It was Christmas Eve; outside a mild grey day, inside more fires than were strictly necessary, lit to enliven the house. The church choir were coming tonight; tomorrow they were all summoned to Killewarren, where the Enyses had ordered a boar’s head for dinner. Aside from the Poldarks, the servants in Nampara had worked their way into a festive mood. Mr Jeremy had been lost, and everyone grieved for him and for Miss Clowance, also widowed. But it did not prevent jollity sneaking in, a condition that Christmas traditionally induced. There were sniggers and flutters and cat-calls. While the Poldarks were out tomorrow there would be a feast in the old kitchen – where Jud and Prudie had once reigned – and gracious knew what noise there would be. Ross wondered how many of his helpers he would find sober when they returned. And little cared.
Demelza was induced to sit at the piano in Cuby’s place and Bella intoned over and over the jingle she had garnered from some old woman. ‘Sweet, sweet, jug, jug, water bubble, pipe rattle.’ So it went on while Demelza tried to find chords to fit it. ‘Bell pipe, scroty, skeg, skeg, swat, swaty, whitlow, whitlow, whitlow.’ Slowly a little tune came out. Bella crowed with delight, and Cuby and Demelza laughed together.
On this scene came Henry, and Bella gathered him up while Demelza played some of the old carols she knew so well.
The library was decorated with holly and ivy and ferns and a few early primroses, as was the parlour. Yesterday they had all been over to Sawle Church helping to decorate that too. Although flowers were scarce, some had come from Place House and from Killewarren. Neither Nampara nor Trenwith had a conservatory, and the Trenegloses were committed to St Ermyn’s, Marasanvose. Before going to Killewarren tomorrow they would all go to Sawle Church, where Mr Clarence Odgers would read prayers and preach. For this great occasion of Christmas all the servants from Nampara would attend as well.
Dwight and Caroline had promised to be there, even though Dwight pointed out that the 25th December had been a day of festival in England long before its conversion to Christianity.
Christmas Eve passed peacefully enough, the dark coming early because of the gloom of cloud. At seven Cuby said she did not feel well and retired to bed early. But she heard the choir come, and got up and sat by the window listening. The choir, fourteen strong, sang the Dilly Song.
Come and I will sing you.
What will you sing O?
I will sing One O.
What is your One O?
Twelve are the Twelve Apostles
’Leven are the ’leven will go to Heaven
Ten are the Ten Commandments
Nine is the moonshine bright and clear
Eight are the Eight Archangels
Seven are the Seven Stars in the sky
Six the Cheerful Waiter
Five is the Ferryman in the boat
Four are the Gospel Praychers
Three of them are strangers
Two of them are Lilly-white babes
Clothed all in green-o
One of them is all alone and ever shall remain so.
They also sang ‘Noël’ and ‘Joseph Was An Old Man’.
Afterwards they trooped into the parlour and took mince tarts and ginger wine. Music and Katie were of the party, though Music would now only sing tenor and Katie could hardly sing at all. They stood together through it all with an air of indestructibility.
On Christmas Day Cuby was well again, so the planned programme went ahead. Dawn broke misty wet, but towards midday the lips of the sky opened and a drier breath came. All the same there had just been enough rain in the night to make the cobbles greasy, the yard steamy with animals, the tracks slippery with mud. Both mining engines still worked; it was too expensive to shut them down for a single day. In the quiet air their thump and beat became more noticeable.
At church Mr Odgers wore his best cassock which he kept for special occasions, it being plum purple with brass buttons, very tight now, for he had worn it first at his marriage fifty-one years ago. It indicated no doctrinal or ecclesiastical order, for he belonged to none. That morning he was at his best and got through the service with only two mistakes.
The psalm was part of 22, beginning at verse 11. ‘Be not far from me; for trouble is near; for there is none to help.’ When it came to verse 20, ‘Deliver my soul from the sword; my darling from the power of the dog,’ Demelza put her hand quietly into Ross’s. His hand closed on hers.
After it was over they rode on to Killewarren, a few faint sun-born shadows preceding them on the way.
They had bought Caroline a piece of fine French lace, Dwight a neckerchief, and silk pinafores for the girls; the Enyses had a pair of wine goblets for Demelza, riding gloves for Ross, a finely crocheted child’s bonnet for Cuby, a book of songs for Bella, a toy horse for Harry that however much you pushed it over would always swing upright again.
Because of the children they dined early, and laughed a good deal and ate consumedly and drank good wine and generally made merry, though there was ice underneath, ice that clung round the heart. Shut out thoughts of other Christmases, other shadows on the wall. This was an evil year; there would be others that must be better. Life was to be lived – it had to go on. Chiefly for the sake of the young, but even for themselves, it must go on. And the day was fine and mild and the fire crackled, and food and drink and love and companionship were around them. Do not think of Jeremy lying in the cold Flanders clay.
Darkness fell and candles were brought and the fires remade, and the two Enys girls sang a duet with Cuby at the piano, and Bella gave a little recital of her new nightingale song.
Sweet, sweet, jug, jug
Water bubble, pine rattle
Bell pipe, scroty, skeg, skeg,
Swat, swaty, whitlow, whitlow, whitlow.
Her mother did her best to remember the chords she had made up that morning, and somehow it came out as a pleasant little ditty.
By 6.30 Henry was fretful, so Demelza, arousing huge protests from the girls, said they must go. They were away by seven, a small clip-clopping cavalcade, led by Ross, whose old Colley was as surefooted as they came and knew the way blindfold. Bone accompanied them carrying a lantern, though everyone assured Dwight it was not necessary.
A very dark night, unlit by moon or stars, and with a faint freckle of rain again borne on the tired breeze. Demelza carried Henry ahead of her, but as his head drooped in sleep he was transferred to Ross who, riding astride, could keep a firmer grip of him. A quiet ride now, everyone silent after the chatter of the day. In the distance the lights of Nampara already showed up, misting, haloed through the dark. As they clopped down the lane, overgrown with wind-crouching trees, Ross thought how little had changed here from the time he had ridden this way in the autumn of 1783 – thirty-two years ago – returning from the American War to find his father dead and Nampara a stinking shambles with Jud and Prudie in a drunken stupor in his father’s old box bed.
They crossed the bridge and dismounted outside the front door. He took Demelza in his arms, then Cuby.
As she slipped close to him Cuby whispered: ‘I’m sorry. I think I am beginning my pains.’
II
It was ten days earlier than anyone had supposed, but Ross said, as the lantern carrier was about to turn away:
‘Bone.’
‘Sur?’
‘I am very sorry, but I think my daughter-in-law is unwell. If you would trouble your master to come.’
Cuby went upstairs and undressed at once. It was immediately clear to Demelza that she was not mistaken. Ross went into the kitchen and found less confusion than he had expected. Sephus Billing was under the table and Ern Lobb snoring in his chair, but the rest came to their feet as he walked in.
He smiled: ‘You have all dined well? I can see you have.’
There was a relieved laugh. ‘Ais, sur.’
‘Sure ’nough.’
‘’Andsome, ’andsome, sur.’
He looked at Matthew Mark Martin. ‘I must ask a service of you. Mrs Jeremy is
taken with her pains. It is a little premature, but I have sent for Dr Enys. Will you ride to The Bounders’ Arms and fetch Mrs Hartnell?’
‘Right away, sur.’
Since Emma had moved into The Bounders’ Arms with her husband and two children, she had been encouraged by Dr Enys to take over from the elderly Mrs Higgins as midwife to the more respectable houses. It was not unremarked that this ‘light’ girl (daughter of the rascally Tholly Tregirls), who had at one time been considered to have too blemished a reputation to wed the Wesleyan, Sam Carne, should now in early middle life be looked on as reputable and reliable.
Demelza sat with Cuby to begin, regretting that, not expecting the baby until January, they had let Mrs Kemp take a holiday now, and that Clemency was not expected for another week. She felt nervous and ill-at-ease with this pretty, small, elegant young woman who was about to bring forth Jeremy’s child.
Dwight arrived first, but not long behind him came Emma, riding pillion behind Matthew Mark. Demelza kissed Cuby and left the room. She wanted no part in it. She did not want to see her daughter-in-law in pain. Over the months the rapport between the two women had grown; Cuby told her sister she had never met a woman who understood her one half so well as Lady Poldark did; this understanding was almost though not entirely friendly and full of guarded but sincere affection. Perhaps in Demelza’s reluctance to be near her daughter-in-law in childbirth lay the seeds of a fear that the hated sensations she had felt once were even yet not altogether vanquished.
Dwight was upstairs half an hour and then came into the parlour where Ross and Bella were playing a card game. Demelza was putting Henry to bed.
‘All is very well,’ he said. ‘I see no complications.’
‘Perhaps we brought you out unduly,’ Ross said. ‘After leaving you so recent.’
‘No, no, it was the right thing to do. The contractions are mild and regular. I would think sometime tomorrow morning. Perhaps early.’
‘Your lead, Papa,’ said Bella.
‘In the meantime?’
‘In the meantime get a good night’s sleep, as I propose to. I have given her a mild sedative, which should help, and Emma is now making her a cup of tea. Give my love to Demelza again.’
‘Of course.’ Ross led the ace of hearts.
‘Emma will stay with her all night,’ Dwight said. ‘And have one of your boys close at hand and ready to come for me if there is any need.’
‘Your trick, Daddy,’ said Bella.
III
At five o’clock in the morning of St Stephen’s Day Cuby Poldark was delivered of a healthy six-pound child. There were no complications, and, aware that she was in a strange house in spite of all the warmth and affection shown her, she gritted her teeth and bore the pain almost without a sound. Contrary to Ross’s predictions, it was a girl. Dwight patted Cuby’s hand and said she was very brave. The man who should have sat beside her bed and held her hand at this time was not there, and never would be. Through a mist of tears, part of happiness but more of sorrow, she was kissed and petted by each one of the family in turn. Henry laughed when he saw the baby. ‘Smaller’n me,’ he said. Despite Mrs Kemp’s efforts, he affected a strong Cornish accent.
So there was another child in the house, another Poldark, even if a girl; their first grandchild, Jeremy’s daughter; another generation. A Christmas baby, a Christ child, all that was left of their soldier son.
About twelve Demelza said to Ross she would like to walk to the end of the beach, would he come with her?
‘It’s a long way for me,’ said Ross. ‘All that sand. Before I get home I shall be limping like Jago’s donkey.’
‘Why don’t we take our horses, then? Not for a gallop, just an amble.’
‘If you’ve the fancy I’ll come.’
‘I’ve the fancy.’
Colley and Marigold were both elderly and would not be restive at the thought of walking at a sedentary pace.
Demelza went upstairs for something, so Ross, while waiting for the horses to be brought round, went to his front door and stared over his land. This was where he belonged. The trees edged his view on the right, with the thin stream, copper stained and running under the bridge on its way towards Nampara Cove. The engine house and sheds of Wheal Grace half-way up the rising ground ahead of him; the piled attle spilling down towards the house, with rough weeds already growing over part of it (the two stamps had been gone some years, at Demelza’s request – there were plenty in Sawle); his fields, mostly fallow, waited ploughing in February, speckled with crows seeking any scrap they could find; Demelza’s walled garden with the gate leading to the beach, and the rough ground between the garden and the sand. Half a mile distant, on the first cliffs, the engine house and other buildings of Wheal Leisure.
And at his back the house, of nondescript architectural design, with its grey Delabole slate roof, except for a patch of thatch at the rear, its disparate chimneys, its thick granite walls, a house that had been put up by rough hands to meet the needs of the family it had sheltered for sixty years.
‘I am ready,’ said Demelza as the horses came round.
They set off at a slow pace, the horses as companionable as the riders. Demelza carried a small canvas bag.
‘What’s in that?’ Ross asked.
‘Oh, something I just brought along with me.’
It was half-tide, going out, and although there was no wind the sea was showing teeth at its edges. For a while they splashed through the surf, the horses relishing the water. Although the distant cliffs were black, those around Wheal Leisure had head cloths of green and feet of black and brown and purple seaweed. Over all was sky and cloud, ever changing. The scene-shifters were seldom idle in Cornwall.
‘So we have a granddaughter,’ he said.
‘Yes.’
‘Does that please you?’
‘Yes, Ross. It pleases me.’
‘And Cuby?’
‘And Cuby. I’m sure it pleases her too.’
They rode on for a while.
Demelza said: ‘When she first came to Nampara – that first time – she seemed so composed, so assured, that I almost found it in me to mislike her. But very soon, within a day, I saw ’twas only a sort of shell. Under it she was soft, vulnerable, damaged, like a hurt animal with bloody and twisted paws … Can you imagine what it must be like to have your first child without a husband and among strangers?’
‘Loving strangers.’
‘Oh yes. But if Jeremy had been here the sun would have lit the sky. She said to me the other day, she said, “No one ever said my name like Jeremy. He has a special way of saying Cuby that was all his own…”’
Tears were near, and there had been enough for Christmas. Ross said roughly: ‘And so this trumpery title I was so misguided as to accept will descend upon poor Henry.’
‘That pleases me too, Ross, except for your way of describing it. I believe it is more fitty that the honour should come to your own son.’
They reached the drier sand.
‘Has she given you any idea as to a name she may have in mind?’
‘She thinks to call her Noelle. It seems that Jeremy suggested that. And Frances after her mother.’
‘Noelle Frances Poldark. It runs well enough. I’m glad she does not think of following the example of the Hornblower family.’
‘Hornblower?’
‘Jonathan Hornblower, the man who invented the compound engine; he died in March. His father had thirteen children and gave them all names beginning with J. Jeckolia, Jedediah, Jerusha, Josiah, Jabey, Jonathan. I have forgotten them. I used to know them all.’
‘You must tell Cuby. She may change her mind before christening day.’
‘On consideration,’ Ross said, ‘it is a pity that George did not have twin boys. Then he could have called them Castor and Pollux.’
Demelza laughed. It was good to hear that sound again.
‘Clowance would agree.’
Ross looked over towards the land
. You see that sandhill? You remember how you and I and Jeremy and Clowance used to roll down it? It was a special treat when they were small.’
‘Too well,’ said Demelza. ‘It was a lovely time.’
‘I cannot imagine myself rolling down it with Harry.’
‘Don’t worry. Noelle will.’
Ross looped over his rein. ‘It is a strange feeling, but I do not think I shall ever know Harry the way I knew Jeremy. I am not likely to see so much of his life. The gap of the years between us … Sometimes I feel like his grandfather!’
‘That is nonsense.’
There wasn’t another person to be seen; only the occasional congregation of gulls or sanderlings or plovers were disturbed by their approach, waddling out of their way, or flapping a lazy wing to increase the safe distance.
Demelza said: ‘I must send word to Clowance and Verity. I am sure they will be anxious to know.’
‘I’m sure they will.’
‘Ross, I have been wondering about Valentine and Selina in London.’
‘What could you be wondering about them?’
‘Whether they may see Tom Guildford.’
‘You mean? … Oh my dear, it is too early to think of anything like that…’
‘I do not think of anything like that! But Tom is a good kind friend of Clowance’s. If he came down I am sure he would be good for Clowance, good for her spirits, good for her – her health generally. And do not forget, he is a lawyer. He could be a great business help to her too.’
Ross said: ‘In that case perhaps we should send a note to Edward Fitzmaurice so the two gentlemen may start from scratch.’
‘Ross, you are so vexatious! Why do I bear with you?’
‘Well, you said she told you that if she ever married again it would not be for love, it would be for money or position. That would bring Edward strongly into the reckoning.’
‘I do not know how you can be so cynical about your own daughter.’
‘Is it cynical to face the facts? If Cuby is damaged, so in a similar but different way is Clowance. So we should do nothing, should we, and allow events to take their course?’
The Twisted Sword: A Novel of Cornwall 1815 Page 53
