Burnt Norton (19 page)

Molly looked away, tears springing to her eyes. ‘So you knew?’ she said at last.

‘Not at first, though I had my suspicions. But after Mama and Dotty had left, and Papa and I were on our own together, he told me everything. He was so ashamed, and though I did not make it easy for him, I said that one day, hopefully, you would forgive him.’

‘Thank you for telling me. I’m glad you know the truth. I would never deliberately hurt you, or your mother, you know.’

‘I do, Molly, and you were shamefully wronged. I hope you will forgive us all.’

‘You, my dear, have given me only happiness, and your father . . . well, I forgave him a long time ago.’

As summer receded they retreated indoors. Elizabeth kept Miss Byrne’s book beside her at all times and wrote continuously. One autumn afternoon, while the rain lashed at the windows, Elizabeth gasped and dropped her pen to the floor.

Molly sprang to her side. ‘Elizabeth, what’s wrong? What can I do?’ She followed her gaze into the desolate windswept garden.

‘I have just seen the boy again; he was outside the window, but he’s disappeared.’ When Molly looked confused, Elizabeth smiled sadly. ‘I’m sorry, dearest, of course you don’t know about the boy.’ Molly remained silent while Elizabeth explained. ‘I am not sure if he is real, or a figment of my imagination,’ she said finally, ‘but I believe he’s calling me. I think my time must be coming and he wishes to set me free.’

Molly put her arms around her friend and held her gently.

In mid-October Elizabeth caught a chill; to keep her spirits up, Sir William commissioned the building of the clock tower.

‘William, are you mad?’ Molly asked, filled with frustration. ‘The money is gone.’

‘If I wish to indulge my daughter, I shall do so. You would do well to be silent.’

‘Do you think this will help her? All she wants is peace. Don’t you see, my love, nothing short of a miracle will save her now?’

‘For months you have done nothing but nag me. Get out of my sight. I am no longer your love.’

And so Molly devoted herself to Elizabeth. She remained at her bedside and did everything she could to amuse her.

Meanwhile, William turned to God.

‘Take my own life,’ he prayed, ‘but spare my innocent daughter. I am guilty of every crime, but she has done nothing – nothing at all.’

The building of the clock tower continued.

Elizabeth managed to sit in the window for the unveiling. While William and the servants gathered in the courtyard below, the new bell rang its first peal. The servants clapped and turned towards her, and Elizabeth smiled, raising her arm to wave. Even this small gesture exhausted her, and Molly helped her back to bed.

‘Molly,’ she whispered, ‘Papa has tried so hard to make up for my disabilities. I know he has indulged me, and if I’m honest, I have also been a little carried away. But it’s all right, isn’t it?’

‘Of course,’ she said, squeezing her hand. ‘Your father is a very rich man.’

But as Elizabeth’s health declined, so did Molly’s relationship with William. He was convinced that the Lord’s judgement was upon them and he turned against her. ‘It’s over. We are being punished. We must repent. Now dry your eyes, for your tears mean nothing.’

‘Please don’t shut me out,’ Molly begged, throwing her arms around him. ‘Please don’t do this.’

He pushed her away. ‘You should know that Lady Keyt, Dorothy and Thomas will be arriving this afternoon. They will stay in their old bedrooms. I think it unlikely that they will wish to see you. I will move into the east wing, but you may remain here if you wish.’

This new coldness astounded Molly; his rejection of everything they had shared. In the eyes of God, and the world, she would always be the mistress, never the wife.

Still, she stayed at Norton, for she could not leave Elizabeth.

As the carriage turned into the Norton drive, Lady Keyt caught hold of her daughter’s hand. Her normally stoic grey eyes were filled with panic.

‘I left here thinking I would never return, and now my choice has been taken from me. I have to be with Elizabeth.’

‘Of course you do,’ Dorothy said, knowing how much it had cost her mother to return to Norton, even if it was only for a short while. ‘We will stay in the old house. Father will be in his new mansion; so don’t worry, it’s not as if his sleeping quarters are near our own. We’ll go home just as soon as Lizzie is better.’

Lady Keyt said nothing and looked out of the window. As they neared the archway, she saw the upper windows of the new mansion rising well above the roof line of her former home. She drew in her breath, noticing the statues and the clock tower with the blue face and gilded hands. ‘So much extravagance,’ she whispered, wondering at the influence of her former lady’s maid.

When the coach drew to a halt, she summoned her courage and stepped down. ‘Please God, let this have a happy outcome,’ she prayed.

At the arrival of her family, Elizabeth rallied. She started plans for their Christmas celebration, but they were abandoned as her temperature rose and her lungs filled with fluid. Sitting by her sister’s bed, holding her hot hand, Dorothy heard the ominous rattle in her chest.

Elizabeth’s dark lashes fluttered over her sallow skin, and for a moment she opened her eyes. ‘Dotty, you will be all right.’

‘What do you mean, Lizzie?’ Dorothy leant towards her, straining to hear.

‘You know, my darling. When I am gone.’

‘But you are not going to die. I have prayed so hard, I know God will spare you. You will be well.’

Dorothy laid her head upon her sister’s chest and Elizabeth stroked her hair. ‘God is not a magician. My time has come and you must let me go. But you will never be on your own. God will always be at your side.’

‘I will make you proud of me, Lizzie,’ she said. ‘I will be a better person, I promise you.’

‘I am proud of you already,’ she answered. ‘How could I not be?’

Dorothy sobbed thick tears full of pain and regret.

Christmas was a dismal affair. Sir William stalked the house, his face unshaven, reminding Dorothy of the last time their house had been in mourning. Lady Keyt remained with her daughter.

Thomas and Dorothy clung together, buoying each other in the uncertain waters.

Molly Johnson remained unseen.

‘My relationship with Miss Johnson is over,’ Sir William swore to his family. ‘I have sinned and now we are paying the price.’

‘William, don’t berate yourself; Elizabeth’s illness has nothing to do with you. Pray for her, but don’t sully her with your guilt,’ Lady Keyt replied, and though Dorothy wanted to feel triumphant, somehow she did not.

Five days later, whilst Dorothy sat with her sister, Elizabeth squeezed her hand.

‘Dotty, be nice to Molly when I’m gone. Promise me.’

Dorothy looked into the face of her dying sister, and could not deny her.

‘Now, please, would you fetch Thomas?’

Running down the stairs, she found him in the library. ‘Thomas, come quickly. Lizzie’s asking for you.’

They entered the room, dark now, the curtains drawn against the light. Letitia lay on the bed, held close in Elizabeth’s arms. ‘Thomas, come here,’ she whispered. ‘I have little time left.’

‘Don’t say that. It’s not true, is it?’

Dorothy turned away.

‘This is not the moment for pretence, my dear brother,’ she said gently. ‘I’m going soon, and our parting must be honest and true. I’m not afraid, for soon I shall be with John.’

‘But what will I do without you?’ Thomas said, his voice quivering.

Elizabeth coughed, and then whispered urgently, ‘Please call Mama and Papa. And I want to see Molly before I go. Thomas, will you get her?’

Dorothy ran from the room with a breaking heart. She found her father in his bedroom.

‘You had better come quickly; Lizzie wants you.’ They hurried back down the corridor. He sank to the floor beside the bed, the snake ring coiled around his finger. Dorothy stared at its ruby eye with suspicion – sometimes she believed it was evil.

‘Lizzie, my darling girl, please do not leave me. I will do anything. Please don’t die.’

‘Hush, Papa,’ she whispered. ‘Have no fear, for I am not afraid. You have been the best father that I could have wished for. My only wish is that you will be strong and brave, and help me to the other side.’

She fell back onto to the pillow, lost for breath, and Dorothy left them, running down the stairs, running from the fear of losing her sister.

‘Mama!’ she screamed hysterically. ‘What are you doing? Your daughter is dying!’

Her mother stood in the corridor. ‘May God help me,’ she replied, her face blanched, her hand fingering the cross at her neck. ‘Please, God, give me the strength.’

Elizabeth’s family gathered about her. Her passing, like her nature, was gentle. At just before three o’clock she last opened her eyes. ‘The joy of parting is knowing that I will see you again,’ she whispered as she sank against the pillows. She sighed, and the tension left her body.

Lady Keyt crossed herself and closed Elizabeth’s eyelids for the last time. ‘My beautiful child,’ she moaned, rocking to and fro. Thomas fled the room, banging the door behind him, while Dorothy put her cheek against her sister’s silent chest and wept.

When Sir William lifted his head, his eyes were dull and uncomprehending. ‘Molly will make her better,’ he said.

Appalled by her father, Dorothy ran from the room. As she opened the door to the gardens, the harsh wind knocked the breath from her, but she had to find her brother.

‘Thomas!’ she cried. ‘Where are you?’ She ran through the rose garden, under the archway, towards the wild garden. Then she heard his voice.

‘Forgive me, Molly, but she’s gone. Elizabeth died.’

She saw her then, Molly’s arms beating upon her brother’s chest.

‘You didn’t call me! I didn’t get to say goodbye!’

‘Forgive me, Molly. Please forgive me.’ His lips were buried in her hair; his hands squeezed her shoulders. Dorothy stared, mesmerized at the tableau before her, and as Molly raised her face to Thomas’s she turned up the stony path.

As she ran towards the gate, she tripped. She fell to the ground and let out a wail of rage and jealousy, her promise to her sister quite forgotten.

They buried Elizabeth during a blizzard, two days before Dorothy’s twenty-second birthday.

White flakes settled on the coffin, obscuring her sister’s name.

‘Do something,’ Lady Keyt said, frantically brushing the lid. ‘It will cover the coffin.’

‘Leave it, Mama.’ Thomas took her hand. ‘Lizzie won’t mind; you know how she loved the snow.’

Lady Keyt sank against his chest and sobbed.

Dorothy hid her face in her shawl. She thought of her sister, flawless in death. At the service’s end she placed a white Christmas rose upon the lid of the coffin. ‘Goodbye, my darling. May you be free at last.’

The snow fell heavily, swirling around the gravestones until Dorothy could hardly see. She was aware of her family walking out of the church – her father, her brother, her poor mother who had lost three children – and yet she felt separate from their grief. She remembered only the circle of lilies and the white organza dress; she remembered only the coldness of her sister’s hands.

Dorothy thought she glimpsed Molly Johnson at the lych-gate, a dark figure swathed in a cloak, but when she looked again she saw only white.

After the funeral, while the rest of the family returned to the new mansion, Dorothy retreated to her old home. She found Letitia, cowering by her sister’s chair. She looked up at her mournfully, and as Dorothy ran her hands through the dull coat, she felt the tiny bones protruding from her back.

‘Poor little dog,’ she whispered. ‘You miss her as much as we do.’ Miss Byrne’s book lay upon the table. Picking it up, she remembered the last lines from her favourite sonnet:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this and this gives life to thee.
Her sister would live on through this book.

She sat down in her chair and joined Elizabeth on her journey; she learnt of her pride in the new house, and of the love that had grown for her father. She learnt of her forgiveness of his mistress, and the friendship that had grown between them. She took Dorothy into the world of her imagination, the boy in the garden, his short hair and outlandish clothes. She recorded finally her desire for peace. ‘God will take me soon, and I will be in his garden for ever.’

In front of Dorothy were her sister’s fears and her triumphs, her suffering and her pleasures, and as dusk fell and the shadows lengthened, she felt her sister’s life surround her.

When she could no longer see, Dorothy lit a candle and took up her pen. She resolved to continue Lizzie’s work, and with a trembling hand she began to write.

Dorothy was putting on her bonnet, getting ready to go back to Stratford, when she heard a woman’s sobs coming from Elizabeth’s bedroom. She opened the door anxiously, expecting to see her mother, but Ruth stood there, a ragged sketchbook clasped against her chest.

The curtains had been thrown open, and sunlight shafted through the windows. A little vase of flowers was on the table by her bed, and the room smelt fresh and clean. Miss Johnson had found a way of showing her respects.

‘What’s happened, Ruth? Whatever it is, it is best to tell me. I won’t be cross.’

‘Nothing’s happened, miss. She wanted me to burn it. But I just can’t, it wouldn’t be right.’

‘Who wanted you to burn what?’

‘Miss Elizabeth. Her sketchbook – I couldn’t do it.’ She passed the worn book to Dorothy. ‘She gave it to me just before she died. She told me not to look at it and just to burn it, so I haven’t, but I simply couldn’t destroy it.’

‘Thank you, Ruth. I’d like to be on my own for a moment, if you wouldn’t mind.’

Ruth wiped her eyes and nodded. When she had shut the door behind her, Dorothy turned the book over in her hands. She recognized it; she had seen her sister working in it, even if she had not seen the results. She opened the cover and recoiled. Nothing could have prepared her: in the tattered pages, with the stark brutality of a nightmare, were her sister’s private sketches.