Demelza (46 page)

'I'll tell her that. It may help her to see it right. It is no good to marry a man if you dislike him; but I don't think she do; and I b'lieve it would do her good once the ice was broke.'

When they reached the fork near Sawle Church they saw Dwight Enys, and Ross waved a hand and would have branched off towards the Bargus crossroads, but Dwight signalled him to stop. Zacky rode on a few paces to be out of earshot. As Dwight came up Ross noticed how his good looks had become cadaverous.

His place in the countryside was secure enough now; his work during the epidemics of the autumn had made sure of that. All remembered and a few still whispered behind his back, but none wished him gone. They liked him, they respected his work, they depended on him. Since the closing of Grambler many of Choake's former patients had come to Enys. Not that such work showed much return, but no one ever asked in vain. He was working off the disgrace within himself. But when not working he liked to be alone.

'You look in need of a holiday,' Ross said. 'I am lying tonight with the Pascoes and they would be pleased to see you.'

Dwight shook his head. 'It is out of the question, Ross. There is a mountain of work. If I was absent for three days I should never catch up in three months.'

'You should leave Choake more to do. It is not a fair distribution, for you do a hundred poor cases and he does ten rich.'

Dwight said: 'I am getting along. Old Mr Treneglos called me in last week for his gout, and you know how he distrusts our profession.' The smile faded. 'But what I had to tell you is not good news. It is about Mr Francis Poldark. Had you heard? They say he is ill, also their little son.'

'Oh... ? No. Have you seen them?'

'Dr Choake is of course in charge. It is rumoured it is the sore throat.
Morbus strangulatorious
.'

Ross stared at him. This disease had been hanging round the district for nearly nine months. It had never been quite epidemic in the way the familiar diseases were epidemic; but it struck here and there with great rapidity and terrible results. Sometimes a whole family of children was swept off. It flared up in this village or that and then went underground again.

'Only last week,' Dwight said, frowning, and as if following his thoughts, 'I looked up what records there were on the matter. There was a bad outbreak in 'forty-eight. In Cornwall, that was. But since then we have been tolerably immune.'

'What is the cause?'

'No one knows. Some put it down to a mephitic quality of the air, especially when near water. All our views are much in the melting pot since Cavendish proved there was both dephlogisticated and inflammable air.'

'I wish you could get to see them, Dwight.' Ross was thinking of Elizabeth.

The younger man shook his head. 'Unless I am called in... Besides, I lay no claim to a cure. The results are always unpredictable. Sometimes the strong will go and the weak survive. Choake knows as much as I do.'

'Don't belittle yourself.' Ross hesitated, wondering whether he should obey his impulse to ride at once and see Elizabeth. It was the Christian thing to do, to forget all the old bitterness. Almost impossible with the copper company dying before his eyes. And the ticketing would not wait. He had only just time to get there.

As he was hesitating, Dr Choake himself topped the hill out of Sawle riding towards them.

'You'll pardon me,' Dwight said. 'This man has tried to make every sort of trouble for me. I don't wish to meet him now.' He took off his hat and moved away.

Ross stood his ground until Choake was fairly up with him. The physician would have ridden by without a word if he could have got past.

'Good day to you, Dr Choake.'

Choake looked at him from under his eye-thatches. 'We'll trouble you to move aside, Mister Poldark. We are on urgent business.'

'I'll not detain you. But I hear that my cousin is gravely ill.'

'Gravely ill?' Choake bent his eyebrows after the departing figure of his rival. 'Dear me, I should not be inclined to lend an ear to every story if I were you.'

Ross said curtly: 'Is it true that Francis has the malignant sore throat?'

'I isolated the symptoms yesterday. But he is on the mend.'

'So soon?'

'The fever was checked in time. I emptied the stomach with fever powder and gave him strong doses of Peruvian bark. It is all a question of competent treatment. You are fully at liberty to enquire at the house.'

Choake moved to edge his horse past. Darkie blew through her nostrils and stamped.

'And Geoffrey Charles?'

'Not the throat at all. A mild attack of quartan fever. And the other cases in the house are the ulcerous throat, which is quite a different thing. And now good day to you, sir.'

When Choake was past Ross sat a moment gazing after him. Then he turned and followed Zacky.

The ticketing was over and the feast about to begin.

Everything had gone according to plan, someone else's plan. The usual care had been taken to see that the Carnmore Copper Company did not get any of the copper. The mines did well out of it - so long as the Carnmore was in existence as a threat. As soon as Zacky ceased to put in his bids the prices would drop into the ruck again.

Ross wondered if the mines - the remaining mines - were really as powerless as the Warleggans had shown them up to be. They had not been able to stay together so they had fallen by the way. It was a dismal, sordid, disheartening business.

Ross sat down at the long dinner table with Zacky on his one hand and Captain Henshawe, representing Wheal Leisure, on his other. It wasn't until he was served that he noticed George Warleggan.

Ross had never seen him before at a ticketing dinner. He had no plain business there, for although he owned the controlling interest in a number of ventures he always acted through an agent or a manager. Strange that he had condescended, for as George grew more powerful he grew more exclusive. A brief silence had fallen on the men gathered there. They knew all about Mr Warleggan. They knew he could make or break a good many if he chose. Then George Warleggan looked up and caught Ross's eye. He smiled briefly and raised a well-groomed hand in salute.

It was a sign for the dinner to begin.

Ross had arranged to meet Richard Tonkin at the Seven Stars Tavern before the others arrived. As he came out of the Red Lion Inn he found George Warleggan beside him. He fell into step.

'Well, Ross,' he said in a friendly fashion, as if nothing had happened between them, 'we see little of you in Truro these days. Margaret Vosper was saying only last night that you had not been to our little gaming parties recently.'

'Margaret Vosper?'

'Did you not know? The Cartland has been Margaret Vosper these four months, and already poor Luke is beginning to fade. I do not know what there is fatal about her, but her husbands seem unable to stand the pace. She is climbing the ladder and will marry a title before she's done.'

'There is nothing fatal in her,' Ross said, 'except a greed for life. Greed is always a dangerous thing.'

'So she sucks the life out of her lovers, eh? Well, you should know. She told me she'd once had the fancy to marry you. It would have been an interesting experiment, ecod! I imagine she would have found you a hard nut.'

Ross glanced at his companion as they crossed the street. They had not met for eight months; and George, Ross thought, was becoming more and more a 'figure.' In his early days he had striven to hide his peculiarities, tried to become polished and bland and impersonal, aping the conventional aristocrat. Now with success and power firmly held, he was finding a new pleasure in allowing those characteristics their freedom. He had always tried to disguise his bullneck in elaborate neck-cloths; now he seemed to accentuate it slightly, walking with his head thrust forward and carrying a long stick. Once he had raised his naturally deep voice: now he was letting it go, so that the refinements of speech he had learned and clung to seemed to take on a bizarre quality. Everything about his face was big, the heavy nose, the pursed mouth, the wide eyes. Having as much money as he wanted, he lived now for power. He loved to see himself pointed out. He delighted that men should fear him.

'How is your wife?' George asked. 'You do not bring her out enough. She was much remarked on at the celebration ball, and has not been seen since.'

'We have no time for a social round,' Ross said. 'And I don't imagine we should be the more wholesome for it.'

George refused to be ruffled. 'Of course you will be busy. This copper-smelting project takes a good portion of your time.' A pretty answer.

'That and Wheal Leisure.'

'At Wheal Leisure you are fortunate in the grade of your ore and the easy drainage. One of the few mines which still offer prospects for the investor. I believe some of the shares are shortly coming on the market.'

'Indeed. Whose are they?'

'I understood,' said George delicately, 'that they were your own.'

They had just reached the door of the Seven Stars, and Ross stopped and faced the other man. These two had been inimical since their school days but had never come to an outright clash. Seeds of enmity had been sown time and again but never reached fruit. It seemed that the whole weight of years was coming to bear at once.

Then George said in a cool voice but quickly: 'Forgive me if I am misinformed. There was some talk of it.'

The remark just turned away the edge of the response that was coming. George was not physically afraid of a rough and tumble but he could not afford the loss to his dignity. Besides, when quarrelling with a gentleman it might not end in fisticuffs even in these civilized days.

'You have been misinformed,' Ross said, looking at him with his bleak pale eyes.

George humped his shoulders over his stick. 'Disappointing; I am always out for a good speculation, you know. If you ever do hear of any coming on the market, let me know. I'll pay thirteen pound fifteen a share for 'em, which is more than you - more than anyone would get at present in the open market.' He glanced spitefully up at the taller man.

Ross said: 'I have no control over my partners. You had best approach one of them. For my part I would sooner burn the shares.'

George stared across the street. 'There is only one trouble with the Poldarks,' he said after a moment. 'They cannot take a beating.'

'And only one trouble with the Warleggans,' said Ross. 'They never know when they are not wanted.'

George's colour deepened. 'But they can appreciate and remember an insult.'

'Well, I trust you will remember this one.' Ross turned his back and went down the steps into the tavern.

IT WAS AFTERNOON before Demelza heard the bad news of Trenwith. All three of the younger Poldarks had it, said Betty Prowse, with only Aunt Agatha well, and three out of the four servants had taken it. Geoffrey Charles was near to death, they said, and no one knew which way to turn. Demelza asked for particulars, but Betty knew nothing more. Demelza went on with her baking.

But not for long. She picked up Julia, who was crawling about on the floor under her feet and carried her into the parlour. There she sat on the rug and played with the child before the fire while she wrestled with her torment.

She owed them nothing. Francis had told her never to come near the house again. Francis had betrayed them to the Warleggans. A despicable, horrible thing to do.

They would have called in others to help, perhaps some of the Teague family or one of the Tremenheere cousins from farther west. Dr Choake would have seen to that for them. They were well able to look after themselves.

She threw the linen ball back to Julia who, having rolled on it to stop it, now forgot her mother and began to try to pull the ball apart.

There was no reason for her to call. It would look as if she were trying to curry favour and patch up the quarrel. Why should she patch it up, when Elizabeth was her rival. Elizabeth had not appeared so much in that light this last year; but she was always a danger. Once Ross saw that fair fragile loveliness... She was the unknown, the unattainable, the mysterious. His wife he knew would be here always, like a faithful sheep dog, no mystery, no remoteness, they slept in the same bed every night. They gained in intimacy, lost in excitement. Or that was how she felt it must be with him. No; leave well alone. She had done enough interfering.

'Ah-ah!' Demelza said. 'Naughty girl. Don't tear it abroad. Throw it back to Mummy. Go to! Push with your hand. Push!'

But it was her interference which put her in an obligation deep down. If she had not contrived Verity's marriage, Verity would have been there to take charge. And if she had not so contrived Francis would never have quarrelled with Ross or betrayed them. Was it really all her fault? Sometimes she thought Ross thought so. In the night - when she woke up in the night - she felt that sense of guilt. She glanced out of the window. Two hours of daylight. The ticketing would be over. He would not be home tonight, so she could not have his advice. But she did not want his advice. She knew what she knew.

Julia was crowing on the rug as she went to the bell. But she did not pull it. She could never get used to having servants at call. She went through to the kitchen. 'Jane, I am going out for a while. I expect to be back before dark. If not, could you see to put Julia to bed? See the milk be boiled an' see she takes all her food.'

'Yes, ma'am.'

Demelza went upstairs for her hood and cloak.

The company had assembled in the private room of the Seven Stars. They were a depleted and a subdued party. Lord Devoran was in the chair. He was a fat dusty man dressed in snuff brown, and he had a cold in the head from leaving off his wig.

'Well, gentlemen,' he said stuffily, 'you have heard Mr Johnson's statement of accounts. It is all very disappointing I aver, for the company was started in such high hopes not fourteen months ago. It has cost me a pretty penny and I suspicion most of us are a good degree poorer for our interest. But the truth is we bit off more'n we could chew, and we've got to face the fact. Some of us I know feel sore about the tactics of those who have fought us; and I can't say myself that I'm any too satisfied. But it has all been legal, so there's no redress. We just haven't the resources to carry on.' Devoran paused and took a pinch of snuff.