knee and kissed her. The governess exclaimed: “Oh, not before the child!” Though her mother seemed to feel being placed in the background, why did she not resent it and assert herself?1
The relations between Mr. Kent and the governess can only be conjectural and they do not concern us directly. But in the light of subsequent events, we are bound to consider the effect of them upon a child of the passionate nature of Constance. An antagonism developed between the two, which increased after Mr. Kent’s second marriage. By this time her stepmother seems to have given Constance up in despair, and made no attempt to propitiate her. In any case, Constance would have been a difficult child to propitiate if contemporary accounts of her are to be believed. On the other hand, the second Mrs. Kent seems to have shown very little sympathy with the children of the first family. These were kept under constant surveillance and their friendships very strictly regulated. On one occasion the two eldest girls made friends with the daughters of two neighbouring families, but as these families showed a reluctance to call upon the Kents, probably owing to their disapproval of Mrs. Kent, orders were issued that these friendships must cease and the prohibition was extended to the younger children.
One day when Constance and her brother were supposed to be attending to their little garden behind the shrubbery, they heard some merry laughter from the neighbouring garden. They went to the hedge and looked over longingly at the children playing with visitors. They were invited to join, but were afraid. They were seen and their disobedience punished. The little gardens were uprooted and trampled down. Constance made some futile efforts to revive hers. No pets were allowed, two little tropical birds sent by the eldest son to his sisters were confined to a cold back room and died.
There was no evidence of direct cruelty on the part of the second Mrs. Kent towards Constance. She seems to have misunderstood the child’s nature and Constance, in turn, was undoubtedly resentful of authority. At school she was perpetually in trouble, mainly through the deliberate perverseness of her attitude. She became, apparently as the result of her behaviour, the odd man out of the family. She certainly seems to have been a difficult child to get on with.
We are told1 that she did not always come home for holidays. On one occasion when she did, no one took any notice. She might just have come in from a walk. She was sitting at a window rather disconsolately when her stepmother wanted her to do some mending. She refused, and her stepmother said:
“Do you know that only for me you would have remained at school? When I said you were coming one of your sisters exclaimed: ‘What, that tiresome girl!’ So you see, they do not want you.”
As a result of this kind of treatment she made up her mind that she was not wanted and that everyone was against her. She formed, for a girl of her age and period, the most extraordinary resolution. This was nothing less than to dress up as a boy and run away to sea. She had acquired considerable influence over her brother, William, who was a year younger than she was. Mr. Stapleton’s account2 of her attempt to put her resolution into practice may well be quoted:
In this escapade, which was planned and executed by Constance, her younger brother William seems to have been a passive and compliant agent in his sister’s hands. During the holidays, June 1856, they had been at home from school together. Their holidays had already expired, but they had been kept at home for a few days longer pending the return of their father from an absence on business in Devonshire. There is no evidence to show that any recent or particular fracas had happened during Mr. Kent’s absence. But at all events, in the afternoon of the day before Mr. Kent’s return, Constance and William were not to be found. An alarm was at once raised. Search was made but without success.
Now comes rather a curious point. Constance needed a safe hiding-place for her own purposes. The earth-closet in the shrubbery occurred to her, whether or not for the first time it is impossible to say. We may continue the story in Mr. Stapleton’s own words:
After lunch on the day she left home, she went down to the closet in the shrubbery, put on some old clothes of her brother William’s which she had secreted and mended, and cut off her hair, which she flung with her own clothes into the vault of the closet. She then started with her brother on a walk of ten miles to Bath, where they arrived in the evening. They went to the Greyhound Hotel where they asked for beds.
Their appearance excited the suspicions of the landlady, and they were questioned by her. Constance was very self-possessed and even insolent in her manner and language. William soon broke down and burst into tears. He was placed in bed at the inn, and as nothing could be done with Constance, the police were called in and she was given into custody for the night. She allowed herself to be separated from her brother, and was taken to the Central Police Station where she spent the night in the common detention room, maintaining the most resolute bearing and a determined silence as to her history. Early in the morning their father’s servant discovered them and took them home. Upon Mr. Kent’s return the same day, William at once expressed the greatest sorrow and contrition and sobbed bitterly. Constance for many days continued in solitude and gave no evidence of regret or shame at her conduct. At last she said she wished to be independent, and her object appears to have been to reach Bristol and to leave England with her brother.
That a girl of twelve should have behaved with so much-resolution is almost incredible. The incident, however, is confirmed from many other sources. Constance possessed both shrewdness and determination, and was not likely to let any consideration whatever stand in her way. Shortly after this, she was sent to another school, kept by relatives of the second Mrs. Kent. It was hoped, perhaps, that they would be able to tame the intractable child. But all efforts in this direction failed. She took a delight in scandalizing her new teachers, and it would appear that after some months they refused to take charge of her any longer. Yet another attempt was made. Constance was sent as a boarder to Beckington, a village within a mile of two of the Kents’ house. Here she remained off and on until shortly before the commission of the crime.
It is now time to consider the attitude adopted by Constance during the investigations which followed the crime. Her first appearance was as a witness at the inquest on July 2nd. On this occasion she is described as “a robust young lady, rather tall for her age”, and we are told “that she gave her evidence in a subdued but audible tone, without betraying any special emotion, her eyes fixed on the ground”.1 Answering the questions of the coroner she declared that she knew nothing about this affair until her brother was found. About half-past ten on Friday night she had gone to bed and she knew nothing until after eleven o’clock. She generally slept soundly. She did not leave her bed during the night. She did not know of anyone having any spite against the boy. There had been no disagreement in the house, and she was not aware of anyone owing any grudge against the deceased, The nurse had always been kind and attentive to him. On Saturday morning she heard that he was dead. She was then getting up.
We have already seen that the news reached her through the nurse’s visit to her sisters’ room which was next door to her own.
The next public appearance of Constance was in the dock before the Trowbridge magistrates after her arrest by Inspector Whicher. Whicher had put into practice the principles of sound detection. He had arrived at Constance’s guilt by simple deduction. How he had done so, may shortly be stated in his own words.2
Whoever did the deed, doubtless did it in their nightclothes. When Constance Kent went to bed that night she had three nightdresses belonging to her in the house. After the murder she had but two. What then became of the third? It was not lost in the wash as it was so craftily endeavoured to make it appear, but it was lost in some other way. Where is it, then, and what became of it?
The
