Warleggan (9 page)

'She glanced at him quickly, soberly, then bent and put another billet of wood on the fire, 'Do you suppose he still does?' "Ross? Of course. Why, what did you think?' 'I believe he loves Elizabeth better.'

When she stood up, neither of them s
poke for some moments. He said
'Well, if this is the day of confidences, may I tell
you something about yourself, Demelza?'

`Of course'

'You have one failing, and that is you don't think enough
of yourself.'

`Oh, I think very well of myself, Francis. You would be surprised.'

`I'd be surprised at nothing you think or do except that. You came here as a miner's daughter, married into this ancient derelict family, took its standards as your own. So you mistake your own value, your own vitality, even your value to Ross. There are two qualities in blood; D
emelza.-There's the quality of
family : and the quality of fres
hness. Ross was a wise man when he chose
you. If he's as
sensible as I think he
is, he'll realise it. If you're as sensible
as you ought
to be, you'll make him.'

Demelza's eyes were warm. `You're very kind,'

`Kind
. You see. There you go.'

"Well, are you not? I think so. But Francis, 'tisn't so easy as you think. I have to compare against your wife, who's so lovely
-
an' has breeding as well. And not only that. She was Ross's first love. How do you compete
with perfection?'

'I don't believe Ross is so silly. I thin
k He stopped.. `I believe that
a greater regard for
yourself, a greater personal
independence on your part Now I sound disloyal to Ross -but it's true. If you look on
his feeling for Elizabeth as
something unreal, and by exposing to it your own warm: blood
and your own good sense.
How can' she stand against those?'

But Elizabeth is
far from lacking in warm blood herself.'

Francis again did not reply for a minute or two. `It's not my wish to speak against Elizabeth now; but whatever she lacks or has, she lacks perfection. Every human being does. Indeed, knowing you even
so little
and noticing the effect you have on other men
-
I should have thought you quite capable of holding Ross at your side when you want to, if you're so minded.'

She glinted a half smile at him. `I may not say you're kind, so I'll say thank you.'

`I can't answer for another man-and Yet I'm pretty sure,
’

Get rid of the notion that someone has done you a favour by taking you into our family.'

She stood quite still, thoughtful, young, made a wry mouth.

`I will think over it all,
Francis. I believe it will ma
ke company for me for
the
rest of
the afternoon
!
’

'Think over the first part too.'

`No. Not that.'

'Yes, that.' He bent and kissed her cheek. 'For we can none of us separate ourselves from the consequences of our behaviour., I have been trying to for long enough.'

It was beginning to rain again as Francis walked back to the mine. The reaction from clearing his unquiet mind to Demelza had left him more at peace with himsel
f than for a, long time. He had
spo
ken on impulse, but the impulse
had been part of a long-standing desire to tell her, to put himself straight not only with her but with his own conscience. Her reception, of the news, its natural healthiness,
had made him feel better about
it all. Her attitude a
nd Ross's, he felt, excused -hi
m nothing, but it made possible a continuance of their friendship with a new honesty on his side.

He w
ent into the changing-shed of t
he mine and picked up a few of his belongings. He had come this far almost w
ithout thinking. His horse was
in the Nampara stables, he had h
ad no intention of going down
the mine again. But the shed was empty; and when he got inside, the thought came to him that the last thing he wanted was to go home.

His own house depressed him; Elizabeth depressed him. He knew that this happier mood would go quick enough; for the moment lie could not bear to part with it. He began to slip on the old drill trousers and the woollen coat.

There were few people about in the rain
. In the engine house one of the Curnow brothers was tending the great pump as it sucked and slithered. He touched his cap to Francis as he came in, and moved round to meet him, ducking under the great beam as it swung easily down."

`Going 'low by yourself,
sur? Thur's Ned
Bottrell outside could go along
of ee.'

`No, I'm all right. I shall do no more blasting but shall pick over the stuff that has come down.'

A minute later Francis was climbing down the ladder of the main shaft. This shaft had originally been the lode from which the mine had begun; so it did not go straight down but at a sharp inclination as the lode had run and as it had been mined.

At the third platform and the two hundred-and fortieth rung he stepped off, into the thir
ty-fathom level. All this part
of the mine was now deserted. The rest of the workers were below.

On his way to the piece of ground they had been blasting this morning, he squeezed through narro
w clefts where there was barely
room for his pick, scrambled across heaps of rubble with echoing caverns as high as cathedral transepts, skirted great pits falling away; into the depths of the earth, climbed up and up where the old miners had followed a lode on its underlie; finally he reached the underground shaft or little wind as it was called
-
with the ruins of the old windlass still beside it and slithered down the shaft, as if down the chimney of a house, to the big narrow slit of a gunnies where they had been this morning.

Francis saw that the water at the bottom had gone down a foot since they left, the result of their blasting, but it was evidently not yet find
ing its way to the sump of the
mine.

The air was close and bad
here, and his only light, from the hempen candle in his hat, flickered smokily over the scene. He worked for half an hour cleaning the rocks from the mouth of the tunnel, but no more wa
ter, seemed to be entering it.
Not only the air but the water was warm, and after a while he swung himself up into another excavation abo
ut six feet above water level.
He found that, instead of bei
ng shallow as, it appeared from
below, it turned sharply and increased in height
so
that he was able to stand upright.

Interested, he followed it for about a hundred feet, scraping here and there at the slimy walls, moving on until he came to a place where the old men had found the lode again and had left an arch of it to support their tunnel. Here they had worked downwards, in what was known as a winze, and here also it,
seemed this morning's gunpowder
had had some effects, for the rocks were dripping and he could hardly keep his feet as he picked his way round the edge to another tunnel opposite:
This tunnel meandered on for a matter of a hundred yards; but then the air began to get fouler, and he turned back. As, he did so, a flicker of his candle found some answering glimmer in the rock. He bent and rubbed with his finger. Here was the coppery green of metal-bearing ground.'

The old men had missed it or had passed on. It might well
be that their reasons were adequate. There had been other such places. One could not be sure of anything till one
had picked
away a few pieces, weig
hed them in the hand, examined in
a better light the quality of the ore.

He needed his pick, which he had left in the big gunnies. A quarter, of an
hour's work here. If it looked, like ore-bearing rock of any promise, he woul
d carry a half-dozen specimen
lumps up to grass.

Luck if after all this time ... While Ross was away and he down here alone ! Silly to speculate,' to imagine it had happened before, the expectation and the disappointment.

He stumbled back as far as the winze and stopped to gain a breath or two
of better air and to wipe the sweat
off his face. Very hot If this could be,
it would give him, not only
a fresh entitlement to Ross's friendship but to his own self respect.

He moved cautiously round the edge of the winze; and as he did so, his boots suddenly slipped on the slimy surface. He twisted sharply to save himself, slithered down the slopes bumping his head and shoulders, trying to clutch, to distribute weight, Then in
horror he fell into water, plunging into it, coughing, choking, smothering
in foul water; to breathe to suffocate; he came up, in pitch-darkness, treading water, floundering in search of some rock to save him.

He'd never been a swimmer; his best a doze
n strokes. His clothes kept him
up, spreading out like a tent; then the wate
r seeped in; they began to clog
, to
drag. His flailing hands found
the wall and he clutched at it.

Although he'd fallen clear,
he'd thought to find th
e wall so sloping that he could
crawl out. Not so. He kicked with his toes to get footholds that instantly slipped, clawed with fingernails, barked his knees, hit his face against the rock. He'd slid down the slope into another underground shaft. The fall had been short, but he'd no true idea how far the water was from the top of the shaft.

Cough foul water out. Heavy boots dragging down, drowning in futile darkness, deep in the earth away from the comfort and the voices of men. His fingers found a hold. . . Slowly, with infinite effort, he pulled his body a few inches out of the water.

While his fingers held, he could think: might be a ladder still in the wall strong enough to bear him. For that, when he'd recovered, the must gather the courage to flounder round the shaft. It was bigger than
the
other on
e but could still only be small
enough for a ladder and a bucket they usually said.

What might have been triumph had suddenly become disaster. Two years ago in Bodmin he had put a pistol against his head and pulled the trigger. It had not gone off because the powder was damp; Then he had wanted to die. Death now would be the crowning irony.

He had been trying to kick his boots off; his fingers aching, change hands; one boot off. Lighter, lighter; this old woollen coat., He had stopped coughing; lungs free at
least. To shout?
As well shout in your coffin with the
sexton planting the-flowers.

A surprise for you, Ross. Feel this piece. Not just killas, is it
? And here's some crushed under
the hammer I thought I'd do it while you were away. At least its
a justification at
last of your faith in me. Henshawe can't believe his eyes... .

The other boot off. Struggle out of the coat. Hot down here. Like a rat in a bucket. He'd watched one once, but had had to go away before it died. Persistent things,, clinging to life. More persistent than he.

This was the moment to try to swim round. Why had he never been confident in the water? As much as he could do to force himself to let go.

Round he went, kicking out ineffectually with his legs but keeping just afloat. Quite big, probably seven feet across; perhaps not a shaft but just a plot,
used
when ore was being mined quicker than it could be got to the surface.

No ladder, and no certainty he could find the fingerhold again. Panic gripped; a great shout that went echoing round and round in the confined space. Noise was comforting, as light would; have been comforting.

He missed the fingerhold but instead found a nail. There had been a ladder, but it was gone. Try to find a foothold in some niche below; none... Nor anything to reach above. A rusty six-inch nail was a better fingerhold than the one lost. Could hold on quite a long time. And it might be a long time.

Trying to keep the fear in hand, to fight away the loneliness and the darkness, begin to work it out. Down about four. The
mine worked three cores, the next changing at ten. If it was five now, that might mean nearly five more hours before anyone saw his clothes in the changing-shed or remarked on them or began to ask. Ross had gone to Truro, could not be back till late. Demelza
-
what reason would she have? His horse, in the Nampara stables. Any time she might notice this herself or later Gimlett would say ... But hours perhaps before, they did anything.

His own home. Elizabeth anxious? Not until seven.

Any reckoning in hours. And even if there was an alarm, the search would take time. His mind travelled back along the twisting dark tunnels to the main shaft
-
all the way he had
come, all the great mass of rock that lay between him and the daylight and the air. The atmosphere in this pit was choking and foul,' Hours of patience, hours of strain lay ahe
ad. His fingers
would give way, he would drown long before help came.

Fear his greatest enemy. Darkness the other traitor. Light had left the world. Nothing shone, no shine, no sleek water, no metal or stone. He'd still little idea how far below the rim of the pit he was; but the grim thought came that if they had not blasted this morning and allowed. some of the water to drain, this pit might have been full and left him no harder task than clawing a way back up the greasy winze.

He changed hands for the twentieth time and as he did so the nail moved. Fear grip your throat, begin to shout, at the to
p of your voice, over and over
again.
Help, help, help; I am lost in the very deeps of the earth. Not eight feet underground - but two hundred; blind already but not deaf, shuddering in ,the warm water, fingers burning last grip loosening; one nail, one rusty nail.

He, tried to
make himself let go, to splash
around again in, the darkness; he might have missed something last time, some better handhold; but he no longer had the courage to try; he might never find this place again.