The Four Swans

by Winston Graham

  ‘It presents a difficulty. Longman has been here scarcely a week and he says there is a distinct improvement in the last twenty-four hours. It’s always a difficulty, Poldark . . . When my wife was so desperate ill we had the same problem. Either you trust a man and give him authority to carry out his treatment or you do not. When it goes well you are happy that you did so. When it goes ill you think, if only . . .’

  ‘Yes, I do see that.’

  ‘If his parents arrive tomorrow then the responsibility will be theirs. But no choice will come easy to them unless by then Hugh is clearly on the mend.’

  Ross wondered if Demelza were still in the sick room or had returned to the room where they had changed. As if their thoughts ran parallel, Falmouth said:

  ‘Mrs Poldark is with you?’

  ‘Yes. I left her with Hugh.’

  ‘That I think will be a comfort. Hugh thinks highly of your wife. He speaks frequently of her. I too think her an admirable woman.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Ross sipped again and watched his host over the rim of the glass.

  Falmouth bent to poke the fire. ‘It was she and Mrs Enys who helped, in their own way, to bring about a meeting between myself and de Dunstanville which has resulted in a new accord between us.’

  ‘So I understand.’

  ‘And a likely return of two suitably nominated candidates for Truro next week.’

  ‘Next week? So near?’

  ‘If the election goes well – and that is not yet certain – there will, of course, be added satisfaction to me in the fact that Mr Warleggan will lose his seat – a seat he has occupied with less than no distinction for only a twelvemonth.’

  ‘If he loses his seat de Dunstanville will no doubt look after him elsewhere.’

  His Lordship straightened up, his face flushed with stooping. ‘Possibly.’

  There was silence. Ross thought it over.

  ‘But you think not, eh?’

  ‘I think not?’

  ‘Something in your tone suggested you were doubtful.’

  ‘About Warleggan? Well, yes. At our one – er – meeting Basset gave me the impression that his admiration for his nominee was wearing thin.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘Well, it seems that during the banking crisis Basset returned from London and found a situation here which much offended him.’

  ‘Concerning George?’

  ‘Concerning the Warleggans generally – of whom, of course, George is the most prominent. I gather that the Basset Bank and the Warleggan Bank have some agreement for working in accommodation with each other. Once or twice they have financed ventures jointly. But it seems that in February when the Bank of England suspended payment and every note-issuing merchant stood on the brink of disaster, Warleggan’s Bank tried to use the crisis to bring down Pascoe’s Bank; and in so doing involved Basset’s Bank in an exercise which might be justifiable by some standards but which Basset, to his credit, considered highly unsavoury. He returned to Cornwall just in time to withdraw his bank from this manœuvre and to issue new credits to Pascoe’s. He was only able to do this, of course, because the situation had eased in London; but he told me that it was likely he would limit further banking contacts of this nature.’

  ‘From which you infer?’

  ‘I do not think from the way he spoke that George Warleggan will be found any other seat that Basset owns.’

  Ross stretched his legs towards the fire and then, feeling the seams pulling, withdrew them. ‘Well, as I expect you know, my Lord, since everyone else appears to know it, I care for the Warleggans no more than you; so I shall shed no tears if George loses his seat next week.’

  ‘It is by no means certain.’

  ‘Not? But Basset has resigned as Alderman and has withdrawn his interest. That’s what I understood.’

  ‘Quite true.’ His Lordship gestured with the poker. ‘But as you will remember, there was a strong and wayward vote against me in the Council last year. Since then there has been bitter feeling and bitter words expressed on both sides. I do not suppose many who voted for Warleggan at the last election will change their allegiance, even though Basset has gone. It will be a very close thing.’

  ‘Hm . . .’ The thick rain was falling on the window without sound, as quiet as snow.

  ‘There is strong feeling against the Government, you know. There is resentment against Pitt, distrust, even hatred.’

  ‘In Truro or in the country?’

  ‘In the country; but in most parts I know it to be in a considerable minority. Not in Truro, where local feeling against me is so much more important than mere dislike of Pitt.’

  ‘Hm,’ said Ross again. ‘If he fell, who could lead us?’

  ‘No one half so well. Not at this crisis in the country’s affairs. But when a war is going ill the people must find a scapegoat, and who better to blame than the Prime Minister? The collapse of the Alliance, the shortage of food among the common people, prices ever rising, the mutinies in the Fleet, the run on the banks; we are alone in a hostile world and Pitt has led the country for thirteen years. So people, many people, believe he has led us into this.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘He has made mistakes. But who would not? And, as you say, who could take his place? There is no one of his stature in the country. Portland is a nonentity. Moira would be worse than useless.’

  ‘What of the latest peace negotiations?’

  ‘Foundering, like all the others. The Directory is making impossible conditions. With all Europe under their thumb they can afford to. The latest I hear is that they demand we shall give over to them the Channel Isles, Canada, Newfoundland and British India, as well as all our West Indian possessions.’

  Ross finished his drink and got up, stood with his back to the fire.

  ‘Pray help yourself.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Ross refilled both glasses. ‘Well, there it is. So it’s a pretty picture.’

  ‘As dark as any in our history.’

  Out in the hall young voices could be heard.

  Ross said: ‘I hope you will have good fortune with your Truro Members. But I suspect that on a national basis neither George nor Tom Trengrouse would differ much from Pitt on his war aims. They are no followers of Fox.’

  Falmouth made no reply but sat staring contemplatively into the fire.

  ‘Well,’ Ross said restively. ‘I’ll see if my wife has returned from the sick room.’

  ‘Of course,’ Falmouth said, ‘whatever happens to Hugh he will not be well enough to contest the election next Thursday.’

  ‘No . . . of course not, alas. You will by now have had to choose some other candidate. A great pity.’

  ‘I was considering,’ his Lordship said, ‘offering the nomination to you.’

  III

  Outside the window was a huge cedar, whose sweeping arms, crystal-grey and olive-green, out-curved in spreading crescents from lofty tip to ground level; and amid its dripping branches Ross saw a red squirrel sitting holding a nut between its front paws and nibbling earnestly. This was an animal they scarcely ever saw on the north coast; the trees were too sparse and wind-blown. He watched it for some seconds with great interest, its furtive, rapid motions, its bright eyes, its puffed nibbling cheeks. Then it spotted him through the window and in a flash was gone, up the tree and melting into the shadows, more like an apparition than a thing of flesh and blood.

  Ross said: ‘I don’t suspect you can be serious, my Lord.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘We are usually in accord on the plight of England in war. But at our last meeting we were sharply at odds on everything related to the internal government of England. The function of Parliament, the way men are elected to it, the unequal distribution of power, the venality that exists . . .’

  ‘Yes. But we are at war. As I have said before, I believe you have a greater potential than is realized by drilling some Volunteers and keeping your mine in profit. This is a way you might realize some of it.’<
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  ‘As a Tory?’

  His Lordship made a gesture. ‘Labels. They mean little. Did you know, for instance, that Fox began his political life as a Tory and Pitt as a Whig?’

  ‘No, I did not.’

  ‘You see, times change. And alignments change. I don’t know how much you have studied the course of politics over this century, Captain Poldark . . . But might I venture to offer you my views on the subject?’

  ‘Certainly, if you wish.’

  ‘Well, d’you know, it was the Whigs who, in 1688, saved England from domination by the Stuarts when King James turned away from our church to Rome – and all that that could imply. They brought over William of Orange; and then when Queen Anne died without issue they invited the Hanoverian to be George I. Remember, they were led by our finest aristocracy, who knew what it meant to preserve the liberty of the subject from extreme monarchy. My own family, I’m proud to say, supported them for many years, and secured that support by sending up the right sort of men to the Commons. Nobody believed then in the ideas you seem to have in mind, to change the electoral system which has been a part of our long tradition – nobody, that is, until that King George who is still with us, swayed by undesirable advisers, tried to take the reins of government too much into his own hands. Then the Whigs talked of liberty again – the rights of Magna Carta – and quite properly so.’

  ‘But then—’

  ‘Wait. But the excitable ones – Burke, and Fox and his friends – it went to their heads and they talked of “reform”. Liberty to them came to mean equal representation and many of the other things you talk of. When the revolution in France broke out they were quite swept away – they thought Utopia had arrived. But disillusion came rapidly to many of them; especially to Burke; and indeed to the great majority of those who now accept the name of Whig. They didn’t – they don’t – believe in equal representation, Captain Poldark, any more than the Tories. (Consider your friend Basset.) Pitt is now a Tory, as I am; and I would remind you that in their time the Tories have stood up for religious freedom, for the old liberties of the smaller English gentry, for a greater distribution of power between king and nobles and lesser men. But be that as it may. When the war is won – or lost – we may all examine our allegiances afresh. Pitt is a man of advanced ideas – sometimes too advanced for me; but for the moment he has shelved those ideas because he knows – as all right-thinking men know – that France and its revolution would destroy us, and that is what immediately matters. Let me see, you have met my brother-in-law, Captain Gower, haven’t you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘He has been in the forefront in proposing reform within the navy. I think you would like him.’

  Nothing stirred outside the window now except the drifting veils of rain.

  ‘Good God,’ Ross said impatiently. ‘You offer me this? You have the pick of the country to choose from! And, apart from Armitage – relatives in plenty.’

  ‘The answer to that, my dear Poldark, is very simple. I ask you because I believe you have the best chance of winning this seat. Your popularity in the town will, I believe, outweigh the resentment felt against me. Last time my candidate lost by one vote. There is always a certain additional influence attaching to a sitting Member, and Warleggan might still attract one or more extra to counteract de Dunstanville’s withdrawal of support.’

  ‘Thank you for your candour.’

  ‘If you expected me to disguise my motives you would not be the man I supposed you to be. My other reasons for asking you I have already stated.’

  ‘Why on earth d’you suppose I’d be likely to accept this offer after I turned down a similar one from Basset eighteen months ago?’

  ‘Circumstances have changed. Times are more grievous. The country calls out for leadership. You know what Canning said last month? “Nothing,” he said, “will rouse this nation from stupidity and sleep into a new life and action. We are now soulless and spineless.” You admit to a frustration in your present life. One individual, you may say, can do little on his own. But a nation is made up of single individuals.’

  Ross turned from the window, looked at his host. A cold man, at any rate in his business affairs, but at least not one you would ever have to mince words with. He decided not to mince them now. The general abrasiveness of his feelings lent an extra edge to his tone.

  ‘You are inviting me, my Lord, to stand for a seat where an unwise use of your authority has alienated the normally amenable electors. Am I right? So, in effect, you’re asking me to endorse not merely a system I don’t like but a use of power I personally altogether reject. By standing as your candidate I should become a party to such contrivances and would be tacitly supporting them!’

  His Lordship waved a dismissive hand.

  ‘I inherited from my uncle an autocratic approach to the boroughs I control. In future I shall take a little more care for the sensibilities of the Council. So we may amend that a little more to your liking. What you may not amend is the electoral system as a whole. You must take it or leave it. Or work for its reform – outside or inside the House.’

  He got up. ‘But there are more urgent things to do, Captain Poldark. While all Europe is ranged against us.’

  Ross said: ‘I think my clothes will be dry. I should prefer to change them before dinner.’

  ‘Just so. I’ll not keep you now. But I must have your answer before you leave.’

  ‘You shall have it.’

  Falmouth put the bottle of Madeira into a cupboard and locked it. ‘Do not forget another advantage to your accepting.’

  ‘What is that?’

  ‘You may both at the same time do me a favour and Warleggan a disservice.’

  IV

  The young voices – and the young people – had gone from the hall. The house was very quiet, like the day, like the sick man upstairs, like the sickness and shallowness of life. Ross walked across the hall and heard a murmur from behind an open door and looked in. Demelza was talking to Mrs Gower. She looked strange in the borrowed frock, her face pale, her dark eyes thumb-printed with a heavier darkness; a half-stranger at least, not the young woman he had known for thirteen years, not quite his wife, someone withdrawn from him into a pool of her own spirit where not only the familiar emotions stirred.

  They had not seen him and he did not go in, not wishing to break in on them, preferring his own dark thoughts. He went upstairs and missed his way, found himself at the foot of the spiral staircase leading to the cupola. He retraced his steps. A cheerless house, if ever there was one. Thank God he would never have the means or the ambition to enlarge Nampara more than he had done already. But the Bassets’ was a cheerful place compared to this. Some people had a faculty for making a home.

  He found the bedroom at the third attempt. His clothes were not dry but they would do. Lord Falmouth’s uncle had had shorter legs, and it was damned uncomfortable.

  The fire blazed brightly and he was glad of the warmth while he changed. After tying his cravat he moved some of Demelza’s clothes nearer to make the best use of the heat. Her stockings were still wet and the hem of her skirt and underskirt would take half a day to dry.

  As he moved the skirt a piece of paper fell out of the pocket and he stooped to pick it up and thrust it back. But the blue ink, which was unusual and distinctive, drew his attention, and before he could stop himself he was reading what was written there.

  When I am gone remember this of me

  That earth of earth or heaven of heaven concealed

  No greater happiness than was to me revealed

  By favour of a single day with thee.

  If for those moments you should shed a tear

  Proud I would be and prouder of your sorrow;

  Even if no memory beyond tomorrow

  In your sweet heart will empty me of fear.

  Leave in the sand a heel mark of your crying,

  Scatter all grief to silence and to air.

  Let the wind blow your beauty ever fair


  And leave me thus to occupy my dying.

  Chapter Eight

  I

  The Warleggans returned to Truro from Trenwith on Sunday the tenth of September. It was earlier than customary, but George had to be present for the elections on Thursday, and Elizabeth decided to return with him. With no Geoffrey Charles and only her ailing parents for company, Trenwith offered no special attraction, and the hot lovely summer was almost over. The new parliament would reassemble in early October, and she had decided to go up with George. Her last visit had brought her new experiences and new friends, and it was exciting to be at the very centre of things, so near the heart of power. And she would see Geoffrey Charles for a few days before he returned to Harrow.

  She had consented to arrangements whereby he spent the whole summer with schoolfriends in Norfolk, knowing that this was for the best and that it might avoid a conflict between her son and her husband, and hoping that a whole year’s absence would help to make the break between Geoffrey Charles and Drake complete. But life for her was not quite the same without him. The most important person to her had long been Geoffrey Charles. Valentine could not supplant him; he had never quite caught at her heart.

  The day he learned of de Dunstanville’s new accord with Falmouth and his deal over the Truro and Tregony boroughs George had been like thunder: letter in hand he had ridden off to Tehidy the same morning. There some high words had been spoken; he had made his displeasure clear but had found his patron coldly, politely adamant – henceforward in the Truro borough Mr Warleggan must fend for himself. It was an unhappy interview, and some of the remarks he had made in his first moments of offended self-esteem he had soon regretted. Since the day he first met Basset he had made it his business to be agreeable to him and it had borne suitable fruit. He was too influential a man to be estranged from, and already George was making tactful efforts to heal the breach.

  For, in fact, so far as his own seat in Truro was concerned George, after the first alarm, was not too gravely worried. After Basset resigned as Capital Burgess a battle raged within the Council as fierce as any that might happen at the election itself, for this could well decide the election. In the end the mayor, a Tory now, threatened with the example of a former mayor a few years before who had obstructed a majority and gone to prison for it, had given way, and the Whigs in triumph had been able to appoint Vivian Fitz-Pen, the scion of an ancient house now much decayed and him a good example of it, but a Foxite Whig who would not vote for a Boscawen candidate if the heavens fell.