A Real-Life Jekyll & Hyde: A Taste of Old Edinburgh in Widow's Peak

Deacon Brodie's Tavern on Edinburgh's Royal Mile

Edinburgh, Scotland was a major source of inspiration for Widow’s Peak, the final installment in the Widows & Shadows historical mystery series. I had the chance to visit in 2023 and fell completely under its spell—so much so that bits of the real city found their way into Ravenna’s latest adventure.

One spot that stood out was The Deacon Brodie Tavern on the Royal Mile, which I reimagined as Brodie’s Docket in the book. It’s a minor setting—Lord Braedon stays there when he first arrives in Edinburgh—but the tavern’s backstory was too intriguing not to explore further.

William Brodie

The tavern pays tribute to one of Edinburgh’s most notorious double-lives: William Brodie, better known as Deacon Brodie. Born in 1741 into a well-regarded family, Brodie’s father held the title of Convenor of Trades, which helped William rise to become Deacon of Wrights and Masons by 1781. That wasn’t just a ceremonial post—it meant he led the guild overseeing cabinetmaking and related trades, and even held a seat on the town council. By day, Brodie was a respected craftsman and civic figure, deeply embedded in Edinburgh’s elite.

Brodie's Close before it's destruction in 1830s. In Scotland, a "close" is a narrow alleyway or passageway in older cities like Edinburgh, or the common hallway and stairwell within a tenement building in places like Glasgow. Historically, the alleyway closes were private, gated passages connecting main streets to hidden courtyards.

The Brodies lived in Brodie’s Close, a narrow alley off the Lawnmarket. Their home, built in 1570, had once been called Little’s Close before the family made their mark. By 1787, William was living there alone, still working as a wright.

As a cabinetmaker, Brodie was skilled and well-connected. His work took him into the homes of Edinburgh’s wealthiest, where he installed and repaired locks. He mingled with figures like poet Robert Burns and painter Henry Raeburn, and belonged to the exclusive Edinburgh Cape Club under the alias “Sir Llyud.” His reputation made him trusted—but that trust turned out to be his greatest asset.

Behind the polished image, Brodie led a very different life. He had a serious gambling habit and a tangled personal life, including two mistresses and five children—none of whom knew about each other.

Keeping up this double life wasn’t cheap, and Brodie found a profitable, if illegal, way to fund it: burglary.

His day job gave him access to the homes of the rich, and he used that access to study their locks and make wax impressions of their keys. As Edinburgh’s top locksmith, he had the tools and the know-how to break into nearly any building.

His criminal career likely began around 1768, when he used a copied key to steal £800 from a bank—a fortune at the time, worth over £108,000 today ($144,000 USD). Brodie's criminal success emboldened him. By 1786, he had formed a gang: John Brown, a fugitive thief; George Smith, a locksmith and grocer; and Andrew Ainslie, a shoemaker. Together, they pulled off a string of increasingly bold heists. Despite his nighttime activities, Brodie’s public image stayed intact. In fact, just months before his downfall, he was selected to serve on a jury in the High Court.

His undoing came on March 5, 1788, when the gang tried to rob the excise office at Chessels Court. Brodie had previously visited the office and made a putty impression of the key. That night, dressed in black and armed with flintlock pistols, the gang let themselves in around 8 p.m., expecting a quiet window before the night watchman arrived. But excise officer James Bonar returned unexpectedly at 8:30 p.m., interrupting the heist. The gang fled with only £16. Brodie rushed home, changed clothes, and visited one of his mistresses to establish an alibi.

That same night, John Brown went to the authorities, hoping to claim a King’s Pardon offered after a previous robbery. He named Smith and Ainslie and led officials to a stash of duplicate keys hidden at Salisbury Crags. At first, he didn’t mention Brodie. Smith and Ainslie were arrested quickly. Brodie, sensing trouble, tried to visit them in prison but was turned away. Realizing he needed to escape, he fled south to Dover, shook off his pursuer, and doubled back to London. From there, he boarded a ship under the alias “John Dixon,” paying the captain to drop him off in Flushing, Netherlands.

But Brodie made a crucial mistake. He gave a fellow passenger, Mr. Geddes, several letters to deliver to another mistress in Edinburgh. Geddes, suspicious, handed the letters to the authorities. With this new evidence, the chase resumed. Brodie was eventually caught in Amsterdam, preparing to flee to America, and brought back to Edinburgh for trial.

The trial of Brodie and Smith began on August 27, 1788. At first, the case against Brodie was thin. Authorities had found copied keys, disguises, and pistols, but no direct link to the crimes. That changed when Brown and Ainslie agreed to testify in exchange for leniency. Combined with Brodie’s letters, the jury had enough to convict him.

The Old Tolbooth was a key building in Edinburgh’s Old Town for over 400 years. Built in the 1300s near St Giles’ Cathedral, it served as a town hall, courthouse, and jail. It hosted council meetings, early sessions of the Scottish Parliament, and public punishments. From 1785, executions were held there. After multiple renovations, it was demolished in 1817.

On October 1, 1788, Brodie and Smith were hanged at the Old Tolbooth on High Street, in front of a crowd of 40,000—including Brodie’s 10-year-old daughter, Cecile. The execution was messy; the rope had to be adjusted three times. As the bell of St. Giles Cathedral tolled, Brodie’s double life came to a dramatic end. He was buried in an unmarked grave at St. Cuthbert’s Chapel of Ease.

Rumors swirled almost immediately. Some claimed Brodie wore a steel collar and a breathing tube to survive the hanging. Others said he bribed the hangman and escaped. There were even sightings in Paris. While these tales are likely fiction, they added to the legend of a man who blurred the line between truth and myth—and left a lasting mark on Edinburgh’s history.