‘I thought Horrie was fixed up with Angela Nankivell. Certainly it would please his parents more.’
‘I’m sorry for Daisy. She does not seem quite to settle on anyone. Of course I blame Jeremy partly for that.’
Demelza said: ‘Does anyone still use Kellow’s Ladder? I was walking along the cliffs last week and looked down. I believe part of the ladder has become dangerous.’
‘I don’t think it has been used since the Kellows’ lugger was broken up in the storm. That must be nearly three years ago.’
‘I didn’t attempt to go down,’ said Demelza falsely.
‘I should think not! What an idea! You would be crazy to consider it. We walked that way when Geoffrey Charles was home – he and Amadora and Jeremy and I; and I wanted to show it to Amadora, and Jeremy would not let me go near it.’
‘When I next see Paul,’ said Demelza. ‘I will ask him . . . Have they not been better off recently?’
‘Who, the Kellows?’
‘Yes. There has not been so much talk of bankruptcy.’
Chapter Six
I
On the assumption that the weather could not be adverse always, Ross came home again by sea; and this time four days of fine December weather and a helpful wind brought him into Par, and he hired a post horse and was home before Demelza was expecting him.
Ross could not help but think of the changes: ten years ago it would have been Jeremy and Clowance hot-footing it to greet him, to swing in his arms, to prattle and crow and search his pockets for presents; now they were both gone; instead it was Isabella-Rose with bulbous Henry falling round his feet, and not Garrick barking but the far handsomer though never-so-much-loved Farquhar; and Demelza. She was the one constant, apparently unchanging; taken for granted but instantly needed; sometimes an irritant and an anxiety, yet without her the other welcomes would have been hollow; for better or worse everything in his life operated against the background of her continuing existence.
Because of what had happened before he left, he looked at her assessingly over the children. At first she returned his inquiring glance without apparent comprehension; then when he had made his meaning unmistakable she shook her head at him coldly.
‘Really?’ he said.
‘Count the bottles if you wish.’
‘What bottles?’ Bella asked instantly.
‘Spice bottles,’ said Ross, ‘that I promised your mother and quite forgot, daring to have no thoughts for anything but what I must bring my noisy, noisy daughter.’
‘And what have you brought her?’
‘You wait until Christmas Day, my girl.’
‘Oh, Papa!’
That night, when even Bella had been persuaded to retire, they exchanged news and again he hinted at the subject.
Demelza said stiffly: ‘I have been – very well.’
‘Not feeling too morbid?’
‘Morbid at times. But well enough.’
‘Why were you so morbid that night when it happened?’
‘Do not ask me.’
‘I am only anxious—’
‘Do not mention it again – else I shall take offence.’
‘Very well,’ said Ross.
There was a moment’s mutinous silence. Then she said: ‘After all, if I want to get drunk I shall!’
‘Of course.’
‘You cannot stop me, Ross.’
‘No, I am aware of that.’
‘So allow me please to stop myself!’
‘Of course,’ he said again.
‘Until then . . .’
‘Until then,’ said Ross, ‘the subject is taboo.’
Later still when her irritation had been assuaged she lay against his arm in bed, and they gossiped more companionably together. Even then it was a while before he told her of Lord Liverpool’s suggestion.
‘And what did you say?’
‘That I would consider it.’
‘You seriously think you might go?’
‘It depends on you.’
‘Now, Ross, you must not—’
‘Seriously. I would not consider going on my own without you and the children.’
Her hand smoothed the sheet, drawing it more closely about them. ‘But I know no French. I still think of France as an enemy.’
‘I know. Nor is my French good.’
‘Then why did he suggest you should go?’
‘It seems he knows as much about me as I know of myself! That I spoke a little French as a boy, lost it almost entirely, but then when I was in Paris those months with Dwight in 1802 I made an effort and began to understand it again and to speak more freely. Liverpool said that for the purposes for which I should go, an apparent lack of the language might be an advantage.’
‘It sounds as if he wants you to be a spy!’
‘I made much the same comment. He replied that he had an ample network of spies without the need to add to them. He says he wants an observer, particularly a person of some modest eminence who could visit the French army and be received by them and might gain their confidence, and so report back to him on their current feelings of loyalty to the King.’
‘Could it be dangerous?’
‘I raised that point also, in the matter of you and the children. He said he supposed he could not promise that my mission would be entirely without any risk, however small; but he deemed it trifling. There would be no point in trying to assassinate some ordinary English member of parliament, as he drily put it; and we are not at war with France; if I fell into a quarrel with someone and fought a duel he could not of course guarantee my safety. (His Lordship has a long memory, you see.) But as for you and the children – he saw you at no greater risk than if you were in London. The Duchess of Wellington will be staying on in Paris while the Duke is in America. Liverpool was at pains to point out that the English are highly unpopular in the French press and with certain sections of the populace; but in so far as society and the King are concerned they are welcomed and fêted everywhere.’
She plucked at the sheet now with a hint of nervousness in her fingers. ‘Then you are of a mind to take it?’
‘As I have said, only if you would like to go. And then only if it was definitely offered me – which is not yet.’
‘I don’t quite—’
‘Liverpool was but sounding me out. After Wellington leaves, the situation may simmer down, the discontent may find its own level; there may be no need for any such mission.’
‘But if there is?’
‘Well, there you are . . . He sees me as a suitable man to send. Apart from Fitzroy Somerset, the other main officer at the British Embassy is also quite young. A man of my age, even though of inferior rank, would he believes be valuable all round.’
She moved against his arm.
‘Your nose is cold,’ he said.
‘Healthy . . . Did I ever meet Lord Fitzroy Somerset?’
‘Oh, yes. As a boy, I think once, when Mrs Gower was down. But more recently at the christening party for George-Henry, not much more than three years ago. The young lieutenant.’
‘But of course. Fair hair; fresh skin; rather short; good looking.’
‘That’s the man. One of the scions of the Boscawen family with whom you did not fall in love.’
‘Oh, Ross, that is cruel! Even as a joke.’
‘I am sorry. It never was a joke. And I had no right to say it.’
He kissed her ear, which was all he could reach. After a minute she said: ‘But he is very young.’
‘Twenty-five or six by now, I suppose. At Bussaco he was already aide de camp to Wellington and a captain. I believe he was made a lieutenant-colonel before the war ended.’
‘I don’t think I should be happy going into that sort of society.’
‘You’ve said that so often, and you’ve always been a success.’
‘But this is worse than ever – where most of them do not even speak the same language!’
‘You managed very well with de Sombreuil an
d de Maresi.’
‘Well, I could not understand scarcely a word that the Count de Maresi said, except that he wanted me to go to bed with him.’
‘Yes,’ said Ross, ‘that’s the same in any language. Or, at least intelligible . . . That’s a nice bit,’ he remarked, stroking her inner thigh.
‘Ross, you must not do that if you want me to go to sleep!’
‘Well, if I may not do it, who may do it? I ask you. There are few privileges a husband has. The Comte de Maresi was not allowed to do it. Sir Hugh Bodrugan was not allowed to do it. John Treneglos has never been allowed to do it. But if a husband may not do it . . .’
‘Very well,’ she said, ‘if that’s the way you want it, so do I.’
II
So it was not until the early morning that he told her of his other offer, the one he had turned down.
‘My dear Judas God!’ she said. ‘Ross! What a thing! He meant it? Not half meant it? Not a quarter meant it? He really did?’
‘Oh, yes.’
After a minute or so she turned over to face him. ‘What exactly would it mean?’
‘I would have had to become a Sir. Like George. Only better than George because I should have put Bart. after my name. Which means that it would go on.’
‘How “go on”?’
‘Well, when I died Jeremy would have it, and when he died his son would have it.’
‘For ever?’
‘Well, until there wasn’t a son. These things die out in time.’
‘And me? What would I have become?’
‘Lady Poldark, of course.’
‘That would have been impossible! I couldn’t have been!’
‘Why not?’
‘I’m a miner’s daughter. I was dragged up any way and strapped every time he could catch me.’
‘Nobody knows that, and it wouldn’t have the slightest effect if they did. Anyway you have been saved the risk.’
‘You turned it down utterly?’
‘Yes.’
‘Coh,’ she said, ‘it has made me come out in a sweat! Feel me. No, not there again! My forehead will do.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I see by how much you are relieved to have escaped the peril.’
‘Well, for myself, yes . . . Was this because of your friendship with Mr Canning?’
‘Liverpool says it is chiefly for services rendered – those tin-pot missions I have been on. But I suspect that, but for Canning, they would have been conveniently forgot.’
‘Well, at least you would not have had to buy your knighthood, like George.’
A low late dawn was bringing the daylight by stealth, with as little change from moment to moment as the hand movement of a clock. But very soon Isabella-Rose would be stirring; you would hear her knocking about in her room as soon as she was awake. She usually roused Henry, who otherwise would sleep till nine.
‘I’d have died,’ she said.
‘Would you, indeed.’
‘It wouldn’t have been an embarrassment exactly, it wouldn’t have been laughter . . . except maybe laughter at myself. But some folk are just not born to – to – to – to . . .’
‘Go on.’
‘Well, to carry a Lady in front of their name!’
‘You were born to carry whatever you set your mind to carry. But I’m glad I have pleased you.’
‘Of course it would have suited you. Sir Ross. Yes, that would have suited you handsomely.’
‘As Liverpool said, some men of ancient name consider a title vulgar. That is exactly my feeling.’
‘He seems content with his!’
‘He inherited it. Though his father began as a Mr Jenkinson. But, to be fair, he was simply attempting in his own good-mannered way to provide a more acceptable reason for my refusal.’
Someone had let Farquhar out. He had gone racing onto the beach and was barking at the seagulls. One of their cocks was crowing, answering another in Mellin. All the world was coming awake.
After a while Demelza stirred and sat up.
‘Judas, it fills me with ignoble thoughts, Ross.’
‘Tell me them.’
‘I hardly dare.’
‘There has never been a time when you have hardly dared.’
‘Well, I hardly dare because it might seem as if I regretted your decision to refuse – which is not true, for whatever you personally feel is right, is right for me too.’
‘Go on.’
‘. . . It would not even have been just the pride of knowing that all your good work had been noted – and appreciated and justly rewarded . . .’
‘What would it have been, then?’
‘It would have been . . .’ She rubbed her eyes, clearing them of sleep. ‘I suppose you could say there are two things I’m a little sorry about. Don’t think I’m complaining to you! You did right, I know . . . But it would really have been gratifying to have gone one rung up the ladder above George.’
‘You are quite correct,’ he said, ‘to consider that an ignoble thought.’
‘The other,’ she said. ‘The other is less dislikeable – at least in a mother. It would have been for Jeremy. It would have been good – warming to feel that he would have had it after you.’
‘Let him earn his own distinctions.’
‘Yes, I agree. But you see what I mean. His son – his son’s son – would all bear the honour that was given to you; they would all know what a great and good man their grandfather – great-grandfather – was.’
‘And how deluded they would be!’
‘Not at all! You cannot – should not – be mock-humble to me, Ross.’
‘Well, regarded in any sort of perspective, it is not mock-humble at all. I have married and raised a family, and owned a mine or two, occupied a rotten parliamentary borough for a decade and a half and gone on a few missions that others could have done as well. There is nothing exceeding great and good about that. It would have been different, perhaps, if I had been Wilberforce with his dedication to the abolition of the slave trade, or even Cobbett with his – his equal dedication to universal suffrage and parliamentary reform.’ He scratched his nose and stared out at the coming day. ‘I’m not sure I recognize goodness when I see it, m’dear, but I know greatness.’
There was a long silence, and she lay back again, stretching her legs. ‘What shall you do today?’
‘Today? First, go over the cost books with Zacky. I presume all is well?’
‘With Leisure – oh, yes. Wheal Grace you know . . .’
‘Is Ben come good now?’
‘It was a thought difficult when Clowance was over, but they met twice and the awkwardness passed.’
‘After I’ve seen Zacky I’ve promised to take Bella a ride across the beach.’
‘Put her off if it’s raining. I have never known anyone get so thoroughly wet as she does. Sometimes when she comes in she might have been in the sea!’
‘Perhaps she has. I wouldn’t put it past her. Demelza . . .’
She looked at him but did not speak, observing his strong bony face in the pallid light.
‘While I was in London I had another proposition.’ He told her of his visit to Major Cartwright’s, of the men he had met there. She let out a slow breath. He finished:
‘But if I had devoted my life to them and to their cause, I might feel a little more persuaded of my right to some king’s honour.’
‘If you had devoted your life to them and to their cause,’ said Demelza, ‘a King’s honour is the one thing you would not have got!’
Ross smiled grimly. ‘Very true. Perhaps I did not realize how true until this time.’
‘Why?’
‘I told you, didn’t I, that Lord Liverpool seemed well informed about me. He was too well informed, for he knew about my visit to Major Cartwright, that it was a supper party with many of the best known “agitators” there.’
‘However did he know that?’
‘He hinted to me that he thought it would be “unfortunate” if
I allowed my sympathy for their aims to lead me into active co-operation with them. I told him warmly that I very much resented being followed in this way. He said on the contrary, I had not been followed; it was Cartwright and his group who were “watched”, and usually the Government arranged for an “observer” to be present at their parties, just “to keep their activities in view.”’
‘But that’s spying!’ said Demelza. ‘That’s like being at war. But with one’s own people. I did not know it could go on in England!’
‘Oh, it does.’
‘But are they dangerous? And if so, who are they dangerous to?’
‘Liverpool gives me the impression of being a well balanced man, but he has a phobia about revolution.’
‘What does phobia mean?’
‘A fear. A morbid aversion. He told me – I didn’t know before – that he was in Paris in 1789 and actually witnessed the storming of the Bastille. He also lost a number of friends in the Terror . . . And then, of course, it is not so long since his predecessor was assassinated in the House of Commons. That cannot often be absent from his mind, night or day. Bellingham, as far as I know, had no connection with any agitators, but the death of Perceval gave great delight to the mobs in the Midlands and the North . . . Therefore harmless groups of reformers now get spied on and run the risk of imprisonment.’
‘And if you joined them you would run that risk?’
‘Perhaps. It is an interesting speculation. They are all free at present – technically free . . . I did not, as you will suppose, take kindly to Liverpool’s advice. The very fact of being warned off something gives one a greater incentive for joining it.’
Demelza’s mind picked a wary way through the pitfalls of the situation. The last thing she wished to do was to copy Lord Liverpool’s mistake.
‘I see you have had a very interesting trip.’
‘Stimulating, certainly.’
‘Shall you discuss it with Dwight?’
‘Some of it. But first I am discussing it with you.’
‘Thank you, Ross.’
‘Now do not be mock-modest in your turn. There is no one so important as you, and I shall be much influenced by your feelings. Now have we time for another sleep?’
‘No, my lover. Bella will be singing any moment.’