The Miller's Dance (41 page)

'Yes, well. Mistress has been some slight but is feeling better today.'

'Thank
Heavenl
That's
good
news! Is she awake?'

'Mistress?. Yes, yes, she's just asked for these.'

'And-the baby?'

'Sleeping, I b'lave.'

'Go up. Tell her I'll follow.'

When he went in Demelza was sitting up hastily brushing her hair. She looked very thin but her eyes were brilliant. 'Well, my son.'

He bent and kissed her. 'Not the only one now.' 'Your rival is over there.'

'Bother him. How are you?' 'Brave.'

'The fever has gone?' 'Yes.'

'Let me feel your pulse.'

She hid her wrists. He picked up the brush she had dropped.

'Were you expecting visitors?'

'Only you. When Jane told me...'

'You decided you must put on your best bib and tucker, eh? For a visitor of such importance. What a strange woman you are!'

'Oh, I know,' she agreed. 'And getting stranger.'

His eyes roved to the cot and then came back. 'You don't look like a matriarch.'

'Why not?' - 'Not fierce enough. Not
old
enough.'

'Just at the moment,' Demelza said,
I
feel very
young.''

'You look it.' She did look exhilaratingly young, but frail, as if she were recovering from a grave illness.

'Where are Papa and Clowance?'

‘I
n the library, I'm told. Moving furniture, I conject. Though for what purpose I have no idea.'

'Maybe turning it into a playroom. Bella will like that.'

I
do not think Bella is altogether taken with her new brother. She wrinkles her nose at him.'

'Who wouldn't when she's been so spoiled?'

'Spoiled?'

'Well, haven't we all been? What are you going to call him, by the way?' 'We
...
D'you know, Jeremy, we haven't decided!' 'When is he to be christened?
’
'Christmas Eve, we think.'

'Well, that'll give us a few days to put our heads together. Would suggestions be welcomed?'

'Of course! Dwight has told me I must spend another three or four days in bed, but I'm not at all certain sure I shall obey him, so when I come down -'

'He is satisfied with you ?'

'When was Dwight ever satisfied? I believe he is quite pleased. Caroline came this morning and said he was quite pleased, so I take that to be true.'

Jeremy went and peered in at the cot. A small round head, a wisp of dark hair, and a single fist like a pink walnut were to be seen. .

'Stap me,' he said, 'I'm old enough to be his father!' 'Stap me, so you are. Now tell me of your visit to Hayle. Was it fruitful?' 'Oh, unimportant.' 'Never mind, I want to know.'

He told her. For the first-time since he entered, his effortful concentration lapsed and she said:

'Was it not all to your liking?'

'Of course. All is going forward splendidly.'

‘
I
did not think you sounded so hill of enthusiasm.'

'Oh
...
possibly I allowed my mind to dwell on something else - the fact that the steam carriage has got no further.'

'Perhaps it soon will. And the war...'

'Wonderful news. Papa is pleased?'

'We are all pleased! And relieved.'

'Mama,' he said,
I
have bought you a little present.'

She blinked. 'My dear life. But why?'

'Should I not? You have just most notably added another Poldark to the world's population. Isn't that a cause for celebration?'

I
'm not at all sure! But...'

Jeremy fumbled in his pocket and took out the silver locket. She accepted it and unwrapped it from its tissue paper. She turned it over and presently pressed the catch.

'My dear life,' she said again. 'Jeremy, my lover, it's so
kind
...
I don't know what to say...'

'Say thank you,'he suggested.

'That I'll do double-fold. Jeremy, I can't just at this very moment
...
think of more ...'

She reached up and he kissed her.
I
was hoping the new boy would be a redhead,' he said. 'Add to the colour in the locket. For a change, don't you think.'

Her vision was blurred,
‘
I
don't
want
a change, Jeremy. Thank you. It was so thoughtful. Did both girls consent that you should take a dipping?'

'Only Clowance. I robbed Bella while she slept.'

Demelza laughed, her voice husky,
I
believe I have children's hair from when you were all babies; but I better prefer what you have put in. I'll keep it near my heart.'

'That's of it,' said Jeremy in his Cornish voice. 'Proper job.
’

They talked for a few more minutes; then he snuffed the candles, put coal on the fire, took a further peek at his tiny brother, grinned cheerfully at his mother and left. -

III

He went straight across to his own bedroom but did not bother to take a light. He slumped down in the one easy chair before the. undrawn curtains of the window, stared out. There were a few waifs of light left in the sky defying the encroachment of the December evening. It was cold in here after the warmth of the other bedroom.

Conan Whitworth's account was spiteful but convincing. He could not have invented it. And it was almost too circumstantial to be exaggerated.

It seemed that he had approached Sir George Warleggan before the break for supper, and Sir George had rudely rebuffed him, and immediately afterwards had gone upstairs to his study on the first floor in company with Major Trevanion. Conan had opted to sneak after them. They had shut the door of the study behind them and Conan had decided to see what he could hear through the keyhole, it's always fun,' he explained to Jeremy,
'hearing what you're not supposed to hear.' Unfortunately Sir George's voice was too low, but Major Trevanion's was always loud and what he said came clearly. And from this it seemed they were discussing some document which referred to Valentine Warleggan and Cuby Trevanion. There was to be a sum of money paid on certain conditions; but an argument developed as to the conditions a
nd the date of payment: Then Ma
jor Trevanion had made some remark about 'sharpening this damned pen'. Wherupon Conan had applied his eye to the keyhole and observed Major Trevanion doing just that There was further murmuring and conversation and the clink of a bottle. Conan had just dodged away from the door in time as they came out and went downstairs. Major Trevanion had been stuffing some papers into his inside pocket.

At this stage Jeremy was still half for ignoring the boy and leaving, but he could see that Conan had more to tell, and he could not make the decisive move to tear himself away.

Conan had gone into the study. By the light of the single candle they had left burning he had lifted the lid of Sir Geroge's desk and found a document lying open inside, it makes it more exciting,' he said to Jeremy,
I
often read other people's letters.'

This appeared to be a sort of marriage arrangement. Settlement? said Jeremy. Settlement, yes, Conan said, a settlement; a sort of agreement, all done legally and proper, with Sir George undertaking to pay Major Trevanion the sum of £20,000. £2,000, if Conan remembered rightly, within six months of the signature of the document, and the rest - the £18,000, on the day of the marriage of Valentine Warleggan and Cuby Trevanion.

There didn't seem to be any mention of the wedding day, Conan said, eyeing Jeremy slyly for signs of shock; maybe it had not yet been appointed. And signed that evening in the middle of a party? Jeremy asked. No, no, said Conan, all done a week or two ago, sometime in early December, couldn't recall the exact date, and witnessed: Trembath was the name of one witness, he thought; the other, Blencowe. Arthur Something Blencowe, clerk, of 21, River Street. What about that for a good memory? He was always good at school at memory games. Remembering things on a tray
-
you know — twenty seconds to look and two minutes to write 'em down. Always won, especially if it was food.

But you said you thought they were signing something then. Ah, said Conan, stuffing in the last mouthful, that was something different, something arranged that evening, lying there freshly sanded; a further letter of agreement, so to say. Or that's what it looked like to him. It was marked
copy,
he remembered. No doubt Major Trevanion had the original.

Another sort of letter of agreement, Conan said. It stated that Major Trevanion was to receive a further £1000 immediately in return fo
r the undertaking that he would
personally vacate Caerhays Castle within one year of the marriage. It sounded all right, said Conan, didn't it, it promised well for Master Valentine and Miss Cuby after they were wed.

The story all came out
with relish. Conan might have
learned it. No doubt he had repeated the details over and over again in the depths of his devious mind before spilling them out with a peculiar sort of pleased rancour in the shadowed cubicle of Blight's Coffee House over the greasy table and the crumbs of the pigeon pie.

But rancour towards whom? Sir George, who no doubt often rebuffed him? To Jeremy himself who probably had not disguised his dislike? Or perhaps it was a kind of spite directed at all mankind.

On the ride home and now in the privacy of his bedroom Jeremy went over the details again and again. It all fitted. Conan Whitworth might be a repulsiv
e youth but his memory was not
in question. It all
suddenly
fitted. George Warleggan's ambition for his son, which fed his own ambition. For twenty thousand pounds he established his son as the husband of a girl of ancient family and put him in possession of one of the noblest houses in Cornwall. For a last extra thousand (Trevanion must really be on the edge) he ensured that Valentine should be sole master of that house.

It seemed likely that the wedding was not to be just yet. Valentine would probably complete his studies at Cambridge. They might marry towards the end of next year or early in 1814. In the meantime John Trevanion received enough to enable him to keep his head above water, and by next May or June a larger sum to see him safely to land.

Did either of the principals know? Were they party to this agreement? It seemed improbable, at least as recendy as September: he could nor believe Cuby would have accepted his light-hearted embraces so light-heartedly in return if she had known this then. Whatever her faults, duplicity in that degree was not among them. Did it matter? Did it matter if either of them knew? For each would dance when the strings were pulled. Cuby had already told him so to his face last Easter, and Valentine would always give way to his father where an arrangement of such importance was involved.

In any case, why
should
Valentine object? Jeremy's stomach turned sick. At that music party last year, had not Valendne made some salacious references to Cuby? — how he would like to untie the bow of her bodice. 'Watch the way she breathes - doesn't it give one pretty fancies?'

Well, might Valentine roast in hell! He was going to get his fancies gratified - and a castle to live in too! Object! Object, in God's name! What was there to object to?

Might all the Warleggans roast in hell! Had there not been some rumour last year of George Warleggan and his bank being in trouble ? He had heard some passing reference to it between his mother and father but had been too preoccupied with other things to take much notice at the time. And had there not been some suggestion of the Cornish Bank, in which his father was a partner, considering whether to exert pressure to bring the Warleggans down? God in hell! if that had happened Sir George would likely have had no money to contrive his vile stinking schemes.

His father, Ross, had tried to comfort him last year by saying that, much as Major Trevanion might hope for a wealthy marriage for Cuby, and willing as Cuby might be to further this ambition, there were precious few rich men about - though plenty looking for an heiress. And any rich man who
was
about would be very unlikely to advance huge sums of money to save his brother-in-law from bankruptcy.

Well, that was true. Broadly that was true. But both of them had overlooked the Warleggans. This evil family had lain like a blight across his father's and mother's life; now it was blighting his too. And there was nothing to be
done.
Nothing. Nothing.
Nothing.
To confront Cuby. To confront Valentine. To confront Valentine's father. Cuby would be upset but dedicated to her promise. Valentine would joke it o
ff, saying, dear boy, what can I
do? Sir George would be grim and coldl
y polite, but all the time quietl
y rejoicing that in furthering his own aims and his son's advancement he had accidentally dealt a mortal wound to the son of his old rival.