Read Online The Loving Cup by Winston Graham - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Winston Graham
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were supping with us, and someone came from Place House asking for Dwight. We must be careful not to allow this to become a habit.'
'Do you see much of them - socially, I mean ?' Ross asked.
'Our girls are too young for theirs; and I confess he rather gives me the creeps. She's well enough - if she would only stop worrying as to whether she ought to be condescending or be condescended to.'
Dwight said: 'I have visited him monthly since last year. They live in a social strait-jacket. And not only social. It is a queer household.'
'Did you hear about Jeremy?' Demelza asked. 'Mrs Pope fell off her horse, and Jeremy found her and helped her home.'
'When was this?'
'Only last week. She sent him a silver stock-pin. Jeremy is quite taken with it.'
'He might well have been taken with her too,' said Ross. He added: 'Do you know anything more of the mine Unwin is supposed to be opening on Mr Pope's doorstep ?'
'I believe it is hanging fire,' Dwight said. 'Isn't that so, Caroline? You heard something from Harriet Warleggan.'
Caroline yawned. 'A story that it was to be delayed. To do with copper prices. Chenhails of course is the moving figure. But Unwin has certainly not been down of late.'
Dwight got up, patted Ross on the shoulder, kissed Demelza on the cheek, put fingers over his wife's long fingers. 'Well, I suppose we must not keep the old gentleman waiting. Last time, my dear, I think you offered me a brandy before I left.' 'What a memory,'said Caroline. .
II
Place House was square and solid, put up about a hundred years ago by masons who had used local stone and had no time for fripperies; but the second owner, having been to London and seen the work of Inigo Jones, had added a Palladian front to give a touch of elegance and distinction. In essence it was a roomy, but in its exposed position a draughty, house, built of elvan and heavy slate; the elegance had never quite come off; the pillars had stood the weather less well than the rest of the stone. There was no garden at the front to speak of: just a terrace with a balustrade looking down the combe towards the sea. '
When Dwight arrived the interior seemed to be fluttering with newly-lighted candles. Katie Carter let him in. Her manner was as agitated as the candles, her hair untidy, spraying out tonight from under her cap like seaweed. Almost as she let him in she began to explain breathlessly that she had been the first to answer Mrs Pope's urgent call and had run up the stairs and found her trying to bring the Master round. Nowadays, Katie said, he had a light supper in bed; so he must have been took queer soon after eating it and wandered out upon the landing and fallen down in the open door of one of the other bedrooms, where the Mistress had found him. She, Katie, and the Mistress had managed to carry him back to his own room and lift him onto the bed.
It was not usual or proper for a parlourmaid to say so much to a surgeon in a hoarse whisper as she led him up the fine polished staircase, spilling commas of candlegrease as she went, but Ben Carter's sister was one of the village family and took such liberties without knowing she was taking them. Taller than Ben and just as dark in that Cornish way which had given rise mistakenly to stories of shipwrecked sailors from the Armada - though not perhaps mistakenly to a later dash of Spanish blood - she was as unlike Ben in most ways as she could be. She was altogether a big girl, clumsy, nervous, and her nervousness made her morose. Her feet were too big, and she often seemed to fall over them. Yet taken in hand, Dwight thought, she need not have been ill looking: she had escaped the pox, her skin was clear; her eyes, under lashes so black they might have been kohled, were large and full.
Mrs Pope was waiting for him at the door of the bedroom; they shook hands gravely and he went to the patient. At first Dwight thought he was dead. His face was the colour of the sheet, his body was cold and there was no
'Do you see much of them - socially, I mean ?' Ross asked.
'Our girls are too young for theirs; and I confess he rather gives me the creeps. She's well enough - if she would only stop worrying as to whether she ought to be condescending or be condescended to.'
Dwight said: 'I have visited him monthly since last year. They live in a social strait-jacket. And not only social. It is a queer household.'
'Did you hear about Jeremy?' Demelza asked. 'Mrs Pope fell off her horse, and Jeremy found her and helped her home.'
'When was this?'
'Only last week. She sent him a silver stock-pin. Jeremy is quite taken with it.'
'He might well have been taken with her too,' said Ross. He added: 'Do you know anything more of the mine Unwin is supposed to be opening on Mr Pope's doorstep ?'
'I believe it is hanging fire,' Dwight said. 'Isn't that so, Caroline? You heard something from Harriet Warleggan.'
Caroline yawned. 'A story that it was to be delayed. To do with copper prices. Chenhails of course is the moving figure. But Unwin has certainly not been down of late.'
Dwight got up, patted Ross on the shoulder, kissed Demelza on the cheek, put fingers over his wife's long fingers. 'Well, I suppose we must not keep the old gentleman waiting. Last time, my dear, I think you offered me a brandy before I left.' 'What a memory,'said Caroline. .
II
Place House was square and solid, put up about a hundred years ago by masons who had used local stone and had no time for fripperies; but the second owner, having been to London and seen the work of Inigo Jones, had added a Palladian front to give a touch of elegance and distinction. In essence it was a roomy, but in its exposed position a draughty, house, built of elvan and heavy slate; the elegance had never quite come off; the pillars had stood the weather less well than the rest of the stone. There was no garden at the front to speak of: just a terrace with a balustrade looking down the combe towards the sea. '
When Dwight arrived the interior seemed to be fluttering with newly-lighted candles. Katie Carter let him in. Her manner was as agitated as the candles, her hair untidy, spraying out tonight from under her cap like seaweed. Almost as she let him in she began to explain breathlessly that she had been the first to answer Mrs Pope's urgent call and had run up the stairs and found her trying to bring the Master round. Nowadays, Katie said, he had a light supper in bed; so he must have been took queer soon after eating it and wandered out upon the landing and fallen down in the open door of one of the other bedrooms, where the Mistress had found him. She, Katie, and the Mistress had managed to carry him back to his own room and lift him onto the bed.
It was not usual or proper for a parlourmaid to say so much to a surgeon in a hoarse whisper as she led him up the fine polished staircase, spilling commas of candlegrease as she went, but Ben Carter's sister was one of the village family and took such liberties without knowing she was taking them. Taller than Ben and just as dark in that Cornish way which had given rise mistakenly to stories of shipwrecked sailors from the Armada - though not perhaps mistakenly to a later dash of Spanish blood - she was as unlike Ben in most ways as she could be. She was altogether a big girl, clumsy, nervous, and her nervousness made her morose. Her feet were too big, and she often seemed to fall over them. Yet taken in hand, Dwight thought, she need not have been ill looking: she had escaped the pox, her skin was clear; her eyes, under lashes so black they might have been kohled, were large and full.
Mrs Pope was waiting for him at the door of the bedroom; they shook hands gravely and he went to the patient. At first Dwight thought he was dead. His face was the colour of the sheet, his body was cold and there was no
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