Warleggan (34 page)

maintain her present condition, was
vitally necessary not only for
reasons of poise and confidence. In her spirit, in the very deep parts of her spirit, the desolation which had been there nearly a week was no different at all. Nothing sh
e could do tonight could change
it, Margaret could rub it freshly raw, but even that didn't vitally matter: She had already lost all there was to lose. To use her own simile, she was like a Christian who had lost God, a believer - turned atheist, knowing relief
and unexampled liberty, trying
to rejoice over the outworn beliefs she had thrown away, conscious of the immense winds of freedom and utterly determined to make the most of them; but
-
at heart lost, irretrievably lost.

Supper was immense, and a
fter supper, to shake the food
down, the country dances. Full of good things and fumed with wine, even the most dignified members of the gathering unbent. Demelza was surprised at the way the upper classes let themselves go. Inherently she had felt that Lord This and the Hon. Mrs. That were by virtue of their titles only fitted for performing the minuet and the gavotte. That was not their view at all. Wigs bobbing and skirts swaying, they pranced about with the relish of Borneo natives. Some of the stouter women, following the low-cut fash
ions of the day, came very near
to endangering their modesty; and if Demelza had been observing the thing from a distance, she would have been hot with anxiety for them. But instead she was in the fray herself, anxious from time to time
that no clumsy
shoe should step on, her beautiful gown or clasping hand pull it from her shoulders.

She would not have denied that there was a sense in which she enjoyed it. She loved dancing; and now that Malcolm McNeil was her close attendant, she could encourage a man without hypocrisy
-
or without too much hypocrisy.

In a breathless fan-waving interlude between a galop and a Sir Roger de Coverley she said

`You are truly leaving tomorrow, Captain McNeil?'

'Och, yes, I am truly leaving tomorrow. I should have been gone on Thursday but for an accident of post which I then abused but now believe the work of, kindly heaven. As a special favour for tonight, would
you consider
calling me Malcolm?'
McNeil had received
such encouragement that he was taking the play out of Demelza's hands.

`Perhaps I'm mistaken,' she said, `but was that not the name of one of the kings of Scotland?'

`More than one. You're very' well informed on Scottish history-Demelza..'

`I
read sometimes. I'm sure
that surprises you. You think I
do naught but milk, cows and feed pigs and tend babies and bake bread
’

`No, no, I assure you.'

`Well, thank you for the assurance'. Do you know, I believe only two men have ever
called me
Demelza before: my husband and my cousin-in-law,'

`What of your father?'

'Oh, he did not, so far as I can recollect. When he liked me he called me "daughter, and when he disliked me he
called me a
name whi
ch being now a lady I have long
since forgotten.'

McNeil laughed his big laugh and nearly stopped the band.

`Oh, you may
laugh, Malcolm, but it is true
! And now tell me something of yourself How many ladies have called you Malcolm before?'

'What?'' He stared at her, stared into her direct dark eyes, seeking the bubble of laughter but not finding it although: he still suspected its existence. `A few, I confess', but few considering the temptation
s of a soldier's life. I'm hard
to please, as I fancy you area I was brought up to like the best only, and it is a const
ricting circumstance as you'll
agree.

Nevertheless it has its rewards, for when the occasion arises
’

`What occasion?'

He laughed. `To call a woman by her Christian name is th
e first endearment. It is like-like touching hands without gloves, like lifting
her do
wn from a stile, like receiving
a smile that
has more in it than friendship. I
admire your name, Demelza. Where did you get it and what does it mean?'

'I got it
where
you got yours, I suppose Malcolm - from my mother. I do not know where she came by it. An old gipsy who came to the door once told me that in the true - Cornish
tongue it meant "Thy sweetness,
" But
he was an ignorant old man and
I do not suppose he was right.'

'Thy sweetness." Very apt. Though I think 'I should be more happy
still if it w
ere "'my sweetness."'

`If I'd known so much was meant b
y this using of Christian names – that’
s, as you tell me - I should have trembled to let you be so free with mine.'

`But why so? Did you not say when we first met this evening that whatever I cared to ask for

She smiled into his eyes. 'I don't think there was an "ever" in it

'There is certainly an "ever" in my wishes.'

Neither spoke for a moment. Then, before she could frame the right reply, someone came towards them, and said; 'I think this is our dance, ma'am,' and she was led away.

But McNeil, having advanced thus
far
was not to be denied. He was in the cavalry and knew all the moves from now on. When it came time for their next, he suggested they should go upon the terrace for a breath of air. There were several other couples out there. The
long
twilight had at last faded and night had fallen blackly, without moon or stars. They paced up and down, her neck and shoulders showing palely in the dark. They talked for a few minutes, and, then she shivered.

'You're cold, darling?' At once he put his arm round her shoulders. 'Forgive me, I'll get you a wrap.'

'I have none,' she said, very gently disengaging herself. 'I did not bring one, for I have never , possessed one. But I am
not cold; it was just
some feeling.'

'Describe it to me.'

'Oh, that I could not. There's an old Cornish word, shrims, which is nearest. But the feeling is gone, so we'd best forget it.' She had never had quite this sort of attention before, not even from Ross. It won her, though she tried to stay detached.

'What good fortune kept me here two days longer!' he said. 'I well see that you would not have gone unattended tonight; indeed the other men will snarl over you at the least excuse; but I fancy, I hope, that the others would not have suited you so well.'

'They would not, have suited me so well,' she said. `Are you quite recovered now from your wou
nd? It is late to ask,
but-'

'Quite recovered. Look.' He stretched his arm. 'It's as good as new.. And the wound was worth the having,
just because of meeting you.'

They
came to the end of the terrace and stopped. She moved to turn, but he did not. She thought, this is the first choice. He's bending his head to kiss me. Well, I've asked for it. I've often wondered what it was like, those moustaches
now I know.. . Is this me, looking up at a strange
man's hair, with his hands and lips on me? This is the moment to tu
rn back; Judas, this is a long
kiss, I like it and dislike it both at the same time. Oh, no, this isn't really me; I'm home by the, fire with Jeremy asleep upstairs, and Ross. ... Ross is in Elizabeth's arms....

When at last he released her, she leaned back against the balustrade and glanced round rather belatedly to se
e; if anyone was watching. But
the, night surrounded them. She took a breath, which was overdue, put
a
hand uncertainly to her hair. He was a big man; perhaps not as tall as Ross but
heavier, stouter. And he was no
beginner.

'Ever s
ince I first met you,' he said,
'ever since that first time years ago, I've wanted to do that. Och, it is a very great thrill to me.'

'Ooh,' she said, 'I'm glad you, enjoyed it.'

'Madam minx. But it is always: the way with humankind, Demelza; the realisation of an ambition leads on to greater ambition
and greater ambition, until----‘

'Until there is none left. What then, Malcolm?'

`What then? Why, then one achieves fulfilment of the most desirable kind. Were ye suggesting, futility? It hasn't been my experience. And I a
m sairtainly convinced it would not be
so in this case'

'And for me?'

'I'd not be a disappointment. Do ye think it likely?'

Their heads were still close,
within six inches
of each other. The conversation had got completely out of hand, had run suddenly amok. Momentarily she did not know how to control it.

'I think we should go in. I think, I b'lieve, it is very warm out here and would be cooler in the ballroom.'

`Will you not give me
a word of encouragement before
we
..’

'It seems to me that there have been many words of encouragement. Or I don't know - how else you would call them

'Encouragement yes,' said McNeil confidently. 'But will you not fulfil the promise of your looks, my' darling? Perh
aps later; Later tonight. Which
is your room? Demelza; . .

Well, what was sh
e waiting for? Was this not why
she had come to the ball? Was t
his not th
e only way of getting back
at Ross? Had, she not a few hours ago been bitterly reflecting that no eligible man existed. Sir Hugh, in such a connection, filled her with repugnance. So did John Treneglos. But here was McNeil, off tomorrow, personable, quite attractive to her, eager and loving. What more could she ask? Unless the whole of her rebellion, the whole of her protest, was the empty breath of so many angry words, words spoken within herself and never seriously meant. A windbag, pretending to be daring. Bolstering herself up on glasses of wine so that
she might reach
the ultimate peak of wickedness by allowing someone to kiss her. How many casual carnal kisses had Ross given, not only to El
izabeth but to that bold coarse
creature-stalking a
bout indoors? Margaret Vosper.
Margaret Cartland, Margaret Poldark. Demelza Poldark. Demelza McNeil.

She lowered her head and said in a low voice: 'I am not well, acquainted with this house.'

`I am
I, have lived here many weeks.' His lips touched her ear, his hand on her arm. `Thank you, my sweet, thank you....

When she got to her room much later that night, the conductor's coattails were still swin
ging. A few of the energetic
younger couple
s were making the most of the
emptying floor, but the majority of the guests had departed or were beginning the process of retiring for the night. Constance, Lady Bodrugan had long since left them to it and was feeding her animals.- Sir Hugh was drinking a last rum toddy with Lord Devoran, and Robert Bodrugan was making heavy going of a flirtation with Miss Tresize.

Demelza shut the door behind her and went across to the window and parted
the curtains to look out.
The heavy evening clouds had lifted and
it was less dark.
The silhouette of the trees bloomed against the lighter night sky. Light flooded out from the groun
d-floor window underneath her,
reflecting back upon the ivy-covered walls. What she thought was a gargoyle on the turret of
the
porch suddenly
came
to

life and flitted silently past her window: a barn owl looking for

She let the curtain fall and turned to warm her ice-cold hands, at the single thick candle which burned like a beady yellow eye on the table. She was now in process-in rapid process-oaf becoming what her father would have described as
a whore-bird. She only wished she knew how whore-birds generally behaved. Did one wait in one's gown, presenting the exact picture which had enticed the man in the first place, but
with all
the hazards of a spoiled and crumpled frock? Did one undress first and put on one's morning coat, which was not one quarter so attractive but which had the merits of accommodation? Or did one get into bed in one's night shift-or even without it
-
and pull, the sheet up to one's, chin?

She wished now she had allowed herself to become a little drunker. If one felt dizzy and silly, it was all so
much easier,
one simply let him make the running and probably giggled one's way into infidelity. She had never felt less like giggling in her life. Of far more use to her now than wine was the mental picture she had of Elizabeth, with her pale fey face and golden hair flowing, lying in Ross's arms. The
picture
was; extraordinarily vivid,
as if it were painted
and hanging on the wall of the room.

She wished her hands were not so
cold. it