Bella Poldark (40 page)

'Yon know my feelings about that, sir. You know she accepted me, and a house is waiting for her when she agrees to a date. But as you also know she says she will not commit herself to anything--'

'Or anyone,' said Maurice.

' - to anything until she knows whether she is going to regain her voice. Until then I must wait, and she must accept the unwelcome attentions of itinerant musicians who try to persuade her that they only can show her the way to success.'

Ross put a very firm restraining hand on Maurice's arm.

'I do not think that is the best way to express the situation, Christopher. Valery is a distinguished and talented musician. Bella went to Rouen of her own volition and made a great success of her visit. She tells me that there was a certain estrangement between you just before you left for Lisbon. This experience, or her illness, seems to have caused her to rethink her life. We must allow her time. Time to recover her voice or time to become reconciled to its loss. Therefore you must both wait. Agreed?'

Neither of the young men was pleased with this summary. Bella's father had the edge. Reluctantly, though clearly reserving their rights, one nodded, and then the other.

'But,' Ross said, 'there is only one certainty about my daughter's feelings. If there were a duel between you and one died, can you, either of you, possibly imagine for one tenth of a second, that Bella would marry the victor?'

An unusual silence fell upon the street, as if all the inhabitants were listening.

'No,' said Christopher, and waited.

'No,' said Maurice.

On Monday evening the sixteenth of October Elaine Curnow was walking home from Lelant Downs towards her home at Rose-an-Grouse. It was no distance, but on the edge of a piece of woodland she was attacked by a man with a knife and her throat was slit. A plump little widow of forty-two, she did not quite match up to the other victims of the killer who had been at large so long, but the manner of her death seemed to bear his marks. The body was not found until the following morning because it had been dragged about a hundred yards and clumsily disguised among a tangle of gorse. The doctor who examined the body said it was clear she had put up a struggle and might indeed have scratched and clawed and perhaps inflicted injuries on her attacker. One significant find at the scene of the crime, apart from her carrier bag and neckerchief, was a man's boot. The boot was of black leather and was built up, with a platform sole and heel. The constable and the investigating magistrates from St Erth concluded that the murderer was lame, with one leg a couple of inches shorter than the other. A wide alert was sent out, and in the first twenty-four hours three arrests were made, two old soldiers and a sailor with a wooden leg. But all of them had substantial alibis, and they had to be released. In the next few days a tall, thin ex-army Captain wearing small spectacles called on all the people in any way connected with the victim: her aged father with whom she lived, the innkeeper whom she worked for, her friends at chapel, her brother in St Ives. Mrs Curnow had two sons, but one was in the Navy and stationed at Portsmouth, the other in Australia. Eventually a verdict of 'Murder, by person or persons unknown' was returned, and the district began to settle back into its normal routines. But as the darker evenings crowded in considerable care was taken that women should not walk the barren districts alone. In various parts of Cornwall, where similar crimes had been committed, a sense of unease prevailed. Paul Kellow, back from visiting his parents in St Ives, thought a militia of some sort should be formed.

Edward and Clowance returned from a month's honeymoon, during which they had travelled as far north as Scotland and as far east as Norfolk. Edward had delighted in taking her to meet his friends, and, after an initial shying away from the idea, she found herself rather enjoying it. Edward was so inordinately proud of her that this, while adding to her initial apprehension, seemed to make the actual meetings stimulating and easy. He said to her once:

'D'ye know, I don't feel I need to introduce people to you, I just want to burst in on them and shout, "Look what I've got!"'

'Do you fish much?' Clowance asked.

'Not much. Why?'

'You might feel perhaps the same if you had landed a big trout.'

He thought. 'With shiny scales? Yes, maybe. The most beautiful fish in the pond.'

'I know,' Clowance nodded, 'with a big mouth and fishy eyes.'

'That's just it,' he said. 'That's just it. How did you guess?' And stroked her cheek. The happy couple returned to Nampara only a few days after a less happy trio returned from London. Bella had seen two more voice specialists and had refused Ross's offer to take her to Paris to consult Maurice's Madame Kaletski. By now Bella was tired of examinations and advice. She was putting a more cheerful face on things for the sake of her parents, but among all the long words and the prescriptions the truth was beginning to appear. No one knew. They could hear there was something wrong, but they could only guess why and they hadn't the least idea whether it would come right. In addition to the professional experts they had also called on Mr Pieter Reumann, the musical director of the King's Theatre whom they had seen on that first visit to consult about teachers. He said: 'It is still good. Not now the best, no ... Sometimes this happens without an illness to cause it. Young wouldbe prima donnas do not quite have the tonal development to make the top. They strain, and then the vocal cords lack the resilience to meet the musical demands. Last time, I think, you saw Madame Schneider.'

"Yes. But she is in Rome at present.'

'I know. She might be better able to advise than I.'

Later he said privately to Demelza: 'I do not think her voice will change now. Possibly she tried to do too much too soon. But why not advise her that that great ambition is - finished? She still has a good voice. She could still sing in the little musical plays we put on to complete an evening's programme. I think she can act. Put it to her. Do not let her mope.'

The arrival of Edward and Clowance for a week's stay was a godsend. Bella put her terrible self-destroying despair behind her, and for the first time since her illness contrived to behave like her old extrovert self. The weather was still equable, and one morning Edward plunged in the sea with Ross. Presently the two girls joined them, and finally Demelza, holding Henry's hand. As the icy water clutched Demelza by her waist and then by her shoulders, she again felt a surge of exhilaration that made her want not merely to gasp but to shout with joy. All might yet be well for Bella, she thought, and Clowance was so obviously excited and happy that it made her own heart sing.

They were soon clustering indoors, drying off by a hot coal fire, talking and laughing, the only outsider, Edward, already a part of the fun. Later that day, as darkness was falling, and the wind rising, Edward said to Clowance: 'I have never known a family quite like yours.'

'What is wrong with it?'

'Nothing is wrong with it. I just appreciate being a part of its easy, friendly ways. Affectionate without fuss, banter without rudeness, understanding of another's point of view without bickering. You are lucky. My family has many virtues, I am proud of belonging to it, but there are little fences, little hesitations within it that are not unusual - in fact far more common - and I cannot see them in yours.'

'There have been some in ours,' Clowance said, thinking of the strains that her infatuation for Stephen had put on it. 'But on the whole . . .'

Edward said: 'I think having so many servants about makes life in a house slightly less real. And living in a degree of state . . . And London is so artificial. Society on the whole is superficial, rotten. Now that I have a companion in life - and such a companion - I shall stay out of it more.'

'You have responsibilities.'

'Not many, thank Heaven. D'you know what little Henry said to me when we first met?'

'What?'

'It was while he was staying at the Enyses with Mrs Kemp. I came on him rather unexpectedly. He knew I was hoping to marry you. He sized me up and down when he thought I was not looking, then when we were alone he planted himself in front of me and said: "Excuse me, sir, but are you a lord?"'

Clowance laughed. 'What did you say?'

'I think I said " - er, yes." Then he said, "My father is a sir." I said, 'Yes, I know that." Then he said, "Is a lord higher than a sir?" So I said, 'Yes, but your father deserves his sir." He wanted to know why, so I said, "Well, your father has served his country and I have only inherited my title." So he wanted to know what inherited meant.'

'What an inquisition!'

'I explained that my father was a lord and I came into the title later. So he said, "Did your father deserve his title?"

I told him my grandfather probably did. He said, "What did he do?" "Well," I said, "He was in the Cabinet, in the Government." I thought that had satisfied him, but after looking down at his feet he said, "My mama tells me I shall be a sir one day if I behave myself." "So you will," I assured him. "Sir," he said, "I s'pose I shall then be like you." "In what way?" I asked. He replied, "I shall be a sir and have done nothing to deserve it!"'

They both laughed. Edward said: 'I told him that perhaps by then he would have done something to deserve it.'

'What did he say to that?' 'He said, "I don't want to go to London and be in the Government. My sister has just come back from there with her morbid sore throat, and I have been turned out for fear of catching it." I said, "Who told you that?" He said he had overheard Mrs Kemp telling Bone, Dr Enys's servant.

"She whispered, so I could only just hear."'

They listened to the waves breaking, lonely and hollow and dark.

'I wish I could do something to help Bella. Do you think if her voice does not properly return that she will get over the disappointment?'

'No,' said Clowance.

Before they left Edward saw the miners building a bonfire out of driftwood and broken pit props. Then he realized it wanted only ten days to November the fifth. He said to Ross: 'So you celebrate this old anniversary as far west as this?'

'Very much so. This is Wesleyan country, and to celebrate the defeat of the Catholics is always a popular feast.'

'They were a few fanatics, weren't they. Better surely to celebrate the defeat of the Spanish Armada.'

'Oh, they do that as well. And Hallowe'en, which is soon upon us. The Cornish are always looking for some excuse to have a feast.'

'Do they have fireworks?'

'Not many. They have few pennies to spend. As it is, they are wasting firewood which would serve them well in the winter.'

'Have you seen Bengal fire?'

'No.'

'There was a display in Hyde Park to greet the Queen. In the old days they could only produce a bright green, which you will know was used sometimes for signalling. Now they add other substances, chlorate of potash, nitrate of strontia, sulphur, lamp black, magnesium powder, compound of arsenic. One can have all the colours of the rainbow, and quite brilliant. I wonder

'It would be too expensive altogether. Though there is arsenic aplenty.'

'They welcomed me and crowded into the church,'

Edward said. 'I know that was a testimony to the Poldark name, but you have told me the Cornish are suspicious of strangers. They were not suspicious of me. They seemed Instantly to welcome me as a friend. I would like to send them some extra fireworks. It must be anonymous. I do not want to seem to be patronizing them, nor do I want to usurp your position of the chief personage of the villages. A selection of Bengal lights could be sent down: there is just time to get them here. If you could deny all knowledge of who had sent them, I should be happy to do that.'

Ross laughed. 'But if I have to deny I am responsible they are sure to search in their memories and quickly come to the right conclusion.'

'That I think will be acceptable. So long as they understand the anonymous donor stays anonymous and is not looking for any thanks.'

They were walking past Wheal Grace, and they turned down the valley towards the house. Edward said: 'Do you think Isabella-Rose will eventually marry Christopher Havergal?'

'It's hard to say.'

'He called to see us when we were in London.' 'Christopher did? A social call?'

'Not quite. He knows I have interests in the theatre and seemed to believe that I might be able to help Bella.'

'It's too early. She would not want to sing yet.'

'It was not just opera he had in mind. He thought the straight theatre.'

'Oh.' Ross digested the news. 'Does Bella know anything of this?'

'I don't think so. He brought the subject up while Clowance was absent.'

'Did he say what he had in mind?'

'He knows I have a financial interest in a new theatre in London called the Royal Coburg. It was only opened a couple of years ago, and it presents a mixture of farce and overblown melodrama, interspersed now and then with some good stuff-a Shakespeare or a Marlowe. This is just over on the other side of the river. The audience is inclined to be unsophisticated, but the better stuff has done pretty well. I think something is planned for mid-December. Havergal thought if she were introduced to play some minor role it would give her a new incentive in life. He even thinks that such an experience might stimulate her to the extent of restoring her voice to its full health.'

'I'll say this for Christopher - he never loses faith. I agree that it would be an uncommon generous act to do such a thing. But could you arrange something like that?'

'I would think it likely ... I know Frederick McArdle, the producer of the last Shakespeare put on there. He has a reputation for brooking no interference. But the finances of the theatre, like those of all the more famous ones, are not in a healthy state.'

Ross said: 'I would not want you to involve yourself further on our account, but if you can do anything without extra cost to yourself I should be greatly obliged. I understand the musical director of the King's Theatre did say he would be willing to take her on trial.'

November came in cool and draughty. And dark. Every evening seemed to vie with the one before for the earlier lighting of candles and lamps. Valentine moved Butto to his winter quarters, these consisting of the open compound of brick and stone which had been specially built for him and leading to a scullery, where he often slept. Now Valentine had opened the door at the back of the scullery, which led down stone steps to the cellars. This was much warmer, and being under the kitchens benefited by the heat from the cooking that went on just above. The cellars continued on to a wine cellar, a coal cellar, and one where casks of ale were stored. But these were separated from Butto by a locked metal door. Since early September Butto had taken it upon himself to transfer his bed to the cellar. Valentine had come to the conclusion that the ape had a well developed interest in his own comfort. Cuby and Clemency and Mrs Bettesworth took up occupancy of the little house near Bodmin and left the Castle empty of anyone except the bailiffs. Philip Prideaux helped with the move. John Trevanion wrote from a house in Antwerp, where he was staying with friends, but gave no hint of a return. Most of his income from rentals in and about Cornwall was seized as soon as paid, and John himself had no prospect of accumulating enough capital to come home and put a brave face on it. It was safer to scrape a pittance together to live off his friends in Belgium than to go to prison in England. The Bengal lights arrived on the third and were delivered to Will Nanfan, who was an elder of the villages of Sawle with Grambler and a ringleader in the Bonfire Night celebration. He was delighted to receive three large wooden cases. Each coloured powder was packed separately with metal saucers in a smaller box. In his present euphoric mood Edward had included also Roman candles and Catherine wheels and rockets. Nanfan went up to see Ross, who was as enigmatic as he knew how to be, and Will went away briefed with platitudes. Anyway, everyone felt, it was good of someone to send such a munificent gift, and that young lord who had been around here much of the summer and had married Miss Clowance was a handsome proper sort of a boy. In the old days Guy Fawkes celebrations had been held on the flat ground above Sawle Combe, where the summer fairs with their racing and wrestling competitions took place. Lacking a village green, as nearly all Cornish villages do, this was as near the centre of the straggling community as could be. But in the days of the Napoleonic Wars, when invasion was a constant threat and no celebratory bonfires were permitted, the bonfire, only prepared in readiness to'