39.

June 1741 Dorothy sat at her desk, gazing at the river. She imagined lying in one of the small boats, trailing her hand in the cool water, or strolling along the river bank amongst the parasols, picnics, and laughter. Instead she sat alone.

She was distracted from her self-pity by an insistent knock on the door. 'Come in,' she said, putting her untouched papers aside.

Mrs Wright entered. Sweat balled on her upper lip, and Dorothy could see that she was excited.

'Yes, Mrs Wright?'

'Forgive me, Miss Dorothy, but I have to impart news of extreme importance.'

'Go on,' she said impatiently, for she neither liked Mrs Wright and her affected speech, nor trusted her. 'What is it that you have to say?'

'Well, miss, I was doing the week's purchase in the market. It was that busy in the centre, so I went to the stalls down by the river a Mr Higgs, to be precise, very good meat, very tender-'

'Mrs Wright. Please get to the point.'

'Sorry, miss. I stopped at a hostelry on my way home to obtain a glass of stout, not my usual route, you understand, and on entering the Black Swan, I ventured to a table. Before I had time to remove my bonnet, I recognized a certain person serving.'

'Yes?'

'It was none other than Molly Johnson. I was too distracted to stay, so I made my excuses and left.'

By the smirk on her face, Dorothy could see that Mrs Wright was saving the most salacious piece of information for last.

'What else, Mrs Wright?'

'She was pregnant, Miss Dorothy! Her belly was big with child.'

Dorothy's stomach dropped. 'Mrs Wright, you may go. You will keep this information to yourself. If I catch one member of this household gossiping, and it reaches my mother's ears, I will hold you responsible. Is that understood?'

'Of course, miss,' she replied. 'If that's what you wish.' From the frustration in her tone, it was obvious to Dorothy that she had denied Mrs Wright hours of pleasure.

She remained at her desk long after Mrs Wright had gone. The question hammered in her brain: who did the bastard child belong to, her father or her brother?

For two days Dorothy debated her course of action, and by the third morning she had decided. She dressed with care, putting on a lavender silk dress. Deciding it too frivolous, she took it off again, selecting a navy dress with a white lace collar and a small hat. These struck just the right note, for today she needed her clothes to reflect her authority. She hurried down the street, and because The College was only a short distance from the town centre, it took her just a few minutes to reach the Black Swan. She stopped outside, took a deep breath, walked up the steps and pushed open the door. It was ten o'clock and the parlour was still empty. A young girl polished the tables. 'Can I help you, miss?'

'Yes. Is Miss Johnson available?'

'She's in the kitchen, but I will fetch her for you.'

Minutes later Molly Johnson entered the room. She looked at Dorothy, and Dorothy had the pleasure of seeing her discomfort. The colour rose in Molly's cheeks. Neither of them spoke.

'So it is true,' she said, eyeing Molly's increased girth.

Molly's eyes darted around the room and she gestured to a table in the corner. 'Do you want to sit down, Miss Dorothy?' she asked.

Dorothy sat down and nodded for Molly to join her. 'Miss Johnson, I am not here to discuss particulars, but to offer you a solution to your predicament. Do you have private funds?'

'No, Miss Dorothy,' she replied, 'I have nothing.' Her eyes dropped sadly to her swollen waist, but Dorothy's loathing far exceeded any feeling of charity.

'Listen. I have a little money of my own and I am prepared to use it for the protection of my family. I will secure the safe delivery of this child in return for the assurance that you will never contact my brother or any of my family again.'

'What are you suggesting?'

Dorothy outlined a plan, simple in itself, but one supported by a web of deceit. 'A gentleman of my acquaintance, one Captain Thomas Coram, owes my mother a debt of gratitude. Some weeks ago, he opened his temporary foundling home in London, for unwanted and abandoned children. He is prepared to take your baby.'

'I don't want my child to go to a home.'

'Do you have another option? If you do this, you will be giving your child a future. My mother, amongst others, campaigned tirelessly for Captain Coram. With their help his petition to the king was successful.' Dorothy smoothed the wrinkles from her gloves. 'At Captain Coram's hospital, your child will be trained a for the army or the navy, if you have a boy, and domestic service if it's a girl. Both are perfectly respectable professions.'

Molly shook her head. 'I have no wish to give up my child.'

'What will you do? With no money, you will go to the workhouse. Perhaps if you stay in Stratford, the parish will care for you. You and I both know what that means. Either way, your baby will have little or no chance of survival. What I am offering you is an opportunity for yourself and for your unborn child.' Dorothy did not relish her moment as much as she had expected.

'Does Lady Keyt know about this?'

Dorothy hesitated. 'Of course,' she replied. 'She considers it the only wise and sensible option.' It was only a small lie, but in her heart she knew her mother would not have condoned it. The child was, after all, a Keyt.

'I can't give up my baby.'

'Very well then, you must take your chances.'

'How can you ask this of me?'

'Because I want you out of our lives. You have caused injury to my family. With that child in your arms, we will never be free of your demands.' Molly opened her mouth to protest but Dorothy stopped her. 'Let me continue,' she said. 'In order to secure your promise, a settlement of seventy-five pounds will be given to you once the baby is handed over to the Foundling Hospital.'

'How will I know that my child will be safe?'

Dorothy thought back to John and the accident, and fought down a pang of sympathy for Molly. 'How can we know anything in life? I can only assure you the baby will have a home; Captain Coram has given me his word.'

Molly did not respond, so Dorothy continued, 'I will give you an allowance for your living expenses in London. I have five sovereigns in my purse, and a letter for the attention of my solicitor Mr Skarm. He will be your point of contact. He will pay you monthly, and after the infant is handed over, he will give you the final sum of money. I repeat, there will be no contact with my family.' She rose, taking the purse from her pocket. 'Will you take this opportunity or not, Miss Johnson?'

Molly nodded slowly. Dorothy's victory gave her little satisfaction.

'A final question: do you know the rightful parentage of this child?'

Molly looked at her defiantly. 'It is your brother's,' she said, and Dorothy hated her once more.

As Dorothy vanished into the throng, Molly sat, defeated. She watched the tilt of Dorothy's feathered hat and the assurance in her carriage. She had stood no chance.

Money, it seemed, could buy everything after all.

Despite her humiliation, Molly recognized that she had been thrown a lifeline. She would go to London. Her only contact with her previous life would be through an unknown solicitor. Wiping her eyes, she returned to her room to pack her meagre belongings.

'Miss Johnson, what are you doing upstairs? Come down this instant and get back to work.'

Molly grabbed her bag and met Mrs Quick on the stairs. 'Thank you for your generosity,' she said, determined to act with dignity. 'I am grateful; however, I have been offered a better position, and I am obliged to leave your service immediately.'

For a moment Mrs Quick was speechless, and Molly delighted in her small victory.

'Be gone then, you ungrateful bitch. Get out before I throw you out.'

40.

Late June 1741 Dorothy reached home, believing her objective accomplished, only to find two representatives had arrived from the bank to see her mother. When she joined them in the library, she realized regretfully that nothing was so simple.

'I'm sorry, milady.' The senior clerk cleared his throat as he addressed her mother. 'This is most difficult. It seems that your husband has mortgaged and remortgaged The College in order to raise money on his new mansion. The equity has gone. Unless you are able to find alternative funding, The College will have to be sold.'

'Sir, there must be some mistake?' she asked.

'I apologize, madam. There is no mistake.'

Lady Keyt's hands flew to her throat. Dorothy remembered her making the same gesture just before the carriage accident, all those years ago. 'How can this be?' said Lady Keyt. 'My son Thomas owns most of this property.'

'I believe your son has signed his inheritance away,' he replied.

Dorothy stepped in front of her mother. 'Please leave, sirs,' she demanded. 'I need some time to speak with my mother.' The men withdrew and she took her mother's hand.

'Oh, dear,' Lady Keyt said at last. 'My poor Dotty! What about your wedding?'

'It's not just my wedding. It's everything: our home, our future.' She paced the room. 'Have you no money of your own, Mother? What about your savings and the various properties you own in Stratford? What about the Tracy inheritance?'

Lady Keyt shook her head helplessly. 'I have never been very good with money; I suppose I never had to be. I'm not sure what I have.'

Over the next few days Thomas was called back from university. After assuring his mother that their downfall was not due to his actions, they then discovered the awful truth: Sir William had dishonestly squandered their fortune in order to pay for his folly. After meetings with financial advisors, Lady Keyt realized that her savings would not cover her husband's debts, and any property she might have once owned had gone the way of everything else.

With sickening clarity, Dorothy understood that their new life in Stratford-upon-Avon was already nearing its end.

Her mother would suffer most. In six months' time, Dorothy would be married and beginning a new life in Surrey. Her mother would be on her own, their home would be sold and her school would be closed. If Dorothy had any feelings of guilt over her treatment of Miss Johnson, the losses she suffered now far outweighed them.

Within days the house was put up for sale, and the agent made an appointment to see them. He told them of a distant relation, a certain James Kendall, a Member of Parliament and a gentleman of considerable wealth. He had apparently admired the property and was interested in buying it.

'I have never heard of Mr Kendall,' Lady Keyt replied. 'He is no relation of mine, but he may be of my husband's; however, if he must see our house, then so be it.'

For half an hour Mr Kendall walked through The College with strides of ownership and self-importance. Much against the wishes of Dorothy and her mother, he made and had his offer accepted. They were to move by the end of the following month The thought of being near her father filled Dorothy with dismay, but it seemed Hidcote, a small manor on the Norton estate, was their only option. Again they packed up their lives.

Miss Byrne's book remained Dorothy's consolation. The imaginative stories still had the power to distract her, and she continued to lose herself in their magic. After she had read them, following the hand of her sister, she took up her pen.

41.

July 1741 Shortly before one o'clock, the coach left the Swan's Nest Inn in Stratford-upon-Avon.

Molly assessed the other occupants: a country parson and his plump wife, a governess in a black starched dress, and a young clerk.

'I've brought provisions,' the parson's wife offered kindly. 'Let me know if you're hungry.' Molly smiled and thanked them, but the governess avoided her eyes, staring resolutely out of the window.

After a few miles the clerk tried to engage her in conversation. 'Are you on a long journey?' he asked.

'Yes,' she replied. 'I'm to London to meet my husband.' She had no patience for young men and their flattery.

The horses were changed at Chipping Norton, and at just before midnight they arrived at the Angel on the High Street in Oxford. She retired immediately to bed. When she stepped outside the following morning, she was shocked by the traffic. Carriages, stagecoaches, men on horseback and pedestrians filled the streets. There were shops and street markets, stables and coaching inns, and not least the colleges.

Of course her thoughts were of Thomas. She remembered him leaning over her in the library, the engravings open on the table in front of him.

At nine o'clock she climbed into the coach once more. They were crossing Magdalen Bridge when the sky opened into a violent summer storm. With thunder and lightning crashing around them, the startled horses refused to move.

'It's no use,' the coachman said, climbing down. 'If you're in a hurry, try the Mitre or the Greyhound in Longwall Street. The Flying Coach might leave, but my horses aren't going anywhere. You can walk back to the Angel or wait till it's done.' Climbing back onto the box he erected an oilcloth and huddled inside, leaving his passengers to decide for themselves.

Molly listened to the deluge subside, then tied on her bonnet and ventured out. She found University College easily. From the entrance lodge she could see into the quadrangle beyond. Now she could truly imagine Thomas going about his day.

On her return to the coach, the journey resumed immediately. She had just settled into the motion of the carriage when she saw Thomas from the window. In his beauty and casual elegance he stood out amongst his peers. He walked with a new confidence, and though her heart leapt, she felt the depth of the gulf between them. Still she put up her hand to wave.

He didn't see her at first, but when the coach passed him he stopped. For a second there was confusion in his eyes. Then he laughed in disbelief and jogged to catch up with his friends.

After what seemed an endless journey through unfamiliar countryside and impossible roads, the coach finally reached London. It was early afternoon on the fourth day, and Molly had her first glimpse of the city. Oxford was a village by comparison.

A young attorney, Robin Hart, had joined the coach at its previous stop and proved a useful guide. He pulled down the window as they neared the city's centre and pointed to Tyburn, the infamous Triple Tree, where public hangings were held. 'The children are the biggest draw,' he said. 'And on those days the crowds are enormous. The rich book their seats in advance.'

'That's quite enough,' Molly said.

'Have mercy on their souls,' the vicar's wife whispered, clutching her husband's arm. Leaving Tyburn they saw the new tree-lined avenues, squares and gardens that were replacing the buildings destroyed in the Great Fire. He showed them Grosvenor Square, where most of the nobility of London owned houses. As Molly leant from the window, she felt the energy of the city. Builders and stonemasons swarmed over half-built houses, and gardens were laid out where once there had been fields. Flower girls, boot-black boys and milk girls all traded in the crowded streets.

'Watch the milk girls; they skim the milk, adding chalk and dirty water,' he told Molly.