The coroner was a Mr James Carlyon, who had ridden out from Truro. The twelve jurors, chosen from among the more responsible members of the public, sat on two benches against one wall. Zacky Martin, his asthma fortunately abated, was the foreman. A chair behind a table on the opposite side of the room served as a witness box. There were about a dozen spectators crushed in the doorway to watch and listen.
The first witness was Mr John Treneglos, the father of the deceased, who gave evidence of identity and could hardly contain his tears. He was followed by Constable Purdy, who gave an account of the four days’ search that had taken place, then Ben Carter, who told of how he had found the body.
Dr Enys was called. He described the vicious knife thrusts which had caused the girl’s death. In reply to the coroner he said that he did not think she had been violated. Nor did robbery appear to be a motive, as a bracelet and a brooch were still on the body. She had, when found, probably been dead about twenty-four hours. The question of Agneta’s mental capacities was skirted around. Dwight said that from time to time he had attended the girl for epilepsy, also for St Anthony’s Fire, and a number of conventional ailments. In recent years she had been in better health, and so far as he could tell she had been in normal health at the time of death.
Two witnesses were called to testify to the distress Agneta had recently suffered because of her romantic attachment for a young married man of the neighbourhood. Neither of them had any idea where she had spent the last four days of her life. The last witness was Mr Valentine Warleggan.
Noisy abuse greeted him, and the shout of ‘Murderer!’ came from John Treneglos. The coroner was quick to cut this short. ‘If there is any further disturbance from any quarter I will ask the bailiffs to clear the room.’
‘Damned if I’ll sit here and—’
‘Mr Treneglos, please.’
Valentine, in a sulphurous silence, was allowed to give his evidence, which was that he had known the deceased for twenty years, and that there had always been a neighbourly friendship between them. Recently he had noticed that Agneta had been seeking more of his company, but he was himself a happily married man, his wife having recently given birth to their first child, and in maintaining his friendship with other ladies in the district he had never given any of them reason to suppose that he was seeking anything more than a casual continuation of that friendship. Recently he had been very much away on the trading business he was trying to establish between Cornwall and Ireland, and he had not as far as he remembered seen the deceased since late September, which was about four weeks ago, when she had called at his house and he had been busy with two North Country investors in his mine, and he had asked one of his servants to escort Miss Agneta home.
‘Did she appear distressed on that occasion?’ the coroner asked.
Valentine frowned. ‘To tell you the truth, I was very much preoccupied with the business in hand. But no, I do not think so. She was rather an eccentric girl . . .’
Mr Carylon nodded understandingly. Horace Treneglos stood up. ‘May I ask a question?’
The coroner inclined his head.
‘Warleggan,’ said Horrie. ‘Why did you seduce my sister?’
Cardew was a large house, but sometimes George felt it was not big enough for him. His own twin daughters were boisterous and demanding. Although there were nursemaids in plenty, Harriet would not let her children be too sternly disciplined and, taking their cue from their mother, they treated their father in a nonchalantly friendly way. He felt that he did not receive the deference that should have been accorded him. They frequently climbed on his knee, demanding he should read to them or tell them a story or had some story of their own to tell of what had befallen them during the day. While his first inclination had been to be brusque and stern with them, genuine and unforced affection had not been common in his life, and he was content to grumble only to himself about it or after they had gone to bed. Complaints to Harriet usually ended in his grudging defeat. Then of course there were the two damned boar hounds, grown older and greyer round the jowls but not an inch smaller in size, usually occupying the best position sprawling in front of the best fires. Ursula, when she was home, also showed signs of getting above herself.
Well, that was the life he led, and in many ways it was satisfactory enough. His mercantile businesses were all prospering. Sometimes Harriet spent money like water, but the well always filled up.
But now he – or at least Harriet and Cardew – were playing host to four strangers. (He had been staying in Truro when they turned up unexpectedly.) A mother, related to him only by a disapproved marriage and accompanied by a young baby, a nurse and a personal maid, had requested sanctuary here, and Harriet had unhesitatingly invited them in. There had been no mention as yet of the duration of their stay.
‘Of course you must have her,’ Harriet said when he had protested to her in private. ‘Your son has behaved like a dirty rat. Of course we only have one side of the story, but for him to have an affair with a mental defective puts him beyond the pale. And then to have done away with her—’
‘Now, there’s no sort—’
‘Oh, I don’t know whether he actually cut her throat. But he is responsible whether or not. Clearly he so disturbed the balance of this dotty girl that she wandered about all over the country, even at night, a prime target for some maniac to accost her and cut her throat – just like Mary or whatever the girl’s name was who worked here. So it’s natural enough that Selina should leave him and, since he has spent all her money, to come on you for help and shelter.’
George could not remember having met his son’s wife before. As he had a weakness for blondes – in spite of the shining darkness of his second wife – he could not fault her in that respect, nor in the startling forget-me-not blue of her eyes; but, being far from out of the top drawer himself, he was quick to recognize another such. No one knew what she had been before she married the elderly Horace Pope; since then her gentility had been so pronounced as to make it suspect. She was a pretty woman, and vaguely resembled Elizabeth, his first wife, but the resemblance was barely skin deep. He thought her a climber.
It was a Sunday in mid-November. Leaves fell like copper snow in every wind, but not enough had gone to spoil the autumn foliage. A peaceful afternoon scene. The shadows of the deer slanting in the sun, a touch of early chill in the air; bonfires were burning at a discreet distance, wood and coal crackled together in the main fireplaces of the house. They sat down to dinner: George and Harriet and Ursula and Selina. The twins, having been to church, were as usual taking their dinner upstairs with their nurses. George was feeling irritated that this was the third Sunday dinner which had to be shared with their uninvited guest. He had left it to Harriet to ask her how long she was likely to be staying, and Harriet had not yet done this. ‘Carpe diem,’ she had said, which had irritated him the more because he wasn’t quite sure what it meant, and he wasn’t sure she knew either.
Just as the first course was served the two great hounds set up a gaunt hollow barking from the drawing room, where they had been lying on the hearth rug in luxury. There was some to-ing and fro-ing, and Harriet sent a groom hurrying to quiet them. Then Simpson came in and bent to murmur a name into George’s ear.
George’s brows drew together, and he turned to Harriet.
‘Valentine is here.’
Harriet took another sip of her soup. ‘Castor and Pollux are being very naughty. I taught them not to bark casually at visitors . . . Well, it is your house, George, and your son. Why do you not ask him in?’
Selina got to her feet, screwing her napkin in her fingers. ‘I will go upstairs.’
‘No you will not,’ said Harriet. ‘Pray sit down. Simpson, ask Jones to set another place.’
Simpson looked at his master and, receiving no other directive from him, said: ‘Very good, m’lady.’
‘I do not wish to stay here!’ said Selina, her eyes flashing. ‘Excuse me.’
‘You are in our
house,’ Harriet said. ‘We are not willing to excuse you.’
Valentine came in. He was wearing a fawn frock coat, red waistcoat, twill trousers, riding boots, cream silk stock, and grey suede gloves, which he was peeling off as he came in. There were lines in his cheeks which were not usually there. He stopped a moment when he saw Selina, then he went across and kissed Harriet on the cheek. She made a little distasteful gesture.
‘Harriet, how do you do? Good day, Father.’ And then: ‘Well, little Ursula. Blooming, I see.’
‘What do you want?’ George demanded.
‘I came to see my wife. But it seems that I have come at an inappropriate time.’
Harriet said: ‘I am of the opinion that any time would be inappropriate so far as your wife is concerned.’
‘The only unforgivable thing is that I have come to disturb your dinner. May I wait in the parlour?’
‘Since you are here,’ said Harriet, ‘you may as well break bread with us. I presume your father has no objection?’
‘Provided discussion of the object of your visit is postponed until the meal is finished,’ George said coldly.
There was a hesitation.
‘Hare soup,’ said Harriet. ‘Fresh-water trout, venison, tarts and sweetmeats. We eat sparely.’
Valentine’s face twitched, part grimace, part smile. ‘Thank you.’ He looked around. Simpson had drawn back a chair. It was opposite Selina. Valentine took it. ‘Thank you.’ Tight-lipped, Selina kept her eyes averted.
Dinner was resumed in brooding silence, the only sounds being of cutlery and crockery. Eventually these stopped. Ursula viewed her brother with malicious eyes. She thought he looked a bit pasty, not as if he had (supposedly) been voyaging in the November seas to and from Ireland. They had not hit it off when Valentine lived at home. He had teased her unmercifully, and she remembered the violent tempers she had got into.
‘Do you have news of Isabella-Rose?’ she asked him suddenly, breaking the icy spell.
‘Who? – Oh. No. Why should I? She’s in London, I gather.’
‘Yes, she is taking a musical course. I heard from a schoolfriend, Erica Rashleigh, that she is already singing at soirées and the like.’
‘Agreeable for her.’
‘Yes, is it not. Papa has sent me for a year to Penzance, to Mme Blick’s Finishing School for Young Ladies. I do not know if they will teach me singing there.’
‘You have no voice,’ said George.
‘Thank you, Papa. I confess I would rather go to London.’
‘All in good time. You are yet only nineteen.’
‘Bella is two years younger than I am.’
Harriet glanced round the table, then at Simpson and the other footmen. She had been brought up totally to disregard what servants might hear or overhear of family affairs, but she knew how strongly George disapproved of such outspokenness. In this situation something could be said for his views, but the artificial nature of the present conversation was hardly to be borne. Valentine met her glance, then looked away.
He said lightly: ‘I saw Bella’s father this week, after the inquest.’
This was not a remark calculated to make the situation more relaxed.
George said: ‘No doubt he’s well.’
‘Well enough, I believe. Not greatly concerned for me, I fear. Much more disturbed of spirit at the government’s passing these Six Acts.’
‘He’d be best occupied in joining the agitators of St Peter’s Fields, then, instead of fuming in his shabby little house at Nampara.’
‘What are the Six Acts, Papa?’ Ursula asked.
‘A very natural response of the government to the unrest and the disgraceful rioting which took place in Manchester and in other North Country towns. We were on the verge of revolution.’
Valentine said: ‘Cousin Ross thinks the response is too repressive. That you should meet unrest with sweet reasonableness. He feels that the lack of understanding between the poor and the rich has been gravely widened this year.’
‘Did you vote for these measures, George?’ Harriet said. ‘I forgot to ask you.’
‘I was not there at the time,’ George snapped. ‘You should know that. My two Members did. So did Wellington, whom no one could call a panic-monger. So did George Canning, Ross Poldark’s great hero. In fact every reasonable man.’
‘Or reasonable woman, I suppose,’ Harriet said. ‘The Acts are repressive, but considering the state of the country . . .’
Valentine said to Selina: ‘I have come to take you home.’
No one spoke. The situation had now become intolerable. George took charge.
‘Simpson, will you escort Miss Ursula upstairs to her room? Then close the doors and I will ring when you may return.’
‘Papa!’ said Ursula, in indignation. ‘I have not finished! Look, I—’
‘We will send for you,’ said George. ‘It is not suitable for you to hear what may shortly be said—’
‘But I know all about it!’ she shouted, as she was escorted from the room.
They could hear her protesting after the door was shut. ‘I am his sister!’
George said thinly to Valentine: ‘I wonder she admits it. You came here uninvited. State your business and go.’
‘I have already stated it,’ said Valentine. ‘I have come to take Selina home.’
Harriet was the only one still toying with a little food. ‘Did you kill her, Valentine?’
‘Who? What?’
‘The girl. I forget her name. Did you cut her throat?’
Valentine took up his wineglass and held it to the light. ‘Yes, her blood was the colour of this claret.’
Selina took in a deep breath of horror. Valentine smiled at her. ‘My stepmother has a very forthright brain. But sometimes she allows it to lead her into absurdity.’
‘Well, did you?’ said Harriet.
‘What, from across the Irish Sea?’
‘And you were across the Irish Sea?’
‘I was.’
‘How do you know when she died?’
‘Dr Enys’s testimony.’
Harriet frowned at him.
‘The newspaper has not yet come with the report of the inquest. What was the verdict?’
‘Murder, by person or persons unknown.’
‘And were you able to produce witnesses that you were in Ireland?’
‘Affidavits. From a Mr Leary of the Waterford Arms and a Mr Connor of Connor’s Shipyard.’
‘Well,’ said Harriet, after a moment, ‘that is good, so far as it goes.’
‘Oh, I agree, Stepmother. I quite agree.’
‘But you seduced her?’
Valentine took a deep breath. ‘Seduction suggests an element of guilt on one side and innocence on the other. She was not exactly a blushing violet, you know. Nor was she a drivelling idiot, with one leg shorter than the other and a squint. She had had other lovers long before me. She had a raging appetite for eligible young men. Her family tries to present her as an innocent halfwit whose purity I traded on. I could tell them different.’
Harriet regarded him for a long moment. ‘Are you sure she had other young men?’
‘Oh, certain sure!’
‘Can you name any of them?’
‘Not offhand. She referred to them only by their Christian names.’
Harriet said to Selina: ‘Did she give you that impression?’
‘What impression?’
‘That she was pretending to be subnormal, simple-witted?’
‘No . . . I could not tell! She was depressed, nervy, full of tears. All the time. Every time we met!’
Harriet put down her fork. Valentine drank his wine.
‘Is the inquisition over?’
Selina stirred in her chair. ‘I must go to see for Georgie.’
‘A moment longer,’ said Harriet. ‘Shall you return with Valentine?’
Selina looked startled. ‘No . . . I don’t know!’
George said: ‘I have no
excuses for you, Valentine. Whatever happened, it was shabby and disgraceful. You’ll get no help from me.’
‘I have not come for your help, Father. I have come for my wife.’
‘I think, George,’ Harriet said, looking at him bleakly, ‘that this is the other side of the coin, which we have not seen before. If it is true what Valentine says, then he is shown up as just a feeble, errant character who has done very little worse than many another man. What marriage is not shaken by infidelities? If my mother had left my father every time he took an actress back to his rooms we should hardly have seen her at all! But,’ she went on, as George was about to speak, ‘but if this is only Valentine’s side, and the truth is what we knew, or thought we knew, all along, and if Valentine is deliberately lying – if not about her death, then about the character and simple-wittedness of this Treneglos girl – chiefly to whitewash and justify himself, then I think he deserves to be kicked out.’
‘Thank you, Stepmother,’ Valentine said. ‘Mr Justice Stepmother. Well summed up. But I have already been before one jury. Where is the jury you may now invite to retire and consider a further verdict?’
‘He lied to me!’ shouted Selina, her eyes suddenly blue fire as she looked up.
‘I lied that I was not having an affair with the girl,’ Valentine said evenly. ‘As my stepmother sagely says, what husband does not lie to his wife at such a time? I told you, Selina, quite plainly – and honestly – that Agneta was no halfwit, she was a thorough schemer, a lustful schemer—’
‘You – I don’t recall it all, but of a certainty you never said that!’
‘Yes, I did. And that she played on the sympathy of her family so as to be treated as simple and guileless—’
‘She was simple! That night she came to see you! And you forget she came three or four times more! She was simple—’
‘It was play-acting! Of course I won’t pretend she was as intelligent as you are, nor as Mr Justice Stepmother here, but she knew how to put on a half-witted performance; she knew how to get what she wanted, chiefly the sensation of having a man between her legs. She was no innocent. Half the footloose men of the village, I’ll lay a curse, knew her well. And no doubt it was while she was out with one of them that there was a quarrel of some sort and he lost his temper and used his knife on her—’
Bella Poldark Page 16
