Jeremy Poldark (22 page)

They all walked upstairs and into Elizabeth's
bedroom and chattered round the mirror and tidied their hair and in turn
visited the noisome apartment down the passage which Demelza thought so much
worse than the outdoor arrangements of Nampara; and Elizabeth adjusted Aunt
Agatha's lace cap, and Mrs. Chynoweth said she'd heard the new fashions at
London and Bath were verging on the indecent; and Aunt Agatha said she still
had some recipes somewhere for the face: pomatums and suchlike, and lip salves,
white pots and water of talk: she'd find 'em for Demelza before she left. And
Elizabeth said Demelza was very quiet, was she quite well? And Demelza said, Oh
yes, fine and, well; and Mrs. Chynoweth gave her a casual glance up and down
that
seemed to
strip her secret bare, and said the new fashion was
for the waist to be right up under the arms and for the whole dress to fall
quite like a candle sconce to the floor and the less worn under, the better.

Demelza sat on the rosewood bed with its pink
quilted satin hangings, and adjusted her garters and thought, Ross was right,
we should never have come back here till Verity came; she makes all the
difference, she's my mascot, my luck; I'm dull tonight and even port won't
help so Elizabeth'll score all round with her lovely sheeny hair and sapling
waist and big grey eyes and her educated voice and her grace and poise. How is
the rest of this evening and tomorrow to be got through? Downstairs the port
had circulated twice, and Jonathan Chynoweth, who had a humiliatingly weak head,
was looking drowsy and talked with a slurred speech. Dwight, who had never had
the money to drink regularly was aware of his own deficiencies and kept sipping
a drop and adding a drop when the bottle came round. The cousins, of course,
were hardly aware that they had yet begun.

Francis said to, Ross: "These are the last
three bottles of the '83 port. Did you lay in much of it at the time?"

" I hadn't the money then - just back from
America and the place in a ruin. I've nothing earlier than last year's. When
that's done we shall have to resort to cheap gin."

Francis grunted. "Money. The lack of it is
poisoning both our lives. Sometimes I could rob a bank - would, if it were
Warleggan's and I could escape the gallows."

Ross glanced idly at him. "What made you
quarrel with him?"

It was the first question which touched' on the
fundamentals between them. Francis instantly realised its importance and the
impossibility of giving a full answer here. Yet he must not seem to evade it.
" A realisation that your estimate of them was the right one."

There was a pause while the clock struck. The
metallic vibrations trembled round the room long after it had finished, seeming
to seek a way out.

Francis drew three straight lines down the
tablecloth with a fork's prongs. These things soak in slowly. They're hardly
noticed, until suddenly you wake up one day knowing that the man who has been
your friend for years is a - blackguard and. . " he waved his hand, ` ...
that's all l"

Have you moved your affairs?"

"No I'll say that for them. I was offensive
enough to George to blow his hat off, but he's done nothing; about it." “I
should move them."

"Impossible. No one else would take the
debt."

"Look," said Dwight uncomfortably,
I've had what drink I want, and if you'd like to discuss private money matters
..."

“Ecod, there's nothing private in debts,"
said Francis. " They're everybody's property. It's the one consolation.
... Anyway-I've nothing private from you."

The bottle was passed round.

"By the way," said Francis, "what
has Demelza been doing with Bodrugan's mare?"

"Doing with it?" Ross said cautiously.

" Yes. I met him this morning, and he was
all cock-a-hoop because his beloved Sheba was on the mend. I didn't even know
the beast had been ill. He said it was Demelza's doing. The recovery, I mean,
not the sickness."

The bottle came to Ross. "Demelza has some
skill with animals," he said hardily. "'Bodrugan carne over and
seemed anxious for her advice."

“Well, she's in his good graces now. He was
fairly slapping his boots about it."

“What was wrong with the animal?" Dwight
inquired.

" You must ask Demelza," Ross said.
"No doubt she will explain."

“Quarrelling with the War-Warleggans," said
Mr. Chynoweth. "A bad business. Very influential. Tentacles."

How eloquently you express yourself these days,
Father-in-law," said Francis.

“Eh?"

" Let me fill your glass just this once
more and then you can go to sleep comfortable."

"For twelve months," Ross said, "they've
been trying to buy a share in Wheal Leisure."

"I don't doubt it. They'd be interested in,
any paying concern, and any belonging to you in, particular."

" Wheal Leisure doesn't belong to me. I
wish it did."

" Well, you're the largest shareholder.
Have you had any success in linking up with the old Trevorgie workings?"

"No. We abandoned it for some of the wet
months and then took it up again. I don't think the others will sanction the
expense much longer."

"There's good work there somewhere."

“I know. But the men's wages mount up when you
see them in the cost book."

"You remember when we went down the old
workings, together, Ross. It doesn't seem so long ago. There's money in
Trevorgie and Wheal Grace. I could smell it that day."

"You need to put money in before you can
take money, out It's one of the imperatives of mining."

" Both copper and tin have; gone up'
again," said Dwight. He accepted the bottle and let it cool his fingers.
"D'you think there's any chance of restarting Grambler?"

"Not a dog's chance," said Francis.
"Here, drain up your glass, you're not keeping pace at all." He
stared at Ross, whose lean restless face as yet showed no flush. " You
know old Fred Pendarves. For a month now I've had him prospecting over my
land. And Ellery helping him. I don't think; if he lived to be eighty you'd make
a farmer out of Ellery or get , him to tell the front of a cow from the tail;
but he's been
bred to
mining like a terrier's bred to
ratting, and between 'em I'm hoping for some sort of, a workable venture. At
heart I'm just the same as Ellery: there's copper in my blood, and if I have to
go on living then I've got to start mining again, not rooting up stroil or
driving pigs to market."

A snore came from Jonathan Chynoweth, whose head
was resting back against his chair.

"Driving pigs to market indeed,” said
Francis.

Ever since he came back from America, Ross
thought, he and Francis had had something or other to quarrel about; but almost
always when he met Francis he wondered if the quarrel was worth while. Francis
had a way with him, always had had: a wry humour that carried one along, made
one forget the bitterness and the possible betrayals. Perhaps the attraction
was still mutual, for Francis had brightened up a lot since he came.

"Don't let me damp you," he said,
"but even a hole in the ground costs money. Unless one can pick copper out
of the subsoil as they did in Anglesea…"

“I have some ' ready money," said Francis.
A few hundred. It might see me through. Anyway,' that's how it shall be
spent."

When Francis had offered to help Demelza with
money if things went wrong at Bodmin, Ross had dismissed it as a rhetorical flourish.
But here it was again. Ready money in a near bankrupt.

Well, and have they found anything yet?"

Oh, traces enough. There's mineral everywhere,
as you know. But I can't afford to take chances. I want a reasonable venture.
What, d'you think of this
Virgula Divinitor
? It's supposed to be a sure
test of where there is metal under

ground. “ " The name's impressive. Do you
know the English for it, Dwight?"

Mr. Chynoweth twitched and woke up. "Where
am I?"

" In bed with your wife, old man,"
said Francis, "so have a care lest we, take advantage of you."

Mr. Chynoweth blinked at him, but was too
stupefied to be insulted. He reached for his glass, but before he grasped it
his head was nodding again.

" I gather it's only a sort of divining
rod," said Dwight. " Even supposing it worked, I, think it would be
disappointing to sink a shaft expecting copper-and find only lead.''

Ross said : " Or even a tin kettle left by
one of the old men".

Francis said " Of course you're lucky with
both Wheal Grace and Wheal Maiden on your land. We never did nothing here
except for Grambler. It took all our attention and all our money."

" Two derelict mines," said Ross, and
remembered what Mark Daniel had said about Grace: There's money in that mine.
Copper.: . _I've never seen a more keenly lode. "More, expensive to
restart than to begin a new working," he added.

Francis sighed. "Well, I suppose all your
interest is in Wheal Leisure now."

" All my money is."

“And that's the same thing, eh? And I shall have
to recourse to Virgula Divinitoria or the wisdom of old Fred Pendarves. Pass
the port, Enys; you're making no good use of it”

There was a tap, on the door and Tabb came in.

If you please, sur, there's a man asking for Dr.
Enys. `What man?"

"He's from Killewarren, sur. I think he
wants for Dr. Enys to go to someone who's ill."

" Oh, tell "em to be ill on a more
convenient night."

Dwight pushed back his chair. " If you'll
excuse me .. "

" Nonsense," said Francis, pouring his
port so quickly that the froth circled to the centre. " If you must see
the fellow ask him in here; see what he wants."

Tabb glanced at Dwight and then went out, to bring
back a small clerkly, man; in black. They hadn't heard it begin to rain, but
his cloak dripped water on the rug.

“Oh, it's Myners," said Francis.
"What's amiss at Killewarren?"

The little man looked at Dwight. " Are you
Dr. Enys, sir? I went to your house but was told you was here. Beg pardon; for
disturbing you. It is Miss Penvenen wanted to see you, and she sent me over to
fetch you.”

"Miss Caroline Penvenen?"

" Yes, Sir!'

So she was still in Cornwall and no doubt her
dog was having fits again.

"Has she not her own doctor?"

" Yes, sir, but she said for to fetch you.
She's been ill for near on three days. It's her throat, sir, that is giving her
grave trouble."

A silence fell on the table. The casual
good-fellowship of Francis, Dwight's first impatience were not proof against
this. The malignant sore throat, which had struck both families last year, had
hardly been heard of this. If it came in the district again ...

What symptoms?" Dwight said.

"'I don't rightly, know, sir. I'm only the bailiff;
But Mr. Ray Penvenen said she was mortal sick and I must fetch you."

Dwight got -up. "I'll come at once. Wait
and show me the way."

Penvenen land stretched up almost to the back of
Grambler village, but the house, Killewarren, had its main entrance near Goon,
Prince and was about three miles from the gates of Trenwith.

They had not heard the rain indoors because it
was coming in a fine silent slag from the southwest, moving with a tired wind.
But it was more wetting;, than straight rain, and the night was dark with a close
inner blackness more proper to a confined space than out of doors; even Myners
had some difficulty in keeping to the grass-grown track that led home.

They did not talk much, because the way was
often too narrow to ride abreast and the, going so uneven that an incautious
step might throw you. Dwight, too, had mixed feelings at the prospect of
meeting the tail, girl again; anxiety and a slight apprehension that was-not
entirely to do with her illness. More than ever he was glad he had not been
free with the port.

He had never been to her home - or her uncle's
home and when they turned in at the gates he rather expected to see such
another gracious Tudor residence as Trenwith, or a small but solid Palladian
house like Sir John Trevannance's; so it was a surprise to find an ill-lit,
shabby, rambling building which -seemed, to be little more than an extensive
farm house. They went in through a porch and hail, up some stairs-and along a
narrow passage to a big untidy living room at the end of it, where a man with
spectacles was turning the pages of a book. He took off his spectacles when
Dwight was shown in - a sandy, stocky man in a coat sizes too big for him. As
he came nearer Dwight saw that his red eyelids were almost lashless and that
his hands were covered with warts. Ray Penvenen, bachelor, a onetime "
catch " of the county who had never been caught He said in a thin, rather
musical voice: "Are you Dr. Enys?"

Yes of

" My niece is ill. Dr. Choake has been
attending her for two days, but she is worse and she insisted on sending for you'

As Penvenen fumbled to put his spectacles away
Dwight wondered how he managed to keep his hands clean.

"Does Dr. Choake know I am being called?"
"No. We've not seen him since this morning."

Dwight said: “Of course, you know, it makes it
very difficult - " " I'm well aware of the usual etiquette, Dr. Enys,
and I'm not responsible for the breach of it. It is my niece who has sent for
you.' But in fact I am not satisfied. She's in, great, pain tonight-and the
throat can be so dangerous."

" Did Dr. Choake diagnose the
complaint?"

" Yes. A quinzy."

"Is there-any fever?"

"That we don't know. But she can hardly
swallow at all."

They set off again, back down the passage and up
a half dozen steps, and turned towards the south end of the house. Penvenen
came to a door and stopped and knocked.

It was a big timbered room with an open
fireplace in which a turf fire was flickering; wind down the chimney was
fanning the smoke, and the blue damask untasselled curtains at the windows
stirred furtively as the air was sucked through the door. A serving girl got up
as they came in and Dwight went over to the bed.

Her tawny, hair was loose and over her shoulders,
and her fiery grey-green eyes a little dulled with pain, but she smiled at him
with a-faint sardonic twist to her lips. Then with an accompanying gesture she
lifted the sheet and disclosed Horace asleep on a blue cushion beside her.

Dwight smiled back at her and took the seat the
servant girl had left. He felt Caroline's pulse. It was quick but not
sufficiently so to indicate a serious fever. He asked her one or two questions,
which she answered by shakes or nods of her head. He saw her throat muscles quivering
and then the effort she made to swallow.

"Will you open your mouth, Miss
Penvenen."

She did so and he peered at her throat

" Would you get me, a spoon, please,"
he said to the maid.

“A tablespoon." When she had gone he said
to Penvenen:, "What treatment has Dr. Choake prescribed?"

"... Two bleedings; that's so, isn't it,
Caroline? A strong purge; and some sort of a draught, here. That's the lot,
isn't it?"

Caroline pointed to the back of her neck.

" Oh, and a large blister. That's it. He
said it was simply a question of getting the poisons to disperse."

Dwight smelled the mixture. It was probably
syrup of gill and Gascoigne's powder with a few other things in cinnamon water.
The maid came back and Dwight took the spoon and sat on the bed.

The left side of the throat was much inflamed
and there was no sign of suppuration yet. The uvula, the soft palate and the
pharynx were all involved. At least there was nothing to suggest the disease
they all feared. It seemed in fact a fairly clear case of quinzy and there was
not a great deal he could do to improve on Choake's treatment. Her hands and
forehead were quite cool, that was the only unusual sign. She was in a lot of
pain.

"Mr. Penvenen," he said, would you
kindly bring that candle over and hold it quite still. Just here. Here. That's
it. Thank you." He pressed the tongue down with the spoon again.

Penvenen's breathing - was heavy and rather
stale, his nodular hand only just steady enough. Little blisters of grease
followed each other down the side of the candle and congealed on the silver
stick.,

After a time Dwight released her and stood up.
He had seen something, and a twist of excitement went through him. Penvenen
also straightened, glad of the change of position,

hitching the shoulders of his coat. They were
all watching Dwight, but he was only aware of the green-eyed girl in the bed:

He turned his back on them and walked slowly to
the fire. On the mantelshelf were things of hers. A velvet purse, embroidered and
shutting with a spring; a gold repeating watch, probably French; a lace
handkerchief with her initial in the corner; a pair of oiled dogskin gloves. He
felt in his pocket and took out the etui that he always had with him. In it
were the few small instruments that he found it useful to carry. A tooth
forcer, a pair of tweezers,. a fleam, tiny incision shears. He slid out the
tweezers.' Too short. Yet it would take an hour and a half to get the thing he
really wanted. Might do. He had long fingers. And in another hour or so the
swelling might have got so bad that what he wanted to do would not be possible
at all.

He went back to the bed. " Would you hold
the candle for me again, Mr. Penvenen? Miss Penvenen, sit up a little more,
your head against the wood of the bed instead of against the pillow. Thank
you." For a minute his eyes met hers steadily. He seemed to see into the
depths of them as into the far reaches of a pool, where the spring began.
"I can help you if you'll keep quite still. You mustn't jerk or jump. It
may hurt a little, but I'll be as quick as I can."

"What is it?" asked Penvenen - "
What are you, going to do?"

" He's going to lance my throat," she
said in a whisper..

" No, I'm not. I want you to keep still. Will
you do that?" She nodded. "Of course."

Penvenen could not hold the candle steady now.
It flickered and bobbed; and the bed curtains got in the way, Dwight had the
impulse to tear them all down. Eventually he got the light where he wanted and
pressed her tongue down with the spoon. He inserted the tweezers. He could tell
she had complete confidence in him; she opened her mouth wide and didn't flinch
away.

It really wasn't too difficult after all. The
tweezers reached quite well, and at the third attempt he got them firmly fixed on
the bit of foreign matter. He tried not to tear the swollen tonsil, and after a
minute the thing came out, followed by a little spurt of blood.

He stood up, nearly knocking Penvenen's candle
over. "Rinse your mouth now." He drew back and motioned to the maid
to come forward, then went over to the fire to examine his prize. Warm and comforting
to feel the triumph. Supreme satisfaction. But it would be unworthy to show
it.

He turned back. Some blood had come from the
throat and the usual suppurative matter. She met his eyes again.

"Is that better?"" he said, a
little flushed in spite of himself.

She nodded.

"It will get easier now. I have nothing
here, but if, your man cares to come with me I can make him up something to
wash the throat. Or any apothecary will give you a melrose mixture
tomorrow."

What," said Penvenen, and cleared his
voice, what did you take away?"

Dwight said: "When did you last eat fish,
Miss Penvenen?"

I ... She wrinkled her nose. "On
Wednesday."

"You must be more careful." He showed
her the tiny piece of sharp fishbone he had taken from her throat. " It
has caused you inconvenience and might have been serious if it had been left
longer."

At Trenwith they spent a quiet evening, cosy but
a little isolated. The rain had kept even the usual carol singers away. They
played quadrille for a time to the sound of Mr. Chynoweth's snores, and when
Dwight got back he changed into a pair of Francis's' breeches and joined in the
games and won all the money. He was quiet about his visit to Killewarren, but
Demelza could see he was inwardly excited or pleased. When waiting for his
cards his fingers would be drumming the chair, and there was an unusual flush
on his face.

All through the evening Francis went out of his
way to be nice to Demelza; - and when he chose to exert himself, which was not
often these days, there were few men who could be more agreeable company. It
was as if he were trying to efface in her memory the day when he had turned her
out of the house. Demelza met him, as she would have met most people, - with
forgiveness and good will. Nevertheless she was a little uneasy for Ross, who
naturally had more time with Elizabeth.

If Dwight had had leisure from his own thoughts
to observe them he might have felt this regrouping strangely apt. Demelza's
impish wit had an echo in Francis's wry sense of humour; socially they were
well suited. And Ross and Elizabeth had much in common; all those interests and
tastes which had helped to make them boy and girl sweethearts.

Just before eleven Mrs. Chynoweth helped her
yawning husband to bed, and Aunt Agatha went soon after, but the others stayed
till midnight had struck. Then they counted up their sixpences and drank a
glass of hot punch before going off desultorily up the broad stairs. Demelza was
feeling tired and overfed and got undressed and between the sheets quickly,
trying not to think too sentimentally of the last time they had slept in this
house. Ross sat on the bed for a minute or two talking over the evening, and
then remembered his pipe which he had left in the winter parlour where they had
dined. He took a candle and went back through the darkened house, his light
flirting with the ancient shadows. There was a gleam under the door of the
winter parlour; and when he went in he found Elizabeth clearing away the
remains of the evening meal

He explained what he had come for. " I
thought everyone was upstairs," he said.

" Emily Tabb has a bad arm, and Tabb has been
unwell. We can't expect them to do everything.

" Then you should press your guests. They
have good will but no knowledge of how the house is run. He began to move some
of the plates.

" No," she said, " I don't want
you to bother. It will only take me half an hour."

" A quarter, then, if you're helped. Don't
worry; I know, the way to the kitchen.

She smiled, but obliquely, privately, as she
turned away: Her looks had been troubling him all evening. Rich crimson flared
about the unsubdued whiteness of her arms and throat, her eyes had new lights
in them. She had made no provocative move at all, but in her cool cultured way
her manner was not without challenge.

He followed her into the large kitchen.

"What did the Battles do when they left
you?"

"Mary is in service in Truro. Bartle was
trying for work in the brewery, but I haven't heard if he got it."

The Poldarks have fallen low," he said.
"You must be sorry you married into the family."

She picked up an empty tray. "Do you think
I should answer that?"

"Perhaps you, think I shouldn't have said
it."

" Oh. . . You're free to say what you like,
Ross. If anyone has the right, you have. I don't take offence so easily - these
days."

They went back into the dining room and began to
fill the tray, together.

He said : " I'm surprised to hear Francis
has a little money put by. I wonder it hasn't been spent on ekeing out your
ordinary life."

"He doesn't want to spend it that way. It's
a special sum - six hundred pounds:''

"Do the Warleggans know of it?"

"They gave it him."

“What?"

It was a token payment for all the money he'd
lost at the gaming tables to Sanson. They felt Sanson's disgrace was a
reflection on their family and offered him this. But he won't spend it at
present. He hasn't spent a penny."