The Miller's Dance (29 page)

'One for sorrow, two for mirth,' said Jeremy.

I
say, one for sorrow, two for joy.'

'Equally suitable.'

'You know I came wi
th you,' said Cuby,'- have come
with you, just for the walk.'

That is the agreement.'

'You having - me having—that embrace that you forced upon me - meant nothing more than ...'

Than an embrace. What could it mean? Were we not friends who had quarrelled? After a quarrel is it not proper for friends to kiss and make up?'

There was the sound of children shouting in the distance, but it was another world. The green damp wood still surrounded them in sunlit silence.

'Indeed,' said Jeremy,
I
am relieved that it is all over between us.'

‘All over?'

I
mean the quarrel is over. Now we may meet as lov
ing
friends.'

‘
Well...yes.'

'Dear Cuby,' he said
gently
. 'Don't be doubtful. I am
going to make no claims on you except-'

'But you do! You have done!'

'Except—let me finish - the claim to be considered your loving friend - right up to the time of your marriage. Even after your marriage, if your husband will permit.'

I
have no husband yet in view!'

'That is something I c
annot comment on,' said Jeremy,
continuing his double-edged remarks.

Laughter and annoyance seemed to be struggling with each other in her face. Eventually, to hide other emotions, she looked down at her parasol.

'Very well,' she said in a small voice. 'Let it be so.'

I

Ross had bought a new pony for Isabella-Rose and he had his eye on a horse for himself which had won the second race of the day.

Few of
the
entries measured up to what would be considered a racehorse up-country. Most of them had been locally bred and, like their breeders, were a bit heavy in
the
beam for real speed. But Ross had been impressed by the way Bargrave - that was his strange name - had come back at the end of a mile and thrust his great hooves into the soft and tiring turf and overhauled his rivals. There must be blood in him to do that. He was a four-year-old, so there was a good and honest life ahead. Pity if he had to be sold for a carriage horse, which would mean a further life of three more years a
t the outside. Ross had no ambiti
on to burn up the countryside by taking fearsome gallops, but he liked and admired courage and willingness, and he thought Bargrave had both.

The bidding began at five guineas, rose quickly to fifteen, and there stuck.

'Now gents,' said the auctioneer, 'this bain't good 'nough. Can we say seventeen? Will anyone give me seventeen?'

Ross raised his glove.

'Seventeen I'm bid, seventeen I'm bid, seventeen. Can I say twenty? Twenty I'm bid. Only twenty for this fine strong animal. Look at his fetlock joints. Look at his pasterns! Can I say twenty-two? Can I say —'

Ross raised his glove.

'Twenty-two. Thank
you,
sir. Twenty-two. Twenty-five. Can I say, twenty-seven? Twenty-seven. Can I say—thirty it is. Thirty. Thirty. Thirty-two. Thirty-two. Thirty-five.

Thirty-five. Forty. Forty-five, can I say forty-five? Thank you. Forty-five it is. Can I say fifty?'

Ross peered across the ring to see who it was bidding against him. There was no one. It was someone almost behind him, just to his right. He turned his head. George Warleggan.

Beside him was a tall, very dark young woman. Major Trevanion was with them. 'Against you, sir,' said the auctioneer, pointing at Ross. Ross raised his glove.

'Fifty,' said the auctioneer. 'Thank
you,
sir. And may I say? ... Fifty-five. And fifty-five.
And
fifty-five. And sixty. And sixty.
And
sixty-five. And seventy. Seventy. Against you again, sir. All finished?' Ross raised his glove.
'And
seventy-five. Seventy-five. And eighty. And eighty-five. And eighty-five.
And
ninety. And ninety-five. And ninety-five. May I say a hundred, sir?' Ross shook his head. 'No, sir? All done at ninety-five? Ninety-five? Going at ninety-five.' Bang went the hammer. 'To you, sir. To you, Sir George,' the auctioneer added with an obsequious smile, and the clerk left his side to make for the Warleggans, while the stable boy began to lead Bargrave away.

'No,' said George, shaking his head, 'the horse is not mine. The other man's was the last bid.'

A look of anxiety came upon the auctioneer's face. 'Sir?'

George repeated what he had said. The auctioneer looked at Ross. Ross shook his head in turn.

'My last bid was ninety.'

'No,
’
said George.
'My
last bid was ninety. The horse is yours.'

The auctioneer came down from his rostrum, and then, aware that by so doing he lost authority, climbed it again.

'Sir George, I was certainly of the opinion. I was watching
careful.
You was both close together, I know; but.. .'.He consulted his clerk. 'Mr Holmes here say the same, begging your
pardon,
of course...'

I
was the underbidder
' said George. 'The horse has
been bought by Captain Poldark.

'Nay,' said a snarling voice behind them all.
I
seen Les
Downs a-looking straight at ee, Sir George, when the last bid was
given -
I
seen it wi' me own eyes!'

Old Tholly Tregirls, his ravaged, mischievously evil face serious for once, his hook high in the air to catch attention.

'Well,' said George, 'if I am to be subjected to the accusations of one of Captain Poldark's creatures...'

Ross said: 'Tregirls is not one of my creatures, and 1 did not know he was even at the races. Indeed, I'd be grateful if he did not intrude in matters which did not concern him. What's amiss, George, do you feel you have bid more for this horse than you can afford? If so, pray allow me to take it off your hands...'

‘I
ndeed you may,' said George, flushing, 'as indeed you must, since it has in the first place been bought by you -'

The woman at his side moved. 'Captain Poldark.'

Ross turned unfriendly eyes on her.

'You are Captain Poldark?'

'Yes.'

I
am Harriet Warleggan.'

Ross bowed. They looked at each other.

'My husband was buying the horse for me, Captain Poldark, and I should co
nsider it a little ungentl
emanly in you to insist on taking him away from me, when I had hoped to be able to ride him tomorrow. This without regard to the matter of who made the last bid.'

There was a momentary pause. People were watching, gaping.

Ross said:
I
would never stand in the way of a lady. Pray consider the horse yours.'

'Thank you, Captain Poldark. George, I think we need not pursue this argument further. We have Bargrave, and I am happy.' She said to the auctioneer with quiet arrogance: 'We shall take the horse at ninety-five guineas. Please continue.'

George did not look at Ross. Pink spots remained in his cheeks. He tapped the ground with his cane. Harriet took his arm and steered him towards the enclosure. As Major Trevanion was moving to follow them he caught Ross's eye. They did not even nod to each other.

The auction went on but Ross did not bid again.

After a couple of minutes the hoarse voice of Tholly Tregirls broke through a sputtering cough to say: 'You was well out o' that, young Cap'n.
’

'Tholly,' said Ross,
I
have no doubt you have my interests at hea
rt, but when I need your help I’l
l ask for it. Until then champion whom you may, but not me.'

'Just as you say, young Cap'n. Just as you say. There was a time when you needed my 'elp, eh, and was not above taking it, eh? Not above taking it. Now if you want a bit of good 'orseflesh ...'

I
don't, Tholly,' Ross said. 'Not the kind you can sell me.'

Tholly convulsed himself with another cough. 'All the same, you was well out o' that Horse wasn't worth more'n forty guineas of anyone's money.
’
Ross said:
I
know that'

II

Stephen and Clowance ha
d witnessed the argument from
the other side of the ring.

'So that's Sir George Warleggan,' said Stephen. 'Reckon I shall know him again.'

'And his new wife. I met her last year.'

'Handsome woman. I reckon he'll have his work cut out bridling her.'

'Do you have to think of women as horses? Could you not perhaps turn me into a ship for a change?' He squeezed her arm. 'Yes, we could talk about luffing.' 'Oh, what a horrid pun!'

'Serious though, I'd hardly suppose the horse was worth so much.'.

Clowance said: 'The old rivalry dieth not.' 'What?'

'No matter. Have we lost any money today?'

'Three on the first race, five on the second; but we've

made it up since then. Recko
n we're about two guineas up.' ‘
Good.'

They turned away and a voice said: 'Clowance? It is Clowance? Yes, for sure it is. By the Lord, now, just imagine it!'

It was the young sailor whom Clowance had seen earlier in the company of Valentine.

He said: it is more than two years, and for a moment I could not be sure. How are you, Cousin ?'-

'Andrew! I saw you earlier in the day but thought I must be mistaken.'

‘
I
should be in the Bay by now, but was held up a couple of days, so came here with Valentine Warleggan and Antony Trefusis and Ben Sampson and Percy Hill. How
are
you? How you've grown up!'

Clowance laughed. 'O
h, you have not met Stephen Car
rington whom I am engaged to marry! Stephen, this is my cousin, Andrew Blarney, who lives in Flushing but is more often at sea!'

The two young men shook hands. Andrew was stocky built and sandy, with tight curly hair and thick eyebrows, and sidewhiskers which made him look a good deal older than his years. He was wearing the smart blue and gold uniform of a junior officer in His Majesty's Packet Service. Stephen, at once interested in anything to do with the sea, began to question him about the service, and Andrew was ready enough to explain; but after he had been speaking a few moments a look of frowning puzzlement came to his face, and he broke off what he was saying.

'But, Mr Carrington, haven't we met before?'

'Met?' Stephen stared. 'Nay, I have no recollection.'

'Surely... Let me see. Surely it was you.'

I
don't know what you're driving at. Though -'

'Four or five months ago. April, it
was. In Plymouth. In the Ring O
'Bells in Plymouth Dock. Don't you remember? You bought me a mug of ale. You were in fine fettle that night, offering drinks to strangers ... That was before the Press Gang broke in...'

There was silence between them. 'What am I bid?' came the auctioneer's voice. 'Eighteen guineas, eighteen guineas. Eighteen - has everybody done now? Going, going.' Bang.
'Sold
to the gent in the blue coat.'

' Ye've made a mistake, Mr Andrew Blarney,' Stephen said shortly. 'I never was in Plymouth in all me life.'

Andrew went red.

'You - were never in Plymouth?'

'No. Nor in this - what is it? - Ring o' Bells. Did ye suppose I wouldn't've remembered you?'

'Well... well, I'll be damned! Sorry, Cousin Clowance. And sorry to you, Mr Carrington. If it was not you it was your spitting living image! You were with a pale-faced dark fellow, who had a girl with him, and you led the singing. Or at least — crave your pardon - if twas not you then this fellow who was the spitting living image led the singing... Well, I have never been so confounded in my life by a similarity! Though I grant this fellow was none too well dressed and his hair was longer and - and of course he had been merrying himself with
the
drink — as of course so had I!...'

'Perhaps that helps to explain the mistake,' Stephen said more genially,
I
was never out of Cornwall all through April, was I, Clowance?'

‘
After a moment Andrew said: 'Well, I suppose it's natural it should not have been you, engaged as you are to my cousin - though damn it, the uncanny resemblance still disturbs! I will tell you, Cousin, it was not at all a pretty night, that night, in the end. It was the merest chance I was there myself, the
Countess of Leicester
having been ordered direct to Plymouth with the Governor of Gibraltar aboard. Having disembarked him, we were setting sail for Falmouth by first light on the morrow, but, belay me, after a few days at sea I never can resist testing my land legs and my thirst at the same time! I was with Lieutenant Peter Dillon and we turned in at the Ring o' Bells because we heard the singing ... 'A leaky ship with her anchor down, Hurrah, me boys, Hurrah!' They were all singing fit to raise the beams, and this big fair-haired feller was standing on a stool leading it all!.. .However —
’

'Why did the Governor not come back on a naval vessel?' Stephen tried to interrupt this flow.

'Eh? What? Oh, he had heard that his son was ill, and we were leaving that morning and have the legs of most things ... I tell you, Cousin, the singing was at its height when in burst a company from the Navy intent on pressing any able-bodied men they could find. Dillon and I, of course',
-
were safe enough in our uniform, but this blond fellow and the dark thin one with him were not, and were being lined up with others for inspection when they made a dash for it, and in a moment all was pandemonium! Hang me if they didn't get away, leaving one of the sailors dying of stab wounds on the floor!' Andrew coughed behind his hand and looked apologetically at Stephen. 'Beg your pardon again, Mr Carrington, when I recognized you -
thought
I recognized you - I'd scarce remembered where the story was leading, so to say. You do right to be indignant at such a mistake, for it is generally acknowledged that it was the blond man who did the stabbing. Clowance, will you ever speak to me again? To think I confused your betrothed with someone who, whatever the justification, was really a common murderer!... When is the wedding to be?'