The Stranger From The Sea (39 page)

'Yes, I think so.'

'I remember, though it's years since I saw her. There was some duel fought over her in London, wasn't there.'

'That was a long time ago.'

'1799. The year
my
mother died.'

'Was it? I didn't remember. I'm sorry.'

'I was only five then - same as you.' Valentine screwed up his eyes as if in some effort of recollection. 'I think my mother was something
more.
I think she was beautiful. I remember her quite well. There are of course two portraits of her that hang at Cardew to remind me. Why do you not come and see them?'

'I'd like to,' said Clowance. 'In September, perhaps, before you go back to Eton?'

'And we'U have a Christmas party,' said Valentine. 'Will you also come to that?'

Just before the ladies rose George said: 'When may I call on you, ma'am?'

Harriet held a wine glass to
her lips, letting the glass gentl
y touch her teeth. 'I am busy this month.'

'Indeed.’

'Yes, it is a surprisingly busy time. Even though there is no hunting there is much to do. I lead a social life, Sir George.'

'I'm sure you do.'

'In the close-knit Cornish world one becomes too well known in too short a time.'

'Indeed,' said George again, more coldly.

After an appropriate pause, Harriet put down her glass. 'But August is easier. I could be free in August.'

'Then
..
.'

'Is Saturday a suitable day?' 'I will make it so.'

'Come to tea on the second Saturday in August.' 'It will be a party?' 'If you wish it.' 'No, I do not wish it.'

'Very well,' said Harriet. 'Pray come at five. I shall be alone and will call in Dundee to act as chaperone.'

Ben Carter had been offered the post of underground captain at Wheal Leisure, to take effect as soon as there was anything substantial underground to supervise. He had always been one on his own, a solitary, and it was against his instincts to accept. But his grandfather added his persuasion to Jeremy's.

'Tedn't just any old job,' Zacky had said. 'I've worked for the Poldarks most all my life, an' shall be purser to this new venture if my health permits. I know your mother better prefers to keep her distance, but that be because of strange-fangled notions she have of her own and is no reflection. Indeed if you but ask her she'd tell ee the same. Captain Poldark put his health and position at risk trying to save your father.'

'Tedn that 'tall,' said Ben. 'There's no one in the land I'd sooner prefer to work for if I'm to work for anyone. Tis just that I've grown up to be my own man.'

'That I well d'know. An' it suits you, Ben. But if you live on your own an' work on your own
all
your life, like as not you'll end up not knowing where you're to. Half saved. Egg-centric. So my advice is, take this and see how you d'get on. Your fishing, your own mine - they won't run away. If things build up wrong you can always leave.'

'Yes,' said Ben thoughtfully. 'Reckon that's true.'

So for the time being he worked with the others in building the mine house and sinking the shaft. With 40s. a month coming in he was better off than he had ever been in his life. Not that he needed the money. He had a contempt for money and could have lived off the land.

One of the unspoken inducements to his working there was his chance of seeing more of Clowance. One of the dampening surprises was the discovery that Stephen Carrington was to work there also. There had never actually been words between them, but all Ben's hackles were raised when he saw Stephen assembling with the others one morning to begin digging the shaft. There was something about him he couldn't
stand.
Stephen was too big in his manner, too open-handed, too easy and too confident on nothing. What
was
he, for God's sake? An out-of-work sailor. Yet he might have been the youngest captain in His Majesty's navy the way he bore himself. And - the unforgivable sin — he had an eye for Clowance; and, horror of horrors, she seemed as if she might have an eye for him. Was it credible that she should be attracted by his big bold face and curly blond hair and expansive manner? Was it credible that Clowance, the clear-sighted, the candid, the down-to-earth and totally honest girl whom Ben revered, should be taken in by such a man? . To sink an engine shaft nine feet by nine feet required eight men in relays of four working six hours each. It was calculated that in the hard ground they were in it would take about a month to sink five fathoms. This meant that by the time the house was finished they would be down sixty feet, and if it took a further month to install the engine they would by then be below the lowest levels so far. It then remained only to link up by means of an underground tunnel.

Ben watched jealously how Stephen worked but could find no cause for complaint. Unfortunately for Ben the other young man was strong and willing and ca
pable. Furthermore, Ben saw littl
e of Clowance, for she was still avoiding Stephen. She took care to make her appearances when he was not at the mine or when there were others about.

Of course she knew she would have to confront him sometime . . . unless he should eventually get tired and clear off again. Did she want that? It certainly seemed that she wanted it. But, she asked herself, might it not be better to
send him
away, having confronted him, than just see him become discouraged and go of his own accord? There was anyway, in Jeremy's conversation, no hint of his thinking of going. Did she not perhaps, in her belief that she could dismiss him, send him away in disgrace, presuppose her having a greater importance in his life than she really had?

But a week before the dinner-party there was a meeting.

Daisy Kellow had called at Nampara in the evening and, hearing that all the men were at Wheal Leisure, had suggested to Clowance they should walk up. But when Daisy got there she found the dust from the work getting on her chest and retreated with Paul who had returned early from two days attending to his father's coaching work in Truro and had strolled up on his own. Clowance decided it was too early to go home, and the fact that Stephen was there wielding a pick could be no bar to her staying. So she stayed, rather obviously talking to Ben, and, when he was busy, to Jeremy, not totally ignoring Stephen but generally hovering out of speaking distance. They were building the second of the low walls to carry the cylinder beams. The ends of these beams would be lodged in the walls; but the platform would not be built on them until the house was otherwise finished. She expected Jeremy would walk home with her to supper but he said:
'Tell Mama I shall be another half-hour. I want to use the last daylight. D'you mind? Or stay if you like.'

'No, I'd better go. Otherwise they will be wondering.'

Ben came up to her shoulder. 'Come with you, shall I?'

'No, Ben, I wouldn't drag you away.'

'Twouldn't be dragging no one away. He's near complete.'

'No,' she laughed. 'See you in the morning.' 'Aye. I hope so.'

She slipped and slithered down the cliff path to the beach. The twilight stretched
emptily over the wide sands.
The sea was half-tide and quiet. A few pools reflected the sky's evening frown.

'Can I walk with you?' said a voice behind her as she was about to jump on to the sand.

Her nerves lurched. He must have seen her leave and at once downed tools. Or perhaps he had been leaving anyhow.

She said: 'I'm just going home.'

She jumped and he jumped after her. 'I know,' he said.

He fell into step beside her. She had tried to make her voice noncommittal, neither friendly nor cold.

He said: 'I've seen little of you, Miss Clowance.'

'Really? Oh
...'

There was one light showing in Nampara, in her parents' bedroom. But lights in the parlour would not show from here; they were blocked off by a shoulder of grass-covered rock.

'I think you've been shunning me,' he said.

'Why should you think that?'

'In near on three weeks we've not seen each other once. Properly, that is. You did not come down to dinner when your folk invited me in. You're
indoors
so much, all this fine weather.'

'Am I?'

'You know you are. And - and when you come out you're always
with
someone.'

He had grown his hair longer since last year and it now touched his shoulders so that he looked more leonine than ever. But there was no surplus flesh - his face was quite thin.

He said: 'Did you get my letter?' 'What letter was that?'

'The one I wrote. Telling you I was coming back.' 'Oh yes.'

'And when I came back it was a mite misfortunate, wasn't it, that you should see me first with Miss Violet Kellow.'

'Why should it be misfortunate?'

He stopped, but as she did not stop he had to take some quick paces to catch up with her.

'I explained to Jeremy. Didn't he explain to you?'

'What was there to explain?'

'You know what there was to explain. Look, Clowance, I thought you were an honest girl
...'

The sand here was pitted, ridged and corrugated just below the afternoon high-tide mark. Clowance frowned and patted some of the ridges flat with her foot, then went on.

He said: 'I explained to Jeremy. I didn't like to break in on you that night, that first night I came back, with me not knowing your father. And when I came to the bonfire you were chatting and laughing all the time with that fellow Carter.
And
looking at him.
And
looking at him
...
So I went to go home, back to Will Nanfan's to get an early night, and I just met Violet Kellow. She was mad to see the bonfire, though she'd got a fever and a cough on her that would have affrighted most girls. She was gay, hectic-like, headstrong. I felt sorry for her. I went along with her. She's a lively girl and pretty in her way. But she means naught to me. No more that that stone, therel
You're
the one I care about!'

Clowance did not like the picture she was presenting to herself, of a jealous girl stalking away, head held high, while the man followed. Yet to stop and have it out with him here on the beach was impossible. She did stop.

'You ask me to believe that story!'

'It's God's truth!'

'And you expect me to care?'

'Well, of
course
you care, otherwise you'd not be angry! If it didn't matter twopence to you who you saw me with you'd — you'd just
show
you didn't care. You'd just be as friendly as when I left. Don't you see, you give yourself away?'

Clowance stared back at the lanterns being lit now about the mine. They flickered and winked against the cliff and the darkening sky. She looked towards them and drew comfort from them. They represented calmness, normality, friendship, an absence of pain. Similarly in the house ahead, her mother and father and sister were sitting down to supper. A known and loving family; no conflict, no distress. Between them here she was with this man, in a situation where cross-currents of emotion could sweep her off her feet. As if the tide had risen and was racing in. All sorts of anguish gripped her. Yet it was not all anguish or she would have turned and gone. She wanted at the same time to hurt him and to heal him.

Her own hurt was so strong. She said: 'All right, Stephen, I do care. You do mean something to me. How much I don't yet know. But something, yes. You tell me I mean something to you - '

'Everything.' He took a step towards her but she backed away.

'You say you care for me. Whatever your story about meeting Violet Kellow - whatever is the truth of it - it is not the way I should have behaved. If
I
cared -
if I
cared for you, and was coming back after a long absence and had not yet seen you, d'you think I should have gone off with the first man I met and spent all the dark of the night walking with him - on beaches and in graveyards? D'you think I should have shown how much I cared by doing something like that!' Her anger rose as she spoke, struggling to express the fierce, bitter distress in her heart.

'No,' he said. 'No. You're certain right. And I'm sorry, sorry. And maybe I don't deserve anything better than the cold shoulder. But I assure you, twas not meant that way. I — I do things on impulse, like, on the spur of the moment. She came out, and I said "Hallo, Miss Violet," and then I was saddled.'

'Was she saddled too?' Clowance asked, surprising herself.

'Now, now, you don't want to think anything like
that,
I was no more'n friendly! Why, curse it, a sick girl, you couldn't lay hands on her! It wouldn't have been fair
...'

Having heard whispers about Miss Kellow, Clowance doubted this reassurance. Indeed, she was not sure about something in his voice which, because it was too soothing,, abraded her sharp senses. Unfortunately for her cooler judgment, his close presence had a trancing quality that undermined reason. His teeth were good but there was one broken eye tooth which always caught her attention when he smiled. His hands were short-fingered and strong but not big, the nails cut close, kept clean in spite of his labouring work. His throat above the open neck of his shirt was columnar. The tawny hair curled about his ears like fine gold wire. The high cheekbones, firm warm mouth above a cleft chin; the blue-grey eyes, almost the colour of her father's but more open, the
experience
in that face, reflecting so much that he had seen and done, together with her knowledge that he desired her
...

'Oh,' she said, 'it is all so
petty
...
A
petty
quarrel over a
petty
adventure. I am not only angry with you but ashamed for myself. Let us leave it for a time. If you are staying
...'

'Gladly, me love. Gladly I'll leave it, and, more than that, I'll forget it
...'

He put his hands on her shoulders and drew her to him, kissed her, his lips moving sensuously over hers.

'You know there's no one but you - could never be anyone but you
...'

'Why
should I know that?'

'Because I tell you so. Don't you feel it to be so?'

He put his hand to the bow at the neck of her frock. She slapped his face.

He drew back, putting the back of his hand across his cheek. It had all been too fast, he saw that now, and cursed himself for making a wrong move. But his own temper was roused.

He said: 'That's something more for me to forget, eh? You've got strong arms, Miss Clowance.'

'I'm sorry if it is different with other ladies you have known. Do none of them have a mind of their own?'