The Loving Cup (36 page)

And had they heard from their son since he returned to Brussels? He had quite remarkable gifts. And had they seen dear Clowance since her wedding? And what did they purpose to do in August? August? said Ross, not hiding his puzzlement.

‘I
s it not,' said Selina, 'the centenary of the Hanoverian accession? George the First became King on August the first
1714.
They are talking already of more celebrations to commemorate that.'

I
'm not sure,' said Ross ironically, 'whether it should not be commemorated as a disaster.'

Mrs Pope glanced at Demelza and smiled,
I
think your husband is a republican, Mrs Poldark. As my husband was.'

Ross disliked the thought of having had anything in common with Mr Clement Pope, in principle, perhaps. In practice I can't see any considerable advantage in having a president instead. Frederick the Great said that once the Americans had rid themselves of one king they would probably have to crown another to keep the country from splitting up.'

Selina nodded. 'A letter I had from a friend in Boston says if this war goes on there will be great pressures within the country to split up into — into loosely connected states, I think he said. Massachusetts is deeply opposed to the war.'

'Are you American?' asked Demelza.

'No. My parents went over there when I was a child. They lived in New York. I married from there and lived at Perth Amboy in New Jersey until my husband retired and we returned to England. He was originally from Kent. But, of course, living over there as we did, you make friends, see their point of view, you understand.'

'No country was ever founded on such noble principles,'

Ross said, it's something to have the principles even if one cannot live up to them. If your Boston legislators could but persuade the country to propose a peace, we should be shown up as the fools we were to provoke the conflict.'

‘I
know who she looks like! Demeiza thought. Every now and then she has a look of
Elizabeth.
I wonder if Ross has noticed it. I rather hope not!

I
came partly,' Selena said, 'to thank you for your advice at the Trenwith party, Captain Poldark.'

'Do you mean about the mining rights?'

'Yes. I had a visit from Sir Unwin Trevaunance a little while ago and I was able to convince him that a mere woman could be as determined as any man, so he has agreed to the purchase and the deed is being drawn up.'

‘
I
did very little except confirm that the price you were offering was about right. You must have had advice before that.'

'Yes, I did. I think it was your son who advised me in the first place.' There was a brief silence.

'At least now,' Selina said,
I
can keep my house in peace.' She stopped in confusion. 'Forgive me, I didn't mean in the least that the opening of mines was not — was not desirable in some - some circumstances.'

‘I
n
our
circumstances, for instance,' Ross said pleasantly,
I
suppose it all depends on the degree of affluence one has. I think, had we had wealth we could draw upon from outside, my wife would have demanded there should be no piles of attle or red stream to disfigure our pretty valley. As it is, we welcome it because it provides us with some of the elegancies of life. Without it - and without Wheal Leisure on the cliff—we should be very little more than poor farmers.'

'But Captain Poldark, you are so famously well known about the county!
And
a member of parliament.
And
a banker, I believe!'

'Being the owner of mines,' said Ross. 'That is how I live, and that is how I came by the rest.'

'And now a member of a Commission in London, isn't it? Metals or something?'

'A Base Metals and Mining Commission,' agreed Ross, it is not of great importance. How did you learn of it?' .'Jeremy told me."

Another silence. Ross said:
I
suppose it was a natural appointment. I live off the mines, as I have said. I never forget it. Or I try never to forget it. It maintains one's sense of proportion.'

When she had gone Demelza said: 'What a
strange
visit, Ross!'

‘I
n what way?'

'Well
...
she seemed to assume a friendship which has never really existed between us. I am not saying that it shouldn't, for we are almost neighbours, but it
hasn't.
It never did between the Trevaunances and ourselves. We went
to Place House - what? - three t
imes in ten years. She seems to assume a sort of-sort of
relationship.'

‘I
know.'

'You felt it?'

‘I
n a way, yes. I don't dislike her, though. She has a charm and is learning fast. But d'you think - is it possible this fellowship she is feeling-claiming is something to do with her friendship with Jeremy?'

I
hope not.' Demelza went to shut a window, for the June day had turned cold. The light made a halo round her hair. 'Ross, what's the difference between a simile and a metaphor?'

‘
I
have no idea.'

'Well, I am going to use one of them. My children to me are like streams
...
clear water running, shallow and clear enough to see to the bottom.
Only Jeremy is different -someti
mes he's too deep for me to understand. He lives a private life none of us can reach to. In spite of all his good humour and his fun, he is - not at peace.'

'Perhaps
I
never have been,' said Ross.

‘I
t may come a little from you, Ross, but it isn't the same. Besides
...
you have been at peace — many times. I know that.'

'Yes, my love,
'I have. Mostly thanks to you
...
As for Jeremy - I don't know. Perhaps it's just growing up. He hasn't had anything
serious
with Selina Pope, has
he? It never occurred to me unti
l today.' Ross picked up a paper, read a few lines, put it down. 'Damn these young men and their young women! They all take it much too much to heart.'

'Now you're frowning the way you were when you came in to dinner. I wonder Mrs Pope did not take fright at the sight of you.'

it will take more than one frown to frighten her away, I suspicion. Well, it was all on the same account, as you might say. A young man taking it all too much to heart - our godson.'

'Ben? Ben Carter? What has he done?'

'You mean what have
we
done allowing our daughter to marry Stephen Carrington! The men are complaining that Ben is half drunk when he comes in the mornings and drunker when he leaves at night.'

'But Ben never
drinks.
He has never touched liquor in his life!'

'He does now, it seems. And today he hasn't turned up at all. When I came in to dinner I'd just been in to Zacky, but they had seen nothing of him.'

Demelza sighed.
‘
Oh, dear
...'

'Yes. Oh, dear.'

'How is Zacky?'

'Better. But not well enough to take his grandson's place underground.'

‘
I
saw Mrs Zacky on Sunday. I thought she looked worried for something.'

‘I
f you had only had four daughters of twenty,' Ross said, 'you would have been able to make four men happy instead of one, and he the least deserving of the lot.'

'Hush,' said Demelza. 'You remember we agreed never to say anything unkind about Stephen, even between ourselves. Let him prove himself.'

'All the same,' said Ross, 'it's a worry about Ben.'

Since Arthur Thomas was united with Edith Permewan in matrimony according to God's holy ordinance, things had not been the same at the Thomases' cottage. Ar
t had been the home-maker, the ti
dy one, the one who saw to the food and occasionally brushed out the cottage. John was out two or three nights a week fishing, and when he was ashore and not asleep was off on his perennial pilgrimage to see
'Winky' Mitchell. The feckless Music slept three nights a week in the stables in Place House, and spent as little time as he could alone at home.

On Friday afternoons Music always had three hours off, when it was his custom to walk home, make himself a dish of tea, have a bite to eat, and feed the cats. Music liked cats -they didn't laugh at him - and his personal tally at the moment was five: a ginger, two scabby tabby toms, a thin black sleek female killer and a cuddly black and white. On his way home he stopped at the Nanfans, who had a cow, and bought a pennyworth of milk which he shared with the cats. For his part he cared nothing whether it was goat milk or cow milk he had in his tea, but the cats preferred cow milk so he really got it for them. They all sat on the table waiting for him until he joined them. They had a small pilchard each today, something of a treat, for they were really expected to feed themselves, which they did by catching mice and rats and rabbits and anything else that moved and was smaller than they were. Although John often had a bit of fish to spare, he didn't hold with the nodon that cats should be fed by human beings, and it was only because he knew his brother would be out that Music had dared to buy the fish on the way.

The cats didn't have imaginati
ve names. One of the scabby tabby toms was called Tom, the other Tabby, the thin black sleek female killer was called Blackie, the ginger Ginger and the cuddly black and white Whitey. Blackie was so fond of hunting that Tom and Tabby were grown lazy: they would wait for Blackie to bring back enough for the three. They tended to form an exclusive club to which Ginger and Whitey did not belong. If they tried to belong they were soon taught different. Blackie's hunting skills were so well developed that she had twice stolen Jud Paynter's breakfast. After that for weeks Jud had kept a loaded musket by his bed, but Blackie had a keen sense of knowing where she was not wanted.

Music poured milk into five dn lids and distributed them around. He didn't have a saucer for his own cup because the last had broken at Christmas, but the cup had a handle and only one crack.They drank in silence except for the sounds of splashing from Whitey who was a noisy drinker. Then Music brought the pilchards and put one in each dn dish on top of the droplets of milk, and cut a slice of cold bacon for himself. He crumbled a hunk of bread into smaller pieces, and scattered some of it among the chickens on the floor. There was again a degree of silence.

It was a bare room: one wooden table, three wooden chairs, another table by the wall piled with sacks and smelly fishing tackle and a few tin plates; beside it was the fire, a few sticks just smouldering now from having boiled his kettle; a furze oven seldom used, a bucket halt full of stale water; on a shelf above, the remains of a loaf, the piece of bacon, two onions, a cardboard box with potatoes, two more cups and a jug. Then the stairs, leading up to the one room with the three straw mattresses; outside a lean-to shed and a privy; beyond, the rough edges of the moor.

Music never had much conversation for his cats, but they understood each other. Occasionally he would stick out a long finger, usually for Whitey to rub his head against, sometimes to touch one of the others to establish contact. The thin black sleek female killer always growled if she was touched while eating, but Music paid no attention.

Wrapped in a piece of old newspaper was a sizable bunchof asparagus he had got for Dr Enys, Once a week, if he could find something, he took a little present to Dr Enys, left it at the kitchen door for him. It was a way of saying thank you for his unpaid help over these last two years. He had given Music the confidence to try. to walk on his heels, and it had been part successful. And he had tried lowering his voice when speaking, lowering it an octave or so. It had worked, but as usual it only provoked laughter from those who heard him. All the same, he was improving.

Dr Enys was none too proper himself, fever or the like had caught him; didn't do for a doctor to be slight, didn't do at all. It had crossed Music's mind more than once to go see Widow Crow, who was sure to be at the Midsummer Fair, and ask her for a potion; but even he could see how hard it might be to persuade Dr Enys to take any draught made up by a rival.

Music had not much idea of time, so his hours off tended to contract or extend according to what he found to fill them; but so long as he was back to lock up the stables before dark each night it was usually all right. Since Mr Pope died Mrs Pope had extended her staff to include four men - two young footmen to wait at table - another boy in the stables, and Saul Grieves to take charge. Grieves had been an osder at the King's Head in Redruth and gave himself airs. He did not much like Music and often made jokes at his expense, but he grudgingly acknowledged Music's gift with horses.

It was a dismal day: skeins of misty rain drifted across the dripping countryside and the clouds were so low it was not possible to know how far the daylight sdll had to run. It was quite a walk to Killewarren so Music did not linger over his tea. He shooed the cats and the chickens out and shut the half door and slid the bolt. However, as the top half was never shut the cats could easily claw their way over and the chickens could flutter in again if they'd the mind.

Clutching his bundle of asparagus in its dirty newspaper, he went tiptoeing out of the village with his dancing walk, and had gone half a mile before he remembered to lower himself onto his heels. He passed the church and took the short cut over the stile towards Fernmore. As he neared the gates he saw two figures approaching. They had not come out of Fernmore but out of The Bounders' Arms a few hundred yards further down the lane. A woman was linking a man and supporting him.

It was Emma Hartnell and Ben Carter. Seeing Music, Ben straightened up and rubbed his free hand across his mouth.

'Av'noon,' said Music. 'Av'noon, Ben. Av'noon, Emma. Squibbly ole day, edn ee. Squibbly down, the rain d'come. Goin' far, are ee?'

'Not so far nor so fast as I should like!' said Emma, out of breath. She was wearing her scarlet cloak but was hadess, and the rain made a spider's dew of her hair.

'Reckon I can manage from here,' said Ben gruffly. 'Do you go back now.' He unlooped his arm. 'Thank you, Emma. I'll thank you to leave me go.'

He took a step or two but his knees were not supporting him and he would have fallen had Emma not caught him again and steadied him.

She laughed but without humour. 'Reckon Ben
‘
edn quite himself just now. Are ee, Ben? Never mind, my 'andsome. I'll fetch ee 'ome in due course.'

'Where be gwain?' Music asked.

'Never you mind,' said Ben.

‘
I
best be gwain too,' said Music,
I
be gwain Dr Enys's, see. Got somethin' for 'im, see. I best be gwain too.'

He went past and they continued on their way. Music stopped and looked back. Emma was a big girl and Ben not a big man, but his dead weight, which came on her now and then, was near to pulling her over. Music had never seen Ben like this before and wondered if he had had an accident at the mine. He ran back.

'What's amiss?' he said.' 'Ere, leave me, Emma. I'll take'n for ee. What's amiss, Ben? Took a fall, 'ave ee?'

'He nigh took a fall in my house, Music,' said Emma. 'Been here all day, haven't ee, Ben? It has been a sad and sorry day.'

With one holding each arm they began to walk him towards Sawle.

'Didn't know what to do,' said Emma, eventually. 'Ben's been here all day. Should've turned him out sooner, I suppose. Didn't like to, him being in a mood. In a mood, wasn't you, Ben. Ned's in to Truro. Ben come at eleven and stayed on. I got him a bite t'eat but he wouldn't touch'n. Just rum. One after another. Just rum.'

It occurred to Music for the first time what might be amiss with Ben. He started to laugh and then stopped. Ben was an important man. Underground captain of Wheal Leisure mine.
And
Kat
e's brother. It wasn't like him. Lots of folk got slewed; not Ben.

'Ned's in to Truro,' said Emma. 'Not be back afore ten. Went in on a wagon. I told him tis cheapness for cheapness sake. He should've took the pony.'

Ben said: 'Leave me bide, do ee. I can walk.'

Emma said to Music:
I
thought t'aid him just so far as the church, him being a thought unsteady, like; but so soon as we got out in the air his knees give way.'

Ben said:
I
don't want no help. You go back to your taproom, Emma.'

'Tis not my taproom I'm concerned for,' said Emma, 'tis Sammie and Beth. Never mind, they'll fare for theirselves this once. Now we're making progress.'

At Grambler Ben insisted they should go on the old path behind Grambler Mine, not wanting to be seen by all and sundry in such a state. It was specially humiliating that one of his helpers should be Music, the village buffoon; but at the mine Emma excused herself and accepted Music's assurance that he could manage. So she went running back towards The Bounders' Arms.

Ben's weakness was not quite the normal drunken kind. His head was clearly dazed with drink but every so often a sort of faintness would come over him and he would almost collapse. So every so often he sat on a wall or a hedge to gather his wits and his strength, while Music stood faithfully by.

The day was drawing in. Such sparse trees as there were leaned crookedly to landward, crouching from the expected lash. The stooping clouds moved faster than they seemed to have any reason to. All colour except the greyest of greens had gone from the countryside; it had a look of a leafy December.

There were few about in Sawle to watch the ill-assorted couple hob-nailing down the lane. Only one or two stared and called greetings, and Music answered cheerfully for them both. As they came to the shop Ben stopped and swayed and tried to straighten his kerchief.

He said: 'Tha's enough. I'm home now. Off ye go, young Music. An' thank ee.'

He swayed to the door of the shop and his knees buckled under him.

So Music ended by shoving open the door of the shop, which was temporarily unattended, and then hauling Ben inside and half carrying, half dragging him up the steep dark stairs to his bedroom above.

He had got him as far as the bed but not onto it when there was a rattle of footsteps and Katie appeared.

'What's to do? Music, what're ee doing here? Ben, where you been? Mother's been in a rare dido. Where d'ye find him, Music?'

So there was talk and explanation while they got Ben to bed. Music was never good at explanations, and the fact that it was Katie who was demanding them tied his tongue worse than usual; but truth wormed its way out. Ben hadn't eaten for a week, and the last few days had been the worse for drink as well. Jinny Carter was out now, taking advantage of Katie's visit to leave her care for the shop while she went to see
her
mother and father over at Mellin, to find out from them whether Ben was up at the mine or eating with them or what. .

Ben snarled at his helpers, saying he was old enough to see for himself and if he cared to take a drink twas no one's business but his own, and to hell with them both.

Katie thumped her way downstairs to make a cup of strong milky tea and to set a pot on the fire to heat up some mutton broth. Music twice cracked his head on the beams before he learned caution, then fell to examining the organ Ben had built into one wall of the rafters. He was fascinated by this and badly wanted to pump it up and set his feet on the pedals; only Ben's baleful and ungrateful eye prevented him.

Kate
came back, and after first snarling that it would make him sick Ben began to sip the tea and to keep it down. It was nearly dark outside.

Katie picked up a paper parcel and unrolled it. 'Dear life, what's this?'

Tis 'sparragras,' smiled Music, who had somehow kept a hold of it all the
time
.
I
s
it
yourn?'

'Ais. Twere meant for Dr Enys, but then I seen Ben.'

'Where d'ye get it, Music?'

'Get what?'

'The 'sparagus.'

'Dunnaw.'

'Course you know. You must've picked it.' 'Well
...
out the garden.' 'What garden?' 'Garden at Place.'

'You mean ye took'n? Or did someone give'n to ee?' 'Dr Enys, he've gotten fever. I thought twas nice for he.' 'Ye mean ye
took
it? Stole it?'

A look of unease came across Music's long face. 'Tis 'ard to find somethin' to carry for Dr Enys. I thought twas nice for he.'

'Yes, but
...'
Katie looped back her hair and took the cup from Ben. 'Feeling better are ee?'

‘
if it d'please you to say yes,' muttered Ben, 'I'll say yes.'

'I'll go see for that mutton broth,
’
she said, and clattered downstairs again.