The Stranger From The Sea (23 page)

Ross had not yet seen Francis Basset, Baron de Dunstanville. He told himself that his home affairs were too pressing; but he had already found time to visit Lord Falmouth.

The truth was that for the last year or so a coolness had grown up between them, dating from the scandal of the Duke of York's mistress, Mrs Clarke, and her sale of army commissions. This
cause celebre
had occupied parliamentary ti
me for far too long when so many greater issues had to be decided; but a member of the Commons called Colonel Gwyllym Wardle had persisted in his accusations and had linked it with an attack on the corruption implicit in the rotten parliamentary boroughs. On this Ross had sided with him, making one of his rare speeches in the House, and, when the issue flared up locally he had taken the part of the reformers who had held meetings up and down the county demanding change and an end to bribery and venality. Basset had passionately resented this, had indeed spoken at meetings and gone to great pains to spike the guns of the protesters. Although the agitation had now subsided, and although superficially everyone was again the best of friends, he had never quite forgiven Ross for his support of these Jacobin elements.

It was therefore not a particularly propitious time to discuss the county's affairs and more especially Warleggan's. Nor did Ross know how far Basset would be concerned to vent his resentment on George and his uncle in the way Falmouth had hinted as a possibility. During the last ten years many changes had taken place in the Cornish Bank, the presen
t directors being Mackworth Prae
d, Stackhouse, Rogers, Tweedy, Poldark and Nankivell. De Dunstanville had chosen to withdraw his name, though everyone knew that his interest, in terms of money, was still the controlling one. There was to be a meeting of the partners next week at Truro. The Warleggan situation would no doubt all be discussed there, since it was difficult to believe that two banks, operating so close to each other in a small town, would not each be sensitive to fluctuations in the other's health and credit. If such a discussion took place what was his, Ross's, attitude to be?

On a sudden morning of brilliant sunshine - which presaged rain before dark - Ross walked out to where Demelza was digging in her garden. Ten years ago, inspired by her visit to Strawberry Hill and oppressed by the way the mine and its workings were encroaching on the land before the house, she had persuaded Ross to have a drystone wall built enclosing and extending the area of the garden she had then cultivated. It lay in a large oblong running up and away from the house, the house and the library comprising an L-shaped joint and part of two sides. With this shelter from the wind miracles had been wrought with daffodils, tulips and other spring and early summer flowers. By July the best was over, for the soil was too light to retain moisture. Also most winters, and often in the spring, the garden was ravaged by storm winds from which even the wall could not guard it. Often everything was broken and blackened as if by a forest fire. Yet in between times the flowers handsomely repaid Demelza and one or two casual helpers for their efforts. She had long since given up trying to grow trees. Hollyhocks were difficult enough.

This morning, as if by coincidence, she was forking round Hugh Armitage's present of more than a decade ago, which had been planted against the wall of the library. She straightened as Ross came up, pushing her hair away from her face with a clean forearm.

He said: 'The Falmouths' two magnolias, which I think came from Carolina at the same time as ours, are twenty feet high, and one already in bud.'

'This poor thing has never been happy here. And it has had a sad winter. I don't think it is ever going to do any good. The soil is wrong.'

They stood looking at the plant. This was quite a casual discussion between them, with only the faintest shadow of Hugh Armitage left.

'Perhaps it should go back,' said Demelza.

'Where? To Tregothnan?'

'A plant that neither dies nor prospers
...
It is out of its element.' 'No, keep it.'

Demelza looked up at him and smiled. The sun made her eyes glint. 'Why?'

'Why keep it? Well
...
it has become part of our lives.' A reminder of past error, his as well as hers, but he did not say as much. It was implicit. And without rancour.

Just at that moment Isabella-Rose
came screaming into the garden
and went galloping over the grass. A stranger might have thought her scalded, but her parents knew this was just an evidence of high spirits, her way of saluting the joy of being alive. Gambolling along beside her was Farquahar, their English setter spaniel, and they both disappeared through the gate that led to the beach.

Demelza peered after her, but they were not visible, presumably rolling together in the sand below the level of the garden wall.

'She's more like you than either of the other two,' said Ross.

'I swear I never screamed like that!' 'I didn't know you when you were eight. But even at eighteen you had your crazy moments.' 'Nonsense.'

'And later. And later. You were twenty-one or thereabouts when you went out fishing on your own the day before Jeremy was born.'

'There's Jeremy now. Perhaps it was that expedition of mine which has made him so fond of sailing!... Where did he come from, Ross? He's not like either of us.'

'I would agree on that!'

'There has been a change in him recently,' Demelza said defensively. 'He seems so high-spirited these last few weeks.'

'Not just flippant?’

'Not just that.'

'Anyway,' Ross said after a moment, 'before he reaches us, let me tell you something about George Warleggan that I heard from Lord Falmouth last Friday
...'

Jeremy, coming down from the mine and seeing his mother and father in serious conversation, steered away from them and jumped over the stile to the beach where Isabella-Rose was now throwing a stick for Farquahar to retrieve. Approaching her was a hazardous business, for she took the stick, whirled her body around and let go, so that although its objective was the sea the stick was as likely to fly off in any direction.

Demelza said: 'It is hard to believe. I never thought George would grow to be a speculator
...
But if it's true, it's true. So what are you besting to do?'

'I cannot think that de Dunstanville will have heard nothing at all. No doubt he will have a point of view.'

'But you will have to express a point of view too, Ross. Won't you?'

He rubbed his foot over a worm-cast in the grass. 'Revenge is a sour bed-fellow. Yet it's hard to forget the deliberate way Warleggan's Bank broke Harris Pascoe -not merely by semi-legitimate means but by printing broadsheets and spreading lying rumours. And the number of times before that George has tried to ruin us.'

'Not only in money ways neither.'

'..
. One thinks of the power he has come to wield in Cornwall, the numbers of small men who have gone to the wall because of him. One thinks of his influence for ill. One wonders if in this case it is not so much a matter of paying off old scores as a public duty to bring him down —'

'Could you if you tried?'

'I doubt if it would be necessary to do anything so despicable as start a whispering campaign. A rival bank can do so much by making certain moves, and the panic begins of its own accord.'

'So it will much depend on Lord de Dunstanville?'

'And my fellow partners. Mr Rogers has no reason to love the Warleggans. Nor Stackhouse, I believe.'

Demelza tilted her face to the sun. 'Caroline tells me George has been courting some titled lady, Lady Harriet Something. I wonder how this will turn out now.'

He said: 'You don't advise me.' 'On what?'

'On what
I
should do.'

'It won't be in your hands surely.'

'Not entirely, of course. But partly it might. Now Harris Pascoe has died, they look on me as — well, in a manner as his successor.'

'And you ask for my advice? Is it right for me to give it?'

'Very right. You have suffered almost as much at George's hands as I have.'

'But is this not a man's decision?'

'Don't hedge, my dear.'

She looked at him. 'Then I will not hedge, my dear. I should have no part in it.'

'No part in any attempt to bring him down? No part in any pressure applied to Warleggan's Bank?'

'You ask me, and I think not.'

On the beach Isabella-Rose was giggling at the top of her voice. The thin high infectious sound was not quite human; it was like some bibulous nightingale bubbling away.

Ross said: 'When I came to stand trial for my life the Warleggans did all they could to secure a conviction. Without their money, their contrivings
...'

'What George and his kinsfolk have done they have to live with. What we do
we
have to live with. I look back on my life, Ross; oftendmes when you are away and I have no one to talk to I look back on my life, and I do not remember many shameful things. Perhaps I forget some! But the less of such I have to remember the better it pleases. So in saying have no part in it, it is not of George I think but of ourselves.'

'And you would say that if Mackworth Praed or Rogers or Basset himself suggests any such move I should oppose it?'

De
melza rubbed some of the damp soil off her hands. 'I do not think you have to work
for
the Warleggans, Ross.

But I think, being once so involved, you should stand aside and take no part.'
‘
Pilate did that.'

‘
I know. I've always felt sorry for Pilate
...
But not for Caiaphas
...
Nor Judas.'

‘
Though you often call on him.'

‘
Do I?' Demelza looked up.
^‘
Now you're teasing.'

‘
Only because you're my better self. And I have to keep my better self in its place.'

‘
Seriously
...
do you not agree?'

‘
I know I ought to. But I regret the temptation has ever arisen. For it is not only George we'd be settling with; it is that odious uncle.'

‘
He's old,' said Demelza.
‘
He'll soon be dead. Like so many other people and things.
George
is older too, Ross. People mellow, don't they? Perhaps he has mellowed. Clowance, I think, did not find him so hateful.'

‘
Clowance? When did she meet him?'

‘
By accident,' said Demelza, aware she had let it out. ·Near Trenwith. A while ago.'

‘
I didn't know he ever came.'

‘
Nor I. You were right to warn Geoffrey Charles that the house was neglected. I do wish he would come home for a while - take some leave. There's been bad news from Portugal, hasn't there?'

Ross refused to be side-tracked. 'Did they speak to each other? Did George know who she was?'

‘
I believe she informed him. But this was months ago, last summer, before ever you went away.'

‘
And I was not told?'

‘
I thought you might worry, and there was no need to worry.'

‘
Another time allow me to choose.'

‘
Your mind was already occupied with your coming journey to Portugal. I thought to save you a distraction.'

‘
You mean you thought to save Clowance a talking-to. Judas, what a deceitful woman you are!'

'Now you've stolen my word again!'

Jeremy had appeared off the beach and was coming through the gate.

Ross took his wife's arm and gave it an admonitory squeeze. 'AH the same, it shows how tenderly my good intentions walk the tightrope. You say forgive and forget, and on the whole I agree
...
but, mention of him coming to Trenwith, no doubt gloating over the decay of the house, inciting the Harry brothers to new enormities, and - and
talking with Clowance
- this raises all my hackles over again, and
I
am ready to - ready to - '

'What is raising your hackles, Father?' Jeremy asked, coming up. 'Who is the one to tremble now?'

Demelza said: 'If there was a little more trembling done among my children, there would be better discipline at Nampara.'

'Oh, pooh, Mama,' said Jeremy. 'You know you love your children far too much not to give them all their own way.'

'Never rely on it,' said Ross, doubling his fist. 'If you
-'
'But I do!' said Jeremy. 'Am doing at this very moment.

Seriously. Can we be serious for a little while?'

'We were perfectly serious,' Ross said, 'until you turned

up.'