They waited, Ross kept his head down and would not allow his thoughts to progress beyond the day's work. Only Henshawe, with his more detached mind
-
having so much less at
stake
-
would allow
himself a jubilant tone, After another week Ross told Demelza that she need not worry about a debt settlement at Christmas.. One month's work at this rate would pay all the interest. Two months would see part
of the debt gone.
They could already see two months ahead.
Demelza said: `Do you mean
-
in any case?'
`In
any case. The assay is as rich
as the ground. It can't help but pay! There's little skill now in this part. We just have to get it up and dress it and sell it.'
`I can't 'hardly believe that.'
`No more can I
'
The flaw for them both was that success had been too long in coming. This venture had raised so many hopes before and then dashed them. It no longer seemed entitled
to become a valuable
property. Had mineral been found eleven months ago, it could have saved them dramatically from immediate bankruptcy. Thirteen months ago it would have saved Francis's life. Now, when
hope
deferred had made the heart sick, when everyone had grown past the stage of expecting anythin
g any more,
when bankruptcy was not quite so immediate
- a
danger
though still existent
-
when a bare living from it was as much as anyone felt entitled to expect, now suddenly it began to
give off riches.
Riches. Tha
t was the queer thing. Not just
an income, not just a business return, but riches. This
was quite
different from Wheal Leisure, where cost books were still balanced and profits still calculated. The profits
were here
in lump sums. The money was here in lump sums.
The gamble had
come off. Ross felt he had to handle the coin sometimes. It was all very well to accept tin cheques and the rest, but gold and silver in bags was what he needed.
He
also needed Demelza to help him savour it, for success - after long tribulation can only be fully enjoyed if it is shared. They tried conscientiously to share it; but in that they failed. The division between them was too deep.
In late
October, Dwight received a letter from Dr. Matthew Sylvane of Penryn. It ran:
Sir,
One, of my patients, Mr. Ray Penvenen, of Killewarren, near Chasewater, has for some weeks been suffering from a
wasting condition which has not responded to accepted medical treatment. After due consideration I have
thought, it desirable to have
a Second Opinion, and Mr. Penvenen has mentioned your, name as a physician with some former knowledge of his physical condition.
Should you b
e willing to be, called in Consultation, I suggest that you meet me at his house on Fr
iday the Eighteenth at or about
Five
o'clock, when we can discuss the Symptoms privately before proceeding to examine the Patient.
Perhaps you will favour me with a Reply by the hand of my groom who has instructions to wait.
I am, sir, your obedient servant,
M. Sylvane
Dwight wanted to send word that Mr. Penvenen could turn yellow
and rot
before he would enter his house again; but, after a struggle he replied accepting the invitation. He had never met Matthew Sylvane, but k
new of him as a man with small
private means, like Choake, wh
o practised among the gentry.
At ten minutes to five Dwight rode
in at to gates of Killewarren,
Such a pang at the mere entrance, the gateposts . The droop of the pine trees,
the long thatched house, even
the
servant who came to the door.
Dr. Sylvane
was in the big u
pstairs parlour over the stable
. He was a narrow adenoidal man of forty-five
or so who seemed to do nothing
without the help of his nose. Dwight would have,
preferred to see Mr.
Penvenen first, but Sylvane was having none of that nonsense. The young fellow must enter the sickroom armed with the theories and observations of an experienced apothecary. Mr, P. had gone down in the first place about ten weeks ago with what was clearly a spasm of the common gall duct, creating a low fever and slowing the circulation of the blood, dissolving the tissues and affecting the elasticity of the fibres. From that a wasting and possibly tumorous condition had sprung. The primary symptoms had given way to treatment: a little bleeding and a suitable draught: salt of wormwood and ammoniac, ginger powder, sugar candy, oil of cloves; jellies and broths to eat, beef teas, minced veal. No fish. Fish in this close weather smelled very quickly; Dr. Sylvane was against giving it to sick people, who smelt already.
But Mr. P. had never lo
st his appetite. When the fever was
brought off, he began to eat like a horse - still did. And white wine. Down it went, bottle after bottle, quite astonishing. There was slight pulmonary con
gestion of an edematous nature,
and plenitude of urine; not surprising really. Bleedings, blisters, potions, he'd tried 'em all; but the patient remained very inert and was losing strength. A second opinion was really unnecessar
y, but sometimes a confirmatory
diagnosis ga
ve the patient confidence. . .’
Scarcely listening, his mind on earlier visits, Dwight followed his colleague along the passage to Mr. Penvenen's bedroom. It was all horribly reminiscent. But his memories left him when he saw Ray Penvenen in bed, crouching like an injured weasel, grey-fa
ced and dry. He had never been handsome but now t
he skin was in folds on his face and hands.
As Dwight came up to the bed, Penvenen said in his precise voice. `I do not believe we parted very good friends, Dr. Enys. I am the more obliged to you therefore for coming.'
Dwight bowed slightly
but didn't speak. The man should have his attention but nothing more.
`I insisted on its being you, in spite of your youth, because. I believe you have the c
ourage not to be influenced, by
what other people say.
Dr. Sylvane has done his best,
but his best does n
ot appear to be, good enough---‘
`Well, Mr
. Penvenen, what I have done---‘
'It is the first time for a great many years, Dr. Enys, that I
have been really sick. I have a feeling that unless something
is quickly done it will be the last',
`I trust not.' Wi
th a stiff face Dwight; bent to
examine him.
Certain symptoms at once. 'Ther
e's
no fever now, Dr. Sylvane.' `No, a
s I told you, it has responded
to treatment.'
`It did so nine weeks ago, Dr Enys.
‘
‘
I have never, had none since.'
‘
Th
at acetose smell on the breath.‘
He was almost too weak to turn himself. `You drink a great deal, Mr. Penvenen?' `To excess.
Nothing strong; a light canary! 'Water?'
`Yes, even water sometimes.' `And eat?' `And, eat. Enough for four, yet I have become as thin as a shotten herring, Hitherto I have thought the gluttony of my neighbours a trifle disgusting.'
After a thorough examination Dwight allowed the curtain of the bed to fall and walked to the window. No Caroline today in her black riding habit and her flame-coloured hair. No little yapping pug. No Unwin Trevaunance with his great lion head. Only a sick man, sick to death.
`I have also considered,' said Dr. Sylvane, following him nasally, `the possibility of a cestoid worm in the alimentary canal. This ravening
hunger. But I have examined the
stools and have been unable to find any evide
nce-
'
'And the urine?'
`Unusually sweet to the taste. But with all that unfermented wine ...
Then again I have considered a
tuberculous infection of an atmospheric-cosmic-telluric nature induced by the moist heavy weather in a county teeming with metals and minerals. There's a natural malignancy to the mineral effluvia, and folk here; are hectic and consumptive at the best of times. Do you know, sir, it is fortunate there are few large towns in this county.
Do
you know, sir, that three thousand men living within an acre of ordinary ground
make an atmosphere of their own
steams seventy-one feet high.
How much; more dangerous then in a county’
'It is surely the sugar sickness,' said Dwight.
`Ah?' Sylvane breathed out, through his nose, a thin reedy sound. `Ah!
’
'
A man - I've forgotten his name
-
Willis was it years ago. And more recently’
‘
And all these other symptoms, the hunger, the wasting, the sour breath-'
`Polydypsia,'' said Sylvane warily. `I had though
t of it, It could be considered but there
are contradictory indications. The
fever
?
'There has been no fever for nine weeks, h
e says. I believe it to be a mist
ake to consider it as a symptom
now.'
`There is a gouty condition And the pulmonary congestion'
`Very typical and.very dangerous.'
`I have not found it so.'
Dr. Sylvane squinted suspiciously along his nose at
Dwight,
bu
t Dwight was not giving way. 'I
believe there is no other
diagnosis.'
Mr. P. is fifty
-seven So sudden an onset in a man of his
age '
`If does occur. Anyway, that is my belief.'
`You cannot intend to tell him your views. It will be a
serious shock. I'll not be answerable for the consequences.' `I'll not be answerable if he goes on as he is.'
'How else can he go on? You do not suppose he will recover
if that, is his complaint
'
They talked for a few minutes in low tones, then Dwight turned back to the bed. Ray Penvenen watched his approach with red-rimmed eyes.
`Well, Dr. Enys, is it to be the knife?'
`No, sir, no knife., I think possibly we can do something for you. And you can help yourself.'
`How?'
`By giving up most of the things you eat and drink. The wine, especially.
’
'But that is the only thing which relieves me! How shall I quench ray thirst?'
`By cold water and some dil
ute milk. And you must eat very
much less. I would urge the strictest possible diet. It will not be an easy treatment, for I know how hungry you will be
`You don't know how hungry I'll be for you've never felt as I feel! It's very well to prescribe these things. D'you mean I am to starve?'
`Not starve, though it may well seem like it. I'd also suggest warm baths and a greater amount of air in your room.'
Dr. Sylvane was heard to mutter something under his breath, but when Mr. Penvenen glanced up at him he was sniff
ing the perforated end of his
gold-headed cane.
‘Y
ou don't agree with this treatment, Dr. Sylvane?'
Sylvane shrugged. `We have talked over it at length, and I regret to differ from a colleague
-
I positively cannot accept responsibility for a lowering treatment on one in such a weakened condition as yourself.'
`I am in an extremely weakened condition,' said Mr. Penvenen, 'in consequence of twe
lve weeks'
illness and ten weeks of your treatment of me. That suggests I am in need of a change of treatment. Can you cure me, young man?'
`No, sir.'
Mr. Penvenen blinked and passed a
tongue over his, lips. After a
moment he said: 'Well, that's honest anyway.' He motioned to his servant, who was standing by the bed, to pour him another glass of wine from the decanter. Then with a continuing gesture he sto
pped him. 'On second thoughts
no, Jonas. The doctor advises me to take water.'
Dwight had no patience with the view that because raw meat turned putrid when exposed to the air human beings necessarily did the same. And he was as much a crank in matters of food and drink. Fasting and fresh air had done good in several cases of bilious fever and the tertian ague, and he had tried
a
similar treatment on Charlie Kempthorne with his consumption of the lungs, Miraculously it had worked on him Not on many others, but one success was something in a disease notoriously fatal. Then he had experimented with gout, to the annoyance of his few substantial patients.
Now
Mr.
Penvenen.
As
a
physic he
prescribed Theban opium after each meal. It was all a shot in the dark and likely to kill or cure.
Mr. Penvenen began to come round.
On his fifth visit he found his patient sitting up in a chair, muffled in rugs and cloaks before a window open more, than half an inch to the
mild afternoon. After
the usual examination Mr. Penvenen said dryly;
`You said you could not cure me, Dry Enys, but you seem well on the way to having me out and about again. I'm very much in your debt.
'It is partly your own doing.' Dwight had never unbent in his attitude. `Without your will to deny yourself .
’
`The effort has b
een considerable.' How
much longer am I to deprive myself of the ordinary pleasures of life?'
`If by ordinary pleasures you mean
ordinary food
and drink, I should say for many months yet. Perhaps for the rest of your life:'
And how long is that likely to be?'
`I can't tell you. Provided you take care of yourself, there is no reason why it should be
shor
t;
’
Silence fell between
them. Dwight took out his pulse watch, but Penvenen said:
`I trust you now, feel able to
overlook
the unfortunate
circumstances which attended my niece Caroline's last visit. No one regretted the situation more
than
I or the measures it was necessary for me to take. Now that it is all past, I should like to
assume that I
may
call
on you when necessary; and perhaps sometime you will favour me with a, social visit when we may dine
together
assuming of course that your own diet will not be as strict as mine.'
It was a gesture of friendship, or as near as Ray Penvenen
could get to making one. Dwight didn't answer. Penvenen went on:
`Perhaps I should tell you before you answer that Caroline will shortly be announcing her engagement to Lord Coniston the eldest son of the Earl of Windermere. I hope the information will not now distress you.'
`I congratulate her,' said Dwight.
'Thank you. She was clearl
y predestined for such a match,
and I should have been failing in my duty as her guardian
if I had not prevented an unsuitable attachment from developing. L hope you understand it was no reflection on your personal capacities or
that it showed a lack of esteem
for them on my part,'
`Yes, I understand.' Dwight put his watch away. He did not
know his
patient's heartbeats and he
didn't care. He went across the room and stood by the fire. When is the wedding to take place?'
'My sister does not say. I don't believe the date has been fixed yet. Caroline hasn't been well and that-' `Not well?'
`One
of the customary summer indispositions. She's quite recovered. But the wedding is not likely to be until after
Christmas.'
`Will you give my wishes to Miss Penvenen. I'm sure it will be an entirely suitable match.'
Dwight didn't deceive himself, but he evidently deceived Mr. Penvenen.
`I'm glad you feel as you do about it. That is the attitude of a generous man. I was sure I could rely on your good sense and understanding.'
Dwight felt l
ike asserting that no one could
rely on either, 'Continue with the physic,'` he said, `A little more exercise when you feel like it; but no overexertion. I'll be in again on Wednesday morning,'
He w
as going to leave then, but the
older man said tentatively: 'I
hope I shall be well enough to travel up
to
London after Christmas. There is business I should attend to
as well as
the more social purposes.!
'We must see how you, progress,' Dwight said.,
He did not suppose that his patient's improvement would be maintained at its present rate
. If his diagnosis was correct,
there was nothing whatever he could do which would affect the underlying
disease. However, there was no
point in telling Penvenen so, and one never knew with the human constitution. Obviously the prospect of seeing his niece married into
the
nobility would be the strong
est
possible stimulus.
Verity had her child on
All Hallows Eve
, a boy of seven pou
nds, and both were well. He was
called Andrew after his father, and Ross and Demelza went for the christening. Because there was a Coinage due that week, Ross rode there an
d back in the day but Demelza stayed four
days. She fel
t better then than she had done
since May, and Verity's happiness was reflected in, her. S
he was taken aboard Andrew Blamey's ship and
went a trip up the river and to a reception in the town. She said nothing at all of her own trouble to V
erity. For the first time this was something she could not
discuss even with her
. In any case she could not say anything without telling
of things which she hoped nobody bur herself and Ross and Elizabeth would ever know. With George and Elizabeth now so close, it seemed more than ever important to be absolutely silent about t
he events of the ninth of May.
The day after he returned home Ross received a note from George.
Dear Poldark,
As you are a trustee, of Franci
s's estate, certain formalities
cannot be gone through, without your signature. S
ince June nothing whatever has
been done, and it therefore seems ne
cessary that we should meet. I
f you will come to Trenwith on Friday or Saturday morning next I shall be there to receive you.
Yours
etc.
G. Warleggan
Ross replied:
Dear Warleggan,
As you are not a trustee of Francis's estate, I do not consider that the
business concerns you. If you
wish to see me on any other matter, I shall, be at Nampara on Friday or Saturday morning next.
Yours etc.,
R, V. Poldark
George replied
Dear Poldark,
It may have come to your notice that Elizabeth and I were marrried in June. In attending to Francis's esta
te I am only trying to take the
burden off
her
shoulders. She has not been well
this
month, and it would be more convenient for her to meet you here. Perhaps you will let me know a time suitable to yourself.
Yours etc
G
Warleggan
Ross wrote that he would call on Saturday at noon.
As soon as he came inside the gates he saw the difference. In less than three months money had worked miracles. The undergrowth of ten years had been cl
eared, the hedges clipped, the
unnecessary trees cut down
, specimen trees newly planted;
the pond had become a lake and bobbled with fish, flower borders were laid cut and a few late flowers were still in bloom. Fat cattle-grazed on the other
side of
the lake. Fresh gravel had been laid on the paths before the house.
When he went m, he saw that the great window of the hall had b
een
repaired and long crimson satin curtains fitted. New rugs were laid, new hangings on the walls. Many of the old cracked portraits had been put away, and in the big parlour where he was shown by a liveried footman
-
no hasty, approned Mrs. Tabb
-
all had been changed. Even Elizabeth's spinning wheel and harp had disappeared.
No one was in the room, and he was allowed to wait ten minutes tapping impatiently at his boot before George came in followed by a tall, thin-man with narrow shoulders and eyes too close together. George was in a fine buff-coloured suit with
darker buff nankeen trousers. Then another, older m
an entered. Jonathan Chynoweth,
Elizabeth's father. They bade good day to each other distantly. George said
`This is
Mr.
Tankard, my attorney. You know Mr. Chynoweth, of
course. We need not take much of your time. Several papers have to be signed. Then
you can go.'
`Where is Elizabeth?'
`Resting. We can complete the business without her.'
`I don't think so. She is the co
-trustee of
Francis's estate,
I shall
do
nothing without her presence.'
'We anticipated that,' said George pleasantly. 'She has signed a power of attorney, so that I can act for her in these matters. Show the doc
ument to Mr. Poldark, Tankard.'
Ross fingered the parchment, vaguely suspecting a sharp practice but unversed in law. He turned to Mr; Chynoweth.
`It is true, my dear boy.
There
is nothing underhand, about it, I assure
you. I think
you can acquit me of, being
party to any-hm—
dubious expedient,'
'If you wish to know the truth,' said George, `though it will not pleasure you, Elizabeth especially asked that I should do this on her behalf so that
she shouldn't have
to meet you. Her health is not perfect at the moment, but she is fully capable of transacting any business she wishes to transact. She wants to have nothing to do with you, so I'm helping her to avoid a meeting which would be, distasteful.'
Ross returned the document t
o Tankard, who put it crackling
back into his brief-case. 'Is it true that she is with child?'
Tankard's head came up. George said 'It is true. What is it to you?'
Ross shrugged. `Let us get on with the business.'
There were various papers to discuss and sign. He had no
intention of being
amenable to their plans, but in fact there was little to query. Mr. Chynoweth did not
speak again but watched it all,
fingering his thin little beard George was honest enough in his day-to-day transactions. But when it was all done,
Tankard said:
'Er, Mr. Poldark, these shares, this half share in Wheal Grace held on
behalf of Mrs, Warleggan's son -
which was disposed
of at the beginning of the year
for a sum of six
hundred pounds: Can you tell us how it came about? The
transaction seems to have been ir
regular, and we are not satisfi
ed that it was legal.'
'It was legal.'
'Well, sir, we have applied to Mr. Harris Pascoe for details of the arrangement, but he tells us he is not at liberty to divulge them.' We shall be glad of your explanation.'
"No explanation is necessary. Mrs. Poldark - Mrs. Warleggan received six hundred pounds on behalf of her son for a half; share in a, worthless mine.'
Supposedly that
’
said George. `Who was so foolish
as to pay her
that sum?'
Ross put down his pen, dusted sand over the paper, shook
it. `I
was'
There was a moment's silence.
`Ah,' said George. `I wondered if ther
e was not some such explanation
!
’
'I understand,' said Tankard, `that the mine is now into rich
Country
-
that it will
be very
shortly paying a high dividend.!
’
'It already is paying a high dividend.'
`Ah,' said George again. `And no doubt at the beginning of
the yea
r
’
`I take exception,' Ross said, `to your suspicions. I take exception to your lack of common intelligence, Good life, d'you suppose that if we had found rich ground in January, we should have waited until November to exploit it?'
'Why did you buy the other half. of a worthless mine, then?' demanded Tankard.
Ross gave him a look. `Listen, man, I am not here to be cross-examined by out-at-elbow attorneys! Go back to your law books and speak when you're spoken to.'
Mr. Chynoweth drew his spatulate first finger along the polished surface of the table. `Come, come, I think we're getting a little heated, eh? No need for that, quite uncalled for I assure you.' He stared at the tip of his finger. There was no dust. `I don't doubt you had other and good reasons, dear boy. If you
care’
'I
n January,' said Ross, `your daughter was in straits for money. I felt responsible for having persuaded Francis to sink his last six hundred pounds in a mine. I wished to give her the money back but knew she wouldn't accept it as a gift. So I devised a means whereby I could do so unknown to her. I thought the mine was a failure. I thought it as late as July.'
`A dubious story,' said George. 'No one-'
`What you think doesn't, matter.. But don't expect me to listen to your speculations.'
`Wait,' said George, as Ross seemed about to leave. `I think we must give
the devil
his due, Eh, father-in-law? On certain conditions I am prepared to accept the explanation.
It was a device
-
as you say
-
a thought cumbersome, no doubt, but, one which would probably appeal to an unbusinesslike mind.
Well meant. Eh
, father-in-law? But cumbersome. The legality of the arrangement need not be questioned, for its moral
aim
was good. Indeed one views it as a
gesture -
a rather overdramatic gesture such as one would have anticipated but let us accept it and wait for the following gesture which plainly will succeed it'
Everybody waited as bidden. Mr. Chynoweth had not followed G
eorge's meaning and blinked in
perplexity.
What following, gesture?'
Why to return the half share
of the mine, now, that it is successful, into the custody of Geoffrey Charles's trustees.'
Ross took up his gloves. They were, still patched. `Why d'
you suppose I should do that?'
'Well,
you acted to save Elizabeth in
a difficult situation. Now that gesture is no longer appropriate because
what you took from, her has become worth more than what
you gave for it. The situation's quite changed.'
'So have her circumstances.'
‘
Naturally. With her marriage to me. But in this you were acting for Geoffrey Charles. Francis's son has no claim on my generosity. All he has is
a
half share in your mine.'
'He had
such
a share. He sold it to me.'
'In fact what happened was that as Geoffrey Charles's tru
stee you sold this property to
yourself.!
’
'Yes. Thinking it worthless.!
’
'We have only your word for that. And it's no longer true.'
'Fortunately for me, no.'
'It's obvious therefore, that if you truly meant this transaction to be a gesture of friendship and affection in Geoffrey Charles's favour, it must in order to, stand as such now be reversed., Otherwise it becomes a sharp practice'