‘He was, but your Uncle Dwight wanted to dress his arm properly, so he left here this morning, about one. I must go and call on him, try to thank him.’
Demelza said: ‘He was like – like an angel sprung out of the ground.’
The morning passed in a troubled whirl which dealt unrelentingly with the subject they were doing their utmost to put in the back of their minds. Dinner was late and neither Ross nor Demelza had any appetite.
After dinner, when Bella was able to get them alone for a few minutes, she said diffidently: ‘I did not have a chance last night to tell you, but the post came about four and I had a letter from Christopher. Will you want to hear now or would it be easier perhaps this evening when we have more time?’
‘Please tell us now,’ said Demelza.
‘Of course,’ said Ross, ‘if it is good news.’
‘Well, yes, I think so . . .’. Bella felt in her blouse and took out a letter, which already looked as if it had been read many times. Bella’s hand was not quite steady and bits of sealing wax fell on the table. ‘You won’t want to hear everything he has said.’
Demelza said: ‘You choose, my dear.’
Bella unfolded the letter, scanned the early part, then said: ‘I have been offered a part in Romeo and Juliet – but first, before we build too much, it has to be said this depends on an interview. I have to be seen by Mr Frederick McArdle. If he approves of me I am to be offered the part of cover to Mrs Charlotte Bancroft, who is playing Juliet . . .’
After a moment Demelza said: ‘Cover?’
‘Yes. If Mrs Bancroft were to be taken ill or some other misfortune were to befall her, I should be called upon to take her place. That means I shall have to know her part off word for word and I shall have the opportunity of seeing her act and learning from it. Also . . .’
They waited. She turned over a page of the letter. ‘I am also invited – if I pass the test – to play a small speaking part in the play. I am asked to play Balthasar, Romeo’s servant, so though the speaking part is quite small I shall be standing beside Romeo on and off all through!’
A pause. Ross said: ‘It sounds a good invitation to me. But is not Romeo’s servant a man?’
‘Yes,’ said Bella, and coloured a little. ‘You see – as Christopher explains – apart from Juliet, there is no other speaking part for a young woman in the whole play. The Nurse and Lady Capulet, and Lady Montague, they are parts for older women. There will be plenty of opportunity in some of the scenes where the Capulets and the Montagues come on to have a young woman about, but none of them have to speak. Of course . . . it is not uncommon for women to play men’s parts.’
Demelza said, ‘It sounds wonderful. But who is this Mr Frederick McArdle?’
‘The producer. It depends on his approval, but Christopher is optimistic that I shall be accepted.’
Ross said: ‘Bella will have to study Juliet’s part very closely, just in case. At the same time she will be acting as Romeo’s servant, who is a man. Do you think you can do that, Bella?’
‘Oh, yes!’
‘When is this to be? Does he say?’
‘The date is provisional. If . . .’ She stopped.
‘If?’
‘If it is early December, as he thinks, it would be wonderful if you could both come and see the first performance. Is that being selfish? Will you be able to rid yourselves of this – of the remains of this – of what happened last night in time?’
A pause. ‘I would very much like to,’ said Demelza. ‘I much regret not being to see The Barber of Seville.’
Ross said: ‘We shall most certainly come.’
Demelza stretched herself and sighed. ‘At least it is pleasant to talk of this. Inside – inside I still feel desperate sick.’
Paul Kellow appeared before the magistrates and was remanded in custody until the fifteenth of January. Until then he would be kept at Bodmin prison.
‘I do not think he will give any trouble,’ Dwight said to Ross. ‘I saw him, as you know, before he was taken away. He was quite composed and detached. Of course he must still have been feeling dazed from the blow Prideaux gave him. But he seemed to want to engage me in a discussion as to why the tuberculous bacillus was more prevalent among women than men. I had to tell him that there are no statistics to prove such a theory; but he went on to argue that it was almost certainly because women’s bodies were more easily diseased and ready for corruption. He appeared about to imply that killing a few of them was contributing to the wellbeing of society, but Purdy came in and he broke off.’
Ross said: ‘What has been his wife’s reaction? I have heard nothing of her.’
‘I haven’t seen her. I know she will not visit him.’
‘Do you think she had any suspicion?’
‘I doubt it. She may have felt there was something wrong but, like his mother, chose to ignore it. Such men are very clever.’
Ross said: ‘Can a man hang if he is so obviously out of his mind?’
‘I think so. But when his trial comes up I shall hope to speak for him. Would you object?’
‘I’m not sure. On what grounds?’
‘He had a blow on the head long years ago. Probably not nearly so severe as the one he received from Prideaux last night. But this he took full on the frontal bone. The one he received on a previous occasion was on the occipital bone, to the left, at the base of the skull, and though there was less obvious damage, this is a much more vulnerable area and more likely to result in a permanent injury.’
‘You saw him then?’
‘You may or may not know that Stephen Carrington and Paul, before Stephen married Clowance, went off on some rash adventure to Plymouth, buying and selling some boat they had picked up. While in Plymouth Dock they were pressed for the navy, but they made a fight of it and got away. When they returned home they both needed treatment. They came to me.’
‘I don’t remember anything,’ Ross said. ‘I expect Clowance would know.’
‘Since then, once or twice a year, I suppose, Paul has come to me complaining of headaches, and I’ve done what I could to help. It’s quite possible that the injury he suffered then has had some long-term effect on his behaviour.’
‘And you think that if you testify to this, that he may escape the death penalty?’
‘No,’ Dwight said, ‘but there is just a chance. And I think it might be worth making the plea.’
They stared at each other, envisioning it.
Ross said: ‘I am not sure if the alternative for him is not even worse. I think if I had to make the choice I should choose the rope.’
They walked on a few paces. ‘And how is Philip Prideaux?’
‘Oh, he’ll keep his arm. But it was a near thing because of the severed artery. You probably saved his life with that tourniquet.’
‘Is he back at Trenwith?’
‘I shall see him again tonight. But it was a clean cut; there should be no infection.’
‘There was no infection,’ said Ross grimly, ‘for all those women Paul killed.’
At the same time Caroline saw Demelza to offer her appalled sympathy. She was almost equally appalled at Demelza’s suggestion that they should go together to visit the Kellows.
She said: ‘You astonish me, my dear. Although you attend church scarcely more often than I do, you exhibit these Christian impulses which most Christians would hastily repress and turn away from.’
Demelza said: ‘I don’t know about a Christian impulse. Maybe I am wrong, but there are many folk involved in Paul’s misdoings without blame to themselves. Three of them are almost our nearest neighbours. My mind shakes at the thought of what they must be feeling now. Tis beyond imagining that any of them should know anything about this side of Paul’s character, and it seemed to me that it would be proper to offer them some comfort.’
Caroline, out of friendship, raised no further objection. In her eyes Paul was a murderer and she questioned whether the family who bred him could avoid all bla
me. What could a narrowly escaped victim have to say to the mother of such a man?
In the end she might have considered herself proved right, for the visit was not a success. Mrs Kellow was weeping by the fire. Mr Kellow sat at the table drinking brandy out of a nearly empty bottle and mopping his un-wigged head as he constantly broke into a sweat. He had little to say, but Caroline suspected he was trying to unload some of Paul’s guilt onto society in general and anyone who called here could only have come to gloat. Daisy had got over her hysteria. Someone must have talked soberly to her and convinced her that there was no way of escaping the grim reality. So now she preferred not to speak of it. The shock had temporarily checked her cough, and she walked about while talking to them with a sort of false gaiety, like a party hostess welcoming unwelcome friends.
Realizing that Caroline had been right, and blaming herself for the ill-judgement, Demelza was about to make an excuse to leave when she was halted by the arrival of Valentine Warleggan and David Lake. They were, they said, on the way to Nampara but had stopped to console Daisy. Valentine, for once, had felt, like Demelza, that it was neighbourly to sympathize with the innocent partners in this outrageous tragedy.
So conversation was maintained for about fifteen minutes more. They tried to discuss the fireworks, Clowance’s wedding, the discovery of a small lode of tin in the new shaft at Wheal Elizabeth, Bella’s adventure in France, Essie’s pregnancy and Ben’s outspoken wish for a son. But this was interspersed with little icy silences, which hung in the air like stalactites until they were broken.
The two young men had come on horses, and they walked back with the ladies, trailing their reins, to Nampara.
Demelza said to Valentine: ‘You did not bring Georgie?’
‘I imagined this wouldn’t be quite the fit occasion for childish prattle.’ He looked at her assessingly. ‘You must have suffered a devilish wicked shock last night.’
‘Me? Yes, I did. It will take time—’
‘I’m not surprised. What surprises me is that you are about today as if – as if . . .’
‘As if nothing had happened?’ As he seemed genuinely interested, she went on: ‘I am trying to behave as normal in order to try – to try to get it out of my mind. Of course, I can’t; but movement, the ordinary business of living—’
‘All the same,’ he said, ‘most women would be in bed for at least two days with the emotional shock.’ He screwed up his eyes in a scowl. ‘I feel I should have known something was coming, tried to warn somebody – I don’t quite know who.’
‘You? Why?’
‘I’ve seen a lot of Paul and Daisy this last month. Paul and I have talked together. Things he said. And these last two weeks he has grown ever more quirky.’
‘Did he threaten anyone?’
‘No. Oh, no. It was just his attitude, particularly towards women . . .’
‘Did he speak about me?’
‘No.’
‘What could you have done?’
‘Oh, I know, I know. But Philip did.’
‘Only when Paul had committed himself.’
Valentine’s frown did not lift. ‘Philip, by great good fortune, was close by. I was – close by all the time. Maybe I should have dropped a hint to Ross.’
Nestor whinnied and shook his reins.
‘Your horse disagrees,’ said Demelza. ‘Who is looking after Georgie while you are out’
‘Oh, Polly Stevens. Odgers that was.’
‘Is he safe from Butto?’
‘Butto adores him. Anyway I now employ two men to see he behaves.’
‘Is he happy?’
‘Who? Butto?’
‘You know who I mean.’
‘Georgie? Georgie wants his Mama.’
‘Does that surprise you?’
Valentine glanced at Demelza walking beside him. ‘By God, I’m glad that madman did not get his knife in you. It’s a wonder you’re not a jelly.’
Demelza said: ‘I was at the time.’
Behind them David Lake and Caroline Enys were in conversation. Caroline did not much enjoy walking, being wedded to her horse for all but the shortest journeys. She often complained to Ross that his wife did not know how to conserve her energies.
Valentine said: ‘Selina came over this morning, with that harridan of a cousin, Henrietta. I would not let them in. Fortunately little Georgie was out with David. But sometimes he talks and says he wants his Mama.’
‘You turned her away?’
‘No, I gave her the option to come in – and stay. To return to me, in fact. To occupy her proper place as my wife, in my house, with our child. There is nothing to stop her. Paul has conveniently confessed – or almost confessed – to the murder of Agneta. Selina pretended to suspect me – I doubt if it was ever more than an excuse. I may not tread the primrose path, but I am not the killing kind. Well, that is out of the way now.’
‘So she left?’
‘With her dragon she left.’
‘Did you know your father was away when you seized Georgie?’
‘Of course. And pray, dear Cousin, pretty Cousin, can you refrain from referring to Smelter George as my father.’
Demelza thought for a moment. ‘Is it not the accepted view? You have his name. Most of the world looks on you as his son.’
‘Ah, yes. Ah, yes. But this is in private, between friends.’
Demelza wondered whether on this subject it was appropriate to claim to be able to wipe out all the passions, all the jealousies of thirty years and claim that she and Valentine should share such a secret as being ‘between friends’.
It was the longest personal conversation they had had together in some years, and the latent sarcasm usual in his voice was absent. Nor had he ever spoken so forthrightly as when he said how glad he was she had survived the attack. It was her nature to be warm in her relationships, and she wondered if they might move to a better understanding. Perhaps the next time he came to Nampara she would welcome him not as a challenge to the nucleus of her family, but as a friendly addition.
As they reached the house she saw two strange horses tethered and realized that she had forgotten this was the Thursday when Cuby and Noelle came for their regular visit.
It was clear by the time they went in that Mrs Gimlett had given young Mrs Poldark a hasty, stammered account of what had been happening on Bonfire Night. Cuby put her arm round her mother-in-law.
‘My dear, it is such a horror! My dear, do say, are you – have you recovered?’
While she cuddled Noelle Demelza gave Cuby some more of the general details, making of Noelle’s presence an excuse not to say more. Valentine and David had refused an invitation to go in, so presently they clopped off into the gathering windy dusk. But to replace them Ross and Dwight arrived. Conversation threaded its way between the grim and the normal. Presently Caroline and Dwight left and Henry arrived to greet Noelle with a boyish grin, and Bella came in from the library, where she had been trying out her scales.
Supper came and went. Reluctantly – for it seemed so trivial – Cuby brought them up to date with affairs on the Trevanion front. She ended by saying how helpful Philip Prideaux had been. Was he still in the neighbourhood?
‘We saw him this morning,’ Demelza said. ‘Just to try to thank him.’
‘Is it – a grievous wound?’
‘He does not behave as if it was,’ Ross said. ‘When we got to Trenwith he had already come back from Trevaunance, where there is some excitement over Wheal Elizabeth.’
‘Excitement? Let’s hope it is a pleasant excitement for a change.’
‘They have found a pretty lode of tin in Sunshine shaft – which is one new-digged from an old working. They’re tunnelling and stoping now; there’s a surprising amount of water, which is a good sign, though the engine has been ill placed to work it. We shall see.’
‘We might all go over in the morning,’ Demelza suggested, Ross’s surprise.
In the week that Cuby and Noelle stayed life in t
he village strained itself to return to normality. The Poldarks at Nampara entertained the Poldarks of Trenwith, including Philip, who contrived to avoid Demelza’s suggestions of invalidism by riding about as normal with his arm in a sling. Dwight and Caroline had all of them to sup. They visited the mine twice, renewed acquaintance with Georgie Warleggan, who seemed to be a gregarious child, also prospected Butto’s den and watched him walking arm in arm with Valentine and smoking a cigar like an old club man.
Mid-November settled in fine, not such a St Martin’s summer as the previous year, but the scant daylight had its fair share of sun, and nights were not cold. There was a plague of late flies, but these were sporadically killed by Henry, who was at the age to massacre, and the rest were for the most part ignored. The sour sad thought of the Kellows at Fernmore was also something to be avoided. The sick feeling in Demelza’s solar plexus was gradually working its way out.
On the day before she left for her new small house near Bodmin, Cuby and Demelza galloped along the beach as far as the Holy Well and there dismounted, to sit and talk on the smooth dry rocks just above high watermark while their horses recovered their wind. Over these years of bereavement the women had come to know and understand each other. Noelle had been a common preoccupation and still was a constant subject for discussion and interest. But they did not talk about her today.
After some speculation about the strange malign insanity of Paul Kellow and Demelza’s close personal escape, she asked Cuby when she had first met Philip Prideaux.
‘It was soon after Waterloo. A lady called the Hon. Mrs Falkirk invited me to a party which was supposed to console the new widows of the war. I would have refused – I wanted only to bury my head and weep – but she had known Jeremy and me in Brussels, and I felt a sort of – of duty. So I went. And Captain Prideaux was there. He was – racked with nerves, wanted to leave early, but I persuaded him to stay by talking to him of Cornwall. So when he came back to Cornwall about three years ago and we met again we became casually friendly.’