The Black Moon (2 page)

As he came to the bottom. step, Nicholas Warleggan reflected that, as an additional b
o
nus to her patrician breeding, Elizabeth had brought this house into the fa
mily, the Poldark family house, begun
in 1509, not completed until 1531, and since then scarcely touched until George undertook his repairs and renovations of last summer.

The turns and twists of life led to some strange results.

Nicholas's
first visit
here eleven years ago had been to the
reception and banquet following Elizabeth Chynoweth's marriage to the son of the house. Then the Poldarks, though impoverished enough, had seemed as securely settled here as they had been for the past hundred years, and the Trenwiths for another century and a half before them. Old Charles William had been alive, belching and stertorous but active enough, head of the house, of the district, of the clan, to be succeeded by Francis when the time came
, a young and virile twenty-two
who was
to guess at his untimely death?
then came daughter Verity, a plain little thing who'd later made a poor marriage and lived now in Falmouth. Besid
es this there were the cousins, William Alfred, that
thin san
ctimoni
ous clergyman and his brood, now gone to a living in Devon. And Ross Poldark, who unfortunately was sti
ll around, and prospering by all accounts, not yet having
fallen down a mineshaft or been imprisoned for debt or transported for
inciting
to riot, as he so well deserved,. Sometimes the wicked and the arrogant flourished against all reasonable probability.

As Nicholas Warleggan walked ac
ross to the splendid window one
of George's new footmen came into snuff the candles-which had recently been lighted. The sky was still bright outside, with a frosty look against th
e butter-yellow of the candles;
It had been a mild month, altogether a
mild winter -
fortunate for the many destitute, though not good
for general health. Influenza,
they said,
was
carried by the heavy clouds
and spr
ead by the humidity; it needed
a cold
snap to clear
it away.

The fire hissed with new wood thrown on aro
und
a; massive elm log which had
been
carried in yesterday. The footm
an finished his task and went silently
out, leaving Nicholas Wa
rleggan alone. That other time,
that first time, eleven years a
go, this fine-hall had been far
from silent. He remembered then how envious he had been of this house. Shortly afterwards he had bought one twice its size
-
Cardew, towards the other coast, in its own deer park, all in Palladian fashion and finished to the most modern style. Compared to it, this place was provincial and old-fashioned. Stonework showed inside everywhere, there was far too much black oak panelling in the bedrooms, many of the floorboards creaked and some of them had worm, the close-stools stank and were out of date compared to the chaises-perchees of Cardew, bedroom windows were ill-fitting and let in draughts. But it had style,
Apart from the satisfaction that it had always belonged to the Poldarks.

Nicholas, remembered too at that wedding how grey
-
faced and haggard young Ross Poldark had looked. George had known him before, but it was his first sight of the fellow, and he had wondered at his sour look, his lidded eyes and high cheek bones, his disfiguring scar
-until George told him. They had all wanted Elizabeth, it seemed: Ross, Francis and George. Ross had thought' himself enfeoffed, but Francis had moved in while his cousin was in America. Three young fools all at loggerheads, all for a pretty face. What else was there about this girl to make, her so desirable? Nicholas shrugged and took a poker to stir the fire. The delicacy, he supposed, the frailty, the lovely ethereal quality; all men wanted to, nurture, to protect, to be the strong man caring for the beautiful helpless woman, potential Launoelots looking for a Guinevere. Strange that his, own son, so sane, so logical, in many ways almost too calculating, should
have been one of them.

As he pushed at the fire one of the smaller logs fell out with a clatter, brightly burning and smoking at one end, and Nicholas stooped to pick
up the tongs. As he did so something moved in the chair beside the fire. He started up sharply and dropped the poker. The chair had been in the half shadow but now he saw someone was sitting in it.

`Who's that?' said a thin voice, sexless in its age. `Be that you, George? These damned servants . .'

Agatha Poldark. Aside from young Geoffrey Charles, the child of Elizabeth's first-marriage, who hardly yet counted, Agatha was the,
only Poldark
left in the house. To all the Warleggans she was affrontful, a haggard hunk of gristle and bone, properly,
long since dead. Nowadays she
even smelt of the grave, but in spite of everything an activating spirit moved in her. Nicholas's wife, Mary, who to the family's s annoyance was a prey to every superstition, regarded the old lady with real dread as if she were somehow anim
ated by the protesting ghosts
of generations of long dead Poldarks wishing ill upon the interlopers. Agatha in this house was the snag in the silk, the fly in the ointment, the stone over which everyone sooner or later stumbled and fell. It was said that she would be
ninety-nine in August. A year o
r so ago it had looked as if she were taking permanently to her
bed, so that at the worst then
, she could have be
en quietly ignored by everyone
except the maid appointed to look after her;
but
since Elizabeth's
marriage, and especially when
she learned that a new child was on the way, she had recovered a spark of combative vitality and was apt to be found tottering about the house at the most unsuitable times.

'Oh, 'tis George's father ...' A tear escaped from one eye, lodged in the nearest furrow , and began slowly to work its way down towards the whiskery chin. This was no sign
of
emotion. `Been up to see
the chibby, have you? Regular
little spud, he be. A
Chynoweth through an' through.'

A black kitten moved on her lap. This was Smollet which she had found somewhere a few, months ago and mad
e peculiarly her own. Now they were inseparable. Agatha never stirred without the
kitten, and, Smollet,
all red tongue
and yellow eyes, could hardly ever be persuaded to leave her. Geoffrey Charles, with a small,
boy's
glee, always called the cat 'Smell-it'.

Nicholas knew that Agatha only said what she had said to annoy
him;
yet was annoyed by, it nevertheless. He
was
further irritated that he could not reply to her
in suitable
terms, for
she
was ve
ry deaf and, unless one shouted
in her ear—
and such nearness was offensive
no communication was possible. So, she could go on talking, making outrageous remarks, without fear of contradiction. George had told him that the only way of annoying., her was to turn one's back and walk away while she was speaking, but,. Nicholas was damned if he was going to be driven away from the fire
by
this repulsive
old woman,

He put the log back, but inefficiently, so that an end of it sent a thin spiral of smoke up into the room. He would have rung for a servant to correct this, but he let it smoke in the
hope that it would
irritate Agatha's chest.

`That surgeon,' said Agatha. 'Great numbskull of a fellow, tying up the poor little crim so tight
against the convulsions.
There's better ways than that to
protect against convulsions.
I'd have
’
n freed this eve if I had the ordering of it.'

`You do not have the ordering of it,' said Mr Warleggan.

'Eh, what's that? What's that
you say? Speak up
!'

He might have shouted something in return, but a door opened then and Geo
rge came in. At times, perhaps:
most when not in company and therefore both were relaxed, the
similarity between the two men -was marked. A little shorter
than his tall father, George' had the same heavy build, the same strong neck; the same deliberate in-toed walk. They were both good-looking men in their formidable way. George's
face was the broader, with the bottom lip drawn up in the
middle and jutting to create shadow. There were small lumps
on his forehead between the eyebrows. If his hair had been
cut in short tight curls he would have looked like the Emperor Vespasian

'A pretty sight,' he said, as he neared the fire. 'My own
father in conversation with the original Witch of Endor.

How does it
go? "
I saw Gods ascending out of the earth.

An old man cometh up and he is covered with a mantle."'

Mr Warleggan at last put the
poker back. `You should not
let your mother, hear you speak in that way. She has no
fancy
for supernatural talk even in jest.'

'I'm not sure it is in jest,' said George. 'In better, days
this old twitching decayed carcase would have been helped
on its way by a suitable ducking or a witch's bridle. We should
not have to suffer it in a civilized household.'

The kitten, to Agatha's pleasure, had arched its back and
spat at the new ar
rival.

`Well, George,' she said. 'I trust you feel a bigger man now you're father of an eight-month brat. What's he to be called, eh? There's too many Georges, about, with all these kings. I mind the time . .' She coughed. `Fire's smeeching. Mr Warleggan's scat it all asunder.'

'If I were you, I should have the creature confined to her room,' Nicholas said. 'She should be guarded there.'

'If I had my way,' George said, `she would be thrown on the midden tomorrow - and perhaps others with her.'

'Well, whose way do you have?' asked Nicholas, knowing very well.

George looked at him speculatively. 'The way of a man in possession of a fair city. When the citadel has been won the stews can wait awhile.'

'You could name him Robert,' came the thin voice from the armchair. `Him with the crooked back. First of the name that we know. Or Ross. What'd you say to Ross?' The wheezing which
broke out might
have been caused
by the smoke but more probably
; it was the result of an old frame trying to accommodate malicious laughter.

George, turned his back and strolled to the window an
d looked out. Although the hall
was warm near the fire, cold airs stirred as soon as one moved out of its range.
'I trust,' he said, 'that soon
this old creature will swell up into a great tumour and burst.'

'Amen; But touching on names, George.
I conject
that you and Elizabeth will already
have some thoughts
on the matter. We own some good ones within the family-'

`I have already decided. I decided before he was born.'

`Before he was born? Oh, but how c
ould you do that? If it were a girl
'

'This accident to Elizabeth,'' said George. `It might have been fatal to them both, but now it has not been so I feel some heavy finger of providence in it
–
as
if it were pointing a time and
a place and date. Having regard to the
date, as soon as I knew the child would be born on that day, I chose the name. If it were a girl, the same.'

Mr Warleggan waited.. `What is it, then?'

'Valentine.'

'Or Joshua,' said Aunt Agatha. `We've had three in the family to my knowledge, though the last was a bad boy if ever there was
one.'

Nicholas hopefully watched the thin smoke from the fire curling round the old woman's chair. 'Valentine. Valentine Warleggan. It matches well, is easy on, the tongue. But there is no one in either family of that name.'

'There will be nobody in either family like my son. History does not have to repeat itself.'

'Yes, yes. I will ask your mother how it appeals to her. Is this
Elizabeth's
choice too?'

'Elizabeth
does not know it yet.'

Nicholas raised his eyebrows. But you
rare sure.
she will like it?'

'I am sure she will agree.
We are in accord in so many things, many more than I expected., She will agree that this union
of her and me is a rare one -
the oldest gentry, and the newest and that the fruit of such a union should not look to the past
but to the future. 'A
quite
new
name is what we must have.'

Nicholas coughed and moved out of range of the smoke

'You will not get away from the name Warleggan,' George.' 'I shall never have the least desire to get away from it,
Father. Already it is
respected
and feared.
’

'As you say ... The respect is what
we must
build on, the
fear is what we must dissipate.'

'Uncle Cary would not agree.'

'You pay too much attention to Cary. What was your
business with him last week?'

'Routine affairs. But I believe you draw too fine a line,
Father, between r
espect
and fear. One merges with the other
and back again, You cannot separate two emotions of such similar colour.'

'Probity in business induces the first.'

'And improbity the second? Oh, come-'

'Not improbity, perhaps, but the misuse of power. In a moment
you will
be telling me I read you a lect
ure. But Cary
and I have never seen eye to eye on this. I ask you, whose name do you wish your son to bear?'

'Yours
and mine,' said George' evenly. 'That is the one he
will bear. And where I have walked on your shou
lders, he shall walk on mine.'

Nicholas went back to the fire and replaced the smoking log where the
smoke could go up the chimney.

`That's better, my son,' said Agatha, waking from, a doze. `You don't want the fire, flashed all about the hearth.'

`God alive, I believe that old woman's stench has drifted o
ver here!' In irritation George
went over, and pulled the tasselled bell. Mr Wa
rleggan continued to cough. The
smoke, although now dispersing, had settled on his chest and he, could not clear it. Without speaking they waited until the servant came.

`Fetch the Harry brothers,' George said.

`Yes, sir.'

'
Take a glass of canary,' George
said to his father.

`Thank you, no. It's
of no moment

He spat in the
hearth.

'Comfrey and liquorice;' said Aunt Agatha. 'I had a sister died of the lungs, a
nd naught
would soothe her
but comfrey and liquorice.'

Presently Harry Harry hulked in the doorway, followed by h
is younger brother Tom. `Sur?'

George said: 'Remove Miss Poldark
to her room. When you are there
ring for Miss Pipe and tell her that Miss
Poldark
is not to come down again today.'

The two big men brought up a smaller chair an
d lifted Aunt Agatha protesting
into it. Clutching the mew
ing kitten to
her breast, she croaked: 'There be one thing amiss with your little son, George. Good seldo
m comes to a child born under a black moon. I only know
two and they both came to bad ends!'

Nicholas Warleggan's face was purple. His son went across to the table, poured wine into a glass and brought it impatiently back.

'No it is the…..Oh well, a sip will help perhaps.
'