Chapter 17, Molly. 2nd June, 1849

Molly Elliot is a stout woman ... no, I take that back; a large woman. No, that too. Let me be blunt; she’s fat, the strange reasons for which I shall reveal here. I found her age difficult to determine, but I would think somewhere between thirty five and forty - old enough to have a grown up daughter yet young enough to have an aunt still living, although not for long, by all accounts. I met her a small but clean cottage, well out of town, not far from the canal, with an overgrown garden and the smell of soap all over it, where Molly had been cleaning. Her aunt, she said, used to keep her garden and the house very well, but these days she was sick and feeble, confined to her bed and not able to do much. Molly had spent much of the previous evening cleaning the place up for her, and was finishing off that morning when I arrived. She met me there, she said, far away from the house where she worked and lived with Mrs Swindells, because of the dangers of being seen with me.

‘You are known, Mr Fairchild,’ she said, ominously. ‘And I would rather not to be known as being known by you. I depend on your discretion on my behalf.’

I promised she could rely on me; my lips were sealed. But when I asked who it was who knew me, she only replied ...

‘Whoever the Madam is talking to.’ She would say no more. It was a statement that did not reassure me.

We sat in the little parlour, where she served me tea and a piece of rock cake with a knob of butter on it, which she had made the day before. Molly - to my surprise on account of her size - did not partake of cake herself, but had a plate of leaves - lettuces and herbs from the garden, I think - which she picked at, pushing a whole leaf into her mouth at a time very often. There was also a small pot of honey on the table, which she dipped into with a teaspoon and took with her black tea; a habit, she said, that her father, now deceased, used to indulge in, having picked it up in the Russias in his days as a seafarer.

Molly had an offer to make. A maid in her position, she said, was able to gain access to things that Mrs Swindells would not usually care to give away.

‘The Madam has her own room tucked away in the back of the house, where she keeps all her papers. No one ever gets in there. She even cleans it herself, but as she hates cleaning that room is the dirtiest in the house. No else one is supposed to venture inside - but I have been in, once or twice. The Madam is in drink very often, and forgets to lock it. Inside there are drawers full of memorabilia, bills, letters and the like. There are posters on the walls and in sheaves on the shelves. That’s where I got that bill I put in your pocket a few weeks ago, sir. There is a little bureau there, too, which is always locked, which may contain all sorts of secrets - if I can get into it, which I may or may not. I can keep an eye open to my chance, but I have to be careful, sir, as I am the only girl in the house obliged to do some cleaning from time to time, and she’d know at once it was me if anything went missing.’

Here she looked at me significantly.

‘Yes, please go on.’

‘So you see, sir, that I can’t take down those posters on the wall. But I can see them with these two eyes sir. And report back, if I cared to, with what they have seen.’

Another pause.

‘Yes?’

“There is the matter of some reward, sir, for the risks I’m taking for you.’

‘I will reward you, in keeping with the information you give me.’

She nodded. ‘I’d like to be the judge of how important it is. In this case, sir, I’d say it’s worth about five shillings worth.’

‘Expensive, Molly!’

‘I think you’ll find it worth it.’

‘And if I don’t?’

‘Then it’ll be too bad, won’t it sir,’ she said with a smile.

‘I see. Well, Molly, I’ll give you your five shillings, and let it be a test of how good a judge you are of your own worth. So - what is it.’

‘The money first, please sir,’ she said, rubbing her fingers together.

I paid up, with not much grace, I have to say. Molly nodded and popped it in her purse.

‘Well?’