The Black Moon (10 page)

The library had always been, held in particular affection by Demelza. When first in this house as a child servant she had spent hours of her time in it, exploring the broken-down room and the treasure-trove of its mildewed contents. Since then much of the det
ritus of twenty-five
years had been thrown away or given away, and the better pieces had been repaired and. brought into the house. At the far end was a trapdoor leading down into a larger cavity built for purposes
Dem
elza preferred not to remember.
Apart from the walls there was not much
of the room worth saving. The roof
would have to be demolished, all the window frames knocked out; the f
loor renewed, for there was rot
in it all over.

Ross's first
idea, born when prosperity was only just sprouting,
had been to incorporate the library into the living space of the house for the first time. (Never completed, it had never been anything but a lumber room at best.) But as his financial condition became more assured so his sights were raised. The rooms he had seen in the house in London when he had visited Caroline Penvenen, the improvements at Trenwith, an occasional elegant room in one of the town houses of Truro, had all inspired him with ideas to build and decorate at least one room at Nampara, and that the largest, in a manner suitable to a more gracious way of living. So it had been planned to lay an oak polished floor, put up a good plaster ceiling, and perhaps have walls of light pine panelling. But the prospect of another child caused a further reassessment. There were six bedrooms at present; little enough if four servants slept in. Jeremy would soon need one of
his own. There had never been a
way into the library except by going out of doors or through Joshua's old bedroom with the box bed. Why could they not turn Joshua's bedroom on the ground floor into a dining-r
oom, and raise the library up a
floor to the same level as the rest of the house, building two larger bedrooms above it, and make a, way to them through the lumber room and the apple cupboard which were now above Joshua's bedroom?

Lack of skilled, or even semi-skilled, craftsmen would be one of the obstacles to such an undertaking. Nampara House, when Joshua put it up, had been built to a utilitarian design, and the men who worked on it were as rough-hewn as the house they built. If the house had mellowed in thirty
-
five years the quality of the available workers had not changed. Plasterers would probably have to be brought from Bath or Exeter. Carpenters to put up a new roof were easily found but not to make a handsome and some door or mantelshelf. Stone masons could build a wall to last for ever but few around could work the resistant granite or ornament the slate.

Drake had worked at the mine for his first weeks but had soon been moved to begin some preliminary dismantling of the library, and he soon showed that he was the best carpenter around, even though it was not his trade.

One day when Ross was away and Demelza had come into
the library; in search of
a
dust
sheet, Drake said to her :
'Sister, do you never have; no trade with the folk of Trenwith?'

She skid: `No Drake.' Just that and no more.

`Mr Francis, who died, he were Cap'n Ross's cousin That
correct?'

'That is correct.'

`Was they not
partial to each other?'

`They had disagreements. But they were good friends in
the last years of Francis's life,'

`I've asked you 'bout Geoffrey Charles before. Do, you not
wish ever to see him?'

'I'd be glad to see him, but his mother and his step-father
would not want him to see us.'

Drake took two nails from between his strong teeth and
put them on the bench. `Is there not too much ill will in the
world, sister? Don't you think so?'

'That I do. But you may take it from me, Drake, that this
is an ill will that no Christian prayers will blow away. I don't
wish to explain it to you the more, but that is the way of it.' 'Can I ask, is the ill will on your side or on their side?' `Both.'

She had found her dust sheet and was now looking through
some old cost books. There was a certain set to her chin. He said: `Sam wishes you would turn to Christ, sister.' She frowned at the book and pushed back her curl of hair.

'Sam wishes a lot.'

'Do you not ever have ardent longings to find your
Saviour?'

'I am not learned, in these things.' `Well no more're we . . . `But you think you know?'

'Tisn't the question of learning. Tis the question of feeling you're dead in sin and in the bonds of ini
quity, and
seeking the forgiveness of God,'

She looked up, her eyes at their most direct. She had not
heard him speak like this before. `And you have had that?
' `'I b'lieve so. Sam have had
it more so.' `Sam,' she said, `has had everything more so. He reminds
me of Father.'

'Oh, but, he's not like Father. Father w
as a - was a bull.

He'd fight for Christ in just the same way as he'd fight
when he were drunk. Sam's gentle. He's a born Christian,
Demelza.'

It was not
often he used
her name. She smiled.'
`Perhap's: I
was not born one. "M
aybe that's, what's wrong. I go
to church once a year with
Captain Poldark. Christmas Day
we
go together
n' ta
ke communion: Rest of the time
I try to behave as a Christian should. Maybe there's one neighbour we can't love as ourselves, but most of the others we try to live with peaceable and kindly. I think maybe the trouble with me - or
is it the trouble with you?’

‘
What?'

`I'm not convinced of that much sin, brother. Oh, I know I could do better, this way, that way, the other way. And of cour
se I don't love God enough. I'm
earthy. I don't look at a figure on a cross, I look at the things round me. Those are what I love: my husband, my child, my dog, my garden, my spinet, my bedroom, my home. Earthy. You see. But I have love overflowing for all those. T
hose are more important to me
than a Man sitting on a throne in Heaven. I hope if I explain it to Him when I see Him, He'll
come round to see it my way’

`But don't you see, Christ is among us all the time. Lov
e
him first and all the
rest will be made over again.'

She was silent. `I don't think I want it all made over again, l Drake. I think I want it just as it is.'

Drake sighed. `Oh, well, I promised Sam I'd try.'

`You promised'. ..' She laughed. `So that explains it all! It is not you speaking at all but Sam.
I might have guessed!’

Drake picked up his hammer and stared at it in frustration. `No. No, sister, isn't true. I'm
saved and in grace just same
as him. But he's the more convinced in trying, to save others. And he thought -
we thought ...' He picked up a nail and hammered it home.

`And you thought your sister was utterly in the dark and estranged from God? Isn't that what you call it?'

'We'll, it come natural, don't it, to think of folk close I home. And Sam d'know that I'm more with ee than he is. And he thinks ye've more of a taking for me than for him
’

`If you put nails
in like that you'll have to draw them out again. And that'll split the wood ...' She turned a page of the cost book. `I'm sorry, brother. You should first try to convert Captain Poldark.'

`I'd dare not try,' said Drake.

`No more would I,' said Demelzaa `But for all that, don't
tell me he's not a good man!'

Drake: perceived: he could do, no
more. `Pity, a rare pity, This library ...'

`What
of it?

`Sam were thinking. Only just thinking. That as the Society grew this'd be a handsome place for our meetings.'

Joe Nanfan had come into the library carrying a; deal plank. Since he was injured in the mine collapse of last year he had taken to carpentering and was learning fast.

Demelza let out a long
pent
breath. `I think I believe you both take after Father.'

Drake smiled uncertainly at her as she got up and left.

Later that evening, Ross still being away, Drake came to her in the garden.

`Excuse me, sister, if I were taking liberties this forenoon. I trust you think no worse of we.'

Demelza said: `I couldn't but think worse of someone who wants to use our new room as a meeting house.'

They both laughed. `But serious,' he said.

`Serious,' she said, `you've a beguiling way, Drake, 'I tremble for the young women around here.'

His face changed. `Well, maybe yes, maybe no. I fear tis not all so simple as that ... Sister, I have another favour to ask of ee, and this is my own and maybe
I shouldn't ask this neither’

`I'm sure you should not,' Demelza said. `And I'm sure you will.,

'Well ... I
can read if I go slow and careful; but we've only one bible betwixt the both of us, and Sam d'have it all the time. He d'read to me out of it, but that don't help my reading, And I can't write. Mind, I can pen my name but naught else. I want the practice.'

`You need another book? That you can have with pleasure, though our selection is small. Another bible?'

'Well, sister, if there be another book I'd better prefer that, seeing as we have the one bible already. Some good, book, mebbe, as will help to improve me in two ways at the same time, like. And also,' he added
as Demelza was about to speak.
'If I practise to write I would dearly like for you to help me. See what I d'write, tell me where I go wrong. You know. For mebbe ten minutes a day, no more.'

She considered a hollyhock which needed staking already, otherwise the next wind would flatten it. Hollyhocks were really unsuitable for this coast, and she would have given them up long ago if she had not loved them so much. One
needed
sturdier
things, lower growing. Anyway, she
was coming reluctantly to acknowledge that this
was essentially a garden which did well
only in the spring. Daffodils,
primroses, tulips, they were always splendid; but the soil was so light that any heat in summer quickly dried it out, and the plants lacked food.

`Sam cannot do this for you?'

'Sam is not overmuch betterer'n me. Now I seen that notice that you penned for the workmen 'bout them keeping off from walking on your garden, and that's bravely writ. You must've writ a lot, sister. You must've practised at it.'

`I started writing when I was your, age, Drake. No, a year younger. That's seven years since. It takes time.'

`I've time.
’

'My writing,' she said. `You should see some of the documents done by the law, done by clerks and the like. That's writing. Mine looks like a spider with a broken leg.'

`I just want to be able to make my wishes known.'

`I think you do that quite well now,' she said, stooping to grasp a weed. She tugged, but the head came away in her fingers, leaving the root.

He said: `Here,' and bent beside her, dug his long fingers into the sandy soil and came out with the root. `What shall I do with'n?'

'That heap over there. Thank you, brother.' She straightened up, and the breeze blew her hair back from her forehead. `Very well, Drake, I'll help you. Always provided you do not try too hard to convert me.'

He patted her hand. `Thank ee, sister. That's brave and fine. You're a real Christian.'

Ross had been two nights in Looe, staying with his old friend Harry Blewett. Over a late supper he told Demelza that Blewett's boat yard was booming, and that he was still willing to offer Ross a share in the business. Such money as Ross put in would be used to extend the yard, which at present was strained to capacity.

Demelza said: `What if the war is over soon?'

`A good yard, well run, can hardly fail to
remain a going
concern. The need for boats may not, be `so great' if the war ends,
but the need will not altogethe
r disappear, the way a lode of tin or copper can.'

She helped him to m
ore chine of mutton. 'And
the other thing?'

`They have made only one r
un since early June, but two
of their men then inquired on my behalf. So far nothing. The Breton fishermen, they say, move about from port to port but they seldom journey inland and they have no knowledge of prisons or camps or of any prisoners of war. I have offered fifty guineas for definite information that can be confirmed about the English ship Travail and possible survivors. They are going over next week if the weather is favourable.'

`And from St Ann's?'

`Will Nanfan has found out nothing about Dwight, but, he did hear that English prisoners in Brest had been ill-treated by the rabble, stoned in the streets and put in abominable jails, These he thought were captured merchant seamen; and of course naval officers would get preferential treatment.'

`You will not tell Caroline this?'

`Certainly not.'

She picked up his plate. `Pudding? Or jelly? Or gooseberry tart?'

`Tart, if you have made it and not Jane. Thank you.' He watched her get up and cut the tart. The coming child had done nothing yet to alter her figure; she still had the same leggy grace, the same look of youthful intent. `While I was in Looe I met two French emigres, both aristocrats, a M. du Corbin and a Comte de Maresi. I asked du Corbin what was most likely to happen if Dwight had survived the wreck. But I think du Corbin is still living in a chi
valrous time.
He asserts that all officers captured are automatically exchanged or released; on p
arole and that , therefore, as
we have heard nothing, Dwight is dead. What I don't think he realizes is that, even in the year and a half since he left, conditions in France have r
un down. Communications are dis
integrating and until some order is restored no one really can control procedures which used to be taken as a matter of course.'

She sat down and watched him eat. She sat with one elbow on the table, the other smoothing the cloth. `I have a fear that if you hear nothing soon you, may go over to ask questions yourself.'

'The risk would be small: if. I did: Neither government has yet made any attempt to stop the trade.'

`It is
not just
governments as you call them. It is people. We are at war. Some may forget it if it lines their pockets, but others will remember. Hat
red will grow week by week. See
what Will says about the crowds in Brest. You
might be attacked at sea
or captured and, taken prisoner yourself - or stabbed in the back. That is one risk. The other is being caught landing back in England. We have had one bitter narrow escape. T'would be too much to expect another.'

He smiled. `What a lot of hazards you see! I suppose you have forgotten what I said to you when you told me you were with child. And do you know
-
what you
replied? "`Just by living we are all hostages to fate."'

`It is not the same thing, Ross. Women
-
whether high or low it is their natural lot, their destiny to bear children. I have had two. Why should the third be any different? But men are not
-
it is not their natural destiny to travel overseas and risk their lives in an enemy country.'

`Not for a
friend?'

'Ah.. I know. I know ...' She puckered her brows. 'You make me sound mean. Why do you make me sound mean, Ross? But others can do what
you
can do. Employ them. We have money enough
-
that is the way to use it.'

Services at Sawle Church were held at eleven in the morning on the first and third Sundays in the month and at two in the afternoon on the other Sundays. On these occasions Mr Clarence Odgers said prayers and preached, and the choir and musicians sawed away at a few, psalms a
nd hymns, helped by the sparse
congregation. Old Charles Poldark had liked an evening service starting about five or six, so of course it had been arranged to suit him; but a couple of years after he died, with the rest of the Poldarks taking so little interest i
n the church, a more convenient
time had been reverted to. Then when Francis died there had only been Elizabeth, with her small son, and such had been the claims on her time and energies that all the old customs had fallen away; in particular, and most to be regretted on Mr Odgers's part, the weekly obligation of the big house to feed the curate. Attempts by Mr Odgers to induce Ross Poldark to take over this and other devoirs had signally failed.

But now that the house belonged to the Warleggans a new
regime had come in, and Mr Odgers; was pleased to, see the new squire in church every Sunday, he was in residence, together with such other members of his household as he thought fit to bring. There were no signs yet of a reversion to the old custom of victualling the needy cleric; but help of an even more valuable kind in the form of actual
money
-
had occasionally come Mr Odgers's way; and this was so unprecedented that, the little man was only too anxious to make any alterations in the
shape, time or condition of the
service that Mr Warleggan might desire.

In his heart, or on, his knees, Odgers had to confess that things were not quite the same with Mr Warleggan as with Charles or Francis Poldark. None of the Poldarks had been as regular in attendance as Mr Warleggan was proving. Old Charles had been difficult with his sudden likes and dislikes and his constant belchings, and young Francis had sometimes been bitter and sardonic. But they treated him as one of themselves. Or almost one of themselves. It was `Lost your place this morning, did you, Odgers? Thought I was asleep, didn't you, but that goes to show I was not. Aarf! Not that I "blame you with all these damned Hebrew names.' Or Francis would say: `Damn me, Odgers, that fellow Permewan with his bass viol; I've never heard a worse noise from a, sow in farrow. Could we not ask him to take some water with his gin?' Mr Warleggan was different. Mr Warleggan would call him up to the house and would say: `If you cannot get a sufficiency of bellringers, Odgers, I will send two, of my men. See that 'they are properly rung next Sunday.' Or: 'I notice some of the congregation do not rise when we come into church. Will you kindly see in, future that all do so.' It was not just what was said but how it was said - none of this man-to-man familiarity which, while never bridging the gap in social station, helped to disguise it. Rather a cold over-politeness which was more suitable between master and employee.

As to the second request, Mr Odgers had entered no comment upon it when it was made. There had been a time, when Odgers had first taken up the curacy, when it had been the custom for most of the congregation not merely to rise when the Poldarks entered but to wait outside until they carne and then follow them in. It had all been very free and easy - but it had been taken as a natural part of village life. `Afternoon, Mrs Kimber,' Charles would say, as he passed, `hope you are, better,' and 'Av'noon, sur, nicely, sur, naow, thank ee,' Mrs
Kimber would reply, with perhaps a, 'bob or a curtsey, if they felt like it - they would all go. But this custom had gradually ceased
during Francis's brief tenure,
particularly after Verity left. There wasn't much point, for instance, in waiting outside if no Poldark ever turned up. When Franci
s died it had all gone from bad
to worse; the congregation had fallen off and those left had become unruly; no one cared about the church any more.

Now someone cared but in a different way. The congregation had to be brought under a new discipline, and not one which had ceased altogether to be a discipline and become a casual, time-sanctified habit. Trenwith servants and those depending in some degree on Trenwith for trade or patronage presented no problem. But there were a number of independent-minded souls whom Mr Odgers would have to work on.

To begin with he went about it by posting himself and his eldest son, who performed the duties of verger, at the church door a few minutes before the start of the service. Then, as soon as, the Warleggans were seen approaching, his son was sent hurriedly into the
church to stop the congregation
chattering and make them rise while Odgers walked down to the lychgate to greet the arriving party.

George, however, made it all mu
ch more difficult by
frequently arriving late. The Poldarks, to give them their due, had never been three or four minutes out at most. If they were delayed or unable to come Charles would send Tabb or Bartle telling Odgers to start without them. So it had been the customary thing not to start until they came; it had, again been part of the natural order of the day. But George and his party were sometimes ten minutes late, and then the congregation became very restive.

Normally between twenty and thirty villagers would come to the service, with a few extra in the choir. (Dr Choake, who was vicar's warden, would attend with his wife regularly on the first Sunday in the month, Captain Henshawe, the people's warden, somewhat less often, and the Poldarks from Nampara once a year.) But of late these basic
numbers had been swollen by the
attendance of a solid black of men and women, some twelve to eighteen strong, who filed in led by
a man called Samuel Carne, and
seated themselves in the back five rows by the font. Odgers knew them to be Methodists, a sect that he hated but could do little to check. Although they came to church, as now, they really had little
respect for its aut
hority and still less for its
ordained ministers. But their behaviour in Sawle Ch
urch was exemplar
y, and he could do nothing to turn them out.

Too exemplary. It showed up the behaviour of the other parishioners, who were wont to chat and gossip among themselves and had grown accustomed to doing so right through the service until Mr W
arleggan stopped that too.

On the second Sunday in August, the service being at two, Sam Carne led his flock into church about five minutes before the hour, and as usual, after a short prayer, they all settled back quietly into their seats to wait for the service to begin. The rest of the congregation was at its noisiest, and they cast unfriendly looks at the Methodists and tittered among themselves, thinking pretentious the reverent manner of the people in the back rows. Unknown to Mr Odgers, George was entertaining friends, and, although they would, not begin dinner until after the service, they had been drinking tea and practising archery and generally enjoying the summery day, so that it was fifteen minutes after two before eight of them appeared at the gate. They were George and Elizabeth, Geoffrey Charles and Morwenna, St John Peter and Joan Pascoe, Unwin Trevaunance and a Miss Barbary, the daughter of Alfred Barbary: Mr Odgers hurried down to greet them and was nodded to by some and smiled at by others as they went past.

Then George said, half stopping: `Has the service begun?'

'No, Mr Warleggan, we are all ready to begin-'

'That singing ...'

Mr Odgers pushed at his horsehair wig. `It is none of my doing, but certain members of the congregation while away the time singing a hymn of their own devising. I have sent John in to stop them. It will cease in a moment,'

They waited and listened, `Egad,
' said St John
Peter, 'it sounds like a Methody hymn.'

`It will stop in a minute,' said Mr Odgers. `It will cease in a moment.'

`But why should we wait?' Elizabeth asked good-humouredly. `Is that not what churches are for? Perhaps if we hurry we can join them.' She squeezed George's arm, `Come, dear.'

He had looked annoyed when the singing did not stop; but Elizabeth's words cooled him off, and he made a little disclaiming gesture to his guests and went on.

As he came
into the church the Methodists had reached the last verse, and the sight
of him, plus an inability to remember all the words; almost silenced them. But a few
, led
by Pally Rogers and Will Nanfan
and Beth Daniel; all of whom
resented
certain fences that had been erected during the last few months and who had nothing to fear from George Warleggan or his family, sang out more loudly than ever to make up for the loss of other voices, and the last verse followed George and his party emphatically all the way to the pew.

`A rest where all our soul's desire

Is fixed on things above;

Where fear and sin and grief expire

Cast out by perfect love.'

There they subsided. The rest of the congregation had dutifully risen at the arrival of the Trenwith party. The Wesleyans had not,

Mr Odgers moved into his stall and coughed and cleared his throat.

`Let us pray,' he began,

Sam Carne was on night core that week, and when he came up it was raining so he hunched his shoulders against the weather and began to walk over the brow of the hill towards Reath Cottage. As he got near he saw a small damp figure standing by a horse just near the bed of the dry stream below the cottage, It was the Reverend Clarence Odgers.

`Why, sur, good morning to ye. Was you looking for we? I think brother's gone work; But
twill
be