The Black Moon (6 page)

Mrs Stevens had popped out to see a neighbour, so Verity
was alone in the house. Before
going downstairs she peered through the p
arlour window and saw that her
caller was a tall young woman leading a
horse. She
thought she recognized the co
lour of the hair. She went down
and opened the door,
`Mrs Andrew Blarney?'

`Miss Penvenen, isn't it? What is wrong? Are you unwell?'

`May I come in? My horse will be safe here?'

'Yes, yes. Do come in, please.'

The tall girl followed Verity up the stairs and into the parlour. There were pink spots in her cheeks which made Verity think at first that she had an inflammatory fever.

`We've not m
et.' said Caroline bluntly and
without preliminary. `All these years. Although we have so many friends. need help, So I thought I would come to you. Isn't that strange?'

`Of course not. You have been such a friend to Ross. Anything I can do. First sit down, and then, some refresh
ment.’

'No.' Caroline stood by the window holding her riding
crop. `What I
want to know
-
I
don't
know if you can help
me. I
have
j
ust ridden from Killewarren.

`From Killewarren? Unaccompanied?'

`Oh, that.' She dismissed it. `Have we ever met? Officially,
I mean. You seemed to know who I was
’
`I have seen you twice. The first time was in Bodmin four
years ago.'

`But you know of me, as I know of you. Ross will have talked of me and of my friendship with
Dwight Enys.' `Yes. Oh,' yes: ‘

`Has he told you that at Christmas I became engaged to marry Dwight?'

Verity buttoned the neck of her plain linen frock. She did not know
quite what distressed Caroline
but the sudden arrival of this brightly coloured, elegant young woman made her feel dowdy, as if a butterfly had come in and was bea
ting its wings beside a brown mo
th. She knew Caroline's reputation for unconventional behaviour, for dramatic actions, and she wondered in what way she was to be concerned in this latest move.

`I have not seen Ross or any
others of the family since
Christmas. Demelza has written twice but she did not say anything.'

'Well, it was to be kept secret fro
m my uncle who does not approve
and who is mortally sick. It was to be kept from him until Dwight came home and we were to see him together. Because of me,
because of the
difficulties which arose, Dwight joined the Navy.' Caroline seemed out of breath.

Verity went to a sidetable and picked up a decanter. Liquid bobbled in a glass, which Caroline took with a nod,
though she still did not
drink.

Verity said: `I knew he was in the Navy. Not the reason.'

'He sailed just after Christmas, and I have had two letters from him. He is in the Channel patrol, part ' of the Western Squadron under Sir Edward Pellew. He is in a frigate under Sir Edward Pellow.'

Verity stared at her. 'Yes? Oh , .. Do you mean he has been in this latest action?'

`I do not know for sure. But someone called on me this morning. I was told of the action. I was told that one English ship was sunk. Do
you
know its name?'

`I think . Wait a minute
-
I have a news sheet.' Verity went across the room and fumbled among some woollen things. `This is it Yes, the
Travail,
' She looked up. `It was lost off the French coast. Miss Penvenen, don't tell me that ...'

Caroline sat down on the nearest chair, and a little brandy s
pilled on the carpet. Verity ran
to her, put her arm round her.

`Wel
l, my dear,' Caroline said, `it is very
embarra
ssing for me, I assure you, for
I have, only known you five mi
nutes, but I feel rather sick.'

`Do you know I do not believe' I was meant to be a sailor's wife
. You must know more of it than
I, Verity, how one should behave.'

`Drink this. Just a little. It will do you good'

`Yet I was never one to collapse as a blushing maiden. My old nurse did not encourage it. "Yo
ung ladies," she used to say, is meant
to be strong
, not grow up like lent lilies. So I rarely if
ever faint as a pastime.'

`Put your head back now. You will be better soon.'

`Oh, I am better. W
ho am I to complain? It is the
others who are not better.,

'The ship was wrecked, not sunk by the French. It all took place i
n a gale. There will have been
many, survivors.'

Caroline lay back for a while, drawing in slow breaths. `Do you know all the way across here, I was saying, that stupid man Unwin Trevaunance has made a mi
stake! When I get there I shall
find, that I am being deceived by this irritating custom of the Admiralty for naming so, many ships so nearly alike. It will not be just that one. It will not be the Travail. I will find it is the Turmoil or the Terror or the
Trident.
All the, way here I kept saying
to myself .
`You should not be too upset, my dear. Anything may have happened. He might be safe and well.'

`I thought, I must go and see Ross's cousin. I will pay her a social call. There is really no one else. Of course I could have gone to Susan Pellew herself we have met once; or to Mary Trefusis, or to one of the other people whom I have ; some acquaintance with; but it seemed
-
I felt it more natural to cal
l upon Ross's cousin whom I
had never met!'

'It was right.
How I wish Andrew were here.
And
James, Andrew's son, i
s at sea too. But I must think

`Are there no details in the news sheet?'

`Nothing. Just repeating a dispatch from Captain Pellew, who is still at sea. It simply says about the Travail t
hat she took the ground in the
in the Bay of Audierne and that the Mermaid when attempting rescue work narrowly escaped shipwreck herself:'

`Where can we
ask
Is there
anyone: who will know more?

`That is, what I have been thinking. I think the news was brought in by a naval sloop. Because of Andrew I am well known in the Packet Office. Ben Pender is usually there until eight. If anyone would know, he would. I'll come with you, of course. I think I hear Mrs Stevens has returned, so I, can leave little Andrew with her. Do you feel
able
to walk?'

`Oh, yes. Oh, yes. My knees are growing stronger minute by minute.'

`It is a quarter of a mile down the street. I'll get my c
ape. You will, of course, stay
the night.'

`I don't; think I can. My uncle
is ill. When I heard this news I went in to him, told him what I was going to do; I fear
it upset, him for, although he
knew no more than I told him, my somewhat obvious desire to know the truth about Dwight must have given my feelings away. When I have what news there is I can ride back.'

`Three Hours in - the dark? There are too many, starving men abroad. You must
stay.
I'll tell Mr
s. Stevens to prepare a room.'

Ten minutes later they went out and made their way over,
the cobbles and the mud
and threaded among the people crowding the narrow street. Shops were still open, the ale houses busy, drunks lay in corners, children played and screamed, blind men and lame men begged, old soldiers stood and gossiped, sailors three abreast sang lewd songs,
house-holders stood at open
doors, dogs barked and fought and
seagulls screamed over all. It was a fine evening and warm for April after the rain. But for Caroline it was a scene without savour, without warmth, without light. These were not human beings who crowded around her but grey and white shadows impeding her progress towards an inevitable end.

At the packet office Ben Pender; a tired little man in an old-fashioned wig and snuff-brown suit, was
talking
to a pa
cket captain in blue and braid, who at
once got up and bowed over Verity's hand. Verity introduced them to Caroline and explained her mission.

The captain said
- `Unfortunately; ma'am, we only have the message passed on by the sloop,
which; came in, with, the news
and left by the next tide: Pellew and his ships are still at sea. But here the message is in full
- for what it is. Sir Edward Pellew reports having first sighted the two Frenchmen, the Heros and the Palmier, the Heros being a 74-gun two decker, at 3 p.m., on Thursday afternoon in thick weather
some fifty leagues south-west
of Ushant.- The wind was
blowing hard from the westward and sail was made
in chase. At three quarters past five the Nymphe and the Travail came up wit
h the French ships.' He looked
at the paper Ben Pender had,, put before him and hooked a pair of spectacles round his ears. `According to this account a running fight then took place lasting about ten hours in a steadily increasing gale, first under lowering clouds and rain, the
n with furious squally showers by the light of a half moon
. During this the Mermaid
also became engaged and the
five ships drifted t
owards the French coast. By the
time the Brest peninsula was sighted in the half d
ark the Heros was disabled, and
the Palmier, the Nymphe and the Travail had suffered considerable damage. Both Frenchmen tried to make the Brest estuary but in their damaged condition could not do so. The Palmier
struck
a rock by the Isle de Sein and sank, the Heros drifted into the Bay of Audierne and ran aground in heavy seas. The Travail also could not withstand the force of the gale and was wrecked near the Heros. The
Nymphe, though almost in shoal water, succeeded in weathering the Pointe de Penmarche and making the open sea. The Mermaid, which had suffered the least of the five ships, attempted to close in to help the wrecked ships but was forced to turn away to save herself. Casualties in the Nymphe were sixteen killed-d and fifty-seven wounded. In the Mermaid
five killed and thirty-five wounded., Captain Harrington of the Travail was killed early in the action.' The captain unlatched his spectacles from behind his ears. `That is the end of the dispatch, ma'am.'

A clerk came in with a lighted lantern to add to the one on the desk. It helped to show up the charts, the drawings of ships, the yell
ow bills of lading, the scales,
the inkpot and quill,
the mahogany furnishings, the
brass rails, the tiled floor.

Caroline said: `Did you see anyone from the sloop; personally, I mean?'

'I had some words with the captain, But you'll understand he was, not in the action. He
simply
bore the tidings.'

`Did your discuss the Travail at all?'

The captain hesitated. `A few words, ma'am. But from, my own experience I can tell you that survival
in a shipwreck is much a matter
of good
or ill fortune. If the frigate
came in up
on a beach there must be a very
good chance of a large number being saved. That I'm afraid we shall not be likely to know for a little while, for, such survivors as there are will necessarily be prisoners, of the French.'

May came in windy an
d wet, and stayed so. It seemed
long years to Demelza since they had had one of, those idyllic Mays of brilliant s
unshine and gentle breezes when
the whole peninsula had swum out into the calm blue sea of summer, when the flowers had bloomed unharassed and the warmth of the day had been o
n your back wherever you went.
last year had been the same As this rain and wind almost
-
all the time, with a break in the middle of dull quiet cool weather
-
the time she had gone to Werry House to the ball. (A vile memory - she could not bear to think of
it.) The May before
there had been that party at the Trevaunances at which everyone had expected Unwin to announce his engagement to Caroline Penvenen, and he had not done so. All the time then the weather had been grey and cold.

The ye
ar before that Ross and Francis
had taken the decision to reopen Wheal Grace, and Ross had met George Warleggan at the Red Lion Hotel and they had had words
and Ross had thrown George over the banisters . . . And she had been carrying Jeremy ... She remembered the endless blustering winds.

Now she was pregnant again, though so far she had no difficulty in keeping the fact a secret from everyone but Ross. And now they were passing rich and could afford as much coal on the fires as they pleased. And the old gaunt library where she had first learned to play a few notes on the spinet was going to be repaired. And her younger brother, Drake, was to
work on it, being
a handy man with his plane and saw. And S
am was down the mine - not as a
trib
uter but as a tutworker: that was
to say he broke the ground at so much a fathom: he stood neither to gain nor lose by
the
quality of the ground he spent, It was not so profitable as tributing but neit
her was it so much a gamble, an
d it
was, a livelihood, steady work
for steady pay. One could feed, one's body and have time to consider one's soul.

Sam and Drake, offered a
room in old Aunt, Betsy Triggs
, had asked instead if they might repair and occupy Reath Cottage just over the hill
- the
little cob-walled cottage Mark
Daniel had built with his , own
hands for his pretty young wife
- before he killed her with the same hands a few months later. The roof had long since fallen in, and much of the rest, built in such haste, had not stood the test of wind, and weather. The people of Mell
in and Marasanvose would not go
near the place after dusk: they said that the little moonflower face of Keren could be seen any ti
me lolling out, of the window, its
tongue swollen and its bloodshot eyes staring. But the Carves were made of sterner stuff. As Sam put it, no hurt or harm could come to the souls of men who had been saved from the toils of Satan by the perfect love of Jesus.

So in their spare time they hammered and sawed and patched and chiselled, and the stuff that came out of the old li
brary was often useful to Drake
to carry across to their cottage. That their choice of a cottage of their own, however ruinous, in preference to a share with Aunt Betsy had any secondary intent did not occur to Demelza until early in May when she heard that Sam was hoping to extend the lower room of Reath Cottage, and that he had already held a small prayer meeting there.

Indeed, Samuel considered that there was no time to waste. Methodism in most counties went up and down in popularity and enthusiasm with the years; but this was
especially so in Cornwall where the population was more volatile in temperament and the distances always furthest from the enlightened control and guidance of its founders. The great Wesley himself while still alive had scarcely ever dared to leave his Cornish converts alone for more than a year at a time. Although there were strong and earnest groups in some of the towns and villages who never wavered in their faith and their prayer; there was constant backsliding in other parts and a falling from grace. Sawle with Grambler had long since fallen from grace, as indeed, had all the surrounding district as far as St Michael one way and St Ann's the other.

Sam found it a sad and a barren sight. There was a s
mall meeting house at Grambler
which had been put up by subscription and by the miners themselves in the prosperous sixties, but since the mine closed and the people had drifted away the meeting house was neglected and in bad repair. Some still kept to the old principles, withou
t however meeting together or
renewing t
heir faith in communal prayer.

Sam met with resentment here and there, for a stranger from as far afield as Illuggan was no better than a foreigner; and the general feeling was that the only way such an intruder, coul
d be tolerated was by his being
seen and not heard. Sam was not
content to be quiet, and sour looks came his way but his relationship with the Poldarks saved him from worse trouble. So the little nucleus of the converted who in the years of neglect had not lost grace altogether began to meet each Sunday evening in Reath Cottage; Sunday morning or afternoon Sam led them to church, proper.

T
here were four
churches within walking distance. St Sawle, Grambler-with-Saw
le, was the nearest, then came
St Miner; Marasanvose. A little further off were St Ann's, at St Ann's, and St Paul's on the way to St Michael. But in the bad storm of May, '88, the roof of St Paul's had fallen in, and no one had had money to repair it, so services had been indefinitely suspended. At St Ann's, the vicar lived in London and had never yet visited the church, so that services were held there at rare intervals, when a locum could be found. Parishioners wishing to get married cou
ld seldom have the banns called
, so they had to afford to buy licences or do without the blessings of the church, and parents had to carry their children to Sawle for christening.

St Sawle, Gramble-with-Sawle, with its two chancels, its leaky roofs, its side-slanting tower and over-filled graveyard,
was looked after by the
Reverend Clarence Odgers, a cleric who received £40 a year from the incumbent, who lived in Penzance. Odgers, having a wife and a brood of children to keep, eked out his living by growing vegetables and fruit. The church was neglected but had a fair congregation, a noisy rather than tuneful choir and of course, the patronage of Trenwith House.

The nearest big house to St Minter, Marasanvose, was Werry House, but the Bodrugans only went to chur
ch twice a year, and the vicar,
Mr Faber, doubled with another church near Ladock and was a fox-hunting man. St Miner was a small church, and the first time Sam and Drakes went there were only five others in the congregation. Of these, two were men who talked all through about the price of corn; of the three women, two were mending shirts and the third, who was the caretaker, was asleep. After the service, there was a christening to be done, and
the caretaker had forgotten to get water for the font, so the
vicar spat in his hand and anointed the child with his spittle in the nam
e of Christ. Sam and Drake came
out in-time to see him mount his broad old mare and clatter off down the rocky track.

So when the little nucleus of Methodists began to accept him as their leader, Sam took them to Sawle Church as the best of the four. Besides, Drake always seemed to want to go there.

For two weeks
the
brothers had been, foraging for
a new central beam to, support their repaired roof and to carry the extra weight of slate, put on in place of thatch., Possibly the weak pit-prop which had been used for the central beam would b
ow no further; but one couldn't
be sure, and sometimes it gave an ominous crack.

In the last week in May Pally Rogers told Sam that a fine piece of ship's timber had washed in at St Ann's and been
taken possession of by one of the seine boats there. So the next time Drake had, a few h
ours free and Sam, was up from
his core they walked over to look at it. It was not a mast but a cross-beam: eighteen feet or so in length
and very nearly a foot square.
For use in the cottage it w
as four feet too long but otherw
ise perfect. The seiners wanted seven shillings for it. After some bargaining they settled for five.

For two shillings more, the seiners said, they would row it round and deposit it on Hendrawna. Beach. The brothers politely refused. They left a deposit of three shillings and
said they would come for it on the morrow, which was the last day of the month and a Saturday. Sam was on the night core and Drake was able to get off at three in the afternoon, so they were in St Ann's well before five. Within half an hour they had paid the difference and had started back.

This week the weather had at last relented and the sun wa
s hot as they climbed the long h
ill out of the village. The great beam had not yet fully dried out and it
soon began to feel like, lead.
It was going to be a long and trying walk. By the time they had done two
miles,
Drake, who was not yet
as strong as his
brother,, began to wish they had paid the extra two shillings to have the beam `delivered'. They had al
l night to carry it in, but the difficulty if they
stopped to rest was getting the beam back on their sh
oulders again. They could only stop where
there was a convenient wall or support on which to rest the beam waist high.

They were
now
on the same path t
hey had taken from Illuggan in
March, and
they presently came
to, the fork in the track where in March they had attempted to cross some fields and been turned back with ugly words by the Warleggan gamekeepers. The
y had never attempted to, cross
the fields since but both were well aware from later experience that the way through the fields and the two small woods beyond cut at least a mile off their journey. They stopped for a minute. There was no one in sight. You could not see Trenwith House or any, of its buildings. There was a barn, of some, sort in the next field.

'I say risk it,' said Drake. `They can't be everywhere all the time.' So they crossed the field, which was grazing land, though not even cattle were to be seen this evening.

The se
cond field was barley, and the
old right of way ran across the middle of it towards the wood on the other side. The barley had been sown to ignore the old path, but in the main had not grown thickly over it, as if even ploughing had not
destroyed the impress of years.
They went through the twiddle, waiting every moment for the angry shout even the shot.

It did not come. They lifted themselves over the broken stile into the wood.,

Front here it should be easier. They were not sure
how far it was yet on private land, bet they knew the path came out at the first cottages of Grambler village, and that could not be far. The whole of the wood which they now entered, which was perhaps half an acre in extent, was azure with
bluebells. The young elm and sycamore leaves were bursting out in a brilliant pale green through which the slanting sunlight dappled the ground. Halfway was a clearing where a tree had recently fallen and only a few sprouting saplings grew. The ca
terpillar ends of bracken were
thrusting up among the bluebells. The fallen tree and an old stone wall would provide a resting place for the beam.

`Let's stop for a while,' said Drake. `My shoulder's fair crackin'.'

`Not for, long,' said Sam. `I'd be easier out o'
here.' But he lowered the beam took the piece
of sacking off his shoulder and began t
o massage it.

They squatted a few minutes in, sweating satisfaction. A thrush
came down near them,
balancing his fan
of a tail., then chattered affr
ightedly and flew off. Some small animal, probably a squirrel, moved in the undergrowth but did not show itself. Overhead the sky was high and brilliant, as if it had never been exposed to the sun before.

`Phew! I've no sprawl to move yet,' Drake said. `I reckon we shall've earned this piece o' driftwood
by
the time
we
get him home.'

`Hush!' said Sam. `There's someone abroad.'

They listened. At first there was no sound, then quite close someone was talking. The young men-dived for cover. In the following pause a blackbird began to sing, his clear pellucid song taking no, account of anyt
hing bet the summer's evening.
Then he t
oo fluttered away as a rustling
increased and there was the clack of a heel against stoke.

Two people came into the clearing. One was a fair-haired boy of ten or eleven, the other a tall dark girl in a plain blue dress with muslin fiche and a straw hat in her hand. Held in the other arm was a sheaf of bluebells.

`Oh,' sa
id the
boy in a clear voice, 'Someone
has cut a
tree downs No, it has fallen!
I wonder if they,
know, But what is this strange piece
of wood?'

The girl fished in a pocket of her frock and took out a pair of steel-rimmed spectacles, which s
he put on to stare at the beam. 'It looks like a piece from a barn
or a ship. Someone must have brought it here. Recently too, for the bluebells have all been stepped on.'

She turned and peered around. Drake made a movement to show himself but Sam caught his arm. But the damage had been done: the young boy's sharp eyes had seen the yellow of Sam's kerchief,