The Stranger From The Sea (14 page)

'At the moment, Miss Poldark, you look far too astral to be anywhere
near
the ground! And please, I beg of you, do not call me sir.'

'What may I call you then - sir?'

'Lansdowne is my brother's new name, and he says he can scarcely get used to it yet. But I was born Fitzmaurice and am likely to die the same, since luckily my brother is married and already has issue. The names my parents gave me at holy baptism were Edward John Charles, and if I dare not ask you to call me by any of these, since it would presume an intimacy on
my
part towards
you,
I trust our acquaintance may soon become of sufficient depth to permit it.'

Clowance opened her eyes wider at this Westminster eloquence.

'Mine is Clowance,' she said. 'I believe I have only the one name.'

'Clarence,' said Fitzmaurice. 'Is that not a surname?'

'No, Clowance. C-L-O-W...' She smiled. 'There is one old
..
. very old man who lives near us in Cornwall who insists on calling me Clarence, but I assure you it is not.' Into her mind as she spoke, making her smile broader than it would have been, came the thought of Jud Paynter -almost immobile now - sitting like a partly squashed beetle outside his dirty cottage in Sawle, chewing tobacco and spitting and refusing to accept the fact that he had not heard her baptized as Clarence. The contrast with this brilliant, elegant society was almost too much for her.

Fitzmaurice said: 'Well,
this
old man, Miss Poldark, will make no such mistake in future! Even so, if I may venture to say so, it's an unusual name to me. Is it common in your county?'

'No. There are no others I know of.'

'Has it a meaning? I mean in your Cornish language.'

'Yes, I believe so. I believe my mother told me it meant "Echo in the Valley".'

'Echo in the Valley,' said Lord Edward, looking at her. 'That is indeed an appropriate name.'

'Dear Ross,' Caroline said, 'on these occasions you do not so much look like a fish out of water as a cat
in
water. What may I do to entertain you?'

Ross dabbed his face and laughed. 'Explain to me why my dearest woman friend should have such different tastes from my own.'

'Oh . . . that's difficult, isn't it. But let us say that of course I know we see here a selection of men and women who are vain, self-seeking, arrogant, over-dressed, avaricious and shallow. But they are little different in this respect from other people, except that they have more possessions, and perhaps possessions are a corrupting influence.'

'Stop there, stop there!' said Ross; 'for the first time in my life I've heard you utter a radical statement!'

'Of course I'll not stop there! My lecture's not half done. It's true you may also come across a greater simplicity, even a greater generosity among
some
of the poor.
But
among
most
of the poor and the base you will also find a greater brutishness, an ignorance, a lower level of understanding of so very much that is
important
in life. Many are poor because they have had no chance to be anything else, but most are poor because they are of a lower order of intellect, feeling, taste, comprehension. It's an inescapable fact!'

Ross smiled at her. 'I think you've been sharpening your arguments on Dwight.'

'And blunting them on you, my dear. I know.'

'Tell me,' Ross said, 'Demelza
suggested
Clowance should come with you? Is that it?'

'Let her explain herself; you'll be seeing her soon, I trust. And stop looking over my shoulder. Clowance is perfectly safe with that distinguished young man. He's unmarried, I believe. Who are you to say no if he wishes to make her a titled lady?'

'There's small risk of that. I am more concerned that she will be . . . ' He stopped.

'Unsettled by moving in such high company? D'you wish her, then, to keep only the company of miners who arc shaved once a week and can't sign their own names?'

'Sometimes, C
aroline, I could strike you.'

'I know. I would rather like it. But seriously
...'
She too paused.

'Can you be serious?'

'Seldom with you. But girls - all girls - need a broadening of experience which is so often denied them. Clowance deserves it. If she doesn't have a good and steady head on her shoulders she wouldn't be Demelza's daughter, or yours.'

Another man who was just then looking over someone's shoulder at Clowance was Sir George Warleggan. He had caught sight of Ross, safe back, one unhappily presumed, from his damned Portuguese adventure. Now he saw the daughter.

'My dear Lady Banks, this is the night of decision. I have it from Lady Grenville that her husband, the Baron, in company with Earl Grey and others close to them, are in process of making
history!
The new government will be announced tomorrow.'

'Well, the delays have been interminable already,' said Lady Banks, patting her crimped hair. 'Sir William has been fumin' and fret tin' to get home to his estate. I don't care what you say, things are never the same without the master there - but he is being
chained
here, virtually chained, by a quite excessive sense of dutyl
And
we're missin' all the best weather for huntin'!'

George, who knew that Sir William was remaining in London hoping for a sinecure, and had seen him being uncharacteristically polite to Samuel Whitbread only yesterday, inclined his head.

'Like me,' he said, 'your estates are far from London and this compounds the aggravation. One cannot go home in a couple of days and then return. What is your normal travelling time to Yorkshire?'

As he spoke Clowance happened to turn and their eyes met. Clowance smiled at him. George looked away; then he changed his mind and looked back and nodded in acknowledgment. He assessed whom she was with, recognized his importance, his youth, his interest in her; his mind flickered with sudden sick jealousy over all the possibilities. So Ross, for all his hypercritical disclaimers of position and property for himself, was not above dragging his eldest brat up from Cornwall, dressing her in a revealing frock so that her wares should not go unnoticed, and introducing her to one of the most eligible bachelors in Great Britain. If Demelza's daughter by any chance should marry into such a family there would be no containing the arrogance of the Po
ldarks now or for ever after. All
the same, George thought spitefully, Edward Fitzmaurice was not born yesterday. Far more likely if, in spite of his high reputation, he should try to sample the goods without buying. In that case, good luck to him.

'My dear Lady Banks’
he said, hastily shutting out from his mind a thought of the goods Fitzmaurice would be sampling, 'modern methods of making up the turnpike roads are ever advancing. These two Scotsmen - what are they called? - have laid roads like no one before; perhaps in a few years our journeys will not be so tedious.'

Something tapped him familiarly on the shoulder. It was a fan - a woman's fan. Over the years of his success George had developed a high sense of dignity, of decorum, and he turned in some displeasure, though careful to show nothing in his expression lest the person who tapped should be of an eminence to excuse her licence.

'Sir George, isn't it? I thought I couldn't mistake my benefactor
...'

A tall young woman with hair so black that in the winking candlelight it had a bluish sheen. It was not in George's nature to flush easily - but he felt colour come to his neck as he bent over her glove.

'Lady Harriet! What a pleasure! What a delight! And what a
surprise!
I had thought you in Cornwall!'

'Where I wish I still could be. Or Devon, preferably, where the hunting is better. But business to do with my late husband's estate - or lack of estate - has called me here.'

George stammered and then remembered his manners, introduced the stout middle-aged Lady Banks. While polite conversation was made his eyes moved over the company to see if her brother was there - a relief that he was not at least immediately apparent - then back to Harriet Carter. Two months had passed since they had met; he took in what he saw greedily but assessingly. This was the young woman about whom he had already made the provisional moves and approaches to take her to his bed. Already he had plunged half his fortune in speculative but wise ventures in the north so that he should be a in a stronger position financially to gain her. To
gain
her. To
possess
her. To have her lying naked beside him, the sister of a duke. It was extraordinary! His eyes went over her. She would be heavier in the leg than Elizabeth, rather thick of ankle, he suspected, though it was hard to be sure. Sturdier than Elizabeth, stronger of breast and thigh;
good
shoulders, visible tonight, splendid shoulders, not broad but strong, alluringly rounded and shadowed;
delicious.

He took a grip of himself, became himself again, smiling at her, talking respectfully; where had this strange sexual urge come from? It was not like him: he should be measured, careful; was it again that tempting damned Poldark girl who had set him off?

Could it be also - did he not detect - that Lady Harriet's attitude towards him tonight was more forthcoming - or at least less reserved - than it had been in Cornwall? This was the first time they had met, of course, since he had made her the gift of her horse, since the exchange of the letters. It was not only by this act, but also by his looks earlier, that he had made his intentions plain to her. So she had had time - plenty of time - to think, to reflect on the prospect of what he appeared to be offering her, and the prospect, it seemed, was not altogether unpleasant. The thought of an alliance with the grandson of a blacksmith could not, if that tap on the shoulder meant anything, be altogether repugnant to her. Nor could he, George Warleggan, personally be totally without appeal. The thought warmed him. But what of the Duke?

'Is your brother, the Duke, with you tonight, Lady Harriet?'

'He was to have come but there is much to-ing and fro-ing behind the scenes and he is caught up in it. Not that it is quite in his nature to be the political animal my father was, but he seems to have become a little entangled. So I came with my sister-in-law. This party is grossly short of men.'

Another woman spoke to her then and conversation became general. Harriet was wearing a full-skirted frock of turquoise silk, very much off the shoulders, and the necklace and earrings she wore to match were quite clearly an heirloom. That was one of the most curious characteristics of the aristocracy, George reflected. They were 'poor' or 'bankrupt' or had 'fallen on hard times', but there was always something coming to hand from an
aunt or an entailment or a pred
atory trust. George had never been poor, for his father had begun to accumulate money soon after he was born, but he knew of a different sort of poverty than that at present being endured by Lady Harriet. It made her no less attractive.

Suddenly the other woman had turned away with Lady Banks and Harriet was speaking to him again.

'What? What was that?' he said.

'Sir George, you are being absent-minded with me. To a woman that is one of the unforgivable sins.'

'I ask your pardon. But you were not absent from my thoughts. What was it you said?'

'I said that I understood you called to see my brother last month.'

'That is so, Lady Harriet.'

'And my name was mentioned?'

'Since I had had the great favour of meeting you last year in Cornwall I could not fail to bring to his notice such a pleasurable occurrence.'

'Did you have other business with my brother?'

'Business, ma'am? None at all.'

Her eyes left his for a few moments, seemed to wander round the room. But they were not concerned with what they saw.

'Sir George, my father is dead. So is my husband. I am a widow of a sufficient age. I do not look on my brother as being
in loco parentis.'

'I am happy to know that.'

A faint cynical smile played around her mouth. 'But that being said, Sir George, that is all.' 'All?'

'For the time being. Let us meet again in Cornwall.' George licked his lips. 'But that may be
weeks.
Pray let me attend you while you are in London.'

She thought for a moment. 'That could be so.'

Clowance said: 'No, I live on a farm - a small estate, if you care to give it so grand a name - with my father and my mother and my brother and sister. We derive our living -or most of it - from a tin mine called Wheal Grace - which was named after my grandmother. My father is also in banking and in shipbuilding, all of which should make us rich, except for the fact that my father is so often away that nothing is quite attended to in time and our way of life is quite comfortable but never opulent.'

'Your father,' said Lord Edward, 'is, I suspect, that rare type of radical who practises what he preaches. I know that he and my brother see eye to eye on most of the home issues of the day. As it happens, birth has given me a certain amount of position at an early age, and my brother, of course, a great deal more. Well, position brings responsibilities and I do not think he intends to abdicate any of them. In so far as any fall to me as his younger brother, nor shall I. Miss Poldark
..
.' ·Yes?'

'Will you come to tea tomorrow? I should like you to meet my aunt, Lady Isabel Fitzmaurice. My mother died when I was nine, so Aunt Isabel has for long taken her place. She entertains a few picked guests on Saturdays about six. I should be there, of course.'

'You're very kind, Lord Edward,' Clowance said, 'but I fear I cannot come. I have promised to go with Mrs Enys to the theatre. We are to see - '

'Perhaps Sunday, then? That would be rather a different event, because of the day, but it could be arranged in very much the same manner.'

Clowance nervously fingered the shoulder of her frock. 'Lord Edward, I have just met my father after three months, when he has been away and in some danger. He would think it strange if I absented myself in this way. You do appreciate, of course, that I am not accustomed to this social life in London
...'

'Of course,' said Edward Fitzmaurice, a little stiffly. 'I do understand that.'

Dr Dwight Enys had been in earnest conversation with a clear-eyed good-looking small man, and when the opportunity arose he beckoned to Ross and introduced him as Humphry Davy. A Cornishman and a Fellow of the Royal Society, discoverer of nitrous oxide and first isolator of the elements of potassium and sodium, he was the brightest light in the scientific world of the day. Dwight had begun a correspondence with him ten years ago, and they had met three or four times. Davy was a little dandified for Ross, the voice without a trace of West Country accent, and drawling. Then Davy excused himself and the two friends were temporarily alone. Ross and
Dwight had no secrets from each other (or Dwight only one from Ross and that long buried in the dark December of 1799) and complete trust in the other's discretion, so their talk was frank and open. After discussing Portugal, Ross told his friend of his visit to the Prince of Wales and Dwight explained the reason for his being in London.

'He's a man of great vigour for his age - great physical vigour. But the brain that controls that vigour is sadly deteriorated. It shows too in his near blindness. I believe his insanity to be in the line of his royal descent.'

'How so?'

'Probably some hereditary weakness - even perhaps going as far back as the Stuarts. It has emerged every so often through the generations: the pain in the limbs, the wild excitability, the delusions, the intense depressions. The symptoms are much the same, though of varying severity. Of course, not many of his forbears have lived as
long
as he has
...
In this one reads history as much as medicine.'

'And you do not expect recovery?'

'No

'Well
...
there we are
...
But it is a sad day for England now this fat fop is to become Regent.'

'With such a life of self-indulgence, he seems unlikely to make old bones,' said Dwight. 'And then what?'

'Queen Charlotte? They say she's a warm, impulsive creature. A lot will depend on whom she marries.'

Someone was playing a piece on the Broadwood pianoforte, but only those closest to the instrument were attending. Caroline came swiftly across the room, her auburn hair lifting from her shoulders as she moved. With drink the company had become more animated, and she slid with great elegance among the glasses held aloft, the multi-coloured suits, the bare shoulders, the sweating footmen with balanced trays.

She said: 'Can you hear it? Amid all this noise. Dear Alexander, though rather aged now, always insists someone shall play his great composition at every one of his wife's soirees. What do they call it? "Cauld Kail in Aberdeen". It's said it's still all the rage in Scotland.' They tried to listen.

Caroline said: 'So you see, Ross, Clowance and Lord Edward Fitzmaurice have now separated. You had nothing to fear; she is in no danger of being contaminated.'

'Who is she talking to now?'

'Ah, more aristocracy, I fear! That is Susan Manchester, one of the Duchess of Gordon's daughters. But possibly with her there is less risk?'

'A pretty woman,' said Ross, refusing to be provoked.

'All her daughters are, and she's married 'em off spectacularly. Charlotte, the eldest, is Duchess of Richmond, Susan is Duchess of Manchester, Louisa is the Marchioness Cornwallis and Georgiana is Duchess of Bedford. Her only failure was Madelina who could find no one better than a baronet.'

'And doesn't she have a son for Clowance?' Ross asked.

'There is one knocking about, and unwed, but unfortunately I don't see him here tonight.'

Ross broke off these sardonic pleasantries, his eyes catching sight of a movement by the door.

'Sorry, Caroline
...
What I
do
see here tonight
...
quite suddenly
...'
He stopped and frowned.

'What is it?'

Ross nodded his head towards a stout man talking to the Duchess of Gordon. 'Whitbread. Just arrived. And Northumberland with him . . . Does that mean the new Administration is formed?'

'Where is your Mr Canning? He's likely to know.'

'I don't think anyone knows - yet, except those two gentlemen.'

Clowance came to her father's side and took his hand in hers. He smiled at her.

'I shall come home with you on Thursday,' he said. 'I'm glad.'

'And race you across the beach.' 'Maybe.'

'And I promise to stay at home for at least a week telling stories to Isabella-Rose.'

'I would not mind one for myself.' 'I thought you were too old for that.' 'It depends on the story.'

He said: 'Perhaps you've stories to tell me instead?' She looked up at him. 'What makes you say that?' 'Seeing you here was a great surprise. I wondered what had occasioned it.' 'One day I'll tell you.' 'One day?' 'Soon
...'

'How did you find Lord Edward?'

'Very - agreeable. He asked me to tea.'

'What did you say?'

'I said no. Was that correct, Papa?'

'If that was what you wished, that was correct.'

'Yes
...
I
think
that was what I wished.'

George Canning came quietly up behind them, and Ross introduced him to Clowance.

Canning drew Ross a littl
e aside and said: 'This is the end. Spencer Perceval is to be dismissed in the morning. There is nothing more we can do. You may resort to your beloved Cornwall; Perceval can no doubt return to his legal practice - where he was a much richer man than as leader of the government. Ah well
...
for my part, since I was not in office before, I shall miss very little - except that in harrying the new administration I shall do it with a greater sense of mission
...
I am in essence a political animal, Ross, as you are not. You will be happier out of it all.'

'Not happier,' said Ross, 'with a solution that gives everything away.'

'It's an ill wind: our spinners and weavers will be less hungry. Perhaps somehow we shall learn to exist with the Co
rsican brigand. Poor Wellington!
'

'Poor Nelson,' said Ross. 'Not to mention John Moore and ten thousand others.'

'I don't know,' said Canning bitterly. 'Perhaps their death is their glory. It shouldn't matter to them that they fought for a lost cause.'

They were standing in the wide double doorway of the music room and could see into the great salon. Some just perceptible change was coming over the company. A few minutes ago, such was the babel it was impossible to make oneself heard at anything below a subdued shout. Now it was different. There was
news.
News had been brought by Whitbread and Northumberland. People were still talking, but with less animation. Glances were being exchanged, the most important people were being watched - behind fans, over the tops of glasses. Whitbread was talking animatedly to two Whig friends, emphasizing something repeatedly with his hand. Was this news of government or of battle? Lady Grenville had been listening to Lord Northumberland. Abruptly she gave him her hand. He bowed. She swept across the room - not towards the music room but towards the entrance of the hotel. It seemed that she was leaving. The Speaker of the Commons, Mr Abbott, was accompanying her. Lord Holland hurried after them.

Loud conversation died away altogether. Murmuring took its place. Lord Fitzwilliam had gone across to Whitbread, who immediately turned to him and repeated his story. Whitbread's face, pale when he entered the salon, was now flushed - and not, it seemed, altogether with the heat. The Duchess of Gordon, concerned lest her soiree should be still more put out of joint, turned to ask a question of the burly, blustering Lord Kensington, who had been laying heavy bets on the outcome at Brooks's. Kensington laughed and shrugged his shoulders.

'They're out!' he said in a loud voice. 'By God, they're out!'

His bellow seemed to relieve the tension; more people crowded round Whitbread to hear his tale. Whitbread angrily shook his head and made to leave. Whatever else he had come to this soiree for, it was not to satisfy the gossips.

Presently Robert Plumer Ward detached himself from the group around Northumberland and strolled towards Canning. Plumer Ward was an easy-going fellow, on friendly terms with everyone, a man who greatly enjoyed being in the know.

'Well?' said Canning testily, as he came up. 'What did that mean? What is surprising about it? Perceval must know his fate by now.'

'They’
re
out, George,' drawled Plumer Ward.
'They're
out. Can you believe it? After all this fuss. According to the story - and it comes direct so there can be little chance of mistake - according to Northumberland, he and Grey and Grenville and Whitbread and the rest were deep in conclave in Park Street when who should come to call on them but William Adam, with a message, he said. Lords Grey and Grenville, in that godly-minded way they have, sent out to Adam that they could not at present see him. Adam replied that the message he brought was from the Prince of Wales. Lords Grey and Grenville replied that they still could not be disturbed for it was for the Prince of Wales they laboured, forming the new Government which was to be the first government of his Regency. Adam thereupon sent in word that they should spare themselves all the trouble, for the Prince had decided that no new administration was to be formed and that he had decided to continue with his father's ministers! What d'you think of
that,
eh? What d'you think
of that!’

There was silence.

Ross said: 'Does that mean
...'

'It must be false!' whispered Canning. 'It is a lie spread about to deceive us!'

'For what purpose? Who would benefit?'

'But the Prince has been an ardent and committed Whig for thirty years
...'

Plumer Ward said: 'The Prince is no fool, for all his excesses. He must have been having private thoughts these last few weeks. Who knows what he has been thinking? Is it perhaps - has he come to the conclusion that there is a vast difference between being virtually on the throne and being the discontented eldest son?'

'I shall not believe it' said Canning, 'unless - until
...'

Plumer Ward said: 'I'm told Grey and Grenville have now gone to seek an audience. But if Prinny has made up his mind it will not avail.'

'That means
...'
said Ross again; and got no further.

'It means,' said Canning, 'it
may
mean that our cause is not altogether lost.'