Napier turned. ‘How old are you, Poldark?’
‘I shall be thirty this October.’
‘I am by a year the younger. How many times have you been wounded?’
‘Four.’
‘I have been wounded seven. I am your senior at least in that.’
They smiled at each other.
‘This of course will have to go before the Duke and the authorities in London.’
‘Of course.’
‘Who may not be pleased.’
‘No, sir.’
‘In the first flush of a happy marriage this course you are taking may seem very desirable. In a year – two years it may look different. Have you ever thought of doing precisely the opposite of what you are proposing?’
‘What is that?’
‘Stay on a few more years. Continue your distinguished service and then apply through the proper channels to purchase a brigade command.’
Geoffrey Charles looked up in surprise. ‘You’re too kind, sir. I had certainly considered that out of reach. But if I may say so, with due respect, I should have thought you are a far more likely person to do that than myself.’
The hot sunlight outside shone on Napier’s pallid hand as he drew the curtain across.
‘I could not afford it, my friend. My wife has little money of her own. In fact . . .’
‘Sir?’
‘No matter . . . Does this prospect appeal to you?’
‘It appeals to my self-esteem. But until now, I have had barely enough money to subsist at all. Without an allowance from a much disliked step-father I could not have remained an officer. Therefore, though I will accept some of my wife’s money to help to put my small estate in some sort of order, I cannot – could not – stomach the thought of using it to buy myself a higher rank in the Army. It would be – self-aggrandisement . . .’
‘What if you asked your wife?’
‘I could not, sir, for it would look as if I were turning it down for her sake.’
A bugle sounded outside.
‘Very well, Poldark. I will pass on the request.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Geoffrey Charles hesitated. ‘You were about to say something just now. Is it too personal for my ears?’
‘Yes, indeed it is! Nevertheless you may hear it. I was about to say that in fact I have somewhat similar thoughts to yourself – of leaving the Army soon. Like you, I have a young and pretty wife. Unlike you, who seem to have taken your wounds in your stride, I am stiff when I lie down of nights and need my orderly to help me up in the mornings. Sometimes I shake with the ague. My progress upwards in the Army, as I have told you, is limited by want of means. But that is all in the future. Who knows what the future holds for any of us?’
II
‘Leave to speak, sir?’
It was Lieutenant Christopher Havergal. Geoffrey Charles had been surreptitiously opening and shutting his part-paralysed hand. The excessive courtesy – was it mock courtesy? – of the remark irritated him.
‘Well?’
‘There is a rumour about, sir, that you intend to resign your commission and leave the Army.’
‘What is that to you?’
‘Only the same as it is to the other junior officers, sir. And the men.’
‘Why have the junior officers left it to one of the most junior among them to make this inquiry?’
‘Because they think I have . . .’ Lieutenant Havergal paused, threw back his fair hair.
‘Brass enough for anything?’
A little tweak showed at the corner of the mouth. ‘Brass is another form of courage, sir. Isn’t it? I hope I – we – have been misinformed.’
‘Brass,’ said Geoffrey Charles, ‘is allied to that form of courage you showed when chasing the hare. It is not the sort most favoured by the Duke. Or indeed by the Army generally.’
‘No, sir.’
‘Incidentally, what brought you into the Army, Havergal?’
‘Oh,’ the young man shrugged. ‘My father is a shipbuilder in Sunderland. He made unwise speculations, lost most of his – brass – begging your pardon, sir – and had to sell his house and his yards. I went to the Charterhouse, then was reading for the bar, but had a disagreement with my father and chose to buy myself an ensigncy instead. Stationed for a year on useless duties at Gibraltar, contrived a transfer almost too late for any of the fun. And here I am!’
‘And where, if I may ask, did you pick up your Portuguese mistress?’
Havergal grinned. ‘In Abrantes. She’s a pleasant little thing and causes no trouble.’
‘My wife is Spanish, you know.’
‘Yes indeed, sir.’ The young man added hastily: ‘It is becoming quite the fashion: Captain Smith of the Rifles, for instance. His wife goes with him everywhere, sharing all the hardships . . .’
‘Shall you marry yours?’
‘Oh, no, sir. With me – with us – it isn’t like that at all.’
Geoffrey Charles slowly unflexed his hand. ‘Well, Havergal, you have asked me a question, so I shall answer it. Yes, I am resigning from the Army. It is for personal reasons which I don’t propose to discuss; but I feel that our work in Europe is done, our future work, if there is some in America, is not for me; and I have, I believe, more constructive things to do with my life.’
‘Well . . . there couldn’t be a better answer than that, sir. I’ll tell the others. And may I say that I am personally very sorry.’
‘Thank you.’
Havergal coughed. ‘And if there ever were a chance of us meeting later – in civilian life, I mean, I should welcome it.’
‘Are you thinking of leaving the Army too?’
‘No, no, sir. But it was just a thought.’
Geoffrey Charles looked down at his hand. ‘Thank you, Havergal. I’ll bear it in mind.’
III
On the day the Tsar and most of the princelings left England, the 23rd June, after a sojourn which had opened their eyes to many strange aspects of English life, Selina Pope rode over to call on the Poldarks.
She had never been to Nampara before; Demelza felt herself remiss in never having invited her; but most of the time it had been difficult, because Ross did not like Clement Pope, and since he died there had not seemed the right opportunity. So she came without invitation, riding Amboy with a groom in attendance. She did not bring her daughters.
Demelza thought, as she had thought at the Trenwith party, what a pretty woman she was. She could by now well have dispensed with her widow’s weeds, but the discovery that black very much suited her might have been the reason why she had not.
She ventured to call, she said, because she happened to be passing near – a likely subterfuge – and Captain Poldark had been so kind as to offer his advice on matters to do with her estate when she had seen him last at the Trenwith party. Ross, Demelza said, was at Wheal Leisure, but should be home to dinner in about half an hour. If she, Mrs Pope, would care to stay and take pot luck she, Mrs Poldark, would be happy to entertain her. Until her guest called she had been trying to clear some of the litter out of Clowance’s room; so she was in a green dimity frock with a paler green apron over it, and her hair, never the easiest to control, had come unlooped with stooping; her hands were dirty; and she knew Ross would arrive back from the mine in a thick woollen shirt, corduroy breeches and old riding boots; but it pleased her to feel that Selina Pope would be able to see them both in this condition and to judge for herself whether she wished to continue to know them.
Mrs Pope said she would be delighted to stay, if it were not putting them to inconvenience. A slightly awkward pause was filled by the arrival of Isabella-Rose holding Henry’s hand and persuading him to walk upright. Until now trial and error had convinced Henry that he could get from one place to another more quickly on hands and knees, and he was protesting a little at this newer mode of locomotion.
Later Ross arrived looking grim, a cleft between his brows because of a complication at the mine; but he made an effort a
nd smiled at Selina and said if they would give him time to wash . . .
At dinner they talked of children, of current events, of local affairs. Mrs Pope had recently been to London so she had seen some of the scenes of rejoicing for herself. The Tsar, it was said, adored dancing, particularly the waltz, but he had caused offence by picking only the young and pretty women and ignoring the elder and more important ones. He had also given offence by slighting the Prince Regent’s mistress, the Marchioness of Hertford. Mrs Pope had actually seen Marshal Blücher coming out of a shop: he had at once been surrounded by applauding crowds; but an old man, with none of the splendid dignity of Wellington. Mrs Pope’s daughters, who had been left behind for a few months with an aunt in Finsbury, had been quite enraptured of it all.
And had they heard from their son since he returned to Brussels? He had quite remarkable gifts. And had they seen dear Clowance since her wedding? And what did they purpose to do in August? August? said Ross, not hiding his puzzlement.
‘Is it not,’ said Selina, ‘the centenary of the Hanoverian accession? George the First became King on August the first 1714. They are talking already of more celebrations to commemorate that.’
‘I’m not sure,’ said Ross ironically, ‘whether it should not be commemorated as a disaster.’
Mrs Pope glanced at Demelza and smiled. ‘I think your husband is a republican, Mrs Poldark. As my husband was.’
Ross disliked the thought of having had anything in common with Mr Clement Pope. ‘In principle, perhaps. In practice I can’t see any considerable advantage in having a president instead. Frederick the Great said that once the Americans had rid themselves of one king they would probably have to crown another to keep the country from splitting up.’
Selina nodded. ‘A letter I had from a friend in Boston says if this war goes on there will be great pressures within the country to split up into – into loosely connected states, I think he said. Massachusetts is deeply opposed to the war.’
‘Are you American?’ asked Demelza.
‘No. My parents went over there when I was a child. They lived in New York. I married from there and lived at Perth Amboy in New Jersey until my husband retired and we returned to England. He was originally from Kent. But, of course, living over there as we did, you make friends, see their point of view, you understand.’
‘No country was ever founded on such noble principles,’ Ross said. ‘It’s something to have the principles even if one cannot live up to them. If your Boston legislators could but persuade the country to propose a peace, we should be shown up as the fools we were to provoke the conflict.’
I know who she looks like! Demelza thought. Every now and then she has a look of Elizabeth. I wonder if Ross has noticed it. I rather hope not!
‘I came partly,’ Selina said, ‘to thank you for your advice at the Trenwith party, Captain Poldark.’
‘Do you mean about the mining rights?’
‘Yes. I had a visit from Sir Unwin Trevaunance a little while ago and I was able to convince him that a mere woman could be as determined as any man, so he has agreed to the purchase and the deed is being drawn up.’
‘I did very little except confirm that the price you were offering was about right. You must have had advice before that.’
‘Yes, I did. I think it was your son who advised me in the first place.’
There was a brief silence.
‘At least now,’ Selina said, ‘I can keep my house in peace.’ She stopped in confusion. ‘Forgive me, I didn’t mean in the least that the opening of mines was not – was not desirable in some – some circumstances.’
‘In our circumstances, for instance,’ Ross said pleasantly. ‘I suppose it all depends on the degree of affluence one has. I think, had we had wealth we could draw upon from outside, my wife would have demanded there should be no piles of attle or red stream to disfigure our pretty valley. As it is, we welcome it because it provides us with some of the elegancies of life. Without it – and without Wheal Leisure on the cliff – we should be very little more than poor farmers.’
‘But Captain Poldark, you are so famously well known about the county! And a member of parliament. And a banker, I believe!’
‘Being the owner of mines,’ said Ross. ‘That is how I live, and that is how I came by the rest.’
‘And now a member of a Commission in London, isn’t it? Metals or something?’
‘A Base Metals and Mining Commission,’ agreed Ross. ‘It is not of great importance. How did you learn of it?’
‘Jeremy told me.’
Another silence. Ross said: ‘I suppose it was a natural appointment. I live off the mines, as I have said. I never forget it. Or I try never to forget it. It maintains one’s sense of proportion.’
When she had gone Demelza said: ‘What a strange visit, Ross!’
‘In what way?’
‘Well . . . she seemed to assume a friendship which has never really existed between us. I am not saying that it shouldn’t, for we are almost neighbours, but it hasn’t. It never did between the Trevaunances and ourselves. We went to Place House – what? – three times in ten years. She seems to assume a sort of – sort of relationship.’
‘I know.’
‘You felt it?’
‘In a way, yes. I don’t dislike her, though. She has a charm and is learning fast. But d’you think – is it possible this fellowship she is feeling – claiming – is something to do with her friendship with Jeremy?’
‘I hope not.’ Demelza went to shut a window, for the June day had turned cold. The light made a halo round her hair. ‘Ross, what’s the difference between a simile and a metaphor?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘Well, I am going to use one of them. My children to me are like streams . . . clear water running, shallow and clear enough to see to the bottom. Only Jeremy is different – sometimes he’s too deep for me to understand. He lives a private life none of us can reach to. In spite of all his good humour and his fun, he is – not at peace.’
‘Perhaps I never have been,’ said Ross.
‘It may come a little from you, Ross, but it isn’t the same. Besides . . . you have been at peace – many times. I know that.’
‘Yes, my love, I have. Mostly thanks to you . . . As for Jeremy – I don’t know. Perhaps it’s just growing up. He hasn’t had anything serious with Selina Pope, has he? It never occurred to me until today.’ Ross picked up a paper, read a few lines, put it down. ‘Damn these young men and their young women! They all take it much too much to heart.’
‘Now you’re frowning the way you were when you came in to dinner. I wonder Mrs Pope did not take fright at the sight of you.’
‘It will take more than one frown to frighten her away, I suspicion. Well, it was all on the same account, as you might say. A young man taking it all too much to heart – our godson.’
‘Ben? Ben Carter? What has he done?’
‘You mean what have we done allowing our daughter to marry Stephen Carrington! The men are complaining that Ben is half drunk when he comes in the mornings and drunker when he leaves at night.’
‘But Ben never drinks. He has never touched liquor in his life!’
‘He does now, it seems. And today he hasn’t turned up at all. When I came in to dinner I’d just been in to Zacky, but they had seen nothing of him.’
Demelza sighed. ‘Oh, dear . . .’
‘Yes. Oh, dear.’
‘How is Zacky?’
‘Better. But not well enough to take his grandson’s place underground.’
‘I saw Mrs Zacky on Sunday. I thought she looked worried for something.’
‘If you had only had four daughters of twenty,’ Ross said, ‘you would have been able to make four men happy instead of one, and he the least deserving of the lot.’
‘Hush,’ said Demelza. ‘You remember we agreed never to say anything unkind about Stephen, even between ourselves. Let him prove himself.’
‘All the same
,’ said Ross, ‘it’s a worry about Ben.’
Chapter Eight
Since Arthur Thomas was united with Edith Permewan in matrimony according to God’s holy ordinance, things had not been the same at the Thomases’ cottage. Art had been the home-maker, the tidy one, the one who saw to the food and occasionally brushed out the cottage. John was out two or three nights a week fishing, and when he was ashore and not asleep was off on his perennial pilgrimage to see ‘Winky’ Mitchell. The feckless Music slept three nights a week in the stables in Place House, and spent as little time as he could alone at home.
On Friday afternoons Music always had three hours off, when it was his custom to walk home, make himself a dish of tea, have a bite to eat, and feed the cats. Music liked cats – they didn’t laugh at him – and his personal tally at the moment was five: a ginger, two scabby tabby toms, a thin black sleek female killer and a cuddly black and white. On his way home he stopped at the Nanfans, who had a cow, and bought a pennyworth of milk which he shared with the cats. For his part he cared nothing whether it was goat milk or cow milk he had in his tea, but the cats preferred cow milk so he really got it for them. They all sat on the table waiting for him until he joined them. They had a small pilchard each today, something of a treat, for they were really expected to feed themselves, which they did by catching mice and rats and rabbits and anything else that moved and was smaller than they were. Although John often had a bit of fish to spare, he didn’t hold with the notion that cats should be fed by human beings, and it was only because he knew his brother would be out that Music had dared to buy the fish on the way.
The cats didn’t have imaginative names. One of the scabby tabby toms was called Tom, the other Tabby, the thin black sleek female killer was called Blackie, the ginger Ginger and the cuddly black and white Whitey. Blackie was so fond of hunting that Tom and Tabby were grown lazy: they would wait for Blackie to bring back enough for the three. They tended to form an exclusive club to which Ginger and Whitey did not belong. If they tried to belong they were soon taught different. Blackie’s hunting skills were so well developed that she had twice stolen Jud Paynter’s breakfast. After that for weeks Jud had kept a loaded musket by his bed, but Blackie had a keen sense of knowing where she was not wanted.