Beyond the Blue Mountains

by Jean Plaidy

  She left him sitting, and went indoors.

  “Tell my niece to come down to the garden,” she instructed Peg.

  “Tell her I particularly wish her to come.”

  Kitty came. On her lovely hair she wore a hat which shaded her eyes and shielded her face. She greeted the squire coldly. Harriet was amazed to see that there was a certain humility if the manner of his greeting to her; she had never seen George Haredon humble before, except perhaps when he was very young and so much in love with Bess. Kitty was almost haughty ridiculous creature, giving herself airs! How she would like to beat Kitty until the blood ran! Once, before the days of Peg an Dolly, she had almost beaten one of her maids to death; a chili of fifteen, a trollop if ever there was one! Got herself with chili by one of Squire Haredon’s grooms. And Harriet had beaten her and beaten her and when she grew big had turned her out. No one knew what had become of her after she left the Bridewell She was probably leading the life most suited to her nature. Well, that was how Harriet would have liked to beat Kitty … only Kitty was no child of fifteen; she was a strong young woman, and probably would not allow herself to be beaten almost to death.

  The squire scarcely touched his tea, and he forgot to compliment her on the excellence of her seedcake. He was discomfited, and all because of his carnal desire for a girl who would be a disgrace to his house; why, she had no idea even how to make raspberry jam.

  The squire took his leave. Kitty carried in the tea tray and, in her agitation, broke one of the cups.

  Harriet screamed at her: “You lazy, careless creature! I wish I had never clapped eyes on you. A pity you did not stay in London where you belonged. Doubtless you would have found the protection of some fine gentleman, as your mother did so admirably for herself!”

  Once Kitty would have laughed at that; the words would not have hurt her at all. But now she was jealous of her virtue; Darrell was involved. Her aunt was suggesting that this love she was so willing, so eager to give to Darrell, could have been any fine gentleman’s in exchange for his protection. She turned on her aunt with fury.

  “You wicked woman!” she cried.

  “And more wicked because you think you are so good. I will not stay here; I shall go away.”

  “And where will you go, Miss?”

  Kitty faltered. She was ready to blurt out: “I am going to be married. I shall go with my husband.” But even at that moment, hot tempered as she was, she realized what folly that would be.

  “I … shall go one day!”

  Harriet laughed. And for one moment she knew that her place in the squire’s bed had occupied her imagination more than her place at the head of his table; and she knew that she was a disappointed woman, and felt an insane desire to go to the still-room and smash every one of those neat bottles. She tried to calm herself; but she could not. In a moment she would be sobbing out her disappointment. Angrily she strode to the wall where hung that whip with which she had beaten the fifteen-year-old trollop who had been so free with one of George’s grooms; she seized it. and her fingers were white with the tension of their grip upon it.

  “You … you …” she cried, and there was almost a sob in her voice.

  “Do you think … I don’t know … your kind! Do you think I haven’t seen the way you led George Haredon on? I believe you let him into your room at night… perhaps others. I believe …”

  The pictures were now forming into words, and she must stop herself for shame she must! But Kitty stopped her. Kitty’s eyes were blazing. She walked straight towards her, raised her hand as though to strike her. then dropped it and said in a cold low voice: “You wicked, foul-minded woman! You and George Haredon would make a good pair, that you would.” And she threw back her head so that the fine white voluptuousness of her throat could be seen to advantage. Then she laughed and went swiftly from the room.

  Kitty stayed in her room until close on eight o’clock; then silently she left her Aunt Harriet’s house and went to the wood. Darrell was waiting for her in that spot where the trees were thickest. She clung to him, crying.

  He said: “My dearest, what has happened?”

  She cried out: “I cannot stay here; it is hateful! My aunt thinks hateful things of me. Darrell, she is a cruel woman, for all her piety. How I wish that we were in London and that my mother was alive; she would have helped us.”

  He said: “Listen, my lovely one, my darling Kitty, listen! You will not have to stay. Today I have heard from my Uncle Simon.”

  Her smile was more brilliant for the tears that still shone in her eyes; her joy the greater for the fear it displaced.

  “You have heard… He has said …?”

  “He says we must marry. He says we must leave this place and go to London.”

  “When… oh, when?”

  Darrell hesitated.

  “There must be preparations, dear one. In a month, say. Kitty, can you endure this for just one month longer?”

  “A month! It is a long time. I have not yet been in my aunt’s house three weeks, and it seems three years. Cannot we go now …this minute?”

  He laughed at her impatience. They sat on a bank, and the grass was soft and cool, and the trees made a roof and shut them in in.

  “If we could … oh, if we could! But no, dearest, we must do what Uncle Simon says. He is going to make preparations for us. He is going to take me into his business. He is going to find a house for us, and that will take a little time. Then, my darling, we shall take the coach and go to London, and when we get there a priest will marry us and we shall be happy, and all this will seem like a nightmare.”

  “Darrell! It is wonderful. How I love your Uncle Simon!”

  “You must love no one but me!”

  “I should not, of course, except our children, Darrell.”

  “Our children!” he said.

  How the birds mocked overhead! He thought of their lovemaking on the branches of the trees, building their nests and bringing up their young. It was like a miracle it was the miracle of living. And how much more wonderful to be a man and love a woman, a woman such as Kitty!

  She had lain back on the grass now, and her eyes made the sky he could see through the branches look grey. Lovely she was, with her white bosom and fair neck and her hair a little tousled now, and her hands that seemed to be reaching to him.

  She was seductive and irresistible: and because she knew it, and because she, Eke the birds, was’ mocking that cautious streak in him, he could no longer bear it. He threw himself down beside her and buried his face in the whiteness of her shoulder.

  She said: “What a lovely end to a horrible day! Darrell, that hateful Squire Haredon asked me to marry him today.” Darrell drew himself up and looked at her with horror.

  “Yes,” she went on.

  “Oh, darling, don’t look so frightened! I told him I hated him. He came upon me when I was in the summerhouse, and tried to keep me there and force his horrible lovemaking on me. What a beast he is, Scarcely a man, I think -and how I hate the noisy way he breathes! You should hear him drink his tea. and it is as bad with coffee or chocolate. Hateful! Hateful! And I told him so.”

  He leaned on his elbows. Here in the woods was perfect peace and happiness, but outside terrible things could happen. He would write again to Uncle Simon; he would say a month was too long or perhaps they would go to London without saying anything.

  “He is powerful hereabouts,” he said.

  “If he knew you loved me, he could rake up some minor charge against me.”

  “That would be wrong… that would be cruel…”

  “It is a cruel world we live in, Kitty.”

  “But how gentle you are, Darrell, Perhaps that is why I love you. All the time you think of me; not what you want, but what is best for me. I see it, Darrell, and I love you for it. You would die for me, I know; I would for you too.”

  “I do not want us to die, but to live for each other,” he said.

  “You are clever with words and how I l
ove you! Let us not think of Squire Haredon and my Aunt Harriet and your Uncle Gregory, nor of the cruel world we live in. How lovely it is here! How quiet. We might be alone in the world; do you feel that, Darrell?”

  Her lips were parted. She was her mother and the blacksmith’s daughter. She loved; she loved passionately and recklessly; she was the perfect lover because love to her was all-important. There was no room in her mind for tomorrow; let others think of that.

  He heard her laugh a little mockingly, as he thought the birds laughed invitingly, irresistibly. He felt the blood run hot through his veins. He was aware of the letter he had had from his Uncle Simon, crackling in his pocket when he moved.

  He put his mouth on hers; her arms were about him. Only a month, he thought desperately; everything was really settled.

  Inside the wood it was heaven. Outside was the cruel world. But did one think of the cruel world when one was in heaven?

  Meetings in the wood took on a new joy. Kitty lived for them, scarcely aware of the days. Harriet watched her slyly, watched the rapture in her eyes, and thought, I believe she will marry the squire after all. I believe all that talk of hating him was coquetry. Was that how Bess did it?

  And because the greatest terror of her life was that it might be discovered that she herself had contemplated marriage with the squire, she talked to him of Kitty.

  “I felt, George, that right from the time you set eyes on her she reminded you so much of Bess that you had quite an affection for her.”

  What a keen glance he had shot at her from under those bushy eyebrows of his!

  “You’re a fanciful woman, Harry!”

  “I’m a woman with my eyes open. Why, sometimes I could almost feel it was Bess herself smirking before her mirror, curling her hair and making herself a hindrance rather than a help about the house!”

  He laughed at that.

  “So that’s how it is, Harriet.”

  “Mind you, if that is what was in your mind, and she was to know it and make a pretence of flouting you, I wouldn’t take her seriously. She’s a coquette; a born one, and made one by that mother of hers. She’s the sort who would want to lead a man a dance…”

  There! That had him. He was puzzled. He was beginning to think that Harriet had turned matchmaker. And how excited those words of hers made him! He was ready to grasp any shred of hope, so badly did he desire the girl.

  His visits to the house did not diminish. Kitty, though, hardly =seemed aware of him. She passed through the days like a person in a dream, the passion in her making her long for the evenings. Meetings took place earlier now, for the days were getting shorter; so they had longer together. What good allies she had in Peg and Dolly! Sometimes she stayed in the wood until close on midnight, but Peg and Dolly never failed to watch for her return and creep down from the attic to let her in. The days passed. Darrell heard from his Uncle Simon again. Uncle Simon was enthusiastic; he longed to see the beautiful girl whom Darrell described so eulogistically; he longed to score off old Gregory. He was getting ready for them; he would be ready for them very soon.

  “Next Monday,” said Darrell, ‘we will take the coach. We will meet here at midnight on Sunday: we shall have to walk into Exeter. We shall catch the very first coach, and we must take care not to be seen.”

  “Monday!” cried Kitty gaily.

  “Oh … in no time it will be Monday!”

  Darrell was excited, making plans.

  “One day this week I shall go to Exeter for my uncle; then I shall book our places on the Monday coach.”

  “It’s wonderful! Wonderful!”

  “And,” cautioned Darrell, ‘a great secret, to be told to no one.”

  “You can trust me for that, though I should have liked to say goodbye to Peg and Dolly.”

  “You must say goodbye to no one. If this went wrong, Kitty She laughed at him.

  “How could it go wrong?”

  She was so full of joy that she wanted everyone to share it. She worked hard in the garden; she tried to please Aunt Harriet; she even had a brief smile for the squire. She gave Peg a scarf and Dolly a petticoat. She just wanted everyone around her to be happy.

  She met Darrell as usual on Wednesday evening. What a glorious evening it was! The air soft and balmy, and no breeze to stir the branches of the trees.

  Darrell said: “I shall be thinking,of this all the way to Exeter tomorrow. When our places are booked it will seem as though we are already there. Kitty! You must not go back looking as happy as you look, or someone will guess!”

  And she laughed, and they embraced; and then they lay there, ” talking of London and the future.

  It was past midnight when Kitty returned to her aunt’s house, but Peg, wearing her scarf, let her in.

  All next day she was absent-minded. Harriet noticed.

  “What has come over you, girl?” she demanded.

  “You are not even as bright as usual!”

  Kitty smiled very sweetly; she could afford to be patient with Aunt Harriet. Her thoughts were all with Darrel, riding to Exeter on his uncle’s chestnut mare.

  She went to the wood that evening. He did not come. She returned home a little subdued. Why, of course he had not got home from Exeter; that was the reason he had not come. He had said he might have to stay the night if he could not conclude his uncle’s business, but would certainly be home on Saturday.

  On Saturday she was waiting for him. How quiet was the wood! She had never noticed that so much before. There were few birds now and the leaves were thick, some already beginning to turn brown at the edges. A gloomy place, the wood, when you waited for a love who did not come.

  She was anxious now: she was frightened. What could have happened to detain him? Business? Suppose he did not return by Monday; they had made no plans for such an occurrence. What should she do? Go to Exeter alone? But how could she take the London coach alone? She would not know where to go when she arrived. She had not the money to pay her fare.

  She ran through the trees; she gazed up and down the road. Once she heard the clop, clop, of horses’ hoofs, and when the sound died away, the disappointment was intense. Lonely and desolate, she returned to the meeting place; he was not there. It grew dark.

  Why had he not come? Here was Saturday, and he had not come.

  Sunday was like a bad dream from which she was trying desperately to escape. Perhaps he would send a message; he would know how frightened she must be, and he had ever been mindful of her comfort and her peace of mind.

  On Sunday evening she went to the wood, and still he did not come.

  Peg and Dolly crept into her room and found her sobbing on the bed. They eyed each other sadly. Perhaps they thought it was unwise to trust a lover too far. They cried with her. It was a cruel world, they said.

  Monday, which was to have been a day of great joy, set in with teeming rain, and Kitty’s heart was mote leaden than the skies.

  It was Peg who got the news. She kept it to herself for a while: then she told Dolly. They cried together: they did not know what to do. But if they did not tell her she would discover in some other way. So in the evening of that black Monday they told her. They tapped at her door and went in to find her sitting at her window, her lovely face distorted by grief, her beautiful hair in disorder.

  “A terrible thing has happened.” said Peg.

  “… to Lawyer Grey’s nephew who went to Exeter,” added Dolly. Though.” put in Peg quickly, ‘it may be a story. Such stories are.”

  Dolly shook her head sadly.

  “He was seen to be took!”

  Kitty stared in bewilderment from one to the other.

  “And his horse was left there for hours, pawing the ground,” said Peg sadly.

  ‘ Twas in a tavern… in broad daylight. The wicked devils, to take a man!”

  Kitty looked at them wildly. The unreality of the day had faded, and stark tragedy was all that was left.

  “What!” she cried.

  “What is it yo
u are saying?”

  “He went in for a glass of ale and maybe a sandwich.”

  “He was not the only one that was took.”

  “Tell me … tell me everything you know,” pleaded Kitty, suddenly calm with a deadly calm.

  “Such news gets round,” said Peg wretchedly, shaking the tears out of her eyes.

  “There were them that saw it. The villains burst in… he was not the only one that was took.”

  Kitty stood up and gripped the rail of her chair.

  “Peg …” she said.

  “Dolly …” And her mouth quivered like a child’s.

  Dolly threw herself down on the floor and put her arms round Kitty’s knees, burying her face, in her gown.

  “It was the devils as folks call the press gang. Lurking everywhere, they be, to take our men to the ships.”

  Kitty stared blankly before her.

  Peg said again, and then again, as though there was a grain of comfort in the words: “He were not the only one they took.”

  Kitty was numb with misery; listless, without spirit.

  Harriet said: “Are you sickening for the pox, girl?” And she examined her body for some sign.

  She went about the house, doing just what she was told. Harriet thought, I’m shaping her: she’s improving. And when she knelt on the coconut matting beside her bed at night, she offered thanks for the change which had come over her wayward niece.

  The squire was a more frequent visitor than ever. Kitty did not move away when he sat beside her on the garden seat. She listened to what he had to say, and gave him a listless yes or no.

  The squire said: “It is quiet for you here, Kitty. Day after day going about the house and the gardens with your aunt it is no life for a young girl. Now look here, we do a bit of entertaining now and then up at Haredon; why, sometimes I’ve got a houseful. Would you come, some time like that, eh, Kitty?”

  She said: “I am all right here, thanks. I do not wish for a lot of people round me.”

  “Then a small party. Just you and your aunt… I’d like you to get to know my children.”