A Royal Arrival Of the Greatest Impostor

Join us on a trip back to the 1770s. Colonial America’s relationship with King George III was, as they say on social media these days, complicated. With tensions growing by the day, it seemed fortuitous when Sarah Wilson arrived in the American colonies. She introduced herself as the sister of Queen Charlotte of Great Britain and Ireland. Perhaps this royal visitor had come to restore the goodwill between the colonists and the crown. Hopefully, this isn’t a spoiler for you, but any such hopes were dashed. Expectations that Sarah Wilson would help avoid a bloody revolution were exaggerated just as much as her identity. To say she was of royal blood was an exaggeration, to say the least. It was flat-out perjury, to say the most. In the years to come, she would be known by many names and many titles. While most of them were fictitious, she certainly earned the title of being the Faux Princess, early America’s greatest imposter, and a true 18th century con artist.

The Early Years of Sarah Wilson

Sarah Wilson was born sometime around 1745, probably in or near London. It is difficult to be precise about too much about her early years, partly because of the scarcity of records and partly because it is hard to separate fact from fiction when discussing someone like her.

She first came to the public eye thanks to the St. James’s Chronicle on January 10, 1765. The paper reported a tale about a “genteel Woman” who arrived unexpectedly at the home of a farmer living on the Hampshire-Surrey border. With an air of noble distress, she introduced herself as Sarah Willsbrowson, the daughter of a nobleman, who had been cruelly cast out by her father. In need of a place to stay, she found refuge with the kind-hearted farmer with the last name of Boxall.

Sarah wasn’t content to simply accept his hospitality, though. As if by accident, she let slip that she was soon to inherit a staggering £90,000 (adjusted for inflation, the equivilent of £16,775,978 in 2024).

Love, Fortune, and a Clever Scheme

Farmer Boxall had an 18-year-old son, Thomas. Whether it was Sarah’s charms or the allure of her supposed fortune, the young lad quickly found himself smitten. Sarah wasn’t shy about her feelings either, soon informing the old farmer that she had every intention of marrying his son. Overjoyed, the farmer eagerly agreed to the union.

Shortly after the wedding, Sarah revealed yet another tantalizing detail—she had connections at the royal court. Not just any connections, mind you. She claimed that, with the right financial backing, she could secure a colonel’s commission for her new husband. All they needed was some money to “equip themselves in a genteel manner,” of course. Eager to see his son ascend to military glory, the farmer mortgaged his estate for £100 — about £18,640 in 2024 — and decked the happy couple out in the finest things money could buy.

With their newly acquired fortune in hand, the couple set off for London on Christmas Eve, 1764. They arrived at the Bear Inn in the Borough, where they lived the high life for about ten days, waiting for Sarah to collect her inheritance. Each day, she would ride off in a coach to St. James’s Palace, where she claimed to be finalizing the commission and the release of her funds.

The Grand Disappearance

Alas, one day, Sarah left in her coach and simply never came back. Young Thomas, very much married but considerably less wealthy, quickly realized the unfortunate truth—his beautiful bride was an impostor. With the hotel bill piling up, he was forced to sell his horse just to pay off the innkeeper and began the long, humbling walk back home. St. James’s Chronicle summed it up best: “By the Description given, she is supposed to be the same Woman who has for near two Years past obtained Money, by imposing on the Compassion and Credulity of different Persons in Town and Country.”

Much to the dismay of the young newlywed husband, Sarah’s latest act of deception was just one in a long line of similar cons.

The Many Faces of Sarah Wilson

In October of 1767, Say’s Weekly Journal shed more light on the woman behind the scams. Her real name, according to the report, was Sarah Wilson, and she had been married to Farmer Boxall of Frensham. The paper noted that:

“It seems this woman has for some time past been travelling through almost all parts of the kingdom, assuming various roles and characters. At different times and places she has pretended herself to be of high birth and distinction […] always varying the account of herself, as she chanced to pick up intelligence of the characters and connections of those she intended to impose upon.”

Frensham parish records confirmed the marriage, noting that Sarah Willsbrowson (one of her many aliases) and Thomas Boxall had tied the knot on December 17, 1764. The Say’s Weekly Journal report also noted that Sarah had become a master of disguise. Over the course of her “career,” she adopted at least 15 different names, each one accompanied by a new and equally audacious backstory.

It wasn’t just newspapers that chronicled Sarah’s exploits, either. A pamphlet written by a Coventry Justice of the Peace, who interviewed her in 1766, described her as “the greatest impostress of the present age.” The descriptions of her remained consistent across various sources—Sarah was about 20 years old in the mid-1760s, with dark hair, a slim build, a pale complexion, and a distinctive speck in one of her eyes.

A Life on the Run

Sarah’s travels took her far and wide. She wandered from Cheshire to Lancashire, Westmoreland to Gloucestershire, and even back to London on occasion, where it’s believed she had a base of operations. Her ability to slip into various roles, adapting her persona based on who she was trying to deceive, made her almost impossible to pin down.

However, even the greatest of impostors can’t outrun the law forever. One of Sarah’s earlier crimes eventually caught up with her. She was brought before Sir John Fielding, the famed blind magistrate of London. Sent to prison to await trial, Sarah’s luck finally ran out in 1768. She was found guilty of theft and sentenced to transportation. That sounds, to us, like being doomed to an enter its of rush hour traffic. It was, however, an 18th-century solution for troublesome criminals that involved being shipped off to the American colonies.

It may have seemed like the end of the road for Sarah Wilson, but, as we’ll see, her American adventure was just beginning. The colonies would provide the perfect new stage for Sarah’s next act—one that would outdo anything she had pulled in England.

Off to America: Sarah’s Second Act as a “Princess”

In July 1771, Sarah was packed onto a prison ship bound for Baltimore, Maryland. Upon arrival, she was sold to William Duval of Bush Creek, Frederick County, Maryland. But Sarah, being Sarah, wasn’t about to spend her days working in the fields. America was the land of opportunity, and she had bigger plans. She managed to escape almost immediately and headed for Virginia, where she launched the greatest rebranding campaign of the 18th century.

Reinventing herself as “Princess Susanna Caroline Matilda of Mecklenburg-Strelitz” (imagine having to write that every time you sign a check) Sarah claimed she had been exiled to America due to a scandalous family feud. Armed with her unmatched acting abilities and knowledge of royal customs and helped by the vast distance between the colonies and real royalty, Sarah’s impersonation was surprisingly convincing.

She was soon the toast of Virginian high society, invited into the homes of gentlemen eager to hobnob with royalty. She spent her time in Boston from December 7, 1773, to January 11, 1774, posing as Princess Carolina Matilda, Princess of Cronenburgh, and Marchioness de Waldegrave. It’s entirely possible that she was among the onlookers as the Sons of Liberty dumped chests of tea into Boston Harbor on the night of December 16, 1773, during what we now call the Boston Tea Party.

Never one to let a good title go to waste, Sarah later upgraded her royal persona, styling herself as the Princess of Browtonsburgh. Leaning into her role, she decided to add a religious twist to her act, becoming the house guest of Congregationalists in Puritan New England—some of whom were deeply involved in the revolutionary movement as the American War of Independence began to unfold.

Some hoped to curry favor with this “princess” in hopes of future rewards once she reclaimed her rightful place in England. But not everyone was buying it. The real kicker? As a member of a German dynasty, Sarah was expected to speak German. She, of course, couldn’t, and her refusal to do so raised more than a few eyebrows. Plus, there was that tiny little issue of no one ever having heard of Queen Charlotte’s supposed younger sister.

The Fugitive: Duval Tracks Down His Runaway “Princess”

While Sarah was busy playing princess, William Duval, the man who had purchased her, was less than thrilled. After all, he had shelled out good money for her, only to have her scamper off into the sunset. Upon hearing rumors about this so-called princess, Duval quickly put two and two together. He plastered advertisements everywhere, exposing Sarah as a fraud and offering a reward for her capture. He even sent his employee, Michael Dalton, on a manhunt to bring her back.

Dalton tracked her down to a plantation in Charlestown, but like the slippery con artist she was, Sarah fled before he could catch her. Undeterred, Dalton eventually tracked her down and brought her back to Duval at gunpoint. But Sarah wasn’t done yet. Forced to work for Duval, she bided her time, plotting her next escape.

Two years later, with Duval off fighting in the American War of Independence, Sarah made her move. In a twist straight out of a novel, another woman named Sarah Wilson appeared on the scene, and somehow, the two managed to switch places.

The Curtain Falls on America’s Faux Princess

With her newfound freedom, Sarah fled north, eventually crossing paths with and marrying William Talbot, an officer of the Light Dragoons. The couple settled down in the Bowery in New York. Her eventful life came to an end on February 23, 1780, in Berwick, Maine.

, and from there, Sarah Wilson fades into history. Whether she lived out her days quietly or launched yet another identity, we’ll never know. What we do know is that the girl who was born in obscurity lived an incredible life. On two continents she lived out the lives of at least 15 different people, enjoying riches and privileges most people could only imagine.

Sarah Wilson’s eventful life came to an end on February 23, 1780, in Berwick, Maine. By this time, she had reinvented herself as The Duchess of Cronenberg. When she passed away, her obituary—written by John Costello—described her as a “strange lady” who claimed noble titles but was widely believed to be a fraud. Nevertheless, in a final flourish befitting her grand life, Costello declared her “Her Serene Highness” in death.

Why We’re Fascinated by Impostors

What is it about impostors like Sarah Wilson that captures our imagination? Perhaps it’s the sheer audacity—the boldness to rewrite one’s entire identity and make others believe in it. Figures like Sarah Wilson, and later Anna Sorokin, managed to pull off these grand deceptions with seemingly transparent lies. And yet, they were believed.

Maybe it’s because, in some ways, we all long to step out of our ordinary lives and play roles, presenting certain versions of ourselves to the world and hiding the messier bits. Our fascination with impostors might come from a suspicion that all of us wear masks.