'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 the 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 a also called William Keyt a 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, yesa.a. . 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 Elizabeth'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.

'It is handsome, but hardly a single wing. Surely, this house is big enough?'

'How practical you are, but what is practicality, my dear, when I wish to do something for the two women in my life?'

It was the first time that William had aired his affection for Molly in front of his daughter, and in front of the servants. Molly noted George Heron's look of surprise.

It flustered her. 'I don't know what to say, sir. Please don't take any notice of my opinion.'

William held up his hands. 'Enough. Consider it a gift to you both.'

'Please forgive me, I feel a little unwell.' She ran from the room.

For Elizabeth's sake, Molly had prudently kept her own bedroom in the attic. Her dresses still hung in the wardrobe, the little vase beside the washstand was always filled with flowers; when she attended the dining room it was as Elizabeth's companion. She had worked hard to regain her friendship and feared Sir William's indiscretion had ruined it.

Walking downstairs the next morning, Molly found Elizabeth on the landing, working intently on a drawing. She closed the pad and looked up, her fingers covered with black charcoal. 'Do you think so little of me, Molly?' she frowned.

Molly was flustered. 'I don't know what you mean.'

'You should know me better, so please don't ever judge me again.'

It was the same with Ruth.

'It's all right, love; we won't hate you just because you've got lucky. As long as you don't act like a spoilt duchess, I'll still love you.'

It was not long before the building work started. Teams of craftsmen hired by the director of works appeared. Stonemasons, bricklayers, carpenters and plasterers filled the site. On the first Monday of every month, Mr Cartwright came to inspect the progress. Molly, at Sir William's insistence, was usually at his side. She was flattered, but though she did her best to limit his extravagance, on these occasions he ignored her, so determined was he to create a house that would outstrip all others. As the end of the first stage approached, it became evident that the building lacked sophistication and refinement.

'Something seems wrong with the proportions, Papa, though of course the design is excellent,' Elizabeth observed.

'I agree with you,' Mr Cartwright said apologetically. 'My efforts appear cumbersome and top-heavy. I have failed you.'