Lizbeth of Maplecroft

Whatever the actual story, wrote the authors of Parallel Lives, “It appears that Lizzie’s association with the actress was the catalyst by which the former understood a dramatically theatrical gesture, one that, without doubt, was viewed askance by her sister, Emma. By June 1904, Lizzie ceased referring to herself by her given name and instead adopted the more dramatic name, Lizbeth.”

Indeed, starting in 1905, Lizzie listed herself in the City Directory as “Lizbeth Borden,” and continued to do so until her death. She never changed it legally but changed it within the living of her life. Tradespeople with whom she did business were asked to address her, and to bill her, as Lizbeth Borden.

One can imagine the rolling of eyes in Fall River, as plain, unwanted Lizzie Borden took on a more elegant name for herself. But clearly, Lizzie had come to the point in her life where she was done trying to win acceptance from those who had refused to accept her for over a decade by then. Whether they wanted to turn the page on her history or not, she was clearly ready.

The Christening of a House

Lizzie, now Lizbeth, would soon be ready to give her house a proper name as well. She chose “Maplecroft” as a fitting designation for her growing property, and first began using it somewhere around 1908, long after her sister Emma had moved away. The authors of Parallel Lives explain that Lizzie began adding to her property in 1897 by purchasing, on her own, the property next door to the east. She then removed the house there to give her more land. In 1902, she purchased the parcel of land on other side, to the west.

It is assumed she bought up the land around her in an effort to gain more privacy, and that seems likely to be true. But we also know she had certain difficulties with neighbors regarding noisy pets, which she claimed, in preserved notes to them, grated on her nerves. So, having no neighbor at all was probably preferable to someone who sought to live in peace and quiet.

The side benefit, according to Parallel Lives, is that she had by 1908 acquired enough land on the property to qualify as a “croft,” meaning a small, enclosed field, giving the name she chose for the house a basis of authenticity. “There were maples growing on the property … prized for their vibrant fall foliage. In uniting these two words, she created a name that evoked images of the English countryside, carrying with it a stately air that was both charming and tranquil.”

Soon thereafter, in 1909, Lizzie hired a contractor to make an addition to her house. “The plans allowed for the construction of a large piazza on the north and northeast sides of the residence, ideally suited for private relaxation, safe from the prying eyes of any passerby. On the second floor, above the porch, was a fair-sized bedroom, dominated by a heavy red brick chimneypiece, set with a decorative cast iron grate; radiators, covered by cleverly designed window seats, heated the room.” The house on French Street was suddenly to become more grand, earning its rather grand name.

Later that year, Lizzie pursued reconstruction of the verandah on the opposite side of the house (on its southwest corner), installing glazed windows to enclose it and replacing the wooden steps leading up to it with granite blocks. On the very top step was engraved the word “Maplecroft.” (The mason who carved it, William Savoie, would later remember Lizzie’s kindness to him as he worked on the steps, bringing him lemonade. He would also tell people that “she was too nice a lady to have committed such a horrible crime.”)

But while Lizzie was happy to have her house officially named for all to see (assuming they knew where to look), the upper crust of Fall River were again rolling their eyes. Usually it was the very rich, with the biggest of mansions, who named their homes; although, according to Parallel Lives, several other homes in the neighborhood were “identified in a similar manner.” Yet, in the eyes of those who lived around her, Lizzie Borden could do no right, and her decision to stamp a name on her house was said to strike others as gauche.

In fact, according to Victoria Lincoln, even more than her unsavory history as the suspect in two murders, it was the pretentious naming of her house (along with renaming herself) that was the final nail in her social coffin.

Many who in time could have taken the murder in stride—a thing that probably happened, but all water under the bridge now—could not stomach that bit: Lizbeth of Maplecroft. Yet, it was also very Lizzie, and it sums up all that makes the end of her story hard to handle. A murder should not end in anti-climax. If we cannot have exeunt to a death march, then we want the prison, or the mental hospital, with mind and spirit either rotting away with proper drama or else healing, quickening to contrition, to expiation. Lizbeth of Maplecroft was anticlimax personified.  

The snobbish Lincoln well encapsulates the insurmountable problem facing Lizzie, as she tried to create a life for herself there in Fall River after the murders. Its citizens wanted nothing to do with Lizzie Borden of 92 Second Street, who had the unseemly nerve to survive the brutal attack on her family on August 4th, 1892, and the further bad taste to successfully defend herself against charges of murder. But neither did they want Lizbeth of Maplecroft in their midst either. Why she didn’t finally give up and move away is anyone’s guess.

Yet perhaps it had something to do with how she much she loved living in her house, which she had now better designed as a sanctuary, a “safe, tranquil haven where she could spend her time, undisturbed, dreaming of other places.” As far back as 1897, Lizzie had written to a friend, “I spend much time on the piazza in my steamer chair, reading and building castles in the air.” No doubt she did much more of that in her new spacious piazza, with beloved dogs at her feet—a safe, tranquil haven indeed.