Beyond the Blue Mountains

by Jean Plaidy

“Well I know it, Carolan.”

  “Where do you think this life is leading you?”

  “Well, can any of us see the end of the road we are treading?”

  “One day I shall retire from this life. Then I shall be a rich man, and the only way to be a safe man is to be a rich man. Did you know that, Carolan?”

  “I know that the way to be unsafe is the way you are going, Marcus! I would not have believed it of you. Had you told me you had not taken the purse, I should have believed you.”

  “But you said you saw!”

  “I did not see you take it.”

  “You did not see me take it!” There was relief in his eyes.

  “I was afraid my hands had lost their cunning.”

  She looked down at his long white hands.

  “It is a pity you do not put them to a better purpose.”

  “Carolan, do you despise me now?”

  “I am deeply disappointed in you.”

  “That is a pity. I had my dreams.”

  “Dreams? What dreams?”

  “Of the days of my safety… But what matter?”

  She clasped her hands.

  “Oh, Marcus, must you do these things?”

  “I live by them, Carolan.”

  “You live by robbery?”

  “I have tried other methods.”

  She pictured Everard’s face then, cool, a little stern; she could hear his calm voice.

  “A man’s life,” she said, quoting him, ‘is surely what he makes it?”

  “He has a hand in shaping his destiny certainly.”

  “Well then…?”

  “There are other considerations. There are people who are born in mansions; there are people born in Grape Street. It is not easy to be an honest man in Grape Street, Carolan.”

  There was banter in his eyes, but they had lost some of their merriment.

  “Carolan,” he said, coming closer to her, “I would like to tell you what I have told no one else. Will you listen to me?”

  “Of course.”

  “I want to give you a brief outline of my life. I am wicked; I am a criminal; I am unworthy to be called your friend. That is the truth, but I would have you know how it is I have sunk so low. Perhaps, later on when I am a rich, safe man, I shall call upon you and your husband in your happy home. I should like to do that, Carolan. I should like to see if you are happy. The parson will accept me because he will not know the secrets of my past, and his wife will accept me because, I hope, she will understand why I took to such evil ways. That will warm my heart, Carolan, if she will understand.”

  Carolan was silent, her heart beating rapidly. She was realizing now how fervently she had hoped he would deny all knowledge of the purse.

  “I must make it brief, Carolan. But you must understand that I cannot convey everything in the short time I have. You must see beyond my words. You must visualize a happy childhood; you must see everything that was mine. A good home, tender parents, an excellent education … right up to the time I was fourteen. Then my father died. My mother was a dear woman, a tender woman, but an unwise woman. A year after my father’s death, she sought to replace him. My stepfather? Ah! What stories I could tell you of that man. But I waste my words. Suffice it that, in less than a year after that disastrous marriage, my mother was dead. Her money was his; I had nothing. He had arranged it so. Sometimes I think he arranged her death. That sounds melodramatic, Carolan, but it is nevertheless true. I was alone; I was penniless. I stole some money from my stepfather and came to London. What dreams I had. You can well imagine what they were. I would make a fortune at the gaming-table, for were there not fortunes to be made in London! I will not harass you with my adventures; perhaps one day, in the secure, rich times ahead I may tell you. I will not tell you how I sank and sank. There is a life here in this great city of which I hope you will never know. I shall not tell you. Have you ever heard of a thieves’ kitchen, Carolan? It is a place… they abound here… where one is taught to pick pockets. These hands of mine -sensitive, are they not? Once they were to have been a musician’s hands; now they are pickers of pockets. They learned well. Ah! I was as apt a pupil with a pocket as I ever was with the spinet. I was caught, Carolan.” He paused to smile at her. Here “We can at least guide our footsteps upon the safest paths!”

  He laid his hands on her shoulders.

  “Why, you tremble, child! I am safe now; I am not such a fool as I was … I shall not again be so easily caught. I am too wily now. The memory of that is too strong within me. You thought I was thirty, Carolan, and I am barely twenty-four. You see the lines about my face, do you not?

  That is what transportation does to you, Carolan. That is what stifling in the stinking hold of a convict ship for months on end does for you, Carolan. Oh, Carolan … Carolan, see me as I might have been had my father lived. A happy youth … for twenty-four is not so very old. A young man of substance, a fit companion for you, Carolan. And see me now … see me now.

  See me as I should have been… not as life has made me!”

  Her eyes were swimming with tears.

  “You have suffered very much, Marcus. And I have hurt you; I am so stupid, so ignorant! There is so much I do not know.”

  “And never shall know! I am sorry I had to speak of these things to you, Carolan. I would have it that you never knew of their existence.”

  “Life is very cruel to some, Marcus.”

  “It is also kind.”

  “You can say that?”

  “I can say it now, because I see that though I have told you so little, you have seen beyond my words. I see that when I come to that happy parsonage home I shall be welcomed in like an old friend.”

  “You will,” said Carolan.

  “You will! But, Marcus, this is folly surely! To go on with this … after that…”

  His eyes lit up.

  “The risk! The excitement! The adventure! And the hope, of course, that one day… one day … I shall settle down to security; that is when my eyes are not so sharp and my hands not so quick. Tonight you have made me wonder if that day is not approaching!”

  “Marcus, how I wish I could do something! Words are such inadequate things; it is easy to talk sympathy … but I feel it, Marcus, I feel it.”

  “You are right when you say words are inadequate; there can be so much behind them .. or just nothing at all. If! What a word! If my father had not died! If I had been an honest man, and if you had not been engaged to many a parson. Ah, Carolan! What a word it is!”

  He had moved closer to her, and his eyes were brilliant.

  “Oh, come!” she said coldly, for she was a little afraid of that passion in him.

  “I know you well, Marcus; you have had many adventures of all kinds. You seek adventure right and left; at Vauxhall Gardens and here in my father’s shop among these musty old coats. Do not think I cannot understand.”

  His hands hung at his sides, and a smile turned up the corners of his mouth.

  “An adventurer! That is what you think of me, eh?”

  “I fear so, Marcus. What would happen to you if they found the purse in your possession?”

  He made a gesture to indicate the tying of a rope about his neck.

  “Or,” he added, “I might be sent back to Botany Bay.”

  “Marcus, you have suffered a good deal. You would prefer the hanging?”

  “Never! Life is sweet; it is only those who have been in danger of losing it who know how sweet. Carolan, but now you know this, what now?”

  “I cannot say. But of one thing I am certain; you must give this up. If you were caught, Marcus, if you were caught…”

  “You would care so much?”

  “One does not like to think of a friend with a noose about his neck!”

  “You still think of me as a friend?”

  “What rubbish you talk!”

  “Carolan, I shall always remember.”

  “And you will not… run these risks ?”

  “I
will think on it very seriously.”

  “You have some money?”

  “A little.”

  “It is cheap, living in the country. You could work.”

  He looked down at his hands, and grimaced.

  “Perhaps there will be one very like you, Carolan.”

  “I think you do not take this very seriously.”

  “It is a mistake to take life seriously. Is it not by laughing at things serious that we render them ridiculous?”

  “I wish you had not lied about the handkerchief you stole from me.”

  “I… lied?”

  “You said it was the first offence.”

  “Indeed it was!”

  “And the purse? And the many, many others?”

  Those were stolen from society, a society which is rotten and decayed, a society which made me what I am. The handkerchief was stolen from you.”

  Then you are sorry for having stolen it?”

  “I could wish that you had given it.”

  “You anger me, Marcus. You are no fool; surely there are ways in which you could earn a living!”

  “A man who returns from Botany Bay has not much chance, Carolan.”

  “But surely, having taken your punishment…”

  He smiled at her wistfully.

  “Carolan, one day I shall tell you the story of my life. It will run into many chapters.”

  “I shall look forward to hearing it. I want to understand. But in the meantime you frighten me … What if…”

  “Never fear, Carolan! I shall not be caught; I am too old a hand! It is not the hardened sinner who is most frequently caught, believe me!”

  She shivered, and he went on softly: “Carolan, it is sweet to see you so concerned for me. I could almost be glad I am what I am, to so earn your sweet sympathy.”

  She stamped her foot.

  “How foolish you are! How ridiculous! I dislike that exaggerated talk, those honeyed compliments. You are glad you are a thief so that I can be sorry for you! I assure you I am not… not in the least, when you talk in that strain!”

  “Now I adore you! Why is it that an angry woman can be so enchanting … if she is beautiful? Of course an ugly angry woman is a vile object, but if she be beautiful… If, again, you see… that little word!”

  Carolan turned away, tears smarting in her eyes. She felt weary and depressed.

  “Why did you come here tonight?” she demanded. To see my father?”

  “When I come here,” he said slowly, ‘it is always in the hope of seeing you.”

  “I believe I heat his footsteps. He is coming up from below.”

  “Carolan …” He caught her hand and looked at her pleadingly.

  “Let me tell you more fully, Carolan. Let me explain everything. There are terrible things I could tell you, Carolan.”

  “Oh, Marcus!” Her lips trembled.

  “Marcus, I will do everything I can to help you. Please, you must believe that, Marcus.”

  “I will believe it, Carolan. I will carry the memory of this moment with me to the grave.”

  “And you will promise…?”

  “I will explain.”

  “But I must have your promise. Marcus, be careful. What if you were caught again?”

  “I will explain. Tomorrow we must meet, Carolan. Quick … where shall it be? Tomorrow afternoon at three? I will be waiting outside the shop. I shall take you somewhere quiet, and we will talk. For there is much I must say to you…”

  “Here is my father,” she said, and went towards him.

  “Father, here is Marcus to see you.”

  She ran to her room; she was trembling. She threw herself onto the bed; she shut her eyes, but she could not shut out the face of Marcus. I should have nothing to do with him, she told herself. He is a thief, a convict! He should not be in my father’s house. But I must help him, I must!

  She spoke into her pillow.

  “You would see that, Everard, you who are so good. That is what out life together will be, Everard; helping others, will it not? That is religion … not the beautiful sermons you will preach, not the prayers you will say … It is helping others, Everard.” How she longed for a sight of his calm and beautiful face.

  “Ah!” he said.

  “A little cottage under the shadow of the parsonage! A pretty picture, that. Perhaps your children will look over my garden wall and talk to me as I work in my garden.

  How she longed to tell him the story of Marcus!

  It was wonderful what comfort, what hope the thought of Everard could bring.

  She slept, and dreamed of a country parsonage, and Marcus was there and she was leaning over the wall of a cottage garden. Distinctly she saw his long tapering fingers curled about a garden spade.

  The shop door bell tinkled. Carolan said to Millie: “I will go.”

  She had an idea it was Marcus. He had agreed to meet her at three that afternoon, and it was only eleven of the morning, but her thoughts were full of him. She was glad her father was out; he had gone off early that morning, having most urgent business, he said. Kitty was still a-bed: And Millie did not count; she was humming to herself while washing the dishes in the kitchen.

  Carolan hastened through the door which led into the shop. It was not Marcus standing there, but Jonathan Crew.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  “I was passing …”

  “Good morning! It was good of you to call. Will you drink a cup of chocolate? Mamma is not yet up.”

  He said: “A cup of chocolate sounds most inviting.”

  “Then come in, do! And I will make it.”

  Millie put her head round the door, her lips formed into a round O of alarm, but when she saw who the visitor was, the O became a smile. Poor Millie was always afraid her father would come for her and take her back with him. The attic with the sloping ceiling, and the tiny window, which she occupied, was paradise to Millie.

  “Here is Mr. Crew, Millie,” said Carolan, ‘come to drink a cup of chocolate.”

  “Oh,” said Millie, “I will make It, Miss Carolan.”

  There was nothing she would not do for Miss Carolan, for it was she who had given her that paradise under the roof up there, Millie knew. There were those who called her silly, but Millie knew.

  “I can make it Millie,” said Carolan. She was disappointed, in no mood for light conversation. She had hoped to see Marcus, to hear more of his strange story.

  Through the kitchen doorway she could see Jonathan Crew; he was leaning back in his chair, his eyes closed as though he were very, very tired. She thought his clerkship on the wharf must be an exacting job. He often looked tired and … what was it?… lifeless. lacking in vitality. But was that because she had unconsciously compared him with Marcus? Marcus was full of life; he was a born rogue, for whatever had driven him to the perilous life he lived, he enjoyed it. she was sure. Why did she have to like Marcus so much? A thief, a rogue and an ex-convict. And Jonathan, who was a steady clerk, a kind and sympathetic man, she did not really like.

  She carried the tray into the parlour, and set it on the table.

  “Ah! said Jonathan. This is very pleasant.”

  She handed him the cup. and he lifted his eyes to hers. It seemed to her then that there was something behind those eyes … something that was trying to break through, and perhaps was being stopped from breaking through. She could swear he was excited.

  “Would you like me to tell Mamma that you are here?” she asked.

  “No. no.” He spoke so eagerly that she thought then that he had come to ask her to marry him. She could think of nothing else to account for that excitement, that eagerness to speak to her alone.

  “She will be sorry to have missed you. Do you know, this is the first time you have visited us in the morning?”

  “My work usually engages me in the mornings.”

  “It must be very tiring work, and bad for the eyes.”

  “Do you know, I did not sleep at all last night!
”

  Now she was sure it was going to be a declaration. Why else should he have that air of suppressed excitement?

  “No,” he went on, “I could not sleep. I was thinking of… that poor young man.”

  She breathed a deep sigh of relief. It was good of him to have such sympathy.

  “Yes.” she said.

  “I thought of him too.”

  “I cannot understand it; it seems so short-sighted of him. Is he completely unaware of the risks he runs?”

  “He is not unaware.”

  “Ah! You have spoken to him!”

  She did not want to talk of it, but how could she help it when he spoke so sympathetically, so earnestly, and she, impetuously, had already given away the fact that she had spoken to Marcus!

  “Yes,” she said, “I have seen him.”

  “And taxed him… with that?”

  “Well…”

  He did not pursue the question. He said, as though talking to himself: “I would help him. If he had a good job … well, a moderately good job .. would not that help him to … to be honest? I mean, there is a vacancy in my office. Perhaps if I put in a word … What do you think?”

  Carolan turned to him with shining eyes.

  “Oh! That is good of you! I am sure he would be so grateful. I know that it is just because of what happened to him that he has found it difficult. Do you think you could …”

  Jonathan leaned forward in his chair. Then he sat back and thoughtfully stirred his chocolate.

  “I suppose,” he said very slowly, ‘he has not been in any sort of trouble before?” He lifted his eyes and saw the hot flush run from the lace at her neck to her creamy forehead. He saw the disappointment in her eyes.

  “Well,” she said reluctantly, ‘there was some trouble.”

  “Newgate?” he questioned. That is where that sort of trouble leads.”

  “And more …” she began.

  “He was not transported! You must tell me this, because it adds a complication: but perhaps we can get over it.”

  She nodded.

  “Does it matter so much?” she asked earnestly.

  “It matters a great deal!”

  “You do not think they will engage him? Is it necessary to tell them?”

  He was weighing up the situation carefully.

  “It is a responsibility to introduce a thief into a respectable business.”