were quite grown up.'
'Well, taste this tonight. I'm sure your father will not mind.'
'Bella Poldark,' said Ursula, 'is going to London to school.'
Harriet raised her eyebrows. 'Who told you that?'
'Erica.'
'Where is she going?' asked George after a moment.
'It is to be to a special school where she is to be taught singing.'
'That will cost them a pretty penny. Her father is still largely dependent on his mines.' George shrugged his shoulders as if his jacket were becoming uncomfortable.
'No doubt his other small investments pay their way.'
Chapter Eight
Ross was in the silversmith's in River Street when the bell jingled and Valentine came in, stooping, as Ross had stooped, to avoid the rafters.
'Why, Cousin,' Valentine said. 'Well met. What brings you here?'
'I might say the same. As we have agreed before, the point really is who gets the question in first.'
'Indeed you might. Afternoon, Penarth. I am after a bracelet to please a vain woman. I see you are among the candle snuffers, Ross.'
'As you say. This is a new kind of snuffer which does not let the dead wax fall on the table but stores it to be deposited later in the fire.'
'Excellent idea. Thank you, Penarth, I'll just look around your little shop.'
'Ais, sur.'
'I'll take three of these,' Ross said.
'It puzzles me,' Valentine said. Then are always finding some mechanical improvement to make life easier. But the) never find anything to improve themselves.'
Ross glanced at the fat young shopkeeper. 'Penarth, I believe, is of the Methodist persuasion. He might take a different view.'
Penarth grinned awkwardly. 'Tis not for me to differ from my betters, sur. Especial too when they are my customers.
d'think young Mr Warleggan was speakin' of more practical things.'
'Tact,' said Valentine. 'Tact is what I think you have. Tell me, is this bracelet good silver?'
'Oh ais, sur. You'll see the mark just near the clasp.'
Valentine dangled it in his fingers, holding it up. 'Does that please you, Cousin?'
'You are not buying it for me. You must consider the lady's tastes. Do you know them well?'
Valentine closed his eyes in thought. 'Not very well. She's my wife.'
Ross paid for his candle snuffers, and Penarth took them into the back of the shop to wrap them in tissue paper.
Ross said in a low voice. 'And how is George?'
'George?'
'Your son.'
'Oh. That George. Lusty and full of life.' Valentine's sallow face had coloured slightly.
'And Selina?'
'Dwight Enys is not well satisfied with her. D'ye know, Cousin, women are strange creatures after recently giving birth. Instead of being full of joy at having come to her time and produced a fine healthy baby, she is mopish, under-spirited, indolent, subject to tears. I think she needs rhubarb, but Dwight has other ideas.'
Penarth could be heard rustling paper in the back of the shop.
'A strange name to give your son, was it not?'
Valentine sucked the handle of his riding crop.
'It is a very common name. I gave scarcely a thought to my - er - ex-parent. I have seen neither sight nor sound of him since the almighty sparring that took place between us when I told him I was married to Selina. How many years ago is that? It seems half a century. I never think of him nowadays.'
Penarth came bustling back with his parcel, but seeing his important clients engaged in conversation, he went behind again and began to polish some candlesticks.
'In fact,' said Valentine, 'if I thought of anyone when I chose the name I thought of George Canning. He is one of your heroes, is he not?'
Ross said: 'Do you remember Aunt Mary Rogers? Pally Rogers's wife?'
Valentine stared. 'No.'
'No, I suppose you are too young. Aunt Mary was a fat, jolly woman who smelt strongly of camphor. She had one weakness, which was a high level of gullibility. She would believe almost anything you told her. So when I was young, if you were confronted with some obvious untruth, you would say: "Tell that to Aunt Mary."'
Valentine nodded. 'Just so.
'Well, taste this tonight. I'm sure your father will not mind.'
'Bella Poldark,' said Ursula, 'is going to London to school.'
Harriet raised her eyebrows. 'Who told you that?'
'Erica.'
'Where is she going?' asked George after a moment.
'It is to be to a special school where she is to be taught singing.'
'That will cost them a pretty penny. Her father is still largely dependent on his mines.' George shrugged his shoulders as if his jacket were becoming uncomfortable.
'No doubt his other small investments pay their way.'
Chapter Eight
Ross was in the silversmith's in River Street when the bell jingled and Valentine came in, stooping, as Ross had stooped, to avoid the rafters.
'Why, Cousin,' Valentine said. 'Well met. What brings you here?'
'I might say the same. As we have agreed before, the point really is who gets the question in first.'
'Indeed you might. Afternoon, Penarth. I am after a bracelet to please a vain woman. I see you are among the candle snuffers, Ross.'
'As you say. This is a new kind of snuffer which does not let the dead wax fall on the table but stores it to be deposited later in the fire.'
'Excellent idea. Thank you, Penarth, I'll just look around your little shop.'
'Ais, sur.'
'I'll take three of these,' Ross said.
'It puzzles me,' Valentine said. Then are always finding some mechanical improvement to make life easier. But the) never find anything to improve themselves.'
Ross glanced at the fat young shopkeeper. 'Penarth, I believe, is of the Methodist persuasion. He might take a different view.'
Penarth grinned awkwardly. 'Tis not for me to differ from my betters, sur. Especial too when they are my customers.
d'think young Mr Warleggan was speakin' of more practical things.'
'Tact,' said Valentine. 'Tact is what I think you have. Tell me, is this bracelet good silver?'
'Oh ais, sur. You'll see the mark just near the clasp.'
Valentine dangled it in his fingers, holding it up. 'Does that please you, Cousin?'
'You are not buying it for me. You must consider the lady's tastes. Do you know them well?'
Valentine closed his eyes in thought. 'Not very well. She's my wife.'
Ross paid for his candle snuffers, and Penarth took them into the back of the shop to wrap them in tissue paper.
Ross said in a low voice. 'And how is George?'
'George?'
'Your son.'
'Oh. That George. Lusty and full of life.' Valentine's sallow face had coloured slightly.
'And Selina?'
'Dwight Enys is not well satisfied with her. D'ye know, Cousin, women are strange creatures after recently giving birth. Instead of being full of joy at having come to her time and produced a fine healthy baby, she is mopish, under-spirited, indolent, subject to tears. I think she needs rhubarb, but Dwight has other ideas.'
Penarth could be heard rustling paper in the back of the shop.
'A strange name to give your son, was it not?'
Valentine sucked the handle of his riding crop.
'It is a very common name. I gave scarcely a thought to my - er - ex-parent. I have seen neither sight nor sound of him since the almighty sparring that took place between us when I told him I was married to Selina. How many years ago is that? It seems half a century. I never think of him nowadays.'
Penarth came bustling back with his parcel, but seeing his important clients engaged in conversation, he went behind again and began to polish some candlesticks.
'In fact,' said Valentine, 'if I thought of anyone when I chose the name I thought of George Canning. He is one of your heroes, is he not?'
Ross said: 'Do you remember Aunt Mary Rogers? Pally Rogers's wife?'
Valentine stared. 'No.'
'No, I suppose you are too young. Aunt Mary was a fat, jolly woman who smelt strongly of camphor. She had one weakness, which was a high level of gullibility. She would believe almost anything you told her. So when I was young, if you were confronted with some obvious untruth, you would say: "Tell that to Aunt Mary."'
Valentine nodded. 'Just so.
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