He put his hands behind his head and tried to think about his mines and his farm and his interests in boat-building, rolling mills and banking. He was close to becoming a warm man – though if the truth be told it was Wheal Leisure that made him warm. Wheal Grace kept going mainly as an act of social conscience – and the other interests were peripheral.
The curtains were drawn, but as his eyes got used to the total darkness he found it as usual not to be total. The curtains were stirring from an inch-open window and allowed a faint slit of light to creep into the room. One of the sash windows was trembling slightly as the wind too tried to get in. It had in fact been trembling for years, and he always meant to have it seen to. But perhaps if it was stopped now they would both miss it. The sound had become part of their sleeping lives.
Demelza said: ‘Carla May.’
‘What?’
‘Carla May.’
‘What of it? I thought you were asleep.’
‘I don’t know any May family in this district, do you, Ross?’
‘Come to think of it, no. I knew a Captain May in America. He came from the south-west, but I think it was Devon.’
Silence fell. Ross decided that the sash window should be attended to. He would tell Gimlett in the morning.
He touched Demelza’s shoulder. ‘Why suddenly ask me this when we were just going to sleep? What’s in your mind?’
‘I was just thinking, Ross. Why should Valentine volunteer the name of the maid he was – was visiting at Mingoose?’
‘I suppose he thought it added a little verisimilitude.’
‘That’s a silly word. But exactly . . .’
‘What?’
‘Do you really think if Valentine had been paying a love call on a maid in the Treneglos household he would have bothered to tell you her name? He might not even know it himself! To me it does not add very – whatever you call it – to the story. Is it not more likely that he invented the name just to convince you that there was such a person?’
‘I’m not sure that I – oh, yes, I see what you mean, but can you think of any other possible reason why Valentine should be making an illicit entry into a neighbour’s house? Especially being Valentine. He’s hardly likely to be stealing the silver!’
‘I was wondering if perhaps – just maybe – he was perhaps visiting someone else and – and told you, invented a name, to put you off.’
‘Visiting? With the same purpose?’
‘Tis possible.’
Ross’s mind travelled quickly over the known inhabitants of Mingoose and which inhabitant could be the object of his desire.
‘I don’t see there is any possibility among the Trenegloses . . .’
‘There’s Agneta.’
‘What? Agneta? Never! Why should he – how could he? She’s – she’s peculiar, to say the least!’
‘Not that peculiar. I saw him eyeing her at the Summer Races.’
‘She has fits!’
‘Dwight says she has grown out of them.’
‘All the same, she is not like the rest of us. Ruth was very worried about her at one time. If you were to have said Davida . . .’
‘I know. But we were all at Davida’s wedding, and she is safely living in Okehampton. And Emmeline has recently joined the Methodists.’
Ross struggled with his thoughts. As sometimes happened, he remembered with a sense of grievance, Demelza was capable of pricking him with a little thorn of disquiet just when he was preparing to compose himself for sleep. That this was his own fault for breaking his word to Valentine did not disperse his displeasure.
‘Do you always think the worst of Valentine?’
‘Not think the worst, Ross; fear the worst perhaps.’
‘God, if he fathers a brat on her there’ll be Hell to pay!’
‘Something Ruth said to me once makes me think that is unlikely . . . But I may be altogether in the wrong – I mean about Valentine and Agneta. Twas a speculation I should maybe have kept to myself.’
‘Maybe you should.’
Ross seldom saw Agneta Treneglos, but he remembered she was the only dark one of the family: tall and sallow and a good figure but with errant eyes and lips that told you she had too many teeth waiting to be exposed.
His irritation moved from Demelza to Valentine, where it more properly belonged. Confound the boy. (Boy indeed: he was twenty-four.) Valentine was the unquiet spirit of the neighbourhood, one who could become regarded as the scourge if he continued on his present way. Ross uncomfortably remembered that his own father had had somewhat similar characteristics.
He did not notice any such wildness in the Warleggan family, to whom Valentine technically belonged. And Selina six months forward, producing a child after three years . . . There were rumours, which Dwight refused to confirm, that she had slit her wrists after one of her husband’s love affairs.
Ross could tell that Demelza had gone to sleep. You could hear the regular tick-tick of her breathing.
He was peevishly tempted to dig her in the ribs and demand that she continue the conversation.
But, on the whole, he decided not.
Chapter Two
Clowance had no good reason for not having written, but she had been busy all week, and on the Saturday, which was the day on which she usually wrote, Harriet Warleggan had pressed her to go to Cardew for ‘a little party’.
Since Stephen’s death and the bitter disillusion that had come to be a part of her grief, she had concentrated her mind on keeping his little shipping business – literally – afloat. Tim Hodge, the fat, middle-aged, swart seaman who had become Stephen’s right-hand man in the last adventure, had stayed on and now managed that part of the business which it was less appropriate for a woman to become involved in. He also commanded the Adolphus. Sid Bunt continued to be in charge of the Lady Clowance, and was entirely efficient in his little coastal runs.
This May Jason, Stephen’s son, had returned to Bristol. With his share in Stephen’s lucky privateering adventure, and part of Clowance’s larger share, he had a modest amount of capital and thought to go into partnership with friends in Bristol. Clowance missed him but at heart was glad he had gone. Some of his ways reminded her too much of Stephen, and his presence, every time she saw him, was a reminder of the fact that she had never been legally married to Stephen because his first wife had been alive at the time. Although the bitter taste of Stephen’s bigamy, the flavour of his betrayal, had grown less rancid as the months turned into years, it was still there. Yet the person she of course most greatly missed was Stephen himself. Whatever his faults, his personality had been strong and pervasive, at times engagingly frank and at times fiercely loving. With Jason no longer in Penryn she found it easier to ignore the memories of Stephen’s faults and to remember him with loving grief.
She had remained living in the cottage where she and Stephen had spent all their married life. The big house Stephen planned had been only part-built at the time of his accident. It still remained unfinished, waiting for someone else to buy it, a monument to the vagaries and the uncertainty of life.
In the time since Stephen’s death she had seen only a few of her family and friends, and of the latter she saw most of George Warleggan’s wife. Clowance was certain that it was under Harriet’s pressure that Sir George had come to an agreement with Hodge for the regular shipping of cement from the Warleggan quarries in Penryn by Adolphus. This was one of the contracts Stephen had angled for but never achieved. It was a great help for a tiny shipping line to have a regular commission.
So on a rainy afternoon in September Clowance went to the little party. She found as she had rather expected that Harriet’s idea of a small party was relative, there being about thirty guests.
Harriet gave her parties when hunting was out of season, and Clowance’s only surprise was that this was not quite the typical gaming group. True, there was a backgammon table and a roulette table, but three smaller tables were set out for whist, and at least half the guests Clo
wance had never seen before.
The one who made the most impression on Clowance was a Mr Prideaux, a fair-haired man probably in his late twenties, scrupulously dressed, tall and thin, and holding himself very erect, with small spectacles which he took on and off constantly to play cards. He had been in the West Indies, she learned during early refreshments, had been ill and sent home.
By some fell arrangement it turned out that she was to be partnered by Mr Philip Prideaux at the whist table. Their opponents were Mr Michael Smith and Mrs Polly Codrington, whom Valentine had once had an affair with.
Things went fairly well for a while; then at the end of one hand Mr Prideaux looked over the top of his glasses and said: ‘If you had returned my lead, partner—’
‘I did not have any more clubs,’ said Clowance.
‘But you followed—’. He stopped.
‘Once. No more. I led a diamond, hoping that you might have the ace.’
‘I had the king, which was taken by Mr Smith’s ace.’
‘It established my queen.’
‘But you never made it.’
‘No. As it happened, no. They were too strong in trumps. I had a lot of useless diamonds.’
‘Wish I had, darling,’ said Polly Codrington, looking at her ringless fingers, and laughing.
Philip Prideaux glanced at the speaker in slight distaste, as if it were an off-colour joke. Then he said to Clowance: ‘Did you not have two clubs?’
‘No.’
The game proceeded. After a while the tables broke up and were re-formed. It was a sultry afternoon, and when the rain stopped the windows were opened to give more air. Clowance went to one and looked out at the hedges of topiary and the sweeping lawns. She had lost four guineas. She hoped the odious Mr Prideaux had lost the same.
Dusk was now falling. A cluster of deer was scarcely visible against the darkening woods.
‘Mrs Carrington.’
She turned.
‘Mr Prideaux.’ He had taken off his glasses.
‘Mrs Carrington, I thought it was incumbent on me to apologize.’
She looked her surprise, but did not speak. He had quite large brown eyes which were unusually deep for such fair hair.
‘It was inexcusable of me to reprimand you on the play of a hand.’
‘Was that a reprimand? I did not take it so.’ Not quite true, but for the moment she was prepared to temporize.
‘Whether you had two clubs or one—’
‘I had one.’
‘Just so. It was not courteous of me to draw attention to your mistake—’
‘It was not a mistake.’
He coughed. ‘I am expressing this badly. Perhaps I should start again. I wanted to explain that in Jamaica I was accustomed to playing in all-male company, and the remark – my remark – slipped out. Genteel card parties such as this are – are unusual for me. A delightful change, I may say. I hope you will allow me to express my regret.’
‘I hope you had better fortune with your second partner.’
‘She was not so young or so charming. But yes, I came out the winner on the afternoon.’
What a pity, she thought. What a great pity.
‘May I take it that you will accept my apology?’ he asked.
‘Your apology for rebuking me or for rebuking me wrongly?’
He swallowed something. ‘For rebuking you, Mrs Carrington. In any case it was something that ill becomes a gentleman.’
‘If you think it necessary to apologize, then I am happy to accept it.’
‘Thank you.’ He did not move away.
‘Lady Harriet tells me you are a widow, Mrs Carrington.’
‘Yes.’
‘And do you live near?’
‘In Penryn. And you, Mr Prideaux?’
‘I am staying a week or so with the Warleggans. Lady Harriet’s eldest brother is a friend of my father.’
George had just put in an appearance. At fifty-nine he had lost a little of the excess weight which had threatened him in his middle years. His face had thinned and become more like his father’s, though granitic in colour rather than red. Coming in, he was gracious to all, but without altogether dissipating the formidable impression of his character and nature. The two great boar hounds looked up, silently inspected him, came to the conclusion that regrettably he was part of the household, and then went to sleep again. When some two years ago twin daughters had been born to him some cynic had remarked that if they had been boys they would more properly have been christened Castor and Pollux.
‘Mrs Carrington.’
‘Yes.’
‘I believe supper is about to be served. Would you do me the honour of allowing me to take you in?’
As they went in Harriet was talking to George, but as Clowance passed by on the arm of Mr Prideaux Harriet closed a conspiratorial eye at her.
A monstrous suspicion formed in the breast of Mrs Carrington. Whenever they met Harriet urged Clowance to go out more, to see new faces, to mix among her friends, not to spend all her life organizing and scheming for her potty little ships. Was this some infernal machination to embroil her with a new man? If so, she had a fat chance with this one.
Just then Paul Kellow came by. ‘Clowance!’ He squeezed her hand. ‘I have lost my wife. Have you seen her?’
‘Yes, I think she just went upstairs.’
‘How are you? You look as bonny as ever.’
Paul had not changed, though since his marriage to Mary Temple his circumstances had. The Temples owned property near Probus, and Paul was living in the dower house with his wife and managing the estate, which contained profitable slate quarries, for his father-in-law. Paul was ever smart, ever sleek, with lank but carefully trimmed black hair, slim, elegant, detached. No one, certainly not George, would ever have guessed that Paul was the one surviving member of the trio who had robbed Warleggan’s coach six years ago. Of the three, only he had prospered. Yet his prosperity, though tangible enough, hardly seemed to have touched his personality. He was a difficult young man to know.
She enquired after his sister.
‘Daisy? She’s well enough in her hectic way. Coughing lightly.’
‘Don’t say that!’
‘True, my dear. First Dorrie, then Violet. Next Daisy. The curse of the Kellows.’
‘You are joking.’
‘I hope so. But a few years ago I had three pretty sisters. Now one only – whom I tried to link up with Jeremy, and failed. She hasn’t been quite the same since he was killed. And she coughs.’
‘I – haven’t seen her since the summer.’
‘I go over once a week. You know my father has sold his coaching business?’
‘I’d heard; but—’
‘It wasn’t practical to carry on without me. We got a very good price, sold just at the right time . . .’
Clowance glanced past him and saw his wife coming down the stairs. In the flickering candlelight she seemed to bear a striking resemblance to Paul’s dead sister, Violet. Then as the candles shaded, Mary came towards them and Clowance saw how wrong she was.
Wrong? Yes. But there was a similarity of figure, of colouring. Did men sometimes marry women who looked like their mothers? Their sisters?
Clowance knew that Harriet thought she was grieving too long for Stephen, and since Harriet did not know the whole story – the sad mixture of disillusion that went with Clowance’s grief – that was understandable.
Few also knew of, though a few suspected, her distaste for Jeremy’s widow, Cuby. The relationship between Jeremy and Clowance had been very close – much closer than an ordinary sibling friendship – a deep affection and affinity almost always disguised as banter. Jeremy had tried to protect her from Stephen until he was completely convinced of Stephen’s sincerity. Then he had met Cuby, and Clowance thought only she had been fully aware of his total commitment, an absorption compared with which no one else in the world mattered. Well, that was all right as far as it went.
But she ha
d seen his utter distress, amounting sometimes, she felt, almost to collapse, when Cuby had coldbloodedly accepted the fact that her family desired her to marry Valentine Warleggan. It had almost changed his nature and in the end induced him to join the army to get away from Cornwall and forget Cuby Trevanion. What Clowance could not forget was that had it not been for Cuby Jeremy might still be alive. She often wondered how her mother and father could continue to accept her. Was it on account of Noelle, their granddaughter?
Philip Prideaux had said something as they sat down at the dining table.
‘Please?’
‘I was asking you, ma’am, whether you frequently go to card parties?’
‘Very seldom. As a child I used to play whist with my brother. Then more lately I took it up again to please my husband, who was very fond of it.’
‘Am I right that he was in the Oxfordshires and fell at Waterloo?’
‘No, that was my brother. My husband died less gloriously – in a riding accident.’
‘Oh, I am sorry. Clearly I did not attend properly to what Lady Harriet told me.’
Clearly he had not. ‘Why should you be interested?’
‘I was not then. I am now. So you have suffered a double blow. I am – very deeply sorry.’
‘Thank you.’
Clowance picked delicately at the chilled lemon soufflé . She said more lightly: ‘I was pleased to play whist with my husband because it kept him from the other gaming tables where more might be won or lost.’
‘He was a gambler?’
‘Are not all men?’
He smiled. It was more genuine than the polite curling of the lips she had seen before. ‘I have known many women who have gambled just as rashly as men.’
‘Your experience of the world, Mr Prideaux, must greatly exceed mine.’
He coughed his little cough. ‘That I should rather doubt, ma’am. I have led a restricted life. From school I went straight to the Royal Military College at Marlow and thence into the King’s Dragoon Guards. After Waterloo I was sent to garrison Jamaica with a regiment of the line, until I was discharged in disgrace and so came home.’
Bella Poldark Page 2