Ross had borne the trip home with impatience. The eagerness and anticipation of the outward voyage was all gone, and once he was in sight of Cornwall he wanted to land at once instead of tacking about just over the horizon for twelve hours.
Not that there was anything useful to do when he reached Nampara, nor any good news to impart. The pricked bubble of his hopes had left nothing in its place; all he wanted was to get home, to turn his back on mining for ever, and to forget what he had thrown away.
For the first time in his life he began to feel old. Often these last years he had known himself a failure, but always within him there had been a fundamental conviction that this was a temporary phase, a ‘down’ which in the nature of events must be followed by an ‘up’. At least a part of this conviction had derived from a knowledge of his own youth and vigour. His meeting with Mark Daniel had shaken that belief.
His realisation again of the façade of mining expectations he had erected on the chance words of this man, uttered four years ago, shook his confidence in himself and in his own judgment. He bitterly blamed himself for his rash overconfidence, for an enthusiasm which in the light of experience looked wanton and silly. He had thrown away a profitable investment in a mine of his own starting and had poured everything he had, and persuaded Francis to do likewise, into a played-out mine which had failed his father a quarter of a century ago. Not only had he gambled with money, he had gambled with security and the security and happiness of his wife and child.
Mark’s appearance had upset him. There had been a close tie between them in the old days; they had played together as boys, fished and wrestled as youths. This ageing man, grey-haired and puckering his eyes at the map … Was he, Ross, as untouched by time as he imagined? Was he deluding himself into believing that youth was still on his side? How many other misconceptions had his sanguine brain given room to?
He was not in his most companionable mood, and after a few attempts Farrell and the rest of the crew gave up the effort of engaging him in conversation. After nightfall the cutter edged her way slowly inshore until by eleven-thirty she came to anchor not a cable’s length from the mouth of Nampara Cove. The flat-bottomed longboat was lowered, and Farrell readily agreed with Ross’s suggestion that he should go ashore with the first cargo. But Farrell would make no move to have any cargo shifted until the signal came from the shore.
It came at ten minutes to twelve, a single dark-lantern at the sea’s edge, shining only seawards, and exposed for half a minute. Farrell gave his orders, and the barrels were lowered into the longboat.
A mixed bag, as Ross had realized when he looked at the cargo on the way home, but an immensely valuable one. No wonder Trencrom did not need to make runs more than a few times a year. Tea and tobacco and five-gallon casks of brandy and Geneva; and a good quantity of rich materials; gold and silver brocade, silk gloves, ribbons, and girdles.
The spirits made up the larger amount of the cargo and these were loaded first. It was for the most part white brandy, with a tub of colouring mixture supplied. Its strength was 120° above proof; and in his own time Mr Trencrom would dilute his import before selling it, making three tubs to sell for every one that came ashore. He paid four shillings a gallon in France, and the price in England duty paid was twenty-eight shillings. Even sold at half that price, the degree of profit escaped Ross, since there were some four hundred tubs of brandy alone aboard tonight; but he thought he would have less compunction than ever in levying his toll for the use of his land.
The boat was so filled that the gunwale was only an inch or two above the water, and Ross settled in the bows as the six oarsmen began quietly to row ashore.
For a little while there was no sound but the liquid dip of oars and the lap and bobble of water as it ran against the boat. The arms of the cove closed round them and shut out the great sounding emptiness of the sea. Instead, close at hand was the whisper of the surf, for once innocuous and sibilant. Inshore the stars were not as bright as they had been at sea: a faint haze had crept across them too tenuous for cloud. Presently the boat lifted and fell and grated on sand, and two of the men jumped out and held fast to prevent the run back. Out of the darkness around them four figures instantly came, two to help pull the boat more firmly ashore, two to wade into the surf to begin the unloading.
Ross stepped upon the wet sand. A new wave licked his boots as he walked inshore. He recognized Ted Carkeek and Ned Bottrell, and after a moment Paul Daniel loomed out of the darkness.
‘All right, sur? Did ee find Brother?’
‘Yes, I found him …’
‘Was ’e well? Did ’e give a message?’
‘There’s a message for you and for Beth and for his father. Tomorrow morning I’ll come round and see you.’
‘And did ’e help? Where was the good country?’
‘I’ll talk of it tomorrow, Paul.’
Behind them there was scarcely any talk at all, just a rapid businesslike unloading the first barrels. Often it was different from this; often they had to fight the surf and float in the tubs as best they could. Ross moved on, and Will Nanfan came towards him leading a mule. Knowing he would have some of the same questions to answer again, Ross prepared to make an excuse and pass quickly by. But the excuse was never made. Behind him came a sharp exclamation from one of the men. Ross saw someone staring, and at once a reflection of light showed on the beach. A bonfire was leaping and smoking on Damsel Point.
Events moved more quickly than the mind accepted them. Muttered curses from the men around him, a clear shout from a voice not belonging, and then a shrilling whistle. Suddenly in the flickering light extra figures were climbing down the sides of the cove; then lantern lights, not shaded.
A surprise – gaugers – the long-expected – but this night of all nights … Ross swung round, saw confusion about the longboat. He ran back.
‘Quick! Relaunch! Get out there and tip the tubs …’ He flung his weight against the side of the boat; two or three others joined him. The boat slithered and grated. Two figures in it began heaving out the tubs together. Figures racing, strangers in flat caps, and some in tall. Nanfan had gone plunging away with his mule. A wave came and swirled around their knees; the boat floated but was being washed farther up the beach. ‘Hold her! Steady! Give way!’
One of the men had gone down in the sea, his feet from under him, but two others joined. They held their ground, and as the wave slid back the longboat went with it. A musket exploded somewhere. One man jumped on the boat, then another. Ross followed until almost waist-deep. Oars were out, anyhow, but just enough to keep her straight. A man stood in the bows, held out his hand to Ross. Ross made a move to jump, then changed his mind. To be aboard again, isolated, perhaps tacking up and down for a week; he’d take his chance.
He turned, saw the place alive with men – the way up the track blocked with mules – confusion and men fighting, laying about them with sticks. As he ploughed his way out of the water a tall man in a busby: ‘Halt, there! In the King’s name!’ Ross veered sharply. ‘Halt or I fire!’ Turned again and ducked. The musket exploded in his ear as he knocked the man flat in the water.
Nothing he could do. Another shot, and then another. He ran left towards the cave where he kept his boat. An easy climb from there. Someone lurched at him out of the shadow – this time evasion came too late. He went down, the other on top. ‘Got you, now! Lie still, you bastard, or I’ll— One over here, Bell!’ Bearded. Vercoe. Ross doubled and sharply stiffened. Vercoe toppled, still clutching. They rolled, Vercoe under. Running steps. Twice he hit the Customs Officer, wriggled free, rolled over as the footsteps came up. Vercoe shouted: ‘Not me, you fool! Over there – he’s just gone!’
Ross at the cliff face turned as the newcomer caught him – the hard wooden stick of the gauger. They grappled. The stick clattered. A lucky swing with all his weight. The gauger fell in Vercoe’s path.
As he climbed, Ross heard them following. In the cove a small war. Lights dancing. Untended, the gorse fire had waned. Climbing with all the knowledge of childhood, he pulled away. But a musket ball smacked into the rock beside him. Someone on the cliff taking careful aim. He reached the top, breaths gulping, crawled around the gorse, made diagonally for the first wall of his own land. He sucked the blood off his knuckles and spat. The two gaugers reached the top; lovely target if one had a gun. So the trooper must have thought, for the two men suddenly checked and Vercoe’s voice bellowed an order across the cliff. It gave time for Ross to leap over the wall and begin to run doubled along the other side.
Demelza’s sharp ears had caught the first distant crack of a musket, and she could stand it no longer. She started to her feet and was halfway to the door before the soldier was able to move.
‘’Ere, no, ma’am! None o’ that! You heard what the Captain said.’
‘I have a little boy upstairs! He will be frightened. I must bring him down!’
‘No, ma’am. Cap’n McNeil said ye was to stay here in this room.’
‘Please let me pass!’ she said furiously.
‘Now calm you down, ma’am. I has my orders and—’
‘I’ll not calm down! You don’t make war on babies, do you? Get out of my way!’
He hesitated, glanced at the Gimletts. ‘Is there a baby?’
‘Course there is!’ John Gimlett snapped.
The trooper turned to the drawn-faced young woman before him: ‘I don’t hear nothing. Which room is ’e in?’
‘The one at the head of the stairs!’
He rubbed his finger along his chin and slowly drew back. ‘I’ll watch for ye, then. Have a care there’s no trickery, ma’am.’
He followed her out into the hall and stood almost in the doorway where he could see into the room and also up the stairs. Demelza flew up the stairs and into their bedroom. Unaware of the dangers that pressed upon his parents, Jeremy slept peacefully.
This room had dormer windows looking both north and south. Demelza ran to the first of these, peered out. At first the night looked quiet and still, but then she detected the flicker of the bonfire on Damsel Point. She opened the casement window. From here the roof sloped sharply to the recently added guttering. But at the end, over the kitchen, it joined to the thatched end of the linhay where the carts were kept.
She wriggled her body through the small window and out on to the roof. Then she crawled along it like a cat to the end and slid off it into the thatch. She followed this to the lowest part, where there was a five-foot drop, and jumped.
She landed on all fours, tearing her skirt and bruising wrist and knee. Then she was on her feet and running towards the Long Field.
Breathless, she had just reached the stile when a figure climbed it. She had no difficulty in recognizing the set of his shoulders, the long lean head. They stared at each other in the dark.
‘Demelza!’
‘Ross! I thought you was killed … Thank God you’re safe! I thought—’
‘Not safe,’ he said. ‘Followed. Which way is best into the house?’
‘Neither. There’s a soldier there. I said you was in St Ives. Are you hurt?’
‘Nothing.’ While they spoke, they were walking rapidly the way she had come, he behind her in case of a shot. ‘I think I was – recognized. Not sure. Is the – upper valley guarded?’
‘Don’t know. I’ve been crazed with worry. You could go towards Mellin.’
‘They’ll send that way—’ At the entrance to their yard he stopped, listening. The yard was quiet except for a scratching at a stable door where Garrick was waiting to welcome him. ‘They’re coming – down the field now. Are you safe here? They offer you no hurt?’
‘No, none, of course. But you—’
‘Go in then. I’ll hide in the library – in the cache. Safe enough there.’
‘You can’t get …’
‘Yes – round the side. I have the key.’
‘But is it safe? …’
‘Must risk it.’
In a moment he had disappeared from her side. She heard the running footsteps. She hastily slipped back into the house – stumbled through the dark kitchen and into the hall. The soldier swung his musket on her, surprised and then angry.
‘Where’ve ye been? How did ye get down?’
She took a deep breath. ‘By the back stairs.’
He said: ‘What back stairs? Ye never told me! Why did ye—’
‘Well, I’m back! Is that not enough!’
The soldier too heard the running feet on the cobbles and again lifted his musket. Vercoe and his assistant Bell burst in on them.
‘Put your musket down, man!’ Vercoe said in a quarterdeck voice. He was blazing with anger. ‘One of your kind has took pot shots at us already!’ He turned to Demelza. ‘Where is Captain Poldark, ma’am?’
‘In St Ives, I believe.’
‘Then you believe wrong! I was wrestling with him on the beach not ten minutes gone. Has he come in here, trooper?’
‘Nay. No one’s come in here but you.’
‘We last seen him making this way. He’ll be somewhere about the house, never doubt!’
‘You’ve no right to come breaking in here!’ Demelza protested, finding relief in anger. ‘What right have you to trespass on our property? My husband will hear of this! Why, if—’
‘He surely will! And soon, I trust—’
‘How do you know ’twas him? Is it daylight outside? Did you speak him by name? Of course not! I tell you he’s from home and—’
‘Look ee, ma’am,’ said Vercoe, controlling his anger. ‘’Twas Captain Poldark I seen on the beach or his brother an’ twin. I’ll beg your pardon if I’ve the need to, but I don’t suppose it likely … An’ what’s that blood on your gown?’
‘Blood?’ she said, looking at the smear. Her stomach twisted. So Ross was hurt. ‘It came from my wrist. I grazed it against the wall just now. See—’
Vercoe made an impatient gesture. ‘You’ll give us permission to search the house?’
‘If I did not give it, you would take it.’
‘Well, mebbe. The law must be served. Will you please go in the parlour with the servants.’
‘No I surely will not! You may force yourself into the house, but you may not order me about. I shall come with you!’
Before Vercoe could argue about it, there was the sound of more footsteps in the kitchen and another trooper appeared. With him, half dragged and half led, was Dwight Enys, a bloodstained rag about his head. The soldier had caught him in the process of feeding the bonfire, and had knocked him out.
In the cove the pitched battle in the dark had died down. Seven of the smugglers had been captured, of whom two were wounded and one killed. A soldier and an excise man had been wounded. But owing to the premature alarm, the others had escaped. What was worse, the cutter had been able to weigh anchor and haul off from the lee of the land before the government cutter, standing rapidly in from the north-east, had been able to head her off. Shots had been exchanged, but the One and All, built in Mevagissey especially for the Trade, had run clean away from the government ship.
The smuggler killed was Ted Carkeek. He left a widow of twenty-one and two young children. The soldier wounded was Captain McNeil. Someone had shot him in the shoulder. An inch or so lower, and he would have companioned Ted.
He was almost the last to reach Nampara House, where by orders his men had forgathered with their prisoners. He came into the parlour holding a rough pad to his shoulder. The parlour was already part hospital, with Dwight, paper-coloured from loss of blood, trying to help those who were worse off than himself. As McNeil surveyed the scene and exchanged a word with his corporal, Vercoe and Bell and Demelza came down the stairs.
‘Well?’
Vercoe shook his head. ‘No, sur. Captain Poldark’s not here, though I’ll swear he was on the beach!’
‘I’ve still three men posted: they may bring him in. You’ve tried the cellars?’
‘Yes, they’re empty.’
‘No contraband?’
‘None.’
McNeil met the angry flash of Demelza’s eyes. ‘Ross is in St Ives,’ she said. ‘I’ve told these men. And I told you.’
‘I should be happy to believe you.’
‘You’re wounded,’ she said. ‘Your coat – all that blood … I’ll get Dr Enys.’
‘When my work is done.’ He turned to Vercoe. ‘We must comb the cottages round. You’ve examined the outhouses of this place, the stables, the library?’
‘The stables. Not the library. ’Twas locked. I left that till you came.’
‘We’ll go now, then.’
Demelza felt as if this time her face must betray everything.
‘The library?’ she said, when they turned to her. ‘I – have the key somewhere … But your wound, Captain McNeil.’
‘Will keep a little while. It is not the first time I have been blooded.’
They went through into Joshua’s old bedroom, Vercoe and McNeil, and Bell carrying a lantern. With fumbling fingers Demelza unlocked the door to the library and went in. The long shabby room showed up, never used for its named purpose, full of mining samples and boxes of lumber and two desks and an iron safe. As soon as the lantern followed her in, she knew he had come as he said he would. The metal trunks which normally stood above the trap door had been moved.
She stood against the door, not able to trust her legs. while the men went round the room. Vercoe carried a musket belonging to one of the troopers. He looked like a hunter after game. And the game was gone to earth.
First they examined the things in the room itself, opening the desks and the boxes, looking for contraband. After a moment or two she followed them halfway, watching them from the centre of the room. Then quite close to her she saw a spot of blood. It was tiny and already drying. She moved a little and put her foot on it, rubbed it into the boards.
But she might have known it was no use. Something in Vercoe’s words or the way he spoke them had forewarned her that this was to be no ordinary search. They began to examine the floor.
So the informer had done his work.
They had come to the metal trunks, and Vercoe had seen the joins in the floor boards. He knelt by them and motioned Bell to bring forward the lantern. Demelza said: ‘I want you—’
Malcolm McNeil straightened up and looked at the girl who had come up behind him. He said: ‘I think you would do well to leave us.’
She shook her head, not trusting her voice any more. He gazed at her a second longer, and then made a gesture for the two gaugers to continue.
Vercoe had found a spade and was forcing it into the narrow nick of the floor boards. With a squeal of strained wood they began to come up, for they were being lifted from the wrong side. After a minute he got his hand under the lifted boards, and Bell, putting the lantern down, knelt to help him. The trap door came up and the cache was open. McNeil took a step forward.
From where Demelza stood she could not see in. The room was humming and drumming about her ears. Rectangles of wall and roof began to dissolve into the uncertain geometries of faintness and nausea. All three men were around the hole, like jackals about a fallen beast, like hounds at the kill. For a few seconds they were involved in the general unreason of failing eyesight, of distortion and instability. Then she put out a hand and with a great effort steadied herself against a chair.
She did not know who would speak first, whether it would be Ross or one of his captors; but in fact it was McNeil, and all he said was: ‘Well …’ and made a gesture to Vercoe. Vercoe grunted.
Then no one spoke again and no one stirred. At last she forced her limbs to move. She looked down.
The cache was empty.