by Jean Plaidy
Her voice broke; tears began to stream down her face. He walked away and stood with his back to her.
“Doubtless,” he said, “You are quite innocent of any crime.”
“I am innocent!”
“Of course! So is every convict I have ever met. They only rob and murder; that is perfect innocence. Now perhaps you will be good enough to get out of your mistress’s clothes and into your own. Perhaps you will be good enough to keep to your own quarters.”
If only he had shown a little anger, she would have liked him better. It was that coldness in him which exasperated her beyond endurance.
He turned his head slightly and gave her a swift look as though he found the sight of her too loathsome to be endured for more than the briefest second.
“Please wait,” he said, ‘until I have gone. I notice you have the charming modesty of our Newgate friends!”
The door closed; she heard the key turned in the lock. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks were scarlet; her eyes brilliant with tears. How long had he stood there, watching her struggle into the frock? She put her hands to her cheeks, and a burning shame was in her eyes. The beast! The coldblooded beast! How she hated him! There were none quite as loathsome as the coldblooded. Anger one could forgive, but that cold, calculated sarcasm… She took off the dress quickly. She was terrified he would come back. She got into her own clothes; she could not help noticing, even in her distress, how different she looked. She tried to stifle her sobs. He would hear; he would smile with satisfaction, the loathsome brute! She imagined his coming to the yard to witness her punishment. It made weals on your back, Marcus said, weals that left their mark for ever, that branded you.
She poured the water back into the cans, spilling a little on the floor, and hung up the dress, terrified all the time that he would return.
When she got back to the kitchen, she found the others had gone to bed. She emptied the water away and went into the communal bedroom.
There was a candle burning. She saw James and Margery clasped in each other’s arms; Poll was crooning over her. doll; Jin was snoring slightly.
Esther was awake though. She whispered: “What a long time you’ve been!”
Carolan answered quite steadily: “I had to put her clothes away.”
“I’m glad you’ve come back; I was frightened.”
“You are too easily frightened.”
“I know, Carolan, I know! I wish I were brave like you.”
“Well, get to sleep now. Good night.”
Brave! That was funny. She was trembling all over. She could feel the lash cutting into her flesh.
How I would love to put it about his shoulders! she thought, and hated him afresh. Cold eyes that betrayed no emotion. How I should love to make him suffer!
She thought suddenly of Marcus, of warm, friendly, passionate eyes.
Oh, Marcus! Marcus! I want you. Of course it’s you I want.
“Carolan, what is wrong?” Esther was anxious. This morning when Margery had called to them to get up, Carolan had been so fast asleep that Esther had had to shake her to awaken her, and when Carolan did wake, her eyes were dark-ringed with sleeplessness.
“Wrong?” cried Carolan irritably.
“What should be wrong? Just everything… that is all! Do you enjoy this life of slavery?”
“But Carolan, today there is something more wrong than usual. Will you not confide in me?”
“Oh, Esther, how foolish you are! Nothing is any worse today than it was before. How could it be, when before it was as bad as possible?”
They stood at the sink, peeling potatoes. The dirty water ran up Carolan’s arms. Every time the kitchen door opened, she trembled with fear.
He would spring suddenly, she was sure. He would not come into the kitchen himself. Perhaps one of the roughest of his men would be sent to take her to the yard. They would tie her hands and feet to the triangle. He would not be there; he would not even bother to look on. There was no fire in him: he would coldly, calculatingly mete out what he considered justice. Crime Using mistress’s bath water, dressing up in mistress’s clothes. Punishment Fifty lashes. She imagined his keeping a little notebook, and writing such things in it. I would rather Jonathan Crew, she thought, than this cold, inhuman creature.
The morning wore on.
Margery said: “Are you in love, me lady? You’re as droopy as a sleep walker.”
“In love!” said Carolan, hatred shining in her eyes.
“Ha! Ha! In hate, eh?” said Margery, observant, shrewd.
“Not in love? Has one of the men been disrespectful to your little ladyship? Is that what makes you look so fierce?”
“I am not looking fierce. Why cannot you let me be!”
“Tut-tut! Give yourself airs with the men if you must, but not with Margery. Don’t forget there’s the whip over the mantel, put into me hands by Mr. Masterman himself.”
The whip! Mr. Masterman! Try as she might, she could not keep her lips from trembling.
“Come over here and watch the meat. Jin’ll finish them taties. Go on, Jin! And don’t you give me none of your sullen looks, me girl, or it will be the whip for you as sure as I’m Margery Green.”
Real sparks of anger were in her eyes now. She would show the girl that she could not cast those eyes of hers on Margery’s men. James had been mealy-mouthed enough last night.
“Why, look ye, Margy, d’ye think I want to take up with silly bits of gipsies! Not when I can get a bit of all right like you, girl!” Ready as you like, it came, and when a man’s tongue was so ready, could you trust him?
Margery’s fingers itched for the whip. She would have liked to lay it across the girl’s face. Very pretty she would look with a weal across her gipsy face! But Mr. Masterman would want to know what had happened, if Jin served at table with a face like that. Margery was afraid of Mr. Masterman. Queer, cold man, he was, so that you all but forgot he was a man. Funny how the very thought of him kept them in order down here. Jin was afraid of him; she would not like him to know she carried that knife around with her. Jin had cast glances in his direction, but he wore a thick mask through which the arrows of desire could not penetrate.
“Bah!” muttered Margery, contemptuous yet with a certain awe, ‘he’s only half a man!”
She let her hand rest on Carolan’s shoulder as the girl watched the spit. Lovely skin, like peaches warmed and touched with the sun. She had been washing her hair under the pump this morning, and the sun played about it, loving it you might say, making it more beautiful because it loved it so much.
In love? With which one? James, Tom, Charley? No! Don’t make me laugh; her haughty nose would go up in the air at the thought of any of them.
The kitchen door opened. Margery saw the girl’s face whiten. This was very strange; something was afoot… what? She sat very still her eyes downcast. Margery had never seen her so pale. Her eyelashes were incredibly long, and her pallor, oddly enough, make them look longer. They were tipped with reddish-brown. She was a beauty!
It was James at the door.
“Hot coffee at once! With biscuits. The lady has a visitor.”
Margery got up, grumbling.
“Morning visitors, I hates ‘em. Why does people have visitors in the mornings! All right, all right! Come on, you. You can help me. Not you, Jin … you get on with them taties, and keep your eye on the spit at the same time, will you?”
James went out. Margery touched Carolan’s arm.
“Look here, me girl. You can take their coffee up to ‘em. It ain’t often servants is allowed the run of the house, but you ain’t like the rest, see? It’s funny, but I don’t believe you had nothing to do with that thieving they sent you out for.”
“Oh … Margery …” Carolan caught the woman’s arm. She had great difficulty in keeping the teats back.
“Here! Here!” said Margery, herself moved unaccountably. She wished she was a man so that she could love the girl physically; Margery playe
d with the idea while she made the coffee. It fascinated her.
“Now up you goes with it! Mrs. Masterman and her lady friend in the drawing-room. Steady, girl! For God’s sake don’t drop the tray, or it’ll be the last one you’ll carry into Mrs. Masterman’s drawing-room, I’m warning you. Now don’t be shy. Wouldn’t be surprised if Mrs. Masterman asked for you to wait at table. You’re a lot nicer to look at than that saucy Jin … Gipsies is dirty things, no mistake! Go on with you. Here’s the biscuit barrel. I’ll come up with you and knock. Ready?”
They mounted the stairs. Would he be there? wondered Carolan.
Margery knocked at the door of the drawing-room.
“Come in!” said Mrs. Masterman.
Margery pushed open the door, and Carolan went in. Mrs. Masterman was lying back in her chair, looking wan. She wore a fleecy jacket that made her look like an invalid.
Margery said from the door in a hoarse whisper: “Better pour it out for ‘em.”
Carolan, relieved that Mr. Masterman was not present, put down the tray and started to pour out.
“Bring it over here,” said Mrs. Masterman, and Carolan, her hands steady, carried over the tray. They helped themselves to brown sugar. There seemed to Carolan something slightly familiar about the dark-haired visitor.
The visitor said: “You seem to be well served, Mrs. Masterman. I must say I have the most shocking trouble with my servants.”
“Gunnar is so careful,” said Mrs. Masterman.
“Ah… yes. That is it. When you have a man to arrange your affairs …” Dark eyes studied Carolan appraisingly.
“I always think it is such a pity, when I see these young criminals.”
Carolan went out, wondering where she had heard that voice before. But that seemed a trivial matter. The main thing was where was the master, and what was he going to do about a rebellious and disrespectful convict servant who had behaved shamefully in his toilet-room? Had he forgotten? Was that possible? Wild hope soared up. A very busy man, was he not, with so much to attend to? Could it be that he had forgotten?
Something was happening in the kitchen. She heard Esther laugh. She had never noticed before that Esther had such joyous laughter. It came floating through the open door. Perhaps people’s voices were different when you dissociated them from their faces. If Newgate had left its stamp on Esther’s face, it had not been able to touch her voice. Margery spoke, excited, giggly. And then … another voice, a voice that made the blood rush into her head and beat like the tattooing of a jungle drum in her ears. The voice of Marcus.
She almost fell down the last steps to the kitchen. There he was, jaunty as ever, debonair, wearing riding breeches and leggings of leather, leaning in at the kitchen window.
She stood on the threshold of the room; he looked up and saw her, and she forgot the awful fear of punishment that was hanging over her, because the look in Marcus’s eyes dispelled all that.
He said: “Carolan!” and his voice was husky with emotion.
“Marcus!”
He held out his arms and she ran to him. He kissed her, first on one cheek, then on the other, then on the lips.
“My sweet, sweet Carolan.”
“Marcus … all this time … what has happened? Where have you been? You are free … Surely you are free? Oh, what happened? What happened, Marcus? Have you come to take me away?”
He laughed and held her from him.
“So much you want to know,” he said.
“So much I want to know. Why, your eyes are wet, my darling. Does the return of the wanderer mean so much to you then?”
Margery was laughing, holding her sides, while the tears ran out of her eyes.
“Come in! Come in! Mr. Masterman would be the first person in the world to want to show hospitality to the servant of his lady’s friend. Come in!”
“Servant… Marcus, you?”
He leaped over the window-sill. And Carolan was laughing now; they were all laughing.
“And you too, my haughty Carolan.”
“Poll!” cried Margery.
“Don’t stand there gaping, girl! Bring out glasses. A little drop of ale would go down well here, I’m thinking.”
Marcus put his arm lightly round Margery’s shoulder, and planted a light kiss on her hair.
“What angels have you fallen amongst, my darlings?”
“Go on with you!” Margery pushed him away.
“You keep your kisses for them as asks for them, young man!”
And she was laughing as she had not laughed for a long time. That was the charm of Marcus. His warm eyes embraced them all; Carolan first, Carolan his woman, then Esther, nice sweet Esther, and amorous old Margery, sullen Jin and even Poll standing there plucking her dress. Every one of them could feel the charm of Marcus.
The glasses were on the table. They sat round it. Esther was on one side of him, Carolan on the other. He put an arm round them both.
“Marcus,” said Carolan, ‘you must have been very lucky. Why … you seem not like a convict at all. You seem…”
“… A thorough gentleman! My luck held, my dears. I was taken into the service of a Miss Clementine Smith. She discovered I could manage a horse, so I drive her buggy; it is now standing in your yard.”
“You knew we were here, Marcus ?”
“Do you imagine I would not make it my business to find out where you were?”
“Marcus! I am so happy. If only I could go away with you! If only Esther and I. “If only! Do not forget we earn our rewards by good conduct.
One day …” She said: “I can wait now. I can bear anything. Esther, can you?”
“Yes,” said Esther, eyes shining.
“Yes, I can bear anything.”
“You are a pair of angels!”
“Drink up,” said Margery.
“It ain’t often I has guests in my kitchen, it ain’t!”
“That’s a pity, Ma’am, for it is right welcome you make them.”
Margery simpered and wriggled in her chair. Her eyes glistened. What a man! And he loved the girl. How he loved the girl! He was right for her. What had brought them out together? Imagine them … imagine them loving … And bless him, he had more smiles to give to Margery than to the dark-skinned gipsy. Dark-skinned gipsies were not to everybody’s taste!
Marcus told them what had happened to him.
“I went into the service of Miss Clementine Smith almost immediately. She had only just arrived in Sydney, and wanted a manservant. She said I was just the man for the job. I was lucky. I have been treated well.”
“Like a human being, I trust,” said Carolan, thinking of a pair of bleak, grey-green eyes.
like a human being exactly.”
“You are living near us?”
“In Sydney.”
“Oh, Marcus, it is over a month since we came here.”
“I know, I know. Do not forget I am not a man of leisure. I must wait on the pleasure of her who has taken me into her service. So when she arranges a visit to Mrs. Masterman, I can scarcely contain myself.”
“Oh, Marcus! Marcus! This is wonderful.”
“How much more wonderful it is to me! You look better Carolan, than when I last saw you.”
Old Margery said: “She had luck to be brought into this house. Mr. Masterman’s is the best house in Sydney, though I say it myself.”
“I am glad, Carolan,” said Marcus.
“I am glad, Esther. I don’t know how to thank the gods for placing my dear friends in such excellent hands, Ma’am.”
“What a caution!” giggled Margery.
“I don’t know what the Old Country’s coming to, when it starts transporting the gentry.”
“Your, smiles warm the cockles of my heart, Ma’am. May I come often to your kitchen?”
“What do you think this is, might I ask, a convicts’ club?”
“Just now it seems something like paradise to me!” Margery twirled the drink in her glass. The voice of him! The words
of him! Never, in the course of a man-haunted life, had she known anyone like him. And the girl loved him too, and if she was not mistaken, so did Miss mealy-mouthed Esther! But what chance would she have, beside Carolan, bless the girl! That white skin, that red hair, those lashes tipped with reddish-brown. Margery shivered with ecstasy, which the mere thought of love between them could give her. If ever two was made for one another, she mused, it’s them! Come to her kitchen? He should come whenever he could; and they should have the basement bedroom to themselves any time of the day. And she herself would prepare a bit of something to eat and drink for them, for there was no denying that lovemaking could be hungry business… thirsty too! She chuckled, musing on memories that seemed suddenly touched with more romance, more beauty, in the presence of Marcus.
Now he was whispering to the two of them. He had an arm round each of them.
“I’ll whisper a secret. I shall not stay with Miss Clementine Smith much longer. There is someone else after my services; his name is Tom Blake, and he comes from Seven Dials. He was a friend of mine in dear old London Town. Carolan, Esther, did I not tell you that I should know how to make my bed soft, even here! I am going to do it, my children. Tom is here; he has just arrived. He is what is called a warm man; money, has my friend Tom. He is going to set up in business here, and I believe there is money to be made in this country by those who are prepared to work for it. Tom will become a squatter; he will buy land and a flock of breeding ewes. He will start business in a big way. But he will want a man to help him, a man who is prepared to work hard, to be partner to him. You understand; it will be his old friend Marcus. He will take me away from the household of Miss Clementine Smith. According to the records, I am William Henry Jedborough, convict for the term of my natural life; but I shall, . as servant to my good friend Tom Blake, to all intents and purposes be a free man. And do you know that after eight years of exemplary conduct a man can get a ticket of leave … even if he has been sentenced for life?”
“Oh, Marcus, Marcus!” cried Carolan.
“How clever you are!”
