The Loving Cup (25 page)

'No
...
Is that the young officer in the Packet Service?' 'Yes.'

'I seen him once. Ginger haired almost, wi' big side chucks
...
Do it please your family, him going off wi' Carrington?'

'Of course not. Particularly his mother and father. They naturally think he has thrown away a secure position in a respected government service for this wild venture. They're right. Any number of things may go wrong with Stephen's plans. But according to Clowance, to whom Andrew spoke just before he left, Andrew had got into some difficulty with his debts, and it was only because he told Stephen of these that Stephen offered him the chance of sharing in his adventure. There seems to be no question of Stephen having lured him away.' 'What are they about?'

'Stephen has crammed both his vessels full to the gunnels of pilchards, salted in their barrels - all of which he has bought cheap in Cornwall - and is going to run the French blockade and take them to Genoa. If all goes well you can see what he might gain. At any rate, as I have told you - even if he catches the Portuguese trades as he hopes on the way south, he will certainly not be back in England until March at the earliest. Clowance will be safe till then.'

Ben grunted. 'He have made some money from what he
p
ut into this mine, but not near enough for what he must've aid out. Where's he gotten the rest of the money?'

There was a silence. Jeremy said: 'He may have borrowed some of it. Also he tells people he has inherited from an uncle.' 'A likely story.'

‘
I
am only telling you that he has gone away for some months, so you do not need to worry on that score.'

They went down to the second floor. Here for a few minutes they watched in silence while the sword-coloured piston rod slid up and down, steam rising round it as it moved.
Grunt,
pause,
breath;
grunt,
pause,
breath;
so for eighteen months it had been working, working all the time except for the occasional regular halts, and except for the stoppage last week. It had been well designed, and he had designed it, with some outside advice. This at least was something to be proud of. Thirty tons of rods to lift; then down, down, pushing the water so that it was forced up to the tanks to gush away down the surface adit. There were beads of sweat on the piston, like those on the brow of a working man.

He, Jeremy, had made this. He and the engineers and craftsmen working under him. He still felt as if he had created something
alive,
out of iron and brick and water and fire. Something of great power, of sentience, of mood and temperament, of
character.
He was leaving this behind.

He said: 'I expect the war to be over within the year. Napoleon is tottering. Once he has gone I don't believe the Americans will be unwilling to make peace. I should be back within two years - perhaps less than that. When I do come back, there are all sorts of improvements I would like to try. There is a roll-crusher I have seen written of. And there is a mechanical buddle for processing slimes. These and other things. And I'd like to make some experiments into why iron castings containing gunmetal inserts sometimes collapse. Is it because they have been in contact with impure water? There is much to do here
...
But, I suppose, for the moment there is much to do elsewhere. Peace of mind. Is that what I seek? Peace of mind? In war? It is an odd question.'

They went down to the ground floor where the grey-haired, balding Peter Curnow had the fire door open and was shovelling in coal. They watched in silence, as the ashes fell glowing and the new coal sent clouds of gr
ey smoke up the chimney. Presentl
y the door clanged shut and Peter picked up his oil can and began to drip oil on the levers which automatically opened and shut the valves. He grinned as he went up the stairs.

'Just going put a drop on the gudgeon pins. You don't want me, do ee?'

'No, Peter. Thank you.'

A great grey striped cat raised his head and looked at them from his chair, eyes narrowing to slits as if the light had become suddenly brighter; then turned luxuriously and tucked his head under his paws. Vlow, as he was called after an extinct mine further along the beach. Cats always appeared out of nowhere to adopt or be adopted by a working mine. They knew a warm place.

'It's passing odd,' said Jeremy, 'that when you and I first prospected this old mine and I persuaded my father and Mr Treneglos to put up the money, though we all knew about Trevorgie and the possibility of linking up with her, I never
really
believed we should - or if we did that the old ground would be much worth the working. But it's Trevorgie now that is keeping us going and showing a profit. If you had not made that discovery that day the whole mine would have been shut down six months ago.'

I
suppose. Though we might've gone deeper and found something. The beauty o' the Trevorgie workings is that they're more or less shallow and don't impose extra strain on your engine.'

'The
beauty also of going into old ti
n workings and finding copper. D'you still get complaints?'

'What about?'

‘I
t being haunted.'

'Yes. A dozen or more've given up their better pitches and gone into the
newer work. But there's enough’l
l brave the knockers for the sake of profit.'

'What do they complain of
Roman soldiers?'

'Just noises. Tis a superstition. Knockers are supposed to be three feet tall with legs like sticks and big ugly heads and hook noses; but no one never sees 'em. They just 'ear 'em o
n the other side of the wall.'

Jeremy put a finger under Vlow's chin and tickled him. The cat grunted and buried his chin deeper.

'What do they fear - is it supposed to predict a fall of rock?'

'Gracious knows. Bad luck, I reckon.'

'What's our profit likely to be next quarter?'

'Zacky'll
know for sure, but eight or nine hundred, maybe. You know that black tin we sold from the east workings of the
40
fathom level? When twas put into the burning house a great part of what was thought to be tin turned out to be iron. So twas only half a ton 'stead of a ton.'

'Well
...
not riches yet, but a fair return on capital.'

'Your share'll pay for your uniform no doubt,' said Ben with a hint of bitterness.

'Ben...'

'Yes?'

'You cannot suppose I leave you with a light heart. It has been - a hard decision for me to come by. For more than a
year now
...
Oh, except for m
y cowardice. I would have been away at the beginning of this year instead of the end of it. It leaves us, as you say, dun on the ground for men...'

'Men who take responsibility,' said Ben. 'Men who make decisions. There's plenty of others around.'

'My father expects to be back from Westminster in a few weeks. Because of my not being here he will be home well before Christmas.'

'Does he
like
you going?'

'Like? That is not the word. At least he has not stood in the way. We had a family council - with Geoffrey Charles before he left. It was not an easy meeting, but in the end we all agreed'

Ben stirred the coal dust with his foot. 'Have you seen Zacky yet?'

'No, I shall call in there now. Good that he's better.' 'Yes
...
he's better. But he's old
, Jeremy. My grandfather, ye know.'

Peter Curnow trotted down again, can in hand, put it on the shelf, rubbed his hands on a rag. 'She's going proper now, Mr Jeremy.'

They talked mining for a while. All these good-byes, Jeremy thought; it would be better when they were over and he was at last away. Last night he had seen Paul Kellow
...

Paul had said: 'How much have you taken?'

'Four hundred. That's for my uniform etc'

'Stephen's had all of his.'

'And you?'

'Some left. But I've had most of it from the cave.' 'Why?'

‘I
t feels safer. Why don't you take more?' 'Some day. When next I'm back.' Paul sipped his beer.

'What I have will about see us through next year. That's if I can continue to deceive my father as to how it is come by.'

Jeremy did not suppose Mr Kellow would bother to enquire too closely so long as the supply did not dry up. But he did not say so. Paul, apart from buying a few extravagant items of clothing, had behaved far the best of any of them by
putting most of his ill-gotten gains towards the preservation of his family. Being the sort of young man he was, fond of display, it must have needed considerable restraint not to break out in some more obvious manner himself. Or fear
...

Paul said: 'And it it was hard come-by, by God! All the t
ime in that coach I felt as if the rope was tightening around my neck. I dream still at night sometimes of the back of the coach broken open and the two strong boxes on the seats for any to see if the coach stopped, and none of us able to break into the cursed things! I wake up in a fever, sweat pouring off me as if I were taken with the ague! Then I am afraid to fall asleep again lest the nightmare shall restart.'

'No doubt,' said Jeremy.

I
asked Stephen once if thoughts of it ever disturbed his sleep. He said, no, and he never dreamed, he said. Yet at the time I'll swear he was just as worked upon, as anxious, yes, and as scared as we were! I recall him cursing and swearing with that crowbar, and his face all running with sweat.'

I
recall it all,' said Jeremy.

They finished their beer.

Paul said: 'The success of the coaching business depends on the ending of the war. With luck we can survive another year. Then we are expecting an expansion of travel. Sooner or later it is bound to come. People scarcely stir in Cornwall from one place to the next unless driven by some dire necessity
...
Are you going to say good-bye to Daisy?'

I
think so. Later tomorrow.' Which was now today
..

(Early this morning, just before daybreak he had been out to Kellow's Ladder and had taken the money he needed. It was all in his purse now, some of it paper, some of it clinking; in a purse about his waist where it must never leave him...)
After parting from Ben Carter, Jeremy went to take leave of Zacky Martin, who was the official purser to both mines but who now was mainly confined to his chair; and there were few easeful breaths he took in a day; then on to a few of his many other friends in and around Mellin and Grambler.

These preparations to go did not so much matter; it was leaving early tomorrow morning that was going to be
emotionally charged. His mother, he knew, would be full up, but was unlikely to give way. Isabella-Rose, of course, looked on it all as a prime lark, only envious that she could not go with him, comically bitter that she could never be a soldier. Clowance he was not so sure of. She might unexpectedly burst into tears, and the awful, humiliating thing was that when they had been children he had never been able to keep his eyes dry if she once started crying. It had happened once when he was eighteen and she fifteen. It had been humiliating enough then. Tomorrow morning if it happened it would be quite
intolerable.
A soldier going to the wars in
tears.
Somehow he must get at Clowance tonight to warn her, even threaten her, that
nothing
must be emotional in the morning.

He had not written to Cuby since the party. There was no point. Let her find out in whatever way she would. At least he hoped to be far away at the time of her wedding. There was no risk of his being able to accept an invitation to attend.

Now that the time had come for him to leave, he welcomed it. Or a part of his complex nature welcomed it. All his life, he told himself, he had had it soft. All his life, except for the self-imposed dangers of the coach robbery, he had been cosseted and protected, a privileged member of the Poldark clan, of a Cornish c
ounty family, his only revolt
against parental discipline being a daring decision to learn the principles of high pressure steam without their knowledge or consent. If he had slept rough or lived rough or gone hungry it had been with the sure knowledge of the open door of comfort awaiting his return. Well, now he was going out into the real world of hardship, privation and adventure. There were to be no easy escapes any more. Life - real life - was on his doorstep. So was death. His childhood and his youth were over. Now he was to come of age.

III

In the week that Jeremy left Sir George Warleggan sent his lawy
er, Hector Trembath, to call on
anotherTawyer,
Mr Arthur Williams Rose, who lived and practised in Liskeard. Always a man to proceed with circumspection - and careful never to allow any one of his employees to see the whole of his mind - George had engaged two of his other clerkly » servants to make the preliminary inquiries on another front. These had been slow in coming in. Now they were complete. Of the seven young men playing Faro with Harriet on the significant date, two had satisfactory alibis for Monday the
2
5th
January. Of the remaining five, it seemed improbable that Andrew
Blamey
should have been involved. His packet ship was indeed in Falmouth on the
25th
but had left on the dawn tide of Tuesday. This made his physical presence possible on the coach, but the
Countess
of
Leicester
had only arrived on the Saturday afternoon, and it seemed unlikely that young
Blamey
could ever have got to Plymouth and played his part as Lieutenant Morgan Lean in an enterprise that must have needed careful planning in advance of the robbery. Still, George was reluctant to strike him off altogether, for it would be so gratifying to accuse a Poldark.