helpless despair, and when at last men began to shout and women to wail, the general uproar came as a relief, a sound of familiar human voices – frightened voices maybe, but not demented. Not like the madwoman.
The wordless yells ceased at last when Doll’s voice cracked and hoarsened; she could protest no more, and collapsed in a heap on the floor behind the font.
Nothing that Susan had imagined had been half as bad as this. Though trembling in every part, she forced herself to rise and go towards the font, though as she neared Bartlemy she stopped and drew back. Glancing to where Polly was sitting, she could not see her sister, and stood helplessly where she was, unable to focus on any course of action.
The situation was saved by Widow Gibson, who came bustling up with an unstoppered dark bottle of pungent-smelling salts, which she held under Doll’s nose. She then turned on Bartlemy.
‘What be the matter wi’ ye, man? Move yer carcass and get them boys outside, can’t ’ee?’
With his departure Susan could move to help her mother, and together she and Mrs Gibson hauled the half-fainting Doll up off the floor and laid her along a pew.
Dr Gravett was staggering in the aisle, clutching at his head as a thin trickle of blood ran down on to his neckcloth. The sexton recollected his duty and helped the rector into the vestry, followed by Mr Turnbull, who was thankful to leave the care of Mad Doll to the handywoman.
Mr Calthorpe, Justice of the Peace, stood up in his stall. Raising his voice, he ordered the church to be cleared forthwith, and beckoned to his agent.
‘That woman must be put under restraint. Edward, take care of your mother and sisters.’
The two men strode down the aisle towards the group gathering round Dolly, and Edward followed close behind them, thinking only of Susan.
‘She must be charged with common assault and taken to Belhampton Gaol straight away,’ announced Calthorpe.
‘Gaol? Oh,
no
!’ cried Susan, her hand going involuntarily to her throat.
To Calthorpe’s surprise, Edward added his voice to hers.
‘Show mercy, sir, and let her be taken to the House of Industry, not prison – please, Father!’
Calthorpe stared, not displeased by his son’s compassion.
‘Very well, but she must be taken there at once. Have the carrier summoned to take her on his cart.’
Widow Gibson seemed the obvious choice of attendant to accompany Doll on the open cart, and the bailiff was bidden to sit beside carrier Dick – there was only one Dick now, the father being dead – in case assistance was needed. As the cart rolled away from the church gate the old handywoman beamed at the onlookers: it was her moment of glory.
And so Doll Lucket travelled to her last home, the place she would never leave.
The rector was carried home in his own phaeton with Miss Gravett, suitably bandaged and reassured that he was in no danger of rabies. It was even whispered by some that he had got what he deserved.
After the congregation had departed to marvel on the morning’s events over roast meat, Susan realised that Polly had slunk away with the Bever House servants, and might not even have seen her sister in the church. Susan was left standing alone in the porch, leaning her aching head against the cool stone and wondering what she should do. Farmer Bennett had stormed out during the uproar, taking his wife and family with him.
‘There’s to be no more truck with any o’ them Luckets,’ he ordered, and when Marianne tearfully pleaded on Susan’s behalf he told her to shut her mouth and stop mooing.
The steeple clock struck one. Miss Glover should have returned from Little St Giles by now, and Susan’s only hope was to beg for lodging at her cottage until another maidservant’s place could be found, perhaps somewhere away from Beversley. In trying to do her duty that morning, she had lost her livelihood, the very roof over her head. It was so unjust! Feeling weak and drained by the ordeal,
The wordless yells ceased at last when Doll’s voice cracked and hoarsened; she could protest no more, and collapsed in a heap on the floor behind the font.
Nothing that Susan had imagined had been half as bad as this. Though trembling in every part, she forced herself to rise and go towards the font, though as she neared Bartlemy she stopped and drew back. Glancing to where Polly was sitting, she could not see her sister, and stood helplessly where she was, unable to focus on any course of action.
The situation was saved by Widow Gibson, who came bustling up with an unstoppered dark bottle of pungent-smelling salts, which she held under Doll’s nose. She then turned on Bartlemy.
‘What be the matter wi’ ye, man? Move yer carcass and get them boys outside, can’t ’ee?’
With his departure Susan could move to help her mother, and together she and Mrs Gibson hauled the half-fainting Doll up off the floor and laid her along a pew.
Dr Gravett was staggering in the aisle, clutching at his head as a thin trickle of blood ran down on to his neckcloth. The sexton recollected his duty and helped the rector into the vestry, followed by Mr Turnbull, who was thankful to leave the care of Mad Doll to the handywoman.
Mr Calthorpe, Justice of the Peace, stood up in his stall. Raising his voice, he ordered the church to be cleared forthwith, and beckoned to his agent.
‘That woman must be put under restraint. Edward, take care of your mother and sisters.’
The two men strode down the aisle towards the group gathering round Dolly, and Edward followed close behind them, thinking only of Susan.
‘She must be charged with common assault and taken to Belhampton Gaol straight away,’ announced Calthorpe.
‘Gaol? Oh,
no
!’ cried Susan, her hand going involuntarily to her throat.
To Calthorpe’s surprise, Edward added his voice to hers.
‘Show mercy, sir, and let her be taken to the House of Industry, not prison – please, Father!’
Calthorpe stared, not displeased by his son’s compassion.
‘Very well, but she must be taken there at once. Have the carrier summoned to take her on his cart.’
Widow Gibson seemed the obvious choice of attendant to accompany Doll on the open cart, and the bailiff was bidden to sit beside carrier Dick – there was only one Dick now, the father being dead – in case assistance was needed. As the cart rolled away from the church gate the old handywoman beamed at the onlookers: it was her moment of glory.
And so Doll Lucket travelled to her last home, the place she would never leave.
The rector was carried home in his own phaeton with Miss Gravett, suitably bandaged and reassured that he was in no danger of rabies. It was even whispered by some that he had got what he deserved.
After the congregation had departed to marvel on the morning’s events over roast meat, Susan realised that Polly had slunk away with the Bever House servants, and might not even have seen her sister in the church. Susan was left standing alone in the porch, leaning her aching head against the cool stone and wondering what she should do. Farmer Bennett had stormed out during the uproar, taking his wife and family with him.
‘There’s to be no more truck with any o’ them Luckets,’ he ordered, and when Marianne tearfully pleaded on Susan’s behalf he told her to shut her mouth and stop mooing.
The steeple clock struck one. Miss Glover should have returned from Little St Giles by now, and Susan’s only hope was to beg for lodging at her cottage until another maidservant’s place could be found, perhaps somewhere away from Beversley. In trying to do her duty that morning, she had lost her livelihood, the very roof over her head. It was so unjust! Feeling weak and drained by the ordeal,
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