‘Nor is it, m’dear. I’m with you there. But it is a very respectable gathering this week-end, damme. Or most of it gives that impression at a distance. You’ll be quite safe with us, ma’am, I assure you.’
‘That’s what I was afeared of,’ said Demelza.
He chuckled dryly and looked at her with his beady black eyes. ‘’Tis comforting to hear you talk so even if you don’t mean it. Respectability bores me to madness, and I fancy there’ll be moments this week-end when I shall be glad to slip away. Did I not promise you bawdy talk? Yes, I did, and you shall have it. We’ll nip into a corner somewhere and—’
‘Hughie!’ called his stepmother. ‘Miss Robartes is here with Dr Halse. Go and see ’em down! God damn it, I can’t be everywhere!’
As Demelza was shown to her room along the floor-creaking corridor upstairs, she reflected that she would have to be very far gone in drink before she could throw herself at Hugh Bodrugan’s head. He had tried to make love to her in Bodmin, and even now her flesh crept at the thought.
That no doubt was always the trouble with wronged wives. The will to retaliate was there but not the object to make it possible.
The bedroom she had been shown into was big and low with heavy beams and panelled walls. When she was alone she at once went to the window and threw it open before beginning to unpack her dress. The window looked out on the side of the house, across two sloping lawns towards a belt of beech trees. The trees were just in their first entrancing green, dappling in the sunlight like watered silk. Bisecting the lawns was a broad low-walled path sentinelled with statuary, much of it now showing the effects of wind and weather.
Coming along the path towards the house was Malcolm McNeil of the Scots Greys.
Sir Hugh’s preferences seldom leaned towards the conventional; and since this was to be a dance, his view was that the thing should be got under way as soon as possible and kept up as long as possible so that no one should complain they hadn’t had their money’s worth. Also he wanted his money’s worth out of the orchestra. Still further, he was no great hand himself at these stately minuets and gavottes, so that if he could get them disposed of before supper they could concentrate on the country dances after and everyone could get hot and sweaty and enjoy themselves.
She deliberately kept her room for a time. A maid brought chocolate up for her and she sat in her lawn morning-gown sipping quietly and enjoying the view. She had no plans and no thoughts. Her mind did not go to Ross and Elizabeth, nor did it to Sir Hugh or Captain McNeil. She was like the captain of a ship just before an action, drained of emotion and free from apprehensiveness, detached from what had gone and what might come.
About seven she began to dress, sponging her body and putting on clean and flimsier underclothes. There was very little one could wear under this dress which Ross had bought her for the Celebration Ball of ’89 and which she had not worn since. She had changed very little in figure since then, but found it a little tighter in the bodice and a little less tight in the waist. She put on her only pair of silk stockings – a present from Verity the Christmas of ’91 – liking the feel of the silk against her skin.
She decided to do her hair, or try to do it, the way the Warleggans’ maid had dressed it four years ago, piling it up and up, only allowing wisps to fall in front of her ears and that bit of a fringe to curl on its own. No maid had come to help, and she was grateful. Nor any patches on this dressing table, but she had brought her own powder and rouge – present from Verity the Christmas of ’92 – and she used these very sparingly, and lengthened her eyebrows about an inch each.
All that done, she at last began to struggle into her frock. It was curious the warmth there was in fine silver brocade. Unimaginable contortions were needed to fasten it, but at last it was done. She stared at herself in the mirror and considered that she might have passed herself in the street without recognition. But not without a second glance. Did not this appearance proclaim her pretensions far too obviously? Did decent women look like this? She decided after sober consideration that they did.
Out in the dusty, shadowy corridor the first strains of music came to her ears. So she was not too early. The thing had begun. Dancing – or at least music – before eight o’clock with the sun still in the sky and the birds twittering. More suitable in high May to have dancing on the lawns. She bitterly regretted not having included a bottle of port in her luggage. Facing the company in cold blood.
In this house the stairs did not come down directly into the big hall but into a smaller hall at the rear of the house, so she was saved the ordeal of descending in full view. As she came down, John Treneglos was at the foot of the stairs and immediately caught sight of her. Neighbour Treneglos, eldest son of the master of Mingoose House and himself already almost master of it; a clumsily built, sandy-haired, freckled man of thirty-five or -six.
‘Why, there, if it isn’t Mistress Demelza! Tally ho! Where’ve you been hiding yourself, eh?’
His trumpeting tones drew everyone’s attention, and Demelza thought, I must be careful. She had no particular affection for John Treneglos and less still for Ruth, his wife, who always tried to take her down a peg; but she well knew John’s feelings for her. It would not do to repeat the performance of four years ago at the Assembly Rooms when, in this very frock and hair style, she had had four or five men nearly fighting for her – and herself meaning then no more than to be polite and accommodating.
He came up a few steps and held out his arms. ‘You’ll allow me to escort you into the ballroom, eh? And the first dance, eh? Same as once before! History repeats itself. ’Twould give me pleasure to spike your husband’s guns for once. Where is he?’
She gave him her hand. ‘He was called away. Where is your wife?’
‘In pup as usual. And ’tis near her time or she would have come whether or no, you know her. This is all very well met. Damn it, I believe it was arranged by Providence!’
‘Damn it, I believe it was not,’ said Demelza.
He laughed heartily, and they went into the ballroom.
Her impression of the first hours of the dance was hazy and confused. Above all at the first she needed a stimulant to give her poise and possession and to steady her nerves, but it seemed hours before anyone offered her one. Then it was some dry-tasting wine and not enjoyable to drink. But in the end it had the right effect.
Six in the orchestra, three violins, a tabor, a pipe, and a French horn. The conductor, who was also one of the violinists, was the roundest man she had ever seen, everything about him rotund, from his gold-rimmed spectacles to his gold-fobbed belly. His coattails were never still; they beat time metronome-fashion and were only subdued when he sat on them during the negligible intervals.
All of fifty people in the room, which had been decorated with lilac and daffodils. Sir John Trevaunance had come but not Unwin. Mr Ray Penvenen was there, although he did not dance and looked very pale and austere among it all. Robert Bodrugan, Sir Hugh’s only nephew and heir presumptive, had come, and she had two dances with him during the early part of the evening. All the Teague family, and three of the Boscoignes, and Richard Treneglos, John’s second brother, and Joan Pascoe, the banker’s daughter – but not Dwight Enys; and William Hick, and Mrs and Mrs Barbary, and Peter St Aubyn Tresize, and the Hon. Mrs Maria Agar, and Lady Whitworth and her son, who was now a parson, and Lieutenant and Mrs Carruthers, and dozens more.
One person very noticeable in the company was a tall handsome woman in black, with so many bangles and trinkets that she clinked every time she moved, and it wasn’t until she was to be seen hanging on Sir Hugh Bodrugan’s arm that Demelza placed her as the notorious Margaret Vosper with whom Sir Hugh had been consorting for twelve months. During the evening they came towards her and Sir Hugh said:
‘D’you know my friend Mrs Vosper, ma’am? Mrs Ross Poldark. You two should have something in common; both pretty women and only need to crook a finger at a man, eh? Or have you already an acquaintance?’
Margaret laughed in a loud husky contralto: ‘I don’t know this one well, but I’ve had dealings one way or another with all the male Poldarks. Maybe we’ve more in common than you think, Hughie.’
Sir Hugh cackled and Demelza’s soul went black within her. She didn’t doubt the woman’s insinuations; it all fitted in with Ross’s perfidy.
‘You have the advantage of me, ma’am,’ she said, ‘but I expect that would be before I was born.’
Sir Hugh’s laughter became louder. ‘I hope you’re enjoying the dance, mistress. I confess I’ve not seen you sitting out much.’
‘’Tis a very beautiful dance, Sir Hugh, and I’d no idea there was so many handsome men in all Cornwall. ’Tis fortunate that you need not fear the competition.’
Sir Hugh took out his snuffbox and tapped it, hiding his expression from Margaret.
‘This fancy talk’s giving me the vapours,’ Margaret said yawning. ‘I’ve buried two husbands and been straw widow to a number of others – naming no names – and I never see the point of beating about the bush. If you feel a taking for someone, go up and ask ’em yes or no and have done with it.’
‘’Twould be very businesslike,’ Demelza said.
‘Businesslike and honest,’ said Margaret. ‘A man knows where he is and so does a woman—’
‘She knows where she’s likely to be,’ put in Sir Hugh with a rumble.
‘Do you not think,’ said Demelza recklessly, ‘that there is a case to be made out for a thought more daintiness in love? I should better prefer to take my time in making up my mind. Even if it seem like beating about the bush to you, I should rather do that than get scratched and worn on every bush I see.’
Fortunately, John Treneglos came up just then and claimed Demelza, and Margaret drew Sir Hugh away and soon gained his attention again.
But it was Demelza whom Sir Hugh led in to supper.
She had not seen anything of Malcolm McNeil in the early part of the evening. He had not been in the room at all to begin; but when he caught sight of her, he at once hurried across, pushing his way between Peter Tresize and Lieutenant Carruthers, who were talking to her.
‘Why, Mrs Poldark, I’d no idea! A glorious surprise on a man’s last night! When may I have the favour of a dance? Are you engaged for supper?’
‘Yes, I’m that sorry.’
‘And the dances before?’
‘I’m five deep already.’
‘Then after supper? The first?’
‘Very well. The first.’
‘Why,’ said Tresize, ‘that’s unfair, ma’am! It was the one I’djust asked you for.’
‘I’d been saving it for Captain McNeil. I’m that sorry, Mr Tresize. Perhaps the second?’
‘The second then.’
‘I want the third,’ said Lieutenant Carruthers. ‘I’ve heard the third is to be an écossaise. They are rare good sport and—’
‘I think if ’tis that dance, I should dance it with a Scotsman. That is, if he would condescend to ask me.’
‘Great plaisure, ma’am,’ said McNeil, pulling at his moustache in agitation. ‘And many more if I may have ’em.’
Demelza thought of Margaret’s philosophy. ‘What you care to ask for, sir, so long as you ask now.’
‘The first, the third, the fifth, the seventh, and all thereafter, if there be an after.’
‘I believe strongly in a thereafter,’ Demelza said.
‘I see it as naught but gluttony,’ said Tresize. ‘And you should not encourage gluttony, ma’am; it gives rise to other appetites.’
‘Captain McNeil tells me he is leaving on the morrow. Or so I b’lieve. Perhaps he may be permitted special indulgences on that score.’
‘You’re immensely kind, Mrs Poldark!’
Later, when Sir Hugh took her in to supper, she was aware that all the events of four years ago were being repeated, except that she was keeping a better control on them. The knowledge was headier than the thin French wine.
But to go on drinking in careful moderation, not enough to get drunk but enough to maintain her present condition, was vitally necessary not only for reasons of poise and confidence. In her spirit, in the very deep parts of her spirit, the desolation which had been there nearly a week was no different at all. Nothing she could do tonight could change it. Margaret could rub it freshly raw, but even that didn’t vitally matter. She had already lost all there was to lose. To use her own simile, she was like a Christian who had lost God, a believer turned atheist, knowing relief and unexampled liberty, trying to rejoice over the outworn beliefs she had thrown away, conscious of the immense winds of freedom and utterly determined to make the most of them; but at heart lost, irretrievably lost.
Chapter Eight
Supper was immense, and after supper, to shake the food down, the country dances. Full of good things and fumed with wine, even the most dignified members of the gathering unbent. Demelza was surprised at the way the upper classes let themselves go. Inherently she had felt that Lord This and the Hon. Mrs That were by virtue of their titles only fitted for performing the minuet and the gavotte. That was not their view at all. Wigs bobbing and skirts swaying, they pranced about with the relish of Borneo natives. Some of the stouter women, following the low-cut fashions of the day, came very near to endangering their modesty; and if Demelza had been observing the thing from a distance, she would have been hot with anxiety for them. But instead she was in the fray herself, anxious from time to time that no clumsy shoe should step on her beautiful gown or clasping hand pull it from her shoulders.
She would not have denied that there was a sense in which she enjoyed it. She loved dancing; and now that Malcolm McNeil was her close attendant, she could encourage a man without hypocrisy – or without too much hypocrisy.
In a breathless fan-waving interlude between a galop and a Sir Roger de Coverley she said:
‘You are truly leaving tomorrow, Captain McNeil?’
‘Och, yes, I am truly leaving tomorrow. I should have been gone on Thursday but for an accident of post which I then abused but now believe the work of kindly heaven. As a special favour for tonight, would you consider calling me Malcolm?’ McNeil had received such encouragement that he was taking the play out of Demelza’s hands.
‘Perhaps I’m mistaken,’ she said, ‘but was that not the name of one of the kings of Scotland?’
‘More than one. You’re very well informed on Scottish history – Demelza.’
‘I read sometimes. I’m sure that surprises you. You think I do naught but milk cows and feed pigs and tend babies and bake bread.’
‘No, no, I assure you.’
‘Well, thank you for the assurance. Do you know, I b’lieve only two men have ever called me Demelza before: my husband and my cousin-in-law.’
‘What of your father?’
‘Oh, he did not, so far as I can recollect. When he liked me he called me “daughter”, and when he disliked me he called me a name which being now a lady I have long since forgotten.’
McNeil laughed his big laugh and nearly stopped the band.
‘Oh, you may laugh, Malcolm, but it is true! And now tell me something of yourself. How many ladies have called you Malcolm before?’
‘What?’ He stared at her, stared into her direct dark eyes, seeking the bubble of laugher but not finding it although he still suspected its existence. ‘A few, I confess; but few considering the temptations of a soldier’s life. I’m hard to please, as I fancy you are. I was brought up to like the best only, and it is a constricting circumstance as you’ll agree. Nevertheless it has its rewards, for when the occasion arises—’
‘What occasion?’
He laughed. ‘To call a woman by her Christian name is the first endearment. It is like – like touching hands without gloves, like lifting her down from a stile, like receiving a smile that has more in it than friendship. I admire your name, Demelza. Where did you get it and what does it mean?’
‘I got it where you got you
rs, I suppose, Malcolm – from my mother. I do not know where she came by it. An old gipsy who came to the door once told me that in the true Cornish tongue it meant “Thy sweetness”. But he was an ignorant old man and I do not suppose he was right.’
‘“Thy sweetness”. Very apt. Though I think I should be more happy still if it were “my sweetness”.’
‘If I’d known so much was meant by this using of Christian names – that is, as you tell me – I should have trembled to let you be so free with mine.’
‘But why so? Did you not say when we first met this evening that whatever I cared to ask for . . .’
She smiled into his eyes. ‘I don’t think there was an “ever” in it.’
‘There is certainly an “ever” in my wishes.’
Neither spoke for a moment. Then, before she could frame the right reply, someone came towards them and said, ‘I think this is our dance, ma’am,’ and she was led away.
But McNeil, having advanced thus far, was not to be denied. He was in the cavalry and knew all the moves from now on. When it came time for their next, he suggested they should go upon the terrace for a breath of air. There were several other couples out there. The long twilight had at last faded and night had fallen blackly, without moon or stars. They paced up and down, her neck and shoulders showing palely in the dark. They talked for a few minutes, and then she shivered.
‘You’re cold, darling?’ At once he put his arm round her shoulders. ‘Forgive me, I’ll get you a wrap.’
‘I have none,’ she said, very gently disengaging herself. ‘I did not bring one, for I have never possessed one. But I am not cold; it was just – some feeling.’
‘Describe it to me.’
‘Oh, that I could not. There’s an old Cornish word, shrims, which is nearest. But the feeling is gone, so we’d best forget it.’ She had never had quite this sort of attention before, not even from Ross. It won her, though she tried to stay detached.
‘What good fortune kept me here two days longer!’ he said. ‘I well see that you would not have gone unattended tonight; indeed the other men will snarl over you at the least excuse; but I fancy, I hope, that the others would not have suited you so well.’
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