Warleggan (24 page)

justifying
his actions to her, he, had revealed both his quality and his limitations. Good-natured, shrewd, susceptible to women, he yet pursued has duty with, a single-mindedness which was above weakness. Mercy
was. as

little likely to move him 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 dec
lared 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 t
rying 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?

At the top of the hill he spurred his horse away from Kille
warren, away for the moment
from Bath and elopement and his love and his new life. Left shoulder heavily throbbing, though no bones brok
en; blood from the scratches on
his neck drying down the front of his shirt.

Had there been more time he might have gone back for Jacka Hoblyn. He would have been quick
enough
in

such
an emergency,
they might have put out in a boat to w
arn the cutter. But time would have
run out before anything was begun. Even now perhaps too late.

I
n Grambler two lights, but the same objection,
by the time anyone was roused. The full responsibility was on his own shoulders.

The officer he had seen in Truro; the two
horsemen who had drawn silently
off the track to
night to let him and Parthesia
go by This was no ordinary ambush; he had read as much in Charlie's eyes the grand betrayal; perhaps Charlie had decided that after his marriage he would give up the dangerous game. Imprisonment or transportation for a dozen men, worse if there was resistance; imprisonment and ruin for Ross.

The night was dark enough to make quick movement dangerous when he reached the ruins of Wheal Maiden, he slid off his horse, tethered it inside the broken wall. Then he went down the valley, haste and caution warring.

All the way he saw no one. A couple of lights over at the mine. The ground was dry underfoot and hard with frost; impossible to tell h
ow many others
might have passed this way before him, A light in the parlour window of Nampara.
By now, no doubt, Demelza knew to expect Ross
back tonight.

On the way down plans had been forming. Th
e Nampara household could help,
When every second counted....

Perhaps the silence of the
valley made him suspicious, or
the obvious light so late. He went to the front door and lifted a
hand
to rap, then lowered it and moved round the great lilac bush across the flower bed to the lighted window. Curtains were drawn; but there was a chink., He peered in. On the table a grey busby.

A stiff and curious tableau. The big soldier by the door i
n his red coat
an
d gold-braided trousers, stolid
, glassily st
a
ring; John and Jane Gimlett, on chair edge, strained, un
comfortable; and Demelza by the
fire.
Tonight,
rather than the beauty in her face, you saw the strong bones underlying it. Normally they were imperceptible. It was as if she had ceased to be man or woman and become something common to both. The knuckles of her hands were white.

Dwight thought he heard a movement behind him, sharply straightened up, but it was only some stirring of the light breeze.

So what he had to
do must be done himself. Round the house; a light burning in the kitchen
window. He picked
a way across the cobbled yard between the stone sheds, The curtains of this window not drawn; the roo
m empty. He tried the latch and
the door opened. Warmth and kitchen smells, An iron upended on the table and a cat asleep in a basket before a dying fire. A kitten, lying almost in the cinders, mewed and
stretched at sight of him. The solitary candle near its
end.

He saw what he wanted just inside the door, a small lantern used for carrying out of doors. As he took it down, Garrick began to bark. In haste, fumble with the shut
ter which
had jammed, He could not leave and do it outside, for then he had no means of lighting the cand
le. As he pulled at the catch,
he
thought he heard a movement in
the parlour. He stepped quickly behind the door, but there were no footsteps. Garrick stopped barking, and as silence fell the catch moved and the shutter came open: Move to the stub of candle and light the lantern from it. On a trivet on the fire a pan with some potatoes had boiled dry. The kitten was lying on its back near his boot waiting for a friendly hand to,
bite. He, closed the shutter;
slid out of the house. The latch of the door clicked,
Greater haste now across the yard, with Garrick barking again, over the stile at the back. Cloak covering the lantern, run towards the Long Field. This field occupied all that was cultivable of the headland which separated Hendrawna Beach from Nampara Cove, It reached up as far as where
the outcroppings of rock and the gorse and bracken began.

Over its newly ploughed surface; he stumbled, climbing till he could see the sea on both sides. Only a thin surf whis
pered
on the beach tonight; its irregular hem demarcated the sand. The inlet of Nampara could just be seen from here, a rift in the,
mounting cliffs
towards Sawle.

He had gone a few yards more when he saw a man standing beside a boulder, silhouetted against the low stars. Dwight's lantern could not have been entirely hidden, and only that the man was staring
out
to sea saved him. Back inch by inch, slowly pivoting until the boulder was betwee
n them. Exertion or tension had
made him sweat again, b
ut now it was welcome, warming
his body to the night. Crouching low he skirted the sentry, going round the north side of Damsel Point until he was near the edge of the cliff. There he lowered his lantern behind a low stone wall and peered down into the darkness of the cove.

At first he saw nothing; and then,' dawning on his, eyes at no definite moment, he knew the ship was there. Something unnatural in the
sea,
low and black, unlike a rock even if a rock could be there.
Straining; he
could suddenly,
detect even the single mast and for a second only
a glimmer of light aboard.

No light ashore. The cove, the
centre of the cove, where sand
and shingle met the stream, was empt
y. In the darker corners
there might be men and beasts waiting; but so far as one could tell, nothing breathed o
r stirred under the frosty sky.

He lugged out his watch and peered at it like a blind man, then knelt beside the lantern to see, Ten minutes after twelve. The run had not yet begun.

In despairing haste, he swung round, s
taring at the land, about him. Th
e other
side of the wall was as good a
place as any.

He wrenched out his pocket knife, opene
d it, and went back a few yards
to the nearest gorse bush, Gorse is a nightmare of prickles but is brittle t
o the boot or the sharp twist. P
art with knife, part with hands he tore a big piece off,, dropped it over the wall. Then the next one. He could afford no time to build a stock. The thing must be fed while it was burning.

So he hacked a dozen bushes, dry
stuff and highly inflammable.
Together a fair pile to been. Abandoning secrecy, he
uncovered
the lantern and climbed over th
e wall. Taking out the single candle, carefully shielding: it from the air, he held it under the lowest part of the pile.

For a grievous space he thought the light would blow out;
then
a flame ran suddenly like quicksilver amon
g
the gorse, and in a moment the pile was blazing and crackling,

Ross had borne the trip home with impatience. The eagerness and anticipation
of the outward: voyage was all
gone, and once he was in sigh
t of Cornwall he wanted to land
at once instead of tacking about just over the horizon for twelve hours.

Not that there was anything useful to
do when he reached Nampara, nor
any good news to impart. The pricked hobble of his hopes had left nothing in its place; air he wanted was to get home, to turn
his back
on mining for ever, and to forget what he had thrown away.

For
the first time in his life he began to feel old. Often these last years he had known himself a failure, but always within him there lead
been
a fundamental conviction that this was a temporary phase, a 'down' which in the nature of
events must
be followed by an 'up.' At least a part if this conviction had derived from a knowledge of his own youth and vigour. His meeting wide Mark Daniel had shaken that belief.

His realisation again of the facade of raining expectations he had erected on the chance words of this man, uttered four years ago, shook his confidence in himself and in his o
wn judgment. He bitterly blamed himself for his rash
overconfidence, for an enthusiasm which in the light of experience looked wanton and silly. He had thrown away a profitable investment in a mine of his own starting and had poured everything he had, and persuaded Francis to do likewise, into a played-out mine which had failed his father a quarter of a century ago. Not only had he gambled with money, he had
gambled with security and the security and happiness of his wife and child.

Mark's appearance had upset him. There had been a close tie between them in the old days; they had played together as boys, fished and wrestled as youths. This ageing man, grey haired and pu
ckering his eyes at the map.
Was he, Ross, as untouched by time as he imagined? Was he deluding himself into believing that youth was still on his side? How many other misconceptions had his sanguine brain given room to?

He was not in his most
companionable mood, and after a
few attempts Farrell and the rest of the crew; gave up the effort of engaging him in conversation. After nightfall the cutter edged her way slowly inshore until by eleven-thirty she came to anchor not a cable's length from the mouth of Nampara Cove. The flat-bottomed longboat was lowered, and Farrell readily agreed with Ross's suggestion that he should go
ashore with the first
cargo. But Farrell would make no move to have any cargo shifted until the signal came from the shore.

It came at ten minutes to twelve, a single dark-lantern at the sea'
s edge, shining only seawards, and exposed for
half a minute. Farrell gave his orders, and the barrels were lowered into the longboat.

A mixed bag, as Ross had realised when he looked at the cargo on the way home, but an immensely valuable one. No wonder Trencrom did not need to make, runs more than a few times a year. Tea and tobacco and five-gallon casks of brandy and Geneva and a good quantity of rich materials; gold and silver brocade, silk gloves, ribbons, and girdles.

The spirits made up the larger amount of the cargos and these
were loaded first. It was for
the most pa
rt white brandy, with a tub of
colouring mixture,
supplied. Its strength was 120
° above proof; and in his own tim
e Mr. Trencrom would dilute his
imp
ort before selling it, making three
tubs to sell for every one that came ashore. He paid four shillings a gallon in France, and the price in England duty paid was twenty
-
eight shillings. Even sold at half that price, the degree of profit escaped Ross, si
nce there were some four hundred tubs
of brandy alone aboard tonight; but he thought he would have less Compunction than ever in levying his toll for the use of
his land.

The boat was so fi
lled that, the gunwale was only
an inch or
two above the water, and Ross settled in the bows as Lie six oarsmen began quietly to
row
ashore;
For a little while
there was
no sound but the liquid dip of oars and the
lap and bobble of water as it ran against the boat. The arms of the cove
closed round them and shut out the great sounding emptiness of the sea. Instead, close at hand was the whisper of the surf, for once innocuous and sibilant: Inshore the stars were not as bright as they had been
at sea
: a faint haze had crept across them too tenuous for cloud. Presently the boat lifted and fell and grated on sand, and two of the men jumped out and held fast to prevent the run back, Out of the darkness around them four figures
instantly came,
two to help pull the boat more firmly ashore, two to wade into the surf to begin the unloading.

Ross stepped upon the wet sand. A new wave licked his boots as he walked inshore. He recognised Ted Carkeek and Ned Bottrell, and after a moment Paul Daniel loomed out of the darkness.

'All right, sur? Did ee find Brother?'

'Yes, I found him,
'

'Was 'e well? Did 'e give a message?'

'There's a message for you and for Beth and for his father.

Tomorrow morning I'll com
e round and see you.' 'And did he
help? Where was the good country?' 'I'll talk of it tomorrow, Paul.'

Behind them there was scarcely any talk at all, just a rapid businesslike unloading the first barrels. Often it was different from this; o
ften they had to fight the surf
and float in the tubs as best they could. Ross moved on, and Will Nanfan came towards him leading a mule. Knowing he would have some of the same questions to answer again, Ross pre
pared to make an excuse
and pass quickly by. But the excuse was never made. Behind him came a sharp exclamation from one of the men. Ross saw someone staring, and, at once a reflection of light showed on the beach. A bonfire was leaping and smoking on Damsel Point.

Events moved more
quickly than the mind accepted them. Muttered curses from the men around him, a clear shout from a voice not belonging, and then a shrilling whistle. Suddenly in the flickering light, extra figures were climbing down the sides of the cove; then lantern lights, not shaded.

A surprise - gaugers - the long-expected
-
but this night of all nights. . . a Ross swung round, saw confusion about the longboat. He ran back.

'Quick! Relau
nch! Get out there and tip the
tubs. '
He
flung his weight against the side of the boat;
two or three others
joined him. The boat slithered and grated. Two
figures in it
began heaving out the tubs together. Figures racing, strangers in flat caps, and some
in tall. Nanfan
had gone Plunging away with his mule. A wave came and swirled around their knees; the boat floated
but
was being washed
farther up the beach.
'Hold her
Steady ! Give
way!' One of, the men had gone
down in the sea, his feet from under
him, but two others joined.. They held their ground, and as the wave slid back the longboat went with it. A musket exploded somewhere. One man jumped on the boat, then another. Ross followed until almost waist-deep. Oars were out, anyhow, but just eno
ugh to keep her straight. A man
stood; in the bows, held out his hand to Ross. Ross made a move to jump,
then changed his mind. - To be
aboard again, isolated, perhaps tacking up and down for a week; he'd take his chance.

He turned, saw the place alive with men
-
the way up the track blocked with mules
-
confusion and men fighting, laying about them with sticks, As he ploughed his way out of the water a tall man in, a busby: 'Halt, there! In the King's name!' Ross veered sharply. 'Halt or I fire!
’
Turned again and
ducked. The musket exploded in
his ear as he knocked the man flat in the water.

Nothing he could do. Another shot, and then another. He ran left towards the cave where he kept his boat. An easy climb from there, Someone lurched at him out of the shadow -
this time evasion came too late. He went down, the other on top: 'Got
you, now! Lie still, you bastard, or
I'll
- One over here, Bell!'
Bearded
Ver
coe. Ross doubled and sharply
stiffened. Vercoe toppled, still clutching, They rolled, Vercoe under. Running steps. Twice he hit the Customs Officer, wriggled free, ro
lled over as the footsteps came
up. Vercoe
shouted
‘
Not
me, you fool! Over there -
he's just gone ! Ross at the cliff face turned as the newcomer caught him
-
the hard wooden
stick of the gaug
er, They grappled. The stick
clattered. A lucky swing with al
l his weight, The gauger fell in Vercoe's path,
As he climbed, Ross heard them following. In the cove a small war, Lights dancing. Untended, the gorse fire had waned. climbing with all the knowledge of childhood, he pulled away. But a musket ball smacked into the rock beside him. Someone on the cliff taking careful aim. He reached the top, breaths gulping, crawled around the gorse, made diagonally for the first wall of his own land. He sucked the blood off his knuckles and spat. The two gaugers reached the top; lovely target if one had a gun. So the trooper must have thought, for the two men suddenly checked and Vercoe's voice bellowed an order across the cliff. It gave time for Ross to leap over the wall and begin to run doubled along the other side.

Demelza's sharp ears had caught the first distant crack of a musket, and she could stand it no longer, She started to her feet and was halfway to the door before the soldier was able to move.

"Ere, no, ma'am! None o' that! You heard what the Captain said.'

'I have a little boy upstairs! He will be frightened. I must bring him down!'

'No, ma'am. Cap'n McNeil said ye was to stay here in this room.'

'Please let me pass!' she said furiously.

'Now calm you down, ma'am. I has my orders and
—‘
'I'll not calm down! You don't make war on babies, do you?

Get out of my way!'

He hesitated, glanced at the Gimletts. 'Is there a baby?'

'Course there is!' John Gimlett snapped.

The trooper turned to the drawn-faced young woman before him: 'I don't hear nothing. Which room is 'e in?'

'The one at the head of the stairs!'

He rubbed his finger along his chin and slowly drew back, 'I'll watch for ye, then. Have a care there's no trickery, ma'am.'

He followed her out into the hall and stood almost in the doorway where he could see into the room and also up the stairs. Demelza flew up the stairs and into their bedroom, Unaware of the dangers that pressed upon his parents, Jeremy slept peacefully.

This room had dormer windows looking both north and south. Demelza ran to the first of these, peered out. At first the night looked quiet and still, but then she detected the
flicker of the bonfire on Damsel Point. She opened the casement window. From here the roof sloped sharply to the recently added guttering. But at the end, over the kitchen, it joined to the thatched end of the linhay where the carts were kept.

She wriggled her body through the small window and out on to the roof. Then she crawled along it like a cat to the end and slid off it into the thatch. She followed this to the lowest part, where there was a five-feet drop, and jumped.

She landed on all fours, tearing her skirt and bruising wrist and knee. Then she was on her feet and running towards the
Long Field.

Breathless, she had just reached the stile when a figure
climbed
it. She had no difficulty in recognising
the set of his shoulders, the
long lean head. They stared at each other in the dark.

'Demelza!'

'Ross! I thought you was killed.... Thank God you're safe! I thought-'

'Not safe,' he
said, 'Followed. Which way is
best into the
house?'

Neither. There's a soldier there. I said you was in St. Ives. Are you hurt?'

'Nothing.' While they spoke, they were walking rapidly the way she had come, he behind her
in c
ase
of a shot. 'I think I was recognised. Not sure. Is the
upper valley guarded?'

'Don't know. I've been crazed with worry. You could go towards Mellin.'

'They'll send that way-
' At the entrance to their yard he stopped, listening. The yard was quiet except for a scratching at a stable door where Garrick was waiting
to welcome him. 'They're coming
down the field now. Are you safe here? They offer you no hurt?'

'No, none, of course. But you''

'Go in then. I'll hide in the library
-
in the cache. Safe
enough there.'

'You can't get ...'

'Yes----round the side, I have the key,' 'But is it safe? , .

'Must risk it.'