The Angry Tide (22 page)

The news reached Sawle on Friday night, and a tinker who plied regularly between St Ann's and St Michael tossed it in casually to Drake as he passed early on the Saturday morning. Drake went white to the lips, sat down, put his head in his hands. Yesterday Rosina had been over here with Parthesia and
her two-year-old and the two-wee
k-old baby, and they had laughingly rearranged the bed and re-hung the curtains and Rosina had brought some cushions she had worked and had said, blushing, that Art Mullet would carry over her box Sunday
evening. In it were the small treasure
s of a lifetime. Clothes, of course; a cloam teapot, three good spoons, two pewter tankards, a pretty case decorated with shells, a bead necklace, a book on needlework, a length of silk given her by Jacka from the wreck of 1789, embroidered slippers, a bonnet or two, a Prayer Book, a lucky charm.

These would come Sunday evening after
the
wedding. There would be laughter, some coarse jokes, a bit of horseplay, and then they would be alone. After the wedding.

Drake got up and went to the forge. It was still early and the
Trewinnard twins had not yet come. It was only by chance that he had been up and near the gate when the tinker passed. He clenched his hands and cried to God. God did not seem to hear him. Nothing changed. He was standing at the entrance to Pally's Shop - which someday soon people might begin to call Drake's Shop - and looking over the steep declivity of the lane to where it began to rise towards St Ann's. In
the
distance a mine chimney smoked. A Warleggan chimney. Seagulls screamed in the upper air. Wind blew across the rough grass, ruffling his hair. And he was betrothed and sworn to a sweet, intelligent girl whom he did not love, but might learn to love.

And nine miles away the object of his real love, his consuming love over
the
whole of his adult life, a tall young woman in black, a mother, a vicar's wife, an unsuitably well-connected and genteel person who since she married had taken on a totally new personality, was suddenly, arbitrarily, become a widow. What did it mean? What did it mean for any of them? How could this indissoluble but insane fact be in some way absorbed into the more or less sane world?

The first thing was to be sure. Rumours in Cornwall flew quicker than crows, and sometimes as thick. Drake ran across to the field where his pony was grazing. The pony did not wish to be caught, but Drake's need was the greater, and in a few minutes he was riding bareback up the hill towards the low ill-kept cottage that passed for a vicarage.

He found Mr Odgcrs crouched in a dressing-gown and a blanket over a small coal fire trying to write a letter between fits of coughing. Mr Odgers did not like Drake, for he was the brother of the leader of the renegade Wesleyan set who had gained - or regained - such a hold in the neighbouring villages. Also, although th
is was unknown to Drake, Mr Odge
rs had been the first person to tell Mr George
Warleggan
of
Morwenna
's unsuitable attachment and so had precipitated what followed. Nevertheless the young man looked in such distress that he answered the questions put to him.

'What? Yes? Oh, he's dead for sure. And I am summoned to the funeral. It is all very well, you know, for a fit young man; but I am no longer young and far from well - this bronchitis keeps me awake
every
night, every night without fail - and nine miles on a hired nag in the depths of this wicked winter may well cause me to follow him within the month! And who would be the gainer from that? Not Mr Osborne Whitworth, who has already gone to make one of the blest above. His mother and his widow, no doubt, and the other clergy living nearer, would benefit by my presence
...'
He stopped and coughed long and almost lovingly into
his handkerchief. The wind whistl
es under that door and has done throughout this month and last. And we have no
heat
in our bedroom. At night we pile things upon the bed, and then I find the weight oppressive to my cough and cast them off, and so the freezing cold creeps into my bones day and night, day and night.'

The marble clock on the mantelshelf struck eight. Mr Odgers pulled his blanket closer.

'I am writing this moment to the Bishop, explaining my situation, my plight
...
What? Well, there is no suggestion in the letter of foul play. Just fell from his horse. Fell from his horse. Broke his neck. Was found at midnight with one foot still in a stirrup. Broke his neck.' The slightest suggestion of un-Christian relish had crept into the little curate's tones. While Mr Webb had been vicar Mr Odgers had at least been left undisturbed in his poverty. Life under
Ossie
had been a bed of nails.

'No, no,' said Mr Odgcrs, 'I know nothing more.' He stared at Drake, for the first time allowing his self-absorption to slip and suspicion to creep in. 'What is it to you, boy? What is it all to you? I am to marry you tomorrow, isn't it, to one
of the village girls. Mary Coade
? No, Rosina Hoblyn, that's it. There will be six couples to marry. I trust I shall be able to get through the ceremony.'

'Thank ee
,
' said Drake. 'Thank ee
, Parson.'

'Why are you asking?' Odgers said. 'Why
are
you asking?' he called after the closing door. But Drake was gone and only the draught of his going remained.

Drake rode on as far as the higher ground by Maiden Meeting House, and from there he could see both the roof of his brother's house and the chimneys of Nampara. But to talk to his brother about this would not help, for he knew already everything that Sam would say. He could not have been more certain.
Demelza
was much better - she would understand, might understand the agony of mind in which he now found himself. But this wedding with Rosina was partly of her making; there could be no doubt about that. She would listen to him and be truly sympathetic - for when was
Demelza
anything less? - but she could not but advise him in the same way as Sam. There was no one, no one from whom he could get an unbiased answer. There was no one to trust but himself.

He rode down to Nampara and across the bit of rough ground to the stile leading to Hcndrawna Beach. There he looped the pony's reins over a post and left him, left him to walk on
the
beach alone.

It was not a suitable day for the beach, but the weather matched his mood. A watery sun was out at present; the wind kept blowing the clouds into smoke; they drifted in streaks befo
re the washed sky, then reforme
d in masses with the swiftness of moving scenery. It was half tide, and the surf made a noise like another wind, hissing and roaring. Icebergs of foam slid about in the surf, twisting and turning as they did so.

He walked for an hour, the wind blowing and shaking him and unsteadying his steps. He passed the Holy Well where - long, long years ago, it seemed - he and Geoffrey Charles and Morwenna had traced three crosses on the surface of
the
water, put in their hands, said a prayer and made a wish. He could hardly, he thought, none of them could hardly have done worse if they had prayed to the Devil.

He reached
the
foot of the Dark Cliffs where
the
gaunt skeleton of the wrecked brig was just clear of the present tide and surrounded by a lake of water that was still black and grainy. He turned and began to walk back. The sand was very soft and his feet in places sank so deep it was like walking through thick snow. The tide was making rapidly. Tongues of water came rushing over
the
sand
at
him, bubbling and sliding, receding again, leaving fringes of froth behind and the new-wet sand swelling and sinking. Foam detached itself and trundled across the beach, hurtling as far as the cliffs before it disintegrated. The tide would beat him to the Wheal Leisure cliffs - by the time he got there it would be suicide to try to reach the next piece of beach. Perhaps it would solve everything if he did so try. But solve what? Only solve everything for him, and that was the coward's way out.

'Oh God,' he said, 'oh, Lord
...'
and stopped. 'The Lord is my shepherd,' he said, 'therefore can I lack nothing. He shall feed me in a green pasture, and lead me forth beside the waters of comfort
...'
He stared at the raging sea and wondered what comfort his present walk had brought him. Had his mind been working at all on diis long slogging tramp?

Perhaps. Some thoughts, some decisions were formulating, though they owed more to feeling than logic. It was as if the news this morning had shaken his soul into such a violence that for a time he could not know himself at all; now the news, the shock, was sedimcnting and giving his mind its first stability back again. He began to mount the cliffs and presently passed the abandoned sheds and stone buildings of Wheal Leisure. He knew what he must do first. He must see Rosina.

The news that Drake had gone from his forge reached
Demelza
early Easter Sunday morning. Sam brought it.

She stared at her brother. 'But - he is to marry today! We
are
all to be at the wedding
...
What d'you mean, Sam, gone? Where has he gone?
...'
She put her hand to her mouth. 'Oh, Judas God!'

Sam nodded. 'Tes true, I fear. Though I've prayed it might be different.'

'Did he
know
of Mr Whitworth's death? Yes, I suppose. But what
...
Arc you
surer
He
couldn't
Sam. He's pledged to Rosina! He couldn't leave her just like this on her wedding day! It would be too cruel!'

Sam shuffled his feet. 'Drake have very strong feelings, sister. Very strong - loyalties, even if they be wrong directed. Oft there was trouble in his early days when he was seeking God. At times he wrought mightily and failed to end his estrangement -'

'But this!'
Demelza
interrupted him. 'This is not
religion
...
Forgive me, Sam, I don't wish to offend, but we do not all
see
these matters in their - their true importance, and to mc - just at this moment - and to most folk, indeed, it is his worldly behaviour that seems of the greater import. Has Rosina
...
been told?'

'He told her himself,' Sam said, 'yester eve. He told her and they talked for ten minutes, she d'say, and then he left.'

'Left?'

'Just left. It seemed that afore ever he proposed marriage to Rosina he told her all 'bout the trouble he'd had and how he'd loved this young woman and how this had been the love of his life and no other, and because that was over, would Rosina take him as he wa
s? And she did so. But now yeste
r eve he come to her cottage, all of a sudden, haggard and wild, praise
be while Jacka was at the kiddle
y, and tcllcd her of the news that this young woman was widowed and in dire distress and he must go to her, go to her whether or no, to
see
her, to
see
how he could help, to be at her side at this time. And Rosina
...'

'Yes?'

'She could not stop him. She is trying to understand.'

'Judas God,' said Demelza again. It was not often now she used her old expletive. 'So there's to be no wedding today
...'

'It 'pears not. There cannot be without Drake.'

Demelza
took a pace or two up and down the room, biting her thumb. 'So I should not have interfered.'

'Please?'

'You
know,
Sam, as well as I do, that we half persuaded him into this marriage, thinking twas for his own good.'

'So twas. So twas. Rosina would have made him a proper little wife. They'd have grown happy and served Christ together.'

'Maybe. But not now. Unless
...'

'Unless?'

She made a despairing gesture. 'There is no hope now, I suppose? How is Rosina taking it?' 'Nobly.'

‘P
oor girl. But others will not take it so nobly, Sam.'

'No
...
Jacka would barely allow mc in the house. Purple, he was. Half the blame were mine for being his brother.'

Demelza put her clenched fist to her head. 'Oh, God, Sam, is this not the greatest of a mess? I so wish Ross were here! I do wish he were not
always
away. What can we do?'

'Naught. Except wait, I reckon.'

'...
It will not be only Jacka. Folk in the villages
...
It is not good to promise to marry a girl and then go off and leave her! You and he are still foreigners to some folk. Illuggan's a long way.
You're
popular. So's he been. But for a foreigner to promise as he's done and then leave the girl the day before, when everything is arranged, when it is all set, all prepared, dow
n to the last detail. There's Art Mullet too. Parthe
sia is sure to be angry and to egg him on. Drake may not even be safe when he returns - if he returns.'

'No,' said Sam. 'Tis easy to
see
the dangers. If he returns. Especially if he bring the young woman with him.'

'That could hardly be,' said Demelza.

Chapter
Seven