There were many thick heads in Sawle and Grambler the following day. Some men wished they hadn’t and some girls wished they hadn’t, and the older people were disgruntled with life for more mundane reasons; but in spite of this everyone agreed it had been a proper job, best St john’s Eve ever they had spent.
Stephen Carrington’s return to Sawle became the talk of the villages. He had turned up at Widow Tregothnan’s kiddley about eight on the evening of the 23rd. Talking to the widow and Tholly Tregirls and to their customers, he had learned all the news, and in answer to their questions had told them he had landed at St Ives a couple of days ago and was hoping he might again lodge at Will Nanfan’s until he could find something more permanent. Learning that there was to be a bonfire feast, he had asked if he might watch it. At Sally ‘Chill-Offs’ he had as usual been free with his money. Whatever flaws there might be in his character, he was not ungenerous.
Unfortunately for his suit – if he intended to pursue it – Clowance had also seen his appearance in the churchyard. And however eerie and premonitory that appearance had been, Clowance did not believe that it was only his ghost she had seen following Violet to the church door.
It had been a great shock to Clowance; not so much morally, however severe that had been; not so much supernaturally, for the horrid chill of the moment had been superseded by burning anger; but physically. Her body and spirit had leapt at the sight of him. It was a revelation to her, and in view of his apparent misbehaviour, a frightening revelation. If you fancy you may be in love with someone and he turns up and his appearance confirms it, that, whatever the obstacles and complications, is not unwelcome. If however he is clearly in pursuit of another woman and may or may not care a button for you at all, and still your whole being leaps and comes alive when you see him again, then you are in the valley of the shadow. Tormented, you loathe and detest his very existence, you can’t bear to hear him spoken of, you will not see him; all your love is turned inside out like some eviscerated animal, and your life is scarcely to be borne.
On the night Daisy had almost fainted. Created in less sceptical mould than Clowance, she had at first seen her sister as the apparition predicting her early death; and even after it was over she could not rid herself of the superstition that, however much the beings walking in the churchyard were three-dimensional and of warm flesh and blood, the prophecy of their appearance might still be fulfilled in the year to come. Keenly as she wanted to secure Jeremy, the two people gliding among the starlit graves had, for her, wrecked the opportunity for enticing him to declare himself. Partly perceiving this, Jeremy, who was no fool where girls were concerned (apart from Cuby), had liked Daisy all the better for it. Looking back, he saw well enough that his own mood might have led him into indiscretion from which it would have been difficult to withdraw. Now the moment had passed. But he felt sorry for Daisy and warmed to her.
On June 24th, late night or not, Jeremy rode with his father into Truro where they met John and Horrie Treneglos and drew up the legal deed whereby Wheal Leisure became a working mine again. Over the last month and more, while the weather had been dry, they had cleared out the deads of the mine and gone deeper in it, deeper by ten fathoms than ever before and had used makeshift mule-driven pumps to keep the water down. There were definite signs of good copper, but it was impossible to expose the ore in depth without blocking out the lodes section by section.
Before it was finally decided to go ahead there had been several meetings between the two young men and their fathers, with others such as Zacky Martin and Ben Carter called in for consultation – though Ross once or twice superstitiously wondered if, in spite of his apparent caution, he had not set his mind on the venture almost as soon as the proposition was put to him. The sight of the derelict mine on the cliff across the beach from Nampara had subconsciously irked him only a little less than when it had been in full production under the Warleggans. So now the die was cast.
The notary, a young man called Barrington Burdett, had only recently put up his brass plate in Pydar Street, but Ross had met him and liked the look of him, so they went to him. The adventuring money in Wheal Leisure was to be divided into thirty-six parts. Ross and John Treneglos were taking up five parts each; Jeremy and Horrie the same; the remaining sixteen parts would be open to investment from outside. John had been for throwing a larger number on the open market, but Ross had uneasy memories of when he had found himself in a minority before, and insisted they should keep full control. For the moment they would advertise the parts at £20 a share, with another £20 payable in three months’ time. Since neither Jeremy nor Horrie had money of their own it meant a big outlay for the two fathers. Warleggans had finally parted with their rights for £400. The prosy Mr King of the Cornish Bank had pointed out that the bank would have to carry Mr John Treneglos’s investment, since John, though landed, was always broke, but with Ross a partner in the bank it was hard for Mr King to be as prosy as he would have wished.
They had dinner at the White Hart, during which Jeremy and Horrie tried not to go to sleep and John drank too much. Ross enjoyed his wines and his brandy, but generally restrained his indulgences when out, with a twohour ride home. Ross did not in fact much like John. In the early days he and Francis had fought John and his brothers; it had been a boys’ feud that had gone on a long time. The old man, Horace, John’s father, had been a cheerful kindly soul and something of a Greek scholar; but he had bred an uncouth, hard-riding, hard-drinking lot. Then twenty-four-odd years ago the clumsy John, who had always had an eye for Demelza, had married Ruth Teague, who had always had an eye for Ross, and this did not make for an easy relationship. Ruth had tended to be spiteful towards Demelza, and John, at a long-remembered ball at the Bodrugans, had once come, he swore, within an ace of getting Demelza into bed with him, being frustrated at the last by old Hugh Bodrugan himself and that damned Scotsman, McNeil, both on the same scent.
There was also a notable occasion in 1802 when they had been dining at the same house and staying the night, when John had put it to Ross that they should swap wives for the night. After all, he said, it was hard in the country to get anything fresh except the occasional village girl or a guinea hen in Truro; and it stood to reason however much one stood by one’s dear wife in a crisis – and no one, no one, could ever say he’d ever let little Ruthie down – a bit of a change, a different sort of a ride, did nobody any harm. As for Ruth, he’d wager there’d be no objection there; because once years ago when there’d been a quarrel between them, a real set-to, all on account of him having got into bed in his riding breeches, Ruthie had let out that she didn’t care if she never saw him again, so long as Ross was only a couple of miles away over the fields and the sand-dunes. And concerning Mrs Poldark, she had more than once made it clear that she thought him, John, a handsome, randy sort of fellow, and he could guarantee he’d give her the greatest of satisfaction. Some women had said, well, I can tell you, old friend, what some women had said about me being like a red hot poker …
Ross had declined, then climbed the stairs to break the news to Demelza. Demelza was highly indignant. ‘But you know how I’ve always fancied him, Ross. How could you refuse? Think of the conversations we might have tomorrow, comparing notes!’
However, the passage of time, the cooling of passion, the growing up of the children, good-neighbourliness in a district where neighbours were few, had brought them more often into each other’s company. John’s sandy hair had turned grey, he had given up some of the more active outdoor sports, his deep-set eyes were seldom properly open, as if he had spent too much of his life squinting into the sun looking for foxes. Ruth, surrounded by her children, had occasionally called on Demelza and sometimes even invited her back to tea to ask her advice about Agneta, who was a problem child.
So now Wheal Leisure, the mine Ross had started more than a quarter of a century ago, was in being again, the company and its shares and its capital properly incorporated in a legal document, and the four men were riding home on a draughty, cloudy afternoon not at all foreshadowed by the beautiful sunrise. Two and two they rode, Horrie and Jeremy a hundred yards in the van.
After a substantial dinner and a fair amount of ale the two young men, though well satisfied with the morning’s work, had nothing whatever to say to each other. They rode by instinct, blinking their lids to prevent sleep. Behind them there was more talk, chiefly from John, though he occasionally swayed in his saddle and twice nearly lost his hat.
‘Damn me,’ he said, ‘these upstarts. That fellow King in your bank! I wonder you keep him. It might be his money he was advancing, out of his own store hid under the bed. I’d ha’ thought you’d have employed some manager of better address and breeding in your bank.’
Ross said: ‘It is not precisely my bank, John. Indeed if it were my fortunes on which our clients depended for their confidence and reassurance, there would be an instant run and we would be putting up our shutters tomorrow.’
John grunted and swayed. ‘What was this gossip I heard about Warleggan’s? God’s blood! Them in straits! Seems not possible. Stone me, I only wish they was, damage they’ve done to the small man.’
‘George plunged recklessly on the expectation of an early end to the war. So I believe it has been touch and go. Banking is confidence as much as anything else, and in the end the run did not quite sufficiently develop in time. But their linking themselves with this Plymouth bank is the outcome. They’re safe enough now.’
‘Well, I suppose that’s how we got the mine cheap. I never thought twould work. I only went because Ruth and Horrie plagued me so.’
They jogged on a way in silence.
‘D’you have any trouble with your boy?’ John asked, nodding his dead at the figures in front. His hat fell over his eyes.
‘Trouble?’
‘Getting entangled. I never got entangled until I picked on Ruth. Horrie goes about the county getting himself entangled.’ John straightened his hat. ‘Hope he doesn’t take up seriously with this damned Pope girl. They’re no class and their father’s so full of himself I wonder he don’t burst. Horrie was with her last night, wasn’t he?’
‘I don’t know. They were all together at the bonfire. I think Jeremy was chiefly with Daisy Kellow.’
‘Huh. Well, she’s no catch neither, is she. Though at least she’s good to look at and would squeeze nicely.’
Ross looked at his companion and new partner. Such a pity that it could not have been Cousin Francis. Wheal Grace had claimed Francis so many years ago and thus precipitated all the trouble between himself and George Warleggan.
On impulse he said: ‘Jeremy was recently much taken with one of the Trevanion girls but it fell through.’
‘Trevanion? You mean those at Caerhays?’
‘Yes.’
John stared up at the sky. ‘Damn me, it’s going to rain. Never can tell in this damn county. Weather’s as fickle as any woman … What went wrong?’
‘With Jeremy? Nothing. But the girl’s brother said no to it. You know, Major Trevanion.’
‘Course I know him. We’re related.’
‘Oh?’
‘Well, sort of. My cousin Betty married his uncle. They’ve a place near Callington. Betty Bettesworth. Silly name, ain’t it!’ John laughed heartily, and his hat wobbled again.
‘Well, your Major Trevanion said no to it, and he apparently rules the house.’
‘Oh, he rules it, sure enough. But he’s not my Major Trevanion. Only see him about twice a year. Used to see more of his brother when I was in the Militia. You was never in the Militia, was you. His brother was in it, so I used to see him. Damned farce, most of it.’
In a few minutes they would come to the parting of the ways. Probably if he were invited John would come in to tea, but really, in his present state …
‘Well, of course,’ Treneglos said, losing his stirrup and finding it again, ‘I can see what John was on about.’
‘What? What d’you mean?’
Treneglos raised an eyebrow at Ross’s tone.
‘Well – nothing wrong with the boy, Ross. But they wouldn’t want a Poldark.’
Ross said icily: ‘I gather the gentleman reminded my son that there had been Trevanions there since 1313. Fortunately Jeremy had the wit –’
He was interrupted by Treneglos’s harsh bark. ‘Tisn’t that, man … You know me – know my family. Traces back to Robert of Mortain and Sir Henry de Tyes. Can’t go much further than that. Can’t go much further than that! But d’you think Trevanion’d welcome Horrie as a son-inlaw? He’d spit in his face! He don’t want breeding now, he wants money.’
‘Well, no doubt some of each does not come amiss –’
‘Nay, nay, tisn’t that. The madman’s nigh on bankrupt. He’s spent his fortune on that damned castle – can’t finish it, can’t pay the men’s wages nor buy the materials. And he gambles on the nags. Why, he’s been selling land for years. Two or three years ago my brother-in-law, that banker fellow from St Austell, bought three pieces off him, near Tregony, and at St Erme and Veryan. He’s raised mortgages right and left, parted with stuff the family’s had since Bosworth. Now he’s at his wits’ end. If he could get one of his sisters wed off to a rich man who would lend him a helping hand he wouldn’t care where he came from. Give Jeremy twenty thousand pounds and he’d be the most welcome suitor in Great Britain!’
Ahead the two young men had stopped at the fork in the track. Left you turned for Killewarren where Dwight and Caroline Enys lived, right and you skirted Bodrugan land before taking a wide semi-circle behind Mellin to come to Mingoose House.
John Treneglos fumbled with his reins and laughed. ‘Anyhow, there’s plenty more about for Jeremy to pick. Don’t do to get fixed up too young. I was near thirty afore Ruth hooked me. Any time you think one of my brood is good enough – Agneta or Faith or Paula, just leave me know! And maybe Jeremy will make money in time, eh? They say he’s quite the genius.’
‘Who, Jeremy?’
‘Yes. So Horrie says. Goes over couple of times a week to the Hayle Foundry learning about strong steam. So Horrie says. He’s offered to set up this engine, hasn’t he? Design it, more or less. Full of ideas, Horrie says. What have you or I done? D’you know one end of a boiler from t’other? Curse me if I do. Doubt if Horrie knows much, but he’s been over with Jeremy and that Paul Kellow and young Ben Carter – been over four times now in your damned fishing-boat. Seems Jeremy’s been doing it for more’n a year.’ But you’ll know all about it. And – and tell the lad – tell the lad from me there’s plenty of frilly petticoats to lift in the world without having to mope around Trevanion’s sallow sisters.’
There was no road or track from this fork heading directly to Nampara, but by jumping a couple of low hedges and fording a bubbling brook one came on rough moorland that led to the Gatehouse and thence to Poldark land.
Jeremy had temporarily ridden his sleep out of him and was feeling a little less deathly. His grief about Cuby was just the other side of a wall he had laboriously built for himself; it was flimsy and could break under the least pressure, but for the moment he concentrated on the mine and the interest and the work that was entailed as an outcome of the document signed in the presence of Barrington Burdett this morning. And when his mind turned to more personal issues he thought of last night and the extreme excitement he had got out of kissing and fondling another girl. And he knew he could do this again any time he wanted. And maybe next time there would be no apparition to stop them from going a little further. And a little further. And a little further. There was the whole of a young pretty female body to explore.
Beside him his father was silent, but since Ross was not ever really a talkative man except when under the stimulus of his wife’s company Jeremy did not think anything of this.
Ross said abruptly: ‘You have hinted much of wishing to design the engine for the mine.’
‘Yes, Father.’
‘And I have always postponed the issue by saying that this was the third item to be considered, and that there was small purpose in discussing it before the other two had been negotiated. Well, now they have been.’
‘Yes, Father.’
Ross eyed his son with a long measuring look of appraisal.
‘I gather you have been undertaking some practical study in engine building as well as theoretical.’
‘Who told you that?’
‘You did. When we discussed it first.’
Jeremy said obliquely: ‘Did I? Oh yes, of course. I had forgot.’
‘On that occasion you remember I said I’d need to be convinced of your ability to design such an engine before we agreed to it. Clearly, a single error might cost us more than what we saved in not employing one of the recognized engineers.’
‘Yes, you said that also.’
‘And?’
‘I quite agree, sir. It is a question of whether, after inquiry, you will feel convinced that it is worth the risk.’
‘Can you convince me that it is?’
‘I can try…’ Jeremy hesitated. ‘I think the best thing is if I bring you a plan, a design. Perhaps you will not feel willing to say yes or no without some second opinion. But that I’m quite willing to accept.’
They rode on. Ross said: ‘How have you come to know so much?’
Jeremy hesitated. ‘I have been about mine engines ever since I was old enough to walk.’
‘Oh yes, in a general way. But –’
‘On this I’ve had Peter Curnow’s advice. Also Aaron Nanfan who, as you know, was twenty years engineer at Wheal Anna. And of course I’ve discussed the proposition with Mr Henry Harvey of Hayle. He has made his own suggestions. It is not just a – a fancy thing.’
‘I didn’t suppose so.’
Jeremy struggled with his reluctance to speak of things which previously had been secret to himself. ‘Dr Enys – Uncle Dwight – has helped as well.’
‘Dwight? How on earth?’
‘He has bought Rees’s Cyclopaedia as it came out. I have borrowed it from him regularly.’
‘I’ve heard of it – no more.’
‘Dr Abraham Rees is publishing it. It is not yet complete, but there are many articles that have been useful.’
‘I never saw you reading them.’
‘I read them upstairs in bed. It was – easier to concentrate there.’
Ross studied his son.
Jeremy said: ‘I’ve read other things as well, of course. ‘A Treatise of Mechanics’. And a separate piece of it, ‘An Account of Steam Engines’ was published independently a couple of years ago. I wrote to Dr Gregory – the author. We have corresponded regularly since. Also I have written to Mr Trevithick a few times.’
‘You’ve been very secretive in all this,’ Ross said.
‘I’m sorry…’
‘Have you seen Trevithick since he returned?’
‘No. I rode over twice but unhappily he was from home. I have seen Mr Arthur Woolf, though.’
‘Woolf?’
‘I mentioned him, you remember. I called on him and he was – most helpful. With advice and counsel. I’d originally … Shall I go on?’
‘Of course.’
‘A few months ago I would have thought of designing an engine on Mr Trevithick’s plunger pole principle. It seems to simplify construction and to reduce greatly the number of working parts. I still believe it to be a brilliant idea; but Mr Woolf has convinced me – and a Mr Sims of Gwennap, whom I also had the opportunity to call on and who has perhaps the greatest practical experience of them all – they both think it is over-simplified, that there will be excess wear on the piston from its constant exposure to the atmosphere and that there will be too much loss of steam because of the absence of a condenser. Taking into account … Do you follow me, Father?’
‘A little way, yes.’
‘Taking into account that they are both rivals of Mr Trevithick, yet I still see too much force in their arguments to ignore them. So I am hoping to design a somewhat more traditional engine, but with high-pressure steam and all the improvements that have been tried and tested.’
‘Did these gentlemen make you altogether free of their own ideas?’
Jeremy laughed shortly. ‘By no means. Both were very close. But both have engines working which may be examined; and I fear I traded on your name as an influential mine owner.’
‘In other words they thought you were going to offer them a commission to design the engine?’
‘I can’t be sure what they thought. I never made any such offer. We parted on good terms.’
‘And there is no patent being infringed?’
‘No … I have agreed to pay Mr Woolf a consultancy fee. But that is not likely to be large.’
They jogged on. The rain was setting in.
Jeremy said sharply: ‘But when it comes time to place the order, I’ll agree not to press my own designs, if when you’ve given them full consideration you don’t think well of them – or prefer to play safe. I’m as much concerned for the success of the venture as anyone.’
Ross said: ‘Who is that coming across from Wheal Grace?’
‘Lord … it’s Stephen Carrington! You remember I told you he turned up last night.’
‘I remember very well.’
‘I wonder if he’s coming from Nampara.’
The weather did not appear to have subdued Stephen’s spirits as he trotted towards them. He smiled and waved and leapt a gate to come up with the horses.
‘Jeremy! This is properly met! I’d hoped you might be at the mine.’
‘Stephen. I’m glad to see you.’ They shook hands. Jeremy would have dismounted but Stephen was beside him too soon. ‘No, we have been to Truro. Father, may I introduce Stephen Carrington to you. This is my father, Captain Poldark.’
They too shook hands. Stephen had a firm grip – almost too firm.
Ross said pleasantly: ‘I have heard much about you from my family.’
‘Which you would not have,’ said Stephen, ‘if it had not been for your son.’ When Ross looked questioning he added: ‘I was pulled out of the water like a hooked herring. Jeremy saved me life.’
‘Dramatic but not wholly accurate,’ Jeremy said. ‘You were in a bad way, but lying on a half-submerged raft. All we did was transfer you to a sounder vessel and bring you ashore.’
‘Whereupon the ladies of Nampara cared for me so well until I could care for meself. Sir, however you may look at it, I am still much in your debt.’
‘Well, no doubt you’ll find some way to discharge it,’ said Ross. ‘You’re visiting the district again?’
‘I promised to come back, sir. I promised meself – as well as others. But whether it be for long or short depends.’
‘Have you just come from Nampara?’ Jeremy asked.
‘No. I thought twould be more seemly, seeing as the head of the household was home and as I didn’t know him, if I was to ask his permission first.’
‘Good God, that’s a thought delicate,’ said Ross. ‘Of course you may call at Nampara when you wish. But I appreciate the courtesy.’ Did he? Well, it was graciously meant. Or was the young man in fact obliquely asking permission to pay court to Clowance?
‘Thank you, sir. I hear you’ve another mine a-growing, Jeremy. If I came over tomorrow in the forenoon, could you show it me?’
‘You can see it from here. So far we have done little more than clear out the old workings and sink a few experimental shafts at a greater depth. The next step is to build an engine.’
Stephen stared across through the rain. His thick mane was collecting beads of water, but for the most part it seemed to run off him as if there were a natural oil in the hair similar to that in a duck’s feathers.
‘The amount I know of mining would not commend me as an adviser, but I’ve a fancy to take an interest in anything new.’
‘Come at eleven,’ said Jeremy, ‘and take a bite to eat with us afterwards.’
Stephen looked up expectantly at Ross, who smiled and tapped his horse and rode on.
‘Then I’ll be glad to come,’ said Stephen.
At about this time Demelza came on Clowance as she was repairing a rent in her underskirt where it had caught on a bramble the night before. They talked for a few minutes about the Midsummer Eve feast, each carefully avoiding mention of Stephen Carrington’s return. Eventually Demelza said:
‘Clowance, I have to answer this letter to Lady Isabel Petty-Fitzmaurice. To leave it even another week would be impolite…’
Her daughter went on with her stitching.
‘Clowance…’
‘I heard you, Mama, but what are you to reply?’
‘Only you can say that.’
‘At least you might help me. What does acceptance mean – that I am taking Lord Edward’s approaches seriously? In that case…’
‘I imagine it means that you will spend two weeks in the Lansdowne household. I imagine it means no more’n that. If Lord Edward has some slight fancy for you, no doubt it will help him to decide the degree of it. It might help you too to consider how much or how little you like him. As you know, I was never ever in my life in this situation before, so I can hardly properly advise. But it is – a friendly visit. You may read no more into it than that.’
Clowance turned the skirt over. ‘D’you know I hardly ever use any of that fancy work I learned at Mrs Gratton’s? Herringbone, cross-stitch, back-stitch. I could well have done without it.’ She looked up. ‘Will that do?’
‘Proper. But you have another snag in the other hem.’
‘Damnation,’ said Clowance.
‘Not,’ said her mother, ‘an expression that’d be expected of you in Bowood.’
‘That’s what I’m afraid of! Mama, I think it would be all wrong for me to go. Lord Edward is an agreeable young man. Not good-looking exactly, but most agreeable. Kind, I’d think. And very honourable. Papa has a high opinion of the family, and you know Papa does not have a high opinion of too many families of his own kind. But there are two things against my going; and you must know them both! First, what would the younger brother of a marquis be doing paying attentions to an unknown young woman from the farthest depths of a county like Cornwall, and she without money or land or position? His whole family would be totally against it! I would be likely to come in for some sizing up, some cold glances, some sneering asides, if I went up to Wiltshire! Secondly, I do not know if he appeals to me that way…’
Demelza went to the window of the bedroom and watched the beads of rain accumulating on the gutter. They formed up, edging towards each other like soldiers in line abreast, then one by one dropping off like soldiers under fire.
‘I think you should forget all the first. All of it. As for our position, remember your father has become known in the world. It may well be he is better esteemed in London or the London of parliamentary life – even more than he is here.’ Demelza’s mind ran sulphurously for a few moments over the insufferable arrogance of Major John Trevanion. ‘Your father has been close to Mr Canning, to Mr Perceval, lots of others. He is not a nobody, and because he is not, you are not. And, look at it, who sent the invitation? We didn’t ask for it. It was sent by his aunt, who because of his mother’s death, has been in place of his mother. You told me this. So I think you should forget all those first thoughts completely. As for not knowing if you feel “that way” about Lord Edward, you could argue all manner of ways around it. It could be said that because nothing is at stake for you, you would enjoy a visit far more than if there was. Or of course you could feel that – being so honest as you are – you would not be able to hide any feelings you had and would have to make it clear to him soon enough that he didn’t appeal to you. If you feel this, then you shouldn’t go – indeed, you must not go, for twould be uncivil and unmannerly so to behave.’
Clowance said: ‘Would you like to go?’
‘No!’
‘But you would go to companion me?’
‘… Yes.’
‘We should be a pretty pair.’
‘I tried to persuade Caroline last night that if you went she should go in my place.’
‘And what did she say?’
‘That only I was the right one.’
Clowance bit the cotton between her teeth.
‘It would cost a great deal. It would cost too much, for we could not go barefoot.’
‘I’m glad to see for once you are stockinged today … Clowance, do not consider the smaller things. Whether I want to go; or what we should wear. You must decide only on what matters.’
Clowance sighed. ‘Yes. I suppose. Well, Mama…’
‘Yes?’
‘Give me until tomorrow. One more day. I promise faithfully to say yea or nay in four and twenty hours from now.’
‘Very well.’
‘And, Mama.’
Demelza had turned to go.
Clowance smiled for the first time that day. ‘Thank you.’
Stephen called at the house next day and he and Jeremy walked over to Wheal Leisure. The drizzle had gone again, and it was warm and sultry, with the sun falling in shafts through clouds as white and curly as a full-bottomed wig. The sea cracked and mumbled as they crossed the beach.
It was, Stephen said, his first ever time down a mine, and he had soon had enough.
‘Christmas, I’d not be a miner, not for all the gold in the East Indies! When you get down tis as if the rocks be pressing on ye from all sides. And ready to fall! That’s what affrights me. It is as if the earth only has to breathe once too often and you’re squeezed down for ever – under tons of dripping rock!’
‘It’s only what happens when you’re dead,’ said Jeremy, whose thoughts had temporarily strayed to a girl he had been kissing two nights ago in a churchyard.
‘Well, not while I’m alive, thank you kindly. Give me the sea and the wind and the rain. I’d sooner face a full gale in a leaky schooner!’
‘What happened to Philippe? In the end.’
‘I had to split the proceeds with the widow of Captain Fraser. She was an old bitch. Tried to bring proceedings against me for robbery. If she’d had the chance she’d have accused me of killing the old man – not the French! But in the end I did come away with a little store in me purse. I have hid it away temporary under the planchin in Will Nanfan’s bedroom. Now I’m looking for some useful investment that’ll double me capital.’
‘And coming back here to look for it?’ Jeremy asked.
Stephen laughed. ‘Well, yes, maybe. Know you any such investment?’
‘Not of this moment.’
‘In truth, Jeremy, I came back here because I wanted to come back. It has a great attraction. All you Cornish folk are very kind and friendly. I’ve scarce known such friendliness ever before. Your own family in particular…’
They sat on the edge of the cliffs, which were not high here. A path wound its way among the sand and the rock down to the beach. Although a still day, the sea was majestic, tumbling over itself in ever re-created mountains of white surf.
Stephen said: ‘The open air’s for me, no doubt about that. Look at that sea! Isn’t it noble! … You know the sort of investment I want?’
‘Another boat?’
‘You’ve guessed. But not just a lugger like Philippe. Something the size of the schooner I was in when we ran foul of the French.’
‘That’d cost a lot.’
‘I know. Far more than I have up to now. But you’re telling me about this mine, this Wheal Leisure we’ve been crawling through like blind moles. You all take shares. Your father, you, these Trenegloses – and others. What I’d like is to buy a ship that way. Shares. Me a quarter, you a quarter; Paul, if he has any money –’
‘He hasn’t. Neither have I!’
‘Ah … pity. But you wouldn’t object to some?’
‘Assuredly not.’
‘I tell you, Jeremy, that’s the way many privateers operate. Respectable merchants put up the money; hire a captain; he hires the crew. Off they go looking for adventure. Anything foreign’s fair game. Then if you get a big prize the crew gets a share and the merchants pocket the rest. I knew a captain who in the end made enough to buy his investors out.’
‘Privateering. Hmm.’
‘All’s fair in war. You know that. Anyway, it’s what I’d like to do. Failing that, maybe I’ll become a miner!’
Jeremy laughed. ‘Seriously … If you’re looking for investors, had you not a better chance of finding them in Bristol?’
‘I tried. But it was not to be. That bitch, Captain Fraser’s widow … She’d poisoned folks’ minds. Spreading stories. Lying rumours about me. Some folk believed her, thought I was not to be trusted. So I bethought meself of me Cornish friends and tried no more.’
‘Falmouth would be your place in Cornwall, not here. Here there is nothing. We do not even have a harbour.’
Stephen said: ‘There’s real money to be made, Jeremy. Big money. Prize money. While the war’s on. It won’t last for ever.’
‘I hope not.’
‘I hope not too. But you have to admit it: war’s a nasty thing but it is a time of opportunity – for men to climb, make money, make the best of themselves. Things you do in peacetime they’d hang you for. In wartime they call you a hero…’
Jeremy did not reply, thinking of his own causes for bitter dissatisfaction. In the last few weeks he had dreamed of achieving some sudden distinction – raiding a fort in France, as his father had done – or joining the army and achieving rapid promotion; or becoming vastly rich through Wheal Leisure and able to buy himself a title. Then he would call at Caerhays one day and ask to see Cuby …
He said: ‘Stephen.’
‘Yes?’
‘That day we were being chased by the gaugers. Did you go lame on purpose?’
Stephen hesitated, then grinned. ‘In a sort of way, Jeremy. Though I did twist me ankle. I thought twas the only way of maybe saving the lugger.’
‘Ah…’
‘I did come to look for you along the coast.’
‘Yes, I know … Did you see anything of the third gauger when you doubled back – the one you knocked down?’
‘Yes.’ Stephen laughed. ‘I knocked him down again – he was guarding the lugger.’
‘Oh, you did…’ Jeremy eyed his friend askance.
After a few moments Stephen said: ‘There was no other way. He was there by the boat shed. He hadn’t found his musket – you mind I threw it in the bushes – but he was standing there with his knife out looking after his mates. I saw him before he saw me and came round the wrong way of the shed. He was out – just stirring – when I left.’
‘Ah,’ said Jeremy again.
Stephen looked back at his friend. ‘It was a gamble anyhow, wasn’t it. Whether I could dodge ’em and get away. The others might have taken a fancy to follow me instead of you when I doubled back.’
Jeremy laughed. ‘I suppose so.’
There was a further pause.
Stephen said: ‘Well, I know what I fancy just at the moment: that’s a swim.’
‘I wouldn’t quarrel with the idea. But you’d do well to keep inshore today. This swell isn’t to be trifled with.’
They clambered down the steep and slippery path, turned into the cave at the bottom and stripped off. Stephen was a little short in the leg for his height, but otherwise splendidly proportioned. Fine golden hair curled on his chest, diminishing to a narrow point at his navel. He had two wound marks, one on his right thigh, one on his ribs. The second looked recent.
‘That the gauger?’ Jeremy asked, pointing.
‘What? Oh yes. He left his sting.’
They ran naked into the sea and were engulfed by it. Taking no notice of Jeremy’s warning, Stephen dived into the first breaker and emerged beyond it. He swam to the second, was turned upside down and came to the surface laughing and spitting. Another wave engulfed him. After being knocked over once Jeremy swam easily after him, dodging the big waves, swimming across their crests or sliding into their bellies before they broke. He suddenly felt glad that Stephen was back. In spite of his strong sexual feelings for Daisy Kellow, nothing really had moved the black ache from his heart. Not work nor play nor food nor drink nor lust. Perhaps for a little while Stephen could cure it. His attitude to life, full of enterprise and empty of caution, was in itself a tonic. If you were in the company of a man who didn’t care a curse for anything, it helped you to a similar view.
They were in the sea twenty minutes. The water was still cold for the time of year but its movement so boisterous that one came out glowing. And the sultry air dried them as they ran a mile up the beach and back. They collapsed at the entrance to their cave breathless and laughing, for they had just been able to avoid Beth and Mary Daniel coming along high-water mark picking over the flotsam of the tide. Both ladies would have been a thought indignant at the sight.
One of the sun’s shafts pierced the cloud cover and fell on the two young men, and both dragged on their breeches and lay back in the sand enjoying the heat.
Stephen said: ‘D’you know, this is the life, Jeremy. You’re the most fortunate of human beings, aren’t you.’
‘Am I?’
‘To be born here, beside this sea, and into a home where there’s money enough. You’re not rich but you want for naught. Think of waking up every morning since you were born and looking out on this sea, this sand, these cliffs. There’s nothing dirty or ugly or underhand about them. All you get is clean things: sun and rain and wind and fresh clouds scudding over. If I had seventy years I’d want nothing better than to spend them all here!’
‘After a few you might get tired of it and want to move. You’ve not got a placid nature, you know. You’d want to be out fighting the world.’
Stephen leaned back on his hands. ‘Who knows? Maybe. But when I think of me own life … Oh, there are plenty worse; I worked on a farm, was learned to read and write. But don’t you think your nature’s formed by the way you live? Mine’s been all fighting – having to fight to survive, sometimes having to cheat and lie. Who’d want to cheat and lie here?’
‘There seems to be a modest degree of it in these parts just the same.’
‘Perhaps it’s not in human nature to be happy. Ecod, given an opportunity, I’d make a try here.’
Some small birds were twittering in the back of the cave.
Presently Stephen said: ‘And how is Miss Clowance?’
‘Well enough, I think.’
‘Will she think the worse of me?’
‘For what?’
‘For what happened the night afore last.’
‘No doubt you’ll be able to judge at dinner.’
‘Has she spoke much of me?’
‘From time to time.’
‘I mean – since she knew I was back.’
Jeremy brushed some sand off his chest. ‘Stephen, I do not know what affection you have for Clowance or she for you. I do not even know if it is the sort that would – would take amiss the sight of you in the company of Violet Kellow on the night of your return. If all that is a little heavy sounding, I’m sorry. Why don’t –’
‘She saw me, then. Or did someone tell her?’
‘She saw you. I saw you.’
Stephen sighed. ‘Pity … You know me, Jeremy. I do things on impulse, like. Like going in that sea just now. I don’t hum and har. Maybe I don’t think enough. But that’s how it is. Then I curse meself for an impulsive fool. D’you know it’s God’s truth that when I got to Grambler two nights ago me first thought was I must go see the Poldarks first thing. Who wouldn’t? Isn’t it natural? You were me true friends. But then I thought, what if I turn up on your doorstep, I thought, with nowhere to sleep? Twill look as if I expect you to put me up. So I went first to Nanfan’s and learned there of the bonfire. Right, I say to meself, I’ll call at Nampara and see if maybe Jeremy and Clowance are there and I can join them at the bonfire. So I walked up with the procession but cut away from it when I saw you all there. You were with Daisy Kellow and Miss Clowance was with that Ben Carter, and each one was paired off nicely, so I think to meself, no one will want me ramming me way in; and I see this tall man and someone says he’s Captain Poldark and I think, well, there’s better times to turn up like a bad penny than at a Midsummer Eve bonfire when everyone’s busy, and maybe, I think, I’ll be better off waiting till the light of morning. So off I walk back to Nanfan’s to get an early night.’
He paused. The two women were abreast of them on the beach and Jeremy waved. They waved back.
Stephen said: ‘I’ve told you, I’m an impulse man. I have to pass the gates of Fernmore, and there was lights burning, so I go in, and Mr Kellow’s away and Mrs Kellow and Miss Kellow have got their cloaks on and are arguing back and forth because Violet has said first she’s not well enough to go to the bonfire and then changed her mind and says she is. So I say to Mrs Kellow, I say, Mrs Kellow, if you’ll give me leave, I’ll take Miss Violet to join her sister at the bonfire and there’s no need for you to turn out at all. So after a bit of persuasion that’s how it was.’
Jeremy reached for his jacket and took out his watch.
‘But you didn’t bring her to join her sister.’
‘Well, I reckon you know the Miss Kellows better than me, Jeremy. Control them, can you, either one or the other of ‘em? Like runaway horses. I say to Miss Violet when we get nigh the bonfire and she looks to be walking past it, I say to her, “Miss Violet, that path leads to the beach,” and she says in that taunting high mettlesome way she has, “Shut your mouth, fellow, and follow me.”’
Jeremy pulled on his shirt. ‘It’s almost time for dinner. You can come up to my room first and tidy up.’
‘You know me,’ said Stephen. ‘Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, do I. Maybe I should, but it’s not me nature. Violet’s a pretty piece and out for a lark. You know what both those Kellow girls are.’
‘Yes,’ said Jeremy uncomfortably. ‘I think we should go.’
Stephen was at his best at dinner, talking enough to be polite but not monopolizing the conversation. He answered Ross’s questions about the Philippe in such detail as seemed necessary. He explained that his ship’s fight with the two French warships had taken place during a storm. Captain Fraser had been killed by a direct hit from one of the French vessels and the rest of the crew had at once decided to surrender. But the cannon shot that killed Captain Fraser had wrecked their foremast, and before the French could help them they took the ground in high seas on what he supposed were the Western Rocks of the Scillies. He supposed the rest of the crew drowned, for there had only been himself and Harrison and Mordu to get away on the raft.
He also took a lively interest in Wheal Leisure, the mine itself, the probable disposition of the lodes, the way the lodes were worked, the problem of water and the process by which it was pumped away. He showed a quick intelligence and a grasp of what he was told.
Ross thought him probably the sort of young man who would bring an intense concentration to a subject that suddenly interested him, absorbing more, and more quickly, than someone who had studied for a long time. But he thought possibly the interest might, on occasion, as suddenly die.
Jeremy’s long fingers, he noticed, were not so artistic as they had once been, and in replying to Stephen and explaining things to him there was a flicker of passion in his face. What had John Treneglos said? ‘Horrie says your boy’s a genius.’ Horrie, not being the brightest of young men, would be easily impressed, of course. Yet it meant something. Why hadn’t he, Ross, perceived more to his son than his apparent carelessness, his seemingly detached, feckless, facile attitude to life? Surely since his return home Jeremy’s conversations with him might have given him a hint of what was going on in the young man’s mind. He’d been short-sighted. Short-sighted in a way fathers so often were short-sighted, falling into the sort of trap Ross had prided himself he was immune from.
Sitting there listening to the two young men, he admitted the fault in himself, yet he could not suppress his resentment with Jeremy for being so damned secretive about everything and leading him into such a false position.
Ross had not told Demelza yet about the ‘fishing’. He must first tackle Jeremy on his own …
Altogether the dinner was quite a success, except for Stephen. Clowance claimed a bilious attack and begged to be excused putting in an appearance. Half an hour before dinner-time she had told her mother she would accept the invitation to spend a holiday at Bowood with the Lansdownes.