Ross Poldark

by Winston Graham

  The preparations of the men to finish up the celebrations after their own fashion were much frowned on by Mrs. Martin and Mrs. Paul Daniel; but Zacky, although he agreed that he had found the Lord at a revival meeting at St Ann's a couple of years ago, still refused to lose his toddy as a consequence, and the others took their cue from him.

  The port was cheap stuff for which Zacky had paid 3s 6d a gallon, but the gin had quality. On a quiet evening in September, eight of them had taken a Sawle cutter round to Roscoff, and among the cargo they brought back were two large tubs of fine gin. One tub they had divided among themselves at once, but the other they had decided to keep for a feast. So Jud Paynter, who was one of the eight, had hidden the tub by lowering it into the broken rainwater barrel beside the conservatory at Nampara, where it would be safe from the prying eyes of any suspicious revenue man who might come around. There it had remained all through the winter. Jud Paynter and Nick Vigus had brought it along for this occasion.

  While the women, having for the most part been barred from the new home, were now shown over it, with broods of children dragging at their heels, the men prepared to drink themselves into a comfortable stupor.

  “They do say,” came the thin sleek voice of Nick Vìgus over the top of his mug, “that all the mines’ll be closed down afore long. They do say as a man called Raby ’as bought all the big slag ’eaps in the county, and there's a process as he can treat the attle with as will give all the copper England d’ want for a hundred year.”

  “Tedn’t feasible,” said Will Nanfan, hunching his big shoulders.

  Zacky took a swig of gin from his mug. “It won’t need that for to put us in poor shape if things go on as they be going now. United Mines of St. Day showed a loss of nigh on eight thousand pounds last year, and gracious knows what Grambler will show when tis next accounted. But this edn fitty talk for a wedding feast. We’ve got our pitches and our homes, and money d’ come in. Mebbe it edn so much as we should like, but there be swacks of folk ready to change—”

  “Mortal strange gin, this, Zacky,” said Paul Daniel, wiping his moustache. “Never have I tasted gin like un. Or mebbe once… Mebbe once—”

  “Well now,” said Zacky, licking his lips, “if I ’adn been so concentrated on what I was saying I might have thought the very same. Now you call it to mind, it d’ taste more like— more like—”

  “More like turpentine,” said Mark Daniel.

  “Mortal fiery,” said Old Man Greet. “Mortal fiery. But in my day twas expected that a nip of gin should bite ee. Twas expected. When I was on Lake Superior in ’69, when I was thur 'specting for copper, there was a store that sold stuff as’d take the skin off your ’and—”

  Joe Triggs, the doyen of the party, was given a mug of it. Everyone watched him take a draught and watched the expression on his deeply corrugated old face with its sprouting side whiskers. He pursed his lips and opened them with a loud smack, then drank again. He lowered the empty mug.

  “Tedn’t near so good as what ee got from Roscoff back last Septemby,” was his growling verdict.

  “But that's what tis,” two or three exclaimed.

  There was a moment's silence.

  “A different tub,” said Jud. “Tastes all right to me, but tedn’t so mature. That's what's amiss with un. Did ought to have been kept awhile longerer. Like Uncle Nebby's old cow.” He began to mumble a little tune to himself:

  There was an old couple and they was poor, Tweedle, tweedle, go twee—

  It seemed that the same terrible suspicion had leapt unasked into everyone's mind. They all stared silently at Jud while he went on humming and trying to look unconcerned.

  Eventually the little song gave out.

  Zacky looked down at his glass. “It is powerful strange,” he said quietly, “that two tubs of gin should have such opposite flavours.”

  “Powerful strange,” said Paul Daniel.

  “Damnation strange,” said Mark Daniel.

  “Mebbe we was swindled,” said Jud, showing his two big teeth in an unconvincing smile. “Them Frenchies is as cuzzle as a nest o’ rats. Can’t trust ’em no furtherer than ye can spit. Wouldn’t turn me back on one no how. Cross one and turn your back, and he outs with his knife, and phit! ye’re dead.”

  Zacky shook his head. “Who's ever been cheated by Jean Lutté?”

  “He always do do the straight thing by we,” said Will Nanfan.

  Zacky rubbed his chin, and seemed to regret he had shaved that morning. “He told me they was two proper tubs of gin, and both same brand, mark ee. That's what's powerful strange. Both same brand. Seems to me as someone's been tampering wi’ this one. I wonder who could be?”

  “I’ve a damnation thundering good notion,” said Mark Daniel, who had already drunk three pints of port and had just been ready to get down to the serious work of the evening.

  “No need to get in a pore about un,” said Jud, sweating. “Tes naught to do wi’ me. There an’t no proof o’ nothing. Nobody can’t say where the fault do lay. Anybody could ’ave tankered with un—that's if so be as somebody ’as, which if they ’as I doubt. But I suspicion tis the Frenchie. Never trust a Frenchie, say I. That Frenchie at Roscoff, he d’ look all right, he d’ talk all right; but do he act all right? He d’ look ee in the eye like a Christian; but what do that surmount to? Only that he's two-faced like the rest but more so.”

  “When I was a tacker,” said Old Man Greet perseveringly, “they had some proper gin down to Sawle Village where Aunt Tamsin Nanpusker lived. She that died in ’58, fell down a shaft she did when she was well gone in liquor. An’ not surprising when—”

  “’S. I well remember old Aunt Tamsin,” said Nick Vìgus, incautiously. “She as rode down Stippy-Stappy Lane one day on the back of her old sow, wi’ all the little uns wagging away be’ind. Regular procession, twas. Some drink old Aunt Tamsin had to put away—”

  “Damme!” roared Mark Daniel. “Ef I don’t see it all now! That's where I tasted un before. It is Nick's doing. It is all Nick's doing! We’re suspicioning the wrong man. You call to mind that poison brew Nick Vigus did hatch in his own back kitchen out o’ devil knows what to sell to the poor fools wi’ money to burn last Michaelmas Fair! Gin, he called it, ye recollect. Well, it was near enough the taste o’ this to be brother an’ twin to un.”

  “Aye,” said Will Nanfan. “Aye, that's truth. God's truth, for I drank some meself and wished I never touched un. It give a twist to yer innards, a twist like a reefer knot. Nick Vigus has cheated we!”

  Vigus’ sly pockmarked face went red and white by turns as the accusing stares focused themselves on him. Mark Daniel took another sup to be sure, and then went to the window and sprayed it about the vegetable bed.

  “Pah, the very same, or I’m a heathen. Nick Vìgus, ye’re a damnation crawling cheat and it is time ye was learned a lesson.” He began to roll up his sleeves, showing his great hairy forearms.

  Nick backed away, but Paul Daniel blocked his escape to the door. There was some horseplay, then Mark Daniel took a firm grip and turned Vigus upside down and stood him on his head.

  “Twas none o’ my doing,” Nick shouted. “Jud Paynter wur the one! Jud Paynter come to me last week and said to me, ’e said—”

  “Don’t ee believe a word of un!” Jud said loudly. “I’m a honest man as ye all d’ know, not given to tankering wi’ the word o’ truth. But Nick's a greasy liar as ye all d’know, and would sell his mother to save the skin off his nose. And as—as ye all d’ know—”

  “Shake un up, Mark,” Zacky said. “We shall be getting at the truth by and by.”

  “Jud come to me last week and says to me, ’e says, ‘Can ee make us some o’ your gin, boy? Cos that there tub I was keeping, all the gin ’as runned away into the ground—’ Turn me right face up, Mark, or I shall sh-mother—”

  Mark gripped his victim more firmly round the middle, and with a great heave stamped his kicking feet upon one of the beams of the cottage ceiling.

/>   “Come, my dear,” he said gently. “Speak up, for else ye may die unshrived—”

  “’E says all the gin ’as runned away into the ground on account of the rats had gnawled away a ’ole in the tub—ah, ah … And on account of he didn’t want to disappoint ee, would I make—would I make—”

  “Catch ’im, Paul!” Will Nanfan shouted, as Jud Paynter, like an obsequious bulldog, tried to leave unnoticed.

  They caught him in the doorway, and a great deal of heaving and muttering went on before the elder Daniel and Will Nanfan came back with him.

  “Tedn’t true!” shouted Jud, toothless with indignation. “You’re barking up the wrong door. What for do ee want to take that man's word ’fore mine. Tedn’t fair. Tedn’t just. Tedn’t British. I dare swear if the truth be known that he stole ’alf the tub fur his self. Why blame a man ye know wouldn’t rob—”

  “If I had the ’alf, you ’ad the rest,” came from the upended Vìgus.

  “Let me get atun!” swore Jud, suddenly struggling. “I’ll tear his britches off. Let me face un and have un out. Ye pack of cowards: two to one! Let me get at un. I’ll face ee one by one, ye cowards. Take yer ’ands off me and I’ll poam ee: I’ll poam ee—”

  “Wait awhile and I’ll poam ye myself,” said Mark Daniel. “Man to man as ye’d like, see. Now out o’ the way, boys—”

  He carried Nick Vigus still inverted to the door. Unfortunately at this moment some of the women, hearing the uproar, had left the other cottage and reached this door led by Mrs. Vigus. On seeing her husband presented to her at an unusual angle, she let out a piercing scream and rushed forward to the rescue, but Mark fended her off and carried Nick across to the cottage of Joe and Betsy Triggs. At the back of this was a slimy green pool which contained among other things most of their sewage. Since Reuben Clemmow had disappeared this had held pride of place for smells in the neighbourhood.

  At the brink of the water Mark sharply upended the half-choked man, grasped him again by the seat of his breeches, and flung him on his face into the middle of the pool.

  Mark breathed deeply and spat on his hands.

  “Now for the next of un,” he said.

  And thither also Jud Paynter went in his turn.

  2

  As Ross rode home from Truro that evening in the gathering windy dusk, he thought of the two young people who were starting life together. If the mine were started, he would offer Jim a surface job, some sort of clerical work perhaps, which would give him a better chance.

  His outing today had been to do with Wheal Leisure. After buying things for the house, flour and sugar, mustard and candles, huckaback linen for towels, a new pair of riding boots for himself and a brush and comb, he had called on Mr. Nathanial Pearce, the notary.

  Mr. Pearce, as effusive, as purple, and as gouty as ever, sitting in an armchair poking the fire with a long iron curtain rod, listened with interest. Mr. Pearce said, well now, and how pleasant, and I declare a most takable suggestion. Mr. Pearce scratched at a louse under his wig while his eyes grew speculative. Was Captain Henshawe investing some of his own money? Dear, dear, now Captain Henshawe's reputation was high in the Truro district. Well now, dear sir, speaking as an indigent notary, he personally had only a little free capital, but there were, as Captain Poldark suggested, a certain number of his clients who were always on the lookout for a good speculative investment. He would be willing to give the matter his further consideration and see what could be done.

  Events were moving slowly, but movement there was, and the momentum would increase. In a couple of months they might be sinking the first shaft.

  As he led the mare into the stable and unbuckled the saddle, he wondered whether to offer Charles and Francis a share.

  He had come home at a good pace to reach the house before dark, and Darkie was steaming and sweaty. She was unsettled too and did not want to keep still while he wiped her down.

  For that matter, the other horses showed the same uneasiness; Ramoth kept tossing his old head and whinnying. He wondered if there was a snake in the stable or a fox in the loft above. The pale square of the stable door still let in some light, but he could see nothing in the shadows. He patted Ramoth's soft old nose and returned to his task. This done he gave Darkie her feed and turned to leave.

  Near the door were the steps to the loft where Carter had slept. As he glanced up there, something grazed past his head and struck him a numbing blow on the shoulder. He fell to his knees and there was a thud on the straw of the floor. Then he got quickly to his feet again, staggered to the door, was through it and leaning with his back to it, holding his shoulder.

  For a few seconds the pain made him feel sick, but it began to pass. He felt his shoulder and could find no broken bone. The thing which had struck him stall lay on the floor inside the stable. But he had seen what it was, and that was why he had moved so quickly into the open.

  It was the rock drill, the iron jumper he had last seen in the hands of Reuben Clemmow.

  3

  They were all in the kitchen when he went in. With a piece of coarse thread and a large bent needle, Demelza was trying to mend a tear in her skirt; Jud was sitting back in a chair with a look of patient suffering on that part of his face which was not hidden by a large bandage; Prudie was drinking tea.

  “Why, Cap’n Ross,” said Jud in a weak and trembling voice, “we didn’t hear ee come. Shall I go and wipe down the ’oss?”

  “I have done that. Why are you back from the wedding so soon? What is wrong with your face? Prudie, keep my supper for ten minutes. I have something to see to.”

  “The wedding is over,” said Jud. “Twas a poor affair, a more poorer affair never I saw. Naught but Martins and Carters, the whole dashed danged blathering boiling of ’em, and a few o’ the riffraff of the mines. I thought better o’ Zacky than to invite such a poor lot of folk. Out o’ my element I was—”

  “Is aught amiss, sur?” Demelza asked.

  Ross stared at her. “Amiss? No, what should there be?”

  “An’ on the way back,” Jud said, “hard by Wheal Grace I turned me heel ’pon a stone an’ fell—”

  But Ross had walked through into the house.

  “You’d best keep yer tongue still when he's in one o’ them moods,” Jud said severely to Demelza, “ ’or twon’t be only your father you’ll be gettin’ a cuff from. Interrupting of your elders shows you been bad brought up—”

  Demelza gazed at him wide-eyed but did not reply.

  Ross could not see his gun in the parlour but found it in his bedroom. There he carefully loaded and primed it and pulled back the hammer to half cock. He had bolted the door of the stable so there should be no escape this time. He felt as if he had cornered a mad dog.

  In the gathering darkness he lit a storm lantern, and this time left the house by the front door, making a circuit of the building to reach the stable. Better not leave the man too long or he might do some hurt to the horses.

  Quietly he drew the bolt of the door and waited for a gust of wind to die before lifting the latch. Then he pushed the door wide, entered, put the lantern down just out of the draught, and stepped away into the shadows of the stalls.

  Darkie whinnied at his sudden entry; wind blew in, disturbing the straw and leaves; a bat fluttered away from the light; there was silence. The iron bar had gone.

  “Reuben,” Ross said. “Come out. I want to talk to you.’

  No reply. He hadn’t expected one. You could hear the fluttering of the bat's wings as it circled in the darkness. He went on into the stable.

  As he reached the second horse, he thought he heard a move behind him and turned swiftly, his gun up. But nothing stirred. He wished now he had brought the lantern farther, for its feeble light did not reach the deeper shadows.

  Squire moved suddenly, stamping his hoofs on the floor. All the horses knew there was mischief about. Ross waited five minutes, tense by the stall, knowing that now it was a test of patience, of whose nerve would st
and the longest. He was sure of his own, but as time passed he found that sureness urging him to go on. The man might have gone back to the loft with his weapon. He might be cowering there, prepared to see the night through.

  Ross heard Jud come out of the house and tramp across the cobbles. He thought at first he might be coming here, but heard him enter the earth closet next door. Presently he went back to the house and the door was shut. Still no movement in the stable.

  Ross turned to go back for the lantern, and as he did so there was a hum of air behind him and a crash as the jumper was swung and hit the partition where he had been standing. Wood splintered and he turned and fired straight into the figure which came up in the darkness. Something hit him across the head and the figure was making for the door. As the man was outlined he pulled the trigger again. But this time the touch powder did not ignite; before he could pull back the cock Reuben Clemmow was gone.

  He ran to the door and stared out. A figure moved beside the apple trees and he discharged the second barrel at it. Then he wiped a trickle of blood from his forehead and turned towards the house, from which Jud and Prudie and Demelza were just issuing in alarm.

  He was angry and frustrated at the man's escape, even though there was every likelihood of his being found in the morning.

  It would be very difficult for him not to leave a trail.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  l

  HE WAS OUT AT DAWN FOLLOWING THE BLOODSTAINS WHICH CLEMMOW had left behind; but just before they reached Mellin, they turned north towards the sand hills and he lost track of them. In the days that followed nothing more was heard of the man, and the most reasonable conclusion was that he had lain down somewhere in that waste of sand and died of weakness and exposure. It was well to be finally rid of him, and nobody asked any questions. The fact that he had ever reappeared became a secret kept by the four members of the Nampara household and Zacky, whom Ross told.