She turned, her fingers still holding the curtain. He noticed the little amber specks in her eyes. ‘Yes, I loved Dwight, if that’s any joy to you. It’s no joy to me, for I know we could not have been happy. I came to London with my uncle that day because I was vastly angry, piqued, disappointed – all the feelings you’d suppose. I did not know then that Dwight had been doing what he did for you – to help you. I knew that he had gone into Sawle, answering a medical call at the last moment from someone who needed him more than I did. The fact that afterwards he had involved himself in some scuffle with the preventive men and got himself knocked about and arrested did not really make the important difference which you seem to imagine. His going to see the Hoblyn girl was a – a symptom, a symbol. That is what you don’t understand and what he surely must. At least I tried to tell him in my letter. Captain Poldark – Ross, as you say I must call you – did you see anything of Dwight during those last weeks when we had arranged to elope and live in Bath?’
‘I suppose I did. I don’t remember.’
‘Well, he behaved as if he were preparing to do something shameful and underhand. Oh, yes, he was in love with me in his way, and that made him set a bright front on it; but underneath he was miserable! He thought he hid it from me, but it was plain to see. He was leaving his charge, his people, his cures, leaving them disgracefully, deserting them at dead of night and going to live in a fashionable and wealthy city. He may have had reasons for feeling that way – I don’t say if it is the right attitude or the wrong attitude – but there could have been no happiness in it for me. You think me a fickle and capricious woman; but in fact I’m not quite so featherbrained as you suppose. At least I could see that we should have a miserable future if he spent the rest of his life blaming himself for the desertion and trying not to blame me! It is true; don’t shake your head, it is true!’
‘Yes, I see it; I’m not denying that. I didn’t know. I didn’t know it all. And you explained all this to Dwight in a letter?’
‘As much as I was able.’
Ross took a turn about the room, and for a while neither of them spoke.
He said: ‘The desertion as you call it was especially difficult for Dwight because of his affair with another woman years ago, a patient—’
‘Yes. Keren Daniel. I know about her.’
‘I am not defending him, but I suppose that gave him a bad background for any later move which might look a trifle sordid to himself. There would not be wanting people who would say he had married you for your money.’
‘Oh, people! If you spend your life thinking what people will say, you will not stir from your own fireside.’
‘I entirely agree. And in principle I’m sure Dwight would. But he’s a deeply sensitive and punctilious person. I see his point; and I see yours now . . . But if you both loved each other, surely there was some other way out of the mess.’
‘For me to live with him in three rooms at the Gatehouse, with my uncle kicking up a rumpus a few miles away and everyone in the district knowing of it?’
‘No . . . But would it not have been better to see him, when he had travelled all that way to speak to you?’
She looked at Ross with a little deprecating expression. ‘I’m not made of iron, though no doubt you think that also.’
‘No,’ said Ross. ‘I don’t think so. I find you more and more a woman after my own heart.’
With a swift-flushing colour she said: ‘I believe I shall have a proposal from you yet.’
‘You may shortly have a proposal from me of a different nature. Do you still love Dwight?’
‘Extravagantly!’
‘No.’ He put his hand on her arm. ‘Tell me, Caroline.’
She shook her head. ‘I find this a very embarrassing interview.’
‘Dwight will be in Plymouth all this week and part of next. If you travelled with me when I return on Thursday . . .’
She stared at him blankly, angrily. ‘You must be mad!’
‘Am I? It depends what you feel for him.’
‘It depends not at all on that—’
‘Then on what? You could be in Plymouth Sunday. Don’t you suppose it worth a final meeting? You’ve never talked over it sensibly together, in the presence of a third party, have you?’
‘It’s seldom possible to be sensible on such occasions.’
‘I doubt that. Anyway, it’s your last chance of seeing him.’
‘I don’t think you should appeal to my sentiment.’
‘Well, you cannot ignore the facts.’
‘That’s just what you are doing. The facts have not changed since we separated. There’s no better way out now than then.’
‘But they have changed. You are not making him leave his friends in Sawle. He’s doing it of his own free will. I didn’t understand before why he thought that so necessary. I do now. If you meet him now, he will be free of all those associations.’
‘And tied to the Navy.’
‘Yes. There’s no comfortable escape to Bath. The facts have changed both for the better and for the worse. They should be worth reconsidering.’
For a moment she seemed to waver. Then she shook her head emphatically. ‘Impossible . . .’
‘Only one person can make it impossible and that is yourself.’
‘Yes . . . you’re right! You’re wholly right, Ross. I have spoken as if all the weakness, all the shortcomings, were on his side. Do you think I’ve not had time enough since to look into my own? What happened, the way it happened, showed me up to myself. Do you know what it’s like when your anger and bitterness are so great that you can only hurt yourself – and go on hurting yourself for ever and ever, it seems, so that there’s no escape? That hasn’t changed. The possibility of its happening again hasn’t changed.’
‘Why not?’
‘Well, it may have lessened, but it doesn’t disappear. How can it? If I had brought a different understanding to his feelings, I should be a different person. I am not a different person. I’m only myself. Not only did I expect too much of him, but he expected too much of me. I know less of married life than you, but I should have thought it the worst way to begin. The break went both ways – and very deep. I haven’t such a plenitude of courage to hurt myself again, and him too.’
There was silence for a time. She said: ‘Nor would what you think come out of a single meeting. I have done too much of it already – arriving to turn his life upside down and then leave again. Let him go – in peace.’
Ross took out his purse and unfolded a piece of paper. ‘Here is my draft. Your banker will send a receipt.’
She took the paper. He did not like his defeat at all; not one bit.
He said: ‘There’s one other thing I should tell you. Your uncle is not altogether better. Dwight tells me the disease is held in check, but it’s not probable that he will improve much from his present condition. When Dwight is safe at sea, I think you should come down.’
‘Very well.’
The life had temporarily gone out of her, in a way he had not known before; the emotion had tired her. She asked him to meet her uncle and aunt that evening, but he refused, making the excuse of pressure of business. As he was leaving he said:
‘If you should change your mind before Thursday, you’ll find me at the Mitre in Hedge Lane. It is just off Leicester Fields.’
‘Very well,’ she said again. ‘But I cannot.’ And he went out into the crowded street.
Chapter Five
While Ross was away Demelza had an unpleasant experience. She received an invitation to tea from Mrs Frensham, Sir John’s sister, who was visiting him again; and, it being a fine day and Darkie in Truro, she decided to walk. The shortest way took you along the cliff, dipping into Sawle and across the shingle, then up the other side skirting Trenwith land by way of the cliffs until you came to Trevaunance Cove.
On this journey Garrick decided to accompany her. It was funny about Garrick. You could walk to the end of the combe of an evening
and he wouldn’t lift an eyebrow from his after-rabbit sleep; but if you were going anywhere, he knew instantly and it was the hardest thing in the world to get started without him.
He followed perseveringly close beside her all the way, grumbling only now and then in his throat. By now he was ten but bore his years like his great size lightly. His black astrakhan coat looked more than ever as if the moths had been at it, he had lost several necessary teeth in several unnecessary fights, and he could not see much out of one eye; but these were the ravages of battle not of time. Demelza sometimes suspected that he was developing a middle-aged outlook. He had learned to distinguish between a rabbit, which had to be galloped after before it escaped, and a tossed bone, which lay where it fell until one came up with it. And he no longer disappeared for days on wild rampages of his own. Jeremy loved him dearly and pulled him about into improbable postures.
When he strayed from her today, she did not call him, knowing that after a snuffle down some promising hole he would be back soon enough and there was nothing he could hurt on this scrubland. When she heard the shot, her mind had been far away and it took a few seconds for her to relate it to the savage yelping which followed. Then she saw Garrick down, rolling on the ground, and she ran across the heather towards him, alarm and anger hardly fledged. In his anguish as she knelt down he bit her wrist, but she forced his jaws open and tried to see where he had been hit. A part of one ear had been shot away; a piece hung loose; blood was dripping over his eyes and terrifying him. But there seemed nothing else.
There was a crackle of dry wood behind her and a voice said: ‘That your dog, Mrs?’
She looked up. A strange man, rough-dressed, carrying an old fowling piece under one arm. Another man of the same sort was coming over the heather.
‘Did you fire that gun?’
‘Aye, Mrs. Looks as if I only nicked ’im . . .’
She got to her feet, blazing. ‘Nicked him! You might have killed him! Judas God, you should be put in prison! What right’ve you to be firing your piece without looking if there’s people about! Here, Garrick! Here, boy!’ Garrick had jumped away from her and was running round, shaking his head then rolling over trying to stop the pain.
The man wiped a hand across his nose. ‘Just obeying orders, Mrs. You’d no right to be on private land.’
‘Private land! This is public land! Orders! Whose orders? What are you talking about?’
The second man had come up. He was another big fellow, older than the first, and there was a family resemblance.
‘All right, Tom, I’ll ’andle this. This is private land you’re on, Mrs, and all dogs straying are shot. You ask whose orders. This is Trenwith land right to the sea—’
‘Never!—’
‘Oh, yes ’tis. And there’s another thing. There’s been too much sheep worrying of late—’
‘Garrick doesn’t do that sort of thing! You did ought to know it’s young dogs—’
‘E’s cutting a fine caper now,’ said Tom, snickering. ‘Fair old dance he’s doing, edn’e.’
‘So would you, you great fool! I’ll report you to Mr Warleggan! I’m Mrs Poldark, Mrs Warleggan’s cousin, and I’ll see she hears of this!’
Tom went on snickering. ‘Oh, aye, we’ve heard tell of you, Mrs. A bit like your dog, ain’t you: bit of a mixed breed, eh?’
If there was a characteristic for which Garrick was noted, it was his obstinacy rather than his intelligence; but at this moment he chose to show his insight into the situation by going for Tom’s leg. Tom shouted and jumped away and swung his musket and missed. The other man stepped back and Demelza called to Garrick and in the confusion they were slow in seeing the horseman who was coming towards them across the heather. Trouble was saved by Demelza capturing Garrick, and then the older man said:
‘Here’s Mr Warleggan now. He’ll see for you his self, Mrs . . . Damnation take that great mongrel—’
They waited, all breathing sharply, for the arrival of the man who was to settle the dispute. To hide the pain in her wrist, Demelza bent trying to help the dog.
George came slowly. The ground was dangerous for riding, and he had no intention of being thrown. When he recognized Demelza, he took off his hat.
‘Mrs Poldark in person. Were you about to call on me?’
‘Far from it!’ said Demelza, wishing her face would cool. ‘I have an invitation to tea at Trevaunance House and was walking there when these two impudent louts first shot my dog and then insulted me! Look at my skirt! And they’ve sorely wounded my dog! I don’t know what they think they’re at! Judas and my gloves too! ’Tis nothing less than disgraceful—’
‘There’s some mistake,’ George said. ‘They took you for a trespasser, which of course you are. But they exceeded their instructions—’
‘I am not a trespasser! This has been open land ever since I came here—’
‘Francis was overindulgent. Poachers and gipsies stray wherever they choose—’
‘Do I look like a poacher? If I came within twenty feet of your window, I should not expect to be treated with such rudeness! Do you mean you support these men?’
‘The Harrys were obeying orders. But perhaps they have been overzealous . . .’
‘Overzealous! . . .’ Demelza suddenly perceived that George was not going to help her. ‘If that’s how you feel, then there’s no more to say.’
‘I think your dog will recover. It will teach him not to stray.’
Trembling with anger, Demelza bent to pick up her other glove. ‘We shall be poor neighbours, George.’
‘Your husband has already shown himself to be that.’
She moved to go on her way, but young Tom Harry put out a hand like a plate. ‘Not that road, Mrs.’
Demelza looked up at George. For a moment she could not believe that he would not allow her to go on after all this was said. Then she realized that even his permission now would be an insult. In any case she was in no fit state to go visiting. She whistled to Garrick and he came lolloping back, still shaking his head and keeping well clear of the men.
‘Have a care, George,’ she could not refrain from saying; ‘I might send Ross to visit you.’
It was strange how Ross was always George’s weak link. She saw that there was a mark on his face, under his chin, which had not been there before.
‘If he comes on my property again, he’ll be dealt with.’
‘It will take more than two clodhopping bullies to do it!’
‘’Ere, you keep your insults to yourself, Mrs,’ said Tom Harry. ‘Else we’ll send you ’ome with a clip out o’ your ear.’
‘Hold your tongue, Harry!’ said George sharply.
She turned and left them; to retire with dignity is a hard and bitter thing, especially with three men staring after you and no doubt talking behind their hands. When she got home, she wrote an apology to Mrs Frensham and in the evening sent it with John Gimlett, telling him to go by way of the villages.
Dwight Enys was lodged at the Rising Sun, in one of the narrow streets off the Barbican. He had arrived in Plymouth to find the Travail much farther from being fully commissioned than he had expected. Captain Harrington was still in Portsmouth; the crew was barely a quarter of its full complement; and the first officer – a black-browed, long-jawed Welshman called Williams – said they were pitifully short of stores. Travail was a frigate of 860 tons burden, 46 guns, nine- and twelve-pounders, and her full complement was 314. When Dwight went below into what were to be his quarters, he found all Williams’s gloomy views confirmed. His own tiny cabin next to the common wardroom was adequate enough, but the ship’s medicine chest was bare of supplies and the stench below decks was already hard to be borne. It was his instinct to set about cleaning things up right away; but a feeling that it would be untactful to initiate any move without the permission of the captain sent him mute ashore.
He decided for the time being to stay ashore, although he made a daily visit to the ship, and for the next week spent m
uch time wandering about the seaport, himself idle and restless and depressed. He kept thinking of Caroline and of his own failures and the constant futility which had dogged his efforts to make a recognizable and satisfactory pattern of his life. He knew that this act of his in going to sea would be regarded by most of his profession as a monumentally silly one. The pay was poor, the life arduous, his standing when he came out, nil. It might be patriotic to serve one’s country; there were easier ways. What he had seen so far of the crew was the pick, the volunteers, from whom would be selected the petty officers, the top men. The remaining three quarters would either be pressed men or debtors, rogues and ne’er-do-wells, the sweepings of jail and port. It would be on such material, lice-ridden, diseased, that he would work for the next two years. For weeks on end it would be a monotonous round of purges and vomits, of rough-and-ready treatment with the minimum of medicinal scope. If there was an action, it would become a sudden blood-bath of brutal and hasty surgery in nightmare conditions deep in the heart of the ship by the light of a swinging lantern. Was this what he sought from life, this confined and disciplined escape? At least it was what he had chosen. He was not prepared yet to regret it.
On the Sunday, Dwight received a letter from Ross saying he was staying at the Fountain Inn overnight, having business in the town; would Dwight take dinner with him?
Dwight was surprised and pleased. He had had more than enough of his own company and had thought himself without a friend in the place. About six he walked over, and Ross was waiting for him in the front parlour of the inn.
When they had greeted each other, Dwight said: ‘This is pleasant and unexpected of you. When did you arrive in the town?’
‘This morning. I slept at Ashburton. When do you sail?’
‘Heaven knows. Not before Christmas it now seems certain. How did you know where to find me?’
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