The Angry Tide (9 page)

Drake Carne
's second and more unexpected visitor came right at the end of July. Drake had been out t
o get a basket offish from Sawle
and had left the young Trcwinnards in charge, and he did not at first recognize either the thoroughbred grey horse or the tall handsome young man chatting to his two assistants. The young man turned and saw Drake and let out a shout. It was Geoffrey Charles Poldark, fresh home from Harrow.

They had not met last year at all. Elizabeth and George had arranged that Geoffrey Charles should spend the summer holidays in Norfolk, and at Christmas the weathe
r had been so bad that the Warleggans had not come out to Tre
nwith. In the interval a charming, untidy, impulsive boy had, by the influence of schooling and the alchemy of adolescence, been transformed into a pale, carefully dressed, languid young man.

They shook hands, and then Geoffrey Charles put his hands on Drake's shoulders and gazed at him quizzically.

'Well, by God, so you are here just as I left you, as if I'd scarce turned my back. And who are these little urchins? More brothers of yours?' Apart from his turn of speech his voice was quite different: it had completely broken and only squeaked occasionally on a higher tone.

'Geoffrey Charles. But you're some changed! I scarce would've known you. Back for some time, are e
e? Well, tis real good to see ee
after all this while!'

'We came last night, Another and I. Uncle George is wrestl
ing with some property acquisition and thinks to join us next week. So you are prospe
ring? Damn me, I can
see
you are
.'

They talked for a while, Drake standing, Geoffrey Charles sitting on the low wall, elegant leg idly swinging. There was constraint between them such as there had not been before. Two years ago they seemed to share the same enthusiasms, now they had nothing in common.

Presentl
y Geoffrey Charles said: 'What is amiss with your eyebrow, Drake? It looks like the Greek letter Zeta lying on its side
...
Is this from the wrestl
ing match I hear you had with Tom Harry?'

'No, that was my brother Sam,' Drake said.

'What, the Methody? Doe
s he wrestle, then? I wish I'd seen it. I'd like to see Tom Harry taken down a peg.'

'Sam lost,'

'Did
he? And did you lose too?'

'In a manner of speaking. I was set on by three of them.' 'Three of our men? 'Twas hard to be sure.'

Geoffrey Charles stared at his friend and his leg stopped swinging. 'Tell me, Drake. I'm your friend.' 'I'll not involve you in nothing.
’

'I know
...
you did it once, and once is too often. Well a nod

and a wink, as they say. I'm a little short of authority yet, Drake, Servants at Trenwith don't yet flinch at my footsteps. But I will be able to make Master Harry's life a shade unpleasant for him from time
to time, I rather believe. It wel
l be a little contribution to the cause of friendship.'

'Tis over and done long since,' Drake said. 'I've not seen sight nor sound of any of them for pretty many a day. It should all be forgot. Let's talk of other things. Your school
...
Your new friends
.,.'

'My school.' Geoffrey Charles yawned. 'It is a decent enough sort of place now that I am become used to it and now I'm no longer a fag. One does not need to work very hard except to pick up a little Latin and Greek by the way. My tutor for the first years was a noted flogbottomist and brandy drinker called Harvey. "Come forth, sir," he would bellow, "and let thy breeches down!" I suffered notably under him; but now I have a cheerful old buffer of forty-odd who cares little for my welfare so long as I do not interfere with his. When I go back I shall have a fag of my own.'

Drake picked up his basket offish, which was attracting the flies, and carried it into the house. When he came out again his visitor had not moved but was picking at a fancied spot on his green velvet riding jacket.

'And,' he said without looking up, 'next term I shall take a mistress.' Drake stared. 'Please?'

Geoffrey Charles saw the expression on Drake's face and burst into a broken-voiced laugh. 'You know what I mean?' 'I'm not sure as I do.'

'A mistress. A woman. A girl. It is about time.' Drake said woodenly: 'I hoped as you didn't mean that.' 'Why not? It's - part of life. And, I'm told, a not unpleasant part. Have you ever had a woman, Drake?' 'No.'

Geoffrey Charles slid off the wall and patted his friend's arm. 'I ask your pardon. I suspect good taste is not part of our curriculum
,,.
But as for myself
...
Well,it may not be next term; but soon, I hope. I shall look around. Quite a number of the older fellows at the school have their little
amours.
And it is a tradition in our family to be blooded at an early age
...
I see I have offended you.'

'I'm not my brother's keeper.'

'Well said, by God! And now we must change the subject again, eh? But to what? I hear that Uncle Ross condiddled Step-Father George out of his parliamentary seat, and Step-Father George will never forgive them for it.' 'Them?'

'Him and Aunt Demelza.' 'What had
Demelza
to do with it?'

'Well, I only overheard my step-father talking once about it, but he seems to think - or has got it into his wooden head - that this agreement between Lord Falmouth and Lord de Dunstanville was reached through some intermediary role played by Aunt Demelza. I cannot imagine how. I didn't know she even knew either of them!'

'They were visiting last year. But I cann't suppose how she could have had any influence with two such great personages.'

'Well
...
Uncle George believes what he wants to believe. Anyway, tomorrow, before he comes, I shall ride over to Nampara to
see
them all. I hardly know my two young cousins - or whatever they are. Second cousins, is it?

Drake had been hesitating over the question for some time, but no
w it had to come out. 'And Morwe
nna? Did you see her?'

'Briefly. After London Truro seems more than a trifle provincial, and I was at pains to come out to the sea so soon as ever I could prod Mother into moving. She - Morwenna - seemed
...
well. Better than last time. But she was busy entertaining some Rural Dean whom Mr Whitworth had invited.'

There was silence. Drake bit his lips. 'The - her baby
...
he is well?'

'Oh, yes, a monster. He is going to be as big as his father. And greatly lacks discipline. Mr Whitworth is a martinet with everyone else, but his son can do no wrong in his eyes, and soon, I suspect, will rule the roost.' Geoffrey Charles picked at the spot on his coat again. 'I tried to get a word alone with
Morwenna
but it was not possible. I'm sorry.'

'No
...
Perhaps tis just as well.' Drake looked across at Geoffrey Charles's raised eyebrows. 'What is the good of trying to prolong something which is long since over? She have her own life to lead, and a busy one tis, as I well d'know. She's settled, married, a vicar's wife, a mother. There's naught but more sorrow in trying to keep alight the old memories. She wouldn't thank ee to try to do it and I mustn't
want
e
e to do it. I've got my own life here and - and I must think on that. What's past is past, Geoffrey Charles, bitter bitter though that may be.'

Geoffrey Charles watched one of the Trewinnards wheeling in a barrow of kindling wood. 'How d'you tell t'other from which of those two?
’

'Jack have a scar on his hand and another on his knee.' 'So that if they both put their heads up over a wall you could not tell?'

'It don'
t matter. If I call for one the
y both come running.'

'Drake, it is good to hear you say this about Morwenna. Now I'm a trifle older I can see how much you were
...
committed in those days - especially during that long dark winter. D'you remember those primroses you used to bring? But it's gone. All that time is gone. You do well to speak as you have done.'

Drake nodded. 'But we're on a dark subject again. Tell me more 'bout yourself and 'bout London. How lo
ng will cc be at Trenwith, do ee
think?'

'Till mid-September, I'd suppose. So you'll be seeing more of me.'

Drake said: 'I cann't be like your schoolfriends, Geoffrey Charles. Tis not in me to - to talk of women the way you do. I think mebbe you have grown out of my world. After all, I'm Methody too, though much lesser so than Sam, I'm here working at my forge - a tradesman making a way for himself. But you are the young gentleman - the next squire - off to school in London and then no doubt to Oxford or Cambridge or such like. You'll meet many other gentlefolk and many fine young men with ideas fitted to their station. I'm not of that world, nor never shall be.'

Geoffrey Charles nodded. 'Agreed. Damn me, I agree with every word you say. My horse is restive, so I must be off. You are right, Drake. By God, you are right. We should be total strangers. But all my life, Drake, I hope to belong to two worlds - the world of eminence and fashio
n, if it will accept me - and, e
cod, if
I can afford it! The world of be
aus and macaronis and saucy girls and
willing
one
s; and a littl
e gaming here and there, and a little drinking and a little loving
.,.
But also, also, by God, I belong to this blasted acreage on which my ancestors built Trenwith several hundred years ago; and this wor
ld includes St Ann's and Gramble
r and tottering Sawle
Church and grumbling Jud Paynter and preaching Sam Carne and one-armed Tholly Tre
girls and doe-eyed Beth Nanfan the daughter of Char Nanfan, and others and others and others. But among them all, the one from whom I demand the most unremitting friend
ship and trust is Blacksmith Carn
e of Pally's Shop, in the valley below
St Ann's. So there you are. You must take it or leave it. What do you say?'

He hopped on the wall and mounted his grey, and half unhooked the reins but stayed a moment to
see
what effect this long speech had had on Drake. Drake did not say anything but reached up his hand and the two hands were clasped for a moment. Then Geoffrey Charles uttered his broken, half masculine laugh and went off up the valley.

At about the rime of this meeting Dwight received a
letter. It was signed Daniel Be
henna and Dwight stared at it in surprise. Although they were only on rare occasions rivals, Dwight having at his wife's request confined his practice to the country districts round their home, the approach of these two medical men to their joint profession could hardly have been more different, and their contacts at any time had been little more than icily polite.

Sir, (said the letter)

You will no doubt recall the occasion two years ago when for a period you attended a patient of mine, Mrs Morwenna Whitworth, the wife of the vicar of St Margaret's, Truro. At that time she was suffering from the ill-effects of a prolonged and difficult parturition. Later, as you will remember, the Whitworths dispensed with your services and recalled me.

Mrs Whitworth is again now ill, but this appears to be a condition of considerable mental disequilibrium, on which I would consider your opinion to be of value. Few of us can begin to plumb those influences of an atmospheric, cosmic or telluric nature which affect the human brain, and I would only say to you that if we could consult together on the symptoms which this unfortunate woman now evidences there might be a happier outcome for her than otherwise appears possible.

I have the honour to be, sir, Your obt. servant Daniel Behenna.

It was an odd letter, Dwight thought. Not Behenna's natural style - unless his natural style was to write letters out of keeping with his character. It was indefinite - the one failing Dr Behenna never betrayed - and it seemed - perhaps only seemed - to ask for help.

Dwight replied:

Sir,

I have the favour of your letter of the 18th. I shall be pleased to attend on this patient, in a consultative capacity, and I shall be privileged to discuss her condition with you, both before and after my visit. The one stipulation I would make is that when I see Mrs Whitworth it shall be alone.

If you are
able to agree to this, will you kindly arrange a time and date and I will endeavour to meet it.

I am, sir, you obt. servant, Dwight Enys.

He rode over a week on
the
following Wednesday, met Dr Behenna in the vicar's study, where ten minutes of stiff conversation apprised him of the facts; then he was taken to the upstairs parlour where Mrs Whitworth was waiting to receive him.

This she did as a dear friend, tears welling in her eyes but not falling as she took both his hands, smiled briefly but brilliantly as she sometimes could, and then indicated the chair in which he might sit while they talked.

They talk
ed for forty minutes. Once Morwe
nna burst into tears but rapidly stayed them, apologized and blew her nose and turned to him, ready for the next question. He found her more vehement than she had ever been before, and at times her eyes were wild and straying. But she replied to all his questions, even those designed to catch her, with quickness and certainty. When there was nothing more to ask Dwight made an examination, felt her pulse, sounded her heart and chest back and front, pulled back her eyelids, felt the grip of each hand, the thrust of each foot, stared at her fingernails, her scalp, the veins and tendons at the back and front of the neck. Then he shook her gravely by the hand, putting his other hand over hers, picked up his bag and left.

In t
he downstairs parlour h
is colleague and the vicar were waiting for him. This was a very trying occasion for Mr Whitworth. His dislike of Dwight Enys was deep-rooted, and had only been too solidly confirmed when he had attended upon Morwenna before. It had been a great relief when for reasons of his own health Dr Enys had stopped
visiting patients as far from h
is own home as Truro.
Ossie
had hoped never to see
him again, certainly not inside his own house and pronouncing a medical opinion upon his wife. Ossie was very annoyed with
Behenna
, and had not yet preached his sermon in praise of physicians. Behenna had seen Morwenna three times - for which obviously h
e would charge - without comm
itting himself to a final opinion either way. He fully saw and understood the gravamen of Mr Whitworth's complaint; he admitted that Mrs Whitworth was in a very unstable state of mind; but he said he felt himself unfitted to write such a definitive letter as Ossie wanted him to write without the confirmatory opinion of another surgeon.

This was nonsense in Osborne's opinion, coming from the self-opinionated man it did, and the name of the doctor who should be invited to endorse that opinion was so distasteful that the vicar almost threw the whole idea overboard. Only his f
eeling as to the rightn
ess and justice of his cause made him persist.

So now it had come to this: two surgeons and a husband gravely standing among the tall clerical furniture discussing the mental condition of the tall dark distressed girl in the room above.

Dwight said: 'Dr
Behenna
j Mr Whitworth, since you are both here I assume you'd wish me to address you both. I have examined Mrs Whitworth and talked with her. I would have preferred to have spent longer, but I don't suppo
se this would in any substantial
way have affected the outcome. I find your wife, Mr Whitworth, in a very nervous, highly emotional and uneasy condition. She is quite clearly suffering from prolonged strain, and I would not like to predict that at some future time she could not become - at least emotionally unstable. But to me she seems - at this present - entirely sane. I have done my best in the short time at my disposal to discover any symptoms of hallucination, catalepsy,
folie circulaire
morbid melancholia, inhibitory mania, inability to concentrate, or other indication that she is losing her reason. I have found none.'

The only sound in the room was Ossie's heavy breathing. 'And is that all you have to say?'

'No. Not all. In my opinion she i
s in better physical health now
than she was two years ago. Physic
al, that is, But quite clearly,
Vicar, you have a wife who suffers
from certain neuroses, and in that
sense must be regarded as delicate.
Possibly she always will be. I
cannot say. But clearly she needs - care kindness
...
considera-
tion
..,'

'Are you suggesting she does not receive this?'

'I'm suggesting nothing. The fact that she is in better physical health than two years ago may imply that your care for her welfare is not all in vain.'

Dr Behenna took out his handkerchief and blew his nose.

O
ssie said: 'And what of her thre
ats to murder our son?'

Dwight stared out on the garden where the trees hung heavy over the river.

'She has never made any move to hurt him?' 'Did she deny she had made these threats?' 'No
...'

'Well, then!'
Ossie
said.

'I appreciate your dilemma, Mr Whitworth, and I sympathize with it. But do you not think this is the sort of threat she would be unlikely ever to carry out?'

'How do I know? The very existence of this threat is proof enough to me that she is insane, that in fact she is an evil woman. I would r
emind you, as I reminded Dr Behe
nna, that the church looks on insanity as God's judgment upon the wicked. Christ rebuked the unclean spirits and drove them out. No good man or woman should be prone to such a visitation.'

Dwight said: 'I'm not in a position to argue theology with you, Mr Whitworth, but I'd remind you that that theory has recently been much shaken by the illness of the King and his becoming mentally distressed to the point of being put in a strait-jacket. From this I understand he has now happily recovered. But I believe it would be considered a treasonable doctrine to argue that the King's insanity had been brought on him by his own evil ways.'

Ossie swelled in the silence.

Behenna, feeling that his own future as family doctor to the Whitworths was at risk, said: 'The problem, Dr Enys, as you no doubt know, is that Mrs Whitworth is refusing Mr Whitworth
the
exercise of his proper conjugal rights by uttering this threat every time he attempts to claim them. Neither legally nor morally has she any sort of excuse to do this. They are bound together as man and wife by the sacrament of the church. No man shall put them asunder. And no wife can deny her husband what she had promised him at the time of their marriage.'

Ossie licked his lips. 'Exactly!'

Dwight glanced at him, and this glance was not polite.

Ossie said: 'You use these words, these
words
- neuroses and the rest. Can you suppose I am not suffering at the same time? It is against the will of God that such a situation should continue!'

Behe
nna said: 'I must agree with you on that, sir.
’

Dwight said: 'Dr
Behenna
, I don't deny the problem. Nor would I attempt to minimize i
t. But is this a problem that we
can take any professional steps to solve? W
e
are asked if we will write a letter confirming Mr Whitworth's view that his wife is
non compos mentis
and may therefore be put away. My answer is no, as yours surely must be. Though over-strung, Mrs Whitworth is as sane as most women I attend daily - and altogether more charming. It is not our province to pronounce upon the success or failure of a marriage -thank God, for I see many in disarray. Sir,' he said to
Ossie
, 'I can't help you. Nor would nor would I if I
could in this respect. Perhaps I come of a different persuasion, but my view is that if a husband cannot win his wife by kindness, sympathy, little attentions and a show of love, then he should go without her. If that is not your view then I cannot alter it. But it is a dilemma that you must solve yourself.'

He picked up his bag and inclined his head at the two other men. 'I see that my horse is waiting, so I'll not keep him any longer.'

He left. Dr
Behenna
left five minutes later. Mr Whitworth never preached his se
rmon on the excellence and worth
iness of physicians.