As the summer wore on the endless quarrelling over the Queen's position and her trial for adultery had gradually ceased to engage the public, and even the government and its opposition began to find it boring. As countless Italian witnesses to her immorality and licentiousness were brought over, the general consensus come to was that she was really no more worthy of admiration than the King. During one of the long sessions in Westminster Hall even the Queen herself was seen to doze, giving rise to Lord Holland's quip that while in her exile she slept with couriers, now she was in England she slept with the Peers. Indeed, as October came, it was remarked that there was a slight swing back of public opinion in George IV's favour. Isabella-Rose, accompanied by both her father and her mother, arrived early in the month and found London a reassuringly peaceable place after the riots and upheavals of the previous year. There seemed to be not only an exhaustion of mob violence but an upturn in general trade. Not only were the nobility and the middle classes growing richer, but the working class and the poor were discovering easier times. More work was available and the price of labour was rising. An attempt in Manchester to organize a great rally to commemorate the Peterloo massacre had fizzled out because most of the operatives were at work. They did not stay with Mrs Pelham, though the rift between her and Bella was quickly resolved and Aunt Sarah was soon engaged in offering her advice as to which specialists to see. Dr Fredericks was no medical practitioner, but he expressed himself mystified by the failure of his former pupil's vocal cords. He speculated that undue pressure on a young voice might result in temporary failure. (This was clearly intended as a snipe at Maurice Valery and Bella's wilful and wanton incursion into the modern operatic world.) Of course, he said, many pupils went through periods of anxiety because of coughs, colds, catarrh, sore throats. They were the common bugbears of the profession, and he could see no reason why Bella should not regain her normal register in six or nine months. He had naturally several specifics in the form of lozenges and tinctures which he could recommend, and Demelza came away carrying two bottles and a cardboard box. Dr Amos Jennings -- a medical doctor this time and a throat specialist -- made a more professional and, needless to say, painful examination and declared he could detect one or two scars left on her larynx by the 'white throat'
disease. He explained the morbid nature of the complaint, this being characterized by the formation of a false membrane, yellow or greyish in colour, which spread in patches on an ulcerated base in the pharynx or gullet and often extended into the oesophagus. This, when the disease was on the wane, gradually peeled off and disintegrated, but sometimes left behind minute fragments of scar tissue. This was what Miss Poldark was at present suffering from. Regular gargling and washing out the throat with salt water should improve the condition, together with the pills and the throat wash he would prescribe. (These pills made Bella vomit, and the throat wash looked and smelt suspiciously like the Melrose water Dwight had prescribed at the outset.) Dr Ernest Faber, who had inherited some of Dr Fordyce's practice and had continued his extensive researches into the causes of fevers, detected some muscular failure and was of the opinion that the throat was still infected and might remain chronically so unless heroic treatment were applied. He prescribed aquafortis, to be taken internally three times a day, and a stronger solution of nitric acid to be used twice a day to gargle and wash the throat, in fact to
'bum' out the infection. They were staying at Ross's old lodgings in George Street in the Adelphi, and each evening Christopher would come to glean the results of their consultations. It was a somewhat gloomy household, for Bella was feeling sick as a result of the medicines she was taking. On the third evening Ross went out to pay an arranged call on George Canning. This was the first time the two old friends had met since Canning had lost his eldest son of some wasting disease. It was pleasant to exchange news, and Canning was quick to congratulate Ross on his daughter's marriage to Edward Fitzmaurice. George Canning had never been on the friendly terms that Ross had been with Henry Lansdowne, but he admired the family's integrity and intellect while deploring their Whiggish tendencies. Canning himself was on the point of resigning from the government, and was in as low a spirit as Ross had ever seen him. In earlier days Canning had been friendly with Queen Caroline, so that in the controversy over her vulgar return he had felt it a measure of his loyalty to support her as best he could. That had alienated him completely from King, who persisted in believing that soon after Caroline became the Queen she also became Canning's mistress. Now in the latest turn Caroline was being tried for her alleged adultery with her Italian companion Bartolomeo Bergami.
Canning was very uncertain as to his future, but would shortly go to Paris to rejoin his wife and daughter, and thought he would not return unless a Catholic Emancipation Bill should be brought forward in the New Year, in which case he would come over to speak in its favour. They parted as firmly friendly as ever, but Ross felt a sense of disappointment that this immensely gifted man should seem to be moving into a dead end. Long ago he should have been Prime Minister. Unknown to Ross, while he pondered the misfortunes of his distinguished friend, a little drama was playing itself out in George Street. Demelza and Bella had just finished their supper and been joined by Christopher, who listened to the news of their visit to Dr Ernest Faber. They were both uncertain about his prescription of 'an heroic treatment' for the voice, and Christopher was indignant.
'It is as true of voice specialists as a friend of mine said it was over rheumatism: you choose your treatment and then go to the doctor who prescribes it. Every medic has a cure, nobody agrees what it is.'
'I should prefer rheumatism,' said Bella.
'Oh, there are heroic treatments for that too,' said Christopher, 'such as jumping from a bath of hot water into one of cold, and then back again, six times. I'm sure you will disregard Dr Faber. I can think of nothing more likely to irritate the throat than nitric acid.'
'I told Mrs Parkins when we came in,' said Demelza,
'and she said she had had an actress staying here last year and she used some such acid.'
'And did she survive?'
'I suppose so. But I have already advised Bella not to touch the stuff. I'd sooner consult Meggy Dawes.'
'I've smelt it,' said Bella. 'It could be worse.'
There was a tap at the door. Demelza was nearest and opened it. Mrs Parkins said: 'Excuse me, m'lady, but there be a young man to see Miss Isabella.'
Something conspiratorial about her: Demelza went out into the passage. Three steps lower down was Maurice Valery.
'Lady Poldark,' he said, advancing and bending to kiss her hand. She put her other hand to her own lips. 'Monsieur Valery. Quiet, please. It - it is not convenient--'
'I have come to see Bella. I only heard yesterday that she was in London.'
'Monsieur, unfortunately it is not convenient--'
'Why? Is she not well enough? She wrote me saying she was much better.'
'Yes, she is much better. But Lieutenant Havergal has just come to see her.'
That stopped him in his tracks. 'That is unfortunate. I have been travelling all day, and I must return tomorrow. Her voice - she said it was still troubling her?'
'It is.'
'I went first to Madame Pelham's thinking you would be staying there. I must see her--'
The door opened behind Demelza and Bella looked out.
'Maurice!' she breathed. 'Oh, my God!' She hesitated. Then: 'Pray come in.' It was a pleasant living room, the one where Demelza specially remembered she had rebuffed Mark Adderley and where she had nursed Ross with the pistol wound in his arm. A long mirror doubled the image of Christopher Havergal looking towards them as they came in.
'Christopher,' she said, determined to head off a first explosion, 'you will know Maurice Valery. He has just arrived from France and called to see how Bella is.'
Christopher's face was white and taut. 'Then he will not need me to greet him. If you will give me leave, I shall go now and call some other time when Valery has returned whence he came.'
Bella put her hand up. 'No. You must stay, Christopher. It would upset me greatly if you were to go now. I have been ill and claim that right. Maurice, pray sit down. Have you had anything to eat? To come so far, so quickly. To es gentil.'
The two men glanced at each other, then away.
'Jodie I met last afternoon and she said she heard you were come to London to see specialists. I - I broke off as quickly as I could. I am - so glad to see you. You are looking paler, but very well. The high notes, they have not yet come?'
Bella told him of her experiences so far, the conflicting advice, the disagreeable lotions. Conversation became haltingly more general, tried to become normal, wandered to accounts of Clowance's wedding. Maurice had met Edward Fitzmaurice once. He said he knew of a Madame Kaletski, who was renowned for her experience with the troubles of opera singers. If the advice Bella received in London was of no avail, she must come to Paris to see her. Apparently she had studied under M. Mesmer, and sought to discover the causes of impediments and how to overcome them. Christopher said: 'She caught this filthy disease in Rouen. Had she not gone, there would have been no trouble with her voice at all!'
'Christopher!' Bella said. 'That may be true. No one knows. But it's a disease which is widespread. I might have caught it in London. My mother, years ago, caught it in Cornwall. You mustn't blame anyone for it.'
'He blames me,' Maurice said, 'because I invited you to come over. Bella, it would tear my heart out if I thought I had destroyed your life - your singing life. You know what I think of your voice. You know what I think of you!'
'I think in a little while you should both go,' Demelza said. 'Bella is in full health now, but if you both care for her you should not quarrel in front of her. You should not quarrel at all.'
There was a taut silence. Then Bella said: 'Tell me, Maurice, about your own career. Have all my friends in Rouen dispersed? What are you planning to put on now?'
It was a fine night, and Ross walked home from the Commons.
He gave a penny each to three beggars who crouched at the corner of George Street and the Strand as he turned down. A half moon gave some shadows to the night, and a knife-grinder still plied his trade by the light of a candlelit window.
Lower down there was a scuffling, a grunting and shrill laughter as two cloth-capped women, arms folded, were urging two heaving figures to go ahead and split each other's guts. Just enough light for Ross to recognize the figures.
'Havergal! For God's sake! And Valery! What in Hell are you about. . . ? What on earth's got into you both? . . . Have you been calling?'
Maurice was the first to withdraw, trying to pull his cravat straight. Christopher took a pace to follow him, but Ross barred his way.
'Stop it, I say!' To the two women who were picking their noses and grinning: 'Go on. Off with you! It's all over now. Off you go or I'll call the watch!'
Hissing and spitting at him, they edged further away, then flounced their hips and moved up the street, talking coarsely and loud enough to be overheard.
'This - man - has insulted me,' Maurice said, gathering his breath as he spoke.
'No more than you deserved! Little Frog!'
'Sale Anglais! I shall have satisfaction for that!'
'Damned sure you will.' Christopher fingered the bruise on his cheek. 'Sorry, Poldark, this is no business of yours. You just walked in at the wrong moment.'
'I think,' said Ross, 'if you were visiting my daughter, it is very much my business. Kindly explain yourselves.'
They interrupted each other to tell of the coincidence of their joint call, the bickering argument that had gone on in the house; then Lady Poldark had asked Christopher to go, and had retained Maurice for twenty minutes more so that they should not meet outside. But Christopher, fuming, had waited.
'It is now, what, about ten o'clock, is it not so?' Maurice said. 'It will be light at five. I shall be put to it to find seconds, but Hyde Park is not far away. No doubt suitable gentlemen will be found to arrange the contest.'
'I can find two for you,' said Christopher contemptuously.
'At my club. You need not bother about that!'
'Listen to me,' Ross said, his heavier voice having its way.
'There will be no duelling in this matter. It is not to be considered.'
'Bid me leave to contradict--'
'Listen,' said Ross. 'Duelling is a criminal offence in this country. You are not in France, Maurice. And Christopher, shame on you! An ex-soldier allowing yourself to meet a civilian--'
'Oh,' said Maurice. 'I know how to use a pistol! Never fear for me. I have had other duels! This outrage must be expiated!'
'I'll shoot with my left hand,' volunteered Christopher.
'Anything for the fun of meeting this creature.'
'You see?' Maurice stood up to Ross. 'You see it must be.'
'I see nothing of the sort! Look . . . there is a tavern by the ferry. Let us go down and settle this over a drink.'
'No,' said Maurice. 'It cannot be laughed away.'
Ross tried to keep cool. 'Let me tell you something. I once fought a duel in Hyde Park. I killed another man. Killing a man in a duel is not like killing a man in a battle. War, in some circumstances, is necessary, killing is a part of war. Duelling, beside that, is evil. It is a form of murder. What do you think Bella would say if she knew?'
'She need not ever know,' said Christopher.
'She would, for I would tell her.'
Maurice spat on the cobbles. 'Ha! What a gentleman!'
'Pray do not insult me. I would not wish to kill a possible son-in-law.'
The knife-grinder's wheel screeched, and sparks flew off the knife he was sharpening. Ross said, as if thinking out loud: 'So you two gentlemen have been to see my daughter. I presume you both made her proposals of marriage?' Christopher flexed his right hand as if it was suffering from cramp.