The Real Agnes Parker: Castle Tucker’s Gilded Age “Girl Spy”

Elizabeth DeWolfe is a historian whose work explores how women navigate power, identity, and social constraints. DeWolfe describes herself a “researcher of ordinary women’s extraordinary lives,” and her award-winning books—Alias Agnes, The Murder of Mary Bean and Other Stories, and Shaking the Faith—reflect her commitment to giving voice to those consigned to the margins of the historical record. Blending scholarly rigor with a storyteller’s voice, she uncovers the hidden lives of women who resisted the limits of their time, from a “girl spy” in Gilded Age Boston to a mill worker lost in an industrial tragedy to a mother battling a utopian religious sect. We spoke with DeWolfe about her writing process, the challenges of historical recovery, and her nineteenth-century protagonists whose experiences remain all too relevant today.

Your latest book, Alias Agnes: The Notorious Tale of a Gilded Age Spy, was published this spring. It tells the story of a sensational nineteenth-century political scandal in which Madeleine Pollard sued congressman William C. P. Breckinridge for breach of promise, which you wrote about in the Fall 2012 issue of Historic New England magazine. The story has an exciting connection to Historic New England. One of its central figures is Jane Armstrong Tucker, who lived with her family at Castle Tucker in Wiscasset, Maine—now a Historic New England museum. You researched her story in our Library and Archives, and you’re writing more about her for the fall issue of Historic New England magazine. Without giving too much away, can you share who Jane was and how she came to be known by the alias “Agnes”?

Like many young women of her generation, Jane sought an independent life away from the confines of home but making a sustainable living in Boston was difficult. When the dreadful economy of 1893 cost Jane her job, she returned to Wiscasset, ill and disappointed. And then, just as she was resigned to a long Maine winter holed up in Castle Tucker, Jane received pleading letters and urgent telegrams from a former, and favorite, employer. He had a job for her, and she could name the salary. He dared not share the details in writing. They met in Boston where he revealed her mission: she would need to start immediately, and no one could know her location, task, or name. Jane agreed, and when she arrived in Washington, DC, to start this mystery job, she stepped off the train as Agnes Parker, Gilded Age spy.

A striking aspect of your body of work is the way it complicates romanticized ideas of female solidarity. Why is it important for you to explore that complexity?

When we think in monolithic terms—all women want X or all men think Y—we not only lose the individuality that makes humans interesting, but we enter dangerous grounds with unilateral, reductive ideas. In Jane’s era, women were split on the issue of suffrage, on working for wages beyond the home, and on whether attending college was necessary or healthy for young women. Similarly, women today differ in their views on the important political, medical, and economic issues of our times. Jane and Madeleine’s interactions show that for as much as they shared—the desire to construct their own lives despite limitations of gender and social class—they differed greatly in how they saw the world around them.

Did your view of Jane and Madeleine, either as individuals or of their relationship to each other, change as you worked on the project?

As I moved further into the research, Jane and Madeleine’s personas became more nuanced. From the start I admired Jane’s creativity and confidence in accepting a job as an undercover detective and that admiration grew as I uncovered the unique tools she used to spy on Madeleine. Yet, I came to see Jane as wearing blinders. One minute she would disparage the “short-haired” women for their suffrage demands, yet in the next she would complain about the male attorneys ignoring her (typically good) advice, decry the poor wages of the working woman, or criticize the lack of information on birth control for a sister-in-law tired of birthing children—failing to see these social concerns as women’s rights issues. Likewise, I admired Madeleine’s bravery in revealing her very personal history to the world and I felt sympathy for her excommunication from polite society. Yet, I saw her carefully building what today we would call a “brand,” astutely eschewing money-making opportunities as she worked to make her case in court. Over the ten or so weeks Jane and Madeleine interacted, I was fascinated to see how Jane used Madeleine to, as she phrased her job, “grab the gold,” and, likewise, how Madeleine used Jane to advance her goals. Jane clearly tossed Madeleine under the wheels of justice, but Madeleine knew how to use a strategic cold shoulder as well. Faux friends? Frenemies? Or two smart, goal-oriented women doing what they needed to do? That I leave to the reader to decide.

Pollard v. Breckinridge elicited intense public interest. Do you see parallels here between nineteenth-century media culture and our contemporary appetite for scandal or “true crime”? Is there a modern analogue for Jane?

If this scandal occurred today, it would be a social media meme in a hot second! Just as our nineteenth-century counterparts did, we look for cautionary lessons, we enjoy a bit of schadenfreude, and in another’s disgrace we evaluate our own behaviors. As for Jane, some might say she was the Linda Tripp of her day, the faux friend who spilled Monica Lewinsky’s secrets. Perhaps a more recent analogy would be the inevitable back-stabbing false friend from any number of “reality” shows. We fear the prospect of scandal and becoming the victim of true crime, yet many enjoy the thrill of it all from the safety of their armchairs. The same was true in the nineteenth century.

Why does Jane’s story deserve research and public attention?

Jane joins a rare club of nineteenth-century women spies and detectives and as a previously unknown example of that role deserves study to help us deepen our understanding of females undercover. Yet, beyond being “first” or having unique attributes, Jane’s story deserves attention because she is like the majority of American women: simply living her life negotiating between life’s opportunities and challenges. This is a key lesson from the field of women’s history. Readers of a certain age may recall American history classes that featured long lists of famous men, the wars they fought, the countries they conquered, and the inventions they made. . . with a token woman added to the list or placed as a sidebar in a history textbook chapter. Why so few women? It’s not that women did not contribute to history, it’s that the definition of history had been too narrow. Women’s history—as well as the histories of other marginalized groups—teaches us to broaden that definition to encompass the multiple lives that comprise American life. This doesn’t take attention away from those already well represented in history but rather adds to their stories, deepens our understanding of the past, and offers additional insight on how the past informs the present. Jane’s story—an ordinary woman who has an extraordinary adventure—is part of the past, not as a sidebar to another’s story, but to her own story in its own right.

You live in Maine, not far from Castle Tucker, and you have visited many times. For visitors curious to learn more about Jane’s time as a “girl spy,” are there objects or artifacts they might pay special attention to on a tour?

It’s interesting that there is very little directly related to her spying on view—there is no copy of Jane’s tell-all book, The Real Madeleine Pollard, at Castle Tucker or in the Historic New England Library and Archives, because Jane’s family preferred to forget her role in the scandal and, it appears, didn’t keep a copy to pass on with their collection. Yet, that absence tells us an important story of how the family viewed Jane’s great adventure. On the other hand, the tools of Jane’s one-time trade can be found throughout her family home. The natural history collections speak to her tomboyish youth and confident personality, the painted porcelain plates and tea cups mark one of her many jobs to make ends meet, a print of Washington, DC, announces the site of her mission, and a kitchen whisk reminds us of one of her most important detective tools—a tool no male detective had thought to employ. Just like Jane’s work in DC, the visitor to Castle Tucker must piece together the clues!

And finally, what are you working on next?

I have a few ideas with subjects that range from the seventeenth to the late nineteenth century, but I have yet to decide on the next big project. With Alias Agnes published and out in the world, I’m enjoying the freedom to explore multiple paths and see which one leads me to an archive. I’ll know the next project when I see it!

Elizabeth A. DeWolfe, professor of history and cofounder of the women’s and gender studies program at the University of New England, is the award-winning author of Alias Agnes: The Notorious Tale of a Gilded Age Spy, The Murder of Mary Bean and Other Stories, and Shaking the Faith: Women, Family, and Mary Marshall Dyer’s Anti-Shaker Campaign, 1815–1867.