The Angry Tide (33 page)

In late August an English army landed at the
Heldcr, at the tip of the Zuyde
r Zee, and soon after an English fleet captured the entire Dutch fleet at anchor and without firing a shot: seven ships of the line and eighteen smaller ships with six thousand seamen who at once hauled down the Republican flag and offered themselves to fight for the House of Orange. Hopes for victory ran high everywhere.

Contrary to
Demelza
's fears Ross returned safely from Barham Downs on the 6th of September, looking fit and bronzed but with the news
that
, because of these victories, and in
order to rush a militia bill th
rough Parliament, the House was to reassemble on the 24th of that month, so they must be away in nine or ten days.

Everything then was busde and haste. Caroline was leaving almost immediately, Dwight a day or two after the Poldarks.
Demelza
was uneasy that her absence from Cornwall was going to coincide with his and that her two children, if ill, would be left to the
fumbling mercies of John Zebede
e Clotworthy. Ross would have joked her out of it if it had not been for the loss of Julia.

Dwight brought Clotworthy over one day before they left. He was a pimply, down-at-heel, earnest man of about forty who had come originally from St Erth and set up in opposition to Mr Irby, the druggist in St Ann's; and Dwight, w
ho had had various passages with
Mr Irby for selling him adulterated drugs, had transferred his custom to the new man and had had honest if uninspired service ever since. Honest and uninspired
would be his treatment of all D
wight's ailing patients, but at least anything he attempted would come from his own observation and not from some pet theory. Dwight was dead against theory. The followers of William Cullen had h
ad too long a run. The great Boerhaave
, who taught that empirical treatment was all and that one must help the body to defeat its own enemies, had been everywhere despised, and the patient treated with ever more violent purging, more blood-letting, more sweat causers and more powerful drugs. Dwight wondered sometimes if even he did not prescribe to
o much - often to please the pati
ent - and thought he would be neither surprised nor offended if some of his patients had improved, when he returned, from being treated by someone
who had never heard of Bocrhaave
or William Cullen - or perhaps even Hippocrates.

Ross and
Demelza
left on the
14th. Their coach left Falmouth
at six a.m. and they were due to pick it up in Truro at eight-thirty. It meant rising in the dark, last-minute, hasty arrangements and rearrangements, a talkative, absent-minded breakfast, then kissing the children goodbye - Clowance not minding because she didn't realize how long a month was, but Jeremy a bit tremble-lipped though putting a good face on it. Then both of them racing
off up the hill with Jane Gimle
tt in vain pursuit, so that when Ross and
Demelza
reached Wheal Maiden th
ey were there to wave goodbye and to stand in the dawn light waving and waving and gradually becoming smaller and smaller until they were little pin figures and so merged into the background of the pines.

'Oh dear,' said
Demelza
, 'I believe I am a small matter distraught.'

'Try to forget them,' Ross said. 'Remember that in twenty years they will be likely to ride away and forget you.'

Demelza
looked at Ross. 'You must've been keeping some bad company.'

'Why?'

'To say a thing like that.'

He laughed. 'It was half in jest, half in earnest. I mean nothing derogatory.' 'What a big word for a mean thought.' He laughed again. 'Then I take it back.' 'Thank you, Ross.'

They jogged on a few minutes. He said: 'But it is partly true. We have to lead our own lives. We have to give freedom to those we love.'

Gimlctt was catching them up. He was coming on a third horse to bring theirs back. 'Between husband and wife also?'
Demelza
asked. 'That depends on the
sort
of freedom,' Ross said.

They left Truro ten minutes late because the coachman made difficulty about the amount of luggage they brought, but arrived at St Austell in time for dinner at the King's Arms, took tea at the London

Inn, Lostwithicl, and supped and
slept at the White Horse, Liske
ard. Including their ride in, they had covered the first forty-five miles of their long journey.

Over supper Demelza said: 'I've been thinking, Ross, what you said about the children. I suppose
in a way you're right - but doe
s it matter? Isn't it what you give in tliis world that's important, not what you get back?'

'I'm sure you're right.'

'No, don't agree so easy. I mean even if you look at it in the most selfish way: isn't there more actual
pleasure
in giving than in getting back?'

'All
right,' he said. 'Yes. But I just wished you to keep a sense of proportion. So long as you're aware of that - that the giving is all. It's easy to say, but hard to carry out.'

'Maybe'

'I thought if I reminded you of the way human nature operates, it might help you to grieve less now at the parting.' 'No,' she said, 'it won't.' 'Well, I'm sorry I spoke.'

'No matter. I've stopped grieving already, and am just getting excited. After just one day. And I don't think that's a nice way f
or human nature to operate eithe
r!'

They broke their fast early next morning, crossed the Tamar by the ferry at Torpoint and dined i
n Plymouth. Tea was at Ivybridge
and they slept at Ashburton, having covered almost exactly the same mileage as the day before, though this all by coach. Everybody was very tired, and
Demelza
could hardly keep awake over supper.

'You
see
why I travel sometimes by sea,' Ross said. 'But it improves a little from now on. The roads
are
better and the hills fewer.'

The coach held eight inside. Sometimes it was uncomfortably crowded, sometimes half empty, as passengers left and joined. The only others making the full trip t
o London were a Mr and Mrs Carne
from Falmouth, he being that banker Ross had threatened to go to with his friends if the Basset, Rogers bank wou
ld not accommodate Harris Pascoe
. Mr Carne had heard of Ross's becoming himself a partner and talked banking a good deal of the time, most of it over Ross's head. To divert him, Ross told him tha
t his wife's name had been Carne
before she married; but they seemed to be unable to establish any relationship.

The third night they slept at Bridgwater, having dined at Cullompton and taken tea at Taunton.
Demelza
realized now what

Caroline meant when she said that Cornwall was a barren land. Here there were great trees, great belts of woodland everywhere, trees that made even the wooded parts of south Cornwall look puny and dwarf. The fields were so rich, the colourations of the soil always changing but always lush. There were more birds, more butterflies, more bees. And unfortunately more flies and wasps. She had never seen so many. It was a warm September, and apart from the jogging of the coach the heat was oppressive, for if a window were lowered somebody always complained of the draught. To make matters worse, one of the horses went lame on a stage on the fourth day and they were very late arriving in Marlborough.

The fifth day had to be a dawn start nevertheless, for they were due in London that evening. The road now was the best they had been on, the day was cooler but bright and sunny, and they reached Maidenhead for dinner after a spanking run. The food was good here: a neck of boiled veal and a roast fowl and a rather heavy but seductive wine; Demelza dozed away the afternoon and traversed the dreaded Hounslow Heath without even noticing it. Ross told her that the only highwaymen to be seen were the unsuccessful ones hanging from the gibbets as a warning to the rest.

Great bustle in Hounslow - the hub of the western exits from London; the innkeeper told them that five hundred coaches passed through daily and that upwards of eight hundred horses were regularly maintained here. Ross had never heard this before. As always, he learned more on a journey with
Demelza
than when travelling alone.

So the last ten miles to the city of which recently she had heard and thought so much. The last afternoon before leaving she had paid one of her regular visits to the Payntcrs to give Prudie a little money for herself, and Prudie had been appalled at the thought of such a journey and of what waited at the other end. 'They d'say tis much bigger 'n Truro,' she had muttered.

The first thing to be seen of the town bigger than Truro was the smoke. It lay low down on the horizon like dirty fog.

'Don't worry,' said Ross. 'That's only the lime kilns and the brickworks. It will be better beyond.'

The coach entered an area as desolate as any mining district in Cornwall. Amid the smoking brickfields thin sheep browsed and pigs rooted, trying to find something green among the poisoned vegetation. Enormous dumps of refuse bordered the road, some of them also smouldering like half-extinct volcanoes, others sprawling in miniature foothills, where the waste and the refuse were being picked over by beggars and ragged children with scrofulous faces.

Houses met them and closed round them, sprawling, jumbled, leaning as if about to fall down. Some had, and men were at work rebuilding them. More fields, then a broader, cleaner part, with a few good buildings merging into older, more harshly cobbled streets, with dives and alleys leading off, in which children and slatternly women and mangy cats roamed. By now dusk was coming on, but the evening was very warm and in one street women were sitting out of doors on stools in their linsey-woolsey petticoats and worsted stockings, their leather stays half laced and black with dirt. Some were occupied stitching coarse cloth, but many did nothing but sit and yawn. They shouted obscenely as the coach passed and aimed bad oranges at the coachman. Bundles, supposedly human, lay drunk or dead, and children ran after the coach screaming. At last they reached a well-paved area, but this had higher paved ridges traversing the streets where pedestrians might cross, so that the coach bumped and lurched as it went over them.

So to the Thames. The windows of the coach, which had been tight closed to keep out the smells, were opened to let in better air. The river seemed to have a thousand small boats on it. People being ferried here and there. Ten-oared barges. Sailing ships tacked and luffed, in some amazing fashion not colliding with each other. A forest of masts further down, and a great dome. 'St Paul's,' Ross said.

As they crossed a bridge the lights were going on. Link-boys were rushing around lighting the three-and four-branched lamps which hung from posts in the streets. It became a sudden fairyland. All the squalor and the dirt and the stenches were swallowed up by the evening dark and the opaque light cast on the streets from these crystal glo
bes. The coached bumped and rattl
ed through fine streets now, but hardly able to get along for the press of traffic. They jolted briefly between a coffin on an open cart and a gilded carriage in which sat a solitary woman with an ostrich-feathered head-dress. A brewer's dray, with great barrels swaying and a half dozen ragged boys clinging, followed soldiers mar
ching, while a group of cxtravagantl
y dressed riders tried to edge their mounts through the throng.

The coach stopped for a lon
g time to allow Mr and Mrs Carne
to alight. There were polite expressions of gratification on all sides at the pleasure experienced in each other's company over five days, the Carnes' bags were unloaded and at last the coach was off again, edging its way slowly on to a wide street called the Strand. They came once more to a stop.

'We are here,' said Ross. 'At last. Just down the street, if you can walk after so long a-sitting. The coachman will bring our bags down.'

The rooms were nice and spacious, better than
Demelza
had expected after the cramped inns in which they had slept, and Mrs Parkins, a handsome, bespectacled woman, did everything to oblige.

They had done seventy-five miles on the last day and in spite o
f their abounding good health th
ey were ready for bed and slept late next morning. Used to the boisterous arrival of her children each day soon after dawn,
Demelza
was startled and appalled to raise her head off the pillow and to
see
by the marble clock on the mantelshelf that it was nearly ten. Ross was part dressed and washing.

'Judas! Why didn't you wake me, Ross?'

He smiled. 'Don't alarm yourself. Mrs Parkins is used to serving breakfast at ten. I seldom rise early myself in London.' 'No wonder you look tired when you come home.' 'Tired for sleeping late?'

'And bedding late, I suspect. It is the wrong hours to sleep.'

'Do you want your nightdress?'

'Please.'

'Come and fetch it, then.' 'No.'

He began to shave. 'What is that, Ross?'

'What? Oh, this. It is an improved washstand. Did y
ou not see one at Tehidy? But th
is one has compartments for soap balls and razors. You will be able to admire it when you get up.'

'Docs Mrs Parkins bring the water?'

'A maid does. There is a tap in the house.'

'A tap? You mean like a barrel?'

'Yes. But water runs through wooden pipes from cisterns higher in the town, so you can draw what you will.' 'Can you drink it?'

'I have done, and come to no harm. No do
ubt you found last night that th
erc is always a bucket of water too in the Jericho down the passage. As well as one of sand. It's the best indoor system I have come across.'

'Last night I was too tired to take much notice of anything.'

'When I undressed you,' he said, 'you felt like a
long-legged, cool kitten, slightl
y damp with sweat.' 'It sounds some awful.'

'Well, it wasn't, if you can recollect that much.' 'I can recollect that much.'

There was a pause while she yawned and ran fingers through her hair.

'A gentle
man would fetch my nightdress,' she said. 'It depends on the gentleman.'

‘I
told you before. You've been keeping bad company in London.' 'Not till last night.'

He finished shaving in silence and tipped his water away into the other bucket. She was sitting up now, a sheet under her arms. 'It's not nice in the mornings, Ross.' 'What isn't?' 'Nakedness.' 'Opinions differ.'

'No, you don't look nice in the daylight
...'
'I don't?'

'No, I mean I
don't. We don't.
One
doesn't'

'Well, make up your mind.' He was putting on his shirt now.

'One
doesn't look nice in the daylight,'
Demelza
said. 'At least, not as nice as
one
hopes
one
looks at night, by candle.'

'I think two look better than one,' Ross said. 'Always have.'

A knife-grinder outside was shouting and ringing his bell, and someone was ringing a competing bell and offering to repair broken chairs.

‘I
thought this was a quiet street,'
Demelza
said.

'So it is, compared to most. You'll be late for breakfast if you don't bestir yourself. Not that it's much to miss. Milky tea with thick bread and butter. I intended to have brought some jam.'

Cautiously she cased herself out of bed, pulling at the sheet so that it came with her. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her and advanced on her with mischief in mind as part of her back and legs became exposed. She dodged quickly but one corner of the sheet held firm and tripped her. She went to the floor with a thump. He knelt beside her as she rolled herself defiantly into a cocoon, the sheet ripping as he did so. He caught her and held her, laughing.

'No, Ross! Don't!'

'I'm m-married to a m-m-mummy,' he said, laughing uncontrollably. 'An Eg-egyptian mummy. They look - look just like you, only they haven't got so much h-h-hair! '

She glared at him from among her mane. She was so tight-wrapped around that she could not even get a hand free to hit him. Her hair lay in a tangle about her face. Then she saw the funny side and began to laugh too. She laughed up at him with all her heart and soul. He lay on top of her and laughed and laughed. Their bodies shook the floor.

Presently it had to come to an end and they lay exhausted. He put up a weak hand to clear her hair away from her face. His tears were on her cheeks. Then he kissed her. Then the strength came back to his hands and he began to unwind her.

At this point there was a knock on the door. Ross got up and opened it.

'Please, sir;' it was one of the maids. 'If you please, sir, Mrs Parkins says to say breakfast be ready and waiting.' 'Tell Mrs Parkins,' said Ross, 'that wc shall be down in an hour.'

Chapter
Three