So, purely as a tactic, it might be better to attempt to get this tried tomorrow. But how could he influence the outcome? Whichever way he turned, the figure at the end of the avenue was George.
If this had all happened to John Trevaunance it could have been arranged in an hour. Or any of the others. Even Hugh Bodrugan. A civilized discussion, an agreement to differ as to the facts of the case, an apology and an offer of payment of the value of the bible. The boy’s a nuisance; send him away somewhere; then I’ll drop the charge. Just that.
But how approach George? And how without the certainty of failure? George might have persuaded himself into sincerely believing Drake a thief; but that belief would be strengthened and reinforced by the knowledge that through this belief he could hit at Demelza and so Ross. To approach him in any way would invite humiliation. Elizabeth? But Ross could not approach her, not even, he felt, to save Drake’s skin. And anyway she would take her lead from George.
Ross glanced up at the cold squat buildings of Wheal Leisure on the cliff. He had hardly been on the beach since it closed. The weather had been so bad, and he had never wanted to look at the mine and see it silent. His first venture, began eight years ago. It had prospered so well until the Warleggans began to encroach. They encroached on everything. Now even on his wish to live on his own land and to live in peace. It was trying to his new-found resolves. Perhaps this venture he was about to undertake in France was a safety-valve for his underlying instincts to violence. It was better to make war on the French than on one’s neighbour.
But what if the neighbour persistently invited war? Did one go on constantly turning the other cheek? Two Christmases ago he had put the alternatives before George and then left him to think them over. Since then they had only glimpsed each other, in church or at official gatherings. They had not exchanged a word. It might now be necessary to exchange another word. How else could one make any progress in this matter?
But how exchange a word without the word becoming war? There was no time for letters, and letters anyway would be futile. He must go and see him. Somehow he must go and see him and have conversation – just as he would have done with Trevaunance or one of the others. See somehow if it could be kept civil. There ought to be a way of solving this in a decent way. If George became uncivil then it would be necessary to review one’s position.
By now, almost without intent, he was back opposite where his pony was tethered. He ploughed over the soft sand and she raised her head and whinnied. As he mounted he saw Sam coming towards him.
‘I seen your pony, Cap’n Poldark. I seen you ridin’ this way. I thought twas your pony. I been wonderin’ – waitin’ . . . Have ye seen Brother?’
Subduing an impulse to snap at the young man, Ross told him what had passed.
‘Blessed be the merciful God!’ said Sam. ‘So twas all a mistake and tomorrow he’ll be free.’
‘Continue your prayers,’ said Ross, ‘for it may not be as easy as that. Go now and tell your sister what I have told you, and explain to her that I have been taking a little time to consider what to do. I have now decided what to do. I shall seek legal advice. This may take me an hour or two, but I should be back for dinner. Tell her that, will you?’
‘With joy in my heart,’ said Sam. ‘I earnestly believe that Drake will soon be at liberty. And I pray when this be all past twill be a liberty not only of the body but of the soul.’
‘Let us attend to his body first,’ Ross said sourly, and rode on.
He did not under-rate the difficulty of what he was going to do. George might well have him thrown off his land. He might well refuse to see him and then they would be no further ahead.
Ross was not an easily daunted man, once he had made up his mind, but common sense dictated that he should take some measure to protect himself. And the most obvious measure was a companion.
Zacky Martin was a natural choice, but Zacky was over fifty and had been unwell. Paul Daniell was next, but Paul was one of the extra tut-workers taken on when Wheal Leisure closed and would be underground at Wheal Grace. And Sam would have been worse than useless. One could hardly imagine Tom Harry being a fit subject for conversion.
Ross rode on, past the Gatehouse, through Grambler village past Sawle Church and turned down the track to the village of Sawle. On the left was Widow Tregothnan’s kiddley, and outside it, pushing a barrel round the corner of the cottage, was the man he wanted.
‘Why, young Cap’n! Welcome! And riding the finest pony in the land! Ain’t she a beauty? And wasn’t she a bargain! D’you know, Cap’n, any time you want to sell ’er I’ll be glad to give you what you gave me. Dirt cheap she was at the price.’
‘Have a care,’ Ross said, ‘lest I take you at your word. I am sure you would not like that. Tholly.’
‘Yes?’
‘Have you time to ride with me? I need a peaceful bodyguard.’
‘When, now? Aye, gladly. Let me finish heaving this barrel where Widow Sally d’want it, and I’m your man.’
‘Have you a gun?’ Ross asked. ‘Not to use but for display. So as to keep the proceedings peaceable.’
Tholly grinned. ‘That I have. Wait but a jiffy and I’ll get it.’
Chapter Four
They rode up to the door of Trenwith in tattered procession; a disparate yet matching couple: two big men, legs dangling, on two small ponies: the knight-errant and his shabby squire. Don Quixote at least had ridden a horse.
The door was opened by one of the servants Ross had lectured in the kitchen at Christmas. He looked startled at the sight on his steps. Ross told him to tell his master he had called and craved a five-minute interview. The servant shut the door in their faces, and was gone nearly the five minutes that Ross had asked. Then he opened the door a slit to say that his master was not at home to them.
‘Go tell your master,’ said Ross, ‘that I come in peace. I mean no harm to him nor to his house, but I require to speak to him on a matter of urgency and if he refuses to see me I shall not go away.’
The servant, gaped, hesitating.
‘Nor,’ added Ross, glancing behind at Tholly, ‘shall I be made to move.’
Tholly, who had not yet dismounted, hitched the old musket over his shoulder and whistled through his broken teeth.
The servant shut the door again.
They waited. Tholly’s bright eyes were going over the dignified façade of the old house, the trim grounds, the well-kept farm buildings, the lawns, the flowers, the ornamental pool. ‘Fine property,’ he observed, and ‘Yes,’ Ross answered. ‘I mind it when your uncle had it; he left the gardens go.’ No communication had passed between them as to the object of this visit.
A brown hare scuttered across one of the fields near by, his white tail bobbing. There were partridges in a neighbouring tree. Tholly licked his lips. ‘Well stocked, too.’
The door opened again. ‘Master will see you – alone.’
‘Wait here, Tholly. If I need you I’ll call from a window.’
Tholly grinned and raised his hook. ‘If you need me, then I’ll come.’
Ross was shown into a small room on the first floor which had been his uncle Charles’s study. Not much had been changed in here. George was seated working at a desk. Standing beside the desk was Tankard, tall and squinting. George was in an ankle length flowered dressing coat with frogged buttons up to the throat. He did not look up as Ross was shown in but went on writing. Tankard eyed the visitor warily. The last time they had met in this house he had been forced to take shelter under a table while George and Ross fought out their enmity over his head.
Tankard moistened his lips. ‘You wished to see Mr Warleggan?’
Ross ignored him. He raised both arms above his head. ‘I come in peace, George. I will undertake to offer you no violence on this visit unless it is first offered to me. But I ask ten minutes of your time.’
George said to Tankard: ‘Ask this man his business.’ Ross waved Tankard into silence; then he sat down and cros
sed his legs. ‘My business is with you, George, not with your attorney. I would prefer that it should be private, but if you insist on having your legal adviser with you I cannot prevent you.’
‘Say what you have to say.’
‘When you have finished writing.’
The quill pen scratched on. Ross picked up a book from a side table and idly flipped through its pages.
The quill pen stopped. ‘Well?’
‘A young man called Drake Carne has been accused of stealing a bible from this house. He is at present in a noisome cell in St Ann’s awaiting a meeting of the magistrates, which I understand will take place tomorrow.’
For the first time George raised his eyes, and they travelled impersonally over Ross’s shabby riding clothes. ‘That is correct.’
‘What perhaps you do not know is that this bible was freely given to Drake Carne by its owner, your step-son, Geoffrey Charles. They were parting after a long friendship – a friendship which had been forbidden by you – and Geoffrey Charles wished Carne to have some memento to remember him by. He pressed it on Carne, who reluctantly accepted it and took it home.’
‘That is not what I hear.’
‘It happens to be the truth.’
‘No doubt it is the version which Carne now hopes the justices will accept.’
‘Have you asked Geoffrey Charles about this?’
‘The boy is a minor whose emotions are easily played on. No doubt he would say anything now to get his seedy friend out of trouble. But the indisputable facts appear to be that Carne insinuated himself into this house while I was away on Tuesday – against my express orders. In other words he committed the most flagrant and culpable trespass, which in itself is heavily punishable at law; and, once in, played on the boy’s emotions to persuade him not to give up their so-called friendship but to maintain it in despite of my veto.’ George moved a thumb along the feathers of the pen. ‘When Carne failed – for Geoffrey Charles had fully accepted that this friendship must end – he deliberately pocketed the bible and left the house with it, intending to turn it into ready money at the first opportunity. By the merest chance the bible was missed: my wife – whose present it was to her son on his christening – noticed its absence from his bedside and asked him what had become of it. After some severe questioning the whole sordid story came out. But there was no suggestion at all of a gift. It was plain theft. Once this was known, Mr Tankard went with Constable Vage to Carne’s cottage on your land and the bible was discovered concealed under his bed. He was caught red-handed and I know the other justices will take the same view.’
Ross was inclined to agree with him. George had worked up a very satisfactory case. The obvious flaws were flaws that he could to some extent control. Tankard shifted from one leg to the other, and Ross wondered how he managed to support himself on such bony shanks.
‘I suppose Geoffrey Charles will be called in support of your charge?’
‘He is a minor and hysterical for a boy. It would do no good for your – friend.’
‘My brother-in-law.’
‘Yes, if you care to claim it. Your brother-in-law. I do not know the man, but perhaps he too is of a hysterical nature – these Methodists often are. Possibly he stole the bible out of some urge to avenge himself on those in this house who objected to his friendship. I suspect him now of being responsible for other insolences this summer. But let that pass. It cannot affect the outcome of the case.’
‘Young Carne appears to have a very deep attachment for Geoffrey Charles – and Geoffrey Charles for him.’
‘He attempted to obtain an influence over an impressionable boy. It was an intolerable presumption.’
‘On the grounds of the disparity in station, I presume you mean?’
‘Yes.’
‘But others have aspired to rise above their class. You did.’
Having said it, Ross regretted having said it, for it made any hope of compromise impossible. Yet had not George indicated already that there was no such hope?
George had gone white. ‘Show this so-called gentleman out.’
‘A minute. I haven’t done yet—’
‘Well, I have. You promised no violence and, in so far as I can expect you to abide by anything you say, then I shall expect you to leave without violent resistance.’
‘I came,’ Ross said, ‘in a spirit of conciliation. Unlikely in view of what I have just said; and in that spirit I take it back and ask your pardon. I do not like you, George, and you do not like me! but – however unwillingly – we are related. I did not choose the relationship and you no doubt accepted it with reluctance, but there it is. My cousin’s son is your step-son, and he is at the centre of this upset. Between any two other families in the country I dare swear that they would clear it up amicably enough and with nothing worse than a passing hard word. So I had been hoping that even between us – if not for ourselves then for the sake of our respective wives – there might be a “settlement out of court”, so to say, and a lot of unwelcome notoriety avoided.’
‘I’m afraid what your wife feels is no concern of mine. You should know that by now.’
Ross kept his temper. ‘And Elizabeth? Do you have no concern for her?’
‘She has no interest in this matter.’
‘She must surely have, for her cousin, Miss Chynoweth, is very much involved.’
George stroked his chin. ‘Tankard, go downstairs will you, and tell Mrs Warleggan that I will join her in five minutes. And send the Harry brothers to watch this man’s escort. We do not want him wandering about the grounds.’
When the notary had gone George said: ‘Since you wish to bring Miss Chynoweth’s name into this, I can inform you that that equally will do you and your brother-in-law no good. I will preserve her reputation as far as I can, but not to the extent of withdrawing this charge, so you can dismiss any thought of blackmailing me into silence.’
They sat for a few minutes, then Ross said: ‘You hope for a good match for Miss Chynoweth. Isn’t that so? Whitworth – though I don’t like him – would be a good match for her. Is it worth destroying that arrangement and perhaps ruining her life for the sake of trying to punish a boy who did you no harm except to presume too far?’
‘Miss Chynoweth’s engagement to Mr Whitworth is already at an end. I felt it my duty to write and tell him that she had compromised herself with another man. Naturally this is a confidential communication which he will respect. But Miss Chynoweth will be sent home to her mother in Bodmin at the end of the summer. I have no further interest in her future. Nor has my wife. We would have nothing to lose by your ungentlemanly disclosures. The only one to lose would be Miss Chynoweth.’
Ross looked down at his boots. A flake of drying mud had fallen on the fading turkey carpet. Shades of Uncle Charles who had so often sat where George was now sitting, stertorous and immense, gently belching as he looked through the primitive accounts of his estate. They used to come up here sometimes as gawky youths, he and Francis, to ask some favour, and Charles would be half asleep, a dog under his feet, a decanter of port at his elbow.
He said: ‘Do you remember when I called to see you, you and Elizabeth, at Christmas time, ’93? You were at supper one evening and I found my way in and we had a conversation about living in peace. Do you remember I held out certain offers of peace and also some consequences which might accrue if the peace were broken?’
‘I am not interested in your threats.’
‘They were not intended to be threats, only – promises.’
Silence fell again. It was a long time since the two men had been alone together like this. Always their interchanges, whether in the form of words or blows, had taken place in the company of other people. Ross remembered once when they had come out of a ticketing and walked together down a Truro street, but that was long ago. Alone now, though full of hostility towards each other, they were less at ease. In a sense their enmity had been expressed in attitudes which were easier to maintain in front of
others. It was not so much what others expected as what they expected of themselves. But now there was no audience. Dislike might run as deep as the deepest river: it could not surface in the conventional way.
Ross said eventually: ‘Let him go, George.’
George shook his head, just once, the cold negative. A Roman emperor refusing to alter a decree.
Ross said: ‘Face it – this is a storm in a teacup. If it blows into something more you have as much to lose as I.’
‘The boy is charged. You are wasting your breath.’
Ross said: ‘I respect your intelligence. I know you would never make the mistake of supposing that, if it comes to a fight, I should be impeded by any principles of general behaviour. You may despise my class but I have always been a renegade from it.’
‘So? What of it?’
‘I say to you, withdraw the charge. As a magistrate there is no difficulty. Let him go tomorrow and forget the whole thing. It is no victory for either you or me – but just for common sense.’
George shook his head.
Ross said: ‘Threats are for bullies; and you would not be one to yield to them, I know. But if the case is heard tomorrow I shall see that a good lawyer is present and that nothing is left undone to make sure that the boy is cleared. Geoffrey Charles will be called.’
‘Geoffrey Charles is at Cardew. We sent him there on Wednesday. My parents are taking care of him, as he is in an exhausted state and quite ill. His testimony would be quite unreliable.’
‘Miss Chynoweth will also be called. However little Elizabeth now cares about her, she cannot relish the idea of having her reputation quite destroyed in the eyes of your neighbours and fellow justices.’
‘She will not feel the more kindly towards you for doing it, Ross; but I cannot stop you if you are so inclined.’