Jeremy Poldark (31 page)

It was a bright day with a strong southeast
breeze, and after dinner she didn't follow the haymakers up to the field again
but fed her a mall stock of poultry and did a few odd jobs about the house - all
this with a restless air, as if mere activity brought no satisfaction in
itself. Verity had written last week, saying with some obvious apprehension
that her two stepchildren were coming to visit her at last but most of her
space. was filled with loving, concern and advice. Demelza thought: Don't
overtire myself indeed; I never get a chance; Ross has set the Gimletts on me
like terriers.. I should not be astonished if they do not drop their scythes
soon and come scurrying-back to see if all is well.

She went to the front door and looked over her
garden. The soft winter had suited it and the flowers were forward. Strange,
she thought, if women were like that brought on by the warm weather, retarded
by the cold. The wind was fluffing the tulips about; she picked off the heads
of one or two dishevelled ones,; then went back through the house to the little
dairy where the cheeses were standing to ripen, lifted - the cloths to see that
no mould was, forming, moved through the outbuildings. From there it was a
natural progression to the Long Field and the headland beyond.

A considerable swell on the sea to-day; the
waves ran into Hendrawna Beach like brides to their wedding, a veil of spray
blowing round their heads. Near the rocks the swell. moved more sleekly, the
veils sank as they were left behind, white lace first in the shallower green,
then misting to a mottled luminous cloud in the darker depths. Beyond the
breakers were two fishing boats from St. Ann's. She turned and clambered down,
treading on the curled fronds of the new bracken, to Nampara Cove.

In the shelter it was, quite warm and quiet and
the sea rippled invitingly. She took off her shoes and stockings and let the
water lick her feet. Very pleasant and soothing. After a while she went over to
the dinghy and found that the last time she had used it with Gimlett a week,
ago-they had forgotten to carry the rowlocks up to the house. Ross would have
been cross, since anyone could use or even steal the boat if they could row it
away. In the bottom of the boat was, a tin with some bait in it; it would be
smelly, by now.

Within the
cove the air was still, and looking out the bright day glimmered like a cameo.
The waves seemed small enough, and she realised that, so long_ as she kept within
the protection of the cove, they would be innocuous. Of course if anyone knew
she had taken the boat out there would be a great to-do; but Ross was miles
away, and the others could whistle if they chose.

She had learned from experience how to drag the
light craft over the sand without straining herself; it was a knack; and,
taking special care now that it was May, she got the boat to the edge without
difficulty. Then she tucked up her skirts and pushed the boat into the water.
In a minute she had climbed over the side and a pull or two at the oars
straightened her up so that there was no danger of being pushed back broadside
on.

She rowed out until near the mouth of the cove
and dropped her anchor overboard. It caught almost at once. There was more
swell here than she had expected, but it was a pleasant sensation. In. triumph,
though with some distasteful wrinkling of her nose, she began to bait her
line.

The sudden brawl with George Warleggan had left
Ross in a ferment of angry thoughts. He didn't remember in his life having lost
his temper in quite that way before. George's face, George's sneers, the
oppressive-influence of the Warleggans over all his life, had suddenly boiled
up into a moment of uncontrollable fury. There had been at least one instant in
the past when it might have done so with greater reasonableness; but that was
the way things happened. Now the murder was out with a vengeance.

It
was lucky, he realised, that George hadn't killed himself, that he hadn't
killed him. From the way he was getting up from among the ruins of the table it
looked as if he was not even seriously hurt. But news of the fight would spread
like a fire in dead gorse. In an hour it would be on everyone's lips in Truro;
in a day. Not that that mattered except for the subject of the quarrel. There
lay the poison.

It was a poison not only, on people's lips but
in Ross's mind, and a mere brawl wouldn't exorcise it. While he washed himself
and bought a new shirt he tried to see the thing reasonably.

That Francis had in some degree let down the
copper-smelting venture was a circumstance which Ross had come in an
unspecified way to accept. Something had happened which must be overlooked and
forgotten. That Francis had suffered in his own conscience because of it was
plain to-anyone who had met him in the last twelve months. Well, it was over
and past. It was likely, that the company would have crashed just as completely
without his help; and if there had been a betrayal it had taken place in sudden
anger during the quarrel over Verity's elopement. It had never once occurred to
Ross that Francis could deliberately have "sold " them for money.
Even now, (out of some knowledge of Francis's character, he rejected it; it was
the impulse to reject it which had led to the fight; it was because the
insinuation couldn't be denied in words that violence had been necessary.

So the fight had been in defence of Francis's
character, and yet the defendant was unsure of what he defended. An uneasy
stand. The grim little confirmatory details gathered themselves. and stuck. The
Warleggans had certainly , paid Francis the money. Was Elizabeth's
explanation-presumably obtained from Francis-a reasonable. one? Would the
Warleggans part with six hundred; pounds on a point of principle? What other
reason, except a revulsion of, feeling at his own treachery, could Francis have
for being reluctant to spend the money on his own comfort and convenience? Why
did the great window at Trenwith lack an elementary repair?

What then if it were
true? If it were true, better go across and tell Pearce not to waste his time
drawing up a document which never could be implemented: But how, be sure? Only
by challenging Francis outright. And the very challenge, showing that he
considered such a betrayal for money, possible, would end their association
either way - He understood Francis well enough for that.

There was trivial shopping to be done in spite
of all this upset. Ross went about it in an angry daze which made him a
tribulation to the shopkeepers. They stared curiously at his bruised forehead
and preoccupied face as they laid out their wares. One moment he would think,
George is a liar and got his deserts; the next the poisonous doubts would creep
back. Was this enormity what Francis had been about to confess at Trenwith last
month?

If the cause of the fight got about and people
believed what George said, Francis's position would become-impossible anyway.
Ross had glimpsed Tonkin's expression. If people believed George, Francis would
not be able to show his face in Truro.

Thank God at least that Trencrom had paid up and
that money at this important time was not quite so tight. Four yards of pink
ribbon, four yards of blue ribbon, at sixpence a yard. Seven yards of lace
edging cost five shillings. It would most likely be the wrong sort when he got
home, but DemeLza would make the best of it, as she made the best of
everything. More huckaback towelling. These were things Demelza herself would
have bought while she was still able to ride, but they had simply not had the
money. A pair of blankets. There was a pair at sixteen shillings and one at
twelve. In a sudden economy he bought the cheaper, and then squandered the
difference on' some yards of crimson velvet for a sash for Demelza for use when
she was again the shape to wear it.

Her time was likely to be any day now. The
sooner the better. A new comb. That was the usual cry. She always broke them pulling
them through her hair.

What would she say about this new development?
She had always been for reconciliation, but would she urge him to forgive and
forget if this were true? She might say, why let everything be ruined at this
late stage by a wild accusation from George? A quarrel between the cousins was
exactly what he desired

That
at least was common sense. And if they quarrelled, who was to finance the mine?
His own money wouldn't go far enough. Was the planning of the last two months
to end in futility without even a gambler's throw? Exactly what George would
wish.

As he finished what he had to buy Ross realised
he had arranged to meet Francis at the coaching inn. That could not be now. He
was sorry he had pushed the little innkeeper, over somehow the damage and the
insult should be made up to him - but he couldn't; go back there to-day. (There
might be formal repercussions from his fight with George but he rather doubted
it: George might wish he had met him with bare fists in a place with more room
for manoeuvre than a flight of stairs, but it was unlikely; that he would risk
his skin with weapons against a soldier. All the same, it would be open war in
every other way.)

He went to the Seven Stars Tavern and sent a
potboy who knew Francis by sight to keep watch for him at the entrance to the.
Red Lion. Then he sat in a dark corner. and ordered brandy and tried to force a
decision before they, came back. On it, on what he decided now, from his
reasoning mind's absolute freedom of choice, would spring the whole pattern of
the future. Everything was done or undone, promised or forbidden, fecund or
sterile according to the judgment of to-day. Tomorrow it would have happened.
There were two choices open to him, not three. He could not accept George's word
before Francis's. Either he challenged Francis with the story with the
inevitable result - or he trusted his cousin's integrity. Even compromise would
be fatal. To ignore everything George had said and yet let it fester in his
mind would be worse than a clean break.'

The grandfather's clock ticked in the corner.
Outside in the narrow street the warm gusty wind stirred the dust in sandy
whorls it lifted the coattails and ruffled the, wig of a fat old gentleman
with a stick and unsteady legs who made his way laboriously past the inn; it
pushed a ball of paper delectably nearer the nose of a watching cat; nine miles
away the dinghy dragged its anchor an inch or two and Demelza's hair blew
across her face as she pulled in an empty line. In the inn, from the dark
corner opposite Ross, a man stood up and came across to him. It was Andrew
Blarney, Verity's husband.

Ross stared at him, trying to collect his
thoughts, then, more from instinct than conscious will, got up and took the
extended hand.

Blarney said gruffly: "Well, sir, it must
be more than two years."

' I should have said a good deal more. There was
a perceptible hesitation. "Will you join me?"

“ I come seldom to Truro these days, but I
brought a schooner up for a friend who is unfamiliar with, the river and am
waiting now for the five o'clock coach home.

They talked for some minutes, though not,
easefully. Andrew Blarney asked with real concern after Demelza's health. It
was always a surprise to Ross how Demelza seemed to have the respect of so many
of these difficult men. Francis would do anything for her. Sir John Trevaunance
had sent over some hothouse peaches last week. These men were not in the
Bodrugan-Treneglos: class who paid her attentions because she was physically
exciting and had a sharp wit.

In return he politely asked about Verity and
noticed a little flicker across Andrew's face.

"Does that mean she's not well?"

"No, she was in excellent health when I
left this morning." He cleared his throat. "There is one small
matter-though no doubt to an outsider My two children will be visiting us for
the first time tomorrow, and I shall be at sea."

Ross glanced towards the door. As the other dilemma
was shielded from the dead centre of his attention he tried to concentrate on
what the sailor said.

"H.M.S. Thunderer is due in Falmouth
tonight or early tomorrow. James has been away two years - I fully expected,
to be ashore all this week, so ordered my daughter, who hitherto has refused
to-come: purely out of shyness, I imagine to pay us a visit at the same time.
But last night Arwenack fouled an old wreck as she came into the roads and will
need repairs to her bows. So Caroline must sail in her place tomorrow."

Time was getting ever shorter - and he no nearer
the crucial choice. Belatedly, with a quickening of eye and thought, a sharp
apprehension of the other issues, he realised that another, explosive situation
was threatening here. Francis and Blarney had never once met except to quarrel
violently in seven years. Blarney must be warned now, got away. And yet if he
was expected to make a gesture of trust and forgiveness and understanding, who
else might not be expected to do the same?

He said abruptly, harshly" You see
something of Europe in your travels. What do you think are the prospects for
peace?"

Blarney stopped at this new tack. "What?
Well, I see little of Europe beyond Lisbon., But I hear a good deal. It's a
sounding board. There is nervousness about."

"On account of France?"

"On account of the revolutionary parties.
They spring up everywhere, encouraged by the French. I mean the minorities in
Germany and Austria and Portugal who really owe allegiance only to Paris, as
you might say.. That's the danger, for if war breaks out one feels they will
side with the French against their own countryfolk."

" There are such parties in England, but I
think they make a noise beyond their size."

" In England, yes, Elsewhere I'm not so
sure."

"And the temper of the French?"

Blarney shrugged. "One hears the side of
the emigres, of course. But if conditions inside the country become intolerable,
I should be inclined to think---"

He stopped. Francis had come in.

It was dark in the low-roomed inn after the
brightness outside, and he only saw Ross. So he came up to the table smiling.

"Well, so I hear you've been in parlour
games with George He has marked you. But they tell me he has a sprained
shoulder and can hardly stand. What was the spark that-?"

Francis saw Blarney and came to a stop. Blarney
got up bristling like a dog ready for a fight.

And quite suddenly the situation crystallised
itself for Ross. The disorderly segments of his own problem became formalised
by this new situation in which he was hardly more than a spectator. With time
for thought it might have seemed an oversimplification, but the time for
thought was past. Here was the acid test for Francis. Forgive us our trespasses

Francis said : " You . .”

Ross did not get up. " Sit down, Francis.
I'll order you a drink.,'

All the old arrogance was back in Francis's
face. "Thank you, I'll not trouble you in this company...."

Ross said: "This is the last moment to wipe
out the past."

Something in his voice caught Francis's
attention., He looked at Ross and Ross was looking at him. He flushed, and
hesitated.

Uneasily, from under frowning brows, Blarney
glanced at Ross too. The special significance of the moment had somehow
communicated itself to them both. Neither spoke for a perceptible space while
the potboy who had brought Francis hovered near waiting for his tip. Ross gave
it him and ordered brandies. The boy went away and the three men were alone
again.

Blarney said : "The quarrel has never been
of my seeking." Francis dusted his cuff and swallowed something. " My
sister seems to find her new life agreeable," he said bitterly.

So she should," said Ross. "It's
natural for a woman to be married, and we can't forever be scratching over it,
like cocks on a dunghill"

"In any case she takes no account of my
approval or disapproval.

"She would be very much happier with a reconciliation,"
Blarney said. "That's why I desire it."

It was quite handsomely said. Francis stared
across the room at the returning boy, thrust his hands in his pockets as if
seeking something.

"If that is the case”

The boy put down the drinks and left. Ross
glowered up at the other men, the new bruise on his forehead showing red and
angry above the white of the scar. He wasn't saying any more. It was up to them
now. If they could not find the formula he was done with them both.

Appropriately it was Francis who made the
decisive move. He sat on the, arm of the settle and picked up his glass.