The Loving Cup (19 page)

'I can understand Geoffrey Charles wanting to be back,' said Dwight. 'But it depends very much what happens at Leipzig, or thereabouts, does it not? Unless Napoleon can be contained or defeated
...'

'I'd be happier if it were British soldiers he had to fight. All we shall contribute on that front will be the encouragement and the gold.'

'You knew that Detroit had been re-taken by the Americans?'

'No, I did not. I suppose it was inevitable given the weakness of the British forces.'

They sipped wine and looked at their respective wives, who were laughing together with Isabella-Rose who was claiming their attention.

Ross sai
d: 'That offer Buonaparte made
to Humphry Davy, to allow him in to France to meet the French scientists. Did it come to nothing?'

‘I
t came to everything. They are leaving Plymouth this week. They are crossing to Morlaix in Brittany in a cartel-ship and taking their own carriage. From Morlaix it will be at least a week before they reach Paris.'

'You thought no more of Davy's invitation that you should go with him?'

‘I
thought a good deal more of it. But there we are
...
it
was simply not practical for me.'

Very soon now the supper would be cleared and it would be time for dancing. The larger parlour would remain with tables and food and wine available for the rest of the night. Ross saw that Jeremy was talking to the Trevanion girl and they were smiling at each other. Valentine had left his party and was making a fuss of Amadora.

'Will anyone go in your place?' Ross asked.

'To France? Yes, Humphry is taking a young man he thinks well of. Faraday is his name,' Dwight said. 'Michael Faraday. I know no more of him than that.'

Jeremy was bringing the girl across. It seemed a maladroit thing to do, but there was no way of stopping him now.

'Father, may I present Miss Cuby Trevanion? My father, Cuby. And Dr Dwight Enys.'

'How d'you do, sir
...
Dr Enys.' She curtsied, they bowed.

She'd certainly got looks, but of an unusual sort. Teeth and eyes brilliant, a candid glance which never wavered for an instant, an elegant manner; elegantly dressed; a lady. Arrogant, scheming, mercenary creature.

‘I
knew your father,' said Ross, 'and know your elder brother-John I mean - who is not here tonight?'

'No, sir. He is away in Devon.'

'With his horses?'

She flushed. 'Yes, Captain Pol
dark, I believe so.'

Ross noticed that, as he was speaking to the girl, Clowance got up from the table and walked away. So much for
her
feelings.

Jeremy said: it is the first time ever that Miss Trevanion has been on the north coast. I tell her that she must observe the native rituals and dances and then write a paper on them for the Royal Institution.'

'Yes,' said Ross, smiling grimly, 'we are back in the dark ages here.'

'On the contrary, sir,' said Cuby, 'if I may be forgiven for taking a different view, these are the light ages, for I have never been to a more agreeable party. The other Captain Poldark, the younger Captain Poldark, is as charming a gentleman as one could conjure out, and I am much obliged to Jeremy for this invitation.'

So she had plenty to say for herself.

'You have come with your brother and sister, I understand?'

'Yes, sir. Augustus has a post in the Treasury in London, but is at present on leave. Clemency, of course, is my constant companion at Caerhays.'

'Some day you must come and see us,' said Ross. 'We are but four miles up the coast, largely surrounded by mines and the outcrop of mining, but still civilized in our household ways.'

'Thank you, sir. I'm sure I should be honoured.'

Jeremy, who had been listening to the exchange and observing his father's stiff back with apprehension, encouraged the conversation for a few minutes more and then took Cuby's arm.

'Come, you must meet my mother,' he said, and they passed on.

'Does Jeremy have renewed hopes in that direction?' Dwight murmured.

'The last time he spoke on the subject - and he rarely speaks of it - he had no hope at all.'

'An engaging young lady.'

‘I
question what Demelza will make of her.'

What Demelza made of her was not immediately obvious, for in the noise of general conversation they could not hear what was said; but it seemed to be on an affable plane.

Later, when they had a moment together, Ross said:

'So Jeremy has at last produced The Cause of all the Trouble.'

'Yes, Ross. She has a strong personality, don't you think? Not one who would be told what to do by her brother.'

'No, I think she's just a money-grubbing little she-goat, with no more principles than a high class harlot.'

'Oh,
Ross
...
I can see how attractive she would be to a young man.'

'Or to an old one, if he had enough money and she set out to please him.'

'You must not be too hard, Ross, simply because she has refused our son.'

‘I
am not hard for her refusal but for her brazenly stated reason for the refusal - his lack of ten or twenty thousand pounds. I think she cares nothing for Jeremy.'

Demelza sipped her port. It was a specially good port which, Geoffrey Charles told her, had spent fifteen years in wood and which, since he had been able only to obtain two bottles from the steward of the packet ship, he was reserving specially for her.

‘I
don't think she cares nothing for Jeremy. It is just whether she cares enough.'

'What did you
say
to her?'

‘I
asked her if she was enjoying her evening among all Jeremy's cousins, and she said she was. Then I admired her frock; then she admired mine. Then she asked to meet Isabella-Rose, and then we all talked about music and songs for several minutes, and then Jeremy bore her away.'

'Does this mean you think the girl is going to change her mind about Jeremy?'

'No-o
...
She has a very strong personality.'

'You said that before.'

‘I
think she will keep to her decision - to her principles
—'

'Principles indeed!'

'Well, whatever you may call them -'

'So all was sweetness and light between you!'

'No, Ross. Far from it indeed in my heart. But if she chooses to marry in the way she says she will
...
She cannot altogether be accountable for Jeremy's passion for her, which, amounts sometimes, I believe, to a mania. It is - or could be — a fearful tragedy
...
but unless she has encouraged him wantonly and
then
turned her back
...
I don't believe that to be so, not from what he says. Right at the beginning she tried to warn him.'

Ross took his brandy. 'Well, if it were not for Jeremy's sake I should be pleased not to be having a Trevanion in the family. They're a feckless, overweening lot.' He frowned down at the flag floor. 'Perhaps your kindness to Miss Cuby will help to ease her conscience — always supposing she has one.'

I
did not show any special kindness to her,' said Demelza. 'No special kindness at all. We both understood each other perfectly well.'

III

Soon after the dancing began the staff in the kitchen sat down to their supper. In addition to the five Geoffrey Charles had temporarily engaged, there was Jane Gimlett and Cal Trevail and Ena
and Betsy Martin, all from Nam
para, there was Music Thomas and Katie Carter and a kitchen maid called Dorothy Ellery, all from Place House, and Wallace Bartle and two girls from Killewarren. Two others, Polly Odgers and Beth Bate, were upstairs, but they would eat later. Jane Gimlett, by consent and by senior
ity, was in
charge.

Music Thomas, though confined to the kitchen and only allowed an occasional peep into the house proper, was in his seventh heaven, being in close contact with Katie, taking dirty plates and glasses from her, fetching bottles up from the cellar for her, accepting a candelabra from her and changing the candles which had guttered in a draught, drawing water from the well, brushing up the mess when Betsy Martin - not he, not he!—had dropped a tray of cream cakes. Katie, being herself clumsy and in haste tonight, had twice nearly had an accident, but twice just saved herself, and she had laughed at the nearness of the escape and her face all night was flushed and animated, and she had spoken to him and smiled at him as if he was her chosen friend.

Ever since the death of Mr Pope they had seen a little more of each other; there is nothing so cementing as a secret shared; and Music had shamelessly made use of his knowledge to stop her in a passage or going by the kitchens to ask her advice on some moral or physical aspect of the secret. Since Music did not have an inventive brain, most of his queries demanded such obvious answers that Katie was irritated by them, but as her job as well as his hung on their silence she could hardly refuse to stop and listen and even answer more politely than she wanted to. It was a kind of blackmail. Aware that he was making himself no more popular with her, he still couldn't resist it. He could see an indefinite future of such encounters, allowing him brief moments of her company which he'd never had before.

But tonight was quite different; in the excitements of the party and the new company they were working with, the usual barriers were down. Katie had confided in him that Wallace Bartle could not carve and on another occasion that all the fine ladies 'in there' were eating just so much as the men.

Now, after the hurry and the labour, came the temporary rest. The big table in the kitchen had been swept clear of the accumulations of the night, and a feast of left-overs was ready for the staff. And beer a-plenty; though Mrs Gimlett was careful to warn them, particularly the men, that their intake should be limited to three mugs each, since the duties of the night were not yet over.

They were all famished and fell upon the food like seagulls; and so for a time they ate in silence, content to reserve their mouths and energies for the more important function. Music had contrived a seat next to Katie, not without difficulty for Cal Trevail also wanted it, not specially to be near Katie but to companion Dorothy Ellery. In the end, after a good deal of shoving and grunting, room was made for them both.

As the mountain of food disappeared, talk broke out again - about Polly Odgers - Mr Valentine's ex-nurse coming all the way from St Michael to help tonight-about how Parson Odgers had gone to sleep in the middle of his own sermon on Sunday last - about that drefful thing that happened to the Poldice bal-maiden last week who went into the stamp-shed and got too near the axle of the stamp, her clothes was caught and she was drawn in and crushed to death - about the old red cow with a wen on the right foreleg missing from Farmer Hancock's just above Pally's Shop: they reckoned she'd fell down a shaft-about picking over the potatoes in the barn and how some had gone poor with rot, gracious knew why.

Katie blew out a breath and leaned back. 'Dear life, I'm full to bust. 'Ope no one in there ask for me yet a-while.' She stretched her hand for the pitcher to refill her beer-mug, but the pitcher was empty.

'There's another on the slab,' said Cal Trevail.

I’ll
get'n for ee,' said Music, squeezing to his feet.

'Have a care,' said Jane Gimlett. 'Remember what I warned.'

‘I
've only 'ad just the one,' said Katie.

'I'll get'n for ee,' said Music, beaming at her.

'Thank ee.'

Music picked up the pitcher, then after a bare hesitation he picked up Katie's mug as well.
I’ll
get'n for ee.'

Over on the slate slab was the last pitcher of all. Fingers a-tremble, he poured some out of the pitcher into her mug. Then he fumbled in his pocket. The little earthenware bottle with the worm-eaten cork. He prised at the cork - thing would not come out—they were all talking, noticed nothing so far. Cork popped out and rolled across the slab. He poured the liquid, which was about two wine-glassfuls; it made the beer a bit cloudy. With great ingenuity he found a spoon, stirred; that was better.

He carried the mug back to the table. "Ere you are, Katie.' He put it down on the table just by her plate.

She smiled contentedly at him.

"Ere what about us folk?' demanded Wallace Barde. 'Have you got nothing for we?' ' 'Ere you are, Katie,' Music said, squeezing down into his seat. It was important where she looked first after she had drunk it.

'Darn 'ee, that's what ye
call manners, eh?' said Barde. ‘
Wait on yourself, eh?'

'.'Ere you are, Katie,' said Music, looking as closely into her face as he dared.

'I've said thank ee; what more?'

As a disgruntled Barde got up, scraping his chair on the stone floor, and walked across for the pitcher, Katie took a long draught of
her ale. Music waited expectantl
y. He would have been baffled if asked to say what he did expect, but the outcome took him entirely by surprise. Her long, pale-skinned face began to redden, it seemed to swell, her eyes started tears, she clutched at her throat, she gave a sort of vomiting cough and sprayed beer all over the table and over Music's face, which had come dose to hers.

She was on her feet hawking and spitting. Everyone was up, patting her on the back, pulling the remains of the food away from the wet table, saying, 'There, there, me dear, what's amiss - go the wrong way did it?' 'Vomit in the scullery. Get the pail, Ena,' and 'My dear life and body, poisoned are ee?'