Beyond the Blue Mountains

by Jean Plaidy

  “No, no, my love, of course you could not!”

  “Mamma, you are truly glad to see me?”

  Kitty laughed; it was the same spontaneous laugh that Carolan remembered well. Kitty held her at arm’s length and looked at her.

  “How you have grown, my love I’ ” “Have I, Mamma?”

  “Why, when I left you were only a baby.”

  “Oh, no, Mamma, not a baby!”

  “Then a very little girl.” Kitty held out a hand and drew Darrell into the magic family circle.

  “Now I have both my darlings with me.” Carolan looked from one to the other.

  “Is not your daughter a regular beauty, sir?” demanded Kitty.

  “She is a sweet creature, and I am proud of her,” said Darrell shyly.

  “But, darling,” said Kitty, ‘why did you not let us know you were coming?”

  “There was not time.” A dark shadow crossed Carolan’s face.

  “It is too much to talk of now. Mamma. I will tell you later. Mamma, there is one thing I must tell you… and you too.” She smiled shyly at Darrell.

  “I shall not stay long, because I am going to be married.”

  Kitty wiped her eyes.

  “My own sweet darling, to marry! But you are but a child.”

  “Rising seventeen!” said Carolan.

  “Can you believe it, Darrell, my darling? And whom have they chosen for you, sweetheart?”

  “They did not choose. Indeed they are not happy about the choice. Everard and I chose.”

  “Everard? Everard Orland? The parson’s son?” Kitty laughed gaily.

  “Well, he is a dear boy, and I am happy. He will make a good husband.”

  “So I think,” said Carolan, And they all laughed, though Carolan noticed that there was something hollow about her father’s laughter, as though he had not learned how to do it properly.

  “I have been robbed … twice!” cried Carolan, and then remembered Jonathan Crew.

  “Oh…” she cried, and turned towards him; he emerged from the doorway and came slowly into the shop.

  Darrell hastily took a step forward.

  “Can I help you, sir?” he asked. But Carolan rushed in with explanations.

  “This gentleman was kind enough to bring me here. I was the victim of a second pickpocket, and he said the streets were unsafe and that he would show me the way.”

  “Then we have to thank you, sir,” said Darrell.

  “Carolan, my sweet!” said Kitty.

  “You must be hungry; come along and we will eat.”

  Darrell turned to Jonathan Crew.

  “And you, sir you will take a glass with us? We would have you know that we are indeed grateful to you for bringing out daughter through these streets.”

  “It is a kindness, and would be a pleasure,” said Mr. Crew, and all four of them went through a door into the shop parlour.

  Pale sunshine, streaming through her window, awakened Carolan next morning. Just at first she could not remember where she was, for the room and its furniture were unfamiliar; a strange room indeed, full of shabby grandeur. The two armchairs, with their brocade coverings, had been splendid once; the carved table was a beauty; the curtains were rich though I torn in places and a little dirty.

  The incidents of the day before crowded into Carolan’s mind. She remembered coming through the streets of London to her father’s shop; she remembered drinking a glass of ale with Their new friend, Mr. Crew, who had volunteered a little information about himself. He had a clerkship in a shipping company’s office on the river bank; he lived in the Grape Street neighbourhood because it was cheap and he found it interesting. He had little money, he said oddly, for any entertainment save the study of human nature and indeed there could not be a more interesting study, nor one that was kinder to the purse.

  They had talked of him a little, after he had gone.

  “An honest man,” said Darrell, ‘and one without pretensions.”

  But Kitty had added: “A little on the dull side. Now I would have preferred my Carolan to have been brought here by a nobleman!”

  “A nobleman in Grape Street!” laughed Darrell indulgently.

  “That, my dear, is looking for an apple on a pear tree.”

  “Indeed it is not!” retorted Kitty.

  “Often enough I have heard of noblemen coming down to the poor parts of London, disguised as clerks or journeymen, or tinkers, or what you will. It is a new sport among the aristocracy.”

  She was the same Kitty, painting rosy pictures of the life around her as she wanted it to be, not as it was.

  Carolan stretched herself in bed and thought, I do believe she is trying to conjure up a romance for me and Mr. Crew, who, she is assuring herself, is a prince disguised as a clerk. And this in spite of what I have told her of Everard! Dear, inconsequent Mamma, to whom fidelity is an elastic quality to be stretched by her according to her need and mood of the moment.

  Last night she had brought Carolan into this room, and had sat at the dressing-table, twirling her hair while the candlelight played about her face.

  “Of course, darling,” she had said, ‘this is no permanent home! It is a stepping-stone to better things. Your father has told me so, and well you know your father is not the man to lie. He has said to me: “Kitty, my own love, this is not what I would wish for you!” And indeed I understand that, for is it what I have been used to!

  “No!” he said.

  “One day I shall make a fortune here, and then you shall have a fine house, a worthy setting for your beauty.” And, Carolan, do you think me still beautiful? What do you say? Have I aged much since you last saw me?”

  She had indeed looked lovely with the candlelight to soften her face.

  Carolan had laughed at her vanity, but had been unable to resist pleasing her charming, illogical mother.

  Then Kitty cried a little, and laughed a good deal, and said she was happy, happy, happy that her own darling daughter had at last come home to her mother. She had kissed her tenderly; insisted on waiting until she was in bed, and tucking her in as though she were a little child. Carolan remembered sharply that when she had been a child, Kitty had not come to tuck her in. But such thoughts she quickly dismissed, because when Kitty was with her it was always difficult not to fall in with the bit of play-acting she was putting over at the moment.

  Carolan put one bare foot out to the rug beside her bed; then the other. She pattered across the floor to the narrow window. Now she was looking down on the mean street. It was deserted, no doubt because of the earliness of the hour. The dingy houses opposite were so close that but for the curtains it would have been possible to see into those rooms behind them. When she leaned out of the window she could see the facade of the shop, but the door was shut and the old clothes which had hung in the doorway had been taken in.

  She thought of Jonathan Crew’s words “These streets are as full of thieves as a warren is of rabbits.” She wondered why her father, if he had wanted a shop, did not have one in a busy thoroughfare such as some of those through which she had passed yesterday on her way from the Oxford Arms. Surely more business could be done in those busy streets. She thought of the ladies and gentlemen riding by in their carriages. They would not want to buy old clothes, of course, but there were other things in the shop.

  She left the window and washed her hands and face in the basin. The water was cold and refreshing.

  When she was dressed she opened her door and listened. There was no sound in the house; evidently her parents were not early risers. She smiled to herself, thinking what a good idea it would be to prepare breakfast and take it up to their room. Her mother, she was sure, would enjoy that. She tiptoed downstairs and along the passage to the shop parlour. There was a sour smell in the place, which she decided probably came from all those secondhand goods in the shop beyond.

  A clock began to strike. One, two, three, four … right up to seven. She opened the parlour door and looked in at the shop. Li
ght flickered through the shutters and fell on a pair of brass candlesticks; they glittered brightly among that hotchpotch of articles. Chairs and carpets, chinaware and silver, oddments of furniture, usually broken and decrepit; and everywhere old clothes. The striking, she saw, had come from a grandfather clock in one corner of the shop.

  Carolan thought indulgently of her parents. She was beginning to suspect that her father was no shrewd business man. Why did he not arrange his goods more attractively? That confidence, which she had lost owing to her encounter with two thieves during her first hour or so in London, was returning. While she was awaiting Everard she would look after these two dear simple parents of hers. Oh, she could imagine them with their shop! No doubt her mother went through the stock and kept the most attractive articles for herself; and her father, poor sad man, would not say her nay. Oh, they needed looking after, these two parents of hers! Mamma was a child at heart … and Father? Terrible things had happened to him. His gentle expression and his smile were like a mask he drew down closely over his features lest you should read there what he did not wish you to. Kitty would never read anything she did not want to; but Carolan would read the truth if he as much as lifted that mask for a moment. And he was afraid that she would, poor darling.

  She looked up at the bell over the door, which would warn her father of the approach of a customer; that was well enough. But why did he hang garments outside the door, in a place which was as full of thieves as a warren was of rabbits? Carolan clicked her tongue indulgently; he had probably lost lots of things that way, and most likely did not know it!

  She heard a movement in the shop parlour, and turning, saw her father entering the room.

  “Good morning!” she said.

  “Good morning, Carolan! Is this a little tour of exploration?”

  “Yes. I thought I would get breakfast for you and Mamma.”

  “That is a kind thought, but your mother does not open her eyes until midday; I shall have mine now, because I have to go out this morning on important business.”

  “You were going to get it yourself then?”

  “Ah.” He had a very charming smile.

  “I am a handy man, daughter.” He looked down at his hands, and she followed his gaze. They were gnarled hands, and one of the fingers of his right hand was missing. They seemed to be telling her so much, those hands; they made her want to weep.

  There was a very tender note in her voice when she said: “You will sit down this morning, and I will get your breakfast.”

  “It is difficult to work in a strange kitchen.”

  “I shall discover very soon where things are kept.”

  “How would it be, Carolan, if we got it together?”

  “Excellent!”

  He led the way. The kitchen was stone-floored and untidy. He watched her survey it with a faint pucker on her brows.

  “Carolan,” he said, ‘you are like your mother … though different. I wish…”

  “Well, Father, what is it you wish?”

  That I could have given you riches and luxury. And Carolan, but for this thing which happened to me, I could have given you both comfort. Behold me, Carolan,.a most unfortunate man!”

  She laid a hand on his shoulders.

  “We are here now… all three of us together. That is good.”

  “Yes,” he said slowly, ‘it is good; but it will not be for long, Carolan, for your lover will come for you.”

  She turned away from his incomprehensible eyes.

  “He will come for me, yes, but when we are married we shall see you often.”

  “That,” he said, ‘will be delightful. Here is cold bacon and bread; a little pickled onion and ale. How does that appeal to you, Carolan?”

  “Admirably. I am hungry. London air evidently agrees with me.”

  He cut the bacon into slices: she cut the bread; and when they were seated at the table, she said: “It is exciting getting to know your father when you are a grownup person. I do not suppose that happens to many people.”

  “Fortunately, no,” he answered.

  “I might say “Unfortunately, no!” Just think! Had you known me when I was one, two, three, four, five, you might have had to punish me now and then.”

  “I cannot imagine myself punishing you.”

  “I was a very wayward child.”

  “All the same, you and I would have come to an understanding about your waywardness.” He looked down at his hands again. How very sensitive he was about them! she thought tenderly.

  “No, Carolan,” he went on, “I think it was well you spent your childhood in a fine old place like Haredon. I could never have given you so much luxury.”

  “I was not very happy there. I should have been happier with you and my mother.”

  She watched the colour come into his face.

  “Ah!” he said, very eagerly.

  “You would have preferred me as a father, to Squire Haredon?”

  It was her turn to flush, remembering the presents, hearing the slurring voice— “Now, Carrie, give me a kiss. By God, you are your mother all over again! Take all and give nothing.” Not the voice of a father! It was horrible.

  “I hated Squire Haredon. You I could have loved.”

  He said: “I’ll remember that, Carolan. I’ll remember it.” His heart was beating violently; it would be so good to tell her everything, not all at once of course, but gradually. Odd how he had wanted to talk! He had tried to talk to Kitty. He had told her a little, but she cried and said it was horrible, and he could not bear to make her cry, even though she would have forgotten it all by the morning. With Carolan it would have been different; she would have seen with him; she would have felt with him -humiliation, hunger, torture, desperation. He could not forget what had happened to him, and sometimes he craved to talk as a man will crave for drink. There she sat before him, with her small charming face so vital more so than Kitty’s had ever been and those wonderful green eyes that would flash in anger and sympathy simultaneously; the anger would be for his tormentors, the sympathy for him. No! Talking to Carolan would be a luxury he must deny himself.

  He said: “Have you written to your lover yet?”

  “No. I intend to do so today.”

  He said: “Do so now; and I will take the letter and see that it is dispatched at once.”

  He found her writing materials, cleared a space for her on the table, and went out to prepare for a journey, leaving her to write.

  Carolan sat at the table and conjured up a picture of Everard, and then began.

  Dearest Everard, No doubt you will be surprised to hear from me that I have left Haredon. I found it impossible to stay there. Charles and the squire made it impossible. Please understand me: there seemed but one thing to do, and that to get away quickly; there seemed to be one place to go to, and that the house of my parents. So I am here, dearest Everard, as you will see, at number sixty Grape Street. My father is very, very kind, and my mother is glad to see me. They have the oddest shop, and I hope to help them, but I also hope that it will not be long before you come for me or tell me to come to you. I think of you continually, Everard, and if you should think it was wrong of me to leave Haredon so hastily, please try to understand that I could not stay; I can explain more fully when we meet. My father is going to take this letter and dispatch it for me; he is ready to go out now. Darling Everard, it is only one month since you said au revoir to me; it seems like one year. Two months seems an age. I am longing to see you, darling.

  Your ever constant Carolan.

  It took a long time to write the letter. She wanted to show him, without actually asking him to do so, that he must break his promise to his mother because her need of him was urgent.

  When she read the letter through it sounded cold; it did not adequately express her feelings. She would have written another, had she not known that her father was ready, waiting to go out.

  He took the letter and put it into his pocket. He sat on the edge of the table, lo
oking down at her.

  He said: “Do you think he will come for you before the two months are up, Carolan?”

  “I do not know. He has given his promise…”

  “I do not understand how he could give such a promise; not to see you for three months… that seems to me incredible.”

  “You do not know Everard. He does not get excited as I do. He thinks clearly; he measures his actions. He loves me; indeed he must, for I shall have to try very hard to be a suitable wife for him; he knows this, but he wants to marry me all the same. He loves his parents … though not as he loves me, but, because beside his love for me his love for them is insignificant, he would try to hide that and be doubly eager that they should not be hurt. So he gave this promise, much as it grieved him to give it. Do you understand. Father?”

  He nodded.

  “My child, I hope that you will be very, very happy; that you will know a happiness which was denied to me and to your mother.”

  Her eyes filled with tears of pity. She could understand their agony now that she knew what it was to love. To be separated for three months from a loved one was sad, but to be separated for years… that was torture. Impulsively she took his hands -his tortured hands and covered them with kisses.

  “My sweet Carolan,” he said.

  “My sweet daughter.” He tapped the pocket containing the letter.

  “I will dispatch this immediately. Carolan, did you beg him to come… at once ?”

  She shook her head.

  “He has given his promise, Father. I could not ask him to break it.”

  He said: “My daughter, life can be cruel; delay is dangerous. You know in a small measure what happened to me and to your mother. I could not bear that you should lose your happiness. Love is all; what is a paltry promise compared with the love of two young people! Take the letter. Add a sentence. Say “Come to me without delay! I need you!” Say that. Carolan.”

  There was almost a command in his burning eyes. She broke open the letter, and wrote at the end of it: “Everard, please, please come for me … at once. Don’t wait, Everard, please.” And there was a frantic appeal in those words, for the burning eyes of her father frightened her.