The solicitor for the defence, however, contrived to push the evidence aside. He protested against the arrest of Constance on the grounds that “a paltry bedgown was missing”. He then proceeded to a vicious attack upon Whicher:
And where is the evidence? The sole fact—and I am ashamed in this land of liberty and justice to refer to it—is the suspicion of Mr. Whicher, a man eager in pursuit of the murderer and anxious for the reward that has been offered. And it is upon his suspicion, unsupported by the slightest evidence whatever, that this step has been taken. The prosecution’s own witnesses have cleared up the point about the bedgown, but because the washerwoman says that a certain bedgown was not sent to her, you are asked to jump to the conclusion that it was not carried away in the clothes basket.
But there can be no doubt in the mind of any person that the right number of bedgowns has been fully accounted for, and that this little peg upon which he seeks to hang this fearful crime has fallen to the ground. It rested on the evidence of the washerwoman only, and against that you have the testimony of several other witnesses. I do not wish to find fault with Mr. Whicher unnecessarily, but I think in the present instance, his professional eagerness in pursuit of the criminal has led him to take a most unprecedented course to prove a motive.1
Constance appears to have displayed very little concern about her arrest. Whicher’s own statement2 is evidence of her composure.
I have made an examination of the premises and I believe that the murder was committed by an inmate of the house. From many inquiries I have made and from information which I have received, I sent for Constance Kent on Monday last to her bed room, having first previously examined her drawers and found a list of her linen, which I now produce, on which are enumerated among other articles of linen, three nightdresses as belonging to her.
I said to her, “Is this a list of your linen?” and she replied, “Yes.” I then asked, “In whose handwriting is it?” and she answered, “It is in my own writing.” I said, “Here are three nightdresses. Where are they?” She replied, “I have two. The other was lost in the wash a week after the murder.” She then brought the two I now produce. I also saw a nightdress and a nightcap on her bed, and said to her, “Whose are these?” She replied, “They are my sister’s.” The nightdresses were only soiled by being worn.
This afternoon, I again proceeded to the house and sent for the prisoner in the sitting-room. I said to her: “I am a police officer, and I hold a warrant for your apprehension, charging you with the murder of your brother, Francis Saville Kent, which I will read to you.” I then read the warrant to her and she commenced crying and said, “I am innocent,” which she repeated several times. I then accompanied her to her bedroom where she put on her bonnet and mantle, after which I brought her to this place. She made no further remarks to me.
On the occasion of her examination before the magistrate, we are told that “at half-past eleven, Constance Emily Kent came in, walking with a faltering step, and going up to her father gave him a trembling kiss.”
Constance gave evidence before the magistrates on October 3rd, when the charge against Elizabeth was heard. On that occasion she said:
On Friday, the 29th of June, I was at home. I had been at home for about a fortnight. I had previously been to school as a boarder at Beckington. The little boy who was murdered was at home also. I last saw him in the evening when he went to bed. He was a merry, good-tempered lad, fond of romping. I was accustomed to play with him often. I had played with him that day. He appeared to be fond of me, and I was fond of him. I went to bed at about half-past ten in a room on the second floor, in a room between that of my two sisters and the two maidservants. I remember my sister Elizabeth coming into my room that night. I went to sleep soon after that. I was nearly asleep then. I next woke at about half-past six in the morning. I did not awake in the course of the night, and I heard nothing to disturb me. I got up at half-past six. I had some time after that heard of my brother being missing.
In reply to questions by the counsel for the prosecution Constance made the following statement:
On the night of the murder she had slept in her nightdress. She had slept in that nightdress since the previous Sunday or Monday. She usually wore the same nightdress for a week and changed it on Sunday or Monday. This was the same nightdress that she had worn on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. On the Saturday she had slept in the same nightdress she had worn on the previous night. She was not certain whether she had put the clean nightdress on, on the Sunday or the Monday. She did not know what had become of the nightdress of hers which was said to be missing. She had heard the prisoner go to her sisters’ door on Saturday morning to ask if they had the child with them or had taken it away. She was dressing at the time. She heard Elizabeth knock at the door, and went to her own door to listen to hear what it was. Her door was quite close to her sisters’. At that time she was nearly dressed.1
It is, perhaps, unnecessary to recount the circumstances under which Constance actually confessed. We are told that,
she came under religious influence five years after the crime when, filled with deep sorrow and remorse, she told the clergyman of the case, that in order to free others of any suspicion cast on them it was her duty to make a public confession of her guilt. She was told she was right to obey her conscience and make any amends she could. Her life, if spared, could only be one long penance.2
Constance appeared before the Trowbridge Bench on April 26, 1865. A contemporary report says3:
She walked with a step which betrayed no emotion, but with downcast eyes and took her seat in the dock. Her conduct in the dock was at first marked by great composure. The past five years had wrought a considerable change in her appearance, she being taller and much more robust and womanly than when she was previously in this neighbourhood. Her deposition was as follows: “I wish to hand in of my own free will, a piece of paper with the following written on it in my own handwriting, ‘I, Constance Emily Kent, alone and unaided, did, on the night of the 29th of June, 1860, murder at Road Hill House, Wiltshire, one Francis Saville Kent. Before the deed, no one knew my intentions, nor after of my guilt. No one assisted me in the crime, nor in my evasion of discovery.’”
In reply to the chairman she replied that she had nothing further to say. The examination was adjourned and resumed on May 4th. Further evidence was taken at the conclusion of the proceedings, when Constance was asked if she desired to say anything in answer to the charge she shook her head and appeared as unmoved as during the greater part of the day. Constance appeared at the Wiltshire Assizes at Salisbury on July 21st. The proceedings were very brief. She pleaded guilty and declared that she was well aware of what the plea involved. Her counsel, Mr. Coleridge, stated that the prisoner wished to inform the court that she alone was guilty of the murder and that she wished to make her guilt known and atone for the crime with the view of clearing the character of others of any suspicion that might have been unjustly attached to them. It afforded him pleasure to have the melancholy duty of stating that there was no truth whatever in the report that the prisoner was induced to perpetrate the crime because of the harsh treatment received at the hands of her stepmother, for Miss Constance Kent had always received the most uniform kindness from that lady, and on his honour he believed it to be true.
She was sentenced to death; but, some days later, the sentence was commuted to one of penal servitude for life.
It was known that Constance had made a full confession to a Dr. Charles Bucknill, who had examined her for the purpose of ascertaining her mental condition, and to her
