A magnetic retelling of Victorian murder

Jonathan Whicher was the man who launched a thousand detective stories — one of the individuals who, as Kate Summerscale brilliantly documents, riveted Victorian Britain through his decoding of signs and gestures that betrayed the subtext of human lives. In this taut, magnetic adaptation of Summerscale’s non-fiction account of one of the 19th century’s most notorious murder cases it’s easy to understand how Whicher became the detective who inspired everyone from Wilkie Collins to Colin Dexter.

Alexandra Wood’s bold adaptation turns the book’s structure on its head, beginning not with the murder being investigated by Whicher when he was in his prime but at the point when the convicted murderer had been imprisoned for 16 years. After an electric opening sequence — in which plangent, dissonant piano music accompanies a feverish computer animation of the murder victim’s family tree on a screen — the music crescendoes and then, bang, we’re in Fulham prison in 1881.

Much of the fascination of the book comes from the sense of early detectives such as Whicher being just as exciting and new to mid-19th century Britain as the electric telegraph and the railway. Summerscale describes them as “figures of mystery and glamour, the surreptitious, all-seeing little gods of London”.

Yet Wood has decided that we should meet Whicher when he is a broken man, confronting Constance Kent in her prison cell after he has been denounced by the press and by parliament for his perceived mishandling of the case. Constance has confessed to the murder in 1860 of her three-year-old half-brother Saville Kent, but Whicher — despite suspecting her from the start — is haunted by his impression that the full story has not yet been told.

Eleanor Wyld quickly establishes an assured, quietly defiant presence as Constance, taunting Whicher — “Do you think you live vicariously?” — as she repeatedly asserts her guilt. Against this central encounter between her and Christopher Naylor’s empathetic, wrung-out Whicher, Kate Budgen’s pacey production deftly evokes the labyrinthine detail of the Road Hill House murder through allusion and flashback.

The foregrounding of Constance puts the spotlight on a particularly fascinating aspect of the case: Victorian society’s motivations for diagnosing so many women as insane. How convenient was it, for instance, for adulterous Samuel Kent to accuse his first wife, Constance’s mother, of madness? Equally why were accusations of hereditary insanity thrown at Constance but not her brother William (Sam Liu)?

Amy Jane Cook’s ingenious two-level design ratchets up the tension by allowing a speedy shuttling between past and present. It heightens the stakes in a production that impacts like dynamite.

RACHEL HALLIBURTON

True crime classic turned into tense drama

The risk of a successful crime story is that exponentially more people know whodunnit. The Mousetrap and 2:22: A Ghost Story plead with theatregoers to keep the secret. Adapting for the stage Kate Summerscale’s 2008 bestseller, which has also been serialised for ITV, Alexandra Wood’s problem is that millions already know The Suspicions of Mr Whicher’s solution to the mystery of the murder of a three-year-old in Wiltshire.

Wood ingeniously remedies this by intricately plaiting timelines so that even clued-up viewers can be confused about what happens next or possibly before. In 1881, dejected ex-Metropolitan police detective Jonathan Whicher visits Fulham prison to question Constance Kent about the 1860 case that finished his reputation. Beautifully, with fleeting changes of voice, posture and lighting (by Katy Morison), characters move between conversations 20 years apart.

Summerscale’s clever title alluded to Victorian doubts about the emerging art of detection and a low-class cop investigating the high-born. These suspicions quiver in the pivotal scenes between Eleanor Wyld’s haughty, haunted Constance and Christopher Naylor’s astute but cowed Whicher, whom she treats as a sort of butler of justice. The script also strongly brings out the misogynist psychology of the time, in which the belief that the life and work of men mattered more than that of women had devastating consequences. And fresh contemporary context comes with a frisson unavailable in earlier versions, thanks to Whicher’s lament that he has been blamed for “everything that is wrong with the Metropolitan police”.

The economy of Wood’s text is matched by Kate Budgen’s direction, which, in a tight hour-and-a-half playing time, gives two minutes to a daring silent interlude. Jim Creighton, Sam Liu, Robyn Sinclair and Connie Walker each play multiple people, speeding between types and times without adding extra puzzles to the crime.

The main losses from the 360-page book are the case’s links to the rise of crime fiction (Wilkie Collins, Charles Dickens) and to sensational journalism, plus a theological subplot about the sanctity of confession in Anglo-Catholicism. But this deft, tense show means that Summerscale’s book, a key text in the rise of true-crime writing, has now succeeded in three media.

MARK LAWSON

Tense true-crime drama

Watermill's Whicher world premiere is 'story telling at its best'

Kate Summerscale's tense crime thriller The Suspicions of Mr Whicher is intriguingly adapted for the stage from her best-selling 2008 book by Alexandra Wood in this world premiere at The Watermill theatre.

The play focuses on the hideous murder of Constance Kent's three-year-old step brother who she confessed she had murdered in 1860. There was a huge public uproar at this crime and Constance was sentenced to life in prison.

Amy Jane Cook's sombre set design reflects the bleak interior of Fulham prison where the play starts. This is enhanced by Rachel Sampley's imaginative projections on to a gauze, including the Kent's family tree, written in cursive handwriting, and the ghostly appearance of the young boy. Katy Morison's striking lighting and Beth Duke's emotive soundscape all help to create the dismal Victorian atmosphere.

Kate Budgen's taut direction cleverly plays through a 20-year timeframe and the six talented actors are impressively strong with many multi-roling using changes of posture, voice and costume to great effect.

Christopher Naylor gives a nuanced performance as the prudent detective from New Scotland Yard, determined to solve the mysterious circumstances surrounding the case and save his reputation. He has negotiated a meeting with Constance in prison 21 years after the atrocity to find out the truth, with the promise of a letter to secure her release.

Eleanor Wyld is outstanding as Constance, at first appearing calm and in control, but the unspeakable painful facts slowly emerge as her shocking memory of events surface.

Jim Creighton gives a powerful performance as her father, who had multiple affairs with the children's nannies, including Miss Gough (Robyn Sinclair). He eventually marries one of them, Miss Pratt (Connie Walker), resulting in the birth of Francis, who was much favoured instead of William (Sam Liu) his first son. The resulting tension forces Constance and William to become closer, deciding to run away to sea as cabin boys.

There is a tour de force moment of complete silence from the characters on a train journey that speaks volumes about relationships.

The gripping conclusion leaves the audience with much to discuss.

This is story telling at its best.

ROBIN STRAPP

The Watermill Theatre in Newbury is never less than charming to visit, even on a night of cloudbursts when the ducks themselves sought shelter, so I wish I could be brighter about The Suspicions of Mr Whicher. Kate Summerscale’s award-winning book about a Victorian murder case, adapted by Alexandra Wood, has become a thicket of exposition and flashbacks.

Kate Budgen’s production has a handsome set and Eleanor Wyld does fine as Constance Kent, imprisoned for killing her three-year-old stepbrother. However, the story is too tangled and Christopher Naylor’s Whicher lacks the bruised, beetling grit needed for a working-class detective. Multitasking by four other actors only adds to the disappointing confusion. Lovely ducks, though.

QUENTIN LETTS