Burnt Norton (26 page)

I can’t imagine why Papa employed you; you’re hardly old enough to be a lady’s maid.

She remembered Elizabeth:
Dorothy, be polite to poor Miss Johnson. We must make her welcome in our home.

As they entered the ruins, voices and memories reverberated around her.

Molly, what do think? Do you like bronze silk for the curtains, or red damask?

We have to do the menus. I wish it to be the most memorable evening ever.

My radiant girl, would you dance with me?

‘Ruth,’ Molly cried at last, ‘everything that I have touched has broken. I gave my son away, sold him for money. He’s growing up without his mother, without even knowing his real name, and I pay for it every day.’ They sat on the wall, the tangle of ivy softening the crumbling masonry, and Ruth heard her story. She heard about Mrs Quick, and about Molly’s agreement with Dorothy; she heard about the Hogarth sisters, who sent occasional reports of her son, and of her dreams of reclaiming him.

‘Lawd,’ she said at last, ‘it’s not that bad. We all make mistakes and you’ve made yours. You can make it up to your lad; you gave him away with the best intentions. Now you can get him back.’

On 1 May 1750, Handel’s sacred oratorio
Messiah
was performed at the Foundling Hospital. It was a great success, raising a large sum of money, and after donating an organ to the new chapel, Handel was elected a governor of the hospital. Thomas attended the presentation and had the opportunity to approach the famous composer with his request.

Darling Dotty,

In haste,

Handel has agreed. He will come to Norton next summer with his choristers. I am elated beyond words. Please, will you ask Gilbert if he can spare his wife for a few weeks? He’s probably busy on the estate, but I hope that he will join us eventually too. I will of course expect my nieces and nephew.

Always

Your devoted brother,

Thomas

Shortly after receiving this, Dorothy wrote a letter to the Foundling Hospital.

Dear Sir,

The Foundling Hospital choristers are performing the
Messiah
at Norton, my brother’s house in Gloucestershire, next summer. I have an interest in a particular child, the son of a Miss Molly Johnson. I would be most grateful for the following information. Will this boy be amongst the choristers, and what is his name? Any information will be treated in confidence.

Please could you send your reply to my solicitor in London? I enclose the details.

Two weeks later, Dorothy received the answers to her questions. The child would be performing, and his name was Charles Coram.

When Dorothy left Surrey with her children, Gilbert wished them well and waved goodbye as the carriage swept them away. She smiled, for he was a good man. He knew nothing of the anxiety she felt, heading back to Norton for her brother’s concert. How could he? He knew nothing of her.

Dorothy persuaded her mother to spare Annie from Hidcote to supervise the cleaning and to look after the house when the choristers arrived. Under her direction, Norton awoke from its long sleep. The house was scrubbed, the rooms were aired, and the furniture was polished until it shone. Dorothy hired local men to cut back the neglected gardens, and the ruined mansion rang once more with the sounds of life.

In late July, Handel arrived with his musicians and thirteen foundlings. The coaches entered under the archway, and as the foundlings piled out, George Heron and his staff formed a welcoming party. Thomas escorted the blind Mr Handel as Dorothy watched uneasily from the steps.

Children of various shapes and sizes filed towards her. She wondered if she would recognize her nephew.

One young boy lingered behind the rest. When he looked up he saw a woman standing at the front door. Though her hair was dark, she had the same blue eyes and the same bearing as Sir Thomas. He met her glance and approached her. ‘Hello. You must be Sir Thomas’s sister?’ he asked.

Something struck a chord: the delicate face, the curly hair. ‘I am,’ Dorothy replied. She took a deep breath before asking the question to which she already knew the answer: ‘And what is your name, young man?’

‘Charles Coram,’ he said proudly.

As the concert approached Dorothy struggled with her conscience. The time had come to tell her brother, but she could not.

On the night before the performance, everyone gathered informally in the drawing room. They had finished supper and the choristers, tired but happy, were sprawled on the floor playing cards and chequers. The adults sat on chairs grouped around the large room, sampling the last of Sir William’s port. Everyone stopped talking when Thomas stood up and cleared his throat.

‘Mr Handel, friends,’ he said, his voice filling with emotion. ‘Thank you for coming. This is a very special occasion; it marks the end of an era, and I can think of no better way to say goodbye to my family home. The last few days can be counted amongst my happiest. Norton needs life, and nothing brings more life than these delightful children. It has been a joy to have you all here. You have rejuvenated this old house with your singing, and for that I thank you. I also wish to welcome Sir Dudley Ryder to his future home. You have been most generous, sir, in your contribution to our festival, and I hope that you will be as happy here as we have been.’

All eyes turned towards Sir Dudley, who rose and bowed, to warm applause.

July 1751

Molly and Ruth wore cloaks to disguise themselves as they took the wooded path through to Norton. ‘I feel like a child,’ Ruth laughed. Molly looked anxiously at her. ‘Thank you for agreeing to come with me. I wouldn’t have been brave enough to sneak in on my own.’

They slipped through the gate, and running through the yew trees they reached the temple. Molly stopped at the entrance. Elizabeth’s statue remained, but the stone had aged and was covered with lichen. ‘Hello, Elizabeth,’ she whispered.

She touched the stone columns, remembering her night with Thomas. In the shade of these trees, unseen by the one hundred and fifty guests who stood on the lawn drinking champagne, they could see the theatre. Chairs were arranged in a semicircle, and a stage had been constructed behind the round pool. The lime trees planted by Sir William had grown to form a proscenium arch.

‘Though I admit to financial folly, I believe future generations will thank me for this theatre,’
he had said, and at last Molly saw wisdom in his words.

The orchestra arrived. They filed into their places, followed by the audience and family members. Dorothy led Mr Handel, and Thomas led a small band of choristers onto the stage.

Seeing him, Molly shrank back against the pillar. Thomas had changed; his jawline was the same, and his hair still curled over his collar, but he looked significantly older and worn. She glanced at the choristers, sweet boys with black cassocks and white ruffs, but her eyes returned to the man she still loved. Watching him now, she realized the intervening years had done nothing to lessen her feelings.

When he went to the podium and lifted his hand, the crowd fell silent.

‘Mr Handel, I thank you,’ Thomas said, ‘for coming to give us this performance. I am honoured to be your host, for it has a purpose beyond the music – it is also to honour the children who will sing to you tonight. May I ask you to raise your glasses to Mr George Frideric Handel, to the orchestra and to the choir of the Foundling Hospital? I also raise my glass to Captain Thomas Coram, whose benevolence and perseverance helped each and every one of these young people. Though he is recently dead, his legacy lives on.’

Molly would have fallen, but Ruth caught her. ‘It’s the foundlings!’ she gasped. ‘My son must be amongst them. You didn’t tell me they would be here.’

Ruth held onto her friend’s arm. ‘I didn’t know, but we ought to go, Molly. No good can come of this.’

‘Ruth, I must see him.’

Scanning the faces in the choir, she grabbed Ruth’s sleeve. ‘I think that’s him,’ she hissed. ‘It is him, I’m sure of it.’ She leant forwards against a tree, her eyes now fixed on the small boy in the black cassock. The music that filled the theatre made only a distant hum in her ears. Her focus was on one child, a boy with unruly curls and restless hands so like her own. She could see both Thomas and Elizabeth in the fragile face. Molly knew Elizabeth would have loved her nephew and would have forgiven her friend.

When the boy stepped forward, and all eyes were upon him, he stood alone, his sweet voice soaring through the trees. Molly moved towards him automatically. Ruth pulled her back.

When the glorification of Christ was over and the voices were stilled, Thomas stood on the podium once more. When he toasted the choristers, each child came forward. As he named them, Molly held her breath. Her instinct had been correct; the child was Charles Coram. He was her son.

‘Come away now, Molly,’ Ruth said anxiously.

‘You go, I must stay.’

‘Don’t you embarrass yourself, and don’t do anything hasty. You have plenty of time to put things right.’

‘I promise you,’ she replied.

When Ruth left, Molly remained in the shadows. She wanted to go to Thomas, to reveal the identity of their son, but Ruth was right, she should wait. For the moment she was happy enough to watch Thomas unobserved, and to gaze adoringly at her son. Next week she would go to London and claim Charles. Then she would tell Thomas, be damned the consequences.

Thomas moved amongst the crowd. He talked to Mr Handel; he helped his mother from her chair. Molly noticed his solicitude towards the elderly, and his easy manner with the guests, but then he stopped at their child. He patted Charles’s small thin shoulder, knelt beside him and took his hand. He pulled something from his pocket. It was a small wrapped gift. Molly watched the child tear the paper and saw the adulation on the boy’s face.

‘Thomas knows!’ she gasped. ‘He has known all along.’

Drawing the hood of her cloak over her face she ran towards them. She was halfway across the lawn when she stopped. If she confronted Thomas now, her son would be present. It was no way to meet his mother. The poor child had suffered enough. No, she would go home tonight, but by God Thomas would hear from her tomorrow.

How could he deceive me? she thought, running back through the woods, her skirt catching on the trees, her hair escaping its pins. ‘How could he make me give up my child?’

Had Molly waited, she would have realized that the present was in fact given to Charles in recognition of his solo, and that every soloist received the same gift. But flushed in renewed passions she did not wait. Arriving at her cottage she grabbed pen and paper, and she began to write. They were harsh, angry words.

Dear Thomas,

I may have sinned, but yours is the greater. Was it a game, your sister’s plan to betray me, or was it your idea? You are a vile coward; you have ruined my life and your son’s, for every child should have a mother. The years spent preparing to collect him from the Foundling Hospital have now been in vain. You are a hypocrite and a liar, and I despise you both.

Molly

Her mother had always told Molly to sleep on her stronger impulses. ‘Sleep on it, my love, for in the morning you will sing from a different sheet.’

But Molly didn’t sleep, for she didn’t go to bed; she sat up with her letter, waiting for the day to break, and when the milk carts rattled down the street, she gave the letter to the farmer’s boy. ‘Please deliver this letter to the big house; there’s a penny in it for you.’

Molly Johnson had cast her die.

‘There were shepherds, abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night, and lo the angel of the Lord came upon them.’ The child’s voice was pure in the still evening air. The audience leant forward, listening intently, but Dorothy felt only shame. Despite every challenge of his birth, the boy before her, in voice and appearance, was a Keyt.

Slipping away amidst the clapping and the cheering, she fetched her horse and galloped along the drive towards Hidcote. Throwing the reins at the groom, she jumped down and ran into the house. She pulled off her gloves, threw them on the settle, and ran upstairs to the long gallery. Her boots clattered on the wooden boards. She looked up at the portraits of generations of the Keyt family and burnt with shame. She had dishonoured the family, and now she felt her ancestors look down upon her with surprise and disapproval.

She quickly left the room, swearing that she would tell Thomas tomorrow.

The following morning, Dorothy returned to Burnt Norton.

‘Good day, my lady,’ Annie said. ‘You’re up early. Can I get you anything?’

‘No, Annie, thank you. I’ll wait until breakfast.’ She noted an envelope in Annie’s hand and thought it must be from Gilbert. ‘Is that letter for me?’

‘No, my lady, the letter is for Sir Thomas.’

‘Give it to me, Annie, and I’ll make sure that he gets it. Are my children still asleep?’

‘They are. They were up half the night with the foundlings. They seem to like that young Coram lad.’

‘Thank you, Annie,’ she replied tersely.

When the housemaid had gone, she put the letter on the breakfast table beside her brother’s place. She picked up a book and tried to read, but then looked at the letter again. Apprehensively she broke the seal and read Molly’s letter.

Panic gripped her. Running to the study she sat at her father’s desk, and with his pen, she wrote to the Foundling Hospital.

Dear Sir,

I am aware that Charles Coram will be enlisted as an ordinary seaman in Her Majesty’s Navy in two years’ time. My brother and I, as a gesture of goodwill, would like to give a financial incentive so that he may be enrolled immediately as captain’s servant, thus giving him the best possible chance to rise within the ranks.

Enclosed is a sum that I hope will more than suffice.