Demelza (8 page)

When he was left alone he plodded slowly round, trying to remember what he had to sing. At last he stopped.

'Here I stays!' he said.

There was more laughter, so much that people could hardly answer him. 'I pr-pray ee, good sir, why say so?'

'Cos I wants Char Nanfan, that's why, see?' Jud glared round as if expecting opposition, showing his two great teeth.

Will Nanfan's second wife was one of the comeliest women in the room, with her great fair plaits bound about her head. Everyone looked to see how she would take it, but she pulled a face and laughed and meekly went forward and knelt on the cushion. Jud viewed the prospect with pleasure for a moment, then wiped his mouth slowly along the back of his sleeve.

He kissed her with great relish, while all the young men in the room gave out a groan.

Jud lingered on, but there suddenly came a great shout from Prudie, who could bear it no longer.

'Leave go, yer great ox! No call to make a meal of 'er!'

Jud hastily straightened up amid more shouts of laughter, and it was noticed that when he fell out of the ring he went back to his corner, which was a long way from his wife.

After a bit the game finished and the dancing began again. From all this Mark Daniel had held aloof. He had always looked down on such prancing as effeminate (his was a silent, gaunt uncompromising maleness, unimpressionable and self-sufficient), but now he noticed that two or three of the actors, having finished their supper, were joining in.

He could hold back no longer and risked an eight-handed reel, which needed no delicacy of step. Then, rubbing his chin and wishing he had shaved more carefully, he joined in a country dance. At the other end of the long line of people he saw the girl. Keren Smith they said her name was. He could not keep his eyes off her, and danced almost as if he did not see the people opposite him.

And in some way the girl knew of his gaze. She never once looked at him, but there was something in her expression which told him she knew, a little self-conscious pursing of her young red lips, the way once or twice she pushed back her hair and tossed her head. Then he saw that for a second or two they would have to dance together. He stumbled and felt the sweat start. The moment was near, the next couple were dancing back to their places: he was off down the line, and she coming to meet him. They met, he grasped her hands, they danced round, her hair flying, she looked up once straight into his eyes; the look was blinding, dazzling; then they separated, he back to his place, she to hers. Her hands had been cool, but the palms of his were tingling as if they had met ice, met fire, been shocked by the touch. 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 got 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 grownups left, Zacky Martin, 'scholar' of the neighbourhood 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 here and now 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 at this.

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 the late seventies.

The convoy, shadowy uneven figures in the shadowy half dark, breasted the rise of the hill, bobbed and stumbled on the sky line for a few seconds and then plunged down towards 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 these 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 this thing inside him.

This time there was no silhouette on the sky line, 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 these that he looked. Some way up the valley beside the stream were the two caravans which housed the strolling players. He went towards them.

He saw as he drew nearer that there were lights here 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 here 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 here: the fat man with the glass eye, the blowsy leading woman, a thin fair man who had played the hero, the shrivelled 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 now 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 this 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 incredible swift grace she slid, pliant as a sapling, round 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 towards 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.

'Leave 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 now in the other caravan. He straightened up and moved in a semicircle towards 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 towards him. He ducked down into the bushes.

It was Keren.

She passed close to him and went on her way whistling 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. 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 d'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 here 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. Here 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.

'Oh, 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 now 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.

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