Burnt Norton Read Online Free Page A

entry.
    The baby died today, only two hours old, God rest his soul. A boy. Ann is beside herself with grief and if I am honest so am I. One small mercy: Ann at least survived.
    After reading this poignant admission, she was momentarily shamed, but her curiosity proved stronger.
    My mother gave us a dog, one of the Clopton spaniels. It is black as coal with soulful eyes. Dogs are easy to love, uncomplicated, and they don’t answer back. I believe it gives her some comfort.
    Ann miscarried again. Though I believe the setback to be temporary, Ann has convinced herself she will remain childless. She is inconsolable.
    A joyful entry the following year told of the birth of her elder sister.
    It is five days since Elizabeth made her speedy entrance into the world. Though the infant is proving to be of sound lung and cheerful disposition, Ann continues to be cautious.
    She flipped to an entry three years later, recording the birth of her precious Thomas.
    We are rejoicing – at last, another boy! My son and heir, Thomas Charles Edward Keyt, born on this day, twenty-third of November, seventeen hundred and eighteen. He is a bonny chap with blond curls, most unusual. I had no hair. Once again my dearest wife has undergone the ordeal of childbirth, and though I too suffered, for her cries of pain cut me to the quick, I believe I am most glad, my part in this affair was pleasurable.
    For a moment she grappled with this piece of information, wondering what he meant, but it was forgotten in her longing to learn more .
    I bought a colt today, also black. His conformation is superb. I believe we will produce a great line. My uncle, Gilbert Coventry, offered me ten guineas, but I wouldn’t sell were it double.
    Finally she came to the entry she had been waiting for.
    Another child born yesterday, she is a pretty scrap; we will call her Dorothy after my dear aunt. Miss Byrne brought Thomas to see her; the boy ignored me, a strange child. He held a bunch of violets in his hand as if it were a great prize, dropped them into her crib, scattering them over the blanket. I told him off, and the Irish woman gave me one of her looks. How she annoys me. It is as if she disapproves of me, though what I have done, I have no idea. If she weren’t a good governess and the children did not like her so well, I would dismiss her, send her back to the peat bogs.
    I hope Dorothy will learn to ride, for Lizzie has shown little inclination. It has been a good week when all is said and done.
    The entry contained little excitement at her arrival, indeed, it was critical of the people she loved. Dissatisfied, she read on.
    A son was born this week. He smiled at me, clutched my finger; I believe I shall love him most dearly. Ann is exhausted. I am convinced this should be her last pregnancy. If anything happened to my wife I would be utterly lost. Though my mother-in-law would insist on naming him Paul, after the first Tracy baronet, I will hear nothing of it. We shall call the boy John, a good name in my family.
    At that moment her mother’s voice intruded on her solitude. She returned the diary to the drawer and hastily left the room.
    ‘Ah, Dorothy, I’ve been looking for you. Where have you been?’
    ‘I was reading in the big chair, Mama. I was engrossed in my book.’ Her mother looked at her, her grey eyes solemn.
    ‘Where is your book now, darling? Don’t leave it lying around, for it will get lost.’
    ‘Yes, Mama. I’ll fetch it at once.’
    Later that night she asked Miss Byrne what dependable meant.
    ‘It means that the people in your life are loyal and steady,’ she said. ‘It means you can go to sleep knowing that we are always here to look after you.’
    It was a good explanation but somehow not the one that she had required.
    Sleep did not come easily that night, and when it was quiet, she crept back to her father’s study. Opening the diary once more she skimmed the pages; estate procedure and her father’s constituency were of little