When he had given drafts for two hundred pounds, which was about as much as Harris Pascoe would honour and which was all the ready money he had in the world, he stopped and sent a footman for another drink.
'I'm finished, Sanson,' he said. 'I do not think the luck could have stayed so much longer.'
Someone tittered.
'It is hard to predict,' said Sanson, blinking rapidly and rubbing his white hands together. 'Give me some surety if you want to continue. It is not late yet.'
Ross offered his gold watch, which had belonged to his father and which he seldom wore. Sanson took it. 'Fifty guineas?'
'As you please.'
Ross's deal. He turned up diamonds as trumps, and picked up the nine, ten, ace of diamonds, the knave, ten of spades.
'I propose,' said Sanson. 'How many?'
'The book.'
'I'll take two,' said Ross. Sanson changed all his cards for five new ones, Ross threw his spades and picked up the king of hearts and the eight of spades.
'Propose,' said Sanson.
Ross nodded, and they again threw, Sanson two and Ross one. He picked up the king of spades.
Sanson indicated that he was satisfied. 'I'll lay for ten guineas.'
'Twenty,' said Ross. 'I'll take it.'
They played the hand. Sanson had the king, queen, seven, eight of trumps and a small club and made four tricks to Ross's one.
'The luck of Old Nick,' someone whispered near Demelza.
In a few minutes the fifty guineas was gone.
Sanson sat back and wiped a little sweat from round his fat face. He blinked rapidly at the watch.
'Well, it is a good piece,' he said to a friend. 'A little high-priced. I trust it keeps good time.'
There was a laugh. The manservant came back with the drinks.
'Bring me a new pack of cards,' Ross said. 'Yes, sir.'
'What do you intend to play with?' Sanson asked, a trifle sarcastically.
'Assets I can realize,' said Ross.
But Demelza knew that he meant the Wheal Leisure shares. She had been edging nearer to him, and now she abruptly leaned forward and put her thirty-four sovereigns on the table.
'I have a little loose money, Ross.'
He glanced up in surprise, for he had not known she was there. First his eyes looked through her, then they looked at her, but this time they were not unfriendly. He frowned at the money.
'To please me, Ross.'
The footman came with the new pack. Hearts were trumps and Sanson dealt Ross the queen, knave, seven of hearts and nine, seven of clubs.
'I propose,' said Ross.
'No,' said Sanson, refusing the discard. 'Ten guineas again?'
He clearly had a good hand, but his refusal of the exchange meant that Ross's winnings would be doubled. It was a fair hand he had, and he nodded. It turned out that Sanson had the king, ace, ten of trumps, the king of diamonds and the king of spades. Sanson ruffed Ross's first club lead with a trump and led his king. Ross dropped his queen on it.
It was a bluff, and the bluff succeeded. Sanson thought he was void and led his ace of trumps, which Ross took with his knave. Then he made his seven of trumps and his seven of clubs.
Everyone seemed pleased, with the exception of Sanson. For a time the luck changed, and presently Ross had nearly a hundred pounds before him. Demelza didn't speak. Then the luck veered back and Sanson picked up hand after hand which was cast-iron. The money went down and disappeared. The watchers began to thin. Somewhere in the distance a clock was striking two. For some time Ross had not been drinking. The brandy he had ordered was untouched.
Sanson wiped his hands and blinked at Ross.
'Confess you are beat,' he said. 'Or have you other jewellery to sell?'
'I have shares.'
'No, Ross; no, Ross,' whispered Demelza. 'Come away! The cock will be crowing soon.'
'How much are they worth?'
'Six hundred pounds.'
'It will take me a little while to win all that. Would you not prefer to resume in the morning?'
'I am fresh enough.'
'Ross.'
'Please.' He looked up at her.
She was silent. Then she saw Sanson's eyes on the ruby brooch Ross had bought her. She drew back an inch or two and instinctively put up a hand to cover it.
Ross was already dealing again.
Suddenly she put the brooch on the table beside him. 'Play for this if you must play.'
Ross turned and looked at her, and Sanson stared at the brooch.
'Is it real?' he asked.
'Stay out of this, Demelza,' Ross said.
'You mustn't lose the other things,' she whispered. 'Play with this; I give it you freely if you must go on.'
'What is it worth?' Sanson asked. 'I am no judge of stones.'
'About a hundred pounds,' Ross said.
'Very well. I accept that. But it is late…'
'Your deal.'
They played, and Ross began to win. Those who had stayed to watch did not leave now. The whist players had gone to bed and the faro table at length broke up. Some of those who had been playing came over to watch. At three o'clock Ross had won back enough to cover his watch. At a quarter after three Demelza's winnings were back on his side of the table.
George Warleggan intervened. 'Come, come, this won't do. Ecod, Ross, you must have a little pity on us all. Put a closure after this hand, and then you may begin all over again tomorrow if you choose.'
Ross looked up as he took a very small sip of brandy. 'I'm sorry, George. Go to bed if you want, but the outcome of this game is still too far undecided. Send your servants to bed; we can find our own way.'
Sanson wiped his forehead and his hands. 'Well, to tell the truth, I am overtired myself. I have enjoyed the play, but I did not challenge you to an all-night sitting. Drop it before the luck turns again.'
Ross did not budge. 'Play for another hour and then I will rest.'
Sanson blinked. 'I think our host has the first claim…'
Ross said: 'And let us double all stakes bid. That should expedite a result.'
Sanson said: 'I think our host…'
'I am not content to leave this game where it stands,' Ross said.
They stared at each other a moment, then Sanson shrugged his fat shoulders.
'Very well. One hour more. It is your deal.'
It seemed that Sanson's advice had been good, for from that moment the luck changed again in his favour. By half-past three Ross had sixty pounds left. At a quarter to four it was gone. Sanson was sweating a good deal. Demelza felt as if she was going to be sick. There were seven watchers only now.
With half an hour to go they began to bargain for the shares in Wheal Leisure. Sanson put all sorts of obstacles in the way of accepting them as a stake. It might have been he who was losing.
Five minutes had gone in arguing, and four o'clock struck with the position unchanged. At five past four Ross picked up the king, ten, ace of trumps and two useless cards. At the first discard he picked up two kings. He bet fifty pounds on it, which meant the actual stake was a hundred. When they played it turned out that Sanson had the five remaining trumps and made the odd trick.
Demelza looked round for a chair but saw none near enough. She took a firmer grip of Ross's chair and tried to see through the mist that was in her eyes.
Ross dealt himself the seven, eight, nine of diamonds and the nine, ten of spades. With hearts trumps it was a hopeless hand.
'Propose,' said the miller. 'How many?'
'One.'
'I'll take the book,' Ross said, and threw away all five. And then it seemed that he forgot Sanson had to draw first, for he stretched out his hand to draw at the same time. Their hands somehow got mixed up with each other, and instead of drawing more cards Ross's hand had caught Sanson's wrist. Sanson gave a grunt as Ross slowly turned his hand up. In the palm of the hand was the king of trumps.
There was a moment's silence.
Ross said: 'I wonder if you will explain how you came to have a card in your hand before you drew one from the pack.'
Sanson looked as if he was going to faint. 'Nonsense,' he said. 'I had already drawn the card when you caught it.'
'I rather think that was so, Ross,' said George Warleggan. 'If…'
'Oh, no, he had not!' Hick and Vosper broke in together. Ross suddenly released the fat man's wrist and instead caught him by the ruffles of his shirt, pulling him out of his seat and half across the table.
'Let me see if there are any more tricks inside you.'
In a moment the quiet scene had broken into confusion. The table was upset and sovereigns and guineas were rolling across the floor. Sanson was struggling on his back while Ross ripped open his shirt and pulled his coat off.
There were two playing cards in the inner pocket of his coat. That was all.
Ross got up and began to examine the coat, taking out his own bills and putting them on a chair. Sanson stood there mutely and then made a sudden rush to retrieve his coat. Ross held him off, then dropped the coat and thrust him sharply away. The man half sat in a chair, choked, got up again. Ross twisted him round and took him by the back of his shirt and the seat of his silk breeches.
'Open the window, Francis,' he said.
'Listen, Ross' - George interposed his heavy figure - 'we don't want any horseplay.'
But Ross stepped aside and carried the struggling miller to the french window. They went out and down the four steps. Some of the others followed but George Warleggan did not go farther than the top step.
The river was out. Under the late stars it looked like a black pit with sloping sides. As he got near the bank Sanson began to struggle harder and tried to kick himself free. They neared the edge. On the very brink he began to shout for help. Ross shook him till he stopped. Then he tensed his muscles, lifted the man off his feet, swung back and away. The effort nearly took him over the brink himself. Sanson's shouts, thin and childlike, ended in a heavy plop.
Ross recovered his balance and stared down. He could see nothing. He turned away and went back to the house, not looking at any of the people he met. Near the steps George caught his arm.
'Has he gone in the river?'
'He has gone where the river should be. It was not at home.'
'Man, he'll suffocate in that mud!'
Ross looked at him. Their eyes met together with a peculiar glint, like the memory of an old strife.
'I am sorry for assaulting your guest and causing this commotion,' Ross said. 'But if you will give such fellows the protection of your roof you should arrange for a more convenient way of disposal.' He went in.
Demelza had been in the bedroom ten minutes when Ross came up. She had undressed, hanging up her lovely frock in the massive mahogany wardrobe, and taken down her hair and combed it and put on her nightdress with the frill of lace under her chin. She looked about sixteen, sitting up in bed and watching him with a wary expression.
For though she understood Ross's mood she did not know how to manage it. He was beyond her tonight.
He shut the door and glanced at her, eyes so light-coloured, as they always were when he was angry. He looked at her sitting there and then looked down at something in his hand.
'I have brought your brooch,' he said. He was dead-sober now, might not have touched a glass all day.
'Oh, thank you.'
'You left it on the chair.'
'I didn't rightly like to touch it, Ross.'
He moved over and put it on the dressing table. 'Thank you for the loan of it.'
'Well, I - I - I didn't like to think of Wheal Leisure... all your planning and scheming. . . Have you got it all back?'
'What?'
'All you lost tonight.'
'Oh, yes.' He began to undress.
'When did you first think he was cheating, Ross?'
'I don't know... When you came. No, later than that, but I wasn't sure.'
'Was that why you wouldn't let up?'
'At times he didn't cheat and then I began to win. I knew if I kept on long enough he'd have to start cheating again. His hands kept getting sticky with sweat; it was my chief hope.'
'What happened to him, Ross? He wasn't…suffocated?'
'George got two servants.'
'I'm glad. Not for his sake but…'
She began to slip out of bed.
'Where are you going?'
'To put the brooch away safe. I couldn't sleep with it lying there.'
'You'll have to sleep with it lying somewhere.'
'Then let it be under my pillow.'
She looked tall and very young and slender in her long white cotton nightgown. She did not look like the mother of Julia.
Ross caught her elbow as she came back. 'Demelza,' he said.
She stopped and looked up into his strained face, still uncertain. 'It has not been a good night for your debut into society.'
'No,' she said, lowering her head.
His hands went round the back of her neck and buried themselves in the mass of her hair where it curled over her shoulders. He pulled on it gently until she was again meeting his gaze.
'Those things I said to you in the dance-room.'
'Yes?'
'They were not well said.'
'About?'
'You had a right to the attentions of those men since I was so neglectful.'
'Oh…but I knew why you were. It wasn't for want of knowing - or sympathizing. I was worried. They came round like a swarm o' bees. I didn't have time to think. And then when you came…'
She climbed back into the big curtained bed, and he sat on the edge on her side, his feet on the step. She nursed her knees and looked at him.
'And then there was Verity.'
'Verity?'
She told him.
A long silence followed, one of those communicative, friendly silences which frequently fell between them.
'Oh, God,' he said, 'it is a wry world.' He leaned back against her knees. 'All this week I've wanted to strike at the air, for there was nothing more substantial to strike at. As you know. But I believe I am too tired to hate any more just at present, Demelza.'
'I'm glad,' she said.
After a few minutes he got into bed beside her and lay quiet, staring up at the canopy of the bed. Then he leaned across and blew out the candle. She put her arms about him and drew his head on to her shoulder.