How to be sure? Or if not sure, how to be surer than most people, sure enough to invest large sums of money on the outcome? Once it became certain that a Regency would be established the value of the Manchester properties would be quadrupled overnight.
Chapter Six
I
By the time Christmas came Stephen Carrington had established himself as a personality in the community of Nampara, Mellin and Sawle.
Seeing them carried up the stream-bordered track to the house that day, the one man so obviously dead, the other so near it as to make the difference barely perceptible, Demelza had thought him too far gone for recall. She had hurried ahead to the house and sent Gabby Martin flying to bring Dr Enys. By luck Dwight was nearby and was able to superintend the first aid. The sailor was carried upstairs, stripped and covered with warm blankets; warming-pans were put at his feet, and his hands rubbed with spirit, while a drop or two of brandy was tried upon his lips. Dwight said the man was faintly breathing, and he stayed with him until that breathing became perceptible to all. Then he went down and sipped a little port with Demelza and patted her hand and said he would come again as soon as he had broken his fast in the morning.
But by morning the rescued man was conscious and able to speak. By afternoon he was eating light food and sipping a cordial. By the following day he was out of bed.
Stephen Carrington, gentleman. From Gloucestershire, where he had some interest in shipping and trade with Ireland. He had left Bristol in a barque bound for Cork. They had been dismasted in a great storm; the ship had begun to sink; one of the boats had capsized and he had taken to a life-raft with the mate and a Lascar sailor. They had drifted for days – or so it seemed. The mate had died. The Lascar sailor had lasted almost as long as Carrington but not quite.
Youngish. Demelza would not have put him beyond thirty. A West Country accent but different from Cornish. He was clearly a very strong man, for Dwight found he had two broken ribs, yet he was soon moving about the house and farm as if nothing had happened. He had a broad face, particularly across the brows, and his leonine hair and bright blue eyes made him handsome. All the younger maids clearly thought so. As did Clowance. Wearing one of Ross’s old suits, for Jeremy’s were not broad enough, he made himself useful in any way that came along, friendly, cheerful, liked by everyone.
He was not penniless – there had been money in a belt about his waist – and he offered Demelza two guineas to pay for his keep. She refused. So he spent some of it up at the kiddleys getting on good terms with the miners.
Having lived in the company of gentlefolk for twentyfive years but never been precisely one of them herself (though she enjoyed their company – occasionally – and admired some of their attitudes and came to adopt what she liked of their behaviour as her own), Demelza had razor-sharp perceptions about them. Far more so than Ross, who hardly bothered to notice. And she was not quite sure what to make of Stephen Carrington.
Two days before Christmas he asked if he might stay till the end of the year.
‘Dr Enys tells me that me ribs are not yet healed, and it would be a great favour t’have a few more days in such pleasant company.’
‘We shall be quiet for Christmas with my husband away, but you’d be more than welcome to be with us.’
He scratched his head. ‘To tell the truth, Mrs Poldark, though me body’s almost healed, the shipwreck’s given me mind such a shaking up – being so near death, as t’were – that I’d be glad to have a little time more to rest and refit. I’m everlasting grateful.’
So Christmas came. There was a party at the Trenegloses and another one at the Popes, and a third, though restricted as to size, at the Kellows. To all these Stephen Carrington went. Demelza had given a party last year, so she made the excuse that Ross wasn’t home. Caroline Enys, impulsive as ever, having decided against doing anything, suddenly made up a party to see out the old year. ‘My two little brats are really too young to appreciate anything but sweetmeats and jellies, so let ’em go to bed and we’ll celebrate Saturnalia. Or eat oaten cake if you prefer it.’
In fact they did a little of both. Although Killewarren had no very large room, the company dispersed itself about four or five. In one they played dice, in another they jigged to Myner’s violin, in a third they helped themselves to goose and capon and pheasant, or syllabubs and chocolate cake, in the fourth they sprawled around a big fire and told stories. When midnight came a groom tolled the stable bell and the candles were blown out and everyone foregathered and, with appropriate grunts or squeals, dug for raisins in the great flat bowl of lighted brandy.
When the fun was over and she had kissed Dwight and Demelza, Caroline said: ‘Why does that man still go ahunting? I love him dearly but he does try us hard.’
‘Tis in the blood,’ Demelza said. ‘I can’t imagine why, for the other Poldarks s’far as I know have stayed quietly at home most of their lives. But it seems he tasted adventure too early and can’t rid himself of the flavour.’
‘As a civilian,’ Dwight said, ‘he’s not likely to be at much risk; he may be home any day.’
‘That’s what I tell myself,’ Demelza said, a little tremulously, moved by the occasion, the brandy, the warmth of the fire, and more particularly by the warmth of her two dearest friends.
‘And where is Verity this year?’ Caroline asked, perceiving the emotion she had stirred and trying to allay it.
‘At home. Her stepdaughter Esther is coming to stay.’
‘Will Andrew be there?’
‘Senior? Oh, yes. He has been retired four years, greatly to Verity’s relief.’
Caroline picked a hair off Dwight’s coat. ‘And this young man Jeremy fished out of the sea. Did he do it with a hook and line? Mr Carrington is, I agree, more than a little handsome. Better dressed and with a fashionable haircut he would not look at all out of place in a London ballroom.’
‘They’re Ross’s clothes he’s wearing.’
‘Ah well, Ross has the sort of distinction that allows him to be shabby if he chooses. So does Dwight, but I won’t let him choose.’
‘You should try influencing Ross.’
‘That I wouldn’t dare! How long is he staying?’
‘Stephen? I’m not sure.’
‘We may be off to London next week, Demelza.’
‘What? Both of you? But you only came back in October! All this travelling. I better prefer to stay in one place.’
‘It’s a small matter sudden,’ Caroline said. ‘Dwight has just received a medical invitation and he has thoughts of accepting it.’
Demelza looked at Dwight and Dwight looked back at her and smiled.
‘Ross will be back by then,’ he said.
‘He’d better be. Otherwise I’ll think all my – friends have deserted me.’
‘Why don’t you come with us to London?’
‘What, and maybe cross coaches? – him going one way and me the other? No, thank you. But thank you all the same.’
The guests were dispersing to their various rooms again. Stephen Carrington as he left the room was linking little fingers with Clowance. Jeremy had Maud Pope in tow. The fair young Mrs Pope was standing reluctantly beside her elderly husband, politeness masking discontent.
‘Tell me,’ Caroline said, two gloved fingers on Demelza’s wrist. ‘Tell me, woman, what are you going to do about Clowance?’
Demelza looked startled. ‘About her? What’s wrong with her?’
‘Only the complaint that attacks us all at that age. She’s growing up. And getting prettier. It’s a not uncommon phenomenon.’
‘What should I do? Send for the Fencibles?’
‘Not en masse. Seriously, it is a problem that will one day concern me but not yet for almost a decade. I bred late. And for me it will not be so difficult. I’ll take my two little drabs to London and dress them in fine silks and see if there is any quality dancing attendance. And by quality I do not mean the length of a gentleman’s pedigree or the whiteness of hi
s ruff.’
‘I’m glad,’ said Demelza. ‘Oh … as for Clowance … what can I wish her? A life one half so happy as mine has been? With the man of her choice. Let her choose, Caroline. She must do that for herself.’
‘So, I hope, will Sophie and Meliora when the time comes. Dwight would insist on it if I did not. But it is the extent of the choice that matters. I want my children to have had a passably close look at fifty men before they drop their anchors. What concerns me a little, my dear, is that Clowance’s choice, unless we take steps to amend the situation, will be limited to a half-dozen, if that. You say she does not care for the receptions and balls given in Truro?’
‘Those two or three she has been to, no. She better prefers galloping across the beach on Nero … But Caroline, if she is suffering at all it is from the indecision of her parents. Ross does not care for these occasions – and often is away when he should be home. And I … well, I can never see myself in the situation of an anxious mother launching her daughter into a succession of soirées, parties, balls. Even though I have been Mrs Ross Poldark so long I do not think I have the – the confidence or authority … Certainly not without Ross.’ She stopped and frowned into the fire. ‘But even if I had, should I want to? Surely not. My daughter is not a – a cow at a country fair with a bow of pink ribbon round its neck waiting for inspection from those who are interested in putting in a bid. She deserves something different from that!’
Dwight laughed. ‘So you see, Caroline.’
His wife said: ‘I see nothing but an obstinate misunderstanding of my meaning. Of course Poldarks are unique and to themselves, apart. No, no, I intend no irony. No one could see you or Ross pursuing the conventional rounds, as it were. It would be a perversion of all you stand for in the county. Nevertheless, daughters – and sons for that matter – should be given the opportunity of seeing a fair sample of the opposite sex before they choose. And, since I see you are both against me, I can only add that it was my wide acquaintanceship with the landed youth of Oxfordshire that made me all the more instantly aware of the sterling qualities of Dr Enys.’
‘Landless and penniless as I was,’ said Dwight. ‘I don’t really believe calculation or deep perception entered into it with either of us, Caroline. We saw each other. And when we’d done that we’d eyes for no one else.’
‘There you put your finger on it all,’ said Demelza, helping herself to port and trying to convince herself. ‘Of course it is better that every daughter and every son should meet as many as possible of their own age. But who’s to say the twenty-third man you meet has anything to commend him over the third? If with the third the fire has been lighted, no extra numbers can put it out. And if in all you only have six to choose from … will the choice be any worse? I don’t know. I saw only one. But then I was different. I was beyond measure lucky.’
‘Consider Ross,’ said Caroline. ‘The luck didn’t run just one way.’
Demelza patted her hand. ‘We can argue about that.’
‘Well,’ said Caroline, ‘it is good for old friends to have something to argue about at twenty minutes before one o’clock on the first of January, eighteen hundred and eleven. I’m tired of toasting “Death to the French”, for I’ve been doing it for nearly two decades. So let us toast to ourselves – and absent friends.’
II
Early January was fine and still in Cornwall, with the ground soft and damp and no bite to the air. All the unrelenting savagery that the weather and the sea were capable of was withdrawn, held in abeyance, scarcely to be considered as a serious threat. No sun came through; the days passed under grey, mild, still skies. Compared with two weeks before, a little daylight seemed to have crept into the afternoons.
One day Stephen Carrington said to Clowance: ‘This house. This Trenwith House that you say is near and belongs to your cousin – which way is it?’
‘Just past Grambler. You know, the village. About four miles.’
‘Could we walk there? They tell me it is more than two hundred years old, and I am interested in old buildings.’
Clowance hesitated. ‘Well, officially it belongs to my cousin Geoffrey Charles Poldark, but his stepfather, Sir George Warleggan, actually takes care of it for him, and Sir George does not encourage visitors.’
‘Does he live there?’
‘Oh no. Just two gamekeepers who care for the place for him. But he is not friendly with our family, and my mother has forbidden me to go there again.’
Stephen thrust a hand through his thick hair. ‘Well, I have the greatest respect and admiration for Mrs Poldark, and I should be the last to encourage you to disobey. She is a very beautiful woman.’
‘Who? My mother? Yes, I suppose so…’
‘Had you not noticed? Perhaps not, for you are very like her.’
‘I think I am very unlike her – different colouring, bigger bones, different shaped face…’
‘No, no you take me wrong. I mean that Mrs Poldark for a beautiful woman is the least conceited about it that ever I’ve met. Almost unaware – after all these years still a little surprised when a man’s eyes light up with – with admiration. It is in that I mean you are like her. You are … unaware.’
‘If that is intended as a compliment,’ said Clowance, ‘then I’m obliged to you.’
‘The more I struggle the deeper I flounder,’ said Stephen. ‘So let me say again, I should not wish to encourage you to disobey your mother, see. Shall I go ask her if we may go? You will not come to no hurt in my company.’
‘I’ll not come to no hurt on my own,’ said Clowance. ‘But asking Mama wouldn’t profit you. I’ll take you to the gates if you like, and if they’re open we can proceed to the bend in the drive so that the front of the house may be seen.’
By now it was eleven, and for the first time for several days the clouds were thinning to show the disc of the sun like a six-shilling piece lying on a dusty floor. They went by way of the cliffs, since Clowance knew if they went up the valley past the mine the bal girls would be sure to see them and start tongues wagging. This was a way much frequented by people in the old days before the Warleggan fences were put up, but even though in recent years the fences had fallen or been pulled down the route was not as much used as formerly. Much of it was overgrown with gorse, and part of the cliff had tumbled.
The sea was uninteresting today, flat as a pewter plate. Even the gulls were uncommunicative. Everything was silent, waiting.
Clowance said: ‘My father told me once that there was a way into Trenwith no one but he knew. He used to play there with his cousin, who was killed in a mine.’
‘Did he say where twas?’
‘It was somewhere along this route – an old mine tunnel. It ran under the kitchens and came up by a wellhead in the courtyard. When George Warleggan lived there with his wife a dozen or more years ago he barred my father from entering the house, so Papa gave him one or two unpleasant surprises.’
‘And then what happened?’
‘I believe they came to blows more than once.’
‘Was that how your father got his scar?’
‘How did you know he had one?’
Stephen put his hand out to help her over a boulder. ‘That drawing of Jeremy’s. Tis of your father, isn’t it?’
Clowance disdained the hand and climbed quickly after him. ‘Before he was married Papa fought in America. That was where that came from.’
‘And Ben Carter has a similar one.’
‘Yes … Of a sort. Why do you say that?’
Stephen did not at once reply. His face was turned towards the sea, where a thin line of an unexpected wave was moving under the surface towards the cliffs.
‘Ben Carter is crazy for you, isn’t he.’
Clowance’s eyes did not flicker. ‘I think he has a taking.’
‘And you?’
She half smiled. ‘What d’you mean? And me?’
‘I mean have you a similar taking for him?’
‘If I had or
if I had not, should I be obliged to confess it to you?’
‘No … I shouldn’t’ve asked. No…’
They walked on and came to some rotting posts, which was all that was left of George’s stout fencing.
‘Whose sheep?’ asked Stephen as they entered the first field. ‘Does Warleggan farm here?’
‘No, they’ll be Will Nanfan’s or Ned Bottrell’s. They rent these fields from Sir George’s factor.’
‘They’re forward – the ewes, I mean. They’ll be dropping soon. I was brought up on a farm, y’know.’
‘No, I didn’t know.’
‘Often used to help the farmer with his lambing.’
‘Did you…’
‘Yes … A farm near Stroud.’
They walked on.
Clowance said: ‘As soon as the lambs come they’ll have to be taken out of these fields.’
‘Why?’
‘The gulls would get them.’
‘What, these gulls?’
‘No, the big black-backed ones. They’re big as geese themselves. Even near the village the lambs won’t be safe…’
Now they could see the grey chimneys of Trenwith sheltering under the fall of the land.
‘There,’ Clowance said, stopping. ‘That’s your house.’
‘But this is not the front way, this surely is the back.’
‘Yes. I changed my mind.’
They gazed a few seconds.
Stephen said: ‘You ride that black horse splendid.’
‘Nero? He’s an old friend.’
‘Every morning. On that beach. Like the wind. I wonder you don’t fear to stumble in the pits.’
‘He’s sure-footed.’
‘Well, I tell you, it’s a splendid sight.’
‘Papa calls it my constitutional.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘I’m not sure. Some word he has picked up in London.’
The Stranger from the Sea: A Novel of Cornwall, 1810-1811 Page 8
