Burnt Norton (11 page)

Dorothy laughed and glanced at Lorenzo.

‘Good afternoon, Miss Dorothy,’ he said, his gaze fixed upon her.

‘Good afternoon, Lorenzo,’ she replied.

Seeing Lizzie in the doorway, Thomas ran up the steps towards her.

‘Lizzie!’ he said, taking her hands. ‘How I have missed you.’

‘I have counted the days until your return,’ she said.

Finally he walked towards his mother. If the sight of her careworn face startled him, he did not show it. ‘Hello, Mama.’

‘Hello, my son. And what a fine young man you are.’ She put her hands either side of his face. ‘How proud I am.’

‘Where’s Father?’ Thomas said at last.

‘He’s in his study; he wanted us to let him know when you arrived,’ she lied. ‘I suggest you go to him.’

‘I’ll go now, before I change,’ he said, his disappointment obvious. ‘I hope we shall be dining together tonight?’

‘Of course, my darling, at thirty minutes past the hour, as usual.’

Dorothy walked with him to their father’s study. ‘You go in, Thomas. I’ll wait for you here.’

‘Thank you, Dotty, but please come in with me.’ He knocked and carefully opened the door.

‘Oh, it’s you,’ their father said gruffly.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘How was school? Have you learnt anything?’

‘I have learnt a great deal, sir.’

‘Well then, perhaps you should now finish your education at Oxford. You’re seventeen years old. It’s time you went.’

Her father’s words rekindled Dorothy’s resentment; her poor brother had only just arrived.

‘I would like to stay home for a while, if I may? I have spent so much time away from my sisters.’ A hint of sarcasm sharpened his tone.

‘Very well, but Oxford soon. Now forgive me, I have work to do.’

As they walked out along the passage, Thomas smiled wryly at his sister. ‘That was a jubilant welcome, was it not?’

Dorothy squeezed his arm. ‘I’m sorry.’

Molly hurried past, her head turned away from them. Dorothy dropped her hand from her brother’s arm.

‘Molly, is that you?’ Thomas asked, bewildered.

Molly turned around. ‘Hello, sir.’

‘It’s me, Master Thomas.’

‘Yes, I know, sir.’

‘Is that all you have to say?’

‘I don’t know what you mean. Should there be anything else? Forgive me, I have to go.’

Whitstone pushed through the servants’ door. ‘We appear to be going somewhere in a hurry, Miss Johnson. Anywhere in particular? Oh, Master Thomas. I’m sorry, I didn’t see you. I hope you have had a pleasant journey.’ It took the butler a moment to regain his composure.

‘Yes, thank you, Whitstone,’ Thomas replied. ‘I would like to bathe and change for dinner. Please, will you have the water brought up for me, and would you get Hawkins to put out my evening clothes?’

‘Of course, sir, immediately.’

When he had gone, Thomas caught up with his sister. ‘What’s going on? Why do I sense an atmosphere?’

‘I’m not aware of anything,’ Dorothy replied evasively.

While Thomas went to his room, she collected a coat and shawl and took refuge in the garden. She leant against the wall, letting tears of self-pity and frustration stream down her face. It seemed that even now, after well over two years of absence, her brother’s thoughts went first to Molly Johnson. She looked up as the back door opened.

Her father came outside dressed only in his shirtsleeves, his eyes like a madman’s. He grabbed an axe from the woodpile and disappeared towards the wild garden. Dorothy couldn’t help but follow.

Outside the white gate the woodland he had planted only two years before flourished. The fifty saplings had survived their first harsh winters, but they would not survive Sir William’s self-loathing. He lifted his axe and drove it into his precious trees. Dorothy watched in horror until he finally exhausted himself and sank to his knees amongst the ruin.

Dorothy tiptoed back through the gate until she was certain her father couldn’t hear her, and then she started to run. She didn’t stop until she reached the sanctuary of her bedroom.

Molly had longed and prayed for Thomas’s return, but now she hid in the shadows. When he came near her that evening, she tried to slink away, but he caught her arm.

‘Molly, you evade me. Come, and let us talk.’

‘No, sir, I have to go,’ she answered, aware of his new masculinity: the rich voice, the shadow on his chin.

‘You did not answer my letters. Don’t you care for me? Have I no hope?’

As she hurried away from him, she wondered what he meant. ‘What letters?’ she whispered. ‘There were no letters.’

That evening, Thomas joined Elizabeth and Dorothy on the half-landing. Elizabeth was wearing a white dress, her fair hair secured with combs. ‘You look beautiful, Lizzie.’

‘Thank you, Thomas.’ She pointed to her shadow moving on the wall behind her. ‘Can you see my shadow floating?’

‘I certainly can,’ he replied, kissing her forehead.

‘I think that when I die it will be like that. I shall be free at last.’

‘Don’t talk of death. You are still so young.’

‘Forgive me, Thomas. I don’t mean to be morbid. Please . . . tell us about your time at school. We have read your wonderful letters, but let us hear it from your lips.’ Thomas sat down, and with his arm around Elizabeth’s shoulders he told his sisters anecdotes about his days at Windsor. As they chatted in the candlelight the melancholy mood broke.

Elizabeth turned to her sister. ‘Dotty, please will you pass me Miss Byrne’s book? It’s there, on the window seat. I’d like to show Thomas my drawings. I believe they are passable.’

Thomas stood up and leant over her shoulder. ‘Look at John – such a likeness. That’s how I remember him.’

‘That’s exactly how I remember him too,’ Dorothy said.

Elizabeth clasped her sister’s hand. ‘Dotty, when I am gone, will you look after the book?’ She closed the cover, speaking quickly and earnestly. ‘It has become my life’s work. It’s the one thing I am proud of.’

‘Now, now. We have banished any sad thoughts.’

‘But listen. I have a request. If for any reason our family leaves this house, will you return the book to its original home? I’m convinced Miss Byrne would approve. I dream of it hidden beneath the floorboards, waiting to be found in hundreds of years from now.’

‘I give you my word,’ she replied.

Thomas kissed her on the forehead. ‘Come on,’ he said, lifting Elizabeth easily into his arms. ‘Let’s go to dinner.’

Dinner that night was a strange affair. The wine, the finest from Sir William’s cellar, was drunk liberally, and the footmen, dressed in their new livery of burgundy and gold, hovered respectfully, but it was not the celebration Lady Keyt had intended. Though Thomas’s coat of midnight-blue velvet with pearl buttons and lace cuffs drew admiring glances from Lady Keyt and Elizabeth, Dorothy alone wondered bitterly whether his elegant clothes were a mark of respect for his family, or an attempt to attract Miss Johnson’s eye. While Thomas watched his father warily, he wondered at Molly’s reticence. Sir William, wearing an embroidered coat of his grandfather’s, could only stare at his glass.

After white soup, followed by roasted duck, glazed carrots and potatoes, Thomas’s favourite trifle was produced with a flourish. As soon as his plate was cleared, Sir William brought the dinner to an abrupt end.

‘If you will excuse me,’ he said, his speech more than a little slurred, ‘I’m for bed. It seems I can’t contribute much to the conversation.’ He rose to his feet unsteadily, barking rudely at the footman who tried to help him.

Dorothy looked up, as if seeing her father for the first time that evening. She looked at the embroidered coat she had loved so much as a child.

‘Papa, why do the dragons on your coat have fire coming from their mouths?’ she had asked him many years before.

‘Because they have very bad breath.’ At the time she had laughed, but now as she watched him, she wondered what had happened to the man she had so loved. Part of her pitied her father, but she knew that she couldn’t help him. He insisted on self-destruction.

The rest of the family retired to the drawing room. Thomas lowered Lizzie onto the sofa, tucking a rug about her knees, and Dorothy settled into her favourite armchair. She wished this cosy tableau could be fixed in time. She sensed transience in the air and was afraid. She looked up at the armorial shield hanging above the fireplace, representing the union of the Keyts and the Coventrys. The three kites emblazoned on the blackened wood appeared ominous and threatening.

Shortly before eleven Thomas stood up. ‘If you will excuse me, it’s been a long day and I’m very tired.’

Dorothy, Lizzie and their mother remained in the drawing room. They played cards until they were distracted by Molly’s voice in the passage. ‘Take your hands off me, Mr Whitstone! I beg of you, leave me alone!’

‘You would have let me touch you once, but I’ve heard there are bigger birds in the sky, and you want a brace of them.’

They heard footsteps running, followed by Whitstone’s bitter words: ‘I’m sure Lady Keyt would be interested to know who has been warming her husband’s bed!’

Dorothy turned to see her mother’s cards drop from her hands, scattering on the floor beneath her. Lady Keyt picked up the bell and rang it fiercely.

Whitstone came in, his head bowed. ‘Forgive me, milady. I thought you had retired.’

‘No, Mr Whitstone, I have not retired. Would you be good enough to explain the meaning of your words?’ Her face was ashen in the candlelight.

‘They meant nothing, milady, absolutely nothing.’

‘Do not lie to me. If you don’t answer me truthfully, you will leave my employment tonight.’

Despite her distress, her mother kept her dignity. ‘Whitstone, you have thirty seconds.’

The butler shuffled his feet, cleared his throat and began. Elizabeth’s hands clutched the sofa, while Lady Keyt sat rigidly in her chair. Dorothy got up and stood in front of the fireplace, her eyes bright with fury, while he told them about Sir William’s infidelity and Miss Johnson’s betrayal.

‘She didn’t deny it,’ he said at last, his eyes darting from one member of the family to the other. ‘Mrs Wright confronted her with the bloodied sheet. I’m so sorry, milady.’ Dorothy noted the sweat on his forehead and hated him. This pathetic man had destroyed her mother’s fragile equilibrium.

‘Thank you, Whitstone, you may go,’ her mother said, quietly. ‘I think for your own safety you should leave the house. My husband has been drinking and I can’t answer for his actions.’ Dorothy noticed a small pulse at the corner of her mother’s eyes.

Lady Keyt stood and turned towards her daughters. ‘Lizzie, I’m truly sorry. We have all been deceived by Miss Johnson. Dorothy, please ask Mathews to carry Elizabeth to her room. Forgive me. I will see you in the morning.’

Elizabeth had pushed herself into the corner of the sofa, where she sat shivering uncontrollably. Dorothy went to her and held her tightly.

‘Oh, God,’ Elizabeth sobbed, ‘is there no end to this?’

Lady Keyt was not given to anger. Only under extreme provocation did she succumb to rage, as was the case on this particular night. After unpinning her hair in her bedroom and brushing it furiously for several minutes, she slammed down her silver brush and marched across the landing to her husband’s room, opening his door without knocking.

‘How could you do this to me, William? How could you betray me?’ She stopped in front of him, her eyes narrowed.

He looked up at her from his chair and felt afraid. He placed his glass of whisky on the table beside him. ‘Calm down, my dear. What are you talking about?’

‘No more lies. I’ve had enough of your lies. The servants know of your infidelity, and so do the children.’

‘You are mistaken. I have never been unfaithful to you.’ He stood up unsteadily, his nightcap askew on his head.

‘I know about Molly Johnson.’

‘What are you talking about? That is a ridiculous suggestion.’

‘Whitstone told me,’ she said flatly. ‘I beg of you, don’t belittle yourself further.’

William couldn’t breathe. He felt as if he was drowning. ‘Ann, you must believe me. The man is a servant, a cheap and common liar.’

‘Molly Johnson is also a servant, and yet you chose her above your wife. It’s too much. I’m leaving.’

William’s face crumpled. ‘I’m sorry. Please don’t leave me, I beg of you.’

‘It’s too late. I’ve put up with your black moods and your drinking. We’ve both suffered the same tragedy, but you have compounded it with your adultery.’

‘Forgive me, Ann. Please. I can’t live without you.’

‘I cannot. I have had more than I can bear. I don’t want any more lies and misery. Elizabeth and Dorothy have seen enough. I will take them to The College, if that is acceptable to you.’

‘Ann, please don’t do this. I swear to you, it will never happen again. Please give me one more chance.’

‘You have shared your life with me, and yet you have taken her to your bed without a care for my feelings. Tell me, why should I give you another chance?’

William was quiet. He turned from her, and with his hands gripping the mantelpiece he lowered his head until his forehead rested on the cold marble. When he spoke, it was with the pain and uncertainty of a lost man. ‘Since the accident, you have denied me your body and your bed. You have given your love to the children but not to your own husband.’

The truth of his observation cut Ann, and she moved towards him, her anger turning to regret, but she stopped herself and pushed her hands deep into the pockets of her silk dressing gown. She had dealt with too much to feel capable of starting over again.

William looked at his wife. ‘I will not allow you to leave,’ he said, his voice rising. ‘You are my wife. It is your duty to stay. You are the only woman I have ever loved. I beg you to reconsider.’

Ann looked at the broken man before her, the man she had once loved so passionately, and turned sadly.

‘I’m sorry, my dear,’ she said, her own heart breaking.

Dorothy remained by the fire long after her sister had gone to bed, staring into the fading embers. She now understood Mrs Wright’s excitement, the hushed gossip and furtive looks. She stretched out on the sofa, burying her face in the pillows, but she could not blot out the repulsive images. Her wrath turned solely on Molly. Her father’s destruction of his trees told her all she needed to know: her father could not live with his transgression; he was obviously remorseful. But Molly was far from repentant.