died full of years and highly respected.
by John Rhode
THE name of Constance Kent and the nature of the extraordinary crime to which she eventually confessed are familiar to almost everybody. For this reason I do not propose to give a detailed description of the crime itself. To those who wish to peruse it more fully, many sources are available.1 My present purpose is to deal with the curious personality of the criminal herself in the light of information which has become available during the past few years.
A brief résumé of the crime may, however, be found convenient. Mr. Samuel Saville Kent had at one time been in business in the City of London. About 1834 he obtained the appointment of Sub-Inspector of Factories for the West of England, which was then the important centre of the cloth trade. In the year 1860 he was living at Road Hill House, on the border of Somerset and Wiltshire. The house stands back from the road, by which it is approached by a carriage drive. It is of a fair size, and then stood in about half an acre of ground laid out as lawn, shrubbery, kitchen-garden and flower-garden. On the right-hand side of the house, looking from the drive, was a spacious paved courtyard communicating with the kitchen and domestic offices on the one side, and on the other with the kitchen-garden. Two pairs of large and high gates opened out of the yard, one pair into a lane running parallel to the side of the house, the other into the carriage drive. Outside the latter gates and to the right of them, was a small shrubbery, concealing a detached earth-closet. At the period of the crime this closet was rarely used, the house having been fitted with inside sanitation.
On the evening of Friday, June 29, 1860, the house was occupied by twelve individuals. These were Mr. Kent; his second wife, who was then expecting a confinement; three daughters: Mary Ann, Elizabeth and Constance; and a son, William, of Mr. Kent’s first marriage. Two daughters, Mary Amelia and Emilie, and a son, Francis Saville, of Mr. Kent’s second marriage. The cook, the housemaid and the nurse, by name Elizabeth Gough. On this particular evening there was no deviation from the routine of the house. Mr. and Mrs. Kent slept in a room on the first floor. This room was in the front of the house. Separated from it by a fairly wide passage at the end of which was a dressing-room, was the nursery. In the nursery slept Elizabeth Gough and the two younger children of the second marriage: Francis Saville, aged four, and Emilie, aged two. Mary Amelia, eldest child of the second marriage, slept in the room occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Kent. The remaining rooms on the first floor were unoccupied. On the second floor the two eldest daughters of the first marriage, Mary Ann and Elizabeth, slept together in the room above that occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Kent. Constance Kent slept alone in the adjoining room, above the passage and the dressing-room. The cook and housemaid slept together in the room adjoining hers above the nursery. It is worthy of remark that the partitions between these three rooms were very thin and there is abundant evidence that sounds originating in one room could be heard in that next door. On this floor, looking out at the back of the house, was the room occupied by William Kent. Two other rooms were unoccupied.
At the usual hour, which was half-past seven, Elizabeth Gough put the youngest child Emilie to bed in the nursery. Half an hour later she put Francis Saville to bed, also in the nursery. The remainder of the family retired in rotation. Before the cook went to bed she fastened and secured the domestic offices. Similarly, before she went to bed, the housemaid fastened and secured the remainder of the ground floor, including a french window in the drawing-room which looked out towards the back of the house. The nurse went to bed a little before eleven, leaving Mr. and Mrs. Kent in the dining-room. She was some time in the nursery before she undressed, having her supper and tidying up. While she was thus occupied Mrs. Kent came into the room and looked at the children asleep in bed. Mrs. Kent then went downstairs and came up to bed a few minutes later. Until this moment the nursery door had been open in order that the nurse might hear any sound from the child who was sleeping in the Kent’s room. As she went to bed, Mrs. Kent shut this door. Mr. Kent was the last to retire. He went to bed a little before midnight, having, according to his own subsequent statement, examined all the fastenings in the house.
At five o’clock the next morning the nurse awoke. She looked at Francis’ cot and found that he was no longer there. This occasioned her no surprise at the time. She supposed that during the night Mrs. Kent had heard the child crying and had come in and removed him to her own room. This supposition was strengthened by the fact that the bedclothes of the cot had been neatly re-arranged. The nurse then went to sleep again.
At a quarter or twenty minutes to seven, the nurse went into Mrs. Kent’s room. Supposing that Mrs. Kent had both Mary Amelia and Francis, her object was to ask for one of them so that she might dress it. She knocked twice on the door but obtained no answer, and in view of Mrs. Kent’s condition thought it better to disturb her no further. However, she made another attempt at a quarter-past seven, when she found Mrs. Kent dressed in her dressing-gown. On that occasion Mrs. Kent told her that she had not seen the child. The nurse then went upstairs to the second floor to make inquiries of Mary Ann and Elizabeth. At the time of Constance Kent’s appearance before the magistrates, the nurse gave the following evidence upon this point:
Miss Constance slept in a room which is between where her two sisters sleep and where the cook and housemaid sleep. The partition between them is very thin. You can even hear a paper rustling in either room. When I went to inquire of the Misses Kent the prisoner came to the door. I observed nothing unusual in her manner at the time.1
Meanwhile the housemaid had made a significant discovery. This is best described in her own words.1
On Friday evening I fastened the door and shutters in the drawing-room as usual. I am positive that I did so. I have no doubt in the matter whatever. The shutters fasten with iron bars and each has two brass bolts besides. That was all made secure on Friday evening. The door has a bolt and a lock and I bolted it and turned the key of the lock, so that anyone coming from the house would have the power of unfastening the door and windows and anyone coming in from the outside must smash the windows and then would not be able to open the shutters without using a centre bit or making a hole in the shutters. On Friday evening I retired to bed about a quarter to eleven and rose about five minutes past six on Saturday morning. Mr. Kent was the last person who went to bed that evening. He is in the habit of staying till the last.
When I came down in the morning, I saw that the drawing-room door was a little open, the bolt was back and the lock turned. There was no displacement of the furniture in the room. Of the windows, the lower shutters were open, the bolts being back and the window slightly open. There was no blood, footmarks or displacement in the room.
Search within the house having proved unavailing, the alarm was given. Mr. Kent himself took horse and started for Trowbridge, some five miles away, to inform the superintendent of police. The neighbours were called in to assist the search. Two of these found the missing child. His body was in the earth-closet beside the shrubbery. The throat had been cut, almost severing the head from the body, and there was a deep wound in the breast. The body was wrapped in a bloodstained blanket which had been taken from its cot. Mr. Kent was recalled and a doctor was summoned. On his arrival he, Dr. Parsons, saw that the child had been dead at least five hours. The consensus of medical opinion subsequently agreed that death must have taken place about 1 a.m. on Saturday morning.
The investigation into the crime was at first carried out without the slightest
