Demelza was beginning to feel like a lion tamer who has been putting her pets through their paces and finds them getting out of hand. She didn’t know whether to brazen it out or run for safety. The smaller lions she could manage very well: men like Whitworth, William Hick, and St. John Peter. But the big beasts, like John Treneglos, and the old lions, like Sir Hugh Bodrugan, were a different matter. Relays of port had added courage to natural wit, but there was a limit to her resource and she was thankful it was all happening in a public room, where they couldn’t snarl over her more openly. If she had been the perspiring sort she would have perspired a lot.
Recently Ensign Carruthers, whom Joan Pascoe had introduced, had come to swell the numbers. A young man named Robert Bodrugan had also put in an appearance but had quickly been sent off by his hairy uncle. The ball of conversation kept flying at her and she would toss it back at someone indiscriminately. They laughed at almost everything she said as if she were a wit. In a way it was all very enjoyable, but she would have liked it in smaller measure to begin. And occasionally she stretched her neck to peer over someone’s shoulder in search of Ross.
It was in doing that that she caught sight of Verity reentering the ballroom from the outer door. She knew instantly by her eyes that something was seriously wrong.
After a moment, Verity slowed her steps and was lost to view by the dancers forming up for a gavotte. Demelza rose to her feet also.
“No, no,” she said to several men and moved to pass through them. They parted deferentially and she found herself free. She looked about.
“Come, miss,” said Sir Hugh at her shoulder, but she moved on without answering him. Verity had turned, was walking quickly away from her toward the ladies’ withdrawing room. Demelza followed, walking around the floor by herself with her usual long-legged stride and with a confidence she would not have known an hour before.
Near her quarry, she found her way barred by Patience Teague and her sister Ruth Treneglos and two other ladies.
“Mistress Demelza,” said Patience, “permit me to introduce two of my friends who are anxious to meet you. Lady Whitworth and the Honorable Mrs. Maria Agar. This is Mistress Poldark.”
“How d’you do,” said Demelza, sparing a moment to eye Ruth warily, and curtsying to the ladies in the way Mrs. Kemp had taught her. She instantly disliked the tall Lady Whitworth and liked the short Mrs. Agar.
“My dear child,” said Lady Whitworth. “We have been admiring your dress ever since the Assembly began. Quite remarkable. We thought it had come from London until Mrs. Treneglos assured us to the contrary.”
“’Tisn’t the dress,” said Mrs. Agar. “’Tis the way it’s worn.”
“Oh, thank you, ma’am,” Demelza said warmly. “Thank you, ma’am. I’m that gratified to have your praise. You’re all too kind. Much too kind. And now, if you’ll forgive me, I am this moment hurryin’ to find my cousin. If you’ll—”
“By the way, dear, how is your father?” Ruth asked and tittered. “We have not seen him since the christening.”
“No, ma’am,” Demelza said. “I’m very sorry, ma’am, but Father is overparticular who he meets.”
She bowed to the ladies and swept past them. Then she entered the withdrawing room.
There were two maids in the little stuffy room and three ladies and piles of cloaks and wraps. Verity was standing before a mirror, not looking into it but looking down at the table in front of her, doing something with her hands.
Demelza went straight across to her. Verity was pulling her lace handkerchief to shreds. “Verity. What is it? What is it?”
Verity shook her head and could not speak. Demelza glanced around. The other women had not noticed anything. She began to talk, about anything that came into her head, watching Verity’s lips tremble and straighten and tremble again. One lady went out. Then the other. Demelza pushed a chair up behind Verity and forced her to sit down.
“Now,” she whispered, “tell me. What is it? Did they meet? I was afeared they might.”
Verity shook her head again. Her hair, as hard to confine as dark thistledown, was coming undone in her distress. As three more women came chattering in Demelza stood up quickly behind Verity’s chair and said, “Let me tidy your hair. It is all this dancin’ has loosed the pins. Sit quite still an’ I’ll have it right in a jiffy. How warm it is in there! My hand is quite exhausted wi’ working my fan.”
She went on talking, taking out pins and putting them in again, and once or twice, when Verity’s head began to tremble, she put her fingers, cool and firm for all the port, on Verity’s forehead, resting them there until the spasm passed.
“I can’t go through it all again,” Verity said suddenly in an undertone. “Not all that again. I knew it might come, but now I can’t face it. I—I can’t face it.”
“Why should you?” Demelza said. “Tell me what happened.”
“They—they met as he was going. At the top of the stairs. I knew it would be wrong tonight. I have been waiting for an opportunity, but Francis has been cross-grained for weeks. They had another terrible quarrel. Andrew tried to be conciliatory, but there was no arguing with him. He struck Andrew. I thought Andrew was going to kill him. Instead of that, he just looked at Francis—I felt somehow that his contempt was for me as well…”
“Oh, nonsense…”
“Yes,” said Verity. “I did. Because I wanted the best of both worlds. Because I had wanted to keep Francis’s affection as well as Andrew’s and had been afraid to tell Francis. If I’d told him before, this would never have happened—not like this. I’ve been afraid to come out into the open. I’ve been—timid. I think it’s the one weakness Andrew cannot countenance—”
“You’re wrong, Verity. Nothing matters if you feel for each other like you do…”
“—So he went. Without a glance or a word for me. That was worse than last time. I know now I shan’t ever see him again…”
• • •
In the card room Ross had lost thirty guineas in as many minutes and Francis nearly as much in half the time. Francis had come back to the room after his airing with a face gray with anger.
He had sat down at the faro table without speaking, and no one had addressed him, but the expressions of the two cousins were casting a blight over the game. Even the banker, a man named Page, seemed ill at ease, and presently Margaret Cartland yawned and got up, slipping a few pieces of gold back into her purse.
“Come, Luke, we’ve been in the saddle too long. Let’s take a little stroll around the ballroom before the reels begin.”
Her new lover rose obediently; he glanced uneasily at Francis, but Francis ignored them as they went out.
At the door, her hand possessively on Vosper’s arm, she surveyed the scene of the dance. It came to an end as she watched, the formal arrangements broke up into knots that themselves gradually dispersed as people moved off toward the refreshment room or to corners under the ferns.
“These dainty dances bore me excessively,” she said. “All that posturing with no result.”
“You prefer your posturings to have some result,” said Vosper. “I’m glad to learn it.”
“Oh, tut, naughty,” she said. “Remember where we are. Oh, damn, I believe it is the interval.”
“Well, no matter. I can use my elbows as well as the next, sweet.”
Margaret continued to survey the floor. There was one knot that refused to break up. It was largely men, but she saw a woman or women somewhere in the middle. Presently the knot, like a swarm of bees, began to move toward a few vacant chairs, occupied them, and then a section of the drones moved off in search of food and drink. She was able to see that there were two women concerned, a pleasant-faced, sad-looking person of about thirty and a striking girl with a mass of dark hair and very clear-cut shoulders above a shimmering frock with crimson ornaments.
“Sit in the card room, my sweet,” said Vosper. “I’ll bring you something there.”
“No, let ’em fight. Tell me, who’s that young woman over there? The one in silver with her chin tilted. Is she from this district?”
Vosper raised his quizzing glass. “No idea. She has a pretty figure. Hm, quite the belle. Well, I’ll go get you some jellies and heart cakes.”
When he had gone, Margaret stopped a man she knew and found out who the two women were. A little surprised smile played on her lips at the news. Ross’s wife. He playing faro with a bitter and angry face while she flirted with half a dozen men and paid him no attention. Margaret turned and looked at Ross as he staked money on a card. From that side, she could not see the scar.
She wasn’t sorry the marriage was a failure. She wondered if he had any money. He had all the aristocrat’s contempt for small amounts, she knew that, but it was the income that counted, not the small change. She remembered him five years before in that hut by the river and wondered if she had any chance of offering him consolation again.
Luke Vosper came back, but she refused to go in, preferring to stand at the door and watch the scene. Some ten minutes later the banker drew out the last two cards of a deal and Ross saw he had won. As he gathered in his winnings he found Margaret Cartland stooping beside him.
“Me lord, have you forgot you have a wife, eh?”
Ross looked up at her.
Her big eyes were wide. “No joke, I assure you. She’s quite the sensation. If you don’t believe me, come and see.”
“What do you mean?”
“No more than I say. Take it or leave it.”
Ross got to his feet and went to the door. If he had thought of Demelza at all during the past hour he had thought of her in Verity’s safekeeping. (It never occurred to him to think of Verity in Demelza’s.)
The first dance after the interval was to begin shortly. The band was back on its platform, tuning up. After the quiet of the card room, the talk and laughter met him. He looked about, aware that both Margaret and Vosper were watching him.
“Over there, me lord,” said Margaret. “Over there with all those men. At least, I was told it was your wife, but perhaps I was misinformed. Eh?”
It was to be another gavotte, less stately and sedate than the minuet and popular enough to get most people on the floor. Competition for Demelza was still strong. During the interval and fortified by some French claret for a change, she had put forward all her talents in conversation to take notice from Verity, who was sitting mute beside her.
It was her own fault that at that stage the snarling grew worse; for, what with thinking of Verity and her anxiety for Ross, she had been careless what she said, and no less than three men thought she had promised the dance. John Treneglos had been dragged away for a time by his furious wife, but Sir Hugh Bodrugan was one of the three, trying by weight and seniority, she thought, to carry her off from Whitworth, who was relying on his cloth to support him in the face of Sir Hugh’s scowls; the third was Ensign Carruthers, who was sweating a lot but was sticking to the navy’s tradition and not striking his flag.
First they argued with her, then they argued with each other, and then they appealed to her again, while William Hick made it worse by putting in remarks. Demelza, a little overwrought, waved her glass and said they should toss a coin for her. That struck Carruthers as eminently fair, only he preferred dice, but Sir Hugh grew angry and said he had no intention of gaming on a ballroom floor for any woman. All the same, he was not willing to give up the woman. Demelza suggested he should take Verity. Verity said, “Oh, Demelza,” and Sir Hugh bowed to Verity and said, “Thank you. A later dance. Certainly.”
At that moment a tall man showed at the back of the others and Demelza wondered with a sinking feeling if it was a fourth claimant. Then she raised her head and saw it was indeed.
“Forgive me, sir,” said Ross, pushing a way in. “You’ll pardon me, sir. You’ll pardon me, sir.” He arrived on the edge of the ring and bowed slightly, rather coldly, to Demelza. “I come to see if you were in need of anything, my dear.”
Demelza got up. “I knew I’d promised this dance to someone,” she said.
There was a general laugh, in which Sir Hugh did not join. He had been drinking all evening and did not at first recognize Ross, whom he saw seldom.
“Nay, sir. Nay, ma’am. This is unfair, by heavens! It was promised to me. I tell you it was promised to me. I tell you it was promised. I’ll not have it! I’m not accustomed to have my word called in question!”
Ross looked at him, at the silk ruffles of his shirt stained with splashes of wine, at his broad heavy face, hair growing in tufts in the nostrils and the ears, at the curled black wig worn low over the brow, at his dark purple coat, red silk embroidered waistcoat, and silk knee breeches. He looked him up and down, for Sir Hugh, no less than the others, had had his hand in Jim’s death. The fact that he had been dancing with Demelza was an affront.
“Have you promised this dance?” Ross said to Demelza.
Demelza looked up into his cold eyes, sought there for understanding and found none. Her heart turned bitter.
“Yes,” she said. “Maybe I did promise this to Sir Hugh. Come along, Sir Hugh. I hardly know quite how to dance the gavotte, not properly like, but you can show me. You showed me splendid in that last country dance, Sir Hugh.”
She turned and would have gone out with the baronet to join the others who were all formed up. But Ross suddenly caught her hand.
“Nevertheless, I take this by right, so you must disappoint all your friends.”
Sir Hugh had recognized him. He opened his mouth to protest. “Damn it! It’s late in the evening to show a lively interest—”
But Ross had gone, and Demelza, furious and desperately hurt, went with him.
They bowed to each other as the music began. They didn’t dance at all well together.
“Perhaps,” said Demelza, trembling all over. “Perhaps I’d ought to have asked for an introduction seeing it’s so long since we met.”
“I don’t doubt you have been well consoled in my absence,” said Ross.
“You were not concerned to come and see whether I was or no.”
“It seems that I was unwelcome when I did.”
“Well, everyone wasn’t so ill-mannered and neglectful as you.”
“It is always possible at these places to collect a few hangers-on. There are always some such about looking for those who will give them encouragement.”
Demelza said, with triumphant bitterness, “No, Ross, you do me wrong! And them too! One is a baronet an’ lives at Werry House. He has asked me to tea and cards. One is a clergyman who has traveled all over the continent. One is an officer in the navy. One even is a relative of yours. Oh, no, Ross, you can’t say that!”
“I can and do.” He was as furious as she was. “One is a lecherous old roué whose name stinks in decent circles. One is a simpering posturing fop who will bring the church more disrepute. One is a young sailor out for a lark with any moll. They come for what they can get, they and their kind. I wonder you’re not sick with their compliments.”
I’ll not cry, said Demelza to herself. I’ll not cry. I’ll not cry. I’ll not cry.
They bowed to each other again.
“I detest them all,” Ross said on a slightly less personal note. “These people and their stupidity. Look at their fat bellies and gouty noses, and wagging dewlaps and pouchy eyes: overfed and overclothed and overwined and overpainted. I don’t understand that you find pleasure in mixing with them. No wonder Swift wrote of ’em as he did. If these are my people, then I’m ashamed to belong to them!”
They separated, and as they came together again Demelza suddenly fired back.
“Well, if you think all the stupids an’ all the fat and ugly ones are in your class, you’re just as wrong as anyone! Because Jim had ill luck and died, an’ because Jim and Jinny were good nice people, you seem to think that all poor folk are as good and nice as they. Well, you’re mortal wrong there, and I can tell you because I know. I’ve lived with ’em, which is more’n you’ll ever do! There’s good an’ bad in all sorts and conditions, an’ you’ll not put the world to rights by thinking all these people here are to blame for Jim’s death—”
“Yes, they are, by their selfishness and their sloth—”
“And you’ll not put the world to rights neither by drinking brandy all evening an’ gambling in the gambling room and leaving me to see for myself at my first ball and then coming halfway through an’ being rude to them that have tried to look after me—”
“If you behave like this, you’ll not come to another ball.”
She faced him. “If you behave like this, I’ll not want to!”
They found they had both stopped dancing. They were holding up people.
He passed a hand across his face.
“Demelza,” he said. “We have both drunk too much.”
“Would you kindly move off the floor, sir!” said a voice behind him.
“I don’t want to quarrel,” Demelza said with a full throat. “I have never, you know that. You can’t expect me to feel the same about Jim as you do, Ross. I didn’t know him hardly at all, and I didn’t go to Launceston. Maybe this is commonplace for you, but it is the first time I ever been to anything. I’d be that happy if you could be happy.”
“Damn the rejoicings,” he said. “We should never have come.”
“Please move aside, sir,” said another exasperated voice. “If you wish to hold conversation do it elsewhere.”
“I talk where I please,” Ross said, giving the man a look. The fellow wilted and backed away with his partner.
Demelza said in a soft voice, “Come, Ross. Dance. Show me. A step this way, isn’t it, an’ then a step that. I’ve never properly danced the gavotte, but it is nice and lively. Come, my dear, we’re not dead yet, an’ there’s always tomorrow. Let us dance together nicely before we fall out worse.”