Demelza

  “Oh,” she said.

  She lifted it and held it to her breast so she could see the effect in the mirror. The ruby glowed and winked at her. Ross’s gesture was tremendous. It melted her. Her eyes, black and liquid with emotion, glowed back at herself above the ruby. The gift, if anything, would give her confidence. With a new dress and that, no one surely could look down on her. Even the maids could hardly do so.

  Another knock at the door and another maid entered.

  Demelza blinked and hastily crumpled up the packing in which the brooch had come. She was glad to see they had sent an elderly maid.

  • • •

  Well, she was in it. It wasn’t decent, she was sure of that, but the maid didn’t seem to think anything was amiss. Of course other women wore that sort of thing; it was all the fashion. But other women might be used to that sort of gown; she was not.

  It was the same general shape as the afternoon gown Verity had bought her, only more so. The afternoon dress was cut away from her neck and the tops of her shoulders, but this one was so much lower. It was amazingly ruched at the sides, and there was a lot of beautiful lace hanging over her hands, where she didn’t need it. How Ross had bought it she could not conceive. It had cost a pretty penny, that was clear. He spent money on her as if it was chaff. Dear, dear Ross! Unbelievably dear. If only poor Jim’s death had not come between those presents and their wearing, how happy the night would be!

  The maid had just finished her hair, piling it up and up. Since Julia’s birth she had not kept it clipped but had let it grow, and the sudden luxuriance of her surroundings as Ross’s wife had seemed to give great richness to it so that its darkness fairly gleamed with color. The maid had brought her powder box, but she instantly concurred in Demelza’s refusal; such hair was not to be whitened. She did not, however, agree with Demelza’s hesitant refusal of makeup, and she was attending to my lady’s face. Demelza’s restiveness under her hands had the result of keeping her dresser’s enthusiasm within bounds, and she came out of it with her dark eyebrows slightly lengthened, only a moderate amount of powder to harden the soft glow of her skin, and an excusable amount of rouge on her lips.

  “One patch or two, ma’am?” said the maid.

  “Oh, none, thank ’ee. I have no liking for ’em!”

  “But ma’am would not be finished without one. May I suggest one just below the left eye?”

  “Oh, well,” said Demelza. “If you think so.” Five minutes later, the jewel on her breast, she said, “Can you tell me which is Miss Verity Poldark’s room?”

  “The second down the passage, ma’am. On the right-hand side.”

  • • •

  Sir Hugh Bodrugan tapped his snuffbox with hairy fingers. “Damn. Who’s that filly just come in the room, Nick? The one wi’ the dark hair and the pretty neck. With one of the Poldarks, ain’t she?”

  “I’ve never put eyes on her before. She’s a pridey morsel to look at.”

  “Reminds me of my mare Sheba,” said Sir Hugh. “Same look in her eyes. She’d take some bridling, I’ll lay a curse. Damn, I’d not refuse the chance.”

  “Enys, you know the Poldarks. Who’s that handsome creature Miss Verity has just led in?”

  “Captain Poldark’s wife, sir. They have been married about two years.”

  Sir Hugh brought his thick eyebrows together in an effort of remembrance. Thinking was not his favorite pastime.

  “Aye, but was there not some story that he’d married below him, a farm wench or some such?”

  “I could not say,” Dwight answered woodenly. “I was not here at the time.”

  “Well, maybe that is she,” said Nick.

  “Lord’s my life, I’ll not believe it. Farm wenches just don’t come that way. Or not on my estate. I only wish they did. I only wish they did. Nay, she’s no vulgar; her flanks are too long. Here, Enys, you know the lady. Grant me the favor.”

  She had come down thinking she would find Ross, but in that crowd it would be all but impossible. A footman stood beside her, and she and Verity took a glass of port. Somebody named Miss Robartes monopolized Verity, and before she knew it, they were separated. People began talking to her, and she answered them absently. As always port helped her, and she thought how wrong Ross had been to deny it to her at the christening. It was specially needed to give her confidence about her frock. Then she saw Dwight Enys bearing down on her and she greeted him with relief. With him was a beetle-browed, stocky, elderly man with a hairy nose, and Dwight introduced him as Sir Hugh Bodrugan. Demelza looked at him with quickened interest and met a gaze that surprised her. She’d seen that look in a man’s eyes twice before: once from John Treneglos at the Christmas party two years before, once that night from a stranger as she came down the stairs.

  She breathed it in for a moment before curtsying.

  “Your servant, ma’am!”

  “Sir.”

  “Cod, ma’am, Dr. Enys tells me you are Mrs. Poldark from Nampara. We’ve been neighbors two years and not met before. I hurry to repair the omission.” Sir Hugh snapped his fingers to a footman. “Wine for this lady, man; her glass is empty.”

  Demelza sipped another glass. “I have heard of you often, sir.”

  “Indeed.” Sir Hugh puffed out his cheeks. “And I trust that the report was not disfavorable, eh?”

  “No, sir, not at all. I hear that you keep plump pheasants that are a trouble to the poor poachers when they come to steal ’em.”

  Sir Hugh laughed. “I have a heart too, and no one has ever stole that yet neither.”

  “Perhaps like the pheasants you keep it too well guarded.”

  She noticed Dwight looking at her in surprise.

  “Nay, ma’am,” said Sir Hugh, making eyes at her downright, “it is not guarded at all for them as knows how and when.”

  “Good God, Hughie,” said his stepmother, coming on them suddenly. “I thought you’d gone without me, you wicked old devil. Seen about the carriage, have you? I can’t tramp across in all this fallalery.” The Dowager Lady Bodrugan, who was twenty years younger than her stepson, hitched up her fine satin cloak in a disgusted fashion and stared Demelza up and down. “Who is this? I haven’t the pleasure, miss.”

  “This is Captain Ross’s wife. From Nampara. I was saying we’ve been lax in our manners not asking ’em over to an evening of whist…”

  “D’you hunt, mistress?” demanded Constance Bodrugan.

  “No, ma’am.” Demelza finished her port. “I have some sympathy for the foxes.”

  Lady Bodrugan stared. “Pah, a Methody or some such! I smelled it. Let’s see, weren’t you a miner’s daughter?”

  Inwardly Demelza trembled with sudden unruly anger. “Yes, ma’am. Father hung at Bargus for the crows to pick, an’ Mother was a highwaywoman an’ fell over a cliff.”

  Sir Hugh roared with laughter. “Serves you right, Connie, for your quizzing. Take no account of my stepmother, Mrs. Poldark. She barks like her hounds, but there’s little vice in it.”

  “Damn you, Hugh! Keep your apologies for your own behavior. Just because you feel—”

  “Why, there!” John Treneglos pushed his clumsy way into the circle. For once he was dressed up, and his freckled sandy face was already flushed with drink. “Hugh and Connie, tagging at each other as usual. I might have known! And Mistress Demelza,” he added with assumed surprise. “Well, now, here’s a good meet. Tallyho! Mistress Demelza, I want you to promise me the first country dance.”

  “Well, that you can’t have, John,” said Sir Hugh. “For she’s promised it to me. Haven’t you, ma’am. Eh?” He winked.

  Demelza sipped another glass, which someone had put into her hand. It was the first time she had seen John Treneglos since his quarrel with her father, but he seemed to have ignored or forgotten that. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Ruth Treneglos edging her way
through the crowd toward her husband.

  “I thought that was the second, Sir Hugh,” she said.

  She saw “the look” come strongly into John Treneglos’s eyes as he bowed. “Thank ’ee. I’ll be waiting to claim the first.”

  “Here’s Captain Poldark,” said Dwight, almost with a note of relief in his voice.

  Demelza turned and saw Ross and Francis and Elizabeth entering the room together. Dear life, she thought, what do these men think they are? There isn’t one of ’em I’d glance at twice with Ross in the room. The strong bones of his face stood out hard and severe, the scar hardly showing at all. He wasn’t looking for her. Beside him Francis was slight. By the color and shape of their eyes they might have been brothers.

  They might have been brothers entering a hostile room and preparing to fight. Demelza wondered if others read their expression the same, for the noise and chatter in the room grew less.

  Then George Warleggan came up, smiling suavely, and began to move among the guests, remarking that it wanted ten minutes to eight.

  • • •

  The night was fine, and Demelza persuaded Ross to walk to the Assembly Rooms. The distance was nothing, and if they picked their way they would get there clean. There were already a lot of people in the streets, many of them drunk, and Demelza had the wish to see how her own kind were enjoying the night.

  Two great bonfires roared, one in the cockpit overlooking the town, the other in High Cross opposite the Assembly Rooms. It was rumored that there were to be fireworks at Falmouth, but the sophistication was not for Truro. In places lanterns had been hung on poles in the narrow streets, and the quarter moon had not yet set, so there was a fair amount of light.

  Demelza wanted too to rebuild her contact with Ross. The sudden admiration of those men had surprised and elated her, but they really didn’t mean anything at all. She wanted to be with Ross, to keep his company, to encourage his enjoyment, to have his admiration. But she couldn’t break down the wall that his anger and resentment had set up. It was not resentment against her, but it kept her outside. Even his concern for the success of his copper company—overriding that winter—had been forgotten. She had tried to thank him for his wonderful gift, but he hadn’t seemed to respond.

  Just for a moment his eyes had changed, warmed when he saw her in the frock, but she had not been able to keep his interest, to keep him away from his thoughts.

  They reached the steps of the Assembly Rooms and paused to look back. The bonfire was roaring and crackling in the center of the little square. Around it the figures were moving and dancing, yellow and black in the flickering flame light. Beyond and to the right the bow windows of the houses were dotted with faces, old people and children watching the fun. To the left the light wavered through the quiet trees and set white among the gravestones. Then a carriage and a sedan chair drew up at the door of the Rooms, and Ross and Demelza turned and went up the stairs.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  A gathering at which the lord lieutenant of the county was present was a gathering of importance. For the lord lieutenant was the king’s man and from him came all things great and small. Or, to be explicit, what came from him were appointments to be justice of the peace, and to be a JP meant to be the possessor of undisputed local power. For good or ill the JPs ruled, unchecked by Privy Council or the public purse. So the lord lieutenant was a man to be sought after, flattered, and fawned on.

  There was to be card playing, toasts, dancing, and a wide range of refreshments. The room had been hung with red, white, and blue streamers, and behind the dais, where the band played, a big painting of King George was set up.

  Almost as soon as she got there Demelza saw Andrew Blamey. He had taken up a quiet place where he could see the door, and she knew he was watching for Verity. Her heart began to thump for an extra reason, for Verity was coming with Francis and that might mean trouble.

  Being at the Warleggans’ had given her some idea what to expect, and the arrival of the people she had moved among there gave her time to take a grip. It was extraordinarily pleasing and reassuring too to see and be greeted by other people she had met before. Joan Pascoe spoke to her and introduced a young man named Paul Carruthers, who was an ensign in the navy. Dr. and Mrs. Choake were there, but they kept their distance. Patience Teague unexpectedly attached herself. Demelza was very flattered until she began to suspect it was because she was in the party of George Warleggan. Then a fat, pale man named Sanson (whom she remembered at the food riots) pushed his way in, blinking all the time, and took Ross in conversation. It was something about some gaming loss he had had. Before she knew it they were separated.

  She was surrounded with people she did not know or knew slightly. Sir Hugh was there again and John Treneglos and a man named St. John Peter, better-looking than the others and young. Several of them were talking to her and she was answering them absentmindedly, keeping her attention for the other things. Which was the lord lieutenant, how did they ever get so many candles burning so even, could she get back to Ross, had Andrew Blamey moved from his corner, what sort of flowers were they in the tall vases, was her frock holding up, would she ever be able to dance with her hair so high? Several times the people about her laughed, and she wondered anxiously if one of the others had said something witty or she had somehow made a fool of herself.

  She needed a drink, that was certain. The three ports at the Warleggans’ had made her feel well and confident, but the confidence was wearing off. More liquid courage was needed.

  Suddenly there was a whirring noise from the band and all the noise ceased as if you had rubbed it off a slate and people stood up stiff and she realized they were playing “God Save the King.” Very soon everyone joined in, and they sang it to the roof. When it was over, the noise broke and rippled over the floor again. Then someone had found her a seat between Patience Teague and Joan Pascoe, and she was trying to fan herself with the fan Verity had loaned her.

  Dwight Enys arrived with another young man, and she thought she saw the color of Verity’s dress.

  Someone at the far end of the hall was speaking, but she could not see without standing up and she only heard words here and there, about “our Gracious Majesty” and “Divine Providence,” and “all his people” and “thankful hearts.” Then the voice stopped and there was a ripple of applause. Faintly could be heard the scrape of bass viols tuning up. Several men came about her. They wanted her to dance the first minuet. Where was Ross? She looked up at the faces and inclined her head slightly at St. John Peter. Then a man named Whitworth, good-looking but dressed in an absurdity of fashion, pressed her for the second. She accepted but refused any for the third. Ross would come back.

  The band struck up and no one went on the center of the floor at all except two quite old people, very grand, who led off all by themselves. Then, after a minute or two, the band paused and everyone applauded again and began forming up.

  She went out with St. John Peter, who noticed that his partner’s expression had changed, from that rather absent, ready-for-flight look, which her talk proved so takingly deceptive, to a faint frown of serious thought. He wondered at her lack of response to his sallies. He didn’t realize that she needed all her care to remember what Mrs. Kemp had taught her.

  Presently she found she could do well enough, and as the dance came to an end and they waited for the repeat she knew she had nothing to fear.

  Nearby Joan Pascoe said, “We never see you now, Dwight. Do you never ride in to Truro?”

  “I am very occupied,” said Dwight, flushing at the hint of reproach in her voice. “The work of the mine takes much of my time, and there are so many interesting cases in the district.”

  “Well, you can always pass a night or take a meal with us when you come in for your drugs. Mama and Papa will be pleased to see you.”

  “Thank you,” he said a little stiffly. “Thank you, Joan. I’ll surel
y keep it in mind.”

  They separated and bowed and the figure re-formed.

  “George is very popular tonight,” St. John Peter said, inclining his head toward the painting at the end of the hall. “I remember well how he was abused over the American war.”

  “How old is he?” Demelza asked.

  “Who?”

  “The king.”

  “Oh, about fifty, I should say!”

  “I wonder what a mad king thinks he is,” she said. “’Twould be queer if he mistook himself for the king of England.”

  St. John Peter laughed. “You know we are cousins, ma’am?”

  “Who? You and the king?”

  “No. You and I. Ross’s grandmother and my grandfather were brother and sister.”

  “But Ross’s grandmother wasn’t my grandmother.”

  “No. Cousins-in-law. That makes it more refreshing, don’t you think?”

  “Quite refreshing,” said Demelza absently. “Faith, I am most refreshed.”

  Peter laughed again as they moved apart.

  “You should not have come tonight, Andrew.” Verity said. “People have seen us already. In a day or two the whole district will know.”

  “It is what I wished. No good can come of secrecy, my love. Let’s face it out together.”

  “But I’m afraid for Francis. If he sees you tonight, he may cause trouble. He is in the wrong mood.”

  “Have we to wait forever to get him in the right one? He can’t stop us. He may even not object strongly now. He has grown up, is not the young hothead. We can’t go on with these secret meetings. There’s nothing underhand in our love. Why should there be? Why should it be warped and distorted by my old sin, which I’ve paid for again and again? I intend to see him tonight.”

  “No, not tonight, Andrew. Not tonight. I have a feeling… A foreboding.”

  The flute, the hautboy, and the strings were playing an old Italian minuet, graceful and refined. The strains of the music, thin and unforced though they were, reached every corner of the dance room and penetrated through to where the refreshments were being served, to the restroom, to the card room.