The Four Swans (34 page)

`Come, come,’ he said, `I do not believe it can be so.’

`Oh, it is so,’ she sobbed. `Oh, it is so! Last month I have missed what I should have had, and this week should have been the second. And I have been quite venomous sick as if I had been given a poison! All these last weeks I have hoped and prayed that it should not be so!’

They lay there for a long time saying nothing. Although she continued to weep, he felt that he could not be absolutely sure that her tears were not exaggerated to exact from him the maximum of pity. For a time his mind was drugged, as if unable to bestir itself from the morass into which her words had plunged it; but gradually it began to work. All the choices were nasty. If she were to commit suicide … If she could be persuaded to visit one of the old women of the town … If she could be sent away somewhere to stay with some crone who would `adopt’ the child after it was born .. If she could be sent home to her mother in disgrace .. If some other man could be blamed…

Of course he would deny any responsibility. It was only her word against his, and who would not take the word of a respected clergyman against that of a hysterical half-demented girl? Send her home in disgrace, let her mother make what she could of it. Scarcely anyone in the parish need ever know. Morwenna, perhaps, but it would be in her own interest to keep it secret, whatever her private thoughts.

Rowella moved away from him and tried to dry her eyes on the sheet. A worm of doubt moved in Ossie. In spite of her extreme youth Rowella was not to be trifled with. If she chose to keep quiet about him, she. would keep quiet; but if she chose not to, her accusations would not, he suspected, be barely audible between heart-rendering sobs. She would make her points, whether overshadowed by age and position or not. It was a horrible situation and one about which he ventured to feel, a grievance against God.

‘We will have to think gravely about this,,’ he said, as if he had not already been thinking gravely.

`Yes, Ossie.’

`I must go now. We will consider it again tomorrow in the light of day’

‘Do not tell Morwenna.’ `No, no. I shall not do that!’

`It is a terrible thing to have happened.’ `Yes, Rowella, it is.,

‘I do not know what anyone will think of me `Perhaps they will not know.’ `It will be very hard to hide.’

`Yes, that too I know,’ he said in intense irritation. `Perhaps you will think of something, Vicar.’ `There, there. We shall have to think and pray.’ `I could kill myself for this: `Yes, yes, my dear.’ Was there hope? `But will not,’ said Rowella, wiping her eyes.

I

In early February the de Dunstanvilles dined with the Poldarks at Nampara. It was something Demelza had set her face against ever since Ross first mentioned the possibility. Dining out with the nobility was one thing, entertaining them in this small house, and with untrained servants, was another; And of all the nobility, these were the two she feared most. She would rather have welcomed three Lord Falmouths and a couple of Valletorts thrown in; the simple reason being that she could not detach the Bassets from memories of her childhood - or indeed from the knowledge that three of her brothers and a stepmother and stepsister still lived - in a wretched cottage; half a mile from the gates of Tehidy. Since she married Ross she had, never found much difficulty in dealing with the lesser fry of the social scene the Bodrugans, the Trevaunances, the Trenegloses and so, on, and even with Lord Falmouth she had established a very slight rapport (in that on the rare occasions when he had spoken to her she thought she detected a gleam of approval in his eye), but the new Baron and his lady, though always gracious to her, suffered her, she thought, entirely on account of Ross.

Also poverty, until the last two years, had virtually cut off any formal entertaining at all; so she had had no practice. It was totally and impossibly unfair to begin by entertaining the two richest and most sophisticated people in Cornwall, who anyway must by now know exactly who she was and where she came from.

For a while Ross allowed himself to be put off by these objections; but eventually, as he told her, it became impossibly ill-mannered not to invite them, since Basset had several times expressed a wish to see the work that his recommended plasterer had done for them.

`I have said this too often to you already,’ Ross added; `in England we are not near so rigid in our class structures as you still appear to suppose. Thomas Coutts, the banker; married a maid in his brother’s employ, and she now entertains princes. Besides, in all countries, England as elsewhere, a woman at marriage takes her husband’s position and rank. Why do you think Frances Hippesley Cox became first Lady Basset and then Lady de Dunstanville?? Because of her marriage to Francis Basset!

‘Ah, but you can tell, she was gentlefolk to begin.’

‘No matter. Just as she is now Lady de Dunstanville, you are Mrs Ross Poldark, and if any person ever treated you different from that I would turn him out of the house, even if it were the King himself. After all these years you must understand that.’

`Yes, Ross.’

He did not like her in one of her meek moods. They usually boded no good.

`Oh, I appreciate all about the Bassets and Tehidy and the rest. Try to forget it. You only have to be your natural self. Pretend nothing, for you have nothing to hide. Rather’ you have everything to be proud of.’

‘And who shall do the cooking, Ross?’

`Jane knows many of the dishes you serve. Perhaps you will have to oversee it in its early stages

`And in its late stages too. If Jane knows we have the Baron de Dunstanville at our table she’ll tremble so much she’ll drop the goose in the fire and pour mustard sauce on the apple tarts.’

`Mrs Zacky would come in, I’m sure. If she can deliver a baby she should be able to put the dishes into and out of an oven.’

`And who will wait at table in white gloves? Jack Cobbledick?’

`Nobody will wear white, gloves:’ Ena can wait very well now and Betsy Maria can help … It has to be, love. I’m sorry, but there is no way out short of a discourtesy I cannot possibly show. If they do not like our country cooking they can go back to their palace and rot.’

`I believe they’re much more likely to go back to their palace and laugh.’

`There you do them an injustice. If they hadn’t wanted to come he would not have almost reached the point of suggesting it. And gentlefolk never laugh at simplicity; they only laugh at pretence.’

`And where can I show her upstairs? Downstairs may be lovely if we keep the pigs out and Garrick in the scullery - but we have no new furniture for our bedroom and still only an outside closet.’

`Much healthier. For the rest, show her into Jeremy’s room. It is simple, but all, new and fresh, and there’s a good mirror.’

Demelza considered the, gloomy prospect ahead. Ross put his arm round her shoulders. `I rely on you.’

`Perhaps you should not always.’

`Whether I should or should not, I always will.’

`Well, if I have to I have to; but on one condition: we must invite Dwight and Caroline too to water them down.’ `I was going to suggest it. –‘

So the dinner came off on a fine Tuesday in mid-February. Demelza had given great thought to the menu for she knew, whatever Ross might think, that she would have to oversee the meal until the last second. She did pease soup, which could be got ready beforehand, then a boiled tongue, similarly easy, followed by a fat little turkey hen roasted, with chopped bacon, then her special raspberry jam puffs, and ended with a syllabub and mince pies. The day before, Ross had been over to Mr Trencrom and cajoled him into selling him .a half dozen bottles of his finest claret, which Mr Trencrom always had run over specially from France. With Geneva, brandy, and Demelza’s favourite port, there was plenty to drink, and good drink at that. Basset, in spite of his wealth, was no toper, and everyone ended the meal pleasantly full, pleasantly relaxed and pleasantly talkative.

There was much to talk about: Mantua had fallen and resistance in Italy was at an end, the last Italian ports were being closed to English ship ping; and Austria, the only bastion remaining was tottering to a fall. The last attempt to invade Ireland had been foiled by the weather, but any day another might begin, especially as the Spanish and Dutch fleets were now available to combine with the French. As troops were freed from their other conquests in. Europe they were being drafted to the Channel coast. Next time it might not be Ireland that was attempted. More volunteers were being recruited throughout the land, and at every tiny port men were being pressed for the navy. Miners were exempt from impressment but here and there were forming patriotic groups for resistance against the French.

They later moved into the new library, whose plaster-work was much admired, and then, the day being so fine, it was suggested they should all go for a walk as far as Damsel Point, and Demelza, to her horror, found herself partnered by Lord de Dunstanville. The way lay along the narrow path skirting the Long Field, so there was no hope of breaking this order until they reached the rocks. Ross led the way with Lady de Dunstanville, and Dwight and Caroline had meanly contrived to stick together and bring up the rear.

Conversation between the lady of the house and her guest centred chiefly on crops. This was easy enough, and a polite question now and then kept him going. Demelza had long since realized that most men liked the sound of their own voices, and the new baron was no exception. Not that what he said was boring or in any way dull; he was incisive, to the point, and full of ideas that were new to her. After a while she began to relax, reasoning that the more he dominated the conversation the less time he was likely to have to think about her social deficiencies.

They reached the end of the field, where the end of the cultivable land was and rock and gorse began: He stopped and looked across at Hendrawna Beach. Ross and Lady de Dunstanville were on ahead, Dwight was picking a thorn out of Caroline’s shoe.

Basset said : `Where I live, as you know, we are well guarded by cliffs. But long stretches of sand such as this and at Gwithian offer easy landings for the invader if he chooses his weather right. It makes one apprehensive for the safety of our shores:’

`If he came,’ Demelza said, `I do not believe he would be graciously received.’

He glanced at her. `Of that I’m sure. But our casual forces against the war-hardened veterans of Europe … Now as to the navies, that is another matter.’

She gazed over the sea. This morning had come another letter from Hugh and another poem. Again she had succeeded in slipping, the poem away without Ross noticing it. The letter had been bare, a catalogue of events, and those but few; seeing that they covered four months. The navy’s duties were monotonous and hard, a fight far more often against wind and tide than an enemy ship. Endless patrol, endless vigilance, and then the French navy slipped out unawares. Demelza hoped - or part of her hoped - that the tone of his letter showed he was losing interest. Unfortunately the poem did not confirm this idea. It was longer than the others and less, direct, but one could be left in no doubt as to the sentiments. And he last line of his letter said that there might be a chance of his being in Cawsand next month with leave to visit his parents, and possibly his uncle.

`… so possibly his choice was the right one,’ Basset ended.

In panic Demelza licked her lips. `Please?’

`I was saying it is a difficult age for a man in time of war. I think it was that that mainly caused him to refuse. At twenty-seven he would naturally join his regiment. At forty-seven he might more readily have accepted the seat.’

`Yes, I suspicion he might,’ she said, groping cautiously.

`His brilliant exploit in France two years ago shows that his preferences are still towards a more active participation in war; yet I think he might have done well in the Commons. But it was not to be.’

`Our neighbour took his place,’ she said.

`Indeed. And a very … diligent member he is proving himself.’

Ross and his partner were at the edge of the rock-strewn moorland sloping down into Hendrawna Cove. Frances de Dunstanville looked very small beside him.

Basset stopped again. `There is bad blood between your houses. What is the cause of it, Mrs Poldark?’

Demelza put her foot on a stone and looked across the beach. `Over there are the Dark Cliffs, my Lord, those you were asking me about.’

‘Yes, I see.’

`The bad blood lies too far back for me to explain. And even if I could, tis not for me to do it. You must ask Ross.’

`I do not like it shown in public. One should not wear soiled linen where it may be seen.’

‘One should not wear soiled linen at all, my Lord.’

He smiled. `Nor wash it in public, eh? In any event such ill-will between cousins and neighbours is uncalled for. It should be buried, where all old rivalries belong, especially in time of war when we have a common enemy to fight. Tell Captain Poldark from me, will you?’

‘If you will tell Mr Warleggan.’

He looked at her sidelong. `I am informed that the fault lies mainly on the Poldark side.’

Demelza’s heart began to thump. Then she met his glance and let out a slow breath. `My Lord, I b’lieve you are teasing, me.’

`I would not venture to do that, madam, on so short an acquaintance. What’ is that mine on the cliffs?’

`Wheal Leisure. Closed by Mr Warleggan two years ago.’

`On Poldark land?’

`Treneglos land; But Ross, began it ten years ago.’ `Old feuds and old rivalries no doubt die hard.’

`So do old mines.’

`I conceit that Captain Poldark has a stout defender in you, ma’am.’

`Would you not have it so?’

`Indeed. Indeed. I tremble to say more.’

`My Lord, I do not believe you would tremble at anything. But talking of feuds…’

`Yes?’

`No, it was not a proper thought’

`Please go on.’

`Well talking of feuds … do you not have one yourself with Lord Falmouth?’

He looked at her in surprise and then laughed. ‘Touché. But it would be more proper to say that he has a feud with me. I feel, nothing in the matter at all.’