After her little speech they laughed, and Molly felt confident that she could deal with anything.
‘I’ll be a real friend now,’ Ruth said on her way out. ‘And if it happens again, I won’t run out on you like the last time.’
‘Thank you, but God willing, it will never, ever happen again.’
Despite her worsening health Elizabeth seemed at peace. She had taken control of the household with her mother’s grace. But in her dealings with Molly, Elizabeth remained tentative and formal.
‘Miss Johnson, are your parents well, and your brother Will?’
‘Miss Johnson, I would be extremely grateful if you could darn a small tear in my blue petticoat.’
A bout of grippe forced them past their formality. When Molly found Elizabeth’s nurse also coughing and wheezing, she banished her from the sickroom and took over herself. For five days she tended to Elizabeth’s every need. She changed the linen, washed her feverish body and prepared her food. She also banished Sir William.
‘I’m sorry, sir, but she must remain quiet and on her own.’ He complied reluctantly, but she noted new respect in his eyes.
When Elizabeth regained her health, their former friendship resumed. One day Elizabeth put down her needlework. ‘Molly, I wish to ask you something.’
Molly looked up from her own sewing. ‘Yes, Miss Elizabeth?’
‘Did you hate coming back here? Were you coerced, or was it of your own free will?’
Molly was not sure how she should reply, but within certain parameters she could be truthful. ‘It wasn’t my choice, miss; it was my mother who persuaded me. She said that there was no future for me at home. It’s true, I don’t want to spend my life emptying the slops. Then of course there were the letters; Will read them to me, and yours was very persuasive, but when Sir William said you needed me, I couldn’t say no.’
Elizabeth smiled gently.
‘Of course I needed you,’ she replied.
After her sickroom ministrations, Sir William treated Molly with more consideration. He remembered the day when his daughter had suggested Molly should return.
‘Would you like her to, Lizzie?’ he had asked, choosing his words carefully. ‘I am not sure she’ll want to come.’
‘Yes, Papa, I would love her to return.’
‘How do we persuade her that I’m a changed man?’
‘You write to her, and I shall write a separate letter. In that way I can assure her of our good intentions. I will of course tell her that she must come only if she wants to. We would never want her to return against her will.’
‘You have it all worked out, don’t you?’ he said, smiling at his daughter.
To Molly’s surprise, Sir William acted with a degree of uncertainty in her presence. He made no further advances, and gradually she began to relax and even enjoy his company. He had stopped drinking, and Molly could only be touched by the concern he showed for his daughter.
‘Lizzie darling, I will fetch a rug for your knees.’
‘Lizzie, can I carry you into the garden?’
These small gestures made her regard him in a new light. She would never be able to forgive him, but she managed to push the unspeakable incident to the back of her mind.
One evening, as she piled Elizabeth’s thick hair on top of her head in preparation for supper, Elizabeth touched her arm.
‘Molly dear, I know you have dresses from Mama, but would you be offended if I added one to your collection? As you can see, I have lost a little weight and the aqua gown with the cream trim is far too big. I think it will suit you.’
Molly could hardly refuse.
Shortly afterwards she was invited to dine.
‘Molly, would you be embarrassed to join my father and me for supper? I understand if you would prefer to be with Annie and Ruth, but I find myself missing your delightful company.’
Unable to turn down such a sweet and thoughtfully worded request, Molly was more than happy to join them.
That night, dressed in aquamarine silk with cream lace ruffles that cascaded to her elbow, she joined Elizabeth and Sir William in the dining room. Tapered candles burnt in the silver candelabra and venison was served on crested platters. As she sat amongst the velvet hangings, Mr Heron, deferential and inscrutable, poured wine into her etched glass goblet. She couldn’t help but smile: if only her father could see her now.
Thomas returned to Norton infrequently, his studies at Oxford taking up most of his time. When he did come to see Elizabeth, Molly remained out of sight.
Very occasionally he dined with his father, but according to Ruth, ‘You could cut the atmosphere with a knife, so you could.’
When Thomas had left, Molly would stand at the same attic window where she had stood once before. For a while she would dream the same dreams, but then she would shake her head and turn away.
27
Elizabeth looked across the fields. ‘Do you see up there on the hill? There is evidence of a Roman settlement. I used to love going there.’ She shrugged. ‘I’ll ask Father to show you where they found the ring.’
Molly was intrigued. While she would not have chosen an expedition with Sir William, when he asked her she couldn’t bring herself to say no. It was fixed for the following week and, despite herself, she looked forward to it.
In the meantime, she was learning to read.
Elizabeth drew the familiar characters in her notebook and called Molly over. ‘The alphabet is made up of twenty-six letters, and you must learn them all.’
Molly practised and repeated, until slowly the mysterious puzzle came together.
‘I’ve done it, Miss Elizabeth, I’ve done it!’ she cried.
When Sir William came across them, he was amused by their girlish laughter.
‘I would be interested to know what has given rise to such merriment.’
Molly told him and he smiled.
‘I congratulate you both, for I know the struggle only too well. Believe it or not, Elizabeth’s mother taught me to read when my tutors failed.’
Molly was surprised to feel pleasure at his shared confidence.
‘You must use the library as you learn,’ he said. ‘Take any book you please.’
Soon she was able to read Thomas’s poem, and before long she knew it by heart.
Her first letter home was of no great length.
Darling Will,
I am writing this on my own.
It will not be long for it is difficult.
Write me your news.
I am beginning to enjoy my life here.
Love Molly
This was true enough, for her life had taken an unexpected turn. She was devoted to Elizabeth, and she was beginning to trust Sir William. The only blot on her otherwise content life was the occasional arrival of Dorothy. Her feeling of goodwill was further endorsed when Sir William enlisted her help in a matter of extreme urgency.
It was a particularly hot day at the end of her first summer back at Norton; Elizabeth was dining with her father in the small panelled dining room, Molly was in the rose garden outside. She had put the last flower in her basket when she heard Sir William calling her. Hearing the panic in his voice, she rushed through the garden door and down the corridor to find Elizabeth gasping for breath.
‘Move away,’ she ordered. ‘Please, I need space, she’s choking.’ Binding her hands beneath Elizabeth’s ribcage, one over the other, she gave a short, sharp tug, using all the weight in her body. At once a small piece of carrot shot from Elizabeth’s throat. She coughed until she caught her breath.
‘Thank you,’ Elizabeth said, when at last she could speak. ‘I believe you have just saved my life.’
Sir William stared. ‘Wherever did you learn that?’ he finally asked.
‘From my mother.’ Molly smiled. ‘It’s not unknown for a woman to have some practical uses.’
The day of the expedition arrived and a picnic was prepared. With one of the grooms accompanying them, Sir William drove t
he cart to Dover’s Hill. He parked in the shade beneath the trees, and while the groom waited he and Molly set off to climb the hill.
At the summit William pointed to a patch of rough grass.
‘This is where we found our Roman. A good spot, don’t you agree?’ Molly did agree, for below them, stretching as far as the eye could see, were the villages and hills and woods of middle England.
He took the ring off his finger and passed it to Molly.
‘I know this was not mine to take, but I honour this man, so it can’t be wrong.’
Molly held the small winding snake in her hand, looked into the tiny ruby eye, and passed it back thoughtfully. Its expression struck her as insidious.
‘I hope you are right,’ she said to herself.
They ate their picnic sitting on a wooden seat, the sun warming their backs.
From that day forward whenever Molly was dressed for a walk, Sir William would appear by her side. At first there were excuses, a fence-line to inspect, or a tree to examine, but soon the walks simply became a daily event.
As the dogs raced up the hills ahead of them, he talked to her about the estate and about his family. Occasionally he asked her about her own family. When Will was offered a position in Warwick as an apprentice clerk she told him gladly, and though she was still a little guarded in his company, it seemed to Sir William that she no longer despised him.
She enjoyed stories of his childhood.
‘I spent a lot of time at Hidcote with my grandfather,’ he told her. ‘I always wanted to be like him, but I haven’t made a very good job of it, I’m afraid. Each morning we walked a different part of the estate. He told me where to plant corn and when to plant clover to enrich the soil.’
He recounted the story of his family’s elevation and knighthood, when his great-grandfather, John Keyt, had raised a troop of horse for the late King Charles in the civil war, and he described the formal Sunday outings with his grandparents to the church in Ebrington. ‘Generations of our family are buried there. John is in the vault, and one day I shall join him.’
On a warm autumn day, when the leaves were turning and the apple trees in the lower orchard were laden with fruit, Sir William took Molly and Elizabeth to Sunday service. When it ended, and the congregation had filed slowly and curiously past, they stopped in front of a small stained-glass window in the south transept. As the sun illuminated the Keyt and Coventry coat of arms, he told them of the Keyt connection to one of the richest families of England. He showed them the altar tomb of his grandfather – also called William Keyt – who started the Ebrington Cow Charity, giving every poor man in the village free milk.
‘He died when I was still a child,’ he said. ‘The guiding figure in my life left me, and I never said goodbye. My father died five weeks before him, but it was my grandfather whose loss was the greater.’
He wheeled Elizabeth slowly down the path, but in his mind he was once again a thirteen-year-old boy, walking behind the coffin of his grandfather.
That evening, when Elizabeth had retired to bed, Sir William turned to Molly. ‘Miss Johnson, may I ask you something?’
‘Of course, sir.’
He inhaled deeply. ‘My grandfather taught me many things, but one of them of particular significance. He taught me to follow my conscience. I have failed him, just as I have failed you, and I want to ask your forgiveness. What happened that night will never happen again.’
His admission touched her, but Molly could only be truthful. ‘I’ll try to forgive you, sir, but it will take time.’
‘I’m prepared to wait, for ever if necessary. I merely want to make it up to you.’
28
1737
Molly’s relationship with Sir William changed slowly. He did not rush her: indeed, his greatest desire was to win back her trust. He did this in small ways, by including her in discussions and inviting her to dinner, by consulting and listening to her. On questions of Elizabeth’s health he always deferred to her. And slowly Molly’s feelings changed. Thomas appeared less frequently in her dreams. She found herself watching Sir William, looking at his mouth and wondering what it would be like to be kissed in tenderness. She found herself imagining his body, for he still had fine legs and a broad chest. In the evenings she would sit with him and Elizabeth in front of the fire, and William would read to them. Molly, a little intoxicated by the wine she had drunk at dinner, would listen contentedly, her body warm and sensual. One evening Sir William looked up from his book and found Molly’s eyes upon him. When he smiled she did not look away.
Eleven months after returning, Molly made her decision: she would become the mistress of Sir William Keyt. Emptying a jug of hot water into the blue and white china basin, she opened the stopper on a jar of fragrant oil. Trailing her hand in the scented water, she washed herself slowly, caressing her breasts, running her fingers along the outline of her hips, and touching the most intimate parts of her body, and all the while she thought of William.
She would wear the nightgown painstakingly made from his gift of silk. She slipped it over her head, a voluptuous glide that rippled to the floor. She snuffed the candle and walked to his bedroom.
He was lying in bed when she entered. He rose onto his elbow and stared. She put up her hand. ‘Stay there,’ she said. ‘Do not move.’
She pushed the thin straps from her shoulders, letting the silk fall, until it lay in a pool on the wooden boards. She stood before him, her bare skin white in the moonlight. She motioned for him to come to her, and when he stood before her, looking questioningly into her eyes, she picked up his hand and cupped it to her breast. Slowly he began to touch her, reverently as if she were a goddess. Her body responded as he stroked her breasts. Her nipples hardened at his touch, cool on her skin, his mouth covering her and teasing. Then his kisses were on her neck, his body straining against hers, his arms pulling them together. She felt his strength, but still he caressed her gently while he whispered her name over and over again. When she could bear the waiting no longer she took his hand in her own and pushed it down, between her legs.
This time, she did not resist. Greedily she relished this strange new passion.
If Elizabeth knew what had happened, she remained diplomatic, and it was not discussed; and if Sir William tried to be discreet he was not entirely successful. ‘Molly, let me carry your work. It must be heavy.’
‘Sir, my mending is really of insignificant weight. I assure you, years of carrying buckets up and down my mother’s house have made me strong and workmanlike.’
‘Strong maybe, but workmanlike? I think not.’
For Molly, it was a time of fulfilment and peace. She found pleasure in being his mistress and enjoyed feeling needed.
29
1737
One August afternoon, while Molly read to Elizabeth on the terrace, William approached with a handsome stranger at his side.
‘Lizzie, my darling, and Miss Johnson, may I introduce Mr Cartwright?’
Perhaps it was the hint of colour in Elizabeth’s cheeks, or the flattering scatter of freckles on her nose that flustered Mr Cartwright.
‘Ah, yes . . . ahm, good afternoon,’ he stammered. ‘I see you are enjoying the weather?’
‘We are indeed,’ Elizabeth replied.
Mr Cartwright nodded, staring at the ground.
‘We will see you shortly, my dears,’ William said, leading poor Cartwright away.
When the two men had safely disappeared into the house, Molly and Elizabeth started to laugh.
‘He was so overcome! What nonsense he spoke.’
‘Oh,’ Elizabeth said, wiping the tears from her eyes, ‘how glad I am indeed that it is not raining.’
Despite his embarrassment, Mr Cartwright accepted an invitation for dinner, and with considerable feminine delight, preparations began. After an excessive amount of time and indecision, Elizabeth selected the pale blue organza, set off by the Tracy pearls.
‘Beautiful,’ Molly said, when Eliz
abeth’s hair was dressed to her satisfaction. ‘Absolutely lovely.’
Fortunately Mr Cartwright found his voice that night, and throughout dinner, the party made animated conversation. When they had finished their meal, William picked up his daughter and carried her into the drawing room. It was the only outward sign of her misfortune.
‘Well, Lizzie, it seems you were also a little taken,’ Molly teased when Mr Cartwright had left.
‘Certainly not,’ she replied, but her eyes shone.
Three weeks later, William, Elizabeth and Molly were finishing breakfast when William rang the bell. George Heron immediately appeared.
‘Heron, please remove the plates. I need the table to be clear.’
‘Yes, sir,’ he replied, deftly removing the coffee cups and saucers, the plates of muffins and toast. ‘If you will allow me, I will get one of the housemaids to sweep away the crumbs.’
Molly was heading towards the door when Sir William called her back.
‘Miss Johnson, could you spare a moment and stay behind with Miss Elizabeth? I have something to show you both; I will fetch it from the library.’
He returned carrying a long tube. Pulling out a sheet of paper he spread it on the table in front of him. It was the plan for an impressive four-storey mansion with seven bays. An ornate balustrade ran along the roof line, and pediments and pilasters adorned every inch of the masonry. The inscription read Over Norton House.
‘Well, what do you think?’
It was a moment before Elizabeth replied. ‘It’s lovely, but what is it for? We are not moving, are we, Papa? I should hate to move.’
‘No, of course not, but I am going to build you the finest house in Gloucestershire. It will be here on the top lawn, and Mr Cartwright will be overseeing the work as our architect. You will see from the plan that I have devised a passageway from one house to the other. It will be at first-floor level. Think of this as an additional wing and nothing more.’
He turned to Molly. ‘Do you like it?’ he asked.
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