Demelza played another chord. This was more in tune than the last.
‘Dear Ben, how long have I known you? Ever since you was born? You are Ross’s godson. You are always welcome here. If you do not know that then nothing I can say now can convince you. If Clowance had chosen to marry you we should have welcomed you as our son-in-law. If you care for Essie, and Essie comes to care for you, nothing would be more pleasing to us both than that you should wed and be happy together. Is that well understood?’
‘Well understood now, ma’am. And thank ee. I blame myself for ever bothering you.’
‘Do you want this kept secret for the time being?’
‘Twould be helpful to me.’
Chapter Six
Philip Prideaux called at Penrice Manor, a handsome two-storeyed house with projecting wings on the south coast near St Austell, and was shown into a small withdrawing room with extensive views over the deer park and the sea. It was a sunny December morning and the slanting sunlight seemed to make the sea paler than usual and the land darker, as if each were waiting for the promised rain.
Presently he was shown in to see the owner of the mansion. Sir Charles Brune Graves-Sawle was in his early fifties, and as one of the leading luminaries of the county was serving his term as High Sheriff of Cornwall. He was a short, spruce man with a military bearing, and he greeted Philip Prideaux, whom he had not met before, with friendly courtesy, as befitted someone distantly related.
A footman came in, and Rhenish wine and Madeira cake were served.
The baronet said conversationally: ‘I’m told you took part in the great cavalry charge at Waterloo, Prideaux. Well done!’
‘Who told you that, sir?’
‘Friend of mine. William Rashleigh.’
Philip nodded. ‘Yes, sir. I did. Though if I may correct an impression, it was not well done.’
Sir Charles’s face sharpened. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘There may have been good tactical reasons for ordering the charge, but it was undisciplined. It succeeded and then was allowed to go far beyond the limits of a tactical success, and turned into a failure.’
‘Wellington described it as a success.’
‘Oh, yes, but he was defending the reputation of Uxbridge. And by the time he said that the battle was long since over.’
Sir Charles chewed reflectively. ‘I have also heard that you do not like talking about this immortal charge.’
‘True, sir. Nor of any part of the battle, which was so bloody, so relentless, so—’
‘Otherwise my wife would very much like to meet you and hear your account. As would other of my friends.’
Philip adjusted his spectacles. ‘It is only three and a half years yet. Perhaps there will come a time when I am less susceptible to the memories.’
‘Yes, well – yes. You are enjoying your stay in the county, Captain?’
‘Very much. And now with my new appointment I shall hope to make my home here.’
‘Just so. Just so. It was about that that I wanted to see you. More wine?’
‘Thank you.’
While he was sipping it, Sir Charles went to an ornate French desk and sorted some papers through. Philip gazed round the room at the formidable array of family portraits. When he had received the letter of invitation he had never heard the name Graves-Sawle.
‘I have been talking to Lord Vacy about you,’ said Sir Charles in his staccato voice, and came back to his chair with a couple of pages of what looked like names and figures. ‘It seems to us, if you are now going to make your home among us, your presence could be put to greater use than the position you are about to occupy with the Duchy of Cornwall. That is to say, not as an alternative to your secretaryship but as a supplement to it.’
‘I am studying archaeology.’
‘That too I have been told. Both are rewarding occupations, studies, pursuits, call them what you will. I was going to suggest to you a third.’
Philip took off his glasses, put them away, the click of the case was the only sound in the room. ‘Pray go on.’
‘As High Sheriff, it is my responsibility to maintain law and order in this county. As you will suppose, this is something of a formality. I attend the Assizes, I fulfil a number of formal duties throughout the year, I have a position on the Prince of Wales’s Duchy Council. But the actual maintenance of good behaviour within the county, that is left to a few constables and watchmen who are appointed for each substantial village and town. You do not need to be told that they are ill-paid, ill-found, and in the main grossly inefficient. In London they are called “Charlies”. You know in what contempt they are generally held.’
‘I can understand that.’
‘In London crimes are committed with impunity. It was estimated recently that in England as a whole there is one criminal to every twenty-two of the population. In London it may well be more. The borough of Kensington, I am told, has an area of fifteen square miles. To protect the law-abiding population they have three constables and three boroughmen. All decrepit, some of them themselves corrupt. In Cornwall we have in general a peaceful population, but crime is greatly on the increase. Since the end of the war there has been a wave of thefts, brigandage and even murder.’
Philip nodded, and stared again at the surrounding ancestors.
‘Recently in London,’ said Sir Charles, ‘horse patrols have been introduced, and a few dedicated detectives are now abroad. Some of these have had a modest success. But we do not have even these in Cornwall.’
Philip waited, but his host said no more. ‘I cannot suppose that you wish me to do something in this matter?’
‘Yes, that was exactly what was in my mind.’
‘But in what form?’
‘That could be decided in consultation if we could come to an agreement in principle that you would help us.’
‘May I ask why you should invite – choose me?’
‘That’s not a difficult question to answer, Captain. First, you are a Cornishman – all right, a part-Cornishman – you have relatives, distant or close, all over the county. Second, you are a war veteran, and a distinguished ex-Guardsman – with a reputation for bravery under fire. You saved your colonel’s life! Were there a medal to be struck for such actions you would most surely be awarded it. Third, you are young and energetic and, I think, ambitious to begin a new life. You used these last words about yourself in your application for this post with the Duchy of Cornwall.’
‘Yes,’ Philip acknowledged, resisting the impulse to replace his spectacles. ‘But I am still very much in the dark as to what you would expect me to do. Are you suggesting that I should organize the constables and boroughmen into some – some more effective force? Were the county to double the number of such men and pay them less inadequately, it would still be the smallest improvement. Surely. And petty crime could hardly be touched unless there were a radical reform of the laws to coincide with a serious attempt to reinforce them.’
Sir Charles dismissed this with a wave of his hand. ‘We all know of the capital offences that it can be argued should not be capital offences. I am thinking of the most serious crimes: robbery with violence, all serious crimes against the person, especially unlawful killing. These are offences that are on the increase throughout the country, and Cornwall is not exempt; indeed, in the last year there have been five unsolved murders in Cornwall, which is as much as for the counties of Devon and Somerset put together!’
‘You surprise me, Sir Charles.’
‘Yes, well. Mind you, I am speaking of unsolved murders. There were three murders in the city of Plymouth alone, but these were crimes easily resolved: a wronged husband shot his wife, two sailors quarrelling in a bar, one killed the other. That sort of thing.’
‘And there have been five unsolved murders in Cornwall this year?’
‘Yes, one a merchant, one a farmer, in which the obvious motives were robbery. Apart from them, three young women have been killed, all in the same way, all in their twenties, wit
h no apparent robbery or rape. These murders took place mainly in central Cornwall. Whether they were committed by the same person—. What are you smiling at, Captain Prideaux?’
Philip corrected his expression. ‘Was I? Well, it could better be described as a rictus, sir, at the strangeness—’
‘What exactly does that word mean?’
‘Rictus? It means a smile without any laughter, sir. Perhaps it could almost be described as a smile of horror. You must, if you know my history, be aware of the paradox of this invitation—’
‘I still do not follow you.’
‘You are asking me to accept a charge from you – that is, if I take you aright – a charge, an invitation to enquire into these murders, to attempt to discover who the murderer is, when it is less than a year since I was before a court-martial for killing a black orderly in Jamaica!’
Sir Charles Graves-Sawle got up and went to the tall window, stared out at his deer peacefully feeding in the slanting sun.
‘You were found not guilty.’
‘I was found not guilty of murder. I was found guilty of manslaughter but discharged because at the time I was near to death with blackwater fever and therefore it was held that I suffered from diminished responsibility. I was not exactly cashiered from the Army, but after the verdict, by which time I had recovered my responsibility, I was advised to retire.’
‘Yes, I know this, I know this,’ the other said impatiently. ‘Or at least I did not know the precise details – and I do not want to learn them now! – but I was aware of the general circumstances. Are you telling me that because of this you believe yourself unfit to be considered for the position I am offering you?’
‘Not exactly. But you asked me why I was smiling, and I tried to explain the smile.’
Sir Charles grunted. ‘Tell me, Captain Prideaux: in your life how many men have you killed?’
‘Oh . . . in the course of my career as a soldier? It would be hard to count. Probably over a dozen at Waterloo alone. But those were in the line of duty. It is because it was such a bloodbath that I prefer not to talk about it. One’s dreams are sufficient . . .’
Sir Charles pulled the bell, said something to the footman, who presently returned with a decanter.
‘Here, take a glass of this. Better for the liver than the Rhenish stuff.’
He was aware that his guest’s hands were shaking, and he bobbled some of the brandy into a fresh glass and put it on the table before Philip.
‘Have seen some active service myself, d’you know. In Holland in the Nineties. Have killed a few men myself. I don’t think it ever greatly upset me. But of course this last battle far exceeded any other in ferocity and bloodshed. I can understand, I suppose, it leaving a mark on you.’
‘You may well feel, then, that I am not the most suitable man to pursue your murderers.’
‘I should not say that. It is a matter to ponder, no doubt. I may say I have discussed this with Sir Harry Trelawny, William Rashleigh and Lord Vacy. They do not see any let or hindrance in your own record. It is up to you, of course, how you interpret that record. Possibly you would like to consider the offer for a few days – let me know, say, by next Thursday week. Would that suit?’
Philip drank the brandy. The temporary emotion had passed – as more and more it was inclined to pass nowadays.
‘That would suit me well,’ he said.
Señor and Señora Amador de Bertendona arrived in England, three days late, on the fifteenth of December, their vessel having had to run into St Nazaire to shelter from a Biscay storm. They had both survived the ordeal pretty well, and after a night in Falmouth they travelled in a specially hired coach escorted by Geoffrey Charles and Juana, their little granddaughter, to Trenwith. Since there was no possibility of hauling a coach over the riding track across the desolate hump of Cornwall, they had to take the turnpike to Truro, thence via Shortlanesend towards Marazanvose, where they crossed the other turnpike beside Werry House, where the Bodrugans lived, and struck the cart track, which persisted with a few unwelcome breaks until they reached the gates of Trenwith.
Geoffrey Charles, while apologizing for all the jerks and bumps, reflected ruefully that almost nothing had been done to improve the road since his mother was married in 1784. Thirty-five years of neglect.
His mother-in-law, he felt, would by now be looking sour and ill were it not for the presence of her beloved granddaughter, who occasionally gave squeals of excited amusement when the coach seemed about to overturn. It had been a stroke of genius on Amadora’s part that the little girl should accompany her father to Falmouth. Juana had had almost three days to wait in Falmouth and had greatly enjoyed having her father entirely to herself.
As they drove up towards the house the sky behind was lit by the afterglow, and this, together with the winking lights just appearing in the house itself, made an impressive picture. Although the sea could not be seen from here, its proximity gave space and character to the position of the house: it was an invisible presence. Geoffrey Charles could see that both Amadora’s parents had been expecting something smaller and perhaps even a trifle shoddy. Trenwith, its bulk and its design, satisfied them both. And there at the open front door was their own beloved daughter to receive them.
Geoffrey Charles and Amadora had planned their party for the twenty-first. They felt they could not wait to fix a date until her parents arrived because they wanted it to have a Christmas feel, and the guests must be given adequate time to reply. But because of the delay in arrival there was hardly adequate time to prepare the de Bertendonas for the prospect before them. Señor de Bertendona caught a chill and was in bed for two days. As a result there was little opportunity for relatives and friends to meet the distinguished visitors before the day of the party.
Geoffrey Charles came over to Nampara to explain the position and to arrange for the loan of three servants to swell those already hired. On his way out Demelza said she wanted to ask a favour of him. Would he invite Ben Carter as an extra guest?
Geoffrey Charles stared, half smiling. ‘Who? Ben who?’
‘Carter. You know him well enough. He manages Wheal Leisure.’
‘Yes, of course. His name had not come to mind, but I have no objection.’
‘I doubt if he would come,’ Ross said, who had returned at that moment. ‘What is in your mind, my dear?’
‘Well, ask him,’ Demelza said to Geoffrey Charles. ‘Would you?’
‘Of course. He’s a decent enough fellow. I’ll send someone over.’
‘I don’t think he will be too much out of his element,’ Demelza said. ‘Drake will be there. And Sam, if we can persuade him. And one or two others you’ve known all your life, Geoffrey Charles.’
‘The invitation will go as soon as I get back.’
When he had gone Ross put an arm round his wife and pinched her. ‘What is this little game you are playing?’
‘That’s cheeky,’ she said. ‘Gentlemen don’t behave like that.’
‘By now you must know better how gentlemen can behave. Anyway I’ll wager Ben will not come. He does not have the clothes, for one thing.’
‘I have the thought that you have too many clothes, Ross. Too many old clothes. You could give him a suit of yours and would not miss it.’
‘It wouldn’t fit him,’ said Ross derisively. ‘You must see that.’
‘I think it might fit fair about the shoulders. Of course you are a little taller. Six inches maybe.’
‘Nearer eight.’
‘Scissors could see to that.’
‘And who, pray, would wield the scissors?’
‘I thought his mother might help if I asked her. Jinny was always handy with a needle.’
‘You have some weird idea of bringing the poor fellow into society. You are not trying to contrive something between him and Clowance – at this late hour?’
‘Certainly not. Certainly not. That would never happen.’
Ross was thoughtful. ‘D’you remember Juli
a’s christening? How we tried to invite your folk one day and my folk the next.’
‘You don’t need to remind me of that! But that was a – a calamity entirely brought about by my father’s wrong-headedness.’
‘And Jud’s, no doubt.’
‘I am only trying to bring Ben out a little bit. After all, he is your godson and we have not done all that for him.’
‘True. But after long, long years of being married to you I have developed a sixth sense when you are plotting something untoward.’
‘Yes, what long, long years they have been,’ said Demelza. ‘I wonder what dress I shall wear. Should I have something fresh? Are they very grand people, Amadora’s parents?’
‘Not as grand as many you have met. I wonder if George will come.’
‘Geoffrey Charles has invited him. He told me. He feels they have had many favours from Lady Harriet.’
‘And George happens to be his stepfather. The last time we met at Trenwith there was rather a nasty scene between us.’
‘In my memory I can hardly recall any occasion when you met George at Trenwith and there was not a nasty scene!’
‘Well, have no fear; we shall not come to blows this time. Both far too old and far too cautious.’
‘Mind you keep to that,’ she said, content that she had steered him away from the subject of Ben. There was no reason whatever why he should not know of Ben’s new taking; but she was happier plotting on her own. Manipulating a situation in which Ben and Essie had an opportunity of a closer meeting required a tactful delicacy of touch. If he knew, Ross, with the best will in the world, might accidentally upset the applecart.
Meggy Dawes had always told Demelza that winter began in Cornwall on the twenty-first of January. Demelza thought of this when the twenty-first of December dawned with still weather, a light cloud cover and a somnolent sea.
There were to be about fifty guests. Geoffrey Charles, having been in the Army so long and absent from Cornwall so much, did not possess a wide circle of local friends, but he had made a number of Cornish friends in the Army, and ten of them accepted his invitation. There was a John Trelawny from Trelawn, a Vyel Vyvyan from Trelowarren, a Harry Beauchamp from Pengreep, and Tom Gregor from Trewarthenick. He had talked over with Ross what other members of the county families might be invited, and they had agreed to ask some. But the dark days, the winter rain, the muddy lanes were against them.
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