Jeremy Poldark Read online

  From where they were sitting they could both see the smoke across the bay from the smelting works, and after a moment he said rather stiffly:

  “As you—hrrm—no doubt know, the company has been re-formed—under new management. It was a blow for us all when the concern failed, but y’understand how I was placed. The buildings were on my land—indeed under my very nose—I’d sunk more capital than anyone in the concern, and it would’ve been crazy to let ’em rot away in idleness. The opportunity came to obtain fresh capital and it was only common sense to take it. I trust Captain Poldark understands how it was.”

  “I’m sure he does,” said Demelza. “I’m sure he’d only wish you well with any new venture—even if he wasn’t able to partake in it himself.”

  Sir John’s eyes flickered. “Kind of you to say so. As yet we barely meet expenses, but I think that will improve. Can I offer you some refreshments? A glass of canary, perhaps?”

  “No, thank you…” She hesitated. “But p’raps I should like a glass of port if twouldn’t be putting you out.”

  With an ironical eyebrow Sir John rose and pulled the bell. Wine was brought and polite conversation made while it was drunk. They talked of mines and cows and carriages and the broken summer. Demelza grew easier in manner and Sir John less wary.

  “To tell the truth,” said Demelza, “I think it is the caudly weather that’s making trouble with all the animals. We have a fine cow called Emma; two weeks ago she was yielding rich, but now the milk’s gone into her horn. Same with another, though that was not so surprising—”

  “I’ve a fine Hereford, worth a mint of money,” Sir John said. “Calved only for the second time two days ago and now sick and ill with a paraplegia. Had the cow doctor, Phillips, over five times. It will break my heart if I have to lose her.”

  “Is the calf safe?”

  “Oh yes, but it was a bad time. And afterwards Minta not able to stand. Something is amiss with her teeth too—loose in the jaw—and a sort of separation to the joints of her tail. Phillips is completely defeated, and my own man no better.”

  “I mind when I lived at Illuggan,” said Demelza, “there was a case like that there. The parson’s cow was taken ill with just that sort of complaint. And after calving too.”

  “Did he find the cure?”

  “Yes, sir, he found the cure.”

  “What was it?”

  “Well it wouldn’t be for me to say whether the parson did right, would it? He wasn’t above calling in an old woman, called Meggy Dawes—she lived just over the stream, I remember. A rare hand at curing warts and the lung’s Evil. Once, a boy went to her with a kenning on the eye. It was a bad one, but no sooner did she—”

  “But about the cow, ma’am.”

  “Oh yes. Is she to be seen, Sir John? I’d dearly like to see her to be sure if it is just the same complaint as in the parson’s cow.”

  “I’ll take you to her myself, if you’ll be so good. Another glass of port to sustain you?”

  A few minutes later they made their way across the cobbled yard at the back of the house and into the shippon where the cow lay. Demelza noticed the massive stonework of the outhouses and wished they were hers. The cow lay upon her side, her soft brown eyes mournful but uncomplaining. A man rose from a wooden seat and stood respectfully by the door.

  Demelza bent to examine the cow—with a professionalism of manner that came from her seven years at Nampara, not at all from her Illuggan childhood. The animal’s legs were paralysed—and her tail had a curious disjointed appearance about halfway along its length.

  Demelza said: “Yes. It is exactly the same. Meggy Dawes called it Tail-Shot.”

  “And the cure?”

  “It is her cure, mind you, not mine.”

  “Yes, yes, I follow that.”

  Demelza passed the tip of her tongue over her lips. “She said to slit open the tail here, about a foot from the end where the joint has slipped, and put in a well-salted onion—then bind it in place with some coarse tape—keep it there about a week, then leave off the tape. Only a little food once a day, and a cordial made of equal parts of rosemary, juniper berries, and cardamon seeds without their hulks. I remember well. That’s what she said.”

  Demelza glanced experimentally at the baronet. Sir John was chewing his bottom lip.

  “Well,” he said, “I’ve never heard of the cure, but then the disease is rare too. You are the first person who seems to have encountered it before. Damme, I’ve a mind to try it. What do you say, Lyson?”

  “Tis better’n seeing the animal suffer, sir.”

  “Exactly what I feel. I have heard that these old women are wonders when it comes to the lesser-known distempers. Could you repeat the instructions to my man, Mrs. Poldark?”

  “With pleasure.” After a minute or two they walked back across the yard and into the house.

  Sir John said: “I trust Captain Poldark is keeping in good heart over his coming trial.”

  As soon as he spoke he regretted having been so incautious. One felt that she had deliberately avoided this subject, so putting on him the onus of mentioning it. But she did not take up the case as passionately as he had feared.

  “Well of course we’re very unhappy about it. I worry more than he does.”

  “It will soon be here and over now, and a good chance of acquittal, I think.”

  “D’you really think so, Sir John? That comforts me greatly. You’ll be in Bodmin yourself during the assizes?”

  “Um? Um? Well, that I don’t know. Why do you ask?”

  “I have heard tell there is to be an election during September, and with the assizes on the sixth I thought you might by chance be there.”

  “You mean to help my brother? Oh he’s well able to look after his seat.” The baronet glanced without trust at her composed face as they re-entered the big room he used as an office. It wasn’t easy to guess what she was thinking. “Even if I was in the town I should have too much in hand to attend the court. Besides, with respect, ma’am, I shouldn’t wish to see an old friend in distress. Shall wish him well, of course—but no one wants to seek entertainment in the spectacle.”

  “We’ve heard tell there are to be two judges,” she said.

  “Oh, not two to the case. Two will share the assize between ’em, I expect. Wentworth Lister is not an ill fellow, though it’s years since we met. You’ll have a fair trial, be sure of that. British justice will see to it.” The boar hound had come across, and he took a sweet biscuit from a drawer and gave it to the dog.

  “It is fair puzzling to me,” said Demelza, “how a man—a judge—can come down all the way from upcountry and listen to a case and get the hang of the rights and ways of it all in a few hours. It don’t seem possible to me. Does he not ever ask for the truth in private before the case begins?”

  Sir John smiled. “You’ll be surprised how quickly a trained brain can sum up the true facts. And remember, it will not depend upon the judge but upon the jury, and they are Cornish folk like ourselves, so there’s good cause to look on the bright side. Another sip of port?”

  Demelza refused. “It’s a little heady, I suspicion. But very taking in flavour. When all this is over we’d like for you to come and see us one day, sir. Ross asked me to say that.”

  Sir John said he’d be charmed, and the dog dropped crumbs from his biscuit all over the floor. Demelza rose to go.

  He added: “I shall pray for good results from your treatment for Minta.”

  So did Demelza, but she didn’t show her doubts. “Perhaps I might have news of her?”

  “Of course. I’ll send word over. And in the meantime…should you be passing this way again—only too pleased.”

  “Thank you, Sir John. I sometimes ride the coast for my health. It is uneven for a good horse, but I like the views and the bracing air.”

  Sir
John went with her to the door and helped her to mount, admiring her slim figure and straight back. As she rode out of the gates a man on a grey horse came in.

  ***

  “Who was that?” said Unwin Trevaunance, dropping his grey riding gloves on top of a pile of tin cheques. Sir John’s younger brother did everything deliberately, giving consequence to actions which hadn’t any. Thirty-six or -seven, tall, lion-faced, and masterful, he was a much more impressive personality than the baronet. Yet Sir John made money and Unwin did not.

  “Ross Poldark’s wife. Attractive young woman. Hadn’t met her before.”

  “What did she want?”

  “That I don’t yet know,” said Sir John. “She did not appear to want anything.”

  Unwin had a cleft between his eyes, which deepened when he frowned. “Wasn’t she his scullery maid or some such?”

  “Others have risen before her, and with fewer talents, I’d swear. She has a certain elegance already. In a few years it will be hard to tell her from a woman of breeding.”

  “And she came for nothing? I doubt it. To me she looks a dangerous woman.”

  “Dangerous?”

  “We exchanged a glance as she left. I’m not unskilled in summing people up, John.”

  “Well, neither am I, Unwin, and I think I’ll take the risk.” Sir John gave another biscuit to the hound. “She has a ready cure to offer for Minta, though rot me if I think it’ll work…Did you find Ray?”

  “Yes. Oh yes. I told him Caroline wanted to break the journey down here to be in Bodmin during the election; but Caroline has written him also, so it was no news. Like her to ask me to ask her uncle and then to write herself!”

  “She’s only a girl. Be patient with her, Unwin. You’ll need patience. She’s temperamental and wayward. And there are others will think her a good catch beside yourself.”

  Unwin bit at the top of his riding crop. “The old man’s an ingrained miser. There he was this morning, turning over the accounts with his scabby hands, and the house—no mansion at the best of times—nearly falling down for want of repair. It’s really no fit place for Caroline to spend half her life.”

  “You’ll be able to alter all that.”

  “Aye. Someday. But Ray’s no more than fifty-three or -four. He might live ten year yet.” Unwin went to the window and stared out across the sea, which was quiet this morning. The low cloud over the craggy cliffs had darkened the colour of the water to a deep veined green. Some seagulls had perched on the wall of the house and were throatily crying. To the tall man, accustomed now to London life, the scene was melancholy. “Penvenen’s got some uncommon views altogether. He was giving it as his opinion on this morning that Cornwall is over-represented in Parliament. Says the seats should be redistributed among the new towns in the Midlands. Stuff and nonsense.”

  “Take no notice of his little foibles. He often says these things to annoy. It is a way he has.”

  Unwin turned. “Well, I hope we have no more elections for another seven years. It will cost me upwards of two thousand pounds just for the pleasure of being returned—and you know that doesn’t end it—begin it for that matter.”

  Sir John’s eyes took on a cautious bloodless look, as they always did when money was mentioned. “Your profession’s of your own choosing, my boy. And there’s worse off. Carter of Grampound was telling me he would have to pay as much as three hundred guineas a vote when the time came.” He got up and pulled the bell. “Mistress Poldark was asking me if I should be in Bodmin for the hustings. I wonder what her purpose was in that?”

  Chapter Two

  The morning was well gone when Demelza turned Caerhays towards dinner and home. As she skirted the grounds of Trenwith House she wished she could have dropped in for a few minutes’ friendly chat with Verity. It was something she greatly missed and could never get used to. But Verity was in Falmouth, if not further afloat—happily married, it seemed, in spite of all foreboding; and she, Demelza, had been the active conniver in the change, so she could not complain. Indeed it was Verity’s elopement which had caused a sharper breach between the families, and, in spite of Demelza’s self-sacrifice of last Christmas, the breach was not properly closed. The responsibility was not now Francis’s. Since the illnesses of last Christmas and little Julia’s death he seemed most anxious to show his gratitude for what Demelza had done. But Ross would have none of it. The failure of the Carnmore Copper Company lay insuperably between them. And if what Ross suspected about that failure was right, then Demelza could not blame him. But she would have been much happier with it otherwise. Her nature always preferred the straightforward settlement to the lingering bitter suspicion.

  Just before she lost sight of the house she saw Dwight Enys coming along the track in her wake, so reined in her horse to wait for him. The young surgeon took off his hat as he came up.

  “A fine morning, ma’am. I’m glad to see you enjoying the air.”

  “With a purpose,” she said, sniffing. “Everything I d’do these days is with some purpose or another. Very moral, I suppose, if you look at it that way.”

  He answered her smile—it was difficult not to—and allowed his horse to walk along beside hers. The track was just wide enough for them to go abreast. He noticed professionally how slight she had stayed since her illness of January.

  “I suppose it depends whether the purpose was moral or not.”

  She pushed in a curl that the wind had dislodged. “Ah, that I don’t know. We should have to ask the preacher. I have been to Place House doctoring Sir John’s cattle.”

  Dwight looked surprised “I didn’t know you were expert in that.”

  “Nor am I. I only pray to God his Hereford cow takes a turn for the better. If it dies I shall have advanced nothing.”

  “And if it lives?”

  She glanced at him. “Where are you bound, Dwight?”

  “To see some of the folk of Sawle. I am increasingly popular with the patients who can afford to pay nothing. Choake gets ever lazier.”

  “And more unfriendly, like. What is at back of all this—this trying to get Ross convicted?”

  The doctor looked uncomfortable. He flicked the loose loop of the reins against the sleeve of his black velvet coat. “The law, I suppose…”

  “Oh yes, the law. But something else. Since when has the law been so fussy about strippin’ a wreck or rough-handling a few excise men—even suppose Ross had any part in that, and we know he did not. It is only what’s been going on since I was born and for hundreds of years before that.”

  “I’m not sure that that’s true—not altogether. I’d do anything to help Ross—and will do, you know that…”

  “Yes, I know that.”

  “But I don’t think it’s any good blinking that you can ignore the law ten times, but the eleventh—if it gets you—it will hold on like a leech, and no letting go till the thing’s thrashed out. That’s the truth. Of course, in this case one wonders if, now the law has moved, there may not be other influences at work also—”

  “There’s men been round asking questions even of the Gimletts, our own servants. There can scarcely be a cottage in the district that hasn’t had its caller, all trying to pin the blame on Ross! It’s the law, no doubt, but the law wi’ plenty of money to spend and time to waste—for there’s none of his own folk will give him away, and they might know it. Ross has his enemies but they’re not among the miners who helped him at the wreck!”

  Sawle Church, its tower leaning like Pisa’s, was reached, and Dwight halted at the head of Sawle Combe. On the hill some women were cutting a sloping field of corn; it was stacked round the edge but as yet uncut in the middle, and looked like an embroidered handkerchief.

  “You will not come down this way?”

  “No, Ross will be expecting me back.”

  “In so far,” said Dwight, “in so far as there is any
influence at work beyond the law, I should not put it down to pompous nobodies like Surgeon Choake who have neither the money nor the venom to do serious harm.”

  “Nor do I, Dwight. Nor do we.”

  “No…”

  He said: “For your information, I have not visited the Warleggans for twelve months.”

  She said: “I have only met George properly. What are the others like?”

  “I know them very little. Nicholas, George’s father, is a big hard domineering man, but he has a reputation for honesty that is not lightly to be had. George’s uncle, Cary, is the one who keeps in the background, and if there is anything shady to be done I should guess he does it. But I confess they have always been gracious enough to me.”

  Demelza stared across at the silver-blue triangle of sea blocking up the end of the valley. “Sanson, who lost his life in the wreck, was a cousin of theirs. And there are other things between Ross and George—even before the smelting company. It is a good time to pay off old scores.”

  “I should not worry overmuch about that. The law will only take account of the truth.”

  “I’m not so sure,” she said.

  On Hendrawna Beach the scene was quite different from Trevaunance Cove. Although there was little ebb and flow about the rocks, on the flat sandy beach the sea roared, and a low mist hung over it in the still mild air. Coming back from his usual morning walk as far as the Dark Cliffs, Ross glanced across at the cliffs where the shacks of Wheal Leisure were built, and could hardly see them through the haze. It was like walking in a vapour bath.

  Since the loss of Julia and the opening of the prosecution against him, he had forced himself to make this walk daily. Or if the mood took him and the weather was favourable he would go out in the new dinghy and sail as far as St. Ann’s. Such activity didn’t lift the cloud from his mind, but it helped to set it in proportion for the rest of the day’s tasks. His daughter was dead, his cousin had betrayed him, his much-laboured-over smelting scheme was in ashes, he faced charges in the criminal court for which he might well be sentenced to death or life transportation; and if by some chance he survived that, it would be only a matter of months before bankruptcy and imprisonment for debt followed. But in the meantime fields had to be sown and reaped, copper had to be raised and marketed, Demelza had to be clothed and fed and cherished—so far as it was in his scope to cherish anyone at this stage.