The Loving Cup

by Winston Graham

  Cuby’s face was heavy with concentration. Then she glinted up at him, her eyes again alight. ‘Very well. I’ll try.’

  ‘Promise.’

  ‘First send the invitation!’

  ‘Oh, that is not an obstacle, I assure you. It is your end where the obstacle lies!’

  She took his hand in a brief clasp and then released it. ‘I’ll try. I’ll get Augustus and Clemency to help me.’

  They went into the hotel together.

  Chapter Eleven

  I

  The next day Jeremy and Clowance rode over to Trenwith, and they and Geoffrey Charles and Amadora took a walk along the cliffs. Jeremy and Clowance had bathed in the morning, which was sunny and breathlessly still with an enormous incoming tide; by the afternoon as the tide receded one could see piles of seaweed and driftwood along the high watermark and dozens of people sifting it over for anything of value. The afternoon was still quiet but the September sun was streaky.

  ‘Rain and wind tomorrow,’ said Jeremy.

  The path along the edge of the cliff being narrow, the quartet split up, Jeremy and Geoffrey Charles going ahead, the girls fifty yards in the rear, Clowance generally holding them up by picking wild flowers and offering them for Amadora to look at.

  ‘This path was out of bounds when I was a child,’ said Geoffrey Charles. ‘Even Morwenna was not allowed to bring me here.’

  ‘I suppose all mothers are the same,’ said Jeremy.

  ‘Sometimes it is good to be nervous,’ said Geoffrey Charles. ‘Amadora is not nervous enough. At least for herself.’

  ‘You are determined to go back to Spain right after the party?’

  ‘Determined? I suppose that is as good a word as any. I feel it my duty. And in a sense I look forward – after so many years of being pounded by the enemy I want to be in it when we at last are doing the pounding.’

  ‘Do you think the war will be over soon?’

  ‘There are so many fronts now . . . You see the Americans have had a success on Lake Erie. I suspect they will re-take Detroit soon. They can get reinforcements so much more quickly.’

  ‘So if there is peace in Europe there may be war in America for some years yet?’

  ‘I confess I should not feel eager to return if I were returning to fight in Canada. Buonaparte is my enemy.’

  Not to be outdone by Clowance, Jeremy stopped and picked a stalk of pink willow herb which was blooming by the path. He sniffed at it but there was no scent.

  ‘Will you do me a favour, Geoffrey Charles?’

  ‘Name it.’

  Jeremy named it.

  ‘Give me their full names and the address when we get home,’ said his cousin. ‘I’ll send the letter tomorrow.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘It may not be possible to put them up in Trenwith. You know our bedrooms. But I think as you say, Mrs Pope . . .’

  ‘Have you met the Popes yet?’

  ‘Last week. She called on Amadora. A pretty woman.’

  ‘Distinctly so,’ said Jeremy.

  Behind them Amadora said: ‘This bathing that you shall do today. Do you engage in it in all your clothes?’

  ‘Oh, no. Mama has made a light costume which we have all copied. Have you seen the Greeks – pictures of the Greeks? They wore a sort of short thin tunic without sleeves. That, of course, was for men, and that was for daily wear, not for bathing. We use something like it for bathing. It is not at all what would be favoured in Brighton or Penzance but it serves.’

  ‘But does it not display – all of the legs?’

  ‘Yes. But who is to see?’

  ‘Oh. I do not think I could do that! With you it shall be just your family. I am not one of your family.’

  ‘Yes you are!’

  Amadora said rather stiffly: ‘Not in that way. I cannot undress myself in the front of Jeremy.’

  ‘We’ll go on our own sometime – right at the end of the beach.’

  ‘Maybe. When the sea grows more warm. I used my hand in it last week and it was like the ice!’

  ‘But this is September, Amadora. This is the warmest it ever gets!’

  ‘Mother of God, I shall not bear that! I could die of chill.’

  ‘And this,’ said Clowance, stooping, ‘is samphire. We use it in making pickles. Taste it, the leaves are quite nice.’

  Amadora tasted, made a little moue, dropped the leaf. ‘I think in Spain we have something of the sort. Clowance . . .’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘We are the most near of an age, is that not so? There is one thing that shall be worrying me, as you will suppose it is worrying everyone. I have not spoken to your mother though she has been the most kind of all. It shall be worrying me always if I come to live in England.’

  ‘That is? . . .’

  ‘My religion.’

  Clowance crumpled the other leaves and sniffed them.

  Amadora said: ‘I am from a convent, you will understand. In our convent we are taught that those who are not belonging to the Catholic faith are heretics. Must be shunned, avoided, shall be treated as evil people – the anti-Christ. I am taught that heretics cannot even be good-looking, for they have their wickedness written on their faces. This is how I am taught – until I meet the English – and Geoffrey Charles. Then I cannot believe that any more. Afortunadamente, my father, he is a very wise man, very tolerante – I am sorry, in embarrassment I lose my English . . .’

  ‘Don’t hurry . . . Yes, we’re coming!’ Clowance called to the young men.

  ‘My mother, she is very unforgiving – and also my brother – my elder brother, Martin – he looks the dagger at me, as if I shall be casting myself into the pit. And as for Father Antonio – you need not ask! . . .’ The girl sighed. ‘Yet our love is such we ride over these obstacles – and it will continue so. I know it here.’ She touched her heart.

  ‘Isn’t that really what matters?’ Clowance said.

  ‘Of course. Of course. Por supuesto. But now I am here I say to myself: “But to them I am the heretic, the evil one, the anti-Christ. Those who are not having our love to sustain them, how shall they think other?”’

  ‘Has anyone given you to think so?’

  ‘Twice or thrice there is the look de reojo from this one and that. And since we have come here Geoffrey Charles has not ever been once to confession – never has he seen the priest, never to the church. It gives me to worry.’

  ‘Because he has not been following his religion?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Clowance said: ‘Have you spoken to Geoffrey Charles about this?’

  ‘No, no, no. I could not. How shall I as his wife presume to question him on such matters?’

  ‘My dear.’ Clowance patted her hand. ‘I do not think Geoffrey Charles feels his religious ties as deeply as you do. I do not think it has upset him deeply that he has not been to church because he cannot take you. And in our church there is no such thing as confession.’

  ‘Not?’

  ‘Not. The way we believe, it is not necessary to have a priest between ourselves and God. If – if we have anything to confess, we confess it direct to Him.’

  ‘And who absolves you? Is that the word?’

  ‘God does. Who better?’

  ‘Ah,’ said Amadora, mystified, and they walked on.

  Jeremy said: ‘There are a lot of things I want to ask you, Geoffrey Charles.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘How much would it cost me to buy a commission in the Army?’

  Geoffrey Charles looked at his cousin. They were both tall thin men, Geoffrey Charles only the taller by being more erect.

  ‘Does that mean you wish to go?’

  ‘I have thought of it. Your advice on all fronts would be helpful.’

  ‘Have you discussed this with your parents?’

  ‘Not in detail. They know I might so decide.’

  ‘And approve?’

  ‘No. But they will not stand in my way.’

  They stroll
ed on a few yards. ‘May I ask what your general reasons are, Jeremy? Do you wish to fight the French? Or have you some desire to get away from your home? Or do you like the idea of travel and living a rough life and finding adventure?’

  ‘Mainly the second. I wish to get away.’

  ‘From your parents? That surprises me. When I joined the army it was originally from the same motive, but I was getting away from my mother’s death and from a stepfather whom I hated!’

  ‘Not from my parents.’ Jeremy kicked at a stone. ‘Can we just say that I have a girl in my blood, and she is privately engaged to marry someone else—’

  ‘This girl? This one you have asked me to ask?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And – that has hit you so badly?’

  ‘I have tried to live with it. I have failed. To an outsider it will seem stupid but—’

  ‘Not necessarily. But what do you want from me?’

  ‘Details. Advice if you care to offer it.’

  ‘About the army? Willingly if I know the answers.’

  ‘For one thing,’ Jeremy said, ‘I imagine if I went to my father and told him I had to go, he would buy me a commission. But I don’t wish him to be put to expense. As it happens I have come by some money in a rather peculiar way, and it seems to me it would be suitable if I spent it or part of it in such a manner.’

  ‘Where does that lead down there?’ Geoffrey Charles asked. ‘I don’t remember it.’

  ‘A place we’ve called Kellow’s Ladder. Paul Kellow, whom you’ve met – he and his father put a ladder down an old mineshaft and gained access to a pretty little sheltered beach. But the ladder is broken now – no one goes down.’

  ‘What a view from here,’ said Geoffrey Charles. ‘Those waves.’ He took a deep breath. ‘It’s good to be home. I hadn’t realized how good.’

  ‘I remember hearing my father say once that to him one of the most important things in life was contrast. Maybe I shall come to appreciate this more when I have seen less of it.’

  ‘But I thought one of your great interests is in the development of steam.’

  ‘So it is.’

  ‘You’d see nothing of that in the army. Technically they have only just learned to boil a kettle.’

  Jeremy laughed, but it was not a very humorous sound. ‘I suppose I’m on a tightrope – don’t know which way to jump.’

  ‘Well, I may tell you one thing,’ said Geoffrey Charles. ‘You need not pay anything to get a commission. Of course you may buy an ensigncy in a crack regiment and pay through the nose for it: the Foot Guards, the Welsh Fusiliers; the Life Guards most of all. But if you merely want a commission as such, and are prepared to take the regiment you are assigned to, I assure you there is no trouble at all; you must be able to read and write, and have a letter of recommendation from someone holding the rank of major or more. Then you will be in. Three or four months’ training and you will be allowed to kill with the best.’

  ‘I thought—’

  ‘A great many people think. But we are at war – constantly expanding our regiments and constantly suffering casualties. Where are the rich men’s sons who wish to pay and fill these vacancies? They don’t exist. I was told last year that the demand for new officers in Wellington’s Army alone is about a thousand a year. Probably half of those are to replace men killed or dying from disease. A fair number resign and a few are cashiered. The rest will be for new units just being formed.’

  ‘I see. Then—’

  ‘Of course you will need money to live on. The pay for an ensign is about 6/- a day, and from that there are deductions. You’ll need at least £150 a year to live decently. Then you’ll have to buy your uniform, your sword, your compass, your spy glass; best too to have a horse, even in the infantry. Probably an outlay near on £200. So you see it would not be difficult to spend some of your own money in any case.’

  They went on.

  Clowance said: ‘Has Geoffrey Charles not spoken to you about your religion?’

  ‘Yes, yes. He has spoke to my father. They were of accord.’

  ‘Did he not tell you that you can practise your own religion in England just as in Spain? There are Catholic churches here in Cornwall. I – I’m afraid I don’t know where they are, but I am sure there are some.’

  ‘Yes, yes, my father says I shall be finding them. But – we have been so busy – it has been malísimo – I have done nothing. It is very guilty of me. I think soon we shall be home.’

  ‘In England,’ said Clowance, ‘we would not call that a serious sin. Except perhaps among a few.’ She thought of Sam. ‘You used the word tolerante just now. Is that not what we should all try to be? And are we not friends – the Spanish and the English? Do we not fight for the same cause?’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said Amadora. ‘You comfort me, Clowance. It is good for me to find here such a kind prima.’

  ‘Prima?’

  ‘I do not know what the English word shall be. Pariente. I shall call Geoffrey Charles.’

  Clowance coo-eed, but when the men turned back she said: ‘This is Kellow’s Ladder. Has Geoffrey Charles ever seen it? Can we not go down?’

  ‘No,’ said Jeremy. ‘It is dangerous. I tried last month, and the rungs were insecure.’

  ‘It was well enough last year,’ said Clowance.

  ‘Well, it is not well enough now, for I almost fell.’

  ‘Oh, surely we can be careful. It is such an elegant little cove.’

  ‘No,’ said Jeremy. ‘The ladder is quite unsafe . . . Look, let us turn back here and cut across the fields. Isn’t it time for tea? Let us ask Amadora for some Spanish tea.’

  II

  They took tea in the summer parlour. It was a pleasant room, clean now, with a few pieces of velvet, cut down from the curtains in two of the bedrooms and draped over damp-stained chair-backs and moth-eaten seats. A lazy wind, the first of the day, stirred the tendrils of ivy growing over the windows; two chaffinches argued and chirruped outside. Drake and Morwenna had gone to see Sam and his wife; it did not appear to be creating too much embarrassment that Drake at one stage of his life had promised himself in marriage to Sam’s wife. Rosina had been the injured party, but it was all so long ago, or she was sufficiently imbued with Sam’s teaching of Christian forgiveness that she let it pass her by.

  Later, while Amadora and Clowance chatted, Geoffrey Charles took Jeremy out and they examined the great table in the hall. Since being placed there three hundred years ago it had resisted all attempts at removal – even George Warleggan’s attempts – but Geoffrey Charles was determined that it must come up for their party. He could not bear the thought of sawing off the central legs, which were of the finest and most imperishable oak; instead the flags of the floor must be dug up, the legs uprooted and the entire table either carried outside, or, if there was no way of getting it through the door, then it must be laid alongside one wall to take up the least possible space. It was the only room in the house big enough for a proper dance, and it was overlooked by the minstrel gallery. So for this occasion it had to be so used. Geoffrey Charles remembered an evening during his step-father’s day when they had danced round the table; but it just would not do.

  Jeremy said: ‘What are the officers mainly like in the army? Mostly from the great schools, I suppose?’

  ‘Not at all. I think I have only met six or seven I knew from my time at Harrow. And not so many titled as you would suppose from reading the newspapers, where of course they always attract the news. The vast majority of the officers are grammar school boys or the like. Such that is as I know and have casually learned from! One does not make it a major topic of conversation . . . You see here – these flags – I think they will lever up. If they crack it would not be difficult to replace them.’

  ‘The table could stand on its end,’ said Jeremy. ‘The room is high enough and it would be less in the way. I can tell without your trying that you’ll never get it through the door because of the other door beyond. You’d
have to take the window out.’

  Geoffrey Charles eyed him. ‘Far be it from me, cousin, to deter you from joining the army if you feel you cannot bear to continue to live in Cornwall. But I assure you it is a dangerous and dirty life. Men are dying or being maimed all the time. And you are killing other men – or trying to – all the time. And it is constantly boring as well as dangerous. A fresh young man came out the week of our little fracas at Vittoria; he was attached to the 43rd. Called Thompson. Smartly turned out, good uniform, mighty keen to get into action. Son of a farmer, as it happens. He’d built up little affectations to make him seem more genteel than he was. Wanted to transfer to the cavalry as soon as he could. Was telling me of his amorous adventures in Portsmouth the night before he sailed. Next morning he went out – nothing had really begun – just a little sporadic firing. Stray bullet – couldn’t have been aimed. It killed him just the same.’

  ‘I’m under no illusions,’ said Jeremy. ‘I don’t believe I am essentially soldier material . . . But were you?’

  Geoffrey Charles smiled, his tight mouth a little tighter. ‘No. But I believe I went in with greater reason. I understand you designed the new engine for Wheal Leisure, that you are highly gifted to take advantage of this new era of steam, that you have been working on a horseless carriage. As I said just now, the army will not help you in this pursuit. It seems a pity to set that all aside.’

  A long pause followed. They heard laughter.

  Jeremy said: ‘I’m glad Clowance and Amadora get on so excellently well together.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘What sort of an orchestra shall you hire?’

  ‘There is one, they say, in Truro; plays at the Assembly Balls. But I shall make sure that they are not too staid. In the army I have become used to many jigs and country dances.’

  After a moment Jeremy said: ‘There is another reason which prompts me to go.’

  ‘May I hear it?’

  ‘If we are somewhere private. This room is a little large for confidences.’

  ‘Will the garden do?’