Set the dramatic drums a-beating and start the soaring strings – Ross Poldark’s off on another heroic mission. In the opening scene, babe-in-arms Clowance mewled at the prospect of her dad’s derring-do but she’ll soon learn. Recklessness and Ross Poldark go together like Prudie and rum, like Caroline Penvenen and glorious hats, like Tholly and the clap. Adding to George’s chagrin was the fact that Ross can’t seem to stop doing right in the eyes of his betters. This week he inadvertently rescued the nephew of Lord Falmouth (the saucy Lieutenant Armitage) from a French hellhole. Next week, he’ll probably scoop up a kitten from a well that turns out to belong to George III and be rewarded with the Lord Mayoralty of the Isle of Wight. George was satisfied, at least, that Morwenna must be having a perfectly miserable time at Trenwith. Cut to Morwenna at Trenwith, laughing her head off. The provocation for her mirth? Some toads. (This being long before the advent of the viral video, toads were about as entertaining as eighteenth century life got). About one hundred and fifty years away, which is roughly how long it looks like it’ll take before society will accept Drake and Morwenna’s love, despite everyone having got over his sister and Ross’ similarly uneven match by the end of series one. Between last week’s kiss and this week’s toad-jubilance, Drake and Morwenna’s friendship had gone beyond the bounds of common acquaintance alright. They’d been laughing near ponds like nobody’s business and sneaking into the rhododendron walk for furtive squeezings – something that hadn’t escaped the gimlet-eyed attention of Aunt Agatha. The pain of a broken heart drove Drake Carne first to stand moodily on a clifftop in silhouette, and then to stow away on Ross’ perilous mission. “I’m fearless and steadfast and fierce” he pleaded with his brother-in-law. “And look, I’m wearing the hat of a Smurf and everything,” his eyes seemed to add. Ross agreed to let him join the mission and get himself shot if he liked, which was kind. Drake duly did get himself shot, but not as shot as Captain Henshawe, who sadly perished on French soil. To anyone familiar with the rules of war movies, Henshawe looked marked for death from the off. First he gave a speech letting Ross’ conscience entirely off the hook in the event of his demise, and then he was treated to a moment of explosive heroism involving a mining blast that saved the day. “Living’s a risk,” said Henshawe, “so tonight, I’ll take my chance.” He gambled with his life and lost, but died a hero. It was all very sad, but remembering that the average life expectancy of a Cornishman in those days was nine years old, he’d had a good innings. His funeral also involved some very pretty harmonising courtesy of the Carne siblings, very much the Osmonds of their day. With its in-joke about the Latin name for scurvy, Caroline and Dwight’s reunion left a little to be desired on the romance front, but then, Dwight having been a prisoner of war for some months, he was looking like someone on Day 5 of Glastonbury so a certain distance is to be expected. Without a touch of scurvy on her is the redoubtable Aunt Agatha, currently planning her one hundredth birthday celebrations. That’s not the sort of invitation George is likely to covet. Ross will be there, for a start, which will stymie George’s favourite party game of stalking about and whispering scurrilous rumours about his nemesis into teacups. Lord, posh people’s parties look dull. No wonder Ross would rather break into pestilent prisons than attend them. Read Louisa’s review of the previous episode here.
