The Miller's Dance by Winston Graham
‘I wondered about the dogs,’ Caroline murmured.
‘Yes, well you might. Last Friday, the day after I returned, we was all in the summer parlour with Unwin Trevaunance and Betty Devoran and others, and Castor and Pollux were as usual beside their mistress. My father went over to speak to her privately a moment while the others were being served tea, when Castor – or was it Pollux? – turned suddenly, I believe because there was a bluebottle in his ear, and his great haunches quite undermined Sir George, who went down with a thump on his backside! I tell you, had I not been afraid my allowance would be totally cancelled, I would have split myself with laughter!’
‘Don’t ye get on with your father?’ Stephen asked bluntly.
‘I wouldn’t go as far as that, my friend. We live in the same house from time to time. He supplies me with the education and the money I need and only occasionally reminds me that he holds the purse strings.’
‘What are you going to be?’ Stephen asked.
‘A gentleman. I may later go into Parliament. My father owns a borough and would no doubt favour his son in a few years’ time. I’m sorry Cousin Ross is not here or I would ask him how much profit he had found to it.’
‘It depends how you regard the office,’ said Dwight.
‘And a gentleman regards it as a privilege and not as an opportunity for advancement? I take your meaning.’
‘Not all gentlemen by any means see it that way,’ said Caroline with a laugh.
‘Well,’ said Valentine. ‘I must judge for myself. Perhaps I shall be in the army instead. If the French emperor subjugates Russia and then, having secured his flank, turns upon us we shall all be in the line of fire – or suing for peace.’
‘Soon I shall go into the Navy,’ said Horrie sleepily. ‘Like my brother. N-no one can defeat us while we hold the seas.’
‘First, dear boy, you must learn to hold your liquor . . .’
There was a cough at the door. John Gimlett had come in, and beside him was Paul Kellow.
‘If you please, sur—’
‘Paul,’ said Jeremy, getting up. ‘Welcome to our little supper. A glass of wine? Pray sit down.’
The window in the dining-room faced south-east, so in the evening the light in the room became shadowy though it was still full daylight outside. Therefore for a moment or two it was not easy to see Paul’s expression as he came in at the door. But his voice was grim.
‘Thank you, but I must not stop. I have been for Dr Enys and was told he was here . . .’
Dwight dabbed his fingers on his napkin and got up. ‘Is it Violet?’
‘Yes, sir. She has lost a deal of blood and is in much pain . . .’
‘I’ll come at once . . .’
‘John,’ Demelza said, ‘will you bring Dr Enys’s horse to the front.’
‘Yes, ’m.’
‘Paul,’ said Jeremy. ‘Shall I come with you?’
He shook his head resentfully. ‘It would do no good. I am sorry to break up your little party.’
Demelza glanced briefly at Stephen. He was facing the window and his face had deeply flushed.
Clowance unexpectedly said: ‘Would you like to go, Stephen?’
He stared at her in surprise. ‘What? Well . . . I don’t think it’s – me place . . .’ He tried to discern how she meant the suggestion but could not.
Clowance said to Paul: ‘Is she . . .’
Paul nodded. ‘I think so.’
Jeremy took a glass of wine to Paul, who sipped it until John Gimlett returned. Dwight looked at his wife, smiled round at the others. ‘Thank you for a delightful evening. I’ll come back for you, Caroline. If you grow tired of waiting, no doubt someone . . .’
‘Of course,’ said Jeremy. ‘I’ll see her home.’
The two men went out.
‘I’m afraid I am not au fait of the seriously sick on this coast,’ said Valentine. ‘As instance my intrusion on the Popes. Is this some other friend?’
Demelza began to explain. In the middle of it Stephen got to his feet.
‘’Scuse me,’ he said. He looked again at Clowance. ‘If it’s that bad, maybe I should . . .’ He put his hand over Clowance’s, squeezed it. ‘I’ll be back, love. I’ll be back.’
‘Borrow my pony,’ said Jeremy, but already Stephen was out of the room.
After an awkward pause Demelza finished her explanation. The others ate their strawberry and cream pie and drank their white wine, all except Horrie Treneglos who was asleep. Valentine, having returned to the subject of the Popes, now launched on a further description of their merits, particularly of Maud, to whom it was clear he had taken the greatest fancy. Indeed he risked becoming a bore on the subject. But it was difficult to tell whether he was insensitive to the atmosphere or well aware of it. At least he sustained most of the conversation until it was time to leave; and by then the party had become more cheerful again.
Whatever he might or might not feel about Maud, it did not prevent his kissing Clowance and Demelza and Caroline familiarly on the mouth. The fact that the two latter ladies were both just old enough to be his mother meant they were old enough not to resent it; but in both cases it was not a respectful salute. When a tall handsome boy of eighteen kisses two handsome women of early middle age as if he would like to know them very much more intimately, it is quite hard for them not to be both amused and indulgent. Any other reaction would savour of the prudish or the self-important.
At the door he said: ‘I like this area. God’s kidneys, it is more robust than the south – downright. After all, I was born here. I like the pounding of the surf on the beaches, the barrenness, the brilliant skies. I would much like to inherit Trenwith. That, alas, could only ensue from the decease of my half-brother, which I should be the last to wish. Long live Geoffrey Charles, the only warrior in the family! That is, apart from Cousin Ross. I trust he is staying close to London this time and not adventuring overseas unknown to us all! . . . Well, thank you for a handsome supper. Come along, Horrie. Wake up! Wake up! Can you walk? Can you ride? Perhaps the fresh air will do him good. By God, it is fresh as well. This wind that’s got up is as sharp as a surgeon’s knife. July, did they say? How far is it? Couple of miles? If you can only get him up into his saddle, no doubt his horse will know the way. And I will follow like a true disciple. Come along, Horrie, bestir yourself! Up, up! There, how’s that? Oops, make sure he does not slide off the other side! Farewell, Poldarks all. If we ever find our way to Mingoose I forecast I shall sleep well, even without a wench to company me.’
III
Stephen did not return that night. Nor did Dwight. Jeremy rode home with Caroline soon after eleven-thirty. Violet died at two a.m. Stephen held her hand to the last. She was buried in Sawle Church on August 2, almost six weeks too late to fulfil the prophecy of her appearance with Stephen at the church on Midsummer’s Eve, 1811.
Chapter Three
I
On August 10 four young men met in the summer parlour of Mingoose House. They had just walked back from Wheal Grace where they had talked to the accompaniment of the slither and clack of the engine as it breathed and hissed and sucked; they had gone from the comfortable warmth of the engine house into a wind so strong that it felt as cold as winter. There was no sea to speak of except for the whitelicked surfaces of shallow waves, but so gusty and uncertain was the wind that they staggered like shaky automata towards the first deformed hawthorns that sheltered Mingoose House.
There they sat about a newly lighted sea-coal fire and warmed their tingling fingers. Horrie Treneglos, Jeremy Poldark, Stephen Carrington, Ben Carter. Horrie was leafing through the cost book.
He said: ‘We’re almost out of coal. And cash will soon be running short. By the end of the month we shall have to make another call.’
Jeremy said: ‘Does your father know we’re here?’
‘Yes. Yes, he does. But he said he’d leave it to me.’
Jeremy grunted. Mr John Treneglos’s personal interest in the mine, th
‘Well, it’s almost a month to the next shareholders’ meeting. Shall we last out that long?’
‘Have to. Borrow a bit. Anyway we can decide pretty much about what we want today, except to minute it. We hold the majority of the shares.’
‘When is your father coming back, Jeremy?’ asked Stephen.
‘We expected him two weeks ago. Don’t know what is keeping him.’
Horrie said to Ben: ‘Zacky not well again?’
‘Oh yes. I called in for the cost book. Tis just that he don’t reckon to come out in this wind if it can be avoided.’
They listened to the fitful boom of the unseasonable weather. Mingoose House had always been poorly maintained, and one felt that the unexpected strain of this summer gale was too much for it to bear. Like Demelza’s garden. People had steered clear of her again today.
Stephen said: ‘Eighty pound of me own money is already sunk in this venture. Me own money. I’d not want to see much more go.’
Jeremy said: ‘The expensive time is over. From now on it is just the miners’ wages – a third of them are on tribute anyhow – and coal, and maintenance. We’re using less than half the coal at Leisure that we do at Grace – or nearer a quarter, relative to the duty performed. A call of, say, ten pounds a share at the end of this month would see us through pretty well another three months. By then the returns should have picked up even if we’re not in the richest ground.’
Stephen grunted. ‘Well, I could manage twenty pounds, I suppose.’
‘Getting wed is no easy time,’ said Horrie with a grin.
‘It is not that so much as a feeling that I may well be throwing . . .’
‘Good money after bad?’ said Horrie. ‘That could be true. But it was ever so with venturers. Few are lucky straight off. Faint hearts never won, etcetera.’
‘What is your opinion, Ben?’ Stephen asked.
They very seldom addressed each other direct. But Stephen, now that he was surer of his position in the community, and particularly of Clowance, was not above making the occasional approach.
‘Ye should come down wi’ me sometime and I’ll show ee. I’ve been vanning samples all this week, and there’s naught to give us lively encouragement yet.’
‘What does that mean, for God’s sake?’
Jeremy diplomatically intervened. ‘You break up the ore stuff with a bucking hammer; then you put the crushed ground on a vanning shovel and cove it with water. A skilled man swirls it around, letting the water run off and adding more, until he can flip up the best of what’s left into what we call a head. Then you judge from that what value there is in the ground.’
‘And the old lodes?’ asked Horrie.
‘What ye saw last month. We’ve done better wi’ they than wi’ the new ground. The east one going down from thirty fathoms is far the best still. The old men picked out the eyes of it but left a fair amount of good ore unworked. The south lode at thirty is also fair. We fetched up nigh on twenty tons of red copper ore from the east lode for the four weeks up to last Friday, and from the south lode about seven tons of poorer quality copper, five tons of zinc, small amounts of tin stone and black tin, and a smattering of silver.’
A dog was scratching to get in. Horrie opened the door to admit a young spaniel that went into ecstasies of welcome, his backside corkscrewing with joy.
‘You can always sell your shares,’ Horrie said to Stephen, who was still frowning at his own thoughts. ‘That’s if you really feel you don’t want to meet the call.’
‘Would you buy them?’
‘Get down, you beast! Stop your slobbering! . . . Would I buy them? No, for I have enough. But you could put ’em up in one of these auctions. There’s one at Gray’s Hotel, Redruth, next week; I saw it advertised. You could sell ’em next month. I’ve no doubt they’d still bring a fair price seeing the mine is so new.’
‘I’d buy them,’ said Ben, ‘if I had the money.’
They all looked at him. His eyes under their black level brows flickered with antagonism; but again Jeremy turned the obvious intention of Ben’s remark by saying: ‘Well, if our underground captain feels like that it is a good sign. This sort of thing can be a long haul.’
‘Oh, I’ll go along,’ said Stephen. ‘I’ll go along. I’ll say it again, I was always one for a gamble, and by the fortunate chance of my little adventure in Penzance and places I can find the money. All the same, I wish twere showing better. It is very well for those that invest nothing.’
Jeremy put a warning finger on Ben’s arm.
‘We’ll settle for ten pounds a share, then. Subject to approval of the other shareholders next month. I think we should enter it down accordingly.’
Three of them had a glass of mountain – Ben was a non-drinker – and the meeting broke up, Ben to return to the mine and Horrie to go out to the stables to find his father and acquaint him with the facts he should have been present to learn for himself. Jeremy and Stephen walked back towards Nampara. They staggered drunkenly across the sandy moorland, the wind gusting and stabbing as they went.
Jeremy said: ‘Was it all right with Wilf Jonas?’
Stephen smiled with his lips only. ‘He does not ever take kindly to me absence during working hours, but he is used to it now. Ye see . . . I benefit because I’m one of the Poldarks. Or almost one. That’s how it is, like.’
‘Will you come in now?’
‘Thank ee, no. I can still put in two hours extra, and that will appease him.’
‘And Clowance?’ said Jeremy.
‘Eh?’
‘Is it all right between you two again?’
‘Oh yes. Oh yes.’
‘You sound doubtful.’
‘Nay. It is healing over. And now poor Violet is gone, there is no longer the cause.’
They came to the gate of the garden.
‘Clowance is at the Enyses’ now, I think.’
‘Yes, she told me that.’
Jeremy said: ‘What was your real feeling for Violet?’
Stephen shrugged. ‘She was one of those girls it is hard to resist. Don’t you find Daisy much the same? Headlong. Headstrong. Devil-may-care because they feel the devil is after ’em. A challenge . . . Yes, poor soul, I cared a little. God rest her.’
‘It was hard for Clowance.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘Especially hard because Violet’s illness made her feel mean – that her jealousy was mean.’
‘Yes, of course I know.’ Stephen was getting restive but Jeremy went on.
‘Don’t expect her to be the same about any other, will you.’
‘What any other?’
‘Any other girl. Any other woman.’
‘Holy Mary, that’s my business. And hers. What’s it to do with you!’
Jeremy would not be outfaced. ‘I’m her brother. And, I imagine, your friend. I know her pretty well. I’m just saying, I’m just making the observation, that she’ll not stand for it. Not with anybody else. She has a very strong personality under – under her simple-seeming ways. Not before marriage. Nor after.’
A gust of wind thrust them both against the gate.
Jeremy said: ‘You’ve got a way with women, Stephen. Men too, to some extent. But women. I’ve watched it. It’s a talent. Wish I had it. But it doesn’t – that talent doesn’t always make for the best husband. When you’ve been married a year or two and the newness has worn off – all those handsome girls – girls like Beth Nanfan, and pretty young wives – and Lottie Kempthorne . . .’ As Stephen was about to say something he added: ‘I wouldn’t want to see Clowance hurt. Or angry. And it would be both.’
Stephen said: ‘Thank you, Uncle Jeremy.’
Jeremy flushed. ‘Take it which way you want.’
They stood a moment unspeaking, then Jeremy unlatched the gate and went in.
Stephen said: ‘You done a
‘What more is there to do?’
‘Well, it seems to me your Richard Trevithick can’t know everything in the world.’
‘It’s not just Trevithick saying it won’t work. Once he explained, I could see it wouldn’t work. I could see he was right. That’s what stopped me in my tracks.’
‘But his did work, you say.’
‘Yes, for a limited time. With a limited objective. I’ve told you.’
‘So what’re you going to do?’
‘Nothing – for the time being. Think about the carriage. Maybe try to see Mr Trevithick again.’
‘And in the meantime?’
‘In the meantime what?’
‘Oh, nothing.’ Stephen shrugged. ‘Well, I’ll be getting along.’
‘Yes.’
‘Jeremy.’
‘Well?’ He stopped again.
Stephen kicked at a stone. ‘I want Clowance for wife, d’ye know. That’s something different even to me – different to invalids with pretty faces, or pigtailed handsome young women who I fancy the looks of, or easy doxies like Lottie Kempthorne. It’s different.’
‘I’m glad.’
‘But, Jeremy, when Clowance marries me she becomes me own wife. She’ll become a Carrington – not a Poldark no longer. She’ll have to fend for herself. Not even her brother, dearly as I like him, will be allowed to interfere.’