Beyond the Blue Mountains

by Jean Plaidy

  “You are coming, my love,” he said. I’m in love with you. You shall be my wife, I mean it!”

  “No!” she said.

  Margery was standing in the doorway, open-mouthed.

  “Pray excuse me.” said Katharine coldly, and went over to Margery. He stood, staring after her, fumbling for his eyeglass and his dignity.

  Margery said: “Lor’!” and drew her into the passage, on the other side of which was the open door through which came the sound of music and laughter.

  “Come… quickly,” said Margery in a hoarse whisper.

  “If your Ma was to know…”

  Henry was in the kitchen. Katharine ran to him, and they dung together, kissing.

  “How beautiful you are!” said Henry. She laughed almost hysterically; Henry in lamplight was such a contrast to Sir Anthony, satin-coated in candlelight. She took his hand and kissed it. She found it difficult to stop kissing it.

  Henry touched her white shoulder wonderingly; then the lace and the soft material of her gown.

  “You are so beautiful.” he repeated.

  “You are so beautiful!”

  She said: “It is the dress. I would rather be in my riding kit, on the veranda with you.”

  He kissed her and they looked at each other incredulously as though they could not wholly believe in the existence of each other “Why did you come?” she asked breathlessly.

  “I thought of you in there … dancing … being so beautiful that every man must love you.”

  “Stupid!” she said, and they kissed again, and his hands caressed her bare shoulders.

  Margery was crying in the corner. The beauty of it! The beauty! Oh, to be young … seventeen and eighteen, and to believe love went on for ever! The lovely children … and me lord in there making love to her and wanting to marry her, and her wanting the other! Poor little soul! Funny listening to their lovers’ talk. It didn’t mean anything but “I want you! I want you.” They thought it did though, poor little innocents. You can’t go on wanting for ever though, and what’s a station beyond the Blue Mountains compared with a grand house in London Town! Muck and squalor, gaudy lights, and the poor and the beggars, and the lords and ladies. London! I hate you. London, I love you! Why is it, when you think of London, you get a pain inside you that nothing could ease but a sight of the wicked old city? If you was wise, me lady, you’d choose London Town. But love and wisdom never was two to go hand in hand. Your lady mother’s right, and so is the master, and what are they going to do about it, eh? And who’s going to win … you, me darling, and your rampaging lover, or wise Mamma who knows more than she’d like you to think she knows and your Papa who was born wise? And here’s old Margery, watching and taking a hand. Who let him into her kitchen, eh? Who gives him bits of gossip, eh? It’s nice to know you’ve got a hand in things … when you’re old and there’s nothing much left to you but a glass of grog at the kitchen table.

  He stroked Katharine’s shoulders and stooped and kissed them; he murmured again and again that she was beautiful and that he had forgotten how beautiful; and neither of them gave a thought to old Margery standing there, watching them with glistening eyes.

  The door opened and Carolan came in. her eyes flashing fire, but behind the fire was fear for this daughter whom she loved better than anything in the world.

  “Katharine!” she said, and Katharine swung round, all defiance, ready for the fight.

  “It is time you and Henry met. Mamma.”

  “Henry?” said Carolan coldly.

  Henry bowed.

  Ah I thought Margery. He’s not got the manners of the gentleman in the blue satin coat, but he’s got some sort of charm, and you can see with half an eye where he gets that!

  “Henry Jedborough,” said Katharine, in a dignified manner.

  “We are going to be married.”

  Carolan turned pale.

  She said: This is rather sudden, is it not?” And her eyes, as they rested on the young man, were like cold green emeralds.

  “No,” said Henry, jauntily.

  “Katharine and I arranged it some time ago. We are tired of waiting.”

  “Yes, Mamma,” said Katharine, ‘that is right.”

  “I do not recollect your having asked my permission to propose marriage to my daughter, sir. But perhaps you have spoken to her father?”

  “No!” he said, hating her because he knew she meant “Who is this crude unmannerly creature who ignores all the rules laid down by decent society?”

  “We thought.” he added, ‘that it was a matter for us to decide.”

  I know why she hates him so, thought Margery. In this light, where you can’t notice the difference so much, he’s the living image of his father.

  “Katharine,” said Carolan, ignoring him. ‘it was very ill-mannered of you to leave your guests. Go back at once)’ “Mamma!”

  “Go back at once!”

  “Mamma, please understand …”

  “My dear child, this is not the time to conduct a ridiculous scene. Mr. … Mr. … your friend can call upon your father tomorrow. I must really ask him to go now.” Henry bowed. He had his dignity. He said: “Goodbye, my darling.” And then, defiantly: “I shall see you tomorrow.” And there in front of Carolan and Margery he took her into his arms and kissed her several times right on the mouth. She was quivering with desire for him in spite of the scene that had just taken place, in spite of the spectators. That was how it was when you were young, thought Margery. Love swamped everything; when young lovers kissed, they forgot everyone else. Ah! That was how it was when you were young.

  He said: “Darling, promise me. Don’t let them…”

  “No, no, no!” she cried.

  They will try …”

  They will not succeed.”

  “Remember… the station … the two of us … beyond the Blue Mountains.”

  The two of us,” she said, ‘darling, beyond the Blue Mountains.”

  He kissed her hands he could not tear himself away.

  Carolan was stamping her foot in fury.

  When he had gone she looked coldly at her daughter.

  “Go upstairs at once,” she said.

  “People are wondering what has happened to you. I am ashamed …”

  Katharine was ready to obey. She loved her mother very dearly, for indeed they were much alike, those two, and they had been very close until this Henry came. She went slowly back to the music and the guests, but she had a remote look in her eyes for her thoughts were with Henry galloping home under the stars.

  Carolan turned on Margery.

  “You arranged that meeting, did you? Did you?”

  “Now, now,” said Margery.

  “What’s all the excitement? If a young gent comes knocking on my door and asks for Miss Katharine, what should I do but ask him in?” Carolan, as always, was indiscreet when angry.

  “I believe you arranged it, you wicked woman!”

  “Here!” said Margery truculently, for, as she told herself, she was all on Miss Katharine’s side, love being love and the stuff that makes the world go round. And, she reasoned, it’s hard when someone who was as ready to love as most, forgets it! She thought: I don’t like this house. There’s ghosts in this house. I’d like to go with them two young ones, that I would. My goodness, there’ll be some fireworks there. She ain’t going to lose her lover like you did, Madam Carolan. He ain’t going to let that happen.

  Perhaps children is wiser than their parents, because, if they wasn’t, how would things get moving on at all? I’m for the young ones … whatever you say. And she’s promised I’m to go with them and he won’t say no. I’m his friend. Haven’t I shown him I’m on his side! And he’s his father all over again and don’t mind handing out a bit of flattery even to an old woman. He’s made that way, and my little lady will want someone to look after her, I’m thinking. That’s my home with them, on the other side of the Blue Mountains, so I ain’t afraid of you, Madam Carolan, that I ain’t! A
nd I knows too much about you to pretend I ami Carolan was looking at her arrogantly.

  “I said that you probably arranged it. You let him in. You doubtless suggested he should come in. You meddling old woman!”

  Margery felt sorry for her. If you know human nature, she was thinking, you know what’s behind words. What she meant was”You meddled in my life!” And that boy was the dead spit of his father, and she was thinking back years and years, and wanting his father, never having forgotten him. never having forgotten how, through her own pride, she had lost him.

  Then Margery was angry with her, for she reasoned, had not Madam Carolan seen what interfering could do, and yet she wanted to interfere with them two lovely young things, wanted to tear them apart when they were yearning for one another, wanted to thrust the little dear into a pair of blue satin arms just because there was a grand tide and money there!

  “I believe in helping young lovers!” said Margery boldly.

  “And Madam, I’ll tell you here and now, it ain’t for you to go criticizing what I might do.”

  That started Carolan: her lips quivered with anger.

  “You are insolent,” she said.

  “Oh, Madam,” said Margery, seeing herself safe in that station with her two young lovers, ‘have you forgotten what it’s like to be in love? It ain’t so long ago since…”

  Insolence!” cried Carolan, her eyes flashing with rage.

  “Ah! Now you’re like the poor shivering mite you was when you first came into my kitchen. Head full of plans, that was you. And the way you treated that poor boy’s father, and the way you went to the master, and then … and then …” Margery could not say it. But she lifted her eyes upwards to the first floor, and there was terror in Margery’s eyes, and the terror communicated itself to Carolan. for her pride collapsed before her fear. She was as superstitious as Margery.

  Margery thought afterwards that something icy touched her. and even when she found that Henry had left the door open she still thought it must have been that poor sickly lady’s ghost.

  Carolan recovered herself.

  That will do!” she cried, and she turned and walked slowly back to her guests. Yes, there were ghosts in the house. Whatever your idea of ghosts, they were there.

  Margery came up the stairs and knocked at the bedroom door. If the master was there she would make some excuse. He was not there. Carolan was in front of her, mirror fixing a lace collar on her gown; Audrey was hanging clothes in a cupboard.

  Carolan looked up: her eyes smouldered as she was remembering last night’s scene with Margery.

  “Yes?” she said coldly.

  Margery sidled over and turned her back to Audrey. She said in a soft voice: “It is a letter that was brought for you.”

  She held out an envelope across which was scrawled “Mrs. Masterman. Carolan took it.

  “It was brought to me kitchen this morning.”

  How long ago? wondered Carolan. Had Margery found some means of opening it and read it?

  The kitchen?” said Carolan casually. That’s an odd place to deliver a letter. All right. Margery. Thank you.”

  As soon as Margery had gone. Carolan tore open the letter.

  Dear Mrs. Masterman, she read. Would you be so good as to grant me an interview? I think there is much to be discussed concerning out children. Perhaps Katharine would tell you where she was once lost and where Henry found her. These two young people have made that spot their meeting place; could we make it ours? I shall be there this afternoon at four o’clock. If you are not there this afternoon, I will be there tomorrow, because I hope so much that I shall see you. William Henry Jedborough.

  She crumpled the letter. How like him. What insolence! She had determined that Katharine should not marry Henry Jedborough; what good did Marcus think he could do by this meeting? Did he think he could be so persuasive? He was ever one to over-rate his powers.

  She had not seen him since that day he had ridden in with Katharine. She had said she hoped she would never see him again. This marriage was impossible. How could the two families unite! Esther and Marcus! What memories! At all costs Katharine must not be allowed to marry Henry.

  She shivered, thinking of last night’s scene in the kitchen, with that insolent Margery almost blackmailing her, and Katharine going back to the guests and acting as though she were a being from another world, until one wanted to slap her. But Anthony Greymore seemed to have found that will-o’-the-wisp mood attractive. Oh, Katharine, you little fool with your romantic ideas of love and life! Here is position, wealth, security… and you would throw all that away for a station in a wild country where bushrangers might deal death to you and your family one dark night. You want love, you say; Sir Anthony loves you, and you, foolish child, ought to know that it is wiser to accept love than to give it. And your Henry, what of him? He is his father all over again. How long will his love stay warm for you, my dear?

  Oh no, this folly must be stopped; because I love you, Katharine, better than I love anyone else in the world. It is not because I cannot bear to meet Marcus that I want to stop this marriage; it is not because I hate Henry’s mother for taking Marcus from me; it is for your sake, my dear… for your sake only.

  She tore the note into many pieces. I wonder what he is like now. He will be over forty, past his prime. I am thirty-six. What years and years ago since I first saw him, and he stole my handkerchief! Thief I Rogue! Philanderer!

  She thought of him in his room at Newgate, she standing at his shoulder while he fed her with pieces of chicken. She remembered the proposal he had made then. She thought of Lucy’s looking in at the door, and Clementine Smith on the boat, and she was as angry with these two as she had been when she had discovered his relationship to them.

  In the glass Mrs. Masterman looked back at her, smooth-faced, well-preserved, a lady of dignity; behind the mask of Mrs. Masterman, Carolan Haredon peeped out. Carolan Haredon was still there in spite of Mrs. Masterman.

  She saw Audrey’s reflection in the glass.

  The girl’s face was placid, a mask as concealing as the mask she herself wore.

  “Audrey,” she said on impulse, and the girl came swiftly to her.

  “Audrey, I have often wondered what brought you here. Forgive me, Audrey, and do not answer if you prefer not to. It may be that you do not wish to speak of terrible things.”

  Audrey’s grey eyes filled with tears.

  “You are so kind. Madam.”

  “Kind!” Carolan laughed at herself in the glass. Not kind, not Selfish, and sometimes cruel and scheming and… “I wouldn’t have believed anyone could be kind like you are,” said Audrey.

  “Not if it hadn’t been for her. She talked to me … she talked to me special, she did. She said, “Never despair, Audrey … Life can’t be all cruel,” she said.

  “That wouldn’t be human nature. There’s good and bad, bad and good. Look for the good, Audrey!” She spoke to me special.”

  “Audrey, you were at Newgate?”

  Audrey nodded. She began to shiver. Carolan shivered too. The memory was such as to make one shiver after nearly twenty years.

  “Tell me, Audrey… Tell me…”

  The story came out by degrees. It was an ordinary enough story; Carolan had heard many like it in Newgate, and on the convict ship. The daughter of unknown parents, left on the doorstep of a lodging-house, where she was taken in because she might be useful; five years old. scrubbing floors, seven years old a fully fledged drudge; blows and curses; learning to steal, food first, then other things; then running away and eventually ending up in Mother Somebody-or-other’s kitchen. The usual story of crime and violence. An innocent child turned into a criminal by a brutal system. She had been in the bridewell; she met people in the bridewell who said they would help her when she came out. They did help her to go lower.

  Carolan was fascinated by the expressions which crept over the girl’s face as she talked. Depravity, cunning, lewdness… another Audrey posed befor
e her. Her placidity was a veil which she lifted, and something horrible peeped out.

  “And finally Newgate?” said Carolan, for she wished she had not started this.

  Carolan had a picture of the girl’s facing that crowd of wild beasts. She thought of Esther, naked before them, of Kitty’s going down, of herself and poor Millie bloody with battle. But this girl would have been prepared; she would have been one of them. She would be no innocent when she went to Newgate.

  Audrey covered her face with her hands.

  Carolan said: “And you drove from Newgate to the ship. It was horrible. My poor Audrey! Perhaps the most horrible … because free people laughed at you and did not care. But do not think of it any more; it is too depressing.”

  Audrey uncovered her face, and the veil of placidity was drawn over it again.

  “We drove in a closed carriage. She said we must…” Audrey was herself now, the quiet, discreet maid.

  “Who said it?” asked Carolan.

  “She did.”

  And Audrey told the incredible story about a lady who must surely be an angel. Carolan had not suspected Audrey of lying before.

  “She walked in one day,” said Audrey. The turnkey opened the door and he said: “Lady, you go in at your own risk. There’s wild beasts in there!” And she walked in … like an angel with the most beautiful smile you ever saw in your life, M’am. And she picked up one of the children, and he hadn’t got no clothes on at all, M’am, and his face was half eaten away with sores, and she picked him up like she was his mother. And she was beautiful, M’am, though not as you’re beautiful. But beautiful different, M’am… beautiful like an angel would be…”

  Audrey was romancing. If you had spent horrible weeks in Newgate, you knew it was no place to harbour angels. The poor child had had an hallucination.

  “Audrey, finish your work and leave me. I wish to be alone.” She picked up the fragments of Marcus’s letter. What impudence! Of course I shall not meet you. And what would you do if I did? You would flatter; you would tell me you had never forgotten me, doubtless. You would … She tried to still the absurd fluttering of her heart. It was not Marcus of whom she was thinking, she assured herself, but of that absurd flight of fancy of her maid. Newgate did something to you, turned the brain. If you stayed there too long, doubtless you would suffer from hallucinations.