No one knows for certain who Miss Puxley was, but Miss Puxley by John Linnell has long stirred curiosity for its mysterious sitter and the artist’s rare foray into society portraiture. Unlike many of his landscapes and religious scenes, this portrait stands out in Linnell's oeuvre for its intimacy and psychological depth. The painting’s provenance is unclear, with no surviving commission records or correspondence, leaving art historians to speculate about the relationship between artist and subject.

What is certain is that Miss Puxley has become a touchstone for those interested in the hidden narratives of early nineteenth-century British portraiture. The sitter meets the viewer’s gaze directly, her expression composed yet alert, as if caught in a moment of reflection or anticipation. Her attire, modest but finely detailed, suggests a woman of respectable means, while the delicate rendering of her features reveals Linnell's sensitivity to character. The background is spare, focusing all attention on Miss Puxley herself; a single piece of jewelry—a chain or brooch—may hint at personal significance, though its meaning is lost to time.

The handling of light across her face and hands recalls the quiet realism of Thomas Lawrence, yet Linnell’s touch is gentler, less theatrical, favoring a sense of calm presence over drama. Little is known about the painting’s early history, and it has passed through private collections with minimal documentation. Unlike some of Linnell's works that were exhibited at the Royal Academy or acquired by prominent patrons, Miss Puxley seems to have led a quieter existence, surfacing occasionally at auction or in catalogues of British portraiture. Today, it is valued for its rarity and the glimpse it offers into a lesser-seen side of Linnell's artistic practice.

Its uncertain origins and enigmatic subject continue to invite speculation, ensuring that the painting remains as much a question as an answer in the story of nineteenth-century British art.