of August, 1788, the trial of Deacon Brodie and George Smith commenced. Despite Brodie’s attempts to maintain his innocence, the evidence against him was overwhelming. Not only had tools of his trade—including copied keys and disguises—been found, but letters he had written while on the run incriminated him further. The jury found both Brodie and Smith guilty, and on the 1st of October, 1788, they were hanged at the Old Tolbooth in Edinburgh before a crowd of 40,000 spectators, including Brodie’s ten-year-old daughter.

The tale of Deacon Brodie did not end with his death. Rumors circulated that he had worn a steel collar and bribed the hangman, hoping to survive the hanging and escape to Paris. Whether these stories were mere legend or had some basis in truth remains a mystery, but they certainly added to the mythos surrounding the man who inspired Robert Louis Stevenson’s famous novella, "Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde." Brodie’s life, with its stark contrasts between the respectable and the nefarious, served as the perfect template for Stevenson’s exploration of the duality of human nature.

Today, Deacon Brodie is remembered in Edinburgh not just for his crimes, but also for his complex character. His legacy lives on in the city, with pubs, streets, and even a close named after him, a constant reminder of the man who embodied both the light and dark sides of Edinburgh’s 18th-century society.

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