“He has not asked me.”
“You’re very free with your answers, child. I think his attentions must have gone to your head. Perhaps I shall have a word with him after supper.”
“No, no, Mama, you mustn’t do that!”
“Well, we shall see,” said Mrs. Teague, who really hadn’t the slightest intention of discouraging an eligible man. Hers was a token protest to satisfy her sense of what was right and proper, of how she would behave if she had only one daughter and that one with a fortune of ten thousand pounds. With five on the books and no dowry for any of them, it deprived one of scope.
But they need not have concerned themselves. By the time the supper interval came, Ross had unaccountably disappeared. In his last dance with Ruth he had been stiff and preoccupied, and she wondered furiously whether in some manner her mother's criticisms had reached his ears.
As soon as the dance was over, he left the ballroom and walked out into the mild cloudy night. At the unexpected sight of Elizabeth his make-believe enjoyment had crumbled away. He wished more than anything to get out of her view. He forgot his obligations as Verity's escort and as a member of Miss Pascoe's party.
There were two or three carriages with footmen out side, and also a sedan chair. Lights from the bow windows of the houses in the square lit up the uneven cobbles and the trees of St Mary's churchyard. He turned in that direction. Elizabeth's beauty struck him afresh. The fact that another man should be in full enjoyment of her was like the torture of damnation. To continue to flirt with a plain little pleasant schoolgirl was out of the question.
As his hand closed about the cold railings under the trees, he fought to overcome his jealousy and pain, as one will to overcome a fainting fit. This time he must destroy it once and for all. Either he must do that or leave the county again. He had his own life to live, his own way to go; there were other women in the world, common clay perhaps, but charming enough with their pretty ways and soft bodies. Either break his infatuation for Elizabeth or remove himself to some part of the country where comparisons could not be made. A plain choice.
He walked on, waving away a beggar who followed him with a tale of poverty and want. He found himself before the Bear Inn. He pushed open the door and went down the three steps into the crowded taproom with its brass-bound barrels piled to the ceiling and its low wooden tables and benches. This night being Easter Monday, the room was very full, and the flickering smoky light of the candles in their iron sconces did not at first show him where a seat was to be found. He took one in a corner and ordered some brandy. The potman touched his forelock and took down a clean glass in honour of his unexpected patron. Ross became aware that at his coming a silence had fallen. His suit and linen were conspicuous in this company of ragged underfed drinkers.
“I’ll have no more of such talk in ’ere,” said the bartender uneasily, “so you’d best get down off of your perch, Jack Tripp.”
“I’ll stay where I am,” said a tall thin man, better dressed than most of the others in a tattered suit sizes too big for him.
“Leave ’im stay,” said a fat man in a chair below. “Even a crow's not denied its chimney pot.”
There was a laugh, for the simile was apt enough.
Conversation broke out again when it became clear that the newcomer was too deeply set in his own thoughts to spare time for other people's. His only sign of life was to motion to the tapster from time to time to refill his glass. Jack Tripp was allowed to stay on his perch.
“It is all very well to say that, friend, but aren’t we all men born of women? Does it alter our entry into the world or our exit out of it that we are a corn-factor or a beggar? Talk of it bein’ God's devising that some should wallow in riches and others starve is so much clap-trappery. That is of man's devising, mark ee, the devising of the rich merchants and sich-like, to keep them where they be and other folk in chains. ’Tis fine and pretty to talk religion and bribe the clergy with food and wine—”
“Leave God alone,” said a voice from the back.
“I’ve naught to say against God,” croaked Jack Tripp. “But I don’t hold with the God of the corn-factor's choosing. Didn’t Christ preach justice for all? Where's justice in starving women and children? The clergy are stuffed wi’ food while your womenfolk live on black bread and beech leaves, an’ your children shrivel and die. And there's corn in Penryn, friends!”
There was a growl of assent.
A voice spoke in Ross's ear. “Buy a drink for a lady, will you, me lord? Unlucky to drink alone. The devil gets in brandy when you sup alone.”
He stared into the bold dark eyes of a woman who had moved her position to sit beside him. She was tall, gaunt, about twenty-four or -five, dressed in a mannish blue riding suit which had once been smart but now was very shabby; it had perhaps been picked up at second or third hand. The stock was dirty and the lace front awry. She had high cheekbones, a wide mouth, bright teeth, wide bold, uncompromising eyes. Her black hair had been clumsily dyed copper.
Indifferently he motioned to the barman.
“Thanks, me lord,” she said, stretching and yawning. “Here's to your health. You’re looking wisht. Down in the mouth, y’ know. Bit of company would do you no harm.”
“Aye, there's corn in Penryn!” said Jack Tripp hoarsely. “And who be it for? Not for the likes of we. Nay, nay, sell the food abroad: that's the latest notion. They’re not concerned wi’ keeping us alive. Why is there no work in the mines? Because the tin and copper prices are so low. But why are they so low, friends? Because the merchants and the smelters fix the prices among theirselves to suit theirselves. Let the tinners rot! Why should the merchants care? Same wi’ the millers! Same with all!”
Ross shifted on his elbow. These taproom agitators. His audience liked to be talked to in this manner; it gave mouth to grievances they had hardly begun to form.
The woman put her hand on his. He shook it off and finished his brandy.
“Lonely, me lord; that's what ails you. Let me read your palm.” She put out her hand again and turned his up to examine it. “Ye-es. Ye-es. Bin disappointed in love, that's what it is. A fair woman has been false to you. But there's a dark woman here. Look.” She pointed with a long forefinger. “See, she's close to you. Right close to you. She’ll give you comfort, me lord. Not like these dainty maids who’re afraid of a pair of breeches. I like the looks of you, if ye don’t mind the expression. I’ll wager you could give a woman satisfaction. But beware of some things. Beware o’ being over partic’lar yourself, lest these dainty maids betray you into thinking love's a parlour game. Love's no parlour game, me lord, as you very well know.”
Ross ordered another drink.
“Well, what of poor Betsey Pydar?” Jack Tripp said, shouting to drown the talk which had broken out. “What of that, I ask you, friends? What, you haven’t heard of Widow Pydar? Hounded by the overseers and dying of starvation—”
The woman drained her glass at a draught but she did not release his hand.
“I can see a snug little cottage by the river. I like the look o’ you, me lord. I feel an uncommon taking. I think you’re the type of man who knows what's what. I’ve a talent for reading character, as you can see.”
Ross stared at her, and she met his gaze boldly. Although they had only just set eyes on each other, it was as if a tremendous desire for him had flamed up in her. It wasn’t all a matter of gold.
“And what did Parson Halse say when he was told?” asked Tripp. “He said that Betsey Pydar had brought this on herself by disobeying the laws of the country. That's your clergy for ee!— ”
Ross got up, pulled his hand away, put down a coin for the potman, and threaded his way towards the door.
Outside the night was very dark and a light drizzle was falling. He stood a moment irresolute. As he turned away he heard the woman slip out of the inn.
She caught up with him quickly and walked tall and strong by his side. Then she took his hand again. His impulse was to wrench
it away and have done with her importuning. But at the last moment his loneliness and dismay caught up with him like a slow-poisoning fog. What followed the rebuff? What was there for him to follow the rebuff? A return to the dance?
He turned and went with her.
CHAPTER SIX
l
IT WAS FORTUNATE THAT VERITY HAD ARRANGED TO SPEND THE NIGHT WITH Joan Pascoe, for Ross saw no more of the ball. From the cottage of the woman Margaret he rode straight home, reaching Nampara as the first threads of daylight were unpicking the clustered clouds of the night.
This was Tuesday, the day of the Redruth Fair. He stripped off his clothes, went down to the beach and ran out into the surf. The cold boisterous water washed away some of the miasmas of the night; it was biting and tonic and impersonal. As he left the water, the cliffs at the far end of the beach were losing their darkness and the east sky had brightened to a brilliant cadmium yellow. He dried himself and dressed and woke Jud and they had breakfast with the first sun slanting through the windows.
They came to Redruth just before ten, slid down the steep greasy lane into the town, reached the chapel, crossed the river, and climbed the other hill to the fields where the fair was being held. The business of the day was already in progress with the buying and selling of livestock and farm and dairy produce.
It took Ross some time to find what he wanted, for he had no money to throw about, and by the time the various purchases had been made it was afternoon. In the second field every tradesman in the district had put up a stall. The better-class and larger tradesmen, with their saddlery and clothing and boots and shoes, clung to the upper part of the field; as the slope increased, one came to the ginger bread and sweetmeat stalls, the rope maker, the chair mender, the knife sharpener, the miscellaneous tents offering lanterns and brimstone matches, sealing-wax and silver buckles, bracelets of braided hair, secondhand wigs and snuffboxes, bed mats and chamber pots.
It would take Jud some hours to drive home the new oxen, so with time to spare Ross wandered round to see all there was to be seen. From the third field the substantial tradespeople were absent: this was the province of the professional rat catchers, the pedlars, the ha’penny peep-shows. One corner of this field belonged to the apothe caries and the herbalists. Men squatted on the ground and shouted before ill-spelt notices advertising their wares, which were the latest and most infallible cures for all the diseases of the flesh. Pectoral drops, Eau de Charm, nervous drops, spirit of benjamin, pomatum, fever powder, Jesuit drops. Here you could buy plantain and salad oil, angel water, hemlock for scrofulous tumours, and burdock burs for scurvy.
In the last field, which was the noisiest of all, were the side shows and the hurdy-gurdies, the Lilly-banger stall, where you cast dice for an Easter cake. In some sort of reaction from the bitterness and excesses of last night he found a relief in mingling with his fellow men, in accepting the simplicity of their pleasures. He paid his ha’penny and saw the fattest woman on earth, who, the man next to him was complaining, was not as fat as the one last year. For another ha’penny she offered to take you behind a screen and put your hand on a soft spot; but the man next to him said it was once-bitten-twice-shy, because all she did was put your hand on your own forehead.
He stood for fifteen minutes in a darkened booth watching a company of guise players performing a mime about St. George and the Dragon. He paid a ha’penny to see a man who in infancy had had his hands and feet eaten off by a pig and who sketched quite amazingly with a chalk in his mouth. He paid another ha’penny to see a mad woman in a cage tormented by her audience.
After he had seen the sights he sat down at a drinking booth and sipped a glass of rum and water. The words of Jack Tripp the agitator came to him as he watched the people pass by. For the most part they were weakly, stinking, rachitic, pockmarked, in rags—far less well found than the farm animals which were being bought and sold. Was it surprising that the upper classes looked on them selves as a race apart?
Yet the signs he had seen of a new way of life in America made him impatient of these distinctions. Jack Tripp was right. All men were born in the same way: no privilege existed which was not of man's own contriving.
He had chosen the last of the drinking booths at the extreme end of the ground. The noise and smell here was less overpowering; but just as he was ordering another drink, an uproar broke out behind the shop, and a number of people crowded to the corner to see what was on. Some of them began to laugh. The uproar of squeals and barks went on. He rose to his feet and peered over the heads of the people standing near.
Behind the gin booth was a clearing where earlier some sheep had been quartered. Now it was empty except for a group of ragged boys watching a confused bundle of fur rolling over on the ground. This resolved itself into a cat and a dog, which the boys had tied tail to tail. The two animals were not much different in size, and after a fight, during which neither had the advantage, they now wanted to part company. First the dog pulled and the cat sprawled, spitting; then the cat with difficulty got to her feet and with slow convulsive movements, digging her claws into the earth, dragged the dog backwards.
The spectators roared with laughter. Ross smiled briefly and was about to sit down when a smaller boy broke away from two others who were holding him and ran towards the animals. He dodged one of the other boys who tried to stop him and reached the creatures, knelt down, and tried to loosen the knotted twine about their tails, ignoring the scratches of the cat. When it was seen what he was about, there was a murmur from the crowd who perceived that they were to be robbed of a free entertainment. But this murmur was drowned in a howl of fury from the other boys, who at once rushed in and fell upon the spoil-sport. He tried to put up a fight but soon went under.
Ross reached down for his drink but remained on his feet while he sipped it. A big man as tall as himself moved up and partly obscured the view.
“Sakes alive,” said someone; “they’ll maim the lad, a-kicking of him like that. ’Tis past a joke, the young varmints.”
“And who's to say them nay?” queried a little merchant with a shade over one eye. “They’re wild as cats. ’Tis a disgrace to the town the way they roam.”
“Break your windows if you complain,” said another. “And glad of the excuse. Aunt Mary Treglown, her's got a cottage over to Pool—”
“Ais, I knaw…”
Ross finished his drink and ordered another. Then he changed his mind and moved into the crowd.
“God preserve us!” said a housewife suddenly. “Is it a girl they’re bating up? Or I’m mistook. An’t any of ye going to stop ’em ?”
Ross took his riding crop from his boot and walked into the arena. Three of the urchins saw him coming; two fled, but the third stood his ground with bared teeth. Ross hit him across the face with the whip and the boy shrieked and fled. A stone flew through the air.
There were three other boys, two sitting on the figure while the third kicked it in the back. This last youth did not see the approach of the enemy. Ross hit him on the side of the head and knocked him out. One of the others he lifted by the seat of his breeches and dropped into a neighbouring pool of water. The third fled and left the figure of the spoil-sport lying on its face.
The clothing was certainly that of a boy; a loose shirt and coat, trousers too big and falling loosely below the knee. A round black cap lay in the dust; the tousled hair seemed overlong. A stone hit Ross's shoulder.
With the toe of his boot he pushed the figure on its back. Might be a girl. The child was conscious but too winded to speak; every intake of breath was half a groan.
A number of the townspeople had filtered into the clearing, but as the stones became more frequent they sheered off again.
“Have they hurt you, child?” Ross said.
With a convulsive wriggle she drew up her knees and pulled herself into a sitting position.
“Judas God!” she was at last able to get out. “… rot their dirty guts…”
The hail
of stones was becoming more accurate and two more struck his back. He put his whip away and picked her up; she was no weight at all. As he carried her towards the gin shop, he saw that crofters had joined together and were going after the boys with sticks.
He set her down at the end of the trestle table he had recently left. Her head sank forward on the table. Now that the danger from missiles was over, people crowded round.
“What did they do to ee, my dear?”
“Scat un in the ribs, did they?”
“She’m fair davered, poor maid.”
“I’d lace ’em…”
He ordered two glasses of rum. “Give the child air,” he said impatiently. “Who is she and what is her name?”
“Never seed she afore,” said one.
“She do come from Roskear, I bla’,” said another.
“I know she,” said a woman, peering. “She’m Tom Carne's daughter. They d’ live over to Illuggan.”
“Where is her father, then?”
“Down mine, I expect.”
“Drink this.” Ross put the glass against the girl's elbow and she picked it up and gulped at it. She was a thin scarecrow of a child of eleven or twelve. Her shirt was dirty and torn; the mop of dark hair hid her face.
“Are you with someone?” Ross asked. “Where is your mother?”
“She an’t got one,” said the woman, breathing stale gin over his shoulders. “Been in ’er grave these six year.”
“Well, that edn my fault,” said the girl, finding her voice.
“Nor never said twas,” said the woman. “And what you doing in your brother's clo’es? Young tomrigg! You’ll get the strap for this.”
“Go away, woman,” said Ross in irritation at being so much the focus of attention. “Go away, all of you. Have you nothing better to gape at?” He turned to the girl. “Is there no one with you? What were you about?”
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