Stephen fingered a few crumbs from his missing eye tooth. ‘Where d’you learn all this if not from your parents?’
‘Stephen,’ she said, ‘I’m twenty years of age and have spent all my life in Cornwall. Even living a sheltered life, one hears a great deal about the important people of the county.’
After a few moments he said a bit sulkily: ‘And you do not trust me to be able to accept help from this man without becoming ruled by him?’
‘No, I didn’t say that. But I said, be careful.’
‘Oh,’ said Stephen, well aware that the ice he was treading on was far thinner than Clowance knew. ‘I’ll be that sure enough.’
Chapter Two
I
After the long bout of drunkenness Ben Carter shook himself out of the deathly mood that had gripped him, and went for a tramp along the cliffs. It was months since he had come this way. From Sawle Combe you could climb left towards Trevaunance and St Ann’s, skirting Trenwith land and crossing behind Place House, a track which had been a right of way for centuries and which even the new owners, the Popes, had not objected to so long as you were discreet in your passage. Or you could climb right along the even wilder cliffs, above Seal Hole Cave and in sight of the Queen Rock until you came down into Nampara Cove. Ben chose the latter.
He had not shown up at Wheal Leisure for nine days and knew his absence simply could go on no longer. It was not fair to the Poldarks to leave them without news of him except such as the neighbours brought. He had to confront them. It was possible, even likely, that they had already decided to discharge him – to promote young Mark Daniel or someone like that to take his place. No mine could operate in the care of an underground mining captain who absented himself without so much as a by-your-leave for more than a week and who had been observed drunk on duty before that.
But the Poldarks being who they were, and him being their godson, it was quite possible that they would still be willing to take him back, if he was willing to go. He had to decide on this walk whether – if the opportunity was open – he was willing to go.
A loner all his life, a man who preferred his own company to anyone else’s – or almost anyone else’s – he had been quite content to follow his own eccentric ways, building, developing, improving his organ, living at home making just enough money in his one-man excavations to pay his mother for his keep and caring nothing for any more, he had been persuaded by Jeremy – over-persuaded, perhaps – to take an interest in the opening of Wheal Leisure, and then a responsible position there. It was possible that without him the old Trevorgie workings, which were now the most profitable part of the mine, would never have been discovered. He had become involved in its progress, its success. Along with that had come a closer association with Clowance than he had ever had before, and the following tragedy – to him – of her marriage to Stephen Carrington.
Now he yearned for a return to the lonely, carefree, un-responsible life he had known of old; when he was his own master, if yet master of so little. What he had been wondering during the last two days, while he was coming out of his soaking drunkenness, was whether that carefree life could in truth ever be recalled? He had to confess he had not disliked his time at Wheal Leisure; although it was against his deepest principles that any man should be ‘managed’ by any other or be given orders or generally supervised – just as he could not accept such a bondage for himself. But he had worked within such a system and had not been unhappy so working. Could you turn the clock back?
It was a fine afternoon with a few curvatures of cloud building up their white colonnades of cumulus. The tide was full in, licking white round all the rocks and brimming a scintillant blue to the very edges of the land. There was no sand left in the world. Fine veils of mist hung in the air above the rocks. A breeze rose and fell, errant, uncertain of direction.
Ben came to the declivity above Kellow’s Ladder. He couldn’t remember when he had last been down: one year, two years? That time he and Jeremy and Paul went to Ireland. It had been a bit of a crazy venture, without as much chance of profit as if they had gone to Brittany, but Paul had set his mind on it. They had come back laden with whiskey, illegally distilled of course. The Enid was an old-style down-at-heel lugger which had never been as good a sailor as Nampara Girl, but she had served her purpose at the time. The Kellows were not really seafaring folk or they would never have left their vessel in that cove all through the winter. Sooner or later a gale would do its destructive work. Anyway, though it was romantic to have your own little natural quay with its personal access, the approach was so inconvenient and sometimes even perilous that it was hardly worth the trouble.
Ben peered at the ladder, tested a rung or two and then went down, climbing with the practised ease of a miner. More than half way down was an opening to a low tunnel driven horizontally by some long-dead prospector in search of tin. No one alive remembered even the perpendicular shaft being driven, so it was easy to speculate, hard to be sure.
Ben went on down, picking his way among the half broken rungs, until he came out into the daylight of the cove. It was awash now, the curving rock of the natural quay half submerged, a few ribs of the sunken Enid still straddling the upper boulders where one strident storm had thrown them out of the reach of normal seas. A couple of herring gulls sidled their way along a flinty ridge, eyeing him with suspicion but not alarm. Spray damped his face.
The simple fact of the matter was that he couldn’t go on behaving like this. After his fight with Stephen he had resigned his position, and only some weeks later had allowed himself to be persuaded back. Now for this to happen a second time was inexcusable from a Poldark point of view. The only course was to waste no further time pattering round desolate cliffs but to go direct to Captain Poldark and have it out: tell him that quite plainly he had discovered himself unfit for the regular responsibility of routine work, and apologize for the personal mistake he had made in ever supposing that he would be. No mention of Clowance. Above all, there must be no mention of Clowance.
Ben picked up a big stone and flung it into the water; it disappeared with a plop that was inaudible among the grunts and rushings of the sea. He turned and began to mount the ladder.
Just near the lateral tunnel a rung of the ladder snapped under his foot and he bruised his knee. Rubbing this he looked at the floor of the tunnel and saw scuffings on the rock and part of a footprint on the muddy sand at the entrance. These surely were recent marks – not older than the rain of a couple of weeks ago – and he wondered who else had been down here and for what purpose. Some lonely miner like himself picking around to see what he could find? Some village girl doing away with an unwanted child? He swung himself off the ladder and into the tunnel.
The light was dim here at the best of times, and he had brought no candle; but he crouched in the entrance for a couple of minutes with his eyes closed and then turned to crawl in.
As far as he remembered from the old days, the tunnel did not go in far, but he did not venture all the way in case someone had dug a pit. If some man had begun prospecting again . . .
But he did perceive what looked like a sheet of tarpaulin and some sacks about ten feet in on the left hand side lying against the wall of rock. The entire pile was too flat and deflated to be able to contain anything like a foetus or the corpse of a new-born child; so he went across and picked the first sack up and shook it out and found it empty. He saw they were actually small flour bags, to contain probably about 20 lbs of flour, such as were used sometimes at Jonas’s Mill, but there was no sign of flour inside them. Outside they were cobwebbed and dank.
He took up the second one and shook it, and there was a tinkle on the rocks. Ben groped about and found a ring and a metal thing which might have been a seal. He put these to one side and took up the third bag, being more careful now. His hand came on a few flimsy pieces of paper and he drew them out. Nothing else. The paper, though thin, crackled and was of good quality.
He took the sheets, which w
ere of different size and condition, to the cave entrance and screwed up his eyes to read through the damp stains. One said: ‘Idless. No 24. 15 Oct, 1812. Recd of Thomas Jolly. Black Tin 4 cwt. 2 qrs. 19 lbs. Which I promise to deliver to him or order next Truro Coinage . . .’ Another paper read: ‘This is the Last Will and Testament of me Thomas Trenerry of Maker in the County of Cornwall.’ A third seemed to be a bill: ‘Item – one ebony snuff box; Item . . .’ The last began: ‘Received the sum of Thirty-Five Pounds’.
Ben hesitated and then thrust the documents back in the sack. They were none of his business. Whoever put them there would presumably come back for them – unless, as was more probable, they had been thrown away as out of date.
He picked up the ring and the engraved metal disc with the raised knob. He thought of putting these back too, but changed his mind and slipped them in his pocket to examine more closely when he reached the daylight. It was unlikely they were of value, but after the discovery of the Roman coin in the old Trevorgie workings you never knew what might turn up.
II
Demelza had been bathing on the beach with Isabella-Rose when Ben arrived. She was wearing an ankle-length scarlet cloak to hide her flimsy costume, and a towel worn turban-like about her hair. Bella was in pink frills – the only member of the family ever to wear a conventional costume: this not out of modesty but out of vanity; she thought the flounces suited her, and she was probably right. Ben was at the door, and Betsy Maria Martin, his cousin, had just opened it to him. He flushed at the sight of Demelza.
‘Oh, beg pardon, I come . . . well, I come to see Cap’n Poldark.’
‘He’s not in, Ben. He’s gone to Truro on business.’
This was a set-back. Ben shuffled his feet. ‘Oh, I . . . Well, then . . .’
‘Come in.’ Demelza kept her expression and her voice pleasant but neutral. ‘Have you been to the mine?’
‘Not yet, ma’am. I thought – me being absent for a while – I’d best first see Cap’n Poldark.’
‘Yes, of course . . . Go in, Bella, and make sure your hair is dry. Get a warm towel from Jane – there’ll be one in the kitchen.’
Bella shot in ahead of them at great speed, falling over Farquhar, who was bounding out to meet them. Among the cries and the confusion Ben somehow found himself in the parlour. Demelza smiled at him.
‘Are you coming better?’
‘Better? . . .’ Ben frowned. ‘If it can be so called. Tis time I were better! Thank you. But I come to see – to see Captain Poldark and—’
‘And I will not do? Well, he’ll be in in the morning, Ben.’
‘Well, tis not so much as you will not do, mistress. I wouldn’t be so rude as to say any such thing! But seeing as Cap’n Poldark d’employ me, and me being off without so much as a by-your-leave, tis very necessary I shall see him about the future.’
Demelza took the towel off her head and shook out her hair. It was already drying.
‘Have you seen your grandfather?’
‘No . . . Least, not this week. Not for some time.’
‘He’s been worried for you. We all have. Are you in a hurry?’
‘What, me? No, ma’am. What’ve I got to do?’
‘Then will you stay till I change? I have damp things underneath and I shall not be more than a few minutes.’
‘Of course.’
‘Sit down.’
Ben did not obey but stood staring bleakly out of the window until she returned. She was in a plain blue sleeveless dimity frock, but with a small apron of Nottingham lace that gave it a touch of style. Ben, who remembered her from his earliest days, thought she had scarcely changed. She still looked like Clowance’s sister.
‘When are you coming back to the mine?’
He rubbed a hand across his pointed beard. ‘I been walking the cliffs this afternoon, besting how to order my life from now on. I resigned once from Leisure – after that quarrel with Carrington. Now . . . now that he’s wed to . . .’ The name must not be spoken. ‘Now that he’s wed I been absent again. I came to see Cap’n Poldark. I got to come to some choice ’bout the mine and he’s got to come to some choice ’bout me. Do he still want me back, and, if so, do I want to be back?’
Demelza picked up two rattle toys that Henry had discarded before he took his afternoon sleep.
‘Ben, may I speak plain?’
‘Please, ma’am. Tis your privilege.’
‘Well, it is not common sense to pretend we don’t know why you have been away – that it has all been because of Clowance’s marriage.’
Ben winced. The name was out. ‘Yes, mistress, I suppose.’
Demelza said: ‘I know of your feeling for Clowance and I know of your feeling for Stephen. One is love and one is – the opposite . . . So tis very hard for you to see these two people wed, and us rejoicing and blessing them and happy for them, and you left out in the cold. No doubt you’d ’ve felt more reconciled if Clowance had consented to marry Lord Edward Fitzmaurice, who proposed marriage to her in Bath. Or even if she had married Mr Tom Guildford, who asked her to marry him when he last called here. Perhaps I would have felt happier too, perhaps Captain Poldark would, not just because they were wealthier or titled but because they seemed to be better characters, more obviously honourable and straightforward and of a respectable reputation . . . Stephen has none of these.’
She paused and pulled at her damp hair, which straightened under the impatient tug of her fingers and then at once sprang back into its delicate curl.
‘Stephen has none of these. But we are not quite the normal family, Ben. Perhaps it is my fault. No – it is the fault of the both of us – Ross’s just so much as mine. We believe in allowing our children freedom of choice. Even now I do not know whether this is a good thing. Perhaps I should have instructed my elder daughter to marry the brother of a marquis. But I did not. Perhaps we should have forbidden her to have any dealings with an unknown man who was washed up on our beach, and who soon proved himself to be – unreliable. Perhaps this is all due to our weakness. Our weaknesses. But – because we believe children should have the freedom of choice – Clowance was allowed to choose for herself. If she had chosen you we should not have put obstacles in her way. But she did not. She chose Stephen. Three times she had long absences from him and still she came back to him . . . So there is another thing to think, Ben. And that is, do we trust Clowance’s judgement? Love is blind, they say, and lovers cannot see. But sometimes lovers see further and deeper than the rest of us: they see beyond the things in a man’s nature that put other folk off, to a better and a deeper character. Who knows? I do not. I pray that someday, and not far off, it will be proved Clowance has seen better than the rest of us. Until then we must just – hope . . . and try to be tolerant.’
Ben stared down at a large splodge of muddy sand on the carpet.
‘I think I brought that in, Mrs Poldark. I been down Kellow’s Ladder. My boots . . .’
‘It does not matter.’
He hesitated and looked at her and then out of the window. ‘Thank you for telling me what you’ve just telled me. Tis comforting to know that I wasn’t – that nobody was ruled out. And tis comforting, in a way, that you and Cap’n Poldark also have your doubts. Maybe in time when some of the hurt have gone I shall be able to hope wi’ you that Clowance has chose right after all. Any way, thank you for what you’ve said.’
‘Why don’t you go and see your grandfather now? He will be pleased to see you.’
‘Maybe he’ll be pleased, but I doubt he’ll show it. I reckon he’ll be tearing mad. For letting of you down, see.’
‘I’m glad I’ve seen you first then,’ said Demelza. ‘I think you’ve made up your mind, haven’t you?’
‘What way?’
‘To come back.’
Ben screwed up his eyes. ‘Tis hard to tell. It depend a lot if Cap’n Poldark d’think the way of you.’
Demelza said: ‘I think Captain Poldark will be half way between me and Zacky. He badl
y wants to be able to rely on his underground captain, especially now Jeremy’s gone.’
‘Yes, I see that.’
‘In a few weeks he will be going to Westminster. He will want to leave Zacky in charge, and you, if you stay, will have to be Zacky’s eyes and ears. Ross would not take kindly to you being absent then!’
‘If I d’stay, he’ll have no cause to fear on that!’
‘Well then I think he will want you to stay.’
‘Thank you, Mistress. Well, I’d best be going now, then. But if tis all the same to you I’ll not go to the mine till I’ve had word wi’ Cap’n Poldark. I don’t think twould be proper.’
They walked to the door. Ben said:
‘Oh, I said I been Kellow’s Ladder. I seem always to be finding things! What with Roman coins and the like!’ He showed her the ring and the metal seal stamp.
Demelza took them. ‘You say you found them in Kellow’s Ladder? But I thought . . .’
‘Twas but a down shaft? Quite right. But there be a side tunnel half way down. I seen some footmarks – recent footmarks, so I went in. There were these three little sacks. One was empty, second had these in, the third some old papers, legal papers or the like, and a few copper coins. I left ’em there. They seemed no business o’ mine. Maybe twas no business o’ mine to bring these away.’
Demelza studied the seal. It had some sort of spiderlike creature embossed, and it looked as if it was made of silver lead.
‘Sacks, you say? What sort of sacks, Ben?’
‘Oh, just like flour sacks. But small ones. Like Miller Jonas sometimes d’use.’
‘They weren’t marked Jonas, were they?’
‘No, no marking. Except a marking in red ink – like red ink. One sack was marked S. And another one J. And the third was P. or B. The ink’d run.’
‘I see.’ She put her free hand up to rub her heart, which was thumping. ‘Can I keep this seal, Ben, just for the time being? I’d like to show it to Captain Poldark. I’ll leave you have it back later.’
The Loving Cup Page 37