The Anatomy of Murder. Helen Simpson

Gough had left Mr. Kent’s service by this time and had gone to her home at Isleworth. She was there arrested, brought to Trowbridge, and formally charged with the murder of Francis Saville Kent. At her appearance before the magistrate no further evidence was produced. The Bench had no option but to release her. The remarks of the chairman on this occasion are interesting:

      The magistrate has determined on not committing the prisoner for trial although there was a case of grave suspicion against her, and material had been adduced which with additions might hereafter be brought to bear against her. They would bind her accordingly to appear when called on in two sureties of £50 each.

      On November 3rd one of the magistrates, Mr. Saunders, opened an inquiry upon his own account. He examined a number of witnesses, and in spite of, or perhaps because of, the irregularity of his proceedings he elicited certain very curious facts. For this reason the record of his proceedings is worthy of perusal in spite of its farcical nature.¹ But it led to no definite results and was finally abandoned.

      Meanwhile Mr. Slack had not been idle. On November 26th an application was made by the Attorney-General at the Court of Queen’s Bench before the Lord Chief Justice for a writ for a better inquest on the body of Francis Saville Kent. The Solicitor-General appeared on behalf of the writ, and Sir Fitzroy Kelly represented the coroner in opposing it. The latter gained the day. The Lord Chief Justice said that the only grounds upon which the application rested was the allegation of misconduct on the part of the coroner, in the single instance of his not accepting the offer spontaneously made by the solicitor of Mr. Kent and not examining Mr. Kent. His Lordship said he thought the coroner would have exercised the sounder discretion if he had accepted the offer, but it was not for a mere error of judgment that this court would set aside an inquisition demanded by a coroner’s jury. If there had been judicial misconduct of a nature to justify the court to set aside the inquisition, it would still be a question whether that should be done and a new inquisition issued, when it was seen what the object was, viz., to examine those among whom the guilt of the crime necessarily rested, to ascertain from their separate depositions which of whom had committed the crime. That would not be a proper exercise of the jurisdiction of this court. To issue such an inquisition to obtain evidence against them for that was an object which the law would not sanction. The rule was discharged.

      After this the investigation was abandoned. Mr. Kent and his family left Road Hill House and settled at Weston-super- Mare. The contents were sold by auction, and an enormous crowd attended the sale. The object of the members of the crowd was not to bid but to inspect the earth-closet. It is recorded that

      Superintendent Foley was often requested to gratify the eager curiosity of the visitors by showing it. The spots of blood on the floor are still there, and it was strange to see young and fashionably dressed ladies seeking to learn every particular and see every spot connected with the murder.¹

      Four years later, on April 25, 1865, Constance Kent surrendered herself at Bow Street Police Court and confessed to the murder of Francis Saville Kent.

      Constance Kent was the ninth child of Samuel Saville Kent’s first marriage. In 1829 Mr. Kent had married Mary Ann Winder, and by her had ten children, five of whom died shortly after birth. At the date of the crime four of these children were still living, Mary Ann, Elizabeth, Constance, and William. Constance had been born at Sidmouth in February 1844. It is alleged² by Dr Stapleton, who subsequently became a friend of the family, that her mother had exhibited symptoms of insanity as early as 1836. According to his account, these symptoms were not very serious. He says, however, that “the early treatment of Mrs. Kent appears to have been most lamentably deficient and abortive.”

      Six years later, however, Mr. Kent decided to employ a capable woman to superintend the children and the household. But the fact of Mrs. Kent’s insanity has been questioned. A single quotation³ will suffice to exemplify the doubt which has been thrown upon the matter.

      Was Mrs. Kent insane? Her two eldest daughters always vehemently denied it. No act has ever been mentioned to prove it. The second governess, who was employed for the education of the two eldest daughters, arrived about the time of John’s birth in 1842. She was a pretty, very capable woman. Considering Mrs. Kent’s frequent confinements, also several miscarriages, and that servants took advantage of the circumstances, was it anything out of the way that Mr. Kent was only too glad to find someone willing and able to superintend the menage? Many wives are incompetent or unwilling as housekeepers, but they are not therefore deemed insane. As Mr. Kent only ceased to live with her about two years later, did he then consider her so?

      When Constance was four years old the family moved to Walton, between Clevedon and Portishead in Somersetshire. They remained here four years, and in March 1852 moved once more, this time to Baynton House, near Corsham in Wiltshire. A few weeks after this move Mrs. Kent died. In August 1853 Mr. Kent took as his second wife the governess-housekeeper, Miss Pratt. In 1855 the family moved to Road Hill House, where the four children of the second marriage were born. The second of these was Francis Saville, who was born in August 1856.

      At the time of Francis’ birth, Constance was twelve, and from various sources something may be gathered of her childhood. Mr. Stapleton says¹:

      For many months after her birth great apprehensions were entertained that Constance would share the fate of the four previous children of Mrs. Kent. That she struggled through the feebleness of her early infancy is chiefly due to the devotion and personal attention of Miss Pratt, by whom she was fed, nursed and waited upon for months. By degrees her bodily constitution assumed that healthy development and growth which has bestowed on her the contour and command of a powerful physique. As she grew up Constance manifested a strong, obstinate and determined will, and her conduct even as a little child gave evidence of an irritable and impassioned nature.

      1 Op. cit.

      The document already quoted¹ draws a vivid picture of the relations between Constance and Miss Pratt.

      The governess had made a great pet of Constance and was very fond of her, but soon trouble began. The governess had a theory that once a child said a letter or spelt a word right it could not forget it, and she conscientiously believed that it was her duty to treat any lapse as obstinacy. The letter H gave Constance many hours of confinement in a room where she listened longingly to the music and the sights on the lawn outside. When words were to be mastered punishments became more severe. Days were spent shut up in a room with dry bread and milk and water for tea. At other times she would be stood up in a corner of the hall sobbing, “I want to be good, I do, I do,” till she came to the conclusion that goodness was impossible for a child and that she could only hope to grow up quickly as grown-ups were never naughty. At times she gave way to furious fits of temper and was locked away in a distant room and sometimes in a cellar that her noise might not annoy people.

      Constance did not take her punishments very seriously, but generally managed to get some amusement out of them. Once after being particularly provocative and passionate, the governess put her down in a dark wine cellar. She fell on a heap of straw and fancied herself in the dungeon of a great castle, a prisoner taken in a battle fighting for Bonnie Prince Charlie and to be taken to the block next morning. When the governess unlocked the door and told her to come up she was looking rather pleased over her fancies. The governess asked her what she was smiling about: “Oh,” she said, “only the funny rats.”

      “What rats? “said the governess, who did not know there were any there.

      “They do not hurt me. Only dance and play about.”

      After that, to her disappointment she was shut in the beer cellar, a light room but with a window too high to look out of. She managed to pull the spigot out of a cask of beer. After that, she was locked up in one of two spare rooms at the end of the vestibule, shut off by double doors. She liked the big room, for it had a large four-poster bed she could climb about, but the little room was dreary. The rooms had a