Ross was back just before eight. He found Demelza upstairs repairing for the fifth time the curtains over the north windows of their bedroom. She hadn’t heard him come.
‘Why, Ross! You’re earlier than I expected. Have you supped?’
‘Sufficiently. What are you doing?’
‘A little tear that Jeremy made this morning. He dearly likes something to cling to for support.’
‘Soon you’ll have made new curtains with your stitches.’
‘Not quite so bad. What was in your letter?’
He sat in a chair and began to pull at his boots; then as she came over, he let her pull them off instead. It was a relic of their old days which for some reason she liked to preserve. While she was doing it, he told her what the letter said.
‘And it was true, about the mortgage, I mean?’
He nodded. ‘True enough. When I borrowed the money, my first concern was to get it; I didn’t greatly care how. It was Pearce when I went to him who first spoke of a second mortgage. The next day he produced the money and I signed the paper for it … I accepted this as a form of mortgage, though in fact it was a promissory note. I suppose I knew, but I paid no heed to it at the time. Nor should I have needed to if Pearce had kept possession of it, as any friend and honest man would. I went to visit him. D’you think me a bully, Demelza?’
‘Were you rough with Mr Pearce?’
‘I didn’t put a finger on him, but I suppose I was rough in manner; I thumped his table and broke the lid of his snuffbox. He quivered like a jelly, all fat and no backbone; but the damage is done. The bill has been passed on as Pascoe said, and Cary Warleggan now possesses it. So we have to face that.’
‘You didn’t go to see him?’
‘I called at his house, but he was away. I think it was the truth, for the blinds were down.’
‘And what now, Ross?’
‘The Warleggans can do nothing until November. Then they can give me a month to redeem the note. In December I must find fourteen hundred pounds or default.’
She put his boots beside the chair but remained kneeling, her elbows on his knees, looking not at him but into space.
‘Can we borrow no money elsewhere?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘What shall you do?’
‘There are seven weeks before the notice can be given. I have Pascoe to thank for that. And four more after that before it takes effect.’
She did not much like the look on his face, and she wriggled her knees round and got up.
She said: ‘Are you sure Cary will do this, will demand repayment?’
‘Would you not if you felt as they do for me?’
‘Have I ever seen Cary?’
‘At that party. A man of fifty-odd with small eyes and an uncomfortable way of using them. George, though I detest him, has certain principles – at least I think so. Cary has none. He’s the moneylender of the family, the scavenger. George is accepted in most circles of society. Soon he will be in all. That will impose some standards on him. Nicholas, his father, of course, is reputable enough. Uncle Cary is the best hated of them all.’
She shivered. ‘I wish I could earn money, Ross. I wish I could help you in some way. All I do is – is mend your curtains and bear your child and see after the farm and cook your meals and—’
‘I should have thought that one person’s work.’
‘But there’s no money in it! Not even a gold piece. One thousand four hundred pounds! I’d steal it if I could, turn highwayman or bank thief! Harris Pascoe would never miss it. Why does he not lend it you?’
Ross looked at her gravely, wryly. ‘This is a new phase. Always before you’ve been pressing me to keep within the law—’
He stopped as there was a knock on the door. It was Gimlett to say that Tabb was below and wanted to know if Mr Francis was still here.
‘Here? Of course not.’ Ross looked at Demelza. ‘What time did he leave?’
‘About an hour after you. He walked up to the mine. At least—’
‘His horse is still here, sur,’ said Gimlett. ‘I give him his feed, but didn’t think to tell mistress as I reckoned she’d know about it.’
Ross pushed past him and went downstairs. Tabb was standing in the hall. Tabb explained that Mrs Poldark had been getting anxious, so she’d sent him over just to make sure Mr Poldark was come to no harm. Usually, now the nights was drawing in, the squire belonged to be home by seven. Ross went round to the stables. Francis’s horse was there right enough and looked up expectantly at the sound of footsteps.
Demelza had followed. Ross said: ‘Did he not say anything when he left? Perhaps he’s walked over to Mingoose House.’ To Tabb he said: ‘Ride to Mingoose House, will you. In the meantime I’ll go to the mine and see how long he stayed there and in what direction he left.’
A new moon was out and the misty rain had cleared. Demelza walked with Ross, hopping now and then to keep up, though her own stride was long. The engine house was lit and there were lights in two of the sheds.
Ross went into the changing-shed, where a lantern burned low. On a peg were Francis’s ordinary clothes.
Outside, Demelza was thoughtful, waiting.
‘I think he may be still here.’
‘Here? But, Ross …’
They stared at each other for a moment; neither spoke.
Below ground eight hours was the usual core, but tending the engine twelve. This change was made at eight, and the elder Curnow was now in charge. His brother, he said, had told him nothing when he went off. As they were asking, Captain Henshawe came in and Ross explained the situation to him.
‘Well, sur, he may be down there still, forgetful of the time; but I should not suppose so. Hold hard a minute, and I’ll fetch a couple of men to go down with us.’
Demelza stood in the engine house. The curious slow, regular sucking motion of the great engine was like an animal gasping, a giant sea mammal newly landed, breathing out its life on the wet sand. A strange conviction of fatality had come on her. She had no reason for knowing, yet felt as if she knew.
Other men had come in now, and they watched Ross and Henshawe and Jack Carter and young Joe Nanfan climb into the bucket and lurch bumping out of sight. After they had gone, those that were left clustered in a self-conscious group; and she knew they would have been more at home if she had not been there. She, the miner’s daughter become squire’s wife, had more than the disadvantage of womanhood.
But she forced herself to go towards them and ask if none had seen Mr Francis this afternoon and if someone would go and knock up Daniel Curnow and find out what he knew.
Then came a long wait. Gimlett had stolen up from the house and stood beside her. ‘The wind’s cold, ma’am, shall I get ee a coat?’ ‘No … thank you.’ It was not the cold of the night that she felt but an inner cold that no coat would cure. Tabb came galloping back. They’d not seen Mr Francis at Mingoose. ‘You’d best go tell Mistress Poldark,’ said Demelza. ‘Very good, ma’am.’ ‘No, wait. Wait a little while.’
Looking back, Demelza could see the lights in Nampara, the one in their bedroom that she had left. Beyond it and to the right the sea, with a dagger of moonlight in the black heart of the water. ‘We can none of us separate ourselves from the consequences of our own behaviour,’ Francis had said. ‘I have been trying to for long enough.’
One of the men returned from Dan Curnow’s cottage. Curnow had seen Mr Francis go down about four but had not seen him come up. He had not thought of mentioning it to his brother. Peter Curnow spat in disgust.
A few minutes later a miner came running up the ladder. It was Ellery, who was working on the sixty-fathom level. Some of them had been told and were helping with the search. Francis had not been found but his pick had, standing with the handle out of the water near where they had been blasting this morning.
Demelza looked at Tabb. ‘I think you had best go fetch your mistress.’
It was Ross, carrying a lantern, who first swung himself up into the tunnel which Francis had followed. Like Francis he was surprised to see that the tunnel went on, and he beckoned Henshawe to follow him.
They were tired of shouting: their voices only beat back against them from the walls of rock or were thrown away in the echoing darkness. They reached the winze and tried to cross it, but Ross’s foot slipped on the slimy rock and Henshawe had to catch his arm.
‘Thanks. It’s a place for—’ Ross stopped and crouched on his heels and turned the light of the horn lantern down the winze. Just within sight was water, and floating on the water was a miner’s hat. And there was something else there besides the hat.
‘Have you your rope?’
‘Yes …’
‘Put it round my waist.’
He went down and found the body floating. Francis had been dead about an hour. In one of his hands, clutched so that they could barely unfasten it, was a rusty nail.