Beyond the Blue Mountains Page 11

  He went on bathing Carolan’s eyes, and there was a deep silence. After a while they went into the house.

  Mrs. Orland was distressed that the children had come to harm at her house. She bathed Charles’s forehead and looked in dismay at the strange appearance of Carolan. She sat down and wrote a note to Kitty, which when she had summoned Jennifer from Mrs. Privett’s room she gave to her to take to her mistress.

  Everard said: “It is nothing much, Mamma!” and Mrs. Orland said: “For shame, Everard! Your guests …!” Then Mr. Orland left his sermon for a little while and came out to say a few words before they left, but he noticed nothing unusual. Mr. Orland would not notice, Margaret had once said, if you walked on all fours. It was altogether a most exciting afternoon for Carolan, until they were riding home in the carriage; then her elation vanished.

  Jennifer said: “Now, what was all the fuss about?”

  They told her the story they had told Mrs. Orland.

  “It was her fault!” said Charles, pointing to Carolan. and Margaret did not defend her. She was disliking Carolan almost as heartily as the others did. The silly baby! Why, Margaret had been looking at Everard’s books and then suddenly he had escaped from her, which had wounded her deeply, for she always tried to pretend that Everard wanted to be with her as much as she did with him; and then when she found him he had been bathing Carolan’s eyes because the silly baby had been crying! He had escaped from her to go to Carolan’s aid. She felt impatient with Carolan, so said nothing when Charles laid on the child’s shoulders the blame for the afternoon’s disturbance.

  “I’ll warrant it was I’ said Jennifer, and decided to ask for no more details.

  “She shall be punished; she shall be taught that it she is very ill-bred to make trouble in other people’s houses. Ill-bred, indeed! Well, and what else can we expect?”

  Carolan’s happiness gave way to despair. She wondered whether Jennifer would whip her when they were back in the nursery. Perhaps she would content herself with a threat that she should be moved from the room she shared with Margaret to a dark one of her own. Suppose that her threat was followed by that action which Carolan dreaded more than anything else in the world. Carolan prayed fervently that it would only be a whipping, but from the way in which Jennifer was smiling, she was filled with fear. She could not bear it if she were sent to bed alone in a dark room. It would be almost as bad as being shut in the dark this afternoon, and it would not end suddenly with the kindness of Everard, but would go on night after night.

  She was frantic, thinking of it, and by the time they arrived home she had decided she must go to her mother and beg her to see that her bed was not moved away from Margaret’s room. It was not often that one could talk to grownups of one’s troubles; everyone realized that. Even people like Everard, who was almost grownup, knew that incidents like that of this afternoon must never be communicated to the grownups. But this time she could not help it; she would have to ask her mother to save her from the dark.

  As soon as she was in the house she ran to her mother’s room. She knocked. Therese opened the door, and when she saw who it was, lifted her shoulders.

  “Ah! The little one. There is no time this hour for the little one.”

  But Carolan ran past Therese, for she had seen her mother sitting by the mirror. She wore a satin petticoat, and her hair was hanging about her shoulders. Carolan took a deep breath at the sight of so much beauty, and was very proud of having such a lovely mother. Now she would turn and say, “Hello, darling, tell me all about this afternoon.” Then she would notice that Carolan’s eyes were red-rimmed, and she would put her arms round her and kiss her and say: “What happened to my little Carolan?” Then, without saying anything about the afternoon’s adventure which was too horrible to be discussed with anyone, Carolan would ask that her bed should never, never be moved from Margaret’s room. That was how she planned it.

  But it did not happen like that. Kitty saw her own lovely face vividly reflected in the mirror; Carolan was vague as a shadow standing beside her.

  “Hello, darling,” she said. Then: “Therese, I will have the mauve ribbons in my hair, I think.”

  She held the ribbons up to her hair.

  “Do you like them, Carolan?”

  Carolan nodded.

  “They match my dress, darling, you see; there it is on the bed. You may go and look at it. You can feel how soft and silky it is … Are your hands clean, darling? Show. Yes, you go and feel it.”

  Carolan felt the stuff of the dress. It was very soft and lovely, and would match the mauve ribbons beautifully. Carolan forgot to be frightened. Dark rooms and Jennifer’s anger seemed nonexistent when you were in this room, so full of bustle, the bustle of Therese and her mother; and Carolan, quick to catch a mood and share it, listened to the discussion as to whether it should be mauve or pale pink ribbons for Kitty’s hair, and it seemed as breathlessly important to her as the request she had come to make.

  “And now,” said Therese, ‘the little one must fly away. There is much to be done, and so little time to do it in!”

  “Did you hear that, Carolan? Therese is mistress here!”

  Therese smiled; so did Kitty; so Carolan smiled too, and it was only when she was outside the door that she remembered she had not asked that which she had come to ask. She went back to the nursery and hid herself in a quiet corner, but nobody spoke to her, so she went over the adventure with Everard again and again, beginning at that part where Everard put the key in the door and let in the sunshine. Everard was her special friend, she kept reminding herself; he had talked to her as though she were older than five; and he liked her, she believed, better than he liked Margaret and Charles-which was a triumph.

  She went to bed, and her bed was still in the room which she shared with Margaret; and when the candle was out and Margaret was sleeping and it really was rather frightening even though she could hear Margaret’s breathing in the next bed, it was not with her mother that she, after her usual fashion, held a whispered conversation, but with Everard.

  The year that Carolan was nine was one of the most eventful of the century. France declared war on England, and Charlotte Corday assassinated Marat in his bath; Louis XVI was executed that January and his queen followed him in October; that year saw the beginning of the Reign of Terror in France and the wave of uneasiness which swept over England because of it. But Carolan was unconcerned with events outside her nursery. She awoke on the morning of her birthday in great excitement. She now had her own room, but she had lost much of her childish fear of the dark. Sometimes, of course, when she had heard an eerie story she had nightmares, but that was not often; then she would dream she was locked up with the dead, and that dream persisted. But it was a dream with a happy ending, and when she awoke, perhaps screaming, trying to fight off queer dark shapes, she would think of Everard’s coming through the door, picking her up and talking to her so kindly. Then she would have a long imaginary conversation with Everard, and picture his face so clearly and hear his voice so distinctly that all fear would leave her. They were friends, she and Everard, and it was extremely exciting to have a friend who was so much older than oneself. It did not matter about being ugly. Her hair had kept its reddish tinge; her eyes had stayed green. Jennifer was for ever saying: “Green eyes for greedy guts! I do declare you grow uglier every day.” Charles took up the refrain: “Greedy guts! Greedy guts!” It was not a very pleasant name. But when she said to Everard: “Everard, how ugly am I? As ugly as old witch Hethers?” Everard had laughed.

  “Silly! You are not ugly at all; you are all right as good as most.”

  “As good as Margaret?”

  “Oh, better than Margaret!” and Margaret, fair-haired, blue-eyed Margaret was the prettiest person Carolan had ever known except Mamma, of course, who was lovely as a picture. But then Everard hated Margaret because she would try to talk to him and be with him; so that was why he thought her ugly, just as Jennifer thought Carolan was ugly, because sh
e did not like her.

  What exciting days birthdays were. She imagined what they would all give her; a dress of lace and ribbons from Mamma, because one always thought of lace and ribbons when one thought of Mamma. From Everard a riding whip to be used when she rode Margaret’s pony. From Margaret a saddle of heavenly-smelling leather. She could not lie abed when so many beautiful gifts were awaiting her. She sprang out and danced to the window. What a lovely morning, with an April sun that was so beautiful because it had remained hidden so long, and an April freshness in the air, and the blossom just beginning on the fruit trees, and the daffodils under the oaks, and the birds wild with excitement because it was Carolan’s birthday!

  She stood, her head on one side, listening.

  “Carolan.” sang the birds.

  “Car-o-lan!”

  “Here I ami’ she cried.

  “Did you know it was my birthday?”

  She pressed her nose against the glass, laughing. Then she danced to the cold water jug, poured out some water into the basin, and washed.

  When she was dressed, she opened the door and looked out into the corridor. There was no sound from either Margaret’s or Jennifer’s room. She stood uncertainly in the corridor. If Jennifer heard her about so early, there would be trouble. She grimaced at Jennifer’s door and tiptoed past it. Down the flights of stairs she went, to Mamma’s room. How rich it seemed down here, compared with the shabby nursery quarters. Here was her mother’s door, with Therese’s next to it. She turned the handle and stood on the threshold, looking in. Mamma was sleeping, her fair hair in disorder on the pillow. Carolan tiptoed into the room and stood by the bed, watching. Mamma’s lashes were long and gold coloured, and her full lips were parted. Carolan stood for some minutes, watching; then she whispered: “Mamma, I am here.”

  Kitty opened her eyes. She had not altered very much in four years; she preserved her beauty with the greatest care, and Therese, with her skin lotions and tonics, was a wonder. True, she had put on flesh, but as Therese assured her, it was in the places where it was well to put it.

  “Carolan,” said Kitty drowsily.

  Carolan leaped onto the bed and knelt there.

  “Mamma, do you know what today is?”

  “Tell me, darling.”

  “Oh, Mamma, do you not know?”

  “I am so sleepy yet, Carolan. Kick off your shoes, darling, and come in.”

  So Carolan kicked off her shoes and came in; she snuggled close to her mother.

  “Shall I tell you then?”

  Yes, tell me.”

  “It is my birthday. I am nine years old today.”

  Kitty held the small body closer. Nine years ago that she had suffered so deeply. Nine years of humiliations from George Haredon. She put her lips against Carolan’s cheek, and Carolan lay still, contented. Kitty lay still too, thinking of the wonder of her first love. Had I married Darrell, thought Kitty lazily, I would have been a true and faithful wife to him. I have always been searching for someone like Darrell that is it. Now she was wishing she had been a better mother to the little girl lying beside her. She would see more of the child from now on; she would look more closely into the nursery life of Carolan. Was Jennifer Jay cruel to her? She had never asked Carolan that question, for if Carolan said Yes, what could she, Kitty, do about it? George paid his children’s governess; he would be the one to decide whether she should go or stay. How she hated George Haredon.

  Ah! If only Darrell had not gone to Exeter! If they had gone to London together and married, there would still be this dear little Carolan and how they would have loved her, both of them!

  Am I to blame ? Kitty asked herself.

  Carolan’s little body was quivering with excitement. Her birthday, of course, Kitty thought in panic, and I forgot. She will be expecting me to have remembered. Peg always used to remind her of Carolan’s birthday, but Peg had married one of the farm labourers two years ago, and left Haredon. Then Dolly had taken it upon herself to remind her, but six months back Dolly had run away with a gipsy whose band had made their camp nearby. And how could she tell this little daughter that she, her mother, had relied upon two of the lower servants to remind her of this great and important day.

  Kitty resorted to subterfuge, for subterfuge came easily to her.

  “Carolan, I am very unhappy about your present. It is not ready, darling. They have disappointed me.”

  “Mamma, when will it be ready? Tomorrow?”

  “I hope so, darling.”

  Carolan squealed: “Then it will be like another birthday tomorrow, Mamma!”

  What a sweet child she was! Kitty’s eyes filled with tears. She stroked the unruly hair with the red in it; she kissed the smooth childish brow.

  “I was so afraid you would be disappointed, darling; that it would be spoiled for you.”

  Carolan’s hands round her neck were suffocating.

  “No, Mamma, not spoiled … not spoiled at all. Tell me, is it blue … or pink?”

  “Ah!” said Kitty.

  “That would be telling.”

  “It is pink. I know it is pink!” Carolan’s eyes were dark with hope.

  “It might be green though! Mamma, is it green?”

  So she wanted green, did she?

  “Well,” said Kitty, suffused with mother-love, ‘as a matter of fact… it is… well, I ought not to tell you, ought I?”

  Carolan was laughing hilariously now; she put her ear close to her mother’s mouth. Beautiful a child’s ear was, soft and pink like a sea shell.

  “Whisper, Mamma!”

  “It is green,” whispered Kitty.

  “Is it silk or satin?”

  So she wanted a dress. She was growing up, to want a dress. A dress she should have. Kitty must … simply must remind Therese to go out and buy one this morning. A white dress it should be, with green ribbons.

  “I shall tell no more!” said Kitty, and Carolan knelt on the bed and rocked backwards and forwards in ecstasy.

  Perhaps, thought Kitty, she would not send Therese; perhaps she would go herself to buy the dress.

  “My little daughter!” she said.

  “My dearest little daughter.”

  And Carolan, overflowing with love for her, flung her arms once more round her neck.

  Soon, thought Kitty, there will be another birthday, and another and another. Soon she will be fifteen, sixteen, seventeen. I was seventeen when I met Darrell.

  Kitty held her child to her sharply. What had Carolan heard about her birth? Anything? Was it possible that there had been no hint, no whisper of what had happened? It was hardly likely. Wicked Jennifer Jay might have said something. Aunt Harriet’s thin-lipped disapproval? George’s ribaldry? Had any of these been noticed by the child?

  Kitty raised herself and looked down into the face of her daughter. A sensitive face, very like Kitty’s own; very attractive it was going to be one day it was now with a slightly different attractiveness from Kitty’s, less obvious perhaps; but then it was not easy to tell. There was a look of Darrell in the child’s eyes, Kitty thought. She must hear it first from me! And impulsive as Kitty always would be, she decided there and then to tell her something.

  “Carolan, lie still beside me. I want to talk to you. Has anyone ever said anything to you about about me … and … the way you were born?”

  Carolan said quickly: “Yes, Charles says I am a bastard and not the squire’s bastard at that. He said it is well enough for a squire to have as many bastards as he likes, but I am not even a squire’s bastard.”

  Kitty cried out to stop her.

  “Oh, the wicked boy! I hate him! He is like his father.”

  “I hate him too,” said Carolan happily.

  “But I want to tell you, darling, about how you were born. It will not be easy for you to understand, but will you try?”

  Carolan nodded. How lovely it was in her mother’s bed! There were sweet smells of powder and ointments in the room and the ornate posts of the bed enchan
ted her. She would have liked to draw the curtains tightly and be shut in with her mother.

  “Darling, please listen very, very carefully. Years ago I loved your father.”

  “Not the squire!” said Carolan.

  “He is not my father, is he, Mamma?”

  “No, not the squire. You see, I loved your father very dearly, and we were going to London to be married, and we were going on the coach. He went to Exeter to see about our going, but he went into a tavern there, and while he was in that tavern, the press gang took him.”

  Kitty was crying at the memory, for she cried as easily at twenty-seven as she had at seventeen.

  “Mamma, who is the press gang?”

  Kitty clenched her hands and answered vehemently: “A wicked gang of cruel men who take men wherever they may be and force them into the Navy.”

  “But why, Mamma?”

  “Because they need men for the Navy.”

  “And would they take any man at any time? Perhaps they will take Charles.”

  Kitty whimpered: “How different my life would have been but for the press gang! We should have been together, your father and I. How you would have loved your father, darling!”

  Carolan’s eyes were wide and dark; she could not grasp this very clearly. Her father not the squire in a tavern and a mysterious group of men called the press gang; they had cruel faces and they dragged him away while he screamed to be released.

  “Oh, Carolan,” cried Kitty, ‘do not blame me, darling. Do not listen to evil tales of me. Remember only that I loved your father; I loved him too well.”

  “Mamma, is there still the press gang?”

  “There is still the press gang!” She added wildly: “There always has been; there always will be! Oh, my darling, the wickedness … the wickedness. And when you were born, my precious child, you would have had no father, so I married the squire in order to give you one.”

  “But how could you give me one if I had none, Mamma?”