The Four Swans (8 page)

The youngest of the family; Rowella, not yet fifteen, was nearly as tall as Morwenna, but thin, her general colouring a mouse brown, her eyes set close together over a long thin nose. She had very fine skin, a sly look, sandy eyebrows, an underlip that tended to tremble, and the best brain in the family.

At the foot of the hill was a cluster of thatched cottages, a lych gate, the old granite church which dated from 1326, and beyond that the vicarage, a pleasant square house looking on to the river. They went in, dusted the mud and melting frost from their skirts and entered the parlour for tea. There the Reverend Osborne Whitworth joined them. Ossie was a big man with a voice accustomed to making itself heard but, in spite of the fashionable extravagance of his clothes, clumsy in the presence of women. Although he had had two wives, his understanding of the opposite sex was limited by his lack of imagination. He saw women mainly as objects, differently attired from himself, suitable to, receive unmeant compliments. mothers of children, static but useful vehicles for perpetuating the human race, and frequently but only briefly as the nude objects of his desire. Had he known of Calvin’s remark that women are created to bear children and, to die of it he would probably have agreed.

At least his first wife had so died, leaving him with two small daughters; and he had taken speedy steps to replace her with a new one. He had chosen one whose body appealed to him physically and whose marriage portion, thanks, to the generosity of her cousin by marriage, Mr George Warleggan, had helped him wipe off past debts and improve his future standard of living. So far so good.

But it had been borne in even upon his obtuseness over the last few months, that his new wife was not relishing her marriage or her newposition. In a, sense he was prepared for a `going off’ in women

after, marriage for his first wife,, though welcoming their physical union to being with had shown a decreasing willingness to receive his attentions; and although she had never made the least attempt to

refuse him there had been a certain resignation in her manner which had not pleased him too well.

But with Morwenna it had never been anything else. He had known - indeed she had declared before marriage - that she did not `love’ him. He had dismissed this as a female, quibble, something, that could easily be got over in the marriage bed: he had enough confidence in his own male attraction to feel that such maidenly hesitations on her part would be soon overcome. But although she submitted to his large attentions five times a week - not Saturdays or Sundays - her submissiveness at times came near to that of a martyr at the stake. He seldom looked at her face when in the act, but occasional glimpses showed her mouth drawn, her eyebrows contorted; often afterwards she would shiver and shudder uncontrollably. He would have liked to believe that this came from pleasure though women were not really supposed to get pleasure out of it but the look in her eyes, when he caught’ it, showed all too clearly that this was not so.

Her manner annoyed him and made him irritable. Sometimes it led him into little cruelties, physical cruelties; of which afterwards he was ashamed. She performed her simple duties about the house well enough; she attended to the calls of the parish, frequently being out when he expected her to be in; she-was fond of his daughters and they after a probationary period, of her; she attended church, tall and slender - well, fairly slender anyhow; she sat at his table and ate his food; she wore in her own undistinguished way the clothes he had had made for her; she discussed church affairs with him, sometimes even town affairs; when he went to a reception - such as the Penvenen wedding - she was at his side.. She did not chatter at meals like Esther, she did not complain when she was unwell, she did not fritter money away on trivialities, she had a dignity that his first wife had quite lacked. Indeed she might have been the sort of woman he would be thoroughly pleased with, if the unfortunate but necessarily main purpose of matrimony’ could have been ignored.

It could not. Last week when performing the wedding ceremony in his own church he had allowed his mind to wander from its immediate task and ponder a moment on his own marriage and the three purposes for which the Prayer Book said matrimony had been ordained. The first, the procreation of children, was already being fulfilled. The third, for the mutual comfort and society etc., was fair enough; she was there most times and did his will. It was the second which was the stumbling block. `a remedy I against sin, and to avoid fornication; that such persons as have not the gift of continency might marry, and keep themselves undefiled members of Christ’s body.’ Well, he had not the gift of, continency, and she was there to save him from fornication. It was not for her to shiver and shudder at his touch. `Wives,’ St Paul had said, `submit yourselves unto your own husbands as unto the Lord.’ He had said it both in his Epistle to the Ephesians and in his Epistle to the Colossians. It was not for her to look on her husband’s body with horror and disgust.

So at times she goaded him into sin. Sometimes he hurt her when he need not. Once he had twisted her feet in his hands until she cried out; but that must not happen again. It had troubled him in the night. He blamed her for that.

But: today in the presence of three young women, he was at his best. Secure in his dignity - he had told Morwenna before they came that they must call him Mr Whitworth to his face but must always refer to him among others as the Vicar - he could unbend and be clumsily genial. He stood on the hearthrug with his hands behind his back and his coattails over his arms and talked to them of parish affairs and the shortcomings of the town, while they sipped tea and murmured replies and laughed politely at his jokes. Then, unbending still further, he told them in detail of a hand of cards he had played last night, and Morwenna breathed again, for to confide in this way was always a sign of his approval. He played whist three nights a, week it was his abiding passion, and the play of the previous night was his customary topic at breakfast.

Before leaving them to their own devices he clearly thought it necessary to correct any impression of lightness in his manner or conversation and so launched into a summary of his views on the war, England’s food shortage, the dangerous spread of discontent, the debasement of money, and the opening of a new burial ground in Truro. Thus having done his duty, he rang the bell for the servant to clear away the tea - Garlanda had not quite finished - and left them, to return to his study.

It was a time before normal conversation broke out again between the three, girls, and then it was centred wholly upon the affairs of Bodmin and news they could exchange of friends in common. The sunny-tempered, outspoken, practical Garlanda was aching to ask; all the questions she would normally have asked, all about preparations for the coming baby, and was Morwenna happy in her married life, and how did it feel to be a vicar’s wife instead of a dean’s daughter, and had she met many people socially; in the town and what new dresses had she had made? But she alone of the other sisters knew something of Morwenna’s troubles, and she had seen as soon as they met this afternoon that they were not over. She had hoped and prayed that a few months of marriage, and especially the coming child, would have made her forget `the other man’.. Whether it, was thoughts of her lost love that were troubling Morwenna or merely that her gained love was not to, her liking, Garlanda did not yet know, but having now met Ossie she could see some of the problems her, sister had to face. It was a pity she was not staying, Garlanda thought she might have helped Morwenna more than any of the others. Morwenna was such a soft gentle creature, easily hurt but temperamentally, intended to be happy; in the, next few years she would have to harden herself to deal with a man like Ossie, to stand up to him, otherwise she would go under; become as much like a white mouse and as much in awe of him as those two little girls who crept around. She had to be given strength.

As for the sister who was staying, Garlanda did not know what she thought and probably never would. For whereas Morwenna’s quietness and reticence were really as open as the day and came only from shyness, so that anyone could soon penetrate to her thoughts and feelings and fears, little Rowella with her thin nose and. narrow eyes and fluttering underlie had been inscrutable from the day she was born. Little Rowella, already three inches taller than Garlanda, was taking only a minor part in the conversation, now that, haltingly, it had broken out again. Her eyes travelled around the room, as they had been doing from time to time ever since she came into it, assessing it forming her own conclusions, whatever they might be, as no doubt she had formed her own conclusions about her new brother-in-law.

Presently while the other two were chatting, she rose and went to the window. Darkness had almost fallen, but light still, glimmered’ on the river, which shone like a peeled grape among the stark trees.

The servant came in with candles and drove the last of the retreating daylight away.

Seeing Rowella so silent, Morwenna got up and went to the window and put her arm round her.

`Well, darling, do you think you will like it here?’

`Thank you, sister, I shall be near you.’

`But far from Mama and your home. We shall need each other.’

Garlanda watched her two tall sisters but said nothing.

Presently Rowella said: `The vicar dresses his hair in a very pretty manner. Who is his operator?’

‘Oh.. Alfred our manservant, looks after him.’

‘He is not at all like Papa, is he?’

‘No … no, he is not.’

`Nor is he at all like the new dean.’

`The new dean is from Saltash,’ Garlanda volunteered.: `Such a little bird of a man.’

Silence fell.

Rowella said : “‘I do not suppose we are so near revolution as the vicar suggests. But there were bad riots at Flushing last week .. How far are we here from Truro?’

‘About a mile.‘A little more if one goes by the carriage road.’ `There are some shops there?’ `Oh, yes, in Kenwyn Street.’

A pause. `Your garden looked pretty. It runs right to the river?’.

Oh,, yes.’ Morwenna made an effort. `We have great fun, Sarah and Anne and I. When the tide is half in there is a little island that we stand on and pretend we are marooned and waiting for a boat. But if we don’t choose just the right time to escape, our feet sink in the mud and we get wet. And, we feed the swans. There are just four of them and they are quite tame. One of them has a damaged wing. We call her Leda. We steal scraps from the kitchen. Anne is terrified, but Sarah and I - they will feed out of our hand…’

The darkness was now so complete that they could see only the reflections of themselves in the glass.

Rowella said. `I have brought a pincushion to stick for you. It is of white satin and quilted curiously, the upper and undersides to be of different patterns. I think you will like it.’

`I’m sure I shall. Show it me when you unpack.’

Rowella stretched herself. ‘I think I should like to do that now, Wenna; My shoes are pinching and I long to, change them. They belonged to Carenza, who outgrew them and so they were passed on. But I believe they are now too small for me.’

Ross Poldark had known the Bassets more or less all his life but it had been the acquaintance that all landed people in Cornwall had of each other rather than friendship. Sir Francis Basset was too big a man to consort familiarly with the small squires of the county. He owned the Tehidy estate about eleven miles west of Nampara and his vast mining interests gave him a greater spendable income, than any other man in the county. He had written and issued papers on political theory, on practical agriculture and on safety in the mines. He was a patron of the arts and sciences and spent half of each year in London.

It was therefore a surprise to the Poldarks to receive a letter from him in March inviting, them to, dinner at Tehidy; though not so much of a surprise as it would have been a year ago. To Ross’s great irritation he found himself a hero in the county, since his Quimper adventure: people knew his name who had never heard of him before and this was not the first unexpected, invitation they had received. To some of them he had successfully negotiated a refusal - the, negotiation being with Demelza, who on principle never, refused an invitation anywhere. During the winter Clowance had been out of sorts with teething troubles and this had given him a lever to get his own way, for Julia’s death was still vivid in Demelza’s mind, and the fact that their new child was a girl seemed to make her specially vulnerable. But now Clowance was better, so there was no excuse.

`Oh, I like him well enough,’ said Ross, driven into a corner. `He’s a different mould from my more immediate neighbours; a man of sensibility, though a trifle ruthless in his own affairs. It is just that I don’t relish an invitation which so clearly arises from my new notoriety.’

‘Notoriety is not a good word,’ said Demelza.; `Is it?. I thought notoriety meant a kind of ill fame.’

`I imagine it can mean all kinds of fame. It certainly applies to undeserved fame, such as mine is.’

`Perhaps others are a better judge than you are, Ross. It is no shame to be known as a brave and daring person.’

`Daring and foolhardy. Losing as many men as I saved.’

`Not unless you guess at those that may have died trying to escape on their own.’

`Well,’ Ross said restively, `the objection holds. I have, no love for being, thought highly of for the wrong reasons. But I give in, I give way, I surrender; we’ll go and beard Sir Francis in his den. His wife is Frances too, you know. And his daughter. So it will become very confusing for you if you take too much port.’

`I know: when some ill word is coming from you,’ Demelza said. `Your ears twitch, like Garrick’s when he has seen a rabbit.’

`Perhaps it is the same impulse,” said Ross.

Nevertheless Demelza would have been happier if this had been an evening party, and she could in fact have fortified herself with a glass or two as soon as she arrived. To Ross it meant nothing that she had been born within a mile or so of Tehidy Park and that her father had worked all his life in a mine of which Sir Francis Basset owned the mineral rights. Four of her brothers had at times worked on mines in which he had a controlling interest. The name of Sir Francis Basset, carried as much weight in Illuggan and Camborne as the name of King George, and it had been daunting even to be introduced to him at the wedding. Did Sir Francis know, or did he not, that Mrs Ross Poldark had been a miner’s brat dragged up in a hovel with six brothers, and a drunken father who belted her at the least excuse? And if he did not, might not her accent in spite of her greatly improved English inform him? To a trained ear there were very noticeable differences of tone between one district and another.