Bella Poldark (24 page)

On the twentieth of March Demelza received one of her weekly - or almost weekly - letters from Isabella-Rose.

Dearest Mama, Your last letter told me lots of things I have been wanting to know, but sadly that no one has yet been caught for the murder of poor Agneta. It must be uncomfortable to feel that someone is at large and perhaps prowling. Yet what you write is always like a breath of Nampara: I can smell the sea, feel the push and pull of the wind, smell the cows in their byre, the scent of mown hay, hear the crackle of the Welsh coal in the hearth, and the tap-tap of Papa's pipe on the fire bars. You may think I am homesick? Well yes, I am. And no, I am not. I long to see you, and in a month I shall be home. But I love this life too - the noises of London, and, phew, the smells! And the bustle, and the things folk write about and the things they talk about. It is a great beehive of learning and struggling and scandal and sophistication. While I long for the purity and simplicity of Cornwall I relish this big bawdy, booming city and the challenge that it has for me. Well, after such a long prologue, now let me tell you the most important news of the month - it is that Christopher and I have decided to postpone our marriage until June! First, our lovely little house, which had been promised for us at latest by the end of April, is lagging behind, quite seriously behind, and the builder cannot see it likely to be ready for occupation before the end of June. Second, Christopher has been asked by Mr Nathan Rothschild to go to Lisbon to visit the branch of the Bank they have established there. He will be away seven weeks, and I would love to go with him as his wife, but he must leave on the third of April, which would not permit of the banns being published in time. Christopher is also a little against it because he hears there is a deal of fever in Lisbon and he does not want to put me at risk. So, dearest Mama, if you can confer with our new vicar, Mr Profitt, is he called? - what an excellent name! - and your dear husband - my beloved father - and suggest one or two dates in late June, I will talk with Chris and see what is the best date for us all. I will write soon to Clowance and Cuby and Sophia and Meliora, and break this brief postponement to them, but if you see any of them in the next week pray warn them that they may inform their seamstress not to be in too great a hurry to cut out the bridesmaids' frocks! This, I think, will be a big move up for Christopher.

The letter went on for two more pages. When Demelza showed it to Ross that evening he took what seemed a long time reading it. Then he started to read it again from the beginning. Demelza interrupted this: 'Well, what do you think of it?'

He fingered his scar. 'I think the lady doth protest too much.'

'What does that mean exactly?'

'She gives us three reasons why the wedding should be postponed.'

'I know. But--'

He said: 'The house is not ready. Hm, valid enough, I suppose. But after so long a wait might they not have taken some other house for three months?'

"Ye-es. Perhaps she did not like the idea. But Christopher will be away

'True enough. But I always have a suspicion of when there are a variety of reasons for doing or not doing something. Of course it may be taken precisely at its face value. But I should be more inclined to believe the first two reasons if the third were not so thin.'

'You mean . . .?'

'Christopher says there is a deal of fever in Lisbon and does not want to expose her to the risk. Have you ever in your life known Bella to be deterred from doing something she wants to do because of the risk?'

Demelza listened to Henry stamping his feet. The thumping came from his bedroom, and it sounded like temper.

'There's nothing we can do, Ross.'

'There's nothing we should do. Except take it for what it is ... I wonder if we are in any way to blame ..."

'Us? Why?'

'I mean, perhaps they have been together too long, have got to know each other too well.'

'How could she marry earlier? She was a child! Still is, in many ways.' Demelza turned. 'Yours is a very cynical view, Ross. Are you saying that two people who want to marry and are not able to they will in the end get to know each other so well that they no longer wish to marry at all?'

He smiled grimly. 'It could happen. But in any decent marriage there is the element of lust - call it what you will - that binds the two people together. If that fails they will drift apart - after marriage. But so far as Christopher and Bella are concerned, Bella has been very carefully guarded by Sarah Pelham. I do not wish to speculate as to the physical relationship between Christopher and Bella, how far it has gone, but it cannot have been remotely similar to a loving marital state. It can have staled.'

'Listen to Harry,' said Demelza. 'I must go and stop him.'

'He needs the swish of a cane,' said Ross.

'I know. And we are both too soft-hearted even to threaten him.'

'We do not threaten him, because if you once do that and he defies you you have to carry your threat through.'

The trouble had all really begun about three weeks ago when they were coming out of a tiny shop in Little Swallow Street, where Christopher had just bought a buff yellow and rose silk waistcoat. A young woman waved to him and came across the street.

'Oh, Christopher, my dearest, I have not seen you for days. You was not at Mme Cono's last night.'

She was a doll-like young woman in a reseda green dress, a white foxtail about her throat and a jaunty green hat. Wisps of excessively blonde hair escaped around her Christopher had not seemed disconcerted. 'I have been busy, Letty. My employer is a hard taskmaster. May I introduce you to Miss Isabella-Rose Poldark? This is Letty Hazel.'

Conversation had followed. Bella nodded and smiled noncommittally and prodded the cobbles gently with her parasol.

'So you are the young Cornish lady who is going to marry Christopher,' said Miss Hazel. 'I wish you both much happiness.'

'Thank you,' said Bella, a little less impersonally, and smiled again.

'When are you to marry?'

'After Easter,' Christopher said.

'Oh, quite soon! We shall miss you at Mme Cono's, Chris. I shall miss you. Are you coming tomorrow night? There is to be a party for Captain Crossland.'

'I do not think so. Anyway, Crossland was never a captain. He was never gazetted beyond a lieutenant.'

'These army officers,' said Letty to Bella, and giggled.

'Faith, they are always quarrelling as if the war was not long since over!'

'And some talk as if it were not,' said Christopher. 'Well, we must be going, Letty. Pray give my regards to all my friends.'

'I'll tell all the girls. Perhaps some of us may come to your wedding if we was invited!'

'It is to be in Cornwall,' he had said. 'Four days' travelling, at the least. But remember me in your thoughts.'

In Dr Fredericks's establishment there was a young man of some fortune studying to be a horn player. His family lived in London and he seemed well acquainted with the modern, fashionable life of the metropolis. He had twice made fairly courteous advances to Bella until she had introduced him to Christopher when he sheered off. Talking to him the following day, she brought up the name of a coffee house called, she believed, Mme Cono's. Had he heard of it? He looked surprised. 'Cono's. Of course. Though I haven't been there. That is if it is the place I suppose you to mean? But it is not a coffee house. I presume - I trust your fiance did not take you there?'

'No . . . oh, no. It was just in conversation. I heard the name several times. Could there be, do you suppose, two such places?'

'Not with that name surely. I believe the owner comes originally from Chile.'

'And what exactly is it?'

'Oh, a form of restaurant, a club with quite an exclusive membership. But in essence it is chiefly known as a house of ill repute. Do you know where it is? Just off Berkeley Street on the left as you approach Piccadilly.'

'Oh,' said Bella. 'I see.'

'I believe the Duke of Cumberland is a member. And Lord Walpole.'

'How interesting.'

'Christopher,' Bella said, out of the blue, as it were, 'where did you meet Letty Hazel?'

'Who?' Christopher asked. 'Oh, Letty. I met her at a friend's house in Twickenham.'

'This month? Last month?'

They had been supping together at an expensive coffee house in Great Jermyn Street. Bella was sometimes allowed out with Christopher if they used Mrs Pelham's coach and coachman to take them to their destination and to bring them back. Tonight, being fine and balmy and the ways assured, they had chosen to walk a little way together. Harris and his coach followed at a discreet distance. He limped beside her for a few moments in silence.

'Before you met me?'

'What? Oh, Letty. No, not before I met you. But long before I became betrothed to you.'

'She and I have never met before. You have never brought her to a party I was at.'

'No. I did not think you would mix very well.'

'May I ask why?'

'Because you are a lady and she is not.'

'Why is she not a lady?'

'Oh, Bella. These are troublesome questions. Do you not - can you not guess?'

'I am a young provincial, Christopher. Don't you think you should explain?'

He reflected a moment. He wondered if his betrothed was having him on.

'Let's say she belongs to a circle that I would not wish you to belong to.'

'Do you belong to it?'

'Not really. To some extent, I suppose.'

'We have been together much, Christopher. You have never told me of it. It is - another side to your life.'

'Possibly you will guess it is a part of my life I didn't wish you to know of.'

They turned out into Piccadilly. This was well lighted and paved. There were beggars about, but they did not importune. They stood mainly in the shadows watching the rich go by in their carriages. He said: 'We are not now far from Pulteney's, where we were last week. Did you like Von Badenberg?'

'He speaks English beautifully.'

'But talks too much, eh?'

'Perhaps.'

He took her arm. 'We'll walk a bit further. Harris can keep us in sight.'

'Yes.'

'Do you know how Piccadilly came by its name? Rothschild was telling me last night. It comes from Piccadill. It is the name of a fastening that holds the collar of a doublet. A draper called Robert Baker made a fortune selling the things and built himself a great house just north of Marylebone Street. That's a couple of hundred years ago.'

They walked in silence. With his false foot he managed amazingly well. She said: 'Dear Christopher. Was it wise to take me into that area where you might at any time encounter some lady from Mme Cono's?'

He sighed. 'Dear Bella, I have not lived my life without risk. I don't think you need trouble your mind about it, pet.'

After a minute she said: 'Perhaps it is not my mind which is chiefly troubled. There could be - baser instincts.'

He smiled, and his moustache twitched in the attractive way she knew so well. 'I do not believe you have baser instincts, Bella.'

'And you have?'

'But of course.'

'And was I ever to catch sight of these - these baser instincts?'

'I don't think I shall have the need of them once we are married. I intend to resign from Mme Cono's shortly. Perhaps in a year or so, when we have been happily married for a while, I might have told you of the existence of the club. It will by then have become part of my past life. I am not a saint, Bella. I think I told you that when I first met Geoffrey Charles, when he was my commanding officer in the forty-third Monmouthshires, that I then had a Portuguese mistress who followed me in my wagon train.'

'You did,' said Bella. 'It was part of your past life. I found it infinitely dashing.'

'Well, then?'

'That was your past life, Christopher. This is your present.'

'Which will soon be past.'

A little later, as they drove home in their darkened carriage, she said: 'How long is it, may I ask, since you saw Letty last?'

'Saw her? A week.'

'And before that?'

'Two weeks, three weeks.' He waved an impatient arm.

'Something like that.'

'Very much in the present, then.'

'As you say.'

'No, you say. And all the time you were meeting me, encouraging me, kissing me, and I knew nothing of this other life!'

'As I shall continue to do, as far as you are concerned, my pet. My endless interest in you and my temporary interest in her are two entirely different things. Have done with it, Bella.' There was a hint of steeliness in his voice now. 'Have done with it, my pet. Forget it. It is nothing.'

Bella said after a moment: 'To me it is not nothing.'

He kissed her. He brushed her lips from side to side and whispered: 'Sigh no more, lady, sigh no more. Men were deceivers ever.'

Ben Carter and Esther Carne were married in the Church of St Sawle, Grambler with Sawle, on Monday, the seventeenth of April 1820. Sam Carne, Esther's uncle, gave the bride away. It was a quiet wedding - at the request of them both, but a fair number of people turned up just the same. Tom and Clotina Smith, Esther's elder sister and brother-in-law, walked over from Lanner with Luke, one of Demelza's brothers. And Drake and his tall, elegant, spectacled wife, Morwenna, and his tall and spectacled but not so elegant daughter, Loveday, also came. Ross and Demelza shared their pew with Geoffrey Charles and Amadora, who, having quite recently given birth to another daughter, Carla, came specially to wish her favourite nursemaid well. Though not yet quite farewell: Essie had agreed to stay on until such time as she might become enceinte herself. The engagement had been short but not without incident. The question of Religion reared its head; both Sam and Jinny in their respective ways showing their doubts about Essie's apparent liking for the Catholic religion and their desire - if the marriage had to go ahead - that Essie should be taken out of the sphere of Amadora's dangerous influence.

They could have wasted their breath and saved a number of fruitless arguments. Ben had a strong will, a quiet but dynamic presence, and he knew exactly what he wanted for himself and what he wanted for Essie, and that was that. Having been introduced to Amadora Poldark more formally than at the Christmas party, he formed a high opinion of her and, having sounded out Essie's views previously, decided that she should stay on at Trenwith as a daily from eight till four, just so long as she wanted and so long as she was able. The bride wore the same dress that she had worn to the party, but with some extra lacy decorations and a little inexpensive borrowed jewellery. The bridegroom also made do with the fineries that had been stitched up for him for Christmas, except for a blue tailcoat with brass buttons that Ross had once worn at sea. Mr Odgers had died in the September, and the ceremony was performed by the Reverend Henry Profitt, who had since been appointed curate in charge, and who was temporarily lodged in rooms in the village while Mrs Odgers tearfully gathered the remnants of her children about her and prepared to move. Profitt, who, as far as Ross could discover, had no more claim to being considered an ordained clergyman than Odgers had, but who came with recommendations from Francis de Dunstanville, was a tall thin man with a stork-like appearance. Caroline said that if there were any fishponds in the district one would be anxious for the safety of the fish. He was a brisk man; religion to him was a brisk affair. The mills of God moved to a timetable. At least he had the edge on old Mr Odgers in not confusing the marriage and the funeral services and remembering the Christian names of the couple to be joined. In the end the church was more than half full, for Ben, for all his gruffness and quick temper, was well respected and indeed liked, and Esther, though a foreigner from Illuggan, was a pretty little thing. Several matrons, now with young families of their own, came to see him wed at last and remembered when they would have wanted to be in her shoes. The vows were taken and the couple moved into the vestry to sign the register. (Ben could manage, but it was

'Esther X, her mark.') Esther had asked Demelza if she would be one of the witnesses, and she followed the others in.

So she was unaware of the commotion that broke out at the back of the church when two or three, intending to go out with bags of rice, exclaimed in wild surprise. People stopped and hesitated and shoved from behind as others, half out, turned to come back. Then the shouting began.

'Tis a hanimal!'

'Nay, tes the Devil Hiself. My ivers, leave me get back!'

'Shut the door. He'm comin' this way!'

Ross, who had not gone into the vestry with Demelza, forced his way down the aisle and reached the church door, which some women were trying vainly to shut. He pulled it open again and two boys, who had been the first to leave the church, shot in. There were a half-dozen people scattered about the churchyard, but the path to the church was occupied by only one figure. It was a large ape standing part on its hind legs. It was at least four feet tall, with a great cannonball of a head, flattened nose, deep bloodshot eyes, a mat of black hair on its chest and down the outside of its enormous arms. In one hand it carried what looked like a loaf of bread. When it saw Ross it coughed, then barked like a dog and bared its great teeth. 'What in hell is it?' demanded Geoffrey Charles, who had followed Ross out of the church. 'And where in hell has it come from?'

'It's Valentine's ape,' said Ross.

'My God, it must be! I've heard word of it but never seen it until now.'

The beast dropped on its haunches and began to tear what it held in its hands and eat it. Quite clearly it was a loaf of bread.

'More importantly,' Ross said, 'where in hell is Valentine?'

'Darned thing must have escaped. The women will never come out of the church with this at large. I've had a lot to do with Frenchmen but nothing to do with apes. Don't even know if they are dangerous.'

'I wouldn't risk it,' said Ross. 'I don't even have a stick. Anything in the church, d'you think?'

He went back. Everyone was standing facing him. Ben and Essie were just coming out of the vestry. He raised his voice: 'There's a big monkey outside,' he said. 'I think it belongs to Mr Valentine. No one should leave at present because the animal may be dangerous. I'd advise you all to sit down and keep calm. It won't come in here. In the meantime will two of you, Varcoe and Emil Jones - you're both young - take the vestry door and run to the village. Borrow a horse from someone and hurry to Place House, find Mr Warleggan and tell him what has happened.'

While he had been talking, reassured by his tone, three or four of the young lads who had been pushing first to get out and then to get in again, now stepped out a second time and viewed the animal from a cautious distance. The ape had moved a few feet further away and was moodily pulling at one of the headstones. It still looked a savage animal, its lips taut, its fur bristling. It seemed out of breath and gave regular grunts as it tugged at the slate stone. A few people were looking in now from behind the comparative safety of the churchyard wall. One threw a stone. Then another stone was better aimed and hit the animal on the arm. It raised itself suddenly to its full height, then beat its breast in a fearful roar. It tugged violently at the slate headstone and this time the slate snapped. The ape picked up the broken piece and hurled it in the direction the stone had come from. Even its great strength could not propel the headstone far enough to hit anyone, but the people scattered at the threat. Trotting on the balls of its feet, it regained the lychgate. The onlookers had fled for their lives. The ape hooted in annoyance and frustration. Then instead of going after them it turned and galloped back towards the church door. There was a strangled shout as the boys dived back into the church, but two could not get in in time, panicked and ran across the churchyard. The ape pursued them at twice their pace and quickly caught up with one, a boy called Tim Sedden. The boy stood and screamed at the top of his voice. The ape stopped barely a yard away and bared its teeth.

Then there was a whisde. 'Hey there, have you got my little man? Butto. Butto, my old friend.'

It was Valentine astride Nestor. He looked entirely composed and clucked gently to the ape, which cocked its head knowingly at the familiar voice.

'Cousin Ross,' said Valentine, raising his crop in ironical greeting. 'And Geoffrey Charles? Has my little man been disturbing you?' Butto made a sudden galloping rush at the group of people who had now come out of the church, and they scattered for their lives. One elderly woman stumbled over a gravestone and fell heavily. Butto stopped and stared at her, and she screamed piercingly. The ape plucked at his bottom lip and chattered, while two men, greatly daring, edged nearer until they could help the woman to her feet and drag her out of danger. Then the ape was off again, leaping up to the windowsill of the church and from there to a vantage point astride the church porch.

'You're frightening him,' said Valentine. 'He is far more frightened of you than you are of him. Butto, Butto. Tuttifrutti, tutti-frutti, tutti-frutti, come down from there, boy, or you'll fall. He's not a great climber,' he said conversationally to Geoffrey Charles, 'but of course he gets around!'

'He is getting around altogether too much,' snapped Geoffrey Charles. 'You see what the women think - they're terrified by the brute. You must find better ways of keeping him under control -- that is if you want to keep him at all!'

Valentine laughed. 'I would not lose my Butto for all the world! Now that my wife and child have left me, he is my only companion. Tuttifrutti, tutti-frutti, look what I have for you, boy.' He put a hand in his pouch and took out a parcel. He said to Ross: 'He cannot resist fruitcake.'

'Shoot'n!' came a shout at the back of the crowd. 'Oo's got a gun? Tes a danger to the community!'

'Shoot'n,' others took up the cry. 'Tes a dangerous wild beast. E'd eat our childer! Shoot'n. Shoot'n. Go on, 'Any, you got a shotgun!'

'Not 'ere I ain't!'

Valentine's answer was to dismount from his horse and walk up to the church porch, making soothing sounds and clucking with his lips almost as if mimicking the ape. Butto looked at him cunningly and extended a long hand. Valentine was just tall enough to pass up the large loaf of cake. The big beast carefully unwrapped it from its paper and stuffed the whole cake in his mouth, grumbling with satisfaction. Great teeth and pink gums and a pink tongue were much in evidence, and the torn paper floating.

'Greedy Butto,' said Valentine. 'It is more genteel to eat it in smaller pieces. However, we shall see.' When Butto had finished and was licking his lips and picking at his teeth, Valentine took another similar packet from his pouch and held it out for the animal to see. Butto stretched out his hand.

'No, no,' said Valentine, 'you must come down. I will give you this when you behave properly.'

After a while Butto got tired of holding out his hand. He withdrew it to scratch.

'Come along,' said Valentine. 'None of this nonsense. Tuttifrutti, tutti-frutti. Down you come.'

The ape stared with cavernous black eyes at the men and women watching the scene. He extended his great arm over the side of the porch again.

"When you come down,' said Valentine, 'then you may ride home.'

There was a lot of chattering and blowing out of lips.

'They will not hurt you,' Valentine said. 'And they had better not try. They are only here to watch.'

A scuttling at the back of the crowd and someone shouted, 'Ere's 'Arry wi' 'is musket!'

'I doubt if twill fire,' said the owner. 'I not used him for two year!'

'Use it now at your peril,' shouted Valentine, and then angrily: 'Butto!' The ape began to slide down the slate roof and fell to the ground landing on all-fours. Valentine grasped the animal by the fur behind his neck and pulled forward Nestor. Horse looked at ape. They clearly knew each other. Then Valentine said to Geoffrey Charles: 'Give me a hoist.'

Presently he was in the saddle and he turned and clucked at Butto, still holding the second parcel of cake in one hand. A moment's hesitation, then Butto took hold of the saddle and in an ungainly lurch pulled himself up and sat himself behind Valentine. Nestor twitched his ears and snorted. But he did not rear or show other distress.

'Good day to you all,' Valentine called and touched his hat. The horse turned awkwardly on the path and then made its way quietly to the lychgate. One or two people laughed nervously as if in a release of tension. As soon as the horse and its two riders turned away towards home everyone in the churchyard began talking at once.

Isabella-Rose was not home for Easter, but she arrived the following Friday. She had found difficulty in picking a travelling companion, she said, and Christopher had taken ship for Lisbon on the day after Good Friday. She seemed just as cheerful as ever, and discussed the postponement of their marriage plans without apparent embarrassment. It would now probably be June, which would give her another term with Dr Fredericks. Christopher thought, and she agreed, that it was time for her to leave his school and move on. The question was where and how to move on. Someone offering both some further teaching but mainly performance was what she now needed. Clowance had not come for Easter either but, hearing that her sister's wedding had been postponed and that she was on her way home, she took a few days off from her

'hobby' as Christopher was inclined to call it and rode over the day after Isabella-Rose arrived. She was therefore present at most of the family conversations and agreed with her mother that Bella seemed perfectly normal, unruffled by the postponement and 'not a bit changed'. But she wondered privately whether Bella was deeper than most people thought.

Demelza wondered exactly the same thing. Sisters can sometimes confide in each other where a mother and daughter cannot. The two young women walked on the beach in the wayward, windy April sun, the sea's surf rushing and sucking at their feet. They clattered down into Nampara cove. They climbed along the cliffs together. They became young again and slid down the great sandhills. They decided that before Clowance left they should ride over to Place together and see Valentine and make the acquaintance of Butto, the great ape. They laughed and chatted and joked as they had not done since Jeremy died. (Clowance had a letter in her pocket that she had received just before she left Penryn. She had not brought it to show her mother - still less Bella - but she wanted time to read it again and did not like to leave it lying about the house.)

She asked Bella if she had met Philip Prideaux. Bella said, of course, at the party, and then again when he came to escort Clowance home; but she did not know him well, they had only exchanged a few words. Christopher had talked more to him because of their army history.

'He has asked me to marry him,' Clowance said, surprising herself that it had come out.