The Twisted Sword by Winston Graham
‘I think there might be a better future for the steam ship – rivalling the packet ships by carrying mails . . . But yes, I’d go in with Goldsworthy if he put up a reasonable proposition.’ Jeremy was thoughtful. ‘But the opportunity for me may not be yet. This could well be a long war.’
They reached their apartment and Jeremy paid off the driver. They climbed the stairs, his arm round her waist.
Cuby said: ‘It has been a lovely day.’
They went in. In their absence an official letter had been delivered. Jeremy broke the seal and went pink.
‘Dear Heaven!’ he said. ‘A tragedy! I have been promoted to captain.’
Chapter Eight
I
Clowance was in her back garden pricking out lettuce seedlings. She was part sheltered here from the relentless wind, but still it blew uncomfortably about her; the two weeks of it had dried the light soil almost to powder and she had given the plants a good watering last night so that those she pulled up to discard would not disturb the others.
Stephen had been out since nine; he had said he would be home to dinner but had not turned up. If he was going to change his plans he usually sent a boy with a message; but not this time.
It was the last day – though, being a Friday, probably the bank would not make a move until Monday. Stephen was as taut as a wire under strain. He had done everything he could: there was no other lever within his reach; but being the man he was it was not natural to sit down to await the blow. He had said he was going down to the Adolphus, which, fully laden but still unvictualled, lay in the Penryn River waiting orders. Clowance could not imagine he was still there. Probably he had gone to the Royal Standard, was drowning his sorrows in a conventional way. But she was anxious. Being a man of action, and she well knew sometimes of violence, he might be venting his anger and frustration in some dangerous way.
So when a footstep sounded she turned eagerly, apprehensively, but relieved to see him.
‘Stephen! I waited – a long time.’
There was an expression on his face she could not read, grim but with a different light in his eyes.
‘What’re ye doing, dear heart?’
It was the first time he had used that expression for two weeks.
‘You can see,’ she said. ‘This wind is drying everything, but I think they’ll come on now.’
‘I didn’t get back to dinner,’ he said. ‘I was called away.’
‘Oh? Where?’
He came over and stood beside her, looking down at the ground she had been working on. ‘Are they far enough apart?’
‘No, but the next time I thin them we can eat the thinnings . . . What is it, Stephen?’
He put his hand on her shoulder. ‘What do you call it when a man is due to be hanged by the neck and then at the last moment he is told it is not so?’
‘Not so? Do you mean reprieved?’
‘Reprieved. That’s it. At least, that’s what I reckon it is.’
She turned to him. ‘How? Tell me what has happened? Is it good news?’
He said: ‘This morning. When I was working on the Adolphus this morning and reckoning how she could be cheapest unloaded, a man came, a message from Truro. I was requested to make my appearance at Warleggan’s Bank at three this afternoon.’ His hand tightened on her shoulder. ‘It was on my tongue to curse him and tell him and his employer to go to hell; but no, I thought to meself, if this is the last act I’ll go see just how they wish to proceed about it; I’ll go discover if there is any other mischief planned for me. So I took horse – hired from Greenbank Stables – and rode into Truro, to the bank, was there by soon after two.’
‘Is it good news?’ she said again.
‘Only Lander was there – no sign of George, but he said – and I took care to make double sure what he said – that on due consideration it had been decided to continue to fund me – to a limited extent, on a reduced scale. There’s a strict upper limit, a new system of accounting, no this, no that—’
‘But Stephen!’ she interrupted him, grasping his arms, ‘does it mean – does that mean we are saved?’
‘In a fashion, yes—’
She hugged him. ‘But that – that is the most wonderful thing! You can keep your ships, go on with your trading? Even perhaps build our house?’
‘I reckon so, wi’ safeguards, and a sort of going slow. I have yet to work it all out. He put it all in writing – Lander did – and I have read it through thrice. The upper limit of the loan is rigid and must be reduced by twenty per cent after twelve months. No more accommodation bills but a renewal of those out. I reckon I shall be acting all the time under George’s thumb. I don’t altogether care for it—’
‘But that does not matter! Who cares if we have to proceed more carefully? We are safe! Safe! Safe! Stephen, I have nothing in the house to drink but ale—’
He permitted himself his first smile. ‘I reckon I’ve got a lot of your lettuce soil on my sleeves . . . I can tell you this is the biggest relief off my mind. Even now it is a rare puzzle to me. I had wild and drastic thoughts. We’ll go out tonight to celebrate. We’ll go to the King’s Arms. Mary Commins is a friend of mine and she’ll put on a good meal and drink for us . . .’
She rubbed her hands and brushed his sleeves. ‘There, it is nearly all gone! . . . You say you did not see Sir George?’
‘Not a sign of him. I could not credit it when Lander began to speak. What made him change his mind?’
‘Perhaps he meant to all along and—’
‘Never. Not from George’s looks that day . . . I’ve been wondering – will we go to their house again and be received as friends? Ye see—’
‘Does it matter? We are safe – and in a little while can reduce our indebtedness! Even what we are getting from Wheal Grace will help! And soon enough you’ll be altogether your own master again!’
He kissed her. ‘You’re wise, Clowance. Always was. Always will be. ’Twas you who warned me not to get tangled with George Warleggan in the first place. I wonder, d’ye think Lady Harriet would have some finger in this?’
‘Does it matter?’ Clowance said again.
‘Have you seen her lately? Since this happened?’
‘I had to go over one day last week. To return those books on architecture. I wanted to give them to a servant but she was on the steps.’
‘Did you tell her?’
‘She asked why I had not been to the last day of the hunt, so I just mentioned our changed situation.’
Stephen was thoughtful, combing his hair with his strong fingers.
‘I reckon it maybe was something Harriet said to George. She has always been specially friendly to me.’
II
Katie Carter, made more clumsy even than usual, if not by her condition at least by her agitation at being in such a condition, upset a pan of boiling water and in trying to save it got a substantial burn on her arm. Cook sliced up a cold potato, slapped it on her arm and tied it in position with a handy strip of duster. Thereafter work as usual.
After a couple of days they took it off and found the arm reddened and bleeding, so she was sent to see Dr Enys. She would have much preferred Mr Irby in St Ann’s but Mrs Warleggan caught sight of it and said she must see Dr Enys and she would pay. This was such an exceptional sign of favour in her current disgrace that Katie did not dare to disobey.
Not that she minded Dr Enys: ever since he attended her as a child she had thought him wonderful; but it was precisely because of this that she did not want to see him and exhibit her coming shame. He was likely to know of it – most people had passed the whisper on by now – but it was the face to face encounter she dreaded.
When it came it was not too bad. He had such a handsome way of being impersonal: he was surgeon and she was the patient; there was nothing more between them than that. But then, after he had bathed the burn and dusted it with healing powder and given it a proper light bandage, he spoiled it all by feeling her pulse and saying:
She flushed and broke into a sweat. ‘Please?’
‘You are carrying a child, I understand. Do you feel well?’
‘Oh, yes . . . Bit sick in the mornings, like.’
‘Are you about four months?’
‘Ais.’
‘That should be clearing up now then. Let me know if I can be of any help to you.’
Katie fumbled a shilling out of her purse. ‘Mrs says I was to pay you this.’
‘Thank you. Don’t touch the bandage for five days, unless it becomes painful. Try to keep it dry. I’ll give you some of this powder to use if you need it.’
Katie put on her cloak, anxious to be gone. Dwight considered her for a moment, uncertain whether to say more. These people were part of the family of Sawle-with-Grambler whom he had made it his business to care for over the last twenty-odd years.
He said: ‘They have not found Saul Grieves?’
Katie’s flush went darker as she stared out of the window.
Dwight said: ‘Your mother thinks he should be sought out.’
‘I wouldn’t marry ’im,’ said Katie, ‘no, not if ’e was the last man on earth.’
Dwight walked to the door with her. ‘Perhaps there is some other man you will marry.’
‘Fine chance o’ that, I reckon. Not many’d want me wi’ a bastard child. And there’s not many I’d ’ave!’
She opened the door, and the sun fell in on her shabby clothes, her heavy Spanish hair, her fine skin.
‘I hope this wind will stop soon,’ Dwight said. ‘It is drying everything up.’
‘Ais. Fishing boats put out, they’re ’ard set to get ’ome.’
‘There’s one man would gladly marry you,’ said Dwight. ‘If you would have him. And make a good father . . . Music Thomas.’
She half stopped, then snorted like a horse. ‘Music? That gurt lump. He was put in wi’ the bread and took out wi’ the cakes, if ever there was! . . . That’s a fine jest, Surgeon. Why, ’e’s only ’alf a man!’
‘You’d be surprised,’ said Dwight. ‘As you know, I have been helping him, and he has made great progress. He can tell the time now and the days of the week. But you see him yourself quite often. Do you not notice any difference?’
‘Can’t say’s I do.’
They stood then in awkward silence.
‘Get along with you, then.’
Katie said: ‘Oh, ’e’s always grizzling at me like ’e likes me; but – but I’d be ’ard put before I wed that loon!’
Dwight smiled. ‘Well, Katie, you are a free woman and I am no matchmaker. It occurred to me that it would be better if your child had a foster father. Sometimes—’
‘Oh yes, Surgeon, I’m sure you be right. But, begging your pardon, not a father all the village would snigger at.’
III
The weather at last abating, Stephen decided to take the Adolphus across himself on the Sunday. He did not invite Clowance to go with him.
‘Ye don’t mind, dear heart? It takes a time to get over the shock, to feel things are mebbe going to come right after all. It’s like when your leg goes to sleep, the pain begins when the circulation comes back.’
‘How long will you be away?’
‘I’ll be back so quick as I can. But the weather’s wayward. While I’m away I want to think things out.’
‘What things?’
‘How I shall live my life with George Warleggan breathing over my shoulder. Oh, I know he always has been after a fashion, ever since I went to his bank; but I conjected it was a friendly breathing, if you follow me. Now I don’t know what it is. I feel I’m living – we’re both living – on the end of a lifeline, and who knows when he’s going to take out his scissors and cut it?’
‘He may have done what he did just to shock you, Stephen. So long as you keep to the agreement you’ve signed there’ll be no more trouble.’
‘Mebbe yes. And mebbe no. I haven’t seen him since he changed his mind. I don’t know what he’s going to look like. I only know he looked very nasty when I was told they were going to bankrupt me. Harriet may have persuaded him to change his mind, but what’s to stop him changing it back? The sooner I’m out of his reach, the happier I shall be.’
‘But how can you be?’
‘Not yet. Not this year. But if I can’t get out of his hands it will not be for want of trying.’
Stephen was filling his pipe. He looked a big formidable young man, capable in his own mind of taking on the world.
He said suddenly: ‘The Chasse Marée is due any day. You know I got an offer for her? Well, I shall still sell her; concentrate on the other two. With the money I get from that . . .’ He hesitated.
She said: ‘What?’
‘I have not decided. But ’tis not going into Warleggan’s Bank, that’s for sure. Nor is the money from Wheal Leisure. Don’t worry, I’ll keep to the contract, see Warleggan’s are just satisfied. But if I sell Chasse Marée I shall have money in hand. Out in the Channel I’ll have time to think what to do.’
You have some ideas?’
‘Yes, I have. But I’d better prefer not to say what they are.’
‘Until they’re decided?’ she asked stonily.
‘Until they’re firmer. I can’t be sure yet. Don’t worry, I’ll talk with you then.’ He put his arm round her. ‘After all, ye’re my partner, are ye not?’
She said: ‘If you sell Chasse Marée Andrew will lose his ship.’
‘That has to be thought of too. I’ll try not to let him down. He can always sail wi’ me. Or mebbe take the Adolphus when I want to be home.’
‘You know he wants to get married?’
‘What, Andrew? No. Who to?’
‘Thomasine Trevethan. George Trevethan’s sister.’
‘My oh my. So that’s the way the wind’s setting. Well, good luck to him. Though I doubt he’ll be able to set up house with her on what I pay him.’
‘He knows that. Before this happened – before Sir George threatened to withdraw his credit – I was going to ask you if you could promote Andrew – somehow – so that he was in a better position to marry.’
‘Ah yes, well, we must think around it somehow, mustn’t we. If there’s some way I can work him into any scheme I launch, then be sure I’ll do it. We want to keep him happy, don’t we.’
IV
The Adolphus left at dawn on the Sunday, following, by a single tide, the West Indian fleet and all the other casual vessels which had been embayed by the relentless wind. Although little above a half-gale in Falmouth it had been more severe in other parts, and there had been wrecks up and down the coast. The sloop Dolphin foundered near Padstow, the Concord off Trevose Head, the Active, Captain Dodridge, on passage from Cork to London, was driven ashore at Hendrawna; he was drowned along with two of his crew, the other three were saved. The wrecking was done politely and the survivors well looked after. There was a great shoal of pilchards around the Cornish coast, brought in perhaps by the contrary weather. It was a bumper catch.
Clowance was worried about Andrew in the Chasse Marée.
On Tuesday Geoffrey Charles called.
Clowance was startled half out of her life to see him, for she had thought him still in Spain. He laughed at her.
‘I could not stay there with the wolf of Europe again at large! Why, if he were to win Flanders he might soon again establish a hegemony in Europe and be knocking at the gates of Madrid before we knew where we were! I have come to offer my solitary musket if the thinking in England is that we should try to stop him.’
They kissed, Clowance feeling the steel in the thin arms, observing at close quarters the tight mouth and the injured jaw.
‘And Amadora?’
‘Is at Trenwith.’
‘Trenwith! Why did I not know?’
‘We sailed from Ferrol, and should have put in at Falmouth, but the weather was so foul we had to make for Padstow. We have been home ten days. I
‘I’m afraid not.’
‘. . . And are you well, my dear? And where is your husband?’
‘At sea. What a pity that you have never met him. He will be very sorry. When do you sail?’
‘Alas, the 43rd are still in Canada – or somewhere at sea. If allowed I shall join the 95th Rifles, even if it means dropping a rank. They have just arrived in Southampton from America – or so they should be arriving by now, as they spoke a revenue cutter from St Ives. With them are regiments of the 27th and 58th, with three troops of light dragoons. I am being favoured with a lift in a fast sloop which should catch them there, or if not I’ll follow ’em to Ostend.’
Clowance had been told by her parents that Geoffrey Charles had been a spoilt child. It was difficult to believe that this hardened but gentle soldier had ever been pampered. How much she preferred him to his half-brother, the elegant but cynical Valentine.
‘What will Amadora do while you are away?’
‘Drake and Morwenna and Loveday have come and will stay until I return. Pray go over and see her.’
‘Of course! As soon as ever possible! For I long to meet Juana.’
‘You will greatly admire her. She is so much like her mother.’
She made him a cup of chocolate, and as the sloop was leaving tomorrow in the forenoon, she pressed him to lie here tonight. He said he had first to call on Aunt Verity, but if he could persuade her to let him go, he would return. They talked of the Blameys and how the younger Andrew was faring, then of Jeremy and Cuby, and she gave him Jeremy’s latest letter to read, and also her mother’s.
‘I will try to look him up as soon as I get to Flanders. I am not sure how difficult or how easy that may be. From what reports I have received there is great activity but also great confusion.’
‘Do you think there will be war – a battle of some sort?’
‘Oh yes.’ He spoke without hesitation.
After a moment Clowance said: ‘I shall be anxious. But many people think there may yet be a compromise peace. Even Jeremy in his letter, you see.’
Geoffrey Charles shook his head. ‘Bonaparte says he wants only to live in peace with his neighbours; Wellington says there will be an agreed formula without conflict; but in fact they are both preparing furiously for war. Wellington, from what I hear, has such a makeshift army, and Bonaparte is likely to be so concerned to consolidate his rear, that they may hesitate and crawl around each other for a month or two yet; but a trial of strength is inevitable. And when it comes it will be the irresistible force against the immovable object.’