Warleggan

  Caroline reined in her horse beside him, her eyes glinting. ‘That was very – clever of you, Dr Enys. It’s obvious that such – accomplishments would be quite – misplaced in city life.’

  ‘I have others,’ said Dwight, more out of breath than she was. ‘I have others – that would not.’

  ‘But you can’t bear the thought of Bath, Dr Enys.’ ‘And you can’t bear the thought of marriage, Miss Penvenen.’

  ‘I see no connection.’

  ‘I am used to dealing with connections which – can be worked up.’

  ‘To a man of such talents anything is possible.’ ‘Nothing is possible without you, Caroline.’ She sobered a little, meeting his glance. Her face was flushed with the gallop. She no longer looked displeased. John Jonas came out of the mill rubbing his hands on his apron.

  ‘All right, sur, are ee? Did the young lady’s horse run away with her, eh?’

  ‘No,’ said Dwight. ‘No one has run away with her yet.’

  Chapter Three

  She was in the winter parlour when Ross called. Black suited her. He hadn’t yet overcome the feeling that he had no business at Trenwith without Francis to welcome him. Ever since Francis’s death there had been a new constraint between them, coming from her confession months before; a barrier to replace a barrier, because without it . . .

  She’d stood the bereavement well, as, considering her fragile look, she stood all strain well – for whether she loved Francis in the ordinary sense or not, he was her husband, the father of Geoffrey Charles, and long-standing ties of affection and habit had been broken.

  ‘I have brought you the last returns of Wheal Grace,’ he said. ‘I copied them from the cost book last night. They don’t make invigorating reading, but I thought you should have them.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why? Because you’re a partner, of course. Virtually so, since Geoffrey Charles is too young to look after his own interests.’ He put the papers on the table and opened them up.

  ‘Can you not tell me all that matters? I need no proofs in writing.’

  ‘Yet you should have them. It’s the business way, and others may think it needful if you do not.’ He waited a moment, but she did not come to the table.

  ‘What others are there?’

  Pearce or your father, or – well, here the figures are for you to look at. What matters is that we shall not be able to go on later than January. I think possibly it would be better to finish at the end of the year.’

  Her skin looked cool, as if the clothes she wore did not belong to it, their blackness some part of a world she did not quite inhabit. ‘Ross, you know all of my finances, but I don’t know yours. I know the end of this venture will hit you hard, but not how hard. From something that Francis said . . .’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I had the impression that Wheal Grace had become as much a gambler’s throw for you as for him. Are you gravely in debt?’

  ‘Grave is the word. One foot in and the other shortly following. But that’s a risk I took. I can’t complain because it has gone wrong. What I do much regret is losing your money also.’

  ‘Well, it was Francis’s money. And he also knew the risk he was taking.’

  ‘Then I regret it for Geoffrey Charles’s sake.’

  On this she was without argument, without subterfuge even to herself. ‘More than anything I feel my poverty because of him, Ross. I can’t bear the thought of his coming into his inheritance and finding it . . . When Francis came into this estate, there was money to live – and would have been for our children. This last has been a wise investment compared to much of the rest. At least it was a gamble in a mine and not on the turn of a card!’

  It was on Ross’s tongue to ask if she realized how much she had contributed to this state of affairs, but his tongue was tied.

  ‘If your father and mother live with you, it will help you and them, I suppose. They may get a good price for Cusgarne from one of the rich merchants; the expenses of living can be pooled.’

  ‘Yes . . .’

  ‘Isn’t that your intention?’

  She breathed deeply, gave him a painful smile. ‘It was, Ross. But just at the moment it’s too soon. I want time to think about these things. Francis’s death is – is too close to me.’ She came at last to the table, looked down at the papers he had brought, flipping them over in her fingers but not reading them.

  Ross said: ‘You’ve seen George again?’

  ‘I had to. He’s my chief creditor as you know. So much so that he’s almost my only important one. It was a little difficult without you, but he quite understood that you could not meet.’

  ‘What are his views on the debts?’

  ‘Very generous. They always have been.’ She raised her eyes again. ‘I can’t rob him of that credit. He was always generous to Francis too.’

  Ross nodded, his face showing neither approval nor disapproval. ‘Had he any fresh proposals?’

  ‘Yes. He offered to waive interest on the debts for a period of years. Of course I could not accept that.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Well . . . There have been enough favours. I don’t feel justified in accepting more.’

  Ross studied the colour moving under the delicate flush of her skin. ‘It depends why, does it not? If you refuse his favours out of loyalty to me, it’s a mistaken loyalty. My quarrel with George is not your quarrel. Nor even need Francis’s be, now. George has always – admired you – tried to win your approval. If he still wants to do so, I should let him. You may well retain your private opinion of him just the same.’

  She did not speak.

  ‘If on the other hand,’ said Ross, ‘you feel that acceptance of his favours means you must offer him favours in return – such as . . .’

  ‘Such as?’

  He frowned at the papers. ‘You can imagine them better than I. At the least you might feel that becoming a friend of his would alienate people you like better. That you must decide for yourself – I can’t advise you.’

  ‘I already have,’ said Elizabeth quietly folding the papers unread.

  Ross accepted them back, and they talked for a time desultorily about day-to-day things. But although what they said was unimportant, the saying of it was not. They had never before met like this, each week, confidentially, as friends. Each week tied the invisible strings.

  When he left, she walked slowly back to the winter parlour and from the window watched his dwindling figure as he rode down the drive. If she had been given to self-questioning, she would have admitted that she had not been entirely honest with him over the help she was receiving from George – but would have pleaded excuse on the grounds that it was a necessary outcome of her bereavement. She not only wanted to be thought well of by both men, she needed to be. George had proposed that, being Geoffrey Charles’s godfather, he should hold himself responsible for the cost of the boy’s education up to the time of his finishing at Oxford. She could not refuse this, and Ross would not have expected her to. But she did not want to tell him of it, nor of the several smaller favours. It compromised the position she wished to take up in his mind. Perhaps more than anything else at present she wanted Ross’s approval for herself.

  But from the moment of Francis’s death all her emotions had needed new names. A pattern set and grown in years had dissolved overnight. She wished the circumstances would have permitted her to correct the mistakes of past years. At present she was only groping towards an understanding of them.

  When horse and rider had disappeared round a bend in the drive, she rang for Mrs Tabb to fetch Geoffrey Charles from his great-great-aunt’s bedroom, where he was playing. Aunt Agatha was in bed today with rheumatism, and her strength, Elizabeth thought, was failing. When the little boy came, his mother kissed him fondly and began to give him his history lesson. These hours she spent with her son were the best of her day; she found mother love uncomplex and wholly satisfying; in such a relationship there were no mental reservations, no
attitudes to be sustained, and no conflict.

  She had not so far found her widowhood objectionable in the conventional ways, she felt little loneliness as such, she had more time to devote to herself and more for Geoffrey Charles. But she grievously missed a man to take the responsibility of day-to-day living. The making of decisions was always something she had disliked, and in an estate of this character there was no avoiding them. Some in fact could only be dealt with satisfactorily by a man. Tabb did what he could, Tabb did everything he could, but sometimes he traded on his new position and she had to watch that too.

  While Geoffrey Charles was reading aloud to her, she walked across and studied herself in the mirror, twisting a strand of hair in among the rest, staring closely at her eyes and skin. There were a few little lines about her eyes which had not been there five years ago. But they were not enough to make any difference yet. When she smiled they disappeared. She must remember not to smile much in private, for that would deepen the lines, but to smile much in public, for that would hide them.

  What had George said: one of the most beautiful women in England? His usual exaggeration. But beautiful enough. It was not conceit to know that. Nor did she think it disloyal to Francis to be aware of a growing freedom. She had been in a cage too long, confined within the bars of this house. It remained to be seen whether she had forgotten how to fly.

  Demelza never asked what took place on Ross’s weekly visit to Elizabeth, and he seldom volunteered the information. But on one thing Demelza was quite resolved. Whatever her inner promptings might be, she would never allow herself to entertain any suspicions of Ross’s behaviour or allow him to suppose that she had any. Although she seldom voiced them, she had strong views on what a wife’s attitude ought to be in such circumstances.

  Today when he returned she had other news for him.

  ‘There’s a message from Mr Trencrom. Jud brought it. He says they’ll be over tonight. He wouldn’t say what he meant.’

  ‘It’s a matter I’ve intended telling you of. Mr Trencrom wants me to have a cache dug on my land for storing his goods during a run, so that they can be taken away at leisure. Of course he’s willing to pay for it.’

  ‘But will that not greatly increase the risk to us?’

  ‘It matters very little. In a month we shall crash anyhow.’

  She did not speak but went on brushing out the stable, where he had found her. He could guess by her face something of what she felt.

  ‘That doesn’t make sense to me,’ she said eventually.

  ‘Well, if I go to prison for debt, this will mean more money coming in. And the quicker the debt is paid, the quicker I shall be out again.’

  ‘That is supposing the goods are not found on our land. You will stay longer in prison if you are convicted for that.’

  ‘I do not think I shall be.’

  ‘Where is this – this thing to be?’

  ‘In the old library. It can all be done in one night, and nothing to show tomorrow.’

  She was silent again. She would say no more in criticism, he knew, either to him or to herself; but that did not make her forbearance any easier to accept.

  He said casually: ‘And how was Jud?’

  ‘Grumbling as usual. John tells me he has joined the Methodies.’

  ‘I should not be astonished: he has always had a fancy for hell fire. Demelza, I wish you would not do this work; it’s not right you should take it on yourself.’

  ‘Gimlett was busy and you were out. But I like it, Ross. It stops me from thinking. About this hole, this cache, how many will know of it?’

  ‘Four to dig it. Six or eight perhaps who use it.’

  ‘Jud Paynter?’

  ‘Possibly.’

  ‘Well, I—’

  ‘Oh, I know he’s leaky in his liquor. But he drinks less since his recovery – and I think we underrate him. Look at his behaviour at my trial. Trencrom trusts him, and Trencrom can’t afford to make mistakes.’

  ‘Neither can we.’

  ‘As you say.’ He stared at her for a moment, disliking himself for comparisons which sometimes now rose uninvited in his brain. ‘Demelza, I am not making much of our situation yet; for there’s still a few weeks to go, and I may still find the money. If I do not, I have made arrangements with Mr Trencrom so that a sum shall be paid to you monthly for the favours he receives. My remaining shares in Wheal Leisure will go to meet part of the debt, so there will be nothing from that. But Mr Trencrom’s dole will keep you comfortably enough, and anything you can save from it can be put aside to wipe off the rest of the debt. In no time—’

  ‘You do not need to fear for me. I was used once to living on nothing, and can do it again. And Jeremy I shall see for. Don’t worry about us. What matters is paying off the money you owe.’

  He took the broom from her, and after a brief resistance she gave it up. He carried on with the work.

  ‘I had some expectation of Mr Trencrom. I’m a deal more use to him out of prison than in; and if there is a forced sale of this house and land, the new purchasers may not be friendly to his schemes.’

  ‘I thought your Mr Pascoe had promised that the property should not be sold.’

  ‘So he has. Indeed, the property already belongs to him under the mortgage deed; but Trencrom does not know of the promise.’

  Demelza pushed back her hair with her wrist. ‘You’ll soil your best clothes. ’Tisn’t sensible to do that now.’

  ‘Well I’d as lief wear ’em out as save them for the moths.’

  She said vehemently: ‘Why do you not appeal to your friends, Ross – or let me appeal for you? Sir John Trevaunance would be sympathetic, I know. And Sir Hugh Bodrugan, though you may not like him, has good will towards me. And Mr Ray Penvenen, and old Mr Treneglos. They might well join with Mr Trencrom in putting up so much each so’s to save you from the bankruptcy. It is not charity, for they know you are honourable and would pay them back. Why not let me try? Do let me try!’

  He stopped and leaned on the broom handle, his eyes lidded in thought. After a few seconds he smiled and shook his head. ‘No good, my dear. The sum is too great and so is my pride. And since you’ve so good an opinion of these friendships, keep it, for they would not stand the strain you suppose. One or two would help, I know, but others would not; and we can save ourselves the disappointment. Anyway, I’ve never asked favours and will not begin now. We’ll get through it as we may, and presently start afresh. When that time comes, I shall keep to farming and leave all mining alone. Even brushing out stables will be a kindly thing to come back to!’

  The four to dig it was six, with Jud leaning on his stick to superintend. An overblown moon climbed above the sand hills at nine-thirty, so there was need only of one small lantern within the library. At ten the cores changed at the mine, and by half past the last of the miners had dispersed. From then on, three of the six men were busy wheeling the excavated ground across the valley to the nearest dump. No one would notice that it had grown a little in the night. The six men were Ned Bottrell, Paul Daniel, Ted Carkeek, Will Nanfan, Whitehead Scoble, and Pally Rogers. About eleven there was an alarm, but it was only Charlie Kempthorne with a message for Ned Bottrell that he was a father for the fifth time. This was good excuse for a tot of brandy and some rough-and-ready jokes.

  At one Demelza went to bed; but Ross stayed until an hour before dawn, when the work was finished. The seven tired men – Jud, who had done no work, complaining he was the most tired of them all – tramped back up the valley in the light of a moon which had grown smaller and paler as the dark hours passed.

  Chapter Four

  Caroline and her uncle had never got on so well since her break with Unwin Trevaunance, and her return to Killewarren and attitude since had done little to smooth things out. She spent every fine day riding, often with a groom but sometimes alone, and was silent through her meals or edgy if questioned. She paid few social visits in the neighbourhood and seldom wished to be found at home if called on.
Rumours had not been slow to reach him, but he understood her well enough to know that he must move cautiously if they were to be checked or countered.

  One night at supper she provoked a discussion by saying: ‘Tell me, Uncle, what do you know of Ross Poldark?’

  Blinking, cautious, watching her as if he suspected some deeper meaning in the question than he was privy to, he told her what he knew. Ross’s father, the best-known libertine in six parishes; Ross’s service overseas during the American war; his return after his father’s death and his bitter disappointment, so people said, that Francis was to marry the Chynoweth girl; his foolish marriage a year or so later to a girl he had taken from some miner’s cottage in Illuggan; his starting of Wheal Leisure and, later, his leadership of the proposal to begin copper smelting in Cornwall; the failure of the scheme; the death of his child; the shipwrecks and the riots which followed; his trial and his acquittal; his—

  ‘Yes, Uncle, thank you, I know from there.’ Caroline took a sip of wine, and her eyes looked darker for the reflection from the glass. ‘His father, you say, was bad-behaved with the women of the neighbourhood. I should imagine the son has sowed his wild oats also. Or he looks as if he has. You do not mention that.’

  Penvenen regarded the girl dryly. ‘I was not attempting to spare his reputation – or your delicacy. I do not know if anything specially unsavoury has clung to him in that respect – although it has in many others. Of course this taking a half-starved beggar girl, or whatever she was . . . I was in London at the time, but I believe it caused trouble among the miners and with her father.’

  ‘But he married her,’ said Caroline.

  ‘Yes, he married her.’

  She waited while her plate was taken away. Beside her in a basket on another chair was Horace, and she picked him up and set him on her lap.

  ‘Did you lose much in your association with Ross Poldark in the copper company?’

  ‘Enough. Everyone lost money. It was an ill-conceived enterprise at best.’