The Miller's Dance (34 page)

'Anton — inus,' he said, mispronouncing it.

'Antoninus!' she cried. 'The
re was a king of England called
Antoninus—though they called him emperor then. A
Roman,
Ben, a Roman Emperor!'

Ben stared at the coin, much more disturbed by Clowance's warmth towards him than by the possible discovery. 'What do that mean?'

it means that if this coin is really what it seems, that it dates from Roman times, from the time when Rome ruled Britain. Which was around the time of Christ. Which was one thousand eight hundred years ago! I don't know when Antoninus lived, but I've heard of him. It means these old
Trevorgie workings may have been used, worked
...
Papa
will be entranced! And Je
remy. Oh, Ben, what a wonderful
discovery!' !

They held hands there in the slimy dark, her face aglow, his reflecting her pleasure. Then they turned, still holding hands, began to make their way slowly out again, stopping every few yards to notice something new, things they had missed on the way in - a basket half full of broken ore-rubble bursting open at the side, a stone wedge, a piece of horn that had come probably from a pick. All these things seemed now to be of the greatest antiquity. It was as if they had gone in blindfold and the discovery of the coin had unbandaged their eyes.

They returned to the secon
d cavern, which was the largest
of those they had so far di
scovered, and Ben began to pick
here and there at the rubble. He s
oon unearthed part of a
wheel, but it was not a wheel from a cart. It lay near a
narrow pit running along one side of
the
cavern, and was iron-bound at the sides.

'What's this?' Clowance
asked, picking up the end of
something white. Suddenly she dropped it.

Ben squatted beside her. He fished at the thing and
gradually drew it out from the rubble. Then he too dropped
it.

'Well
...
could be an animal.'

‘I
t doesn't look like it to me!'

'Dr Enys'll
no doubt be able to tell us'bout that.'

‘I
t is like the bone of a man's forearm!' said Clowance.

'Maybe
...
Though tis some thin.'

'Well, they
are
thin. There's two aren't there, side by side. Feel your own arm.'

They stared at the long slender bone. No doubt if they dug further into the rubble they would come u
pon other bones which would settl
e the question. After a few seconds Ben stood up.

'Best go, my dear.'

Clowance continued kneeling,
I
wonder how long—who it was - why he should be left here.'
‘
No one'll ever know that.'

Quietly they left the cavern, stooped and twisted through the next tunnel and out into the first cavern, then down the ladder to the 30 level, and more tunnels till they reached the ladder leading up the main shaft to the daylight.

‘
Tis a proper mystery to me,' Ben said as they paused for breath, for a cleaner breath at last 'How that has all existed all those years and no one has never found'n before. And there's air - of a sort - bad bu
t bearable. There must be an outl
et somewhere, two outlets more l
ikely, probably part blocked. I
wonder
...'

‘
What?'

'They d'say the blown sand have moved over all they 'undreds of years, have buried houses, villages. Maybe the old mine have been so buried.'

Clowance was thinking of the bone they had found. 'I wonder,' she said, 'if the Romans used slaves
...'

They went on up the ladder.

Beside the engine house was a timber changing shed where the miners left and collected their gear. Squinting in the bright daylight, they went in and Clowance took off her hat and jacket. Ben relieved her of these and hung them up, took o
ff his own hat. 'Cap'n Poldark'll
not be back tonight?' 'No, but Mama will, also Jer
emy. Ben, I think you should
be there before I tell them. It is your find really. Why do you not come about six, and I'll wait till then? We'll tell them together.'

He flushed. 'That'd be proper. Thank ee. About six, then. And Clowance
...
thank ee for co
ming down.' She smiled brilliantly. ‘I
t was - wondrous. It
must
be good news-for us all.'

They came out of the shed. Stephen Carrington was standing there.

IV

He said: 'Where've you
been?
They stared at each other. His face was taut with anger.

Clowance said: 'Down the mine with Ben. Stephen, we've—

'Didn't we
agree
to
meet
today, Clowance? Didn't I say I was taking time off and would call for you at eleven?'

'Oh, Stephen. I am
very
sorry. In the excitement I had totally forgot
.
Yes, you did! But it slipped my mind when Ben came -'

'Oh, it did, did it?
’

it was thoughtl
ess of me. But when you —'

'Just slipped your mind when this little
misbegot
came to call! When he came crawling out of the mine to see you -'

'Stephen, don't be stupid! What's got
into
you? Look what we've
found
’
Ben's found -'

But it was too late. All Ben's frustrated, buttoned-down antagonism exploded.
'What
did ee call me?'

I
called ee what ee wur!' snarled Stephen, mimicking Ben's accent. 'A little misbegot from Wheal Leisure that's come crawling out of the mine intruding where he's not wanted -'

'Stephen!'Clowance shouted angrily. . Ben aimed a swinging round arm blow at Stephen, who half parried it, but it hit him on the side of the jaw. Stephen stepped back; fists bunched, his whole face blazing, then rushed at Ben, brushing Clowance aside as he did so. There was a flurry of blows, and in a few seconds they had each other round the throat; they swayed across the yard and barged into the changing shed so that the wood nearly cracked; then they fell and rolled upon the rubble floor, fighting each other with the pent-up hate and rivalry of snarling animals intent on the ugliest injury.

'Stephen!'
screamed Clowance.
'Ben!
Stop
it!
Stop
it! Stop
it!'
She rushed at them, c
lutching coat and hair and flail
ing fist, being hit herself in the process, her own sturdy body half involved. But hatred was too strong for her; so was the momentum of the clash.

Two men came out of the changing shed, Paul Daniel and one of the young Martins, startled by the crash against the side.

'Stop them!' Clowance turned, trying to get to her feet.

‘
Paul! Harry! Stop them! they're
...
They're
...
’

Soon five were involved. Paul, though now in his fifties, still had great strength and he took Ben by the coat, began to drag him away. Harry was not heavy enough for Stephen, but Clowance lent the help of all her own strength and great anger.

Presently they were separated, began slowly getting to their feet, trying to shake off the clutch of restraining hands. When it was seen that they were making no new move towards each other, the hands let them be. It seemed likely that Stephen, being the heavier man, would in the end have got the better of
the
fight, but at the time of interruption there had been little in it. Stephen's coat sleeve was rent from shoulder to cuff; one eye was very red and would go black, his lip and his hand were bleeding
. Ben's shirt was in ribbons and
he had livid marks round his throat and a split eyebrow. What injuries they had done to each other's bodies was not perceivable.

Nobody spoke for a few seconds. Paul Daniel broke the shuffling, gasping pause.

'Couldn't think what that thur. thump was,' he said. 'Shook the whole 'ut. Didn't it, young Harry? Maybe twas fortunate we was around!'

Ben's face was grey and sweaty, He coughed and swallowed. 'Sorry,' he said. 'Sorry it ever 'appened, Miss Clowance.' He turned and walked away.

'Ben!
' Clowance commanded, and he stopped but without turning to face her.

'Stephen!' she said, trembling with anger, and near tears; 'in front of Paul and Harry you will both apologize to me for this - this the most
insulting
scene I have ever witnessed! And you will apologize to each other!'

Silence again fell on the scene. A few jackdaws were chakking around the engine house as if themselves disturbed, but no one else apparently had witnessed the fight.

'Stephen'.'
Clowance said.

He was taking deep breaths as if still trying to rid himself of his anger.

'Sorry,' Ben said. 'Sorr
y, Miss Clowance. Sorry, Mister
Ca
rrington,' and went on his way.

After a few seconds Stephen said harshly: 'Look, Clowance -'

That's not what I want!'

Paul Daniel shuffled his feet. 'Well, come along, 'Arry. We're late enough as tis.'

They moved off just in ti
me to hear Stephen say:
I
'm sorry, Clowance.'

She took another trembling breath: 'How
dare
you! How dare you make such a scene, say such utterly offensive things to Ben!'

With an anger growing in him again he tried to overbear her. 'Because I happen not to like you going down the mine on your own with him, see!
And I happen not to like you
forgetting my existence just becaus
e he came to call on you. I
had promised to come to see you; but what did
that
matter? He calls in and you forget everything-
’

I
forgot! Well, I forg
ot! It happens, for a very good reason.’

'What
reason?'

'What does that matter now?' Clowance said bitterly.

'Well, ye forgot, didn't you. Forgot I was even alive! And
I
you was down on your own together best part of an hour, | for that long I've been waiting! An hour! And then coming
j
up all flushed and secretive as if -'

'As
if what?’

'Well, how am I to know? What am I to know? Treated like a lackey!' 'You've just behaved like a lackey!' 'Careful what you
say,
girl!'

'You treated him disgracefully! And then to fight like -like a scruffy
dog...'

'Two
dogs. He struck me
first
!
Did you happen to notice that?'

'Stephen, he's my
friend
’
.
I've known him since I was a child and -'

'And what am I supposed to be - not your friend?' 'Don't be utterly stupid! -'

'God damn it!' he shouted; 'd'you think all yo
ur friends have a right and entitl
ement to swing their fists at me just when they fancy? If so, you can think again!'

‘
I
can think again about a lot of things,' said Clowance, hardly able to get her breath.

'Just tell your friends,' Stephen said, towering over her, 'just tell your damned friends to keep their jealousy and their hands and their fists to themselves in future, will you
...
By God, it was as well Daniel and that lad came between us when they did -'

‘I
t was certainly as well, since you had no regard for me!'

‘I
f we'd gone on like that much longer, him using his boots and nails, I'd have
killed
him!'

Clowance looked at him through her blurred vision. 'Yes,' she said. 'You'd have killed him, wouldn't you. Like that sailor in Plymouth. You only had to draw your knife!'

She turned and left him standing there before he could reply.

I

Friday, October the ninth.

After thirty years of searching, the old Trevorgie workings had been discovered at last—and dry enough in part for investigation without putting much extra work on the engine. A whole new area was opened up and pointed the way in which earlier lodes had been followed.

It was the day when Ross Poldark was reelected for the corporation borough of Truro.

It was the day when Clowance Poldark broke off her engageme
nt to marry Stephen Carrington.

It was the day when Ben Carter resigned as underground captain of Wheal Leisure mine.

The conflict, though at first mercifully private between the five of them, soon spread. Paul Daniel could be trusted to say nothing, but Harry Martin bubbled with the news until he burst. In any event the consequences were bound to make themselves known.

Ben did not return to Nampara at six as invited, so it was left to Clowance alone to break to her family the news of the discovery of the old workings. Jeremy was wildly excited about it and wanted at once to go to the mine to see for himself. Why was Ben not here? What sort of ore-bearing ground had he found? Was there a group already exploring the workings? Clowance, her round face gone curiously thin, had then to explain a little of what had happened when they came up, though she t
reated the quarrel as undramati
cally as possible. Ben had gone off - she did not know whither - and she had returned to the house, having had no further contact or conversation with Stephen. Demelza, observing her daughter's brimming face, said pacifically:
'There, mere, my dear, it is not
the
first time two men have quarrelled over a girl; and this pot has been simmering for a while. Let us hope in a few days it will all cool off -

'You don't need to suppose it'll do that,' said Clowance, annoyed with he
r mother for taking it too lightl
y. 'You don't know anything about it, do you!'

'Only what I have been told. Well
...
let us look at the good things that have come of it. Did you say you had found a coin?'

'Yes
...'
Clowance fumbled miserably in her pocket. ' 'Now where did I
...?
Oh, here it is.' They found an old magnifying glass and peered through
it.

'She's right, in faith,' said Jeremy excitedly. 'Antoninus in full, and then AUG, which means Augustus. Then PIUS; then it looks like P. P. whatever that may stand for. On the reverse side it—it seems to say TR. POT COS. III. SC. I've no idea what
any
of that can mean. But it is perfectly genuine! I thought -
1
was certain it was a coin minted by one of the tin or copper companies.' 'Ben thought that,' said Demelza. 'Didn't he?'

'Yes.'

'Lord's my life, I cannot
contain
myself to go down! Where
is
Ben? He must be somewhere around! I hope this quarrel is not going to bite too deep — just at the moment of this marvellous discovery! I'll walk across now, see if he's there. If he's not, would you come and show me, Clowance ?'

Before she could reply j if she was going to, Demelza said: 'As it is so late, as it has been there so long undiscovered, would it not be more proper to wait for your, father? If I know him he'll be back before noon tomorrow. Then we could all go down together.'

'You would come, Mama?'
‘
indeed I shall.'

'Clowance tells
me it is just up a ladder.’

'Yes, but you have to climb all the way down first.'

'Exercise is good for one.’

'But
...
in your present condition
...'

I
do not think Father will like it.'

Demelza said:
I
shall persuade him.'

Jeremy said:
I
wonder when Antoninus lived. I'll go and see Uncle Dwight - he has an encyclopaedia. I can't sit still this evening. I have to do something with
the
time. Then I'll go and see if I can find Ben. But we'll not go down. You're right, Mama: it
is
a family concern. We ought to go together. Perhaps we can winch you down.'

Demelza said: ‘I’l
l sit astride a kibble.'

II

Two days later, as the evening was falling, Clowance came upon Ben, who had been working near Jonas's Mill, digging over the site he had been engaged on before Wheal Leisure was opened.

As they stared at each other in the windy twilight she could just see the swollen eyebrow, the slow flush mounting to his face, colouring the sallow skin.

Without any preamble she said: 'Jeremy tells me you have resigned as underground captain of Wheal Leisure.'

'Yes
...

'Because of the fight you had with Stephen?' 'Yes, I suppose.'

'You don't suppose. You know.'

'Well
...
I was the fir
st, the one to start it. I hit hi
m first. That's no way to be'ave. Not wi' the man who's going to be your husband.'

'He insulted you!'

‘
Mebbe.'

'There's no maybe about it. Ben.'
'Yes?'

‘
I
expect a lot from my friends. From Stephen as well as from you. Are you my friend?' 'You should know.' 'Are you my friend?' 'Yes.'

'Then I want you to return to Wheal Leisure.' He shifted in the gusty half-dark, leaned on his spade,
I
cannot do that, Clowance.' 'Why not?'

'Twouldn't be right. Twouldn't be fitty.
Your
husband.
And
he's a shareholder.'

'He's not going to be my husband just yet.'

Ben looked up. 'Why not? Because of me?'

She pressed her hair back with her hand. 'Look, Ben. You - found the old Trevorgie workings. You came to Nampara and I was the only one there. I went back with you. Was that wrong?'

‘
Well, no.'

'Did you do anything wrong by telling me ?' 'No.'

'Did you not try to dissuade me from going down?' 'Well, yes.'

'But I went down. I insisted. I went down with you. When we came up to grass Stephen was there and made those offensive remarks
...'

She stopped, struggling with words which could not be spoken here. She could not explain that to behave that way towards her in front of Ben was the most odious insult Stephen could have shown her. Of course she was not in love with Ben; but knowing his feelings for her, it was enormously important to her that Stephen should behave with at least a show of decent manners, just
because
he was going to become her husband. If Ben couldn't admire him he could at least respect him. But the sheer nastiness of the insults he had levelled at Ben became that much nastier because Ben, although a lifelong friend, was not of their class, on a different level from them. That more than anything else made her unappeasably angry. The quarrel was totally degrading. It would not even have been so intolerable if Stephen quarrelled and fought with Jeremy.

'That fight,'
she said.

I
'm
sorry.'

'That two men could—could
...'
I
'm sorry, Clowance, sorry.'

She brought her thoughts
away from it to what she was
about now. 'Ben, I want to ask you something.'
‘
Yes?'

'Was there anything neglectful of the mine in what you did?'

'Not of the mine, no.'

'Well, is it not from the mine you have resigned?' 'Aye, but you cann't just forget the folk involved -' in this you can. For they are two separate issues. If y
ou -if you quarrel with the man I
intend to - intended to marry, that is something between him and you and me. I may indeed be at fault for being between you. But it is
nothing whatever
to do with the mine. You have no
right
to resign on those grounds! Especially in the light of this new discovery you have made. Jeremy is relying on you to help him exploit it. My father is relying on you! You must go back!'

He
rubbed his short black beard. She stood there so sturdy and yet so feminine, so honest and yet so - apparently - unable or unwilling to see that she was asking the impossible.

'Ben!'

'Yes, Clowan
ce, I see what you d'mean, but ti
sn't as easy as that-'

‘
I
didn't suppose it to be easy. But I ask you to do it.' He struggled for words. 'Twouldn't work. Not any longer.' 'What wouldn't work?'

'The men. The women. They'll gossip 'nough as tis. Be'ind their hands. Me, underground cap'n, when I been in a fight wi' a shareholder.'

'Are you afraid of facing them out ? I wouldn't believe
that
of you!'

"Well
...
coming down to it - if you forget the miners, there's me and him. Me and him. We could never pass the time o' day, never meet face to face, wi'out snarling
...
And him one of your family!'

‘
Not yet!
’

The half dark and the pressure of her urgent demands gave him courage he'd not had before, courage at least to try to say what was in his heart.

'Y
know, Clowance, y'know what I d'feel for you. Ever since you was ten or eleven — all these years. I tried — have tried never to think on it, on account of I know tis hopeless, and so I
...
haven't thought on it much. Not more'n I can help anyway. But then when this man come along
...
Tis not for me to say who you shall wed - or where or when. But neither is it for me to say what I can feel and cann't feel. It is not in me to master that. And if so be as I don't like Stephen Carrington, that d'make it fifty times worser for me than if he been someone I could b'lieve was good enough for you. There, I have said that! Follow me, do you?'

'Yes,' said Clowance.

'So then come this quarrel. Twas bound to be soon or late, for he was waiting for me and watching the opportunity. He's jealous because he d'know how I feel for you. He thinks I wish him ill. So how could it be that I could go on working at bal, and me knowing and him knowing of this hatred?'

Clowance said slowly: 'There's no
need
for hatred.' 'Nay, mebbe no. But you say
...
Did you say he's not going to be your husband just yet?' 'Yes.'

'But if you're doing this just because of this that happened yesterday -'

'I'm not. Well
...
not altogether. I think I have made a mistake. But what happened yesterday was important - the breaking-point. You see, the thing that I find impossible to accept
...
Do you mind if I speak to you in confidence, Ben?'

His throat swelled.'Of course not.'

‘
I
think I loved Stephen. Perhaps I still do in a way. Do you know how it is if someone comes near you and your mouth dries, your heart beats.'

'Do I not, just!'

She blinked. 'Well, yes. Well, that is what happens when I see him. That is what happens, Ben. I am sor
ry if I have to
tell you this.'

He did not speak but gripped his spade the harder. A flock of crows flew creaking overhead, urging their rusty wings into the night.

She said: 'Perhaps that is enough. Perhaps it should be enough. But ever since we have been going together
..
.
’
She stopped. 'Now I
am
being unfair to him
...
I can only say
that there is a level of our - our understanding where "
nothing
meets. Perhaps I
am
as much to blame as he is. When - when he was visiting Violet Kellow I allowed myself to become jealous. Jealous of
her.
In what then am I better .than he, who was jealous of you yesterday?
’

Ben said:
‘
Tisn't quite the same.'

She choked and then coughed to hide her tears. 'Dear Ben.. You would say that. But there are other things - things I cannot tell you about which have helped to build up, to make this break. I cannot tell you about them for I do not altogether understand them myself. I feel I am being drawn into a world where meanings are never so clear any longer, distinctions between this and that, colours are blurred, edges of plain speaking, candour maybe. Perhaps it's not his fault. Perhaps it is all part of the deceit of growing up, and I blame him for it!'

'My dear,' said Ben indistinctl
y, 'twould be error to blame yourself. Yet what can I say that don't sound like I were trying to make you take my opinion of him? He is
not
good 'nough for you, but if you d'love him maybe that's the way it must be.'

'Nothing
must
be,' said Clowance fiercely. 'Nothing yet
must
be.'

III

When she left him it was too dark to work, so Ben shouldered his spade and walked home. It was less than two miles across rough country to Grambler village where a few dispirited candles glimmered, past Sawle Church and down Sawle Combe with the tin stamps endlessly clanking and thumping, over the steep cobbles of Stippy Stappy Lane till one came to the small bow-windowed shop in which the Carter family lived. There were lights in here and the shop was still open. His mother was behind the counter weighing out a piece of hardbake for MusicThomas.

As soon as the bell pinged Music swung round sharply but his smile of welcome faded when he saw Ben.

'Aw, tis thee, Ben
...'

'Who'd you expect?' Ben said irritably.

'Mind that spade, there's mud on it,' said Jinny Carter. 'An' your boots.'

Ben, who was normally careful enough but was too emotionally exhausted tonight to have given it much thought, went back to the door and began to scrape his boots on the iron grating outside. When he came in his mother gave him a smile of thanks.

'That's twopence,' she said to Music.

'Ais,' said Music, 'an' I'll 'ave a quarter-pound of they sweets.' He pointed.

'Music,' said Jinny to her son, 'be waiting for Katie, I reckon.'

'What for?'
said Ben.

Music swallowed and grinned and looked embarrassed,
I
just came in fur they sweets,' he said.

'Well, you asked for her,' said Jinny. 'That's all I was thinking.'

'I come for the 'ardbake,' said Music, 'an' the sweets.' 'You've grown a proper sweet tooth this last few days,' said Jinny. 'Ais,' said Music.

'What for d'ye want to see Katie?' Ben demanded. 'Don't you have sight of her every day at Place 'Ouse?' 'Oh, ais. I d'see Katie every day.' 'Well, then.'

I
come for the 'ardbake,' said Music.

'Got a message for 'er, 'ave ee?'

'Naw. Tis just
...'
Tormented by Ben's questions, Music forced words out. 'I'd see Katie every day, like. I 'ave sight of 'er. But never a word d'pass
...
But I come in fur they sweets. Brother Art sends me. Says he d'want more of they sweets.'

'How many d'you say d'you want?' Jinny asked. 'Your father's in back, Ben. There'll be supper just so soon as we close.'

While the sweets were being weighed Ben went inside, nodded to his stepfather who was stirring the soup on the fire, put his spade in the outhouse and came back to hear his sister in the shop. He parted the curtain.

Tall and long-faced and untidy but not without looks if only men could see it, Katie was just untying her head shawl, shaking out her Spanish-black hair and staring at Music who was stuttering over something he was trying to say. It seemed, so far as Ben was able to understand it, that Music had been trying to get Katie alone for days, had failed com
p
letely at Place House, and now was reduced to waiting for
h
er at her mother's shop and was blurting out what seemed like an apology - not just to her alone as no doubt he had hoped, and no doubt could have contrived if he had had the nous to wait outside the shop, but now semi-publicly, in front of Katie's mother, and her brother too. Something had happened, it seemed, at the Truro races that he was unhappy about, and he had been trying to explain. Drink-the drink had been in him. The Devil too -
the
Devil in some guise. He was concerned at the offence he had given. He did not quite understand the word apologize, but that was clearly what he had in mind. To apologize.