On the Friday Stephen and Clowance rode out to St Erme, whose annual cattle and horse fair was the biggest in the county, and Stephen paid what Clowance thought an outrageous price for a handsome dark bay gelding, ‘the property of an officer recently fallen at Waterloo’. The two men selling the horse told Stephen that they would get a far better price at Tattersall’s but they were selling locally to avoid the cost of the travelling. Moses, as he was called, was a very big animal – seventeen hands – and was clearly accustomed to hunting. A six-year-old, they said, and Stephen could not take his eyes off it. As well as being good at persuading himself that what he wanted was right, he had a similar tendency to believe the persuasiveness of others; and the sale was soon completed.
They rode through Truro and back to Falmouth in triumph, Clowance on Nero leading the hired horse. Even if he has paid too much for it, she thought, it’s his money, won by his enterprise, why shouldn’t he have the enjoyment? Just as he enjoyed giving me the necklace. Just as he has enjoyed giving the cottage to Andrew. (I hope he has as much money as he says. I hope – I do hope and pray – he will know when to say stop.)
III
The courtship of Music and Katie did not follow a conventional pattern.
For one thing, they did not look at each other as affianced people should. Music gazed constantly at Katie, his pale puzzled eyes gleaming with happiness – he was in his seventh heaven only because there was not an eighth – but he never let his gaze fall below her face. He became alert and experienced in interpreting the nuances of her expressions – which boded ill for him, which tolerance, which – very rarely – liking or approval. He never allowed his gaze to travel anywhere below her chin, for he knew without ever having been told that her corporeal presence lower than the neck was not for him. It was unthinkable territory.
For her part, although she quite frequently spoke to him, she always kept her eyes lowered, as if to reduce within herself the shame of such a match. To meet his adoring eyes would have been to establish a contact, an intimacy which could, of course, never be allowed to establish itself. She went to his cottage, walked around it, made comments, a few suggestions, which he eagerly agreed to. In the end she found he only had four cats. Tom, one of the scabby tabby toms, had been caught in a gin at the beginning of the year, so all that were left were Tabby, Ginger, Blackie and Whitey, which was certainly more than she wanted, but Music was so obviously devoted to them that she decided to tolerate them. In the harsh cat world of Grambler, wastage would no doubt take one or another off in due time, so long as she was absolutely firm about admitting newcomers.
Music went about in a dream world, working every spare moment he could get away from Place House, which was little enough, putting new thatch on part of the roof, clearing out the smelly fishing-tackle, hanging the back door on new hasps so that it would shut properly, mending the broken windows, repairing the fire bars, cleaning out the jakes and laying stones to it across the dusty scrub of the yard. In his excitement he had to be careful not to walk on his toes again or let his voice break into its upper register.
One day when he was trying to repair the table leg his older brother John walked in. He had come over to see what was going on. They were neither of them men of many words, and after a few grunted monosyllables of greeting John spat on the floor and thrust his hands into the upper pockets of his breeches and watched Music trying to get the table to stand steady without rocking.
‘When’ll ye wed?’ he asked presently.
‘Dunno.’
‘I’ve ’erd tell ’tis to be the 1st October.’
‘Mebbe.’
‘What Katie says goes, eh?’
‘Mebbe.’ Music stopped to scowl at his table. ‘Ais, I reckon. What Katie says goes.’
‘Know ye she’s only marryin’ ye on account that she’s forced put?’
‘I reckon.’
‘It don’t fret ye that ee be going to be fathur to Saul Grieves’s child?’
‘’Tes Katie’s child. That’s for sure.’
‘Aye, that’s for sure. What do Art say?’
‘’Aven’t asked ’im.’
‘Nay, ye wouldn’t. Well, I tell ee what ee d’say. He say you’re all mops an’ brooms where Katie’s consarned. She cares for you no more than for a pail of muggets. ’Tis just convenience. That’s what ’tis, Music. Just convenience.’
Music stretched up. ‘Aye?’
‘Aye. He also d’say, and ’tis the very truth of the matter, that we all three on us own part o’ this yur cottage. So if you be gwan set up house wi’ this woman and ’ave her child, ’tis no more’n right ’n proper that you d’pay a rent to we.’
‘What?’
John Thomas repeated his words, aware that Music was not taking them in. Eventually Music said: ‘You mun ast Katie.’
‘Aye, I thought so much. Ast Katie. She’ll run ee round like a cocket, I’ll tell ee for certain, I sorrow for ee, Music. I sorrow for ee.’
‘Ais?’ Music smiled. ‘Well I bain’t sorrowing for meself, see?’
After a few weeks the whispering and the sniggering died down, and people began to accept the match. Music, though a big strong young man, was weak-willed and easily sat on and very sensitive to ridicule. Katie was a big strong young girl, not at all weak-willed, and, when she was among her own kind, a formidable presence. Folk didn’t laugh in her face and she cared little for what was said behind her back. Also there was the distant Poldark connection. Her brother was underground captain of Wheal Grace and Wheal Leisure. Her mother had worked for the Poldarks for a long time, a long time ago, and so had her father. Her grandfather, Zacky Martin, who had been a semiinvalid for years, had been Cap’n Poldark’s righthand man through the early troublous years and still lived in Mellin, hard by Nampara. An uncle and an aunt, no older than she was, were employed at Nampara, in the house and on the farm.
It counted for something in the village. It made the enormity of the match greater but it made criticism of it more subdued.
A conversation concerning it took place that evening at Nampara where Demelza, for the first time since her return, had Dwight and Caroline to supper. For this evening only Isabella-Rose had been asked if she would have supper upstairs.
‘It is not that we have anything private to discuss that we don’t wish you to hear,’ Demelza said to her. ‘It is just that we are four old friends, of an age; we have not met like this for so long. We would feel the same if Clowance were here or – or anyone else.’
Bella kissed her. ‘One day I shall be grown up and then I shall have nothing more to do with you.’
They ate a piece of fresh salmon, fricasseed rabbits, a blackcurrant pie and syllabubs, with cherries after. At one time Demelza had been a little on edge even when entertaining such old friends; now perhaps her stay in Paris and later at Lansdowne House made things easier; one didn’t worry about a servant’s gaffe. Or perhaps it was that one no longer cared.
The meal went easily and pleasantly; the room became a little corner of comfort in a black world.
Mention of Zacky Martin brought it up. Ross said Zacky was scandalized and upset by his granddaughter’s disgrace, and now by her crazy decision to marry the village idiot.
‘He’s by no means that,’ Dwight said, sharply for him. ‘In fact he never was. Slow-witted and amiable, certainly, and at one time he rather enjoyed being the butt of the village. It was a sort of fame. But in the last few years he’s been trying to grow out of it.’
‘Dwight has been very good to him,’ said Caroline. ‘Spent hours with him.’
‘Half an hour a week at most,’ said Dwight. ‘But he came and asked what was wrong with him. I was surprised. Village idiots, as they are called, don’t usually realize there is anything wrong with themselves; they think it is other people who are at fault. So I thought I would spend an hour or two testing his capacities. I found nothing wrong, physically. He has a good alto voice – but so have other normal people. When he was a child o
ne of his brothers pushed him into the fire and he burnt his feet, chiefly his heels. He got into the habit of walking on his toes, but now he has got out of it. Mentally he’s slow. But so are a number of his friends. Recently he has learned to count, and if he concentrates he can tell the time. He knows the months of the year now, and he’s good with animals and clever with his hands. It may not be a lot, but I think he is sufficiently normal to have the right to live a normal life.’
‘I suspicion that Dwight has been the matchmaker,’ said Demelza.
‘I’m not guiltless. But in this company … It is likely that Caroline and I would never have come together again if it had not been for that man’s interference.’
‘It’s too long ago,’ said Ross. ‘I deny responsibility. But if it comes to matchmaking, Demelza is in the forefront of us all.’
‘Well,’ said Demelza, and blew a cherry stone genteelly into her fist, ‘that’s as maybe. But d’you know, the one I regret was the match I didn’t make. Betwixt my brother Sam and Emma Tregirls, as she then was. There was such a gap – Sam’s religion, you know – so I suggested they should part for a year … Emma went to Tehidy. But before the year was up she married the footman there, Hartnell, and so it was too late for Sam’s happiness.’
‘He’s happy married now,’ said Ross. ‘So is Emma. I do not think it could ever have worked … But seriously, Dwight, if you think well of Music Thomas, I wish you might find time to call and see Zacky and Mrs Zacky. They would take greater notice of what you said, and it might set their minds more easy.’
‘I will. I would take Music with me, but I know he would be so sweatily nervous that he would show to the worst advantage.’
‘If ee please, mum,’ said Betsy Maria Martin, of that ilk, coming in. ‘Henry d’say you promised to go up and tell him good-night.’
‘So I did,’ said Demelza. ‘I’ll come in five minutes.’
Supper was all but over, but they stayed round the table chatting in the desultory way that Demelza so enjoyed. Caroline had sent her two daughters to an expensive school in Newton Abbot but she was not satisfied with it and was considering keeping them at home again and employing a teacher-governess.
‘We want someone like your Mrs Kemp,’ said Caroline. ‘Someone with a rod, if not of iron, at least of birch, to stop Dwight spoiling them.’
‘Oh Mrs Kemp was wonderful in Paris,’ said Demelza. ‘She was a rock. But do not suppose that she is so highly educated that she would suit for Sophie and Meliora. Have you asked Mrs Pelham’s advice?’
‘Oh my dear darling aunt is at last showing signs of age, and although she loves to have us all there I do not think she would willingly undertake the semi-permanent custody of my two lanky brats.’
‘I wasn’t thinking that. I was thinking she might know someone. You need someone more like Morwenna, who was so good with Geoffrey Charles.’
They sipped their port. Then Demelza rose.
‘Well, I suppose I must not keep Henry waiting.’
‘The future Sir Harry,’ said Caroline.
‘Yes, that’s so.’
‘Though I trust a long way in the future. And always I suppose subject to whether Cuby’s child is a boy or a girl.’
‘Oh?’ said Demelza. ‘Oh, yes.’
‘Have you heard from Cuby?’ Dwight asked Ross.
‘I think she plans to come down next month.’
IV
In bed that night Demelza said: ‘Is that true, what Caroline said about Cuby’s baby?’
‘What was that?’
‘That if it should be a boy, he would inherit the title, not Henry.’
‘Yes, I suppose so. Does it matter?’
Demelza thought it over.
Ross said: ‘It is of little moment to me that I should have a title to pass on. Do you care?’
‘I’m not sure, Ross. I think I do. I certainly care that you have a title, as you know. And Cuby’s son is your grandson, and it would be well enough if he inherited. But … I think that Henry is your son, and it would be more proper for him to have it.’
‘Maybe. I hadn’t thought. It is not important. Anyway nature will make up its own mind.’
The window was open on the warm night, and a moth flew in. It began to make perilous circuitous reconnaissances round the candle.
‘Old Maggie Dawe used to call ’em meggyhowlers,’ said Demelza.
‘What? Oh, did she? That’s a name even Jud didn’t know.’
‘Have you seen him since you came home?’
‘No. I must go tomorrow.’
‘I went early on, but it was in the first shock and I do not suppose I was as attentive to their complaints as usual.’
After a pause Ross said: ‘Did you know that Cuby was in Cornwall?’
‘No! Is she coming here?’
‘I avoided a direct answer when Caroline asked. Cuby promised to come here for the birth of her child, but that is three months off. She is staying at Caerhays with her family.’
‘Oh.’
‘She did not mention it when I left her. Perhaps there has been a change of plan.’
‘Who told you?’
‘I saw John-Evelyn Boscawen in Truro yesterday. He knew Jeremy well, of course. They were of an age. He assumed I knew about Cuby.’
Demelza thought this over too. ‘I think she might have written.’
‘Perhaps she will.’
‘She was some nice to me when I was in Brussels.’
‘She may feel a few weeks at home will be good for her first. She was still in a state of shock.’
‘We all are.’
‘Indeed.’
‘Shall you go over and see her, Ross?’
‘Oh no. I think the decision to communicate with us must come from her. We must give her time.’
‘Time,’ said Demelza. ‘Yes, I suppose we all have lots of time…’
In the warm night you could hear the thunder of the sea on the beach. It was there almost all the time but only on quiet nights did it penetrate to one’s consciousness. ‘Rum-a-dum-dum,’ said Ross to himself. ‘Rum-a-dum-dum.’ Pray God that sound would never be heard again.
‘What were you muttering?’ Demelza asked.
‘I was cursing under my breath.’
‘What for?’
‘Because I have to get up and push your meggyhowler out of the window. Its suicidal tendencies will prevent me from going to sleep.’
‘Put out the candle.’
‘Then it will flutter round our faces in the dark.’
‘Looking for another flame,’ said Demelza.
Chapter Seven
Moses was a good mount. He was mettlesome and took some controlling at first but after a week or so he took to his new owner. Stephen was not the easiest of riders: he didn’t really know how to gentle a horse along, persuading him instead of ordering him, he didn’t talk to him enough. (When Clowance, the unloquacious, rode with Nero alone she talked to him all the time.) But they came to understand each other. It is probable that Moses’ former owner, if he was a cavalry officer as well as a huntsman, had treated his horse well, ridden it hard, and lacked finesse. If so Moses, who had a hard mouth, recognized a new and similar-minded master. ‘Geldings always make the best jumpers,’ Stephen said.
He was delighted. He was noticeable on this horse wherever he went. He temporarily neglected his shipping interests and galloped each morning with Clowance over the moors west of Falmouth. He couldn’t wait for the next hunting season to begin. He couldn’t wait to show his horse to Harriet.
An opportunity for this occurred earlier than he had expected. Sid Bunt had put in to Penryn, and after reporting and checking his stores he was off with the Lady Clowance like the delivery van he was, to complete a half-dozen commissions up the Fal.
Most of these were workaday, but the big house at Trelissick had ordered a harp and two paintings, two late Opies – the painter had been dead several years but his work was becoming still more prized. Stephen was
interested enough to see that these all travelled well, and in the ordinary course of events, if he had been free of his other vessels, he would have sailed with the Lady Clowance as far as King Harry Ferry for the off-loading. This time, because he was so proud of his horse, he rode overland to meet the Lady Clowance there. He superintended the landing of the cargo and met the owner of the house and took a glass of sherry with him before he started for home, full of the satisfaction of having made one more influential acquaintance.
Trelissick is not far from Cardew but it is separated from it by the Carnon Stream. Having dropped down to stream level and crossed by the old bridge, he let Moses amble along at his own pace enjoying the sunshine and the warm air. On impulse he turned into Carnon Wood, remembering the hunt had once taken them through there, and the hair-raising ride – almost literally hair-raising – they had had among the low branches. The wood was not above twenty acres in extent but it had only one decent path through it and a clearing with a workman’s hut, part ruined, in the middle. At an earlier season the ground was ablaze with bluebells and wild daffodils. Rabbits abounded and lots of game – hares, badgers, woodcock, snipe.
As he came into the clearing he saw a woman pacing cautiously round the perimeter. She was tall and well dressed, in a purple riding cap and waistcoat with nankeen-coloured skirt, worn short enough to show purple shoes and embroidered stockings. It was Lady Harriet Warleggan. Her rich black hair was in a queue. She carried a riding crop.
‘Harriet!’ called Stephen in surprise.
She stopped and looked at him, scowling into the sun. At first she did not look well pleased as he rode up and dismounted, taking off his hat.
‘Well, well, so it is our conquering hero!’
‘What a vastly agreeable surprise!’ he said, taking her gloved hand. ‘I had not hoped to meet you here – and out walking in your…’
He hesitated. Because she was tall and well built, her figure only just showed the child she carried.
‘In my present condition, you were going to say?’
The Twisted Sword: A Novel of Cornwall 1815 Page 42
