So when the little nucleus of Methodists began to accept him as their leader, Sam took them to Sawle Church as the best of the four. Besides, Drake always seemed to want to go there.
For two weeks the brothers had been foraging for a new central beam to support their repaired roof and to carry the extra weight of slate, put on in place of thatch. Possibly the weak pit-prop which had been used for the central beam would bow no further; but one couldn’t be sure, and sometimes it gave an ominous crack.
In the last week in May Pally Rogers told Sam that a fine piece of ship’s timber had washed in at St Ann’s and been taken possession of by one of the seine boats there. So the next time Drake had a few hours free and Sam was up from his core they walked over to look at it. It was not a mast but a cross-beam: eighteen feet or so in length; and very nearly a foot square. For use in the cottage it was four feet too long but otherwise perfect. The seiners wanted seven shillings for it. After some bargaining they settled for five.
For two shillings more, the seiners said, they would row it round and deposit it on Hendrawna Beach. The brothers politely refused. They left a deposit of three shillings and said they would come for it on the morrow, which was the last day of the month and a Saturday. Sam was on the night core and Drake was able to get off at three in the afternoon, so they were in St Ann’s well before five. Within half an hour they had paid the difference and had started back.
This week the weather had at last relented and the sun was hot as they climbed the long hill out of the village. The great beam had not yet fully dried out and it soon began to feel like lead. It was going to be a long and trying walk. By the time they had done two miles Drake, who was not yet as strong as his brother, began to wish they had paid the extra two shillings to have the beam ‘delivered’. They had all night to carry it in, but the difficulty if they stopped to rest was getting the beam back on their shoulders again. They could only stop where there was a convenient wall or support on which to rest the beam waist high.
They were now on the same path they had taken from Illuggan in March, and they presently came to the fork in the track where in March they had attempted to cross some fields and been turned back with ugly words by the Warleggan gamekeepers. They had never attempted to cross the fields since but both were well aware from later experience that the way through the fields and the two small woods beyond cut at least a mile off their journey. They stopped for a minute. There was no one in sight. You could not see Trenwith House or any of its buildings. There was a barn of some sort in the next field.
‘I say risk it,’ said Drake. ‘They can’t be everywhere all the time.’ So they crossed the field, which was grazing land, though not even cattle were to be seen this evening.
The second field was barley, and the old right of way ran across the middle of it towards the wood on the other side. The barley had been sown to ignore the old path, but in the main had not grown thickly over it, as if even ploughing had not destroyed the impress of years. They went through the middle, waiting every moment for the angry shout, even the shot.
It did not come. They lifted themselves over the broken stile into the wood.
From here it should be easier. They were not sure how far it was yet on private land, but they knew the path came out at the first cottages of Grambler village, and that could not be far. The whole of the wood which they now entered, which was perhaps half an acre in extent, was azure with bluebells. The young elm and sycamore leaves were bursting out in a brilliant pale green through which the slanting sunlight dappled the ground. Halfway was a clearing where a tree had recently fallen and only a few sprouting saplings grew. The caterpillar ends of bracken were thrusting up among the bluebells. The fallen tree and an old stone wall would provide a resting place for the beam.
‘Let’s stop for a while,’ said Drake. ‘My shoulder’s fair crackin’.’
‘Not for long,’ said Sam. ‘I’d be easier out o’ here.’ But he lowered the beam, took the piece of sacking off his shoulder and began to massage it.
They squatted a few minutes in sweating satisfaction. A thrush came down near them, balancing his fan of a tail, then chattered affrightedly and flew off. Some small animal, probably a squirrel, moved in the undergrowth but did not show itself. Overhead the sky was high and brilliant, as if it had never been exposed to the sun before.
‘Phew! I’ve no sprawl to move yet,’ Drake said. ‘I reckon we shall’ve earned this piece o’ driftwood by the time we get him home.’
‘Hush!’ said Sam. ‘There’s someone abroad.’
They listened. At first there was no sound, then quite close someone was talking. The young men dived for cover. In the following pause a blackbird began to sing, his clear pellucid song taking no account of anything but the summer’s evening. Then he too fluttered away as a rustling increased and there was the clack of a heel against stone.
Two people came into the clearing. One was a fair-haired boy of ten or eleven, the other a tall dark girl in a plain blue dress with muslin fichu and a straw hat in her hand. Held in the other arm was a sheaf of bluebells.
‘Oh,’ said the boy in a clear voice. ‘Someone has cut a tree down! No, it has fallen! I wonder if they know . . . But what is this strange piece of wood?’
The girl fished in a pocket of her frock and took out a pair of steel-rimmed spectacles, which she put on to stare at the beam. ‘It looks like a piece from a barn – or a ship. Someone must have brought it here. Recently too, for the bluebells have all been stepped on.’
She turned and peered around. Drake made a movement to show himself but Sam caught his arm. But the damage had been done: the young boy’s sharp eyes had seen the yellow of Sam’s kerchief.
‘Who is it? Who’s there? Come out! Show yourselves!’ Although he spoke in a commanding tone the boy was nervous and took a step away as he spoke.
They came slowly out, dusting the broken twigs and bracken from their clothes, rubbing their hands down the side of their trousers.
‘Day to you,’ said Drake, as ever politely pleasant in a crisis. ‘Sorry if we startled you. We thought to rest awhile and had no wish to disturb no one.’
‘Who are you?’ said the boy. ‘This is private property! Are you my uncle’s men?’
‘No, sur,’ said Drake. ‘Leastwise, thinkin’ ye mean Mr Warleggan. No, sur. We was just carren this piece of timber from St Ann’s over to Mellin. Tis all of six mile and we thought to lay our burden down for a few minutes, for the beam is some heavy. I trust we done no wrong.’
‘You’re trespassing,’ said the boy. ‘This is our land! Do you know what the penalties are for trespass?’ The girl put her hand on the boy’s arm but he shook it off.
‘Beg pardon, sur, but we thought this was a right o’ way. We seen the stile and years ago when we come this way there was naught to let or hinder us.’ Drake turned his open smiling face to the girl. ‘We intended no wrong, ma’am. Perhaps you’ll kindly explain to young Mr Warleggan that we ’ad no thought to trespass on private land—’
‘My name is not Warleggan,’ said the boy.
‘Beg your pardon again. We thought as this was Warleggan land—’
‘This is Poldark land and my name is Poldark,’ said the boy. ‘However, it is true that until a year ago village people were allowed to go this way, though never by right. It was only that my family had long been indulgent in such matters.’
‘Mr Poldark,’ said Drake. ‘If your name’s Mr Poldark, young sur, then maybe you’ll see fit to overlook this mistake, because we’re related to Captain Ross Poldark, who, twouldn’t be fanciful to suppose, may be related to you.’
The boy looked at their working clothes. He had a high fresh colour and a natural arrogance of manner inherited from his father. He was tall for his age and rather plump; a good-looking boy but with a restive air.
‘Related to my uncle, Captain Ross Poldark? In what way related?’
‘Cap’n Poldark’s wife, Mistress Demelza Poldark, is our sist
er.’
This was a statement rather beyond Geoffrey Charles’s knowledge to refute, but he looked sceptical. ‘Where do you come from?’
‘Illuggan.’
‘That’s far away, isn’t it?’
‘Twelve mile maybe. But we don’t live there now. We d’live at Nampara. That is, at Reath, just over the hill from Nampara. I’m working in the house for Cap’n Poldark, carpenter and the like. My brother Sam is down mine.’
The boy shrugged. ‘Mon Dieu. C’est incroyable.’
‘Please?’
‘So perhaps it was my uncle who sent you to get this beam?’
Drake hesitated but Sam, who until now had let his younger and more charming brother do all the talking, interposed to remove the easy temptation. ‘I’m sorry, no. Your uncle didn’t know nothing of this. But d’ye see, with the assistance and to the greater glory of God, we been building up an old cottage. We been working on it two month or more and wanted a long beam fourteen, fifteen foot long for to carry the roof. And this was washed in at St Ann’s and we bought him and was carren home.’
‘Excuse the question, ma’am,’ Drake said. ‘But I b’lieve I see you at Grambler church most Sundays?’
She had taken off her spectacles again, and looked at him coldly with her soft, short-sighted beautiful eyes, ‘That may be so.’
But Drake, however deferential, was hard to put down, ‘No offence meant, ma’am. None at all.’
She inclined her head.
‘In the second pew from the front,’ he said, ‘right-hand side. You have a rare handsome hymn book wi’ a gold cross on him and gold edges to the leaves.’
The girl put down her sheaf of bluebells. ‘Geoffrey Charles, as it was customary in the old days to come through this wood . . .’
But Geoffrey Charles was looking at the beam. ‘It is off a ship, isn’t it? See, here is a hole that must have had a metal rod through it. And the corner has been chiselled away. But all that will surely weaken it as a beam, won’t it?’
‘We reckon to cut that end off,’ said Drake. ‘We only d’want fourteen feet and this is nigh on eighteen.’
‘So why did you not saw it off before you left St Ann’s? It would have made it that much less heavy to carry.’ The boy chuckled at his own astuteness.
‘Yes, but maybe we can find a use for the stump. Good oak be hard to come by. Where you’ve paid for him all ye don’t like to take only the part.’
‘Is it very heavy?’ The boy put his shoulder under the end that rested on the fallen tree and lifted. He went red in the face. ‘Mon Dieu, vous avez raison—’
‘Geoffrey!’ said the girl starting forward. ‘You will hurt yourself!’
‘That I will not,’ said Geoffrey, letting the end down again. ‘But it is heavy as lead! Have you already borne it more than two miles? Try it, Morwenna, just try it!’
Morwenna said slowly: ‘It is only two fields after this wood to the public way again. You will see the old path still marked. But when you go do not loiter.’
‘Thank you, ma’am,’ said Sam. ‘We’re in your debt for that.’
Her dark sober glance went over the two young men. ‘I think there will be two men in the furthest field now milking the cows. If you were to wait a half-hour they would then be gone and you would run less risk of being stopped.’
‘Thank you, ma’am. That’s a kind thought. We’re doubly in your debt.’
‘But before we go let us see you lift it!’ cried Geoffrey Charles. ‘I cannot imagine you carrying it three miles more!’
The two brothers exchanged glances. ‘Aye, we’ll do that,’ said Sam.
So, watched by the young woman and the young boy, they heaved it upon their shoulders. Geoffrey Charles nodded his approval. Then they lowered their burden again.
Geoffrey Charles, his earlier hostility gone, wanted to stay on, but Morwenna took him by the arm. ‘Come, your mother will wonder what has become of us. We shall be late for supper.’
Smiling, Drake picked up the bluebells for her and put them into her arms. Geoffrey Charles said: ‘I have not seen my Uncle Ross for some time. Pray give him my respects.’
Both the brothers bowed and then stood together watching Geoffrey Charles and his governess return through the trees the way they had come.
Morwenna Chynoweth said: ‘I think, Geoffrey, it might be – advisable that we should say nothing of having met those young men.’
‘But why? They were doing no harm.’
‘Your Uncle George is strict about trespass. One should not want to get them into trouble.’
‘Agreed.’ He chuckled. ‘But they are strong! One day when I grow up I hope I shall be as strong.’
‘You will. If you eat well and go to bed early.’
‘Oh, that old tale. You know, Wenna, I wonder if there was a word of truth in their story of being related to Uncle Ross. Mama has told me that Aunt Demelza was low born, but I had not realized as low as that. It may well have been a fable to enlist our sympathy.’
‘I have seen them in church,’ said Morwenna. ‘I remember seeing them; but Captain Poldark comes so seldom that I have no way of knowing if they were in his pew. I think they sat at the back.’
‘The younger one is funny, isn’t he? Such a funny smile. I wonder what their names are. I must ask Mama some time about Aunt Demelza.’
‘If you ask your mother about them she is sure to discover our secret.’
‘Yes . . . Yes, I am not good at keeping a secret, am I? So I will leave it a few days . . . Or why do you not ask? You are so much cleverer than me!’
By now they had reached the far side of the next field and the gate which led into the garden of Trenwith. The chimneys and gables of the house were to be seen among its surrounding trees. As Morwenna lifted the latch of the gate they heard footsteps behind. It was Drake halfway across the field running and leaping among the grass and stones to overtake them.
He came up smiling and gasping for breath. In his hands was a large bunch of bluebells, much larger than the one Morwenna carried. He handed them to her.
‘All that time you wasted talking to we. You might’ve picked as many more so I’ve picked as many more. Thank ye, and good eve to you.’
They stood and watched him trot back. Morwenna looked around to see if there was anyone about who might have observed him. Among the bluebells were pink ragged robin and white milkmaid. Having regard to the speed with which it had been done it was a pretty bouquet. Morwenna knew from his eyes that it was meant as a bouquet. She resented the impertinence, coming as it did from one of his station. But he had gone running and hopping back into the wood.
Chapter Five
Ross went to see Caroline Penvenen on Whit Tuesday, the 10th of June. He had shopping to do and business in Truro and suggested that Demelza should come as far as Killewarren with him, spend a few hours with Caroline and then make a leisurely return home. Demelza refused.
‘For one thing, I’m queasy. It won’t last long, if I mind the other times; but just now I’m queasy, and riding behind you don’t make it better. Also I would have to borrow a mine pony.’
When he reached Killewarren and was shown into the parlour Caroline was already waiting for him, and he explained Demelza’s absence, though not the reason for her indisposition. (It was one of the few morbid quirks in Demelza’s character, he thought, this desire always to hide her pregnancies from people until the last moment possible.)
Caroline said: ‘But even for you, there was no need . . .’
‘Need enough. I presume you have no further news?’
‘I have written to the Admiralty twice but they say they have no information yet.’
‘No information about Dwight or about the Travail?’
‘About the Travail, I gather. Here is the last letter. One of the petty humiliations of this matter is that I have no official status. I am not his wife, nor his sister, nor his cousin, nor his ox nor his ass nor anything that is his. I still avoid telling people o
f our engagement, since it could so easy come back to Uncle Ray.’
He thought how drawn and thin she looked in her long dark frock: the tall bright sunflower had suddenly faded.
‘Are you eating anything, Caroline?’
She looked up. ‘Am I allowed no secrets?’
‘And now that hunting is over, do you have any change of company or scene? Do you go out?’
‘The most excellent company in the world is my horse.’
‘You do not ride to us.’
‘I do not like to be from home more than two or three hours.’
‘My dear, I know it’s easy to advise, but even if the worst were true, you have your own life to consider.’
‘Why?’
He got up from the chair he had just taken and put the letter on the bureau. ‘Oh, I am the last one to chide you, being of a somewhat melancholic temperament myself. Demelza is the one to advise: whatever her circumstances I believe she would find ten good reasons for living and for appreciating her existence. But even I must urge you . . .’ He stopped.
‘Yes, Ross,’ she said smiling sweetly at him. ‘Even you must urge me – to do what?’
‘Not to despair.’
She shrugged. ‘Of course I dramatize the situation. It is an old failing of mine. But you will understand that for one of my temperament the waiting and the inaction is – a little trying. This doctor is a fool, but if I can judge the signs right Uncle Ray cannot live many weeks longer. So I am bound by some sort of blood tie not to let him die without at least one friendly face by his bed. So I cannot go to Plymouth, to London, wherever one does go to press for news of Dwight . . .’
The Black Moon Page 6