‘Problems?’
‘A young woman if she is dedicated to a profession may find a conflict of interest in following it and at the same time living the life of a young bride.’
‘We have talked about it together and how these problems could be faced. But at least she would be marrying someone who is as ambitious for her as she is for herself. I would be no jealous husband, begrudging her dedication to her success. In all cases her profession would take priority.’
‘She might find she did not want it to.’
‘For reasons of self-esteem I hope that’s true. And I hope I should be able to steer her back to music.’
Ross stretched his legs. ‘And what would happen when the usual outcome of a marriage occurs?’
‘Children? Yes, sir, that too is a hazard. But I am promised a move to the executive office of Rothschild – this should be next October – and this should mean I will have funds enough to take a modest house and hire a sufficiency of servants. If there were children they would not depend solely on their mother for attention.’
‘There is, however, still the anatomical necessity that women have to carry their offspring for nine months before they are born. That is a time when a coming child is at its most demanding and, from a concert point of view, disfiguring.’
‘You must be aware, sir – or perhaps you do not go much to the theatre in London – you would know that audiences are well used to seeing their actresses gravid with child. They observe a convention to ignore the lady’s condition and concentrate on her acting. So I believe where a singer is involved it does not seem to upset the singer that she is many months pregnant, nor upset the audience who see her and listen to her in this condition.’
The song had stopped. It was time for Henry to go to bed. Perhaps he was already asleep, lulled by that voice.
‘I presume you have discussed all this thoroughly with Bella?’
‘We have discussed it, yes. But we wait on your provisional assent. Yours and Lady Poldark’s.’
‘I cannot answer for her. But speaking for myself – provided Bella remains totally committed – I—’ Ross stopped. ‘I think I must first ask leave to discuss the proposal – with Bella’s mother.’
Christopher stroked his moustache. ‘Thank you, sir.’
Chapter Two
A few days later, in a fresh breezy September wind, Valentine was showing two of his new adventurers over the workings of Wheal Elizabeth – Mr Saunders and Mr Tucking, both substantial men in their fifties, the first with a beard, the second with a paunch, and both with North Country accents.
They had arrived unexpectedly at John Permewan’s office in Truro yesterday evening, and Permewan, as soon as he was able, had sent a boy to warn young Mr Warleggan that he might expect a visit from all three of them about noon tomorrow. The ‘sight unseen’ investors had decided after all to see for themselves. It appeared that they had left Leeds together last week and were making a leisurely tour of the West Country inspecting the properties into which they had put some of their money.
John Permewan was a man of forty-four who wore a black wig to hide his total lack of head hair, was snub-nosed, small-mouthed, ingratiating, and had a skill with words, particularly prospectuses.
Valentine said: ‘After dinner you may go down either Diagonal or Western if you have the mind, for as you will observe the amount of work you may see above ground is relatively small.’
‘Aye,’ said Tucking, ‘you’re right there.’
‘As I say, I am negotiating for the purchase of a forty-inch beam engine from Pendeen Consols at St Just. I have offered them two hundred and forty pounds for an engine which cost them eight hundred pounds to install. It was built by Hocking and Son and is in first-class condition. If the deal goes through, the engine should be moved and reassembled and working in ten weeks. Perhaps, if you have time, you could go over tomorrow to see the engine for yourselves?’
Saunders looked at the sky and then at Valentine. ‘Where is – St Just, is it?’
‘Near Land’s End. Thirty miles or a little less.’
‘We was to be at Hayle tomorrow,’ said Tucking.
‘You will appreciate,’ said Valentine, ‘that the location of this mine is singularly fortunate, for the sloping ground drains naturally into the sea. It is only now that we are approaching the fifty-fathom level that we need artificial drainage, and this engine that we are going to buy, that we are all going to help to buy as venturers together – shareholders, that is – will perfectly supply the need.’
‘That mine we was at yesterday,’ said Tucking, ‘had much more headgear. And there was things they call washing floors. And waterwheels.’
‘What mine was that? West Chiverton? That has been in existence thirty years, and has made a mint of money for the owners. A mint of money. We are only just beginning. But after dinner let me show you some of the samples of the ore we have already brought up. I think it a mine of the highest promise—’
‘Excuse me,’ said Saunders. ‘I believe there be a lady trying to attract your attention.’
Valentine looked back towards the house. Coming away from it, hand raised as if to call him, was a young woman, her hair blowing wildly in the sea wind. It was Agneta.
‘Oh,’ said Valentine. ‘It is a woman from the village. She is simple – in the head, I mean. My wife has been very kind to her and now she trades on the favours she has received. Pray excuse me.’
He walked furiously back towards the house, holding his hat against the wind.
‘Vally!’ said Agneta affectionately, and then she saw his face. ‘You must not be cross—’
‘Cross!’ he said. ‘I am furious. How dare you continue to pester us like this! This is three – four times—’
‘You said not go to the house. But I went and you were not there! What is wrong? Why are you always away? Why do you not love Neta?’
‘I did. Agneta, I did. But no longer. I am too busy. I am married. I must stay faithful to my vows. It was just a happy time we had together. No more. It is over. D’you understand? Over! Finished! Done for. I do not want you any longer.’
She stared at him, her eyes wide and brimming with tears.
‘You not want Agneta? But Agneta wants Vally. She wants him. She pines for him! She will never give him up—’
By chance Music Thomas was mooching round the house. At ordinary times Valentine would have snapped at him to get back to the stables. But now he was welcome.
‘Music! Here!’
‘Sur?’ He came across at a lolloping trot.
‘Miss Treneglos is to go home. Take her home. In any way you can! Do not let her out of your sight until she is back in Mingoose! Understand?’
‘Ais, sur, but—’
‘Vally! I am here to see you—’
But Valentine had turned his back and was smoothing his hair and walking towards his visitors to resume his conversation with them. Trying hard to smile, trying hard to look unruffled, as if this had been only a trivial interruption to their business talk.
A difficult time getting Agneta home. A six-mile walk, and, since he had not been instructed to take horses from the stables, Music did not think he dared.
Agneta’s shoes were already badly scuffed, and soon she was limping. Every now and then a fresh flood of tears would stream down her cheeks, and her wild hair blowing in the wind stuck to her face like seaweed.
Music knew Agneta to be a ‘poor soul’. This was a phrase chosen by him rather than ‘half saved’ because that phrase had been used against himself until Katie bludgeoned it out of existence in her presence. But he also knew that Agneta was one of the gentry, and since Mr Treneglos had once sworn and shouted at him for getting in the way of his horse Music tended to keep clear of the family. So he let Agneta precede him and followed at about a yard’s respectful distance. Sometimes she would stop and feel at her shoe, sometimes she would sit on a wall and wipe her face with her cloak; then he too would stop and wait until, under g
entle urging from him, she would start off again.
They at last came to Grambler village. The sight of two such addlepates following each other, stumbling among the cart tracks, brought faces to doors and windows, but fortunately the children were all on the cliffs looking for samphire. As they got near the end of the straggling cottages Agneta put her hands to her face and began to wail. Casting about for help of some sort, Music saw his brother-in-law coming out of Music’s own cottage and called to him to come over.
It had taken all of three years for Ben Carter to come to any acceptance of Katie’s husband. To Ben, Music always carried the stigma of being the village idiot, and he had been scandalized at his big black-eyed sister throwing herself into wedlock with such a diddicoy. But Katie’s eventual happiness in the match and her ferocious defence of her husband against snide or sneer or catcall had gradually brought Ben round. They met sometimes at their mother’s house in Stippy-Stappy Lane, and Ben could now bring himself to be just polite.
‘What’s amiss, boy?’
Music explained, making himself heard with difficulty over Agneta’s sobs and wails.
‘Now then, miss. Miss Agneta, isn’t it, eh? Why don’t ee want go ’ome?’
Agneta stared at Ben, vaguely recognizing him.
‘Who are you? Go away and leave me be. I shall go home when I want!’
‘Ben Carter. I been up your house ’pon times. Tis going to rain. You’d best go wi’ Music here.’
‘I’ll do whatsoever I please.’ Music put a hand on her arm, but she haughtily shook it off. Music looked appealingly at Ben.
‘Twould be a favour to come ’long, Ben, ’long of us. Just so far as the door. Tis no more’n a mile or two, I reckon.’
Music had not ever before ventured to suggest that Ben should do anything. Ben looked at the sky, which was blowing up dark and threatening.
‘I was going mine,’ said Ben grudgingly. ‘Tedn far out of my way.’
When they had finally led Agneta, only snivelling now, into the arms of Emmeline, recently returned from a visit to Bath, they turned away. From being a difficult anxious task, for Music this was now turning into a heart-warming achievement: the sorrowing girl was safely back in her home, and more important to his sense of well-being was the fact that he had done something in company with his brother-in-law. They walked away from the house together!
Presently Ben struck off across the field path that led to the sandhills. When he saw Music accompanying him he said: ‘This edn your way home, boy.’
‘No, Ben. I thought mebbe I could come with ee so far as Leisure? There’s no rush for me to get back, ’cos they won’t know how long it d’take, and I haven’t been see the Bal, not since the new engine were fired.’
‘Please yourself,’ said Ben.
Ben had never had Music’s company at the mine and he certainly did not want it now, but an element of contrariness in his nature stopped him from sending the other man scuttling home. Let the devil take any of his miners who exchanged sidelong glances or whispered behind their backs. Music was Katie’s husband, and if there were any dottle still thinking to see the funny side they could go jump off the cliff for all Ben told himself he cared.
Nor did he think many would do this. He knew he had established his position and he was entitled to respect from the men. As for the Bal maidens, those who really were maidens knew he was unmarried and probably fancied their chances with him. In the last few years Ben had grown up, become a little more moderate in his views, had grown more formidable, a leader in a sense yet remaining resolutely solitary.
There were, as he expected, relatively few people about except for those working on the washing and sifting floors. He went at once to the coal bins directly behind the engine house, Music shambling behind.
Dan Curnow came out, wiping his hands on an oily rag.
‘All goin’ right, Dan?’
‘Aye. Naught wrong that won’t wait till cleanin’ next month.’
‘If we keep goin’ till then.’
‘Oh, aye, the coal. Twill come no doubt in a day or two. You seen Cap’n Poldark?’
Ben screwed up his eyes and looked at the tormented sea. ‘Saw’n yesternight. He been over today?’
‘No.’
‘I’d best go see ’im. Not like ’im to forget.’
‘Never known it,’ said Curnow. ‘What’d he say yesterday?’
‘Our load be out there, waitin’ for the weather. Cap’n Poldark says it’s been sighted off St Ann’s, but there’s precious chance o’ making that harbour. She’d be scat to jowds. And Basset’s Cove purty little better. Don’t envy them folk. She’ve been out a week from Swansea.’
‘Poor weather for September,’ Music volunteered, hoping to join in.
Dan Curnow looked at him. ‘Damnation poor.’
Ben said: ‘Reckon I’ll go see Cap’n. Mebbe he ’as other things on his mind. Nothin’ fresh from sixty fathom?’
‘All goin’ well, I blave.’
‘I mind a time years gone,’ said Music brightly. ‘Can’t mind when. Twas that year o’ the rains. Lugger come ashore. Just over there twas. You mind it, Ben? Come ashore wi’ a load. All beach were black for months. I mind Art and John come back leadin’ mule wi’ panniers full o’ good nut! Kept we warm ’alf winter!’
Dan wiped his hands again and looked at Ben. Ben said: ‘Time you was off, Music. Katie’ll be grieving for ee, thinking you’ve fell off the cliffs. I be going Nampara.’
‘I’ll come with ee,’ said Music. ‘Tes right on me way ’ome.’ Then seeing Ben’s face he added: ‘I’ll just come so far as the stile.’
Ben found Ross in the stables. He was considering what to do with Bella’s pony, which he had bought for her at the Truro races some years ago. Most ponies can be put out to grass and take easily to a pastoral life, munching and lying in the sun or sheltering placidly under a tree in the rain, but Horatio had become such a pet of Bella’s that he seemed to go off his food when she was away and moped and sulked noticeably. Ross was coming away, having conferred with Matthew Mark Martin and found no solution.
‘Ben,’ he said. ‘No trouble, I hope?’
‘No, sur. Nothing amiss at all except for a shortage of fuel. We got ’bout four days’ supply and I was wondering what we was to do if the weather don’t take off.’
‘It is surprising, the height of the sea, for the wind is no more than a stiffish breeze. But the Magpie will never hazard herself until the sea abates. I have been in to Truro this morning and ordered six carts from the merchant there—’
‘Ah, I should not ’ave bothered ee—’
‘Well, first I tried Wheal Kitty, but they too were in short supply and did not wish to spare any in case this weather lasted. I hope the rain won’t come, for the ways are mired enough between here and Truro and will not be improved by a procession of coal carts.’
As Ross was speaking he led the way round the house, through the yard with the pump in it, under a granite arch into the garden. They found Demelza there, in the far corner, talking with two other people, Sam, her brother, and Esther, her niece.
It was Essie’s half-day off, and when she had turned up at Pally’s Shop Sam had taken her by the arm and said: ‘Come you with me. I wish for you to meet your aunt.’
‘I met her the twice, Uncle Sam, first when she come to see Arthur wed, and then early this year. She’s done much for me. I don’t wish to put myself forward.’
‘Ye’ll have the chance to thank her then, won’t ee. Gratitude is a holy virtue. Gratitude to God comes foremost with us all. But gratitude between one person and another is also blessed under the Lord.’
Essie was still half protesting as they came down the shallow valley with its bubbling stream, saw the old grey house set beside the turbulent sea. And Demelza was in her garden tying up the hollyhocks.
There was no embarrassment. Demelza kissed Esther as if she had known her well for years, and Sam stood by and allowed his young-old creased
face to move into an appreciative smile. They walked around the garden, the wind tugging and pushing at them.
On this came Ross and Ben, through the arch and so to meet them. There was some slight awkwardness here, but it came from the visitors. At sight of Ben Carter Esther went crimson to the ears. Ross, who had not seen Esther before, thought her a waif of a girl, and when she dropped a curtsy to him he could see the beads of sweat starting on her forehead.
‘We’ve met,’ said Ben inscrutably. ‘Just in the village, like.’
They looked at Essie. She blurted out: ‘A dog bit me and – and Mr Carter killed ’im.’
Ross said to Ben: ‘Stray dog?’
‘Yes. Mongrel. Thought twas best.’
‘Safer,’ said Ross, but Demelza shivered.
‘I been meaning to see ee, Ben,’ said Sam benevolently. ‘Your mam be one of my flock, but I d’know you’re not of a mind to change—’
‘No. Fraid not.’
‘Esther here is besting whether to accept the pure fount of the Holy Spirit and join the communion. But to begin to take a part, a full part, in our worship, which be to the greater glory of God as manifested in Jesus Christ, she would need mebbe one morning off per week, just to take hold of the teaching. So I asked Jinny, your beloved mother, if she would write to Major Geoffrey Charles, or to his wife, putting this to them and requesting that she be given that extra time away—’
‘What my mother say?’
‘She say she don’t like t’ask. She say she specially don’t like t’ask on account of Mrs Geoffrey Charles being a Roman.’
‘An’ what do ee want o’ me?’
‘I thought mebbe ye could persuade your mother when I could not . . .’
Ross thought he detected an element of opportunism in Sam’s benevolent appeal. He had probably brought the girl here and been prepared to make such a request to Demelza or even to himself; but Ben’s appearance had given him the chance of making the request to Ben, with his niece and brother-in-law standing by and listening. (Sam, Ross knew, was very unhappy at his niece being in the constant company of someone who worshipped at the tainted altar of Rome. To bring Esther into the safe keeping of his Connexion would safeguard her from contamination.)