Jeremy Poldark

  “Did Sir John say as much?”

  “Not as much. But he let it be understood.”

  Caroline moodily picked up her skirts and perched on the window seat. “The petition has not even been heard yet. He can hardly expect me to marry a member of Parliament who doesn’t know whether he really is one. That’s demanding a good deal.”

  Ray said dryly: “My dear, you’re not overtly marrying Unwin for the prestige and the position. One is supposed to marry because one loves a man.”

  “Oh, love, yes, I’ve heard of it. But is Unwin marrying me because he loves me or because he covets the twenty thousand pounds you and Uncle William have settled on me? Ask him that.”

  “My dear, it is for you to ask him—if you choose.” Penvenen glanced at his niece and then, remembering her capabilities, added hastily: “Or perhaps you’d better not. I was only warning you that the question of a date for your marriage may be broached during his stay, and it’s as well to ponder what your response will be.”

  “Dear, dear, it all sounds very pompous…Uncle, I’m an heiress but have little money to handle. Now I rather like the feel of money, the jangle it gives, the weight in one’s purse, the tawny yellow colour of the gold. Suppose you gave me some. Um? What do you say?”

  Penvenen’s face always looked different when this subject was mentioned. “I have no objection to advancing you something—though there’s little you could find to spend it on. You’re admirably clothed, well fed and housed, have three hunters and a personal maid. I should not have thought…How much do you want?”

  “Oh…fifty pounds, perhaps.”

  A glass clattered as Penvenen locked the canary away.

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Oh yes, indeed. Why not? It’s a round comfortable sum and will last me some time. After all, what is the use of being rich if one can’t have a little flutter now and then?”

  “I can’t possibly give you so much. For gambling of some sort it would be a sheer waste. You know I disapprove of the gaming tables and two or three tickets is all one needs in a lottery. One is just as likely to draw a prize with few as with many.”

  Caroline smiled at her hands. “Oh, this is a new kind of gaming, Uncle. It appeals to me, and I have a fancy to indulge the whim.”

  Chapter Six

  The following week, one of the quarterly meetings of the Wheal Leisure venturers was due, and it was Mr. Treneglos’s turn to entertain the others at Mingoose. A distribution which was equal to a fifteen per cent return on their investment meant sixty per cent for the year and was something to be well satisfied with. Three years ago the mine had employed fifty-six men. Now it took just over the hundred and was a spot of prosperity in a depressed countryside.

  Ross was not, however, altogether surprised when Mr. Renfrew again proposed that the exploratory tunnel being driven towards the ancient Trevorgie workings should be stopped and the labour turned to more productive purposes. There had been such propositions before, put mainly by Mr. Pearce, but they had been defeated. Ross had been aware for some time that some of his colleagues had been coming round to Mr. Pearce’s view, so now he waited and did not speak as it was his impulse to. Mr. Pearce also was silent and it was as if both were waiting for the neutral voters to declare themselves.

  Presently Henshawe said: “I think we should persevere a month or two more. We’ve gone so far that it’s a pity to abandon it now.”

  “I b’lieve we’ve come right past the workings,” said Renfrew. “Missed them. We. might go on for years more and never connect.”

  “Not according to that old map,” shouted Mr. Treneglos, trying to make himself heard above the noises in his head. “Remember that old map showed the Trevorgie workings as turning and branching towards Marasanvose, and we’re not at the branch yet. All the same, I’m disappointed. I never thought twould be such a long job. It’s a drain on our profits all the time.”

  Ross said: “It was the means of our finding the second lode. That’s not wholly unprofitable.”

  “No,” said Mr. Pearce, entering the lists also. “But the best mass was found in the other direction. We should do better, I declare, to strike out farther to the northeast where the going is easier and the quality promises better.” He scratched himself.

  Mr. Treneglos undid the top button of his trousers “Well, tis as the majority says. There’s no doubt we can afford it, what? We’ve a handsome profit to show, and a better in prospect. But damme, I’m coming round to the contrary view from what I’ve held all along. Twas not as if we was driving an adit which would help unwater the mine. We’ve tunnelled under the valley and now we’re tunnelling under the hill. What did you say, Pearce? What?”

  Pearce shook his wigged head, disclaiming speech.

  Ross said: “I have talked the company into continuing twice; but I don’t want to again if the feeling’s against it. I still think we should do well to persevere; but the proposition was mine in the first place, and when you add up the men’s wages over the months it totals to a sum in the end. So I’ll say no more and leave it to the vote.”

  The vote was taken. Ninety parts (Ross’s and Henshawe’s) were for continuing, one hundred and fifty against.

  Ross said: “One thing I should have brought up. I take it the men on the work will not be set off—that they’ll be put to other employment.”

  Mr. Renfrew screwed up his eyes. “I should like to see a widening of the main shaft. The air is still bad, and we could profitably use ’em that way.”

  The venturers discussed this for some minutes, the matter was settled and the meeting seemed about to break up.

  Then Mr. Pearce coughed and said, smiling apologetically: “There’s one other matter I should have brought up earlier. Awaiting the right opportunity, as it were. That is to say, that one of the adventurers—that is one I act for, if you understand—Mr. Benjamin Aukett, has disposed of his holding in the mine to a Mr. Henry Coke. I am not sure yet whether Mr. Coke will wish to attend the meetings, but I rather—hm—gather he will wish me to represent his interest as I did Mr. Aukett’s. In any case the sale has only just taken place, and I shall be able to report more fully in April.”

  He went on talking, hitching up his stomach from time to time and carefully avoiding Ross’s eyes.

  “Who?” shouted Mr. Treneglos. “Who? Never heard of him. A Whig, I suppose. Where’s he live? What’s his profession? Oh. Gentleman. Well, that’s a good sign. Hope he’s as docile as Aukett. Bring him along sometime if he cares to come. We’ve nothing to conceal. That’s the feeling of the meeting, I take it?”

  The others agreed.

  Captain Henshawe said: “I wonder if you know what his share changed hands at?”

  “No, my dear sir,” said the lawyer. “Not an idea in the world.”

  Renfrew said: “I was offered four hundred and fifty pound for my share last month. That is fifteen pounds for a five-pound part. It shows a tempting profit. An’ it shows just how hard people is looking for an investment these days.”

  “What was the name of the man who approached you?” said Ross.

  “Name of Garth. Never heard of him. A civil-spoken fellow, but not what you’d call a gentleman.”

  “I take it you’re not intending to sell?”

  “No,” said Renfrew, observing Ross’s expression with some surprise. “It pays me better to stay in, apart from all the tackle an’ gear I supply.”

  The meeting ended soon after, and, as was their custom, Captain Henshawe and Ross walked home together, in the gathering misty afternoon.

  “Well,” said Henshawe, trying to be hearty, “it’s near on three years since you paid four-fifty for Surgeon Choake’s share. At the time you’ll mind me telling you I thought it a deal more than it was worth. But your beliefs been justified. It’s my way of thinking old Aukett got upwards of five hundred for his share to make hi
m willing for the sale.”

  “That’s my belief too.”

  Henshawe never liked it as much when the scarred side of Ross’s face was towards him. The scar was more than half hidden by the long side hair, but all the same the tail of it down his cheek was a token of wildness and intractability, qualities which Henshawe deplored since he was a peace-loving and an easygoing man.

  “I do not suppose,” he said, “that twill make any difference to the running of the mine; in fact it cannot, for Mr. What’s-it will have to tag along with the majority. Anyway, there’s little anyone could cavil at while the profits are so good.”

  “No,” said Ross.

  “It’s a pity the work towards Trevorgie has come to naught, but maybe we shall be able to start again in a few months.”

  They walked along in silence. Ross said:

  “I wonder if Mrs. Trenwith will stand firm?”

  “Mrs. Trenwith? You mean hold on to her share? I haven’t a doubt. She’s got too strong a nose for a profit, I reckon, to part with it easy.”

  “There are two kinds of profit.”

  “Yes, well, if she did, it would not be serious, would it? Interests in other mines change hands every day—when there’s anyone these days to buy ’em. I agree we’re very comfortable as we are, but I don’t suppose a new adventurer or two will upset our apple cart.”

  “No,” said Ross.

  They came to the parting of the ways.

  “You’ll drink with me before you go on?”

  “No, thank you, sur. I’m full to the brim as it is. I’ll be getting home along while the light holds.”

  Ross turned down through the apple trees towards his house. As he came in sight of the front door he saw that there was a strange horse waiting.

  ***

  Jane Gimlett met him in the hall. “If you please, sur, there’s a gent to see you. Bin here a half-hour he has. Name of Trencrom. You asked me always to tell you so as you’d know whether to go in or no.”

  “…Where is Mrs. Poldark?”

  “In with Mr. Trencrom, sur.”

  Ross took off his hat and smoothed back his hair. Mr. Trencrom’s presence explained the large horse outside; but what explained Mr. Trencrom? He was in no mood for company. Demelza alone, perhaps. No one else. He went in.

  His wife, in one of her white muslin frocks, had her back to him and was pouring tea. The visitor faced him from the largest armchair.

  Mr. Trencrom was one of those peculiar people who have an iron in every fire. Like the Warleggans, he had the talent for turning his interests into money, but unlike them he had no ambition to social advancement. He had been born the son of a wool stapler and that was what he would always remain. He had part shares in seines, part shares in tucking mills, part shares in tin stamps, part shares in little shops in little towns. And everywhere the money added up and brought in more. His investment in the Carnmore Copper Company had been almost the only substantial loss of his career, and Ross had not seen him since the venture failed. Of course everyone, certainly all the magistrates, knew what his chief business was.

  In appearance he was very stout. He had only two enemies in the world: the gaugers and his own bronchial tubes.

  “Well, Captain Poldark,” he said breathlessly. “Excuse me rising. Been very ill this winter. Damp air does me no good. Your charming wife. I said I took no liquor. She made tea. Delicious. How are you? My dear sir.”

  “I find the climate trying,” Ross said.

  Demelza glanced at him and saw at once that there was trouble.

  “You’ll take something too, Ross?”

  “Something stronger,” he said. “You’ve ridden far on a dull afternoon, Mr. Trencrom.”

  “Yes, as you say. It’s some years since I was in this part. What distressing news from France, Captain Poldark. They say Mirabeau is gravely ill again and nearly blind. If he should die.”

  “I haven’t followed their politics very closely of late.”

  “Nor I from choice. But when one is in constant contact. If Mirabeau goes there’ll be a landslide—I’m told. The King’s position. Very dangerous. England can’t stand by and watch.”

  “I don’t think it can be our affair what happens to Louis.”

  “Well, up to a point—that’s true. But there are limits.”

  “Limits on both sides. For we are without an army or a navy.”

  “Yes, yes, of course you’re right. All the same—I have grave fears for the future.”

  Ross sat in a chair and put his elbows on the arms.

  There was silence.

  “However,” said Mr. Trencrom, “I have not called merely to discuss the foreign situation. As you will have guessed. No doubt.” He coughed. It was an extraordinary sound for so large a man; his mountainous body quivered, and a small thin wheezy noise was eventually produced as if deep inside him a very small dog was dying of asphyxiation. Then he wiped his mouth and continued. “Purpose one. To renew our acquaintance. That is done. Purpose two. To inquire after your affairs. If they prosper. Purpose three. To speak of mine. Now if—”

  “Suppose,” Ross said, “that we spoke of yours first. By doing so we might come at a quicker understanding and be able to treat of mine in an incidental way.”

  Mr. Trencrom smiled at Demelza. “He was always one for coming to the point. I like directness. Of course. But it somewhat depends—whether his affairs prosper—as to whether he is interested in mine. However…”

  “Half the countryside is interested in yours, Mr. Trencrom,” said Ross.

  The fat man’s smile became a chuckle, which ended in his tiny wrung-out cough.

  “It might well be—that they have reason to be anxious for my welfare, Captain Poldark. Things are none too satisfactory in the trade. I do not know—how long I shall be able to carry on to the present extent.”

  “I should have thought business was never more prosperous.”

  “Ah. Business is far from prosperous. Let me explain.”

  Mr. Trencrom went on to explain in his breathless voice as if he were all the time climbing a steep hill. With some horrid premonition of his direction, Demelza poured Ross a cup of tea and, forgetting his own demand, Ross drank it. Business, said Mr. Trencrom, was brisk enough so far as consumption went. People were drinking as much as ever and, although money was scarce, there was always a market for cheap good-quality liquor. Mind you, he was being frank with them as he would not be with everyone. He spoke in confidence and knew they would respect it.

  Light faded in the room, but no one seemed to notice its going. At the back of the house somewhere Gimlett was chopping sticks; each series of sounds began with a tentative tap-tap growing firmer and heavier and slower until the screech of splitting wood. Through the window the cloudy fading sky was grey as iron.

  The one great difficulty of the trade, Mr. Trencrom explained, was the tiresome business of the landing of the goods. Vercoe, the customhouse officer at St. Ann’s, and his assistant Coppard were hard men, ever on the alert and ever ready to pounce. Attempts had been made to soften them, to bring them to a more reasonable frame of mind, but their only answer was to apply for extra help. And there was a rumour they might be getting it. How much easier, Mr. Trencrom said, if they had only been sensible like the gaugers at Newquay and Falmouth, where the officers were given a percentage of the profit on the smuggled goods and no more said.

  Mr. Trencrom finished his tea and smiled an acquiescence when Demelza rose for his cup. This much, he said, was bad enough; but this had been the case ever since Vercoe came to the district four years ago. What was making it worse now was the presence of an informer or informers among the village people themselves. It had begun at St. Ann’s last year, so they had brought in their cargoes at Sawle, where landing was so much more difficult. In the last six months, however, the same thing had happened at Sawle; a
nd business was almost at a standstill. Now this, said Mr. Trencrom, would be bad enough in the south, where there were numbers of navigable harbours and creeks. But on this north coast it meant ruin and perhaps more. Only last month, in that sudden bad weather which had blown up, his cutter the One and All had had to be warned off from landing because the gaugers were there on the spot, and she’d been driven back towards Land’s End with not a creek or a cove or a harbour under her lee but meant destruction. They had made the Scillies and come in the following night; but she might have been lost with all hands and a valuable cargo. One couldn’t risk that sort of thing.

  “You have my sympathy,” said Ross. “But what’s the moral to the story?”

  “The moral, Captain Poldark. Is that we must find another navigable inlet. And you possess the only one for miles.”

  Demelza paused with the cup in her hands, her eyes going from face to face.

  “I think,” Ross said quietly, “that you overestimate the advantages of Nampara Cove. There is no great depth of water and several dangerous rocks at the entrance.”

  Don’t I know it, thought Demelza, since I nearly went aground on one yesterday.

  Mr. Trencrom strangled his small dog again. “I don’t overestimate nothing, Captain Poldark. It’s not ideal. But we could land very comfortable there on quiet nights. It’s not too far from where we distribute. And tis not overlooked, like. It could all be quite private.”

  “Until the informer got wind of the change.”

  “Well, we should introduce—a closer system of secrecy. And only come in here twice or thrice a year. As for yourself you’d need to know nothing of it.”

  Ross got up and walked to the window. Demelza had not moved with her cup.

  “As for myself,” Ross said, “it would be plain that I knew everything of it. But leave that for the moment. What inducement do you suggest would make me responsive to this scheme?”

  “Ross,” Demelza said, but he didn’t look at her.

  “Oh,” said Mr. Trencrom, “that would be arranged amicable, I’m sure. A percentage on the profit. Or a lump sum for each landing. We’ve been in business together before. We’d not quarrel over that.”