The Stranger From The Sea (31 page)

from himself. The shops, he says, are full of insulting caricatures of
everyone
in the public eye. French, English, American
...'
A brief silence fell.

Jeremy said: 'I trust Miss Clemency is well?'

'Very well, thank you. She was in Newton Abbot with me last week when my filly, Roseland, won the Queen Charlotte Stakes
...
Returning, we found the roads around Plymouth crowded with soldiers on foot and in carriages, proceeding for embarkation. These were reinforcements for Portugal and for India. Thank God the war has taken a better turn, for it was time.'

'Indeed,' said Jeremy.

'D'you know, such is the scarcity of men with this endless war that I have to pay £30 a year for a manservant of any quality. And the women are demanding more too. I pay £13 a year for a woman cook. How does your father manage?'

'To tell the truth,' Jeremy said, 'I have not bothered to inquire on these points. Most of our servants have been with us for as long as I can remember. We don't have footmen, but we have chiefly women who help my mother; and two men who are employed about the house in a general way.'

'How many acres does your estate extend to?'

'About a hundred,
I
believe.'

'We have a thousand here, of which half is farm. Then there is about another five hundr
ed in and around the Rose
land peninsula, agricultural land of some richness. But of course the five hundred of the castle and grounds are my principal interest. We are sheltered from many winds, and can grow rare and original shrubs. Had
I
the time I would show you them.'

'I believe Miss Cuby showed me some of them when I was last here.'

'Did she? Ah, did she.'

Mrs Bettesworth looked up. 'I trust you'll forgive us if we don't invite you to dine, Mr Poldark. You'll appreciate that with so reduced a family our arrangements are necessarily constricted and it would be a thought difficult to instruct the cook at this late hour.'

Jeremy got up. 'Of course. I understand.' He looked at his hosts. 'Or perhaps I don't
altogether
understand. You'll forgive me. I come of a family that - that
1
believe prides itself on its candour. As a result it may be I do not enough esteem that sort of politeness which barely masks disapproval. To offer the reason for such disapproval would be to me a more admirable courtesy than - than to disguise it in meaningless words. Mrs Bettesworth . . . Major Trevanion: good day to you both.'

He bowed and strode to the door. His hand on the door trembled with anger.

'Wait, Poldark.' John Trevanion kicked at one of the spaniels which was fussing round his boots. 'Mama, these animals need some air. I'll walk Mr Poldark to his horse.'

'Of course,' she said and paused a moment, needle in hand. 'Good day, Mr Poldark. I wish you well.'

Jeremy did not notice the hall or the porch as he strode through them. Beyond the front door, which was on the sheltered side and away from the sea, was a large open archway. At the mouth of this he had tethered Colley to a convenient post.

Trevanion had not kept pace with him but he caught up with him as he was about to mount. The wind blew Trevanion's thin brown hair.

He said: 'Not good enough.'

'What?'

'You asked for the reason. Isn't that plain? We don't consider you good enough for Cuby. The Trevanions have been in this district, almost on this very spot, for five hundred years. 1
3
1
3,
to be exact. Makes a difference, you know. You're a pleasant young feller, Poldark, with a taking way about you. As a guest in our house you'd be
welcome now an' then. But as a husband for my sister -which is plainly what you're about - you just don't come up to snuff. See? That plain? That clear? We have highe
r ambitions. Sorry.' 'And Cuby?’

'Oh, Cuby
...
She's a flirt. Didn't you notice? She likes young men. At her age, who would not? She believes in having many strings to her bow. That we are not averse from. Let her have her little romances. But you were becoming too serious. When her young men become serious then
we
become serious. See? She's still very young. In a year or two we shall pick a husband together; she and her mother and I will pick one, and then he will be one suitable to us all.'

The two spaniels, released, were tearing around on the gravel not far from Colley who clapped his foot restively when they approached.

Jeremy said: 'What danger do you suppose there was in my being serious if your sister was not serious?'

'My sister,' said Trevanion, 'is serious two or three times a year. Eh? Eh? There was a stonemason here last autumn on whom she lavished a schoolgirl affection, but she soon outgrew it when she met another young man.' He guffawed. 'That was all quite acceptable because it was
outrageous.
But you are a gentleman and therefore your attentions must be treated on a different level. If you think us discourteous, pray consider the difficulty we are in.'

'The difficulty,' Jeremy said, hardly able to control his voice, 'the difficulty of telling a fellow Cornishman that he is not good enough, because, apparendy, although a gentleman, he is too
small
gentleman.' He mounted. 'It's true. Our acres are not so large as yours - or our pedigree quite as long. But reflect. You are a Bettesworth who
became
a Trevanion. I haven't had to change my name at all.'

The thin florid man sharply flushed. He had been Sheriff of Cornwall at twenty-four years of age, and no one for long enough had dared to say such a thing to him. All he said was: 'I'd advise you to clear off, Mr Poldark.'

It was five o'clock in the afternoon and Jeremy had not cleared off. He was on high ground, sitting his horse, on a farm track on rising ground half a mile from the castle. It had taken him some time to find this vantage point. From it he could not see the archway protecting the front door of the house but he could see pretty well all the paths and ways that led from it. He had been there two and a half hours now. Colley had made a reasonable meal off the hedges to the lane, but he had not eaten at all. He was not hungry. He was capable, he felt, of staying there another twenty hours if need be.

Twice surly yokels had passed him by. The sun had gone behind drifting clouds. On the opposite side of the hill they were beginning to cut the hay; just four in a very large field, two women in bonnets, two boys. Soon after he left, Major Trevanion had walked round to the back of the house, to the unfinished part. There were no workmen there and there seemed no evidence of progress since before Easter. Trevanion had soon returned and gone indoors. About three a nursemaid had taken his two little boys for a walk along the seashore. They had been out nearly an hour. Apart from this, no one had entered or left the castle all afternoon.

Mrs Bettesworth's voice, thought Jeremy, had a Welsh intonation. Had they been lying about Cuby - was she really from home, or locked - he thought dramatically -perhaps locked in a room upstairs? But they could not have seen him coming in time. And Cuby, however much the youngest of the family, did not look the sort who would suffer such an indignity quietly. She would kick at the door. Yet Jeremy knew the discipline that existed in most such families. Cuby had never known her father, who had died while serving in the Dragoon Guards before she was born; her elder brother had taken over that role. Was Mrs Bettesworth as compliant as she appeared, or was she in fact the power behind it all?

Colley was getting restive at last, tired of supporting his master all this time. Yet if one dismounted one could see too litde of the scene.

A puff of dust on the hillside. It was at the top of the lane he had himself come down. The hedges were high and powdered with may blossom, but presently he saw horses passing a gateway. Three. He turned Colley round and moved forward a pace or two. Two women and a man. His heart began to thump. He had recognized one of the women, almost certainly the other. The man was in some sort of uniform.

He moved along the lane, dismounted, unlatched a gate, walked his horse across the next field. Another gate and he was out in the lane. He did not bother to remount.

Voices, and a girl laughing. He could not see them, and they would not see him until they rounded the bend twenty yards up the hill.

Even in this dry weather a little rill of water was bubbling down the side of the lane. The hedge here was like a patriotic emblem: red campion, white milkmaids, and the shiny, gauzy bluebells. Giant ferns were sprouting.

They came into view. It was Clemency and Cuby. The man in uniform - thank God - was a footman.

They stopped. There was no room to get past anyhow. Jeremy took off his hat.

'Good day to you.'

It was Clemency who had been laughing. Unlike Cuby she was a very plain girl, but very amiable. She stopped laughing now, the animation in her face giving way to surprise. Cuby slowly flushed.

'I have been calling to see you,' said Jeremy, 'but alas you were out. I hope you're both well.'

Clemency gave her horse's head a tug. 'Mr Poldark. What a surprise! Isn't it a surprise, Cuby! I declare it is quite a surprise.'

'A great surprise,' said Cuby.

'I saw your mother and your brother,' said Jeremy, 'and we talked of current things for a while. How is Augustus?'

'In London.' Clemency glanced at her sister. 'We are returning for tea. Perhaps . . . you would care to join us now?'

"Thank you, I've already taken my leave. It would seem inappropriate to return.'

The horses were all a little restive, backing and pawing in the narrow lane.

'Wharton,' said Clemency, 'will you ride on with me. I want a word with Mrs Clark at the home farm. Miss Cuby can join us in a few minutes.'

'Yes, miss.'

Clemency leaned down, extending her hand. 'Good day, Mr Poldark. I am sorry we were out. Perhaps another time
...'

Jeremy kissed her glove. 'Of course.'

He held his horse to one side to allow the others to pass. Cuby remained quite still in her saddle. Her face was at its least animated, most sulky.

When the others had disappeared down the next corner of the lane Jeremy said: 'So you saved me from the Preventive men and now you don't want me.'

She looked at him briefly, then out to sea.

Jeremy said: 'It's the law that anything washed up on his foreshore is the property of the lord of the manor.'

She pushed a wisp of hair under her tricorn hat, kneed her horse so that he could munch at the grass.

Jeremy said: 'Or lady, as the case may be.'

'Don't joke with me, please.'

'I knew a boy at school who always laughed when it hurt most.'

'Why did you come today? Wasn't the letter sufficient?'

'From your mother? No. Why didn't you answer mine?' 'What would have been the good of that?' 'Do you not think I am owed a little personal explanation? When we last met you kissed me and
-'
'I did
not!
It was your
-'

'You
kissed
me.
There is no doubt of it! And you called me "dear Jeremy". And you asked me to come again. However light it may all have been intended - and I don't
believe
it was so intended - a fragment of personal explanation is my due. Or don't you think so?'

She looked at him again, but again briefly, her eyes clouded, embarrassed.

'I was foolish. Just say I am of a flirtatious nature
...'

'That is what your brother said.'

'Did he?’

'Yes. I had a talk with him. In front of your mother it was all polite words spoken with coldness. He came to the door, I asked him to speak out, and he spoke out. He told me that I was not good enough for you. Although that may be what I feel, is that what
you
feel?'

'I think I must go now.'

'Is that what you feel?'

She seemed about to move past him, but he took hold of the reins.

'No, of course not,' she said angrily. 'What my brother thinks is his own affair.' 'And your mother?' 'Naturally I listen to what they say.' 'And she clearly agrees with him?' 'I have my own opinions.'

"That's what I would have supposed.' He swallowed, marshalling his thoughts. 'I know - have met - a number of young ladies of about your age in various parts of the county. And I have observed how carefully most of them are watched and controlled. It is "yes, Mama" and "no, Mama" and never step outside a line of good behaviour. Often as not they marry who is chosen for them
...
Of all the girls I have ever met, you are the
least
like that. The very last to have preferences dictated to you. I should never in my worst dreams have thought that you and your mother and your brother would ever sit down together and decide in cold blood whom you were going to marry!'

'Who said that?'

'He did.'

There was silence except for the sound of tearing grass, the munching of teeth, the occasional clink of bridle and bit.

She said: 'I shall marry, within limits, whom I choose. But does that not prove to you what I have been saying, that I do not so much care for you? It was - a little fun to treat you as I did. A - diversion.'

'Upon my soul,' Jeremy said bitterly. 'I am almost come to believe you.'

'Well,' she said, 'now you can let me go! You
fool!
Didn't I
tell
you that last afternoon that nothing was straightforward! Didn't I
tell
you - and ask you - didn't I ask you - never to think hard of me!'

'Now you're speaking like someone who does care.'

'I care that I have hurt you! Isn't that sufficient?'

'Hurt!' said Jeremy. 'I'm so desolate I could die.'

Cuby gulped, then laughed through tears that had started to her eyes. 'No one never died for love. I have it on good authority. The poets make all this up so that it is pretty to cry over.'

'As you are doing now,' said Jeremy, his hand to his own face.

She pulled her horse's head up, touched him with her whip handle, pushed past Jeremy standing in the lane. As they stared, each was blurred to the other.

'Goodbye, boy,' she said. 'Perhaps I did care. But not enough. It is not you who are not good enough, it is I. Remember those people in the churchyard - we are luckier than they. Wouldn't they give anything in the world for our breaking hearts!'

She went on. Her hat nodded, her slim young body swayed to the awkward gait of her horse going down the steep lane. She half turned her head and then deliberately did not look back.

^{Chapter Three}