The Four Swans (58 page)

`It is totally outrageous. Wait till your father hears!’

‘Never mind about Father - he will hear in due time.’

Cary got up, his eyes a-glint, plucking at his bottom lip. The years had dealt less well, with him than: with most of the family. Chronic dyspepsia and stomachic gout had robbed him of the, little flesh he had had, and his clothes hung on him as on an arrangement of bones.; Yet he was seldom absent-from the counting house,; and often ordered what little food he ate brought to him there, rather than leave and disturb his industry. More than either his elder brother Nicholas or his nephew, he kept a finger on the pulse of all Warleggan enterprises. Whether it was arranging a shipment of pig iron from one of the foundries of Wales, or arranging for a clerk in the counting house to become secretary to a newly formed joint stock company, it was Cary who attended to the details.

Though never dishonest, it was he who represented the less savoury side of Warleggan activity. It was he who had exerted the pressure in February and nearly brought Pascoe’s Bank down, and, although this had been done with George’s knowledge and tacit approval, George now held it bitterly against him because (a) it had failed and (b) it had soured the relationship between their bank and Basset, Rogers & Co. Sometimes Cary could be too clever, too much the schemer; and George, who in earlier years had more often sided with his uncle than with his father, now saw more virtue in his father’s scruples.

Of course Cary himself had certain standards which he now proceeded to air. Not everyone would have thought them inferior.

`It is absolutely monstrous that a man like Falmouth, who, whatever else, has inherited a peerage and vast estates, should ally himself with this good-for-nothing mountebank; a man with virtually a prison record - and a -?

‘No prison record, uncle. You will remember, he was acquitted.’ As always George seemed to appease his own enmity by fuelling Cary’s.

`Acquitted against all the canons of justice! If not a record, then a history, of lawless escapades up and down the county. Having to leave England as a boy because of these episodes and clashes with preventive men, returning and breaking open a jail and taking out a prisoner! Concerned in the death of our cousin, in wrecking, in smuggling and inciting miners to riot! Now suddenly the idol of the county because of an equally dubious adventure, undertaken this time against the French! And this is the sort of man one of our premier viscounts considers suitable to represent this borough in parliament! It - it …’

`Our viscount,’ said George, `has no moral standards when fighting to regain a seat he considers his. He thinks Ross’s popularity will sway the vote. We must see: it does not.’

Cary wrapped his tail coat around him as if he were cold. Since it was forty years old it was much too large for him and there was material to spare.

`We have attended to most of our supporters.’

`Yes, but let us go through the list again.’

‘Cary pulled open a drawer, took out a ledger, and opened it where a slip of paper was to be seen.’

`Well, here they are. It all: looks reasonable sound. I suppose you might put Aukett among the doubtful ones. And perhaps Fox.’

`Aukett,’ said George, `received a substantial loan in March. It was advanced to him at 3 per cent interest with no question of a repayment date. He knows that no repayment will be demanded unless he shows independence in his voting opinions. It was understood. It was the purpose of the loan.’

`He was once a close friend of Poldark’s, you know in that copper smelting venture.’

`Forget it. Or if you wish to underline the point, remind him. But friendships do not wax strong when a threat of the debtor’s prison hangs over a man’s head.’

`Fox also was in the smelting venture but less deeply involved - he drew out early. More recently he has had transactions with the Boscawens. Through them he received some contract for carpets; so he may be torn both ways.’

`Let us see that he is torn the right way.’ George peered at the ledger over his uncle’s shoulder. `If it is a tug of war between, obligation and indebtedness, then indebtedness should win … Yes, it must surely win. A letter tomorrow perhaps making his position plain, though in guarded terms.’

`No letter,’ said Cary, pulling his skullcap down. `A word is the thing. He lives distant. I’ll send Tankard in the morning.’

A clerk knocked and came in with some inquiry, but George gave him a look and he shrivelled back out of the door.

`Polwhele?’ said Cary.

`Hopeless. He’s committed to the Boscawens and banks at Pascoe’s.’

`Notary Pearce?’

`We shall take care of him.’

They went through the rest of the names. A few were, Portland Whigs who nevertheless could be relied on to vote against Pitt, how ever much collaboration between the two groups there might be, in the House. Others were Tories of the old school and equally pledged to the opposite side. Of the twenty-five voters, it boiled down, to about ten who could sway the vote and could themselves be swayed.

It was past eleven o’clock and time to finish for the night, but they spent another half-hour in the dark little office discussing tactics. On a count yesterday they had made it out that George and Trengrouse would have a safe majority. Now that there was this added menace of the Poldark name - and the added goad - they wished to be doubly sure. At the end - assuming that Aukett and Fox would toe the line - it really seemed to depend a lot upon two names, and two rather distinguished ones at that: Mr Samuel Thomas of Tregolls and Mr Henry Prynne Andrew of Bodrean. Both had dined with the Warleggans recently; both were very old friends of Elizabeth’s parents; both had expressed themselves gratified at certain small favours George had been able to do them. If both these: gentlemen voted for him, George counted on a majority of five. If one of the two chose wantonly to vote against him, he should have a majority of three: Even if by some extraordinary misfortune both defected to the other side, he would still get in by the single vote by which he had been elected before. It seemed safe enough. The point that waited decision was whether any form of request could, be put, to either of these two gentlemen, if so how it might be phrased, and whether there was the risk of its doing more harm than good.

It seemed certain that Falmouth would not leave them unregarded. But there was some story of Falmouth and Prynne Andrew having been involved in a dispute a couple of years ago over mineral rights.

Eventually, since Uncle Cary seemed to, have no, finesse in his nature which was not in some way connected with the manipulation of money, George put the sheet of paper back in the ledger and shut and locked the ledger away in the drawer.

`I will ask Elizabeth’s advice. She’s, known them both since she was a child and will be more likely to know how far they would respond, and in what way, to a polite solicitation.’

Cary drew in his lips, as he usually did at mention of his niece by marriage - they seldom spoke. `Why do you not. invite her to ask them? They are old friends. Let her make the contact. Let her go and see them. Let her take a ride tomorrow afternoon - take tea with ‘em, or whatever is the polite thing to do. Eh?’

George looked at his uncle without much favour. `I’ll discuss it with her. But nothing shall be done in haste. We still have a little time.

I

The dawn of September the fourteenth was brilliant, new-lit by the sun rising behind a sky as red as a wound. Gimlett said the weather would not last the day. The sea’s darkness; under the sun presaged the autumn. All the corn was in, and Ross had sent two of his farm men to Sawle to help draw in another catch of pilchards. Demelza’s hollyhocks, dying hard in the warm and windless days, were flaunting faded colours from the last flowers.

Ross had told her that he had to be in Truro early and, lacking other information, she supposed it to do with the re-organization of the Volunteers.

It was a silent breakfast, Jeremy and, Clowance still sleeping after being late to bed. Most meals had been silent recently and it had been a hard week. None like it since the last months of ‘93. Demelza was plainly grieving for Hugh Armitage, and waited all the time for a-message of good or ill news. Ross, his feelings bruised but judgement half suspended, watched her anxiety and said nothing. If she wanted to speak about Hugh she could speak. If not, not.

He did not know the meaning of the poem he had read; it might mean that Demelza had been unfaithful to him, it might all be poetic licence. He had not asked her and would not ask her. What was plain during this week was that she was being unfaithful in spirit, her thoughts, her emotions, her heart, deeply engaged with another man.

And that man was gravely ill. How did a husband feel? Jealous and injured? Inadequate and angry? Sympathetic and understanding? Why did’ one’s throat tighten at every other thought?

He left before eight, riding up the bare but smiling valley among the nut trees and the hawthorn, the bubble of the stream keeping him company. His land. Crickets sawed in the hedges, swallows were wheeling and swooping, cattle, his cattle, grazing in the fields. Wheal Grace smoked quietly and a couple of tin stamps clanged. The countryside looked benign, as if the summer had ripened every leaf and berry. It was all his - his, changed from the overgrown worthless ruin he had come back to fourteen years ago. But today there was no ripeness, no contentment in him. So man set his hopes and endeavours high and when he had achieved them they were so much dross and clinker in his hands.

He was in Truro too early and left his horse at the Red Lion and took a walk down to the quay. He had no wish to meet anybody, neither his opponents nor his supporters, nor even his sponsor until the required time.

The tide was in and water lapped close against the uneven stone of the old quay. Here the last of the town fell down into a huddle of warehouses and sheds and half derelict, over-peopled cottages. Littered about the quay among the wagons and the hand carts was the usual detritus of a small port: rope ends and broken spars, rags of tarpaulin and sail-cloth, broken jars and a dead seagull. A threemasted lugger was being unloaded, and men were rolling barrels down a narrow plank on to the shore. Further on two other craft were moored alongside, making the most of high water. Two beggar children came whining to Ross but he waved them away: if you gave to two there would soon be twenty. Women screamed at each other from a window. A horse tossed his head in a nosebag to reach the last of his meal.

Past all this you came to grassland and a sort of pool of the river before it widened out towards Malpas and St Margaret’s Church. Here it was utterly still, sun-lit, tree-sharpened at the edges, a few river-birds skimming low. Near the bank were four swans, almost stationary, moving so slowly that they appeared, only to be drifting with the tide. Each one was mirrored, duplicated in the still water. It seemed sometimes that they could see their own reflections and were admiring themselves. Then one or another would break her reflection by dipping a delicate beak. Graceful things. White things. Like women. Unpredictable. Gentle. Fierce. Faithful or unfaithful. Loyal or traitorous. God, who knew?

A gust of gnats moved around him, and he waved them away like the beggar children. They departed as reluctantly. Smell of wood smoke drifted on the air. Leaves were turning colour early. In the massed trees of the other river bank, copper and ochre was staining the green.

The swans were separating little by little, inertly, more it seemed by vagaries of the current than by design. The one nearest the bank had a more slender neck and a more graceful way of holding it, like a question mark: She drifted towards him, wings a little elevated, head to one side, fate or errant-fancy bringing her. Then she suddenly turned away, foot lazily moving, rejecting any interest she might appear to have shown. He had made no movement either to entice or rebuff.

Four women in his life? Four with whom he had been concerned this year? Demelza and Elizabeth, of course. Caroline? Who was the fourth? One of the swans had a damaged wing, feathers awry and stained. On Sawle Feast day Ross had been turning to leave his pew when Morwenna had smiled at Drake, and he had caught a glimpse of the smile. The damaged swan. Appropriate image. So she would stay while she remained linked to that man. But who was, to alter that now? Whom God hath joined …’

And his own marriage? And Elizabeth’s? And even Caroline’s? All in the melting pot? Certainly his own. This was the worst, of it, when he had thought his own the most deep-rooted, the most secure. Like a rock. But the rock was on sand. One man, a likeable man but in his own way unprincipled, had come into their house and come between them. Now she was part lost - or wholly lost - he did not know.

And why in God’s name had he consented to come here this morning, to participate in this charade? What stupid and inappropriate impulse had swayed him at Tregothnan a week ago?

`I accept,’ he had said, `I accept your nomination on three conditions. The first is that, irrespective of any directives you may give, I may support Pitt in any measures to sustain the war.’

`Of course’

‘The second is that I shall be free to support any Bill or measure which in my view is likely to bring help or better conditions for the poor.’

`Agreed.’ There had been hesitation before this answer.

`The third is that I shall be free to support Wilberforce against the trade in slaves.’

A further hesitation. `Agreed.’

It had been settled like that, drily, a business transaction, little more said, neither of them attempting to specify the details. Too little had been said. It might be a small matter to the noble lord: it was not small to him; it involved half his future. If the details had been spelled out it might have enabled him to see over again the absurdity of the proposition, just as he had seen, it when put to him by Basset last year. He would have had time to withdraw, to back out, to deride himself even for considering it.

There was still time … Well, hardly., The agreement had been made; it was a matter of honour to go through with it now. Honour? What had honour to do with it?