Johnson got up, nearly cracking his big head on the beam above him. “There’s no call for abuse, Blight. And if so be the money does not forthcome, we’ll not come whining to you!”
Richard Tonkin rapped the table again.
“Let us complete the auction.”
That time he had his way, and quietness reigned until all the ore was sold. About two-thirds of the total—all the best quality stuff—was bought by the Carnmore Company. It was a transaction that amounted to some five thousand pounds.
Then everyone sat down to dinner together.
It was the first real clash there had been between the two sides of the industry. Most of the grumbling had been done in private corners. After all, the copper companies were the customers, and one did not in common sense seek out quarrels with such folk.
Zacky Martin sat some distance from Ross. They caught each other’s eye once, but no gleam of recognition showed.
There was less talk than usual; men spoke together in lowered tones and with some constraint. But the wine had its effect, and the quarrel (and the deep rift of bitterness lying under the quarrel) was temporarily put away. There was little said of affairs outside the county. Their own shadows loomed too large. The countryside was emerging from the worst winter in living memory—worst for conditions of life and one of the severest for weather. During January and February, all Europe had lain under an icy hand, and even in Cornwall there had been weeks of frost and black east winds. It was April and the worst was over, men’s minds turned to more hopeful things, not only to the summer ahead, but also to the chance of a kinder working life. Search where you would, there were no signs of a betterment, but at least it was spring.
The agent of one of the older copper companies, a bluff, rugged man named Voigt, told of the riots there had been in Bodmin the previous week.
“It were only a chance I was there,” he said. “Just passing through in the coach. A mercy I’m alive, I assure you. They stopped the coach afore it reached the inn because they’d heard there was a corn factor within. Happily he’d not traveled, but we suffered who had. Out we was dragged with no ceremony and small comfort, and smash went the coach, over on its side, glass and woodwork breaking, horses kicking in the road. Then some rascals put hammers to the wheels, and they were in pieces in no time. A good fortune for me I had not the opulence to be mistook for him they wanted, but a merchant from Helston was upended and rough-handled before they knew their mistake. I was relieved when they let us go.”
“Was there much damage in the town?”
“Oh, yes, of a light nature. There was looting too and some who tried to stop ’em was ill-used. Even when the military came, they showed fight and had to be drove off like in a pitched battle.”
“There’ll be hangings for that,” said Blight. “Some example must be made.”
“They took half a hundred of them into custody,” said Voigt. “The jail’s filled to overflowing.”
Ross’s eyes met Zacky’s for the second time that day. They were both thinking of Jim Carter, whose time of discharge was drawing near. The jail had been full enough before.
Ross did not look at Zacky again. Neither did he speak to Richard Tonkin or Blewett or Aukett or Johnson after the dinner. Curious eyes would be watching.
He left the inn and walked around to see Harris Pascoe. The banker rose to greet Ross and diffidently inquired how the purpose of the day had gone.
Ross said, “You will have drafts of about four thousand eight hundred pounds to pay on the Carnmore account next month.”
Pascoe pursed his lips. “You b-bought more than you expected?”
“We bought all we could while the price was low. Once they realize we are in earnest they will likely try to outbid us. But with that stock we shall be safe for some months.”
“Was there any inquiry?”
Ross told him. Pascoe fumbled rather nervously with the snuff-stained cambric of his stock. He was in the scheme as their banker, but he had no stomach for conflict. He was in all his dealings a man of peace, using his own money for principled ends, but not caring to defeat the unprincipled. He liked to look on money in an academic way: figures to be squared with other figures, balances to be brought to an equilibrium; it was the mathematics of his business that appealed to him most of all. Therefore while applauding the intention of the group of men, he was nervous lest they should become a worry and a disturbance to his peace of mind.
“Well,” he said at length, “there you have the first responses of the agents and other small fry. I fancy that the men behind them will express their disapproval more subtly. The next ticketing will be the testing time. I doubt if you’ll ever provoke an overt protest again.”
“The essential thing is to keep them mystified,” Ross said. “Some of the facts will leak out quickly enough with Zacky Martin living on my land and the smelting works being built on Trevaunance property.”
“It is surprising that the smelting works has been kept a secret so long.”
“Well, all the components were shipped direct and housed around the disused pilchard cellars. Sir John put out the story that it was a new engine for his mine.”
Pascoe drew toward him a sheet of paper and made two more brief entries on it with his scratchy quill. It was the first printed billhead of the Carnmore Copper Company, and on it in watery ink the banker had entered all the particulars of the company. He had begun with the chief shareholders.
Lord Devoran
Sir John Michael Trevaunance, Bart.
Alfred Barbary, Esq.
Ray Penvenen, Esq.
Ross Vennor Poldark, Esq.
Peter St. Aubyn Tresize, Esq.
Richard Paul Cowdray Tonkin
Henry Blewett
William Trencrom
Thomas Johnson
An imposing list. The company was floated with a capital of twenty thousand pounds, of which twelve thousand pounds was paid up and the rest on call. They were also going into business as merchants, to supply the mines with all the stuff of their trade. It would give them a small steady basis of business to rely on outside the main object of the company.
Pascoe knew that there were men who would be very interested to see that sheet of paper. It would be better locked up. He rose and went to his safe in the corner of the room.
“You’ll take t-tea with us, Captain Poldark? My wife and daughter are expecting you.”
Ross thanked him but said no. “Forgive me, but to get home in good time from one of these days is a treat I look forward to. It has been all riding this winter. My wife complains she has none of my company.”
Pascoe smiled gently as he turned the key in the safe. “The complaint from a wife has a novelty you do well to consider. A p-pity your cousin Francis could not join the shareholders of the company.”
“He is much too closely committed with the Warleggans. Privately we have his goodwill.”
The banker sneezed. “Verity was in to stay the night early this week. She is looking in improved health, don’t you think?”
“They have all stood up to the closing of Grambler better than I expected.”
Pascoe walked with him to the door. “You have heard, I imagine, that there are r-rumors again attaching to Miss Verity’s name.”
Ross stopped. “I have heard nothing.”
“Perhaps I should not have m-mentioned it, but I thought you should know. You and she have always been so close to one another.”
“Well, what is the rumor?” Ross spoke with impatience. Pascoe did not know the cause of Ross’s bitter hostility to the word.
“Oh, well, it is to do with that Blamey fellow. Word has c-come from several sources that they have been meeting again.”
“Verity and Blamey? What are your sources?”
“If you prefer to disregard it, pray forget I spoke. I have no wi
sh to pass on irresponsible gossip.”
Ross said, “Thank you for the information that it is abroad. I’ll take steps to smoke it out.”
Chapter Seventeen
As he rode home his thoughts were not stable for a moment. Eighteen months before, he had known himself happy and with prevision had tried to hold the mood as long as it would stay. He was not discontented, but he was too restless, too preoccupied. Each day led so relentlessly to the next, linked by cause and effect, anticipation and result, preparation and achievement. The chance suggestion made to Blewett nine months before had led him into a web of new things.
Verity and Blamey? The arrogant man he had seen on the day after Julia’s christening had lost everything he had ever had in common with the gentle self-restrained Verity. It could not be. Some evil-minded old crone had hatched it from her own brooding. There was as much truth in it as the slander he had heard on Jud’s lips.
There had been no reconciliation between himself and the Paynters. Demelza visited Prudie sometimes, but that was all. Jud was working irregularly for Trencrom, who could always use a man with sailing experience and no scruples. In between times he went the round of the kiddlywinks and lectured men on their shortcomings.
As for the Gimletts, they had fulfilled all their earlier promise. With plump bounding good humor they trotted about the house and the farm, often working from pleasure when need was satisfied. Jinny had been back at Nampara since Christmas. In the end she had asked to return, common sense and lack of money prevailing over her shyness.
Ross had not seen Jim again, though all winter he had thought of riding to Bodmin and taking Dwight Enys with him. The copper company had taken all his attention. Many a time he had wished he could resign. He was short of the tact and patience to gain the interest of the men of substance, to support their interest when gained, and to make all sorts of little adjustments to placate their self-esteem. For that Richard Tonkin was invaluable. Without Richard Tonkin they would have been lost.
But without Ross too they would have been lost, although he did not realize it. He was the stiffening, the unyielding element, and a large part of the driving power. Men accepted his integrity where with another they would have asked, “What has he to gain?”
Well, the company was on its feet, alive and ready to begin the struggle. And the winter was over, and men and women had come through it (most of them), and the children had whimpered and survived (some of them). The law made it difficult for men to move out of their own district—lest they become a burden upon another parish—but a few had trekked to the waterfronts of Falmouth and Plymouth or to seek a pittance in the inland towns. The rapid-growing population of the mining districts had been checked in a single year.
And the king had gone mad and fought with his jailers and been ill-treated by them and had torn up his curtains; young Pitt, his patron locked away, had been preparing for retirement from public life, bowing to the whims of Fate and considering a career at the Bar; and the prince of Wales, with Mrs. Fitzherbert to restrain his worst blatancies, had come back from Brighton to accept a regency, which young Pitt had the insolence to oppose.
And the king had recovered just in time to put his son’s hopes out of joint, so all was back where it began, except that King George’s dislike for Whigs was only less than his dislike for his own family.
And Hastings had come to trial at last. And a clergyman named Cartwright had brought out an extraordinary thing for weaving, which was a power loom worked by a steam engine.
In America, the Union was complete; a new nation was born, said the Sherborne Mercury, of four million people—one quarter black—that might someday be counted of importance. Prussia had spent the winter putting down the freedom of the press and signing an alliance with Poland to guard her back door if she attacked France. France had done nothing. A palsy had fallen on the splendid court while men died of hunger in the streets.
And Wheal Leisure had moderately prospered all through the winter, though the money Ross made had gone quickly enough, most into the Carnmore Company. A little went to buy a horse for Demelza, and a small nest egg of two hundred pounds he was keeping by for emergency.
As he neared Grambler he saw Verity coming toward him from the direction of the village.
“Why, Ross, imagine meeting you,” she said. “I have been over to see Demelza. She complains that you neglect her. We have had a long talk, which would have lasted until sundown if Garrick had not upset the tea tray with his stub of tail and wakened Julia from her afternoon nap. We have chattered away like two old fish jousters waiting for the nets to come in.”
Ross glanced at his cousin with new eyes. There was something in her gaze; her manner was lively. He got down in alarm.
“What have you been hatching in my house this afternoon?”
The question was so well directed that Verity colored.
“I went over to see if the Sherborne man had brought you an invitation as he had us. Curiosity, my dear. Women are never satisfied unless they know their neighbors’ business.”
“And has he?”
“Yes.”
“An invitation to what?”
Verity tucked in a wisp of hair. “Well, Cousin, it is waiting you at home. I hadn’t thought to mention it, but you surprised it out of me.”
“Then let me surprise the rest, so that I may know all the news at once.”
Verity met his eyes and smiled. “Have patience, my dear. It is Demelza’s secret now.”
Ross grunted. “I have not seen Francis or Elizabeth. Are they prospering?”
“Prospering is not the word, my dear. Francis is so heavy in debt that it looks as if we shall never struggle clear. But at least he has had the courage to withdraw from the Warleggan circle. Elizabeth—well, Elizabeth is very patient with him. I think she is glad to have him more at home, but I wish—perhaps her patience would be more fruitful if it had a little more understanding in it. One can be kind without being sympathetic. I—Perhaps that is unjust.” Verity looked suddenly distressed. “I don’t take Francis’s part because he is my brother. Really it is all his fault…or—or seems to be… He threw away his money when he had it. If the money he squandered had been available there would have been more to finance the mine at the last…”
Ross knew why Francis stayed away from the Warleggans’ and drank at home: Margaret Cartland, finding his money gone, had thrown him over.
“Demelza will blame me for keeping you, Ross. Be on your way, my dear; you must be tired.”
He put his hand on her shoulder a moment and looked at her. Then he got on his horse. “Tired of hearing men talk of their mines and the price of copper. Your conversation has more variety, and you never give me the opportunity of tiring of it. Now, you keep your secrets for Demelza and run away before I come home.”
“Indeed not, Ross,” Verity said, blushing again. “If I call when you are away, it is because I think Demelza may be lonely; if I go before you come, it is because I think you want your hours at home with her. You offend me.”
He laughed. “Bless you. I know I do not.”
He rode on. Yes, there was a change. Twice he had been on the point of mentioning Blamey’s name, twice he had balked at the fence. He was glad. If there was anything there, let it be hidden from him. He had borne the responsibility of knowing once.
As he passed Grambler Mine he glanced over it. One or two windows of the office had been blown in, and sprays of weeds grew here and there between the stones of the paved path. Wherever was metal was brown rust. The grass around the mine was an unusual vivid green, and in some corners heaps of blown sand had gathered. Some children had made a rough swing out of a piece of old rope and had hung it across a beam of the washing floors. A dozen sheep had wandered up to the engine house and were grazing peacefully in the afternoon silence.
He moved on and reached his own land and rode down into
the valley and from far off could hear Demelza playing the spinet. The sound came up to him in a sweet vibration plaintive and distant. The trees were green-tipped and the catkins were out and a few primroses bloomed in the wet grass. The music was a thread of silver woven into the spring.
A fancy took him to surprise her, and he stopped Darkie and tethered her at the bridge. Then he walked to the house and came into the hall unnoticed. The parlor door was open.
She was there at the spinet in her white muslin frock, the peculiar expression on her face that she always took on when reading music, as if she were just going to bite an apple. All the winter she had been taking lessons from the old woman who had been nurse to the five Teague girls. Mrs. Kemp came once a week, and Demelza had shot ahead.
Ross slid into the room. She was playing the music from one of Arne’s operas. He listened for some minutes, glad of the scene, glad of the music and the bordering quiet. That was what he came home for.
He stepped silently across the room and kissed the back of her neck.
She squeaked, and the spinet stopped on a discord.
“A slip o’ the finger and—phit!—yer dead,” said Ross in Jud’s voice.
“Judas! You give me a fright, Ross. Always I’m getting frights of some sort. No wonder I’m a bag of nerves. This is a new device, creepin’ in like a tomcat.”
He took her by the ear. “Who has had Garrick in here where he does not belong, breaking our new Wedgwood? A dog—if he can be called that—no smaller than a cow…”
“You have seen Verity, then? Did she tell you of our—our…”
He looked into her eager, expectant face. “Of our what?”
“Our invitation.”
“No. What is that?”
“Ha!” Pleased, she wriggled free from him and danced away to the window. “That’s telling. I’ll tell you tomorrow. Or maybe next day. Will that do?”
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