Ross Poldark by Winston Graham Page B

poor when the wind is that way.”
    “Oh, we don’t creen nothing ’bout that. It is the maid we’reconsarned for.”
    Ross could see Reuben Clemmow standing at his cottage door watching Jinny, following her with his small pale eyes and his disconcerting stare. The Clemmows had always been a trouble to the neighbourhood. Father and Mother Clemmow had been dead some years. Father Clemmow had been a deaf mute and had fits; children had made fun of him because of his twisted mouth and the gobbling noises he made. Mother Clemmow had been all right to look at, but there had been something rotten about her; she was not a woman content with the ordinary human sins of copulation and drunkenness. He remembered seeing her publicly whipped in Truro market for selling poisonous abortion powders. The two Clemmows had been in and out of trouble for years, but Eli had always seemed the more difficult.
    “Has he given trouble while I have been away?”
    “Reuben? Naw. ’Cept that he scat in Nick Vigus's head one day last winter when he was tormenting of him. But we hold no blame to him fur that, for I could do it myself oftentimes.”
    He thought: by returning to the simple life of the peasant one did not escape. In his case he exchanged the care of his company of infantry for this implicitconcern for the welfare of people living on his land. He might not be a squire in the fullest sense, but the responsibilities did not deter him.
    “Do you think he means harm to Jinny?”
    “That we can’t tell,” said Mrs. Zacky. “If he was to do anything, he’d never get into no court o’ law. But he's worrying for a mother, my dear, as you’ll acknowledge.”
    Reuben Clemmow saw that he in his turn was being watched. He stared blankly at the two people in the doorway of the other cottage, then he turned and entered his own cottage, slamming the doors behind him.
    Jinny and the three children were returning. Ross looked at the girl with more interest. Neat and trim she was; a pretty little thing. Those good brown eyes, the pale skin slightly freckled across the nose, the thick auburn hair, there would be plenty of admirers among the young men of the district. Little wonder that she turned up her nose at Reuben, who was nearly forty and weak in the head.
    “If Reuben gives further trouble,” Ross said, “send up a message to me and I’ll come and talk to him.”
    “Thank ee, sur. We’d be in your debt. Maybe if you spoke to him ’e’d take some account of it.”
4
    On his way home Ross passed the engine house of Wheal Grace, that mine from which had come all his father's prosperity and into which it had all returned. It stood on the hill on the opposite side of the valley from Wheal Maiden, and, known as Trevorgie Mine, had been worked in primitive fashion centuries ago, Joshua having used some of the early working and rechristened the venture after his wife. Ross thought he would look over it, for any concern was better than moping the days away.
    The next afternoon he put on a suit of his father's mining clothes and was about to leave the house, followed by mutterings from Prudie about rotten planks and foul air, when he saw a horseman riding down the valley and knew it to be Francis.
    He was on a fine roan horse and was dressed in a fashionable manner, with buff-coloured breeches, a yellow waistcoat, and a narrow-waisted coat of dark brown velvet with a high collar.
    He reined up before Ross, and the horse reared at the check.
    “Hey, Rufus, quiet boy! Well, well, Ross.” He dismounted, his face smiling and friendly. “ Quiet , boy! Well, what's this? Are you on tribute at Grambler?”
    “No, I have a mind to examine Grace.”
    Francis raised his eyebrows. “She was an old strumpet. You don’t hope to re-start her?”
    “Even strumpets have their uses. I’m taking a stock of what I own, whether it is worthless or of value.”
    Francis coloured slightly. “Sensible enough. Perhaps you can wait an hour.”
    “Come down