Beyond the Blue Mountains

by Jean Plaidy

  But he wanted to know.

  The baby,” she said, ‘yours and your wife’s.”

  There has never been a baby.”

  “I mean the one… the one that wasn’t born. Oh… I should not have reminded you. How stupid of me!”

  “Where did you hear such a tale, Carolan?”

  “It was she who told me. Really, Gunnar, I must say no more … No, no, please do not press me. It was just that it made me feel bitter. She … who is your wife … and deliberately …. Oh, but I will say no more.”

  “You must tell me,” he said.

  “I know nothing of this.”

  “Oh, what have I done! She told me … but it was when she was under the influence of that stuff… she did not mean to tell perhaps… Oh. how stupid I ami Please, Gunnar, do not ask me more.”

  “I do ask you, Carolan.” She sensed his growing hatred of the woman who stood between him and his dreams.

  “You must tell me.”

  “I think she told me not to tell. I did not think she meant you, of course. I thought you would have known. But you see, she takes laudanum; it frightens me sometimes; it would be so easy to take an overdose. Sometimes I think she will, by mistake; it would kill her … she was frightened … frightened of having a baby here; she says it is so uncivilized. She said she would have been frightened in London, but here she was terrified, simply terrified. So she went to that doctor … that ticket of leave man who sells medicines which other doctors will not sell… and he did it for her. She was ill; she nearly died, she said. Do you not see what I mean? She could have had her baby happily … whereas I…”

  He did see. There was a cold glint in his eyes now. He hated Lucille, and in his hatred there were no regrets for the child of which he had been deprived; he wanted nothing of Lucille now. He wanted Carolan and his child, which was chiefly Carolan’s child. He was powerless; he did not know how he must act. He was a practical man who had never before been so foolish as to want something beyond his reach.

  “It was frightful,” said Carolan, and she shivered.

  “When she told me, it seemed to me that what she had done was little else I but murder.” She drew close to him.

  “Gunnar, you must not ‘, worry, my darling. Who knows, it may come right.”

  He said: “Carolan, you must promise me you will not many that man.”

  “How I love you!” she answered.

  “I would not have it. I would do anything to stop it.”

  “You will not let it be. Gunnar,” she whispered.

  “You will stop it… I know you will. You are so clever… so wonderful…”

  Something was wrong with the master. Margery knew it! He had a dazed look; his eyes burned; he wasn’t eating his food. Something was wrong with Mistress Carolan; she was paler; her eyes were brilliant. When you spoke to her sometimes she did not answer, and it wasn’t because she was playing the haughty lady either. She wore a black dress nearly all the time a dress with a voluminous skirt, a concealing sort of dress that gave you a clue.

  Quite sorry she was for the little ladyship. No snivelling about her. Her lovely head was carried a sure degree higher these days; but there was a pinched look about her mouth. Was she frightened? She wouldn’t admit it! She wasn’t that sort. Now, if only she would confide in old Margery!

  She came into the kitchen for the mistress’s bath water. She always made Poll carry it up and take it in. A nice spectacle, Poll, to go into a lady’s bedroom! Why didn’t she let Jin take it? Jin was a strong enough girl. One of these fine days Poll would be upsetting the water all over the stairs, and then there’d be a nice how-doyou-do!

  “Get the bath water. Poll.”

  “Hello, me love! And how are you today?”

  “Very well, thank you. Are you?”

  “Now that surprises me, for you’re looking a bit peaky.”

  She flinched a little. Suspicious? Come on, tell old Margery.

  How long do you think you can keep that sort of thing secret from a pair of knowing old eyes?

  “I’m quite worried about you, lovey. You ain’t looking yourself.”

  “Please do not worry then, for I am quite well. Poll can take up the water when it is ready. Tell her not to forget to knock on Mrs. Masterman’s door before entering.”

  “Not so fast, me darling. I am worried about you. Have a glass of grog. There’s nothing like grog at such times!”

  “What times?”

  Times when you’re feeling peaky.”

  Margery grinned. Not an atom of doubt either; it wasn’t the girl’s looks so much as her manner that gave her away. The master! What would happen now? Men were funny… could be funny… tunes like these. And when a man was as successful as the master, there were always those who were only too ready to pull him down.

  Carolan hesitated. Obviously she suspected Margery of knowing. She sat down at the table.

  “Jin!”

  Jin came with the bottle, sullen as ever. Margery hoped Jin had noticed nothing. Didn’t want her snickering. Not that Jin ever noticed much except men. She was born a harlot, that gipsy.

  “There, dearie, drink up. It’ll do you good. You know Margery’s your old friend.”

  “Of course I do.” Sharp, acid that was her voice. Keep off! it said. I managed my own affairs. No doubt you do, me lady, but girls in trouble ain’t so beautiful as girls out of trouble, and even men like the master is only human. They don’t like trouble, though God knows they like what leads up to it well enough!

  There!” Margery smacked her lips.

  “Good, ain’t it? The master is a good master; not another like him in Sydney. We was lucky to get taken into his house.”

  There was a chance for her! Margery could have loved her, if she had fallen on her neck and burst into tears. But she didn’t. She was hard as nails and cold as stone.

  Anger surged up in Margery. All right, me beauty! All right… She laid a hand on the swelling bosom beneath the black folds.

  “You’re filling out, me lovely. You are filling out. Good living agrees with you, ducky. So that’s what a feather bed does for you, eh?”

  The girl had whitened.

  She said, calmly enough: “Yes, I think I have put on a little weight.” She drained her glass unhurriedly. You had to admire her. What a change, eh, from that snivelling little wretch!

  Funny, the two of them, almost together too. But not so funny, for if Margery knew anything of human nature, which she did quite a lot, she would be saying that it was the one that grew out of the other.

  Carolan sat there till Poll came through with the water. Then she led the way upstairs.

  Carolan said: “Gunnar, I must talk to you. I must talk to you now.”

  They were in the hall together. He had just come in from riding. He looked tall and powerful.

  He said: “In my room. You go now.”

  She went, and in a few moments he was with her.

  They know,” she said.

  “It is getting obvious. Margery hinted …”

  “You must go away from here at once, Carolan.”

  “Yes,“she said. “I win.”

  “You must see that my plan is the only plan.”

  “You must see that mine is.”

  “You cannot marry this man.”

  “I can, Gunnar, and I will. I will tell him everything. I do not think he will refuse. He will do anything for me.”

  She resisted the temptation to burst into tears, to throw herself on to his bed and sob out her defeat. Tom Blake! The man was repulsive to her, and yet if Gunnar forced her to it, she knew herself well enough to know that she would keep her word. She thought of rough hands touching her.. And would even he be able to stop himself from reminding her of the conditions under which she had married him? At first he would take her at any price, but afterwards, when the humdrum life of the station began … the child would be a constant reminder. They would quarrel the fault would doubtless be hers, for she would not be e
asy to live with and he would remind her of why she had married him. A festering sore! What a way to embark upon marriage! And Marcus would be living in the same house … Marcus and Esther. It was sordid and horrible.

  And beside that, think of life here in this house … mistress of this house … wife of Gunnar Masterman, one of the important men of the town. She did not love him perhaps, but she liked him. Physically he appealed to her as no one else had, except Marcus. To be his wife that was safety, security. To be cherished, to have his children; that was what she wanted.

  But it could not be, because of that woman, his wife.

  “You shall not marry him, Carolan! You forget you would need my consent.”

  “You would withhold it! You would dare do that… when I am about to bear a child!”

  “But my child, Carolan! Mine!” Even now he could not keep out of his voice the exulting note. His child! That gave her fresh courage, fresh hope.

  “Listen,” he said. He led her to the bed and they sat there side by side, his arm round her.

  “You cannot stay here any longer. I will make immediate arrangements. I know a family who will be the soul of discretion. There is nothing to fear. You shall go to them; they will look after you. You shall be denied nothing, my darling… you and the child. I shall come to see you often.”

  She touched his face with her fingers, but she was trembling with rage.

  “It sounds very simple, Gunnar, but it cannot be.”

  “You must be reasonable, Carolan. We must both be reasonable and practical.”

  “I am being practical. I think I am being reasonable. I can see I must marry Tom. Cruel things happen to me; this is just another, but one grows accustomed to cruel things and able to meet them. My heart will be broken; my life will be finished.” She put her hands against her body.

  “My baby is there. To me it is wonderful and precious. I would not alter anything … I am ready. And of one thing I am certain my child shall be born in wedlock.”

  “But it is my child too, Carolan,” he said gently.

  “No, no, Gunnar! It is mine, entirely mine. And it will be Tom’s too. If I married Tom I should never see you again. I would be faithful to the man I married. I will go now. There is nothing more to be said.”

  “Carolan! Carolan! What can I do?”

  She took his face between her hands and kissed him tenderly. Tears were running down her face.

  “There is nothing you can dot my darling, but say goodbye. Life has been cruel to us, but we have to be brave, my dearest. It is not only ourselves that we must think of now. It is the child. Say goodbye to it, Gunnar. Say goodbye to me. Tomorrow I will go to Tom and tell him, and you will give your consent to out immediate marriage. It is the only way.”

  He protested. She saw the anguish in his face, and came very near to loving him.

  “Carolan, I cannot. I cannot.”

  He turned his face away. There were tears in his eyes, she knew, tears of rage and sorrow.

  She stood up and walked over to the door.

  “Do not make it harder for me, Gunnar. I cannot bear it. It makes me afraid. Wicked thoughts come into my mind. I think … if only she would take an overdose … if only … You see how much I love you, how I care and plan for my child. I must go now.. I must go quickly. Goodbye, Gunnar. Perhaps we had better not see each other alone … again.”

  He stood up, and she ran to him; she kissed him wildly.

  “Goodbye, Gunnar. Goodbye!”

  He was trembling; he. the strong man, the master.

  In the toilet-room Carolan took off the black dress and put on a green one. Her eyes blazed in her pale face. She surveyed herself. Oh, yes! Margery had noticed all right. In the green dress it was obvious. She knocked.

  “Come in,” said Lucille.

  She was sitting up in bed, a wrap round her. She always retired early these days. She had grown from a delicate woman to a semi-invalid since Carolan had been ministering to her.

  “I have come to draw the curtains and light the candles,” said Carolan. She stood, the taper in her hand, willing the woman to look at her.

  “Carolan,” said Lucille, ‘you look strange. Have you been crying?”

  “The shawl is slipping from your shoulders,” said Carolan.

  “It would not do to catch cold.”

  “You are very good to me, Carolan.”

  “No, no, it is you who are good to me.”

  “I? Good? No, Carolan. Sometimes, particularly lately, I think of what a wicked woman I am.”

  “You must not take it to heart, you know. There must have been many women who have done__that.”

  “What, Carolan?”

  “I am sorry. It is nothing. You must not worry. You know Doctor Martin says the last thing you must do is worry.”

  “It has occurred to me, Carolan, that in a way… it is murder. It is only a matter of months … and then it would have been murder. The baby was alive …”

  “Please do not let us discuss it it worries you so.”

  “No, do not let us talk of it. I have dreams about it. Carolan.”

  “It is worrying by day that makes you dream at night. No! You must forget it. He will never have his children, but what is to be, will be, and so many of us have to go without what we desire most in this world. It is time you had your pills. Did you have another dose this morning?”

  “Oh, Carolan …”

  “But in the morning!”

  “I had such dreadful dreams, Carolan. I dreamed that it was alive… a real baby … and that I had killed it, and they found out and took me to the gallows. And he was there. He looked terrible. He kept saying … Murder! I could not sleep after that, and I was so tired in the morning. I longed to sleep … it is such a deep, dreamless sleep, Carolan … soothing and caressing.”

  “But,” said Carolan slowly, ‘it makes you feel that you want to stay like that for ever, and that is dangerous.”

  “It is just like that, Carolan.”

  “Sometimes I think you may not resist the temptation to stay there forever …”

  Lucille laughed.

  “Is it not strange that that comfort should be there in a bottle?”

  “Very strange.”

  “You look different tonight, Carolan. Is it because you have changed into the green dress? It looks gayer on you than it did on me. But it is too tight for you, my dear. I must find something else for you; you have been so good to me.”

  Carolan laid her hands across her breasts. She looked wide-eyed at Lucille.

  “What is it, Carolan?”

  “Nothing … oh, nothing.”

  “I thought for the moment that something was wrong. I… I have had that feeling for some time. I thought you seemed absent-minded, and … you were always so reliable. If there is anything I could do to help you … But perhaps it is my imagination, for I thought the master seemed strange lately.”

  “Strange ?” said Carolan.

  “The master strange ?”

  “He looks at me strangely. It is nothing. I have such a vivid imagination; I am so sensitive. He asks after my health more than he did. Perhaps he wants children again.”

  Carolan leaned over the bed.

  “And if he did …?”

  Lucille shivered.

  “I should die. I know I should. I could not bear it. Perhaps I could arrange to go home; but the journey! I should die, Carolan. Sometimes I get the idea that my end is not far off, that I deserve to die …”

  “Because you killed your baby? You must get such ridiculous nonsense out of your head. To have a baby is a wonderful experience … for a woman in your position.”

  Surely she must see now. But she was utterly selfish; she saw life from one angle only—life as lived by Lucille Masterman.

  Carolan turned away, her lips trembling. Had Lucille sufficient insight to grasp the situation? An ailing wife, a beautiful girl, a man who wanted children it was an old enough story. But Lucille was wrapped about with
her own selfish needs her pills, her comforts, her pains.

  Lucille’s eyes were glassy; the drug robbed her of strong emotions; strength was slowly seeping out of her body. Sleep she wanted … sleep, eternal sleep. She wanted it for herself, and Carolan and Gunnar wanted it for her.

  “Read to me, Carolan,” said Lucille.

  Carolan opened the Bible. Her eyes were burning, her hands trembling.

  ‘ “Now Sarah Abram’s wife bare him no children: and she had an handmaid, an Egyptian, whose name was Hagar…”

  There was no sound in the room but that of Carolan’s voice, very clear, high-pitched with emotion.

  Suddenly Lucille cried out: “Stop! Stop! No more! I wish to hear no more.”

  Carolan put down the book and went to her. Lucille looked into her face and their eyes held each other’s, Carolan’s commanding, Lucille’s submissive.

  Carolan said softly: “You must not blame yourself. You were ill, and illness weakens the spirit. You did him a great wrong, but it is done with. Live… and bear him more children.”

  “I could not, Carolan. You do not know how weak I have become. If I was weak before, I am doubly so now.”

  “You must live. You must bear him many children, for that is what he wants, and that is the way you must expiate your sin.”

  “My sin… Carolan!”

  The murder of his child …”

  “I am too ill, Carolan.”

  “Remember,” said Carolan, and her voice was commanding,” ‘no more drug tonight! You would need a double dose for it to be effective tonight, for you have taken one dose already today.”

  “Carolan, are you going to leave me now?”

  “I am going to leave you to sleep.”

  “I cannot sleep.”

  “You must. Try to calm yourself. You need sleep.”

  “But I cannot sleep … without…”

  “Goodnight,” said Carolan.

  “Remember what I said. Goodnight.”

  Carolan went to her room, and lay on her bed. staring at the ceiling.

  She was exhausted.Katharine Masterman Katharine Masterman awakened early that December day, but the sunshine was already streaming into her bedroom. She experienced a disappointment, for as soon as she was fully awake she remembered that Christmas Day was still three weeks off, and realized that she had only dreamed that it was Christmas Day, and that she was at the breakfast table looking at the presents piled high beside her plate. Three weeks to go I It might as well have been three years, for three weeks is an age when one is ten years old.