The bidding began at five guineas, rose quickly to fifteen, and there stuck.
‘Now, gents,’ said the auctioneer, ‘this bain’t good ’nough. Can we say seventeen? Will anyone give me seventeen?’
Ross raised his glove.
‘Seventeen I’m bid, seventeen I’m bid, seventeen. Can I say twenty? Twenty I’m bid. Only twenty for this fine strong animal. Look at his fetlock joints. Look at his pasterns! Can I say twenty-two? Can I say—’
Ross raised his glove.
‘Twenty-two. Thank you, sir. Twenty-two. Twenty-five. Can I say, twenty-seven? Twenty-seven. Can I say – thirty it is. Thirty. Thirty. Thirty-two. Thirty-two. Thirty-five. Thirty-five. Forty. Forty-five, can I say forty-five? Thank you. Forty-five it is. Can I say fifty?’
Ross peered across the ring to see who it was bidding against him. There was no one. It was someone almost behind him, just to his right. He turned his head. George Warleggan.
Beside him was a tall, very dark young woman. Major Trevanion was with them.
‘Against you, sir,’ said the auctioneer, pointing at Ross.
Ross raised his glove.
‘Fifty,’ said the auctioneer. ‘Thank you, sir. And may I say? . . . Fifty-five. And fifty-five. And fifty-five. And sixty. And sixty. And sixty-five. And seventy. Seventy. Against you again, sir. All finished?’ Ross raised his glove. ‘And seventy-five. Seventy-five. And eighty. And eighty-five. And eighty-five. And ninety. And ninety-five. And ninety-five. May I say a hundred, sir?’ Ross shook his head. ‘No, sir? All done at ninety-five? Ninety-five? Going at ninety-five.’ Bang went the hammer. ‘To you, sir. To you, Sir George,’ the auctioneer added with an obsequious smile, and the clerk left his side to make for the Warleggans, while the stable boy began to lead Bargrave away.
‘No,’ said George, shaking his head, ‘the horse is not mine. The other man’s was the last bid.’
A look of anxiety came upon the auctioneer’s face. ‘Sir?’
George repeated what he had said. The auctioneer looked at Ross. Ross shook his head in turn.
‘My last bid was ninety.’
‘No,’ said George. ‘My last bid was ninety. The horse is yours.’
The auctioneer came down from his rostrum and then, aware that by so doing he lost authority, climbed it again.
‘Sir George, I was certainly of the opinion. I was watching careful. You was both close together, I know; but . . .’ He consulted his clerk. ‘Mr Holmes here say the same, begging your pardon, of course . . .’
‘I was the underbidder,’ said George. ‘The horse has been bought by Captain Poldark.’
‘Nay,’ said a snarling voice behind them all. ‘I seen Les Downs a-looking straight at ee, Sir George, when the last bid was given – I seen it wi’ me own eyes!’
Old Tholly Tregirls, his ravaged, mischievously evil face serious for once, his hook high in the air to catch attention.
‘Well,’ said George, ‘if I am to be subjected to the accusations of one of Captain Poldark’s creatures . . .’
Ross said: ‘Tregirls is not one of my creatures, and I did not know he was even at the races. Indeed, I’d be grateful if he did not intrude in matters which did not concern him. What’s amiss, George, do you feel you have bid more for this horse than you can afford? If so, pray allow me to take it off your hands . . .’
‘Indeed you may,’ said George, flushing, ‘as indeed you must, since it has in the first place been bought by you—’
The woman at his side moved. ‘Captain Poldark.’
Ross turned unfriendly eyes on her.
‘You are Captain Poldark?’
‘Yes.’
‘I am Harriet Warleggan.’
Ross bowed. They looked at each other.
‘My husband was buying the horse for me, Captain Poldark, and I should consider it a little ungentlemanly in you to insist on taking him away from me, when I had hoped to be able to ride him tomorrow. This without regard to the matter of who made the last bid.’
There was a momentary pause. People were watching, gaping.
Ross said: ‘I would never stand in the way of a lady. Pray consider the horse yours.’
‘Thank you, Captain Poldark. George, I think we need not pursue this argument further. We have Bargrave, and I am happy.’ She said to the auctioneer with quiet arrogance: ‘We shall take the horse at ninety-five guineas. Please continue.’
George did not look at Ross. Pink spots remained in his cheeks. He tapped the ground with his cane. Harriet took his arm and steered him towards the enclosure. As Major Trevanion was moving to follow them he caught Ross’s eye. They did not even nod to each other.
The auction went on but Ross did not bid again.
After a couple of minutes the hoarse voice of Tholly Tregirls broke through a sputtering cough to say: ‘You was well out o’ that, young Cap’n.’
‘Tholly,’ said Ross, ‘I have no doubt you have my interests at heart, but when I need your help I’ll ask for it. Until then champion whom you may, but not me.’
‘Just as you say, young Cap’n. Just as you say. There was a time when you needed my ’elp, eh, and was not above taking it, eh? Not above taking it. Now if you want a bit of good ’orseflesh . . .’
‘I don’t, Tholly,’ Ross said. ‘Not the kind you can sell me.’
Tholly convulsed himself with another cough.
‘All the same, you was well out o’ that. Horse wasn’t worth more’n forty guineas of anyone’s money.’
Ross said: ‘I know that.’
II
Stephen and Clowance had witnessed the argument from the other side of the ring.
‘So that’s Sir George Warleggan,’ said Stephen. ‘Reckon I shall know him again.’
‘And his new wife. I met her last year.’
‘Handsome woman. I reckon he’ll have his work cut out bridling her.’
‘Do you have to think of women as horses? Could you not perhaps turn me into a ship for a change?’
He squeezed her arm. ‘Yes, we could talk about luffing.’
‘Oh, what a horrid pun!’
‘Serious though, I’d hardly suppose the horse was worth so much.’
Clowance said: ‘The old rivalry dieth not.’
‘What?’
‘No matter. Have we lost any money today?’
‘Three on the first race, five on the second; but we’ve made it up since then. Reckon we’re about two guineas up.’
‘Good.’
They turned away and a voice said: ‘Clowance? It is Clowance? Yes, for sure it is. By the Lord, now, just imagine it!’
It was the young sailor whom Clowance had seen earlier in the company of Valentine.
He said: ‘It is more than two years, and for a moment I could not be sure. How are you, Cousin?’
‘Andrew! I saw you earlier in the day but thought I must be mistaken.’
‘I should be in the Bay by now, but was held up a couple of days, so came here with Valentine Warleggan and Antony Trefusis and Ben Sampson and Percy Hill. How are you? How you’ve grown up!’
Clowance laughed. ‘Oh, you have not met Stephen Carrington whom I am engaged to marry! Stephen, this is my cousin, Andrew Blamey, who lives in Flushing but is more often at sea!’
The two young men shook hands. Andrew was stocky built and sandy, with tight curly hair and thick eyebrows, and sidewhiskers which made him look a good deal older than his years. He was wearing the smart blue and gold uniform of a junior officer in His Majesty’s Packet Service. Stephen, at once interested in anything to do with the sea, began to question him about the service, and Andrew was ready enough to explain; but after he had been speaking a few moments a look of frowning puzzlement came to his face, and he broke off what he was saying.
‘But, Mr Carrington, haven’t we met before?’
‘Met?’ Stephen stared. ‘Nay, I have no recollection.’
‘Surely . . . Let me see. Surely it was you.’
‘I don’t
know what you’re driving at. Though—’
‘Four or five months ago. April, it was. In Plymouth. In the Ring o’ Bells in Plymouth Dock. Don’t you remember? You bought me a mug of ale. You were in fine fettle that night, offering drinks to strangers . . . That was before the press gang broke in . . .’
There was silence between them. ‘What am I bid?’ came the auctioneer’s voice. ‘Eighteen guineas, eighteen guineas. Eighteen – has everybody done now? Going, going.’ Bang. ‘Sold to the gent in the blue coat.’
‘Ye’ve made a mistake, Mr Andrew Blamey,’ Stephen said shortly. ‘I never was in Plymouth in all me life.’
Andrew went red.
‘You – were never in Plymouth?’
‘No. Nor in this – what is it? – Ring o’ Bells. Did ye suppose I wouldn’t’ve remembered you?’
‘Well . . . well, I’ll be damned! Sorry, Cousin Clowance. And sorry to you, Mr Carrington. If it was not you it was your spitting living image! You were with a pale-faced dark fellow, who had a girl with him, and you led the singing. Or at least – crave your pardon – if twas not you then this fellow who was the spitting living image led the singing . . . Well, I have never been so confounded in my life by a similarity! Though I grant this fellow was none too well dressed and his hair was longer and – and of course he had been merrying himself with the drink – as of course so had I! . . .’
‘Perhaps that helps to explain the mistake,’ Stephen said more genially. ‘I was never out of Cornwall all through April, was I, Clowance?’
After a moment Andrew said: ‘Well, I suppose it’s natural it should not have been you, engaged as you are to my cousin – though damn it, the uncanny resemblance still disturbs! I will tell you, Cousin, it was not at all a pretty night, that night, in the end. It was the merest chance I was there myself, the Countess of Leicester having been ordered direct to Plymouth with the Governor of Gibraltar aboard. Having disembarked him, we were setting sail for Falmouth by first light on the morrow, but, belay me, after a few days at sea I never can resist testing my land legs and my thirst at the same time! I was with Lieutenant Peter Dillon and we turned in at the Ring o’ Bells because we heard the singing . . . “A leaky ship with her anchor down, Hurrah, me boys, Hurrah!” They were all singing fit to raise the beams, and this big fair-haired feller was standing on a stool leading it all! . . . However—’
‘Why did the Governor not come back on a naval vessel?’ Stephen tried to interrupt this flow.
‘Eh? What? Oh, he had heard that his son was ill, and we were leaving that morning and have the legs of most things . . . I tell you, Cousin, the singing was at its height when in burst a company from the Navy intent on pressing any able-bodied men they could find. Dillon and I, of course, were safe enough in our uniform, but this blond fellow and the dark thin one with him were not, and were being lined up with others for inspection when they made a dash for it, and in a moment all was pandemonium! Hang me if they didn’t get away, leaving one of the sailors dying of stab wounds on the floor!’ Andrew coughed behind his hand and looked apologetically at Stephen. ‘Beg your pardon again, Mr Carrington, when I recognized you – thought I recognized you – I’d scarce remembered where the story was leading, so to say. You do right to be indignant at such a mistake, for it is generally acknowledged that it was the blond man who did the stabbing. Clowance, will you ever speak to me again? To think I confused your betrothed with someone who, whatever the justification, was really a common murderer! . . . When is the wedding to be?’
‘What happened to the girl?’ asked Clowance.
‘What girl?’
‘The one that was with – those two young men.’
‘Oh, stap me, I have no idea. I expect she looked after herself. She looked the type who could do . . . The wedding?’
‘Oh . . . the twenty-fourth of October.’
‘So soon! Alas, I shall be at sea.’ There was an awkward pause, during which they all carefully watched the auction of a fine farm horse. ‘Hr-mm! You were asking me about the packet service, Carrington.’
‘Was I? Oh yes. About the discipline.’
‘It is a good life. Discipline, like the uniform, is seminaval, but of course none of this flogging nonsense. We’ve – what? – thirty-four, thirty-five vessels in service at present. We carry mail, passengers, goods to and from Lisbon, Corunna – only restarted this month, I may say – Gibraltar, Carolina, the West Indies, the Brazils, and New York till the Yankees declared war on us.’
‘What size are your vessels?’
‘One hundred and sixty tons to about two hundred and thirty tons burthen; crews of thirty-odd, all picked men; mostly three-masted full-rigged ships, and armed to defend themselves. Some of the packets are owned by groups of shareholders, some solely by the captain himself. They are hired by the Post Office at around eighteen hundred pounds per annum per ship.’
‘And risk of capture?’
‘Eh? Oh well, there’s some risk of that, that’s for sure. There’s always the French. And now the American privateers, larger vessels, heavier manned and gunned. But we’re pretty fleet, y’know. It takes a fast vessel to catch us.’
Conversation went on, but it was not quite easy, and Andrew took the first opportunity to escape.
‘Well . . . there’s Valentine, I see. And Ben. I lost a pony on Valentine’s horse today. Thought he would romp home. Only faded in the last furlong. Still . . . I’ve just bought some tickets in Swift’s Lottery. Maybe I’ll furnish myself with a prize. Surely I need it! First two prizes are for twenty thousand pounds. Just think on it.’
‘I’m thinking,’ said Stephen.
‘Well . . . I wish you all happiness, Cousin. Wish you both all happiness, and greatly regret I shall not be there to toast your health on the day! Though now maybe I should not have been invited even if I were ashore, seeing the insult my mistake has been to you . . .’
‘Of course ye would,’ said Stephen soothingly. ‘Except that we plan a quiet wedding. I do not know what Mrs Poldark’s plans exactly are, but if twere me own choice I should just have the ceremony over as quick as you like. I am from Bristol, ye know, and have few friends and relatives in the district, so whoever is invited to the church will be Clowance’s side of the family. Isn’t that so, me dear?’
‘Yes,’ said Clowance.
III
‘George,’ Harriet said, ‘you must not sulk.’
Her husband glanced angrily at her and then away. His expression did not change.
‘Sulkiness’, said Harriet, ‘is not becoming in a man of elegance and distinction. You should not suffer it to become so noticeable.’
‘I suppose you realize,’ he said, ‘that you have made a fool of yourself. And me into the bargain!’
‘Bargain?’ she said and laughed in her throat. ‘Certainly it was no bargain. But a few guineas is not the greatest disaster that can befall. A greater one is to have a disputation at the ringside like a farrier arguing the price of a shoe.’
He flushed now. He would never have stood such insults from Elizabeth, but this woman seemed unaware of the liberties she was taking. The most heinous offence of all was to compare him with a blacksmith, since his grandfather had been one; but either she had forgotten or did not care a damn.
George’s life had been turned upside down since he married Harriet Carter. Although she had consented to become his wife, she seemed to lead a life both at Cardew and in Truro totally independent of his own. Even the social fact that she was Lady Harriet Warleggan and not just Lady Warleggan seemed to be a factor in establishing her separateness. She gave orders to the servants without consulting him. Of course Elizabeth had directed his house efficiently enough but in a gently firm way that was hardly perceptible; Harriet took major decisions, such as ordering a new carriage, such as discharging his cook, such as commanding his lake to be re-stocked with trout. And all with his money. She had brought little or nothing to him but a few pieces of good furniture, a few debts, a fair arra
y of family jewellery, and a collection of damned animals.
These last were perhaps the greatest cross he had to bear. If she was extravagant with money he could swallow his chagrin and determine to make more. If she took too much on herself he generally if grudgingly admitted that she had effected an improvement. If she took liberties in her manner of talking to him sometimes, he had to remind himself that she was after all the sister of a duke. But the animals! His expectation before their marriage that the two boarhounds could be confined to the kitchens was quite disappointed in the outcome. They roamed everywhere, delicate, he had to admit, inside the house – except when one got a bee in his ear and upturned him – but frightening to the servants, demanding of the best places by the fires and capable of disgusting slobbering noises when they felt so disposed. There were few opinions George would have admitted to having in common with Jud Paynter; but they strongly shared the view that dogs were totally unnecessary and not infrequently obscene.
Still worse was the horrible little galago, which slept all day and only woke as dark fell; and climbed and swung and looked like a monkey – a very frightened, inquisitive, nervous monkey – discovered sometimes in Harriet’s bedroom when George had other ideas, liable to startle one by being itself surprised in some extremely unlikely corner. Yet, in spite of its nervousness, George at times detected impudence in its saucer eyes. Sometimes when he shouted at it – when Harriet wasn’t there – it would slide down the curtain as down a greasy pole and stare up at him as if to say, ‘Lay a finger on me if you can.’ Which he never could, for it was off like a flying squirrel swinging from chair to chair or scuttering behind a sideboard and instantly out of reach again.