The Four Swans (3 page)

`Never. Not ever. Not’s I know. No, not ever.’ `Why did she not go? They were neighbours.’

`I reckon - I reckon mebbe she never got on so well with Cap’n Poldark’s wife. But tis merest guessingwork fur me to say.’

There was a long silence.

`Try to remember particularly the month of May. The middle or early part of May. Who called? Who called in the evening?’

`Why … why no one, sur. Not a soul I ever seen. I said so.’ `What time, did you go to bed?’

`Oh … nine or ten.-Soon as it went dark.. We was out and about from cocklight to cockshut and

`What time did Mistress Elizabeth retire?’ `Oh .. bout the same. We was all spent.’ ‘Who locked up?’

`I done that, last thing. Time was when we never locked, but wi’ no other servants; and all these vagrants about…’

`Well, you have earned nothing, I fear,’ said George, moving to put the money away.

`Oh, sur, I’d tell ee if I knew what twas ye wanted for me to say!’

`No doubt you would. So tell me this. If someone called after you went to bed, would you hear the bell?’

`At night, d’ye mean?’ `When else?’

Tabb thought. ‘I doubt.- I doubt there’d be anyone t’hear. Twas in the lower kitchen, the bell was, and we all slep’ well above.’ `Never? Would you have known?’

‘Why - yes, I reckon. What would, anyone want t’enter for except to steal?-and there was little enough to steal.’

`But is there any secret way into the house that you know of one that would be known perhaps to a member of the family?’

`Nay … None’s I know. An’ I been there five and twenty year.’ George Warleggan got up. `Very well, Tabb.’ He dropped the coins on the table. `Take your guineas and go. I enjoin you to say nothing to anyone - not even to Mrs Tabb.’

`Shan’t tell she,’ said Tabb. `Else … well, sur, you know how tis.

She’d want for to put this money away.’ `Take your guineas,’ said George.; `And go.’

Elizabeth Warleggan was thirty-one, and had two children. Her eldest, Geoffrey Charles Poldark, would soon be eleven and was, in his first term at Harrow. She had so far received three grubby letters which told her that he was at least alive and apparently well and getting into the routines of the school. Her heart ached every time she looked at them, folded carefully in a corner of her desk; in imagination she read so much between the lines. Her younger son, Valentine Warleggan, was not yet two years old and making a slow recovery from a severe attack of rickets he had suffered last winter.

She had been out to a card party with three old friends - it was one of her pleasures in spending each winter again in Truro; everyone played cards in Truro, and it was so different from those dull and lonely winters at Trenwith with Francis, and after Francis died. Life with, her new husband had its trials, particularly of late, but there was so much more, stimulus in it, and she was a woman who responded to stimulus.

She was wrapping a small parcel in the parlour when George came upon her. He did not speak, for a moment but went across to a drawer and began to look through the papers there. Then he said `You should let, a servant do that.’

Elizabeth said lightly: `I have little enough to employ my time. It’s a present for Geoffrey Charles. His birthday comes at the end of next week and the London coach leaves tomorrow.’

`Yes, well, you may include a small present from me. I had not altogether forgot:’

George went to another drawer and took out a small box. In it were six mother-of-pearl buttons.

`Oh, George, they’re very pretty ! It is good of you to remember ..;. But d’you think he should have them at school? May they not get lost?’

‘No matter if they do. He is rather the dandy - a tailor there will be able to make use of them for him.’

`Thank you. I’ll include them with my present, then. And I will add a note to my birthday wishes telling him they are from you.’

In his letters home Geoffrey Charles had omitted any reference to or message for his stepfather. They had both noticed this but avoided mentioning it.

George said: `You’ve been out?’ `To Maria Agar’s. I told you.’ `Oh, yes. I had forgot.’

`I so much enjoy Maria’s company. She’s so light and jolly.’

Silence fell. It was not a restful silence.

Elizabeth said : ‘Valentine was asking for you today.’

`Oh? Valentine?’

`Well, he said repeatedly: “Papa! Papa! Papa!” You haven’t seen him for some days and he misses you.’

‘Yes, well . tomorrow perhaps.’ George shut the drawer. `I saw your old servant today. I chanced upon him at the Fighting Cocks.’

`Who? What servant?’

`George Tabb.’

`Oh …, Did he seem well?’

`He tried to talk about the old times.’

Elizabeth refolded the end of the parcel. `I confess I have felt a little conscience-stricken about him since he left.’

`In what way?’

`Well, he worked for us - I mean for my father-in-law and for Francis for so many years. It’s hard that he should lose everything because he grew above himself in the end.’

`I gave him two guineas.’

`Two guineas ! That was more than generous!’ Elizabeth stared at her husband, trying to read his unreadable expression. `I’ve sometimes wondered, though, if we should not take him back. He has learned his lesson.’

‘A drunkard? Drunkards talk too much.’

`What could he have to talk about? I did not know we had any secrets from the world.’

George moved to the door. `Who has no secrets? We are all vulnerable, aren’t we, to the whispered calumny and the scandalmonger.’ He went out.

Later they supped alone. Elizabeth’s father and mother had remained at Trenwith, and his father and mother were at Cardew. Recently they had been silent meals. George was an unfailingly polite man with narrow variables of behaviour. Her first husband; Francis, she had known high-spirited, moody, cynical, witty, urbane, coarse, punctilious and untidy. George was seldom any of these things; always his emotions were under a rein. But within those limits she had come to read much, and she knew that over the last two months his attitude had greatly changed towards her. Always he had watched her, as if striving to see if she were really, happy in her marriage to him; but of late his watching had become hard to tolerate. And whereas in the old days if she looked up and met his glance his eyes would remain steady, openly brooding on her but in a way that caused no offence now if she looked up he quickly looked away, taking his thoughts out of her reach before she could comprehend them.

Sometimes too she thought the servants watched her. Once or twice letters had reached her which looked as if they might have been opened and re-sealed. It was very unpleasant, but often she wondered how much her imagination was at fault.

When the servants had gone Elizabeth said: ‘We still have not replied to our invitation to Caroline Penvenen’s wedding. We must soon.’

`I’ve no desire to go. Dr Enys has airs above his station.’ `I suppose all the county will be there.’ `Maybe.’

`I imagine he will have quite a hero’s wedding, having been just rescued from the French and barely, survived the ordeal.’

`And no doubt his rescuer will be there too, receiving all the admiring plaudits for an act which was criminally rash and lost the lives of more men than he saved.’

Well people; love the romantic gesture, as we all know.’

`And the romantic figure too.’ George rose and turned away from her. She noticed how much weight he had lost, and wondered if his changed attitude was a result of some changed condition of health. `Tell me, Elizabeth, what do you think of Ross Poldark these days?’

It was a startling question. For a year after their marriage his name had not been mentioned.

`What do I think of him, George? What do you mean, what do I think of him?’

‘What I say. Just what I say. You’ve known him for what - fifteen years? You were to state the least of it -his friend. When I first knew you, you used to defend him against all criticism. When I made overtures of friendship to him and he rebuffed them, you took his side’

She stayed at the table, nervously fingering; the hem, of a napkin. ‘I don’t know that I took his side. But the rest of what you say is true; However … in the last years my feelings for him have changed. Surely you must know that. Surely after all this time. Heavens!’

`Well, go on.’

`My change of feelings towards him began, I think, over his attitude to Geoffrey Charles. Then when I married you, that was clearly not to his liking, and his arrogance in forcing his way into the house that Christmas and threatening us because his wife had got at cross with your gamekeeper - it seemed to me intolerable.’

`He did not force his way in,’ George said quietly; `he found some way in that we did not know of.’

She shrugged. `Does it matter?’

`I do not know.’

`What d’you mean?’

They listened to a tapping on the cobbles outside. It was a blind man feeling his way along, his stick like an antenna plotting out the path. The window was an inch open and George shut it, cutting out the sound.

He said : I sometimes think, Elizabeth; I sometimes wonder…’

`What?’

`Something that you may consider an unsuitable thought for a husband to have of his wife…’ He paused. `Namely that your new enmity for Ross Poldark is less genuine than your old, affection…’

`You are right!’ she said instantly. ‘I do consider it a most unsuitable thought! Are you accusing me of hypocrisy or something worse?’ Her voice was angry. Anger to drive out, apprehension.

In their married life they had often had differences of opinion but had never quarrelled. It was not that sort of a relationship. Now on the verge he hesitated, drawing back from a confrontment for which he was not fully prepared.

`How do I know?’ he said. `It may not even be hypocrisy. Perhaps it is self-deception.’

`Have I ever - have I ever at any time in these two years given you reason to suppose that I have warmer feelings for Ross than my words suggest? Name a single time!’

`No. I can name none. That’s not what I mean. Listen. You are a woman of enduring loyalties. Confess that. Always you stand by your friends. In those years when you were married to Francis your friendship with Ross Poldark never wavered. If I mentioned his name you froze. But since we married, you have become as unfriendly to him, as unwelcoming as I. In all controversy you have taken my side–-‘

`Do you complain?’

‘Of course not. This has pleased me. It has gratified me to feel that you have changed your allegiance. But I’m not sure that it is in your character so to change. It’s more in your character to support me with reluctance against an old friend - because as my wife you feel it your duty to support me. But not with the strong feelings that you appear to show.’ Therefore at times I suspect them. I say to myself: perhaps they’re not true. Perhaps she is deceiving me because she thinks it pleases me. Or perhaps she is deceiving herself into mistaking her own feelings.’

She got up at last from the table and went towards the fire, which had only recently been lit and was burning low.

`Have you seen Ross today?’ She tucked a wisp of hair into the comb she was wearing, making the movement as cool as her words. `No.’

`I wonder, then, what makes you bring this charge upon me now?’ `We were talking of his certain presence at Caroline’s wedding. Is that not enough?’

`Not enough to justify these … imputations. I can only assume you’ve long felt this suspicion of me.’

`It has crossed my mind from time to time. Not frequently. But, I have to tell you, I have wondered.’

There was a long silence, during which Elizabeth with an effort took control again of her fluctuating emotions. She was learning from George.

She went across and stood beside him, like a slim virgin. `You are unduly jealous, my dear. Not just of Ross but of all men. D’you know, when we go out to a party I can scarce smile at a man who is under seventy without feeling you are ready to run him through!’ She put her hand on, his arm as he was about to speak. `As for Ross - you thought I was turning the conversation but you see I am not - as for Ross, I do sincerely care nothing for him. How can I convince you? Look at, me. I can only tell you that I once had feeling for him and now have no feeling for him. I do not love him. I would not care if I never saw him again. I scarcely even like him. He has come to seem to me a – a braggart and something of a bully, a middleaged man trying to assume the attitude of a young one, someone who once had a - a cloak and a sword and does not know they have, gone out-of-date.’

If she had had longer to choose her words she probably would never have found any so suitable to convince him. A declaration of hatred or contempt would have carried no conviction at all. But those few cool, destructive sentences which put into words very much his own opinions, though in phrases he would not have been perceptive enough to use himself, these brought a flushing reassurance to his soul.

He did flush in the face, an exceedingly rare symptom with him, and said: `Perhaps I am unduly jealous. I can’t tell, I can’t tell. But you must know why.’

She smiled. `You must not be. You have no one to be jealous of. I assure you.’

`You assure me.’ Doubt flickered across his face again, darkening it, making it ugly. Then he shrugged and smiled. ‘Well…’

`I assure you,’ she said.

Dr Dwight Enys and Miss Caroline Penvenen were married on All Hallows’ Day, which in 1795 came on a Sunday, at St Mary’s Church in Truro. Killewarren, Caroline’s house, was in the parish of Sawle-with-Grambler; but Sawle Church would hardly have been big enough, Truro was more central for most of the guests, and November with its heavy rains was not a time for country travel.

It was a big wedding after all. Dwight had objected from the start, but she had over-ridden his protests while he was still too feeble to be emphatic about anything. Indeed his recovery from his long imprisonment was not yet sure. He had long spells of listlessness and inertia and he could not get rid of a troublesome cough and a breathlessness at night. His personal inclination had been to postpone the wedding until the spring, but she had said