‘He would only need to crook his finger for a hundred girls to run. Such is the lure of a title.’
The contempt in his voice made Elizabeth lift an eye to him and then look away. The Warleggans were hardly insusceptible to such a lure, if one ever came their way.
‘He’s not content to be lord of his lands beside the Fal but wishes to be lord of Truro also. And none may be allowed to stand in his light!’
Elizabeth said: ‘Well, he is lord of Truro, isn’t he – so far as possessions and influence are concerned. No one disputes it. It all works very peaceable, I believe.’
‘Then you believe wrong,’ said George. ‘The town and the borough are very tired of being treated as a rich man’s chattels. We have never been a corrupt borough in that the voters receive payment, but his behaviour makes the corporation a laughing stock.’
‘Oh, you mean in elections,’ Elizabeth said. ‘I never did understand elections.’
‘There are two Members, and the corporation elect them. Hitherto, this corporation has been glad to elect the Boscawen nominees – indeed until recently two minor Boscawens held the seats – there’s nothing amiss with that, for we are all of much the same political complexion, but it is essential that for their self-respect the burgesses should be given the appearance of choice – indeed that they should be given the actual choice, however unlikely it is that they would in the event choose to run counter to Falmouth’s wishes.’
Elizabeth began to plait her hair. ‘I wonder that George gives this unnecessary offence. His uncle, I know, was a great autocrat but—’
‘They all are.’
Elizabeth thought she had some idea why George Evelyn, the third Viscount, and indeed the Boscawens generally, kept the Warleggans at a distance. She knew the infinite pains to which Nicholas, George’s father, and indeed George himself, had been to ingratiate themselves with the Falmouths; but apart from the natural prejudice which an old and now titled family could be expected to have against a thrusting new one, their interests covered too much of the same ground. The Warleggan influence increased constantly; it might not obviously clash with Boscawen interests but it ran alongside them. Also the Boscawens were used to treating either with their equals or with their inferiors; the Warleggans were neither: they represented the new rich who did not yet fit into a recognizable sector of society. There were, of course, other new rich, especially in London, but some adapted more quickly than others. In spite of all their efforts, Elizabeth saw that the Warleggans did not adapt quickly.
George said: ‘There is much discontent in the town, and Sir Francis Basset could well become the figure round which this discontent might centre.’
‘Francis? Oh, I’m sure he is very important in his own way and very rich and very busy, but—’
‘Of course you have also known him all your life, but my acquaintance dates only from last February. We have found much in common. As the proprietor of the third bank in Truro, he has been able to put business in my way and I in his. We are in fact collaborating in a number of matters.’
‘And how does this—’
‘He has been buying property in the town for two years and recently has been elected a capital burgess. He is MP for Penryn himself and controls several other seats. Well, I know him to be looking at the Truro seats with interest.’
Elizabeth tied the end of her plait with a piece of cornflower-blue ribbon. Dressed thus for bed, she would have passed for a girl of eighteen.
‘Has he said as much?’
‘Not yet. We are not yet that intimate. But I can see where his thoughts are leading. And I have a thought that if our friendship grows I might be one of his nominees.’
Elizabeth turned. ‘You?’
‘Why not? ‘he asked sharply.
‘No reason at all. But – but this borough belongs to the Boscawens. Would you have a chance?’
‘I think so. If things continue as they are. Would you object?’
‘Of course not. I believe I should like it well enough.’ She got up. ‘But Basset is a Whig!’
The Chynoweths had been high Tories for generations.
‘I like the label no more than you,’ George said. ‘But Basset has disavowed Fox. If I went into the Commons it would be as one of his men, and as such I should support the present government.’
Elizabeth blew out one of the candles. A wisp of smoke drifted towards the mirror and was gone.
‘But why this interest now? I have heard no talk of an election.’
‘Nor is there. Though Pitt’s mandate is growing old. No . . . there is no talk of an election but there is a possibility of a by-election. Sir Piers Arthur is gravely ill.’
‘I did not know.’
‘They say he cannot pass water and obstinately refuses to submit to the operation of the catheter.’
Elizabeth pulled back the curtains of the bed. ‘Poor man . . .’
‘I am simply telling you my thoughts and showing you which way my friendship with Sir Francis Basset may lead.’
‘Thank you, George, for taking me into your confidence.’
‘Of course, it is essential that nothing of this should get out, for the ground has yet to be prepared.’
‘I will say nothing about it to anyone.’
George said after a moment: ‘Do I not always take you into my confidence?’
‘I hope you always will,’ Elizabeth replied.
III
In yet another part of the town Ossie Whitworth, having been about his nightly exercise upon his wife, rolled over, pulled down his nightshirt, adjusted his cap and said:
‘This sister of yours, if I decided to have her, when could she come?’
With a muffled voice, hiding the nausea and the pain, Morwenna said: ‘I would have to write to Mama. I do not think Rowella has any commitments, but she may have engagements that I do not know of.’
‘Mind,’ he said, ‘we couldn’t afford to have her about the house eating her head off and just companioning you. She would be expected to see to the children, and when you have a child to help generally with household duties.’
‘I’ll make that clear when I write.’
‘Let’s see, how old is she? You’ve so many sisters I can never remember.’
‘She was fourteen in June.’
‘And healthy? Educated in home crafts? We cannot afford a young lady who’s afraid to soil her hands.’
‘She can sew and cook and has a little Greek. My father said she was the best pupil in the family.’
‘Hm . . . I don’t see that an ancient language is of value to a woman. But of course your father was a scholar, I’ll give him that.’
Silence fell.
Osborne said: ‘The bridegroom today looked tedious sickly. I would not give him long for this world.’
Morwenna did not reply.
‘It’s a question of “physician heal thyself”, eh, what? . . . Are you asleep?’
‘No, no.’
‘The bride I’ve met often at the meets.’ He added reflectively: ‘She’s mettlesome. I’ll wager she’ll be a handful, with that red hair.’
‘She remembered me, although we have only met twice.’
‘That’s surprising. You have a tendency to make yourself perfectly unnoticeable, which is a great pity. Remember always that you are Mrs Osborne Whitworth and entitled to hold your head high in this town.’
‘Yes . . .’
‘It was a fair enough company today. But some of the fashions were unbearably dated. Did you see the Teague girls? And that man Poldark, his coat must have been cut half a century ago.’
‘He is a brave man.’
Ossie settled more comfortably in the bed and yawned. ‘His wife keeps her looks uncommon well.’
‘Well, she’s still young, isn’t she?’
‘Yes, but usually the vulgars go off more quick than those who are gentle bred . . . She used to make quite an exhibition of herself a few years ago at the receptions and balls – when he ha
d first married her, that was.’
‘Exhibition?’
‘Well, flaunting herself, attracting the men, I can tell you. She wore low-cut frocks . . . She greatly fancied herself. Still does, I suspicion.’
‘Elizabeth never mentioned that – and I do not think she greatly cares for her sister-in-law.’
‘Oh, Elizabeth . . .’ The Reverend Mr Whitworth yawned again, snuffed out the solitary candle and drew the curtains together. Rounding off the evening in his customary way produced a pleasant and customary sleepiness after. ‘Elizabeth speaks no ill of anyone. But I agree, there’s no love lost.’
Morwenna sighed. The worst soreness was subsiding, but she had no sleep in her. ‘Tell me about that. What is the cause of the feud between the Poldarks and the Warleggans? Everyone knows of it but no one speaks of it.’
‘You angle for a fish that is not in my pond. All I know is that it’s something to do with some jealous rivalry. Elizabeth Chynoweth was promised to Ross Poldark and instead married his cousin Francis. Some years later Francis was killed in a mining accident and Ross wanted to throw over his kitchen maid, whom he’d married in the meantime, and take Elizabeth. But Elizabeth would have none of it and married George Warleggan, who had been Ross’s sworn enemy . . . ever since they were at school together . . .’ Like someone retreating down a tunnel, Ossie’s voice was fading fast.
Through a nick in the bed curtains Morwenna looked at the spears of moonlight falling into the room. Inside the canopy of the bed it was so dark that she could hardly see her husband’s face; but she knew that in a few moments he would be asleep and would be unconscious on his back with his mouth wide open for the next eight hours. Mercifully, although his breathing was heavy, he did not snore.
‘And I loved Drake Carne, Mrs Poldark’s brother,’ she said in an undertone.
‘What? What’s that . . . you say?’
‘Nothing, Ossie. Nothing at all . . . Why were Ross Poldark and George Warleggan such enemies before?’
‘What? Oh . . . I don’t know. It was before my time. But it’s oil and water, ain’t it. Anyone can see that . . . They’re both stiff-necked, but for opposing reasons. I expect Poldark despises Warleggan for his low origin and hasn’t always hid it. And you can’t do that safely with George . . . Did I say my prayers tonight before? . . .’
‘Yes, Ossie.’
‘You should be more assiduous about yours . . . And remind me in the morning,’ he said. ‘I have a christening at eleven . . . and it is the Rosewarnes . . . substantial family.’ His breathing became deep and steady. Body and mind relaxed together. Since his marriage to Morwenna he had been in supreme good health. No more of those frustrations of a lusty widower, in holy orders in a small town.
‘I still love Drake Carne,’ she said, aloud now, in her soft gentle voice. ‘I love Drake Carne, I love Drake Carne, I love Drake Carne.’
Sometimes after an hour or two this repetition lulled her into sleep. Sometimes she wondered if Ossie would wake and hear her. But he never did. Perhaps only Drake Carne awoke and heard her, many miles away.
IV
In the old house of Killewarren bride and bridegroom were in their bedroom together. Caroline was sitting on the bed in a long green peignoir; Dwight in loose silk shirt and breeches was idly stirring the fire. Horace, Caroline’s little pug and the agent of their first meeting, had been banished from the room and taken far enough away for his protests not to be heard. In the early months he had shown an intense jealousy of Dwight, but with patience Dwight had won him round, and in the latter weeks he had come to accept the inevitable, that there was going to be another claimant for his mistress’s attentions.
They had come home, for there seemed nowhere better to go. It had been their common home since Dwight returned an emaciated wreck from the prison camp of Quimper. Caroline had insisted that he stay where she could best look after him. In these months, while flouting the overt conventions, they had observed a separateness of establishment which would have satisfied the most prudish of their neighbours.
It had not altogether been moral considerations which had influenced them. Dwight’s life had flickered and wavered like a candle with a thief in it; to introduce the demands of passion might have seen it flicker out.
Caroline said: ‘Well, my dear, so we are here together at last, unified and sanctified by the church. D’you know, I find it very difficult to detect any difference.’
Dwight laughed. ‘Nor I. It’s hard not to feel adulterous. Perhaps it’s because we have waited so long.’
‘Too long.’
‘Too long. But the delay has been outside our control.’
‘Not in the first place. The fault was mine.’
‘It was no one’s fault. At least it has come right in the end.’
He put down the poker, turned and looked at her, then came to sit on the bed beside her, put his hand on her knee.
She said: ‘D’you know, I heard of a doctor who was so earnest in his study of anatomy that he took a skeleton away on his honeymoon and the wife woke to find him fingering the bones in the bed beside her.’
Dwight smiled again. ‘No bones. Not at least for the first two days.’
She kissed him. He put his hands to her hair, pressing it back from either cheek.
She said: ‘Perhaps we should have waited longer until you were quite recovered.’
He said: ‘Perhaps we should not have waited so long.’
The fire was flickering brightly, sending nodding shadows about the room.
She said: ‘Alas, my body has no surprises for you. At least so far as the upper half is concerned, you have examined it thoroughly in the harsh light of day. Perhaps it is fortunate that I never had a pain below the navel.’
‘Caroline, you talk too much.’
‘I know. I always shall. It is a fault you have married.’
‘I must find ways of stopping it.’
‘Are there ways?’
‘I believe so.’
She kissed him again. ‘Then try.’
Chapter Three
I
Except in one particular Sam Carne was a happy man. A few years ago, while still in the arms of Satan, he had been half persuaded, half bullied by his bullying father into attending a Methodist prayer meeting. There his heart had suddenly warmed within him, he had wrought deeply and agonizingly with his spirit and had come to experience the joy of sins forgiven: thereupon he had embraced the living Christ and his life had been utterly transformed. Now, having moved far from his home in search of work at the mine of his brother-in-law, Captain Ross Poldark, and having found the neighbourhood of Nampara a dry and barren wilderness in which regular meetings had been discontinued and all but a very few had long since fallen back into carnal and sinful ways, he had in less than two years re-formed the Society, inspirited the few faithful, wrestled with Satan in the souls of many of the weak and erring, and had attracted several newcomers, all of whom had been prayed for, had discovered for themselves the precious promise of Jehovah, and had in due time been sanctified and cleansed.
It was a notable achievement, but it did not end there. Acting without the sanction of the leaders of the Movement, he had caused to be raised on the edge of Poldark land a new Preaching House which would contain fifty people seated and which now was nearing completion. Furthermore he had recently walked in to Truro and met the stewards and the leaders there, who had now conferred on him the official title of Class Leader and had promised to send out one of their best Travelling Preachers for the opening of the House in the spring.
It was all wondrous in his sight. That God had moved through him, that Christ had chosen him to act as his missioner in this small part of the land, was a source of constant wonderment and joy. But every night he prayed long on his knees that this privilege which had been awarded him should never lead him into the sin of pride. He was the humblest of all God’s creatures and would ever remain so, serving Him and praising Him in time and through all eter
nity.
But perhaps some weakness and wickedness still moved in him and had not been rooted out, and this was why he had a cross to bear in the shape of a fallen younger brother.
Drake was not yet quite twenty, and, while never so ardent, had laid hold of the Blessing at an earlier age than Sam and had achieved a condition of real and true holiness of heart and life. The two brothers had lived together in that perfect unity which comes from the service of Jesus; until Drake had taken up with a Woman.
Marriage with a suitable wife was a part of God’s holy ordinance, and not at all to be discouraged or despised; but unfortunately the girl Drake had become enraptured with came of a different class from his own, and although, being a clergyman’s daughter, she no doubt dutifully and sincerely worshipped God, her whole upbringing and the authoritarian beliefs with which she had been instilled made her an unsuitable partner for a Cornish Methodist. They had been separated – not by Sam, who could not have controlled his brother had he so wished, but by the girl’s cousin, Mr Warleggan, and by her mother; and she had been married off very suitably to a rising young clergyman in Truro.
It was certainly the best thing that could have happened for all concerned, but Drake would not see it that way; he could not be so persuaded; and although all those around him were convinced that this was a case of broken first love and that within a year he would have forgotten his infatuation and be as bright and cheerful as before it happened, there was no such improvement yet, and some months now gone.
It was not that he went about letting everyone see his hurt; he worked well and ate well; the French musket ball in his shoulder had left no permanent impairment, he was quick as ever up a ladder or a tree. But Sam who knew him so well knew that inwardly he had quite changed. And he had almost left the Connexion. He scarcely ever came to the evening meetings, and often would not even go to church with them on Sundays, but would stride away across Hendrawna Beach and be gone for hours. He would not pray with Sam at nights and would not be reasoned with.
‘I know I’m in the fault,’ he said. ‘I d’know that full well. I know I’m yielding to unbelief, I know I’m not exercising faith in Jesus. I know I’ve lost the great salvation. But, brother, what I just lost on this earth seem to me more . . . All right, tis blasphemy as you d’say; but I cann’t change what’s in my very own heart.’