The Angry Tide

by Winston Graham

  The best place to walk was on the long lawn below the handsome drawing-room on the first floor. The grass, she knew, had been cut and brushed that day, so should be too short for the dew to wet her slippers, and the light from the oriel window of the drawing-room would light up where she walked. All she needed was five minutes to draw the evening’s breath and then she could return to the fray. Especially she wanted to be alone.

  Her relationship with George had never been more cordial. The horrors of last year and the year before, the near break-up of their marriage over his suspicions about the parentage of Valentine had blown over; one never knew for certain what George was thinking but one gathered most from his attitude to Valentine, which had become attentive again and as warm as George was capable of being. His attitude to her was as possessive as ever but with, she fancied, a new trust; she was no longer followed wherever she went in Truro; and Monk Adderley’s feline attentions did not seem to upset him.

  She was happy to have Geoffrey Charles back – shocked by his blaséness so young yet charmed by his manners and his new elegance. He was still seeing Drake but there had been none of the old clashes about it between him and his step-father. Life was better than it had been for a long time.

  She bent to look at a large moth that was fluttering on the edge of a white ox-eye daisy, and as she did so someone moved in the shadows. She started back.

  ‘Good evening, Elizabeth,’ said Ross.

  ‘My God!’ said Elizabeth.

  ‘Neither God nor the Devil. Just a trespasser unfortunately surprised.’

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  He shrugged. ‘Trespassing.’

  ‘To what end?’

  ‘Well . . . this is partly my house, you know – in sentiment at least. My father was born here, I was accustomed to come here all my childhood and youth. I’m -what you might call the senior Poldark today. It occurred to me, in a flash of whimsy, to discover for myself the sort of party that you were giving – and to which we’d not been invited.’

  ‘You must be mad!’ she said in horror. ‘Coming here – risking so much!’

  ‘I think . . . I think, Elizabeth, eleven months a member of Parliament have had a constraining influence on me. I have been – conforming. It seemed to me it was time for the good of my soul not to conform quite so much to the accepted pattern.

  ‘But if you’re seen . . . for God’s sake go!’

  ‘No . . . I think I’m safe tonight. George would not risk a major scandal in front of all his fine guests. Not that I want any trial of strength – ever.’ Someone moved a candle into the window of the lower room, and the light fell on his face, showing up the bony places, the trace of scar, the heavy eyelids. ‘Nor did I seek word with anyone; but when you came out I could not resist speaking to you.’

  She said, relaxing a little: ‘I came – just for a breath of air.’

  ‘Is Geoffrey Charles here?’

  ‘Yes. He was in the garden just now. But I pray you, don’t attempt to speak with him tonight.’

  ‘I’ve no such intention. I saw him in London.’

  ‘Yes, he told me. It – pleased him greatly.’ She fingered her scarf. ‘No doubt you found him very worldly-wise, Ross. Blasé. In one so young.’

  ‘It means nothing. Francis was the same. He’ll grow out of it.’

  ‘Do you think he’s like Francis?’

  Ross hesitated, measuring the tactful answer. ‘In the better ways, yes.’

  There was a burst of laughter from an open window, and someone moved in front of the candles.

  ‘Valentine?’ Ross said.

  ‘He’s well. Now please go.’

  ‘And yourself and George? I must ask that.’

  ‘You’ve no right . . .’

  ‘After our conversation of a couple of years ago . . .’

  ‘That was not of my seeking. It should never have happened.’

  ‘But it did.’

  She said: ‘Then forget it. Please forget it.’

  ‘Gladly. If you’ll tell me how I may. It has been unquiet on my mind ever since.’

  She hesitated. ‘It is over – done with.’

  ‘I’m very glad. For everyone’s sake. The suspicion . . .’

  ‘Will only rise again if it has cause. Such as your coming here now—’

  ‘Ma’am, is this gentleman annoying you?’ A light voice, affected but not at all feminine.

  A man came out of the shadows. A tall etiolated man with the short hair of a soldier, tight smiling lips and the palest of blue eyes that looked almost sightless in the shadowy light. He wore a suit of cream satin, with scarlet buttons and a scarlet neckcloth. It was impossible to tell how much, if anything, he had overheard.

  ‘Oh!’ said Elizabeth, and paused a moment and swallowed. ‘Not – not at all. No, it is not so at all.’

  Ross said to the man: ‘Why should you suppose it likely?’

  The newcomer whispered: ‘Sir, I have not the honour of your acquaintance.’

  ‘Capt – Captain Ross Poldark, my cousin,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Captain Monk Adderley.’

  ‘Your servant, sir. I confess when I saw you talking to Mrs Warleggan I took you for a threadbare troubadour who had come to sing outside our windows on this pleasant night and was being dismissed without his proper pourboire.’

  ‘I sing ill,’ said Ross, ‘and accept pourboires with even less grace.’

  ‘That’s a pity. I always accept what women have to offer, on principle.’

  Elizabeth said to Adderley: ‘Come, we must go in. The ladies – the other ladies – will be missing you.’ When he did not move she took his arm.

  ‘Stay,’ said Adderley. ‘The name Poldark means something to me. Are you not in the House?’

  ‘I am,’ said Ross.

  ‘A new member?’

  ‘That is so. I don’t recall having met you there.’

  ‘Nor is it likely. I attend so seldom.’ Monk Adderley laughed gently, a melodious but mannered sound. ‘They are all so tedious, those old men, and they take themselves seriously, which is almost the worst fault a gentleman can have.’

  ‘Almost the worst,’ Ross agreed. ‘Good night, Elizabeth.’

  ‘Good night.’

  ‘Your name came up in some connection,’ said Adderley. ‘Some light connection. I don’t remember precisely how. I belong to Lord Croft, by the way. Who owns you?’

  ‘No one owns me,’ said Ross.

  ‘Well, damn it, my dear, you sit in someone’s interest? These Cornish boroughs are as rotten as a basket of bad eggs.’

  ‘Lord Falmouth’s interest,’ said Ross.

  ‘Ah, well, then. And are you not one of the eggs, eh? That’s what I mean. Call and see me sometime when you’re in Town. Everybody knows where I live. We’ll throw a dice together.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Ross. ‘I shall look forward to that. With anticipation.’

  As he turned away he did not catch Monk Adderley’s aside to Elizabeth, but he supposed it to be derisive.

  II

  When he got home Demelza was waiting up for him in the parlour, though she was making some pretence of sorting through Clowance’s frocks. She was wearing a tight-waisted frock of navy blue lawn, with a paler sash. Her hair was down, but she had trimmed it a few days ago so it only just reached her shoulders.

  ‘You’re abroad late,’ Ross observed.

  ‘Clowance is bursting out of everything. She’ll become a real roly-poly if we’re not careful.’

  ‘Wait another couple of years until she begins to grow upwards; then she’ll be as thin as Jeremy.’ He pulled off his neckcloth and frowned at himself in the mirror.

  ‘Have you been fishing again, Ross?’

  ‘It could be so described. In troubled waters.’

  The ribbon in one of Clowance’s frocks was frayed. Demelza picked at it. ‘Have you been to see Elizabeth?’

  ‘Not exactly. I went to look at my old home – to see what sort of company the Warle
ggans were entertaining, that there should be so much fuss and talk about it. Naturally I didn’t go in.’

  ‘It was – risky, Ross.’

  ‘Not risky. I know the secret ways too well. Francis and I used to explore the shallow tunnels together, those that had been made and abandoned by men dead before Queen Anne.’

  ‘But . . .’ she hesitated, ‘it is not what you would have done a year ago.’

  He looked at her. ‘No . . . No . . . Although I’ve had several clashes with George since he came to live at Trenwith, I have never sought them. The last was when Drake was arrested – and then, of course, the elections of last year . . .’ He nodded slowly. ‘But you’re correct in supposing I was willing to live and let live. There was room for us both in the world – I thought. And still do. I – I was seeking no clash, no encounter, going there tonight. It was just – as I said, an impulse to see . . .’

  ‘And you saw?’

  ‘A little. I found Elizabeth walking alone in the garden and spoke to her. She was not over-pleased to see me – and that is understandable. Her marriage to George seems to have become peaceable at last. So she says, but not why. One can only speculate why and hope that it is permanent. Clearly she wants it to remain so – and uncomplicated by jealousies – however unfounded – that might spring to life again from his discovering me on his property, talking to his wife.’

  ‘And you, Ross?’

  He shrugged a little impatiently. ‘I’ve told you – explained to you – too often. There’s nothing new to add.’

  She folded the rest of the frocks and stood a moment knee on chair, heel raised.

  Ross said: ‘But another man came on us when we had spoken a few words. I’ve forgotten the name Elizabeth gave him, but he made the back of my hair stand up.’

  Demelza came across to him. ‘It’s the wrong sort of thing to do, Ross. Oh, I don’t mean because of Elizabeth now. I mean because it’s in the spirit of enmity, of – of challenge. You said a few years ago that we had all we wanted. You said – exactly – live and let live . . . Is it because I’ve failed you since then?’

  He patted her hand. ‘Perhaps we’ve failed each other – just a little anyway. But don’t magnify this, don’t blow it up and out of proportion – it was a single act of – of unreason, if you like. You have to face the fact – must have faced it long ago – that I am not always a reasonable man.’

  Demelza sighed. She could say no more to this. ‘I hear you near drowned Jud last night by being unreasonable in another way.’

  ‘Jud never even dowsed his pipe! He swims well enough and always has. But you should have heard his language when we pulled him in by the line like a stranded fish! And he’d kicked off his boots – he’d lost his boots – which made him most furious of all. There he stood with his bare toes sticking up and water dripping from him all ways, even from the brim of his hat, fairly frothing with indignation!’

  Demelza said: ‘I’ll give him an old pair of yours.’

  ‘What’s worse,’ Ross said, ‘they’ve dubbed him with a new name today. They’re calling him Jud Pilchard. I’m afraid he’ll burst a blood-vessel in annoyance.’

  ‘It is the small boys he doesn’t like,’ she said. ‘They call after him from a safe distance. It was long enough before they stopped asking him about the Archangel Gabriel.’

  ‘By the way,’ Ross said. ‘Jacka Hoblyn had a serious if respectful word with me later in the night. He wishes to know if I have any idea as to my brother-in-law’s intentions towards his daughter.’

  ‘And what did you say?’

  ‘That I had no idea. Drake has seen Rosina four times, I believe, but if he has no serious intentions Jacka does not want him to keep other eligible young men away.’

  ‘There are no other eligible young men! If Jacka’s not careful he’ll spoil everything! Drake’s not one to be hurried or driven.’

  ‘Well, it’s time for bed. Past time.’ Ross snuffed the candle above the window seat and drew back the curtains, opened the window to release a moth, shut it again. Demelza put out the other two candles, picked up the fourth and stood waiting for him, the door half ajar. The flickering light showed up her dark eyes and pale skin, the thoughtful expression, the velvet chair at her side with its foliate back, a half-empty glass of wine, the black bottle beside it. Conversation had moved rapidly, as it was wont to do, from the grave to the ridiculous. It was a saving grace in their relationship, but now it did not ameliorate enough.

  She said: ‘Ross . . .’

  ‘What?’

  ‘No matter.’

  He came to the door and put his arm round her as they went out. They climbed the stairs together, companionable, it seemed, at one. But there was an ache in her. ‘I’ve failed you,’ she’d said. ‘Perhaps we’ve failed each other,’ he’d replied – not lightly, but almost as it were in passing, as if it must be an observed and accepted fact between them. Perhaps it must. Perhaps he was right. But it should not be so said.

  It should not be so said.

  Chapter Ten

  I

  The eighth of October, which was a Monday, dawned for Sam Carne much like any other day. He rose early, prayed on his knees for half an hour, worked in his garden as soon as it came light, and then had a sparse breakfast before walking across to Wheal Grace, with his tools on his shoulders and his croust, which today was bread and cheese with a piece of cold boiled bacon, in the pouch of his jacket.

  He went down with Peter Hoskin, and they reached the 40-fathom level and stooped off through the rough muddy passages and the dripping echoing caverns to the same old tunnel they had been working away at two years ago. Now that the south lode was proving deceptively thin, Ross and Henshawe and Zacky Martin had decided to try again to link with the old Wheal Maiden workings. They had considered the risk of unwatering the old mine, but Maiden had always been known as a particularly dry mine, being on a hill; and various adits still drained away into the Mellingey Stream. Also, before Wheal Grace, another mine had been begun on the hill and all the slime and deads from these excavations had been emptied into Maiden and filled up the main shafts. Ross said he thought there was more likelihood that Sam would start working upwards, as became a religious man, and finally force himself up through the floor of his new chapel.

  Some hope had been raised by the recent discovery of two or three pockets of promising ground near the end where they were working; and before they came to their usual spot they passed two couples, Ellery and Thomas, and the youngsters, Aaron Nanfan and Sid Bottrell, who were stoping these small lodes. Once they got to the end there was a fair amount of ground to go at, for they had used a charge last thing before leaving yesterday. They stripped off their shirts, folded them on a convenient piece of rock and began to work.

  Peter Hoskin was a great chatterer. He talked whenever Sam was near enough to hear, and sometimes when he was not. Not that Sam minded; but today he didn’t listen. His mind was on Emma Tregirls. Twelve months had gone by since Demelza had got her a position as a maid at Tehidy. More than twelve months. Sam had agreed to the year’s separation, for he had no choice. But now the year was up. If he did not hear soon, should he write to her? But Emma could not read, and the thought of some other tweeny spelling out his love-letter was distasteful. He thought perhaps he should go over and ask to see her. Having been born nearby, he knew Tehidy like the back of his hand, but it was such an enormous house and one could hardly walk up to the front door and ring the bell.

  He decided that that was what he would do, precisely that – or a side door anyway. He’d ask for a day off next week and visit his step-mother and his brothers. Perhaps he could persuade Peter Hoskin to come at the same time and visit his family. There had been an occasion – a sad occasion – when they had walked together on family business before.

  The morning went quickly, and towards the end of it Peter’s sharp eyes spied another streak of keenly ground almost over their heads. The other four were called up to examine it, and it
was agreed that Zacky Martin should be invited to inspect it tomorrow to get his agreement that it was worth overhand stoping. Afterwards they all tramped back past the wheelbarrows and the picks and the hammers and the keg of gunpowder and the fuses and the rubble and the planks to a cooler corner, where they ate together.

  It was a noisy meal, for they were lusty men, and the two youngsters seemed to enjoy the sound of their own voices, their laughter echoing and re-echoing round the cavern, two hundred and forty feet below ground level. In spite of his religion, for none of these men was a Methody, Sam was popular in the group. When he chose to be he was good company and once in a while could be persuaded to imitate the voices of other people, which he did well. Like children, once they’d enjoyed an experience, they wanted it exactly the same again, and it didn’t matter that Sam had imitated Dr Choake or Jud Paynter last week; he had to do it again.

  So there was a lot of laughter that day, especially about Jud’s fishing expedition and what Prudie had said. Then it sobered a bit as they talked of the big party the Warleggans had had and the food they’d eaten and the liquor drunk: Char Nanfan and others had been asked to go and help, so they knew all about it. Then Ellery began to tell of Tholly Tregirls’s bulldog; but by then it was time to get back to work.

  It was an hour later that Sam took his pick out of the relatively soft ground he was attacking and found the end moist. At first he thought it an ordinary leakage of water such as might occur at any time. Then he bent forward so that the candle in his hat showed up where his pick had been. A little rill of water was escaping into the tunnel.