Demelza (30 page)

'Sit in the card-room, my sweet,' said Vosper. 'I'll bring you something there.'

'No, let 'em fight. Tell me, who's that young woman over there? The one in silver with her chin tilted. Is she from this district?'

Vosper raised his quizzing-glass. 'No idea. She has a pretty figure. Hm, quite the belle. Well, I'll go get you some jellies and heart cakes.'

When he had gone Margaret stopped a man she knew and found out who the two women were. A little surprised smile played round her lips at the news. Ross's wife. He playing faro with a bitter and angry face while she flirted with a half dozen men and paid him no attention. Margaret turned and looked at Ross as he staked money on a card. This side you could not see the scar.

She wasn't sorry this marriage was a failure. She wondered if he had any money. He had all the aristocrat's contempt for small amounts, she knew that; but it was the income that counted, not the small change. She remembered him five years ago in that hut by the river and wondered if she had any chance of offering him consolation again.

Luke Vosper came back but she refused to go in, preferring to stand at the door and watch the scene. Some ten minutes later the banker drew out the last two cards of a deal and this time Ross saw he had won. As he gathered in his winnings he found Margaret Cartland stooping beside him.

'The lord, have you forgot you have a wife, eh?'

Ross looked up at her.

Her big eyes were wide. 'No joke, I assure you. She's quite the sensation. If you don't believe me, come and see.'

'What do you mean?'

'No more than I say. Take it or leave it.'

Ross got to his feet and went to the door. If he had thought of Demelza at all during this last hour he had thought of her in Verity's safekeeping. (It never occurred to him to think of Verity in Demelza's.) The first dance after the interval was to begin shortly. The band was back on its platform tuning up. After the quiet of the card-room the talk and laughter met him. He looked about, aware that both Margaret and Vosper were watching him.

'Over there, me lord,' said Margaret. 'Over there with all those men. At least, I was told it was your wife, but perhaps I was misinformed. Eh?'

It was to be another gavotte, less stately and sedate than the minuet and popular enough to get most people on the floor. Competition for Demelza was still strong. During the interval and fortified by some French claret for a change, she had put forward all her talents in conversation to take notice from Verity, who was sitting mute beside her.

It was really her own fault that at this stage the snarling grew worse; for, what with thinking of Verity and her anxiety for Ross, she had been careless what she said, and no less than three men thought she had promised the dance. John Treneglos had been dragged away for a time by his furious wife; but Sir Hugh Bodrugan was one of the three, trying by weight and seniority, she thought, to carry her off from Whitworth, who was relying on his cloth to support him in the face of Sir Hugh's scowls; the third was Ensign Carruthers, who was sweating a lot but was sticking to the Navy's tradition and not striking his flag.

First they argued with her, then they argued with each other, and then they appealed to her again, while William Hick made it worse by putting in remarks. Demelza, a little overwrought, waved her glass and said they should toss a coin for her. This struck Carruthers as eminently fair, only he preferred dice; but Sir Hugh grew angry and said he had no intention of gaming on a ballroom floor for any woman. All the same, he was not willing to give up the woman. Demelza suggested he should take Verity.

Verity said, 'Oh, Demelza,' and Sir Hugh bowed to Verity and said, thank you, a later dance, certainly.

At that moment a tall man showed at the back of the others and Demelza wondered with a sinking feeling if this was a fourth claimant. Then she raised her head and saw it was indeed.

'Forgive me, sir,' said Ross, pushing a way in. 'You'll pardon me, sir. You'll pardon me, sir.' He arrived on the edge of the ring and bowed slightly, rather coldly to Demelza. 'I come to see if you were in need of anything, my dear.'

Demelza got up. 'I knew I'd promised this dance to someone,' she said.

There was a general laugh, in which Sir Hugh did not join. He had been drinking all evening and did not at first recognize Ross, whom he saw seldom.

'Nay, sir. Nay, ma'am; this is unfair, by Heavens! It was promised to me. I tell you it was promised to me. I tell you it was promised. I'll not have it! I'm not accustomed to have my word called in question!'

Ross looked at him, at the silk ruffles of his shirt stained with splashes of wine, at his broad heavy face, hair growing in tufts in the nostrils and the ears, at the curled black wig worn low over the brow, at his dark purple coat, red silk embroidered waistcoat and silk knee breeches. He looked him up and down, for Sir Hugh, no less than the others, had had his hand in Jim's death. The fact that he had been dancing with Demelza was an affront.

'Have you promised this dance?' Ross said to Demelza.

Demelza looked up into his cold eyes, sought there for understanding and found none. Her heart turned bitter.

'Yes,' she said. 'Maybe I did promise this to Sir Hugh. Come along, Sir Hugh. I hardly know quite how to dance the gavotte, not properly like, but you can show me. You showed me splendid in that last country dance, Sir Hugh.'

She turned and would have gone out with the baronet to join the others who were now all formed up. But Ross suddenly caught her hand.

'Nevertheless, I take this by right, so you must disappoint all your friends.'

Sir Hugh had recognized him now. He opened his mouth to protest. 'Damn it! it's late in the evening to show a lively interest…'

But Ross had gone, and Demelza, furious and desperately hurt, went with him.

They bowed to each other as the music began. They didn't dance at all well together.

'Perhaps,' said Demelza, trembling all over, 'perhaps I'd ought to have asked for an introduction seeing it's so long since we met.'

'I don't doubt you have been well consoled in my absence,' said Ross. 'You were not concerned to come and see whether I was or no.'

'It seems that I was unwelcome when I did.'

'Well, everyone wasn't so ill-mannered and neglectful as you.'

'It is always possible at these places to collect a few hangers-on. There are always some such about looking for those who will give them encouragement.'

Demelza said with triumphant bitterness: 'No, Ross, you do me wrong! And them too! One is a baronet an' lives at Werry House. He has asked me to tea and cards. One is a clergyman who has travelled all over the continent. One is an officer in the Navy. One even is a relative of yours. Oh, no, Ross, you can't say that!'

'I can and do.' He was as furious as she was. 'One is a lecherous old roue whose name stinks in decent circles. One is a simpering posturing fop who will bring the church more disrepute. One is a young sailor out for a lark with any moll. They come for what they can get, they and their kind. I wonder you're not sick with their compliments.'

I'll not cry, said Demelza to herself, I'll not cry. I'll not cry. I'll not cry. They bowed to each other again.

'I detest them all,' Ross said on a slightly less personal note. 'These people and their stupidity. Look at their fat bellies and gouty noses, and wagging dewlaps and pouchy eyes: overfed and overclothed and overwined and over painted. I don't understand that you find pleasure in mixing with them. No wonder Swift wrote of 'em as he did. If these are my people, then I'm ashamed to belong to them!'

They separated, and as they came together again Demelza suddenly fired back.

'Well, if you think all the stupids an' all the fat and ugly ones are in your class you're just as wrong as anyone! Because Jim had ill luck and died, an' because Jim and Jinny were good nice people you seem to think that all poor folk are as good and nice as they. Well, you're mortal wrong there, and I can tell you because I know. I've lived with 'em, which is more'n you'll ever do! There's good an' bad in all sorts and conditions, an' you'll not put the world to rights by thinking all these people here are to blame for Jim's death…'

'Yes, they are, by their selfishness and their sloth…'

'And you'll not put the world to rights neither by drinking brandy all evening an' gambling in the gambling-room and leaving me to see for myself at my first ball and then coming halfway through an' being rude to them that have tried to look after me…'

'If you behave like this you'll not come to another ball.'

She faced him. 'If you behave like this I'll not want to!'

They found they had both stopped dancing. They were holding up people.

He passed a hand across his face.

'Demelza,' he said, 'we have both drunk too much.'

'Would you kindly move off the floor, sir,' said a voice behind him.

'I don't want to quarrel,' Demelza said with a full throat. 'I have never, you know that. You can't expect me to feel the same about Jim as you do, Ross. I didn't know him hardly at all, and I didn't go to Launceston. Maybe this is commonplace for you, but it is the first time I ever been to anything. I'd be that happy if you could be happy.'

'Damn the rejoicings,' he said. 'We should never have come.'

'Please move aside, sir,' said another exasperated voice. 'If you wish to hold conversation do it elsewhere.'

'I talk where I please,' said Ross, and gave the man a look. The fellow wilted and backed away with his partner.

Demelza said in a soft voice: 'Come, Ross. Dance. Show me. A step this way, isn't it, an' then a step that. I've never properly danced the gavotte, but it is nice and lively. Come, my dear, we're not dead yet, an' there's always tomorrow. Let us dance together nicely before we fall out worse.'

THE BALL WAS over but not the night. At midnight they had joined in singing patriotic songs and 'God Save the King,' and those belonging to Warleggan's party had left after that.

But when they reached the Warleggans' house there was little sign of anyone ready for bed. Food and drink were waiting for them: hot pasties, cakes and jellies, syllabubs and fruits, punch and wines, tea and coffee. People quickly settled down to play whist and backgammon and faro; and Sanson pestered Ross into joining him at a table of french ruff.

Demelza anxiously watched him go. The whole of the assembly had passed off without his knocking anybody down or insulting the Lord Lieutenant; but he was still in a peculiar mood.

It had been a hectic evening. The excitement had been faintly unhealthy.

Oh, yes, she had enjoyed it, but her pleasure had never been free.

Nor, though the numbers were down, was she without followers here. Sir Hugh had got over his umbrage, John Treneglos had escaped from his wife and Carruthers had stuck to his guns. Verity disappeared upstairs, but when Ross left Demelza she was not allowed to do the same. Protesting, she was persuaded towards the faro table, a chair found for her, money put in her lap, advice and instruction breathed in each ear. That she knew nothing about the game carried no weight: anyone could play faro, they said; you just put money on one of the cards on the table, the banker turned up two cards of his own, and if your card when it came went on one pile, you won, and if it went on the other, you lost.

This seemed easy enough, and after wriggling in her seat to make sure that Sir Hugh didn't put his hand back on her bare shoulder, she settled meekly to lose the money she had been lent.

But instead of losing she won. Not briskly but steadily. She refused to be reckless. She would not stake more than a guinea on any card; but each time she staked she found others following her, and when the card turned up to win there were growls of triumph behind her. William Hick had popped up from somewhere, and a tall, handsome, rather loud-voiced woman called Margaret, whom Francis didn't seem to like. In the next room someone was playing a piece by Handel on the spinet.

They had lent her twenty pounds, she had taken careful note of that; and she thought if she ever got to seventy, leaving fifty for herself, she would get up with her winnings and all the kind men in the world wouldn't stop her. She had reached sixty-one when she heard William Hick say to someone in an undertone: 'Poldark is losing heavily.'

'Is he? But I thought the banker had just had to pay him.'

'No, I mean the other Poldark. The one playing with Sanson.'

Something turned cold inside her.

She staked and lost, staked again and lost, staked hurriedly with five guineas and lost.

She got up.

'Oh, no,' they protested, trying to persuade her to stay; but she would have no argument, for this time it was not personal choice but an urgent panic need to find Ross. She just had the wit to count out the thirty-four sovereigns belonging to her, and then she pushed her way through and looked about.

In the corner of the second room a crowd was round a small table, and at it were Ross and Sanson, the fat miller. She drew near them and, careless of danger to her frock, squeezed in until she could see the cards. French ruff was played with thirty-two cards, each of the players being dealt five, and the play being as at whist except that the ace was the lowest court card. The hazard and lure of the game lay in the fact that before playing either player could discard and take up from the pack as many new cards as he chose and do this as many times as he chose, at the discretion of the nondealer.

Demelza watched for some time trying to understand the play, which was difficult for her. They played quickly and besides exchanging money at the end of each rubber they bet in the middle of nearly every hand. Ross's long lean face with its prominent jawbones showed nothing of all his drink, but there was a peculiar deep-cleft frown between his brows.

Ross had first played the game with a high French officer in a hospital in New York. They had played it for weeks on end, and he knew it inside out. He had never lost much at it, but in Sanson he had met his match. Sanson must have played it all his life and in his sleep. And he had astonishing luck tonight. Whenever Ross assembled a good hand the miller had a better. Time after time Ross thought he was safe and time after time the freak draw beat him. His luck was out and it stayed out.