Demelza Read online

  The dance was over. He walked solidly back to his corner. Other people about him were talking and laughing and did not notice any change. He sat down, wiped the sweat off his forehead and calloused hands, which were twice the size of hers and could have crushed them to pulp. He watched her covertly, hoping for another glance but not getting it. But women, he knew, could look without looking.

  He joined in nearly all the rest, hoping that he might come near her again, but it did not happen. Nanfan’s son, Joe Nanfan, who ought to have known better, had somehow gotten to talking to her, and he and a wizened little man from the troop took her attention.

  Then the party began to break up. Before any grown-ups left, Zacky Martin, “scholar” of the neighborhood and father of Jinny, got up and said a little piece about what a brave time they had had, one and all, and how they’d all eaten enough to last ’em a week and drunk enough to last ’em a fortnight and danced enough to last ’em a month. And how ’twas only fitty there and then to say thank you kindly for a handsome day and all the generosity, to Captain Poldark and Mistress Poldark, and Miss Verity Poldark, and to wish long life and prosperity to them and theirs, not forgetting Miss Julia, and might she grow up a pride to her father and mother as he was sure she would, and that was all he had to say except thank you kindly again and good night.

  Ross had them all served with a stiff glass of brandy and treacle. When they had drunk it, he said, “Your good wishes are of great value to me. I want Julia to grow up in this countryside as a daughter of mine and as a friend of yours. I want the land to be a part of her inheritance and friendship her earning from it. I give you our good wishes for the health and happiness of all your children, and may we all see a prosperous county and better times together.”

  There was a rapturous cheer.

  The Martins stayed behind—Mrs. Zacky to help her daughter with the clearing up—so the Daniels went home alone.

  Leading the way, Grannie Daniel and Mrs. Paul supported Mark’s elder brother between them. Then just behind, like frigates behind ships of the line, came Paul’s three young children. A little to the left, heads close together in whispered talk, were Mark’s two sisters, Mary and Ena; at the rear Old Man Daniel hobbled and grunted, and the long silent figure of Mark made up the convoy.

  It was a pleasant July night with the western sky still luminous, as from the reflection of a lighted window. Now and then a cockchafer would drone past their ears and a bat lift fluttering wings in the dusk.

  Once they had left the stream behind, the only babble was that of Grannie Daniel, a hearty, fierce old woman in her late seventies.

  The convoy, shadowy, uneven figures in the shadowy half dark, breasted the rise of the hill, bobbed and stumbled on the skyline for a few seconds, and then plunged down toward the cluster of cottages at Mellin. The valley swallowed them up and left only the quiet stars and the night glow of summer over the sea.

  • • •

  In his bed Mark Daniel lay very quiet listening. Their cottage, set between the Martins and the Viguses, had only two bedrooms. The smaller of those was used by Old Man Daniel and his mother and the eldest of Paul’s three children. The other one Paul and his wife Beth and their two younger children took, while Mary and Ena slept in a lean-to at the back of the cottage. Mark slept on a straw mattress in the kitchen.

  Everyone was a long time settling off, but at last, when the house was quiet, he stood up and drew on his breeches and coat again. He did not put on his boots until he was safe outside.

  The silence of the night was full of tiny noises after the enclosed silence of the cottage. He set off in the direction of Nampara.

  He did not know what he was going to do, but he could not lie and sleep with that thing inside him.

  That time there was no silhouette on the skyline, but for a moment the trunk of a tree thickened and then a shadow moved beside the ruined engine house of Wheal Grace.

  Nampara was not yet in darkness. Candles gleamed behind the curtains of Captain Poldark’s bedroom and there was a light flickering about downstairs. But it was not for those that he looked. Some way up the valley beside the stream were the two caravans that housed the strolling players. He went toward them.

  He saw as he drew nearer that there were lights there too, though they had been screened by the hawthorn and wild nut trees. For a man of his size he moved quietly, and he came close to the larger caravan without raising an alarm.

  No one was asleep there or thought of it. Candles burned and the players were sitting about a long table. There was much talk and laughter and the chink of money. Mark crept near, keeping open a wary eye for a possible dog.

  The windows of the caravan were some distance from the ground, but with his great height he could see in. They were all there: the fat man with the glass eye, the blowsy leading woman, a thin fair man who had played the hero, the shriveled little comedian…and the girl. They were playing some card game, with thick greasy cards. The girl was just dealing, and as she laid a card each time opposite the thin fair man she said something that made them all laugh. She was wearing a kind of Chinese smock and her black hair was ruffled as if she had been running her hands through it; she sat holding her cards, one bare elbow on the table and a frown of impatience growing.

  But there is a stage when even the slightly imperfect is an added lure; somehow Mark was grateful for that falling short from divinity. He stood there looking in, one great hand holding back a prickly hawthorn bough, the uncertain light from the window setting shadows and mock expressions on his face.

  There was a sudden roar of laughter, and in a moment the comedian was gathering in all the pennies on the board. The girl was angry, for she flung away her cards and stood up. The fair man leered at her and asked a question. She shrugged and tossed her head, then her mood changed, and with incredibly swift grace, she slid, pliant as a sapling, around the table to bend and kiss the comedian’s bald head, at the same time drawing two pennies away from under his lifted fingers.

  Too late, he saw through it and snatched at her hand, but she danced away, showing her fine teeth in glee, and took shelter behind the fair man, who fended off the angry comedian. Almost before Mark could realize it, she was out of the caravan, banging the door and giggling with triumph. Too occupied to notice him in the dark, she ran toward her own caravan fifty yards up the valley.

  Mark sank back into the shadows as the comedian came to the door and shouted and swore after her. But he did not follow, for the blowsy woman squeezed past.

  “Let her go,” she said. “You ought to know she’s still a child, Tupper. She can’t bear to lose at a game of cards.”

  “Child or not, she stole the price of a glass of gin! I’ve seen folk ducked and whipped for less! Who do she think she is, Queen o’ Sheba with her airs? Dang and rot all women! I’ll have her in the morning. D’you ’ear, Kerenhappuch! I’ll ’ave you in the morning, you sneavy little dumdolly!”

  The answer was the slamming of a door. The leader of the troop elbowed his way past the woman.

  “Stop this noise! Don’t forget we’re still on Poldark land, friends, an’ though he’s treated us good, you wouldn’t get soft smoothing if you found yourself on the wrong side of him! Leave the little neap alone, Tupper.”

  The others, grumbling and talking, went in, the woman walking across to the other caravan.

  Mark stayed where he was, crouching in the bushes. There was nothing more he could do or see, but he would wait until all was quiet. He would not sleep if he went home, and he was due at Grambler Mine at six.

  There was a light in the other caravan. He straightened up and moved in a semicircle toward it. As he did so the door of the caravan opened and someone came out. There was the clatter of a bucket, and he saw a figure coming toward him. He ducked down into the bushes.

  It was Keren.

  She passed close to him and went on her way, whistl
ing some song softly between her teeth. The clank, clank of the wooden bucket went with her, blatant among the softer noises of the copse.

  He followed her. She was making for the stream.

  He came up with her as she knelt to scoop up a bucketful. They were some distance from the caravan, and he watched a moment and heard her swear impatiently, for the stream was shallow and she never had the bucket more than a third full.

  He stepped out of the bushes.

  “You rightly need a pot or a pan to—”

  She turned and half screamed.

  “Leave me alone you…” Then she saw it was not the comedian and screamed louder.

  “I mean no ’arm,” said Mark, his voice quiet and sounding firm. “Hush, or you’ll rouse the valley.”

  She stopped as quickly as she had begun and stared up at him.

  “Oh…it’s you…”

  Half pleased to be known, half doubtful, he looked down at the delicate oval of her face.

  “Yes.” It was lighter away from the overhanging trees. He could see the moist gleam of her bottom lip.

  “What d’you want?”

  “I thought to aid you,” he said.

  He picked up the bucket and went out into the middle of the stream where there was a narrow channel. He was able to fill the bucket and brought it to her side.

  “What’re you doin’ sneakin’ around here so late at night?” she asked sharply.

  He said, “I reckon I liked that, what you did tonight. I liked that play.”

  “Do you live…at the house?”

  “No. Over there.”

  “Where?”

  “Down in Mellin Hollow.”

  “What d’you do?”

  “Me? I’m a miner.”

  She moved her shoulders distastefully. “That’s not a pretty job, is it?”

  “I…liked the play acting,” he said.

  She looked at him obliquely, taking in the size of him, the set of his shoulders. She could see no expression on the shadowy face turned to her.

  “Was it you that won the wrestling?”

  He nodded, not showing his pleasure. “But you wasn’t—”

  “Oh, I wasn’t there. But I heard.”

  “That play,” he began.

  “Oho, that.” She pouted her lips, turning her profile against the lighter sky. “Did you like me in it?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought you did,” she said calmly. “I’m pretty, aren’t I?”

  “Yes,” he answered, forcing out the word.

  “You’d best be going now,” she advised.

  He hesitated, fumbling with his hands. “Won’t you stay and talk for a while?”

  She laughed softly. “What for? I got better ways of passing my time. Besides, I’m surprised at you. It’s very late.”

  “Yes,” he said. “I know.”

  “You’d best be off before they come lookin’ for me.”

  “Shall you be at Grambler tomorrow night?”

  “Oh, yes. I expect.”

  “I’ll be there,” he said.

  She turned and picked up the bucket.

  “I’ll carry that,” he said.

  “What? Back to the camp? No, indeed.”

  “I’ll look for ’ee tomorrow,” he said.

  “I’ll look for you too,” she answered back over her shoulder, carelessly.

  “You will?”

  “Yes…maybe.” The words floated to him, for she had gone, the clank of the bucket dulled and sibilant as it receded.

  He stood a moment. “All right, then!” he called.

  He turned and walked home under the quiet stars, his long, powerful stride longer than ever and his slow, steady, careful mind moving in uncharted seas.

  Chapter Six

  A few mornings later, Demelza was eating a silent breakfast and scheming. Ross should have known that silence at a mealtime was an ominous symptom. She had been subdued for a few days after the christening catastrophe, but that had been gone for some time. Although she had fully intended to brood, her nature had defeated her.

  “When was it you was thinking to ride in an’ see Jim?” she asked.

  “Jim?” he said, coming down from thoughts of copper companies and their misdeeds.

  “Jim Carter. You said you was minded to take Jinny in with you next time.”

  “So I am. I thought next week. That’s if you can spare her and have no objections.”

  Demelza glanced at him.

  “It is all one to me,” she said awkwardly. “Shall you be one night away?”

  “The gossips have minds like a jericho, and there are some who will whisper over my riding off in the company of a serving maid. Er…” He paused.

  “Of another serving maid?”

  “Well, if you put it so. Jinny is not uncomely and they will have no regard for my good name.”

  Demelza put up two fingers to push away a curl.

  “What’s your own mind, Ross?”

  He smiled slightly. “They may whisper till their tongues swell, and have done before today.”

  “Then go,” she said. “I’m not afeared of Jinny Carter, or the old women.”

  Once the day had been fixed, the next thing was to get a message over to Verity. On the Monday morning, Ross being busy at the mine, she walked the three miles to Trenwith House.

  She had only been to the house of her superior cousins-by-marriage once before, and when she came in sight of its mullioned windows and mellow Elizabethan stone, she modestly made a circuit to come upon it again from the rear.

  She found Verity in the stillroom.

  Demelza said, “No, thank ’ee. We’re brave an’ well. I came to ask you for the loan of a horse, Verity dear. It is rather a secret, I didn’t wish for Ross to know; he’s going next Thursday to Bodmin to see Jim Carter that’s in prison an’ takin’ Jinny Carter with him, so that there’s no horse for me to go to Truro, as I wanted to go while Ross is away.”

  Their eyes met. Demelza, though slightly breathless, looked empty of guile.

  “I’ll lend you Random if you wish. Is this to be a secret from me also?”

  “No, indeed,” Demelza said. “For I couldn’t borrow a horse if it was a secret from you, could I?”

  Verity smiled. “Very well, my dear, I’ll not press you. But you cannot go to Truro alone. We have a pony we can loan you for Jud.”

  “There’s no tellin’ what time Ross’ll be gone on Thursday, so we’ll walk over for the horses if it is all the same to you, Verity. Maybe you’ll let us come in this way, then Francis and—and Elizabeth wouldn’t know.”

  “It is all very mysterious, I assure you. I trust I’m not conniving at some misdemeanor.”

  “No, no, indeed. It is just…something I have had a mind to do for a long time.”

  “Very well, my dear.”

  Verity smoothed down the front of her blue dimity frock. She looked plain and prim that morning. One of her old-maidish days. Demelza’s heart almost failed her at the enormity of her intention.

  • • •

  Ross looked about him with an appreciative eye as he rode up the valley early on Thursday morning with Jinny Carter silent beside him on old near-blind Ramoth. The land of shallow soil soon exhausted itself, and one had to give the ground ample time to recover from a cereal crop, but the fields he had chosen for that year were bearing well. They were all colors from pea green to a biscuit brown. A good harvest would be some compensation for the storm damage in the spring.

  As he disappeared over the hill, Demelza turned and went indoors. All the day was before her—all of that day and part of the next if necessary—but Julia put a shorter time limit on her actions. If she was fed at seven, she would do well enough with some sugar and water at noon, which Prudi
e could give her, and then she would last out till five.

  Ten hours. There was much to do in the time. “Jud!”

  “Ais?”

  “Are you ready?”

  “Well, pick me liver, I only seen Mr. Ross out of the ’ouse two minutes.”

  “We’ve precious little time to waste. If I ain’t—if I’m not back before five little Julia’ll be cryin’ out, and me perhaps miles away.”

  “A danged misthought notion from last to first,” said Jud, putting his head around the door. “There’s them as’d say I’d no leave to lend meself to such fancy skims. Tedn sensible. Tedn right. Tedn ’uman…’”

  “Tedn for you to argue all morning,” said Prudie, appearing behind him. “Ef she say go, go and begone. Ef there’s a dido with Mr. Ross that’s for she to suffer.”

  “I aren’t so sartin,” said Jud. “I don’t know, not I. There’s no saying wi’ womenfolk ’ow they’ll jump when the screw’s on ’em. Cuzzle as a cartload o’ monkeys. Well, I’m warning ye. If I take the fault for this, may I be ’anged for a fool.” He went off grumbling to get his best coat.

  They left soon after seven and picked up the horse and pony at Trenwith House. Demelza had dressed herself carefully in her new, blue, close-fitting riding habit cut after a masculine style, with a pale blue bodice to give it a touch of something different, and a small, brimmed, three-cornered hat. She kissed Verity and thanked her very affectionately, as if she thought the warmth of her hug would make up for all the deceit.

  Jud’s presence was useful, for he knew the way to Falmouth across country by narrow lane and mule track, and they touched no town or village where they might be recognized.

  Nothing in those hamlets passed unnoticed or unremarked. Every tin streamer and farm worker stopped in his work, hand on hips, to look over the ill-assorted couple, Jud ugly and whistling on his little shaggy pony, she young and handsome on her tall gray horse. Every cottage had its peering face.