Warleggan

by Winston Graham

  ‘Sent a boatman out to the Travail.’ Ross eyed his friend speculatively. ‘A handsome uniform, that. At least it must be some satisfaction to look the part. I’ve ordered dinner in a private room tonight; I thought it would be more comfortable. And what is your impression of the Navy up to now?’

  ‘That everything is done in a very haphazard way,’ said Dwight, following the other upstairs. ‘It is plain that this lack of method must be an illusion, for they always produce the results; but at present I can’t see how. Travail was to be one of a squadron of three for patrol work in the Channel; but the other two left last week. I suppose when Harrington does arrive, he will have fresh instructions from the Admiralty . . . You’re staying in very regal style, Ross. It must be a rare pleasure to have money in your pocket again.’

  They had come into the private room where a servant was tending the crackling fire and a table was set for dinner for two. The curtains were drawn, and the warmth and comfort of the room contrasted with Dwight’s bare lodgings.

  Dwight said suddenly: ‘Did you say you slept at Ashburton?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve been farther afield and am on my way home. Sit down and I’ll tell you of it.’

  Dwight warmed his hands at the fire and accepted the glass he was offered. Ross went on talking, his long strong fingers running along the edge of the mantelshelf, curiously purposive, Dwight thought, though the conversation was idle enough.

  ‘You said you had been farther afield,’ Dwight prompted as the servant curtsied and went out.

  ‘Yes. To London. I saw Caroline.’

  Dwight did not move. When he was sure of his voice, he said: ‘You went to see her about the loan, I suppose.’

  ‘Yes, in the main. I went to thank her. Of course we had a considerable conversation on general matters also.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘I found she was not engaged to marry anyone.’

  ‘But her uncle said—’

  ‘No. I asked her about that. The report was premature. She had not come to any definite decision.’

  Dwight frowned miserably at the fire. ‘It’s hard to understand that—’

  ‘We discussed you. I hope you didn’t mind.’

  ‘Naturally not,’ he said in a voice that showed he did.

  ‘What she said convinced me that it was worth while your meeting again. In fact, I tried to persuade her to come back with me, officially to visit her uncle, and to stop in Plymouth one night on the way.’

  ‘Which she refused to do.’

  ‘Which she refused to do. How well you understand each other! I visited her on Monday and used all my persuasion in vain. But on Tuesday I went to see her again. Possibly the effect of twenty-four hours’ reflection – and the somewhat overbearing tone I used – had the effect of persuading her different. The fact that her uncle—’

  Dwight got up. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The fact that her uncle was ill did, I think, make the project savour of respectability.’

  Dwight said: ‘Ross, what do you mean?’

  Ross said: ‘I mean she is here, Dwight. The servant has gone for her.’

  ‘Good God, I— She has come to see me? But I—’ Dwight had gone pale.

  ‘She has come, but very reluctantly. Very reluctantly, and with, I think, quite a new and sober attitude of mind. Let me emphasize that there’s no settled idea of reconciliation in her mind, yet the fact that she has come makes reconciliation at least a possibility. The next move is with you, Dwight. And if I may offer advice—’

  Ross broke off. Someone had tapped at the door.

  Ross said: ‘I have been explaining to Dwight that you are on your way to visit your uncle, are spending one night in Plymouth, and are here now at my invitation. I strongly feel you should both meet once more as friends. It may be the last chance you’ll have of meeting for years – or the last ever. Sit down, will you? Here, Caroline . . . You there, Dwight.’

  He had the authority to impose his will on them as perhaps no one else could have done. Neither spoke. After a single glance they didn’t for some time look at each other.

  Caroline sat down by the fire and smoothed out the skirt of her travelling dress like a bird spreading its wings to the warmth. The tensions of the moment had given her back her colour.

  Ross said: ‘Believe me, I’m not by choice a tomfool meddler in other people’s lives, especially in affairs which touch you both so close as this. The last thing . . . But sometimes, however mistaken, one conceives it one’s duty to meddle, and this is such a time. So far as I know you have never talked over your differences quiet-minded and without haste or anger or recrimination. I think you owe that much to each other – and in a degree to your friends. It took time to bring Caroline to my view. She positively felt that such a move on her part would be misinterpreted, and I undertook to explain to you – as I have done, Dwight – that this meeting is to be taken only for what it is, a gesture of common good will before you leave England. Of course, I believe it to be the only neighbourly way to behave.’

  Dwight looked up and met a glance that wasn’t in keeping with all this politeness. But in fact he was not inclined to disagree. His throat was dry.

  ‘Nothing – would give me greater pleasure than to dine with Caroline – to talk with her again.’

  Caroline looked at the table. ‘You’re staying, Ross? The meal is only set for two.’

  ‘It was meant for two. I shall dine elsewhere. But I’ll be back. You’ll both wait here for me?’

  It was an insidious request, ruling out as it did any angry breakup. After a second Dwight nodded and Caroline gave a little acquiescent shrug.

  Dwight said: ‘You have not been well, Caroline?’

  ‘I am in good health, thank you.’

  ‘I thought . . .’

  ‘My complexion has always been poor. I am going off rapidly.’

  ‘No, no; your uncle said you’d been ill.’

  ‘Oh, I’m recovered. But I have found the prospect of this interview trying.’

  It was plain that having been brought almost forcibly to make this first big move Caroline, being Caroline, would be defensive and prickly to begin. Dwight had started off on the wrong foot. She looked cool enough, a little disdainful, far more collected than Dwight, but Ross knew she was not. It was time Dwight discovered that. If he did not, he was lost and all would be wasted.

  She had come in too soon, before he could say any of the things to Dwight that he had hoped to say. Ross wondered now whether to try to help still more or go, leaving them to struggle alone. He poured out a glass of sherry for Caroline and moved to take it to her. But Dwight quickly intercepted him. Ross watched him hand it to her and her quick, cool upward glance which betrayed nothing at all. But something in Dwight’s look encouraged Ross. In ten months Dwight had suffered a lot. It had matured him in a new way.

  Ross said: ‘Before I go, I suggest that we take a glass of wine together. Nothing formal. No more than a friendly gesture. That’s if you both still regard me as a friend.’

  They drank. Caroline said: ‘I do not know how Ross behaves to his own wife, but if he treats her one half so cavalierly as he has me this week, I shall call her very downtrodden.’

  ‘You compliment me too highly,’ Ross said. ‘And yourself too little.’

  Their eyes met. They had came to an understanding of each other, these two, among the conflicts of the last few days.

  Ross said: ‘But since you mention my wife, I’ll mention her too, for she would have views on the situation tonight, though different in some particulars from ours. She would argue that if a man and a woman care for each other, then the obstacles which keep them apart must be substantial – otherwise they are pretentious and unworthy or are contrived by one or the other with insufficient reason and should be disregarded. She puts emotion above intellect, and the result is what you’d expect.’

  No one challenged him.

  ‘I do not wholly agree with her; there’s someth
ing to be said for both sides. But I think her side is worth the consideration along with any other. She would say that a man was a fool and a woman was a fool . . . that they were cowards too. She’d say life holds only two or three things worth the having, and if you possess them the rest don’t matter, and if you do not possess them the rest are useless.’ He went to the door. ‘If you look round you, I suppose you would have to confess that her view works out in the majority of cases. It is sentimental; but by and large we’re creatures of sentiment and cannot escape. Nor is it always wise to want to. You see people every day who take a chance and damn the consequences. Many of them suffer for it, but I do not think they come off worst. The people who come off worst are the people who draw back at the last moment and spend the rest of their lives regretting it. No, don’t get up, Dwight, I’ll see myself out.’

  Chapter Six

  Christmas Day was on a Wednesday, and the Tuesday came without any word at Nampara from Ross. Not that Demelza expected a letter, since letters travelled no faster than people; but she had hoped he would be back before this. She had not spent a Christmas alone at Nampara before, and this of all years would be most uncomfortable to bear.

  Being in constant expectation of his coming was being on the constant qui vive, so she spent much of the day indoors, the first part of it casking some beer which they had brewed. Almost every footfall caused her to turn her head; but in the end she was out when he came, having gone to see Prudie Paynter, who was laid up with her leg and bitterly complaining of Jud’s neglect and misbehaviour. When she came back, he was already in the parlour and she walked in unsuspecting.

  She gave a squeak as he turned. ‘Why, Ross, I didn’t know. I was up at Prudie’s. How did you come?’

  He smiled as he kissed her – it was just a formal salute between them. ‘On four legs and then two. Should I have brought the carol singers?’

  ‘You’re an hour or so early: they don’t belong to be here before dark. When did you leave London?’

  ‘Last Tuesday. In snow. They manage things more seasonably up there. I stopped at Plymouth and saw Dwight and left there yesterday afternoon.’

  Conversation was broken by the arrival of Jeremy – but he helped to ease the constraint which now was sought by neither of them. Ross had brought him presents, and some he gave him now and some he saved until tomorrow. Over Jeremy’s head, punctuated with squeals and shouts, he told her some details of the journey; but twenty minutes passed before he was able to say what he should have said at the start.

  ‘Have you three extra bedrooms you could get ready for tonight?’

  ‘Three? . . . Why, who is coming? What have you arranged?’

  ‘I have brought Caroline back with me. Caroline and her maid.’

  Demelza opened her eyes. ‘Where is she? Do you mean at her uncle’s?’

  ‘She is with him now. But I invited her here to supper, and I want you to put her and her maid up over Christmas.’

  ‘Over Christmas? Gladly. I’d lay special carpets for her if I had them. But it’s awful short notice, Ross! And I don’t quite understand . . .’

  ‘We stayed a night in Plymouth and then came on. The story of her engagement was overhasty. There was no truth in it. When I heard that, I felt most of our old misgivings should be set aside and I tried my hand as matchmaker. Of course I hadn’t your skill, and at first she would have none of it. But on my second visit she decided to nibble at the bait. We saw Dwight in Plymouth.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I believe they have made it up. He travelled back with us and, if we can fix him in, will stay here too.’

  ‘They have? Oh, Ross, I’m very glad! More than glad. The longer I have thought of it . . . But how did you contrive it? Can he get out of the Navy?’

  ‘How did I contrive it? I thought, what would Demelza do, and I did it. That was all. It was really not very difficult once the first resistance was overcome.’

  ‘And Dwight?’

  ‘He’s at the Gatehouse. There’s been delay in commissioning his ship. The captain arrived only yesterday morning. He gave Dwight three more days ashore. That means he must leave here after dinner tomorrow and be in Plymouth Thursday evening. What’s that on your wrist?’

  She had put up her hand and fine white bandage showed.

  ‘It’s nothing; a scratch. Ross, I’m delighted for what you did. Above all, ’twas common sense. There is so little of it in this world! What time are they coming? I must fly. If you’d—’

  As she went past him, he took her arm and lifted the lace back from her sleeve again.

  ‘It’s nearly healed. What can I give them for supper?’

  ‘Don’t worry, I bought a goose in Truro and some ribs of beef and a fillet of veal. I have never known you tie up a scratch in your life. Who put this bandage on?’

  ‘Jane. To tell the truth, it wasn’t exactly a cut.’

  ‘Then what was it?’

  ‘Garrick bit me by accident, like. I must tell Jane at once—’

  ‘Garrick bit you? Nonsense. What are you trying to hide?’

  ‘It is the truth. Last week something happened to excite him. I’ll tell you of it later. Just an unpleasantness. What time are they coming? Do you think it will work out right this time, Ross?’

  ‘Right.’ Ross still held her arm and was now untying the bandage. Seeing no way out, she suffered it without complaint, not entirely unflattered by his refusal to be put off. ‘Yes, I think it will work out this time. It is a great pity they have no longer. At the best it can only be a reconciliation before he leaves.’

  He took off the last bandage and the lint. The bite was healing cleanly, but the marks left no doubt as to what it had been. Ross looked up.

  ‘Where’s Garrick?’

  ‘I left him asleep in the kitchen. You’re not going to . . .’

  ‘I don’t know. How long is it since this happened?’

  ‘Yesterday sennight.’

  Ross was silent a moment. The dreaded rabies was ruled out. ‘Has he been quiet since? Even if he is, I don’t think we can run risks, for Jeremy’s sake.’

  ‘No. No, it’s not that at all.’ In defence of her beloved Garrick she found herself forced to tell him what had happened, though she toned it all down until it sounded like the merest accident for which no one was in the least to blame.

  When the bandage was tied again, she said: ‘Ross, which bedrooms shall they have? We have only two nice rooms, and I dearly wish they were not so shabby. And I cannot well get out of my own in so short a time, with Jeremy already settled there. I do not suppose Dwight will heed where he sleeps. But Caroline . . .’

  He went across and put on two fresh pieces of wood. ‘You had best prepare her my room.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said after a moment. ‘There are new curtains in there. And Dwight we can give the room over, though it is in poor shape.’

  ‘You can set up my bed in the little room behind if you like.’

  ‘Whatever you say.’ Demelza fingered the bandage and glanced at him. When she pushed back her hair, the candles made of her movements a mystical confused replica on the ceiling. ‘Jane and I could carry my new dressing-table down. It would be nice for Caroline. And I’ll fetch out the lace bedspread—’

  ‘I’m sure she will appreciate anything you do. But I’m also sure that her pleasure will not turn on the newness of the furnishings. Demelza, it’s not yet six-thirty. I thought to go out for an hour. You’ll have a free hand then, and I shall be back well before our visitors arrive.’

  ‘Will you go far?’

  He smiled at her. ‘I want just to drop over and see George.’

  ‘I was afraid of that!’ she said. ‘Ross, you must not! You’ll come back with your head all bloody – if you come back at all! Ross, I tell you, no!’

  ‘Don’t fret this time. I shall go in peace.’

  ‘So you may, as you have before. But have you ever left in peace? It is very well for you to go to talk to him, but you know y
ou will get thrown off his lands the very least! Something worse happens every time you meet! You cannot mean to create more ill will just because of a silly mistake on the part of his gamekeepers! George as good as apologized for them when he came up.’

  He did not answer, but she felt no awareness of victory.

  She said: ‘We have Dwight and Caroline coming. I do not wish to be bandaging your broken head, or – or talking to them, trying to be nice to them, and all the time waiting for your return. It’s a season of good will. Let us be content for today and tomorrow.’

  The new wood was hissing as flames discovered the moisture within it. Occasionally it sputtered a protest. Ross pushed one piece farther on with his boot.

  ‘George seldom seeks violence – I introduce the violence, not he. As for his servants – they are nothing. I shall talk to him and come away. I’m very sorry, my dear. I very much want to please you tonight. I hope still to do so. But this is something . . . It is not wholly because of your brush with him. I have been thinking about him a good deal on the journey.’

  George and Elizabeth supped at seven. It was early but a convenient hour for them both.

  Immediately after Christmas they were to settle in town until after the baby was born. The one thing that irked George about his new country house was that no turnpike road existed. You could get a coach through the last five miles, so long as the mud was not too deep, but it was a crazy lurching journey which shook you up more than travelling on horseback.

  Elizabeth had kept well since her marriage, except for one or two diplomatic indispositions. In a looped-up polonaise gown of yellow brocade she looked as lovely tonight as she had ever done in her life, the extra fullness in her cheeks softening the fine-drawn classic oval of jaw and chin – that ultimate beauty of bone which would never fade. At Trenwith they always supped alone. George had let it be known early that he wanted his evening meal in the company of his wife, so the Chynoweths ate in their sitting-room upstairs. The winter parlour had been transformed: much of the panelling ripped out and the walls hung with expensive flock paper; a new dining table with such a polish on it that the slightest thing left a mark; twenty extra candles; a liveried footman to wait on therm At the opposite end of the table George sat, full-bodied, self-possessed, well groomed. In the summer they would dine in the hall. George had plans for the hall.