The Loving Cup (17 page)

'You will not mind using this - your share of the money -
in buying a commission or in the ordinary expenses of a military life?'

'No.'

'But don't wish to use it in furthering your experiments in steam?'

'That may be.' Jeremy said something of his meetings with Goldsworthy Gurney. it is a choice I must make within the next few weeks.'

They had strolled out into the fields and towards the wood where Geoffrey Charles as a young boy had first met Drake. In the distance Will Nanfan was seeing to his sheep. They waved.

Geoffrey Charles said: 'Well, since you have told me all this, I imagine you may be soliciting my advice.'
I
have said so.'

'Not that you are likely to take it. From talks in camp and mess, I generally assume if someone asks my advice he really wants support for the thing he has already decided to do.'

Jeremy half smiled. 'That may be. I don't know. I don't
promise
to follow your advice but I should greatly value it.'

'There has been no shadow of suspicion so far
-
cast upon any of the three of you?'

'No.'

'Then I think I should stay and face it out. This is a prime paradox! For isn't going to fight a little like running away? These problems you are facing are really within yourself.

Are they, not? How you came to do what you did will still be an issue even if you are fighting on the Pyrenees. When the war is over
...'

Geoffrey Charles paused and looked towards the main gate. Three people were coming through it. When they saw the two young men they waved and broke into a run, which clearly became a race.

'Let me know your choice. I would wish to know.'

'Of course.'

Drake was winning the race, with Loveday running clutching at her skirts just behind. Morwenna, who tripped quickly rather than ran, brought up the rear. As they came on, Geoffrey Charles wondered if he had given Jeremy the
right
advice. His cousin did not seem the stuff of which soldiers were made of. If he had the sort of sensitivity of feeling which had driven him into the mess he was now in, how would he adapt to a world in which death was the daily possibility, one's friends were mutilated and one's feelings ever blunted by the harsh realities of camp life and of war? And yet, as Jeremy had pointed out, had
he
not himself entered the army as a raw youth who until then had lived a privileged and cushioned life? It was too far back for him even to recognize himself as the youngster who had loved Drake and been under the too gentle control of Morwenna as his governess. It belonged to another life, another person.

Now, just now, after so many years of strife and comradeship and inner loneliness, he had found Amadora
...
But Jeremy had lost his love. This girl must be
seen,
a girl on whom Jeremy so doted that, when he saw himself likely to be deprived of her, he lost his judgement, his caution
...
Did not one still have some belief in the Commandments? Thou shalt not steal. Thou shalt not covet
...
Thou shalt not kill
...
Who did
not
break these Commandments?

'D'you know,' said Drake breathlessly,
I
met Ellery. Peter Ellery! Y'know, we went on that venture together to France to rescue Dr Enys. We was always some close. After all these years - he'd hardly changed at all.'

'Nor have you, Drake,' said Geoffrey Charles.

Cuby Trevanion was the name. She must be quite an exceptional girl. Geoffrey Charles very much hoped she would come to the party.

I

Michaelmas Fair was on the 29th. On the twenty-eighth Art Thomas turned his ankle in a rabbit hole and by the following morning could barely hobble. John, the elder brother, would not have any truck with such trade and never went near a fair or a fete, so Art said: 'Music, you be goin'. Aunt Edie have need of some potion for her blains. She d'say thur be an old woman d'ave a stall there - called Widow Crow. She have this potion that Edie say she need, so you can get it for she, stead of me. Eh?' 'Eh?'said Music. 'Eh?'

'You 'urd.' His brother repeated what he had said.

Music went on whittling at his stick. One of his five cats, the one called Ginger, came over and sniffed at the shavings but quickly lost interest and strolled a
way. 'Don't
'ave no dealings wi' witches,' Music was presently heard to mutter.

'Witches? Widow Crow ain't no witch, I tell ee, else Edie would never venture near her. She'm just a skirt old woman as knows 'ow to mix the potions. Why ye mind when Wallace Bartle 'ad that wambling of the innards; he took he
r potions, and was brave in no t
ime. And Nigel Ellery's son - she cured he of the hooting cough. And -'

There ain't no such thing as witches,' said John grumpily, who was not in one of his best moods because of the failure of the pilchards to arrive off the coast. 'Nor skirt ole women neither. They'm all pomsters, every last one of 'em.'

'Don't know as I be gwain,' said Music. 'Tes a long way to troach.'

'Giss on. Ye know ye never miss'n. If any soul be goin' fair or feast da/, tis you, Music.' Art contemplated his brother. In spite of his amiable nature, Music was prone to occasional obstinacies, and Art did not want one to develop now. For two years Art had been courting the fat little Edie and her fat little tannery business, and he found it a constant strain sitting with her when juicy girls of his own age were to be had for the asking. Little errands such as this one were an easy way of obliging her. 'Tes only for the blains. Ye smooth it on and it cools 'em, stops the springeing.'

'Don't know as I be g
’w
in,' said Music.

'Damnation cats,' said John, aiming a kick at
one of them. 'Always under your feet - worsen children. Git rid of 'em, I say.'

'She'm a good ole woman, Widow Crow,' said Art. 'She've this stall nigh by the knife grinder; never misses. I expect ye've seen her many time there yerself, Music'

'Don't know's I 'ave,' said Music

'Girls go to 'er too. They say she've a fine line in love potions. Failing powers, bleeding ulcers, overlooked babies, wildfire, warts.'

'Just an old pomster,' growled John.

Music finished his whittling. With a long thin hand he began to brush the shavings together.

'They got a lunatic this time,' said Art. in a cage. Chained by the neck. I'd've dearly liked to see her; they say she's violent. Tis a penny to go in. Penny back if you get'n to shake hands.'

'Didn't oughter be allowed,' said John.

'And a bull,' said Art, watching his brother. 'Yer was always one for the baiting, Music'

'Never was,' said Music. But the idea of the lunatic appealed to him.

'And they do say Black Fred'll
be there. We seen 'im five years gone at Summercourt. You mind 'im, John? He swallowed a live mouse on a string and then after ye've counted ten he d'pull 'n of it up again still alive and kicking. You didn't go that year, Music; you was 'ome wi
’
measles. Ye'd like to see that, Music, wouldn't ee.'

'Aw, leave'm bide, Art, do ee,' said John.

Music got up and threw the shavings of wood into the kindling box. The chickens scattered at the noise.

'The potion's sixpence,' said Art. 'Edie say tis very small
in bottle but it cool her blains wonderful. I reckon I'd pay ee twopence for your trouble.' 'Don't know as I be gwain,'said Music.

II

Yet he did go, and beheld all the wonders of the fair. The lunatic was disappointing - first because it was a man (and sometimes the women were scanty dressed) and second because he simply sat in
a corner of his cage, and would not move even when poked with a stick. Black Fred disappointed too because the mouse was half dead and scarcely wriggled at all. But there were other things to entertain, and Music mooched about until it was almost nightfall before he approached Widow Crow. He had passed her booth half a dozen times but always there was someone at it, buying something or talking to the widow, and he was always sensitive at the thought of being laughed at. But the last time she was alone — indeed beginning to pack up and thrust her tins and bottles into an old sack to throw over her shoulders and carry home.

She was a thin tall sallow woman with locks like black horse-hair that fell to her shoulders, and big bony hands with enlarged knuckles and black-rimmed nails. She wore an old muslin blouse decorated with jet beads, a tattered black jacket and a long dusty grey fustian skirt. She was quick enough to sum Music up, and tried to put him at his ease, telling him she could see a fine healthy young fellow like him would never never suffer from the chilblains so he must be buying her special potion for someone else - a mother? an aunt? a sister? Music explained that it was for his brother's girl and then stuttered with nervy laughter at the thought of calling old Edie a girl.

'Got a girl of your own, have you?' asked Widow Crow.

Music went red. 'Sort of.'

'How sort of, my dear? You in love with she?'

‘
Sort of.'

The widow took a small stone bottle from her bag and put
it on the trestle. 'This be for your brother's girl, see. That'll be sevenpence.'

'Brother telled me sixpence.'

'Sevenpence, my dear.'

With great cunning Musi
c said: 'Tes a small little bottl
e for sevenpence, you.' 'D'you know what it cost me to make?' 'Brother telled me sixpence.'

Widow Crow put the
bottle
back in her bag. it is sevenpence or nothing, my dear.'

Music hesitated. 'Sevenpence then.'

'D'you know what be in it?' the widow said in a low voice.'Shall I tell you?'

‘I
don't mind,' said Music bravely.

'Frogs.'

'Frogs?'

'Yes. Frogs are red blooded creatures like you and me. But
cold.
See that, my dear? Cold. Cold to cool the blains. It is all in here. Frog spittle, frog sperm, frog juice, frog's eggs. And resin and balsam to bind. Lay it
cool
upon the blains and they'll disappear - just like magic. You see!'

Music fumbled in the front pocket of his breeches and gradually took out seven pennies. The widow's sharp eyes caught the glint of silver.

She counted the pennies as they were reluctantly passed over. 'You got a girl, you say, my dear? Only sort of? That what you say?'

Music grunted and took the bottle of lotion.

'You in love, you say? That right, my dear? But the young leddy? Mebbe she's not in love with you, eh?'

Music grunted again and put the bottle in his pocket A few people were lighting lanterns, but much of the fair was about to close.

'Not in love with you?
’
said Widow Crow. 'A fine handsome, handsome fellow? Not in love with you, eh?'

'Mebbe. Mebbe not' .

'Like a love potion ?'

'What?'

'A love potion.'

Music began to sweat. They seemed to be alone. People passed by, but now no one came to this stall. Perhaps it was unhallowed after dark.

'Not sure's 1 do,' he said.

Widow Crow took out a second bottle, even smaller than the first, it will cost you ninepence, my dear.'
‘
Coh!'

‘I
t would be a shilling to most, but only ninepence to you, my dear, as a special favour. I've taken a fancy to you. Why, you'll never know all that's in this little bottle, but I can tell you plain that what's in it cost me eightpence ha'penny, so there's no profit in it for me to sell it so cheap. But I like the looks of you. A fine handsome feller any maid would be right to fancy.' 'Not sure's I do,' said Music.

'Any
maid,' said Widow Crow, putting her fingers in front of one ear and pushing her lank hair away. 'But maids are hard to please. Some maids have fancy notions. Some maids are fickle. Some maids are as changeable as the weather. That's when you need a love potion, my dear.'

Music thought of Katie, her tall clumsy figure shambling about the house, her big black eyes, her hair, the colour of this woman's but shining with a lusty life of its own.

Widow Crow turned the small bottle round and looked at it lovingly. 'Ninepence,' she said. 'Just the one draught. Get her to drink it. That be all you have to do. It has no taste. The hearts of apple birds and grey birds be in it - and the horse-adder and wort. Just the one draught. Give it to 'er any way that com
es along - in ale - in tea – in
spirits - in water - or better still get her to drink it off sheer and plain. Sheer and plain. Then be sure to be beside her as the draught goes down; for so soon as ever it d'go down, then her eyes will light upon you, and she will love you till her dying day.'

A flurry of rain fell on Music's heated face. It was going to be a long, wet walk home. He did not consider it.

'Eightpence?' he said.

'Ninepence.'

'Ah,' he said, and began to fumble in his front pocket for the extra money.

III

On his last visit to Nampara Geoffrey Charles had asked Demelza if he might borrow a few extra servants for the party.

'Mrs Pope offered, so I expect we shall have three of hers as well. And I might ask Mrs Enys for two or three. It is better to have too many than too few.'

'Clowance and I will come ourselves if you want us,' said Demelza. 'I mean earlier on, to help with the cooking and the arrangements.'

'That's kind of you. But two cooks are coming the night before from Truro. I might yet send you a plaintive message saying "Help! help!" but if possible I wish you -
1
wish you all - to be guests - to enjoy it without the responsibility of being accountable for anything.'

'And Amadora?'

'She declares she is terrified, but I believe in her bones she is relishing the challenge.' 'I know how she feels.'

Geoffrey Charles got up. 'There is one other point I want your help on - your advice a
t least. I expect you know what I
am going to say.'

'No?'

'It is the question of my step-father - whether I should invite him
..."

Demelza hesitated. 'It is your party.'

'Had we come direct here without any contact, I should never consider inviting him. He's no friend of mine, as you well know. But we called on him; I thought it might even be legally necessary to tell him I was entering into my possessions, so to speak. When we met, after so long a time, I liked him no better than I had done before; but his new wife insisted - I'm sure against his wishes - that we stay to dinner, and then pressed the loan of two excellent horses on us, which we still have, outside at this moment and must keep, she says, until we return to Spain. So even if one wished to exclude him - as I certainly would wish - it is-a little affrontful to her if we do not send an invitation. On the
other hand,' Geoffrey Charles hastened on as Demelza was about to speak, 'the last thing I wish is to embarrass Cousin Ross. I know how he feels - what they feel for each other -and if Ross would consider the evening in any way marred by Sir George's presence, no invitation shall be sent.'

Demelza said: 'Why don't you ask Ross?'

‘I
had thought
you
might do so. I think he would express himself more frankly to you.'

Demelza laughed. 'That is so.'

An hour or so later Ross said: 'How many are coming to the party?'

'About eighty invited. Some will not come or not be able to come.'

'Then tell Geoffrey Charles to do as
he pleases. We are all mellowing a little with age, and if I saw George coming my way I could very easily dodge.'

'Perhaps
he
will refuse,' said Demelza.
'Let's nope so.'

‘I
confess I would quite like to meet his new wife. But the house cannot hold very happy memories for him.'

‘I
t's curious for how many people
...'
Ross said and stopped.

'What were you going to say?'

it's curious for how many people that house does
not
hold happy memories.'

Demelza was silent for a few minutes, wishing she could disagree. 'Well, now is the time for it to change.'

The following forenoon George received his invitation and took it to Harriet, who was with her hounds.