The Angry Tide (34 page)

A first five days in London of unalloyed happiness. The city was a treasure trove into which
Demelza
dipped unceasingly, not put off by the squalid and the degrading, though often offended by it. At the bottom of George Street was one of the many landing-stages marked by twin striped poles where you could get a ferryman in red and blue breeches and a red cap to take you anywhere. It was sixpence each to Westminster and the same to St Paul's, where the great church seemed more monstrous in size and more im
pressive even than the Abbey, th
ough it was disfigured by the conglomerate of sordid, tumbledown houses girdling it, by butchers' shops where stinking offal was thrown into the street, and by the omnipresent stench of the Fleet Ditch.

The weather was still fine and sunny, and one day they took chairs to Paddington and then walked cast towards Islington, with the hills to the north and all the city straggling southward. They went to Vauxhall Gard
ens and to Rane
lagh, and called on Caroline at her aunt's house in Hatton Garden. Dwight was expected on
the
morrow, and Caroline was full of the reception
that was to be held at Mrs Trace
y's on the evening of the twenty-fourth. Seeing her so engaged, Ross wondered whether she would
ever
altogether settle as the wife of a remote country doctor. Yet he remembered coming to this house years ago, when Caroline and Dwight had apparently broken u
p for ever, and how wan and listl
ess she had been. And there was the time of Dwight's imprisonment when she had seemed only to live from day to day. She needed Dwight, there seemed no doubt. But she also needed a stimulus in her life, a social round, or a mission of some sort.

For her evenings out
Demelza
had brought the evening gown that she had had made for her in those early days of her married life, and the other frock she had bought for Caroline's own wedding three years ago, and which she had scarcely worn. Caroline gently shook her head. It might be the perfect thing for Cornwall still, but it wouldn't do for the London season in 1799. Fashions had changed. Everything was of the simplest, finest, slightest. ('So I notice,' Demelza said.) Waists were high, almost under the armpit, both for day and for evening. Neck and bust were much exposed but could be hidden or part hidden in a veil of chiffon. Ostrich feathers in the hair, or a few pearls.
Demelza
said, how interesting, and why do so many people wear spectacles in London? Perhaps they live more in artificial light, said Caroline; but then of course it is rather the fashion. I think,
Demelza
said, folk would walk on crutches in London if someone said it was the fashion. I have no doubt you're right, said Caroline. In any case, said Demelza, there would be no time for anything to be made for me by tomorrow evening; but aside from that we could not afford, I should not wish to afford, London prices.

'I'll take you to my shop, Phillips & ff
o
ssie
k. Mrs Phillips has a number of gowns half made that can be altered and finished in four-and-twenty hours. As for payment, it can go on my account. I pay yearly, and you can reimburse me if and when you have the fancy.'

'It seems to cost even to breathe in London,' Demelza said.

'Well, what is money for but to spend? We'll ask Ross, but only after we've spent it.'

'I hope I can understand what your Mrs Phillips says,' said
Demelza
, weakening. 'I often don't follow what the ordinary people say. It is almost like a foreign language.'

'Oh, don't worry. You'll find Mrs Phillips excessively genteel.'

'That also,'
Demelza
said, 'I do not so much fancy.'

But she went, like the moth to the flame. Shades of long ago when Verity had first taken her into Mistress Trelask's
...
The homely little seamstress's shop in Truro with a bell that tinged when you entered and you nearly fell down the two dark steps. This was a
salon,
though not large; just well-bred and discreet. You sat in a place like a drawing-room, with silk drapes and lawn curtains and lush gilt chairs; and a woman who looked like a countess who had fallen on hard times brought out a succession of gowns, each one presented and considered separately before being hidden away again before the drawing-room could begin to look untidy.

After rejecting three on the grounds of indecency she took to one of a fetching peach-coloured satin, which not only happened to be an opaque material but of a fractionally more discreet design. Before price could be discussed it was arranged that the gown should be finished and delivered to No. 6 George Street 'at this hour tomorrow', and that the account should in due course be presented to Mrs Enys.

'I feel like a wanton,'
Demelza
said as they came out into the noisy street

'That's just what you must try to look like,' said Caroline. 'It's the ambition of all respectable women.'

'And the wantons try to look respectable?'

'Well, not that always neither. Now I must fly, for there's much still to do, and Dwight should be with mc this evening. Get this chair
...
I'll see you into it and then we'll meet tomorrow in the forenoon.'

The 24th of September was a Tuesday, and day broke with a light rain falling.
Demelza
looked out to see umbrellas passing up and down the street below and to
see
the patten woman bringing back the shoes she had been cleaning overnight. But by eleven the clouds had split open and a hazy sun, much obscured by drifting smoke, peered through. The cobbles were soon drying. Caroline and Dwight and
Demelza
saw the royal procession from scats in Whitehall, the gold coaches, the bands, the regiments, the prancing life-guards. Because of the successes of both the army and the navy a new wave of patriotism was sweeping Britain, and the old king was cheered the length of the street.

The reception at Portland Place was to start at nine, and there was some talk that the Prince Regent himself might be there. Ross had ordered a coach for nine-fifteen, which to
Demelza
's idea was far too late but he would not alter it. She began getting ready at eight, and eventually slipped into her new gown at a quarter before nine.

When Ross turned round and saw it he said: 'That is very pretty. But where is the gown?'

'This is it! This is what I have bought!'

'That's a petticoat.'

'Oh, Ross, you
are
provoking! You know well it is nothing of the sort.'

'Would you wish mc to g
o in my shirt and underbre
eches?' "No, no, you must not tease! I need confidence, not - not
...'
'Port will give you that.'

She grimaced at him. 'And this is for my hair,' she said, showing him the feather.

'Well, I don't know what your father would say if he could
see
you.' 'It is the fash
ion, Ross. Caroline insisted.' ‘I
know just how women insist. And you, I'm sure, were protesting loudly and saying, no, no, no!' 'Well, I did protest, truly. And this is much the most respectable
of the gowns I was shown. Some women, Caroline says, damp their frocks when they put them on so that they will cling more.'

'You damp anything, my dear, and I'll smack you.'

She paused while he tied his stock. 'But, Ross,
you do like it, don't you? I sti
ll have time to change.'

'And you'd wear an old frock to please me?'

'Of course.'

'And be miserable all night?'

'I wouldn't be miserable. I'm so happy.'

'Yes
...
you look it, I'll say that. Why
are
you happy?"

'Because of you, of course. Because of
us.
Need I say?'

'No,' he said, 'perhaps not
...'

Somewhere a clock was striking nine.

He said: 'The vexing thing is, good-looking women look good in almost anything. Or should I say almost nothing? Well
...'
He stared at her. 'On longer inspection I like the frock. I think it has a touch of elegance. I am only a little reluctant that so many men should see so much of you.'

'They will have many other women to look at. Women who have spent their lives being beautiful.'

'And men too. These confounded buttons
are
hard to fasten.'

'Let me.' She came up and busied herself at his wrists.

'I think,' he said, looking down at her bru
shed and combed and tidy hair, ‘I
think I'll go in my nightgown. It might provoke a new fashion.'

Portl
and Place was one of
the
broadest and best lit streets in London, and a line of carriages and chairs wai
ted their turn before a porticoe
d door with a royal blue carpet laid under a crimson awning. Gowned and beautiful creatures were passing up the steps followed by men scarcely less brilliant. When it came to their turn two white-wigged footmen were there to open the carriage door and to hand
Demelza
out. It seemed for a moment that they were at the centre of a circle of brilliant light from the periphery of which a sea of faces peered at them greedily as the hundreds of ragged onlookers stared at and assessed them. Then they had passed inside, to leave their cloaks in the care of more footmen, and to climb a short flight of stairs while a man with a rich tenor voice shouted: 'Captain and Mrs Poldark.' Caroline greeted them, brilliant in pale green, with jewels at her breast that were never seen in Cornwall, and introduced the
m to their two hostesses: Mrs Pe
lham, her aunt, whose escort was a tall man called the Hon. St Andrew St John (the member for Bedfordshire, presumably), and Mrs Tracy, with Lord Onslow. And then there was Dwight in a n
ew suit of black velvet, and pre
s
entl
y they moved on and were given glasses of wine and reached an enormous reception room already more than half full of people chatting and drinking and seated and exchanging greetings.

As they went in Dwight had drawn aside and said to Ross: 'A word of warning. The Warleggans
are likely to be here. Mrs Trace
y invited them. But they should be easy to avoid.' Ross had smiled grimly and said: 'Never fear. We'll avo
id 'e
m.'

In fact George and Elizabeth arrived soon after t
hem in the company of Monk Adde
rley and a girl called Andromeda Page, a yawning, semi-nude beauty of seventeen, whom Monk was temporarily escorting round the town. They spotted the Poldarks quickly enough but moved to the opposite side of the room and were soon lost sight of.

The Warleggans had arrived in London only two days before and taken up residence at No. 14 King Street, just near Grosvenor Gate, having brought Valentine with them, since scarlet fever was so rife in Truro that he was unlikely to be at greater hazard in London with the fresh fields of Hyde Park on his doorstep. Theirs had been something of a royal procession from Cornwall, travelling as they did in their own coach and taking twelve days on the journey. In his year as a member of Parliament George had been an assiduous collector of useful friends, and this stood him in good stead. He had written well ahead to various people telling them he would like to call, and few of the country gentry wished to offend a very rich
man with a pretty and well-connecte
d wife. As a result, they had only had to spend two nights in inns all the way.

George was in the best of spirits tonight, Monk having just told him of his election to White's one of
the
most exclusive clubs in London. He had also had a conversation with Roger Wilbraham that morning. Wilbraham, unlike Captain Howell, was neither a Cornishman nor in need of money, and his first response to the suggestion that he might resign his seat at St Michael had been unhelpful. Gladly he'd accept money to resign, he said, laughing loudly, if Geor
ge would provide him with another se
at. Not otherwise, since it would cost him as much to procure another scat for himself as he was likely to receive from George, so how did it pro
fit him? An impasse had been pre
vented by Wilbraham adding: 'But look, old fellow, I've stood for Scawen interests until now. I've no strong convictions. I can just as easy be your man as his. You can count on me.' It seemed the easy way out, and George had accepted the suggestion. If Wilbraham should prove troublesome, there were ways of forcing him out later. The important thing was that, so far as the government was concerned, George now had two seats to bargain with.

Elizabeth, though slig
htly plumper in face, had not thickene
d in figure yet, and tonight looked at her most dignified and beautiful, having spent most of the day receiving the attentions of a hairdresser who had brightened up the faded fairness until it shone like a crown. As usual she wore white, this time in a Grecian style, light loose drapery over a tight tunic, decorated with gold chains, sandaled feet and flesh-coloured stockings with toes like gloves, fan in gold belt and tiny gold bag containing scent and a handkerchief. 'My dear,' Monk Adderlcy said, 'you look like Helen of Troy.'

She smiled at him warmly and looked at the growing company. 'One day, when the war is over, I hope to travel, if I can persuade George to do so. I should like to see Greece and all the islands. I should like to see Rome
...'

'Do take care,' said Adderley, T cannot bear to hear you say you wish to look at the scenery.'

'Why ever not?' Elizabeth smiled. 'Who is that man over there?'

'The fat one? The gross one? You don't know him?
That is Dr Franz Anse
lm, who, my dear, makes
more money
out of ladies than any other physician in London. Do you wish to conceive? He will see to it. Do you wish
not
to conceive, or to lose that which you
have
conceived? He will see to that also. Should you wish to stay young and to fascinate your husband - or someone else's husband - a valuable nostrum is prescribed. Do you have disagreeable warts? He will take them off yo
u. Have you not heard of Dr Anse
lm's Balsamic Cordial for Ladies in Nature's Decay?'

'A charlatan?'

'God, who in the physical profession is not? They all have their cure-alls. But his, I believe, are more effective than most.'

'A pity he cannot prescribe to make himself a thought prettier. Why do you say I should not look at the scenery?'

'Well, not to
admire
it. Some of these poets nowadays, my dear, offend me to distraction. They have a
romantic
view of life. It is so low-class, so mediocre. What are mountains and lakes, to be stared at as if they were of
interest?
Personally, when I go through the Alps
I always draw the blinds of ray coach.'

'And who is that coming in now?' Elizabeth asked. 'Like Dr Anselm somewhat, but smaller.'

'That, my dear, is another man
of some import in the world, th
ough no doubt as a high Tory you must disapprove of him - as I do. I could spit him on a sword for his wrong assumptions about the war. The Hon. Charles James Fox. And that's his wife, the former Mrs Armistead, whom he married a mere four years ago.'

The big Dr Anselm waddled past. He had eyebrows like black slugs, mottled black hair which he did not deign to cover with a wig, and a stomach which spread from his chest and preceded
him
as he walked. Mr and Mrs Fox turned the other way.

'Ah,' said Monk, 'this one, this tall feller, is Lord Walsingham, who's chairman of the committees in the House of Lords. And behind him,
the
younger one, is George Canning, who's secretary for foreign affairs. I'm glad to
see
a few of the government turning up, else we should be swamped with the dissidents. Instruct me, wh
ere doe
s George get his shoes?'

'My George? I don't know.'

'Well, it is not the right place. Tell him to go to Rymer's. Outstanding, my dear. And Wagner's for hats. One can never afford to have anything but the best.'

'I'm sure George would entirely agree,' Elizabeth said with a touch of irony, and, to be polite, spoke to Miss Page. So the group reformed.

Ross and Demelza were talking to a Mr and Mrs John Bullock. Bullock was the member for Essex, an elderly man and in confirmed opposition to Pitt, but he and Ross liked and respected each other. They were joined by the Baron Duff of Fife and his daughter, who was wearing a startling necklace that seemed to set fire to her throat.

When they had gone
Demelza
said: 'There is so much wealth in London! Did you
see
that - those diamonds! And yet there's so little.'

'Little what?'

'Wealth. Those faces as we came in! They would fight for a sixpence. Sometimes I think - what little I've seen, Ross - it's as if London's half at war with itself.'

'Explain yourself, my love.'

'Well, isn't it? All the crime. It's like a - a volcano. In the streets -
those gangs at corners waiting for a victim. All the drunkenness and the quarrelling. The thieves and the prostitutes and the beggars.

The stone-throwing. The fighting with clubs. The starvation. And then this. All this luxury. Is this how it was in France?
^’
'Yes. But worse.'

'I see how you must feel sometimes.'

'I'm glad you feel it too. But don't let it spoil your evening.'

'Oh, no. Oh, no.'

He looked at her. 'Sometimes I th
ink we
have as much control of events as straws in a stream.'

A few moments later the Warleggans came into view on the other side of the room.

Demelza
said: '
Is Elizabeth going to have anoth
er child?'

'What?' Ross stared. 'How do you know?'

'I don't. It's just a look she has.'

'You could very well be right,' he said after a moment. 'She was indisposed the day of the opening of the hospital. Fortunately for mc, she was taken with a fainting fit, or I should have had violent words with George, if not worse, and then I'm sure Francis Basset would not have thought me a suitable partner for his banking concerns.'

'Straws in a stream,' said Demelza. 'How lucky we were!'

On
the other side of the room Adde
rley said to George: 'Did you actually
go and listen
to the speech from the throne, my dear?'

'Yes,' said George.

'All this nonsense about militia? I could not bear it. I spent my time at Boodles. You're down, you know. The election's in November. I can arrange
the
necessary support.'

'I'm obliged, Monk. I
see
Poldark's here.'

'The noble captain. Yes. You don't like him, do you.'

'No.'

'You Cornishme
n take yourselves so serious. What's in a feud? Who's that with him?'

'His wife. He married his kitchenmaid.' 'Well, she's a good-looker.' 'Some men have thought so.' 'With success?'

'Probably,' said George, old malice stirring.

Adderley put up his glass to look across the room. 'Her hair's provincial. Pity. The rest is good.'

'Oh, no doubt she's been dressed in London.'

'So she should be undressed in London, don't you think? I cannot bear virtuous countrywomen.'

'They
are
fewer than you think.'

'Oh, yes, I know, my dear. Is there in truth one such in the land? Well, you know my claim.' 'What's that?'

'I've never turned a woman empty away.' 'You should try your luck.' 'I'll test the water. Drommie!' 'Yes?' said the girl.

'Come with me. There's a feller I wish you to meet.'