The Miller's Dance (16 page)

Paul shrugged. 'Why are they selling it ?'

To discharge a debt. It seems it sits in this shed day and night, year in year out, and the rent of the shed has mounted up and up and no one to pay it. Once the lifeboat was bought, there was no money left for aught else. So I'm told.'

'Who told you?'

'Never mind, it is the truth.'

Paul got up and thrust his hands in his pockets. 'Been to see it, have you?' 'Yes.' 'When?'

'Yesterday. I borrowed a pony from Jeremy. It was too late to get back, so I slept under a hedge.' is he in this?'

'No. Not yet. It would n
ot be much use anyway. He has spent what small money he ever had on this road vehicle you have been attempting to build in Hayle. Save for what his father gives him monthly, he has no money. He's told me so before.'

‘
Well,
I've
none,' said Paul. "What have you got?' Ten pounds maybe. Since I came to live here the money's slipped away.' 'And what notion have you in your head?'
‘
I thought to buy her.' 'What, the lifeboat?' 'Yes.'

'You're witless. Whatever point -'

'Only to sell again.'

Paul stared at his friend.

'You think she'd sell again?'

'Soon enough, I think. Not maybe in Penzance.'

'At a profit?... What's she like?'

'She's not a vessel I'd want to keep meself, not for the purpose I'd have in mind. But she's a fine boat of her kind. Near on
30
feet long by
10
beam, and can row ten oars double banked. Stern and stern alike, and with a curved keel such as I've not seen afore. She's not been well kept; but I went over her careful. Everything essential is Bristol fashion - well, she's never even been afloat! They say she cost a hundred and fifty guineas, and I'd not disbelieve that.'

'Paul!' a voice called. 'Are you there, Paul?' It was Mrs Kellow's voice.

Paul shut the door on it.

'What would you have in mind ?'

'Go down Thursday for the auction - with money in me pocket - enough to buy her if she was going cheap.'

'What makes you suppose she will?'

'No one seems
interested
If I had forty guineas I could buy her, I'd guess. And at that price she
would
be cheap.'

Paul's eyes roved, back to the desk, to the cash-box. Then he shook his head. 'I could borrow ten from the box ... maybe twelve. There's no more in there. And my father'd be raising the roof within the week. We're skinned out, Stephen, you and I. Unless you can rob some poor old lady you'd best abandon the idea.'

II

The same evening while the two older children were still away and Isabella-Rose had retired conversationally to bed, Demelza told Ross that she was with child again.

Ross put his pipe care
fully down on the mantelshelf. ‘
Good God!'

Demelza said: 'Yes, indeed.'

'Almighty God, I never supposed ...'

I
don't think we can blame Him.'

Ross got up, looked at the accounts book he had been about to tackle on his desk. Priorities, perspectives had suddenly changed.

'When?'

'Oh... maybe November. Before Christmas anyhow.'

'Have you been feeling unwell for some time?'

'A couple of weeks. It is passing now. I shall feel brave now. I always do.'

He stared at her - this dark-eyed, witty, warmly perceptive, earthy woman who had been his loving companion fo
r twenty-five years, a woman wh
at rising forty-two, still attracted straying glances from men whenever she went into company.

I
didn't expect this!'

'The old women say it's a good thing - to have another baby at my age.'
'Your
age! You're a mere child yet.' ‘
Yes, grandpa. I... hope the others won't mind.' 'What others?'

'Jeremy and Clowance, o
f course. They may think it a
little inopportune. Is that the right word ?'

‘I’l
l knock their heads together if they show the least sign of thinking that. But... how will it affect your megrim?'

'May stop it. Should not anyway do it any
harm.
Ross, having babies is natural in a woman. It does not have any permanent effect - on their health or on their ordinary ailments.'

I
'm not so sure,' he said, thinking of ail the women he had known who had died in childbirth. 'Have you told Dwight?''I haven't
seen
him. You are the first one to hear - of course.'

He took up his pipe and began to fill it. It was not done very expertly tonight. Every time this happened with Demelza it got worse. Each time he found he had more to lose. He had hoped it would never occur again.

‘I’
m very selfish,' he said. 'I think only of you.'

'That doesn't sound selfish.'

'Well it is. Because the older I get, the older we both get, the more I
depend
on you.'

'I know that, Ross. At least, I feel it so also. It operates both ways. But in what respect will this alter it?'

He hesitated. 'Not at all if it is as the others have been.'

'Well, then. That is how it shall be.'

He held his tongue, not wanting to damp her with his own fears.

Presently she said: 'I w
onder what we shall call him.'
'Him?'

'Shouldn't that be? On average. We've had three girls and only one boy.'

'As
God is my judge,' Ross said, 'I'll be well past seventy before the child is of age!'

'Never mind. You are not so yet. I am - delighted.'

He looked into her eyes.
'Really?'

'Yes! Oh yes! It - puts the clock back. One is - young again!'

'How strange,' he said. 'I have never thought of you as anything but young'

'We'll
call him,' she said, 'Vennor.
Or Drake. Or Francis.' - 'Why n
ot Garrick?' Ross suggested, and dodged the cushion she threw at him.

But he was not amused. There was no laugher in him at all.

IV

News was now reaching England of the fall of Badajoz. The great fortress had been taken at bitter cost. Wellington, it
was said, had wept in the greyness of the early morning, knowing so many of his best officers slain. Even the great General Craufurd, commander of the Light Division, was dead. And afterwards a terrible sacking of the town which, legitimate though it was according to the bitter rules of war which decreed a garrison must surrender after the first breaches had been made or suffer the full penalty, nevertheless went far beyond all humane licence. Wine ran everywhere, doors were blown off, old men murdered, women raped and robbed. The newspapers in England were discreet but the hideous stories spread.

Was Geoffrey Charles alive? No news of individual casualties or survivors had yet come through, except for the names of the senior officers who had fallen.

Jeremy, racked and strained beyond his endurance by the encounter with Cuby, decided on his first day home to go to Hayle. Short of the engine at Wheal Leisure, which anyhow was at present working without particular problems, this challenge at the Harvey works was the only counter-irritant he knew. Paul was not available so he persuaded Ben Carter to ride with him. The mine could go hang for a solitary day.

In the last six months Jeremy's visits to Hayle had been infrequent - far less often than when he went by sea and had to e
mploy the subterfuge of apparentl
y going out for a day's fishing. This was not because of any loss of .interest in the idea of developing a steam-powered road carriage but because he had staked his pride on producing a suitable steam engine for Wheal Leisure. His father had agreed -albeit with unspoken elements of doubt - and this had now been done. But while it was being done, both during the manufacture at Hayle and the erection of the parts on the site, there had been little time for secondary issues. Now perhaps they could be taken up again. In fact, they must be taken up again—or he must find some other preoccupation to take his mind off Cuby.

When the two young men got to Hayle they spent an hour or so going over the basic construction of the carriage. Central to it all, of course, was the Trevithick boiler, built to the design of the master himself, though for another purpose, probably for a thrashing machine
like the one he had more recentl
y designed for Sir Christopher Hawkins. It had been found, cobwebbed and dirty, in
a corner of the foundry, and J
eremy had at once seized on it and finally had been able to buy it for his own purposes. It seemed to him at the time of its discovery heaven-sent; but on his more recent visits he had realized there were certain disadvantages to its use. The chief of them was that instead of its being designed to fit a proposed road carriage, the road carriage itself had to be designed to fit the boiler. This had seemed at first a minor obstacle, since the carriage they proposed to
construct would only need to
be lengthened by two feet to something like ten feet overal
l in order to accommodate the
boiler. Richard Trevithick himself on several occasions had done just this sort of thing, namely used one of his engines constructed for a stationary purpose to move a carriage on wheels. At the moment a few more difficulties were emerging, chiefly to do with the fact that you cannot manipulate or alter cast iron once it has been cast. The cylinder and many other working parts would necessarily now have their situation pre-determined.

Still, progress was being made. With the help of two workmen loaned by Mr Harvey, the wooden frame of the engine had been constructed and the wheels were to be made and fitted next month. Other parts were in process and would be assembled as they were required. The four-way steam cock was to be worked by a rod from the cross-head; side connecting rods were to be attached to this cross-head at the top and would activate the crank pins fixed in the driving wheels. One of these driving wheels would have a spur wheel cast with it to be driven by a gear fixed to the crankshaft.

Jeremy was not above learning from any source, and he had spread out on the bench before him drawings he had borrowed from Lord de Du
nstanville, made by William
Murdock, the Scottish engine
er and inventor, who had been
Watt's agent in Cornwall until
1799.
These admittedly were
of a model only; but it had been built and had
worked
as a model, and Lady de Dunstanville herself remembered seeing
it in action some years before Trevithick's first engine had run. Jeremy had also copied out some designs he had found illustrating work by William Symington and James Sadler.

This was all a bit out of Ben Carter's depth, but he was someone to talk to and Ben had a shrewd practical approach to the work that was often useful.

They were making calculations as to the size of the fly wheel when a voice said behind them:

'Well, my dears, making proper progress, are ee?'

A big shambling man, tall
even by Jeremy's standards, with intent blue eyes in a gaunt but fleshy face, black hair streaked with grey that looked as if it had not seen brush or comb for a week, a blue drill shirt open at the neck, a wide leather belt holding up shabby breeches, grey woollen stockings and patched boots.

Jeremy recognized him instantly, and swallowed with shock.

'MrTrevithick!
’
- 'Aye. I know you, boy don't I? Met you last in London when you was a tacker. Came a ride on my engine, you did. You and your father and your mother. Mr Jeremy Poldark, eh?'

They shook hands, Jeremy's thin sensitive hand disappearing in the bear-grip of the older man. Ben Carter was introduced.

Trevithick had aged much in six years, and he did not look well, but he talked with all the verve and vigour Jeremy so well remembered. After a few moments he turned and stared at the partly completed construction behind him.

'What're we about here, then, eh, my dears? I think I recall that boiler. A father always recognizes his child. Twas made here five or six years gone, but never have I seen him so smart and shiny. Never used yet, so far as I know. Putting him into an exhibition, are ee?

Jeremy explained, though he was pretty certain that Trevithick knew all about it. Now the Cornish inventor was back in Camborne it was unlikely that Henry Harvey, who was his brother-in-law, had not mentioned the sale of the boiler to Jeremy and Jeremy's ambition. Indeed it was not
unlikely that, Trevithick happening to turn up that day
’
Harvey had suggested he should go into the works and see for himself.

Embarrassed at allowing his hero to see the construction in so rudimentary a state, Jeremy stumbled over the explanation. Trevithick put one or two questions, then asked to see the draft drawing that Jeremy himself had prepared. He fumbled it in his big fingers, screwing up his eyes the better to apprehend the fineness of the sketches.