The Twisted Sword (46 page)

Ross looked over towards the land. 'You see that sandhill? You remember how you and I and Jeremy and Clowance used to roll down it? It was a special treat when they were small.'

Too well,' said Demelza. 'It was a lovely time.'

'I cannot imagine myself rolling down it with Harry.'

'Don't worry. Noelle will.'

Ross looped over his rein. 'It is a strange feeling, but I do not think I shall ever know Harry the way I knew Jeremy. I am not likely to see so much of his life. The gap of the years between us ... Sometimes I feel like his grandfather!'

'That is nonsense.'

There wasn't another person to be seen; only the occasional congregation of gulls or sanderlings or plovers were disturbed by their approach, waddling out of their way, or flapping a lazy wing to increase the safe distance. Demelza said: 'I must send word to Clowance and Verity. I am sure they will be anxious to know.'

'I'm sure they will.'

'Ross, I have been wondering about Valentine and Selina in London.'

'What could you be wondering about them?'

'Whether they may see Tom Guildford.'

You mean? ... Oh my dear, it is too early to think of anything like that. ..'

'I do not think of anything like that. But Tom is a good kind friend of Clowance's. If he came down I am sure he would be good for Clowance, good for her spirits, good for her - her health generally. And do not forget, he is a lawyer. He could be a great business help to her too.'

Ross said: 'In that case perhaps we should send a note to Edward Fitzmaurice so the two gentlemen may start from scratch.'

'Ross, you are so vexatious! Why do I bear with you?'

'Well, you said she told you that if she ever married again it would not be for love, it would be for money or position. That would bring Edward strongly into the reckoning.'

'I do not know how you can be so cynical about your own daughter.'

'Is it cynical to face the facts? If Cuby is damaged, so in a similar but different way is Clowance. So we should do nothing, should we, and allow events to take their course?'

They were half-way along the beach by now, past the old Wheal Vlow adit. The Dark Cliffs at the end were coming into perspective; you could see the deep crevices in them, the isolated rocks. Demelza said: 'And for yourself, Ross. Are you content?'

He was some seconds answering, his face devoid of readable expression.

'What is content? Something more than resignation? I eat and sleep well. I take interest in my affairs. I am content, more than content, with my wife.'

'Thank you, Ross. I did not ask for a compliment.'

You did not get one. But - I have been home five months - you more. These have been months of grieving. But there is some slow adjustment. Do you not find it so?'

Yes. And when Mr Canning calls to see us - if he calls to see us - what shall be your answer?'

'My answer to what? He has put no question.'

'But he may do so. He is sure to try to persuade you back into public life.'

'Then I shall not go.'

'Really?'

'Really. I shall continue to look after my own property and my own still considerable family. And my wife, who is not quite considerable enough to please me.'

'Oh, I am putting on weight, little by little. I am having to let out again some of the skirts that I took in.'

'So you too are content?'

'Resigned? - that was the word you used. That is nearer. But you are right: in time it will move by little stages farther away from grief.'

'Perhaps even to happiness?'

'Ah that.. .'

'It is not in your nature, my dear, to be unhappy. You are in fine counterbalance with my natural mopishness.'

"Tis harder now,' Demelza said. They splashed through a pool of shallow water lying among corrugated ridges of sand.

'Old Tholly Tregirls,' Ross said. You know I went to see him just before he died? He said two things I have remembered. He quoted something my father said to him. My father said to him: "Tholly, the longer I live, the more certain sure I am that the Wise Men never came from the East."'

'I think he may be right.'

'But something Old Tholly said himself made the deepest impression. It was only in passing. He did not mean_it as a pronouncement. He said: "A man is better off to be a squire in Cornwall than to be a king in England."'

She looked across and he smiled back at her. He said:

'Perhaps I have not always appreciated my good fortune.'

IV

Towards the end of the beach they dismounted and climbed up to the wishing well. It was really just a small natural circular pool at the entrance to a cave, with water dripping in plops from the moss-grown roof. It was a place where long ago Drake and Morwenna had come with Geoffrey Charles and silently plighted their troth. Ross had no idea why Demelza wanted to go there today, picking her way up with greater agility than he could muster among the pools and the sea-weedy rocks. But he went along, content to humour her. When they got to the well they stood for a moment in silence. The cave was in semi-darkness, though the day was bright around the well. Demelza opened the canvas bag she carried, and took a small silver object out of it. It was the loving cup, bearing the Latin inscription, 'Amor gignit amoreni, 'Love creates love'. Ross said: 'Why have you brought that?'

'Cuby carried me a little note from Jeremy. It said--'

'You never told me--'

"Twas only a few words.'

'You never told me. He did mention - in Belgium he did mention something that he had written to you.'

"Twas only a note, Ross. It seems he had a sort of superstition about this cup. I cannot explain it any other way. I found it on the beach, you'll remember; it had been washed up by the sea. Jeremy thought it was an omen for him. If he came back from France he would take it as his own. If he did not I was to throw it back, give it back to the sea.'

Ross frowned. 'I don't understand. It was never his, was it? It doesn't make sense to me.'

'It is not easy to understand how he felt, Ross. But we talked about it once, when he was home last December. He didn't say as much then, but when Cuby came she brought this little note.'

'I'd like to see the note.'

'I have burned it, Ross.'

Ross thought this so outrageous a lie that he could not dispute it. Demelza destroying any letter of Jeremy's . . .

'And now what are you going to do with this cup?'

'Drop it down the well.'

'That is not the sea.'

'To me it is better than the sea. And the well is quite deep. No one will ever find it.'

'Is that important?'

'No. Oh no, not at all. But - this is a wishing well. I thought - I really thought it would be most fitty, most suitable.'

'Well, it perplexes me, but have it as you will. Perhaps you have some Celtic perceptions that I lack.'

'You are no less Cornish than I am, Ross.'

'Maybe not. But sophistication has bred it out of me. Or your old Meggy Dawes taught you things only witches should know.'

She smiled brilliantly at him, but there was no laughter in her eyes. She knelt on the stone beside the wall, rolled up her sleeve and put the cup slowly into the water. The cup filled, sent bubbles hurrying to the surface. She closed her eyes as if praying, opened her fingers. The cup sank out of sight. A few last bubbles rose and then it was gone. It was as if with this symbolic action the ironic tragedy of Jeremy's life and death, which even she could only partly perceive, had come full circle, had played itself out.

She remained kneeling for about a minute staring into the well. Then she got up, careful not to wipe her arm but to let the fresh water dry. When it had done so she pulled down her sleeve, buttoned it, and drew on her glove. Only then she looked up at her husband with eyes as dark as he had ever seen them.

'Dearest Ross, let us go home now. There is a baby to see to.'