Ross Poldark

He came down, patted Darkie, heard Garrick scuffle in the box they had made for him, returned the way he had come. Devil take Jud and his notions. He surely had sense enough not to leave the property after the boy's warning. Surely he had not ratted.

  Ross went into the downstairs bedroom. The box bed was empty tonight, for Demelza had been moved to her new quarters. He mounted the stairs and quietly opened the door of her bedroom. It was pitch dark, but he could hear a sharp excited breath. She at least was here, but she was not asleep. In some manner she had come to know of the danger. He did not speak but went out again.

  From the room next door came a sound like a very old man cutting timber with a rusty saw, so he had no need to locate Prudie. Downstairs again, and an attempt to settle with his book. He did not drink any more. If Jud returned, they would take it in two-hour watches through the night; if he did not, then the vigil must be kept singlehanded.

  At eleven-thirty he finished the chapter, shut the book, and went to the door of the house again. The lilac tree moved its branches with an errant breeze and then was still. Tabitha Bethia followed him out and rubbed her head in companionate fashion against his boots. The stream was muttering its unending litany. From the clump of elms came the rough thin churring of a nightjar. In the direction of Grambler the moon was rising.

  But Grambler lay southwest. And the faint glow in the sky was not pale enough to reflect either a rising or a setting moon. Fire.

  He started from the house and then checked himself. The defection of Jud and Carter meant that he alone was left to guard his property and the safety of the two women. If in truth the Illuggan miners were on the warpath, it would be anything but wise to leave the house unprotected. Assuming the fire to have some connection with these events, he would surely meet the miners if he went to look and they were on their way here. But some might slip around him and gain the house. Better to stay than risk its being set afire.

  He chewed his bottom lip and cursed Jud for a useless scoundrel. He’d teach him to rat at the first alarm. This desertion somehow loomed larger than all the neglect before he came home.

  He limped up as far as the Long Field behind the house and from there fancied he could make out the flicker of the fire. He returned and thought of waking Prudie and telling her she must care for herself. But the house was as silent as ever and dark, except for the yellow candlelight showing behind the curtains of the parlour; it seemed a pity to add needlessly to anyone's alarm. He wondered what the child's feelings were, sitting up there in the dark.

  Indecision was one of the things he most hated. After another five minutes he cursed himself and snatched up his gun, and set off hastily up the valley.

  Rain was wafting in his face as he reached the copse of fir trees beyond Wheal Maiden. At the other side he stopped and stared across to Grambler. Three fires could be seen. So far as he could make out they were not large, and he was thankful for that. Then he picked out two figures climbing the rising ground towards him, one carrying a lantern.

  He waited. It was Jim Carter and Jud.

  They were talking together, Carter excited and breath less. Behind them, emerging out of the shadows, were four other men: Zacky Martin, Nick Vìgus, Mark and Paul Daniel, all from the cottages at Mellin. As they came abreast of him he stepped out.

  “Why,” said Jud, showing his gums in surprise, “if tedn’t Cap’n Ross. Fancy you being yurabouts. I says to meself not five minutes gone: now, I says, I reckon Cap’n Ross’ll be just going off to sleep nice and piecemeal; he’ll be just stretching his feet down in the bed. I thought I wished I was abed too, 'stead of trampling through the misty-wet, a mile from the nearest mug of toddy—”

  “Where have you been?”

  “Why, only down to Grambler. We thought we’d go visit a kiddley an’ pass the evening sociable—”

  The other men came up and paused, seeing Ross. Nick Vigus seemed disposed to linger, his sly face catching the light from the lantern and creasing into a grin. But Zacky Martin tugged at Vigus’ sleeve.

  “Come on, Nick. You’ll not be up for your core in the morning. Good night, sur.”

  “Good night,” said Ross, and watched them tramp past. He could see more lanterns about the fires now and figures moving. “Well, Jud?”

  “Them fires? Well, now, if ye want to hear all about un, twas like this—”

  “Twas like this, sur,” said Jim Carter, unable to hold his impatience. “What with Will Nanfan saying he’d heard tell the Illuggan miners was coming to break up your house—on account of you taking Tom Carne's maid, we thought twould be a good thing if we could stop ’em. Will says there's about a hundred of ’em carrying sticks and things. Well, now then, Grambler men owes Illuggan men a thing or two since last Michaelmas Fair, so I runs along to Grambler and rouses ’em and says to ’em—“

  “Oo's telling this old yarn?” Jud said with dignity.

  But in the excitement Jim had lost his usual shyness.

  “—and says to ’em, ‘What d’you think? Illuggan men are coming over ’ere bent on a spree.’ Didn’t need to say more’n that, see? Alf Grambler men was in the kiddleys, having a glass, and was fair dagging for a fight. While this, Jud runs down to Sawle and tells ’em same story. It didn’t work so well there, but he comes back wi’ twenty or thirty—”

  “Thirty-six,” said Jud. “But seven o’ the skulks turned into Widow Tregothnan's kiddley, and still there for all I’d know, drowning their guts. Twas Bob Mitchell's fault. If he—”

  “They was just there in time to help build three bon fires—”

  “Three bonfires,” said Jud, “and then—”

  “Let the boy tell his story,” said Ross.

  “Well, now then, we builded three bonfires,” said Carter, “and they was just going pretty when we heard the Illuggan men coming, four or five scores of ’em, headed by Remfrey Flamank, as drunk as a bee. When they come up, Mike Andrewartha mounts on the wall and belves out to ’em, ‘What d’you want, Illuggan men? What business ’ave you hereabouts, Illuggan men?’ And Remfrey Flamank pulls open his shirt to show all the hair on his chest and says, ‘What bloody consarn be that of yourn?’ Then Paul Daniel says, ’Tis our consarn, every man jack of us, for we don’t want Illuggan men poking their nubbies about in our district.’ And a great growl goes up, like you was teasing a bear.”

  Jim Carter stopped a moment to get his breath. “Then a little man with a wart on his cheek the size of a plum shouts out, ‘Our quarrel's not wi’ you, friends. We’ve come to take back the Illuggan maid your fancy gentleman stole and teach ’im a lesson he won’t forget, see? Our quarrel's not wi’ you.’ Then Jud ’ere belves out, ‘Oo says there's aught amiss wi’ hiring a maid, like anyone else. And he took her in fair fight, ye bastards. Which is more’n any of you could do back again. There never was an Illuggan man what—’”

  “All right, all right,” interrupted Jud in sudden irritation. “I knows what I says, don’t I! Think I can’t tell what I said meself—” In his annoyance he turned his head and showed that one eye was going black.

  “He says, ‘There never was an Illuggan man what wasn’t the dirty cross-eyed son of an unmarried bitch wi’ no chest and spavin shanks out of a knacker's yard.’ I thought twas as good as the preacher. And then someone hits him a clunk in the eye.”

  Ross said: “Then I suppose everyone started fighting.”

  “Nigh on two hundred of us. Lors, twas a proper job. Did ee see that great fellow wi’ one eye, Jud? Mark Daniel was lacing into him, when Sam Roscollar came up. An’ Remfrey Flamank—”

  “Quiet, boy,” said Jud.

  Jim at last subsided. They reached home in a silence which was only once broken by his gurgling chuckle and the words, “Remfrey Flamank, as drunk as a bee!”

  “Impudence,” said Ross at the door. “To go off and involve yourselves in a brawl and leave me at home to look after the women. What d’you think I am?”

  There was silence.

  “Understand, quarrels
of my own making I’ll settle in my own way.”

  “Yes, sur.”

  “Well, go on to bed, it's done now. But don’t think I shall not remember it.”

  Whether this was a threat of punishment or a promise of reward Jud and his partner could not be sure, for the night was too dark to see the speaker's face. There was a catch in his voice which might have been caused by a barely controlled anger.

  Or it might have been laughter, but they did not think of that.

  CHAPTER TEN

  1

  AT THE EXTREME EASTERN END OF THE POLDARK LAND, ABOUT HALF A MILE from the house of Nampara, the property joined that of Mr. Horace Treneglos, whose house lay a couple of miles inland behind the Hendrawna sand hills and was called Mingoose. At the point where the two estates met on the cliff edge was a third mine.

  Wheal Leisure had been worked in Joshua's day for surface tin but not at all for copper. Ross had been over it during the winter and the desire to restart at least one of the workings on his own land had, after consideration of Wheal Grace, come to centre upon this other mine.

  The advantages were that drainage could consist of adits running out to the cliff face, and that in some of the last samples taken from the mine and hoarded by Joshua there were definite signs of copper.

  But it needed more capital than he could find; so on the Thursday morning of Easter week he rode over to Mingoose. Mr. Treneglos was an elderly widower with three sons, the youngest in the navy and the others devoted fox hunters. He was himself a scholar and unlikely to care for mining adventures; but since the mine was partly on his land, it was the smallest courtesy to approach him first.

  “Seems to me you’ve got so little to go on; almost like digging virgin ground. Why not start Wheal Grace where there's shafts already sunk?” shouted Mr. Treneglos. He was a tall, heavily built man whom deafness had made clumsy. He was sitting now on the edge of an armchair, his fat knees bent, his tight knee breeches stretched to a shinier tightness, his buttons under a strain, one hand stroking his knee and the other behind his ear.

  Ross gave his reasons for preferring Wheal Leisure.

  “Well, my dear,” shouted Mr. Treneglos, “it is all very convincing, I believe you. I have no objection to your making a few holes in my land. We did ought to be good neighbours.” He raised his voice. “Financially, now, I’m a bit costive this month; those boys of mine and their ’unters. Next month perhaps I could loan you fifty guineas. We did ought to be good neighbours. How would that do?”

  Ross thanked him and said that if the mine were started he would run it on the cost-book system, whereby each of a number of speculators took up one or more shares and paid towards the outlay.

  “Yes, excellent notion.” Mr. Treneglos thrust forward an ear. “Well, come round and see me again, eh? Always glad to help, my boy. We did ought to be good neighbours, and I’m not averse to a little flutter. Perhaps we shall find another Grambler.” He rumbled with laughter and picked up his book. “Perhaps we shall find another Grambler. Ever read the classics, my boy? Cure for many ills of the modern world. I often try to get your father interested. How is he, by the way?”

  Ross explained.

  “Why damn me, yes. A poor job. It was your uncle I was thinking of. It was his uncle I was thinking of,” he added in an undertone.

  Ross rode home feeling that half a promise from Mr. Treneglos was as much as he could expect at this stage; it remained for him to get some professional advice. The man to approach for this was Captain Henshawe of Grambler.

  Jim Carter was working in one of his fields with the three young Martin children. As Ross passed, Carter ran over to him.

  “I thought I’d tell ee a bit of news, sir,” he said quietly. “Reuben Clemmow's runned away.”

  So much had happened since their meeting last Sunday that Ross had forgotten the last of the Clemmows. The interview had not been a pleasant one. The man had been shifty but defiant. Ross had reasoned with him, trying to get at him through a blank wall of suspicion and resentment. But even while doing it he had been conscious of failure, and of the enmity towards himself—something that couldn’t be met or turned by good advice or a friendly talk. It was too deeply rooted for that.

  “Where has he gone?”

  “Dunno, sur. What you said to him ’bout turning of him out must have frightened him.”

  “You mean he isn’t at the mine?”

  “Not since Tuesday. Nobody's seed him since Tuesday.”

  “Oh well,” said Ross, “it will save trouble.”

  Carter looked up at him. His high-boned young face was very pallid this morning. “Jinny d’ think he's still hanging around, sur. She says he hasn’t gone far.”

  “Someone would surely have seen him.”

  “Yes, sur, that's what I d’ say. But she don’t believe we. She says, sur, if you’ll excuse it, sur, to look out for yourself.”

  Ross's face creased into a smile.

  “Don’t worry your head about me, Jim. And don’t worry about Jinny, neither. Are you in love with the girl?”

  Carter met his gaze and swallowed.

  “Well,” said Ross, “you should be happy now you’ve lost your rival. Though I doubt if he seriously competed.”

  “Not in that way,” said Jim. “Tes only that we was afraid—”

  “I know what you were afraid of. If you see or hear anything, let me know. If not, don’t see bogles in every corner.”

  He rode on. Very well for me to talk, he thought. Perhaps the lout has run off to his brother in Truro. Or perhaps he has not. No telling with that type. It would be better for the Martins if he was under lock and key.

  2

  Although he went to Truro several times, Ross saw nothing more of Margaret. Nor had he the desire to. If his adventure with her on the night of the ball had not cured him of his love for Elizabeth, it had proved to him that to seek lust for its own sake was no solution.

  The child Demelza settled into her new home like a stray kitten into a comfortable parlour. Knowing the great strength of family ties among the miners, he had been prepared after a week to find her curled in a corner weeping for her father and his thrashings. Had she shown any signs of homesickness he would have packed her off at once; but she did not, and Prudie gave her a good character.

  The fact that within three hours of her coming Demelza had found her way into the good graces of the monstrous Prudie was another surprise. Perhaps she appealed to some half-atrophied mother instinct, as a starving duckling might to a great auk.

  So after a month's trial he sent Jim Carter—Jud would not go—to see Tom Carne with two guineas for the hire of the girl's services for a year. Jim said that Carne had threatened to break every bone in his body; but he didn’t refuse the gold, and this suggested that he was going to acquiesce in the loss of his daughter.

  After their one large-scale invasion, the miners of Illuggan made no move. There was always a chance of trouble when the next feast day came, but until then the distance between the places would save accidental clashes. Ross suspected for a time that they might try to take the child away by force, and he told her that she was not to go far from the house. One evening, riding home from St. Ann's, a hail of stones was flung at him from behind a hedge, but that was the last sign of public disfavour. People had their own concerns to think of.

  Turning over the lumber in the library, Prudie came upon a piece of stout printed dimity, and this, washed and cut up, made two sacklike frocks for the girl. Then an old bedspread with a deep lace edge was cut up into two pairs of combinations. Demelza had never seen anything like them before, and when she was wearing them, she always tried to pull them down so that the lace showed below the hem of her skirt.

  Much against her will, Prudie found herself enlisted in a campaign in which she had no personal belief: the war on lice. It was necessary to point out to Demelza at frequent intervals that her new master wouldn’t tolerate dirty bodies or dirty hair.

  “But how do he kno
w?” the girl asked one day when the rain was trickling down the bottle-green glass of the kitchen window. “How do he know? My hair's dark and there an’t that change whether you d’ wash it or no.”

  Prudie frowned as she basted the meat which was roasting on a spit over the fire. “Yes. But it d’ make a powerful difference to the number of cra’lers.”

  “Cra’lers?” echoed Demelza, and scratched her head. “Why, everyone's got cra’lers.”

  “He don’t like ’em.”

  “Why,” said Demelza seriously, “you’ve got cra’lers. You’ve got cra’lers worser than what I have.”

  “He don’t like ’em,” Prudie said stubbornly.

  Demelza digested this for a moment.

  “Well, how do you get rid of ’em?”

  “Wash, wash, wash,” said Prudie.

  “Like a blathering duck,” said Jud, who had just entered the kitchen.

  Demelza turned her head and gazed at him with her interested dark eyes. Then she looked again at Prudie.

  “’Ow is it you an’t got rid of ’em, then?” she asked, anxious to learn.

  “An’t washed enough,” said Jud sarcastically. “Tedn’t right fur human beings to ’ave skins. They must scrub theirselves raw as a buttock of beef to please some folk. But then again it depend ’pon how cra’lers do attach their selves. Cra’lers is funny, kicklish creatures. Cra’lers like some folk better’n other folk. Cra’lers ’ave a natural infinity with some folk, just like they was brother and sister. Other folk, God makes ’em clean by nature. Look at me. You won’t find no cra’lers on my head.”

  Demelza considered him.

  “No,” she said, “but you an’t gotten any hair.”

  Jud threw down the turfs he had brought in. “If you learned her to hold ’er tongue,” he said pettishly to his wife, “twould be a sight betterer than learning ’er that. If you learned ’er manners, how to speak respectable to folk and answer respectable an’ be respectable to her elders an’ betters, twould be a sight betterer than that. Then ye could pat yourself on the ’ead and say, ‘Thur, I’m doing a tidy job, learning her to be respectable.’ But what are ee doing? Tedn’t ’ard to answer. Tedn’t ’ard to see. You’re learning her to be sassy.”