The Wind From The Sea.
The candles cast a warm glow onto the polished silver and brass on the shelves. The floor shone and the new red rug looked right. She knew she was supposed to admire Trenwith, to gaze in polite envy at the opulence, but Grace Poldark had fallen in love with Nampara as she had seen it come to life. Trenwith was a fine stage for Charles and Verity, but she had no interest in performing, however prettily her part was writ.
Nampara was her nest and haven, close by the sea she loved, fitted out to her desires by her indulgent husband, home to her two precious sons, one of whom, Claude Anthony, was already abed upstairs, clutching one of his wooden soldiers, his copper hair like an unruly flame across his forehead.
By the fire, Joshua poured himself another glass of port and beckoned her. "Grace, my dear, come away from the window, he'll be back when he gets cold."
Her other child was not easily put to bed. He was not disobedient, would never have desired to cause her a moment's unease, but he never tired of watching the sea and especially on a night like this, when the wind blew in across the tide, bringing the scent of adventure. She had feared sometimes that the sea might lure him away, but his love of Nampara was stronger. It was the taste of the air from Nampara Cove that he loved, the sound of the wind across his cliffs, the cry of the gulls who raided his father's fields.
The darkness outside was almost complete and the brighter interior blinded her a little. He would not be far away. He knew better than to wander too close to the sea in such weather. Still she worried. Joshua was sure he would return when he was cold, but Ross did not feel the cold. Nor was he good at judging the passage of time. He would stay until he remembered that she was waiting for him, then he would run back, that guilty look on his young face, that plea in his eyes that she should remember that he did not do these things to annoy. There was a wildness in him that she could not tame and, in truth, did not want to.
She heard the wind rattle a lantern outside and made her decision. "I'll go and call him in." she said.
"There's no need." said Joshua, but it was a token protest only. He understood her devotion and was glad of it. "Keep warm." he said.
She took her thick cloak and wrapped it about her shoulders. She took a small lantern and lit it, then headed out into the darkness. "Ross!" she called, trying to raise her voice above the wind. Careful of her footing, she walked through her small garden where a few herbs and flowers valiantly held out against the wind and salt and rain.
She walked some way, watching for any movement, knowing she might see him long before he heard her. Sometimes, he seemed not to hear when she was right beside him. Others thought him to be wilful, but she knew he truly did not hear. When his attention happened to be set on something, he would not have heard the trump of the last judgement.
She dreaded sending him to school, hated the thought of time apart from him. He was like his father in his passions and pride, like her in his imagination and inspiration, like both in his fierce loyalty.
It was right and proper for a child to love his father, to obey him, but with Ross, it went deeper. His father was his hero, his idol. Perhaps she loved him for that most of all. No faint filial obligation entered into the relationship. It was worse than a beating to him for his father to express disappointment and no lashing could ever be as painful to him as failing to be a true Poldark, a worthy son to Joshua.
He was Poldark through and through, with all the blessings and the curses of that august family. She had no illusions that he would be easy as he grew. She knew only that he would be Ross, whoever tried to bend him some other way. Claude Anthony was a gentler soul, more malleable, less Poldark. She did not love him less, but she loved him differently, as a sunset is different to a storm, though no less glorious.
The wind was blowing the rain across at her, striking her in the face, soaking her hair. She worried about her little boy, somewhere in this wild weather, though he loved water like a fish does and seemed to notice it as little.
Then she saw two figures, huddled on the lee of the cliff, heads close together, talking. "Ross Vennor Poldark!" she said and he got to his feet and hurried over.
One of the Daniel boys was with him and he bowed awkwardly and hurried off to his home. Ross looked at her, ashamed of having made her come out in the rain, painfully aware of the only sin he took seriously, the sin of causing his parents distress. "I meant to come in sooner, Mama." he said.
"Look at you!" she said, "Half drowned and all drenched!"
He bowed his head, half shame, half guile, offering a sweet, apologetic smile that ventured onto his lips with charming uncertainty. It took her back some years, to a certain rake that she had never had any intention of taking seriously, who had stolen her heart not by pretending to be a better man, but by making it clear that he wished he were one and for her would make the effort.
She sighed and pulled him under her cloak, a mother hen with one damp chick to shelter. "You lead the other boys astray." she said, "He should have been home hours ago."
"I told him to say he was with me." said Ross. Of course he had. He sometimes let them say that even when they weren't. His friends were his friends and he protected them.
She pulled him closer, conscious of a coming time when he would not be so easy to protect.
"I meant no trouble to you." he said.
"I know, Ross, I know." she said.
They hurried towards the soft glow of the windows of Nampara. As they reached the door, it opened and Joshua pulled his son over to the fire and began to peel off his wet coat. He would never, ever admit to having worried, but his eyes met hers and they smiled at each other in relief.
The End.