Burnt Norton by Caroline Sandon Page A

me.’
    ‘Of course they don’t hate you; they’re just angry. My mother says that I see things in black and white, and that all young people are like that. I bet you were no different when you were young.’
    ‘I’m not that old, Molly. Forty-three is not old.’
    ‘Forgive me, sir, I must be off. There’s a pile of chores waiting, and I’ve not done the half of them.’
    On Molly’s fifteenth birthday, Sir William brought her a present. Molly looked at the fine woollen cloth, stroking the soft blue folds. ‘You can make a waistcoat for your brother Will. You said he’s always cold.’
    ‘Thank you, Sir William,’ she said. ‘I’ll make him something really fine.’
    When she ran from the public rooms to show her mother, Mrs Johnson raised her eyebrows. ‘Watch it, Molly. He’s clever, that one.’
    Molly laughed. ‘Come on, Ma, it’s hardly a romantic present. I don’t have many friends, so let me be.’ In Molly’s eyes this was true. There was Seth, but he didn’t have time for chatter; her sisters were too young; and the local girls, on reaching puberty, were kept away. Molly found this baffling. ‘It’s not as if we’re a bawdy house, sir,’ she explained to Sir William, and he had laughed and patted her hand.
    Even with her sharp tongue and quick wits, Molly was at first naive. She was oblivious to her effect on Sir William. She did not realise that his stifled emotions were returning, and that the wall he had built to protect him after the death of his son was crumbling. But when she mulled over her mother’s warning, she wondered at her stupidity. She was a simple girl, an innkeeper’s daughter. How could she have believed that her wit and intelligence kept Sir William amused?
    ‘Come and sit with me, Molly. You seem to avoid me.’
    ‘I will, sir, but just a minute.’
    ‘I have brought you something. A bracelet. The amber will complement the colour of your eyes.’
    For all his fancy clothes, Sir William Keyt was no better than Dan Leggat from the butcher’s shop.
    By the time Molly was sixteen she had taken to avoiding the gentlemen in the front of the inn; she ran errands for her mother, helped in the kitchens and took food from the steaming ovens. But it did not go unnoticed. One day her father called her. ‘You’ll get out in front, girl. What do you think you are doing?’
    ‘But I don’t want to. I’m doing a good job helping Ma.’
    ‘You’ll do as you’re told, or I’ll lather your backside. Get out there this minute.’
    Her father’s harsh tone hurt Molly. When he summoned her to the parlour, he avoided her eyes. ‘Sit down and listen clear. You’ve been acting strange of late. Now you can show me what a sensible girl you are. Sir William Keyt, our valued guest, has honoured you with a position as his wife’s lady’s maid. It’s a step up the ladder, and who knows what it may lead to?’
    Molly looked at her father. Shock hit her in the belly. ‘You can’t mean it. I’m happy here with you and the girls and Will. Please don’t make me go.’
    ‘Why ever not? Any girl who knew what was good for them would die for this opportunity.’
    ‘It’s no opportunity, and it’s no step up the ladder. He wants me in his bed.’
    Molly’s father raised his hand. She thought he would strike her. ‘Enough of your lip! It’s your mother’s fault, too much spoiling. I always said it, and now it’s come to roost. You’ll stay in your room until I tell you to come out.’
    Molly ran upstairs to the bed she shared with Will, who was thin and sickly and always cold. She held her brother in her arms.
    ‘Is it my fault?’ she moaned, staring at the ceiling. ‘Did I encourage him? I don’t have a choice; there’s never been a choice. I’ll run away, I’ll starve in the gutter and freeze to death. Then he’ll be sorry.’
    Will held her hand and cried. ‘I love you, don’t leave.’ She cried too, but it didn’t change anything.
    Her mother begged her father.