The Black Moon

by Winston Graham

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ put in Sam Carne quietly. ‘And the heir is Mr Geoffrey Charles Poldark, ma’am. And he be under age . . .’

  Elizabeth looked at the stranger. ‘Are you an attorney?’ Knowing well he was not.

  ‘Oh, no, ma’am. A simple sinner seeking divine grace.’

  ‘Well, you are right. My son is only ten. I and my husband are his legal guardians. Whatever we decide we decide on his behalf.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. And we ask your kind help. For in the saving of our house you will be doing God’s handiwork and saving what were put up to the glory of King Jesus.’

  Elizabeth half smiled. ‘I think there are some who would dispute that.’

  ‘There are always folk as malign us, ma’am. Each day we joyfully ask God for His forgiveness of them.’

  ‘I trust,’ said Elizabeth, ‘that you will not have to ask His forgiveness of us.’

  ‘I trust not, ma’am, for twould be a sore blow to our connexion to lose this house when we have done no hurt nor harm to any man. Thirty-five years agone divine Jehovah put it into the minds of His faithful and penitent servants to build Him this house, and this they did with their own hands. Ever since then it have been used for naught but the cleansing of the spirit and the holy worship of Christ.’

  ‘Is not the church the proper place for such worship?’

  ‘Indeed, yes, ma’am, but we must all lovingly witness to God in our daily lives, and a meeting place, where folk who has found salvation may mingle with they as is seeking it, is also a proper place to worship, saving your pardon. We go to church reg’lar – all our society d’go to church reg’lar. Many, many of them go to church who’d never be seen in one else. We’re all humble, rejoicing servants of the Lord.’

  Elizabeth closed her book, and her fingers played with the fringe on the marker. She was tired and wanted to end the interview. Will Nanfan she liked and respected, though she knew he had had one or two brushes with George’s servants in parish matters. The young man she was not so sure of. The respectfulness of his tones did not hide a certain combativeness in his nature. She felt he would argue till sunrise if need be, and that his conviction was so burning that in argument he might forget the difference in their stations. This was one of the great problems of Methodists: the converted felt themselves above earthly class distinctions. Christ was their master, and their only one. At the throne of the Heavenly Grace all men were equal; and all women too: Elizabeth Warleggan and Char Nanfan and whatever little miner’s daughter this thin blond man was married to. In principle no doubt it was what one accepted in one’s Christian faith; in practice it did not work out.

  Yet she was not an ill-natured woman and she saw the justice of their appeal. She said: ‘Well, as I have told you, it is my husband who makes those decisions, but I will undertake to see him when he returns next week and to put your case before him. I will explain to him that you see this as a firm promise made to you by my late husband, Mr Francis Poldark, and ask him to reconsider his decision in that light. I can do no more, but I will see that it is attended to as soon as Mr Warleggan comes home.’

  ‘Thank ee, ma’am,’ said Will Nanfan.

  ‘Thank ee, ma’am,’ said Sam Carne. ‘And may our divine Saviour go with you.’

  It was rather as if, Elizabeth thought, he was a priest and she a member of his congregation.

  In the kitchen Drake hung about under the glowering eye of Harry Harry, the elder of the two brothers.

  It was a fine big room this kitchen, down three steps from the rest of the house, with a stone-flagged uneven floor and heavy beams across the ceiling, from which hung down on hooks a sheaf of fine smoked hams that made Drake’s mouth water. For so big a room it was ill-lit, with a single window set high in one wall; but the top of the split door beside it leading to the yard was open and admitted more light. A fireplace almost filled one wall, and an enormous black kettle was suspended from an iron hook above the fire. In the other corner by the door was a hand pump with a wooden bucket under it.

  Presently Harry decided that the young man could exist without his surveillance and went off, so Drake wandered to the door and watched another man outside filling a bucket with fine coal. Behind him a young voice said:

  ‘Why, Drake! Is it not Drake! What are you doing here?’

  Geoffrey Charles was smiling all over his face, which was shiny and polished as if just washed.

  ‘Mr Geoffrey.’ Drake put his finger to his lips. In a lowered voice: ‘I’m here wi’ Brother and Will Nanfan, calling upon Mrs Warleggan, your good mother, on a matter of business.’

  Geoffrey Charles laughed but lowered his own voice. ‘What is secret? Are you not supposed to be here?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Oh, yes. But tis our other meetings that’s secret. So tis best not to know each other, else you might be forbid to see me again.’

  ‘I meet whom I like,’ said Geoffrey Charles. But he kept his voice lowered. ‘We have not seen you since the day in the caves. The weather has been so bad that we have scarce been out riding. And then most days you are at work.’

  ‘True ’nough. How is Miss Morwenna?’

  ‘Brave. She is washing just now, so I have been turned out. Look, my mother and Uncle George are going to spend the autumn in Truro. It should be easier to meet when they are gone. Can I send a message? Excuse me, can you read?’

  ‘Read ’nough,’ said Drake. ‘But maybe they will not want you meet me.’

  ‘If they don’t know they can’t say, can they?’ Geoffrey Charles took Drake’s hand. ‘Let me show you the house. This time of day there is no one about.’

  ‘No, thank ee. Twould not do. Another time maybe.’

  ‘You promised sometime we could go hunting for tadpoles, Drake. Remember that? When we were coming back across the beach you said so. When could we go?’

  ‘Tis the wrong time of year. You d’know that.’

  Geoffrey Charles stood on one leg and then on the other. ‘Yes, I suppose I do. But that is the trouble – before, before, when Papa was alive, the big pond at the other side of the house had lovely toads. And not ordinary toads, Aunt Agatha says. She says my great-grandfather brought them specially from Hampshire, years and years and years and years ago, and they’ve been here ever since. They had yellow lines down their back, and they didn’t hop, they ran. It was such fun to see them. And they would make such a noise croaking in the evening. Croak! Croak! Like that. Aunt Agatha’s very cross that they’ve gone. And in the spring there were tadpoles and minnows and water-beetles, and the cows would go splashing in. But since Mama married Uncle George it has all been cleaned out, and the toads have been killed, and the cows are not allowed in any more. It is ornamental, they say. They have put flowers round it and water-lilies at one end, and they have put stones in the bottom to stop the mud.’

  ‘So what would ye do if you had tadpoles and toads, Mr Geoffrey? How could you keep’n?’

  ‘Oh, in jars in the stables. There’s jars and jars all empty in there. And maybe,’ Geoffrey giggled, ‘maybe when they grew into toads I’d put them back in the pond just to hear them croak.’

  ‘Look ee,’ said Drake quietly. ‘I reckon twould be best if we was not seen talking now. You run ’long and keep quiet ’bout we have met before. Then sometime in a week or so when I get a day off I can leave ee know and, if Miss Morwenna will allow, we could maybe go over all together to the pools behind Marasanvose and I can show ee where the frogs and toads d’live.’

  ‘When my mother and uncle have gone, Drake, if I ask you to come to the house, will you come?’

  ‘I don’t b’lieve twould do. Who is here?’

  ‘Wenna, of course. And then my grandfather and grandmother. And Aunt Agatha, who is really my great-great-aunt and nearly a hundred years old. That is all. Will you come?’

  ‘I’ll think on it, boy. You’re a good friend but we must not hurt other folk. Now go now, else there may be trouble.’

  When George came home Valentine was stil
l unwell, and it looked as if they would have to delay their departure for a few days. Elizabeth forgot about her visitors until the Wednesday when, after a month of rain, the weather relented and they were able to walk in the garden together in the warm sun. It was a rare occurrence for George to walk anywhere. For exercise he would go off riding, usually with Garth or Tankard or Blencowe. He scarcely ever appeared to take an interest in the garden, though sometimes he would surprise her by a remark that showed he had noticed more than she supposed. His real interest was in large-scale planning. He wanted to widen the drive and build new gateposts and have a fine pair of wrought-iron gates; and he intended to push down two old Cornish walls in order to extend and improve the vista from the back of the house. On the whole his taste was good, though it leaned towards formality: wild gardens, herbaceous borders, rustic fences hung with climbing plants, these had no appeal for him at all. In the flower garden he preferred the flowers that were neat of habit, and in the beds he liked them set in rows or squares.

  Now Elizabeth told him of the deputation that had called on her.

  He was silent until she had finished and swished at some tall leaves with his cane. ‘Curse their impudence,’ was his first comment. ‘I do not appreciate visitors who sneak in when my back is turned.’

  ‘I think they tried to see you, and Tankard turned them away. And no doubt they supposed I should have a softer heart.’

  ‘And have you?’

  ‘Well, I suppose so. Although I do not think I altogether trust Methodism. It is in some way subversive. But we shall not stamp it out by claiming back the land. And if Francis promised it to them . . .’

  ‘We have only their word for that.’

  ‘I do not think Will Nanfan would lie. Nor the other man. Give them credit where it is due, their peculiar mania imposes a strict code.’

  They walked on as far as the threshold of the herb garden. George said: ‘Subversive is the word you used, and that is exactly right. All such closed societies are subversive even when they are disguised under religious blankets. They are seedbeds for radicalism, and often Jacobinism – which, as we know too well, seeks to overthrow the state and put in its place bloody tyrants such as you see in France. All these groups at heart have the same objective, whether they are called Wesleyan Methodist Societies, or Corresponding Societies, or Foxites. And if they seek to create revolution, then they are traitors and must be treated as such. I think we should not be doing our duty at this time if we permitted them to remain.’

  Elizabeth said: ‘I do not think this piece of garden has ever looked the same since Verity left. She spent so many loving hours over it that it was always tidy and sweet smelling. And useful. Now the cooks pick leaves and trample other plants down in so doing, and the weeds have got out of hand.’

  ‘It is the next thing that shall be done.’

  ‘Well, if it is done I wish to superintend it, otherwise so much of value will be thrown away.’

  They turned and began to walk back to the house, George hunching his shoulders in that way that always suggested the bull.

  ‘Who was the other man who came with Nanfan? Did you know him?’

  ‘A stranger. Young, big, spoke like a miner. He was fair, with a lined face.’

  ‘That would be one of Demelza Poldark’s brothers.’

  Elizabeth stiffened. George with cool curiosity noticed the involuntary movement.

  ‘I did not know she had any.’

  ‘But you do not remember – the day of that child’s christening, the one that died? The father turned up unexpectedly with a brood of brats trailing behind him and quite spoiled the day for the proud mother.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I do now. I had almost forgot.’

  ‘The father crossed a course with John Treneglos. He objected to the area of bosom that Ruth Treneglos exposed!’

  Elizabeth frowned. ‘But do you know her brothers are here now?’

  ‘Tankard told me. They have come over, the two of them, from Illuggan. No doubt the living is softer under the wing of their brother-in-law.’

  ‘He is – this one is not at all like his sister.’

  ‘Except perhaps in presumption.’

  They passed by the pond. In spite of the rivulet of fresh water running through it and efforts to clean out the bottom, the water was still opaque where the movement of the stream disturbed the sandy mud; but the general effect on this lovely autumn day was pleasing to them both. The water winked and glinted, and the big slate stones brought from Delabole ringed the side and made walking beside it a pleasure instead of something which could only be essayed in overshoes.

  ‘I am also told,’ George said, ‘that the two Carne brothers are quite the ringleaders in this Methodist revival which is going on. Before they came the sect was dormant, but since they came it has been much in evidence again. They are all tarred with the same brush. Though in truth I do not think Demelza has any religious ardour in her. She has probably caught her atheism from Ross.’

  They scarcely ever spoke the name, either of them, Elizabeth because she could not bear to, George because he was still afraid of Elizabeth’s reaction. Sooner or later, he felt uneasily certain, Elizabeth, who in most cases had such strong and secure loyalties, would leap to his defence. So far she had not. Not once since their marriage had she done so. It was still a surprise, because all through their long acquaintance before marriage, especially when he was trying to win her round after his estrangement from Francis, he had had to glove his tongue at mention of Ross. He could never show his bitterness, his dislike. But about the time of the marriage Elizabeth had, as it were, changed sides. His only course was to accept that when she married him she had moved her loyalty, her friendship, her trust. With her it was a case of ‘Thy people shall be my people, and thy God shall be my God.’ Yet even now, after fifteen months of married life, he was still apprehensive that an incautious word should provoke the reaction that it would have done two years ago.

  It did not this time. All Elizabeth said: ‘Yes, I remember the family now. Did the mother not come as well?’

  Chapter Eleven

  In the middle of September Demelza gave up the struggle to hide her pregnancy from the gaze of the world and resigned herself to two months of discomfort and ungainliness. Ross, to her surprise, never seemed to mind these times, but she minded them for herself. She was happy for the future and looked forward to meeting the baby when it was born, but she always disliked looking matronly and hated to be even mildly inactive.

  The bad feeling between Ross and Tom Choake had more recently subsided, and they were talking again. It was an uneasy peace but a civil one, so Choake was retained once again for this confinement, he being clearly more skilled than the other ignorant quacks who served the villages round. But at Demelza’s request Mrs Zacky Martin, in whom she had greater personal faith, was engaged as a nurse to assist him.

  In early October Drake told her the news about the Meeting House, and she passed it on to Ross. It was evening, Jeremy was in bed, and they were sitting beside a fire of cherrywood which had burned brightly when lit an hour ago but now was sulky though pleasantly odorous.

  Ross said: ‘The trouble with George is that he never surprises me. In the end he always fulfils my worst expectations. I should have thought, since he was doing his best to curry favour in the district, that he would not want unpopularity in this way.’

  ‘Unpopularity with some, popularity with others.’

  ‘Yes, I think you are right. The more he appears a defender of the established church, a supporter of orthodoxy, an enemy of faction, the more he commends himself to most of our friends and neighbours.’

  ‘And of course he is going back to Truro for the winter.’

  ‘Yes. If he had to turn them out, for his own peculiar reasons, this was the time to do it. By next spring it will be at least part forgotten.’

  Demelza turned over Jeremy’s trousers to see her repair the better. They were still very small in size, but very s
oon she would be dealing with an even smaller. Her eyes flickered up to Ross, who had taken a spill from the fire and was lighting his long-stemmed pipe; went on to look around the room and enjoy the improvements they had brought to it within a year. The new clock, the rich cream curtains of silk paduasoy, the table with the pedestal legs, the Turkey rugs; the writing desk and chair bought after their visit to the Daniells.

  There was still much needed, but at present further expenditure waited on the rebuilding and decorating of the library. Spurred by such splendid examples as Trelissick, Ross was hoping to put up something which was far better than anything his father had built but which would not be altogether unsuitable as an addition to the older building. He had borrowed a couple of books and they had spent long evenings studying and discussing them. He had got a man called Boase, a draughtsman in Truro, to draw up a plan and sketch of the wing, how it was to be built and how finished.

  She said: ‘I suppose they will have to meet somewhere.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The Methodists.’

  ‘They can use Reath Cottage.’

  ‘It is very small. You cannot get above fifteen in there. I think they are hoping to build another one somewhere.’

  ‘They would do well this winter to concentrate on physical survival.’ Ross stirred a log with his foot, but it still refused to burn. ‘The pilchard catch was poor for the third year running. The harvest is the worst most men can remember. With much of our own corn ruined, and shut off as we are now from European supply, there is likely to be something of a famine, with famine prices everywhere.’

  Demelza said: ‘They have asked me. Sam and Drake have asked me if they can have a corner of our land to build on.’

  Ross stared. ‘Oh, no . . . Demelza, this is too much! Why should they come to me? I have no interest in their sect!’

  ‘Nor I. I suppose it is because I am their sister and you are—’

  ‘Confound your brothers!’

  ‘Yes, Ross.’ She rocked gently backwards and forwards in her chair. ‘Unfortunately it is not just my brothers but many of your old friends too. Will and Char Nanfan. Paul and Beth Daniel. Zacky Martin—’