Burnt Norton (21 page)

Molly had never feared hard work. Soon she was serving the customers, swilling the floors, lifting the barrels and falling into bed, only to get up the next day and do the same. Such drudgery paid only in exhaustion. She was too tired to think, too tired to remember, and that brought her a kind of peace.

She accepted abuse from Mrs Quick because she believed that she deserved it.

‘Where do you come from, landing on our step like a stray dog? I don’t know what my husband was thinking. I don’t trust stray dogs, you remember that.’

In the sixth week of her employment, while scrubbing the pantry shelves, the room began to spin. Putting out her hand to steady herself, she knocked the cream jug to the floor. She retched as the thick liquid spread over the stone slabs.

Mrs Quick was as good as her name. ‘What’s going on? I always knew you were trouble. Clear up this disgusting mess and get on with your work. Any slacking and you’re out. And if there is a baby in your belly, you can pack your belongings and be off.’

Molly wiped her mouth on her soiled pinafore. It had never occurred to her that she might be with child. In those precious hours with Thomas, she had taken no precautions.

Over the next few weeks she struggled to handle her workload. The nausea came regularly. It was difficult to escape the sharp eyes of her employer. In the twelfth week the sickness disappeared.

At night, lying on a straw mattress in the stuffy attic, she examined her options. When her belly became too noticeable she would have to leave. Though she longed for her mother, she could not return to the Charter House; her father would kill her before she reached the door. She faced a stark choice: either she could trust her child to the dubious care of the parish or she could enter the workhouse.

On a busy market day in late June when the public rooms were filled to capacity, Molly recognized one voice above all the others.

‘Girl! Table, near the door – hurry! Can’t you see I have baskets upon my arm?’

Molly turned, but it was too late.

‘Good Lord,’ said Mrs Wright, ‘if it isn’t Molly Johnson.’ She stood in front of her, her incisive eyes sweeping Molly’s body. ‘Have we outlived our master’s pleasure, or is there another reason? I think perhaps there is. Excuse me, miss, but I no longer need refreshment.’

She swept out triumphantly, and Molly felt her heart sink to the floor.

June 1741

Dorothy sat at her desk, gazing at the river. She imagined lying in one of the small boats, trailing her hand in the cool water, or strolling along the river bank amongst the parasols, picnics, and laughter. Instead she sat alone.

She was distracted from her self-pity by an insistent knock on the door. ‘Come in,’ she said, putting her untouched papers aside.

Mrs Wright entered. Sweat balled on her upper lip, and Dorothy could see that she was excited.

‘Yes, Mrs Wright?’

‘Forgive me, Miss Dorothy, but I have to impart news of extreme importance.’

‘Go on,’ she said impatiently, for she neither liked Mrs Wright and her affected speech, nor trusted her. ‘What is it that you have to say?’

‘Well, miss, I was doing the week’s purchase in the market. It was that busy in the centre, so I went to the stalls down by the river – Mr Higgs, to be precise, very good meat, very tender—’

‘Mrs Wright. Please get to the point.’

‘Sorry, miss. I stopped at a hostelry on my way home to obtain a glass of stout, not my usual route, you understand, and on entering the Black Swan, I ventured to a table. Before I had time to remove my bonnet, I recognized a certain person serving.’

‘Yes?’

‘It was none other than Molly Johnson. I was too distracted to stay, so I made my excuses and left.’

By the smirk on her face, Dorothy could see that Mrs Wright was saving the most salacious piece of information for last.

‘What else, Mrs Wright?’

‘She was pregnant, Miss Dorothy! Her belly was big with child.’

Dorothy’s stomach dropped. ‘Mrs Wright, you may go. You will keep this information to yourself. If I catch one member of this household gossiping, and it reaches my mother’s ears, I will hold you responsible. Is that understood?’

‘Of course, miss,’ she replied. ‘If that’s what you wish.’ From the frustration in her tone, it was obvious to Dorothy that she had denied Mrs Wright hours of pleasure.

She remained at her desk long after Mrs Wright had gone. The question hammered in her brain: who did the bastard child belong to, her father or her brother?

For two days Dorothy debated her course of action, and by the third morning she had decided. She dressed with care, putting on a lavender silk dress. Deciding it too frivolous, she took it off again, selecting a navy dress with a white lace collar and a small hat. These struck just the right note, for today she needed her clothes to reflect her authority. She hurried down the street, and because The College was only a short distance from the town centre, it took her just a few minutes to reach the Black Swan. She stopped outside, took a deep breath, walked up the steps and pushed open the door. It was ten o’clock and the parlour was still empty. A young girl polished the tables. ‘Can I help you, miss?’

‘Yes. Is Miss Johnson available?’

‘She’s in the kitchen, but I will fetch her for you.’

Minutes later Molly Johnson entered the room. She looked at Dorothy, and Dorothy had the pleasure of seeing her discomfort. The colour rose in Molly’s cheeks. Neither of them spoke.

‘So it is true,’ she said, eyeing Molly’s increased girth.

Molly’s eyes darted around the room and she gestured to a table in the corner. ‘Do you want to sit down, Miss Dorothy?’ she asked.

Dorothy sat down and nodded for Molly to join her. ‘Miss Johnson, I am not here to discuss particulars, but to offer you a solution to your predicament. Do you have private funds?’

‘No, Miss Dorothy,’ she replied, ‘I have nothing.’ Her eyes dropped sadly to her swollen waist, but Dorothy’s loathing far exceeded any feeling of charity.

‘Listen. I have a little money of my own and I am prepared to use it for the protection of my family. I will secure the safe delivery of this child in return for the assurance that you will never contact my brother or any of my family again.’

‘What are you suggesting?’

Dorothy outlined a plan, simple in itself, but one supported by a web of deceit. ‘A gentleman of my acquaintance, one Captain Thomas Coram, owes my mother a debt of gratitude. Some weeks ago, he opened his temporary foundling home in London, for unwanted and abandoned children. He is prepared to take your baby.’

‘I don’t want my child to go to a home.’

‘Do you have another option? If you do this, you will be giving your child a future. My mother, amongst others, campaigned tirelessly for Captain Coram. With their help his petition to the king was successful.’ Dorothy smoothed the wrinkles from her gloves. ‘At Captain Coram’s hospital, your child will be trained – for the army or the navy, if you have a boy, and domestic service if it’s a girl. Both are perfectly respectable professions.’

Molly shook her head. ‘I have no wish to give up my child.’

‘What will you do? With no money, you will go to the workhouse. Perhaps if you stay in Stratford, the parish will care for you. You and I both know what that means. Either way, your baby will have little or no chance of survival. What I am offering you is an opportunity for yourself and for your unborn child.’ Dorothy did not relish her moment as much as she had expected.

‘Does Lady Keyt know about this?’

Dorothy hesitated. ‘Of course,’ she replied. ‘She considers it the only wise and sensible option.’ It was only a small lie, but in her heart she knew her mother would not have condoned it. The child was, after all, a Keyt.

‘I can’t give up my baby.’

‘Very well then, you must take your chances.’

‘How can you ask this of me?’

‘Because I want you out of our lives. You have caused injury to my family. With that child in your arms, we will never be free of your demands.’ Molly opened her mouth to protest but Dorothy stopped her. ‘Let me continue,’ she said. ‘In order to secure your promise, a settlement of seventy-five pounds will be given to you once the baby is handed over to the Foundling Hospital.’

‘How will I know that my child will be safe?’

Dorothy thought back to John and the accident, and fought down a pang of sympathy for Molly. ‘How can we know anything in life? I can only assure you the baby will have a home; Captain Coram has given me his word.’

Molly did not respond, so Dorothy continued, ‘I will give you an allowance for your living expenses in London. I have five sovereigns in my purse, and a letter for the attention of my solicitor Mr Skarm. He will be your point of contact. He will pay you monthly, and after the infant is handed over, he will give you the final sum of money. I repeat, there will be no contact with my family.’ She rose, taking the purse from her pocket. ‘Will you take this opportunity or not, Miss Johnson?’

Molly nodded slowly. Dorothy’s victory gave her little satisfaction.

‘A final question: do you know the rightful parentage of this child?’

Molly looked at her defiantly. ‘It is your brother’s,’ she said, and Dorothy hated her once more.

As Dorothy vanished into the throng, Molly sat, defeated. She watched the tilt of Dorothy’s feathered hat and the assurance in her carriage. She had stood no chance.

Money, it seemed, could buy everything after all.

Despite her humiliation, Molly recognized that she had been thrown a lifeline. She would go to London. Her only contact with her previous life would be through an unknown solicitor. Wiping her eyes, she returned to her room to pack her meagre belongings.

‘Miss Johnson, what are you doing upstairs? Come down this instant and get back to work.’

Molly grabbed her bag and met Mrs Quick on the stairs. ‘Thank you for your generosity,’ she said, determined to act with dignity. ‘I am grateful; however, I have been offered a better position, and I am obliged to leave your service immediately.’

For a moment Mrs Quick was speechless, and Molly delighted in her small victory.

‘Be gone then, you ungrateful bitch. Get out before I throw you out.’

Late June 1741

Dorothy reached home, believing her objective accomplished, only to find two representatives had arrived from the bank to see her mother. When she joined them in the library, she realized regretfully that nothing was so simple.

‘I’m sorry, milady.’ The senior clerk cleared his throat as he addressed her mother. ‘This is most difficult. It seems that your husband has mortgaged and remortgaged The College in order to raise money on his new mansion. The equity has gone. Unless you are able to find alternative funding, The College will have to be sold.’

‘Sir, there must be some mistake?’ she asked.

‘I apologize, madam. There is no mistake.’

Lady Keyt’s hands flew to her throat. Dorothy remembered her making the same gesture just before the carriage accident, all those years ago. ‘How can this be?’ said Lady Keyt. ‘My son Thomas owns most of this property.’

‘I believe your son has signed his inheritance away,’ he replied.

Dorothy stepped in front of her mother. ‘Please leave, sirs,’ she demanded. ‘I need some time to speak with my mother.’ The men withdrew and she took her mother’s hand.

‘Oh, dear,’ Lady Keyt said at last. ‘My poor Dotty! What about your wedding?’

‘It’s not just my wedding. It’s everything: our home, our future.’ She paced the room. ‘Have you no money of your own, Mother? What about your savings and the various properties you own in Stratford? What about the Tracy inheritance?’

Lady Keyt shook her head helplessly. ‘I have never been very good with money; I suppose I never had to be. I’m not sure what I have.’

Over the next few days Thomas was called back from university. After assuring his mother that their downfall was not due to his actions, they then discovered the awful truth: Sir William had dishonestly squandered their fortune in order to pay for his folly. After meetings with financial advisors, Lady Keyt realized that her savings would not cover her husband’s debts, and any property she might have once owned had gone the way of everything else.

With sickening clarity, Dorothy understood that their new life in Stratford-upon-Avon was already nearing its end.

Her mother would suffer most. In six months’ time, Dorothy would be married and beginning a new life in Surrey. Her mother would be on her own, their home would be sold and her school would be closed. If Dorothy had any feelings of guilt over her treatment of Miss Johnson, the losses she suffered now far outweighed them.

Within days the house was put up for sale, and the agent made an appointment to see them. He told them of a distant relation, a certain James Kendall, a Member of Parliament and a gentleman of considerable wealth. He had apparently admired the property and was interested in buying it.

‘I have never heard of Mr Kendall,’ Lady Keyt replied. ‘He is no relation of mine, but he may be of my husband’s; however, if he must see our house, then so be it.’

For half an hour Mr Kendall walked through The College with strides of ownership and self-importance. Much against the wishes of Dorothy and her mother, he made and had his offer accepted. They were to move by the end of the following month

The thought of being near her father filled Dorothy with dismay, but it seemed Hidcote, a small manor on the Norton estate, was their only option. Again they packed up their lives.

Miss Byrne’s book remained Dorothy’s consolation. The imaginative stories still had the power to distract her, and she continued to lose herself in their magic. After she had read them, following the hand of her sister, she took up her pen.

July 1741

Shortly before one o’clock, the coach left the Swan’s Nest Inn in Stratford-upon-Avon.

Molly assessed the other occupants: a country parson and his plump wife, a governess in a black starched dress, and a young clerk.