Bella Poldark

  As anticipated, Ben refused, though with less impatience than expected.

  ‘If Mam don’t want to write, why don’t you? You’re leader of your group.’

  ‘I’ll surely do that if all else fails—’

  ‘And what do Esther think?’ Ben said, frowning at the girl.

  She flushed up again. ‘My mother an’ father, they was both saved. And mother was always on at me. But some’ow I didn’t quite take to it then. I tried. But nothing moved in me. Since I come here though, Sam ’as been that kind an’ that helpful . . .’

  ‘Tes your own life ye must lead,’ said Ben. ‘Did ee have that dog bite seen to?’

  ‘Oh, yes . . . I—’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Ben. ‘Else mebbe ye wouldn’t be ’ere.’ A glint of humour crossed his face. ‘Well, I must be getten back, sur. Reckon as we got ’nough fuel for four days.’

  Ross said: ‘It will be here before then.’

  Chapter Three

  Agneta disappeared.

  The first intimation at Nampara was the arrival of the stout Emmeline, leading a spare horse.

  Emmeline was the nicest of the Treneglos family, and Demelza asked her in for a cordial. October was almost here, and perversely the weather had turned warm.

  ‘Paula went in to see her about seven, and the bed was empty. It looked as if it had been used, but she always makes her bed untidy however much the maids see for it. We thought she might have gone on the beach. She has done that a deal recently – you know how upset and restless she has been. But Papa took his horse and rode right along to the Black Cliffs, and there was no sign of her. He was nearly cut off and is in the greatest of a temper. He sent me here and after this, if this draws blank, he says I must go to Place House, Trevaunance.’

  ‘You have drawn blank,’ said Demelza. ‘Before you go I will ask around, just to be sure. It is over a week – oh, it must be two – since we have seen her.’

  They gossiped about local affairs for ten minutes – there seemed no reason to take Agneta’s absence too seriously – then Demelza consulted enough of her servants to confirm that nothing had been seen of Miss Agneta.

  ‘Maybe twould save you trouble to go home again first,’ Demelza said. ‘She may be home by now. Valentine and Selina are usually quick to send her back if she goes there.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll go on,’ said Emmeline, rising. ‘I rather fancy the ride in this weather. There’s time enough before dinner.’

  Demelza watched her clomping over the bridge, and stood in the autumn sunshine until she had disappeared up the valley towards Grambler. She thought idly that she should have apologized for being implicitly embroiled in Agneta’s trouble, but Ross had told her not to. At heart she agreed entirely with him – what were Valentine’s misdoings to them? All the same it might have been good neighbourly to be more sympathetic.

  She went indoors and gathered a basket of late plums that she was intending to send over to Daisy Kellow, who was in bed with a chill. Then she looked at the clock and saw there was time enough before dinner to walk over with them herself.

  Emmeline had promised to send to tell them when Agneta was found, but no news came during the rest of the sunny autumnal day, so when dark fell Demelza sent Matthew Mark over to enquire. He brought back a note which said: ‘No sign yet. Papa has gone out with two grooms to visit the other houses. He has also told Constable Purdy. E.’

  ‘I suspect she’s hiding somewhere,’ said Ross. ‘Maybe to give her family a shock. Or maybe to alarm Valentine – if she believes he still cares.’

  ‘Yes, or she has fallen. There are so many holes and hollows.’

  ‘Did she take a horse, do you know?’

  ‘No. If she isn’t found by tomorrow d’you think we could offer two or three of our men? Old Dick would not mind going, for one. Twould suit him, and he’s not fit for ordinary work.’

  ‘I’d go myself if feeling were better between us.’

  ‘Where is Valentine?’

  ‘From home, I think. He has many devious irons in the fire. I haven’t seen him for a week.’

  Demelza said: ‘D’you know, I have not set eyes on their baby yet. D’you mind years ago Selina came here after Mr Pope had died, to ask your advice on mineral rights?’

  ‘Yes. I sometimes wonder if she feels about Valentine’s friendship with me something the same as you do.’

  ‘Too close? Bad influence? No, I think it is Valentine’s friendship with women that upsets her.’

  ‘That cannot explain why she does not come here.’

  ‘I’ll go and see her later this week, after Agneta has been found.’

  Agneta was not found. The following day Valentine himself called. He found both Ross and Demelza walking with Henry on Nampara Cove. They were very surprised.

  ‘Well, well, a family scene, eh? And parting summer’s lingering blooms delayed. May I join you? How is little Henry?’

  ‘Proper, thank you,’ said Henry, picking up a flat stone to skim it on the sea. It did not get very far among the waves.

  ‘I’ve been in Ireland,’ Valentine said. ‘And must alas go back again. What’s this about Agneta? Is she playing hide and seek with us?’

  Ross said: ‘There’s no news so far. Cobbledick and two others are helping in the search. But perhaps your report is later than ours?’

  ‘Are you welcome at Mingoose?’ Valentine asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘I have just come from there. The house, except for Ruth, is empty! Ruth is only staying in in case Agneta voluntarily returns. She screamed in rage at the sight of me.’

  ‘Not unnaturally,’ Ross said.

  ‘Well.’ Valentine picked up a couple of stones, which were fairly scarce on this part-sandy beach, and handed them to Henry. ‘Sea’s too rough to skim ’em, boy. Just throw these and watch them make an almighty plop.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Henry.

  After a moment Valentine said: ‘And you, Cousin Demelza. You are singularly silent. Do you also put the blame on me?’

  ‘What can one think? Perhaps you did it without evil intent . . .’

  ‘Not evil, no. But selfish intent, I dare say.’ Turning to the little boy: ‘More stones?’

  ‘Please.’

  Valentine came back with two more. ‘You’d do better at the other end of the cove, Harry. It is pebbly there.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Actually, Cousin Harry, there’s a saying in the Bible: let him who is without sin cast the first stone. Might apply now, mightn’t it, eh?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Henry, and looked at his mother for guidance.

  ‘How is Selina?’ Demelza asked.

  ‘A small matter put out, as you’d expect. Ah well, no doubt it will all blow over.’

  ‘And your son?’

  ‘Brave. Too young yet to know of his father’s misdemeanours. Why do you not come over and see him?’

  Demelza said: ‘Only a few minutes before you came up I was talking of it.’

  They walked to where the stream came out on the beach.

  Valentine said: ‘This really is a pretty familial scene, isn’t it. Henry is a lucky boy.’

  Demelza looked to see if Valentine was poking fun and decided he was not.

  ‘I expect when you were young . . .’

  ‘I was never taken on the beach by my parents in my life. Only once or twice was I allowed on a beach . . . Perhaps when we all settle down again I shall make up for lost time . . .’

  Ross said quietly: ‘You have been in Ireland. Did you not say you left the sailing to your – employees? I remember your being rather dismissive when I put the question to you once.’

  Valentine looked at Ross thoughtfully. ‘Quite correct, Cousin. Clever of you to recall that. Unfortunately my skipper, Vic Paulton, has quarrelled with my clients, and at the moment I do not trust the trainee in charge.’

  ‘Trust?’ said Demelza.

  ‘Trust, Cousin. In this case it is an animal with two hea
ds. One head is trusting Mabe to navigate the ship. I am ignorant of such things, but the two other members of the crew are not and I think pro tem I should supervise them. The other head is whether I can trust Henry Mabe to deal honestly with the money that comes through his hands.’

  ‘Henry!’ said Henry. ‘Henry. That’s me!’

  ‘Not in this case,’ said Valentine, with an unexpected rasp in his voice.

  By Friday the alarm had been raised throughout the district. Two people had had possible sightings of the girl: Paul Daniel, scouring Hendrawna Beach in the early daylight of Tuesday, had seen a man and a woman walking near the end of the beach just below the Holy Well, and had been surprised to see anyone abroad so soon. Before he could catch them up they had disappeared, possibly towards the well. They had been too far away to recognize, but the woman could have been Agneta. The other sighting had been by Dwight Enys. Returning from a late call on Monday evening, he had come close by the gates of Mingoose and had seen Agneta with a small candle lantern walking in the road. He had spoken to her and asked her if anything was amiss. She had replied that nothing was amiss but she was looking for her cat, who had not been home for his supper. The girl had seemed quite composed and had been walking towards the gates of Mingoose. He had hesitated whether to intervene by ushering her back home, but instead had watched her until she turned in at the gates and watched the bobbing lantern until it reached the door.

  Constable Purdy, in his element at the notoriety, organized search parties. As Demelza had said, the countryside was pitted with holes and caverns, some of them gaping and unprotected, others half-filled up and overgrown with heather and brambles, the outcome of a century’s searchings for precious minerals; all this apart from the mining whims, some still in operation, many abandoned and dropping sheer for two or more hundred feet with water at the bottom. Most were protected, or at least masked, by a surrounding low stone wall. But this was not difficult to mount if one was of a mind to end it all. And many an infant born out of wedlock had been so deposited. They were better than the cliffs for such a disposal, for unlike the sea they seldom gave up their dead.

  Purdy, who had been appointed soon after Vage had retired, was slightly more attentive to his duties than his predecessor, but his was a formidable task were his resources ten times as great. It really depended on chance. Otherwise the girl’s disappearance might remain a mystery for ever.

  It cast a gloom over a golden October. Ruth began to wear black, as did her remaining daughters. Horrie and his new wife and baby came down from Minehead to companion the rest of the family. Davida arrived.

  Then Geoffrey Charles returned from London, and he organized the searches in a way that John Treneglos had not the talent to do, and which Ross had been prevented from doing by John’s expressed enmity.

  But it was Ben Carter, walking on the cliffs not far from Kellow’s Ladder, who eventually found the body. His attention was drawn by the swirling of gulls to a mound on the high ground just before the declivity running down to the cliffs. He fought his way through the brambles until he came to the body, then after the briefest inspection he turned away, grey-faced, to fetch Purdy.

  The body was brought down on a bier and carried back to Mingoose to await burial. Dwight went to examine it, and said the girl’s throat had been cut. The funeral took place two days later.

  It was in the afternoon of one of Mrs Pelham’s evening parties that Bella received a letter from her mother telling her of events in Cornwall. It was Mrs Pelham’s birthday – no one dared to ask her which – but it was special for Bella too: not only in the distinction of the guests but because Dr Fredericks himself had been asked to accompany her on the pianoforte and he had actually accepted!

  They had been over the songs together in rehearsal all yesterday, and Bella was perfectly confident of her ability to do well, but this did not prevent a tightening of the stomach muscles during the afternoon. It was a curious symptom. Lack of confidence did not cause the physical and emotional tension. She knew she could sing what she had agreed to sing, she was almost certain the evening would be a success, but still the wires were stretched.

  The letter was delivered during the afternoon while she was discussing with Mrs Pelham and two footmen whether moving the piano three feet forward would be better for the acoustics and better for the voice. She opened it, excused herself, glanced at the first few sentences to see that everything was apparently all right, then stuffed it in her bag and returned to the discussions.

  When she got up to her bedroom and took it out, the first page had fallen out of sequence, and she read:

  so clearly Valentine is in very bad odour in the neighbourhood around. He moves about very defiant, seeming to take little notice of the slights and insults that come his way. So many tongues wag and so much venom do they drop that it is fortunate he was away in Ireland when this thing happened, otherwise there would be some who would maybe ask who stood most to benefit by Agneta’s death. Your father was in fact so questioned by Horrie Treneglos. (No one else would have dared!) But you will well guess the answer he received back!

  Naturally Selina has made things much worse by leaving him. She wrote no note, just left with her maid and a nanny, taking little Georgie with her. Once again there was the beginning of a hue and cry until it was learned that she was staying at Cardew! No one seems to know how she was received or how long she intends to stay. The baby’s grandfather, the older George Warleggan, has been long estranged from Valentine, as you know, and I do not conceit with what favour he regards Selina, but at least he has taken her in. Valentine has been frequently at Nampara since she left – he says he intends to continue to live at Place House on his own. Katie says the servants steal about the house when he is in, for fear of disturbing him.

  It has been a lovely October in Cornwall, somewhat soiled by all this trouble, which luckily only affects Nampara in a glancing sort of way. I was that happy to learn of your singing progress . . .

  A distinguished dinner party, as had been promised, including Lieutenant Christopher Havergal, the Hon. Charles Wynford, M. Maurice Valéry, from Paris: twelve in all. Charles Wynford was known to be a crony of the Prince Regent.

  No doubt it was the promise of such company that had lured Dr Fredericks. Bella sat next to her beloved. With the concert in front of her, her intake of food was light. Christopher’s was even lighter. He refused some courses altogether, but drank a lot of Canary wine. She likened it in her own mind to her mother’s predisposition for port, but Christopher’s consumption was much the greater. It was odd, she thought, that often for days on end he drank only cordials or even milk, but once in a while he donated all his energies to Canary. It seemed to make little difference to his behaviour, but had she been asked she would have preferred him not to have indulged himself tonight. It did not occur to her that perhaps he was more nervous than she was.

  Dr Fredericks had chosen a fairly demanding programme for her (some of the songs, though she did not remark this, had specially dashing accompaniments). But he had chosen in such a way that the early pieces were the less exacting. ‘I have kept the acuti for the last pieces,’ he said. ‘We will begin with Cherubini, go on to Schubert, Méhul, Spohr, Haydn. Remember the size of the room; you should not give full voice with Méhul; think you are at a rehearsal. If you are nervous, empty the lungs like a tube of paint, from the bottom upwards. I know you will do everything to perfection.’

  And it seemed afterwards that she had done just that. The warmth of the applause was not restrained by an awareness that one was in a private drawing room. The Hon. Charles Wynford was specially complimentary and took down the name of the song by Campenhout she had sung as an encore. He thought the Prince would be interested.

  A golden evening. Bella was in heaven, Dr Fredericks little less, for Wynford’s recommendation would mean much to him too. As people were beginning to leave in their carriages, Christopher disappeared for a few minutes. When she could get away, Bella went in search
of him. She found him in the dining room holding a glass and a newly opened bottle of Canary.

  He got up awkwardly from his chair, put glass and bottle down and embraced her. ‘My little songbird, my little songbird.’ (It was not quite shong.) ‘You have flown tonight. I never thought, even in my wildest dreams, that you would sing like that. At least not yet. So soon. So soon. I listened hard among the guests and heard nothing but praise. Nor did I suppose there could be. You have climbed a high mountain tonight, my sweetheart!’

  ‘If I am a songbird,’ said Bella, showing some of her mother’s quirky humour, ‘I should be able to avoid the mountain, shouldn’t I? We must go back at once to Aunt Sarah. She must not feel we have left her alone when the guests are gone.’

  He picked up the bottle, and the glass rattled against the neck as he poured some in, gulped at it.

  ‘Leave it,’ Bella said, conscious of conflicting emotions struggling to affect her happiness. ‘When you get home, Christopher. There’ll be time then.’

  ‘Join me now. There’s a glass here.’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m happy enough.’

  He stared at her uncertainly for a moment. ‘I drink to you. And only for joy.’

  ‘Yes, yes. It has been such a – such a good evening. Oh, Dr Fredericks, I thought you had gone! I’m glad you have not. Have I thanked you enough? You were such a support all the way through. You have taught me so much.’

  ‘I have also learned tonight,’ Dr Fredericks said, trying to adjust his linen cravat. ‘I’m going home a happy man.’

  Bella linked arms with him, and they went to the dining-room door. There she glanced back and saw that Christopher was gulping another glass.

  Chapter Four

  The inquest on Agneta Treneglos was held in the Bounders Arms, the inn run by Ned and Emma Hartnell, which was not far from Sawle Church. Its upper room was sometimes used as a meeting place, being, apart from those in the houses belonging to the gentry, the largest in the neighbourhood. Even so, aside from the jury and the witnesses, there was little space available for interested spectators, of whom there would have been many if accommodation had permitted.