Bethlem stood outside the city walls of London but yet inside the barriers of the city boundaries alongs't the highway which joined to the Great North Road running southwards to London Bridge with Moorfields Marsh standing to the west.
A dumping ground for the mindless unfortunates to which the Lord had turned away His Almighty Blind Eye, its sole function was to contain the distracted, the soul sick, the curable and incurable, the raving lunatic and the delicate melancholy, the hapless idiot and, in mine own case, those deemed criminally insane.
The annual charge requested of families, who in their vain attempt to contain within proper social structure such loved ones tormented of mind and soul were driven near witless themselves, was one pound 6 shillings 8 pence-the cost of a pair of fine silk brocade breeches, A paltry sum or King's ransom depending on your situation in life coupled with your desire for a twelve month free of stress and trepidation as one attempted to harbor a raving lunatic within the confines of ones home. Lunatics, it seems, being a notoriously overactive and unruly lot.
No sum though could be paid to ease guilt. Although I'm certain if one could be designed the Court of Aldermen would have gladly snatched it up. There arose then at this juncture the question of who would pay my due. As my luck would be I needn't have feared for a benefactor.
With much pomp and cock-sure circumstance Master Ian Terwilliger stepped forward on his tiny feet, leaving a faint smell of the privy house in the wake of his bulk. With a great deal of ceremony he dropped, one by one, coins equaling the exact amount of my Bethlem upkeep upon the dark, polished oak of the hearing judge's desk. The final coin spun endlessly it seemed afore coming to rest, mesmerizing the crowd desirous of yet another dramatic turn.
"'Twill be mine own pleasure to fund the poor, daft lass's debt, for 'tis obvious the pathetic wretch hath suffered a leaving of the senses and be no in her right mind. Ne'er let it be said that Master Ian Terwilliger turn his back on the helping of a-ahem-maid in need."
"In fact," here he turned to meet mine eyes and send me a pointed look. "In fact, I shall see to her care at Bethlem," here he paused, "personally."
He then turned to the assembled. "To show no hard feelings, of course."
I let my body go limp just long enough to put the Sheriff's man, who, sweating throughout with nerves and the intimate closeness of a lunatic female, had not only restrained me with wrist shackles behind my back but had kept a death clutch upon my arm as well, off his guard. And then, with a Bean Sidhe battle cry and the determination of the insane, barreled through the crowd and straight into Ian Terwilliger knocking him on his stinking back for the second time in a day. My fate had been sealed. Twould have made little sense to neglect a perfectly decent opportunity. Being insane, I was coming to know, had its distinct advantages.
