Виктория Холт - Beyond the blue Mountains

"You are devilish I' she said, and burst into tears. And he just looked at her, cruelly, without saying anything, but Katharine could see he hated her and she hated him. She ran out of tie room, crying, which made Katharine very uncomfortable at first, but the other children hardly seemed to notice, and guessing that the reason they did not was because they had seen it happen many times before, she did not care either; for after all, she would care only on their account, and if they did not, where was the sense in her doing so? She was rather glad Esther had gone; she had tried to spoil the fun anyway. They could be more rollickingly gay without her.

When the meal was over, they sat on, talking. Darkness had come and lamps were lighted. Then Elizabeth's mother came in and took the child away; she was a comely girl with a fat, stupid face, and the man Marcus kissed the little girl tenderly and the servant girl lightly, which seemed a very extraordinary thing to do, but none of the others appeared to think so. She tried to imagine Papa's kissing Poll or Amy.

It was quite impossible!

They gathered round the table when it had been cleared of the food; two tame dingoes stretched themselves out on the floor.

Then Marcus took a map and spread it on the table, and she and Henry pored over it with him. There was Sydney, a big black dot, and there was the coast and the sea, and Port Jackson and Botany Bay ... and then, all furry looking, like a great caterpillar, wound the Blue Mountains. And beyond the Blue Mountains was a blank space.

Oh, it was wonderful to lean over that table and to see his face with its wrinkled skin and merry blue eyes in the lamplight, to be there ... one of them ... to listen to him as he talked and pointed with his finger at the places, now and then throwing out a word for her alone.

"What do you think, Miss Masterman?”

"Do you not think so?" As though she were not only a grown-up but an explorer. She knew now why Henry adored him; she was not disappointed in him now. Once she cut into the most exciting conversation to say: "May I come here again? May I come often?" And he did not reprove her for interrupting; he seemed glad that she had interrupted, for he stretched out a hand quickly and gripped hers so that it hurt. He said: "Come as often as you like, Miss Masterman. Or perhaps I may call you Katharine...”

He talked of how he and others had tried to cross the mountains; how they had hacked away at the brushwood, how they had camped in deep gullies, how they had followed what they had thought might prove to be a way over the mountains, only to be disappointed. He told of dwindling stores, of the necessity for return, of weariness, and cold and heat, and sleeplessness.

They adored him because at one moment he was a child with them, delighting in the things that delight children, and the next he was a man, and they man and woman with him.

The woman spoilt it all by putting her curly head round the door and saying: "It is time Henry went to bed; it is time she did too.”

And strangely enough he did not protest, but folded up the map, and the lovely evening was over.

Katharine had a little room with a narrow bed in it, a basin and jug and a washstand and chest of drawers. The woman lent her a nightgown, and when she brought it in, Katharine could see that she had been crying. But Katharine was too tired to think much of her, and was soon asleep; and when she awakened in the morning, remembered where she was with a delicious sense of excitement. She washed hastily and went downstairs to find Marcus on the veranda, where the fat servant brought her bread and milk.

Marcus said: "We will ride back to Sydney as soon as you are ready." He seemed less happy than he had been last night, wistful and very sorry that she was going. When she had finished her bread and milk, and Had eaten newly baked cakes, and drunk coffee, he said very earnestly: "I hope you will come again. It is not such a long ride out from Sydney, if you know the direct way to come. You must watch as we ride back, and take note of best way to come.”

"Thank you very much!”

"You are not sorry you were lost?”

"No, I am glad. I have loved it. I shall certainly come again.. often. May I come often ?”

"It could not be too often for me.”

"I am glad you like me.”

"Does that mean you like me?”

"You are different from other people.”

"Different from your father?”

"Oh, yes! Very different from him.”

"Yet you do not dislike me? You must be very fond of him.”

"Why, yes. He is very clever, you know. And very important.”

"And he amuses you... as I did last night?”

"Oh ... Papa is not like that. He does not talk... very mud Except about the First Fleet and Mr. Bass and Mr. Flinders... and then only a little. He does not talk like you do.”

"And you liked the way I talked, did you not?" She was puzzled. She did not know what he wanted her to say, but had stopped thinking solely about him because her thoughts had switched to Papa and Mamma. She hoped they had not been frightened.

She said: "He is the best father in the world.”

"How do you know?" he said, just like Martin might have said Mamma says so.”

Then he dropped the subject, and she was glad.

She said goodbye to Henry, who intimated very definitely that she must come again. She said goodbye to Esther and Mr. Blake ' and all the children. Then she rode back with Marcus.

He talked fascinatingly as they rode, pointing out landmarks; he explained the difference in the grasses and the trees, and compared them with those of the Old Country. He sang songs he had known in the Old Country, and she was sorry when they came into Sydney.

Mamma came out into the yard. She was very white, and there were dark shadows under her eyes, and she stared at them as though they were ghosts.

"Hello, Mamma!" she called uneasily.

"I was lost.”

"Katharine!" said Carolan stonily, looking at the man. Katharine slipped off her horse; she stood there holding the bridle nervously.

Marcus said: "Carolan, your little daughter was rescued by my son. Do you not think that a rather charming sequel to ... everything?”

Mamma called to one of the men to take Katharine's horse. Mamma was white and haughty. Margery appeared; she had been crying. She screamed out when she saw Katharine: "Oh, my little love! My own little love!" And Katherine, frightened for some reason of which she was only partly aware, ran to Margery as if for protection, and Margery knelt on the stones of the yard and put her arms about her.

"Scared out of me wits, lovey. Why, you scared me out of me natural...

Why, whatever was you up to?”

"I was lost, and Henry found me. and..." Margery's body had gone taut; she was no longer thinking of Katharine; she was staring over Katharine's head at Marcus.

Papa appeared. His face shone with sudden joy when he saw Katharine, and Katharine knew then that they had had no message, and had been very frightened.

She ran to Papa; he lifted her up; she kissed him and went on kissing to try to explain by kisses that she would rather have given up her exciting evening than that he and Mamma should be worried like this.

Then Mamma turned her head and said: "It is all right now. She was lost. This... gentleman brought her home.”

Papa hugged Katharine and said: "Bring him in! Bring him in!”

They went into the house, and when they were inside. Mamma took Katharine from Papa's arms, and her eyes were cold and very angry.

"Go to your room at once, Katharine!" she said, and her voice was like ice, and sharp like the edge of a knife; and Katharine went in shame because she knew she ought to have insisted on coming home, and that Esther had been right; that that jaunty, exciting, lovely man Marcus had not kept his word about sending a message.

She went to her room and waited there, feeling that something awful was going to happen. It was not very long before she heard Marcus ride away. She hoped they had been nice to him, for he had been very nice to her. She hoped they had given him refreshment; it would be awful if Mamma were not nice to him just because he had forgotten to send that message.

James and Martin came in.

"Where have you been?" demanded James.

"I was lost." What a glorious account of her adventure she had imagined herself giving James. And now she had nothing to say except "I was lost." which they knew already.

"We had a search party I' cried James excitedly.

"Lanthorns and flaming torches!" screeched Martin.

"We thought you'd been murdered, you see," said James cheerfully.

"I might have been," she said.

"Yes," said James with unnecessary melancholy, 'but you weren't.”

Miss Kelly came in.

"I wonder you're not ashamed," she said.

"I never saw such a fuss. I think what you deserve is a thorough good whipping.”

Miss Kelly bustled the boys out and turned the key in the lock.

It was some time before Mamma came in. Katharine threw herself against her.

"Mammal Why am I locked up here? It wasn't my fault; I was lost ...

Anybody might get lost... And then I heard Henry's horse. It was exciting; I coo-eed and he coo-eed, and then he came and took me to his home.”

"Yes?" said Mamma in an odd, stony voice.

"And then it was such fun, Mamma. Oh, he has been every-where. And he told us, Mamma. He told us all about it. All about London and the Old Country. He talks differently from anyone else different from Margery or Papa, or even you. He tells you things, and you see them, and oh.

Mamma, don't you like him?

Can he come here? He would like to. It's nicer here than there ... and I think they quarrel a lot. She looks at him as if she hates him. and he doesn't care a bit when she cries, and he kisses the servant, and there's an Elizabeth. Henry says he's got half-brothers and sisters. Henry's nice. Oh. Mamma, can they come?”

"Really, Katharine, I haven't the faintest notion of what you're saying. You are most incoherent. And it was very, very naughty of you to go off like that; and I am going to punish you for being so thoughtless. Your father and I were very worried.”

"Oh, but Mamma, the man came. She said you would be worried; he said he would send a man to tell you where I was.”

"Who is she?”

The one they call Esther.”

"Esther." said Mamma faintly. And then: "Of course, no man was sent.”

"Oh. but he said ...". "He is a liar," said Mamma.

"Oh, but Mamma, I'm sure there is a mistake. I know he said I must ask him...”

"He has gone now.”

"I am going there again, Mamma. They asked me. He and Henry said I must go again.”

"You will never see them again," said Mamma. Katharine was incredulous. She could find nothing to say.

"And," said Mamma, 'you will stay here for the rest of the day alone.”

Mamma went out then. She had been pale, but now her face was flushed, her eyes hard as the glittering stones in the pendant she wore round her neck.

Katharine heard the key turn in the lock. She was angry with Mamma, angry with Papa even, poor Papa who had done nothing but be very pleased because she was home again. Still, she was angry with the whole world, for more than anything she wanted to see Marcus and Henry again.

"And I will!" she said. She went over to the Bible on the chest of drawers, the Bible which Miss Kelly had given her last Christmas. She laid her hands on it and swore as she did when she and James played Judge and Prisoners. But there was no jest this; it was a solemn vow.

"With God's help, so I will," she said. Her eyes were resolute, her mind made up.

Carolan was dressing for her dinner-party. It was a very important dinner-party, a sort of coming out for Katharine. She was seventeen.

Carolan's thoughts must go back to a similar occasion nearly twenty years ago, when she was going to her first ball. A green dress she had worn; she was wearing a green dress now. How different though, this rather plump and still beautiful woman, poised and confident, the mother of five sons and one daughter, Mrs. Masterman of Sydney. How different from that slender girl who had gone down to the hall at Haredon to dance with Everard.

Audrey, her maid, was ready to do her hair. Audrey's eyes, meeting hers in the mirror, sparkled with admiration. She had rescued Audrey from the kitchen, much as Lucille had rea her all those years ago, and the girl was her willing slave. _. could hardly remember now what Lucille had looked like, and yet the memory of her was as evergreen as the fir trees which had grown so abundantly in the damp climate of Haredon. There was everything to remind her in this house. Why did they not leave it? Simply because together they never broached the subject; they dared not. If she said to Gunnar: "Let us leave this house," he would know she was thinking of Lucille. And what they had been trying to do all the time, all through those eighteen years, was to show each other, without mentioning the subject, that neither of them ever thought of Lucille.