The Black Moon Read Free

moved in the chair beside the fire. He started up sharply and dropped the poker. The chair had been in the half shadow but now he saw someone was sitting in it.
    `Who's that?' said a thin voice, sexless in its age. `Be that you, George? These damned servants . .'
     
    Agatha Poldark. Aside from young Geoffrey Charles, the child of Elizabeth's first-marriage, who hardly yet counted, Agatha was the, only Poldark left in the house. To all the Warleggans she was affrontful, a haggard hunk of gristle and bone, properly, long since dead. Nowadays she even smelt of the grave, but in spite of everything an activating spirit moved in her. Nicholas's wife, Mary, who to the family's s annoyance was a prey to every superstition, regarded the old lady with real dread as if she were somehow anim ated by the protesting ghosts of generations of long dead Poldarks wishing ill upon the interlopers. Agatha in this house was the snag in the silk, the fly in the ointment, the stone over which everyone sooner or later stumbled and fell. It was said that she would be ninety-nine in August. A year o r so ago it had looked as if she were taking permanently to her bed, so that at the worst then , she could have be en quietly ignored by everyone except the maid appointed to look after her; but since Elizabeth's marriage, and especially when she learned that a new child was on the way, she had recovered a spark of combative vitality and was apt to be found tottering about the house at the most unsuitable times.
    'Oh, 'tis George's father ...' A tear escaped from one eye, lodged in the nearest furrow , and began slowly to work its way down towards the whiskery chin. This was no sign of emotion. `Been up to see the chibby, have you? Regular little spud, he be. A Chynoweth through an' through.'
    A black kitten moved on her lap. This was Smollet which she had found somewhere a few, months ago and mad e peculiarly her own. Now they were inseparable. Agatha never stirred without the kitten, and, Smollet, all red tongue and yellow eyes, could hardly ever be persuaded to leave her. Geoffrey Charles, with a small, boy's glee, always called the cat 'Smell-it'.
     
    Nicholas knew that Agatha only said what she had said to annoy him; yet was annoyed by, it nevertheless. He was further irritated that he could not reply to her in suitable terms, for she was ve ry deaf and, unless one shouted in her ear— and such nearness was offensive no communication was possible. So, she could go on talking, making outrageous remarks, without fear of contradiction. George had told him that the only way of annoying., her was to turn one's back and walk away while she was speaking, but,. Nicholas was damned if he was going to be driven away from the fire by this repulsive old woman,
    He put the log back, but inefficiently, so that an end of it sent a thin spiral of smoke up into the room. He would have rung for a servant to correct this, but he let it smoke in the hope that it would irritate Agatha's chest.
    `That surgeon,' said Agatha. 'Great numbskull of a fellow, tying up the poor little crim so tight against the convulsions. There's better ways than that to protect against convulsions. I'd have ’ n freed this eve if I had the ordering of it.'
    `You do not have the ordering of it,' said Mr Warleggan.
    'Eh, what's that? What's that you say? Speak up !'
     
    He might have shouted something in return, but a door opened then and Geo rge came in. At times, perhaps: most when not in company and therefore both were relaxed, the similarity between the two men -was marked. A little shorter than his tall father, George' had the same heavy build, the same strong neck; the same deliberate in-toed walk. They were both good-looking men in their formidable way. George's face was the broader, with the bottom lip drawn up in the middle and jutting to create shadow. There were small lumps on his forehead between the eyebrows. If his hair had been cut in short tight curls he would have looked