Demelza (10 page)

It was as if some key had turned in the inner mechanism of this hard man, locking away before it could escape any show of surprise or sentiment.

He bowed slightly. 'I haven't the honour of your acquaintance.'

'No, sir,' said Demelza. 'No. You d'know my husband, Captain Ross Poldark.'

There was something ship-like about his face, jutting and aggressive and square, weathered but unbeaten.

'A few years ago I had occasion to meet him.'

She could not shape the next sentence. With her hand she felt the chair behind her, and sat in it.

'I've rid twenty miles to see you.'

'I am honoured.'

'Ross don't know I've come,' she said. 'Nobody knows I've come.'

His unflinching eyes for a moment left her face and travelled over her dusty dress.

'I can offer you some refreshment?'

'No… No… I must leave again in a few minutes.' Perhaps that was a mistake, for tea or anything would have given her ease and time.

There was a strained pause. Under the window the quarrel with the orange woman broke out afresh.

'Was that your servant at the door?'

'Yes.'

'I thought I recognized him. I should have known.' His voice left no doubt of his feelings.

She tried once again. 'I - mebbe I shouldn't ought to have come, but I felt I must. I wanted to see you.'

'Well?'

'It is about Verity.'

Just for a moment his expression grew embarrassed; that name could no longer be mentioned. Then he abruptly glanced at the clock. 'I can spare you three minutes.'

Something in the glance quenched the last of Demelza's hopes. 'I been wrong to come,' she said. 'I think there's nothing to say to you. I made a mistake, that's all.'

'Well, what is it you made a mistake in? Since you are here you'd best say it.'

'Nothing. Nothing will be any use saying to the likes of you.'

He gave her a furious look. 'I ask you, tell me.'

She glanced at him again.

'It is about Verity. Ross married me last year. I knew nothing about Verity till then. An' she never told me a thing. I persuaded it out of Ross. About you, I mean. I love Verity. I'd give anything to see 'er happy. An' she isn't happy. She's never got over it. She's not the sort to get over it. Ross said it was dangerous to meddle. He said I must leave it alone. But I couldn't leave it alone till I'd seen you. I - I thought Verity was right an' they was wrong. I - I had to be sure they was right before I could let it drop.'

Her voice seemed to go on and on, into an arid empty space. She said: 'Are you married again?'

'No.'

'I schemed today. Ross has gone Bodmin. I borrowed the horses and came over with Jud. I'd best be getting back, for I've a young baby at home.'

She got up and slowly made for the door.

He caught her arm as she went past him. 'Is Verity ill?'

'No,' Demelza said angrily. 'Ailing but not ill. She looks ten years olderer than her age.'

His eyes were suddenly fierce with pain.

'D'you not know the whole story? They cannot fail to have told you the whole story.'

'Yes, about your first wife. But if I was Verity…'

'You're not Verity. How can you know what she feels?'

'I don't, but I…'

'She never once sent me any word…'

'Nor you never sent her any word neither.'

'Has she ever said anything?'

'No.'

'Then it's pitiable.... This attempt on your part... this - this intrusion…'

'I know,' said Demelza, nearly crying. 'I know now. I thought to help Verity, but I wisht now I'd never tried. You see, I don't understand. If folk in our way love one another it is more than enough to bring 'em together, drink or no. If the father's against it then that's some reason, but now the father's dead an' Verity's too proud to make any move. And you - and you… But I thought you were different. I thought…'

'You thought I was likely to sit moping my time away. No doubt the rest of your family has long since written me off as a failure and a drunkard, drooling in taprooms and lurching home of a night. No doubt Miss Verity has long since agreed with her weakling brother that it was better for all that Captain Blamey was sent about his business. What for…'

'How dare you say that of Verity!' Demelza cried out, standing up to him. 'How dare you! An' to think I've rid myself sore to hear it! To think I've schemed and plotted and lied and borrowed the horses and one thing and the next. An' to say such of Verity when she's ill for pining of you! Judas God! Leave me get out of here! '

He barred her way. 'Wait.'

His epaulettes and gold braid no longer counted.

'Wait for what? For more insults? Let me past or I shall call Jud!'

He took her arm again. 'It is no reflection on you, girl. I grant you did it all from the best of motives. I grant you your good will…'

She was trembling, but with great self-control did not try to wrench her arm free.

For a moment he did not go on, but peered at her closely as if trying to see all that she had not said. His own anger was suddenly in ashes. He said: 'We've all moved on since those days, grown, changed. It's - you see, it's all forgotten, behind us - but it has left us bitter. There were times when I ranted and railed - if you understood - if you'd known it all you'd see that. When you stir up old things best forgotten you're bound to stir up some of the mud that's settled round 'em.'

'Leave go my arm,' she said.

He made a brief awkward gesture and turned away. She went stiffly to the door and grasped the handle.

She glanced back. He was staring out towards the harbour. She hesitated a second longer and there came a knock at the door.

No one answered it. Demelza stepped aside as the handle turned. It was the woman who looked after him.

'Beg pardon. Did you want something, sir?'

'No,' said Blamey.

'Your dinner's ready.'

Blamey turned and glanced at Demelza. 'Will you stay and take a meal with me, ma'am?'

'No,' said Demelza. 'Thank you. I'd best be getting back.'

'Then perhaps you will first show Mistress Poldark to the door.'

The woman bobbed. 'Yes, surely, sir.'

Conversationally she led Demelza downstairs again. She warned her to mind the step for the light was none too good, the curtain being drawn to keep the carpet from fading as this window looked due south. She said the day was warm and there might be thunder, it being a bad sign that St Anthony's Head was so clear. Still talking, she opened the front door and wished her visitor good day.

Outside in the street Jud was sitting blinking on a stone wall beside her pony. He was sucking an orange he had filched from the orange woman's cart.

'Finished already, Mrs?' he said. 'Reckoned 'e'd soon do for ee. Well, all's for the best, I reckon, as leaves well alone.'

Demelza did not reply. Captain Blamey was still watching her from the upper room.

JULIA HAD WIND and was thoroughly cross; Demelza had sore buttocks and was thoroughly disheartened. They made a mopish pair, while Jud took the two animals back to Trenwith and Prudie grumbled over the evening meal.

Julia, fed and changed, went into a fitful sleep but Demelza, feeding by herself for the first time in the parlour, swallowed her food anyhow and in lumps, hating the thought of her own defeat but knowing that the defeat was final. Ross had been right. Even Francis had been right. There would never have been hope for a happy marriage for Verity. And yet…

Oh, well...

There broke upon her deep reflections, levering a way like a swollen female Caliban into her absent mind, the amorphous figure of Prudie. It stood there beside the boiled beef talking at her, making growling and discordant claims on her attention, until at last she was forced to give it.

'Eh?' she said.

Prudie stared back at her, seeing that she had been wasting her breath. 'Got the mullygrubs, 'ave ee, an?'

'No, Prudie, but I'm feeling tired an' cross. And I'm that sore I can scarce sit down. I can't reckon how it is but every time I touch a bone I go "Oohh!"'

'There's naught t'wonder at in that, maid… 'Osses, I always d'say, is not for ridin' whether saddled or bare-ridged, side-sat or ascrode. Have 'em hitched to a cart an' that's different. But then a ox do do as well, an' twice as peaceable. Only onct 'ave I bin on a 'oss an' that were when Jud brought me from Bedruthan nigh on sixteen year ago. Twere an irkish kind of a journey, up 'ill an' down dell, wi' no rest neither for flesh nor bone. That night I smeared axle grease all over me what's-it, an' none too soon for taking care, else the skin would've bursten, I bla'. I tell ee what I'll do for ee. When you've took yer clothes off I'll come rub ee over them parts wi' some balsam I got at Marasanvose Fair, an?'

'I'll be well enough,' said Demelza. 'Leave me be. I'll sleep on my face tonight.'

'Well, that's as you d'please. I came to tell ee that Mark Daniel's outside by the kitchen door besting whether to come in and see you or no.'

Demelza sat up and winced. 'Mark Daniel? What does he want with me?'

'Nothin' by rights. He come first at noon. They're from home, I says, an'll not be back, she afore supper, I says, an' he afore cockshut tomorrow, I says. Oh, he says, an' goes off an' comes back and says what time time did ye say Mistress Poldark would be back, he says, an' I says supper tonight, I says, an' off he d'go wi' his long legs stalking.'

'Has he asked for me tonight?'

'Aye, and I telled him you was suppin' an' not to be disturbed by the likes of he. Gracious knows, there's enough fuss one way and the next without all the bal-men in district callin' round to pass the time o' day.'

'He must want more than that,' Demelza said, and yawned. She straightened her frock and patted her hair. 'You'd best show him in.'

She felt lonely and important tonight. The last time Ross had ridden to Bodmin she had had Verity to stay.

Mark came in twisting his cap. In the parlour he looked enormous.

'Oh, Mark,' she said, 'did you want to see Ross? He's from home and is lying tonight at Bodmin. Was it important or shall you wait until tomorrow?'

He looked younger too in the evening light and without his cap, his head bent for fear of the ceiling beams.

'I wish twas easier to explain, Mistress Poldark. I did ought to have called in to Cap'n Ross yesterday, but twasn't quite decided then, an' I didn't fancy to tell my chickens afore they was bealed. An' now - an' now there's the need to hurry, because…'

Demelza rose, careful to avoid grimaces, and went to the window. It would not be dark yet for an hour, but the sun was winking out behind the western rim of the valley and shadows were deepening among the trees. She knew that Mark was a special friend of Ross's, second only to Zacky Martin in his confidences, and she was a little flustered at his call.

He was waiting for her to speak and watching her. 'Why don't you sit down, Mark, an' tell me what it is that's troubling you?'

Presently she looked round and saw that he was still standing. 'Well, what is it?' she said.

His long dark face twitched once. 'Mistress Poldark, I have the thought to be married.'

She gave a little relieved smile.

'Well, I'm glad, Mark. But why should that be worrying you?' As he did not speak she went on: 'Who have you the mind for?'

'Keren Smith,' he said.

'Keren Smith?'

'The maid that came wi' the travelling players, mistress. The dark one wi' the - wi' the long hair and the smooth skin.'

Demelza's mind went back. 'Oh,' she said. 'I know.' She did not like to sound unpleased. 'But what do she say to it? Are they still hereabouts?'

They were still hereabouts. Standing by the door, grim and quiet, Mark told his story. And much that he did not say could be guessed. Almost every night since their first meeting he had followed the players round, watching Keren, meeting her afterwards, trying to persuade her of his sincerity and his love. At first she had laughed at him, but something in his great size and the money he pressed on her at last won her interest. Almost as a joke she had accepted his advances and then suddenly found that what he had to offer was no light thing after all. She had never had a home and had never had a suitor like this.

Mark had seen Keren last night at Ladock. By Sunday of this week they would be at St Dennis on the edge of the moor. She had promised to marry him, promised faithfully on one condition. He must find somewhere for them to live; she would not share his father's house, crowded already, for a single day. Let him only find somewhere just for her alone before Sunday and she would run away with him. But if the company once travelled beyond St Dennis she would not, she said, have the heart to come back. From there they would begin the long trek to Bodmin and not even if Mark took a pit pony for her would she face the moors a second time. It was a flight from St Dennis or nothing. And it was up to him.

'And what do you think to do, Mark?' Demelza asked. The Cobbledicks had moved into the Clemmows' old cottage; so there was no place empty at all. What Mark had in mind was to build himself a cottage before Sunday. His friends were ready to help. They had picked a possible spot, a piece of rough wasteland looking over on to Treneglos property though still on Poldark land. But with Captain Ross away...

It was strange to think of the feelings of love stirring in this tough, short-spoken, gaunt man; stranger still to think of the wayward pretty May fly who had wakened them.

'What d'you want for me to do?' she asked.

He told her. He needed leave to build. He thought he might rent the land. But if he waited until tomorrow it meant missing a whole day.

'Isn't it too late already?' she asked. 'You can't ever build a cottage by Sunday.'

'I reckon we can just do un,' he said. 'There's clay to hand and, private like, thinkin' it might come, I been gathering stuff of nights. Ned Bottrell over to Sawle has got thatchin' straw. We can make do, if only tis a four walls and roof toer head.'

Words were on Demelza's tongue to say that any woman who made such conditions ought to be left where she belonged; but she saw from Mark's look that it wouldn't do.