Warleggan

by Winston Graham

  ‘Course I know. Everyone d’know. Have you caught him?’

  ‘I rather think I have.’

  Lottie shifted her cramped feet and lifted the hatch another few inches. Father had got up.

  ‘What, me? Dear life, surgeon; that’s a purty notion to get in your head! And not a nice one, I must say! Proper insulting. And all on account of a fever that took me sudden. Why, just afore you came my teeth was rattling—’

  ‘Where did you get these things?’ Dr Enys asked, pointing angrily about the room, and Lottie was afraid he might see her. ‘How did you pay for them? Curtains, rugs, window glass; all paid for out of sail-making? Or out of selling your friends?’

  Her father was smiling, but she who knew him knew it was not a friendly smile. ‘Out of sail-making, surgeon. That’s true as my life. An’ no one can show different. Now ye can go, surgeon, and leave me be, and take your nasty evil suspicion likewise! Coming here in the dark of the night, casting such sneavy untruths—’

  ‘It is you who’ll have to go, Charlie; and go quickly if you care for your life. You’ve informed on your friends tonight, haven’t you? What time is the run to take place? Is there still time to warn them?’

  ‘And what shall I say ’bout you, surgeon? That you’ve coveted Rosina ever since ye laid eyes and hands on her, eh? That ye suspicion me to try and stop the wedding, eh? I know. I know all the things ye’ve done to her, all the fingerin’ and fumblin’ there’s been – on the quiet like, when her mother warn’t there. She’s telled me, Rosina has. Ye should be grateful that somebody’ll still marry her—’

  Dr Enys made a swift movement, and her father broke off as if he expected violence; but the surgeon had turned towards a side table where she and May had been playing that evening. She craned her neck to see what he had picked up, and saw with astonishment that it was a picture book of hers called The History of Primrose Prettyface.

  ‘Where did you get this, Charlie?’

  ‘I buyed it.’

  ‘Where did you buy it?’

  ‘In to Redruth.’

  ‘You lie. This book first belonged to Hubert Vercoe, the Customs Officer’s boy. I saw it first in his house.’ The doctor was flipping through the pages.

  ‘Nay, that edn clever at all, surgeon. It proves naught. There’s many such books on sale in Redruth. Why—’

  ‘I doubt if there’s one. But here is the identification, here on the first page. Hubert Vercoe coloured the wings of this angel red. He told me so himself and I saw it in his hands.’ Dr Enys shut the book and slipped it in his pocket.

  In the silence that followed Lottie could hear May turn over in bed and whimper, as if aware that her company and her warmth had gone. Below the two men watched each other like dogs Lottie had seen, bristling and tight-muscled.

  ‘What are ee going to do?’

  ‘You shall know when I’ve done it.’

  The doctor picked up his riding crop and made a move towards the door, but her father was quicker and was there before him. Even Dr Enys couldn’t believe that that smile was friendly now. ‘Stay, surgeon. What are ee going to do?’

  ‘Get out of my way!’

  Neither of them moved.

  Dr Enys said: ‘What time is the run?’

  ‘Midnight. Ye’re late, surgeon. Too late by a long chalk. Go home and go to bed. That’s the proper place for ee.’

  ‘What made you do it, Charlie? What made you a traitor to your own folk?’

  ‘Nobody’s my folk, surgeon! Who did ought for me? My first wife was drownded before folk’s eyes. None of the women made move to save ’er. Not one! They left her drown. And me? Who put forth a hand t’elp me when I was low? Not one. Everyone looks only for theirselves in this life.’

  ‘Not to betray. Not to sell other men for money. Judas was no worse.’

  Lottie saw Father’s hand close round the wooden stake he used for barring the door. It was behind his back, but she saw it.

  ‘There’s naught I care for your fancy names, surgeon. I looks to myself just the same as you. An’ ye’ll get no admission more’n that. When me and Rosina’s wed, we’ll clear out of this place—’

  ‘If you did this to gain Rosina, you’re likely to lose her by it—’

  ‘I done what I done, surgeon. You cured me of the consumptives, but ye don’t order me life. Oh, no . . .’

  Lottie cried out as her father jumped at the other man with the wooden bar raised. Dr Enys must have seen it coming, for he jerked his head back and the stick cracked on his shoulder. The pain creased across his face and he fell against the table behind him. Transfigured, unrecognizable, her father leaped after him, swinging the stake again; but the doctor’s fall saved him. Crash went the table, Dr Enys rolled into the corner, sat up while her father was picking a way towards him among the legs of the table. The surgeon clutched a stool, raised it, and the stick jarred against it, hurting her father’s hand for he almost dropped it. The doctor pulled himself up, caught the stick; they grappled, reeled against the wall.

  Lottie swung the trap, let it fall back, went down a few steps into the room, tears trickling unheeded down her pockmarked cheeks. She called to them but they did not hear, these two men who meant more to her than all the rest of life; they were fighting to kill, to maim, you could see it in their eyes. She wanted the courage to come between them, to stop them, to put life back where it had been an hour ago. A terrible nightmare, worse than any of her fever, worse than personal pain.

  Father had his hands on the other man’s throat, but seemed to lack the strength to do what he wished. She saw his bloodshot eyes, murder still in them but fright also. Crash to the floor again, he under.

  Behind her own crying Lottie heard a thin echo. May was awake now. May often cried if she woke in the night, without reason, without good cause. Lottie took two more steps down, nearly tripped over the ragged edge of her night shift, her mother’s once.

  Father had kicked himself free, was crawling again towards the stick; but the surgeon caught his ankle, pulled him flat. Her father kicked with his free foot, caught the surgeon’s face, just grasped the stick. Dr Enys freed him, started forward, leaped at his back; down again. A familiar sound; something Lottie had known all her life; her father coughing. It seemed to affect the doctor at the same time. He released his grip, straightened, a look of concern, something not to do with tonight, out of other nights, other days. Her father was down, stayed down, climbed slowly to his knees, then did not move. For a few seconds both children had stopped crying and the only sound was the familiar rustling cough. Dr Enys pulled himself shakily to his feet. Blood on his face, his neckcloth torn.

  Her father looked round. Then he leaped up, clutched a knife lying on the side under the crockery. As he took it up, Dr Enys saw his danger, moved after him. The knife up, but the doctor struck at the same time. The knife clattered. The doctor seemed to measure his distance and hit twice more. Father coughed again just once; he might not have been hurt, but he crumpled up, went on his knees, rolled over, and was really still.

  Lottie had her hands to her ears now, helplessly, as if words and sounds would hurt more than sight, the tears beginning to trickle again. Her mouth grimaced to speak, but she could not. She stood and wept bitterly for a lost illusion. A great desolation was in her, a sense of being forsaken as no one had ever been forsaken before.

  Chapter Eleven

  No official word had reached Demelza, but she knew. As soon as dark fell she drew the curtains across the windows and lit all the candles to give the house an extra feeling of home and security. He might not come until early morning, but she had no thought of bed. Tonight was doubly important. She felt she would know as soon as their eyes met whether he had good news or bad.

  She delayed supper until nine before sitting down alone at the table and pecking at the cold leg of mutton and the apple jam tartlets. After, she went into the kitchen, anxious not even to hear the telltale clop of horses’ hooves, the jangle of harness, the occasional
gruff voice. Jane Gimlett was there alone, John Gimlett being out looking for a lamb which had strayed; and to give colour to her own presence, she began to re-iron the ruffs on Ross’s shirts. All of them were well worn, well darned, should long since have been cast aside.

  Jane Gimlett chattered for a time; but presently, finding her mistress silent, her own talk dropped away. Upstairs Jeremy slept soundly.

  Feathers, the kitten, came and rubbed its head against Demelza’s skirts. Then, finding itself unrebuffed, it wriggled under the hem of her skirt and put its forepaws round her ankle. After another minute or so it somehow got its back legs tangled up and began to wriggle and kick. Demelza bent and disentangled it and put it on the table beside her. It arched its back and opened its infant mouth in a silent snarl and then stepped sideways as if blown by the wind and almost fell off the table. She picked it up again and put it in its basket beside the ancient Tabitha Bethia, who was asleep and let out a single mew of protest.

  She turned the chicken, which was cooking on a spit in case Ross should be hungry on his return, and thrust forward the potato saucepan on its iron trivet so that it stood over the hot ashes. The tide was right about midnight, and she thought he would be here by then or soon after. She took the piece of bacon out of the smoke chamber over the flue of the fire to see if it was sufficiently cured. Then she returned to the table.

  On this came Gimlett, bucket in hand, out of breath, stumbling over the mat as he pushed open the door.

  ‘John!’ said his wife. ‘What’s amiss? Did ee find him?’

  ‘There’s a soldier!’ said Gimlett, clattering the bucket down. ‘By the stile at the turn of the Long Field! I nigh bumped into un! I thought ’twas one of the tub-runners.’

  Demelza put her iron down. It was as if a colder iron had moved in her. ‘Are you sure, John? How are you sure?’

  ‘I catched a glimpse of his tunic, mistress. And he was carren a musket too! I says to him, “Fine night, my son,” and he says “Aye.” Just the word “Aye.” ’Twas no Cornish-man, I knew; and then I catched sight of his musket!’

  ‘Did you see anything of the traders?’

  ‘Yes, mistress, about an hour gone. I seen two moving down to the cove.’

  Oh, God, to think, to think, this might be Ross’s liberty, even his life. It was what she had feared often before, but then it had not involved Ross except as an accessory. This time of all times, when he was coming home. The room closed on her like a prison. ‘John, do you think – do you think you can get out of the house unseen, make your way down to the cove? Go out of the back again, quickly, quick, by way of the cliff. And Jane, how many candles have we? Enough to lighten all the windows d’you suppose?’

  ‘A score, I b’lieve, ma’am. We was to have bought more last week—’

  ‘John, waste no time. Do what you can even if it means—’

  Demelza stopped. Gimlett said: ‘The sky’s clearing. The stars is bright as frost, but I can—’

  He had looked at Demelza, and he too stopped. She was staring past him at the door. Captain McNeil was standing there, in uniform this time; and another figure could be seen in the background.

  ‘Good evening to ye, Mrs Poldark. I’m sorry to break in on your privacy. Your man saw one of my troopers, so I shall have to ask you all to keep within doors for the next hour or two.’

  Demelza picked up one of Ross’s shirts; with trembling but controlled fingers she folded it carefully.

  ‘Captain McNeil . . . This is a surprise. I’m – at a loss . . .’

  ‘I will explain it to ye, ma’am, if you will give me a moment in privacy. Is Captain Poldark at home?’

  ‘. . . No. He’s away . . .’

  A look passed across McNeil’s face. ‘I see. Then a word with you, if I might have it.’

  ‘Certainly . . .’

  ‘One moment. How many sairvants have you in the house, ma’am ?’

  ‘Two. These two only.’

  ‘Then I’ll ask them to stay here in the care of my trooper. Wilkins!’

  ‘Aye, sir.’

  With uncertain steps, her heart choking, she led the way into the parlour.

  ‘Please sit down, Captain McNeil. ’Twas quite unthoughtful of you to appear sudden at my kitchen door like – like a pedlar with a tray of rings, when I thought you miles away, in London or – or in Edinburgh. You should have written.’

  ‘I ask your pardon, ma’am. I had no intention of disturbing anyone in this house, but your man blundered into one of our pickets. I—’

  ‘Pickets? It has a very military ring. Do you suppose that there is an enemy about?’

  He screwed in his great moustache. ‘An enemy of a sort. We have news that smugglers have the intention to use your cove tonight. Vercoe, the Customs Officer, has repeatedly appealed for a reinforcement of his men. Tonight I and my troopers are providing it. That’s why I asked to see Captain Poldark.’

  She had gone to a cupboard and taken out a decanter. He was still on his feet, and in his uniform he looked enormous and cumbersome beside her slightness.

  ‘You’ll take a glass of wine?’ she said.

  ‘Thank ye, no. Not while on duty.’

  ‘But why Captain Poldark? What have we to do with it?’

  ‘Nothing, I trust – I hope. But it is your land, ma’am. I think you can hardly be so innocent as you look. Where is Captain Poldark?’

  She shook her head. ‘From home. I told you. He is in St Ives.’

  ‘When will he retairn?’

  ‘Tomorrow – I b’lieve. Please sit down, Captain McNeil. When you are standing, the room is too small for you.’

  He half smiled as he obeyed her, took out his watch, replaced it. ‘Believe me, it grieves me, ma’am, to be in this position relative to yourself.’

  ‘So ’twas what some said, that when you were staying with the Trevaunances you were really acting as a spy.’

  He said sharply: ‘No, most untrue! I came as a convalescent. Whilst down here I did nothing but pay a courtesy visit on the Customs authorities, since I had been concairned with them three years before. I ask you to believe, Mrs Poldark, that it is not in my nature to do what is – dishonourable!’

  ‘Then why – now?’

  ‘This is different, quite different. I came as a soldier, ma’am. This Trade, this organised Trade, must be stamped out. I can only obey the orr-ders I am given!’

  She was surprised that the note of contempt in her voice should have pricked him so.

  ‘Yet you wish to lock me in my own house . . .’

  ‘For the rest of tonight. I cannot leave you or your servants free to run down and warn the smugglers.’

  ‘So you cannot trust me, Captain McNeil?’

  ‘In this I cannot.’

  She looked at him through her lashes. ‘You ask me to believe in your honour but will not believe in mine.’

  ‘With your husband out of the house and perhaps implicated?’ He got up and stood a moment with his hands on the back of the chair. ‘Captain Poldark has been a soldier himself. It will grieve me if he is involved – I trust for his sake that he is not. I do not lightly make war on friends. But once before I warned him of the danger of flying in the face of the law. If he has done so now, he must take the consequences. Believe me, ma’am, for the favour of your good will I would pay a very high price. Indeed, almost any pairsonal price that you ask. But not one which involves a – a neglect of duty.’

  A gruff voice could be heard in the kitchen. It was on her lips to tell McNeil the truth, to explain the cruel mischance of Ross’s involvement, this once alone, and to throw herself and Ross on his understanding and good will. But she stopped in time. Her meetings with McNeil had been few, but already she was coming to have an understanding of his character. In justifying his actions to her, he had revealed both his quality and his limitations. Good-natured, shrewd, susceptible to women, he yet pursued his duty with a single-mindedness which was above weakness. Mercy was as little likely to move hi
m as money or sex.

  ‘What do you wish me to do?’

  ‘Stay in here, ma’am. I can ill spare Wilkins, but he must stay with you since it was his blunder that gave you warning. It should not be many hours.’

  ‘And when you have taken your traders and locked them up – then we shall be free to go to bed and – and forget you?’

  He flushed and bowed. ‘That is so. And if anyone is taken connected with this house, it will be to my deep regret as well as yours. I trust this is the last time I’ll be involved in such a mission. From now on we shall have better work to do.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Fighting people of a different race, ma’am. And of a different way of belief. France declared war on England yesterday. Had they done so a few weeks ago, we should have been spared this unhappy meeting.’

  Dwight got out of the cottage and shut the door and leaned against it. Dark here, but it was the darkness of the frosty night, not that inner dark which had nearly swamped him. Bruised and shaky and in pain, but now no fear he would faint. Air revived him; as he stood there trying to think, it was a tonic – a cold breath penetrating through sweaty clothes, chilling but enlivening.

  Walk to your horse, unloop the reins, struggle, pull yourself into the saddle. Already after eleven. Caroline waiting by now. Bone there, might have explained. (But he could not explain what he did not know.) In ten minutes could be there – fifteen anyhow. In half an hour away.

  But that was a mere hypothesis which could not be put to the test. There was still more than half an hour to midnight. Even for Caroline . . .

  He pulled on the reins and turned his horse. Unused to carrying up this steep and stony path, the horse stumbled, struck sparks from the loose rock. Good to get away from that cottage into the cold dark. Two children crying, staring at him, who’d been their friend; terrified hostile eyes, while Charlie lay in his own hearth. As he left he heard them move; as soon as the door closed they would come padding down, staring at their father; Lottie would damp a rag, try to revive him, in the end no doubt would succeed. But what was his future? What was their future?