‘Not Zacky. He knows better—’
‘Well, Mrs Zacky anyhow. Jud Paynter—’
‘A lot we owe that seedy old scoundrel—’
‘Then there’s Fred Pendarves and Jope Ishbel and quite a number of others. They look to you as their friend in a peculiar sort of way.’
‘But at heart I like Methodism little better than George! It is a damned nuisance and I never know what will emerge from it . . .’
Demelza said: ‘Well, now at last I have a solution. When you and George next meet and are growling at each other like two bulldogs waiting to tear each other’s throats, I shall mention Methodism, and you will have a subject you can happily agree on! At least some good has come of our evening’s talk.’
Ross looked at her and they both laughed. ‘All very well,’ he said, frowning through his laughter, ‘all very well, but it is an awkward favour to be asked.’
‘I don’t ask it. But they have, Ross, and I honestly did not know what to say or what you would say.’
His pipe had gone out and he lit it again. This was a whole-time operation and nothing was said until it was completed.
‘I suppose I have nothing really against the Wesleyans,’ he said. ‘And I know I should examine my prejudices from time to time to see if they should not be abandoned. But for one thing I mistrust folk who are always bringing God or Christ into their conversations. If it is not an actual blasphemy it is at least a presumption. It smacks of self-conceit, doesn’t it?’
‘Perhaps if you—’
‘Oh, they always claim to be humble, I grant you; but their humility does not show in their opinions. They may be fully conscious of their own sins, but they always are more concerned with other people’s. In their own view they have found salvation, and unless the rest of us follow in their path we are damned . . . I remember Francis making a delicious speech to your father on these matters at Julia’s christening, but I can’t recollect the words . . .’
Demelza put down the tiny pair of trousers and picked up a sock. ‘What are your religious views, Ross? Do you have any? I wish I knew.’
‘Oh – practically none, my love.’ He stared into the sulky fire. ‘I imbibed from my father a sceptical attitude to all religions; he considered them foolish fairy-tales. But I don’t go so far as that. I have little use for religion as it is practised, or for astrology, or for belief in witchcraft or omens of good or ill-luck. I think they all stem from some insufficiency in men’s minds, perhaps from a lack of a willingness to feel themselves utterly alone. But now and then I feel that there is something beyond the material world, something we all feel intimations of but cannot explain. Underneath the religious vision there is the harsh fundamental reality of all our lives, because we know we must live and die as the animals we are. But sometimes I suspect that under that harsh reality there is a further vision, still deeper based, that comes nearer to true reality than the reality we know.’
‘Hm,’ said Demelza, rocking gently. ‘I am not sure that I know what you mean but I think I do.’
‘When you are fully conversant with it,’ Ross said, ‘pray explain it to me.’
She laughed.
‘My political views,’ he said, ‘are similarly substantial. This war is bringing out all the contradictions in them. I have always urged reform, even to the lengths of being considered a traitor to my birth and situation. I saw much that was good in this revolution in France; but as it has gone on I am as eager to fight it and destroy it as any man . . .’ He blew out a thin trail of smoke. ‘Perhaps it is in my nature to be contrary, for I always see the opposite side from that of the company I am in. Even though I did not like the American war I went to fight the Americans!’
Silence fell. He said: ‘But confound it, I do not want them on my land! Why should I have them? This is largely the fault of your overgrown brothers. Before they came everybody lived in peace and the two religions dozed comfortably together!’
‘It is likely true, Ross, and I am sorry. In fact, Samuel proposed I should ask you if they could put up a house on the rising ground by Wheal Maiden, which would only be on the very verge of our land, and so that they could use the stone from the old engine house. There’s a lot of it scattered around, and they say they will clear it up and use the chippings to make the track firmer so that the mud does not settle there in the wet weather.’
He did not reply, and she went on, ‘But do not think I am persuading you. I promised to tell you what I have asked and that I have now done. It is all one to me.’ She looked down at herself. ‘Or maybe I should say all two to me.’
‘How is Our Friend? I do not ask often because I know you do not like to be asked.’
‘Brave, though a shade bowerly. I would be more happy if another matter was settled.’
‘What is that?’
‘Whether you will be attending your cousin’s wedding to Joan Pascoe next week.’
He stared at her. ‘But you are not going; you said you could not. What difference does it make whether I go?’
‘Because of where you will be if you do not.’
He said: ‘I don’t understand. Who told you anything about it?’
‘Oh, Ross, I have my own spy system in this house.’
He shifted. ‘It was only decided yesterday. I have been intending to tell you but have been too much the coward.’
‘When do you go, then?’
‘Sunday if the weather holds. It may be their last full crossing of the winter. Mr Trencrom is being more careful of his boat than he was a few years ago. Lord, I remember how cold it was on the Scillies, waiting to meet Mark Daniell!’
‘I wish you was only going there.’
‘It is safe enough in Roscoff. Possibly I may stay a week and return in a Mevagissey or Looe boat.’ He explained about Jacques Clisson.
Demelza said: ‘I shall not rest easy while you are there. You know that. And neither will he – or she.’
‘I know that too. I’ll not stay an hour longer than necessary. But you must, please, be prepared for an absence of ten days.’
Demelza put down her sock and wrapped up the sewing in a linen cloth.
‘I think I will go to bed, Ross. Our Friend always wakes so early in the morning.’
Sunday was fine and relatively still, and Ross left the house soon after midday. He took with him some food, a flask of brandy, a heavy cloak, a short knife in a leather sheath, and two hundred guineas in two pouches about his waist. He took dinner with Mr Trencrom and joined Will Nanfan and the One and All before dark. Farrell, the skipper, and all the men were known to Ross.
October when the big tides run is not the best time to navigate the north coast of Cornwall, but tonight the sea was quiet and they made fair weather of it to the Land’s End and back along the southern tip to Newlyn. The wind was fitful and unreliable but never altogether dropped, and by dark the following day they were off Roscoff, having seen nothing larger all the way than a single ketch and a group of Breton fishing boats.
He met Jacques Clisson with Will Nanfan in a tavern called Le Coq Rouge in a steep cobbled street leading down from the church, and he knew at once that Clisson was a spy. He could not have said precisely why. The Breton was a stout blond little man of about forty in a blue seaman’s jersey and a round black cap, clean shaven except for long sideboards, good teeth showing in a charming, ready smile, blue eyes clear and candid. A man not to be trusted. But after twenty minutes Ross amended his first judgment. A man perhaps to be trusted so far as a specific mission went, and so long as he was paid and so long as no one offered him a better price for some contrary act. Such men exist in all countries and prosper in times of war and especially in neutral or international ports where the combatants can meet without fighting. They have their value and they have their price, and they have their own code.
He said: ‘The prison of Quimper is in a disused convent, monsieur. That is to say, all convent are disused in France today, you will understand . . . Although the most pr
isoners are English, there are also the Portuguese and Spanish and Dutch and German. The number are very great and the food are very small. There are large number of sick and wounded.’ Clisson shrugged. ‘I believe conditions vary from prison to prison. The commandant at this one is a one-time butcher from Puteaux and he is very strong for the revolution . . . As of course we all are, monsieur, I hasten to add!’ Clisson glanced behind him. ‘We all are. But in different ways . . . The gaolers come in the main from the slums of Rouen and Brest. It is not a good situation.’
‘How can you get me the names of those in the prison?’
‘It is difficult. In a camp of forty men, perhaps. But in a camp of four thousand . . .’
‘They must be divided, the civilians perhaps from the combatants, the officers from the ranks. And money talks.’
‘Money talk, but so does Mme La Guillotine.’
‘Do you know any of the guards?’
‘One does not know, one talks with. One exchanges words over a glass. The name of prisoner are sometimes mentioned.’
‘What names?’
‘Oh . . . I have heard no one from the Travail. I have never heard of the Travail . . . Captain Bligh is a prisoner there off the Alexander, Captain – Kiltoe, I think it is – off the Espion, Captain Robinson off the Thames. And among the civilian, Lady Ann Fitzroy, who is taken on a passage from Lisbon. These are talked of, and others.’
‘Do you not perhaps know one guard better than the rest?’
The Breton lifted his beret and scratched at his fair hair with a bent forefinger. ‘There is one I could speak to. He is not a guard. But he is a clerk who works in the prison.’
‘Who would know what we want to know?’
‘Possibly. Last time I drop a word about survivor from the frigate Travail, which is wreck in the Bay of Audierne in April. He is cautious, reluctant to say. But he does give it as his view that there has been survivors who are intern there.’
Ross sipped his drink. ‘For fifty guineas do you think he would provide you with the names?’
‘For whom, monsieur?’
‘For him. And fifty for you.’
‘I have already been promised that much.’
Ross glanced at Will Nanfan who was idly rubbing his thumb around the edge of his glass. Will did not look up. He wondered if this were the moment to break and to suggest another meeting later. He sensed some resistance in the French man, as if he were slightly offended at being pressed too hard. But all his own instincts were against further delay.
‘Then a hundred for you and fifty for him.’
Clisson smiled politely. ‘I would need one hundred now. Fifty for me to prove an earnest, fifty to give him if he is able to do what we ask.’
Ross motioned to the waiter to refill their glasses.
‘I agree to that. But I shall wait here in Roscoff until you have the information.’
‘Aw, monsieur, I cannot promise it soon. My friend cannot perform the miracle.’
‘I shall wait.’
Clisson stared at Ross. ‘It is not always safe to stay. You will understand that what goes on in this port is tolerated – one turns the blind eye – but the Committee of Public Safety does not sleep. You, monsieur, if I may say so, do not look the fisherman – nor even quite the smuggler. It would be a risk.’
‘For one week?’
‘Can you find business here?’
‘I can make some.’
The waiter came and bobbled cognac into the three glasses and went away.
‘The matter is not without risk to me also. It is not good that I shall be seen talking to a strange Englishman – and then remeeting him so soon. Go home, monsieur, and I shall find a means of communicating with you, without fail.’
‘One week. With twenty-five guineas extra if you have the names for me by then.’
Clisson raised his glass and across the rim of it he met Ross’s gaze with sincerity and total candour.
‘To your good health, monsieur, and to your preservation.’
Mr Trencrom had given Ross the name of a Scottish merchant called Douglas Craig, who owned a store in the port, and with whom he could affect to do business for an hour or so each day. After the One and All left on the Wednesday, he put up at a hostelry called the Fleur de Lys and did not venture out of doors in the daytime except for his morning visit to Craig.
Roscoff reminded him of a Cornish fishing village, Mousehole or Mevagissey, in the shape of its harbour and in the little granite and slate cottages climbing the hillsides around, with the water lapping and the wind pushing and the gulls for ever screaming overhead. But it was altogether a more prosperous community. The Bretons were better and more brightly dressed, both men and women, with waistcoats and coats, frocks and shawls of clear scarlet, violet and grass green. They crowded the streets, talking, arguing and bargaining loudly, especially in the mornings when most of the business was done. In the evenings for an hour or more after dusk the little town hummed with talk, and to go into the streets then was like entering a dark garden when the honey bees were still out.
English ships put in twice during the week he was there, and when they did there was noise and bustle which went on into the small hours. There were two organized brothels, apart from the unofficial houses, and these did a smart trade. English was the universally understood language, and he had little opportunity to practise his French.
Douglas Craig was a man of forty, who said he had been living in Roscoff since he moved there from Guernsey twelve years ago. The war had not interfered with him, except that he had to report monthly to the local gendarmerie, as had all other aliens. ‘I do not mind telling you, Captain Poldark, that at the first, when news of the bloody doings in Paris reached us, I was much of a mind to drop everything and go. Nightly I waited for the tramp of feet outside my door, but trade was so good that I stayed on, cursing myself for my courage in doing so. Some left, but after a few months they came back, walked around, talked to their friends and settled in again. So we go on, from hand to mouth, as it were. I pray the war will stop tomorrow; but while it goes on and while we are unmolested business has never been better. Like so many things in life it is a question of weighing the risks against the rewards. At present, just at present, and crossing my fingers and touching wood, the rewards are still uppermost. But go carefully, I advise you. Attract no more attention than you can help.’
All went well until the Saturday. On Saturday morning just as he was about to set out to see Craig he was attended on in the inn by three men, two of them gendarmes with muskets. The third man, who addressed him, was about fifty, short and stocky with a pock-marked face to which either dirt or some skin ailment gave a dark blotchy hue. He was not quite in uniform and not quite in civilian clothes. He wore the familiar black tricorn hat with a rosette on the front brim, a high stock coming up to his lower lip and stained with food and grease, a waistcoat striped horizontally, with enormous lapels, a green tail coat and tight trousers of a dirty grey.
Ross understood the first question barked at him, but wisely decided to know no French. Thereupon the questions came in a guttural English which he could just understand.
Name, address, age, occupation, business here?
Ross Poldark of Nampara in the county of Cornwall. Thirty-five. Importer of wines and spirits, representing Mr Hubert Trencrom of St Ann’s whose partner he was.
Date of arrival, ship of arrival, business done and with whom, date of departure, reason for staying?
Twenty-second Vendémiaire, the cutter, the One and All, owned by the said Mr Trencrom, business done with Mr Douglas Craig, likely to be leaving on the thirtieth, but it depended on return of cutter. He had stayed to clear up various outstanding matters with Mr Craig, namely, a balancing of the accounts, the question of the new levy on spirits, the supply of barrels from Guernsey and a general wish to expand trade.
Papers proving all this? Ross went for his bag and produced the papers Trencrom had given him and those he had been
able to get from Craig. It was a considerable sheaf, and the pock-marked agent took out a quizzing glass to look at them. The quizzing glass was of gold, inlaid with brilliants, and had clearly belonged to someone else.
The agent after two or three long minutes thrust the papers back. He had eyes of a pale bottle green.
You will submit to a search.’
Ross submitted to a search. It was perhaps fortunate that all but twenty of his remaining hundred guineas had been deposited with Douglas Craig.
Presently he began to dress again. The agent stared out of the window and one of the gendarmes shuffled his feet.
The agent said: ‘Foreign nationals, enemies of the Republic, landing on the sacred soil of France, are subject to summary arrest. They are then brought before the National Tribunal for sentence.’
Ross fastened the buttons on his shirt sleeves. ‘I am not an enemy of France. Only a business man trying to conduct a trade which it is to the benefit of France to continue.’
‘It is not to the benefit of France to permit spies to come ashore and live openly in their ports and villages.’
‘I am not a spy, and the Republic needs English gold. I and my friends bring gold to this port and to others like it. The intake every week of the year is very substantial. If I were arrested it would gravely deter others from coming, for I have not stirred beyond the port of Roscoff and have made no attempt to act in any way contrary to commercial practice.’
‘You act entirely against the law in spending a single night on French soil without reporting to the gendarmerie.’
Ross put on his coat and replaced the small personal items taken from the pockets. ‘Forgive me, monsieur, if I erred in this way. I assumed, however wrongly, that this port was exceptional in the privileges it provided for the free flow of commerce from one country to another, and that therefore that the spirit of the law should be observed rather than the letter.’
The agent lifted his chin irritably above his dirty cravat. ‘Even for foreign neutrals, the penalty for a first offence such as yours is a fine of twenty guineas. For a second such offence it is arrest.’
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