Bella Poldark

by Winston Graham

  ‘There have been some in ours,’ Clowance said, thinking of the strains that her infatuation for Stephen had put on it. ‘But on the whole . . .’

  Edward said: ‘I think having so many servants about makes life in a house slightly less real. And living in a degree of state . . . And London is so artificial. Society on the whole is superficial, rotten. Now that I have a companion in life – and such a companion – I shall stay out of it more.’

  ‘You have responsibilities.’

  ‘Not many, thank Heaven. D’you know what little Henry said to me when we first met?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It was while he was staying at the Enyses with Mrs Kemp. I came on him rather unexpectedly. He knew I was hoping to marry you. He sized me up and down when he thought I was not looking, then when we were alone he planted himself in front of me and said: “Excuse me, sir, but are you a lord?” ’

  Clowance laughed. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I think I said “ – er, yes.” Then he said, “My father is a sir.” I said, “Yes, I know that.” Then he said, “Is a lord higher than a sir?” So I said, “Yes, but your father deserves his sir.” He wanted to know why, so I said, “Well, your father has served his country and I have only inherited my title.” So he wanted to know what inherited meant.’

  ‘What an inquisition!’

  ‘I explained that my father was a lord and I came into the title later. So he said, “Did your father deserve his title?” I told him my grandfather probably did. He said, “What did he do?” “Well,” I said, “He was in the Cabinet, in the Government.” I thought that had satisfied him, but after looking down at his feet he said, “My mama tells me I shall be a sir one day if I behave myself.” “So you will,” I assured him. “Sir,” he said, “I s’pose I shall then be like you.” “In what way?” I asked. He replied, “I shall be a sir and have done nothing to deserve it!” ’

  They both laughed. Edward said: ‘I told him that perhaps by then he would have done something to deserve it.’

  ‘What did he say to that?’

  ‘He said, “I don’t want to go to London and be in the Government. My sister has just come back from there with her morbid sore throat, and I have been turned out for fear of catching it.” I said, “Who told you that?” He said he had overheard Mrs Kemp telling Bone, Dr Enys’s servant. “She whispered, so I could only just hear.” ’

  They listened to the waves breaking, lonely and hollow and dark.

  ‘I wish I could do something to help Bella. Do you think if her voice does not properly return that she will get over the disappointment?’

  ‘No,’ said Clowance.

  Before they left Edward saw the miners building a bonfire out of driftwood and broken pit props. Then he realized it wanted only ten days to November the fifth.

  He said to Ross: ‘So you celebrate this old anniversary as far west as this?’

  ‘Very much so. This is Wesleyan country, and to celebrate the defeat of the Catholics is always a popular feast.’

  ‘They were a few fanatics, weren’t they. Better surely to celebrate the defeat of the Spanish Armada.’

  ‘Oh, they do that as well. And Hallowe’en, which is soon upon us. The Cornish are always looking for some excuse to have a feast.’

  ‘Do they have fireworks?’

  ‘Not many. They have few pennies to spend. As it is, they are wasting firewood which would serve them well in the winter.’

  ‘Have you seen Bengal fire?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘There was a display in Hyde Park to greet the Queen. In the old days they could only produce a bright green, which you will know was used sometimes for signalling. Now they add other substances, chlorate of potash, nitrate of strontia, sulphur, lamp black, magnesium powder, compound of arsenic. One can have all the colours of the rainbow, and quite brilliant. I wonder . . .’

  ‘It would be too expensive altogether. Though there is arsenic aplenty.’

  ‘They welcomed me and crowded into the church,’ Edward said. ‘I know that was a testimony to the Poldark name, but you have told me the Cornish are suspicious of strangers. They were not suspicious of me. They seemed instantly to welcome me as a friend. I would like to send them some extra fireworks. It must be anonymous. I do not want to seem to be patronizing them, nor do I want to usurp your position of the chief personage of the villages. A selection of Bengal lights could be sent down: there is just time to get them here. If you could deny all knowledge of who had sent them, I should be happy to do that.’

  Ross laughed. ‘But if I have to deny I am responsible they are sure to search in their memories and quickly come to the right conclusion.’

  ‘That I think will be acceptable. So long as they understand the anonymous donor stays anonymous and is not looking for any thanks.’

  They were walking past Wheal Grace, and they turned down the valley towards the house.

  Edward said: ‘Do you think Isabella-Rose will eventually marry Christopher Havergal?’

  ‘It’s hard to say.’

  ‘He called to see us when we were in London.’

  ‘Christopher did? A social call?’

  ‘Not quite. He knows I have interests in the theatre and seemed to believe that I might be able to help Bella.’

  ‘It’s too early. She would not want to sing yet.’

  ‘It was not just opera he had in mind. He thought the straight theatre.’

  ‘Oh.’ Ross digested the news. ‘Does Bella know anything of this?’

  ‘I don’t think so. He brought the subject up while Clowance was absent.’

  ‘Did he say what he had in mind?’

  ‘He knows I have a financial interest in a new theatre in London called the Royal Coburg. It was only opened a couple of years ago, and it presents a mixture of farce and overblown melodrama, interspersed now and then with some good stuff – a Shakespeare or a Marlowe. This is just over on the other side of the river. The audience is inclined to be unsophisticated, but the better stuff has done pretty well. I think something is planned for mid-December. Havergal thought if she were introduced to play some minor role it would give her a new incentive in life. He even thinks that such an experience might stimulate her to the extent of restoring her voice to its full health.’

  ‘I’ll say this for Christopher – he never loses faith. I agree that it would be an uncommon generous act to do such a thing. But could you arrange something like that?’

  ‘I would think it likely . . . I know Frederick McArdle, the producer of the last Shakespeare put on there. He has a reputation for brooking no interference. But the finances of the theatre, like those of all the more famous ones, are not in a healthy state.’

  Ross said: ‘I would not want you to involve yourself further on our account, but if you can do anything without extra cost to yourself I should be greatly obliged. I understand the musical director of the King’s Theatre did say he would be willing to take her on trial.’

  November came in cool and draughty. And dark. Every evening seemed to vie with the one before for the earlier lighting of candles and lamps. Valentine moved Butto to his winter quarters, these consisting of the open compound of brick and stone which had been specially built for him and leading to a scullery, where he often slept. Now Valentine had opened the door at the back of the scullery, which led down stone steps to the cellars. This was much warmer, and being under the kitchens benefited by the heat from the cooking that went on just above. The cellars continued on to a wine cellar, a coal cellar, and one where casks of ale were stored. But these were separated from Butto by a locked metal door. Since early September Butto had taken it upon himself to transfer his bed to the cellar. Valentine had come to the conclusion that the ape had a well-developed interest in his own comfort.

  Cuby and Clemency and Mrs Bettesworth took up occupancy of the little house near Bodmin and left the Castle empty of anyone except the bailiffs. Philip Prideaux helped with the move. John Trevanion wrote from a ho
use in Antwerp, where he was staying with friends, but gave no hint of a return. Most of his income from rentals in and about Cornwall was seized as soon as paid, and John himself had no prospect of accumulating enough capital to come home and put a brave face on it. It was safer to scrape a pittance together to live off his friends in Belgium than to go to prison in England.

  The Bengal lights arrived on the third and were delivered to Will Nanfan, who was an elder of the villages of Sawle with Grambler and a ringleader in the Bonfire Night celebration. He was delighted to receive three large wooden cases. Each coloured powder was packed separately with metal saucers in a smaller box. In his present euphoric mood Edward had included also Roman candles and Catherine wheels and rockets. Nanfan went up to see Ross, who was as enigmatic as he knew how to be, and Will went away briefed with platitudes. Anyway, everyone felt, it was good of someone to send such a munificent gift, and that young lord who had been around here much of the summer and had married Miss Clowance was a handsome proper sort of a boy.

  In the old days Guy Fawkes celebrations had been held on the flat ground above Sawle Combe, where the summer fairs with their racing and wrestling competitions took place. Lacking a village green, as nearly all Cornish villages do, this was as near the centre of the straggling community as could be. But in the days of the Napoleonic Wars, when invasion was a constant threat and no celebratory bonfires were permitted, the bonfire, only prepared in readiness to raise an alarm – when they had constantly to be rebuilt because of the wet climate – had been moved much nearer Nampara, on a piece of flat moorland just beyond Wheal Grace. It was the highest place around and could easily be seen from St Ann’s Beacon and Trencrom Hall, linking up with a chain around the coast. The bonfires celebrating Trafalgar and Waterloo had been lit here, and since then, because alarm lights to rouse folk to meet an invasion or to inform them of some great feat of arms were no longer necessary, no one had suggested that the fifth of November bonfire should be returned to its former place.

  An advantage too was that this was much further from any house or thatched roof which might catch a flying spark. The only place in mild proximity was Sam’s new chapel, built out of the fallen granite from Wheal Maiden, but this had a roof of Delabole slate, and the wind was scarcely ever in that direction.

  On the third of November also a letter from Christopher for Miss Poldark.

  Dearest Bella,

  I have some news for you that I trust will give you pleasure. I called on your new brother-in-law about the beginning of last month and in the course of conversation, which needless to say included your career and your illness, he brought up his interest and influence in the Royal Coburg Theatre. You will remember we went to it a couple of times soon after you came to live with Mrs Pelham – it is just across the river by the new bridge. We saw a spectacle and melodrama called Trial by Battle, which we both enjoyed. Well, of late, Lord Edward and some of his friends, including the producer Frederick McArdle, have been introducing some plays of greater quality and interspersing them among burlesque and ordinary melodrama to see if the audience will accept and appreciate them. There have to be a few alterations in the text of the plays, to evade the law that restricts the plays of Shakespeare to the patent theatres; but apparently they played to almost full houses with Macbeth in August, with Frederick McArdle producing. There is now a plan afoot to produce Romeo and Juliet for some time in December. Dates not yet settled, nor cast. But they hope to get a young actor called Arthur Scales for Romeo.

  Edward has spoken about you to McArdle, and McArdle would be willing to interview you with the idea of offering you one of the smaller speaking parts. What do you think of that? The theatre may not be the most fashionable and the part not a big one, but it would enable you to return to the theatre, and if they like you and you like them this could lead to better things. If your voice fully recovers you can resume your singing career at will. But this can do you no harm professionally and it will get you into the theatrical swim again. As you know, I have always felt you could act and you have a presence which a lot of young women would give their ears for.

  If you are willing to come to London at some agreed date in December, I will make no claims upon you that you do not invite, but I will do all in my power to put you back into the world where you truly belong.

  And I will come to Cornwall for you.

  Christopher

  ‘What shall you do?’ Demelza asked.

  ‘Oh, I would go! Without hesitation I would go. But for one thing.’

  ‘What is that?’

  ‘I am fond of Edward. I feel for Clowance. I so long for them to be happy, as I think they will be. But she has married above her. I do not want him to think, or her to think, that almost before they have finished their honeymoon the Poldarks are asking favours of him. Making use of him, in fact.’

  ‘He mentioned the idea to me before they left,’ Ross said. ‘I don’t know him well, but he did not give me the impression that he looked on it that we were taking a liberty – or that Christopher Havergal was presuming on a possible relationship by asking him.’

  After a moment Demelza said: ‘Clowance is anything but an angel, but at the moment Edward thinks her one. He has also fallen in love with Cornwall, and appears to include all his new relatives in a general sort of affectionate view. At present my feeling is he cannot do enough for us, his only regret that he cannot do more. Look at the great supply of fireworks he has sent to the village! I still understand your sort of reluctance, Bella, to seem to take advantage of a new relationship. But my own feeling in my heart, in my judgement, is that you should take this chance. You agree, Ross?’

  ‘I do. If something comes of it, I believe Edward would take pleasure in feeling he had helped so much.’

  Bella gave a little nervous cough. ‘My voice is quite satisfactory – I talk just so much as I want and suffer no inconvenience. But I suspect at times I speak a little rough. I wonder if in a play I had to raise my voice in making a long speech it might become husky.’

  Ross said: ‘Dear Bella, why do you not face that difficulty when you come to it, eh? You do not know what part you will be assigned to play. It seems likely that you may have only few sentences to speak, such as, “Here is the wine, Lady Capulet.” ’

  Demelza said: ‘I thought she was called Juliet.’

  ‘So she is. Lady Capulet is her mother.’

  ‘So your father knows all about it!’

  ‘I wish I did,’ Bella said. ‘It is a classic. Do you think Mrs Hemple’s Academy might have a copy they could lend me? Do you think if I went in and called on them they might be able to help?’

  ‘There is the library in Truro too,’ said Ross, ‘where Arthur Solway used to work. We might try them.’

  That afternoon, soon after lunch when the rain, which had been threatening all morning with low scurrying coal-edged clouds, was about to begin, Valentine kidnapped little Georgie Warleggan and took him back to Place House, Trevaunance, where he had been born.

  Valentine refused to use the word ‘kidnapped’. He claimed that he had simply resumed possession of his own son. Kidnapping one’s son was like raping one’s wife, a contradiction in terms.

  After some prospective visits to examine what might be termed the defences of Rayle Farm, they had established that these would not be difficult to breach. Selina had only three servants and her cousin Henrietta; and Valentine, for all the hard words between them when he made the formal call, had not actually threatened to take the child away from her against her will.

  Valentine said to David, ‘In times of open warfare surprise is all.’

  Usually Henrietta took the child for a walk directly after dinner, while Selina rested. It was noticed that, being no energetic walker herself, Henrietta would frequently allow Georgie to run on ahead and then come back to her. She seemed quite arbitrary as to the direction she took, but they were keen not to snatch the boy under the eyes of those few miners who hacked and picked above ground. />
  This afternoon the threat of rain was enough to deter Henrietta from stirring far from home, and sure enough they made off behind the house in the direction of the woods surrounding Tehidy. Halfway to the first bank of arbutus trees Henrietta stopped, presumably to get her breath, and Georgie ran on. Presently he was confronted by his father, who tried to stop the squeal of delight the little boy uttered, and gathered him up in his arms, and made, as if it were all a great joke, towards the woods, while David Lake, who was unknown to Henrietta, accosted her and asked her the way to Basset’s Cove. After a brief, pleasant conversation David turned away in the direction she pointed and, once out of view, made a quick detour to where they had left their horses, to find Valentine already mounted, with his son in front of him on the saddle, waiting for his friend.

  They made for home. The worst of the rain mercifully held off, though for the last five miles it spattered into their faces in vicious spurts before the driving wind.

  At Place House preparations had been made to receive the honoured guest. Polly Stevens, née Odgers, at one time a nursemaid to Valentine himself, had been engaged. Georgie, who at first had seen the joke in this clandestine escape from his mother, had begun to get fretful as the saddle chafed his legs, and when he tottered into the front hall of Place House his eyes were red with rubbing them, and he looked ready to go to sleep. The motherly approach of the ex-clergyman’s daughter – who had been anything but motherly when she was young – was enough to soothe his fretfulness, and a bowl of warm bread and milk, fed him by his father, revived him.

  Like a fire that has had fresh dry faggots thrown on it, he was suddenly all energy and interest. When he saw Butto he momentarily cringed, seeking his father’s protection, so Valentine picked him up, opened the door of the pen and went in.

  ‘Butto,’ Valentine said, ‘this is my one and only son. Georgie, reach out and touch his muzzle. He could as well eat you as kiss you, but I know that only the second is in his thoughts.’

  The little boy began to stroke Butto’s great ruff. Butto sneezed as if pepper had been thrown on him, shook his great head, sniffed a couple of times and then put out his gloved hand.