‘Judas!’ said Demelza. ‘How you’ve both grown!’
Ross had been up at Wheal Grace with Captain Henshawe and the two engineers who had built the engine. They had been over to check a fault which had developed in the pump rod, and the engine had been stopped for half a day until they came; so the opportunity had been taken to carry out the monthly cleaning of the boiler.
It was in a thoughtful but cheerful mood that Ross started back to the house. The mine, he thought, had now reached the limits of its foreseeable expansion. It employed thirty tributers, twenty-five tut-men, six binders and timbermen, and about forty workers of one sort and another above ground. The engine was now working at near its comfortable capacity, and the water it pumped up from sixty fathoms was ingeniously channelled into a wooden trough which worked a small water-wheel at surface which itself worked a secondary and much smaller pump. The water then flowed down a ten-fathom adit until it worked a second water-wheel built sixty feet below the level of the first wheel and about thirty feet below the level of the sloping ground, where it ran on down the adit to come out at the washing floor built just above Demelza’s garden. A fair amount of the mined ore was still sent to be crushed and washed at the tin stamps of Sawle Combe, for there was not enough room for more stamps in this valley without destroying it as a place to live.
Further extension of the mine looked uneconomic. To build another engine or to attempt to work this one harder would be self-defeating. Coal cost 18s a ton free on board, and even the war had not yet raised the price of tin to a level where a fair return was assured. One of the contributing causes of this was a swing in fashion away from the use of pewter to the use of cloam and china. It was a nationwide change of habit and had come at just the wrong time.
Nevertheless, because the lodes were so rich and, in spite of their depth, so accessible, this mine was paying where so many others were failing or had failed. Great concerns like United Mines had been losing £11,000 a year before they closed. Wheal Grace, small as it was, was rich beyond his hopes and in six months had eaten up his many debts like a benevolent Lucullus. Two months’ profit had paid off the whole of his £1,400 debt to Caroline Penvenen; in another two months he had discharged his debts to Pascoe’s Bank and swept away all his lesser dues; by May he could repay the twenty-year-old mortgage which Harris Pascoe personally held. Soon there would be money on deposit in the bank, or to invest in five per cents, or to keep in bags under the bed, or to spend on whatever they wanted most.
It was a heady brew. Neither he nor Demelza had become acclimatized yet; they behaved as if the last ton of ore might be raised – this afternoon. A week ago he had taken Demelza down the mine and shown her the two rich and expanding floors; supposedly it had been to convince her; in fact, though he saw them daily, it was as much to convince himself. He felt he needed the reassurance of her conviction too.
With the mine being so close to the house he went home most days for dinner, which was usually about 2 p.m. It was now barely 1, but he had some mine figures he would work out in the library. Since the reconciliation of Christmas he had spent as much time at home as possible; it was another form of reassurance. They had all but lost each other – she had been prepared to go, had been on her way out of the house. Now it seemed incredible that they had been so near to parting. The warmth of their reconciliation had been full of passion, had brought them closer in some ways than they had ever been before, all defences down. Yet it had been a slightly feverish warmth – and still was – as if their relationship were recovering from a near-mortal wound and they were trying to reassure themselves. The quieter levels of absolute trust which had existed before had not yet been regained.
And tempering their delight and relief at the success of the mine was the knowledge of the alien presence at Trenwith House only four miles away. Often they would forget it; then it would recur like an undulant pain, so that temporarily they were at a distance from each other again. The birth and christening of Valentine Warleggan was the latest thorn in the flesh. Neither said what was uppermost in their minds; it could never be uttered by anyone. But Caroline Penvenen had written to Demelza:
‘Such disappointment not to see you there, though to tell the truth I had hardly expected it, knowing the deep and abiding love Ross and George have for each other. I do not remember ever having been inside Trenwith before; it’s a fine house. The brat is dark, but I think favours Elizabeth; a well formed and quite handsome child, as children go. (I never really care for them until they are about three years old. Dwight will have to arrange it for me somehow!) A big assemblage for the Christening – I did not know there were so many Warleggans, and one or two of the older ones a small matter unsavoury. Also as much of the near-by county as would turn out on a cold day.’ She had gone into details of those present.
‘Uncle Ray not able to go with me, alas too weak. He misses Dwight’s ministrations. The last letter from Dwight was two weeks gone, aboard the Travail; but that itself was two weeks old when received, so in knowledge of his whereabouts I am already a month out of date. I fume at this like a love-lorn maiden in a tower, feeling it the worse for the knowledge that but for me he would not be in the Navy at all. I wish someone would stop this war . . .’
Although the letter had been written in all friendship, Ross would have been glad not to have received it. It lit the scene and revived memories of the house and the people he knew so well. The one person Caroline did not mention in the letter was Elizabeth herself. She did not of course know half the story, but clearly she knew enough to exercise tact in a letter to Demelza. He could not and would not have gone to the christening had they been invited; but it irked him more than he had ever thought probable that he was debarred from the family home, from calling on old Agatha, from seeing his nephew, from viewing the renovations and repairs that were taking place. He had seen enough when he made his last uninvited call at Christmas to know that the house was already changing its character, was taking on an alien personality.
As he passed the window of the parlour he glanced in and saw his wife seated in conversation with two strange young men.
He turned at once and went into them.
Jeremy wriggled off her knee and ran to him crying: ‘Papa! Papa!’ He picked him up and hugged him and set him down while the two young men stood awkwardly, not quite sure what to do with their hands. Demelza was wearing the bodice of fine white poplin she had made out of two of Ross’s shirts and decorated with lace from an old shawl; a cream linen skirt, a green apron; a bunch of keys dangled from her waist. They had not yet found the opportunity to replenish her wardrobe.
‘Do you remember my brothers, Ross?’ Demelza said. ‘This is Samuel, the second oldest, and Drake, the youngest. They have walked over from Illuggan to see us.’
A hesitation. ‘Well,’ said Ross. ‘It has been a long time.’ They shook hands, but guardedly, without warmth.
‘Six year,’ said Sam. ‘Or thereabout. Since I were here, that is. Drake hasn’t been afore. Drake was too young to come then.’
‘Tis a tidy stroll for a little one even now,’ said Drake.
Demelza said: ‘I believe your legs are longer than Sam’s.’
‘We’ve all got long legs, sister,’ said Sam soberly. ‘Tis something our mother give us. And you the same, no doubt, if the truth be seen.’
Ross said: ‘Have you been offered something to drink? Geneva? Or a cordial?’
‘Thank ye. Sister did ask. But later maybe, a glass of milk. We don’t touch spirits.’
‘Ah,’ said Ross. ‘Well, sit down.’ He glanced at Demelza and hesitated whether to leave them, but her lifted eyebrow invited him to stay. So he sat too.
‘Tis not that we mind drink in others,’ Drake explained, lightening his brother’s tone. ‘But we better prefer not to take it ourselves.’
‘How is your father?’ Ross asked, with a natural association of ideas.
‘The most high God was pleased to take’n to Himself last month,�
�� Sam said. ‘Father died well prepared for his meeting wi’ his blessed Saviour. We come to tell sister. That and other things.’
‘Oh,’ said Ross. ‘I’m sorry.’ He looked again at Demelza to see how this news had affected her, and he saw not at all. ‘How – what was amiss?’
‘He died of the pox. He hadn’t never had it, and it came sudden and he was buried within the week.’
Ross decided that the elder brother’s voice, though fervent was not charged with emotion. Filial love had been a duty, not a choice.
‘We all had it when we was young,’ said Drake. ‘It marked us but little. Did you have it, sister?’
‘Nay,’ said Demelza, ‘but I nursed you through it. Three of you at one time, and Father stone drunk every night.’
There was a pause. Sam sighed. ‘Well, give him his due, those days has been past these purty many year. Not since he wed again did he ever touch liquor.’
‘And Step-Mother Nellie?’ said Demelza. ‘She is well?’
‘Bravish. Luke is wed and from home. William and John and Bobby have followed father and would be down mine, but the mine is closed. There’s rare poverty in Illuggan.’
‘Not merely in Illuggan,’ said Ross.
‘True ’nough, brother,’ agreed Sam. ‘Round Illuggan and Camborne way, when I were a little tacker there was upwards of five-and-forty engines working. Day and night. Day and night. Now there’s four. Dolcoath’s gone, and North Downs, Wheal Towan, Poldice, Wheal Damsel, Wheal Unity. I could read ye a list so long as my arm!’
‘And what do you do?’ asked Ross.
‘I’m a tributer like the rest,’ said Sam. ‘When I can lease a pitch. But the Lord in his great mercy have seen fit to afflict me too. Drake here were apprenticed to a wheelwright for seven year. He d’work on and off, but most lately there has been naught for he neither.’
Ross began to suspect the purpose of their visit but refrained from saying so. ‘You are both – of the Methodist connexion?’ he asked.
Sam nodded his head. ‘We both have a new spirit and walk in the path of Christ, following his statutes.’
‘I thought you were the one that hadn’t seen the light,’ Demelza said. ‘Yes ago, when Father came once asking me to go home, he said all were converted but you, Samuel.’
Sam looked embarrassed, ran a hand over his lined young face. ‘That is so, sister. You’ve a rare memory. I lived without God amidst innumerable sins and provocations for upwards of twenty year. I existed in the gall of bitterness and in the bond of iniquity. But at last God pardoned all my sins and set my soul at liberty.’
‘And now,’ said Drake, ‘Sam has found salvation more stronger than the rest of us.’
Ross glanced at the other boy. There was a suggestion of irony in the tone but none in the pale composed face. This one had a look of Demelza; the colouring, the eyes, the clarity of skin. Perhaps too in a sense of humour. ‘You’re not so sure for yourself?’ he asked.
Drake smiled. ‘Upon times I d’fall from grace.’
‘Don’t we all,’ said Ross.
‘You’re of the connexion too, brother?’ Sam said eagerly.
‘No, no,’ Ross said. ‘It was meant as a general comment on life, no more.’
Jeremy ran back and pulled at his mother’s skirt. ‘Can I go now, Mama?’ he asked. ‘Can I g’n play with Garrick?’
‘Yes. But mind for yourself. No more walls till that has healed.’
When he had gone Sam said: ‘You ’ave others, sister?’
‘No, the only one. We lost a girl.’ Demelza smoothed her skirt. ‘And Father and the widow? They have others, I recollect?’
‘A little cheeil rising five, named Flotina. Three others was all called to God.’
‘God has a lot to answer for,’ said Ross.
There was an embarrassed silence. In the end neither boy rose to the bait, as their father would certainly have done.
Demelza said: ‘What time did you leave home this morning?’
‘Left home? Soon after cocklight. We took but one wrong turn and was sent back by gamekeepers. I was in the error for I thought twas the way we had come last time.’
‘You possibly had,’ Ross said. ‘But there are new owners at Trenwith who are blocking paths that have been rights of way for generations.’
‘It is too far to walk back today,’ Demelza said. ‘You must stay over.’
‘Well, thank ye, sister.’ Samuel cleared his throat. ‘I’ fact, sister – and brother too – we was come to ask a favour of ye. In Illuggan there’s many as has not tasted flesh meat in three months. We d’live on barley bread and weak tea – and pilchards when they can be got. That’s not to complain, mind. Merciful Jesus saves us from any hunger of the soul. We are refreshed by the clear fount of His eternal love. But many die of want and disease, and have fallen asleep in their sins.’
He dried up and grimaced. ‘Go on,’ Ross said quietly.
‘Well, here, brother, we hear tell there’s work. Word reached us last month that your mine was doing bravely. It was said as you’d took on twenty new hands last month and twenty the month afore. Me and Drake. I’m so good a tributer as you’ll find, though I says it myself. Drake’s a handy man, handy at all manner of things, aside from the turning of a wheel. We come to see if there’s work for us here.’
Jeremy had just taken Garrick into the garden, and Garrick was bouncing around him and barking. Jeremy was the only one now who could make Garrick behave like a puppy. Ross bit at his finger and looked across at Demelza. She had her hands folded in her lap, her eyes demurely down. This did not at all disguise from him the fact that a lot would be going on in her head and that she would have a number of precise and coherent views on the subject of this request. But she was giving him no inclination of what they were. This presumably meant that she wanted him to make up his mind.
All very well, but it directly concerned her. This was a difficult request for him to refuse: relationship, need on their part, prosperity on his. But Demelza had had to fight to get away from her family – chiefly her father. She was still remembered everywhere, no doubt, as a miner’s daughter; but as his wife she had been accepted in most society over these last four years. Now that they had money they could progress further. Good clothes, some jewellery, a renovated home. They could entertain and be entertained. She would not be human if, after years of near poverty, she did not now have ambition. Did she at this stage want to be trammelled with two brothers living nearby, working men, poorly spoken, claiming relationship and privileges which would embarrass her and everyone else? Not merely would this raise contacts with the people who worked for them: the miners, the engine men, the streamers, the blowers, the bal-boys and bal-maidens, the farm labourers, the cottagers, the house servants. At the moment, although it was known she was one of them, it was accepted that she was Mistress Poldark. The present relationship with everyone was a singularly good one; there was real liking and friendship but also real respect. How might it be altered by the arrival of the two Carnes? And these two might be followed by three or four others. What if they married round here? Would it suit Demelza to have a brood of mining in-laws, necessarily poor, necessarily ill-found, naturally claiming something different from the rest? Particularly the women. Women didn’t have the same tact and sense of position as men.
He said: ‘This is a small mine. We do not employ above a hundred, counting all both above and below grass. Our prosperity is of very recent growth. Nine months ago I was in Truro arranging for the sale of the engine and headgear of our mine to the venturers of Wheal Radiant. Now we have found tin in such quantity that, even at the uneconomic price of tin today, we are making a substantial profit. All the signs are that the two lodes are widening and deepening as we advance. There is at least two years’ work ahead for all. Beyond that I cannot say. But with the price of tin so low, with the margins of profit so narrow, it is common sense not to expand more. First, because the more tin there is on the market the less it will fe
tch. Second, because the longer the war lasts the more likely there is to be need of metals, and the more chance then of a rise in price. So we have had to turn many people away when they came to seek for work.’
He paused and looked at the two young men. He wasn’t sure how much they would grasp of this, but they seemed to be following well enough.
Sam said: ‘We would not wish for to take other men’s work.’
‘I think,’ said Ross, ‘it is something on which I shall have to consult Captain Henshawe. This I can best do in the morning. Therefore I’d suggest that you spend the night here. I think we can put you up either in the house or in the barn.’
‘Thank you, brother.’
‘Captain Henshawe has all the hiring of the workmen, and I shall know better when I have spoken to him. And in the meantime we will give you dinner.’
‘Thank you, brother.’
Demelza stirred to push her hair from her brow. ‘I think,’ she said, ‘Samuel and Drake, that it is proper for you to call me sister. But I think it is proper that you should call my husband Captain Poldark.’
Sam’s face broke up into its smile. ‘That, sister, we’ll gladly do. I ask your pardon, but tis more in the way of the Methodist connexion to call all men brother. Tis a manner o’ speaking.’
Ross pursed his lips. ‘So be it,’ he said at length. ‘I will see Captain Henshawe in the morning. But you understand it is not a promise of work, only a promise to consult with him.’
‘Thank ye,’ said Sam.
‘Thank you, cap’n,’ said Drake.
Demelza got up. ‘I will tell Jane we shall be two more to dinner.’
‘Thank ye, sister,’ said Sam. ‘But d’ye follow twas not for that that we come.’
‘I understand.’
Ross told the young men to sit down again and then followed Demelza out. As he caught her up in the passage he pinched her bottom and she gave a muffled squeak.
The Black Moon Page 3