The Miller's Dance (31 page)

'Go on,' said Stephen bitterly, 'it's a good story.'

'But
now
..
. Don't you think he'll go on wondering? Wondering if he really did make a mistake. Thinking it over. And
...
if he ever comes
to Nampara - as well he could
and sees Paul Kellow, he'll
know
you were lying. Then who knows what he will do or say on the spur of the moment?' Clowance tightened her rein as they came to ford a stream. 'That's what I mean, Stephen. That's really all that worries me.'

They separated while they clattered and splashed among the water and the stones.'

When they came together again Stephen said: 'That's not really all that worries you, is it. You're disgusted with me, aren't you.'

'What d'you
mean?
'

That you're in love with a man who happens to be able to stick up for himself in a fight, who values his freedom and doesn't act spineless when he's attacked. You talk about

truth! Well, that's the truth of it, isn't it. You're disgusted with me.'

'If I were - disgusted, as you call it - d'you think I should be worrying so much about your safety?'

'But even so - you're disgusted. You're only saying I should've confessed everything to a man I'd not known two minutes! Why, if I'd told him what you say I should have told him, he would have had a hold over me for the rest of me life!'

'But Andrew's a-'

'Yes, I know - a relative. But he's a relative of yours, not mine. How do I know which way he would jump, who he'd talk to, tattle with? You could smell the liquor on him today! I remember him at the Ring o' Bells; he was well in his cups when him and his friend came in. When the drink's in a man, who's to say what he will let out!'

They rode on for a while not speaking. External to the noise of the riders, the creak of leather, the clop of horses, only the crickets in the bushes were noisy.

Clowance was more upset than she wanted to show. She longed to idolize everything about Stephen, to admire and love his good looks, his confident maturity, his dashing enterprising courage, his quick wits, the startling quality of his maleness which made most men seem anaemic by comparison. But today had posed two less attractive aspects of the picture. The thought of him killing a man in a tavern brawl was disturbing both as to the act and as to the possible consequences. But worse was the quick, abrupt, yet glib way he
hadlied
to Andrew in front of her, knowing that she must know he was lying - and not caring - and even inviting her to support his lies by providing him with an alibi. To kill a man is primitive, hard, male, ruthless, aggressive; yet it can have a justification. It is the law of the jungle. The lion in the jungle. But to deny it in all sorts of different ways, first that it never happened, second that if it happened it was not your fault, third that if it was your fault it was excusable, fourth that if it was not excusable it must more than ever be denied
...
this was not so much the part of the lion as of the jackal.

As they rode on, Clowance knew in her heart, though she
did not yet acknowledge it, that the argument, the discussion, the crisis between them would eventually be resolved. Whatever else had been killed, it would not kill her love; and because that could not be more than temporarily harmed she would soon begin to see the situation from his point of view. On this matter she would begin to reason and argue as he reasoned and argued.

Above all things she wanted the preservation of his safety; so that very soon they could be married and live happily together at the Gatehouse and make love under the autumnal moon.

III.

Left behind on the racecourse as darkness fell were several hundred people milling around, some tidying up and working on the dismantling of the stands, many lying drunk, many more staggering about in the just mobile stages of drunkenness, young girls and lads screaming and shrieking at each other, beggars and gypsies sorting through the refuse left behind by their betters and often squabbling and fighting over it; stray dogs, pigeons, jackdaws, gulls, the occasional rat. Most of the marquees where drink was sold were still doing a roaring trade by the light of storm lanterns. Fights began to break out, involving only a few but like sparks showing where a real fire might begin.

One of the noisiest of the groups of young men was from Grambler and Sawle, and two or the noisiest of that group were the two younger of
the Thomas brothers, Art and
Music. Ardent Wesleyans, they had fallen today into the pit of sin and shame, the Holy Spirit had left them and their souls were empty of the pure water of salvation. The spirit that now animated them was not holy at all.

It was chiefly the fault of Moses Vigus, from Mellin, who worked at Nampara. Moses was not so wicked a man as his father had been; but he already closely resembled him: at thirty-odd he was completely bald and his round polished unlined face was as guileful as that of a perverted cherub. He it was who had asked to borrow a farm cart and horse from Ross and, when granted it, had cast about for likely com
p
an
ions who could afford to pay 1s
for the return trip. He
h
ad asked the Thomase
s last because, unlike some Wes
leyans, they were strict non-drinkers. So when they got to the races he thought it time to start tempting them, and he had succeeded beyond his best hopes.

Art had been a lively subject for temptation. He was making no progress with the Widow Permewan, and the tannery business as well as its owner remained beyond his grasp. Furthermore Edie Permewan, who was thirty years his senior, was dry company. (She repeated herself so often that she was like an organ, he thought, with very few stops: you pulled one out and got a predictable result.) Whatever his intentions towards other women in the village once the marriage ceremony was over, he was compelled to be totally circumspect during the prolonged courtship lest any whisper killed his chances. And whatever his Chapel beliefs, prolonged abstinence from the flesh-pots bit deep.

As for Music, he was of altogether frailer stuff. By nature a happy, jolly, even silly young man, given to darting impulses which he followed with carefree abandon, he had always been a trial to Sam Carne, the Leader of the flock. Music was a gadfly, almost enjoying his part as village butt, though struggling at the moment in the deeper waters of his first ever love-sickness and trying intermittently, with Dr Enys's help and encouragement, to throw off his role of a comic relief and become as other men.

Brandy smelt good. It tasted better. It was dearer than ale but you didn't need so much.

Somehow this afternoon Music had come to possess a child's kettledrum. Somehow someone had been able to lend him a widow's bonnet. Moses had stolen an apron for him. So dressed, Music led a recruiting procession round the race track. What they were recruiting they were not quite sure. Nor indeed did the song they sang sound quite suitable. So far as one could tell above the din, Music was singing:

P
arson Croft, Parson Croft,

A married life he led, sur,

His mi
ssus she were round and soft,

And round an
’
soft
'is bed, sur!

Sing tally-o! Sing tally-o!

Sing tally-o! Why zounds, sur!

He mounts 'is wife to 'unt the fox,

Sing tally-o,
the
'ounds, sur!'

Walking on his toes 'like a fly', as Prudie had once said, bonnet aslant his grinning greasy face, swinging his elbows as he beat on the kettledrum, he was at
the
head of an increasing procession of lumpish young men and girls holding each other by the waist and screaming and laughing and trying to join in the song.

Half way round the ground Music saw that he was being watched by four young women. Of these two were grinning broadly, but two were not, and one of the two who were not was Katie Carter, the tall black-haired girl he had taken a yearning, wistful fancy to. At Place House he thought himself lucky if he got even a word with her, let alone a civil answer. It was not that she was rude by nature, and it was not that she had other men to choose from (her size and clumsiness and morose shyness put them off), it was rather that Music, being half-saved, poor creature, was not really worth consideration. Sometimes, more recent like, he had thought he impressed Katie a little more than he used to. But now he was caught in his own iniquities, dressed like a woman, prancing on tiptoe, reinforcing all the old prejudices he had been trying to overcome. And tipsy.

His drum faltered, his figure drooped like a leek, he stopped singing; those behind barged into him, hard fingers dug his ribs, he was pushed on. And then drink came to his aid, giving him courage, even if it was of the wrong sort; he straightened up and began to sing again and led the way prancing up to the four young women and made a circle round them.

'Sing tally-o! Sing tally-o! Sing tally-o! The 'ounds, sur!'

Two still laughed, the third grinned, but Katie continued to scowl. She enjoyed a joke now and then, but
all
the ringleaders of this group were from her district and behaving quite disgraceful in their drunkenness. It gave Sawle and Grambler a bad name, especially among fellow Methodists. (Half a dozen had already fallen by the wayside, rolling and shouting in the mud.) Also as a separate special thing, she very, much disliked Moses Vigus, who was always sneering and poking fun, and who, on one occasion, had tried to put his hand up her skirts.

For a moment or two Music paused in front of her, trying to make her laugh, but didn't succeed. She had no idea that she was the object of his admiration, having accepted the general view that that sort of thing was not his style at all. He was about to become crestfallen again and creep away, but someone just then tugged the kettledrum out of his hand, almost dislocating his neck with the cord. It was the elder brother of the boy he'd taken it from, a bull-necked red-faced lad obviously looking for trouble. Music grinned sheepishly and turned to Art who was just behind him to ask if he should return the drum. So doing, he observed Moses Vigus reach forward and tip Katie's best hat over her eyes.

From good-tempered reluctance to tangle with some stranger over a toy that was rightly his, Music changed his mood and took a wild swipe at the astonished Moses, who collapsed into the crowd behind. In no time thirty or forty people were fighting, some of them women, and in the midst of it, like temporary survivors at the centre of a cyclone, Katie and Music found themselves staring at each other.

After a few moments, receiving a flying fist in her back, Katie shouted: 'Ye sprawling gurt gale, you, ye overgrown lobba, git outer my way! Stinking great lazy lootal! Cease yer dwaling and go
‘
ome!'

Hat in hand she fought her way out of the struggling crowd and stalked off into the dark, followed eventually and with great difficulty by her three companions.

rv

Demelza was in bed when Ross got home. 'Are you not well?' 'Very well.'

'You wouldn't lie to me?'
I
was up at six
. Supper is laid if you wish for it.' 'So I saw. Jeremy and Clowance and Stephen are tucking in already.
’
'Did you buy Bella her pony?'

'Yes, she's still out in the stables. Can't leave him alone.'

'What is his name?'

'Horace. Short for Horati
o, I think.'

'That's one name lost to us, then,' said Demelza. 'Anyway, I don't believe I fancy Horatio Poldark. It might encourage him to go to sea.'

Ross looked round the room, the familiar room with its familiar well-used furniture. He loosened his stock and looked at Demelza who was sitting propped up with a pillow, one arm behind her head, bare where the nightdress sleeve had fallen back. It was her right arm, and she was a very right-handed person, but there seemed to be no sign of muscle development other than was necessary to give it an elegant shape.

'What are you looking at?' she asked.

'You.'

She gave a half-smile. 'Well, if you don't mind my size it is not yet too late.'

'Oh yes, it is. There are risks we have to take and risks we need not.'

'Well, I'm sorry. And yet I'm glad.'

'Both?'

'Yes, both. Sorry because I'd like it too. Glad because you still fancy me.' 'I fancy you.
’

'Hm'. She looked at him, head on one side. 'Yet sight is so large a part of desire. Isn't it? To be ungainly
...'

'That's not ungainliness, that's natural. You're too sensitive about it.'

'Maybe.' She lowered her arm and drew the nightdress sleeve down. 'Go and have your supper, my lover.'

I
'm not
hungry. I seem to have been eati
ng scraps with Bella all day. What an appetite the child has! And what combinations of food she can stomach at the same time! Rabbit pie, with cream and bananas! Hard-boiled eggs with cake and strawberry jam -'