They looked at each other.
Jeremy said: ‘So long as Clowance is happy you can rely on that.’
II
Ross came home by sea. The Channel was considered fairly safe at the moment; despite Napoleon’s claim to have an invasion force still ready and fifty battleships a-building. So long as he made war on the Czar and personally led great armies eastwards, his Channel threats could not be taken too seriously.
All the same, they travelled in convoy as a precaution against the single marauding raider.
Just before they reached Falmouth they heard of another great victory achieved by Wellington in Spain. Four years after Sir John Moore had left it, the British had returned to Salamanca and completely destroyed the French army there. Marshall Marmont was gravely wounded and four of his divisional commanders dead. The French had fled the battlefield, leaving some fifteen thousand casualties and a further seven thousand taken prisoner. The news was flagged across a hundred yards of water by a British naval sloop carrying the news to London. Cheering broke out from one ship to another of the convoy, like fire spreading, as the news was passed.
It was late in the afternoon when they put into Falmouth. Though he did not land in the town but at once hired a jolly boat to take him across the harbour to Flushing, Ross could see that a transport was about to leave; the streets were full of redcoats, and he could hear the bugles. The government was being faithful to its policy of risking invasion and denuding England of regular troops to supply the overseas armies.
In Flushing, where the Blameys now lived, Verity welcomed him with surprised delight. The years had dealt kindly with his cousin: her almost white hair showed off her still good complexion and unlined face, which had become more handsome than anyone could have predicted thirty years ago. Andrew, retired ten years from the packet service, had become a burgess of the town and was still occupied as adviser to the Post Office on matters dealing with the repair of packet vessels. He had aged, being slower of movement and speech than when Ross had last seen him.
Ross accepted the invitation to lie there, and they supped together talking of old friends and exchanging news of families. Young Andrew, their son, was now a junior officer in the packet service. He was not at present at sea but was from home tonight. After Verity had left, Ross and Andrew senior stayed on talking and smoking. They looked up where Salamanca was on a battered old map of Spain and speculated whether Wellington, still greatly outnumbered and with no local recruitment to call on, could ever really carry the war into France itself. And how could the Czar stand against Napoleon? How soon before he sued for peace?
It was midnight before Ross went upstairs, eyes pricking with sleep, and he was surprised when there was a tap on the door as he was pulling at his neck cloth.
Verity edged herself into the room, a half-smile of apology on her face. ‘I have only come for ten minutes, Ross. You must be dropping.’
‘Not dropping. But I thought you were abed.’
She said: ‘I know you’ll be off early in the morning . . .’
He looked around. ‘This chair . . .’
‘No, you sit there. I noticed you limping again. I’ll sit on the bed.’ Which she did. ‘I am so delighted about Demelza!’
‘Yes . . . So is she.’
‘You must not be anxious, Ross. This is what I came to tell you. I wish I could have had at least two more children. For some reason it was not to be. You’re so lucky!’
‘I’ll esteem myself that at Christmas. But of course another child will give her great joy . . .’ He paused and smiled. ‘Tidings of great joy, eh? . . . I suppose that is it, isn’t it – even in so minor a form. Women feel like that.’
‘And you’ll feel like that too.’
‘Not that some of my present children do not raise other emotions than joy in me from time to time!’
‘Tell me more about Clowance’s attachment. And Jeremy.’
They talked for a while. Then Ross said: ‘And your young Andrew? You said he was not at sea but was away for the night. Something in your voice. And his father’s look. Do you have problems too?’
‘Well, yes.’
‘Is it just that, from worrying over the safety of one Andrew you now turn to worrying over the other?’
‘No. Not quite. Though of course I’m concerned for that too. But it is when he is ashore I worry about him most.’
‘Where is he tonight?’
‘Cardew, I suppose.’
‘With the Warleggans?’
‘There or at their house in Truro.’
‘Is that to be regretted so much? Naturally I would not want to go, but Jeremy and Clowance have been there and have come to no hurt. Valentine invited them.’
‘It is Valentine he is friendly with.’
Ross took his neck cloth off and folded it, put it on the table beside his chair.
‘I did not know you ever saw any of them – not since Elizabeth’s death.’
‘I didn’t. We didn’t. I have never cared for George, and Geoffrey Charles being still away . . . But about a year ago Valentine called here when Andrew was home, and a friendship grew up. Since then they have been meeting whenever it has happened that they have both been at home.’
‘I don’t think I have seen Valentine for about five years. He was at Jonathan Chynoweth’s funeral. Well, is it so wrong they should like each other? They are almost of an age.’
‘Andrew is about a year the elder. But Valentine’s is the influence . . . Even before he met Valentine Andrew was too fond of drink. Perhaps we are especially careful, nervous, because of his father’s history. Andrew senior, because of what it did to him, looks on drink as he would the Devil; so we have little liquor in the house; but Andrew junior often comes in tipsy. It is the cause of great trouble between them . . . Being in the packet service since he was seventeen has meant of course discipline while he was at sea, and I used to urge his father to ignore it, saying everyone, every sailor – almost every sailor – drank heavily when they came ashore.’
Verity stopped, seemed uncertain how to go on.
‘And it has increased, this drinking, since he met Valentine?’
‘Oh yes. But not that only. Valentine, although he is constantly complaining about being kept short of money, has in fact an enormous allowance; far more than Andrew can hope to keep up with. They go together to the cockfights in Truro, wagering . . . Do you know the Norway Inn?’
‘At Devoran? Yes.’
‘They meet there, five or six young men, to play cards and dice. They are all well-to-do except Andrew. He is already deep in debt.’
Ross rubbed his eyes. ‘Surely it is just the usual thing – youth, with too much exuberance. You know, I expect, that twice I had to bail out Geoffrey Charles.’
‘No, I didn’t know. I hope you’re right, Ross. Perhaps you think I am being too – concerned about such a small thing?’
‘No. It is not all that small. Whom is he in debt to?’
‘Moneylenders chiefly.’
‘Oh. That’s always more difficult.’
Verity slid off the bed. ‘I’m keeping you too long now. But I so seldom have a chance of talking to you, Ross. We are separated only by eighteen miles and yet – Of course you are so often away. I do not know how Demelza can stand it.’
‘She shall stand it less in future. I have promised her. And you. If you want to see me send only a note. Is it a question of wanting to settle his debts now? I could help.’
‘No, I would not let you. You have told me about your mines. Anyhow, we are not badly off. Andrew senior came out of his active service with a nest egg, and of course he still works from time to time. It is a question if we settle this debt whether young Andrew will not simply run into another.’
‘Well, tell me if I can help in any other way. Could I talk to him? Would that be of use?’
‘I don’t know. But thank you, Ross.’
‘I’ll come over any time you ask.’
Verity ruff
led her hair. ‘You haven’t seen Valentine for some years, you say. He is not at all like his father.’
‘He was not when last I saw him,’ Ross said drily.
‘He’s very good-looking. Very debonair – as of course Geoffrey Charles was at his age. But otherwise there is no similarity. Geoffrey Charles’s elegance and sophistication were of a young man going through a phase. One – enjoyed it. Valentine’s is something darker, I think more twisted. He is strung up, nervous, yet in command of his nerves. When he comes here he looks at me very much – and treats me very much as a woman.’
‘Who would not?’
‘But I mean one of his age! He looked at me as if he would wish – as if he would wish . . .’
Ross made a gesture of understanding. ‘Not at all like his father, as you say.’
‘. . . He seems to resent George. Of course it is not uncommon for a son to wish to be free of his parents at that age. But Valentine sometimes speaks as if he is in a stranglehold! I do not believe George is anything but generous to him.’
‘Well, I would not personally relish being at George’s beck and call.’
‘Oh, you would not, no! But Valentine . . .’ Verity walked to the door and put her fingers on the latch. ‘Do you know, in those early days, Ross, when Elizabeth sometimes would come over to see me and bring Valentine with her; d’you know, I used to think – when Valentine was about eight or nine years of age – I used to think he was like you . . .’
There was a pause. Ross crossed his legs the other way.
‘This ankle is trying at times.’
Verity said: ‘It was one of those strange coincidences, without reason, without purpose. I just thought the colouring, the hair, the eyes, the set of the head . . . But now . . . now there is a different impression – equally stupid, if you know what I mean.’
‘Of course I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Now he is not at all like you. He is far too narrow a young man to be like you. His eyes are close together, his way of walking, with his thin shanks, his agreeableness which doesn’t quite ring true . . .’
She had flushed.
‘So?’
‘No, I know you will think me equally stupid, but he reminds me of your father.’
His eyes were lidded, their expression not to be guessed by any movement of the face.
‘Nothing you say is stupid to me, Verity. But it would have to be so described by a genealogist.’
‘Of course.’ She was anxious to agree. ‘But sometimes I have a superstitious feeling that blood is not all. Valentine was born in Trenwith, where the Poldarks have lived for two and a half centuries. It was a strange birth, premature, under a total eclipse – the black moon as they called it – Aunt Agatha was a dominant influence in the house. I know of course he has no Poldark blood – but do you not ever feel that spiritual influences, psychical influences, can have a profound effect upon a child?’
Ross said: ‘You remember my father better than I do, Verity. In some ways, that is. Being a year or so older and at a distance of a few miles, you could take a more detached view. And of course I was absent for the last few years of his life.’
‘Your father’, Verity said, ‘was always of a kindness to me. But he had a wilful wildness, a rebellious disposition in a way quite different from yours. You are against authority when it seems to be – to be imposing its unfair will upon the rights of others. His wildness seemed to be for the pleasure of provocation.’
‘And you think it is in that way that Valentine seems to bear some resemblance to him? Surely many young men . . .’
‘Not in the same way. Or so it appears to me. He’d lend anyone a smiling hand on the way to perdition.’
‘Well, that’s a good recommend for your sister-in-law’s son!’
There was a long silence.
Verity said: ‘While your mother was alive your father’s wildness lay in abeyance – like a wildness soothed. When she died so young . . .’
‘He was always hard with me,’ said Ross reflectively. ‘It took some perception – which as a boy I lacked – to realize that he was at all fond of me. I remember when I was twelve I caught pneumonia. The surgeon – it was the one before Choake – Ellis, was it? – he said I was going to die. I remember hearing my father shouting quite hysterically at Prudie, swearing she had given me unaired sheets to lie in. I remember thinking: “Lord help us, he likes me!”’
‘Poor Ross.’
‘No, no. Perhaps all that gave me a stronger instinct to survive. I think really he was much more vulnerable than we give him credit for. After Mother’s death he was rabid. For women, I mean.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘I wonder sometimes now if that was partly to counteract the hurt, the loneliness. At the time, of course . . . Fortunately he made most of his assignations at a distance. Only the disorderly ones came to stay.’
Verity made a face. ‘No doubt with Jud and Tholly Tregirls dancing attendance.’
‘With Jud and Tholly, as you say, dancing attendance. Tholly usually brought a woman of his own. Jud, with Prudie breathing down his neck, had to be content with getting drunk . . . Perhaps my own respectability has been a move against all that.’
‘Respectability? Oh yes, in a way. But not many would have agreed with that description of you twenty years ago! Or ten. As you surely know.’
‘Well, now I am a tabby cat, warming himself by the fire, full of conformity.’
‘If you are beginning to talk nonsense it is a sign I have outstayed my welcome. Good night, my dear.’
He got up and kissed her. ‘Really, though . . . are you suggesting that among other ill features Valentine has picked up through being born in a Poldark house under a black moon, is a similarity with my father in his preoccupation with women?’
She pushed him a little away. ‘Now you make it sound as stupid as it no doubt is! All I can say to you is that when Valentine called that first time and sat and talked and eyed me and eyed Janet when she brought in the tea, and the way his bright tense looks impressed themselves on me, I had an uncanny feeling of being taken back thirty-five years and seeing your father smiling at me across the table – just as he did more than once in those distant days. It was a strange experience. I felt cold.’
Chapter Four
I
Ross and Demelza supped with the Enyses.
Ross said: ‘Yes, I know I deserve all the obloquy for staying away so long but it was a desperate situation. You’ve no notion. It was not only for Canning’s blue eyes that I remained . . .’
‘The obloquy’, said Caroline, ‘is of your own imagining. It’s just that we prefer you here.’
‘All this political manoeuvring . . . Of itself it is embarrassing enough but it would, I believe, have found its own level – have stabilized itself – had there been a stabilizing influence at the centre, i.e. the Regent. But the Prince was in a dire state and has been all through the negotiations: heavy with drink or laudanum, bursting into tears when asked for some grave decision, almost in convulsions of fear over the letters he has been receiving.’
‘Letters from whom?’
‘Oh, anonymous. Or signed “Vox Populi”. Or “An Enemy of the damned Royal Family”. Threatening the same fate as Spencer Perceval if Bellingham died. And then, when he was executed, promising revenge. It’s true, of course, that there have been many placards in the north of England offering a hundred guineas for the Regent’s head. Some even in the south. It cannot make for an easy mind. But many feared he was going the way of his father.’ Ross looked at Dwight. ‘We discussed that possibility once before, you remember. At the Duchess of Gordon’s ball.’
‘I remember,’ Dwight said, ‘and the painful choices open if in fact the country had two insane monarchs on its hands.’
‘Princess Charlotte,’ said Caroline, ‘a minor, with Uncle William as second Regent. Or would he be third?’
‘Has there been talk of an election?’ Dwight asked.
/> ‘Parliament will be dissolved later this month.’
‘And are you quite determined not to seek reselection?’
Ross said: ‘I’m quite determined not to stir from this county again while Demelza is as she is.’
Demelza smiled slightly. ‘You see. He is wavering.’
Ross smiled back at her. ‘She knows my dilemmas.’
‘Make us free of them,’ said Caroline.
‘They would be tedious. And there would be much retracing of old ground.’
‘If we cannot bear it we’ll serve you notice.’
Silence fell for a few moments. Demelza stirred at a movement of her child.
Ross said: ‘Every sensible instinct informs me that I have been a member of parliament long enough. I am not an effective member of the Chamber. Sometimes I have been of use behind the scenes, and sometimes, though rarely, I have been useful in committee. But in the main my justification has been in these commissions overseas. I have felt that they have been of value. But now they are finished. I am getting increasingly lame for the most active work; in any event I have done my share, and I promised myself and I promised Demelza that there should be an end to it. There is no altering that and no wish to alter it.’
Caroline passed a sweetmeat to Demelza.
‘Kyou,’ said Demelza, and sucked thoughtfully, her dark eyes reflecting some light from the evening window.
Ross said: ‘I told Falmouth last year that I should not be standing for his borough again. And that was my wish then and is still. It is only in this last visit to Westminster that I have again had qualms of conscience about the unfinished business.’
‘Which means?’
‘Since Perceval died I have realized all over again how tenuous is our will to continue to make war. The Prince is a broken reed, more concerned about his debts and his mistresses than the effort to defeat Napoleon . . . It is the same crisis that came up when the Prince was made Regent. It has never altogether gone away. I gather that during July he did in fact invite Grey and Granville to form a government, but their terms regarding the composition of his household were too high, so it came to nothing. Nevertheless, the risk is always there.’