But in the meantime another matter was concerning Jeremy. Stephen had left Nampara on the 20th January but had moved only to take a room with the Nanfans who lived near Sawle Church, and a few days later he came to Jeremy with a proposition.
It seemed – and he confessed this shamefacedly – that the story of his being a small trader between Bristol and Ireland was not true. He had in fact been aboard a privateer when it had been sunk by the French; but, finding himself in such a house and tended on by such genteel and respectable women as Miss Poldark and Mrs Poldark, he had been afraid to tell them this. Not that there was anything illegal in privateering, but he did not know how the Poldarks would look on it. He had, he said, already confessed the truth to Miss Poldark, but not yet to Mrs Poldark.
But there was a little more to it than that. The privateer, the Unique, before it was caught and destroyed, had already made one capture: a small lugger with a few ankers of brandy aboard. Captain Fraser had not thought it a sufficient haul to take home so he had left the lugger at Tresco in the Scilly Isles to pick up on his way back with whatever other prizes he was able to find. Well, instead he had picked up a French warship. Stephen alone survived, and would like to go and collect the lugger. Could Jeremy help?
Jeremy said: ‘D’you mean take you out there?’
‘Yes. You saved me life in that handsome little gig. Twould be very suitable and gracious if you could help me now repair me fortunes.’
‘You have papers? You could get the lugger released?’
‘Nay, there’ll be no papers. Two old brothers, Hoskin by name, are seeing to her for us. Captain Fraser did business with them before, and no doubt if I live I shall do business with them again. It’s all a question of trading.’
They were sitting on Jeremy’s bed in his room in Nampara. Stephen had called to see if there was any word from or news of Miss Clowance, but Demelza was in Sawle. Jeremy had been out in the yard seeing to a sick calf. A flurry of hail had driven them indoors, and with Isabella-Rose and Sophie Enys running wild downstairs Stephen had asked if he might have a word in private.
‘What crew would you need to sail your lugger home?’ Jeremy asked.
‘Two. Three better, but you could manage with two.’
‘Well, you want two for Nampara Girl. That means we should need four to go out in her.’
‘That’s the size of it. I thought if Paul Kellow had a mind to go. And maybe the other one that pulled me out – Ben Carter, is it?’
Jeremy hesitated. He didn’t think Ben had particularly taken to Stephen Carrington. The reason was plain: Stephen had made a great set at Clowance, and Clowance, if Jeremy was not in error, was rather taken with him. Ben, however little hope he might entertain on his own account, could not help being jealous.
Stephen misunderstood the hesitation. ‘I’ll pay you well for your trouble. The lugger’s French built, but I reckon she’d sell for £80 any day. And then there’s the cargo.’
‘Oh.’ Jeremy made a dismissive gesture and got up. ‘That’s not it. I’d like to help … When would you want to go?’
‘Sooner the better. I wouldn’t trust the Hoskins beyond three months. You’d take a profit – a share in the profit on the brandy, eh? What d’ye think?’
‘I think,’ Jeremy said, ‘the other two might be glad to have a little something. But that can wait.’
‘Not too long, I hope,’ said Stephen, and laughed.
Jeremy looked at the hailstones bouncing on the window-sill, gathering in little ridges and beginning to melt.
‘It would be necessary to tell my mother.’
‘Of course. Whatever you say. But mightn’t she say no?’
‘It isn’t a question of yes or no, Stephen. It’s that we aren’t a family from which I can absent myself for one or two nights without saying what I am about. In any event she’ll not mind the Scillies.’
‘Your father is safely home?’
‘Yes, thanks be to God. We heard this a.m. She is gone now to tell some of our friends.’
‘Then perhaps it will be a good time to tackle her when she comes back.’
‘Why?’ Jeremy was genuinely puzzled.
Stephen laughed again and patted him on the back.
‘You’re a lucky man.’ When Jeremy turned he added: ‘T’have such a mother. T’have such a home. There seems to be no stress, no conflict in it. Have it always been so?’
‘No … Not always.’
‘Is it so when your father comes home?’
‘Yes. Oh yes, I think so … Then we are a complete family.’
‘But it hasn’t always been so?’ Stephen was persistent.
‘There were times when I was very young when I remember feeling – torn. Torn by passions and emotions; I didn’t understand them, but they were – in the house. My father and mother never bicker, Stephen, never pick at each other as I see so often in other houses. But when they quarrel it is over something important, and then it is – important.’
Stephen picked up his hat. ‘I shall look forward to meeting Captain Poldark. But I trust … before then?’
‘Probably before then,’ said Jeremy.
III
That evening he told his mother.
She smiled at him with the utmost brilliance. ‘Do you want to go?’
‘I think so.’
‘What is a privateer, Jeremy? I’m not certain sure.’
‘Isn’t it a ship owned privately by one or more investors in time of war which gets … isn’t it called Letters of Marque? … so that it can make a tilt at the shipping of the other country – the one you’re at war with?’
‘I wonder how your father will think of it.’
‘Of privateering?’
‘Yes. And Stephen. Stephen’s a great charmer … But I knew his first story was not true.’
‘Why not?’
‘There had been no storm for fourteen days before you picked him up.’
‘I can’t remember the weather so far back. How do you? I scarcely remember what it was like yesterday.’
Demelza helped herself to the port. She was getting light-headed as well as light-hearted.
‘Well, there it is. He says he will be detained in London a few more days – your father, that is – but will return at the earliest possible moment. I wonder if he will see Clowance? They cannot know he is safe returned because he is not staying at his usual lodgings. He is stopping with Mr Canning. Is there a Mrs Canning? I hope they meet. I mean Clowance and your father. Maybe they will cross coaches, as I was afeared to do. Thank God he is back in England. It is hard to stop worrying; you can’t turn it off sudden like a tap. I heard of a man once who survived the most utmost perils and then slipped on a banana skin.’
‘Mother,’ said Jeremy.
‘Yes, my handsome?’
‘Did you send Clowance because…’
Demelza said: ‘I didn’t send Clowance. She went.’
‘It is unlike her.’
‘Yes, it is unlike her. But people often do things that are unlike themselves. What is being true to oneself, I wonder? I never know. Sometimes there are three people inside of me, all wishing different. Which is me? What are you like inside, Jeremy? Are you like that? I never know. Sometimes you worry your father. Is there something special you want to do with your life?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Is there? Do you know what it is?’
‘Not exactly. I’m not sure … Are we a trouble to you, Mama?’
‘Just a little. Just a small matter troublesome. Dear life, what it is to have a family! … As for Clowance, you must give her leave to be wayward. She is growing up.’
‘We all are.’
‘Alas.’
‘Why?’
‘Why what?’
‘Why alas?’
‘I think I like you all at a certain size. Like hollyhocks. Before the rust starts.’
‘Well, thank you, Mother. Your compliments fly on all sides of me.’
The
light from the candles danced a jig as Mrs Kemp put her head round the door.
‘Isabella-Rose is waiting to go sleep, ma’am. She waits to say good night.’
‘Very well, Mrs Kemp. Thank you, Mrs Kemp. Tell her I shall come rushing up to her the very moment I can, Mrs Kemp. Which will be in a hundred seconds or thereabouts, give or take a few.’
Mrs Kemp blinked at this flow of words and left. Demelza finished her port, stretched her fingers towards the fire and flexed them. ‘I feel like playing the spinet. I feel very much like playing the spinet. That’s if Bella has not thumped all the life out of it. D’you know, Jeremy, I b’lieve I need a new one. I shall ask your father for one when he comes home.’
‘What, a new spinet?’
‘No, a pianoforte. They are – more brilliant. They can make the music fade and swell. This old machine, much as I love it, is worn out.’
‘Bella would like that.’
‘We must stop her thumping. Mrs Kemp does not believe she is musical really at all … January is not a time for sailing, Jeremy. Would this trip not wait until the better weather?’
‘Stephen says not.’
‘Do not rely on him too far, my lover.’
‘Stephen? What makes you suppose I should?’
‘Because it was just in me to say it. Pay no attention.’
‘I always pay attention to you. Especially when you are in your cups.’
‘What did you say?’
‘I’m sorry, Mama. It was not intended that way. But I have a superstitious feeling that so often you are right.’
‘Well … I try not to judge too quick on such a matter. I believe it is good to go cautious. Test the measure; make sure it balances. Then one is not surprised – pleasantly or unpleasantly.’
Jeremy stirred one of the logs with his boot. ‘If Paul can get away I think we should leave about Wednesday; that’s if the weather is reasonable and you would allow it. I should like to be there and back before Father returns.’
‘If you have to go – go now,’ said Demelza. ‘Hurray, I should like that also!’
Chapter Two
I
They left on the Wednesday at dawn. Paul Kellow had been able to come, and after hesitation Ben Carter agreed too. Demelza sometimes remarked that winter in Cornwall set in on January 18; but this year, aside from the occasional gusty wind with hail showers, nothing unkind developed such as was occurring upcountry. The air came persistently from the north-west, preventing frost; and primroses and snowdrops were out.
All the same, the sea was restless, and they kept well clear of the saw-toothed coast. As they passed Hell’s Mouth and crossed the Hayle Estuary Paul Kellow waved an ironical salute. The St Ives fishermen were out, dotted all over the bay and rising and falling in the swell. like seagulls. More vengeful cliffs with the white gauze of spray drifting at their feet; the sands of Sennen, and then the deep-tangled waters of the Land’s End.
Stephen came up beside Jeremy, as he was tightening a rope round the cleat on the mainmast. ‘At this pretty rate,’ he shouted, ‘we should be in afore dark. Jeremy…’
‘Yes?’
‘We have not decided how we shall divide coming home. Will you come with me?’
‘I had thought Paul probably. Is it important?’
‘Not important, no. But Paul has to be back by Friday at the latest. I don’t know how long…’
‘I would have thought we could have made it well before then. But I can come instead of Paul if you think that better.’
Stephen took a last bite at the pie he had brought. When his mouth was half empty he said:
‘The brandy is contraband.’
‘Of course.’
‘Also the Philippe couldn’t be brought safe into your cove, I’d guess. Also she is a prize, and your father be due home shortly. I do not know how he would look on all this. Of a certain, I’d not want to embarrass him.’
Jeremy finished securing the rope, gave it a tug. ‘What do you suggest?’
‘I had thought at first I might take her back to Bristol; but I’d rather prefer to rid meself of the cargo here; and if there was a likely buyer for the lugger, twould be better to dispose of her too. I doubt whether you or any of your friends would wish to help me sail her up there and come home by land!’
‘I’d assumed we were all coming back to Nampara … Well, there’s little enough money at St Ann’s, I agree.’
‘That’s what I thought. That’s what the Nanfans told me. But there’s St Ives, Penzance, Falmouth, Mevagissey.’
‘My father’s cousin lives in Falmouth,’ said Jeremy. ‘She is married to a retired Packet captain and he might know who would be a likely purchaser … But you’re suggesting, then…’
‘That we should take her to one of the Channel ports. Twould take us no longer than bringing her back to Nampara, and if we was lucky the business would be completed in a couple of days. Indeed, if you wanted to go home and leave me there, no doubt I could manage.’
A larger wave than they had previously seen came riding in behind them, and the little gig lurched and sidled like a restive horse. Ben Carter at the tiller brought her up a bit more to keep the wind steady on her starboard beam.
Jeremy shouted. ‘Do you have any contacts on that coast? One cannot, you know, just arrive in a port with twenty ankers – or whatever it is – of contraband brandy.’
‘I thought to try Mevagissey,’ said Stephen. ‘There’s one or two I know – by name if naught else – who’d be glad to take the stuff. What are the gaugers like in that area?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘In St Ann’s?’
‘Not easy. There’s a man called Vercoe. Been there for years. And gets ever sourer.’
‘Don’t he take a little on the side? Most of ’em do.’
‘Not as far as I know. Of course it goes on – the Trade goes on, but I have never heard of him or his men being willing to turn a blind eye.’
‘Well … that makes it all the more sense to try Mevagissey, or thereabouts. Would you be willing?’
They sighted the Isles of Scilly well before dusk, even in that short day. There being little cloud about and the sun not setting until 4.50, a long twilight followed and they were able to pick their way among the dangerous reefs and islands of Crow Sound and to tie up in the little Tresco harbour opposite the island of Bryher. This was no easy place to be with any sizeable vessel, for it was deeply tidal and was a prey to currents and Atlantic swells. But for something as small as Nampara Girl the small granite curve of the jetty offered protection enough. It was full tide at this time, and the great valley of water separating the two islands looked like a tide race, swelling and formidable.
‘At low tide,’ said Stephen, ‘I’ve waded across. Could you believe it?’ And turned. ‘There she is.’
He pointed at a vessel riding at anchor in the harbour alongside a couple of rowing-boats and a skiff.
‘Oh, she’s trim,’ said Paul, ‘if I’d been your captain, I’d have settled for her, not gone whoring after bigger game.’
‘We was eight in the crew,’ said Stephen. ‘Divide that prize up and you don’t have enough to share. That’s how he looked at it, God rest his soul.’
‘Where are your friends?’ Jeremy asked.
‘Up at that there cottage where the light is showing. Look you, will you allow me to go up on me own? I think if the four of us come knocking on the door the Hoskins may get out a musket thinking it be the French!’
The other three made the vessel good for the night, having heeded Stephen’s warning that by midnight it would be sprawling on its elbow in the sand, then went ashore and sat on the stone jetty smoking and talking to some islanders who emerged from the shadows curious to know what their business was. They were reticent, again on Stephen’s instructions. Time passed and the inhabitants drifted away and they put on their cloaks against the chill wind. It was an hour before Stephen returned, carrying a storm lantern.
‘
All is well. We shall spend the night with the bastards, leave at dawn. Watch your step, I think I disturbed an adder.’
Jeremy said: ‘You wouldn’t come across an adder at this time of year.’
‘All right. All right.’ Stephen’s voice was gruff, with a trace of anger in it; as if his meeting with the Hoskins had not gone too smoothly. This was borne out when they reached the cottage. A filthy old man with tin-grey hair stood at the door, watched them suspiciously as they trooped in. A single tallow candle guttered beside another old man who had a growth the size of a goose egg on his forehead and who was counting coins. Neither spoke to the new arrivals. The first brother slammed the door after them and put up the bar. The room smelt of urine and stale tobacco. There’ll be bugs in here, thought Jeremy: we’ll all be spotted pink before morning.
‘Well, sit you down, sit you down,’ said Stephen heartily, his own temper recovered. ‘We can have the use of this room, but they’ve no food. Small blame to them as they wasn’t expecting us. We have some of our own left, Ben?’
‘In this bag,’ said Ben Carter. ‘Two loaves and some butter that Mrs Poldark gave us. Three smoked pilchards. An apple. A square o’ cheese.’
‘Good. Good. Now, old men, leave us be, eh? We’ll not steal your house, nor your money. I’ll wake you at dawn so as you can count your spoons before we leave.’ Stephen laughed. ‘It’s warmer in here than out in that wind. You’re not all froze, I hope. Right, Nick and Simon, that’s all.’
The man with the tumour tied his bag, and the coins clinked. ‘I doubt ye’ve the right,’ he said.
‘Never mind that, never mind that, it’s all settled,’ said Stephen. ‘Night, Nick.’
The grey-haired man by the door shuffled towards another door. ‘Aye, it’s settled. For good or ill, it’s settled. Come, Simon.’
The Stranger from the Sea: A Novel of Cornwall, 1810-1811 Page 15
