Free Ross Poldark by Winston Graham Page B

Ross,” said Verity, “and does she not look sweet in her wedding gown? And has it not all been a great success until now? These men with their cockfighting! Their food doesn’t settle in their bellies unless they see blood flowing in some foolish pastime. Will you take tea?”
    Ross thanked her and refused. “A wonderful feast. My only wish is to sleep after it.”
    “Well, I must go and find Mrs. Tabb: there is more to see to yet. Half our guests will be staying the night.”
    Verity left them and they listened a moment to the arguments and discussions going on about the space which had been cleared. With sport in prospect the company was quickly recovering from its food exhaustion. This was a vigorous age.
    Ross said: “Are you among those who will stay?”
    “Tonight we are to stay. Tomorrow we leave for Falmouth for two weeks.”
    He stared down at her as she gazed across the room. Her fair hair was short at the nape of the neck, with the ears bare and a single wisp of a curl in front of each. The rest was curled and piled on her head, with a small headdress in the shape of a single row of pearls. Her dress was high at the neck with tufted sleeves of fine lace.
    He had sought this encounter and now didn’t know what to say. That had often been the way when they first met. Her fragile loveliness had often left him tongue-tied until he came to know her as she really was.
    “Ross,” she said, “you must wonder why I wanted you to come today. But you hadn’t been to see me and I felt I must speak to you.” She stopped a moment to bite at her lower lip and he watched the colour come and go in it. “Today is my day. I do want to be happy and to feel that all those about me are the same. There's no time to explain everything; perhaps I couldn’t explain it if there were. But I do want you to try to forgive me for any unhappiness I may have caused you.”
    “There's nothing to forgive,” said Ross. “There was no formal undertaking.”
    She glanced at him a moment out of grey eyes which seemed to show a hint of indignation.
    “You know that was not all—”
    The first cockfight was over amidst shouting and applause, and the defeated bird, dripping blood and feathers, was rescued from the arena.
    “Why, it was no fight at all,” said Charles Poldark. “Aarf! Rarely have I seen five guineas earned so quick.”
    “No,” said Dr Choake, whose bird had beaten one of the Warleggans’. “Paracelsus underrated his opponent. A fatal mistake.”
    “Eathily done!” said Polly Choake as she smoothed down the head of the victor while their manservant held it. “Conqueror looks none so vithious until hith temper be roused. People thay as how I am like that!”
    “He has not come through unscathed, ma’am,” said the servant. “You’ll soil your gloves.”
    “Well, now I thall be able to afford me a new pair!” said Polly.
    There was laughter at this, although her husband lowered his brows as at a breach of taste.
    Charles said: “It was a poor show all the same. There's many a youngster could have done better. My Royal Duke could swallow either of ’em, and he little more than a stag!”
    “Let us see this Royal Duke,” said Mr. Warleggan politely. “Perhaps you would like to match him with Red Gauntlet.”
    “With who? With what?” asked Aunt Agatha, wiping a dribble from her chin. “Nay, that would be a shame, it would.”
    “At least we should see if his blood were really blue,” said Mr. Warleggan.
    “A battle royal?” said Charles. “I am not averse. What is the weight of your bird?”
    “Four pounds exact.”
    “Then they fall in! Royal Duke is three pounds thirteen. Bring them in and let us see.”
    The two birds were brought forward and compared. Red Gauntlet was small for his weight, a vicious creature scarred and toughened with twenty fights. Royal Duke was a young bird which had fought only once or twice and that locally.
    “And the stakes?” said George Warleggan.
    “What you