Church of St. Giles in the Fields, ~11:20am Sunday May 5th, 1771
Sunday had brightened up whilst the village was in church: the paritioners emerged blinking into the light, briefly distracted from anything that was not the gentle shift and
shuff of newly-leafed branches stretching golden and green to God's bluest heaven. It had been an inspired sermon, centred around notions of unity, collective strength in face of adversity, and the slow quiet might of faith. For a while, at least, Christian fellowship touched the hearts of the people of Scorch Norton, and after a genteel pause the Vicar dropped a request that no-one should let suspicion rule their heart, nor let it grow from some petty quarrel. Who, after all, was entirely without sin?
The Durbins had actually attended, though no-one would have blamed them if they had not come. Polly's father seemed very withdrawn and old, her mother sitting stiff like something propped up in beaded lace, jewellery and damasked finery, material shine doubtless deflecting all her inward turmoil. The weight of their grief had been like a cold spot in the white sunlit room.
Master Fox had sent apologies with his servants, claiming a bad night after his ordeal and subsequent oversleeping. John Ragge from his stables had represented both the Hall and the men of the Ragge family, his father being laid up and his brothers at work or possibly just skiving. Janet Criddle glowed in a front pew, sunlight catching in the strands of hair that escaped her church bonnet, and even if she let her daughter take her hand as the sermon turned to solidarity and the reminder of its necessity, Mrs. Criddle did not turn to look at Mrs. Durbin at all. Hester Collins had looked like she probably felt, her colour low and leaden, and Nell Babcock might not have slept, struggling to keep focus in her pew.
Maggie Yendale had actually attended, albeit unshod and sitting nearer the midwife than her kin (Levi Whitlock thought the former wonderful and mouthed 'ooo' at her as he half-dragged one of his currently-identical bumblefooted siblings towards the Hartman group). Oddly, Maggie had mostly sensed relief from many of those who had spared her a glance, especially Arnie Swanton. From the rest of the villagers there was a restlessness that the sermon, communion and liturgy gradually smoothed.
Doctor Lovelace had also seemed to be observing the way various people in the congregation took the words: when church let out he wended past those taking up offerings to the poor and waited out in the pleasant little churchyard for the Vicar to finish speaking with all who felt in need of him. Rooks wheeled overhead and occasionally brought in sticks from the countryside, and almost helped him forget his dreams.
Andrew had been a little worse for wear that morning, groggy with a slight pressure behind the temples that their household's pious half-fasting of a Sunday did not improve. Part-waking some time before it was time to get up, he'd almost thought a hare had folded her long limbs up on his chest whilst he was not quite awake enough to move and brought his injury to a warm pulse just short of pain with pressure. It was only the way he'd been lying, however. In the sober daylight it was hard to imagine the sense of connection there'd been from the night before.
Since his mother had asked him to stay put outside a moment for unexplained reasons, Andrew drifted over to the Doctor. An odd object caught his eye amongst the grass as he did so: perhaps a stray sunbleached piece of bone.
The Bees siblings had been fasting in a pious fashion due to yesterday's anxieties resulting in a lack of bread and Tom devouring the contents of the pottage-pot the evening before: Tom couldn't help but join the parish poor that day to curb the almost painful hunger gnawing at his middle. The Widow Sexton approached him moments after he got outside:
"Thomas? Would you go see Andrew for a moment?" she indicated the carpenter's whereabouts.
"I need to borrow your sister for a while this morning."
Lucy gave Tom a querying look, uncertain if she should go. A sweep of children ran past, yapping and squealing to be finally at liberty, free as the clouds.
Meanwhile, Sam had been sat beside Edwin Worthey on a hard pew that seemed to only encourage him to think unholy thoughts, since any distraction was preferable to noticing his backside being turned into a square. Emma had been pale-to-greenish throughout the more recent months of her pregnancy, but nonetheless seemed particularly porcelain-like and fragile after whatever weeping she'd done over her cousin's death.
After the service, Sam was outside and admiring Mrs. Dobble's slate-blue dress in a more distracted moment when Goodie Westcott came straight up and addressed him. Maggie Yendale at her side:
"Sam Hartman, there's some things afoot as you ought to know about. Step over to where the Doctor and the carpenter have put themselves, will ye?"
