Bella Poldark (8 page)

'I have never once seen him in Falmouth or Truro,'

Harriet said. 'He has become very much of a north-coast man. I wonder how his marriage is making out.'

'His marriage? Why?'

'Well, I would think him far too free with his favours to be content to bestow them on only one woman.'

George eyed her suspiciously. 'Has he - did he ever ...'

She laughed. 'Make approaches to me? Think again. But a woman does not need to be seduced by a man to know how he feels about women in general.'

George was about to say more, but was prevented by the arrival of Ursula, his daughter by Elizabeth. She had been spending Christmas with the Rashleighs of Luxulyan. George had willingly sanctioned this, as he knew Sir Col man Rashleigh was an important man in the county. Ursula was now just nineteen. She was still stoutly built with thick legs and a noticeable bust. But because of the alchemy which begins to work on girls of this age she was less dumpy, less unattractive than she had been earlier. Her skin was good and mercifully unmarked by pox, her grey eyes, though frequently masked by sullen lids, very sharp when seen. Her straight flaxen hair was curled and dressed.

Not a vivacious girl, and when asked how she had enjoyed Christmas her appreciation was expressed in short sentences and simple monosyllables. George had early taken her away from Mrs Hemple's School in Truro -- partly because Isabella-Rose Poldark had arrived - and sent her to Madame Blick's Finishing School for Young Ladies at Penzance. He was now about to move her on somewhere else Exeter or London - where she could be taught the niceties of society life and behaviour. But he hadn't decided where. In truth, he was a little baffled by her attitude. Was no child of his ever going to conform to expectations? She was only mildly interested in clothes; (Harriet, when she could find the time, would give advice to her dressmaker). She was only mildly interested in boys. She was only mildly interested in horses and foxes and the countryside. What she was interested in was metals and mines: tin stamps, copper smelting; the side products of Cornish mining such as gold, silver, zinc, iron, lead. George sometimes blamed himself for ever buying her that clever reconstruction of a Cornish mine, built by an out-of-work and crippled miner, which she had played with endlessly as a child. True it was not an inappropriate or unwelcome hobby for one living in the centre of the Cornish mining areas, but not quite the thing for a woman, a young girl of quality.

'Oh,' said Ursula at supper that evening. 'Erica Rashleigh knows Bella Poldark.'

We all live too close together, George thought between his mental teeth, Cornwall is just a big village.

'Indeed,' he said discouragingly.

'I hardly knew her,' said Ursula; 'she was among the juniors. I know you don't like them, but she seemed to have sufficient agreeableness. They say she sings.'

'Walter, you may bring the port.'

'Very good, sur.'

'Bring the '87,' said Harriet. 'Last night's was over the top.'

'Very good, m'lady.'

'I thought it was well enough,' said George snappily, after the butler had gone.

'Uh-huh,' said Harriet. 'Did they give you port at the Rashleighs, Ursula?'

'No, Mama. Erica is only eighteen, and not treated yet as if she were quite grown up.'

'Well, taste this tonight. I'm sure your father will not mind.'

'Bella Poldark,' said Ursula, 'is going to London to school.'

Harriet raised her eyebrows. 'Who told you that?'

'Erica.'

'Where is she going?' asked George after a moment.

'It is to be to a special school where she is to be taught singing.'

'That will cost them a pretty penny. Her father is still largely dependent on his mines.' George shrugged his shoulders as if his jacket were becoming uncomfortable.

'No doubt his other small investments pay their way.'

Ross was in the silversmith's in River Street when the bell jingled and Valentine came in, stooping, as Ross had stooped, to avoid the rafters.

'Why, Cousin,' Valentine said. 'Well met. What brings you here?'

'I might say the same. As we have agreed before, the point really is who gets the question in first.'

'Indeed you might. Afternoon, Penarth. I am after a bracelet to please a vain woman. I see you are among the candle snuffers, Ross.'

'As you say. This is a new kind of snuffer which does not let the dead wax fall on the table but stores it to be deposited later in the fire.'

'Excellent idea. Thank you, Penarth, I'll just look around your little shop.'

'Ais, sur.'

'I'll take three of these,' Ross said.

'It puzzles me,' Valentine said. Then are always finding some mechanical improvement to make life easier. But the) never find anything to improve themselves.'

Ross glanced at the fat young shopkeeper. 'Penarth, I believe, is of the Methodist persuasion. He might take a different view.'

Penarth grinned awkwardly. 'Tis not for me to differ from my betters, sur. Especial too when they are my customers.

d'think young Mr Warleggan was speakin' of more practical things.'

'Tact,' said Valentine. 'Tact is what I think you have. Tell me, is this bracelet good silver?'

'Oh ais, sur. You'll see the mark just near the clasp.'

Valentine dangled it in his fingers, holding it up. 'Does that please you, Cousin?'

'You are not buying it for me. You must consider the lady's tastes. Do you know them well?'

Valentine closed his eyes in thought. 'Not very well. She's my wife.'

Ross paid for his candle snuffers, and Penarth took them into the back of the shop to wrap them in tissue paper.

Ross said in a low voice. 'And how is George?'

'George?'

'Your son.'

'Oh. That George. Lusty and full of life.' Valentine's sallow face had coloured slightly.

'And Selina?'

'Dwight Enys is not well satisfied with her. D'ye know, Cousin, women are strange creatures after recently giving birth. Instead of being full of joy at having come to her time and produced a fine healthy baby, she is mopish, under-spirited, indolent, subject to tears. I think she needs rhubarb, but Dwight has other ideas.'

Penarth could be heard rustling paper in the back of the shop.

'A strange name to give your son, was it not?'

Valentine sucked the handle of his riding crop.

'It is a very common name. I gave scarcely a thought to my - er - ex-parent. I have seen neither sight nor sound of him since the almighty sparring that took place between us when I told him I was married to Selina. How many years ago is that? It seems half a century. I never think of him nowadays.'

Penarth came bustling back with his parcel, but seeing his important clients engaged in conversation, he went behind again and began to polish some candlesticks.

'In fact,' said Valentine, 'if I thought of anyone when I chose the name I thought of George Canning. He is one of your heroes, is he not?'

Ross said: 'Do you remember Aunt Mary Rogers? Pally Rogers's wife?'

Valentine stared. 'No.'

'No, I suppose you are too young. Aunt Mary was a fat, jolly woman who smelt strongly of camphor. She had one weakness, which was a high level of gullibility. She would believe almost anything you told her. So when I was young, if you were confronted with some obvious untruth, you would say: "Tell that to Aunt Mary."'

Valentine nodded. 'Just so. And you are not Aunt Mary Rogers. Just so. So, Cousin, I will unveil the facts. We all know the scurrilous rumours which circulate in our neighbourhood about my parentage. Whatever the truth or the untruth of them, it is your known and expressed wish that they should be ignored or, where they cannot be ignored, denied. What better could I have done to play my prescribed role in this matter than by christening my son George?'

It was not often that Ross got the worst of an argument with Valentine, but he found himself nonplussed and illogically resenting it.

'Here we are, sir,' said Penarth, producing the carefully packed candle snuffers. 'I've made a loop of strong twine if so be as you wish to tie it to your saddle.'

'After all,' Valentine said, 'would you better prefer it if I had called him Ross?'

Near home Valentine called in to see Henry Cook, the grass captain of the Wheal Elizabeth mine, which had come into existence close to Place House. The site had been the object of speculation before Valentine had married into the property and when Unwin Trevaunance and Michael Chenhalls had lost interest he had taken it up, called it after his mother and engaged twenty men to explore it. It had borne some fruit, but as George Warleggan had pointed out maliciously to Valentine it was not yet paying its way. No engine had been installed because the site was on a slope beside the track leading to Place House and all early workings would drain easily onto the moorland and thence to the sea. Five shafts had been dug, each with its separate name: Diagonal, Western, Central, Moyle's and Parson's; but of these only the first two had brought a return, and it was not enough. At a tin ticketing in Truro Valentine had met a Mr John Permewan, who had the reputation of being able to raise money for mining, a man with many connections upcountry. So he had commissioned Permewan to write a prospectus for Wheal Elizabeth to see what interest was aroused. There was money about, Permewan said, and often the North Country speculators, if presented with a well-written prospectus, would take up shares 'sight unseen'. As he approached Place House he saw there was a more than usual number of lights on. Selina often went early to bed. Strange if she had decided to entertain in his absence. He had only been away a day. Music came to take his horse. 'Is your mistress up?'

'Yessur.'

'Nothing wrong?'

'Nothing, sur.'

He went in, took off his cloak and, seeing no servant about, hung it on the baroque hatstand in the hall, then went into the sitting room on the left which had been Sir John Trevaunance's study. Unerringly he had located the cause of the trouble. His wife sat at one side of the fire, and perched on an armchair on the other side was Agneta. Valentine went across and kissed Selina on the cheek as she turned her face away.

'Greetings to you, m'dear,' he said. 'I am later than expected because I stopped at the mine . . . Agneta! This is quite a surprise, so far from home, and late at night.'

She was still in the black cloak in which she had come, and her hair, blown about by the cold January wind, was hanging in lank strings about her face. Blood and bones, thought Valentine, does she not look a freak! What did I ever see in her?

'Neta came to see Vally,' said the girl, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. 'Why has he been away so long?'

'I said I was much occupied,' he replied in a quiet soothing voice. 'You should not have come here disturbing my wife with your complaints.'

'Neta wanted to see you. You promised to see Neta. It is weeks since you saw Neta. The last time--'

'Has she been here long?' he asked Selina.

'Too long.'

'That tells me nothing.'

'Twenty minutes.'

Selina's narrowed eyes were gleaming, more than ever like a Siamese cat's in the candlelight. Valentine fingered the silver bracelet in his pocket, aware that the gift wouldbe worse than useless tonight. What a tedious business this all was! He went across and pulled the bell rope. Agneta said: 'All through Christmas. Never seen Vally all through Christmas. Neta went to church on Twelfth Night. Mama took her, along with Paula. Neta thought she might see Vally there. When we came out there was snow in the wind.' She began to cry. As it happened, it was Katie who answered the bell.

'Has Music gone home yet?' Valentine asked sharply.

'No, sur. We was besting to go 'ome together.'

'Agneta, have you a horse?'

She looked up wet-eyed at the thin, dark, angry man. She shook her head.

'You walked here? . . . Katie, tell Music to saddle a pony for Miss Treneglos. And Katie!'

'Sur?' She swung round.

'You and Music take horses -- doesn't matter which - not Nestor - and I want you both to escort Miss Treneglos home to Mingoose House and see she is safely with her family. Understood!' 'Yes, sur.'

'Very well, that is all.'

This time Katie stood her ground. 'Beg pardon, sur.'

'What is it?'

'I was 'elping Maud see for your supper. Cook's abed with the cramps and Elsie 'ave gone off.'

'Damn my supper! I will have whatever Maud can give me cold. Now be off. Miss Treneglos is ready to leave.'

'Neta is thirsty,' said Agneta cunningly.

'I'll give you a glass of wine, m'dear,' said Valentine, his voice softer when he was speaking to her. Selina got up. 'I shall retire to bed.'

Valentine opened the door for her, and his wife swept out. Then he went to the cupboard and took out a bottle of Canary, found a glass for Agneta and one for himself. As he handed the glass to the snivelling young woman, he said: 'Listen, Agneta. Are you listening? Listen carefully. You must never, never, never come here again.'

They had slept separately for some time, but he crossed the corridor and tapped at his wife's door. There was no answer, so he went in. Selina was lying across the bed, the curtains part drawn. Her night-rail was rucked up so that her pale slender legs were exposed to well above the knee. He sat quietly on the edge of the bed.

'Get out of my room,' she said. After waiting for a few moments he said: 'What did that woman want?'

No reply. He put a hand on her foot. She withdrew it as if his hand had been a hot iron. Then she dragged her nightdress down. Her face was still buried in the pillow.

'Selina,' he said quietly, 'what have I done wrong this time?'

No reply.

'Look,' he said. 'A half-witted girl escapes from her parents' clutches and comes over here asking to see me. I am sorry for a poor creature like that. Sometimes I try to talk to her. So she thinks I am fond of her and constructs her own wild fancies around what is a mere friendly pity. Do you think I am so perverse, so desperate for a woman's company, that I have to dredge among the mud flats and

pick out the witless, nashed, screw-eyed daughter of John Treneglos for my favours? Blood and bones, what do you think I am? Where will your insane jealousy lead you next?'

No reply. He said: 'Doesn't she have fits?'

Selina moved her ash-blonde head. 'She said you kissed her knees.'

He laughed. 'Really, m'dear, this is a jest. All right, all right, very good. Granted that I have not been as faithful to you as you have wished. But give me leave to show a little taste in these matters. Why did I marry you? Why do I love you? Yes, just as much as I ever did. Now also we have a lovely baby . . . Where is he?'

'In the next room with Polly.'

'As well to keep our voices lowered, then. Now Selina, if you promised not to kick my teeth out, I should be very happy to kiss your knees at this very moment. Your disorder when I came into the room was mightily seductive. Your legs are very pretty, you know; quite flawless, the skin so fine it might be without pores. An enchanting woman like you almost by instinct can assume the most attractive attitudes.'

He put his hand gently on her ankle. She kicked it away.

'Do you believe that girl? That half-crazed woman? You would believe anybody against me, would you not. If some wizened hag off the streets came in and said she had received my favours you would assume she was telling the truth and I was lying. What has come over you, Selina? You have married a rake? Yes, I admit it. But if this were true, why should I not admit it also to you? Can you not believe that this rake tells you the one big important truth when he says that he truly loves you?'

He waited then. Over the years of their marriage he had come to know her. You could appeal to her reason, but her sense of outrage would not allow it to respond. He fingered the bracelet in his pocket again. Tomorrow at the earliest. God damn that Treneglos creature for coming here tonight. He was tired and aware that any supper Maud had laid for him would be congealing on its plates. But this could not be left until the morning.

'Selina.'

'Get out of my room.'

'Have you ever been raped?'

She opened an eye. 'What did you say?'

'It is rather a nasty business, but it can be quite amusing overall. I once had to learn some damned Shakespeare at school: "To take her in her heart's extremest hate . . . tears in her eyes ..." How does it go? I cannot remember.'

'I told you to leave my room.'

'And I am not going while you continue to disbelieve me. After all, the law says that a man cannot commit rape upon his own wife. We should have to pretend we were unmarried for the occasion.'

'If you touch me I shall scream and wake George and Polly. And Maud is not yet abed.'

'Remember,' he said, 'when I visited you in this house not this very room, but one down the corridor when your first husband was sleeping - how quiet we were in our loving. Can we not pretend it is that time all over again? I would like to be gentle. I should like to be stealthy.'

No reply. But the one glimpse of a Siamese blue eye told him there was hope.

'I have not had my supper,' he said. 'But I need you first.'