Grace Marks was born in Ireland in the early 1820s, into a poor family struggling under the weight of poverty and her father’s violent nature. Her childhood was marked by hardship, instability, and a constant sense of fear. Her father drank heavily, was unpredictable, and often cruel, while her mother, although gentle and loving, was frail and exhausted by the burdens of raising many children in such harsh conditions. Grace was one of several siblings, and she learned very early that she would have to grow up quickly to survive in such a household. When famine and financial ruin pressed heavily upon them, the family decided to emigrate to Canada, as many Irish families did at the time, believing it might bring them better fortunes. Yet the voyage across the Atlantic was grueling and tragic. The ship was overcrowded, disease spread quickly, and food was scarce. Grace’s mother became gravely ill during the crossing and died on board, her body wrapped and cast into the ocean before they reached Quebec. This loss shattered Grace, who, as a young girl, had leaned heavily on her mother’s strength. With her father’s neglect and cruelty intensifying after the death, Grace found herself responsible for helping her younger siblings while trying to navigate a strange new country.
In Canada, Grace’s father quickly proved to be unreliable. He squandered what little money he had and failed to support the family. He often lashed out in anger, sometimes even at Grace herself. Soon, Grace realized she would need to find work to support herself, and like many poor immigrant girls of her time, the only respectable work available was domestic service. She was sent out to work as a maid, moving between households, cleaning, cooking, and caring for children. Though it was grueling and offered little pay, domestic service provided shelter and food, and Grace accepted it as her lot in life. Yet the work also brought her into close proximity with wealthier households, exposing her to social divisions and power struggles that would shape the course of her destiny.
One of her earliest positions was with the Parkinson family, where she befriended another young servant named Mary Whitney. Mary was lively, outspoken, and politically aware, with strong views about class, women’s rights, and freedom. She became a sister figure to Grace, someone who guided her, teased her, and gave her a sense of companionship. Mary warned Grace about the dangers of men, particularly the sons or masters of the households who often exploited servants. Mary herself experienced this danger firsthand when she became pregnant by a wealthy young man who refused to marry her. Unable to keep the child and maintain her position, Mary sought an illegal abortion, which ended in her painful death. Grace was traumatized by this loss, haunted by Mary’s memory and voice. She even fainted during Mary’s funeral, and from then on, she claimed that sometimes Mary’s presence lingered in her, as if she had taken up residence inside her mind. This strange duality between Grace and Mary became one of the mysteries surrounding her later story, raising questions about whether she was possessed, divided within herself, or simply traumatized.
After Mary’s death, Grace continued to work in service and eventually secured employment in the household of Thomas Kinnear, a wealthy Scottish gentleman who owned a farm in Richmond Hill outside Toronto. Kinnear was a bachelor with a reputation for charm and indulgence, not bound by the rigid conventions that governed other households. His farm was managed in large part by Nancy Montgomery, his housekeeper and mistress, who also maintained authority over the other servants. Nancy was intelligent, ambitious, and possessive of her position. She was also deeply insecure, particularly when it came to Grace. From the beginning, Nancy treated Grace with suspicion, fearing that Kinnear might be attracted to her. Though Grace had no interest in competing with Nancy, she quickly learned that her position in the household was precarious. At any moment, Nancy could dismiss her, leaving her without employment or shelter. For Grace, still very young, this created a constant sense of unease.
It was in Kinnear’s household that Grace also met James McDermott, a stable hand. McDermott was irritable, resentful of authority, and prone to violent talk. He often complained about the work, about Kinnear, and about Nancy, whom he despised for her controlling manner. McDermott took a particular interest in Grace, sometimes treating her as a confidante, other times directing his temper at her. He often spoke of violent revenge, boasting about killing Nancy and Kinnear, but Grace claimed she never took his words seriously, dismissing them as the ravings of a bitter young man. She insisted later that she never believed he would follow through with such threats. Yet McDermott’s resentment grew, and the tensions within the household simmered dangerously.
On the morning of July 1843, everything came to a head. According to the later accounts, Thomas Kinnear was shot dead, and Nancy Montgomery was strangled and beaten. McDermott admitted to shooting Kinnear, but the circumstances around Nancy’s death were more complex. Her body was hidden in the cellar, while Kinnear’s was left in the house. Grace and McDermott quickly gathered stolen goods, including clothing and valuables, and fled the farm together, heading toward Lewiston near the American border. They traveled in disguise, with Grace wearing Nancy’s clothes, a detail that horrified the public when it was revealed in court. Their flight, however, was clumsy and ill-planned. They were quickly apprehended, arrested, and brought back to Toronto in chains.
The case immediately captured public attention. Newspapers sensationalized the details, focusing on Grace’s youth, her beauty, and the shocking image of a servant girl implicated in such brutal murders. The fact that she was found wearing Nancy’s clothing was interpreted by many as a sign of her cold-bloodedness. The press painted her alternately as a temptress who lured men to violence or as a simple, ignorant girl ensnared by a villain. McDermott, meanwhile, was widely regarded as guilty and unrepentant. Their trial drew immense crowds, with the courtroom packed by spectators eager to see the infamous pair.
At the trial, McDermott and Grace were tried together. McDermott’s guilt was clear; he had pulled the trigger that killed Kinnear. But Grace’s role was uncertain. McDermott accused her of inciting him, of urging him to commit the murders, and of helping to plan them. Grace, in her defense, claimed that she was terrified of McDermott, that he had threatened her life if she did not comply, and that she had no choice but to follow him. She maintained that she had no hand in the killings themselves. The jury, however, swayed by the lurid details and the desire for swift justice, convicted both. McDermott was sentenced to hang and met his fate at the gallows, executed before a jeering crowd. Grace, spared because of her age and sex, was instead sentenced to life imprisonment. Many considered this a merciful sentence, though others argued she deserved death alongside McDermott.
Grace was sent to Kingston Penitentiary, where she spent years in confinement. Her behavior in prison was described as quiet, industrious, and obedient. She worked in the sewing rooms, kept to herself, and rarely caused trouble. Yet her case continued to stir fascination. Some believed she was innocent, a victim of circumstance and male violence. Others thought she was manipulative, a skilled actress who feigned innocence to escape the noose. Ministers, reformers, journalists, and doctors all visited her, each attempting to solve the mystery of Grace Marks. Among them was Dr. Simon Jordan, a fictional psychiatrist created by Atwood to embody the emerging field of mental science. Dr. Jordan interviewed Grace extensively, encouraging her to recount her life story, probing her memories for hidden truths. Grace obliged, telling him about her childhood, her mother’s death, her friendship with Mary Whitney, and the events leading up to the murders. Yet she often told her story in fragments, circling around painful memories, sometimes evasive, sometimes startlingly candid. Her narrative raised as many questions as it answered.
One of the greatest puzzles was Grace’s memory lapse around the murders. She claimed that she could not recall certain moments, that her mind went blank during the killings. At times she hinted that she had been possessed by Mary Whitney’s spirit, as though Mary’s voice had taken over her body. This idea of possession fascinated some of the doctors and ministers, who saw it as evidence of innocence, while others dismissed it as convenient deception. In one notorious episode, Grace was put under hypnosis by a doctor. During the session, she appeared to speak in Mary Whitney’s voice, describing the murders with uncanny clarity, claiming that Grace herself had been unaware of what was happening. Some observers took this as proof of dissociation or mental disturbance, while others suspected trickery. The truth of her involvement remained ambiguous.
Over the years, Grace spent time not only in prison but also in the asylum, where doctors attempted to diagnose her. They recorded her politeness, her neat sewing, her quiet demeanor, and yet they could never agree on whether she was guilty or innocent, sane or insane. The mystery of Grace Marks endured because she seemed to embody contradictions: she was both victim and perpetrator, both fragile and strong, both truthful and deceptive. She resisted easy categorization, and that resistance frustrated those who sought to contain her story.
After nearly three decades in confinement, Grace’s case was revisited. Petitions for her release circulated, arguing that she had served long enough and that doubts about her guilt justified her freedom. Finally, in 1872, she was pardoned and released. What became of her afterward is unclear. Records suggest that she may have moved to the United States and lived under another name, disappearing into obscurity after decades of infamy. The rest of her life is lost to history, leaving her story unresolved.
Margaret Atwood’s Alias Grace transforms this historical record into a rich psychological narrative, exploring not only the events but also the silences, contradictions, and cultural anxieties they provoked. By giving Grace a voice in the novel, Atwood allows readers to hear her perspective, yet Grace remains elusive, holding back as much as she reveals. Through her interactions with Dr. Jordan, the novel highlights how women like Grace were constantly spoken for, judged, and categorized by male authorities, yet rarely truly understood. The ambiguity of Grace’s story becomes its central truth: that innocence and guilt are not always clear, that memory is fragile, and that stories are shaped as much by those who tell them as by those who live them.
The murders of Thomas Kinnear and Nancy Montgomery may never be fully explained. Was Grace a willing accomplice, inciting McDermott to violence, or was she a terrified servant coerced by threats she could not resist? Did she consciously choose silence and compliance, or did trauma fracture her memory beyond repair? Was her story one of survival, calculation, or tragic entanglement? The answers remain uncertain. But what is certain is that Grace Marks became a symbol, embodying nineteenth-century anxieties about women’s roles, sexuality, class, and power. To some, she was a cunning murderess; to others, a wronged girl trapped in circumstances beyond her control. In the end, she slipped away, leaving behind a legacy of questions, contradictions, and fascination.