Burnt Norton by Caroline Sandon Page A

hand. ‘I picked them this morning. They will remind you of home.’
    He pulled his prayer book from his inside pocket, and placed the tiny flowers inside.
    ‘I shall keep these for ever, Dotty. Not only will they remind me of home, but they will be a constant reminder of my little sister.’
    ‘Don’t be frightened,’ she replied. ‘I shall pray for you every single day.’
    ‘Thank you. Please do keep me in your prayers, for you shall always be in mine.’ He gently unhooked her hands. ‘Mother,’ he said. ‘I shall miss you so much.’
    ‘And you, my beloved son.’
    ‘Goodbye, Lizzie, I shall think of you.’ When Elizabeth lifted his hand and held it to her cheek, her eyes welled with tears. Thomas kissed her forehead. ‘Write to me. Send me drawings of home.’
    Their father stood apart from the family, his arms steady at his sides. ‘Make good use of your time, Thomas.’
    Thomas did not reply.
    As the coach pulled away, he turned towards the house and waved, but this last gesture made Dorothy gasp with disappointment: it was directed to an attic window, far above her.

14
    For the next few weeks, Molly buried herself in her work. She soon settled and mastered her new duties. Here she mended silks and satins instead of cottons and coarse wool. The company of her boisterous family was exchanged for that of aristocrats, who viewed the world from a different perspective. Her mistress expected obedience, but she was also kind and generous.
    ‘You’re doing well, Molly. Your mending is faultless, your care of my wardrobe impeccable, and Miss Elizabeth has become attached to you. I’m sure you’ll be with us for a long time.’
    Molly felt proud. Life at Norton was getting better.
    One morning, when Molly’s work was all but done, Lady Keyt went to the wardrobe. She pushed aside the dresses to pull out a gown. ‘This no longer fits me,’ she said. ‘Would you like to have it? It has a rip in the seam, but that should be easy enough to repair.’
    Molly was lost for words.
    ‘Don’t you like it?’
    ‘Thank you, my lady. I never expected I would own dress like this.’ She held the mint-green silk in her arms, cradling it like a child. She touched the lace on the bodice, the delicate pin tucks on the sleeves, the silk sash. ‘Thank you, my lady. It is the most beautiful gown in the world.’
    Later, standing in front of the cracked mirror in the small bedroom at the top of the house, turning this way and that, her cheeks flushed, it was easy to dream. When she put on the dress, its bodice cut very low, it was easy to imagine hands caressing her body, and lips on her neck.
    In Dorothy’s eyes, Molly Johnson had one purpose in life: to ingratiate herself within the Keyt household. Dorothy eavesdropped, learning everything she could about the landlord’s daughter. Elizabeth liked her, and as Lady Keyt’s distrust evaporated, she heaped privileges upon her new maid. The servants, particularly the men, openly admired her.
    Mrs Wright was an exception, hardly bothering to conceal her dislike. ‘Airs above her station, that one! She’ll learn the hard way, she will.’
    Her father’s feelings were more difficult to discern, for though he had employed Miss Johnson, he seemed indifferent to the sound of her name.
    Early one morning, Ruth knocked on Dorothy’s door. ‘Are you dressed, miss? Your father is asking for you in the hall.’
    Dorothy went downstairs and found her father in his riding clothes. ‘Dorothy, will you come with me to the coach house? I have something to show you.’
    Lorenzo appeared leading a bright bay mare.
    ‘This is Ophelia’s half-sister. I thought you might want her. She’s rather like Ophelia, don’t you think?’ Her father sounded uncomfortable, but when Dorothy saw the mare nothing else mattered. She put out her hand and the filly pushed her nose towards her.
    ‘Thank you, Father, thank you,’ she said, her arms already clasped around the horse’s neck.
    ‘Ride