At the door of Nampara he climbed wearily down from his horse and stared at Prudie, who was waiting for him.
“Well, what is it?” he said.
“Thur's three men to see ee. They stank into the ’ouse without so much as a by-your-leave. They’re in the parlour.”
Uninterested, Ross nodded and entered the living-room. Three workingmen were standing there, big and square-shouldered and stolid. From their clothes he could tell they were miners.
“Mister Poldark?” the eldest spoke. There was no seemly deference in his tone. He was about thirty-five, a powerfully built, deep-chested man with bloodshot eyes and a heavy beard.
“What can I do for you?” Ross asked impatiently. He was in no mood to receive a delegation.
“Name of Carne,” said the man. “Tom Carne. These my two brothers.”
“Well?” said Ross. And then after he had spoken, the name stirred in his memory. So the matter was to resolve itself without Charles's advice.
“I hear tell you’ve gotten my dattur.”
“Who told you that?”
“The Widow Richards said you took ’er ’ome.”
“I don’t know the woman.”
Carne shifted restlessly and blinked his eyes. He had no intention of being sidetracked.
“Where's my dattur?” he said grimly.
“They’ve searched the ’ouse,” came from Prudie at the door.
“Hold your noise, woman,” said Carne.
“By what right do you come here and talk to my servant like that?” Ross asked with malignant politeness.
“Right, by God! You’ve slocked my dattur. You ’ticed her away. Where is she?”
“I have no idea.”
Carne thrust out his bottom lip. “Then you’d best find out.”
“Aye!” said one of the brothers.
“So that you may take her home and beat her?”
“I do what I choose wi’ me own,” said Carne.
“Her back is already inflamed.”
“What right ha’ you to be seein’ her back! I’ll have the law on you!”
“The law says a girl may choose her own home when she is fourteen.”
“She's not fourteen.”
“Can you prove it?”
Carne tightened his belt. “Look ’ere, man; tedn’t fur me to prove nothing. She's my dattur, and she’ll not go to be plaything to a rake-hell dandy, not now, nor when she's forty, see?”
“Even that,” said Ross, “might be better than caring for your pigsty.”
Carne glanced at his brothers.
“He ain’t going to give ’er up.”
“We can make un,” said the second brother, a man of about thirty with a pockmarked face.
“I’ll go fetch Jud,” said Prudie from the door, and went out flapping in her slippers.
“Well, mister,” said Carne. “What's it to be?”
“So that's why you brought your family,” said Ross. “Without the spunk to do a job yourself.”
“I could ’a brought two ’undred men, mister.” Carne thrust his face forward. “We don’t ’old wi’ cradle thiefs down Illuggan way. Scat un up, boys.”
Immediately the other two turned; one kicked over a chair, the other upended the table on which were some cups and plates, Carne picked up a candlestick and dashed it on the floor.
Ross walked across the room and took down from the wall one of a pair of French duelling pistols. This he began to prime.
“I’ll shoot the next man who touches furniture in this room,” he said.
There was a moment's pause. The three men stopped, plainly thwarted.
“Where's my dattur?” shouted Carne.
Ross sat on the arm of a chair. “Get off my land before I have you committed for trespass.”
“We’d best go, Tom,” said the youngest brother. “We can come back wi’ the others.”
“Tes my quarrel.” Carne plucked at his beard and stared obliquely at his opponent. “Will ye buy the girl?”
“What d’you want for her?”
Carne considered. “Fifty guineas.”
“Fifty guineas, by God!” shouted Ross. “I should want all seven of your brats for that.”
“Then what’ll you give me for ’er?”
“A guinea a year so long as she stays with me.”
Carne spat on the floor.
Ross stared at the spittle. “A thrashing, then, if that's what you want.”
Carne sneered. “Tes easy to promise from behind a gun.”
“It is easy to threaten when it's three to one.”
“Nay, they’ll not interfere if I tell ’em no.”
“I prefer to wait until my men arrive.”
“Aye, I thought you would. Come us on, boys.”
“Stay,” said Ross. “It would give me pleasure to wring your neck. Take off your coat, you bastard.”
Carne peered at him narrowly, as if to decide whether he was in earnest. “Put down your gun, then.”
Ross laid it on the drawers. Carne showed his gums in a grin of satisfaction. He turned on his brothers with a growl.
“Keep out o’ this, see? He's my affair. I’ll finish him.”
Ross took off his coat and waistcoat, pulled off his neckerchief, and waited. This, he realized, was just what he wanted this morning; he wanted it more than anything in life.
The man came at him, and at once by his moves it was plain that he was an expert wrestler. He sidled up, snatched Ross's right hand, and tried to trip him. Ross hit him in the chest and stepped aside. Keep your temper; size him up first.
“I don’t love you,” Elizabeth had said; well, that was straight; discarded like a rusty ornament; thrown aside; women; now badgered in your own parlour by a damned insolent red-eyed bully; keep your temper. He was coming again and taking the same grip, this time swiftly with his head under Ross's arm: the other arm was round Ross's leg and he was lifting. Famous throw. Fling your whole weight back; just in time; side-slip and push his head up with a snap. Good, that was good; break his damned neck. The hold slipped, tightened again; they both fell to the floor with a clatter. Carne tried to get his knee into Ross’ stomach. Knuckles on his face; twice; free now; roll over and on your feet.
The second brother, breathing heavily, pulled the overturned table out of the way. Fight him afterwards. And the third. Carne on his feet like a cat grasped at the collar of Ross’ shirt.
The stuff held; they stumbled back against a tall cupboard which rocked dangerously. Good Irish cloth was bad now. Mooning about an assembly ball like a lovesick calf; going off bleating at the sight of his mistress. Seeking the squalid… Stuff would not tear. Hand up and take the man's wrist. Left elbow violently down on Carne's forearm. The grip broke, a grunt of pain. Ross took a hold on the man's side: the other arm gripped his own right to increase the strength of it. Butted his head low. Carne tried to jab with his own right elbow, but they were too close together. In time the miner kicked with his boots, but all the same he was swung off the ground and flung three feet against the panelled wall of the room. Seeking the squalid he had found the squalid: drink and whores. God, what a solution! This was better. Carne was on his feet again and rushed. Two full punches did not stop him; he tackled Ross about the waist.
“Now ye’ve got un!” shouted the second brother.
Man's greatest strength was in his arms. He did not try to throw now, but ever tightened his hug and bent Ross back. He had injured a number of men this way. Ross grinned with pain, but his back was strong; after a moment he bent no further at the waist but at the knees, hands on Carne's chin, toes just off the ground—as if kneeling on Carne's thighs. Solid straining. Black spots danced across the walls; Carne lost his balance and they again crashed to the floor. But the grip did not relax. Letting blood of this drunken bully; thrashing his own child till her back bled; spots and blood; he’d get his lesson; break the swine; break him. Ross convulsively jerked his knees up; thrust sideways; was free. On his feet f
irst: as Carne got up he swung on him with the full weight of his body to the side of the jaw. Carne went staggering back and collapsed into the fireplace amid a clatter of irons and kindling logs. A little slower getting up this time.
Ross spat redly on the floor. “Come, man, you’re not beat yet.”
“Beat!” said Carne. “By a simpering young sucking bottle wi’ a fancy mark on his face. Beat, did ye say?”
2
“All right,” growled Jud. “I can’t walk no fasterer. An’ what's to do when we git there? Tes only three agin three, then. An’ one of us is a slit of a boy, as thin as a stalk o’ wheat an’ delicut as a lily.”
“Here, leave off,” said Jim. “I’ll take my chance.”
“Ye don’t think to count me, an?” said Prudie, rubbing her big red nose. “Thur's no man born o’ woman I can’t deal with if I’ve the mind. Puffed up pirouettes, that's what men are. Hit ’em acrost the ’ead wi’ a soup ladle, an’ what happens? They crawl away as if you’d ’urt ’em.”
“I’ll run on,” said Jim Carter. He was carrying a leather whip, and he broke into a trot to take him down the hill.
“Whur's the brat?” Jud asked his wife.
“Dunno. They searched the ’ouse afore Cap’n Ross come home. A wonder to me ye didn’t see ’em and come down. And I wonder ye didn’t ’ear me just now when I was shouting. ’Oarse, I am.”
“Can’t be every place at once,” said Jud, changing shoulders with his long pitchfork. “Tedn’t to be expected of mortal man. If there was forty-six Jud Paynters poddlin’ about the farm, then mebbe one of ’em would be in the right place to suit you. But as there's only one, Lord be thanked—”
“Amen,” said Prudie.
“All right, all right. Then ye can’t expect ’im to be within earshot every time you start cryin’ out.”
“No, but I don’t expect ’im to be deaf on purpose, when I’m only one field away. The knees of your britches was all I seen, but I knew twas you by the patches on ’em and by the factory chimney puffin’ smoke hard by.”
They saw Jim Carter emerge from among the apple trees and run across the garden to the house. They saw him reach it and enter.
Prudie lost one of her flapping slippers and had to stop to retrieve it. It was Jud's turn to grumble. They reached the plantation of apple trees, but before they were through it they met Jim Carter returning.
“ ’Tis all right. They’re… fighting fair. ’Tis a proper job to watch—”
“What?” snapped Jud. “Wrastling? ’Ere, ’ave we missed it?”
He dropped his pitchfork, broke into a run, and reached the house ahead of the other two. The parlour was in ruin, but the best of the struggle was over. Ross was trying to get Tom Carne out through the door, and Carne, though too spent to do further harm, was yet fighting fanatically to save the ignominy of being thrown out. He was clinging partly to Ross and partly to the jamb with a wicked, mulish will not to admit himself beaten.
Ross caught sight of his servant and showed his teeth. “Open the window, Jud—”
Jud moved to obey, but the youngest brother instantly stepped in his path.
“No, ye don’t. Fair's fair. Leave ’em be.”
With the respite Carne abruptly showed more fight again and took a wild grip of Ross's throat. Ross loosed his own hold and hit the man twice more. The miner's hands relaxed and Ross swung him round, grasped him by the scruff of the neck and below the seat of the breeches. Then he half ran, half carried him through the door, across the hall, and out through the farther door, knocking Prudie aside as she panted upon the scene. The brothers waited uneasily, and Jud grinned at them knowingly.
There was a splash, and after a few moments Ross came back gasping and wiping the blood from the cut on his cheek.
“He will cool there. Now then.” He glared at the other two. “Which of you next?”
Neither of them moved.
“Jud.”
“Yes, sur.”
“Show these gentlemen off my property. Then come back and help Prudie to clear up this mess.”
“Yes, sur.”
The second brother relaxed his tense attitude slowly and began to twist his cap. He seemed to be trying to say something.
“Well, he got out at last. Brother's in the right, mister, and you be in the wrong. That's for sartin. But for all that, twas a handsome fight. Best fight ever I saw outside of a ring.”
“Damme,” said the youngest, spitting. “Or inside of one. Many's the time ’e's laced me. I never thought to see ’im beat. Thank ee, mister.”
They went out.
Ross's body was beginning to ache with the crushing and straining it had had. His knuckles were badly cut and he had sprained two fingers. Yet his general feeling was one of vigorous, exhausted satisfaction, as if the fight had drained ugly humours out of him. He had been blooded, as a physician blooded a man with fever.
“Aw, my dear!” said Prudie, coming in. “Aw! I’ll get ee rags and some turpletine.”
“None of your doctoring,” he said. “Doctor the furniture. Can you repair this chair? And here's some plates been broke. Where is the child, Prudie? You may tell her to come out now.”
“Gracious knows where she's to. She seed her fadder a-coming and scuddled to me all of a brash. I have a mind she's somewhere in the house for all their searchings.”
She went to the door. “Tes all clear now, mite! Yer fadder's gone. We’ve drove un off. Come out, wherever you be!”
Silence.
The cut on his cheek had almost stopped bleeding. He put on his waistcoat and coat again over his torn and sweaty shirt, stuffed the neckerchief in a pocket. He would take a drink, and then when Jud came back to confirm that they were gone he would go down and bathe in the sea. The salt would see that no harm came of the scratches and strains.
He went to the big cupboard which had rocked so perilously during the fight and poured himself a stiff glass of brandy. He drank it off at a draught, and as his head went back, his eyes met those of Demelza Carne, very dark and distended, staring at him from the top shelf of the cupboard.
He let out a roar of laughter that brought Prudie hurrying back into the room.
CHAPTER NINE
THAT NIGHT ABOUT NINE O’CLOCK JIM CARTER CAME BACK FROM VISITING Jinny Martin. There had been some friendship between them before he came to work here, but it had ripened quickly during the winter.
He would normally have gone straight to his stable loft to sleep until dawn, but he came to the house and insisted on seeing Ross. Jud, already in the know, followed him unbidden into the parlour.
“It's the Illuggan miners,” the boy said without preliminary. “Zacky Martin's heard tell from Will Nanfan that they’re a-coming tonight to pay you back for stealing Tom Carne's girl.”
Ross put down his glass but kept a finger in his book.
“Well, if they come, we can deal with them.”
“I aren’t so sartin ’bout that,” said Jud. “When they’re in ones an’ twos ye can deal wi’ ’em as we dealt wi’ ’em today, but when they’re in ’undreds, they’re like a great roarin’ dragon. Get acrost of ’em and they’ll tear ee to shreds as easy as scratch.”
Ross considered. Shorn of its rhetoric, there was some truth in what Jud said. Law and order stood aside when a mob of miners ran amok. But it was unlikely that they would walk all this way on so small a matter. Unless they had been drinking. It was Easter week.
“How many guns have we in the house?”
“Three, I reckon.”
“One should be enough. See that they’re cleaned and ready. There's nothing more to do beyond that.”
They left him, and he heard them whispering their dissatisfaction outside the door. Well, what else was there to do? He had not seen that his casual adoption of a child for a kitchen wench would produce such results, but it was done now and all hell should crackle before he retracted. Two years abroad had led him to forget the parochial prejudices of his own peopl
e. To the tinners and small holders of the county someone from two or three miles away was a foreigner. To take a child from her home to a house ten miles away, a girl and under age, however gladly she might come, was enough to excite every form of passion and prejudice. He had given way to a humane impulse and was called an abductor. Well, let the dogs yap.
He pulled the bell for Prudie. She shuffled in ponderously.
“Go to bed, Prudie, and see that the girl goes also. And tell Jud that I want him.”
“He's just went out, just this minute. Went off wi’ Jim Carter, the pair of ’em, he did.”
“Never mind, then.” He would soon be back, having probably gone no farther than to light the boy to his loft. Ross got up and went for his own gun. It was a French flintlock breechloader, one his father had bought in Cherbourg ten years ago, and it showed a greater reliability and accuracy than any other gun he had used.
He broke the barrel and squinted up it, saw that the flint and hammer were working, put powder carefully in the flashpan, loaded the charge, and then set the gun on the window seat. There was no more to do, so he sat down to read again and refilled his glass.
Time went on and he grew impatient for Jud's return. There was little wind tonight and the house was very silent. Now and then a rat moved behind the wainscoting; occasionally Tabitha Bethia, the mangy cat, mewed and stretched before the fire, or a billet of wood shifted and dropped away to ashes.
At ten-thirty he went to the door and peered up the valley. The night was cloudy and out here the stream whispered and stirred; an owl flitted from a tree on furtive wings.
He left the door open and went round the house to the stables. The sea was very dark. A long black swell was riding quietly in. Now and then a wave would topple over and break in the silence with a crack like thunder, its white lip vivid in the dark.
His ankle was very painful after the horseplay of this afternoon, his whole body was stiff, his back aching as if he had cracked a rib. He entered the stables and went up to the loft. Jim Carter was not there.
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