The Stranger from the Sea: A Novel of Cornwall, 1810-1811

by Winston Graham

  The port decanter came to rest in the table hollow designed to contain it. Because the decanter would not stand up anywhere else, no one could forget to pass it on. From where he sat Ross could see a sail being raised on a mast, the mast angling as the breeze caught it. He wanted to be out there with it. He had felt more at home at Bussaco than he did in this room.

  ‘All this moral business,’ said Mackworth Praed, sniffing through his long, bent, aristocratic nose. ‘I see nothing to trouble our sleep in this. The proposal as I see it simply involves removing a competitor. Or hoping to remove him. It is what many do – in smaller ways; probably in larger too if we consider dynasties and nations. I’ll lay a crown there was no insomnia among the Warleggans when they brought Pascoe’s Bank down.’

  ‘So you would vote for it.’

  ‘Certainly. Of course. A simple commercial step. Without any sort of heart-searching. Amen. Pass the port.’

  Arthur Nankivell, who had married a Scobell and so come into lands and property near Redruth, was a brisk, pale little man much pock-marked about the mouth and chin. It was not his turn to speak but he said:

  ‘A great pity Harris Pascoe is not still alive. Twould be informative, my lord, to have his feelings … Captain Poldark, you were Pascoe’s closest friend – and the most deeply affected by his bank’s failure. At the meeting you were – seemed, at least, not anxious to commit yourself. Can you not tell us your views?’

  Ross turned his glass round and round. Because he had poured clumsily last time, a semi-circle marked the table where his glass had been.

  ‘Perhaps I am a little too close, a little too deeply involved. This should be a business matter, not a means of paying off old scores.’

  ‘They are not above it,’ said Tweedy.

  ‘Indeed not. I believe it was for malice as much as for commercial gain that they brought Pascoe down.’

  Lord de Dunstanville rang the bell. When the waiter came he said: ‘Have the goodness to bring me writing materials.’

  ‘Very good, my lord.’

  When these came and his lordship had wrinkled his nose distastefully at the soiled feather of the pen, he said:

  ‘Let it be informally recorded. John?’

  Mr Rogers put both hands on his stomach and moved it.

  ‘Yea or nay?’

  ‘Yea or nay.’

  ‘Then nay. Conditions are bleak enough in the county this year. If the Warleggans come down it might bring others too.’

  ‘Tweedy?’

  ‘If it can be done discreetly, then yea.’

  ‘Praed?’

  ‘Yea, of a surety. Conditions are certainly bad, which gives us a better chance of success. For my part I think there’d be a sigh of relief throughout the whole county, just to be rid of ’em.’

  ‘Nankivell?’

  ‘How do you propose to vote, my lord?’

  ‘As I am no longer an active partner in the Cornish Bank I shall not feel called upon to vote at all – unless without me there is an even split of three a side.’

  The little man scratched his pitted chin. ‘Then nay. I have met Sir George Warleggan on several occasions and have found him agreeable enough. No doubt if we had crossed swords over some venture I might feel different and judge different.’

  Francis de Dunstanville made a mark. ‘I think you would, Mr Nankivell, I think you would.’

  Knowing it was his turn, Ross made an excuse and got up, went to the window. The tide was almost full. Cattle were standing knee deep in water at the edge of the river. Water almost surrounded the old bridge leading out of the town. A new one was projected, would, they said, be built soon, making the coaching road to Falmouth easier of access; also the houses that were beginning to go up, good, handsome houses, square built, made to last, and spaced out across a wide street ascending the hill. Half way up the hill were the officers’ quarters of the Brecon and Monmouth Militia who were at present stationed here and in Falmouth to keep the peace.

  Ross had heard that the Burgesses had only just been successful in turning down a proposition to call this handsome new road Warleggan Street.

  ‘Poldark?’ said de Dunstanville.

  George, the parvenu, coming almost to own Francis Poldark, and later, on Francis’s death, marrying Elizabeth, Francis’s beautiful widow, once promised to Ross; George sneering in the Red Lion Inn at the time of the failure of the Carnmore Copper Co., and the fight they had had, Ross gripping his neckcloth, till George fell over the stairs, breaking a table in his fall and damned near breaking his neck. George, elected as a member of parliament for Truro on a majority of one vote – their meeting with Basset and Lord Devoran and Sir William Molesworth, again in the Red Lion, and the bitter enmity almost leading to another fight. George’s persecution of Drake Carne, Demelza’s brother, so that his bullies beat him up and left him for dead. George and Monk Adderley sneering at the London reception, George, one suspected, egging Monk Adderley on to make an attempt on Demelza’s virtue and the duel following that resulted in Adderley’s death.

  His greatest enemy. His only enemy. Always George had been here, in Cornwall, at receptions, at meetings, his neighbour, always too powerful, too rich. By the strangest turn of events it seemed now as if George were in his hands.

  What had Demelza said? What George and his kinsfolk have done they have to live with. What we do we have to live with. I should have no part in it.

  Yet Mackworth Praed looked on it as a simple commercial transaction – nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to have to live with.

  Rogers had said: Conditions are bad in the county (which was true enough). If the Warleggans come down it might bring others too (which might also be true).

  ‘Poldark?’ said de Dunstanville.

  The brig was moving off, luffing away from the quay, making for the wider expanses of the river beyond. Swans moved lazily out of its way.

  People mellow, don’t they?

  Ross turned and frowned. ‘I feel convinced, my lord, that the proper thing for me is not to vote at all.’

  IV

  Ross spent the night in Truro, so it was eleven the following morning before he returned home. He found Demelza alone in the kitchen.

  ‘My, Ross. I didn’t expect you so soon! Have you broken your fast?’

  ‘Oh yes. I was up betimes … What are you doing?’

  Demelza sneezed. ‘We have lice in our poultry. It doesn’t at all please me.’

  ‘It’s a common condition.’

  ‘Well, I’m beating up these black peppercorns. When they are small enough I shall mix ’em with warm water and wash the hens with it. It’ll kill all kinds of vermin.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I don’t remember. It came to me this morning.’

  ‘I sometimes wonder if you’ve lived another life apart from being first a miner’s brat and then the lady of Nampara. Else, how do you know these things? What with curing cows of “tail-shot”; and you seem often to know as much as Dwight about the treatment of the homelier ills.’ Demelza wiped her nose. ‘Doesn’t this stand to reason, what I’m doing now? The lice won’t like it.’

  ‘Will the chickens?’

  ‘It won’t kill ’em.’

  ‘One thing you haven’t learned after all these years, and that is getting your servants to do the dirty jobs for you.’

  She smiled. ‘If I didn’t do this, what else should I do? Besides, I like it. How did your meeting go yesterday?’

  ‘Like most of ’em. I was not born to be a banker, Demelza. Talk of canal shares and accommodation bills and India stock soon sets me yawning, though out of politeness I swallow the yawns at birth and don’t let them see the light.’

  ‘Ah yes. But what else?’

  ‘The Warleggans, you mean.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Well, they all knew about it. It’s whispered knowledge in the banking world. Whether in the world of commerce I don’t know; but I’d guess it is hard to stop the rumours spreading
.’

  ‘And what did your partners think?’

  ‘We discussed it first at the meeting – then broke off at Francis de Dunstanville’s suggestion and left it for decision until after dinner. Some were for doing something, others not.’

  ‘What sort of something?’

  ‘More or less what Lord Falmouth hinted at. Instructions to our clerks as to what to say when being offered Warleggan bills or when paying money out. A few comments in indiscreet quarters about the increase in their note issue and the fact that they hold a vast quantity of pawned stock … Followed if need be by anonymous handbills, as was done in the crisis over Pascoe’s Bank…’

  ‘And Lord de Dunstanville? Did he approve of all that?’

  ‘His lordship said that, because he was no longer an active partner in the bank, he would not take sides. Or, at least, he said he would give a casting vote only if the six active partners were to be equally divided.’

  ‘And were they?’

  ‘No.’

  Demelza waited. ‘And so?’

  ‘Rogers said no. He felt that the fall of Warleggan’s Bank, if it were accomplished, would have a bad effect on the whole banking and industrial world – especially at a time of depression such as this – ‘ Ross sat on the edge of the table. ‘Praed said yes. We should put all the weight of the Cornish Bank behind an attempt to tip the scales against them. Stackhouse – to my surprise – said no. Nankivell not at all to my surprise, because he has interests in some of the Warleggan projects – said no. Tweedy said yes. It was then left to me.’

  ‘And what did you say?’

  ‘I spoke exactly as you had instructed me.’

  ‘Instructed you!’

  ‘Suggested, then. That, since we – that is the Poldarks – were far too closely involved, even having a sort of relationship by marriage, I would absolutely refuse to vote on such an issue. Pilate, as you suggested, could do no more.’

  ‘So … So nothing was decided?’

  ‘Of course, everything was decided. The active partners had voted three to two against any move – with me abstaining. I know de Dunstanville was greatly relieved not to have to make the casting vote.’

  There was silence.

  Ross sneezed. ‘That damned pepper!’

  Demelza said: ‘You are the most lamentable of husbands!’

  ‘What? What have I done now?’

  ‘You have so contrived it – or so contrived your story – that you have somehow placed the whole responsibility for the survival of Warleggan’s Bank upon my shoulders! If anything goes wrong now betwixt him and you – if he wields his power and money in some wicked way in the future it will all be my fault!’

  ‘No, no. But that was what we agreed!’

  Demelza banged the peppercorns. ‘You asked my advice. I gave it to you. But what you do – how you choose to act – that is your doing, not mine! I will not accept to have this all thrust upon me!’

  He moved to put his arm round her. ‘Then it shall not be so.’

  She shrugged his arm away. ‘Be sure it is not so.’

  ‘I have told you.’

  ‘Promise.’

  ‘I promise.’ Ross sneezed.

  ‘Do you not have a handkerchief?’

  ‘I’ll use my sleeve.’

  ‘How you provoke me! Here’s mine.’

  He took it. ‘I must have lost the one you gave me.’

  ‘You always do.’

  ‘Well, for me what is the purpose of ‘em? I never sneeze from one year’s end to the next. And I don’t expect this sort of assault in my own house.’

  ‘It will soon be over.’ Demelza sneezed again. ‘Go and sit in the parlour. I’ll join you for tea.’

  Ross eased himself off the table but made no other move to go. In spite of the half jocular exchange counterpointing Demelza’s indignation, Ross knew that she was right. A decision had been taken in Truro yesterday which might have no consequences for them at all; or the consequences might in some way yet unforeseen be of vital importance. The shadow of George Warleggan had lain across them so heavily in the past, and for so long a time, that no one could lightly dismiss the opportunity of removing it for ever. It was true that for the last ten years they had succeeded in avoiding each other and so avoiding conflict. It was true that they were all growing older. It was true that revenge was un-Christian and uncomfortable to live with. Perhaps in a few months Ross would feel happy and relieved that he had not seized this chance of repayment in kind. At the moment he was full of doubt, and Demelza’s reaction had shown that she was having doubts too.

  Of course it would be all right. Since Elizabeth’s death there had really been no cause for open conflict. Spite – yes, there was always spite on George’s side and a hackleraising hostility on Ross’s. But even these instinctive reactions had become a little weary with the passing of the years. Live and let live – just so long as they never met …

  ‘Demelza,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, Ross?’

  ‘Of course, we’ve made the right decision.’

  ‘And if we have made the wrong?’ she asked starkly.

  ‘Then no regrets.’

  She half smiled at him. ‘It’s the only way to live.’

  He stood by the door and watched her. She began to spoon up the crushed pepper and put it into the bucket.

  ‘One other thing,’ Ross said, glad he could change the subject. ‘Coming by Grace I met Horrie Treneglos. He’d been to see Jeremy but apparently Jeremy has gone fishing again.’

  ‘Yes. I told him.’

  ‘Did he tell you why he came?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It seems that John, his father, has called on George in Truro and has put the proposition to him that they should reopen Wheal Leisure. George, as expected, declined to have any part in the project, saying conditions were unfavourable and that he couldn’t see his way to advancing any money, so John made him an offer for the mine as it stands. George pretended reluctance and then, after some haggling, said he could probably accept five hundred pounds. Mr Treneglos offered three hundred and fifty, and there the matter stands.’

  ‘Until?’

  ‘Well, John’s astuter than I thought. It clearly doesn’t do to look too eager, otherwise George would smell a rat and raise his price – or decide to hang on.’

  ‘What I’m still not so sure of is what rat there is to smell?’

  ‘Nor I for certain. Of course I have a sentimental attachment for Wheal Leisure. Jeremy’s proposal touched a chord.’

  ‘Zacky Martin thought well of the idea?’

  ‘So far as he went. But his breathing was troubling him so I did not press him to go too far. Some of the old lodes are certainly alive, but squeezed and compressed between hard strata so that they run barely an inch wide. By following a rib down one might soon come into better ground. Others lie flat or horizontal, so they don’t bear so good an aspect. There’s little more we can do until the dry weather sets in.’

  ‘But if John gets the Warleggan share for, say, four hundred pounds, you will open then?’

  ‘Not certainly.’

  ‘It is a lot to spend if you don’t proceed.’

  ‘There’s no other way.’

  Demelza put the kettle on the fire.

  Ross said: ‘It’s a fair risk in my view. We’ll be guided by events. If we did open we might save considerably by buying a second-hand engine, if one should be available of the right size and price.’

  ‘Jeremy would be very disappointed over that.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘This idea of opening Wheal Leisure and his work on the engine has given him a new purpose in life, Ross.’

  ‘I know that too.’

  ‘I think it is that and something else also,’ Demelza said. ‘Both happening together.’

  Ross looked up. ‘You mean you really think he has fallen in love?’

  ‘I told you.’

  ‘And you believe it to be serious?’

 
‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘In that case, good luck to him. When are we to see the girl?’

  ‘I wrote to her mother last Wednesday. Jeremy wants to give a little party in Easter week.’

  The kettle was boiling. As she took it off, Ross said:

  ‘I hope and trust you’re not intending to wash the chickens all by yourself. Even if you hesitate to trouble the servants, you might get Clowance to help you.’

  ‘Sarcasm never becomes you, Ross. Perhaps you’d like to hold the chickens for me?’

  ‘Gladly. If you’ll explain to me why my son wastes at least a day a week on these fishing expeditions – especially in this weather.’

  ‘Why don’t you ask him?’

  ‘I have. He’s as evasive as a pilchard. I have even offered to accompany him, but he has indicated that he prefers to go with Ben or Paul.’

  Ena Daniel came into the kitchen.

  ‘Oh, beg pardon, sir. Mum. I didn’t know you was both ‘ere. Post’s just come, mum. And the paper. Shall I bring’n in ‘ere?’

  ‘No, Captain Poldark is just returning to the parlour. No doubt all the letters are for him.’

  ‘No, mum. Leastwise, I think not. The top letter says “Mrs Poldark”, I do b’lave.’

  Demelza rubbed her hands on her apron. ‘Then you may bring that one in here, Ena.’

  When she had gone, Ross said: ‘Don’t let her escape.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘Do your servants a kindness and allow them a little of the pleasure of catching and washing the hens.’

  It was too late to reply as she wanted. She turned her back as Ena came in.

  ‘Ena.’

  ‘Sur?’

  ‘Your mistress needs help.’

  ‘Yes, sur.’

  Ross sneezed as he went out.

  A large flowing hand on the outside of the letter. Demelza broke the seal. The letter was signed Frances Bettesworth.

  My dear Mrs Poldark,

  Your gracious Invitation to my daughter, Miss Cuby Trevanion, to visit you at your home in Nampara and to spend two nights, has been kindly received.

  Unfortunately, at the present time, she has so many other engagements – and Commitments towards her recently widowed brother that I feel I must refuse on her behalf; much as I understand the Disappointment this will give to all consarned.