The Stranger From The Sea (42 page)

,
when I did
no,
I merely tweaked her skirt, and she says that was r-r-rude tool She wouldn't let me light the candles because she said I dropped grease on the carpet. Have you ever seen me drop grease on the carpet? Have you, Papa -
have
you?'

Ross kissed
the delicate cheek, which he noti
ced was not at all tear-stained.

'My littl
e Bella, Mrs Kemp is a very kind person who, while your mother is away, has
charge
of you, do you understand? Mama cannot be here, so Mrs Kemp is in -authority. Do you know what that means?'

'Yes, Papa, how strange of you to think I should notl But she says I
pinched
her, when I did not, and
-'

'Bella, would it not be a nice thing to do: to say you are sorry to Mrs Kemp - oh no, I didn't say you
pinched
her -sorry for tweaking her skirt; and then, perhaps, if you said you were sorry for that, she might be persuaded to let you stay up to supper. See, we have Mr Stephen Carrington to supper, so do you not think you should run in at this minute and make your peace with Mrs Kemp?'

'Thank you, sir,' said
Stephen Carrington, as the littl
e girl, after an initial hesitation, went flying in.

'I cannot promise about the shares,' Ross said. 'Food we can guarantee.'

He went in ahead of the two young men. He thought while Clowan
ce was away it would be a good ti
me to see more of one of her suitors and to make up his own mind about him.

Mrs Poldark and Miss Poldark had been a week at Bowood. Having left Truro early on the Tuesday morning, they arrived at the great house when tea was being taken on Thursday evening.

Mrs Poldark had never been so nervous. There had been many occasions when she had had to face the landed, the rich and the noble, but nothing quite like this. Though far better equipped now than ever in the past in knowledge of the way to behave and the way things were done, t
his time, for almost the first ti
me ever, she was without Ross. (She excepted in her mind the wild B
odrugan party of the early nineti
es because then she had been so angry and hurt she didn't care what the devil happened.) On all other occasions Ross had been at her side. Now he was endless miles away, and she was going to meet people she had never seen yet in her life and did not particularly ever want to see. Further, she was going to
stay,
which made it all much more difficult, and was accompanied by a lady's maid who, however sweet and courteous, was an oppressive complement to the party.

Nevertheless, hard as all this was, it could have been shrugg
ed off but for one thing. This ti
me it was not herself she might let down but her daughter.

A matter that concerned her
more than a little was the questi
on of accent. Almost as soon as she met Ross, long before he
married her and while she was sti
ll his kitchen maid, she had listened attentively to how he spoke and had tried to copy his grammar. After they were married she had taught herself to read and write and her quick brain had assimilated everything he said. But while tryin
g to speak correctly, and presentl
y quite succeeding, she had taken less care for her accent. Living in the country where she did, and among countryfolk who knew all about her origins, it had seemed pretentious to assume an accent that was not her own. Of course over the years it had inevitably faded, by small degrees and by small degrees so that now there was comparatively little left. It was scarcely noticeable in Cornwall. Only on her occasional visits to London was she aware of the 'burrs' in her voice still. Even Ross, she suspected, had some. But his was the best of all accents, a resonant, educated voice with a faint regional intonation. Jeremy had more of a Cornish voice than Ross.
Clowance
's had an apparently unconscious habit of changing with the company she was in. But daughters, she suspected, were more often than not judged by their mothers. (Could it be, a hideous suspicion whispered, that this was precisely why she had been invited?)
They drove that first evening, it seemed endlessly, through a great deer park; and when at last they arrived, wheels crunching on the gravel, before a pillared mansion which itself seemed to go on for ever, she thought some big reception or ball was in progress. People in evening dress thronged the gardens in front of the house and milled about in the hall. It was still light, and somewhere music was playing, strings reedy and lilting in the distance among the conversation and the laughter.

They had hired a post-chaise from Bath, which Demelza had had the presence of mind to pay for in advance, so there was no embarrassment about settling for the conveyance while liveried footmen waited to take down the luggage. The three ladies alighted, Enid standing respectfully in the background with one of the smaller cases. An icy horrid two minutes followed while the luggage was unloaded and a few quizzing-glasses raised and some whispered asides behind fans. Then a tall, rather cumbersome young man ran down the steps.

'My dear Miss Poldark. Mrs Poldark, I assume. A privilege to us, ma'am, that you were able to come. Pray excuse the number of our guests. Thursday is a special day. Pray come in; I trust the journey was not too tedious; my aunt is inside and most anxious to welcome you; did you have rain on the journey? Hawkes, Harris, please see to Mrs Poldark's maid. Let me relieve you of that vanity case, Mrs Poldark. The servants will see to it all. What good fortune that you will be here for tomorrow. Miss Poldark, allow me
...'

In the hall a stout, homely little woman was emerging from a group of people. Purple silk; a pince-nez dangled on the end of a gold chain and she carried an ear-trumpet. Lady Isabel Petty-Fitzmaurice.

'My dear Mrs Poldark. Miss Poldark. How good of you to travel all this way to see us! You must be fadgued. Eh? Alas, dinner has been over an hour. But you must have something to sustain you. Eh? Chivers, pray take Mrs Poldark and Miss Poldark to their rooms and see that a light meal is served to them there. Eh? Thursday is
such
a busy day here. But in one manner or another we contrive to be occupied
most
of the time!'

A pretty young woman dressed in shimmering white lace floated across to them from another group and absent-mindedly took their hands. But her welcoming smile encompassed them both as Lord Edward introduced them to his sister-in-law, the Marchioness of Lansdowne. In a chatter they were led upstairs and shown into a large bedroom looking over a lake with a smaller bedroom-dressing room leading off. Since the house was rather full, Lady Isabel trusted that they would find the two connecting rooms adequate.

Demelza, the ice all thawed, and instantly taken by the fat little woman, who reminded her of Aunt Betsy Triggs, found the words to offer their appreciation and graceful
admiration of the rooms and the view from the rooms; and in what seemed no time, though it was probably half an hour, Enid and another maid had unpacked and disappeared somewhere to eat downstairs while Demelza and Clowance took comfortable small semi-circular arm chairs and faced each other across a table on which were set half a salmon, a roast capon, an uncut ham, a syllabub, a bowl of fruit, a cheddar cheese, and three bottles of Rhenish wine.

'So we are here!' Demelza said, and smiled brilliantly at her daughter over the top of her wineglass.

Clowance, whose expression up to now had remained calm a
nd rather impassive, gave a littl
e ironical grimace of pleasure. 'It seems we shall not starve! Would it not be lovely if we could have all our meals up here!'

'First impressions,' said Demelza. 'Is it bad to take too much heed of first impressions?'

'Not if they are good.'

'Are not yours?'

Clowance laughed. 'Yes.'

'But so many people. Is this a house or a town?'

'Lord Edward explained it was open house on a Thursday. I don't quite understand what that means, except that tomorrow the crowds will be gone. It - it seems to be like a garden party to which almost everyone may come. The Lansdownes are here so small a part of the year, that when they
are
here this is what they do.'

Demelza helped Clowance to the salmon, and took some herself. 'How strange to have so much property that one must spread oneself so thinly! Your father, I fear, would say that it is not quite suitable that one family should own so much. Yet I confess they impress me more favourably than I had ever thought possible on so short an acquaintance.'

Clowance raised her glass. 'It may be all different tomorrow, Mama. So I think we must just drink to first impressions.'

‘
That I'll gladly do.' They did it.

Clowance said: 'For the first time - or almost for the first time -
I
believe I am
finding myself somewhat nervous!
'

The good fortune Lord Edward referred to in their 'arriving in time for tomorrow' was that on Friday the house party went to the Races at Chippenham. They left at midday in dog-carts and chaises and a few more sober barouches, picnicked on the way and spent four hours on the course. Horses were inspected - three running from the Lansdowne stable — bets laid, races watched and cheered, more canary wine was drunk. Demelza was loaned a spy-glass the better to perceive which horse was coming first round
the corner, and Lord Edward was
assiduous in lending his own glass to Clowance.

The alfresco nature of the picnic and the general atmosphere of the racecourse was well suited for everyone to become acquainted with everyone else; no one was too much concerned to quiz his or her neighbour while there was unimpeachable bloodstock to take the attention. Demelza early confided into Lady Isabel Petty-Fitzmaurice's ear-trumpet that she had never been to a race meeting before, but this evidence of a neglected youth was later somewhat overborne by the fact that she seemed to know a good deal about horses, and animals in general, particularly their complaints. Clowance found two of the young ladies, the Hon. Helena Fairborne and Miss Florence Hastings, a little distant and patronizing; but otherwise it was a very pleasant and informal day.

Twenty made up the party to the races, and by the occasional reference to those left behind it seemed that there were another half-dozen or so guests at home. It was going to be difficult to make sure in a short time the exact position of various people who had been seen wandering around the house after breakfast, whether they ranked
as guests or residents, as gentl
efolk or as a superior echelon of servant. No attempt was made to divide the race party by sex or age; and indeed with the Marchioness herself only twenty-six and making herself the focus of attention there was little chance to do so. Lady Lansdowne was tall and fair and pretty and flittered vaguely about in loose flowing garments; but when she had occasion to approach you or speak to you direct she looked you in the eye with uncommon straightness and lack of aff
ected dissimulati
on.

So, for that matter, did Edward. Clowance wished her father might have been here as well as her mother, for where Demelza's judgments were native and intuitive, his refreshing prejudices added another dimension to the scene. If he said something that was clearly wrong, it gave Clowance a sounding board on which to try out her own judgments.

Demelza thought it probably a deliberate arrangement on the part of the Fitzmaurices to begin their house party with such an outing. Everybody entered into the day with considerable gusto, with some money won - Clowance eight guineas - and some money lost - Demelza four - and everybody warmed and eased with canary wine, and talkative, without regard to the precise social position of their neighbour, and tired on the way home - tired with wine and sun - and eating a comfortable dinner at Bowood without the need to dress, and very soon the ladies were yawning behind their fans and everyone went early to bed.

This, however, was not a typical day, and the typical day which followed conformed more nearly to Demelza's apprehensions.

Breakfast was at about nine-thirty - some two hours later than the normal hour at which the Poldarks sat down. At ten-thirty prayers were read in the hall by the chaplain, Mr Magnus, after which everyone drifted into the magnificent library to discuss plans for the day, or to listen to announced suggestions as to how the time should be spent. This day being Saturday, all the gentlemen went off shooting or fishing and did not return until five. With the custom of dinner growing ever later and supper ceasing to be important, a new meal called luncheon had been introduced at about one, to bridge the gap between breakfast and the formal meal of the day at six-thirty, for which everyone was expected to dress.

So Saturday, when sixteen ladies were left to their own devices, was the testing time. The day fortunately was fine and warm, so there was no need to sit indoors and play cards or work embroidery and make polite conversation. It was indicated that there were certain walks and certain drives which were more or less part of the ritual of a visit to Bowood, the walks describing an inner circle of the park, the drives a much wider circle when various follies and sights were inspected. The suggestion that these should be visited today was greeted with feminine cries of enthusiasm.

Looking down a gentle green slope upon the lake from the opposite side was a Doric Temple, and the tour was so arranged that all should reach there at about one o'clock when a cold meal was served and the ladies sat in wicker chairs under sunshades and ate and drank and chatted and admired the views and the flowers and the water birds.

'Pray, Miss Poldark,' said Miss Hastings, as she was being helped to wine, 'what would you be doing at this time of day if you were at home? For myself I swear I should not be enjoying myself one half so much!'

'On fine days in the summer,' said Clowance, 'it is our custom - my mother's and mine, and sometimes my father and my brother too if they are at home - to take a swim.'

'In the
sea?'
said Miss Fairborne. 'How quaint! But does it not upset one's
...
constitution? One's
arrangements
for the rest of the day?'

'I don't believe so,' said Clowance. 'We are usually busy all morning with matters dealing with our household, and, since it is our custom to dine somewhat early - before three

- it is quite delightful to plunge into the sea for half an hour first. One comes out — braced up
...
and glowing.'

'What a delicious picture,' said Miss Hastings, stifling a yawn. 'But, faith, I think I should be quite discommoded.'

"The Prince Regent has made it all the rage in Brighton,' said Lady Lansdowne. 'You are fortunate to have bathing huts so close, Miss Poldark.'

'Oh, we don't have bathing huts.'

There was a momentary silence.

‘
We have bathing huts at Penzance,' Clowance went on, 'but that is all of thirty miles away.'

"Then pray tell us the mystery,' said Miss Fairborne. 'Do you use
capes?’

'We can,' said Clowance, 'but seldom do, for the house is so close. It is a simple matter to wear a cloak.'

'But are you not then liable to be
observed
by the local commoners?'

'There are few commoners to observe anything, and those that are are our tenants.'

(Well done, thought Demelza; so my daughter is not above making things sound for the best.)

'How diverting,' said Miss Hastings. 'To have a house so near the sea one can use it as a bathing hut! I trust the sea never
invades
you, does it?'

'We sometimes have the spray on our windows. But it is not at all dangerous, I assure you.'

'And when you are bathing,' said Miss Fairborne, 'pray what sort of cap do you wear to keep your hair dry?'

'Oh, we don't wear caps,' said Clowance. 'One's hair dries very quickly in the sun.'

There was an intake of breath.

'Ugh! But does it not all become infamously
clogged
and
sticky?

'Little enough. It easily washes out later.'

'Some people drink sea water for their health,' interposed Lady Lansdowne. 'It was all the craze a year or so ago.'

Demelza had been nervous lest Clowance should be asked what sort of costume they wore. Not liking personally either to bathe naked or to wear the extraordinary jackets and petticoats illustrated in the fashion papers, she had devised her own costume, which was like a Greek
chiton,
sleeveless, short, and caught at the waist with a piece of cord. She felt that if the ladies here had seen such a garment they would have been greatly shocked.

After luncheon they all visited the Hermit's Cave, which was dank and unimposing compared to the various sea-made hermits' caves which existed at the further end of Hendrawna Beach; and then a splendid Cascade falling in three thunderous tiers - man-made like the lake, but no less beautiful for that. There was also a Lansdowne mausoleum.

In and out of their chaises the ladies stepped with their sweeping frocks and their gaudy parasols, like a flutter of butterflies, laughing and talking and exclaiming at the attractions and peculiarities and beauties of each scene in turn. It was not boring to the Poldarks, for the things to be seen were indeed pretty or odd or interesting; but it was a trifle embarrassing because the other ladies had so much quicker a wit for expressing, however artificially, their pleasure and fascination. Demelza and Clowance seemed always a little to lag behind in finding the words to say so. Once or twice Demelza put in a quick remark ahead of the others, but it was hard work and desperate.

Dinner was the great event of the day and Saturday the first day of their stay when it was to take place with full formality. The ladies were expected to retire at four o'clock to prepare for it and then to come down at six in the utmost finery for polite conversation before 'the procession' from library to dining-room. Lady Isabel, in explaining this to Demelza, said that in the old days of not so very long ago the couples had moved simply from the small drawing-room to the dining-room; but this procedure had been abandoned because it wasn't far enough to walk - it didn't make enough of a 'procession'. She added in an aside that there was another advantage: if the men made a lot of noise when left on their own after dinner, the ladies would not be disturbed by it in the more distant library.

Since it had never in her life taken Demelza more than half an hour to prepare for the extremest function, she spent the first hour writing to Ross and part of the second hour helping Enid to help Clowance.

So far, she thought, their clothes had passed muster. At the races their attire had been a little more sombre than the others and today they had lacked ribbons and laces; but no matter. This evening would be far more important. Not again, if one believed Ross, that matching extravagance with extravagance was all. Good breeding was what counted - and looks and wit and elegance, in which, Ross was confident, they could not find themselves at all deficient. It was all very well for Ross. He was born with an absolute knowledge of where he stood in the world; not everyone had that advantage. Why couldn't
he
have come, presenting his daughter at such an aristocratic house party as this?

Well
...
Caroline had made them spend money - and when Mistress Trelask had been ignorant of the latest trends, or barren of ideas, Caroline had provided them. So Clowance was going down tonight in a Grecian round robe of fine Indian muslin. It had a demi-train, and robe and train were trimmed with a silver fringe. The sleeves Mistress Trelask had called Circassian, and the bosom was trimmed
a la Chemise.
Her hair was dressed rather flat but with curls on the forehead and the fullness of it confined behind with a row of twisted pearls. She wore white satin slippers with silver clasps. She looked, Demelza thought, so beautiful she could hardly be true.

As for herself, as befitted a middle-aged matron, her gown was much more sober, being of Scandinavian blue satin, confined with a cord, and silver buttons all the way down the front.

When they eventually went down Demelza was led in by Mr Magnus, the chaplain, and Clowance by Edward. The dinner went well and was followed by music and cards; but on this evening it was the gentlemen who were swallowing their yawns, and again almost everyone retired early.

Sunday was much the same, except that the gentlemen stayed around, and there was a church parade and other religious matters; but on Sunday evening Clowance was led in by Lord Lansdowne himself-a considerable honour - and her mother by an officer called Colonel Powys-Jones, who was on leave from Portugal and recovering from wounds sustained at Barrosa. Demelza, whose hearing was not of the worst, had heard Colonel Powys-Jones ask who she was the evening before, and to comment on her being a damned pretty woman, so it seemed likely that the arrangement was at his request.

Powys-Jones was about forty-five, short, trim and staccato. His hair was cropped close - 'get used to it; keeps the lice out, ma'am' - his evening garments shiny with use, his skin was yellow - 'thank the Indies for that, ma'am'; but he had an eye as sharp as a cockerel's and with much the same ends in view. (Not that anything scandalous could occur under this so highly respectable roof; but the idea was there.) Demelza with her bright dark eyes, her beautiful mouth and fine skin, was just his cup of tea. That she had a daughter here of nearly eighteen made it all the more interesting. As for Mrs Poldark's feelings, Mrs Poldark had known a fair number of Joneses in her life, and had tended to look on the name of Jones as rather an ordinary one; but apparently the Powys in front of it invested it with some mystic Celtic significance which she didn't, although herself a Celt, at first altogether understand. The Powys-Joneses, it seemed, were in some way descended from the Glendowers and Llewellyns of Welsh regality.

The Colonel told her all about this over dinner while Demelza half listened and half tried to observe how Clowance was faring with their host. Clowance was wearing her second frock tonight, a fine scarlet brocade, which flattered her fair hair and skin. (They had brought only five dinner frocks for Clowance: Caroline had said this was enough, but Demelza was a little concerned about it.)
The Marquess of Lansdowne was a better-looking young man than his brother, perhaps a little too precise, a little too long-necked for perfection; but obviously a very
good
man, intelligent, serious, and conscious of his position only in so far as it spelled out his responsibilities. Little more than a year ago he had been Lord Henry Petty, member of parliament for Camelford, with a distinguished but not necessarily successful parliamentary career ahead of him. Then, because of the death of his half-brother without issue, all this. A marquisate, a large estate and other possessions, three parliamentary seats, an income of twenty-six thousand pounds a year. It took one's breath away.