Bella Poldark

by Winston Graham

  ‘Gladly. Thank you. Then I must return. Bella could stay another week.’

  ‘I should like her to stay.’

  ‘Indeed. So should I. She deserves a holiday. Perhaps it will depend on whether she can find someone to travel with her.’

  ‘Ross can ask around. Friends at his bank are often travelling.’

  ‘How do you think Bella looks?’

  ‘No different. But she is different. Some of the girlishness has gone.’

  ‘I know. I’m sorry. But perhaps it would go naturally, in any event. She has developed in personality. She will, I believe, be a great personality in a concert room.’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘She told you, no doubt, about the concert Mrs Pelham gave on her birthday in October. That was a great success. And Mrs Pelham is doing so much for us, she knows many influential people. We had one great disappointment earlier this month. Did she tell you of that?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘At the birthday dinner party was a man called the Hon. Charles Wynford, who is a great friend of the Prince Regent. He vowed himself greatly impressed with Bella’s singing, and he arranged to give a party on the third of December, where she was to be one of three singers, and the Prince Regent had promised to be present.’

  ‘And did he not come?’

  ‘He was laid up with some illness (the newspapers speculate but no one can be sure), and if the old King dies it will even be a matter of some doubt whether the Regent will be well enough to succeed.’

  ‘And who will succeed if he cannot?’

  ‘Prince William.’

  ‘He has not a very good reputation either,’ said Demelza.

  ‘Of course the Regent may pull round, but it destroyed our plans, at least for that evening.’

  ‘How old is the old King?’

  ‘Eighty-one or eighty-two. But he is completely blind and mostly insane. It would be vital to Bella’s advancement if she were to receive some sort of royal approval . . .’

  ‘She is still very young, Christopher.’

  Christopher looked at Demelza and stroked his moustache. ‘Yes, there is time. But it was a great opportunity that went by the board. Without seeming to press the point I will continue to seek Wynford’s friendship. I do not think he is well to do, and in my banking profession there may come an opportunity to do him a good turn. After all, his impulse to promote Bella was entirely selfless.’

  Ben said: ‘Your brothers are miners?’

  ‘Haven’t got no brothers.’

  ‘Oh, uncles then. There be no work around Illuggan?’

  ‘Precious little.’

  ‘There’s little round ’ere. Grace is finished. Only Leisure is still kindly.’

  ‘Thanks be, I say. An’ you are manager?’

  ‘More or less. Y’see in big mines there’s a mine cap’n and a grass cap’n. Leisure be scarce that big, but my grandfather, Zacky Martin, is manager in charge, but he’s oft too sick to do it, so I do both jobs, like.’

  ‘An’ Wheal Grace?’

  ‘Sir Ross keep her open. Forty on the pay roll. There’s always the hope we maybe strike lucky again. Twas a rare money-maker over ten or more years. Big money. That’s ’ow Cap’n Ross can keep open Grace even though of late she’s not paying for herself.’

  Essie stared suspiciously at the fruit, quartered and peeled, that had appeared on her plate.

  ‘Is it oranges?’

  ‘Reckon so.’

  ‘Don’t think I ever tasted one.’

  ‘Try it. Do you good.’

  Esther glanced around the table and nervously picked up a spoon and fork.

  ‘D’ye like music?’ he asked.

  ‘That’s nice, what they’re playing now.’

  ‘D’ye like organ music?’

  ‘Dunno as I’ve ever heard it. D’ye mean like a harmonium? Like they have in some of the big churches?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ve hardly heard anything of it. Why?’

  ‘I built one,’ said Ben.

  She looked at his dark, forbidding face. ‘Sam told me you had done something like that. That’s wondrous clever, Mr Carter.’

  He shook his head. ‘Tis only a knack. An arrangement of pipes. Some folk d’call it a box o’ whistles.’

  She sensed that now there was something he would like to talk about.

  ‘Sam said you’d built one over your mother’s shop.’

  ‘Yes, that be so. But when I moved to me own little cottage I left all that behind and began anew. This one’s just finished and it’s much betterer than the old one. Pipes are bigger, an’ the wind-chest too, and I got me new wooden sliders that make all the difference.’

  She hesitated and swallowed, but now was the time if ever, if ever.

  ‘I’d dearly love t’see it, Mr Carter, sometime, maybe if you’ve the time. Does it play? Can you play tunes on it?’

  He looked at her, and his black eyes kindled. ‘Oh yes,’ he said. ‘Oh yes.’

  Amadora had taken the nod from Geoffrey Charles, and got to her feet. All rose, and presently the ladies separated themselves out and proceeded to leave the room in chattering twos and threes. The last had hardly swished and rustled out of sight when a man’s voice could be heard in the entrance hall raised in amused complaint. Several of the men who were about to resume their seats remained standing.

  Valentine came in, followed by a plump, rosy-cheeked man of about his own age. They were both well dressed, but carelessly so. Valentine’s cravat needed retying; his companion had lost the top two buttons of his military tunic, and his hair was awry.

  ‘My dear GC,’ Valentine said, and took his half-brother’s hand. ‘I know you thought I was away, but when I came home unexpectedly I felt I could not disappoint you for your party! . . . Have we missed the feast? The ladies are vanished! Never mind, we’ll join in a glass of port. Oh . . . do you know Lieutenant Lake? He was my fag at Eton – for one term. We had many adventures together. Eh?’ Valentine laughed infectiously. ‘David knew Jeremy in Brussels, they were both in the same damn’ regiment together. What was it, David?’

  ‘Fifty-second Oxfordshires.’

  ‘Used to gamble together too,’ Valentine said. ‘David and Jeremy used to gamble together. Eh? Great gambler, Jeremy, by God. Lost a lot, didn’t he, David?’

  ‘What?’ said Lake. ‘I’ve forgot. Expect he pro-probably did. Everyone seemed to lose. No one won. Is – is Cuby here?’

  Valentine said: ‘Is Cuby here?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Great gathering this. May I?’ He took the vacant chair opposite Paul Kellow and waved David Lake to another. ‘My father, Sir George, my godfather, Sir Ross, this is Lieutenant Lake of the Fifty-something Oxfordshires. Went through Waterloo without a damn’ scratch. As you did, GC, by God. Takes a clever man to go through a battle like that without a scratch. Though you got a number of scratches before that, GC. Blood and bones, this is good port! Did you run it or buy it?’

  ‘Bought it at a reduced price,’ said Geoffrey Charles, ‘knowing it had been run.’

  Valentine stretched his legs. ‘You’ve a fine selection of the county here, Cousin, I must say. I nearly brought Butto.’

  ‘Butto?’

  ‘My pet monkey. Got him off a lascar in Falmouth Dock a few weeks ago. Twas lonely without Selina, don’t you know!’ He snorted with laughter. ‘Nice cuddly thing. Though not so little and not so cuddly now – he grows apace! My friends make much of him – spoil him rather.’

  ‘A monkey,’ said someone. ‘That’s a trifle queer. What sort of monkey?’

  ‘Damned if I know. Biggish. Scares the women.’

  ‘Should not fancy having a monkey round the house,’ said Harry Beauchamp. ‘You getting eccentric, Warleggan?’

  ‘Always have been, old boy. Used to pets at school, d’you know. My school anyway. Popsy Portland had a snake, claimed he fed it on mice. Johnny Russell kept an owl that would perch on his head. Nick W
aldegrave kept a long-tailed monkey – not at all like Butto, I must say! Well, it all adds to the fun!’

  In the meantime Geoffrey Charles had decided to ignore his uninvited guests, and was superintending the clearing of the great table of all except the decanters of port. The band, after a pause for their own refreshment, struck up again.

  When the ladies returned most of the men were still sitting over their port, but under discreet persuasion they got up and went about their own affairs while the chairs were swept away and the floor sanded. Groups of armchairs situated at each corner of the room were set out for those who by inclination or expectation were inclined to sit and watch. The room, even with its vast central table, looked much bigger with this arrangement, and it was clear that there would be room enough to dance, though country dances, usually group dances, would not be practicable.

  So the evening went pleasantly by, beginning with a minuet, followed by a gavotte and then the ever-popular waltz. At the second gavotte Vyel Vyvyan, who always had an eye for good looks, asked Demelza to dance with him. Having watched them safely launched, Ross went across to ask Lady Harriet. She was talking to Harry Beauchamp, and George was close by, standing hands clasped behind back, watching the dancers with a calculating eye as if weighing up their realizable worth.

  Harriet looked at Ross, pretended to fumble in her bag. ‘Sir Ross. Let me see, have I got you on my card?’

  ‘It’s on your mental card, ma’am. You pledged it between the plums and the cheese.’

  Harriet sighed. ‘Ah yes. Between the plums and the cheese. I do remember. You’ll pardon me, Mr Beauchamp. I shall hope to resume our conversation later.’

  When they were on the floor Ross said: ‘It hurts me to tear you away from such enlightening company.’

  ‘So it should. I was being instructed in the way the Swiss build cuckoo clocks. But you might have chosen a less tedious dance than this.’

  ‘There’s a waltz to follow.’

  ‘I am promised for that.’

  ‘No you are not. Anyway I have possessory rights.’

  ‘Oh, la. I feel faint. Who is that you were nodding to?’

  ‘Your husband.’

  ‘Oh, la, again. You and he are oil and water, are you not? You don’t mix. But both of value in their own way.’

  Ross smiled grimly, but did not comment.

  ‘Mayhap some day,’ she said, ‘I can bring your heads together.’

  ‘To bang them?’

  ‘Yes, possibly.’

  ‘We have tried fisticuffs more than once, but the bloodletting has not eased matters.’

  ‘Just exactly what have you got against him?’

  ‘Dance with me till midnight and we might have made a start.’

  A loud shout of laughter came from the end of the room, where Valentine was drinking with Christopher Havergal.

  Harriet said: ‘Why does not George invite your wife to dance?’

  ‘Ask him. In any event she would refuse.’

  ‘Has he done her some hurt?’

  ‘Only . . . well, only that she has been wholly involved in the trouble he has tried to wreak on the Poldarks.’

  ‘Then why do you ask me to dance?’

  ‘Because I like you.’

  ‘That reminds me, when I danced this tedious dance in my girlhood – about forty years ago – the exercise had a more interesting termination. After the last step the partners bowed and kissed.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Ross. ‘I have been waiting forty years for the opportunity.’

  With Geoffrey Charles’s permission but unknown to the rest of the company, Isabella-Rose had stolen up the spiral staircase to the minstrel’s gallery and whispered a request for a special kind of waltz that she had danced in London. It was called a valse à deux temps, and was a quick six-in-a-measure dance with two steps to each measure. She and Christopher led off, he managing expertly with his false foot; and soon there were others on the floor. In a formal ball it might have been frowned on, but in this pre-Christmas dinner mood everyone took it as an excuse for high jinks.

  Ross bent to kiss Harriet, she as willingly gave him her mouth. Then they were off. Surprisingly, it was a success. Grasping her brutally round the waist and holding her close to him, he slid and hopped and swirled, and somehow she kept her feet and avoided his. Someone had fallen down ahead of them, but they swayed past. In the middle of it all Ross was conscious of a voice trilling, a soprano’s effortless ability to soar above the common noise. While she was dancing at top speed Bella still had the breath for using her voice in high clear spells. Ross suddenly felt very happy. For the first time since Jeremy’s death he knew himself to be happy. He had come to the dinner in a wayward eccentric mood, half-rebellious, half-pleasurable. Now suddenly, with this exciting woman in his arms, the beat of the music and the clear pure tones of his daughter’s voice soaring at intervals above them all, he knew himself to be happy.

  The dance at last came to a stop. Everyone was laughing and trying to get their breath.

  Harriet’s great dark eyes were darker than ever as she looked up at Ross.

  ‘By God!’ she said. ‘I thought you were lame.’

  ‘By God!’ said Ross. ‘I had forgot it!’

  They both laughed. People were moving off the floor.

  ‘I must return you to your cuckoo clocks,’ Ross said.

  ‘Pray come again,’ she said.

  ‘I will.’

  They had not joined in the dance, but for a while stood together in a corner watching, then they had drifted into the back parlour to drink lemonade. They said nothing, but neither showed any inclination to break away from the other. They were islanded by people of another class. But they were in no way ignored; other guests spoke freely to them; twice Esther excused herself briefly to see Amadora and ask if she could not help with the waiting on. She was smilingly refused.

  When she came back the second time Ben said: ‘Reckon you got a good mistress, eh? Reckon she must’ve caught it from the Poldarks.’

  ‘Caught what, Ben?’

  ‘Makin’ friends of their servants. Was they like this at Tehidy?’

  ‘Well, no . . . I didn’t expect it there.’

  ‘Did you expect it ’ere?’

  She gave a little nervous spluttering laugh. ‘Well, no. But I suppose I been upped a bit on account of Lady Poldark being my aunt.’

  ‘I see,’ said Ben grimly.

  She was alerted by his tone. ‘I’ve no wish nor thought to be anything more than what I were born to be. Tis their kindness, not my seeking.’

  Ben looked at her carefully. ‘I haven’t the words, Essie. Not any of the words still. But I’ve a taking for you, Essie.’

  She flushed. ‘I’m glad, Ben.’

  ‘You’re – glad?’

  ‘I’m glad.’

  ‘Then look, I’ll say no more now. D’ye ever get a day off?’

  ‘Half a day.’

  ‘I’ll meet ee. Fix a date an’ a time an’ I’ll meet ee. If there’s some girl ye’d like to bring with ee – just for form’s sake . . .’

  Esther took a deep breath. ‘I’ll come alone.’

  Chapter Eight

  Four miles seemed a long ride home, but there was no opportunity for private conversation because Dwight and Caroline and the two girls accompanied them halfway until their paths diverged, and Captain Prideaux, though sleeping at Trenwith, had gallantly insisted on escorting Clowance. Cuby partnered Clemency, and they chatted quietly together in the wake of the others. The night was very dark and very quiet. The cloud cover had continued, blanketing out the stars, and they had to be on the constant alert lest one of the horses should stumble on a stone.

  It was nearly three a.m. They had been at Trenwith for twelve hours.

  When they got home, Matthew Mark was up and alert and waiting to take the horses. Clowance kissed her parents a tired goodnight; there were kisses from the other girls, who were sleeping in Jeremy’s old room. Ross and Demelza went
into their bedroom together. They had both drunk a lot more than normal.

  Ross broke a yawning silence. ‘By God, that was a marathon! Never in my life have I seen so many of my friends and neighbours so much the worse for drink. Where was George spending the night?’

  ‘He didn’t confide in me. Did not Harriet say?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No doubt she was too overwhelmed by the attentions you paid her.’

  Ross chuckled. ‘I have been enjoying myself.’

  ‘So it seems.’

  ‘But very decorously. I was still your loving husband. Mark that. For an hour or two I slipped a trace. I had the Christmas impulse.’

  ‘Was that the Christmas impulse? Astonishing! But I suppose . . . I suppose, yes, we have been married – in June we shall have been married thirty-two years. It is a long time. So suddenly you exhibit an entirely new mood that I have never ever seen before. Is it really, truly a new mood, kissing flirtatiously every woman in sight and enjoying a lecherous prancing with the wife of your arch-enemy? Dear life, I ask myself is this a new mood, or have you been suffering all these years – all these thirty-two dreary years hiding these strange impulses from me?’

  ‘You were not, I thought, above flirting – lecherously, as you call it! – flirting lecherously with Vyel Vyvyan, and your daughter’s intended, Christopher Havergal, and Harry Beauchamp, and Lieutenant Lake.’

  Demelza spat as if there were something stuck to her tongue. ‘I am astonished – quite astonished that you had any attention left to take note of what I was doing! Did you tick my partners off on the fingers of one hand while with the other you fumbled with Harriet’s stays? It’s – it’s an outrage that—’

  ‘What is an outrage?’

  ‘That you should try to shoulder the blame upon me when your behaviour was the gossip of the room. Why I—’

  ‘Blame is the wrong word,’ said Ross, ‘and I’d call anyone out who tried to prove that there was some other motive in me than the spirit of Christmas—’

  ‘Well, you cannot call me out, though I would take a wager that I am as good a shot as you!’

  ‘With paper darts, no doubt—’

  ‘You kissed . . . How many people did you aim your paper darts at? You kissed—’