'I'll be fifty when I have finished, Ma.'

'You're a good girl, Molly. God will favour you, so he will.'

And God did favour her, for there were few beatings in the Johnson house. Shouting was another matter; Mrs Johnson yelled at her husband, and he yelled at everyone.

When Mrs Johnson wasn't stretching her lungs, she grew flowers, which Molly tended with love. There were flowers for scent, and flowers for colour, but the herbs grown in terracotta pots most captured her imagination.

'For affairs of the heart there's naught better than a pinch of rue,' her mother taught her, 'and for loosening the stool it's camomile and liquorice.' Their plants could cure any ailment.

As the landlord's daughter, Molly amused the customers and became skilled at avoiding unwanted advances. 'She has a tongue like a greyhound, but the face of an angel,' her father admired.

The first sign of trouble was Dan Leggat from the butcher's shop. 'Hello, Molly.' He put his thick fingers over her hand as she tried to lift his mug. 'Come and sit with me.' He patted the bench beside him.

'No, thank you. I'm busy.' She disliked Dan Leggat. He was a blustering oaf with a mean streak. He pulled wings off insects and laughed at the fun of it, and he bullied poor Madge Hartly because of her crooked legs and simple mind. Molly had seen him lick the blood from his hands after butchering a calf. No, she didn't like Dan Leggat at all.

'Don't come over all prim and proper, it's time you wed. I'm a good match for you, better than most. If you treat me right and show us a little favour now and then, I might even take you down the aisle.'

'Leave me alone. I'm this side of fifteen, and I'm not for marrying anyone.'

When his arm darted forward and he caught her breast, Molly whipped round. 'You get your hands off me this minute,' she hissed, 'or I'll slap your ugly face.'

'Are you bothering my daughter, Dan?' Her father appeared by her side. 'By the look of her she wants none of it. Now get out of my house.'

Dan slunk off, his face red with anger. 'You'll pay for this,' he said.

Molly flung her arms around her father's neck. 'Thank you, Da.'

'He's not good enough for you, Molly, not good enough at all.'

Each June, the whole town went to the castle for the midsummer celebrations. Lady Brooke and his lordship provided pies and pasties, and young and old danced in the meadow by the river. Molly always dressed with care. For three successive years she had altered her pale blue muslin dress, until at last there were no more seams to ease. Using the lace collar from her mother's wedding gown, she inserted a panel at the front. A linen sheet with fancy edging became a petticoat, and with patience and tiny stitches, daisies adorned the bodice and hem. With a garland of flowers on her russet curls and the prettiest dress in the meadow, Molly Johnson was never short of a partner.

She even caught Lady Brooke's eye.

'You're the Johnson girl,' she said, looking into Molly's untroubled face. 'What a complexion. My skin was like yours once, but nowa.a. .' She sighed and turned away, but Molly had seen the marks. No paste or lead could hide the blemishes.

'Never put anything on your face, my dear,' she said, taking Molly's hand. 'Leave it natural; it would be a crime to ruin such lovely skin.'

'Yes, my lady,' she answered, both flattered and confused.

'Be careful, Miss Johnson,' Lady Brooke continued, her grip tightening, until Molly winced. 'Your looks will bring you everything, but everything comes at a price.' She dropped her hand, and Molly ran through the grass to her next partner. When she turned, Lady Brooke was still watching her, with a strange look on her ruined face.

Mrs Johnson came to her bedroom in the attic that night.

'It's late, my girl. Shut your eyes and dream of all the lads courting you today. You could do far worse than the Potter boy. He's a handsome lad with a good future.'

'He doesn't interest me. I want someone special, someone different, and it's not about money. Look at Lady Brooke. She has all the money in the world and it can't mend her face.'

'You're right there, love. The pox is the pox a it doesn't know rich from poor.'

'When I marry, it has to be for love. Nothing else will do.'

Her mother stroked her hair. How could they hold on to this bright and beautiful girl?

Molly saw him immediately; she noticed the cut of his coat, the highly polished boots. He was a gentleman.

'Can I get you some ale, sir?' She stopped at the alcove by the fire, straightened her dress. Flames rose up, casting shadows around the stranger. She noticed his even white teeth, his unpowdered hair and his fine brown eyes.

'Thank you, young lady. A pint of your best.'

'It's only the best here, sir.'

She learnt he was the Member of Parliament for Warwick.

'He has our vote,' her father said. 'Sir William Keyt, now he's a gent if ever there was one.'

Sir William stopped by the Charter House more often after that. Seth told Molly he owned several estates and a large carriage. He said people like him kept their gold under the mattress.

10.

As the weeks went by, Sir William Keyt became a regular fixture at the Charter House.

'Ah, here you are, Molly. I've been waiting for you; I've missed your company.'

Of course Molly was flattered. He said she had a bright mind and a quick tongue. When she learnt of the tragedy in his family she felt sorry for him, for Molly's heart was warm and generous.

'It goes to show,' her mother said. ' In the eyes of our Maker we are all the same.' But there weren't many men of Molly's acquaintance who wore silk stockings, and velvet coats with fine embroidery. There weren't many men who wore rubies and lace and a golden snake on their little finger.

As she got older, he asked for her more and more. She accepted his interest with the innocence of youth, as she appreciated his courteous words and enjoyed looking at his fine clothes.

'Come and talk to me on this day of all others. It is the anniversary of my hell, Molly. You're a good listener.'

'Doesn't your wife listen to you?' she asked.

'No, not really, but certainly not today; today she will be on her knees asking God's mercy. When has God ever been merciful?'

Molly refilled his mug.

'Everything changed with the accident. Lizzie gets all my wife's time now. It's difficult to begrudge my poor crippled daughter. Have I told you that it was John who died, my beautiful John? As God is my witness, I wish that I had been taken instead of that precious child.'

Molly had never known despair; her life, though humble, was rich in a different way.

'I'm sorry,' she said. 'Really sorry. If our Will was taken, I would hang myself from the nearest tree.'

'That would be a great loss to the world.' Sir William smiled, and for a brief instant he was able to forget his suffering and relax in the light of the young woman before him. When he took her hand, she didn't pull away.

'My other two children seem to hate 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. 'Jack, she's a child. What in heaven's name are you thinking? Have you not seen the way he looks at her?'

But her father remained unmoved.

Three weeks later Molly packed her bag and said goodbye to Will, whose knees dug into her back at night. She took him to school for the last time, and hugged him at the door. 'Be good, and we will see each other very soon. In the meantime, send me letters, fine letters in your best hand. Someone will read them to me.'

'Bye, Molly,' he said, 'I'll miss you.'

'Hush now.' She gently disentangled his arms from around her waist. 'And don't you forget to say your prayers.'

Later that morning a storm came, and as the thunder crashed around the house, she worked herself into an anxious frenzy. Her mother tried to gather her in her arms, but Molly pushed her away. 'Why didn't you stop this? Don't look so bloody stricken. You could have stopped him! He went and sold me like one of his bloody pigs! You know what's going to happen to me, and yet you let him send me away?'

'I tried, my love,' her mother pleaded.

'You should have tried harder! You said you would take a beating for any of us, but that was a lie.'

When Mrs Johnson pulled back her sleeve, the truth was revealed in the bruise that swelled beneath her skin. 'I'm sorry,' she said sadly. 'You know your father when his mind is made up, and I have this to show for it. I couldn't push it, my love.'

'It's all right, Ma, don't cry. I'm sorry.'

'I love you, Molly,' she said at last. 'I want only the best for you. I've tried to persuade myself that something good'll come of it.'

'What good? What possible good?'

'You will be in charge of her ladyship's clothes. You will mend and embroider, and you will dress her hair. You are a smart girl and you will be doing what you really love. Perhaps this is a path to a better future and we've got it wrong. It is quite possible that Sir William is honest in his offer.'

'You and I both know what he wants.' Molly buried her head in her mother's chest. She inhaled her comforting smell, and cried.

'If there's any trouble, you come home. I will deal with your father and be damned with the consequences.'

'Don't let anything happen to Will.'

'Of course I won't. I love him too. I love you all so much, God help me, so I do.'

Molly broke away and opened the door to find her sisters listening at the keyhole. 'Stop gawping, girls, and come and see me off.'

They walked outside. It was Friday, baking day, and the sweet smells made her homesick before she had even left. As the coach clattered away down the street, her little sisters faded into the distance. She waved her handkerchief and she shut her eyes. 'Please, God, keep Will safe.'

11.