And second, and second, whisperings had been begun more than a year gone, and had eventually reached Tom Harry’s waxy ears, that all that there trouble with the toads, all the trouble that had come to Harry following from that, had been the work of Drake Carne, the younger brother, the one that was standing in front of him now, claiming with his arrogant, insolent, damn-cursing gall the right, the actual right to force his way into Trenwith House and talk with Mistress Warleggan. It was more than a decent man could stand. It was certainly more than Tom Harry was prepared to stand. He put his fingers in his mouth and blew a piercing whistle.
Drake stared at him. This was the encounter he would have done anything to avoid. He was not afraid of Tom Harry, stick or no, but the very last outcome he desired of this visit was that there should be fighting. He could hardly go on with this big gamekeeper barring his way; and a sure prejudice to the attempt to convince Mrs Warleggan as to the fairness of his complaint would be to leave one of her servants behind him with split lips and a bloodier nose and present himself to her in a likely similar state.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘if you’ll not leave me through I must call ’gain. Tis a peaceful request I came to make and tis no part of my wish to force myself anywhere. So I’ll bid ee good-day.’
‘Oh, no ye’ll not,’ said Tom Harry with a tight grin. ‘Not yet just awhile. Overbrangled up-jumps like you did ought to be taught a lesson for trespassing on private property. Ye could be jailed for less!’
Drake heard footsteps behind him and turned to see two other gamekeepers coming up. They were of Harry’s type and he had seen them about together in Grambler and Sawle.
‘We caught a trespasser, lads,’ Harry said. ‘Like as not a poacher. Reckon he’s been setten his snares in our woods. Got to be dealt wi’, lads. What do ee say?’
One of the others had a stick, the third a dog’s lead. They came to within about six feet of Drake and surrounded him. They stared at him, then at their leader, not quite used to being asked for advice, not quite aware that they were not being so asked.
One said: ‘Reckon he’d best be took up to ’ouse. Mr Warleggan’ll deal wi’ ’im.’
‘Nay,’ said Harry. ‘Nay. We don’t wish to be hard on him, lads, do we? Tis more a lesson he d’need. Just so’s he’ll mind not to come this way ’gain. Just a bit of a cootin’ – Catch ’im.’
Drake had made a sudden feint towards Harry and then darted with that exceptional speed of his between the two other gamekeepers. A hand clutched his coat, held, tore, held and then the coat was from his back and he was running. A stick had come across his legs making them numb, but he only stumbled and did not fall. He made for the wood.
He was much faster than any of the three men and would have reached it well ahead of them but for one thing. Across the first field was plain running, then over a Cornish wall into a ploughed strip before the wood. Normally he could have jumped the wall with one hand on it, but he had not realized that some muscles were still numbed by the blow from the stick and his foot caught the stone at the top. Instead of landing lightly he fell over with a crash, all his weight awkwardly on one ankle, and a pain shot up his right leg.
He got to his knees, put his foot down and it gave way and he fell over. He tried again, hopping on one foot. But by that time they were on him like a load of bricks, fists and sticks flying. They beat him down on the ground and then, mad at his near escape, took turns to kick him into insensibility.
II
They stood round him in a group, breath coming fast, heavy faces flushed with the zest of it. Only one of the three, a man called Kent, was a thought troubled by their enthusiasms.
‘Reckon that’s ’nough, Tom. Reckon he won’t come this way ’gain in haste. Leave’n be now.’
‘Leave’n be? Not on our land! Twould be a failure o’ duty.’
‘Reckon he’ll take some mending.’
‘Nay. Rats; ye can’t hurt rats. Crush all their bones; they’ll crawl into their ’oles and be out sniffing around next day as if naught had ’appened!’
‘Take’n up to ’ouse now then, shall us?’ the other one asked.
Tom Harry shook his head. It was conceivable that Mr Warleggan might think they had exceeded their duty. If by any chance they should be confronted by Mrs Warleggan they might even lose their jobs.
‘Nay. Heave’n in pool. Twill cool him off, sure ’nough.’
The pool was the other side of the wood and adjoined the main cart track between Sawle and St Ann’s. It was used by anyone rich enough to own a sheep or a goat, for watering them, and Trenwith cattle were driven down to drink there. Across the other side of the track was the big piece of common land which was used for any assembly or feast day and for grazing whenever on its barren surface grazing was possible. The common land drained across the track into the pool, which in wet weather stretched a hundred yards either way and was four feet or more deep. In dry weather, after a specially dry spell such as this, it shrank to a quarter its size and half its depth and was unsavoury with trailings of green slime and the droppings of the animals that drank there.
‘Heave ’n up, lads,’ said Tom Harry.
They frogmarched Drake between them round the wood, came to the edge of the pond, and, swinging a couple of times to gain momentum, flung him in.
The shock of the water revived him and he rolled over and sat up, gasping and choking and spitting, head and shoulders above the muddy pool.
‘Aunt Sally!’ shouted Tom. ‘Aunt Sally! Ten shies a penny! Eh, lads? Ten shies a penny!’
He encouraged the other two but Kent would not take part. Tom and the second gamekeeper picked up stones and mud and began to pelt them at Drake. Some missed, some hit him, and he tried to get up, could not, floundered, sat up again, and began slowly to edge his way painfully to the other side of the pool. They pursued him, giggling with laughter, challenging each other to better aim, arguing about the prizes they had won. As the pool narrowed towards its end so the distance narrowed, and one sizeable stone from Tom hit Drake in the temple and he slowly sank into the water. It was not more than a few inches deep, but first he went down face first and then seemed to turn over and came up with his face up, part above water, part submerged. Bubbles formed on the surface.
‘God dam’ ee, ye’ll kill the lad!’ muttered Kent, and came round the side of the pool, waded in and caught Drake by the front of his blood-stained shirt and dragged him to the edge of the pool, where he dropped him in the soft slime. A pink stain coloured the water where he had been.
Kent wiped his fingers and straightened up and looked at the other two as they approached. They stared down at the unconscious figure, from whose lips a faint bloody froth was issuing.
Tom Harry spat on Drake and said: ‘That’s for the toads, cookie. Next time think again.’ Then as he turned away and the others lingered: ‘Leave’n be! He’ll be all right. Leave’n be! Leave’n for ’is Bible-thumping brother to pick up.’
III
Surprisingly in that area where the movement of a human being – any movement – scarcely ever passed unnoticed, no one had seen the incident by the pool. One of Will Nanfan’s boys first saw the figure, went up cautiously to stare at it, then ran and told his mother. Char Nanfan, that strong comely woman with the handsome golden hair – now tarnished with the years – came out of her cottage with two of her little girls, exclaimed: ‘My dear life and heart! and rolled Drake over on his back, cleaned the mud and blood from his mouth and nostrils and got the sturdy ten-year-old to help carry him back to their cottage. There they laid him on the earth floor of their kitchen, splashed his face with cold well-water, slapped his hands and presently brought him back to choking consciousness. Will Nanfan was summoned from tending his sheep and looked the boy over, feeling for broken bones, and then said he would send for Dr Choake.
Drake would have none of it, nor would he satisfy them as to the identity of his attackers. He just said it was three vagrants who had set on him and tried to rob
him. He didn’t know them and he’d scarce recognize them if he saw them again; they had their faces muffled up. He choked again on the Geneva he was given, and looked as if he was going to throw it up, and said give him ten minutes and he’d be on his way. Will Nanfan said, best to send for Brother, but Drake said Sam’d be down mine till six and not to trouble or tell him, he’d be right as a trivet give him ten minutes.
Char said it was all a wicked, wicked shame, having more than once had a woman’s eye for this handsome young man and wondering now if his looks were spoiled permanent. He looked disfigured for life with a gash in his cheek, his lips swelled up, one eye blackening and an eyebrow split. She put a rough bandage over his cheek to try to stop the bleeding and a cold compress on his swollen ankle and said he must lie quiet for an hour or two before thinking of moving a yard. Drake said ten minutes was all he needed, but having said it twice more at intervals he finally gave up and fell into a half-drunken coma from which he was roused by Sam.
‘Did they send for you?’ said Drake, ‘they should never’ve sent for you,’ but Sam said twas after six o’clock and he had come straight from core, and Drake said, ‘All Saints, have I been here that long? My fire’ll be out!’
So in half an hour they set off home, with the sun like a red-hot coin smoking into the misty sea.
On the way Sam got the story out of him. With a borrowed coat, and hobbling and making such slow progress that dark overtook them, Drake swore Sam to secrecy. ‘Tis not for myself as I care, but d’ye see, there must be no bad blood twixt them and we. Mebbe I was wrong to suppose I should—’
‘Mortal foolish,’ said Sam gently. ‘Mortal foolish. I should have comed with ee. That Tom Harry’s a sad man, a sad man asleep in his sins. The pains of hell have gat hold upon him. But bad blood we cann’t prevent—’
‘We cann’t prevent it, but tis some important that Cap’n Ross shall not get to know.’
‘Yes . . . Yes . . . Tis hard to keep a secret in this village. Did no one see ee?’
‘I reckon not. It seems not. You see, I’ve sown trouble ’nough twixt the Poldarks and the Warleggans. If this be known, who can say what more trouble will follow? We owe too much to Cap’n Ross as tis. If he heard tell of this, gracious knows what he might do. And he mustn’t, Sam. For Demelza’s sake and for his own.’
‘It is a Christian duty t’eat the bread of forgiveness. But Drake—’
‘Hold hard, I’ll go on in a few minutes. What was you going to say?’
‘It is our duty also to follow in the path that the all-seeing God has chosen for us. To rise early, to wreak late, to practise industry and carefulness, is what our heavenly Father enjoins ’pon us, following the cleansing of our souls. But . . . Tis hard to see how ye can continue as a smith in this neighbourhood, Drake, wi’ this persecution. All that you work for, fast as tis wrought, so tis destroyed. Now . . .’
Drake got up and they lurched on again. Drake said: ‘Well, I tell ee one thing. I aren’t giving up.’
‘No . . .’ Sam peered at his brother’s sorely damaged face. ‘But I have fears for ee.’
‘Fears for my soul?’
‘That too, as you well d’know. But fears for your earthly survival and well-being. Twould’ve taken little extra to’ve drowned ee today. Or broken your cage of ribs. I ask God’s pardon if I hold the carnal welfare of my own brother too dear in this mortal life; but twould try me hard if aught happened to ee and I can see no comfort to the either of us if you go all your days in fear of your life and safety . . . Mebbe if you sold shop, twould not be hard to take similar employment in Redruth or Camborne – nearer home. Then you’d be—’
‘I aren’t giving up,’ said Drake.
No more talk passed then until they reached the smithy. Sam would not help his brother up the stairs in case by tomorrow he had so stiffened that he could not get down. He brought a rug and a blanket. There was a piece of a boiled rabbit in the kitchen and he hotted this and served it with potatoes and barley bread. To his satisfaction Drake ate a few mouthfuls.
After it was over Sam cleared away and then said a prayer. He would stay the night, but before he settled down to sleep he wanted to know what was in Drake’s mind. A blind determination just to stick it out no longer seemed feasible. Besides, the persecutions might increase. He said this.
Drake nodded: ‘Yes, that’s true.’
‘And Ross and Demelza . . . I see that,’ said Sam. ‘But if ye will not bring them into this trouble . . .’
‘I’ll do what I set out to do today. See Mrs Warleggan.’
‘I’ll come with ee, then. Alone, twould be asking for the same only worser. Together—’
‘Nay . . . You keep out of this too, Sam. I’ll get to see she another way.’
‘What other way? She may be out riding, but I’d not reckon she’d welcome—’
‘When she’s gone back I’ll go Truro – see her there. She cann’t have gamekeepers in a town house.’
‘There’ll be footmen. They might be nigh as far gone in their wickedness.’
‘They won’t know me. I reckon she’ll see me. I’ll tell her and ask her for her help.’
Sam pondered this for some moments. ‘You’ve never spoke?’
‘No, never.’
‘She was agin ye over Geoffrey Charles.’
‘Yes, but she left him come see me all last summer.’
‘Why d’ye reckon she’d help?’
Drake turned himself over, with great pain and with infinite patience.
‘I got a feeling she’d want fair play.’
Chapter Nine
I
The Warleggans stayed at Trenwith until the third week in April. In the meantime Drake’s multiple bruises mended. The gash in his face became a scab, the blues and reds of his body faded, he came to walk without a limp. But it seemed improbable that his face would ever be quite the same again. There was a swelling in his jaw that would not go down, and there was going to be a permanent division of his left eyebrow.
Demelza did not hear until the second week, and then she was furiously angry that it could have happened, upset at the sight of him, grieved that her youngest brother seemed never able to shake free from the bad luck that had dogged him ever since he met Morwenna. She taxed him on his statement that he did not know the three men who had attacked him and would not know them again. She presently said she did not believe it, and had he come in contact with some of the Warleggan gamekeepers? ‘I had a nasty experience once,’ she said, ‘with Garrick, and when Ross got home he went over to Trenwith and warned George that any repetition would have ill results for him. I tried to stop Ross going,’ she added. ‘I didn’t want any more trouble between the families, but he took no notice and went just the same.’
‘I don’t want any more trouble neither,’ said Drake.
‘So it was them.’
‘I’m not saying.’
‘That makes it worse.’
‘What I am saying is, don’t tell Cap’n Ross. Whether twas gamekeepers or vagrants makes no matter; it will matter if you tell him I got hurt, for he’ll leap to his suspicions just so quick as you.’
‘He’s like to hear you got hurt whether or no. But he’s been away with the Volunteers and will not be home till Friday.’
‘Then if he hears, tell him twas nothing. Tell him I had one or two bumps and twas nothing serious.’
‘But if it is gamekeepers and not vagrants it may well happen again.’
‘Not if I’m careful. And I’ll be careful, Demelza.’
The continuing easterly wind was blowing through the yard, creating tight little whirlwinds of dust and ash and making the forge glow without the use of bellows. She drew her cloak round her and pulled a wisp of hair from her mouth.
‘These – persecutions . . .’
‘Will stop, I b’lieve.’
‘How? What is to stop them?’
He smiled at her, though lopsidedly. ‘With patience, sister. You mind what Sam is al
ways saying: “Through hidden dangers, toils and death, Thou, Lord, hast gently cleared my way.”’
‘Oh, Sam . . . I dearly love Sam – who can help it? – but he’s not fitted to deal with wicked men. Besides, it is only of the spirit that he is thinking.’
‘Maybe. But I hope I mayn’t need his help, spiritual or other. I’ve a sort of plan.’
‘What plan?’
‘Tis not for me to say, sister. If it d’fail I’m no worser off.’
Demelza stared at her brother. He had matured very much of late. She was sad that so much of that ineffable youthful charm had gone.
‘Have care for yourself,’ she said. ‘For if more hurt comes to you I shall tell Ross whether you wish him to know or not.’
‘I’ll have a care.’
II
It was easy for Drake to learn the day the Warleggans left for Truro. As soon as he heard he packed some bread and cheese and walked after them. Now that Mr Warleggan had a seat in parliament one could never be sure how long they would remain in Cornwall, but it was reasonable to suppose they must spend at least a couple of days in their town house before setting out for London.
He was right. He called at the house the following morning and found Elizabeth in. He gave his name to the scullery maid at the back door and then to the footman who presently appeared with a stony, hostile face and tried to stare him down. Drake simply asked if he might see Mrs Warleggan, and would not state his business. He guessed that they could hardly turn him away without reference to her, and that she, knowing instantly who he was, would hardly refuse to see him, thinking that his business might in some way involve Geoffrey Charles.
She saw him in the large drawing-room on the first floor. She was in white, in the style she often favoured: a simple bodice and a straight full skirt, tight at the waist, and lace at throat and wrists; she looked cool and unspotted by life; although he had often seen her before, in church and riding by, he was impressed, as most men were, by her beauty and apparent youth. She, on the other hand, had not seen him except at a distance. She too was a little impressed: this tall, pale, dark-eyed boy, face scarred, the soft Cornish accent, his modest but un-nervous demeanour; there were resemblances to the woman she disliked, yet in a young man it was different. While he spoke she remembered his outrageous presumptions towards her cousin, Morwenna, and all the trouble he had caused between her husband and her son. And she realized the unbearable presumption of his appearance here today.